The Aerie
The trip to Prague was a bit of a botch, starting with the speeding ticket. In my defense, I was just driving with the traffic.
(Posted via cell phone)
Concerned about being able to get cash in Prague, we had stopped by the city center in Neumarkt, where I also accidentally bought a buttered pretzel. Unfortunately as we left the city center, we joined a line of cars on a two-lane residential road out of the city. Suddenly up ahead a police officer with a flashing paddle wand waved about eight cars to the side of the road. One by one he walked down the line, and the cars drove off. Was he going to tell us the road up ahead was closed.
No. The officer kindly switched to his "little bit" of English (most European's "little bit" of English is superior to a lot of Americans’ English), and told us we were driving 77 kph in a 50 kph zone. (45 mph in a 30 zone, essentially). I was in no position to argue since in the short distance I had driven I had not seen a speed limit sign, and was just driving with the traffic. Additionally what the officer told me was that normally he just notified the drivers of the charge, and then they had to go to the rathaus (town hall) in order to contest or pay the fine of 50 Euro ($65). Since I wasn't a resident, he offered me a deal, pay 35 Euros on the spot and be done with it. Fortunately I had exact change from the cash machine, and he sent us on our way $45 lighter. Sigh. I suppose I got off lightly, but I didn't enjoy it. I really didn't like it when his partner pointed at the sensor dome on our dashboard and said "What is that?" I was sure he suspected it was a fuzzbuster (whatever the European version of that is), and he looked skeptical when I assured him it was the GPS sensor and only detected satellites. Visions of a night spent in a Neumarkt prison were not enhanced by the idea being bailed out by the town mayor.
Nonetheless we were off, and not too late. We drove towards Prague, and I ignored the navigation computer, which was urging me to drive on a two-lane highway for about a hundred miles. No thanks: we raced up the autobahn towards Nuremburg and hung a right towards Prague. Zoom, the miles melted away.
Then we came to the end of the autobahn. The road swooped in a loop and terminated at a two-lane road crossing our path. The navigation computer urged us left: my usually infallible sense of direction urged us right. We went left.
Several miles of two-lane tractor-filled highway later, the autobahn resumed. Apparently the autobahn between Prague and Nuremburg is still recovering from years of Soviet rule, and is under construction in several places.
As we got back on the autobahn, it occurred to me to ask, "Does everyone have their passports?" Yes, yes, yes yes... no. Our daughter, who is That Age, has objected to wearing the wallet-under-the-shirt that we all sport in order to both prevent pickpockets, and also make it clear to everyone who sees us that we are tourists. We, her parents, had neglected to double-check that we had all the passports, so really it is our fault. Nonetheless here we were about an hour out from home, and she has no passport.
When we traveled to France we encountered no border checkpoint at all, but I suspected the Czech Republic would be different, and I was right. A few miles later we approached what looked like a toll station but was the border checkpoint. A polite guard collected our four passports and one excuse, and returned.
"Well, you can enter, but you may have problem coming back."
"What kind of problem?" I asked, visions of gulags and gruel floating through my brain.
"The Germans may fine you."
"What kind of fine?"
He waggled a hand uncertainly, "Maybe thirty, forty Euro." He pronounced Euro sideways, the way most do: Oy-row.
I winced, "I guess I can afford forty Euro."
"Maybe you get lucky," he urged with an optimism I did not share.
Back on the road I was uncertain - is the Czech autobahn unlimited, like the German version, or limited, like the French. While Theresa queried the web on my cell phone, I found a car headed in our direction at about our rate of speed and started to shadow it about a thousand feet back. This seemed to work well, and I continued to shadow my friend.
Apparently he didn't like this, although I didn't have any indication of his displeasure - such as speeding up or slowing down or just waving a finger out the window - until he passed a semi and then cut sharply to an exit in a move right out of a cop movie. There was no way for me to follow him, and about 1000 feet later the autobahn once again evaporated into a two-lane highway.
At this point the navigator said to continue forward for about 3 kilometers. We'd followed it before, against my better judgement, and come out alright, so I figured to trust it again. Bad idea. Two km down the road the blue "go this way" line came to an end. Confused, I continued past the end of the blue line, and it jumped out in front of us again for about 4 km. What was it doing? Four kilometers later I figured it out.
The navigator was too stupid to simply say "go back," because the car it was navigating needed a place to turn around. So it was telling me to go forward to the next intersection, and at that point turn around, and go back. Unfortunately we were in the Czech equivalent of The Sticks, and intersections were several miles apart. By the time I figured this programming problem out, we were eight kilometers off course in the small Czech town of Prkzyskyzksyzky.
Having come this far, we were only about a kilometer from some gigantic building that had been looming over the parched farmland of the broad valley we had been crossing, so I was danged if I was going to turn around without getting a look at it. We drove up the hill and found it was, no surprise, a gigantic church of some sort, decorated in an unusual umber-and-white design. I climbed out to grab a couple snapshots, leaving the family in the car, and on the far side of the church saw a shop down the hill labeled "Kulturny". Thinking maybe it was a "cultural office" I scrambled down the steps and found myself in an astonishing little curio-shop. All sorts of 1950's era Czech paraphernalia surrounded me: gumball machines, decorative trays, posters, antique farm equipment, and on the counter, a genuine old-fashioned cash-register with the little scalloped-topped tags that popped up to display the price. The register was still in use.
A young woman behind the counter had only "a little English," but was willing to help me get back to the road to Prague. I didn't know at that point whether it was better to go back on our route, or head off in another direction and pick up the autobahn later. The girl was willing to help, as was the older woman in the back room. And her husband. And the other guy. And the really old guy with bad hearing and a loud voice. Soon I found myself in the middle of My Big Fat Czech Wedding, as three generations of shopkeepers debated the novel question of "How Does One Get to Prague From Here?"
Apparently nobody from Pkryzyrysykszy has ever gone to Prague because the debate took considerable time, and involved referencing two fold-out maps, a brochure, and two bound atlases of the Czech area. The shopkeepers debated boisterously, while I milled about, wishing to photograph everything in the store but not wishing to offend the folks who after all were pitching in to help.
Finally the young shopkeeper announced their decision, inked carefully in magic marker on glossy brochure map. Translated from Czech it amounted to "Go back the way you came, 8 kilometers."
Sigh.
We meandered back up the road, through the broad fields that smelled powerfully of manure-based fertilizer, and onto the counterpart of the exit where my Virgil had abandonded me an hour before. A few more kilometers of two-lane highway, and we were back on the E50, the Czech autobahn.
No further incidents occurred until we reached Prague, and my wife broke out the directions that the hotel provided. I transcribe them below for your enlightenment and edification:
"As to arrive the Blue River Palace the highway distance Arrives to you in Praga following, and exiting from the freeway (obliged sage in how much finishes in the city) following the indications of carried out obligatory will be found immediately in the street distance of Praga 5, to continue for approximately 1 km., will find to your right a street graft for the SMICHOV quarter (will notice Ford concessionaire on the vs. skillful) to which immettera you on the Way Pizenska, to continue always straight, observing with diligenza the street indications, and you will arrive in the center of the City new, to the vs. skillful you will find Movempick Hotel, continuations the distance with indication CENTRUM, to your left IBIS hotel, this point you are in ANDEL quarter, observing Hotel IBIS therefore to the vs. sx (semaforo) to turn feeding the tree-lined avenue to the vs. skillful, maintaining the corsia of sx, to the semaforo to turn to sx, after the attraversamento of 2 crossings to the vs sx you will find STAROPRAMENNA, you are arrives you to the BLUE RIVER PALACE, good stay"
Riiiiiight. Uh, could you go over that again from the first sentence?
Upon reviewing this Czech version of 'Ulysses,' I realized that we were in trouble. Amazingly we actually stumbled across the Ford dealership, and somehow grafted ourselves into the city center, aided by the Navigation system which was talking to us again, but trying to fuck with our minds (most notably it would try to guide us to within half a block of the "city center" before swinging out 7 kilometers, looping back around, and delivering us to the destination from the opposite direction, I kid you not). Anyway we reached the "center" of Prague, and doubled back to where we thought the hotel was, stopping to ask directions of a kind lady with "a little English" at a magazine stand which had no maps. Her directions took us back across the bridge, and then we made a right turn in the middle of the city.
Now, a right turn, made in the heart of a city, ought one would suspect, bring one around a block over, yes? No. By some lucky chance, we'd found the road that ran up away from the river, along the bluff overlooking the city. Before we were offered a second right turn, we were more than three kilometers outside of Prague. But we took that right turn and wandered back down the bluff and back into the city.
In all of this I must add I was aided by my Gift. Now I have a lot of gifts in my life, from my wife to my kids to my adoptive and birth-families, my health, my brains, and of course my dashing good looks. But the one Gift I have that is almost supernatural is my sense of direction. I can get lost and I do, about once a decade - but it takes a really thick fog, an unfamiliar city, and a complete lack of any knowledge of the city. But Prague, its narrow, winding, one-way streets and tricky secret roads that don't turn for over a mile, those only frustrated me. I always knew where I was trying to get, I simply couldn't get the roads to take me there.
Anyway we managed to make our way back to the city center based on my sense of direction, and even found the dread corner where, if I took another right turn, it would be another half-hour till we got back again. I turned left. Now the street we were lookign for was "Staropramenna," and pretty soon we started seeing "Staroprama" written on various things: awnings, mostly. We stopped a second time, at a computer store, where the clever lads went to "mapy.cz" and pulled up an Internet map that showed Staroprammenna only two blocks away. Rejoice!
By this time I had to pee so bad that my spit was yellow, so I was eager to reach our hotel. It was a simple matter of driving two streets over, turning left on Nadzena, passing Jadizky, passing Nakalaka Belaraka, and going left on Lidikyaka to reach Staropramennna.
Which proved absolutely impossible.
Every street was one way in another direction. We found Nadzena and Jadizky and Nakalaka Balaraka, and all of them sported two lines of cars parked facing our direction no matter how we tried to approach. By now every cobblestone was vibrating directly up to my kidneys and I was making illegal turns and cutting across traffic in a manner that would have aged our hosts ten years apiece if they'd known about it.
And of course we only knew when we were on Staropramenna after were already on it, when someone looked out the window and saw a street sign on the side of a building. We were looking for #7 and were at #23, but that was close enough for me, particularly since the opposite side of the intersection was one-way, facing me. I turned left, found a parkign spot 1.4" wider than the van, and parked. We staggered a block and a half and lo an behold, there was the BLUE RIVER PALACE. It looked a lot like A YELLOW BUILDING, but at this point everything was looking yellow to me. We arranged our room with a very, very helpful desk clerk, and soon I was able to apply my mind to any other topic than the need to find a toilet.
It was now time to park the van. The clerk advised me to park in the garage underneath the Tesco. This had the advantage of being free, with the disadvantage that the garage is inaccessible between midnight and seven a.m. This being no disadvantage at all, I was pleased to park there, assuming I could reach it. Finding it was no problem: a map and my sense of direction told me it was just over yonder, no more than three blocks away. I greased up the cars on either side of my parking spot and, the van emptied now of luggage, set off to the Tedesco lot three blocks away.
I put three kilometers on the car getting there. I didn't get lost on any road running along the bluff, nor did I make the mistake of entering the tunnel that plunges under the city and emerges somewhere in the northern suburbs. No, I simply drove a block over, turned left because street dead-ended, went a couple more blocks til I could turn left again, drove towards where the Tedesco ought to be, and found I couldn't go that direction because this street ended in a pedestrian plaza. Around I went again, one street further, headed towards Tedesco... and was in the wrong lane and was forced to make another left. Around again, each time around involving traversing an increasingly-familiar maze of one-way streets, dead ends, and in one place driving up a set of stairs next to a streetcar, I kid you not.
Finally I got back on the right street, stayed one lane over from where I'd been, turned a corner, and there I was already IN the lane committed to entering the Tedesco garage - had I not been going there, I would have been going there anyway. I parked the van, secured its remaining contents from curious eyes as best I could, and returned to the hotel where my family lay exhausted from the drive.
Unfortunately this afternoon was our only time in Prague, so I was unrelenting in getting us out the door. On our drive around Prague we had taken in a couple of tourist sites, most notably the Dancing House which was built by the same dreadful architect who cursed us with the Weismann Art Museum in Minneapolis, but I wanted to at least touch on some more of this famous city.
We stopped first for a late lunch/early dinner at a Czech restaurant, this being my decision after the family could not decide between TGI Fridays and Mexican (I know I say "I kid you not," but a lot of this stuff strikes me as so absurd I don' t know if it will be believed. TGI Fridays is BIG in Prague, people.) But we didn't drive all the way to Prague to eat Fridays, so there we were in front of a menu listing such delicacies as Jeleni steak po myslivecku and Vepi rizecky Zlaty andel. We confirmed with the very kind waitress that we could spend Euros ("Oy rows") here, and I attempted to interpret the menu. For example, Vepr. Rizecky Futuristic Brent was listed as containing smazena, vepl kyta,and syr, but listed no Brent all, futuristic or not! I was about to call our waitress over and insist that she bring Brent out in order that we authenticate his credentials as our dinner, when somebody noticed that the second page of the menu was an Engish translation of the first.
So I had the Jeleni steak po myslivecku, which turned out to be a delicious venison steak in cream and cranberry sauce. My daughter's Anglicky biftek s vejcem"or "Golden Angel chicken" turned out to have very little angel in it, but was otherwise delicious, and the rest of the family were pleased with their selections as well. Leo ordered something which turned out to be beef in wine gravy with mushrooms - pretty much what he gets everywhere. My wife had a curry chicken, and my youngest son had a huge platter of something batter-fried. A delightful meal, and even with gratuity and the exorbitant exchange rate, very cheap.
Now reconstituted, we grabbed a little bit of Czech currency from a cash machine and made our way a block over to the Metro. I was forced - forced I tell you! - to break on of the bills by purchasing a small bag of chocolate covered almonds, and a helpful old lady told me which kind of Metro ticket to buy, and we were soon on a train to the heart of Prague.
We had a wonderful if somewhat footsore and weary time exploring Prague, wandering up to Wenceslas Square and tracking down a couple of tourist-oriented performaces that ended up (at about $100 for the family) being too expensive for our tastes. After an evening of seeing and photographing much of central Prague, we made our way back to the Metro and home.
Emerging from the Metro I had the oddest sensation relating to my sense of direction that I've had in quite some time. Getting off the train, I did not pay attention to which way we turned, and we ended up leaving by a different staircase than we had entered. Upon reaching the top of the stair, I found myself in an unfamiliar location. At this point, I felt something pull my head around and point it off in to the growing darkness of the evening, across a plaza. I took a few tenative steps in that direction, and way, way across the plaza, through the trees... there was our restaurant from dinner. And once I saw it, I knew that our hotel was no more than a block farther on, in the same direction. That was just weird.
So now it's very late and time to be getting to bed. I had to give short shrift to the details of touring Prague itself, but I wanted to at least record something. Because while I have many gifts, I also have my share of challenges. I'm partially colorblind; I have only the most rudimentary sense of smell... and I have a memory like old cheesecloth. So it's important that I write this stuff down, because I guarantee in a couple of years my wife will be slapping me on the arm and saying "What do you mean 'You'd love to visit Prague someday?' We've been there!" and I won't recall a bit of it.
But now I can read about it!
Posted by Albatross at August 25, 2006 1:55 AM | TrackBack