Praha was a Nada

When I was about fourteen years old, I bought this book called “The Travel Book.”  It was a Lonely Planet publication and it had two pages on every country, with big beautiful pictures, and poetic descriptions of every place (of the type I was trying to write for Germany), the necessary experiences one must have in each country, and other facts about the food and culture of the different places.

I loved the book, I flipped through every page and read every description and longed to go to each place and have every experience the book described.  I showed the book to all my friends and family and when I received comments from well traveled people (particularly my father, and a family friend) saying things such as “they chose that picture to represent Paris” and “that isn’t what I saw in Peru,” I glowered at them, sure that I (and my trusted lonely planet educators) understood what contributes to a country far better than they did.

(the happy traveler)

All that aside (and let me just say that I still love and look at that book frequently), I remember that one of the descriptions that struck me most was about the Czech Republic, specifically about Prague.  My book said that one of the necessary experiences to have in Prague was to walk across the Charles Bridge at dawn.  Well to my fourteen year old self, that sentence, coupled with a striking picture of said bridge, sounded like just about the most magical of experiences, and from that point in my life, I knew that I had to go to Prague.  Although the idea of walking over bridges as the sun rises has become slightly less magical in my mind over the past six years, I still happily added Prague to my list of places to visit as I was creating the itinerary for this trip.

(The magical Charles Bridge)

So, before I dive into what exactly Prague was, let me just set the scene.  Successfully completing my Eurail pass, I hopped aboard the train from Munich to Prague.  This train felt much older than the trains I had taken thus far.  It definitely had an Eastern European twang to it, either from the fact that there was no air conditioning and the windows remained firmly shut as the temperature soared above ninety, or perhaps from the fact that when you ‘flushed’ the toilet (stepped on a pedal on the floor), the bowl opened up into a hole, and you were able to see the contents of the toilet fly directly down onto the tracks as you whizzed by.  But hey I’m a traveler, I’m not complaining, I dig the uncomfortable, the basic, so I sat happily and sweatily in my seat and watched the forest landscape pass me by.

About half way through the trip we stopped in unpronounceable-czech-village-who’s-name-has-too-many-z’s-and-not-enough-vowels, Czech Republic to pick up more passengers.  In a compartment that seated six there was only me and two other men (one from England, one from India).  As people moved passed us in the corridor, the English man quietly made a comment every time a family with a young child would pass, hoping that they wouldn’t come in our compartment so we could avoid excess noise and bother.

Well, we didn’t get a child.  We got the largest, roundest man that I have ever seen in my entire life.  I say this not out of disrespect, but out of true scientific fact, that I literally thought he was going to have heart attack once he sat down, judging by the rate and volume of his breathing.  He also had a certain smell about him that was less than pleasant in the heat.  After a few minutes he looks at me and said something in Czech.  I respond with my well practiced “sorry bud, inept American hear who only speaks English” (just kidding, but that was the general sentiment), to which he happily responds “oh English, okay, you are nice, you are sunshine!”  I gave him my ‘thanks, but you’re finished now’ look (also well practiced this point) and went back about my business.  I catch sight of the Indian man laughing and give him a bit of a glower as well.  But as the round man starts talking to himself in Czech and steadily munching through his hefty lunch, I catch the amused look of the Indian man again and start to laugh as well.  For fear of completely losing it, I close my eyes, turn my music up, bite the inside of my lip, and remind myself that this whole scene is actually a bit sad.  The whole event was funny and depressing and gross and I was very pleased to get some fresh air when we arrived in Prague.

(Eastern European time warp)

I high-tailed it to my hostel and then hit the city.  I very quickly figured out how I felt about Prague.  Here are my sentiments:

1. Prague is probably the most beautiful city I’ve ever been to.

2. Prague is probably my least favorite city I’ve ever been to.

Architecturally, the city was stunning.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  The buildings are tall and magical, pastel colored with incredibly ornate with fairy-tale details.  The city is split by the Vltava river, the two sides connected by majestic bridges, overlooked by a beautiful and unique castle, surrounded by hills of lush green trees.  In the looks department, Prague has got it goin’ on.  But oh my gosh was it touristy, so damn touristy!  I get that tourism is a part of any major city.  Although I like to distinguish between traveler and tourist, I’m sure for many purposes, I would be grouped in the ‘tourist’ category.  The difference between Prague and say, Paris (also touristy), is that Prague was only tourists.  Prague was like Montmartre, the only problem is that there was no Latin Quarter, no Saint-Germain, and no Bastille to be found.  Try as I might (and I did my usual fair share of wandering), I didn’t stumble upon a single place that seemed authentic, where I actually heard more Czech than another language being spoken.

So what did I do?  After attempting to see the sights, nope, someone’s camera blocked my view, attempting to walk across the Charles bridge, just kidding, I was almost pushed into the river by the bulge from your money pouch, and looking for some traditional things to buy, no I do not want a purse that says ‘I heart Prague’ in hot pink bubble letters, I took refuge in a coffee shop.  No, you probably can’t even call it a coffee shop.  Okay everyone, I admit it, I took refuge in Starbucks!  If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em… Over my over-priced, over-sugared, fake Italian named, does-this-even-contain-coffee? beverage, I sulked, I grumbled, and I understood why the Czech Republic drinks more beer per capita than any other country, because walking across the Charles bridge at dawn has lost it’s magic.

(The patterned sidewalks reminded me of Lisbon – go there instead!)

So everyone, I’ve heard that Budapest is the new magical Eastern European city, dirt cheap and strikingly beautiful.  All I can say, is get there before everyone else does, I sure plan to!

This is Munich (a bit of it at least)

Hello all!  Long time, no blog, I know.  But I’ve been hopping around at breakneck speed and then plunging to a standstill in the Greek Islands where I was unable to find time to blog due to my hectic schedule of eating greek yogurt, lying on the beach, swimming, lying on the beach some more, wandering around town, and eating more greek yogurt, more on those thrilling activities in a later post though.

I’m now on a ferry from Paros to Santorini, and will use this time to give an overview of Munich, and maybe Prague as well if I have time!

I said goodbye to Copenhagen early in the morning and made the long journey (eleven hour train ride) to Munich.  A rainstorm prevented me from exploring the city that evening (this is becoming an all too common theme on this trip) and so I started early the next day to hit the town.  In classic ‘Lindsey-travels-to-a-new-city’ style, I began my time in Munich just wandering, checking out the small streets, the city center, the outdoor market, and of course, the many food options.

Munich is in Bavaria, the Alpine region of Germany, and it definitely had that mountain culture feel that I love.  In fact, I came across at least four outdoor outfitters stores that would put even the grandest of REIs (I think that may be the one in Seattle) to shame.  These stores were SEVEN HUGE floors tall and filled with every piece of climbing, hiking, biking, traveling, paddling, and running gear imaginable.  I was in heaven and spent an inordinate amount of time (considering I didn’t actually buy anything) walking through the pine-scented palaces.

A less ridiculous aspect of Munich that I also enjoyed was the Viktualienmarkt, a huge outdoor market that sells a whole score of fresh fruit, vegetables, breads, cheeses, meats, olives, and lots of other edible goods and crafts.  All the food looked amazing, and there was a lovely friendly atmosphere, with rows and rows of bustling market stalls interspersed with shady beer gardens.  One amusing thing I noted about this market, that classified it as truly German as opposed to other market counterparts frequently found in sunnier, more Southern locations, was that all the fruits and vegetables were lined up in perfectly straight rows, there were no overflowing stacks of aubergines or precariously placed apricots, everything was safely in its exact right place.

At this point Munich was doing a swell job of checking boxes on the  ‘my favorite things’ list.  Mountain culture; check, massive outdoor stores; check, markets with fresh produce; check. What is left?  Oh yes, if I needed any more reason to like Munich, it was provided in a store called “mymuesli.” That is correct, there is a whole freakin’ store dedicated to muesli, if that is not an example of capitalism gone right, than I just don’t know what is.

While traveling I’m all for trying local cuisine, if it’s something I actually want that is.  If you’ll remember, I happily dug into croissants and brown bread, muesli and smørrebrød, all with enjoyment!  Traditional German cuisine doesn’t do much for me though.  So in Munich I passed on the sausages and potatoes in favor of salads and soups and fruit from the market.  One bit of Munich-based gastronomy that I did try however was the pretzel.  Munich is famous for their pretzels, and as a pretzel appreciator (but probably not lover), I decided to give one a try.  Yep, it was pretty good, but it was just a pretzel, end of story.

My second day in Munich was Fourth of July!  For some odd reason I absolutely love Fourth of July and so I was a little sad to be spending it away from good ‘ol Amurrca.  I wouldn’t exactly say that I’m the most patriotic person out there, but at home, the fourth of July is a wonderful combination of an early morning fourth of July race, breakfast out, time in the sun, fresh blueberries, corn on the cob, dinner on the grill, a dessert that involves homemade whip cream, and hanging out on the porch watching fireworks.  Because I couldn’t have that this year, I tried for the next best things.  I put on my most patriotic outfit (a pair of navy blue shorts and a white tee-shirt), visited a concentration camp, and ate Mexican food for dinner.  Okay, so that may not actually be ‘the next best thing’ when it comes to the fourth of July, but it was an interesting day nonetheless.

The concentration camp I visited was Dachau, the first Nazi concentration camp to open in Germany. I opted out of the guided tour and instead walked around the grounds, the barracks, the incinerators, and the poison gas showers on my own.  Honestly, the experience felt similar to my experience at the Anne Frank house.  Although I was sombered by the sights, it is so hard to truly understand just how real and horrible they were when the camp is full of big informational placards and swarms of other camera-toting tourists.  Even though I’ve studied the holocaust multiple times, and read countless amazing and tragic books on the subject (I highly recommend Night by Elie Weisel), I think that because I’ve been so fortunate to grow up in an easy, safe place, that I will never fully be able to comprehend just how horrific something like the holocaust was.

The rest of the afternoon was spent quietly, wandering around Munich some more, taking in the beautiful architecture and the green and shady gardens.  As I mentioned before, I headed to a Mexican place for dinner.  Although, Mexican food doesn’t exactly scream fourth of July, I felt that this ‘chipotle-style’ burrito place felt much more like something that you’d find in the states than anywhere south ‘o the border.  I concluded my Fourth of July and my time in Munich with a veggie and black bean burrito in the sunshine.  Other than some suspiciously too-light green guacamole, the burrito did the trick, and added a little bit of home to this holiday.

There were many things about Munich that I really liked.  It’s a cozy and friendly mountain town, with beautiful architecture, nice stores, and a wonderful market.  I would love to come back during the holidays for the Christmas market.  I’ve heard (and can well imagine) that it’s a magical place full of spicy cinnamon cookies, roasted chestnuts, warm mulled wine, and lots of wintery holiday cheer.

However, I had similar feelings towards Munich that I had towards Berlin, and I think I now better understand the feelings as well.  I was not overwhelmed by any part of Munich and I did not drastically fall in love with it.  Just like in Berlin, I appreciated it, but thought I could have got more out of it.  I think that to me, Germany feels normal.  I don’t experience dramatic positive or negative feelings towards it, because for the most part I understand it.  Germany seems easy, calm, and structured.  So although I left it with what I would say is neutral attachment, I really appreciated it nonetheless.  It isn’t a place like Prague that I plan on shunning for the rest of my life (stay tuned for that), but rather a place I’d actually like to return to for a longer time, to live, and experience, and finally understand what exactly makes Germany.

When you write about your travels you want to be able to convey what makes a city in a single paragraph.  You want to be able to share the sights, the smells, the sounds, and the culture in a set of beautifully crafted sentences so as to inspire everyone who reads them to want to understand the city as well.  It’s so easy to construct these paragraphs in places like Ireland where there’s brown bread, and sweetly singing street musicians, and rolling green hills or in Paris where the streetlights reflect romantically on the Seine and accordion music flows through the narrow alleyways.  The problem is that I can’t quite do this for Germany.  I can say this is Germany, the place where the buildings are well-kempt and in straight lines, where the trains run on time, where the beer flows freely, but the well behaved citizens are calm and polite as they whiz around on their bicycles and pop by the bakery to pick up a loaf of bread.  This may adequately describe Germany, but I think it’s a surface description.  I know there’s more to this country, and someday I will return and I will write that paragraph that will make all who read it jet off to this country of who knows exactly what.

Bikes, Buildings, and (you guessed it) More Bread!

To say that I’m familiar with Copenhagen and with Danish culture would be an understatement.  I’ll let you guys in on a little, not so secret, secret.  I’ve been obsessed with Denmark (and Scandinavia on a whole) for years.  This inexplicable love (until now, I’d never actually been to Scandinavia) hits especially hard in the winter when I find myself longing for snowy reindeer filled tundras, warm lingonberry jam, and cozy houses decked out in sleek, functional furniture.  When these desires hit, I usually pull on my Swedish pajamas (duh, I have Swedish pajamas), curl up with a Stieg Larson book, and pretend that my thirty-four dollar IKEA bed is a magical sleigh of Danish design, rather than a broken attempt (it honestly is very broken) to Scandinavianize the world, one funnily-named, flat-packed, piece of furniture at a time.

Anyway, why this obsession?  Honestly, there are thousands of other places I could have chosen to be obsessed with, most of those with more normal daylight to nighttime ratios, but I chose little old pickled-herring loving, bike-riding, furniture designing Denmark.  I’ll let you in on another little not so secret, secret: I’m Danish!  Okay, not super Danish, I’m not Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, and with fourth of July yesterday, I was a proud blue, white, and orange (I didn’t pack any red) wearing American, but I’ve got it on my momma’s side and my poppa’s side, so if I gotta explain my fairer features, preference to dress in neutral colors, obsession with natural light, general need to rearrange my room once a month, appreciation for calmness and law abiders, and love of jam and cheese on toast, I blame the Danes!  So, I think that’s where the obsession started, I knew I was Danish, wanted to find out more, and once I did some poking around (a very in depth collection of google searches) I liked what I found!

I seriously could go into detail about the Danish and Scandinavian lifestyle for days on end (and I considered it), but in lieu of that daunting task, I think I’ll just jump right into what I actually found in Denmark and Sweden!  I arrived in Copenhagen after a seven-hour train ride from Berlin that included putting the train onto a ferryboat.  And not just any ferryboat, a ferryboat that was essentially a shopping mall.  I popped up from the lower parking lot and was in the middle of three restaurants, a grocery store, and a store dedicated to sunglasses, perfume, chocolate, and alcohol, I’m assuming there was some duty freeness going on.

When we got to København station, I made my way to the ATM to grab some Danish Kroner.  There are six kroner to the dollar, so it took a little getting used to when I was rung up for a thirty-eight kroner latte.  And for you math wizzes out there, yes you are correct, a latte in Denmark will cost you six and a half US dollars, an alternative title to this post could have been ‘Scandinavia stole my heart… and my money.”

From the train station I made my way to my hostel, and got my first views of Denmark as I walked along Strøget, the longest pedestrian shopping street in Europe.  The sun was shining, the entire world was whizzing around on bicycles, Europeans were actually wearing shorts (!), and I felt myself falling into Scandinavian heaven.  What struck me immediately were the things I was not expecting though, the architecture was different than I imagined, there was more brick, more brightly painted buildings, and more rooftops shaped in those little wavy cone shapes that I saw in Amsterdam.  (Poppy, do these have an official architectural name?).  Another thing that I was not expecting was to feel as relaxed as I did right away.  I was expecting the young people of Copenhagen, with their grey colored clothing, beautiful blond hair, and hip glasses, to give off that same overwhelming coolness that I found in Paris, the “we know you are not part of the Copenhagen club” attitude.  But, I found none of that.  Even with my big backpack, I comfortably made my way down the street, no glares of judgment coming my way.  Another thing the Scandinavians like:  equality, and yep I got a taste of that right away!

I spent the evening wandering around the area, especially delighted by the colorful buildings of Nyhavn, and the docks where all the Danes were out enjoying the sunshine and swigging Carlsberg.  Which, in case you didn’t know (and personally I’m pretty sick of this slogan at this point) is “probably the best beer in the world.”

The next morning, I got up and decided it was time to be Danish!  I dressed in some neutral colors (the only colors I packed), ate a pastry (it cost six dollars), and set off to rent a bike.  Even with the storm clouds looming I decided that this was a ‘must do’ experience if I wanted to fully immerse myself in the Scandinavian lifestyle.  I eagerly picked out a nice (neutral colored) cruiser and hopped aboard.  It took maybe all of half a block to realize that I, in fact, did not like riding a bike in Copenhagen.  Let me first provide some background, I am quite a good bike rider.  I come from a very bike happy part of the world, I’ve been riding a bike since I was probably three or four years old, I usually adapt easily to new bikes (I borrowed bikes from both host families in the Pyrenees and the Loire), and have been dragged on numerous longer rides with the queen and king of cycling (my parents.)

So, why the trouble?  First problem, I decided to hop up from the bike lane to the sidewalk to adjust my seat and attempted to ride the bike over the inch high curb.  Mr. Scandinavian bike did not like this and I kid you not, threw me over the front, where I luckily (but unflatteringly) caught myself at the last moment.  A one-inch bump!  Um, in Oregon, we ride our bike up and down whole curbs!  Second problem, the fact that Copenhagen is such a bike friendly city!  Now, you’re probably thinking, “What the heck Lindsey, that’s the stupidest problem I’ve ever heard.”  But hear me out, when everyone bikes everywhere, there is a very specific set of bike standards that everyone follows.  If you don’t know them, you run the risk of running someone over, or getting run over, which may or may not have happened to me.  It’s like going to Australia and thinking you’ll immediately understand how to drive on the left side of the road, just because you know how to drive.  So, after another ten minutes biking around, I decided I was through, parked my bike for the day, and then walked it all the way back to the bike shop at the end of the day.  Although I clearly did not enjoy my biking experience, I promise Copenhagen would be a great place to bike if you were less of a wimp than me and if you familiarized yourself with biking customs before you set off.  So to commemorate my awesome bike adventure, I bought myself an “I bike KBH” tee-shirt, more out of sheer irony than anything else.

I spent the next few hours trying to find some shoes to replace a pair that had gotten waterlogged in Ireland, but after realizing I wouldn’t find a pair for less than eighty dollars (even thought the same pair cost forty dollars in the states), and after getting completely deluged by rain, I retreated to my hostel and munched on some Danish candy while trying to dry out.  Dinner of anything other than a street cart sandwich or savory pastry was pretty much out of the question due to the price.  However, my grandma had given me a little money to treat myself to a few nice meals during my trip, so I decided that this was a good time to take advantage of that.  I headed to a raw food café, called Raw 42, that my guidebook had praised and had an amazing avocado and tomato salad, spinach, apple, and kiwi juice, and a sesame vanilla cookie.  It was absolutely delicious, and if I’d had another twenty-five bucks to slap down on one meal, I would have come back the next night and tried something else!

(This is not raw food.  This is a very buttery, baked, delicious danish pastry)

I was really hoping to get to Stockholm during this trip, but by the time I made it to Copenhagen had to admit that logistically it just wasn’t going to happen.  However, I realized that Malmö, the third largest city in Sweden, was just a 40 minute train ride away, and with one travel day left over on my Eurail pass, I decided to up my country count and check out a new place.  I loved Malmö, it almost felt like I loved it more than Copenhagen, but I think that this was just that I knew so much about Copenhagen and was already expecting it to be awesome, so I couldn’t be properly wowed by it.  Malmo was lovely, the people were amazingly friendly, the buildings were colorful, but without brick (how I’d imagined Copenhagen to be), there were more coffee shops than I’d ever seen in my life (I’ve heard the Swedes drink more coffee than the people of any other country), and there was a plethora of cute shops featuring cute things with cute Scandinavian designs.  If Copenhagen is the hip, edgier (though it is so so far from edgy) side of Scandinavia, Malmö is the sight of Swedish perfection, plucked directly from the pages of an IKEA catalogue.

(Malmö, Sweden)

Though tired from walking around all day, I knew I had to take advantage of another sunny evening, and headed straight to the Tivoli gardens when I got back to Copenhagen.  The Tivoli gardens are the ‘theme park attraction’ of Copenhagen, but being Copenhagen, these gardens bear little resemblance to any notion of ‘theme park’ that one may have.  The gardens are truly magical, full of beautiful flowers, plants, peacocks, unique buildings (a taj mahal look alike), canals, eateries, and rides.  The best way I can describe the gardens is to say this:  Imagine that place you went to (theme park, store, playground, whatever) when you were little that seemed like the most magical place on earth.  That place though, that when you returned to as a grown up, had lost its magic and seemed a little faded or cheesy.  The Tivoli gardens have that same feeling of youthful magic, except it still exists for adults, and I saw children, young people, and old people all enjoying the gardens.

Though Copenhagen is not a large city, nor one brimming with attractions, I felt as though there was more that I wanted to see and decided to prolong my visit an extra night.  My extra day started with a trip over the river to see the area of Christianshavn.  I first headed to Christiana, which is an alternative community in Denmark that is an autonomous neighborhood regulated by special law.  Christiana has a hippie commune-esque feel of the pot-smoking, anarchy loving type not uncommon to my hometown, where drugs, dreadlocks, and graffiti art run rampant.  Although I know a lot of people who would think this place was nothing short of perfection, I’m going to announce my granny status now, and say that I left quickly to enjoy the quaint streets of quiet law abiders.  I then headed to the opera house and it was quite a sight.  I’m pretty sure that overhanging part is called a cantilever (again, correct me if I’m wring poppy), and let’s just say that that’s a darn impressive cantilever.

The rest of the day was spent drinking expensive coffee and wandering the trendy streets and admiring the darling flower adorned houses and quaint shops in Vesterbro a d Frederiksberg.  These areas definitely did the ‘Denmark of my imagination’ justice.  For dinner I decided to enjoy my most Danish experience to boot and got some smørrebrød (pronounced smaar-bhro) to go.  Smørrebrød literally means butter on bread and is basically an open faced sandwich.  You take a piece of Danish rye bread (a dense chewy bread, nothing like American rye bread), spread it with butter, and put on a whole host of toppings and sauces, such as smoked salmon, pickled herring, eggs, potatoes, and more.  I settled on an eggy-shrimpy piece, and a goat-cheesy, cucumbery, oniony piece, and headed down to the river to enjoy it and a Carlsberg in the sun.  This was one of those really lovely, all-is-right-in-the-world experiences and when I finished my smørrebrød, I walked down the street drinking my beer, because in Denmark you can do this, and to my granny-statues self, I felt like a true rebel.

And so ended my time in Denmark.  I put off writing this post because I had so much to say about this tiny little area of the world, and even though I’ve rambled on for quite a while now, feel like I could talk for quite a while longer on this place.  Since I don’t think I’ll manage to get all my feelings out, let me try to wrap up my thoughts on Scandinavia with these last words.

I love this place, just as I expected to.  This place of calm and quiet, of pure local ingredients, of neutral colors and natural beauty, of bicycles and bread, of hours of arctic sunlight.  It’s a beautiful and kind area of the world, and the people who live there are indeed very fortunate.