Euros Ate My Dollars

We attempted to film a video diary of the nightmarish 24-hour bus ride from Prague to Barcelona. Upon watching it now I realize it is neither funny nor interesting. There are two reasons for this.

1. We did not have the camera on hand for the funniest moments — like when I woke Ben up to find that he had drooled all over himself.
2. We did not have the camera out for our most desperate moments. You know, the moments when you scream FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I JUST WANT TO SLEEP and violently slam your seat back as far as it will go, even though you’ve been trying to be respectful of the very old, large German man behind you but you SWEAR if he wheezes, pulls your hair, or shoves your chair ONE MORE TIME you will rip the fold-down tray off the back of your seat and WHACK HIM UPSIDE THE HEAD. It was probably best I didn’t have the camera during such moments lest I fling it out of envy at those lucky folks that were inexplicably able to sleep. Instead, I cried silent tears into my jar of Nutella.

It’s funny, though, because almost immediately after disembarking, you forget those moments of agony and convince yourself it wasn’t that bad and you’d do it again. Note to my future self, who is considering taking a 24-hour bus ride: remember that time your leg was so cramped that you could no longer feel it, and in order to mobilize it you had to wrap your hands around your thigh, lift your leg up and place it in the aisle? That wasn’t fun.

I’ll go ahead and post the vlog anyway. Perhaps my mom will like it. Or the guy that searches for “dirty keebler elves” and somehow ends up on our blog.

It’s a rare event for us to be seen taking a guided tour, because we’re both cheap, and convinced that we already know everything there is to know. But of these two character flaws, cheap always wins out, which explains how we came to join the ranks of camera-toting tourists in Prague’s FREE guided city tour on the morning after Christmas. (or “Boxing Day” for you Canadians/Australians/other non-American purchasers of English language calendars.) We motivated ourselves to roll out of bed at a decent hour in order to take the four hour walking tour, all in the name of a bargain.

Monica, our Czech tour guide, first led our gigantic group of misers through the part of the city known as the Old Town, but I was too preoccupied with 1.) the numbness in my frozen toes, and 2.) calculating our money saved by taking a FREE tour, to really retain any of the facts I was supposed to be absorbing here.

But Monica captured my focus when we entered the old Jewish Quarter, as she conveyed the history of Prague’s Jews during World War II. Much like back on Crete, the Jewish population here was almost entirely decimated by Nazi-led deportation to death and concentration camps. It can be difficult for those of our generation to remember just how recent this history really is, but the point is painfully driven home by the Pinkas Synagogue in this part of town, which displays pictures drawn by Jewish children in the nearby concentration camp, Terezin. Terezin itself can be visited as a day trip from Prague, which is an excursion we did not take, but one that came with an emotional recommendation from a fellow hosteler.

Continuing through the Jewish Quarter, we also heard from Monica about a Jewish legend that likely goes back through the centuries: the tale of Prague’s Golem. For those not indoctrinated into the nerdy fantasy realms that occupied the majority of my childhood twenties, a Golem is a lumbering giant made of stone. Prague’s Golem was mystically created by a character named Rabbi Loewe, who ordered the Golem to protect Prague’s resident Jews. Sadly, the Golem proved too powerful for its own good, and Rabbi Loewe was ultimately forced to destroy his creation. There are those who believe, however, that the Golem eluded destruction at the hands of the Rabbi, and is still hiding somewhere in the Jewish Quarter today. I didn’t find the Golem, but I did find the official Golem Coffee Mug^TM in a tourist shop, and promptly purchased the very necessary souvenir.

Monica’s tour took us over the famous Charles Bridge, where we found street jazz musicians entertaining the crowds, exactly as all Prague guidebooks promise. I liked the hep cats, the street artists, and the foggy river views. I did not like the epic nation of seagulls that engulfs the bridge, rabidly dive-bombing those who dare cross, all in the name of their quest for tasty saltine crackers.

Our tour wrapped up at the Prague Castle, which provides a satisfying view over the entire city. The main attraction at the castle is actually the church that it surrounds, and since we’ve been desensitized to ancient churches after four months in Europe, we hastily appreciated it, and then beat our own path toward some more culturally rich destinations. I couldn’t make out exactly what the Czech people were calling our next few stops, but it sounded something like “toureest trahps.” Presenting…

The 1/3 Size Replica of the Eiffel Tower!
I don’t know why a 1/3 Size Replica of the Eiffel Tower! was deemed necessary in Prague, but I can tell you that it comes exactly as billed. I’ve yet to see the actual Eiffel Tower, but if the experience of climbing to the top of Prague’s swaying replica is only 1/3 as terrifying as the real thing, then I may need to enjoy the Paris original from the safety of Earth.

The Labyrinth of Mirrors
Right next to the 1/3 Size Replica of the Eiffel Tower! is the so-called Labyrinth of Mirrors, which does not exactly live up to its billing. It’s more like a Hallway With a Few Turns, But No Choice of Path of Mirrors. Some interesting photo ops (see inset), but not really worth the trip even if it were free. And it isn’t free.

The Largest Equestrian Statue in the World
Prague’s aggressive tourism industry wasn’t finished with us quite yet. Multiple city brochures reference the “Largest Equestrian Statue in the World” as one of Prague’s can’t-miss attractions. It’s even indicated on our city map by a picture of a horse that looks ready to crush downtown underfoot, Godzilla-style. It wasn’t until boarding the metro that would bring us to the LESitW that I even questioned our zombie-like ambition to visit the monument.

“Uh, Brittany, are we sure we want to see this thing? Have we ever even cared about equestrian statues? This sounds an awful lot like The World’s Biggest Ball of Twine to me.”

“Of course we want to see it! It’s the Largest Equestrian Statue IN THE WORLD.”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right.”

For the benefit of those who may come after us, it turns out that the LESitW really IS a whole lot like The World’s Biggest Ball of Twine. Once you get there and see it, you can’t remember why in the world you came. Who is the man on the horse? What does this commemorate? Why would anyone be interested in seeing the Largest Equestrian Statue in the World? These questions may never be answered. Fittingly, we would later read that no one actually knows if this equestrian statue is the largest in the world. In other words, Prague simply makes the unsubstantiated claim, and no one else in the world can imagine caring enough to challenge them on the point. Prague Tourism Industry 1, Ben and Brittany 0.

Next time, on a very special episode of Euros Ate My Dollars, suffer vicariously through our 24-hour bus ride from Prague to Barcelona. But until then, practice your Czech with this beginner’s language guide!

Dobreh Den = Hello
No = Yes (good luck with this one!)
Ne = No
Dekuji = Thank you
Prosim = Please/You’re welcome/Can I help you?/Fo shizzle my nizzle
Pivo = Beer

Allow me to add my $0.02 to our Christmas Eve misadventures in trying to locate the fabled Christmas Carp. While it is true that we never found the alleged bathtubs of live, splashing carp for sale, all was not lost. While wandering through Old Town Square, we stumbled into a line of people stretching across the common area. I followed the line to its source, and discovered that volunteer chefs were ladling out bowls of soup to anyone willing to endure the line. A little probing was enough to discover that the soup was FISH soup, and I think I understood that it was made from fish heads. Of course, that was really all I needed to hear, so I ran to join the line.

While waiting for soup, I made friends with the elderly Czech man in line in front of me. We didn’t speak a word of each other’s language, but we shared a spiritual understanding that crossed language borders. We ended up eating our fish soup together, and Brittany and I experienced some true Czech generosity when our new friend reached into his plastic bag to retrieve a loaf of bread for his soup, and produced a loaf for Brittany and me as well. Fish Soup is Czech for Merry Christmas!

The story of Europe goes like this: beautiful, irreplaceable, historically significant buildings and towns stood carefully preserved for 2000 years. Then the Nazis came along and blew everything up during World War II.

The war devastated Europe, and you’re now just as likely to see a war memorial as you are to see an ancient monument or gothic church.

Prague is unique it that it somehow escaped Nazi bombing, making it one of the best-preserved cities on the continent. Wandering the streets of the old town and Jewish ghetto is a remarkable experience – if you’re able to ignore the hordes of camera-wielding tourists, it feels as if you’re walking through a medieval village. Instead of pointing out the site on which the oldest synagogue in Europe once stood, we were able to actually see the oldest synagogue in Europe. On our hike up to Prague castle, we saw a sign on the door of a bar that said, “open since 1492.” Now that’s something you don’t see in America.

Since the country shed communism in the Velvet Revolution of 1989, Prague has become a huge tourist destination, and you’re just as likely to run into a fellow English-speaker as you are a native. And because their city is constantly overrun with annoying foreigners, many of the Czech people we did meet were pretty grumpy. If you ever find yourself in Prague, after visiting the typical hotspots, I’d encourage you to turn off of a main avenue and get yourself seriously lost in old town. Either that, or ride the metro to a random stop and get off, without a specific destination in mind. There is always something incredible to see. Our hostel was located across the river in a working-class neighborhood, where the people were friendlier, and the food even better and cheaper.

We could never explore for too long, though, because it is seriously cold in Prague. I don’t know if we were particularly wimpy because we were coming from balmy Southern France, or because we’re acclimated to the coastal climate of Virginia, but I couldn’t stay outside for more than thirty minutes without screaming that I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE and running through the nearest door. Which is how Ben and I ended up drinking beers throughout the day, as we often and suddenly found ourselves shivering in doorways of random cafes.

On Christmas Eve, we spent an unusually long amount of time outside on an unusual quest: the hunt for the Christmas carp. Before coming to Prague, we had heard that the traditional Czech Christmas dinner includes carp. On Christmas Eve, there are alleged tubs of live carp for sale on street corners. This was a sight Ben in particular was eager to see.

So that afternoon we set out amongst the neighborhoods of Prague to find Christmas carp. We were confused when we’d wandered for a while and there wasn’t a carp in sight. So we started asking people. We’d run up to the nearest Czech and say, “fish? carp??” while doing swimming motions with our hands and make fish faces. We learned the Czech for carp was “capr,” which we unsuccessfully tried to pronounce. Inexplicably, everyone we talked to seemed to think there was a tub of carp right around the corner (well, that, or seemed bewildered and slowly backed away from us, as we screamed “FISH! PLEASE! THANK YOU!”). All we can figure is that there is a wide-scale conspiracy to keep fresh carp out of the grasp of evil tourists, because our exhaustive search elicited no fish, alive or dead.

We selected Sir Toby’s Hostel primarily because it provides a free Christmas Eve dinner. So, hoping to allay our disappointment after our failed hunt for the carp, we trudged back to the hostel in order to be the first in line for the feast.

The meal helped Christmas feel a little bit more like Christmas for Ben and me, with home-cooked stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, turkey and delicious desserts. Having missed out on all the goodies at home on Thanksgiving, we both appreciated the comfort food, despite Ben being disappointed that carp wasn’t served. There was a Czech spin on the meal, however, as all the food was served with the obligatory abundance of beer.

Our hostel also organized a visit to a midnight mass at the local Anglican church. In an effort to make it feel a little bit more like Christmas at home, we decided to brave the sub-zero temperatures of Prague at night and tag along. I can’t remember too much about the service because 1. I was freezing (the only heat in the cathedral was a pathetic foot warmer beneath the pew), and 2. the preacher was scary. He had a booming, deep voice that resonated loudly throughout the old church as he bellowed his sermon. He stood atop the pulpit with a dim spotlight shining from above creating frightening shadows on his face. I couldn’t pay attention to what he was saying for fear that he was condemning me to eternity in the fiery depths.

Christmas day was a lazy one – we slept in, hung out with fellow hostellers, enjoyed the Christmas markets and talked to our families on the phone. That evening we had tickets to a performance of The Nutcracker at the National Theater. The Nutcracker in Richmond is a Christmas tradition for us, and we are often forced to pay up to $60 per ticket for seats. So we were a bit more than pleasantly surprised when we discovered that tickets for the production in Prague cost 30 crowns, or about $1.50. Granted, the only seats remaining were in the very back row of the gigantic theater. But we had fun playing with the small binoculars provided for those in the nosebleeds.

The performance was incredible — it was technically a strange combination of The Nutcracker and A Christmas Carol, so Ebenezer Scrooge and Bob Cratchit had starring roles. In an inexplicable twist, the dancer who played Bob Cratchit also played a shirtless devil that danced around with demons dressed like mummies. I was confused during that scene.

We returned to the hostel to find the downstairs pub lively with Christmas cheer, and spent the evening teaching Australians a few American drinking games and learning about all the crazy animals they have down under. They have exotic/terrifying animals such as seven-inch wide spiders and yet are amazed that we have squirrels running around our backyards.

Most people travel the world to see the ancient buildings and natural wonders that the many nations have to offer. And I say: good for them! But we travel the world to eat the food. There was a point in time when we could have denied such a vicious accusation, but that fleeting moment has long passed. Our names are Ben and Brittany, and we strike museums from our travel itinerary in order to make room in our budget for the appetizers, drinks, and sweets of the world. There it is, the first step toward a recovery that I will always resist.

Prague has skyrocketed to the top of my “favorite cities” list because it knows that the path to my heart goes through my stomach. Or, alternatively, my wallet. And when the Czech Republic’s delay in adopting the euro means that beer is cheaper than water, Prague is the belle of the ball. By way of tasty lineup, allow me to present the culinary distractions of Prague that thoroughly shielded me from absorbing any unnecessary culture.

What: Trdelnik
Where: Multiple competing booths in any Prague Christmas market
Huh?: Do not allow its abundance of consonants intimidate you into avoiding this cinnamon-sugar ring of fried dough. This is exactly what the International League of Purveyors of Easily Pronounce-able Desserts (ILPEPD) is deviously banking on, as they continue to peddle over-priced, low-quality snacks with 3 letter names. Eat a trdelnik, and viva la resistance! Just make sure you keep your napkin from becoming baked on to the hot, sticky exterior, lest your girlfriend make you eat the papery section while she enjoys trdelnik sans napkin.

What: Dumplings and Sauerkraut
Where: Authentic Czech restaurants. Which means anywhere except Prague’s tourist-packed city center.
Huh?: For the equivalent of a couple US dollars, you can get a heaping plate of pork-filled potato dumplings and kraut, topped with thick gravy and a half-liter of beer. Yaarg! (read: manly Viking/Pirate roar of delight). Maybe girls have trouble with the Viking/Pirate roar, because Brittany’s version in these restaurants tends to sound more like a resigned groan. Bonus Insta-Authenticity Litmus Test: Does the restaurant staff speak English? If yes, try again.

What: Word can not be pronounced due to lack of vowels. Emit a low gutteral grunt in order to receive one from nearest Czech.
Where: Right next to trdelnik booths
Huh?: It’s basically fried dough again (hooray for Prague!) but with a Hungarian twist. The fried dough is flat, and covered in garlic butter, ketchup, and shredded cheese. A satisfying lunch, but only for the bold. Also, only for those who didn’t already have one yesterday. Trust me on this one, because it can get ugly.

What: Lo Mein. Yes, you read that right.
Where: Prague traditional town market
Huh?: Yeah… Before we ever made it to the town market, multiple locals told us about this authentic dish we simply HAD to try. They called it fried noodles, so we were instantly sold. When we found the recommended stall in the market, we knew exactly what to order. And when it arrived? Lo mein. Don’t get me wrong, I love lo mein as much as the next guy, but I think the Czechs are in for a rude awakening if they ever visit a shopping mall in the U.S., and find out what is being served at 3/5 of the restaurants in the food court. I, for one, didn’t have the heart to break it to them.

What: Beer!
Where: In the bar, in the supermarket, in your heart
Huh?: The Czech Republic is home to some fantastic beers, which must be why no one drinks less than half a liter at a time. A 12 oz (33 cL) bottle is a rare sighting in Prague, and is generally associated with toddlers being weaned off the baby formula. In bars, I drank a lot of Kozel at 17 Czech crowns per half liter. (25 crowns = 1 USD). Pilsner Urquell is more like 25 crowns, and the cheapest water I ever found in a bar was 27 crowns. Out of habit, we asked for water with our first meal in Prague, a mistake that was not repeated. Looking back, the bottle of water is the fail-safe identifier of the Czech Republic rookie.

What: Medovnik
Where: Sweet shops in residential neighborhoods
Huh?: It looks like cake, tastes like Golden Grahams, and maybe best of all, can be pronounced by the Capitalist tongue. They’re also dirt cheap, which explains why old ladies don’t feel bad about shoving three of them in their mouths at once. We smuggled some of these onto the bus at the end of our Prague diversion, but short-sightedly polished them off before the bus could leave the station. Old Czech ladies everywhere would be proud.

Next time: Czech out the continuing journey of food at Christmas Eve dinner! (can’t say I didn’t warn you…)

In addition to our legal concerns, our journey to Prague elicited another unexpected challenge. We’d commandeered a flight through RyanAir, a cheap intra-European airline. To keep flight costs low, they levy many nebulous “fees,” and enforce strict regulations, including a weight limit of 15 kilos on any checked bag. At last weigh in, our suitcases were 22 and 18 kilos. That meant, in order to avoid the exorbitant per-kilo overage fee, we had to shed ten kilos — or 22 pounds — of weight.

We attacked the challenge with fervor, as nothing motivates us more than the potential to save money (well, except for food, my greatest motivator). The problem required two steps:

1. 1. Operation: Purge
   We unloaded the contents of our luggage onto the floor of our room and started throwing stuff away. Anything we hadn’t yet used was gone. I ditched a pair of holey jeans I’ve been clinging to (I have this problem where I can’t throw jeans away. It’s like I view them as old friends, or trusty sidekicks, that stick with me through thick and thin. It explains why I have 15 pairs in my closet, but only wear two). I won’t say that Ben has been carrying around a two-pound tub of facial moisturizer, but if he was, I would have convinced him to ditch that too.
2. Operation: Reorg (you can thank Ben’s lessons in corporatespeak for that title)
   We looked at our remaining belongings: how can we fit all of this into our suitcase, carry-ons or on our person such that our suitcases weigh 15 kilos? It was like a puzzle! What followed involved much inaccurate weight guestimations and ridiculous suggestions: what if I wore all of my jewelry? Is that suspicious? Multiple belts? The low point was when I sat in front of my bag for 15 minutes stubbornly convinced there was a way I could conceivably wear two pairs of shoes.

In the end, our backpacks were nearly ripping at the seams and we were both wearing multiple pairs of paints and pretty much every shirt we own. We were so padded our arms stuck out from our bodies and I could barely bend my knees. As we stiffly approached the check-in desk, we knew we were still over weight, but had resigned ourselves to being OK with only paying for an extra three kilos.

We heaved our luggage onto the scale and watched with bated breath as the neon green number flashed on the screen. The moment of truth arrived: WE WERE ONLY ONE KILO OVER. Ben and I couldn’t help but cheer at the news, and now consider the accomplishment one of the greatest victories of our trip.

We received a few strange stares when we boarded the plane and started shedding layer after layer of clothing, and the stewardess was a bit confused as to why the seat next to us was piled high with shirts. It didn’t help that I accidentally hit the “call attendant” button while flinging sweaters over my head. Twice.

Our trip to Prague wasn’t as simple as a single plane ride. It was only after an eight-hour bus ride, another bus ride, a plane, a trolley, a train, a metro and a tram that we found ourselves at the door of our hostel in Prague.

Three things happened within the first few hours of my arrival in the Czech Republic that solidified my love for the country, forever. The first happened as we were waiting for the train from Brno to Prague. There, we picked up some gyros for the equivalent of 2 USD. Not only were they delicious, we were coming from a place where the driest, crummiest sandwich will run you 7 USD, minimum. Tastes like savings!

The second occurred when we were greeted by the friendliest hostel receptionist I have ever encountered and she immediately invited us to a Czech Christmas cookie baking workshop that evening. I was like, HELL YEAH. Then Ben was like, BUT I’M LE TIRED. Then I was like, GOOD MORE COOKIES FOR ME.

Despite our exhaustion, I insisted that we stay awake for the treats. Apparently, Czech people take great pride in their Christmas cookie tradition. Families often bake up to 20 varieties, and all vie for who can bake the best tasting and prettiest cookie. A Czech girl who had spent some time in the States compared it to the competition that exists between the tacky Christmas lights homeowners. We spent our evening learning how to make two varieties of Czech cookies, eating the imperfect ones (and all the perfect ones reserved for Christmas Eve dinner that we could get our hands on), and licking the bowls, much to the horror of the Czechs, who insisted that no one does that except for little kids. So I didn’t tell them that sometimes I buy rolls of raw cookie dough with no intention of baking it.

After baking cookies, we wandered downstairs to the hostel’s pub to check out the scene. It was here that I discovered the final, and possibly most lasting, fact that will endear the Czech Republic to me for eternity: the beer is cheaper than water. Seriously. A bottle of water costs about one euro. The beer? about one U.S. dollar. ONE DOLLAR. And I’m not talking about a wimpy pint of beer; I’m talking about a giant, half-liter-sized mug of beer. I’m ALSO not talking about some sorry excuse for beer that actually tastes like pee. They offer quality pilsners, hefeweissens and dark brews for cheap. It was going to be a very merry Christmas indeed!