The Rumburk Wall
In 1977 the Sex Pistols sang Holidays in the Sun, referencing the famous wall in Berlin but neglecting to mention the Rumburk Wall above.
Yesterday as I made my way over the wall via a steel stairway to Billa supermarket below, the sun was long gone and thunder was rumbling across deep grey skies.
The Rumburk Wall wasn't built to keep pesky capitalist bourgeois running dog western pigs out, it was built to provide solid ground for the bus station on top, which still stands today, next door to the train station which is also the very end of the northern Ustecky rail link. Next stop Deutschland ... by bus because the existing track between Rumburk and Ebersbach no longer operates, closing in 2010.
Yesterday as I made my way over the wall via a steel stairway to Billa supermarket below, the sun was long gone and thunder was rumbling across deep grey skies.
The Rumburk Wall wasn't built to keep pesky capitalist bourgeois running dog western pigs out, it was built to provide solid ground for the bus station on top, which still stands today, next door to the train station which is also the very end of the northern Ustecky rail link. Next stop Deutschland ... by bus because the existing track between Rumburk and Ebersbach no longer operates, closing in 2010.
The Berlin Wall fell in 1989 but the Rumburk Wall stands, somewhat dilapidated yet still solid ... in places. Johnny Rotten should write a new song.
Storm clouds were brewing as I skirted the horse-field to home and I was pleased to see a fresh delivery of grass had been made to the station, above. The Ukrainian navvies haven't got round to putting the windows in.
Lipa Riviera
Forget France or Spain because a sandy riviera has come to Lipa on the banks of Cimrak pond, abandoned factory on the far beach and random fishermen cursing hyperactive swimmers. A little jetty has even been built to lead bathers off the beach to dive from wooden boards into deep and muddy water filled with huge carp and patrolled on the surface by a batallion of ducks.
Due to 39C heat today the riviera was busy, especially with Ukrainians and their divebombing children.
Due to 39C heat today the riviera was busy, especially with Ukrainians and their divebombing children.
Before arriving on the beach I'd been up to Snežna (below) to what I thought would be a good place to swim but turned out to be an inaccessible pond filled with basking fish. The pontoon must be a landing srage during carp season at Christmas. So I could get in the water ok but getting out would be tricky. I caught some rays before wandering down to the lido.
Praha in Underpants
Sun rising as the 05.24 train took us south through forest to Decin where we changed for Praha. After a quick McDonald's breakfast, by 10am I was under examination in my underpants in a doctor's surgery on Vodickova street. The doc seemed satisfied - fitness and dietary regime for a while worked wonders - although the blood tests may prove otherwise ...
By 10.30am I was back on sun-kissed streets with a free day in the city ahead of me so I jumped on a tram to Shotgun and after an amusing interlude with a couple of fellow Shotgunners during which I heroically avoided drinking whisky, I took it from there on foot...
... on a nostalgic walk back in time to Cream Street/na Smetance and the elementary school where I had my very first teaching job. I've only recently learned that the school housed a regiment of SS soldiers during the Nazi German occupation of Czechoslovakia in WW2. Nobody mentioned that when I was there.
After a flood of school yard memories and the realisation that the kids will now be in their 40s I wandered on and came across U Bohouse on Polska street, without doubt the greatest pub in the entire history of Praha pubs. When living just up the road in eminent entomologist Dr Hodek's flat I would lubricate in U Bohouse on an almost nightly basis, even celebrating my 27th birthday there when my friends gave the order to drink 27 beers. I managed 17 plus shots and had to be carried home ... not far.
While the school on Cream Street had suffered Nazis, the U Bohouse pub had been occupied by Soviet generals during their invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968. They'd slept upstairs and drunk downstairs. From that time onwards, the pub gained a reputation for dissident voices amongst its regulars.
Heading downhill for the last train home at 20.47 I mused that I'd taken three of the most beautiful girls I've ever met to that pub and all three had enjoyed it so much they came back for more. No matter the time of day, U Bohouse held a certain attraction difficult to assign and there was always a defiant glow to the pivo.
The Praha tourist season was clearly picking up and with an hour to kill I sat outside on Wenceslas Square, drank coffee and watched the multi-national world go by. At midnight, three hours later, I was wandering across the field and home.
While the school on Cream Street had suffered Nazis, the U Bohouse pub had been occupied by Soviet generals during their invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968. They'd slept upstairs and drunk downstairs. From that time onwards, the pub gained a reputation for dissident voices amongst its regulars.
Heading downhill for the last train home at 20.47 I mused that I'd taken three of the most beautiful girls I've ever met to that pub and all three had enjoyed it so much they came back for more. No matter the time of day, U Bohouse held a certain attraction difficult to assign and there was always a defiant glow to the pivo.
The Praha tourist season was clearly picking up and with an hour to kill I sat outside on Wenceslas Square, drank coffee and watched the multi-national world go by. At midnight, three hours later, I was wandering across the field and home.
Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds on Square of Peace
Let's call him Bob, a friend who had a friend working in one of the science laboratories at San Francisco's Berkeley University who posted Bob in Praha sheets of paper coated in LSD aka Acid and from first hand experience I can report that it was extremely high quality LSD.
We - 2 British, 2 Americans - took it around 3pm on a very warm summer's afternoon while sitting on the steps of Ludmila's Church on Namesti Miru/Square of Peace and with tranquil effect it was some sort of holy experience. Shame I can barely remember any of it.
The dot of paper didn't take long to kick in and what we did from then until midnight (a 9 hour trip) is almost unknown, although I do remember sitting on more steps and appreciating an old town scene before falling back into a deep trippy state. I'm guessing there was a lot of sitting on steps involved that day.
We 'came to' in a nonstop kebab place on Narodni Trida, downtown Praha. The four of us were still together, no injuries, no distress and we were devouring shawarma as if the most delicious food ever made.
Making my way home, I discovered the night tram had become a roller-coaster when the merest bump on the track prompted a wild lurch forwards. Every curve was a handbrake turn on a race track. The tram screeched like a wild stallion as it pulled into my stop. There sits a long line of shops - concrete, grey and rectangular - and a travel agent was already advertising winter skiing trips. Looking at photos of cute snow-filled Alpine resorts I was convinced I was actually there in the cold. Look around and I see Praha 4 socialist suburbs on a hot summer's evening. Back to the photo and I'm in the Alps again. Bizarre. I played the In The Alps/Praha 4 game for a good 20 minutes.
We - 2 British, 2 Americans - took it around 3pm on a very warm summer's afternoon while sitting on the steps of Ludmila's Church on Namesti Miru/Square of Peace and with tranquil effect it was some sort of holy experience. Shame I can barely remember any of it.
The dot of paper didn't take long to kick in and what we did from then until midnight (a 9 hour trip) is almost unknown, although I do remember sitting on more steps and appreciating an old town scene before falling back into a deep trippy state. I'm guessing there was a lot of sitting on steps involved that day.
We 'came to' in a nonstop kebab place on Narodni Trida, downtown Praha. The four of us were still together, no injuries, no distress and we were devouring shawarma as if the most delicious food ever made.
Making my way home, I discovered the night tram had become a roller-coaster when the merest bump on the track prompted a wild lurch forwards. Every curve was a handbrake turn on a race track. The tram screeched like a wild stallion as it pulled into my stop. There sits a long line of shops - concrete, grey and rectangular - and a travel agent was already advertising winter skiing trips. Looking at photos of cute snow-filled Alpine resorts I was convinced I was actually there in the cold. Look around and I see Praha 4 socialist suburbs on a hot summer's evening. Back to the photo and I'm in the Alps again. Bizarre. I played the In The Alps/Praha 4 game for a good 20 minutes.
,Home was successfully located and I managed to wake up in my own bed, body intact, but I had to get to the railway station for a train to Katowice via Ostrava (Cz) to watch a football match between Poland and England, two nations well-known for the violence of their fans. I made coffee and went back to bed to drink it. Closing my eyes I was instantly inside a two-man tent with vividly coloured liquid cascading down sloping canvas walls. Eyes open, I was in my bedroom. Eyes closed, two-man tent with liquid walls.
This was a thoroughly enjoyable and unexpected camping trip in bed, but I had to get moving, so I had a shower, convinced the drops of water were diamonds and I was now rich. I whooped with joy and watched individual droplets burst in slow motion from the nozzle to splat on the tiles. Disappointingly I realised I wasn't rich, got dressed and went to meet Jimmy at the station. We were both in a happy hippy post-LSD state of contentment.
In the restaurant car, two Czech men on the next table told us that today was the birthday of one of their neighbour's brother's plumber's friend so they had to drink and they'd like us to join them ... We fell off in Ostrava, smashed.
The game itself was a blur of riot police, grey socialist housing, dogs, grey sky, skinheads, well-dressed, older English fans and missiles being indiscriminately hurled. A group of skinheads tried to pull down a fence. The cops watched them for a while before releaasing the dogs and following them up with batons. The Poles weren't interested in fighting the English, they were beating the crap out of each other.
Afterwards me and Bob sat in Katowice station waiting for a train to whisk us to safety on Czech ground. We ate a roast chicken on the concourse and as we did so a large group of skinheads came marching in perfect unison through the station, chanting and saluting in a nazi-esque manner. We kept our heads down and got away with it. In Ostrava we had to wait 5 hours for the train to Praha. Luckily there was a nonstop platform pub where we got smashed again.
This was a thoroughly enjoyable and unexpected camping trip in bed, but I had to get moving, so I had a shower, convinced the drops of water were diamonds and I was now rich. I whooped with joy and watched individual droplets burst in slow motion from the nozzle to splat on the tiles. Disappointingly I realised I wasn't rich, got dressed and went to meet Jimmy at the station. We were both in a happy hippy post-LSD state of contentment.
In the restaurant car, two Czech men on the next table told us that today was the birthday of one of their neighbour's brother's plumber's friend so they had to drink and they'd like us to join them ... We fell off in Ostrava, smashed.
The game itself was a blur of riot police, grey socialist housing, dogs, grey sky, skinheads, well-dressed, older English fans and missiles being indiscriminately hurled. A group of skinheads tried to pull down a fence. The cops watched them for a while before releaasing the dogs and following them up with batons. The Poles weren't interested in fighting the English, they were beating the crap out of each other.
Afterwards me and Bob sat in Katowice station waiting for a train to whisk us to safety on Czech ground. We ate a roast chicken on the concourse and as we did so a large group of skinheads came marching in perfect unison through the station, chanting and saluting in a nazi-esque manner. We kept our heads down and got away with it. In Ostrava we had to wait 5 hours for the train to Praha. Luckily there was a nonstop platform pub where we got smashed again.
Trip to the City
Man it was a scorcher, pounding cobbles under fierce sun, admiring chicks in vests and hot pants. The tram was the way to go with evenings spent trundling around Vinohrady and Strasnice neighbourhoods, paying a fortune for coffee at intermittent pitstops and enjoying the buzzy nightlife on balmy city streets. At first sight of McD's on IP Pavlova I jumped off for a mandatory double cheeseburger and strawberry milkshake.
The church steps on namesti Miru were awash with sunlight and as I basked and munched my mind went back to '96 when, on these same steps, myself and three other merry pranksters had dropped acid, airmailed into Praha from San Francisco.
The church steps on namesti Miru were awash with sunlight and as I basked and munched my mind went back to '96 when, on these same steps, myself and three other merry pranksters had dropped acid, airmailed into Praha from San Francisco.
But that's another story ...
Back to the present and Foto Skoda who did a great job on a new digital passport photo as did hairdresser Ella on my hair, and just up the road on Vaclavske namesti, Marks & Spencer's sold proper bacon as well as a delicious cheese and onion quiche. Bonus!
Back to the present and Foto Skoda who did a great job on a new digital passport photo as did hairdresser Ella on my hair, and just up the road on Vaclavske namesti, Marks & Spencer's sold proper bacon as well as a delicious cheese and onion quiche. Bonus!
Heat rising and disaster looming when I ran out of bifta, yet Zizkov was close enough and so a visit to Shotgun seemed the polite thing to do ... Shotgun, Shotgun, Shotgun .... the jewel in Prague's crown.
Afterwards I sat in JZP park and listened to a guy play guitar very well, particularly enjoying a rendition of Smells Like Teen Spirit, a song I've always regarded as the sound of post-revolutionary Praha.
There were also pressing matters of a boring business nature to see to and I spent a whole day walking in the sun, riding metro and tram, drinking expensive drinks and talking shop with some success. Malostranska metro still has the same smell as 30 years ago when I used it to go and teach at the Ministry of Finance on Letenska. Supposedly nearby Shakespeare & Sons bookstore seemed to be invisible and when my legs could take no more I called it a day and headed to Hlavni Nadrazi for the 20.45 last train home.
Afterwards I sat in JZP park and listened to a guy play guitar very well, particularly enjoying a rendition of Smells Like Teen Spirit, a song I've always regarded as the sound of post-revolutionary Praha.
There were also pressing matters of a boring business nature to see to and I spent a whole day walking in the sun, riding metro and tram, drinking expensive drinks and talking shop with some success. Malostranska metro still has the same smell as 30 years ago when I used it to go and teach at the Ministry of Finance on Letenska. Supposedly nearby Shakespeare & Sons bookstore seemed to be invisible and when my legs could take no more I called it a day and headed to Hlavni Nadrazi for the 20.45 last train home.
The quiche had been consumed before Kralupy nad Vltavou and as dark forest and silver river flashed by I mused about the eternal restlessness of man ...
When in the city,
you want to be in the countryside.
When in the countryside,
you want to be in the city.
On this evening I most definitely wanted the countryside and stepping off at midnight onto the Lipa platform I was instantly hit by cool fresh air and a sense of deep peace in the fields as I wandered wearily home.
When in the city,
you want to be in the countryside.
When in the countryside,
you want to be in the city.
On this evening I most definitely wanted the countryside and stepping off at midnight onto the Lipa platform I was instantly hit by cool fresh air and a sense of deep peace in the fields as I wandered wearily home.
Green & Greener
Rambling Spring Journey
Mr Waccy-Baccy somewhat delayed the start of this trip but once we got going ... a field of horses was blocking the path again! The fence had been moved and the field was a quagmire churned by hooves, forcing walkers like me to tiptoe round it and onto a platform where a facelift was being given to the station building, paid for by the EU.
At Ceska Lipa we had to change onto a bus to Mlada Boleslav, capital of Skodaland, then back on the train to Kolin, pausing in Ceska Lipa where a bus was spotted heading for Sidliste Lada, a housing estate named after Josef Lada, one of the nation's favourite painters who also drew the original cartoon of Private Josef Svejk.
Kolin arrived, a mysterious town I'd changed trains at yet never explored. The Labe/Elbe river runs through it and a former Czech radio corresspondent in London showed me round and pointed out a former Meinl Grocery store where in the 1960s Milos Forman had shot one of his earliest films of the New Wave - Cerny Petr/Black Peter. Forman always tried to use local characters in his films, this one too, making it a firm favourite with Kolin residents.
At Ceska Lipa we had to change onto a bus to Mlada Boleslav, capital of Skodaland, then back on the train to Kolin, pausing in Ceska Lipa where a bus was spotted heading for Sidliste Lada, a housing estate named after Josef Lada, one of the nation's favourite painters who also drew the original cartoon of Private Josef Svejk.
Kolin arrived, a mysterious town I'd changed trains at yet never explored. The Labe/Elbe river runs through it and a former Czech radio corresspondent in London showed me round and pointed out a former Meinl Grocery store where in the 1960s Milos Forman had shot one of his earliest films of the New Wave - Cerny Petr/Black Peter. Forman always tried to use local characters in his films, this one too, making it a firm favourite with Kolin residents.
After the radio interview was done we wandered round town and had a coffee before retracing exactly the same journey in reverse in the dark to Varnsdorf whose theatre was presenting Bohumil Hrabal's Pabitele, or Swindlers, tellingly written way before capitalism had got the nation by its balls. The show was produced by the Usti nad Labem Drama Studio.
Days like this are so agreeable when there's Spring in the step ... until now when it is pissing down like a burst faucet.
Days like this are so agreeable when there's Spring in the step ... until now when it is pissing down like a burst faucet.
A Story ....
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A Riot in Rumburk & the Sad & Sorry Demise of Harrods
On a day that saw monsoonesque rain, raging winds, fierce sunlight, thunder and lightening, I took a forest bus to Rumburk on a minor business venture.
Being a Marxist-Maoist-Sandanista Revolutionary Guerilla means that business isn't exactly my forte, although on this occasion it was a success, and so to celebrate I walked down to the Park of the Rumburk Riots & Rebellion which commemorates the 1000 Czech soldiers who rose up against the Austro-Hungarian army in 1918 by refusing to obey orders. They went on to liberate Rumburk and then marched to Novy Bor, hoping to agitate a widespread Bohemian revolution, before being surrounded and captured. Most of the rebels were imprisoned, while ten were shot, including leader Frantisek Noha, who on arrest stated his profession as 'circus artist'. Today his grave lies in a cemetery in Plzen, the town where Franta had worked for Skoda and drunk one of the world's greatest beers. He was caught by the enemy on the outskirts of Rumburk, which back then would have been completely encircled by dense forest. Franta Hood and his Merry Czechs took on their oppressor in a pristine green haven, albeit failing gallantly with honour intact.
Being a Marxist-Maoist-Sandanista Revolutionary Guerilla means that business isn't exactly my forte, although on this occasion it was a success, and so to celebrate I walked down to the Park of the Rumburk Riots & Rebellion which commemorates the 1000 Czech soldiers who rose up against the Austro-Hungarian army in 1918 by refusing to obey orders. They went on to liberate Rumburk and then marched to Novy Bor, hoping to agitate a widespread Bohemian revolution, before being surrounded and captured. Most of the rebels were imprisoned, while ten were shot, including leader Frantisek Noha, who on arrest stated his profession as 'circus artist'. Today his grave lies in a cemetery in Plzen, the town where Franta had worked for Skoda and drunk one of the world's greatest beers. He was caught by the enemy on the outskirts of Rumburk, which back then would have been completely encircled by dense forest. Franta Hood and his Merry Czechs took on their oppressor in a pristine green haven, albeit failing gallantly with honour intact.
After a refreshing reefer I ambled back to the station along May 9th Street (victory of the Soviet Union over Nazi Germany in 1945) via a very new Billa supermarket (great bakery) and managed to get on the wrong train, ending up over the border in a different country.
The ticket guy was highly anmused by this mishap and took it upon himself to direct the English fool onto the correct train at Valdek, giving me a farewell "God Save the King!" on the platform. The ticket lady on the return train laughed at my story and let me off paying. Travel is becoming free! Or, more likely, they think I'm a senile old-age pensioner, lost in central Europe.
The ticket guy was highly anmused by this mishap and took it upon himself to direct the English fool onto the correct train at Valdek, giving me a farewell "God Save the King!" on the platform. The ticket lady on the return train laughed at my story and let me off paying. Travel is becoming free! Or, more likely, they think I'm a senile old-age pensioner, lost in central Europe.
Finally onto Varnsdorf to find Harrods the department store has closed down! Kaput! Fuckeroonied! Unbelievable! That shop sold absolutely everything and anything you could wish to buy, no problem. Every desire catered to and Harrods' Varnsdorf branch satisfied it. Thank God Monika's department store in Rumburk is still going strong, even if the ceiling creaks worryingly when browsing menswear.
With heavy heart, under heavy grey skies, I surveyed the carcass of this once imperious shopping emporium, remembering its vast selection of plastic crap spread out over four floors. I never had the bollocks to go down to the basement.
There were carpets, shoes, tools, nuts and bolts, drills, all manner of clothes, underwear, garden ornaments, furniture, gnomes, human food, dog food, cat food, bird food, fish food, every kind of freakin food, kitchen utensils, cosmetics, shampoo, rubber dinghies, condoms, cleaning fluid, toys, bikes, candy, and even wigs of hair in choices of blonde, blue, pink, purple, black, etc.
All gone ... Harrods' absence is the same as the Queen dying.
There were carpets, shoes, tools, nuts and bolts, drills, all manner of clothes, underwear, garden ornaments, furniture, gnomes, human food, dog food, cat food, bird food, fish food, every kind of freakin food, kitchen utensils, cosmetics, shampoo, rubber dinghies, condoms, cleaning fluid, toys, bikes, candy, and even wigs of hair in choices of blonde, blue, pink, purple, black, etc.
All gone ... Harrods' absence is the same as the Queen dying.
Available Now
... on THIS link
Hurry while stocks last!!!
Hurry while stocks last!!!
Detour Down Strawberry Street
The 05.29 train left bang on time, headed for Kolin where we changed and had breakfast and a reefer before boarding another wagon headed for good old HB. The trip was 220km, taking 4 and a half hours. My return ticket cost a staggering 750kc/$34. I've flown to Scotland for the same price.
"It was better under socialism," I said to the ticket lady.
"In some ways," she answered.
"It was better under socialism," I said to the ticket lady.
"In some ways," she answered.
Brod station was as coolly, madly communist as ever and the sun came out on the forecourt. A taxi dropped me at the psycho hospital where Ondra lives and works. The nearest pub, about 50 metres away, is U Nemcu/At the Hospital. You can cadge a light from a surgeon and smoke there. It's a private pub that serves anyone with cash.
We drank coffee on the balcony and looked at Lipnice then wandered round town and ended up in Fica bar, no longer a nonstop. It was like going back in time. Cepice was still sitting there swilling pivo and over a reefer outside we reminisced about the hurricane that had blown that time we'd gone outside for a reefer ... Back then, huge chunks of building material were flying from rooftops, causing us to dash back inside, spliff between teeth and into the sanctuary of Fica. Out in the forest, trunks of pine trees were snapped like matchsticks.
In the present, unfortunately Mirka wasn't working, although her replacement was almost as hot. When a sozzled old fucker fell off his barstool, the barmaid berated him coarsely before picking him up and dusting him down.
Fica hadn't changed at all, apart from having to go outside for a fag.
We drank coffee on the balcony and looked at Lipnice then wandered round town and ended up in Fica bar, no longer a nonstop. It was like going back in time. Cepice was still sitting there swilling pivo and over a reefer outside we reminisced about the hurricane that had blown that time we'd gone outside for a reefer ... Back then, huge chunks of building material were flying from rooftops, causing us to dash back inside, spliff between teeth and into the sanctuary of Fica. Out in the forest, trunks of pine trees were snapped like matchsticks.
In the present, unfortunately Mirka wasn't working, although her replacement was almost as hot. When a sozzled old fucker fell off his barstool, the barmaid berated him coarsely before picking him up and dusting him down.
Fica hadn't changed at all, apart from having to go outside for a fag.
On the train home that same day, I worried for the future as I watched an elderly lady play a game on her phone while her husband watched for the entire hour from Brod to Kutna Hora.
The horses were sleeping when I got back, circling their field before home. Seeing a horse asleep on its feet reminded me of a colleague I'd had in China who we called 'H' for horse, because he was famous for falling asleep while standing up and teaching his English lessons. Unlike H, I slept like a dog.
The horses were sleeping when I got back, circling their field before home. Seeing a horse asleep on its feet reminded me of a colleague I'd had in China who we called 'H' for horse, because he was famous for falling asleep while standing up and teaching his English lessons. Unlike H, I slept like a dog.
Day Trip to Děčín
On official business, under brilliant sun, I headed across the forest in search of a public health insurance office in Decin, via Chribska, on the public bus, or 'Loser Cruiser' as Americans call it.
At some point on the journey we left Czech territory for ten minutes while travelling through a lump of Germany and the settlement of Seiffhenersdorf, a town with spotless shops and immaculately tended gardens, before returning to scruffy CZ at Rumburk, marked by a pub and a shop selling garden gnomes. No border, no passport control.
At some point on the journey we left Czech territory for ten minutes while travelling through a lump of Germany and the settlement of Seiffhenersdorf, a town with spotless shops and immaculately tended gardens, before returning to scruffy CZ at Rumburk, marked by a pub and a shop selling garden gnomes. No border, no passport control.
The sun had put a spring in everyone's step as Decin was bathed in splendidly warm light. Official business done, I walked across the town, castle and bridge that spans the meandering Labe river (Elbe in German) springing from the Giant Krkonose mountains and streaming down to form the broad course of water which flows finally into the North Sea.
At Pod Viaduktem I remembered the metal container I'd visited for covid pcr tests and the cute nurses who had stood there all day, rain or shine, administering it. The container is gone, as is covid ... perhaps ... and now I'm wondering where the hell it all went.
At Pod Viaduktem I remembered the metal container I'd visited for covid pcr tests and the cute nurses who had stood there all day, rain or shine, administering it. The container is gone, as is covid ... perhaps ... and now I'm wondering where the hell it all went.
Winter Resumes
On opening the curtains this morning, the world had turned white for the second time this winter. Kids were out on sledges, joyful shrieks filling the air as sport resumed after a warm front had passed. Slush had turned to fresh snow, trees were glazed in frost and forlorn ducks stood on a sheet of ice coating the pond. When I came back from the brewery, via the graveyard, the sky had become a spectacle of light as snow continued to fall.
I'm not sure how he does it, but Micky Microchip, who lives in my phone, keeps taking these photos. The beams of light are snowflakes on long exposure.
Snow puppies came crawling across the spruce ...
... by day the earth was frozen solid ...
... and the uphill walk home felt like scaling Everest.
War Planes
A distant droning roar of aircraft engines can sometimes be heard late at night from my bed and tonight at 3.am from an open window. The humming boom is being made by a large, low-flying, slow-going aircraft. The sky in this region isn't known for regular flight paths, other than occasional sightings of very high-flying passenger jets. This was a military incursion that got me thinking of Russian threats, NATO manoeuvres and spies in the sky.
Not far from where the plane is snooping, Putin is trying to bomb Ukraine into submission, just as he did with a relentless shelling of Chechnya 20 years ago. Big state bullies little state and dangles the nuclear threat in front of the world's eyes. Similar tactics have been used by Russian forces operating in Syria and Africa. The UN once called Chechen capital Grozny the most destroyed city on earth.
A 20 something Russian guy, escaping the military draft by studying in Dubai, told me of a groundswell in middle-aged and older opinion against the dictatorship. Let's hope it's strong enough to topple the motherfucker hiding behind thick Kremlin walls.
Nb. The slideshow below is of peaceful winter days here and comes thanks to another laptop that knows how to put a slideshow together.
Not far from where the plane is snooping, Putin is trying to bomb Ukraine into submission, just as he did with a relentless shelling of Chechnya 20 years ago. Big state bullies little state and dangles the nuclear threat in front of the world's eyes. Similar tactics have been used by Russian forces operating in Syria and Africa. The UN once called Chechen capital Grozny the most destroyed city on earth.
A 20 something Russian guy, escaping the military draft by studying in Dubai, told me of a groundswell in middle-aged and older opinion against the dictatorship. Let's hope it's strong enough to topple the motherfucker hiding behind thick Kremlin walls.
Nb. The slideshow below is of peaceful winter days here and comes thanks to another laptop that knows how to put a slideshow together.
Dubai Escape
When working in Dubai you receive an employment visa, which must be cancelled by your employer before you can leave. I found this out to my cost, forcing me to hang around for a few days and pay a visit to Silicon Oasis one more time.
There were plenty of people in the same line at the airport immigration police desk. The cops weren't interested in our plight, telling us to get our employer to cancel the visa before flying. I'm lucky in having people to fall back on, but the African lady, screaming and crying in distress, "I just wanna go to my country" will have a truly tough time getting away ...
The journey out felt like being released from jail ... not that I've ever been to jail, but I imagine the feeling is very similar when you are held against your wishes. The immigration people were all of a sudden incredibly friendly and polite and a Filipino Airport Helper showed me where I could smoke.
There were plenty of people in the same line at the airport immigration police desk. The cops weren't interested in our plight, telling us to get our employer to cancel the visa before flying. I'm lucky in having people to fall back on, but the African lady, screaming and crying in distress, "I just wanna go to my country" will have a truly tough time getting away ...
The journey out felt like being released from jail ... not that I've ever been to jail, but I imagine the feeling is very similar when you are held against your wishes. The immigration people were all of a sudden incredibly friendly and polite and a Filipino Airport Helper showed me where I could smoke.
In relief, I slept like a baby to Istanbul Sabiha on a plane full of expat Turks going home for a break from desert dust. However, this was not the spanking brand new airport I'd been to last year, more a building neglected since the 1970s. It was cool and retro and when asking directions to the smoking fags place, a Belgian-Turk said he'd show me the way. So we stood in a cage next to the runways and chatted about Belgium, Bruxelles and football, while inhaling aircraft and fag fumes all at the same time. The wait was 5 hours and I minced around in duty-free then McDs, back and forth to the smoking fags outside cage where I fell into conversation with an Iranian truck driver who lives in Vienna and a young Bahrainee (the first I've ever met outside Bahrain) who was on a trip to Freiburg, Germany for no apparent reason.
The flight to Praha was another vague sleep and I stumbled off into freezing grey, cloudy Czech winter. A grouchy mood in the people came with it.
The flight to Praha was another vague sleep and I stumbled off into freezing grey, cloudy Czech winter. A grouchy mood in the people came with it.
Bus AE took me directly from airport to main station and passed by almost every Prague sight tourists pay a fortune to see. I was too tired to make the final leg to Shotgun so bought a ticket home, changing in Decin, getting off at the wrong stop and walking in the dark through a little town blanketed in snow. I dropped into bed at 9pm, sparko until the next day at around 9am when the gentle mewling of a cat woke me. After a while I realised it wasn't a cat but a newborn baby and I remembered at Christmas the father had told me they were expecting a girl very soon. Stella is her name and she continues to act as my alarm clock.
Puppies In Snow
Silicon Oasis & the Mysterious Case of The Missing Wallet That Was Miraculously Recovered
Remembering stuff, especially short-term, is not my forte, I admit. However I am certain my wallet was not left in the underwear drawer, under a pair of red underpants where it was found by hotel security. It had gone AWOL and miraculously come back. I didn't ask too many questions and thanked the security detail for a piece of detective work to make Sherlock Holmes proud. At least 20 times since, the manager has told me the story of him looking for his phone until his wife points out it's in his hand.
During the 18 hours the wallet was presumed stolen, I'd blocked my bankcards. Now, the bankcards are back in my hands, albeit unusable. Two pieces of worthless plastic in a city that lives on plastic.
This prompted a frantic flurry of activity to round up some cash and saw me wandering round a gated Dubai community known as Silicon Oasis, looking for a Western Union office.
Silicon is an appropriate word for it. Nothing is real. Those palm trees may well be plastic, making them last forever in any weather. Made in China and perhaps sold by one of the many Chinese faces seen all over Dubai, behind the wheels of the flashiest cars, stamping their mark as the nouveau riche of now.
According to bayut.com, Silicon Oasis is a 'free trade zone and tech hub'. To me it was the set of Ozzie soap opera Neighbours on which Kylie Minogue made her name. The theme tune played in my head as I walked round landscaped gardens, passing countless coffee shops/restaurants while an army of gardeners polished leaves and pebbles.
During the taxi ride on the way through Academic City I'd seen premises for British, American and Emirati universities - Birmingham, Herriot Watt, Bradford, Amity ... entire faculties shipped out here. Why? Tax dodge? Money to burn? Or rinse? We'll probably never know.
There's even an Emirates Aviation University where I'd like the job teaching air hostesses.
During the 18 hours the wallet was presumed stolen, I'd blocked my bankcards. Now, the bankcards are back in my hands, albeit unusable. Two pieces of worthless plastic in a city that lives on plastic.
This prompted a frantic flurry of activity to round up some cash and saw me wandering round a gated Dubai community known as Silicon Oasis, looking for a Western Union office.
Silicon is an appropriate word for it. Nothing is real. Those palm trees may well be plastic, making them last forever in any weather. Made in China and perhaps sold by one of the many Chinese faces seen all over Dubai, behind the wheels of the flashiest cars, stamping their mark as the nouveau riche of now.
According to bayut.com, Silicon Oasis is a 'free trade zone and tech hub'. To me it was the set of Ozzie soap opera Neighbours on which Kylie Minogue made her name. The theme tune played in my head as I walked round landscaped gardens, passing countless coffee shops/restaurants while an army of gardeners polished leaves and pebbles.
During the taxi ride on the way through Academic City I'd seen premises for British, American and Emirati universities - Birmingham, Herriot Watt, Bradford, Amity ... entire faculties shipped out here. Why? Tax dodge? Money to burn? Or rinse? We'll probably never know.
There's even an Emirates Aviation University where I'd like the job teaching air hostesses.
Approaching the Oasis I spot a polo club and riding stables; lots of identical gardened villas; security gates; no people, other than gardeners. The unfathomable Yugo Dubailand turns out to be another upmarket student hostel, rather than the second-hand arms dealership I'd imagined. I hope their drains aren't blocked.
Lurking in our hostel's lobby are property developers selling places like Cedre Villas. Sharp suited and silver-tongued, their prey are the children of the wealthy who might fancy hanging loose in a nice pad in the skyscrapers and the dust.
Cedre Villas community (read: shopping) centre was empty both times I went there. Everyone too busy slaving away in high-rises with lifts from hell, to pay the rent and sky-high bills.
Spinneys supermarket is ultra-posh and looks as though staff have spent the night polishing the fruit and veg. Even a pile of peanuts looked carefully arranged. In the foyer I came across my first ever robot! It looks like a big white dog moving methodically about while cleaning the floor.
I'm sure one day soon it will be able to say, "How are you doing today, sir? I hope you are enjoying your shopping experience at Spinneys this morning, sir. And don't forget DO NOT allow your pet to shit on the floor, sir!"
When robot dog got tired, Ramesh, an Indian Energy Re-Supply Engineer, came and rammed an electrical charger up the dog’s backside to replenish energy.
At one stage, the staff (some extremely energetic and enthusiastic) started singing Happy Birthday at the top of their voices, along with a tannoy announcer joining in. I paid for my toothpaste and got out of there.
In the parking lot, confident children on e-scooters shriek teenage jokes. A taxi driver tells me that when it's too hot, the kids use him to drive 300 metres home. Paying on plastic.
Maybe Cedre Villas livens up in the evening but I doubt it. Only the hum of a robot dog disturbs the peace, rubbing the floor with its ass.
Lurking in our hostel's lobby are property developers selling places like Cedre Villas. Sharp suited and silver-tongued, their prey are the children of the wealthy who might fancy hanging loose in a nice pad in the skyscrapers and the dust.
Cedre Villas community (read: shopping) centre was empty both times I went there. Everyone too busy slaving away in high-rises with lifts from hell, to pay the rent and sky-high bills.
Spinneys supermarket is ultra-posh and looks as though staff have spent the night polishing the fruit and veg. Even a pile of peanuts looked carefully arranged. In the foyer I came across my first ever robot! It looks like a big white dog moving methodically about while cleaning the floor.
I'm sure one day soon it will be able to say, "How are you doing today, sir? I hope you are enjoying your shopping experience at Spinneys this morning, sir. And don't forget DO NOT allow your pet to shit on the floor, sir!"
When robot dog got tired, Ramesh, an Indian Energy Re-Supply Engineer, came and rammed an electrical charger up the dog’s backside to replenish energy.
At one stage, the staff (some extremely energetic and enthusiastic) started singing Happy Birthday at the top of their voices, along with a tannoy announcer joining in. I paid for my toothpaste and got out of there.
In the parking lot, confident children on e-scooters shriek teenage jokes. A taxi driver tells me that when it's too hot, the kids use him to drive 300 metres home. Paying on plastic.
Maybe Cedre Villas livens up in the evening but I doubt it. Only the hum of a robot dog disturbs the peace, rubbing the floor with its ass.
Dubai Bound
6am for a flight to Dubai, a city state in the United Arab Emirates that spurs notions of glamour, cocktail parties, penthouses, all-year suntans, camels, tax-free shopping, etc. Let the good times roll ... for a price.
Pulled from domestic bliss, my grouchy mood got worse when I checked in at Vaclav Havel airport. A dislike of air travel increases with every flight. Give me train or forest bus any day. One vague benefit is that aircraft can get you there fast and 6 hours later I was stepping into a sunny winter afternoon.
Pulled from domestic bliss, my grouchy mood got worse when I checked in at Vaclav Havel airport. A dislike of air travel increases with every flight. Give me train or forest bus any day. One vague benefit is that aircraft can get you there fast and 6 hours later I was stepping into a sunny winter afternoon.
In his 1927 novel Amerika, Franz Kafka’s genius foresaw the meteoric economic rise of the USA, thus causing a mass migration of differing nationalities from Kafka’s oppressed Europe to the Land of the Free. Today, much of the world wants to land in Dubai for similiar reasons.
By the 20th century - when Kafka was writing - America’s wild west had been subdued and conquered, while gold and silver were being discovered in rivers. This boyish, gun-toting nation was bristling recklessly on new horizons and imminent fortune. Plenty wanted in on that and Kafka in Praha imagined how it would all be.
From the rapidly industrialising east came wave after wave of invention. Every gadget man could dream up began to flow from innovative American minds, tumbling out onto factory floors and mass-produced on a titanic scale, ready for shipment to a waiting world. Life would supposedly become easier and faster, and somehow, Zizkov insurance clerk Franz Kafka had seen it coming.
One scene from the book describes the duties of an elevator boy employed by a supersized New York City apartment hotel, spending his working day whizzing up and down 99 floors in a tin box, packed in with humanity, striving to create profit for the fat cats hidden away on top floors ...
By the 20th century - when Kafka was writing - America’s wild west had been subdued and conquered, while gold and silver were being discovered in rivers. This boyish, gun-toting nation was bristling recklessly on new horizons and imminent fortune. Plenty wanted in on that and Kafka in Praha imagined how it would all be.
From the rapidly industrialising east came wave after wave of invention. Every gadget man could dream up began to flow from innovative American minds, tumbling out onto factory floors and mass-produced on a titanic scale, ready for shipment to a waiting world. Life would supposedly become easier and faster, and somehow, Zizkov insurance clerk Franz Kafka had seen it coming.
One scene from the book describes the duties of an elevator boy employed by a supersized New York City apartment hotel, spending his working day whizzing up and down 99 floors in a tin box, packed in with humanity, striving to create profit for the fat cats hidden away on top floors ...
... and that is pretty much what I’ve just been through in Dubai, modern day NYC. Kafka's spirit lingers.
At dawn, staff and students are bussed in from an upmarket youth hostel with blocked drains and unpleasant aroma when the wind drops. The accommodation is filled with hundreds of energetic youngsters from around the world, playing pool and ping pong all night long. There are many young Russians, avoiding the military draft back home.
The students are pleasant and fun, as were colleagues, but I wondered what kept them here, because it can't be the money as most of the salary goes on rent and a very high cost of living. Forget the cocktails.
The jam-packed bus drives 25km in 75 minutes, drops us beneath a skyscraper for entry into a lobby with the same kind of elevators Kafka was writing about: sardine cans; long lines waiting; delivery boys aplenty; an alarming FULL sign that makes office ants groan. In this environment, one person coughing out the covid virus would see the entire block drenched in minutes.
Wait some more. Queue ever longer. Tensions rise.
FULL, etc. Repeat countless times per week, thousands per year. The job only allows 3 weeks vacation, not to be taken in July or August when the sweat of the city sweats, and the elevators ... don't even go there.
All interior walls are made of glass, hundreds of eyes peeping through. Finding the right room in a crystal maze is not easy. Confusion and claustrophobia rising, as was the blood pressure.
Class ends at 3pm and a new one - 34 floors below - starts at 3pm. Good luck with that.
Middle-aged women show up in the lesson, unannounced, creeping out 10 minutes later, zero feedback or reason for being there. I never saw them again ... maybe lost in all that glass.
On the daily hunt for classrooms, we are accosted by cafes and bistros with plastic seats, food microwaved and served un thick plastic containers.
Money is plastic too, sucked from a bankcard in milliseconds.
“How is your day going, sir?”
"Could be better."
By the time we get home in the dark, it's time to come back.
This city is an operation designed to rinse everybody, especially tourists, of energy and, most importantly, money. Every step of the way, you’ll be forking out. Lots of it. Do not visit Dubai on a budget.
Fifty-five work-related WhatsApp messages greet me in the morning after a freezing cold night and a bedspring in the back. The messages concern incomprehensible details of lesson changes, birthdays, floor and room changes (aaaaagh!), cheap pubs nearby school, missed attendance, somebody promoted, photos of staff members' children, etc.
I wasn't in in the mood for this. It was making my blood pressure rise and the employer's insurance wasn't yet valid, so I quit on health grounds.
In hindsight, easily the best part of being there was the chicken ginger and roti served at the Golden Pak Restaurant, a short walk across a patch of desert from my frigid room.
Wait some more. Queue ever longer. Tensions rise.
FULL, etc. Repeat countless times per week, thousands per year. The job only allows 3 weeks vacation, not to be taken in July or August when the sweat of the city sweats, and the elevators ... don't even go there.
All interior walls are made of glass, hundreds of eyes peeping through. Finding the right room in a crystal maze is not easy. Confusion and claustrophobia rising, as was the blood pressure.
Class ends at 3pm and a new one - 34 floors below - starts at 3pm. Good luck with that.
Middle-aged women show up in the lesson, unannounced, creeping out 10 minutes later, zero feedback or reason for being there. I never saw them again ... maybe lost in all that glass.
On the daily hunt for classrooms, we are accosted by cafes and bistros with plastic seats, food microwaved and served un thick plastic containers.
Money is plastic too, sucked from a bankcard in milliseconds.
“How is your day going, sir?”
"Could be better."
By the time we get home in the dark, it's time to come back.
This city is an operation designed to rinse everybody, especially tourists, of energy and, most importantly, money. Every step of the way, you’ll be forking out. Lots of it. Do not visit Dubai on a budget.
Fifty-five work-related WhatsApp messages greet me in the morning after a freezing cold night and a bedspring in the back. The messages concern incomprehensible details of lesson changes, birthdays, floor and room changes (aaaaagh!), cheap pubs nearby school, missed attendance, somebody promoted, photos of staff members' children, etc.
I wasn't in in the mood for this. It was making my blood pressure rise and the employer's insurance wasn't yet valid, so I quit on health grounds.
In hindsight, easily the best part of being there was the chicken ginger and roti served at the Golden Pak Restaurant, a short walk across a patch of desert from my frigid room.
Getting out of Dubai is another story altogether ...
Christmas Grass in HB
Weeks ago, maybe in November, my neighbor's daughters (identical twins) put a miniature Christmas tree outside their front door, so I hung a little bag of chocolate coins on it, walked across the field to the station and caught a train to Havlickuv Brod for the festive season. Fried carp and potato salad were waiting.
Not wanting to intrude on family get-togethers, I'd booked a room at the still splendidly communist Penzion Zetor (Hotel Tractor) with its Disco Club well-known as an opportunity to enjoy a one-night stand. When I checked in, an old gent in suit and tie was leaving a room with a much younger lady who I doubt was a family member. Sadly the disco was closed, perhaps in respect of Jesus Christ's birthday.
Wandering down Zizkov street to Ostrov nonstop, which never ever closes, I was amazed to see the library had been covered in grass! Possibly in anticipation of the Czech Rep's impending new law to decriminalize the use of marijuana. In the USA libraries are named after former presidents, while good old HB decorates theirs with a subtly symbolic ganja plant. Somehow only HB - epicenter of Europe - can get away with this.
Christmas Eve was spent with old friend and buddy Marta, a rock and roller with local band Nasrot, and assorted friends. When we met on the square I sparked up a reefer only to be told, "You can smoke that in the pub I'm taking you to. It's an underground bar." Music to my ears, although HB on the whole is an underground type of town. I don't think the cops even bother going there anymore. They've given up trying to impose law and order.
Not wanting to intrude on family get-togethers, I'd booked a room at the still splendidly communist Penzion Zetor (Hotel Tractor) with its Disco Club well-known as an opportunity to enjoy a one-night stand. When I checked in, an old gent in suit and tie was leaving a room with a much younger lady who I doubt was a family member. Sadly the disco was closed, perhaps in respect of Jesus Christ's birthday.
Wandering down Zizkov street to Ostrov nonstop, which never ever closes, I was amazed to see the library had been covered in grass! Possibly in anticipation of the Czech Rep's impending new law to decriminalize the use of marijuana. In the USA libraries are named after former presidents, while good old HB decorates theirs with a subtly symbolic ganja plant. Somehow only HB - epicenter of Europe - can get away with this.
Christmas Eve was spent with old friend and buddy Marta, a rock and roller with local band Nasrot, and assorted friends. When we met on the square I sparked up a reefer only to be told, "You can smoke that in the pub I'm taking you to. It's an underground bar." Music to my ears, although HB on the whole is an underground type of town. I don't think the cops even bother going there anymore. They've given up trying to impose law and order.
The big day arrived, fried carp was served and after lunch we stood on psycho hospital managing director Ondra's balcony and gazed over to Lipnice nad Sazavou, the village on a hill where Jaroslav Hasek had attempted to complete his book The Good Soldier Svejk, but had keeled over in the pub and died before it was finished. In homage to the great man we'd gone into town where Ondra knew of a pub that was secretly open on Christmas day (Ondra is an expert in these things) and had a blast meeting old friends.
Bizarrely, on the way there, I asked him about a guy called Smyk, and when we entered the pub, Smyk was sitting at the bar swilling a pivo. Fate ... or Jesus had intervened! Then Aneta showed up, 12 years older than when I'd last seen her. And she was looking very good indeed. Jesus Christ would have been proud to see his birthday celebrated with such fun.
Unfortunately, due to an impending flight to freakin work, I had to leave the next day, thus missing a Nasrot concert, and it was with heavy heart that I shouldered my bag and walked to the railway station and home, via the mysterious town of Kolin.
Bizarrely, on the way there, I asked him about a guy called Smyk, and when we entered the pub, Smyk was sitting at the bar swilling a pivo. Fate ... or Jesus had intervened! Then Aneta showed up, 12 years older than when I'd last seen her. And she was looking very good indeed. Jesus Christ would have been proud to see his birthday celebrated with such fun.
Unfortunately, due to an impending flight to freakin work, I had to leave the next day, thus missing a Nasrot concert, and it was with heavy heart that I shouldered my bag and walked to the railway station and home, via the mysterious town of Kolin.
Violence in the Air
Looking at the football fixtures (a Friday night habit) I saw this game on Sunday 18 December 2022 to be played just before the World Cup Final.
11:30 Luton vs Millwall
15:00 Argentina vs France
Luton v Millwall is a fixture I'll never forget (See below for film footage) because I was there. I wasn't scrapping, but watching 100s of other blokes scrapping. It was mindless violence on a scale I'd never seen before. In Britain, the 1980s were full of violence, provoked by PM Thatcher, who also took away a daily bottle of milk given to primary school children.
When Arsenal's game at Villa was called off due to fog, a guy at work said "Come along to Luton, it'll be a laugh. I can't really say it was a laugh, although it was certainly eventful.
St Pancras station in London had been smashed up by the time we got there and the train was being smashed up when we got on. One guy really could not understand why British Rail windows didn't shatter when he repeatedly kicked them.
At Luton station the cops penned us in like cattle until the enraged Millwall mob simply pushed them aside and went on the rampage in the town centre. The old buy on the turnstiles let us in for free out of fear for his life.
Climbing over fences, the mob then ran berserkly around the pitch and stadium. The police and their dogs ran way. I didn't blame them as it was mindless violence of the highest order. Wild in the extreme. On the way home a Millwall fan told me that was "the best night of my whole fucking life."
A few days ago i was at Klub Monako to watch England get kicked out of the current tournament. At half time I was smoking a reefer wih the pub owner on a peaceful snow-filled street when the doors of the pub opposite burst open and two gypsy guys fell out, engaged in an all-in wrestling match. They'd even ripped each others shirts off and were rolling like bear cubs in the snow in minus 7 degree temperatures.
This aggressive coincidence, alongside the infamous Luton v Millwall game of 1985, was not lost on me and just goes to show that some men really do love fighting.
11:30 Luton vs Millwall
15:00 Argentina vs France
Luton v Millwall is a fixture I'll never forget (See below for film footage) because I was there. I wasn't scrapping, but watching 100s of other blokes scrapping. It was mindless violence on a scale I'd never seen before. In Britain, the 1980s were full of violence, provoked by PM Thatcher, who also took away a daily bottle of milk given to primary school children.
When Arsenal's game at Villa was called off due to fog, a guy at work said "Come along to Luton, it'll be a laugh. I can't really say it was a laugh, although it was certainly eventful.
St Pancras station in London had been smashed up by the time we got there and the train was being smashed up when we got on. One guy really could not understand why British Rail windows didn't shatter when he repeatedly kicked them.
At Luton station the cops penned us in like cattle until the enraged Millwall mob simply pushed them aside and went on the rampage in the town centre. The old buy on the turnstiles let us in for free out of fear for his life.
Climbing over fences, the mob then ran berserkly around the pitch and stadium. The police and their dogs ran way. I didn't blame them as it was mindless violence of the highest order. Wild in the extreme. On the way home a Millwall fan told me that was "the best night of my whole fucking life."
A few days ago i was at Klub Monako to watch England get kicked out of the current tournament. At half time I was smoking a reefer wih the pub owner on a peaceful snow-filled street when the doors of the pub opposite burst open and two gypsy guys fell out, engaged in an all-in wrestling match. They'd even ripped each others shirts off and were rolling like bear cubs in the snow in minus 7 degree temperatures.
This aggressive coincidence, alongside the infamous Luton v Millwall game of 1985, was not lost on me and just goes to show that some men really do love fighting.
From Here to There
So ... to cut a long story short, the president of Jeddah university was arrested for corruption. As was the boss of the contracting agency I was sponsored and employed by - he was handing over the bribes to get the lucrative contract. As a result we all lost our jobs and the agency has spent the time since trying to find us alternative posts, which is fine by me as this sultry summer has stretched blissfully across an awesome autumn and now into a frozen winter. Our little town has never appeared so beautiful.
When the contractor (a very dodgy one) offered me a few jobs in remote desert locations across Saudi, my thoughts turned to the balmy warm weather. There was also a nostalgic offer from a South Town school in Prague and I was certainly tempted to go back in time, but the salary would merely cover rent.
Out of the blue came an opening in Dubai.
"Are you interested?" they asked.
"Is there a swimming pool?" I replied, shivering in a snowstorm at the forest bus stop.
"Of course there is. As well as a warm, blue sea."
"Where do I sign?"
There's just time to book a flight, see a few friends and pack a suitcase ... if I had one, because mine is sitting in a store room at Sajja Gharbia apartment hotel on Mohammed Ali street in Jeddah. My good old friend and buddy Navid is arranging its shipment (not far) to the Emirates. Hopefully we'll be reunited soon.
Time to hit that road again.
When the contractor (a very dodgy one) offered me a few jobs in remote desert locations across Saudi, my thoughts turned to the balmy warm weather. There was also a nostalgic offer from a South Town school in Prague and I was certainly tempted to go back in time, but the salary would merely cover rent.
Out of the blue came an opening in Dubai.
"Are you interested?" they asked.
"Is there a swimming pool?" I replied, shivering in a snowstorm at the forest bus stop.
"Of course there is. As well as a warm, blue sea."
"Where do I sign?"
There's just time to book a flight, see a few friends and pack a suitcase ... if I had one, because mine is sitting in a store room at Sajja Gharbia apartment hotel on Mohammed Ali street in Jeddah. My good old friend and buddy Navid is arranging its shipment (not far) to the Emirates. Hopefully we'll be reunited soon.
Time to hit that road again.
The Wheel of Life
The Wheel of Life (right, above) symbolised in Hinduism, Jainism and especially Buddhism, represents ... erm ... hang on .... for more detailed information the City of Grove in Oklahoma will supply it.
In short, it depicts a universe in which existence is a cycle of birth, death, rebirth and suffering, to be escaped only on reaching Nirvana (if you're good).
When a tree (a force of total goodness) dies, it rots and decomposes, returns to the soil and sustains that soil for other trees to grow from it. So there is a very close link and reliance on the dead tree to give birth to more life after its death. Does the same process happen to humans when they die? Who knows? But it's pleasant to think so ... if you've been good. Because if you've been bad, karma will bring you back as a cockroach or man utd fan or Donald Trump and your rebirth won't be too rosy.
I found this cloth in Changu Narayan, a Nepalese village in the Himalayan foothills, close by Kathmandu. TRAVEL TIP - walk east, 12km from Bouhdhanath, the world's largest Buddhist stupa in the suburbs, along a ridge to Changu Narayan, an ancient hilltop Hindu temple dating back to 325 AD. I remember looking at a black rock from that time. It certainly had an aura.
The cloth on the left, doubling as a curtain, was bought from a lady in Jinping, Guizhou, China. Jinping has a long Wind and Rain bridge where travellers can shelter in if it's raining or windy ... A most Buddhist idea.
Here's a song to go with the wheel.
In short, it depicts a universe in which existence is a cycle of birth, death, rebirth and suffering, to be escaped only on reaching Nirvana (if you're good).
When a tree (a force of total goodness) dies, it rots and decomposes, returns to the soil and sustains that soil for other trees to grow from it. So there is a very close link and reliance on the dead tree to give birth to more life after its death. Does the same process happen to humans when they die? Who knows? But it's pleasant to think so ... if you've been good. Because if you've been bad, karma will bring you back as a cockroach or man utd fan or Donald Trump and your rebirth won't be too rosy.
I found this cloth in Changu Narayan, a Nepalese village in the Himalayan foothills, close by Kathmandu. TRAVEL TIP - walk east, 12km from Bouhdhanath, the world's largest Buddhist stupa in the suburbs, along a ridge to Changu Narayan, an ancient hilltop Hindu temple dating back to 325 AD. I remember looking at a black rock from that time. It certainly had an aura.
The cloth on the left, doubling as a curtain, was bought from a lady in Jinping, Guizhou, China. Jinping has a long Wind and Rain bridge where travellers can shelter in if it's raining or windy ... A most Buddhist idea.
Here's a song to go with the wheel.
Shotgun and a Field of Horses
I'm putting the blame on Putin, Brexit and Boris Johnson (aka Benny Hill) as well as high energy prices, which have led to a shortage of local product: a predicament so dire that I was whisked off on a day trip to Shotgun. Every cloud has a silver lining, huh?
However, at the very start of this magnificent journey, due to a pack of horses making a dramatic appearance in the field between my place and the railway station, I almost missed the train.
Where the hell did they come from?
As a result I had to clamber under and over recently erected fences, cursing the farmer and braving the attention of at least five not-so-friendly-looking nags who thought I had food for them. Walking as fast as possible on wet grass, I escaped over and under a second fence and made the train for Novy Bor in good time. Once there, we transferred to a bus bound for Strizkov, a part of Prague I've never been to, or even heard of.
The metro station was shiny and new and we zipped towards the eternal magnet of Hlavni nadrazi/main station where I paused for lunch before a walk across Sherwood, a tram to Lipanska, a walk past Saint Prokop's church, veering left at the Chicks With Their Tits Out Building on a corner of Vita Nejedleho street, and down a few steps to a gloriously lively smiley paradise on a Saturday afternoon ... I'm struggling to think of a better way to spend it.
However, at the very start of this magnificent journey, due to a pack of horses making a dramatic appearance in the field between my place and the railway station, I almost missed the train.
Where the hell did they come from?
As a result I had to clamber under and over recently erected fences, cursing the farmer and braving the attention of at least five not-so-friendly-looking nags who thought I had food for them. Walking as fast as possible on wet grass, I escaped over and under a second fence and made the train for Novy Bor in good time. Once there, we transferred to a bus bound for Strizkov, a part of Prague I've never been to, or even heard of.
The metro station was shiny and new and we zipped towards the eternal magnet of Hlavni nadrazi/main station where I paused for lunch before a walk across Sherwood, a tram to Lipanska, a walk past Saint Prokop's church, veering left at the Chicks With Their Tits Out Building on a corner of Vita Nejedleho street, and down a few steps to a gloriously lively smiley paradise on a Saturday afternoon ... I'm struggling to think of a better way to spend it.
A Polish girl with a very loud voice kept me entertained until, suitably refreshed and replenished, I came out into Zizkov darkness and a cloud of fog so cold that crystals of ice sprinkled over my face and soothed my soul. Down the street I was disappointed to find a formerly splendid nonstop bar on Seifertova had become a Vietnamese grocery store.
Roaming past lively pubs on Borivojova street - my old 90s stomping ground - Viktoria Zizkov's magnificent stadium and floodlights loomed large and I remembered the crumbling terraces that I'd stood on back in the day at 10.15 on Sunday mornings (no idea why), klobasa, fag and pivo in hand.
Roaming past lively pubs on Borivojova street - my old 90s stomping ground - Viktoria Zizkov's magnificent stadium and floodlights loomed large and I remembered the crumbling terraces that I'd stood on back in the day at 10.15 on Sunday mornings (no idea why), klobasa, fag and pivo in hand.
We hopped one stop on the tram, back to the main station, and on this note I'd like to recommend visiting the pekarstvi/bakery in the forecourt mall, an establishment that employs the world's most beautiful woman behind the donut counter. I ate mine while listening to a girl play a piano, put here for the general public's use, beneath the huge arrivals and departures board in red and white.
On the busy train I sat with a Ukrainian family of what I assumed to be mother and three sons, now refugees in Rumburk. Praha had been full of Ukrainian voices, although this family were engrossed in their smartphones and we didn't speak. I wondered if the father was on active duty (highly likely) in the armed forces that were giving Putin's ass a good kicking in Kherson.
The train dropped us off at the halt.
On the busy train I sat with a Ukrainian family of what I assumed to be mother and three sons, now refugees in Rumburk. Praha had been full of Ukrainian voices, although this family were engrossed in their smartphones and we didn't speak. I wondered if the father was on active duty (highly likely) in the armed forces that were giving Putin's ass a good kicking in Kherson.
The train dropped us off at the halt.
In an attempt to avoid being savaged and/or trampled to death by starving horses, I took the longer route in the dark, via Top Pond.
The view left (in daylight) is one of my favourite scenes in the whole world, just up the track from home, and as I wandered there, I hoped for the same peace to fall on Ukraine.
Head hit pillow at 01.30. Mission accomplished.
The view left (in daylight) is one of my favourite scenes in the whole world, just up the track from home, and as I wandered there, I hoped for the same peace to fall on Ukraine.
Head hit pillow at 01.30. Mission accomplished.
There's Something About Varnsdorf
Eight years ago I saw my current apartment for sale online, thought it looked pretty decent, took $15000 out of my bank account just in case the flat actually was decent, flew from Saudi where I was working, came up here into the forest, met Marcela the estate agent, wandered round for five minutes then told her I'd buy it. The big balcony had clinched the deal, as well as the cute little town it was located in. Plus a magnificent forest encircling the small community of humans.
Marcela asked if I needed a mortgage, or would I pay in cash? "Cash," I said, fingering the wad in my pocket.
Her eyes shone.
The waitresses at the hotel restaurant already had me down as a multi-millionaire (way off the mark) and with saucy smiles and winks offered to bring me breakfast in bed.
It took four blissful weeks, frolicking under summer sun, for the paperwork to go through. Luckily teachers' holidays allow for this length of time, so I made a little trip in the region, only to be hampered by the freaking wad of 150 $100 bills that I was stashing in every hotel room I stayed in. When Marcela finally phoned to tell me to pay, I rushed back to my room at Varnsdorf's Hotel Atrium to get the freaking stash of cash and pay it in at a bank down the road. Problem was that I'd spent all summer on the waccy-baccy and had completely forgotten where I'd hidden the cash. At least five minutes of panic ensued, feeling like 5 hours of panic, until it was found, subtly concealed in the lining of the bedroom curtain. Who would have guessed, eh? I then raced down to the bank before it closed for the weekend. The cashier was highly amused when I flew through the doors and slapped a wad of greenbacks in front of her.
"Is it ok to pay in dollars?"
"Sure," she smiled and a place of my own was bought and paid for in less than 10 minutes.
Marcela asked if I needed a mortgage, or would I pay in cash? "Cash," I said, fingering the wad in my pocket.
Her eyes shone.
The waitresses at the hotel restaurant already had me down as a multi-millionaire (way off the mark) and with saucy smiles and winks offered to bring me breakfast in bed.
It took four blissful weeks, frolicking under summer sun, for the paperwork to go through. Luckily teachers' holidays allow for this length of time, so I made a little trip in the region, only to be hampered by the freaking wad of 150 $100 bills that I was stashing in every hotel room I stayed in. When Marcela finally phoned to tell me to pay, I rushed back to my room at Varnsdorf's Hotel Atrium to get the freaking stash of cash and pay it in at a bank down the road. Problem was that I'd spent all summer on the waccy-baccy and had completely forgotten where I'd hidden the cash. At least five minutes of panic ensued, feeling like 5 hours of panic, until it was found, subtly concealed in the lining of the bedroom curtain. Who would have guessed, eh? I then raced down to the bank before it closed for the weekend. The cashier was highly amused when I flew through the doors and slapped a wad of greenbacks in front of her.
"Is it ok to pay in dollars?"
"Sure," she smiled and a place of my own was bought and paid for in less than 10 minutes.
Man, was I relieved to get rid of that freaking money and in celebration and scorching heat, I went off in search of a bike to rent and cycle round town, financially liberated under summer sun. Most of my energy was used up looking for the said bike and when passing a pub with a leafy garden I decided to stop for some lunch. The waitress was frendly and talkative and told me about exotic parts of the world she'd visted. When I asked if she was travelling or working on these trips, she said, "I was a pornstar."
Suitably impressed by a waitress giving me this information over a lunchtime bowl of soup, my follow-up question was "Don't you find sex a bit boring now?" to which she replied, "Not at all. I don't mind what I do. Girl on girl, anal ...."
I asked if she knew a place where I could rent a bicycle and she said I could borrow hers and so I spent that afternoon merrily riding along the border on a pornstar's mountain bike. We remain good friends to this day.
Parts of Varnsdorf have one side of the street in the Czech Rep and the other in Germany and when I got down to the old customs post I came across a line of drunken prostitutes waiting for some passing trade such as a stoned, errant Englishman on a bicycle, who was offered a nice time in the bushe. But when I politely declined their kind offer, they swore at me in language so foul it cannot be repeated here. Cycling away, I thought they looked so rough that they'd have to pay me to go anywhere near those bushes for a bit of fun with them.
If you ever travel to Varnsdorf, make sure to visit Hosana cafe and strelnice (Shooting Range) pub, for a more offbeat experience. Unfortunately the Las Vegas non-stop bar has closed down.
Viva Varnsdorf!
Suitably impressed by a waitress giving me this information over a lunchtime bowl of soup, my follow-up question was "Don't you find sex a bit boring now?" to which she replied, "Not at all. I don't mind what I do. Girl on girl, anal ...."
I asked if she knew a place where I could rent a bicycle and she said I could borrow hers and so I spent that afternoon merrily riding along the border on a pornstar's mountain bike. We remain good friends to this day.
Parts of Varnsdorf have one side of the street in the Czech Rep and the other in Germany and when I got down to the old customs post I came across a line of drunken prostitutes waiting for some passing trade such as a stoned, errant Englishman on a bicycle, who was offered a nice time in the bushe. But when I politely declined their kind offer, they swore at me in language so foul it cannot be repeated here. Cycling away, I thought they looked so rough that they'd have to pay me to go anywhere near those bushes for a bit of fun with them.
If you ever travel to Varnsdorf, make sure to visit Hosana cafe and strelnice (Shooting Range) pub, for a more offbeat experience. Unfortunately the Las Vegas non-stop bar has closed down.
Viva Varnsdorf!
A Tale of Two Gods
Sunday sun was shining bright as the forest bus meandered through the sea of trees. I was in search of some reverence for the world around. However, the church door in Doubice was locked ... on a Sunday, which doesn't say much for the number of attendees at morning mass in a nation where 37% of Czechs state they have no religious belief and the rest are never able to get out of bed in time.
So, instead of a rousing hymn, we sat outside on mossy steps and with reefer in hand, sunbathed and meditated .... about one of this nation's (as well as neighbouring Germany's) most swooned over singers: A man called Karel Gott. In English that's Charlie God. Unfortunately he died a few years ago, causing millions of females to blub into their pillows.
Not long before his death, Gott had a luxurious (he's very rich ... because he's Gott) house built in Doubice. He even lived there with his wife and kids, but was rumoured to much prefer Praha. A friend met him in Fabrika pub/club/hostel. She thought Gott to be down-to-earth and genuinely friendly, while his entourage were arrogant, ass-kissing jerks.
So, instead of a rousing hymn, we sat outside on mossy steps and with reefer in hand, sunbathed and meditated .... about one of this nation's (as well as neighbouring Germany's) most swooned over singers: A man called Karel Gott. In English that's Charlie God. Unfortunately he died a few years ago, causing millions of females to blub into their pillows.
Not long before his death, Gott had a luxurious (he's very rich ... because he's Gott) house built in Doubice. He even lived there with his wife and kids, but was rumoured to much prefer Praha. A friend met him in Fabrika pub/club/hostel. She thought Gott to be down-to-earth and genuinely friendly, while his entourage were arrogant, ass-kissing jerks.
Somehow, in 1968, despite his Czech nationality, Charlie Gott represented Austria in the Eurovision song contest, coming in 13th place. In the same year he had a 6 month residency at the New Frontier Hotel & Casino in La Vegas. It was Gott's obedience to the commie regime that allowed him easy access to foreign travel. The commies didn't let many people out, but his popularity, particularly in the (former) Soviet Union, boomed. Gott had refused to sign Charter 77, a document criticising the regime, written by leading dissidents who were subsequently jailed for their signatures.
A landowning publican in Doubice, who had sold Gott a patch of God's earth to build his house on, spied another money-making opportunity in Gott's popularity (while alive), especially with wealthy German fans. The publican advertised and sold tickets to tourists who were shipped in on buses for a visit to the famous singer's idyllic country estate in the forest. Gott never approved this and coaches filled with camera-wielding celebrity-watchers now blocked the pleasant country lanes of Doubice and drove Gott so crazy that he decamped to the capital. The publican made some easy money and carried on bringing tourists in, while praying Gott would come back for the money shot.
Gott's funeral was held at St. Vitus cathedral in Praha, a place where kings and queens were mourned before being packed off to heaven or hell.
A landowning publican in Doubice, who had sold Gott a patch of God's earth to build his house on, spied another money-making opportunity in Gott's popularity (while alive), especially with wealthy German fans. The publican advertised and sold tickets to tourists who were shipped in on buses for a visit to the famous singer's idyllic country estate in the forest. Gott never approved this and coaches filled with camera-wielding celebrity-watchers now blocked the pleasant country lanes of Doubice and drove Gott so crazy that he decamped to the capital. The publican made some easy money and carried on bringing tourists in, while praying Gott would come back for the money shot.
Gott's funeral was held at St. Vitus cathedral in Praha, a place where kings and queens were mourned before being packed off to heaven or hell.
Another version of God appeared in the garden of a pub in Doubice, as if a Christmas gift rising from forest mist. The pub owner is the same guy who sold Charlie Gott his land and then brought in coach loads of tourists to gawp over the hedge at him.
Here in the forest garden, the god is Klement Gottwald, alcoholic and first Czechoslovak Commie President, who is celebrated. Gottwald means 'God's Woods', but there was nothing religious or natural about this red-assed commie mother-fucker.
In 1938, Gottwald, a very keen Stalinist, voluntarily emigrated to the Soviet Union for some serious brainwashing, before returning in 1948 to rig an election, basically stolen by coup d'etat with only one political party represented on the ballot paper.
By 1952 he had started to purge the communist party of any dissent. Certain opponents were executed by hanging, or, if lucky, they were thrown in jail for years. But karma took care of him as Gottwald died after attending his hero Stalin's funeral in Moscow, followed by a mammoth drinking session and resulting burst artery that finished him off.
During his time in power, the Moravian city of Zlin (home to Bata shoes and birthplace of Ivana Trump) was renamed Gottwaldov. A travelling salesman told me The Hotel Gottwaldov had the best hookers in Czechoslovakia.
Like Lenin and Mao, Gottwald's corpse was embalmed and put on display on a hill in Zizkov, staying there until the 1989 revolution that booted the commies out and put his urn of ashes in a Praha cemetery.
Mein Gott ...
Here in the forest garden, the god is Klement Gottwald, alcoholic and first Czechoslovak Commie President, who is celebrated. Gottwald means 'God's Woods', but there was nothing religious or natural about this red-assed commie mother-fucker.
In 1938, Gottwald, a very keen Stalinist, voluntarily emigrated to the Soviet Union for some serious brainwashing, before returning in 1948 to rig an election, basically stolen by coup d'etat with only one political party represented on the ballot paper.
By 1952 he had started to purge the communist party of any dissent. Certain opponents were executed by hanging, or, if lucky, they were thrown in jail for years. But karma took care of him as Gottwald died after attending his hero Stalin's funeral in Moscow, followed by a mammoth drinking session and resulting burst artery that finished him off.
During his time in power, the Moravian city of Zlin (home to Bata shoes and birthplace of Ivana Trump) was renamed Gottwaldov. A travelling salesman told me The Hotel Gottwaldov had the best hookers in Czechoslovakia.
Like Lenin and Mao, Gottwald's corpse was embalmed and put on display on a hill in Zizkov, staying there until the 1989 revolution that booted the commies out and put his urn of ashes in a Praha cemetery.
Mein Gott ...
The Magnificent Journey
That Not Many People Know About
It was freakin freezing when I left home, across the field for a train to Praha. But I was warmed up in a compartment shared with two chicks from Bogota, Columbia, one of whom lived in Hamburg, married to a German. She and her friend were off to the Czech capital for a weekend visit.
"Is Prague dangerous?" they asked.
"Only if you drink."
Inside Prague's main station I showed them the ticket machines and explained the system, then took them across Sherwood Park in front of the Fantova railway building. Sherwood is a Czech byword for danger, mainly from screaming drunks and/or junkies. But it seems that the cops have cleared it up and, apart from one lunatic howling at the moon, all appeared so peaceful that the homeless in sleeping bags on bench beds were snoring gently.
It was even colder now.
The bus was due to leave at 23.25. I wasn't on it, because it didn't arrive, or it didn't arrive where I was standing. I hadn't even been to Shotgun, now closed, so I was waiting on the street for an hour next to Kavarna Fantova for a bus that would never show up. I didn't really mind as pre-winter blues had set in, brought on by a sharp chill in the air, and this off-the-cuff trip to an equally chilly Dalmatia wasn't so enticing now.
I sat in Fantova's empty coffee shop to warm up and thoughts drifted to Czech author Jaroslav Hašek (my kindred spirit) who at some time 100 years or so ago, must have come crashing through these same swinging doors, stumbling over to a table and demanding more drink, unable to pay the bill, at the start of one of his many off-the-cuff trips into the great unknown, even if he'd spent all his travel money in the pub while preparing for this adventure on Czechoslovak railways. Being penniless didn't stop him, as a farm ditch or haystack was as good as a bed.
"Is Prague dangerous?" they asked.
"Only if you drink."
Inside Prague's main station I showed them the ticket machines and explained the system, then took them across Sherwood Park in front of the Fantova railway building. Sherwood is a Czech byword for danger, mainly from screaming drunks and/or junkies. But it seems that the cops have cleared it up and, apart from one lunatic howling at the moon, all appeared so peaceful that the homeless in sleeping bags on bench beds were snoring gently.
It was even colder now.
The bus was due to leave at 23.25. I wasn't on it, because it didn't arrive, or it didn't arrive where I was standing. I hadn't even been to Shotgun, now closed, so I was waiting on the street for an hour next to Kavarna Fantova for a bus that would never show up. I didn't really mind as pre-winter blues had set in, brought on by a sharp chill in the air, and this off-the-cuff trip to an equally chilly Dalmatia wasn't so enticing now.
I sat in Fantova's empty coffee shop to warm up and thoughts drifted to Czech author Jaroslav Hašek (my kindred spirit) who at some time 100 years or so ago, must have come crashing through these same swinging doors, stumbling over to a table and demanding more drink, unable to pay the bill, at the start of one of his many off-the-cuff trips into the great unknown, even if he'd spent all his travel money in the pub while preparing for this adventure on Czechoslovak railways. Being penniless didn't stop him, as a farm ditch or haystack was as good as a bed.
To pass the time, a night tram (no heating) took me into Zizkov, followed by a walk to warm my body, and I soon came across Akropolis, a live music venue/club/bar/cafe, and one of the city's best.
Years before I'd been here with my friend Honza for a Plastic People of the Universe concert; a Czech underground band named after Frank Zappa's Plastic People song, of whom the band members had seen more jail time than free time for the crime of pissing off the commie regime that had labelled them 'Enemies of the State'. Quite an accolade.
My chief memory of that night was talking to a girl in the bar after the concert. A few sentences into my chat-up line, she said, "You can have my panties."
The first train home for me (bed was becoming a dreamy, comfy prospect) was at 05.17, so I still had 4 hours to kill in the middle of the night. It was 01.30 and the temperature was hovering just below zero and threatening to drop further.
A friendly taxi driver took me over the river to a non-stop bar called Nudle in the Andel quarter. It was busy with boozers and their pivo/beer. I stayed until 04.30, took a tram back to the station and caught a train home. Trip over in less than 24 hours and I barely went anywhere. I slept like a dog all day long.
Years before I'd been here with my friend Honza for a Plastic People of the Universe concert; a Czech underground band named after Frank Zappa's Plastic People song, of whom the band members had seen more jail time than free time for the crime of pissing off the commie regime that had labelled them 'Enemies of the State'. Quite an accolade.
My chief memory of that night was talking to a girl in the bar after the concert. A few sentences into my chat-up line, she said, "You can have my panties."
The first train home for me (bed was becoming a dreamy, comfy prospect) was at 05.17, so I still had 4 hours to kill in the middle of the night. It was 01.30 and the temperature was hovering just below zero and threatening to drop further.
A friendly taxi driver took me over the river to a non-stop bar called Nudle in the Andel quarter. It was busy with boozers and their pivo/beer. I stayed until 04.30, took a tram back to the station and caught a train home. Trip over in less than 24 hours and I barely went anywhere. I slept like a dog all day long.
Three Nations Meet
Seven years ago I was wandering around parts of South America and found myself in the jungle, on the spot of a triple frontier between Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina. The rivers Parana and Iguazu also meet there and the middle of this steamy watery junction serves as a three-pronged state line. A taxi driver told me there was plenty of smuggling going back and forth and we could see police speedboats cutting through thick brown water.
Last weekend, in central Europe, we found another similar spot, known in German as Dreilandereck - a meeting point of Germany, Poland and Czech Republic. Three drooping flags in a field and a road sign wasn't quite the same as the mighty Parana and Iguazu rivers smashing into each other and forming the waterfalls at Foz which are the most visited sight on that continent.
Come to think of it, I've also been in an area of Asia where Burma, China and Laos meet on the Mekong river, just south of jungly Xishuangbanna - for me, China's most beautiful region with some of the most beautiful chicks and delicious food.
Photo courtesy kunming.cn
ZiTTAU
In the most south-eastern corner of Germany, 43 minutes and 20km due east from where I am, sits an almost forgotten town called Zittau (population 28,906) in Saxony state. I'd once spoken about it to a German I'd met in nad Viktorkou pub in Zizkov and she'd never heard of the place. So, on Saturday morning, curious to visit, I walked across the field and caught a train, changing in Varnsdorf for a hop over the border and straight into Zittau hauptbahnhof. It is very pleasant to take a trip just down the road, I must say, and the first shop I saw perfectly described my current mood.
Walking into town from Zittau station, Madonna's voice could be clearly heard, singing loudly, "Let your body move to the music ..... " and from the bushes a scruffy group of students appeared, dressed in rainbow colours and carrying a ghetto blaster. I got the feeling it was the local gay and lesbian socity on a demo.
The hunt for the Schwarzer Bar/Black Bear Hotel was on. It was well and truly dark o'clock when we eventually found the animal, bang on the border with Poland, having been side-tracked by lattes, omlettes (very expensive) and cream cakes due to mid-trip manic munchies. On the way I'd also found out about an Oktoberfest party in the pub opposite The Bear, as well as art deco Schauburg cinema (closed down). Shame I don't drink anymore, but when I smoked a fag out of the Bear's window, I could hear the pissheads pissing it up well into the small hours.
Stumbling around in the dark for a while, taking pictures, we discovered the hotel just across the street on Ottokarplatz, letting out a cry of joy as our legs needed rest.
Dinner was taken at the Taj Mahal restaurant that advertised 'doner kebabs' on a blackboard outside. The waiter came from Delhi and enjoyed Zittau's cool climate and lack of people compared to his hometown's population of 32 million. When Germany reunified after communism's fall, millions of east Germans went west for the dough, never coming back, and leaving behind a palpably empty vibe. I liked it. What I didn't like was the Bear's bed, which was crap and we had difficulty sleeping, so the night hours were spent engaged in other practices ...
Dinner was taken at the Taj Mahal restaurant that advertised 'doner kebabs' on a blackboard outside. The waiter came from Delhi and enjoyed Zittau's cool climate and lack of people compared to his hometown's population of 32 million. When Germany reunified after communism's fall, millions of east Germans went west for the dough, never coming back, and leaving behind a palpably empty vibe. I liked it. What I didn't like was the Bear's bed, which was crap and we had difficulty sleeping, so the night hours were spent engaged in other practices ...
Dortmund 2 Bayern 2 was on tv the next day at an Irish Pub where we had currywurst and chips and watched the fans watching the game with pints of lager and screams and roars for their team of choice. It could have been England, but for the language.
The return journey took an accidentally fucked-up, spaced, roundabout loop when we travelled between Hradek nad Nisou (forgot to get off) onto Liberec, then Ceska Lipa and the final leg home.
The return journey took an accidentally fucked-up, spaced, roundabout loop when we travelled between Hradek nad Nisou (forgot to get off) onto Liberec, then Ceska Lipa and the final leg home.
Covid Revisited
Remember those mad days/months/years of deep dark covid when mini-hysteria ruled until the governments of the world banned going to work and school and everywhere and so the entire human population of planet earth settled down to life on a sofa and got fat and lazy? Or, fatter and lazier. I know a guy who bought a robot to do his cleaning. I've even forgetten how long that languid era of watching TV and/or youtube went on for. I do know the year was 2020, so we'll take it from there.
Translation: Wearing your mask like this .... is the same as wearing your underwear like this.
For months on end, allowed out for only an hour a day to exercise, humanity became hibernating animals. I slept like a log throughout that period .... and still do.
When lockdown was finally eased, I had to go to the capital city to visit a dentist. It was one of the most memorable Praha visits of my life. The city was deserted of people and traffic, only homeless on the streets and few shops open. But the solitude was perfect, not loud at all, and reminded me of the 1990s before the whole world discovered this Golden City.
For months on end, allowed out for only an hour a day to exercise, humanity became hibernating animals. I slept like a log throughout that period .... and still do.
When lockdown was finally eased, I had to go to the capital city to visit a dentist. It was one of the most memorable Praha visits of my life. The city was deserted of people and traffic, only homeless on the streets and few shops open. But the solitude was perfect, not loud at all, and reminded me of the 1990s before the whole world discovered this Golden City.
Fast Bus to Dečin; Slow Train Home
Filling out forms for medical and social insurance policies, written entirely in Czech, isn't much fun ... at all. And makes me realise I need glasses.
Having enlisted the help of Bara, a waitress at the brewery, and her husband Honza, a waiter at the brewery, the three of us put our heads together and managed about 3/4 of the paperwork. The final 25% (incomprehensible even to Czechs) prompted today's trip on the ever-reliable forest bus, which zipped us through the woodland, down to the Labe, autumn sun piercing the canopy, and a pause in Chribska for a fag before we reached the office on Myslbekova to sort out the rest of the insurance company's advanced mathematical formula. Thank God for cute English-speaking office chicks knowledgeable in algebra.
Bureaucratic mission accomplised, I celebrated with lunch outside the Taj Mahal Indian restaurant whose waiting staff hail from the Himalayan Kingdom of Nepal, my dreamland. How they ended up on Masarykovo square in Decin is anyone's guess ... maybe they're escaping the mad Maoists ruling their homeland, but I was pleased to see Czech life hadn't jaded them. They still possessed their unique and innate Nepalese charm. One of the waiters said he was sure he'd once seen me in Kathmandu. I agreed, it was possible.
Having enlisted the help of Bara, a waitress at the brewery, and her husband Honza, a waiter at the brewery, the three of us put our heads together and managed about 3/4 of the paperwork. The final 25% (incomprehensible even to Czechs) prompted today's trip on the ever-reliable forest bus, which zipped us through the woodland, down to the Labe, autumn sun piercing the canopy, and a pause in Chribska for a fag before we reached the office on Myslbekova to sort out the rest of the insurance company's advanced mathematical formula. Thank God for cute English-speaking office chicks knowledgeable in algebra.
Bureaucratic mission accomplised, I celebrated with lunch outside the Taj Mahal Indian restaurant whose waiting staff hail from the Himalayan Kingdom of Nepal, my dreamland. How they ended up on Masarykovo square in Decin is anyone's guess ... maybe they're escaping the mad Maoists ruling their homeland, but I was pleased to see Czech life hadn't jaded them. They still possessed their unique and innate Nepalese charm. One of the waiters said he was sure he'd once seen me in Kathmandu. I agreed, it was possible.
A train from Decin's endlessly fascinating railway station took us home, stopping for half an hour's refreshment at Jedlova, which has one of the finest kitchens in the forest, popular with hikers in an area where the Lužické hory/Lusatian mountains rise up to Luž peak of 793m ... which isn't a mountain really.
Wandering round the back of the station for a reefer, I found a spring of water flowing from the mountains and trapped in a stone well built in 1916. The water tasted great and my thoughts went to not-far-away Ukraine where I06 years after the stones had been brought here, guns in Europe were being aimed and fired once more.
When the train started up again, conductor and driver suitably refreshed in the platform pub, we chuntered through forest towards home, passing fast streams filled with recent heavy rain. At my stop I walked down the hill beneath the arch of a rainbow stretching from one side of the village to the other. I hoped the crock of gold would end up in the ghetto.
When the train started up again, conductor and driver suitably refreshed in the platform pub, we chuntered through forest towards home, passing fast streams filled with recent heavy rain. At my stop I walked down the hill beneath the arch of a rainbow stretching from one side of the village to the other. I hoped the crock of gold would end up in the ghetto.
Ticketless Trip up the Road to Gorlitz
When Saudi national day stretches into weeks, it leaves me waiting for admin berks to get their asses in gear ... Bonus! Holiday extended! Take as long and fuck up as much as you like, admin berks.
So, tooth-brush, t-shirt, pants, socks, a dozen ready-rolled joints and three bananas went into a bag, then a walk down to the pond to catch a forest bus bound for Ebersbach, just over the border in Deutschland uber Alles. Not a cop or border guard in sight and it would turn out that ticket inspectors on trains had gone missing, too. I didn't see one and so the entire trip was free of charge, apart from the tram ticket I bought in Gorlitz.
So, tooth-brush, t-shirt, pants, socks, a dozen ready-rolled joints and three bananas went into a bag, then a walk down to the pond to catch a forest bus bound for Ebersbach, just over the border in Deutschland uber Alles. Not a cop or border guard in sight and it would turn out that ticket inspectors on trains had gone missing, too. I didn't see one and so the entire trip was free of charge, apart from the tram ticket I bought in Gorlitz.
In Ebersbach, home to an art deco film theatre, I came across this Book Tree, left. A car drew up and a couple got out to browse the selection of books, finally choosing one and taking it away with them. There are similar free book offerings at bus stops dotted around the region; a worthwhile civic action, but I'm depressed by the book's general decline in popularity. People nowadays go to bed with smartphones to watch monkeys playing table tennis, rather than reading the words of Coelho, Kundera, or Marx.
The train for Gorlitz was about to arrive, so I headed back to the huge, empty railway station, every office in the building turning to dust, like we all do. Not a ticket inspector in sight. Ticket office closed
On departure we entered Sorb territory, a race also known as Lusatian or Wend, descended from Slavic Serbs located deep in the Balkan darkness who had wandered west. Many Sorbs also emigrated to Australia and the USA, particularly Texas. The German town of Bautzen, with a 10% Sorbian population, is the unofficial cultural centre of today's Sorb community.
The river Spree runs through Bautzen, joining the river Havel in Berlin, flowing into the river Elbe before meandering through Hamburg towards the North Sea.
On departure we entered Sorb territory, a race also known as Lusatian or Wend, descended from Slavic Serbs located deep in the Balkan darkness who had wandered west. Many Sorbs also emigrated to Australia and the USA, particularly Texas. The German town of Bautzen, with a 10% Sorbian population, is the unofficial cultural centre of today's Sorb community.
The river Spree runs through Bautzen, joining the river Havel in Berlin, flowing into the river Elbe before meandering through Hamburg towards the North Sea.
The train, no inspector in sight, rattled along for half an hour until we had to change in Bischofswerda, no inspector in sight, where I took a piss in the bushes as the WC was closed. The super-organised Germans even have specific times when you can take a leak or dump.
Fifty minutes later we got off in Gorlitz, a city split in two by the Potsdam Treaty that had brought peace to Europe following WW2. But the treaty had also put one half of this city - Zgorzelec - on the Polish side of the River Neisse, but on the German side it was kept as Gorlitz. Before the war Gorlitz had been one complete city belonging to Germany and eons before this it had once been ruled by the King Of Bohemia.
Fifty minutes later we got off in Gorlitz, a city split in two by the Potsdam Treaty that had brought peace to Europe following WW2. But the treaty had also put one half of this city - Zgorzelec - on the Polish side of the River Neisse, but on the German side it was kept as Gorlitz. Before the war Gorlitz had been one complete city belonging to Germany and eons before this it had once been ruled by the King Of Bohemia.
Saturday night in an East German city (see right) isn't exactly hopping. A Turkish waiter in Pepperoni's We Offer Every Single Fast Food Known to Man restaurant (Nb. highly recommended) on Post Platz told me that his home city of Izmir has 7 million people, so he finds Gorlitz extremely smallsville and far too quiet.
On the outside table next to me was a group of Ukrainian teenagers, chatting and laughng but frequently dropping the word Ukraine into the conversation. Despite their youthful positivity, I felt for them, having to suffer untold hardship, grief and upheaval on account of one man's insane dreams of military conquest, forcing them from their homes and into an unknown part of Europe. I doubt they minded the peace of Gorlitz.
On the outside table next to me was a group of Ukrainian teenagers, chatting and laughng but frequently dropping the word Ukraine into the conversation. Despite their youthful positivity, I felt for them, having to suffer untold hardship, grief and upheaval on account of one man's insane dreams of military conquest, forcing them from their homes and into an unknown part of Europe. I doubt they minded the peace of Gorlitz.
When I tried to buy a ticket in Gorlitz station, I was told to get it from the conductor on the train. But the conductor (on every train I took) never showed up for work, on three seperate journies, and so the trip was free. Bonus! Maybe they are on strike.
Around town ...
Around town ...
News Flash: Dog Pisses on Grave
Returning home from lunch at the brewery, I came across the Ghost of Babiš (allegedly corrupt ex Czech PM).
Bad news: he's still here.
No chance to tell him to do one as my neighbours were coming along the path and I was halfway through a reefer.
The sun came out, the ghost vanished (ghosts don't enjoy the positivity of light) and Jarda walked by with his mutt, which cocked a leg and pisssed on a headstone.
Bad news: he's still here.
No chance to tell him to do one as my neighbours were coming along the path and I was halfway through a reefer.
The sun came out, the ghost vanished (ghosts don't enjoy the positivity of light) and Jarda walked by with his mutt, which cocked a leg and pisssed on a headstone.
Garbage Box Ghosts
Czech politics: the gift to comedy that keeps on giving.
In the lobby of my block, this cardboard box is used as a container for unwanted junkmail that arrives by post on a regular basis. The paper is then recycled.
Greeting me today was this grotesque apparition of Andrej Babiš, staring up from the garbage on the floor. Babiš, alleged to have once kidnapped his own son, was recently kicked out of office as the Czech Republic's Prime Minister. He's a Slovak from Bratislava. His face in the photo looks like a hybrid of Vaclav Klaus (another awful former Czech prime minister) and Trump (we all know his story).
In addition to losing the top job, Babiš - worth a cool $3.9Billion and standing at number 654 in the 2022 Forbes rich list - is on trial, charged with ripping off an EU development fund for $2million, plus other assorted acts of a criminal nature.
The question jumps out: Why would a billionaire steal $2M? An amount so piffling it is small change in his bulging pockets.
Cheats keep on cheating, I guess, and thieves heep on thieving. When Mr Greedy controls the psyche, he still wants a few more billion, as well as Praha Castle, because in between appearances in a court of law, Babiš intends to stand in the Czech Republic's presidential election next year. If he wins that, he will be exempt from prosecution. Case dropped.
Worryingly, 37% of Czechs still voted for this man in the election he just lost.
In the lobby of my block, this cardboard box is used as a container for unwanted junkmail that arrives by post on a regular basis. The paper is then recycled.
Greeting me today was this grotesque apparition of Andrej Babiš, staring up from the garbage on the floor. Babiš, alleged to have once kidnapped his own son, was recently kicked out of office as the Czech Republic's Prime Minister. He's a Slovak from Bratislava. His face in the photo looks like a hybrid of Vaclav Klaus (another awful former Czech prime minister) and Trump (we all know his story).
In addition to losing the top job, Babiš - worth a cool $3.9Billion and standing at number 654 in the 2022 Forbes rich list - is on trial, charged with ripping off an EU development fund for $2million, plus other assorted acts of a criminal nature.
The question jumps out: Why would a billionaire steal $2M? An amount so piffling it is small change in his bulging pockets.
Cheats keep on cheating, I guess, and thieves heep on thieving. When Mr Greedy controls the psyche, he still wants a few more billion, as well as Praha Castle, because in between appearances in a court of law, Babiš intends to stand in the Czech Republic's presidential election next year. If he wins that, he will be exempt from prosecution. Case dropped.
Worryingly, 37% of Czechs still voted for this man in the election he just lost.
NEWS FLASH! Pictured below are actual ghosts standing on gravestones. Spooky, huh? The apparition on the left is the ghost of a pelican.
For a dose of religion to cleanse my soul, I always walk home through this graveyard after a shopping trip to Vietnam. Today, I immediately sensed the presence of ethereal beings occupying the space where kids usually hang out, smoking and snogging after school. I'm not sure Wilhelm Schitz-Finkelpicken 1807-1894, buried below, would be too impressed. Luckily enough I had my phone camera on hand to record this spectral appearance.
Going over to introduce myself to the ghosts, my hand went straight through them and in a flash they'd vanished. But, on a whispering breath of wind I heard these words, "Beware the one who calls himself ... Babiš!"
For a dose of religion to cleanse my soul, I always walk home through this graveyard after a shopping trip to Vietnam. Today, I immediately sensed the presence of ethereal beings occupying the space where kids usually hang out, smoking and snogging after school. I'm not sure Wilhelm Schitz-Finkelpicken 1807-1894, buried below, would be too impressed. Luckily enough I had my phone camera on hand to record this spectral appearance.
Going over to introduce myself to the ghosts, my hand went straight through them and in a flash they'd vanished. But, on a whispering breath of wind I heard these words, "Beware the one who calls himself ... Babiš!"
Considering the smount of cheating, lying, stealing, etc that goes on, perhaps people should turn their attention away from the relentless pursuit of wealth and think about the reasons behind the beautiful churches that dot this pleasant land. A good starting point is lesson 1, page 1:- The difference between right and wrong, Mr Babiš, you thieving c**t.
A Walk Round Town One of the main advantages in having two functioning legs is that you can go for a walk, unlike my friend No Legs Tonda who's had both his legs amputated and so his waking hours are spent in a wheelchair. Despite this hindrance, he still makes it to the pub almost every day.
Many years ago, before fucked-up-hip-syndrome set in, I used to walk everywhere and became well-known in my little Sarajevo-buddies circle for wandering every street and de-mined backwoods path in and around that beautiful, shell-shocked Bosnian city. |
In north-west China there is a desert called the Taklimakan, which means, 'If you enter, you'll never come out'. The same name could be applied to Klub Monaco, right, probably the worst pub in the Czech Rep as well as Slovakia.
"I'm off to Monaco" is a standard local comment and as it opens at the crack of dawn, many disappear through its doors "for breakfast", never managing to get anywhere near their workplace.
"I'm off to Monaco" is a standard local comment and as it opens at the crack of dawn, many disappear through its doors "for breakfast", never managing to get anywhere near their workplace.
The scope for roaming in these parts lies anywhere 360 degrees from the front door. Many hostelries and park benches line the route. The grass is soft, too.
Thank God for legs and life in general.
Thank God for legs and life in general.
Forest Bus 2: The Arrest of a Dog and a Dosser
Today's forest bus trip was so exciting I didn't have time to take photos.
While waiting for the forest bus, the cops turned up, leaped from their car and started chasing a vagrant into the trees. Five minutes later they came back, holding the dosser in an arm-lock. The hobo was shouting and cursing at the cops who had arrested him, so the cops punched him a few times, which shut him up. He was bundled into the back of the car and taken off to the slammer.
On the way home, the forest bus driver wouldn't leave the bus station until a stray dog had been kicked off. Myself, two girls and the driver could not get that dog off the bus. It was a pitbull type, too, and we were afraid to manhandle it, although it was a friendly chap.
The driver called the cops who came and arrested the mutt and bundled it into the back of the police car. As the cop car drove away to the slammer, I'm certain I heard a cop tell the dog, "Whatever you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you ..."
Perhaps there's a nationwide crackdown on homeless animals and humans in place.
While waiting for the forest bus, the cops turned up, leaped from their car and started chasing a vagrant into the trees. Five minutes later they came back, holding the dosser in an arm-lock. The hobo was shouting and cursing at the cops who had arrested him, so the cops punched him a few times, which shut him up. He was bundled into the back of the car and taken off to the slammer.
On the way home, the forest bus driver wouldn't leave the bus station until a stray dog had been kicked off. Myself, two girls and the driver could not get that dog off the bus. It was a pitbull type, too, and we were afraid to manhandle it, although it was a friendly chap.
The driver called the cops who came and arrested the mutt and bundled it into the back of the police car. As the cop car drove away to the slammer, I'm certain I heard a cop tell the dog, "Whatever you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you ..."
Perhaps there's a nationwide crackdown on homeless animals and humans in place.
Forest Bus
Buses can be found at bus stations and bus stops. Many go once an hour from early morning til late evening. This is a bus routine adhered to pretty much worldwide.
At the end of the trip you can stop off at the pivovar/brewery before heading to the House of Culture for some entertainment.
At the end of the trip you can stop off at the pivovar/brewery before heading to the House of Culture for some entertainment.
A Walk Back in Time to the Centre of Europe
The Czech Republic is the most central country in Europe and Havlíčkův Brod is the most central town in the Czech Republic, so HB is in fact the very EPICENTRE of the European continent, which may be why it is home to a famous lunatic asylum, which lies in
beautiful parkland dotted with villas for the insane, depending on which level of insanity the patient has reached. Plenty here have tripped to the dark side of the moon and never quite come back, if at all.
Situated bang in the middle of Europe, geological pressure via metamorphosis has an impact on citizens and other animals. Maybe Kafka got wasted in HB some time and when I lived there I often had trouble working out if the person I was talking to had recently escaped from the madhouse, or should be put in there. I used to joke that the ladies toilet in U Ficu nonstop bar was the very centre of HB and therefore of Europe. I should explain that U Ficu nonstop is the greatest bar I've ever drunk in. No contest. The Fridge in Brixton, London comes 2nd and The Fiddling Monkey Pub, Hadlow 3rd.
Ficu has a long back-catalogue of escapades to recall, but sadly is no longer nonstop. A well-placed source informs me there were 22 nonstops in HB (population: 23,000) now there are four. This is a disgrace! Nonstops were not only the perfect place to continue the night into the next day; they also provided an alternative view of the Czech at play; frequently bringing out the best in him or her.
In all my many years of boozing I never saw more than a few fights in CZ, compared to the gang warfare on England's streets every Friday and Saturday night.
Nonstop barmaids were usually hot, sassy chicks who could handle drunks. Teenage hoodlums wouldn't dare upset them and were polite even when smashed. Whenever Mirka worked in Ficu, I fell in love.
Spirits were always high, except for Tuesday evenings, and served in vast quantities post-midnight. To smoke a joint we had to go outside and stand by the Tax Office. My flat on Kozy Street ('Kozy' is Czech slang for 'boobs') was 3 minutes walk away; 10 when pissed.
Apart from the pretty square, left, the town is a jungle of panelaks (high-rise socialist housing) and right angles and the colour grey. Since I was last there, the colour orange has been added and the road system has been confusingly altered somewhat and I got completely lost, unable even to find Ficu Bar (formerly nonstop), a route I must have taken hundreds, if not thousands, of times. At one stage of a nocturnal ramble, I stood in the middle of a road and said out loud, "Where the fuck am I?", which may be a question all visitors to HB ask themselves.
It was very cool to catch up with old friends and the weather was unbelievably cool, too. 18C in August after blazing heat the previous week.
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Phew ... this was one of those slightly out of control, roundabout magnificent journeys and I'm having trouble remembering any of it. So, thank god for the man who invented cameras.
Using photographic evidence, I see the trip truly started in Shotgun, where all magnificent journeys should start or finish ...
Using photographic evidence, I see the trip truly started in Shotgun, where all magnificent journeys should start or finish ...
On leaving Shotgun you will be struck by,
a) bright light, even when cloudy
b) the sight of giant babies crawling across Praha 3's infrasructure. I swear at some point in life one of those kids will fall on my head. They were designed and created by artist David Černy.
Down the hill at Viktoria Žižkov tram stop, one along from Lipanska, I realised that the view below must be one of the greatest in the world: the main entrance to Viktoria Žižkov FK's stadium on Seifertova street. Just imagine throwing open your curtains to this scene every morning. You'd die happy. All information regarding this magnificent club can be found at www.fkvz.cz.
a) bright light, even when cloudy
b) the sight of giant babies crawling across Praha 3's infrasructure. I swear at some point in life one of those kids will fall on my head. They were designed and created by artist David Černy.
Down the hill at Viktoria Žižkov tram stop, one along from Lipanska, I realised that the view below must be one of the greatest in the world: the main entrance to Viktoria Žižkov FK's stadium on Seifertova street. Just imagine throwing open your curtains to this scene every morning. You'd die happy. All information regarding this magnificent club can be found at www.fkvz.cz.
The journey continues ...
... and continues ...
... At some stage on this magnificent journey that not many people know about, we passed through the railway station at Čáslav, hometown of film director Miloš Forman. His 1967 movie 'Firemen's Ball' is one of the best I've ever seen. Ridiculously, it was banned by his own government in 1968, following the Prague Spring movement that had aimed to relax a severe, all-encompassing political regime a la George Orwell.
'Socialism with a human face' was President Dubček's objective that never stood a chance. The USSR sent in the tanks, Marxist ideology was squeezed tighter and Forman gave up the ghost, bailing out to settle in the USA. Within a few years he'd directed One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, a movie that won 5 oscars.
Both of Forman's parents had been murdered in Nazi concentration camps during WW2; an awful experience for anyone, let alone a child. As a result he was passed around between friends and relatives then packed off to boarding school. There, one of his classmates was future President Vaclav Havel. Both boys went on to do very well indeed.
'Socialism with a human face' was President Dubček's objective that never stood a chance. The USSR sent in the tanks, Marxist ideology was squeezed tighter and Forman gave up the ghost, bailing out to settle in the USA. Within a few years he'd directed One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, a movie that won 5 oscars.
Both of Forman's parents had been murdered in Nazi concentration camps during WW2; an awful experience for anyone, let alone a child. As a result he was passed around between friends and relatives then packed off to boarding school. There, one of his classmates was future President Vaclav Havel. Both boys went on to do very well indeed.
FIRE!
Sitting, spaced in a Hotel Zizkov room watching the tv, I sat bolt upright when news of a fire came on. The fire was in my backyard, so to speak, and the name of my adopted hometown was mentioned... HOLY SHIIIIIIT!
Spaced that night after a slap-up Chinese meal, I'd completely lost the whereabouts of the hotel and had to ask an Asian shop owner if she knew where it was. Being a hi-tech savvy kinda chick, she had the address and map up in no time at all. She even printed it out for me, see above, because she thought I was a stoned holiday-making moron. Correctamundo.
So, I boarded the train the next day with some apprehension, not really helped by a 'coffee' in Shotgun.
I woke up at home the following morming. Bleary-eyed on the balcony I found this view, above. First thought: 'Holy shiiiiit!' until I realised it was mist. Light rain had fallen all night and latest news was that the fire was under control. Drama over ... for here and now, as it's not really over in many parts of an icreasningly warming planet.
So, I boarded the train the next day with some apprehension, not really helped by a 'coffee' in Shotgun.
I woke up at home the following morming. Bleary-eyed on the balcony I found this view, above. First thought: 'Holy shiiiiit!' until I realised it was mist. Light rain had fallen all night and latest news was that the fire was under control. Drama over ... for here and now, as it's not really over in many parts of an icreasningly warming planet.
ROMA LIPA
Two thirds of the town where I live are white Caucasian and one third is Roma (known more commonly in English as 'gypsy'), a nomadic tribe with Indian roots in Punjab and Rajasthan.
Czech Roma live in the roughest parts of town - ghettos, which scare the living daylights out of Whitie. Whitie also lives in the ghetto, but in more salubrious ghetto suburbs.
Roma are of course targetted by the usual racist suspects. Whenever any theft is committed, which is often, fingers are immediately pointed at the Rom: a convenient scapegoat for white man's criminality. A gypsy might take 10 Crowns, while a corrupt Whitie will take 10 million or more, without shame.
Politics aside, the Roma do LOVE to party! And do so with passion, fun, laughter and energy, all dressed up in their best frocks, dancing exceptionally, thrilled in every step and roared on by their audience.
One of my favourite Czech memories comes from the early 90s when roaming though the backstreets of Brno, capital of Morava. I was looking for the venue of a Ticha Dohoda concert and never found it. What I did find was a little gypsy guy in suit and tie, playing a violin beside an oil drum, fire flaming within. Two girls stood watching, enchanted by the music and moody night air.
Czech Roma live in the roughest parts of town - ghettos, which scare the living daylights out of Whitie. Whitie also lives in the ghetto, but in more salubrious ghetto suburbs.
Roma are of course targetted by the usual racist suspects. Whenever any theft is committed, which is often, fingers are immediately pointed at the Rom: a convenient scapegoat for white man's criminality. A gypsy might take 10 Crowns, while a corrupt Whitie will take 10 million or more, without shame.
Politics aside, the Roma do LOVE to party! And do so with passion, fun, laughter and energy, all dressed up in their best frocks, dancing exceptionally, thrilled in every step and roared on by their audience.
One of my favourite Czech memories comes from the early 90s when roaming though the backstreets of Brno, capital of Morava. I was looking for the venue of a Ticha Dohoda concert and never found it. What I did find was a little gypsy guy in suit and tie, playing a violin beside an oil drum, fire flaming within. Two girls stood watching, enchanted by the music and moody night air.
Digging around in the depths of my knackered laptop, I found another file of photos taken at a Romany dance event held in the Kulturni Dum, back in 2016. Here are the results.
Duyun Days
Another blast from the past is this photo found in Mother's chest of drawers.
It's the living room of my flat in Duyun, Guizhou, China where I lived between 1994 and 96. I'd deliberately gone to The People's Republic as I wanted to live under communism, to see how it worked before the capitalists ripped it to bits.
The kids - left ro right - are Loobiloo,
Betty and Benny. Me and my flatmate
named them.
They came to visit often,
mainly because we had a tv and a sofa, but they also liked to ring the bell, without pause.
On opening the door, like a little troop of scouts, they marched straight in, shouting "HALLOOO!" then sat down to watch cartoons. I always enjoyed seeing them, even if they did start to come round every day. I hope they are still as healthy and happy.
It's the living room of my flat in Duyun, Guizhou, China where I lived between 1994 and 96. I'd deliberately gone to The People's Republic as I wanted to live under communism, to see how it worked before the capitalists ripped it to bits.
The kids - left ro right - are Loobiloo,
Betty and Benny. Me and my flatmate
named them.
They came to visit often,
mainly because we had a tv and a sofa, but they also liked to ring the bell, without pause.
On opening the door, like a little troop of scouts, they marched straight in, shouting "HALLOOO!" then sat down to watch cartoons. I always enjoyed seeing them, even if they did start to come round every day. I hope they are still as healthy and happy.
HOTEL ŽIZKOV ...
check out
anytime you like
AND leave
I've stayed at two Hotel Californias, in Montevideo, Uruguay and Manama, Bahrain, checking out AND leaving them both, still alive to tell the tale. Yet, whenever I'm at Hotel Žižkov, I NEVER actually WANT to check out and certainly DO NOT want to leave ... often forcing myself to do so and ...
.. I swear those cobbled streets are magnetic, with dark corners filled by enigmatic intrique. Laughter erupts from red lipstick; blue overalls chortle along; dogs bark; pub walls bounce in reckless abandon from early morning across long nights of debauchery and the music provides a nonstop soundtrack to Žižkov's existence.
Play in Žižkov and die happy!
Back in the 90s, I lived near here and did manage to survive that episode in one piece. However, it has to be the most dazed, confused and bewitching period of my life. The streets of Žižkov have never left me and I blame Doctor Ivo Hodek who had allowed me to live in his apartment while I edited his book on ladybirds and wallowed in Praha 3 district's plethora of entertainment, frivolity, pubs and live music venues, soaking up anything that crossed my path. Thirty years later, I'm still trying to work it all out and odd memories come back to me at strange times, like being hit round the head with a frying pan.
Just the other day, after a night in Žižkov, I was standing on a platform at hlavni nadrazi, Prague's main railway station, watching a Japanese tourist do his Japanese tourist thing when I spotted a familiar sight up on the hill. It was Zakladni Skola/Basic School Na Smetance, my first place of work in this city, way back in 1992, and also my first ever teaching job.
Play in Žižkov and die happy!
Back in the 90s, I lived near here and did manage to survive that episode in one piece. However, it has to be the most dazed, confused and bewitching period of my life. The streets of Žižkov have never left me and I blame Doctor Ivo Hodek who had allowed me to live in his apartment while I edited his book on ladybirds and wallowed in Praha 3 district's plethora of entertainment, frivolity, pubs and live music venues, soaking up anything that crossed my path. Thirty years later, I'm still trying to work it all out and odd memories come back to me at strange times, like being hit round the head with a frying pan.
Just the other day, after a night in Žižkov, I was standing on a platform at hlavni nadrazi, Prague's main railway station, watching a Japanese tourist do his Japanese tourist thing when I spotted a familiar sight up on the hill. It was Zakladni Skola/Basic School Na Smetance, my first place of work in this city, way back in 1992, and also my first ever teaching job.
The kids were cute, inquisitive and quite well-behaved. Years later I met one of them at a party. Little Petra was now big Petra and she told me that she'd become a lesbian, although she did like men from time to time.
Misha, a colleague in the English department, is the only religious Czech I've ever met, and she invited me to her house and made me tea in the Engliah manner, then said a prayer.
Rudi, also a colleague, was undoubtedly in the secret commie police force and it was only recently that I discovered the school premises were used by the Nazi SS during the occupation of Czechoslovakia in the 2nd world war.
Spooky, but hey, this is Žižkov, bordering upper-class Vinohrady.
Misha, a colleague in the English department, is the only religious Czech I've ever met, and she invited me to her house and made me tea in the Engliah manner, then said a prayer.
Rudi, also a colleague, was undoubtedly in the secret commie police force and it was only recently that I discovered the school premises were used by the Nazi SS during the occupation of Czechoslovakia in the 2nd world war.
Spooky, but hey, this is Žižkov, bordering upper-class Vinohrady.
Final Leg Home
Another Magnificent Journey That Not Many People Know About
Part 2 Žižkov!
Time came to bid farewell to clans McLaren and Anderson, plus my mother was sick of the sight of me and her fridge was pretty much empty, when another Magnificent Journey That Not Many People Know About came along. Excellent thumbs up. Let's go!
The original Magnificent Journey That Not Many People Know About takes place in Amsterdam. My location on Saudi's east coast allowed me to set off on this journey quite easily. Taslim the tubby taxi driver took me across the desert to Dammam airport, which by pure happenstance provides a daily flight at midnight to Amsterdam, landing at 06.30am, followed by a short train ride to Prix d'Ami coffee shop, one of the city's best. This is where the trip truly began.
Now the venue has changed somewhat, due to a different job and different air connections, but do not fear as I've unearthed another beauty for you to take!
What follows is a step-by-step guide to the latest magnificent journey:-
1. Get yourself, by whatever means, to Prague's Vaclav Havel airport.
2. Exit the arrivals terminal and go to bus stop.
3. Buy 30 minute ticket.
4. Take 119 bus to Velaslavin.
5. Get off bus and go down escalator for train to Hlavni Nadrazi.
6. (optional) If you have a bag, dump it in left luggage at Hlavni Nadrazi.
7. Exit station for tram stop across hobo-filled Park Sherwood.
8. Board tram number 1, 2, 6, 7 or 8 to reach the heart of Žižkov.
9. Get off at Lipanska stop.
10. From here it's a 5 minute walk past Saint Prokop's church and you're in the epicentre of Žižkov life and life in general. Enjoy the ride!
Now the venue has changed somewhat, due to a different job and different air connections, but do not fear as I've unearthed another beauty for you to take!
What follows is a step-by-step guide to the latest magnificent journey:-
1. Get yourself, by whatever means, to Prague's Vaclav Havel airport.
2. Exit the arrivals terminal and go to bus stop.
3. Buy 30 minute ticket.
4. Take 119 bus to Velaslavin.
5. Get off bus and go down escalator for train to Hlavni Nadrazi.
6. (optional) If you have a bag, dump it in left luggage at Hlavni Nadrazi.
7. Exit station for tram stop across hobo-filled Park Sherwood.
8. Board tram number 1, 2, 6, 7 or 8 to reach the heart of Žižkov.
9. Get off at Lipanska stop.
10. From here it's a 5 minute walk past Saint Prokop's church and you're in the epicentre of Žižkov life and life in general. Enjoy the ride!
School Cricket Team
Another photo to be dug out of the pits of mother's spare room is the school cricket team of 1982 when we were 16 years old. Interestingly, from a historical perspective, only four of us went on to play in the formidable, unbeaten first 11 of 1984; a team described by 127 year old cricket master Geoff 'Fred' Taylor as the best to have ever played for Judd School. It should also be noted that I was the lethally fast opening bowler.
SLAYER of the ENGLISH August 2022
Knighted Scottish hero William Wallace lived just down the road from where my Mum lives now. What a strange coincidence, because, like him, I also have an aversion to the English. Not all of them, of course, but certainly a good percentage. Eg. During this winter's test match in the Caribbean, I found myself rooting for the West Indies, rather than the nation of my birth.
The England cricket team is made up of public achoolboys and cast offs from the colonies. The British empire, snobbery, rigid class and elitist education sytems are the main peeves of my English life. This opinion was made worse after too much time as a tour manager, herding groups of the ungrateful, moaning-minnies .around various parts of the world. Loss of empire much resented. Ozzies and Kiwis refer to us as Whinging Poms,. and boy did they get that right.
"Well, I am disappointed, Marjory."
"Me, too. And he didn't tell us there would be so many steps, did he? I'll get a refund off 'em. for that"
"Is the Czech Republic in Prague, Godfrey?"
"Where's the toilet?" was the most common question to field in that job, followed by, "It's not very clean here, is it?"
If an English tourist has to pay for a dump, then all hell breaks loose. I could write a book on Toilets of the World ... and maybe will.
Wallace wasn't much concerned with having to give toilet directions to English tourists 8 hours a day (often longer). His gripe was with a neighbouring country invading his own country,. Turn on the news today and you'll see nothing has changed.
His greatest victory came at Stirling Bridge in 1297 when the English had their arses well and truly kicked. This is a location within spitting distance of my mum's father's birthplace. Gramps, as we called him, thus inherited the roots and influence of an anti-English warrior and passed them on to me through our bloodline.
With sword in hand and whisky in belly, William Wallace (known as 'Oor Wullie' to his friends) took vengeance on Sassenach/Saxon soldiers, and on bog-ridden, rainswept battlefields, he chopped off their heads and arms and legs, etc ... That would certainly have shut them up, but 700 years later in my position as tour manager, I couldn't really resort to such drastic measures. All I could do was dispatch them to the nearest WC, known in English vernacular as a 'bog'.
Wallace was eventually betrayed by a fellow Scotsman, and on capture near Glasgow, he was taken south to the Tower of London to be stripped naked, tied to the ankles of a horse and dragged through the streets of Smithfield. As a finale, the English had him hung, drawn and quartered, ie. cut into pieces while still alive. His head was stuck on a pole and exhibited on London Bridge.
His greatest victory came at Stirling Bridge in 1297 when the English had their arses well and truly kicked. This is a location within spitting distance of my mum's father's birthplace. Gramps, as we called him, thus inherited the roots and influence of an anti-English warrior and passed them on to me through our bloodline.
With sword in hand and whisky in belly, William Wallace (known as 'Oor Wullie' to his friends) took vengeance on Sassenach/Saxon soldiers, and on bog-ridden, rainswept battlefields, he chopped off their heads and arms and legs, etc ... That would certainly have shut them up, but 700 years later in my position as tour manager, I couldn't really resort to such drastic measures. All I could do was dispatch them to the nearest WC, known in English vernacular as a 'bog'.
Wallace was eventually betrayed by a fellow Scotsman, and on capture near Glasgow, he was taken south to the Tower of London to be stripped naked, tied to the ankles of a horse and dragged through the streets of Smithfield. As a finale, the English had him hung, drawn and quartered, ie. cut into pieces while still alive. His head was stuck on a pole and exhibited on London Bridge.
At least Gran & Gramps McLaren passed away in a more pleasant manner, interred in dark red soil among water meadows on the banks of the River Forth; land that William Wallace had done so much to liberate from the bloody English.
Dancing Queens 31.7.22
Roma dance competition, Krasna Lipa 2016
Belle of the Ball
Blast from the Past 21/07/22
Ordered by my Mum to sort out a lifetime's junk at the bottom of a wardrobe, I found an old pack of photos from my youth (remember film cameras?) So I scanned and uploaded a few of them for posterity ...
Scottish Heatwave 22/07/22
Not having seen my 82 year old mother for 2.5 years, due to covid restrictions and a job overseas., I thought maybe it was time to do so now when (paid) academic holidays stretch blissfully across the summer months and into autumn. I also had to visit the bank in Perth and was in serious need of some decent bacon (nb. Czech bacon sucks and Saudi doesn't have any).
However, on the phone before leaving my home she'd given me a warning: "Be careful because the runways are going to melt and the railway tracks might buckle due to the terrible heatwave we're having."
With this in mind when stepping off the plane in Edinburgh (the runway hadn't melted), driving rain and wind smashed into my face and I was quickly hunting in my bag for a raincoat (didn't have one). Off come the shorts, on go the socks, long trousers and sweater. Welcome to a Scottish summer. Yet, after a year in Saudi where it almost never rains, this weather is very cool and much appreciated.
The airport in Prague had been surprisingly quiet. Maybe due to hotels charging 3 or 4 times more than in pre-covid times - business never missing the opportunity for a good rip-off, thus affirming my life-long motto: Fuck Capitalism.
In Edinburgh I was kicking my heels and waiting for a train to Dunblane when to my surprise and delight I came across a stray joint in my fag packet. Bonus! Thus proving that every cloud does have a silver lining.
Not having seen my 82 year old mother for 2.5 years, due to covid restrictions and a job overseas., I thought maybe it was time to do so now when (paid) academic holidays stretch blissfully across the summer months and into autumn. I also had to visit the bank in Perth and was in serious need of some decent bacon (nb. Czech bacon sucks and Saudi doesn't have any).
However, on the phone before leaving my home she'd given me a warning: "Be careful because the runways are going to melt and the railway tracks might buckle due to the terrible heatwave we're having."
With this in mind when stepping off the plane in Edinburgh (the runway hadn't melted), driving rain and wind smashed into my face and I was quickly hunting in my bag for a raincoat (didn't have one). Off come the shorts, on go the socks, long trousers and sweater. Welcome to a Scottish summer. Yet, after a year in Saudi where it almost never rains, this weather is very cool and much appreciated.
The airport in Prague had been surprisingly quiet. Maybe due to hotels charging 3 or 4 times more than in pre-covid times - business never missing the opportunity for a good rip-off, thus affirming my life-long motto: Fuck Capitalism.
In Edinburgh I was kicking my heels and waiting for a train to Dunblane when to my surprise and delight I came across a stray joint in my fag packet. Bonus! Thus proving that every cloud does have a silver lining.
Still, all that rain does lead to a decent environment for farming and the fields raise the cows and mother's greenhouse (she spends most of the day in here and the garden) produces the veggies and the end result is roast beef for Sunday lunch. Superb!
Close Shave July 15, 2022
Heading my way ... bloody hell!
Watching Russia shower Ukraine with missiles on a daily basis reminded me of the most sensational event in Jeddah in the past 10 months: An airborne projectile attack (see photo right)! Only two missiles, but one is enough. No deaths.
Around about 9.30pm, I was on the sofa enjoying Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri when the movie was rudely interrupted by a huge explosion outside. From the window, I saw birds who should have been asleep, but were now screeching in flight above the treetops. Otherwise, life went on as normal. About 3 minutes later, another explosion. People in the street stopped and looked up, then carried on walking. BOOM then silence. Birds in the air. For the last seven years, down south in Yemen, the Saudis have been trying to obliterate Houthi guerillas, a political trigger-happy grouping backed by Shia Iran. The Houthis, like the Ukrainians, have fought back far harder than the aggressors expected. Those two Iranian-supplied missiles that had interrupted the movie, sent out of Yemen and INTO Saudi Arabia, led to an almost immediate ceasefire. The rockets had been fired from a distance of 800km and hit their exact targets - Aramco oil facilities in the city - with no casualties. That's some impressive shooting! The next day at work, talking about this high drama in a frenzied staff room, an American colleague told me that one missile had gone straight over his head. I imagined it parting his hair and causing him to walk nonplussed into a lamp-post. |
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Trip Home
It was a relief to leave behind the mega-mall of China City on Palestine Road in Jeddah, mainly because the exit was so hard to find and also because I'm not really into shopping, unlike the Saudis who have some of the mega-ist malls on the planet, some coated in gold. They're flash and blingy and ultra-popular. Going to the mall is a national pastime, along with driving as if in dodgem cars at the funfair.
You can spend all weekend in these malls without even leaving. A lot of families do just that and I know an Armenian professor of Geo-Science, who now lives in Michigan, USA, but works here, and he goes to Starbucks EVERY day in the belief that it's hip and trendy. Always empty when I go with him. Starbucks in China is where chicks hang out, hoping to pick up a foreigner.
You can spend all weekend in these malls without even leaving. A lot of families do just that and I know an Armenian professor of Geo-Science, who now lives in Michigan, USA, but works here, and he goes to Starbucks EVERY day in the belief that it's hip and trendy. Always empty when I go with him. Starbucks in China is where chicks hang out, hoping to pick up a foreigner.
My favoured haunt is this place, left, Sulaymaniah Mall Food Court located just down the road from my flat. I get a Domino's pizza and sit on the plastic seat at the plastic table and watch the mall life go by. Each and every American fast food chain is popular out here and a domestic one has now appeared, called al-Baik. Basically, it's KFC with a Saudi name.
Carrefour supermarket is also in this mall and it was in a state of shock that, while perusing the mangoes, I stumbled across this song and dance routine. The act starred a bloke in a plastic, inflatable local dress and huge glasses, singing and clapping in a demented manner. The crowd of shoppers loved it. The store manager shook my hand ... Man, Saudi is changing. Enjoy the cabaret!
My Jeddah home: an apartment hotel where I pay monthly (can be yearly) and get a large room like this with kitchen, window view to street, lounge, tv, etc, plus big bedroom and bathroom. Work is 10 minutes walk/20 with my leg. There's an expensive cafe and terrace (all the rage) downstairs, along with laundry, barber's, work space (whatever that means; empty), fast food joint that reeks of disinfectant, and good supermarket with cardamon tea dispenser. Tribes of cats fiercely control and protect their garbage bins on Mohammed Ali street. Rats scurry at night. It's a nice part of town, so I hear.
As temperatures crept over 40C and headed for 50, the summer vacation began and everybody scooted off to the airport. I was told to stay until 5pm on a certain date and was on a flight at 6.30pm. It brought me here, to a different god and a different colour to life ...
It is fantastic to get a pleasant, friendly welcome home as the lady below greets me when I step off the bus by the pond. Just going to show that the best things in life are free ...
Posh Parker is Back!
After a five year hiatus, poshparker.com returns to cyberspace!
Those absent years involved getting a new leg (NHS waiting lists are long); this unique web address being stolen by a Chinese company,; rolling in Bohemian hay; covid sending us scuttling indoors for a very long time; a job at Osama bin Laden's former seat of learning .... and now Putin, provoking the world into total nuke armageddon. Shiiit!
Flying in at 08.30 last Friday, Praha was steamy and overcast at the end of an all-night trip that had started in steamier Jeddah, via a four hour wait in Cairo, onto Istanbul for 3 hours, then Praha for breakfast and sustenance for the upcoming, eagerly awaited Czech version of my famous Magnificent Journey That Not Many People Know About in Amsterdam (am trying to set up a link, but can't find it).
This more recent and equally magnificent trip started at the bus stop outside Vaclav Havel Airport. Trusty bus no. 119 rides 15 minutes into socialist suburbs and drops us at Velaslavin metro where the train shoots underground, stopping off at Hlavni Nadrazi to dump my bag, then a tram uphill to Lipanska and a short walk to paradise on earth, aka Club Shotgun. YEEHAH! May God bless Žižkov!
After amusing enounters with some Shotgunners, their dogs, a Pole and his wife, I was suitably loaded with ammo and came out into bright sunshine, spending the next few hours engaged in one of my Prague hobbies, namely, riding the tram. It's awesome.
By 6pm, energy was slacking and I started on the final track home, revelling in city grey receding into lush, green vistas, riding along the banks of the Labe River. A quick change in Decin, just time to stock up at the platform bakery, and then uphill through forest, around peaks, and across the field (below) to home. Not having to worry about pcr tests and masks and passenger locator forms and vaccination certificates and death is great. In fact, where did covid even go?
By 6pm, energy was slacking and I started on the final track home, revelling in city grey receding into lush, green vistas, riding along the banks of the Labe River. A quick change in Decin, just time to stock up at the platform bakery, and then uphill through forest, around peaks, and across the field (below) to home. Not having to worry about pcr tests and masks and passenger locator forms and vaccination certificates and death is great. In fact, where did covid even go?
Liberated, I met up with No Legs Tonda on the square for a pivo and to check out any changes in my 5 month absence - none. Looks like it's still trying to break out of the 1970s and Tonda is still chugging them down like there's no tomorrow..
As the sun came out, I took a stroll to my favourite man cave in a tree up by the big pond. There is a beach with real sand and kids and dogs swimming, and bikinis, and suchlike. It's known as the Lipa Riviera and is host to weddings and other knees-ups. I forgot to take a photo.
On an enforced visit to the Usti Foreigners' Police station to update my residence visa (thanks Brexit) I came across this place, right, still supporting the cause of the Irish Republican Army via sales of hot dogs and grog. Either that, or the owner is called Ira.
Usti nad Labem has always had a leftfield/fuck you vibe to it - something to do with a glue factory located smack in the middle of town and an abundance of brutalist architecture - and this bistro merely adds to the edge.
Usti nad Labem has always had a leftfield/fuck you vibe to it - something to do with a glue factory located smack in the middle of town and an abundance of brutalist architecture - and this bistro merely adds to the edge.