The Bohemian Way of Life

5. The Bohemian Way of Life

“Sleep well, Darren?” Sally asked as we waited to board the bus.“Like the proverbial log.”“You weren’t disturbed? Didn’t hear anything?”“No.”She gawked at me, her jaw dropping open. “Not one little

thing?”“No, why? What happened?” Apparently a lot. If our room-mates weren’t throwing up in the

hall or chatting loudly in the room they were busy slamming doors and repeatedly switching lights on and off. Sally may’ve been shocked at my ability to sleep through all these disturbances, but I certainly wasn’t. It takes a lot more than screaming people and flashing lights to wake me. In fact, if members of a German Oompa band had walked into the room, planted themselves beside my bed and played their greatest hits I’d have thought it was music to sleep by, turned over and gone into an even deeper slumber.

The bus drove east towards Dresden. Looking back, Dresden was one of the many tough calls I’d had to make on this trip. It started when I was in Scotland, deciding where I wanted to stop and for how long. The big cities didn’t pose a problem; it was the smaller ones like Dresden that caused me angst and had me pondering. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to see every city on the Busabout route, but while my time may have been limitless, my bank account definitely was not.

In the end I avoided making the choice in the hope that it would sort itself out, but by the time my last day in Berlin had rolled around I was still no closer to making a decision. So I asked fellow travellers what they thought about Dresden and they all agreed it was similar to Berlin and I wouldn’t be missing much if I skipped it altogether. But when the bus arrived into the city at a little past

eleven I could not for the life of me understand how anyone could say Dresden was like Berlin. Berlin was a hotchpotch of construction, decay and all things new, while Dresden was more classical by design and extravagant in stature. At nearly eight hundred years old and with its captivating Baroque skyline, Dresden certainly deserved its title as one of Europe’s most dynamic and beautiful cities.

Dresden was in the midst of May Day celebrations and the Elbe River was lined with people and strewn with paddle steamers. To really get amongst it I needed a couple of days, but I only had one hour. That’s not exactly true. I would’ve had an hour if I hadn’t needed to find a toilet.

Joining me on my search for a bathroom was a couple from Melbourne, James and Alicia.

“You know,” I said to James, “for a place that has so many bars so close to a river serving one-litre steins of beer, you’d think they’d have row upon row of public toilets.”

“You’re telling us,” James agreed. “Come on, guys, we’re obviously not going to find anything here. Let’s try away from the river. We might find a McDonald’s or something. There has to be a public toilet around here some place.” His last sentence was more of a plea than a statement.

We asked a few people on the street for guidance, but I guess our hand gestures were not up to scratch because instead of receiving directions all we got were dirty looks.

Things were beginning to look desperate. “This is bloody ridiculous!” Alicia said, obviously frustrated.“Hey, guys, what about over there?” James said.Alicia and I looked at the small cafe James was pointing to and

were overjoyed to see signs for toilets. “We might have to buy something,” Alicia warned.James waved her off. “We’ll worry about that later. I am

officially declaring this a state of emergency!”

As we entered, the bartender gestured to some menus on the bar before concerning himself with the glass he was polishing. James and I picked up a menu each while Alicia scurried off to the ladies’ room.

“What do you think, Darren?” James asked.“Not a bad selection,” I said louder than was necessary while I

rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “If only I could decide.” “You know, Darren, I can see this is going to take some time

so why don’t you do what you need to do and I’ll see if I can choose something.”

I placed my menu silently on the bar and casually walked to the bathroom. Upon my return James handed me the menu before power walking off in the same direction. I opened the menu and began to look indecisive.

A waitress suddenly appeared beside me. “Do you need a hand?” she offered in pristine English.

“I’m fine, danke. I’m just having a tough time deciding.”She raised her eyebrows and looked at me. It was a look that

told me she knew I was full of shit. Just then James and Alicia returned. “So, Darren,” James said in a loud voice so the waitress would

hear, “anything take your fancy?”“Nah, not really.” I replaced the menu and without so much as

a backward glance, the three of us hightailed it back to the bus.The scenery on the way to the German/Czech Republic border

was not the bland green landscape I’d expected, but was surprisingly alpine. In the blink of an eye the road was enveloped by towering pines that occasionally parted to reveal wooden cottages, babbling brooks and a narrow gauge railway.

The German border guards on the other hand were exactly what I expected—mean, efficient and ruthless. Before the bus had even stopped they’d jumped on board, unholstered their passport

stamps and fixed us in their steely glare. We knew they meant business.

This level of efficiency was missing on the other side of the border; things were definitely done differently in the Czech Republic. In the time it took for one of the Czech border guards to look up and realise that a bus had pulled up in front of their window, spiders had moved in, my hair was long enough to braid and tumbleweeds were rolling down the aisle. Instead of rushing out to us, as his German counterparts would’ve done, the Czech guard gently woke his sleeping colleague and casually pointed to our bus. They exchanged glances, followed by a few words. Oh Jeez—a bus! It’s the second one of the day. You know, we’re going to have to ask for that pay rise. All this hard work will be the death of us. Going by their enthusiasm it was no wonder we’d been told that getting across the border into the Czech Republic could take as long as three hours, if not more.

Luckily, it took less. Ninety minutes later we’d officially crossed the border and were heading to the old garrison town of Terezin. Built during the eighteenth century to provide protection for Prague the town was used for a much more sinister purpose during World War Two.

According to our guide through her thick Czechoslovakian accent, “The Jews that were brought here were not here for death, but only for holding. They were to be placed on trucks and trains and sent to death camps in Poland. But before they left many died due to ill-treatment, overcrowded cells and malnutrition.”

This was not hard to imagine. “The SS filled each cell with one hundred people,” our guide

said, “with no food, no water or toilets.” She led us to one of the cells, which was about the size of a

small bedroom, barely big enough for twenty people, let alone a hundred.

The sad fact about Terezin is that the ill-treatment of the Jews need not have continued if the Red Cross had been more vigilant during a visit to the town. The Nazis did such a good job misrepresenting the truth and pulling the wool over their eyes by filling shops with goods, bakeries with bread, stores with food and placing prisoners in strategic positions around the town, that the Red Cross representatives concluded the Terezin Jews were being treated well.

Altogether, 140,000 Jews were incarcerated at Terezin, 33,000 of who died before the rest were shipped off to places like Dachau and Auschwitz.

Up to that point I never could properly visualise the sheer numbers of Jews that died in the Holocaust. And while I never will, Terezin certainly gave me a better understanding of the scale of genocide that sadly took place. Initially, when our guide told us that 33,000 Jews perished I found it difficult to grasp the scope of what that meant. It wasn’t so much the size of that number that caused me angst, but more what that number meant. Only when I was back out the front of the fort, facing the large Star of David and surrounded by row upon row of white crosses did it occur to me how significant the number 33,000 was when it pertained to people. I guess I could liken the feeling to sitting in an empty Sydney Cricket Ground, knowing the rest of the crowd who should’ve been there with me had been killed and all laid to rest in the one cemetery. But do you know what I found really scary? That the Jews who died at Terezin were a mere handful compared to the millions more murdered during the war.

We arrived in Prague as the afternoon sun was shining across the Vtlava River and its many bridges. Above it all and draped in shadows was Prague Castle, the spire of its Gothic cathedral rising high above its outer walls and the rest of the city.

While everyone watched in silent admiration as the cityscape rolled by, our guide filled us in on Prague and what we could do.

“Julie!” the bus driver suddenly called.“What’s up, Scotty?”“We have a problem.”“What is it?” Julie quickly replaced the mike and huddled next

to Scott.Scott didn’t answer, but simply pulled over and watched a

policeman stroll up to his window.“What did you do?” Julie asked.“I guess I’m about to find out.”Scott opened his window and listened to the policeman

explain what he had done wrong. Understandably, Scott tried to talk himself out of the situation, but the officer would have none of it. Ignoring Scott’s pleas of ignorance, he pulled out his fine book, flipped to the next empty page and began to write furiously. Again, Scott tried to explain to the officer that he was taking backpackers to their accommodation. But the officer ignored him, tore off the infringement notice and handed it to him. Scott closed the window and was about to drive off when the officer tapped the window and rubbed his fingers against his thumb. Obviously, the fine needed to be paid immediately. From where I was sitting I could see Scott’s face in the rear view mirror and saw him mouth silently, “You’re fucking joking.” Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed the officer some cash. The policeman smiled at his fellow officers and tucked the wad of bills into his back pocket.

“What was that all about?” Julie asked.“Apparently the bus was impersonating a tram!”“Huh?” “Since the bus is wider than most cars I have no option but to

drive on the tram tracks. But thanks to those bloody idiots that’s now a crime. Maybe next time I should drive on the footpath!” Scott clenched his knuckles around the steering wheel as he turned the bus back onto the main road.

“Take it easy, Scotty. Let’s just find another way to the hostel and once we get settled in I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Thanks, Jules, but first we have to get there. You wouldn’t know any other way would you?”

“No, I was hoping you did. Since you're the driver and all!”“Oh well.” Scott smiled as he grabbed the microphone. “Guys,

since our usual route to the hostel has been blocked by the cops we have a special treat for you. Julie and I are taking you on an impromptu tour of the city.”

Rather than touring Prague’s sights, the bus roamed the city’s back streets until it finally found the drop-off point. Unfortunately for Richard, Sally and I, our hostel was still another twenty-minute walk away. By the time we finally checked in and dumped our bags the three of us were ravenous so we strolled back into Prague to grab some dinner.

“Excuse me,” a tall blond guy said as he stepped out of a phone booth on a street corner. From his twang he was obviously an Aussie. That and the fact that he was holding a Telstra phone card.

“Yeah, mate?” Richard said.“You guys wouldn’t know how to use a phone card in these

phones would you?” He handed Richard the card. Richard studied it before answering, “Wouldn’t have a clue

sorry, mate.”“Is there someone at the place you’re staying who could help

you?” I suggested.“We’ve tried what the receptionist at our hostel suggested.”“Oh.”He turned away from us. “Bugger this, Brenda, come on out!” Brenda stepped out of the booth. She was slightly shorter than

the guy, but like him she had blonde hair, only hers was shoulder length.

“But Brett—”

“Look, I’m hungry. We can try later.”The two of them spent the next five minutes having a

domestic about whether or not they should make the call. Richard butted in, “Why don’t you come out to dinner with us?

We’re just about to pop into town.” All eyes turned to Brenda.She gave in after a short hesitation. “Yeah, okay.” “So, where are you guys from?” Richard asked after all the

introductions were done.“Sunny Melbourne,” Brett answered.“How long are you in Prague?” I asked.“Four days,” Brenda said.“Then what? Heading back to the UK? Australia?”“No,” Brenda said. “Have you heard of Busabout?”Richard flashed a toothy grin. “You betcha!” “We’re Busabouters ourselves,” Sally said.We compared travel plans and life stories before our growling

stomachs demanded our attention. “So, what d’you guys feel like eating?” Brett asked.“Anything really,” I said, pausing at a menu displayed at the

front of one of the numerous restaurants that lined the streets of central Prague, “but looking at these prices I reckon steak could be a goer.”

Richard looked over my shoulder. “I heard Prague was cheap, but this is …” He let out a soft whistle and flashed one of his trademark smiles.

Our search for a restaurant was made incredibly pleasant by the warm spring evening and relaxed jovial atmosphere that pervaded the city. After settling on a restaurant near Wencelas Square we made quick work of ordering our meals and, more importantly, our drinks.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” Brett said, reaching for his beer as soon as it was placed in front of him.

I picked up my glass. “Cheers, everyone!” “Hang on a sec,” Sally interjected. “We’re in the Czech

Republic—let’s do it right.”With that we raised our glasses and with a loud clink, wished

each other a hearty “nice driveway”.

The next morning found Richard, Sally and I walking to the nearest tram stop. Richard went ahead of me and asked the lady for two tickets.

Saying nothing, she fiddled with a gizmo behind the counter before handing him his tickets.

He smiled and said, “Dickweed” then passing me, shook his head. “God, what a funny language. Imagine looking someone in the face, saying ‘dickweed’ and having it mean ‘thank you’. Crazy, huh?”

I stepped up to the counter and asked for a ticket. The lady looked at me, frowned and said, “No” or at least something that sounded like it. I asked her once more and got the same answer. Before I could ask a third time she handed me my ticket. I looked at Sally and Richard, wondering what the hell was going on.

Sally laughed. “Darren, don’t you pay any attention?” “What are you talking about?” “Remember what Julie said? In Czechoslovakian ‘no’ means

‘yes’ and vice versa.” “Oh yeah,” I said sheepishly. Crazy indeed.Prague Castle looked different up close to what it did from

afar. While St Vitus Cathedral was still as impressive as it was from a distance with its high reaching Gothic spires and intricately detailed architecture, the castle itself was not what I expected a castle to look like, especially one renowned for being the biggest ancient castle in the world. There were no round towers or ramparts and its stonework showed a distinct Spanish influence instead of a medieval one.

We bought our tickets and walked to the far side of the Basilica Church towards one of the oldest parts of the castle, the Royal Palace.

“Wait a minute, guys.” Richard called. “Before we go in I need to use the loo.”

He returned a few minutes later, panting heavily. “Quick, Sal, give us the camera!”Sally hesitated.“Darren, you have to check this out. Come on, Sal, the

camera!”I stayed put and made no attempt to follow Richard. You have

to admit I had a right to be suspicious. It’s not every day I get asked by a guy with a camera to follow him into a toilet to check something out!

“C’mon, Darren, get a move on!” Richard grabbed the camera off Sally.

Still making no move to go anywhere I said, “What exactly do you want me to check out, Rich?”

“The view! The view of the city from the toilets is amazing.”He was right. The view was amazing. But if someone had

come into the men’s at that particular moment they too would’ve been amazed at the two guys crammed into a tiny cubicle, fiddling with the zoom lenses on their respective cameras.

Except for the views from the toilets and from the many balconies, the Royal Palace left a whole lot to the imagination. Unlike other castles I’d visited the inside was bare, completely devoid of the opulence and splendour of the era represented. Even the stretching expanse of Vladislav Hall, which had seen numerous banquets, markets and knight tournaments, had very little on display. The only part of the old palace that still retained some colour was All Saints Church.

Located at the end of Vladislav Hall the small church was literally shrouded in gold so bright I almost found myself reaching

for my sunglasses. It was not simply the central altar with its towering, highly embellished, somewhat gaudy tabernacle that had me spellbound, but also the two altars on either side of it. While slightly smaller than the central one these altars were inset with countless religious icons and enough gold trimmings to drive most jewellers out of business.

After twenty minutes of walking through the cold empty rooms of the Royal Palace Sally, Richard and I realised the entrance fee into these apartments was a waste of money, not to mention time. Leaving the palace by the so-called Riders’ Staircase where horses and their riders used to gain entrance to the hall for tournaments, we walked to the Golden Lane.

Going by the crowds that were fighting each other to get into this section of the castle it was obviously the place to be. For the life of me I couldn’t understand why. On one side there was nothing but a blank wall and on the other stood houses that while picturesque and colourful, served no other purpose than to convince people to part with their money. These buildings were originally used as living quarters for servants and goldsmiths—hence the name of the lane—but in reality they were nothing more than shops.

“Guys,” Richard said, “do you realise the tickets we bought entitled us to do no more than shop and get crushed by hordes of people?” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Well,” I said as we entered one of the smaller shops, “at least it shows Prague has embraced western capitalism with open arms.”

The three of us pushed our way to a flight of stairs at the far end of the lane that seemed to be drawing a lot of attention. At the top of the stairs we found ourselves at the halfway point of a long, musty cramped corridor. One side led down to a collection of cells while the other led us past a vast array of medieval weapons, none of which were kept behind any protective barrier of any sort. I suppose one might need quick access to a shield and mace,

especially since there were kids at the other end of the corridor playing with crossbows!

“Jeez, I hope the cathedral is less crowded than this,” Sally said as she barged through an unmoving group of people in a bid to lead us to the exit.

If anything the cathedral was worse. It seemed every tour group known to man had congregated at the entrance. As a result, raised above this sea of people were umbrellas, leaflets, antennas, kids, confused Japanese tourists and anything else the guides could think of to make sure their group stayed together. I wasn’t surprised. St Vitus Cathedral is the biggest and most famous church in all of Prague, home to many coronations and the resting place of many provincial saints, noblemen and sovereigns.

It wasn’t only that we were eager to get in and see dead people, but from what I’d been told the view of Prague from the top of the Gothic steeple was unmatched and the tomb of King Wenceslas at St Wenceslas Chapel was not to be missed.

“God, this is ridiculous,” Sally huffed as the three of us fought the crowds.

“At this rate,” I said, “it’ll take at least a couple of hours to get in this place.”

“And even if we do,” Richard added, “it’s so crowded I doubt we’ll be able to get a decent look at anything.”

“What do you say we give it a miss then?” Sally’s eyes had not left the throng pushing towards the cathedral door.

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “I’m sure there’ll be other churches in Europe that’ll be just as good.”

“If not better,” Richard agreed.Instead of directly making our way back into town we

detoured through the castle gardens. As expected, the gardens were carpeted in luxuriant green grass and sculptured topiary with a selection of exotic cedar and fig trees and, to my surprise, tulips. Apparently, long before the Netherlands embraced the tulip as its

national flower it was common practice to plant tulips along this castle’s paths and flowerbeds.

Shortly before midday the three of us reached Charles Bridge, easily the most famous bridge in Prague with its Gothic styling and array of religious figures. The most interesting was that of a man called John Nepomuk. He was a priest who served during the reign of King Wenceslas the Fourth. The king was a suspicious man and was convinced his queen had been up to some royal monkey business behind his back. To find out for sure the king demanded that John tell him what his wife had told him in confession. Catholic priests are bound not to divulge such things and so John refused. This enraged Wenceslas so much that he had John dragged out to Charles Bridge and unceremoniously dumped into the Vtlava River.

Shortly after John’s demise a golden halo reportedly appeared over the area where he disappeared, supposedly as evidence of his martyrdom. As a result the statue erected in his honour bears a ring of stars around its head. Standing a few metres away from the statue is a small crucifix that marks the spot where John was thrown over. It’s said that if you touch the crucifix and make a wish it will be granted.

Getting to the crucifix was no easy task, let alone making it across Charles Bridge. The crowd was thick and it was too easy to get distracted by the artists, buskers and peddlers who’d set up stalls along the side of the bridge. But all that pushing and shoving was worth it once we got to the other side.

It’s impossible to stroll through the Old Town of Prague and not be affected by its charm and magic—its zigzagged cobblestone laneways were lined with Baroque fairytale architecture and shops where marionettes hung in doorframes and danced in the wind, while windowsills were adorned with hand-painted babushka dolls and gleaming Bohemian crystal.

At the heart of it all was the Old Town Square. Surrounded by Gothic architecture, cafes, restaurants and shops, the square was both enchanting and laid-back.

Overlooking the square was the Church of Our Lady of Tyn. A church that while immensely beautiful was one of the first monuments to sexism. Built with one tower higher than the other the church is said to be a visual representation of the difference between the masculine and feminine species. As to which species the bigger tower represents, I’ll let you make up your own mind!

Inside the church, like St Vitus Cathedral, lay yet another grave that honoured neither saint nor sovereign, but the famed astronomer Tycho Brahe. Personally, I would’ve loved to have been a fly on the wall when he died. Not that I’m morbid or anything, but the story goes that Tycho passed away while dining with the emperor. Some say he died of a burst bladder, others that he died of mercury poisoning, and there are those that say it was murder. But the cause is irrelevant. Protocol of the day dictated that no one was permitted to leave the table while the emperor still remained. So when Tycho collapsed and died no one came to his aid. Left lying facedown in his soup he was probably the topic of conversation for the rest of the evening.

The church, while being eye-catching was not the focal point of the crowds. Everyone who entered the square seemed drawn to the Astronomical Clock that stood on the side of the Town Hall. Built over six hundred years ago, it’s one of the oldest European clocks of its type and not only tells the time, but distinguishes day from night, the revolution of the sun, the moon and stars, and as an added bonus keeps track of the twelve signs of the zodiac. As the clock struck one o’clock, Jesus and his twelve apostles marched across the dial just as death—an animatronic skeleton—struck a bell. Okay, the show itself wasn’t too exciting, but considering the clock still keeps remarkably good time and the machinery that

makes it all happen is more than half a century old, it’s quite impressive.

Just as quickly as it began the show ended and the crowd dispersed. Richard, Sally and I did the same and wandered past the centrepiece of the square, a statue of Jan Hus, a priest who spoke out against Catholic methods of worship and was ultimately burned at the stake.

The old part of town was the perfect place to walk aimlessly and lose track of time. And this is exactly what we did for the rest of the afternoon before I left Sally and Richard and strolled back to the hostel.

I returned later that night to check out an imposing building that stood by the river’s edge. The place was called the Karlovy Lazne Nightclub and proclaimed itself as the biggest nightclub in all Eastern Europe. With its four floors of music this is not a claim I disbelieved. I don’t recall what time I got home. All I knew when my alarm sounded the next morning was my legs hurt as much as my head.

You’re probably wondering why in blue blazes I would want to set my alarm after a big night out. Well, when my alarm went off I asked myself the same question. It was only after I reached for it in a bid to throw it out the window that I realised I was the victim of my own alcoholic over-exuberance. Among the copious bottles of beer and pounding dance beats, I’d eagerly made plans with Brett and Brenda to visit the town of Seldec, which is about an hour’s train journey out of Prague. This in itself was not a bad thing. Going to Seldec was always on my to do list, but I was literally kicking myself for making plans that meant I had to get up so early in the morning. The fact that I even had the coordination to set my alarm, let alone remember the plans, is a complete miracle.

“Hey, guys!” I said, finally arriving at the platform. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey, Darren,” Brenda said before turning her attention back to the indicators.

“How’s your head, mate?” Brett asked with a grin. “Still attached, thankfully.” I rubbed the back of my neck.

“How about you?”“We—”“I can’t see the train to Seldec!” Brenda interrupted.“God, you’re such a stress-head, Brenda—relax! We catch the

train to Kutna Hora.”“Yeah, Seldec is a suburb of Kutna Hora,” I clarified.“Oh – oh damn!” “Now what?” Brett sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.“We just missed a train.”“Sorry, guys,” I said, “I would’ve been here sooner, but—”“Don’t worry about it, Darren.” Brett turned to Brenda. “Relax,

babe. There’s another one in twenty minutes.”“Speaking of which, have you guys got your tickets?”“Sure do,” Brett said.“Cool. Let me grab mine, then we can jet.”When Brett, Brenda and I arrived at Seldec we made straight

for the Seldec Ossuary, also known on the backpacking grapevine as ‘the bone church’. Nondescript in every essence of the word, the church while not much to look at from the outside, gave the phrase ‘dying to get in’ a whole new meaning. Within its walls were the remains of nearly forty thousand people!

During the thirteenth century a monk went on a pilgrimage to Palestine and brought back a few sods of earth from Golgotha, the site where Jesus was crucified, and sprinkled them over the Seldec cemetery. When word of the monk’s actions spread people came from all over, wanting to be buried at the cemetery because it was thought this would guarantee them a place in heaven. By the early fourteenth century the number of bodies had reached well over thirty thousand, and by the time the plague arrived the

gravediggers had run out of room. To make space for new arrivals and because no one knew what else to do with them, the old bones were dug up and placed in storage. A couple of hundred years later someone came up with the bright idea of decorating the chapel with the left-over bones—all forty thousand sets to be precise.

We entered the church and stopped dead in our tracks. Staring at us from across the room was a chandelier made up of skulls and what appeared to be bones from many human arms. We were speechless at the sculptures that had been made into crosses, coats of arms and other shapes that were macabre yet captivating. Especially odd was an arrangement that sat near the entrance—a bone-bird pecking at the ocular cavity of a human skull.

“Well, that was – er – interesting,” Brett commented as we left the church.

“To say the least,” I agreed.“Now what?” Brett asked. “Let’s grab something to eat,” I suggested, “I’m starving. And

then we can have a look around town.”“I’m pretty sure I saw a supermarket down the road,” Brenda

told us.“What are we waiting for? Let’s go.” Brett powered off in the

direction Brenda was pointing.Apart from a few tired looking workers in the supermarket and

a big guy who seemed to be getting extreme pleasure from cutting twigs with a large chainsaw, the suburb of Seldec was deserted.

“Come on, guys, let’s get back to Prague,” Brett said. “I doubt we'll find much more to do here.”

This was a good suggestion. Not only was there not much going on in Seldec, but the big guy with the chainsaw was beginning to look at us with a certain gleam in his eye.

When I woke up the next morning Richard and Sally had already left to catch the bus, leaving me to spend my last two days in Prague in

a similar fashion to how they’d spent their last day—shopping and strolling in and out of Old Town and the city. It was also during those two days that I caught the flu.

This wasn’t the only bug I caught. It was my last evening in Prague. I sat in the kitchen, writing

in my travel journal and chatting to others around me when I casually mentioned to no one in particular that while I was due to leave tomorrow I could quite happily miss the bus.

“Ahhh,” said an Irish bloke sitting across from me, “you, my friend, are the latest victim of the Prague bug. Now that you’re here you may never want to leave. Just look at me. A few days have turned into months and now I work in a bar in the centre of town.”

From the nods of agreement from others at the table, I knew I was not alone in my affliction. I’d simply discovered what everyone else who’d ever been to Prague already knew. It was a place that had more than enough beauty and charm to keep me there for weeks, or as my Irish friend said, even months.

I was tempted to miss that bus, but I’m glad I didn’t.After a pleasant journey south for a couple of hours we arrived

at Cesky Krumlov, a medieval town at the southern tip of Bohemia. I hadn’t been sure about stopping at Dresden, but I was one

hundred percent certain about stopping at Cesky Krumlov. In fact, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. It was a town preceded by its reputation, which meant that by the time I actually set out from Prague in the direction of Cesky Krumlov, my expectations of the small town were high. I’m happy to say I wasn’t disappointed.

Nestled among the hills of Southern Bohemia and straddling the Vtlava River, the town expanded outwards in a maze of cobbled alleyways, colourful houses and medieval architecture that gave the town a distinctive fairytale vibe.

Eager to get amongst it, Brett, Brenda and I quickly checked into our hostel, dumped our bags and walked into town. Almost

immediately the castle tower grabbed our attention. It was truly one of the most unusual and colourful towers I had seen. Where other castle towers had a grey and listless appearance, the brickwork of this tower was painted in vibrant tones of red and yellow with splashes of green thrown in for good measure, while golden eaves and cornices adorned the tower’s balcony and roof.

The castle itself was similarly intriguing. Its Gothic windows were dressed in elegant window boxes and painted in primary colour schemes while Baroque arches and medieval balconies were decorated in bright summery hues. Had I been standing in a different place I would’ve described the castle as garish, but in Cesky Krumlov it was simply Bohemian.

The same could not be said of the castle gardens; they had a distinctly Renaissance influence. Spread over two levels and joined by a grand staircase that bordered an opulent fountain adorned with water deities, the gardens were crossed with rigid pathways, manicured lawns and perfectly clipped trees. The only part that retained the Bohemian charm of the rest of the castle was the summer house. With its colourful exterior and remarkable, albeit smaller resemblance to the manor from Beauty and the Beast, the summer house was certainly one of the more photographed attractions.

Directly opposite stood a structure that was neither Bohemian nor Renaissance in style. If anything, the revolving amphitheatre seemed out of place. Designed and built in the mid-1940s it could be rotated to face any direction and was a popular venue for plays and open-air music during the summer months.

The gardens also provided one of the best views of the town and surrounding countryside, which was dotted with fertile green hills and thickets of dense forest that seemed an ideal setting for a long stroll. The town too, with its maze of streets, seemed the perfect place to get lost for hours on end. The three of us decided to do just that.

Walking along one of its many alleyways we were immediately transported back in time. Cars were almost non-existent, laneways were cobbled, house fronts were painted in various bright colours and the locals welcomed us with warm smiles.

“God, this place is awesome,” Brett said.“I just can’t believe how pretty it is,” Brenda agreed.“Is it me, guys, or do you feel like we’re on a different planet?”“No, Darren, it’s not just you,” Brett concurred. “I just looked

at my watch. It seems like we’ve been here for hours, but we’ve only been walking around town for forty-five minutes.”

“C’mon, guys, let's head down to the river,” Brenda suggested.

Even though the river was no less than five minutes away we didn’t arrive at its banks until nearly an hour later because we were in no hurry to get there.

The three of us spent the rest of the afternoon there soaking up the sun and watching the clouds drift. Occasionally, a boat filled with giggling kids, cheery parents or a group of friends would float by. As they passed they would wave and flash a friendly smile, only to have us and others on the riverbank return the gesture.

It was early evening when we returned to the hostel and grabbed a table on the patio. Overlooking the murmuring river and town, it was the perfect place to drink beer and marvel at the mesmerising view at sunset.

But the beauty of Cesky Krumlov was not limited to the fairytale sunsets, medieval architecture and luxuriant countryside. What made Cesky Krumlov such a hit with everyone I spoke to was that it gave them the opportunity to do as much or as little as they wanted. If you didn’t want to spend the day walking round town or lying around sunbaking then there were always the nearby forests to explore.

This is exactly what we did the following day. As Brett, Brenda, Abigail—another room-mate—and I wandered along the

shadowed path through shafts of sunlight, I relished the fresh, dew-scented air on my face and thought how peaceful this place was. So much so that when one of us spoke we did so in hushed tones so as not to disturb the serenity.

As we hiked deeper into the forest I almost expected to find a house made of candy just waiting for lost kids or hapless backpackers to stumble across. Instead, we found something else that could’ve caused just as much trouble.

“I think we’re on army land,” Brett said casually as we walked into an open field.

Brenda froze. “Don’t you think we should turn back?” “Nah, we’ll be right,” Brett told her.“I still reckon we—”“C’mon, Brenda,” Brett said. “How often do we get to take a

stroll through a forest on a summer’s day in Melbourne?”Brenda remained silent as she pursed her lips and her cheeks

filled with colour. Suddenly the path split into two and we stopped to let Brenda

catch up.“Okay, guys,” Brett said, “we either head right and by the

looks of things that path will lead us back to town, or we continue left. I’m not fussed either way.”

Neither were Abigail or I. Brenda, on the other hand, was. “Let’s go right,” she said and before we could argue she set

off in that direction. “I guess she’s right.” Brett shrugged his shoulders. “We

wouldn’t want to get shot or blown up.”“Yeah, you’re right, Brett,” I said. “It’s way too early in the trip

for that.” That evening the hostel tapped a keg. In theory, this meant

free beer; in practice it meant warm froth. Most decided to forgo the offer and went to the hostel bar for their beer because it was cheap

—like everything else in the Czech Republic—and more importantly, cold.

“I know what we can do.” Brett shot up from the table. “I’m up for anything,” I told him, “as long as it doesn’t involve

moving.”Brett returned with a deck of Uno cards he’d bought in

Prague.After many games later and just as many beers, most were

ready for bed when Abigail decided to liven things up a bit. She scampered over to the bar and returned with shot glasses filled with Absinth, a liquid that looked like Coolmint Listerine. This stuff may’ve looked like mouthwash, but it tasted like kerosene. Either way, it annihilated the germs that caused gingivitis and bad breath.

I went to pick up a shot glass.Abigail stopped me. “No, Darren, you have to do it the right

way.”She placed the shot glasses on the table and handed me a

spoonful of sugar. “Now,” she instructed, “dunk the spoon with the sugar in the

Absinth and then pull it out.”I did so. “Now what?”“Does anyone have a lighter?” Abigail asked. One was handed

to her and she passed it to me. “Light the spoon then wait. When the sugar starts to caramelise, drop the spoon back into the glass.”

I did as I was told and the Absinth immediately caught on fire, as did the tablecloth and the dog that had wandered too close. I didn’t need to be told what to do next. I snuffed out the fire, inhaled the vapour and knocked back the shot. Good thing was the vapour cleared my sinuses (I still had the flu), but as for the sugar it did nothing to help the medicine go down.

After spluttering, thumping the table, staggering around, gasping for air and finally realising that that my insides weren’t melting, I swallowed another shot. Because nothing can take away

the taste of Absinth except more Absinth. And by that time you’re so drunk and your tongue is so numb you can’t taste or see anything. And as for walking, you might as well forget it.

I staggered back into my room and said hello—or something similar but equally unintelligible—to my other room-mates before crawling into bed.

“How was it?” Kelly asked me.There was a long pause as my Absinthinated mind processed

Kelly’s sounds into words and finally into a sentence. This took about five minutes.

I looked up, my head heavy and tried to focus in the direction of Kelly’s voice. She tried to restrain a smile. Stephanie shook her head, probably thinking, You bloody idiot.

“It was good … uh … oooh, my head … God, that’s pahtent stuff. Oohhh …”

Kelly burst into laughter. “It’s not fahhhnnyyy …” I trailed off as everything around me

faded to black.After the likes of Paris, Amsterdam and Berlin I needed a

couple of days to relax and unwind. That’s why places like Prague and Cesky Krumlov were so perfect. Prague was a great place for a leisurely stroll and Cesky Krumlov was a great place to relax, chill out, put your feet up and recuperate from all that sightseeing.

Up to that point I never realised how tiring a backpacking holiday could be.