Don't make us go back!

For the last four days of our epic journey I booked us a fantastic AirBnB room in Holland Park (Notting Hill neighborhood). Our host was the fascinating Jaana and her home was pristine in a gorgeous wedding cake of a townhome. While we had an open invitation to stay with Lizzie and family again, we knew we were much less fresh-faced than when we'd first been there. Basically we were animals, used to eating torn scraps of baguette and somewhat warm beers, speaking almost exclusively to one another in grunts and gestures, bathing infrequently, and hanging our underpants just everywhere to dry after an old fashioned sink wash. (Future employers: We are totally responsible adults in real life, we swear)

Four days sounded like so much time, and we tentatively planned a day trip to Brighton for Victorian beach amusement, and birthday celebrations that would empty the UK of its alcohol inventory. As you can imagine, we woke up on July 8, our first morning back in London and realized there was so much to do we could only cling to this time with our filthy fingernails. We walked through Kensington park to the Victoria and Albert Museum where we focused on the truly important exhibits: Fashion and Jewelry. We probably could have accomplished much more that day if I hadn't known about the Jewelry exhibit. The gallery didn't allow photos, but that didn't stop me from spending a full two hours there, much to Sally's horror, taking notes on jewelry styles and designers of different eras. I'm not even exaggerating (I kind of wish I were). We also visited the Wallace Collection, a townhome/cubic-city-block-mansion of art collected by five generations of Wallace men. I was inexplicably enchanted by the home's varied marble fireplace mantles, again, I am not kidding here when I tell you that I walked through this house taking photographs of the fireplaces and loudly praising them as Sally sat with head in hands waiting for the sweet release of death. Here's the proof:

 

I should also mention at this point we were at about 463 miles walked according to my absolutely imperfect pedometer. So now we were on a mission to reach 500 miles, we just had to. So we walked. One morning we got up and walked from our AirBnB to Camden Market, a six-and-a-half mile walk that we were about halfway into when the strap on one of Sally's hearty travel sandals tore free. She valiantly trudged on, not only to Camden but back into the center of London.

 

 

Another good reason for all the walking was that London's underground staff had decided to strike on July 9. After visiting Camden we had planned to make our way to the East End for a Sandeman tour, but could only get as far Euston Station, where we encounter a queue for the bus that was approximately 200 people deep at 2pm. Not good prospect for getting to Liverpool Station by 2:30pm. Sally wisely pointed out that it was not worth trying to run there, so could we just stop walking for a minute? That's how we ended up at the British Museum, ostensibly to use the toilets but since we were there, we took a gander at the Rosetta Stone.

The good thing about London is that where there's a will, there's a pub. So that's how we killed time before meeting Lizzie for drinks and Indian food. And after a perfect summer evening telling Lizzie about Francis and other adventures, Sally and I spent three hours trying to get home. It was a damn nightmare. 

Our last day in London was also my birthday. We ate breakfast with Jaana on her rooftop patio, walked to Westminster Pier where we caught the Thames River Service boat to Greenwich. The day was beautiful, the town was really cute in a touristy way, and it was an adventure of train rides back to London.

 

We finally made it to the East End for the Sandeman Real East End Tour. The itinerary looked so fun, a great afternoon adventure, but what the website didn't say at the time was that the tour started on July 31. So we trekked over to Liverpool Street Station, walked from clock tower to clock tower looking for a red umbrella, but 2pm came and went and we were just standing there, totally disappointed. It turned out okay though! We walked through the East End on our own and I pointed out to Sally streets that looked familiar from Call the Midwife. Thank goodness I watch so much British TV. 




We went back to the AirBnB for a bit before heading over to Lizzie's, so I took the opportunity to walk down Portobello Road, admiring the colorful homes and varied market stalls. 

 

 

The rest of the night wasn't captured in photographs, so I'll romanticize it a fair bit. Lizzie & Co had prepared for the big night by setting up a saber-ing station of 20oz beers. Three and a half years ago  when we traveled through India, I taught the Brits how to quickly and effectively remove the cap and lip of a beer using only a dinner knife. Sure it's sexier when a sommelier pops the top off a champagne bottle, but let's be serious: when you have to get to the alcohol, you have to get to the alcohol. This is the endgame of my wine career. Get the good stuff into your mouth. 

I lied, here is the sole photo from the night. Credit: Elizabeth W.

I don't know if British butter knives are weaker than Indian cutlery, or British bottles are thicker than their Indian counterparts, but we had a fairly difficult go of it. I think the men were finally successful, but I was woefully unable to make myself an amber glass ring. The good news was that we did have a bottle opener, so we were able to enjoy a few drinks before heading out to a wonderful South Chinese restaurant specializing in roasted meats and hand-pulled noodles. The entire experience was unique (a delightful departure from Americanized Chinese take-out) and provided deeply entertaining conversation. I am so lucky to have such accomplished and witty friends! On our way back to Southwark we stopped in for more drinks and a pile of chips/crisps to enjoy into the wee hours of the morning. We did precisely that, and on July 11 Sally made our way home. 

A few hours later we were up and out, wishing Jaana well, and met Lizzie again for brunch at Kensington Square Kitchen. It was as hard to believe that we were leaving as it was to anticipate actually taking the trip seven weeks ago. Sally and I didn't have much to say on the tube ride to the airport, or making our way through security. When we got into the terminal, I saw a sign and joked to Sally that it read "Breakfast Pizza" to which she responded, "I could eat." 

And so, the perfect end to our trip together was this: Sally eating a plain cheese pizza while I ate a plate of fish and chips with mushy peas. I couldn't have asked for a more amiable travel partner, nor a better counterpoint to my rather heavily sarcastic outlook.  As Sally finished her last European pizza, I turned to her and said, "Our plane is boarding in ten minutes. Now we have to run."

We do not speak your language, and other roadblocks

I have to say, I had virtually no expectations for Germany. Seriously, what do you think of when you hear the word "Germany"? Beer, sausages, and the Holocaust. I vaguely remember seeing an Anthony Bourdain show on Berlin, and he seemed to like it...

We stayed at the Wombats City Hostel, which had a great kitchen, a rooftop bar, cheap breakfast, and en suite dorm rooms. We arrived in the early afternoon and made it to the 4pm Sandeman Free City Tour. The thing about a Berlin city tour is that the focus is pretty exclusively World War II, and at one point we stood in the parking lot of an apartment complex and learned that we were about 12 meters above what was once Hitler's bunker, which was dug in front of his massive chancellory. "And over there, about where that willow tree is, is where his body was burned after he committed suicide." Grim. 

Equally as grim was hearing about the events that nearly spurred World War III between the USSR and the USA, namely the October 1961 standoff that was caused by US diplomat Allan Lightner who refused to show paperwork to Soviet officers when crossing Checkpoint Charlie to take his wife to the Opera in East Berlin. This minor debate of border crossing procedure escalated over the course of a few hours, ending with Army generals on either side lining up tanks on either side of the wall and waiting to hear if they should start firing. 

To lighten the tone of our visit, the next day we did an Alternative Tour, which focused on street art throughout Berlin's neighborhoods. It was unique and interesting, and ended in a really cool abandoned warehouse-complex-turned-artist-community that housed restaurants, beer gardens, clubs, a skate park, an antique shop, a rock climbing wall, and lots of space for local artists to come graffiti to their hearts content. We spent the afternoon with fellow American traveler Mandy hanging out in the beer garden watching a possession arrest and generally enjoying the good weather.

 

On our last day in Berlin, we visited the museum underneath the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, which offers an exploration of who the persecuted Jewish families were, and whether or not they made it home from their imprisonment. There were letters and poems written by prisoners as well as lots of photos and backgrounds about people from all over Europe. I had read a New Yorker article that skewered the above-ground memorial for being too abstract in concept, and complained that it wasn't explained who the murdered Jews were, which would lead to us all forgetting. You can read the article yourself if you are interested, but the spoiler is that the author didn't bother visiting the attached museum, which is poor journalism and renders the argument entirely invalid. You don’t stand outside a library shaking your fist because no books are printed on the building. 

Berlin has owned up to its sordid history, it doesn't ignore it like the US has done with Japanese internment camps, or Disney-fy it like the US has done with Williamsburg. This was a very well constructed experience, I absolutely recommend it. We also visited the Topography of Terror exhibit in an excavated Gestapo prison, and that was also fascinating because it highlighted the experience of the common man living in Berlin throughout Hitler's reign. Even walking around Berlin and knowing that the history you've learned about happened right here isn't as jarring as learning that the street your hostel is on was subject to attacks during Kristallnacht, and that the park you are walking through was effectively a refugee camp for Berliners who were homeless and starving through the last few years of the war. I guess you think only of two groups: the persecuted Jews and minorities or the wealthy blonde "Aryan" families.  Of course the truth is so much more complicated.

 *Ed. Note: I've just looked at my smugmug photos again, and I don't want to trivialize what we saw at the two museums I mentioned, so I'm not posting them here, but you should really look at them in full size because they are heartbreaking. We can never forget that humans did this to each other, and still do.

Whew. Well to lighten up our moods, Sally and I walked from downtown Berlin all the way to Kreuzberg, referred to as the Brooklyn of Berlin. It wasn't nearly as full of hipsters as I imagined, we found quiet leafy streets with cafes at which to take a break, plus shops and restaurants.  About 12 miles into our day, we got an email from a traveler friend, Andrew, about a bar with a great view of the city. It was sort of hard to find, he said, but a local had told him it was worth it. We weren't far and it was 7pm, so we followed the directions...which led us to a rather uninspiring indoor mall. We went in and got in an elevator to the fifth floor...which turned out to be an empty parking garage. 

Just as Sally and I thought we were going to be murdered, I remembered that Mandy had mentioned this place, so we walked around the bend and there it was: a gorgeous rooftop garden bar with live music and, as promised, a great view of downtown Berlin! Andrew and Joe showed up about an hour later and we had a great time watching the sun set, talking about our travels and real lives. And when Andrew said he would take us to the best curry wurst spot in the city at 2am, of course we went. Sally even ate one bite of curry wurst and didn't die, so all in all it was a spectacular visit.

Until the next morning. The lesson we have learned, which we probably should have known all along, is that you don't go raging until 3am when you have to be at a train or bus station early the next morning. On the upside, you'll be able to sleep on the train, right? Nope. Because even though you bought two tickets from Berlin to Prague, you didn't buy reserved seats, so if none are available, you get to stand crammed into a two-foot wide hallway on the train for the first two and a half hours of your trip. Thanks for that Germany.

When we finally reached Prague we were 100% sober and 100% cranky. We checked into the Hostel Downtown and thanked our lucky stars that our hostel experiences are only getting better and better. Our sixth floor 8 bed dorm was enormous and had a huge window overlooking the beautiful Prague Castle. It also had computers and a great kitchen, helpful staff, delicious breakfast, and loads of activities for guests, so our moods improved significantly upon arrival. We of course did another Sandeman tour, which was a great introduction to the city because truly, I know less about Prague than Berlin!

Prague was initially settled in 500 BC by a Celtic tribe called the Boii. They moved to the area and called it Home of the Boii, aka Bohemia. Fast forward 1900 years and Prague was the site of a Protestant revolution before Luther even had one thesis written down. In the early 1400s, followers of Jan Hus believed in increased access to religion for the common man, translations and full communions, etc, and regularly threw opponents out of windows to highlight their feelings (I love that it's called defenestration). And 400 years after that, Prague was home to the largest Ashkenazi Jewish population, and built a Jewish quarter so iconic that when Hitler took over Prague, he planned to leave the neighborhood intact to serve as "a memorial to an extinct race." Yikes. By the end of World War I, Czechoslovakia divorced itself from the Austro-Hungarian empire by writing a Dear John letter of independence, which was only the first of many citizen-driven revolts. The next came on May 5, 1945, when Czechs took to the streets armed with whatever they had and absolutely destroyed the local Nazi regime, killing thousands and sending the rest into retreat. Three days later, the Soviet army came to town to "liberate Prague" and found the job already accomplished...so they took over themselves. Poor Czechs. In 1989, they initiated another revolution, against the Soviets, and freed themselves of communism since no one else was going to help. And finally, when the Czechs and Slovaks decided they were better off as friends, they amicably divorced into separate countries in 1993.

So to boil it down, for a region originally settled in 500BC, it is crazy to think that the Czech Republic is technically the same age as Sally.  

This tour set off a fun few days in Prague. We walked and walked, seeing weird statues on the Stare Mesto side of the river (two robotic men statues that actively urinated streams of water that wrote out Kafka quotes, giant faceless babies on their knees that people were riding), watching a tv show being filmed, and dining at an Asian vegan buffet where Sally, traumatized from lack of pizza options, was proud of herself for eating white rice, corn and peas, and battered cauliflower. I was too. We also conducted extensive and thoroughly researched beer comparison experiments. One night, for example, we shared a tasting of 15 different local Czech beers! Then, to be fair and balanced, we sought out the local cocktail scene, heading to Bar and Books, a swanky lounge that was empty at 9pm, and consumed what trip advisors called "London-level expensive" cocktails but was in reality no more than $7.00. 

The night of our educational imbibing tour, we also went to one of the famous club complexes everyone raved about. Partying till six in the morning is pretty standard for all the hostel-goers we met in Prague (and everywhere else to be honest) and though we enjoy a good night bar/pub hopping until the wee hours, this sort of dance club was just beyond us. It had five floors with different music on each level, an ice bar on the ground floor, a eastern european lady in a bikini writhing on a stage on the R&B floor, and then a chill-out floor for, I don't know, taking a nap or having an orgy during your visit. We didn't recognize any of the music on either the R&B floor or the Radio Hits floor, and the electronika floor was packed with 15 year olds, which I mean literally, not figuratively. A guy tried to hit on Sally by telling her she was too old. Cool guy. We were pretty much done there by 1am, right when the hordes of supremely drunk British and German bachelor parties started arriving. 

We weren't just pickling our livers though; we visited Prague Castle, the Lennon wall, the Bone Church of Kutna Hora, learned about Czech generals who defeated dozens of invading armies over the centuries, saw the world's oldest Astronomical clock which performed an exciting spectacle on the hour, I tried wild boar goulash with gingerbread dumplings and a traditional kidney bean dish, we drank coffee in an endless stream, and Sally ate more pizza.

Before we knew it we were waiting for our train to Munich. Which became a train to a random town, then a bus from that town to another town, then back on the train for half an hour because Germany is literally trying to kill us.

We were relieved to arrive in Regensburg to see the smiling faces of Holtgrieve family friend Alex and his mate Nick, who prepared a sign for us with obligatory beer stein. We knew immediately that we'd be good friends. Sally and Alex had met in Virginia ten or more years ago, when she was a scampering forest child and he was a quiet German who didn't speak much English, so they had a lot to catch up on as we drove through the city to the family homestead. We were warmly received and shown around, and after a quick shower we headed back out with the guys for a welcome drink at a few local pubs, then over to a friends house for cards, beer, and conversation. I clearly remember going to bed at 1:30am, after saying goodnight to Sally before she went scampering through the Bavarian forest until dawn. 

The next morning Alex and Nick were kind enough to show us around Regensburg, a beautiful medieval city spanning the Danube river with sandy-colored cobblestones, a sunny town park, and a crazy architecture story. I know you're dying to hear it! Apparently in the 13th century two architects challenged each other to a construction competition. One would build the town cathedral, the other a very important bridge, but whoever finished first would be the winner. First of all, a bridge is a lot easier to build, especially if it's not detailed with carvings, so I'm not sure why anyone was surprised when the bridge guy won, but they say he bargained with the devil to finish faster, and the first four souls that crossed would be sent directly to hell. So the architect sent four goats across when the bridge was completed. Cheeky! Also, since the cathedral architect was so distraught he'd lost that he threw himself to his death in the river. Germans are serious about their bets. 

 

 While in Regensburg, Alex and family brought us to a local German restaurant/biergarten for a traditional Bavarian meal of Schnitzel. The portions of pork schnitzel and french fries were so large Sally and I could share, and she actually ate some and liked it! This is when we developed our hypothesis that she would eat anything if it were fried. Good policy. Then home again for a quiet night in; we broke the news to Alex that we were going to sightsee in Munich the next day...at 8am. He immediately regretted offering to go with us.  Off we went, and spent a full day in Munich doing the 3 hour Sandeman city tour, watching the glockenspiel performance in Mary's Square, eating Kass Spaetzle at Durnbrau (Sally tried it when I told her it was German mac n cheese), checking out the electricity demonstration at the German Museum, and of course, just walking around for miles. 

On our last day with the family, we went on a five mile daylight hike through the Bavarian forest, and I was rather disappointed that it wasn't filled with trolls and gingerbread houses. In Munich we walked through the Englischer Garten and marveled at the brave souls surfing on the city's man-made wave in an otherwise placid creek. Lined in concrete, and the wave itself formed between concrete berms, surfing here seems dangerous, but people were queued up to give it their all. We drank beers on the bridge and watched them admiringly.

 

Germany decided to send us on our way with a final twist of the screw in regards to train travel: though I purchased my tickets over a month ago, and had them mailed to Regensburg for simplicity's sake (printing was not an option, unlike every other ticket I've bought for this trip), the postal service has been on strike and our tickets never arrived. So though I had paid for two tickets, reserved two beds, and even had the car and bed assignments, I was told the only way I would be able to leave Germany was to pay 300 additional Euros for two brand new tickets. My rage and impotence in this matter cannot even be spoken of coherently. At least we got to leave.