Pilouse

This is the view out my bedroom window. On the right is a lovely white "hospoda" called Pilouse. It is one of the neighborhood pubs I frequent here in Hronov. A couple of weeks after I arrived, I spent an evening out on the patio at Pilouse, getting to know some people who are now the main characters in my Czech adventures. I thought you might like to meet them:



This is Eva. She is my neighbor, living 2 floors below me in our little building. She lived in England for about 5 years, first going there to be an au pair when she was 18. She stayed for two years, came back to the Czech Republic for about 6 months, and then returned to England because she wasn't ready to give up her life there. Her English is fantastic, and she's been a huge help to me here. Half of the friends I have now are because of her.



Here are Gudas (in the middle) and Jidas (on the right). All the men here have nicknames because there seem to be only about 12 names that are really used for boys here. Gudas' real name is Leos. He's 36 and he lived in the U.S. for about 6 months in 1997. His English is pretty good, and he and Jidas have an English lesson every week as they try to improve. Jidas ("Judas" in Czech--his real name is Jiri) is 40 and hasn't ever lived in an English-speaking country. He really likes English-language music though, and hopes that speaking English will allow him to travel more and maybe get a better job someday.



This is Joska (Josef), Helena, and Honza (Jan). Joska works with Eva (as does Gudas) and doesn't speak much English. He is, however, hilarious. On this particular evening, the discussion was largely focused on the fact that Joska, Helena, and Petka were headed to Turkey in a couple of days and Joska was petrified of the airplane because it was going to be his first flight and he felt sure there was a good chance he would die. Helena is Joska's girlfriend. She is a nurse and massage-therapist, and her mom is the doctor I went to when I got really sick. Honza lives in Nachod and is more on the fringe of the group. I'm still not sure what his story is.



This is Petka (Petr), smoking one of probably a million cigarettes I have had the pleasure of experiencing since my arrival here. Petka doesn't speak much English either, although he can quote a lot of English-language songs. When I finally left the group on this particular evening to go home to bed, he called out, "I just called to say I love you!" Thanks, Petka!



Finally, in a not great photo, here you can see Monika in between Petka and Joska. Monika is Jidas' girlfriend. I didn't think she spoke any English until another night at Pilouse a few months later when we were able to talk a bit. It's kind of a common phenomenon here: people will say that they don't speak any English, but what they really mean is that they don't know very much and are not at all confident enough to speak to a native-speaker. Once they feel more comfortable around you, you discover that they actually know quite a bit of English.

So, that's one part of my group of friends here in Hronov. The one important person missing here is Petra, the crazy Canadian, so I will make it a point to get a photo of her soon.

Geronimo and Vaclav Havel

If you're not sure what Geronimo and Vaclav Havel have in common, this is a clear sign that you have never been to the Trutnov Open-Air Music Festival, a.k.a. "The Woodstock of the Czech Republic". (No, really--it said so on my festival bracelet.)

This festival is one of Martin's favorite events of the year, so he decided that the "blazniva Americanka" (crazy American woman) needed to experience it as well. For those of you who have been reading this blog since the beginning, you know that I have been looking forward to this since the end of June. By the time that the festival weekend actually rolled around though, I was a little more nervous about the whole thing. I would be attending the festival with Martin and two of his friends (another Martin & Zbenik), and I was a little worried about my stamina for the dirt, crowds, pot smoke, and portable toilets, but I also knew I had to go. So, I packed a backpack, put on my Birkenstocks, took a deep breath (of clean, non-marijuana scented air) and headed out the door.

For Friday evening's festivities, we drove to Trutnov in Martin's Skoda, planning to return sometime after midnight. Trutnov is a city of about 30,000 people that is roughly 20 kilometers north and west of Hronov, in the foothills of the Krkonossky (Krakanosh Mountains). It sees two surges in population during the year--once for the music festival, which attracts about 20,000 people, and again throughout the winter as snow-sport enthusiasts come to recreate in the surrounding areas. Trutnov also has the, perhaps, dubious distinction of having been the seat of both the Nazi and Communist parties in this region. During World War II, Trutnov's main square was renamed "Adolf Hitlerplatz" (apparently this happened in many communities during the war, though). Trutnov is also home to the legend of Krakonos, for which the local brewery is named. In other words, for being a relatively small community, there's a lot going on in Trutnov.


The main square in Trutnov--the German names are still visible on some of the store fronts.


Me and the statue of Krakanos--the mythical spirit-man of the neighboring mountains, as well as mascot of the local brewery.


The festival grounds were in a large city park that had an outdoor ampitheatre which served as the main stage. There were two additional stages set up at other locations, as well as a small city of food booths (much like at a state or county fair--row upon row of tented booths selling all the fried and/or greasy food you could possibly want), as well as Gambrinus beer booths about every ten feet. Above the main stage, sort of back in some trees, was the hare krishna village and Native American tee-pee (or "Natural lifestyle" area), as well as another section of booths featuring food, crafts, and advocates for various political and social issues. The most interesting of these for me were the two booths that represented the two sides of the debate in the Czech Republic over the U.S. proposal to build a radar station for missile defense just south of Prague. (The vast majority of Czechs are opposed to this, by the way. I'll talk more about this when I discuss my visit to the U.S. embassy in Prague.)

For the second day of the festival, we left Hronov early Saturday morning and parked our stuff at the pensione we would stay in for the night. Martin gave me a guided tour of the city center, and then the boys decided we needed to get "supplies" before we entered the festival grounds. This might be a good time to mention that cola mixed with red wine is a very popular drink in the Czech Republic. To save money on drinks, the boys wanted to carry in some bottles of "pre-mixed" beverages. Thus we had a bottle of rum and Coke (very heavy on the rum), and a bottle of Pepsi Max mixed with cheap red wine. Mmmmm. Needless to say, I mostly stuck to the ubiquitous Gambrinus beer. However, as a side note, I did have my first mojito ever at the festival, and can now report that mojitos are pretty much the only mixed drink you can find in this country.


Here are the boys, hard at work at their "mixology".


Of course, the whole point of going to the festival is the music--and while most of the bands were unfamiliar to me, I did have some interesting experiences. Martin made a point of taking me to see important Czech folk singers and/or musicians known for their protest music during the communist era. As a result, I got to see the Plastic People of the Universe, who Tom Stoppard wrote about in his play "Rock & Roll", as well as some other Czech artists such as Petr Vasla (who is also a "physical poet" in addition to being a musician) and Vaclav Koubek. However, the highlight of the festival for me was the appearance of Vaclav Havel on the main stage Saturday night. Since this year's festival was dedicated to him, he was "crowned" with a floor-length head-dress that a Sioux Chief would have been proud to wear; however, he has appeared at every Trutnov festival since it began and is sort of it's real-life mascot, along with Geronimo of course.



One of the many bands playing at the main stage--although the crowd is maybe a more interesting element in this photo.



Yet another of my terrible photos, but that fuzzy guy in the center of the stage is Vaclav Havel!


One of the random details of the festival was that, to encourage recycling of the plastic pint cups, there was a booth where you could turn them in and get cash back--basically, 12 cups bought you a free beer. So, many enterprising young people probably got all of their beer for free by being like the guy in the following photo
and collecting empty cups all weekend. I was happy to donate to the cause, and pay for my own beer.




It was an interesting place, and I'm glad I went; however, I was also really glad to get home and take a shower. I'm not exactly the poster child for the counter-culture, what can I say?

I almost forgot!
Today's Czech Minute!
Long hair on men is still pretty popular here amongst the Czechs, but being in Trutnov was also like being at a celebration for human hair. I think I saw everything, including many variations on the dreadlock theme. (I think dreads are just required at a certain stage of a person's exploration of counter-culture/eastern philosophy/reggae-inspired marijuana use.) The best version of dreads, though--hands down--was the dread-mullet that I saw on several men: short on top, but dreadlocks down the back. Dude, that is SWEET hair . . .

Dresden

Today's Czech Minute!
Czechs seem to be very enthusiastic nose-blowers. Everyone seems to have a handkerchief with them at all times, and people use them whenever necessary. What has struck me as odd about this relatively normal and ultimately necessary practice, is that there don't seem to be any moments when it is inappropriate to blow one's nose, and regardless of the setting, there is absolutely no attempt by the nose-blower to be subtle about the task. When I attended the play in Hronov soon after my arrival, a young man in the row behind me blew his nose vigorously throughout the performance. No one around me seemed to be bothered by it in the least, and as it continued, I found it harder and harder not to laugh. Since then, I have discovered that people will blow their noses, forcefully, at the table, in class, or while standing very close to someone else on a crowded train. There doesn't seem to be any sort of "grossness" affiliated with this particular activity, as far as I can tell, but it's been hard for me to get used to.

Before I left the U.S., one *fairly* important task I failed to accomplish was acquiring the visa from the Czech government that allows me to stay in the country for the year. The Czech Republic (for those of you considering a visit, for instance) allows Americans to enter the country without a visa and stay as a tourist for up to 90 days. Many Americans who have found themselves staying here after such a visit have also discovered that you can just cross a border at the 90 day mark, re-enter the country, and have your 90 days start all over again! The foreign police might not find this particular approach amusing, legal though it may be, and as a Fulbright grantee, I am supposed to "obey the law" or something silly like that. Basically, this all leads up to the fact that one of the things I needed to take care of rather quickly upon my arrival was submitting the application for my visa. The small hitch to this task was that the application had to made from OUTSIDE the country, so I needed to find my way to a Czech embassy or consulate to take care of this. Thus, I made a trip to the Czech embassy in Dresden on August 15, and stayed to see the sights.

My train ride began in Hronov at just before 7am and involved three changes before my ultimate arrival at the Dresden Hauptbahnhof at 12:45. It was my first train ride by myself involving so many changes at unknown stations so I was INCREDIBLY proud of myself when I arrived in Dresden safely, having figured it all out. One of the interesting things about this experience abroad, particularly in the early weeks, was what huge satisfaction and pride completing very simple tasks could produce, and this train trip was no exception. I had left Hronov in sort of mediocre weather, and had traveled through many bursts of rain on the trip, so I was quite excited to arrive in Dresden to sunshine and warmth. In fact, in my first couple steps out of the train station, I was overwhelmed by a sense that I was going to love this city. (In all fairness, I love Germany in general even though Dresden has much to recommend it in its own right. There is something really comforting and exhilarating about the modernity and, well, cliche'd though it may be, efficiency of German society.) In a few more steps, I was at the S-bahn station for a tram ride to Albertplatz and the embassy. (The S-bahn is Dresden's public transit network, similar to Portland's MAX system.)

The center part of Dresden is built on a bend in the Elbe River, with the old part of the city (Altstadt) to the south, on the outside of the bend, and the newer part of the city (Neustadt) to the north, in the cup of land formed by the river bend. Albertplatz is at the convergence of about ten streets just a few blocks north of the river, which lead away from the "platz" like spokes of a wheel. The Czech embassy is located about a block down one of these streets, and I found it without any trouble. Contrary to some of the horror stories I had heard about the waiting time at the embassy, I only waited 15 minutes before a nice woman inspected my paperwork (BARELY looking at the birth certificate I went to so much trouble to obtain before leaving--thanks!) and informed me that the only problem was that the photos I had brought were the wrong size. I sighed as I imagined having to find a passport photo location in Dresden, only to realize she was holding out a pair of scissors and wanted me to cut the three photos I had to fit the box on her form. This entailed trimming about 2 millimeters off of two sides.

K: Seriously? You want me to cut these pictures?
Nice Embassy Woman: Yes. They have to fit in this box (pointing to form).
K: Okay . . .

A few minutes later, having turned in my correctly-sized photos, paid 7 Euros for a criminal background check, and given the nice woman my email address so that she could contact me in 2-4 MONTHS when my visa was ready to pick up, I left the embassy, free to roam the city before catching my train back to Hronov the next day.

I walked over two streets/spokes to meander down a pedestrian mall on the Hauptstrasse that would lead me to the river, the Augustusbrucke ("brucke" is the German word for bridge), and, conveniently, my hotel. (I splurged on a room at the Dresden Westin to enjoy one night's sleep in a great bed and the luxury of a good shower, both of which were lacking in my Hronov residence.) At the end of the Hauptstrasse was a small square where I took the photos that follow:

This is from the square, looking back towards the Albertplatz. Obviously, the trees *kind of* block the view, but this mall area was really cozy--all cobblestones with a nice mix of shops and pubs. I plan on visiting it again on my return trip in 2-4 MONTHS.


As some of you may know, Dresden was the capital of the former kingdom of Saxony, which explains a lot about the rich architectural heritage of the city. As some of you may also know, a concerted effort by the Allies to wipe Dresden off the map through round-the-clock bombing in February of 1945 did a significant amount of damage to that architecture. I was kind of impressed by the way a lot of the reconstruction in the city has been handled, as shown in this statue of Frederich Augustus II (during whose reign many of the reknowned buildings of Dresden were commissioned, and who, incidentally, as legend has it, fathered over 300 illegitimate children, if you wanted to know). The original gilding of the statue was, not surprisingly, destroyed in the firestorm that engulfed Dresden after the bombing campaign, so the statue was recast and the letters on the plaque were regilded, but the pedestal was left on display in all its carbonized glory, perhaps as a testament to the survival of the city, or the horrors of war?


A different focus of restoration work can be seen in this fountain, which clearly had pieces broken (blown) off of it, and thus had to be reassembled and cleaned.



After depositing my bag in my hotel room, I headed towards the Augustbrucke, where I would cross the river to the Altstadt. There, my first goal was to tour the recently re-opened Frauenkirche (Church of Our Lady). This is one view of the Altstadt as you cross the Augustbrucke--you can see the dome of the Frauenkirche rising mightily behind the river-front palaces:



Because Dresden was part of the GDR for fifty years after the war, a lot of the reconstruction work was not completed, with the notable exception of the Opera House, which is sort of an iconic structure in Dresden. (My Lonely Planet guide says, "The Opera House IS Dresden," for instance.) The Soviets invested a great deal of money and effort to return it to its pre-war glory; I can only imagine that this was largely motivated by the party officials who wanted to enjoy productions there. In any case, a visit to Dresden today includes many glimpses of current reconstruction and new construction projects, emcompassing a variety of architectural styles. Many of the 18th Century buildings are being restored while very modern buildings go up around them, which makes for an interesting skyscape (I thought). There is no question, particularly when traveling from the Czech Republic, that what was formerly East Germany is benefitting marvelously from the capital and resources of West Germany in the post-Soviet period. Dresden, for instance, is light years ahead of Prague in terms of the amount of reconstruction and maintenance work that has been done on the infrastructure since 1990, and Dresden, of course, also has the war damage to contend with. The Czechs are making great strides, but as small country of 10 million people, the CR just doesn't have an economy large enough to fund all of the work that needs to be done. I was told that many West Germans are bitter about the fact that their tax dollars are funding the rebuilding of the East, but I would imagine that most East Germans are pretty happy about reunification--it seems to be working out awfully well for them, at least as far as I can see. (In the interest of fair coverage, I have heard that the northern industrial areas in East Germany are suffering from pretty serious economic depression, but I have no idea if/how that impacts Western investment in infrastructure.)

This photo (again, note the *stellar* photography skills I employed . . .) is meant to show what I was talking about regarding old and new architecture. The next bridge to the east is called the Carolsbrucke, which you can see in the photograph, that connects the two halves of the city via a major traffic artery. Also, the open area next to the river on the north side is used for a variety of public gatherings. The Friday evening after I left, a new movie was going to be screened there. Cool!




This next group of photos were all taken in the Altstadt right near the bridge. The cathedral is called the Hofkirche, and is famous for, among other things, containing the heart of Augustus the Strong (same guy as the gold statue). The second picture is another glimpse of the Frauenkirche. (It's huge, and surrounded by buildings so it's almost impossible to take a photo of it while you're standing next to it.)





After wandering through something called the Terassengasse, I was able to work my way down the street toward the church. I stopped to buy a few souvenirs (in Euro, which definitely hurts more than spending Czech crowns) and made my way through a crowd of people at sidewalk tables, ice cream stands, or just walking down the street. Clearly, I had hit the tourist mother-lode! The line for the Frauenkirche wasn't long at all, however, so I was inside what is now a brand-new church quickly--and without having to pay to enter, which was surprising. Photographs are prohibited inside (not this stopped many people from taking them, I couldn't help but notice) but the interior has been reconstructed to mirror the previous one, complete with baroque frescoes and lots of gilding throughout. To the side of the alter stands the old cross that had adorned the original dome, now green with oxidation and hopelessly deformed by the heat of the firestorm. Beyond this was a small chapel where people could light candles and sign the guest book. The church has only been open again since 2006, and the reconstruction of it didn't start until 1992, which seems odd to me--prior to the war, it was the largest Protestant church in all of Germany. After the reunification, a group of private citizens started a fund-raising campaign to see the church rebuilt, and ended up completing the project without using a single public dollar. Someone who won a Pulitzer Prize for medicine in the 1990's donated his entire $1,000,000 award to the restoration, and a German bank also donated several million Euro. In any case, it is an inspiring building, for many reasons.

Here is the official link for the church (in German). If you click through the various parts of the website, you'll get to see lots of great pictures of it, both inside and out:

www.frauenkirche-dresden.de

Here is one photo I took of the church close-up--you can see that they salvaged some of the stones from the rubble of the old church to re-build the new one, and the old stones are mixed in with the new ones.




Following my tour of the Frauenkirche, I stopped to get some ice cream at one of the ubiquitous ice-cream carts in the city. The kid working spoke English, which was helpful, and we had a good laugh about an old woman who totally pushed ahead of me in line to purchase her ice cream. Apparently she was a regular!



My next stop, post-ice cream, was to spend the 5 Euro my friend Ahmed had given me in May on a beer--as per his clear instructions. I walked back over the bridge, taking this photo of the western half of the Altstadt. You can see the pillar of the Augustbrucke on the left, and the large building on the right (across the river) is the Opera House, which I will definitely visit on my next trip.



Once I got back to the pedestrian mall area, I did a little shopping, and then settled at an outdoor table at pub and ordered a beer. I did some people-watching, and thought some more about all I had seen, and after a while, a nice British couple asked if they could share my table as all the other tables were taken. Naturally, I agreed and thus I met Bob & Barb (in a not-very-good photo that I can blame on the waiter this time):



Bob served in the British Army during World War II, and spent time in Germany, where he met Barb, who grew up in Hamburg. Now retired, they most spend their time gardening and traveling. This was their first trip to Dresden since the fall of the Iron Curtain, so we talked a lot about our impressions, and traveling in Europe in general. I was glad to have someone to talk to, but as the conversation continued, I had to fight the urge to find an excuse to leave as I was uncomfortable with some of their attitudes. Barb, particularly, had a very negative view of the European Union and expressed some blatantly racist opinions about how immigration changes were ruining the UK. It's hard for me to believe that Asian immigrants could really devastate British culture (as Barb seemed certain they would) considering all that British culture has survived so far, but maybe that's just me. They had traveled extensively in the U.S. as well, and I found myself at times having to defend, cautiously, the American way of life. Mostly it was interesting to consider, again, the differences between Europeans and Americans. Based on my encounters so far during this exchange, many European nations have some work to do in managing and accepting their increasingly ethnically-diverse populations. The U.S. has a lot of work to do in this area as well, but I think we've gotten quite a head start from having lived in a heterogenous group much longer. Nevertheless, I quite enjoyed listening to Bob's wonderful clipped English, complete with question tags at the end of almost every sentence: "We had quite a good time in Austria, didn't we?", and we parted company on friendly terms. I went back to my hotel to take a looooong shower, and get a dose of English language TV with BBC World News.

The next morning, it was raining in Dresden but it was hardly a bother. I had slept in and just needed to get something to eat before boarding my noon train back to the Czech Republic. I took the S-bahn back over to the train station and sat at a nearby bakery. I had what I can only describe as a homemade Hot Pocket and a cappucino--the first real coffee I had had since getting to Hronov. It was so good I ordered another one, and then headed for the train. In my compartment, a group of young men were talking so I took a seat in the back corner to eavesdrop. It turns out that five of them were from a university in California, some finishing their summer travels while one was headed for a year of studying abroad in Italy, and headed to Prague. The other two were Irishmen on their way to Budapest. They kept me entertained for most of the trip.

Then, things got interesting. My first stop in the Czech Republic was at the main station ("hlavni nadrazi" in Czech, which is a useful phrase if you plan to travel here) in Pardubice (pronounced Par-doo-bitsuh) where I was to change to a smaller train for the rest of my trip to Hronov. Our train had been late coming into the station so I only had a couple minutes to run from my platform, down the stairs, through the tunnel, and up the stairs to the platform for my next train. I took a seat and was confidently on my way, especially since my trip to Dresden had been so easy. A few minutes out of the main station, we stopped at Pardubice-Rosice and some people got off. Then some people got on. Then some cars were detached and basically our one train became two trains, going in two different directions. Guess which direction I needed to go? That's right, the OTHER direction! (Who knew that trains even did this? I didn't! How do you know if this is going to happen, and if so, which end you should be on?!? I asked these very questions of Martin the next day, whose calm reply was, "You read the signs on the side of the train cars." Ohhhhh.) When the conductor saw my ticket, he put me off the train at the next station, directing me to get on the next train going the opposite direction. Um . . . okay . . . The station I was deposited at was completely deserted so I couldn't even ask anyone when the next train was coming. Also it started raining. Also I really had to use the bathroom, which was locked. After about an hour at this station (yes, there was a little crying), two trains going the wrong way, and several people coming to check for trains who couldn't speak English or understand my broken Czech, I was saved by a miraculous phone call from my colleague Zuzana who found me a new train schedule. In a few more minutes, I boarded a train going the right way and started back from Hronov AGAIN. The conductor of this train did a double-take when he looked at my ticket (which indicated the route I was supposed to take). I knew he wouldn't understand me, but I couldn't help but say, "It's a long story." He just looked at me again, stamped my ticket, and walked away.

The Wedding Crashers

Today's Czech Minute!
Apparently, very few continental European households own clothes dryers, and if they do own one, they don't use it because of the energy costs. Jan & Marketa do not have a dryer, but they do have a brand new washing machine. It takes, on average, 1 hour and 40 minutes to wash, rinse and spin one load of laundry. I will admit, I found this sort of charming at first--the energy savings, the "new-ness" of it. As the weather has turned cooler, and it is now taking two days for the laundry to dry as it hangs from a large metal rack that takes up half of the bedroom, I am finding this much less charming. I miss my clothes dryer . . .


On the morning of my first Saturday in Hronov, Martin & Hanka picked me up for a drive to the city of Hradec Kralove--it's about 45 minutes by car from Hronov, and roughly the same size as Eugene. While there is decent shopping in Nachod (9 kilometers south), people in this area go to Hradec for most of their major shopping. It is the closest place to go to find a big Tesco (kind of like a Super Target), a shopping mall, or a "hobby market", which was the target of this particular trip for Martin & Hanka. ("Hobby market" is the British English for a home-improvement store--think Lowe's or Home Depot.) They are finishing the front patio of their house after a major remodel, and needed more tile, but a stop at a mall or two would be included as well. So, off we went . . .

Martin being Martin, no trip anywhere would be complete without a few historical side-trips along the way--this is always fine with me, but I hope Hanka doesn't mind. So, our first stop was about 20 kilometers from Hronov in Nove Mesto nad Metuji (Nov-eh Myes-to nod Me-too-yee, translation: new city on the Metuji River) to visit the square. Nove Mesto is famous in this region because it is one of the few cities to have never had a major fire destroy the buildings on the square, thus it is a treasure trove for anyone wanting to study 15th & 16th Century architecture. One of the elements Martin wanted me to explain in English was a building where the second story extends out over the sidewalk, to create a cover, and then archways are built at the outside of the sidewalk to help support the building. He gave me the Czech word for this style and wanted to know the English word. I looked at him blankly--I know of no such word. (If you do, please let me know! Also, just FYI, this is another place where I forgot to take pictures.) He seemed quite surprised that buildings like this don't exist in America.

K: Um, I think, the oldest building in downtown Eugene probably dates to sometime in the middle of the 19th Century . . . .
M: Oh.

Moving on, we wandered through the castle on the square which has great French gardens that are open to the public. Interestingly, this castle, which has a history dating back to the 13th Century, is still privately owned by the Barton family. It has been, at various points in the past, in the hands of Germans, Austrians, and Scots, and was, of course, seized during the Communist era from the Barton family, who got it back in the early 1990's as the new Czech government returned a variety of property to its rightful owners (as of 1945). Apparently, this has created some interesting problems, especially with businesses, which have been returned to one and sometimes two later generations of a family who may not have any experience or interest in running a business. I would guess that it's one of the aspects of the changing Czech economy that will probably work itself out in another ten years or so.

Because of our shopping excursion, we didn't have time to tour the castle, but I went back to Nove Mesto with another colleague, Tamara, who lives there, a few weeks later. The tour was about 90 minutes and mostly featured the renovations that the Barton family undertook in the 1930's. The interior of the castle is more than a little impressive--photographs were forbidden, but every room had some detail that seemed almost outrageous. The library, which is probably at least 400 square feet, featured a locally made carpet, designed specifically for the room, and the tour guide noted that it was in one piece. Several times, I really wanted to know what the total cost of the renovations would be in today's dollar/crown--it has to be an astronomical number. But, the cool thing about the renovations is that local artisans were hired to design and oversee the entire project, so the entire castle interior really exists now as an exhibit of early 20th Century Czech art and workmanship, adjusted to make sense in a castle of course. The tour ended in the music rooms, which are used for public performances fairly frequently. As we moved from the small music room to the large hall, a string quartet started playing as a way to showcase the room's acoustics. Thus we ended our tour with a beautiful 20-minute performance. I loved it.

This is a photo of the castle, taken from the garden. Incidentally, in this garden I discovered one depressing sign of being American: if, upon seeing a quaint, Bavarian/Bohemian style structure, such as the bridge that links the upper and lower gardens that is in the center of the photo, your first thought is, "Oh, this reminds me of Disneyland . . . ," you're probably American. So, so sad.



(Just in case you don't know this, if you click on photos here, they will enlarge to full size and then you can click the "back" button to return to the blog.)

But I digress . . . onto Hradec Kralove!

So, there are many kind of funny, kind of random things that I encounter here and while I was in Hradec, I actually remembered to take some photos for once, so here are just a few:

Martin actually noticed this and suggested a photo--it's good to know that someone has found a useful outlet for the negative reputation the U.S. currently has in Europe. I guess it probably does make a pretty good name for a band! (Thanks to Jakub who pointed out that this is actually an American band--still, way to capitalize, guys!)



This sign made me crack up--in the sea of Czech signs in one of the three hobby markets we visited, I suddenly could read one! What?! It was box of beginner tools for home improvement projects. I thought it was hilarious.



And, our hobby market shopping excursion was also the first time I encountered this, although I am totally used to it now. This is a shopping cart handle. Here, you have to pay to use a cart at a store. They are connected by small chains, and when you put the coin in the slot, it releases the chain so you can take the cart. For those of you unsure, 5 crowns is about 25 cents. Many of the carts also say you can use a 1 Euro coin, which would be more like a $1.30--yipes!



One of the things I was unable to get a photo of at one of the hobby markets, was an adorable red car zipping through the parking lot that turned out to be a Mazda 2! Imagine my little Mazda 3 with about 3-4 feet cut off of the back end. Awwww . . . . now I want one! I have to think that the back seat and trunk have really been sacrificed but it was still really cute. The vast majority of the cars here are about the size of that Mazda 2--they get better gas mileage (converting price and amount, gas here is about $6 a gallon) and are easier to park and navigate on old, narrow streets.

It does seem silly to offer a report about shopping malls to people who live in the country where they were invented, but one difference that was interesting for me was that they have escalators here that don't have any stairs--basically it's like a moving sidewalk at the airport but at an incline that is a little less steep than an escalator. The one bright spot at the mall in Hradec, in a sea of things I can buy in American for 1/2 the cost (which made me feel bad since the average Czech salary is about 1/3 what I make), was Benetton! Remember Benetton?!? I haven't seen one in the U.S. in a long time, so I did have to spend a little time in there. Overall, I would guess I won't do a lot of shopping here, just because the selection isn't that different from the U.S. and it's significantly more expensive. Germany, on the other hand, is a whole different story, but again, I digress . . .

Anyway! After the mall, we headed into the old square for more history lessons and lunch. The main feature Martin wanted me to experience was the tower, for the view of the city. It was a lot of stairs. I don't know how many, but it was too many. The day wasn't that great, weather-wise, but there were a couple of interesting things to see.

The first was the Labe River (La-buh), which Martin described as one of the major rivers in Europe. I looked at him quizzically until he finally said, "In Germany, it's called the Elbe." Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh. I don't think he was completely pleased that I was so familiar with the German name. (What can I do? I don't decide what names get put on the map!) In any case, here is a not-very-good view of the Labe/Elbe River, at the center of Hradec Kralove:



Martin also said that one of the things that Hradec is known for is the efforts the city has made to maintain architectural consistency in the city center--you can see this really well in the roof lines of the blocks pictured here:



On one side of the tower, we could look down to this building and see many people hard at work at what are clearly some major renovations. Martin noted that this building is being re-fitted to be the new home of the regional government, and said that many people think it's a colossal waste of money. What I found interesting is that the building used to be the local brewery. Only in Europe would an old brewery be considered the perfect place to house government offices . . .



As we stood on the tower looking out into the square, we also watched a wedding party enter the cathedral. (You can see it in this photo on the right--the peach/yellow-ish building with the three green copper steeples.)



Oh, how nice that someone is getting married, we thought, and kept wandering around the tower (which had a balcony completely circling the building.) We climbed down from the tower and were headed back to the car when Martin suggested we should go look at the cathedral. Yeah, good idea Martin, in the middle of someone's wedding? Ha ha ha. He looked very serious. I said, "We're really dressed for a wedding!" (In my jeans and OSU t-shirt). Ha ha ha. He looked at me, and said--and I quote--"I think it is a good idea to visit the church now." Having never crashed someone's wedding before, and being in a foreign country where no member of the wedding party would know me anyway, I decided to go along, thinking, "This will be a fun story to tell later . . ." I looked at Hanka to see if she thought this was a crazy idea, but she seemed to think it was no big deal as well. Is it only in America that it's rude to walk into a church in the middle of someone's wedding? I don't know . . . but as we got to the cathedral, the double doors were wide open so it seemed slightly less odd to just walk in, which Martin and Hanka did without hesitation. Naturally, I followed them. Inside, a woman and what looked like a 12 year-old boy were getting married. There were no attendants standing up with them, and there were, at most, 40 people in the pews. As we walked out a few minutes later, I asked if this was a "normal" Czech wedding, and Martin said that most Czechs actually just have civil ceremonies at their local city halls. I explained what passes for "normal" in American weddings, (the number of people involved, etc.) by way of explaining my surprise at this one, and he looked at me for what was probably the 20th time in four days with an expression that said, "What the hell is wrong with you people?"

It's a good question, Martin, but I have to say that I do think we score points for not walking in on other people's weddings, but maybe that's just me . . .

Sudetenland, Part II

Today's Czech Minute!
One of the comforting things about spending time ensconced in another culture is that you have many opportunities to discover how very similar all members of the human race are. Case in point: while visiting Broumov for my on-site lessons about the Sudetenland, we had lunch at a pub frequented by working-class men of the town. Martin commented that he looks for workingmen at pubs at lunchtime to know that the food is good. While having our lunch, I couldn't help but notice that the workmen of the Broumov area looked and acted an awful lot like workmen in Oregon: farmer tans, frequent olging and cat-calling of young, attractive women, and unfortunate displays of butt crack. Ah, it's just like home . . .


My introduction to Broumov (Bro-mov) began with a survey of the large and stately homes on the street leading to the main square. Martin noted that many successful entrepreneurs from the 19th and early 20th Century had made their money in the region and built their homes in this street, I assume as a way to showcase their wealth. (People are the same all over.) At the peak of Broumov's prominence, there were more than 10,000 people living in the town (which is fairly good-sized for a Czech village) and quite a few wealthy and prominent citizens, many of whom probably had German surnames. These homes are in various physical states now, but Martin told me that very few of them are currently being used as single-family residences. Most or all have been converted into schools/retirement homes/flats/businesses, etc. Broumov no longer has the thriving economy that it once did.

Our first official stop in Broumov was at the Benedictine Monastery. Because Prague served for a while as the capital of the Holy Roman Empire (Charles IV, crowned King of Bohemia in 1346, was also crowned Holy Roman Emperor in 1355), many monasteries were built throughout what is now the Czech Republic, and Catholicism in general was central to Czech life for a long time. Interestingly though, the Czech Republic, and specifically Bohemia, now has one of the highest rates of athiesm in Europe (Moravia, on the other hand, still has a very active Catholic population). It's a complicated issue, naturally, but this shift was partially due to the fragmentation that happened as a result of the Protestant Reformation, and partially due to the influence of the Communist regime. The monastery in Broumov, for instance, served as a "concentration camp" of sorts for monks and nuns during the Communist era. Following the fall of the Soviet bloc, a handful of monks attempted to rebuild the monastic community there but eventually moved to Canada, so the monastery is now empty and cared for as a historic site. I'm not Catholic, but even I found it disconcerting to be taken into areas of the chapel and monastery where only priests could have gone before. It felt very disrespectful or sacreligious. Martin reminded me that Czech people, to a great degree, have lost faith in this sort of religious reverence, and asked if I didn't think that, ultimately, any space is just space, since any importance of it only exists in our minds?

Randomly, while we were in the sacristy of the chapel (one of the rooms in which I felt very uncomfortable), the tour guide drew our attention to a fresco on the ceiling which was blackened all around the sides but had clearly been cleaned in the center. She said the entire painting had not been cleaned to show the build up of soot from years of candle and incense burning. She then told us that their budget is quite small and they were unable to afford professional restoration services, so one of the curators tried gently cleaning the fresco with bread--apparently, it worked like a charm. Also, a copy of the Shroud of Turin was found inside an altar in one of the cathedral chapels in 1998. No one is exactly sure how long it had been there, but it seems likely it was hidden purposefully, perhaps to be saved from destruction during the Communist era.

Here is a not-particularly-stellar photograph of the Monastery. As a side note about it, like most monasteries around the world, it had a "real work" focus to allow the monks to make enough money to live on, and as with many monasteries in Europe, this one made beer . . .



From the monastery, we moved further into town, to the oldest church in Broumov, the Church of Saint Mary. It also happens to be the oldest stick-built church in Central Europe, dating from the early part of the 13th Century. Miraculously, it only burned once, in 1459, when Hussites set fire to it, and was rebuilt shortly thereafter. It was not open, unfortunately, but the front door had an opening through which the interior could be viewed. The window was covered with wire mesh rather than glass so what I remember most, even weeks later, is the smell of the interior--the mixture of decay and mildew and dust is hard to describe, but it's that smell that just proclaims that something is old. It was very disappointing to not be able to go sit inside for a moment, but it's obvious--commendably so--why it's not open for public access. There are services held inside on high holy days, however, so maybe I can go back for Easter mass.



Part of the reason for visiting the Church of Saint Mary was to see the cemetery in the church yard. You can read the history of the town in the gravestones, most of which look like this (note the names):



Following the Second World War, there was some destruction done to graves in this cemetery, so there are hundreds of headstones that now lean against the wall of the church yard, some damaged and some not:




The newest graves in the cemetery bear stones written in Czech, and almost always bearing Czech or otherwise Slavic names. I'm not sure I would have noticed it consciously, had I not been told about the repatriation of Germans after the war, but it certainly shows in the cemetary that all things German vanished from Broumov after 1945.

After we had lunch in town (with the workmen), we drove out to Martin's parents' chalet. Many, many Czech families keep cottages or country houses that they use on weekends. In the summer, Martin's parents live at the chalet from Friday to Monday every week. Here, we rested for a bit (with beer, naturally) and watched the kids swim before continuing our tour. For the second half, Hanka and the girls stayed at the chalet while Martin and I drove further out in the country to tour some abandoned churches. Martin explained that there are ten churches in the Broumov area that constitute what is known as the Broumov Circle. All of the churches were designed by German architects Christoph and Kilian Dientzenhofer (brothers) between about 1710 and 1730, and were architectural marvels when constructed as the Dientzenhofers' designs bucked many of the prevailing trends for religious spaces at the time. I had already seen one of the churches (the small chapel on the ridge at Hvezda) and Martin thought we could get to 4 or 5 more pretty easily. Our first stop would be in Sonov (Sho-nov) to see the Church of Saint Margaret (Marketa, in Czech). With this church, the Dientenhofer design tried to take full advantage of the small rise upon which the church would be built, to try to make the building seem as organic as possible. As we drove from Broumov to Sonov, in a rural area with lots of orchards and corn fields, the church was the only visible building, partially hidden by trees. (I should have made Martin stop the car for a photo, but I didn't. Here is one photo I took as we climbed up the hill, though . . .)



Once we reached the top of the hill, it was much more apparent how much the condition of the church has deteriorated since its abandonment by a local congregation. Martin thought we might be able to get in, as it isn't always securely closed, but it was on this day. (I later learned that concerts are held in the church quite often, so I will update this post with interior photos after I attend a concert!)



We stood there looking at it for quite a while, and Martin finally asked me what I was thinking, saying he was very curious what I thought about something like this. I said that it made me sad--it's a beautiful building, and was meant to be a place of community and worship, and it's been left to sink back into the ground it seems like--and I wondered why no one was trying to save it. I don't know if Martin and I always completely understand each other--while his English is very good, I know he doesn't always understand all the words that I use, and I think he must be limited sometimes in communicating with me because he doesn't know all of the words he wants to use. That being said, he sort of paused after my reply and said, "Do you think we should save everything?" Later, I think I realized what he meant--this is a nation where buildings from the 14th and 15th Century are routinely being used for homes and businesses in every city. Maybe a church, that is arguably pretty ostentatious for a small village like Sonov, shouldn't be a top priority? As we walked back down the hill, I remember thinking that Martin didn't have any sense of sentimentality. Now I think maybe he was just being pragmatic.

We were about to climb into the car when I asked if we could wander through the church yard that was just across the road. It contained a much smaller church, and the local cemetary.




While we were wandering through the cemetary, reading stones (all of which bore Czech names and seemed to be recent--Martin said later that he guessed the townspeople had destroyed the old German ones, noting that that kind of thing probably didn't happen in more religious communities), Martin struck up a conversation with an older man who was tending some graves. We were particularly interested in two graves that were marked with large headstones bearing the names of two priests and seemed very well-cared for (and of which, of course, I didn't take a photo). The man told the following story (to Martin, who translated it for me): the two priests, as evidenced from the names on the headstones, were German and several people in the town believed that they had been Nazi collaborators during the war. One night, sometime after the war was over, a group of men drinking in a pub convinced themselves that they should murder the priests for collaborating and set out in a lynch mob of sorts. They broke into the rectory in the middle of the night, and dragged the priests out of bed and up into the nearby hills, where they were made to dig their own graves before being shot and buried there. In 1992, a group of citizens from Sonov decided to find the graves, which they did, and dig up the remains of the priests to re-inter them honorably in the cemetary, and have arranged for care of the graves ever since. I suppose you could say this was an act of contrition. The man said he was a young boy when it happened, but he remembered it being spoke of in days following. He also said that any evidence of actual collaborating by the priests was anecdotal and not very reliable, seeming to suggest that they probably weren't collaborators at all.

On the way out of Sonov, Martin pointed out a stone pillar on the side of the road and said that these markers are all over the Czech Republic and indicate important historical events. I asked what the one we had just seen was for and he said he didn't know--there are no plaques or signs to indicate the reason for a marker; instead you have to ask locals to find someone who knows. I asked about the problem of inaccuracy--what if people tell the wrong story? Martin looked at me and simply asked, "Why would they do that?"

I started to get the feeling that I wasn't going to be able to find out any of the things I wanted to know about the Czech Republic from books.

By the time we left Sonov, we were already late for dinner at the chalet so we only stopped at two more churches that were on our way. The first was a Protestant church whose tower seemed to dominate the skyline as we drove back into Broumov. Ironically, Martin said he had never been to it so we should stop to take a look. It is not part of the Broumov circle, however, but still kind of impressive in its own right.



The second was another Dientzenhofer church of the Broumov circle, in slightly more dilapadated shape than the Church of Saint Margaret, complete with its own overgrown cemetery, seen here:




Just across the road from this church is a relatively new artist colony, that has become controversial in conservative Broumov (and that I also forgot to take a photo of). It is inhabited, sporadically, by artists from Prague who are looking to return Broumov to its former prominence and glory, only this time due to its art scene. Some citizens find it offensive, some find it silly, and some are just curious if it will ever happen. Apparently, the artists have been coming to the area for about 10 years and nothing very spectacular has happened YET. Europeans are much more patient when it comes to change and the effects of time, having a much longer view of history themselves, so it's probably way too early to predict what will happen with this venture.

And, next door to the church, is a building that has recently been purchased by a wealthy man from somewhere else (probably Prague) and he is converting it into his home. The building was the old, original pub and stable in Broumov. I asked Martin if he was bothered by the man making his home out of this historic site, but he seemed much more annoyed by the outside money than anything the man was doing with the building.

By this point, we were really late for dinner. Luckily, Mr. Vancl was just starting the barbeque fire when we arrived. Dinner was the largest platter of sausages I have ever seen (where eating "only" 2, as I did, was barely considered a meal) and lots of fresh vegetables from the garden, and, of course, more beer. After dinner, the beer turned to Slivovice (plum brandy) and Becherovka (some sort of spicy liquer that is allegedly good for digestion). Czechs don't use mixers, and beer doesn't really count as alcohol, so when you really start drinking, that means shots of whatever is at hand. I also had the distinct pleasure of trying some sort of pressed pork loaf, that mostly seemed like bits of pork in lard, which is a Czech delicacy, eaten drizzled with vinegar. I'm sorry to say that it was not good, even with all the alcohol I had imbibed.

It was well past sunset when we finally left the cottage. The girls were spending the weekend with their grandparents so Hanka & Martin could do some work on their house, but they needed some tiles first so I was invited for a shopping trip to Hradec Kralove on Saturday, which seemed much safer than spending any more time near Martin's father and his liquor cabinet.

Settling into Hronov

Today's Czech Minute!
This country must have the highest rate of lung cancer on the planet because EVERYONE here smokes, with the possible exception of Martin and Hanka. It's survivable because all pubs and restaurants have outdoor patios, which is where we always sit. How I will survive this in winter, I have no idea . . . .

In the interest of getting through some of the events and experiences in a more efficient manner (and due to the fact that I don't have any photos to accompany this post), today's entry will simply consist of a list of things I had experienced by the end of the day on August 8:

1. My first power outage in the Czech Republic, which actually happened at about 9pm on my first night in the apartment. Um, is this normal? Not really, as it turned out. Super! What a welcome wagon!

2. The heaviest rain storm I have ever seen in my life (and no, I'm not exaggerating). This is the kind of rain where in running 30 feet from a car to a building, a person ends up LITERALLY soaking wet, as Martin was when he arrived to accompany me to my first play at the Jiraskovu Theater Festival in Hronov. Said rainstorm was accompanied by thunder and lightning so loud there were times we could not hear the actors inside the theatre.

3. My first theatre performance, of a play called EQUUS. Something about a boy who wants to be a horse and a psychiatrist who hates his wife? What can I say, my Czech is really not that good.

4. My first trip to the post office, where I learned that you can not only take care of postal issues, but pay your utility bill and buy cleaning products. I don't know why.

5. My first use of my door bell! I live in one of those buildings like you always see in movies about New York where people can ring your flat from the outside door and you have to push a button to open the door for them? Yeah, turns out those little systems don't so much come with instructions. Luckily the rain hadn't started and Martin didn't have to wait THAT long for me to figure it out.

6. My first train ride, in this case to Nachod to visit Martin's house. 14Kc for 9 kilometers, and the rate gets better the farther you travel. I think the train we took had a total of 2 cars. Awww, it's kind of cute!

7. My first visit to a single-family home in the Czech Republic, which is beautiful. Martin is a construction guy when he's not teaching so he's done almost all of the renovations on their home himself, complete with an entire kitchen from IKEA! The visit began with an incredibly kind and generous moment, where Martin showed me his front door and said, "It is always open for you--anytime you need us, you are welcome here." I teared up (and did again as I recounted the moment here).

8. My first cross-cultural history discussion, with maps spread out across the table and everything. After some very good beer from Nachod (Primator), Martin and I continued our conversation about the Sudetenland and the relationship between the Germans and the Czechs. More on this in the next post about my visit to Broumov.

9. My first agreement for the exchange of language lessons, made with Martin's wife, Hanka. We have discovered however that the only way either of us are actually going to be able to learn language from each other is to have our lessons away from Martin. (It's just so much EASIER to have him translate!)

10. My first deep realization that I have a lot to learn about the presence of the Roma (Gypsy) population in Central Europe. When Hanka drove me home after our lovely evening of dinner and conversation, she pointed out a building that is, apparently, inhabited by Roma of the area, repeating the same criticisms and stereotypes(?) I had heard from Kamila and Martin, almost to a word. I am completely uninformed on this particular issue, but it sure sounds like racism to my American ears.

Sudetenland, Part I

Today's Czech Minute!
As I think is well-known, Europeans, in general, have a much less Puritanical attitude towards the human body and nudity. One of the things that this means is that it is not at all unusual to see women walking around in a bra--not a sports bra, but a regular satin-and-lace kind of bra. I have seen women doing yardwork in bras, and also crossed paths with a woman on our hike at Hvezda who had gotten warm, apparently, and stripped down to her bra on the trail.

Speaking of Hvezda, my second day, or perhaps first real day, in Hronov, turned out to be very long, in the best way. If it was in any way a harbinger of the year I would have in the Czech Republic, I could only look forward anxiously the rest of the lessons I would learn.

Martin, accompanied by his family, picked me up in his 1987 red hatchback Skoda (pronounced Shkoda--it is the one and only automobile brand produced in the Czech Republic) for a trip to a place called Hvezda. He said something about a church named Star or something, but truthfully I really had no idea where we were going or what we were going to do. I was just thrilled to be in the company of other people, and Martin was quickly becoming someone I liked very much. Martin's lovely wife, Hanka (the Czech version of Hannah), generously climbed into the very small backseat, in between the two car seats no less, so that I could sit up front and talk with Martin about the day's "program", as he is always calling it. Our travels, again if you are following along on your handy map of the CR, was north just a few kilometers from Hronov, towards a low ridge of mountains where we would make a "short walk" (again, Martin's words--I have since come to understand what this means in his mind--let's just say we do not speak the same language, in more ways than one). As we began our walk, Martin also suggested I be on the lookout for mushrooms, as we were in a good spot to find them. (In my head, I was thinking, "WHAT?!?!" but I just nodded. I would later learn that mushroom hunting is, perhaps, the favorite activity of Czech people in the summer and early fall. Who knew?)

(Here are the other members of the Vancl family, as we started our hike, er, "short walk" at Hvezda. Hanka is flanked by her daughters: Annicka on the left, is 5, and Emma, on the right, is 2.)



We reached the chapel on the top of the hill really quickly, which was a huge relief to this rather fat, lazy, and out of shape American. It seemed like a very strange place for a small church, but Martin said it was still used for worship services occasionally. However, from the viewpoint next to the church, you could look down into a valley, still misty in the late morning, and see villages tucked between fields in seemingly blissful, pastoral fashion.

(A couple not-very-good photos of the view from the Hvezda viewpoint, but hopefully you get the idea.)





One of the villages Martin pointed out to me as a place called Broumov (now, in Czech), but that had once been Braunau (it's German equivalent). He commented that while it looks quite picturesque from a distance, it is actually quite damaged. When I asked for an explanation about this, the Czech Republic, and specifically the region I am currently living in, started to come into focus. The ridge we were standing on, in 1938, was assigned as the border of the Sudetenland, so the land and villages we looked out upon had been in the territory ceded to Germany in the Munich Pact. These borders were determined, as I understand it, largely because of the great numbers of German descendents who lived in this area, having settled it on the invitation of a Czech king in the 12th or 13th century. As the history buffs among us know, the central part of Hitler's grand plan was to create a great German empire, which required the German populations of other nations to be reunited with their "motherland", so the acquisition of these lands in Czechoslovakia moved him toward his goal. As far as day-to-day life for people in these regions of the Sudetenland, though, the Munich Pact really had no impact. But then the war ended. In 1945, as part of an attempt to weaken the German state, the victors decided that all German people needed to be repatriated to Germany--they feared that a pocket of Germanic people outside of Germany could incite German nationalism such that there could be another war, and this had to be prevented at all costs. Nevermind that these "Germans" hadn't lived in Germany in more than 700 years, and nevermind that a now-devastated Germany was in no position to support an influx of several hundred thousand people. The people who carve up maps in well-appointed palaces rarely bother with the details, it seems, thus thousands of homes throughout the Sudetenland were left abandoned, only to be seized later by Czechs eager for free property. In Martin's mind (and this is a theory or interpretation I have heard from a few others as well), the people who moved into the abandoned homes did not exhibit the same level of commitment and work ethic that the previous owners had because they had not had to sacrifice to obtain the property. As a result, the communities have deteriorated, both in physical condition and prominence. Broumov, for instance, has less than a third of the population now that it had in the years just before the war. Martin also noted that the Roma population in Broumov, and other areas of the former Sudetenland, is now much higher than in other parts of the Czech Republic.

While my head was still sort of spinning as I wondered what had happened to all of these people, Martin announced that it was time to continue our walk. (I knew the first part was too good to be true . . . ) Luckily, the trail wasn't too bad, but it did involve a lot more climbing and scrambling over boulders than I anticipated. It was worth it for the view though, which you can see here:



We also climbed to another viewpoint, where you could see into the valley again. Martin was able to point out some of the buildings--churches, a monastery--in Broumov, and suggested that we make a visit there the next day. I was definitely intrigued, and I think Martin appreciated that I was interested, so the outing was settled and we began our descent. After the hike down, it was definitely time for lunch. So, we stopped a hotel/restaurace on the road toward Hronov that Martin & Hanka like because it has a play area for kids, which wasn't its only special feature.

(Here is the hotel/restaurace.)




The restaurant was not only kid-friendly, it was dog-friendly, as you can see from this sign:



(Translation: "DOG BAR. Self-service." HAF is the sound that dogs make in Czech, like "woof" in English.)

After a busy and interesting morning, I returned to the apartment for a short rest before attending my first play at the theatre festival. Martin had agreed to accompany me, and then bring me to his house for dinner. I looked forward to an equally busy and interesting afternoon and evening.