Uh.. what time is it?
It was a dull grey day that greeted us after a chilly night in the best hostel so far. Most of us had signed up for the 'Free' walking tour, so we set out early for the tram into town. It was only when we arrived at the terminus that we realised we'd got on the wrong bus. Rick quickly shifted from sheep to sheepdog mode, barking instructions that we should head to the metro. You can take the man out of the army, but you can't take the army out of the man. Like lambs to the slaughter, looking slightly bewildered, we all followed.
Arriving at the meet point in the main square, we all waited, cameras focussed and ready, for the astrological clock to strike 11a.m. and the show to start. Then, in the huge crowd, all staring at the clock face, someone turned to their neighbour to ask the time. Who was that? Not me. I'm a confirmed chestnut.
Prague is an interesting and beautiful city, historically and architecturally, which juxtaposes with its reputation as the stag/hen weekend destination of choice. We skimmed the surface as our guide bounced us from sight to sight, gazing upwards at the fantastic frescos on buildings, gargoyles and cherubs, art deco and gothic architecture and sidewards at the tacky souvenir and tattoo shops, not to mention massage parlours and bars. I always feel a bit sorry for the guides, who have to enthusiastically turn 1400 years of fascinating history into a 2 hour sideshow of which most us retain less than 10% (unless you are Irish Debbie, who can retain 100% of any personal information you may freely hand over. You have been warned, Ozbus 20!). From the tour, I can only remember the story of the thief who had to leave his arm behind in the church where he tried to steal a necklace from the Madonna. It's still there, opposite the Aussie bar, if you ever want to see it.
Anxious to avoid making the same mistake twice, we decided to walk back along the picturesque river, stopping for coffee and cake along the way. Unfortunately, the walk was not picturesque and there were no nice coffee shops, just a verrrry long trek. Well, at least we'd got our exercise done for the day. Always a glutton for punishment, I decided to take a dip in the huge swimming pool in the hostel and finally warmed up on lap 40. A couple of bottles of cheap chianti later, and it was up on the dance floor to ensure that I went to bed warm enough to last the night without dying from hypothermia. Note to son number 2 – this Mum does dance.
Arriving at the meet point in the main square, we all waited, cameras focussed and ready, for the astrological clock to strike 11a.m. and the show to start. Then, in the huge crowd, all staring at the clock face, someone turned to their neighbour to ask the time. Who was that? Not me. I'm a confirmed chestnut.
Prague is an interesting and beautiful city, historically and architecturally, which juxtaposes with its reputation as the stag/hen weekend destination of choice. We skimmed the surface as our guide bounced us from sight to sight, gazing upwards at the fantastic frescos on buildings, gargoyles and cherubs, art deco and gothic architecture and sidewards at the tacky souvenir and tattoo shops, not to mention massage parlours and bars. I always feel a bit sorry for the guides, who have to enthusiastically turn 1400 years of fascinating history into a 2 hour sideshow of which most us retain less than 10% (unless you are Irish Debbie, who can retain 100% of any personal information you may freely hand over. You have been warned, Ozbus 20!). From the tour, I can only remember the story of the thief who had to leave his arm behind in the church where he tried to steal a necklace from the Madonna. It's still there, opposite the Aussie bar, if you ever want to see it.
Anxious to avoid making the same mistake twice, we decided to walk back along the picturesque river, stopping for coffee and cake along the way. Unfortunately, the walk was not picturesque and there were no nice coffee shops, just a verrrry long trek. Well, at least we'd got our exercise done for the day. Always a glutton for punishment, I decided to take a dip in the huge swimming pool in the hostel and finally warmed up on lap 40. A couple of bottles of cheap chianti later, and it was up on the dance floor to ensure that I went to bed warm enough to last the night without dying from hypothermia. Note to son number 2 – this Mum does dance.
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