Veselé Vánoce

Kevin, with a tash John Holmes would be proud of

Wally, the flying hostel dog

25th December

Our expedition further into winter continued with a taxi ride that replaced the “ghost” bus over the border into Slovakia, and a small village called Zdiar. I can’t say I have caught a taxi between countries before without any passport control; such is the ease now with the European Union. I kinda miss it; the stops in the middle of the night while bunkering down in a train carriage while dour looking Eastern European guards scanned and checked your passport with all the scrutiny that secret police are famous for. Now, not even a look, which is also a shame as passport stamps at non-air borders are a thing of the past.

The Ginger Monkey. Made of gingerbread.

Zdiar is small enough in that it has a population of approx. 1300, all of who go to church every night. The village takes about ten minutes to walk in its entirety. It is located in the High Tatras mountains, just south of the Polish border (too close according to locals who claim they need to move out of the way when a crazy driving Pole comes flying past in his car). What attracts tourists here is its proximity to ski slopes for all levels and summer lakeside beauty. What attracted us here was the opportunity of a few days relaxing away from cities and traffic and the chance to ski, for a ridiculously cheap price (see $10 lift passes, $10 gear hire). Well that didn’t go too well, as our ski abilities are limited, or close to useless. As it was off-season, finding professionals to assist with a few lessons was difficult, so on the day we hit the slopes it was left to myself to try and teach Kylie the basics of ski survival. The fact that I had only been skiing three brief times before didn’t help things. There was a lot of time spent on our arses rather than our feet. I thought I’d try to be brave and tackle the run, which was labelled blue but to me seemed black. So fast and dangerous. Well it was easy for the couple of six year olds that whizzed past me regularly, in fact I think they lapped me, but to me it was very icy on the surface and very foggy up top. In one run I managed to forget all the basics about stopping at top speed and simply used a mound of snow on the side of the run to come to a halt. The headache lasted quite a while.

We gave up soon after and relaxed in the warmth of the buffet restaurant in our awkward ski boots and ate for a little bit, before attempting a few more minor runs before getting cranky and fucking off home.

The confident skier would find things difficult without actual skis

Too scared to head downhill, the coward skier  would be stuck all day

We stayed in a hostel named the Ginger Monkey, to this day the best hostel we have ever stayed in, in the world. It’s more like a private residence, in design and feel, run by a friendly Czech man Dan and his cat and dog. The cat, Kevin, has a killer porn star moustache and the dog Wally is nuts about playing in the snow with all the guests and loves to have snowballs thrown at his face. We think.

The views every day from the place are sensational. The temperatures dropped to regular minus 15 degrees or worse, and snow abounded. When we weren’t relaxing or drinking $2 wine from the region, we were out in the snow perfecting sledding. We rented nifty hand made sleds from the local ski shop for a pittance, and took to the mountain. Without much of a care for our safety, away we fired, and we usually came off second best on slopes so fast that they took you back to the childhood days of summer in the backyard, adding dishwashing liquid to black plastic and letting the hose run. There were many stacks, and many bodies airborne, finally planting face first into the freezing snow. Wally was always there to rescue us however, providing we had a stick for him.

Mushroom cup. Add anything to a glass, some cards, and someones head, and you have a dangerous drinking game

Ben Cousins was never one for covering his tracks completely

The snow angel 

The gypsies moved onto park benches later

The hostel usually had about five guests on average per night, so it was a very homely feel. Just other backpackers wanting something different in an experience. Nights were spent chatting over more cheap wine and even cheaper beers, and singing, or yelling, I can’t remember, along with the music playing, whatever that was. 3am wasn’t an odd bedtime for us. Which is probably why on what was supposed to be our last morning we didn’t leave. We awoke with a slight headache, and instead of walking to our bags to begin the horrid packing process; we peered out the window to the mountains, grandiose in the clear winter sky, with fresh snow on the ground, and listening to the friendly voices in the rooms below. So we stayed, and went sledding again that day. We also made a snowman, which we though was fantastic as we toiled harder than a Siberian intern, but was received by locals and other guests of the hostel with fervour of the humorous kind. I don't speak Slovakian, but I'm sure the local woman that strolled by said "Nice helicopter."  Kylie decided to name it Dennis, as it would surely scare off children.

Reluctantly, we left the following day for Prague. Although its not a bad change in scenery.

This was to be the last time it was a good idea to fetch fresh water from the frozen river

Winter always hampered the Romans crucifixions

Sledding. Doing it wrong.

Another combination of bus, train and train, and eight hours later we were in Prague, bohemian capital of the Czech Republic, and another contender for top ten most beautiful cities in the world. Firstly, we had to go via Poprad, another Slovakian city, but I’m not sure what its famous for, perhaps one of the highest concentration of gypsies in the world. The Romany get around these parts, and like to hang out at the train stations, so obviously you need to watch your things at all times. Even tattoos are at risk of being ripped off you by these famous thieves. And true to form, we watched as a family of them casually strolled over to the waiting area, pulled out two chairs, launched them over their shoulders, and took them onto the train with them along with their other items, probably stolen goods.

The trap was set for the Gypsies to steal the Anthrax laced chair

Our first day in Prague was a fizzer. Lots of rain that sogged out our walking tour as we froze around looking at the sights.  My rain jacket decided to pack it in (I’m not sure how its fine one day and not so waterproof the next…I shall be writing a very strongly worded letter to China or Bangladesh about this) so I was left shivering, as I looked at a happy Kylie in her $2 plastic coat, all-dry.

 We had better luck the next two days though, as miraculously for these parts in winter, the temperatures rose, to a massive six degrees, and the skies cleared, allowing for perfect sightseeing. The famous Charles Bridge, Prague Castle, Jewish Quarter, Old Town Square and numerous other stunning masterpieces of buildings and houses. Prague is famous for these, but also has the (dis)honour of holding a spot in the top five in the most overrated event in the world, and this is the astronomical clock. The clock and tower itself and works of art, and extremely advanced for its time. I’m sure back in the day the sight of a skeleton ringing a bell while other statues shook their heads in a kind of twisty turny cuckoo clock kind of way, was an awesome sight and highly fun filled entertaining way to spend a medieval day, but now, its kind of disappointing.

Incidentally, number one on the list is the Mona Lisa.

The thing is, tourists cram into the Old Town Square to take in the event. This is better watching and far more entertaining, as cameras flutter and shutter wildly as normally sane citizens frenzy for position like it will never happen again. Although it has been happening for over 500 hundred years so what’s the hurry?

Statues. Hilarious to some.

Beer has been happening for just as long, and yes, the Czech Republic is home to the best beer in the world, and some of the best environs to imbibe in. Where else can you get superb quality, unfiltered, at times high percentage beer in a 500 year old plus pub while engorging on pork knuckle and all the traditional trimmings such as fried cheese, cabbage and dumplings.

And there are so many tourists in Prague, and most of them are idiots. It is impossible to get even a tiny bit of personal space. The minute you think you might be able to take out the Canon and get that unobstructed shot is the minute a fuckwit family pokes their deformed heads into the frame and shouts at you to move. Sometimes I wish my camera were a gun. We found more solace in the lesser pedestrianized cobbled streets, the back alleys housing the more inexpensive bars but only just off the tourist trail, and every so much more ambient and warm. After all, this is what Prague is all about, finding that bit of magic you can claim as your own.

Noon, atop Charles Bridge. 

Christmas Eve arrived to Prague, and us on the 24^th December. Fancy that!

In these parts, as in much of Europe, this is the big day for locals and their families as this is the day when gifts are exchanged and meals of carp and potatoes are shared, the traditional Christmas fayre. Most places shut down but we had no difficulty finding a place for our own Czech Christmas, and ate roast pork knee (like knuckle) with knockout succulent crackling and mashed potatoes, whole pickles and beer. We took in the atmosphere of the Old Town Square together with the Christmas markets and giant tree so elaborately decorated the power needed to light this thing is surely threatening the country’s GDP.

It was an early night for us, and back to our hotel where no one talks to one another, they just smoke in random areas. That’s the difference between hostels and hotels. You trade off comfort for atmosphere.

And then this is Christmas (I was going to start that sentence with So, but that’s been done before). We were slightly disappointed to not have a white one, but still happy to be in an amazing city, together. The weather warmed itself a little too much for our liking. So as a result we will not complain about cold weather any more.

Bugger, forgot the crash helmet.

After a breakfast of leg ham and eggs and burnt toast, we called home and spoke with the families, who by this stage may have been into their second six-pack and full of turkey and ham. We spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly around the city, which was now bustling with the sounds, smells and sights of the markets, which were open for business. We watched the useless clock again, then wandered down another alley and settled into a charming cellar bar for another Christmas dinner and drinks. Most pubs and restaurants were open today, so that was super for us. And have I told you the Czechs have the greatest beers in the world?

The jewels would soon be claimed by the Gypsies