Prague- The City of Spires

     Prague has become one of the most popular tourist destinations in Europe, more so than any of the other traditional Western European capitals, with the possible exception of London or Paris.  Which is one reason why, in the summer, the crowds can literally be packed wall to wall in the streets.  Although its probably impossible to avoid them entirely, they are not nearly so obnoxious in the winter, which is when we decided to go.

     It was quite frosty when we touched down at Ruzyne International, the main airport for Prague.  No one really remembers why it isn’t called Prague International (Ruzyne is the name of the neighborhood where the airport is located), so this year, the government decided to rename it “Prague- Vaclav Havel”, after the famous dissident during the Soviet era, and later the first president after independence in 1989.  He already has numerous buildings, streets, and squares named after him, so one more landmark couldn’t hurt.  

Anna tells us a story about the square.

     During the hight of the Hapsburg Empire, Prague was the largest city in Europe and the undisputed capital.  It still retains much of its baroque charm and architecture from that era.  There was no way we could hope to see it all ourselves, so we went down to the Old Town Square and signed up for one of the “Free Walking Tours” (tips afterwards, please) that go through the town daily.  Our guide, Anna, was a proper older women, with an overcoat and umbrella, who had grown up in the city and knew all of its stories.

     Prague is known as the city of spires, and with good reason.  The Old Town Square (“Staroměstské náměstí”), is on the UNESCO World Heritage List, and is surrounded by the towering double-spired Church or Our Lady before Tyn, the imposing Church of St. Nicholas, the elaborate 18th century Rococo Kinský Palace, and of course, the Old Town Hall (dating back to 1364) with the elaborate Astronomical Clock and Calendar.  It truly  looks like a movie set or something out of Disneyland.  In fact, the square is one of many locations around town used in the first “Mission Impossible” movie, Anna told us.  We re-watched the movie as soon as we got home, and, sure enough, there was Tom Cruise running across the square, right where we had been, escaping a crowd of diabolic evil doers.  We didn’t see any international intrigue while we were there, but the Astronomical Clock still attracts a crowd every hour to see the intricate mechanical figures perform and parade across the front.  The square is also still the political heartbeat of the city.  We saw a huge crowd of protesters march through one night, protesting the austerity measures imposed by the government.   

Staroměstské náměstí (Old Town Square)

     The Square still retains some of its prior character as a market place as well, albeit mostly for tourists, with numerous stands selling fresh hot bread pretzels, ham roasting on a spit, and hot cups of glűhwein (spiced wine), perfect for warming your hands on one of those cold days when you can see your breath.

Entrance to the Karlův Most
(St. Charles Bridge)

Anna spent the day with us and took us around all through the Old Town (Staré Město), the backstreets of the Malá Strana (Little Quarter), the sprawling and expansive grounds of the Pražský Hrad (Prague Castle, the biggest ancient castle in the world) and Hradčany (Castle grounds), the Karlův Most (Charles Bridge), and Wenceslas Square.  Everywhere, we were struck with the overwhelming sense of history: we walked in the steps of Emperors (Charles IV), musicians (this was Mozart’s adopted city), and demonstrators (from the brutal “Prague Spring” of 1968 to the “Velvet Revolution” that eventually lead to the downfall of communism).  

Strolling on the Karlův Most 

     




      On the Charles bridge, lined with its iconic statutes, artists, and performers, we walked in the footsteps of about a thousand tourists a day, it seemed.  This struck me as Prague’s medieval equivalent of Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. The bridge, which goes back to 1357, is now the most recognized trademarks of Prague.  Over the centuries, the statues that now line the bridge were gradually added, one by one.  The bridge offers a wonderful view of the gold-tipped towers and church domes that line the Vltava River.

Nothing beats a big bowl of goulash soup and
a cold glass of Pilsner Urquell on a cold day!

One of the many statutes lining the Charles Bridge

St. Vitus's Cathedral at the Prague Castle

Charles Bridge leading into the Malá Strana

A beggar prostrates himself for the tourist crowd.

Protesters march through the square

A crowd gathers to watch the clock figures
perform

In front of the "Obecni dum" (Municipal
House) Concert Hall

Changing of the guards at Prague Castle

"Graffiti Wall" started with the "Velvet Revolution." 

View of the Square from the Clock Tower

View of the Tyn Church from the Clock Tower

Brussels and Ghent: Castles, Chocolate, and the Pissing Boy

  Belgium isn’t as neat, orderly, and prosperous as Holland, but what it lacks in that regard, it makes up for in elegant (if somewhat fading) scenic grandeur.  And it has two big draws that attract plenty of visitors: good beer and Belgian chocolate.  Its the perfect combination; something for him and something for her.  There are over 450 artsy varieties of specialty beers with reputations that go back to the middle ages.  The chocolate is no less tempting.  Belgian chocolate has been known to wilt the will power of the most committed dieters.  Picturesque shops dot the city- just when you think you are out of the clutches of one, you turn the corner and there is another that is even cuter.  There are over 2,000 in Belgium.

        Brussels is a mix of cosmopolitan and historic.  As the administrative capital of Europe, it is home to numerous European institutions as well as NATO.  Meanwhile the historic side has preserved the palaces and squares from the 18th and 19th century when Belgium was a world power.  The central square in the old town, le Grand'Place, is considered one of the most ornate in Europe, and one of the most theatrical in the summer, with free concerts and light shows.  

"Bonjour, Monsieur et Madame. A table?"

If you can’t find a good inexpensive restaurant in Brussels, you just aren’t trying.  They are lined up one after the other in the romantic cobble-stoned alleys that make up a good part of the old town.  The restaurants have an elegant French feel to them, but without the expensive French price.  The Garçons line the alley, standing outside their restaurants, engaging the passers-by like some kind of high class barker.  “Bonjour, Monsieur et Madame.  We have a wonderful menu, and a glass of champaign on the house!  Can I show you a seat by the fireplace?”

Brussels has lots of charms to offer, but someone is going to have to explain to me what is going on with the trademark statute, le Manneken Pis?  What can you say about a town which boasts as its main attraction a statute of a pissing boy squirting water. Whose idea was this anyway?  Who thought this would be a good idea?  If this thing was in America, it would be on Jaime Foxx or candid camera.  

Its actually been a Brussles landmark at least since 1377.  At that time, it was supposedly expressing the general opinion about the occupying forces.  In 1747, some French soldiers thought it would be a good idea to steal him and take him back to France.  There was such a huge outcry that King Louis ordered it returned wearing a gold embroidered suit. It now has a ceremonial costume for every occasion, 517 in all. 

A row of the famous boy line up in a candy store
window for christmas.

You see him everywhere.  Key rings, T shirts, bobble-head dolls, doorbell frames, toilet paper holders, you name it.  Its been called the statue that launched a thousand tchotchkes.  There’s the pissing boy over there holding waffles; over here, the pissing boy holding vlaamse friets (flemish french fries).  I looked around for one holding a Budweiser can (since Bud was sold to a Belgian company a couple years ago), but couldn’t find one anywhere.  I think they’re missing a good Super Bowl commercial here.  Who knew?  And you probably thought that Americans invented it for mudflaps and rear windows.

In order to show how sensitive Americans are to gender equality, we asked the tourist information clerk where the pissing girl statute was.  Turns out there actually is one at a restaurant over on the rue des Bouchers.  Veronica wouldn’t let me go.  Guess we’ll have to visit that on the next trip. 

The Castle Gravensteen

If Brussels has made its mark by preserving the feel and architecture of the the 19th century, Ghent has made its mark by preserving the feel and architecture of the 17th century. Well preserved medieval facades surround a city square full of merchants’ booths.  Standing on the Sint Michielsbrug (Saint Michael’s bridge) looking out toward the old town and the Gravensteen castle, you’d swear you had been transported back to the 1600’s.  In fact the centerpiece of the city, the castle Gravensteen (seen on The Amazing Race not too long ago), goes back even further than that, to the 1100’s.  It has been rebuilt on the same spot several times, however, most recently in the 1800’s, but still authentically portrays the medieval castle.  Through it all, though, it has been continuously in use in one fashion or another since that time, whether as a chamber for the High Court of Flanders, a prison, or a cotton mill.  It is now a museum with a spectacular view of Ghent from its battements.

Brussels- le Grand'Place (main square)

Hôtel de Ville (City Hall)

Guild houses of the Graslei

Along the river Leie 

In front of Sint Michielskirk (St. Michael's Church)

Sint Michielsbrug (St. Michael's bridge) looking down
 the Lieve Canal

St. Niklaaskerk (St. Nicholas Church)

Ornate buildings in the Koren Markt

Battlement of the Gravensteen

View from the battlements

Evening falls on the central square

Bon Voyage!

A Moroccan Adventure Part 2

The Medina of Fez

If Marrakech is the tourist capital of the South, then Fez is the tourist capital of the North.  Since we had a week to spend in Morocco, we decided to take a couple days for an excursion to Fez.  We caught the express train out of Marrakech, but unlike the train that Crosby, Stills & Nash sang about, this one takes 7 hours to make the 291 mile journey to Fez (averaging a blistering 41.5 miles per hour), and stopping along the way a number of times.  We slowly chugged through the dusty high plains around Marrakech making our way down to the Atlantic coast.  Along the way, we passed a diorama of small villages and random flocks of sheep with loitering shepherds.  We did not have to stop for any sheep on the tracks, but did stop a few times for unexplained reasons.  The closer we got to the coast, the greener the landscape got.  Three hours later, we were approaching Casablanca on the coast.  

A flock grazes on the hillside above Fez

Casablanca and Rabat lie fairly close together on the Atlantic coast and are the two biggest cities in Morocco.  Together, they make up a highly industrialized and highly populated region.  Rabat, as the capital, got all the improvements and modernizations.  Casablanca, which is a bit of a brutish port town, got all the slums.  What is worse, there is no museum dedicated to Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, no plaque memorializing where “Rick’s American Café” stood, and no restaurants playing “As Time Goes By.”  So when the train stopped in Casablanca, we stayed on, and just mumbled to ourselves, “Here’s looking at you, Casablanca.”

The train continued on along the Coast to Rabat, with the sparkling blue Atlantic visible in the distance, before it turned away and started inland once again, climbing up to Fez.  We steadily picked up altitude for a couple hours before arriving.  Unlike Marrakech, however, the landscape stayed lush and green.  By the time the train finally pulled into the Gare de Fez, we were exhausted, and ready for another harrowing taxi ride to our riad. 

Entrance to the Royal Palace

Our riad in Fez, the Riad Verus, proved to be a real treat.  As is typical for the old town riads, it was located down a narrow otherwise uninviting non-descript cobble stone street in a plain looking building.  However, unlike other riads, the way was well marked and easy to find.  Stepping through the door from the street into the Riad Verus was like stepping into another world.  We were greeted by the sound of the bubbling fountain in the interior courtyard, the chirping song of the house canary, and contemporary american music on the stereo.  The Riad Verus is run by a young energetic couple, but in a laid-back, relaxed style.  He (Noor) is Brazilian and she (Leonora) is from England.  Noor greeted us at the front door, and brought us glasses of traditional hot strong Moroccan Mint tea while we relaxed and took in the ambiance.  Everything about the Riad Verus testified to their attention to detail.  

The interior was tastefully and imaginatively decorated in classic Moroccan style.  Our room was well lighted and comfortable.  It had both heat and air conditioning (many old town riads do not have heat, and in the winter months the cement buildings can get quite chilly).  Our room had a large flat screen TV on the wall, and internet in our room and throughout the building, not just in the lobby.  Our private bath had a spacious Arabic style tiled tub and shower combination.  Our room included a hot breakfast with eggs, baguettes, yogurt, fruits and Moroccan delicacies.  All the staff were friendly and attentive.  And at about $70 a night, it was very reasonably priced.  What a find.  We were anxious to start exploring Fez after a good night’s sleep.

Fresh Chicken in the Market Place

The Medina (market place) of Fez (Fès el-Bali) is world famous.  It goes back over a thousand years and is the world’s largest contiguous car-free urban area.  It is an extensive array of covered alleys lined with booths and stalls that goes on seemingly endlessly, and has been described as the “maze to end all mazes.”  According to our guide book, “It is quite easy to get lost in the Medina, and in fact part of the fun and adventure of visiting the Medina is getting lost and trying to find your way out.”  Sorry, I DON'T THINK SO- not OUR idea of fun.  We were not about to get lost and have to bargain away our last durham for a sleeping bag because we had to spend the night lost in an Arabic bazaar.   

The centuries old Chaouwara Tanneries

The Al-Qarawiyyin Mosque and University

So Noor hooked us up with a good guide, who spent the day showing us around- well worth the investment.  He took us to all the notable spots in the Medina AND brought us out alive.  Of course, we did have to listen to thinly veiled sales pitches at his favorite merchants (from whom I am sure he got a kickback) but it was well worth it.  We saw a traditional tannery (the Chaouwara Tanneries) that didn’t look like they had changed much since the middle ages, hand-made Moroccan rugs that you could pick up for a mere $70,000 (or walk on for free, which is what I did), silversmiths that still do everything by hand, spice merchants, homeopathic medicine men, you name it.  He also took us over to the Al-Qarawiyyin, which functions both as a university and a mosque.  It is listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the oldest continuously operating university in the world, founded in 859.  It is now one of the leading spiritual/educational centers of the Muslim world. Normally, non-Muslims (westerners) are not allowed in a mosque, and you even get dirty looks if you try to peep in when the door is open.  But as soon the door attendant saw our guide, he held the door open and beckoned us over to look in.  He even volunteered to take my camera inside and take pictures for us.  We would never had gotten that kind of treatment on our own. 

Afterwards, he drove us up to a high hill overlooking the city, Borj Nord, for an incredible panoramic view, and then back down to a local restaurant near our riad, where we had a delicious Moroccan meal.  It was the perfect end to a wonderful and tiring day. We were ready to head back to the Riad Verus and kick back.

The old town of Fez

Panorama of Fez from Borj Nord

David, April, Don, and Veronica blending in with the locals

A Moroccan Adventure Part 1

Riding on the Marrakech Express

     Semester break.  What better time to escape the snow and ice of Holland.  Just like snow birds from Canada or New York fleeing to Florida, we decided to go south too- all the way to Morocco.  So we booked a cheap flight with our friends David and April and packed our bags for the three and a half hour flight.  

     Our flight took us directly over Paris at night, with crystal clear skies.  The lights of the city sprawled out everywhere beneath us, and even at 20,000 feet, the Eiffel tower was clearly discernible.  We continued on over the Costa del Sol and Gibraltar, all neatly outlined in light and clearly visible.  Following down the Moroccan coast, we flew directly over Casablanca.  Peering out the plane’s window, I was almost sure I could just make out Rick’s American Café and Major Strausser’s car hurrying out to the airport.  

     Before long we had landed at Marrakech and connected up with the driver who would take us to our Riad.  He narrated the various sites we were passing along the way as he zipped in and out of traffic oblivious to any traffic rules, if such existed.  Into the old walled town (the medina) and down a suspicious looking alley, past night-time crowds of people loitering on the street, finally he stopped in a narrow street filled with people and donkey carts.  “This way”, he said, getting out of the cab.  He led us up to an unassuming door in a plain cement wall in an anonymous building.  We rang the bell.

The Riad "Fantasia"

The owner, a pleasant middle aged French woman, answered and led us inside.       

     It was beautiful.  An interior courtyard with a fountain was surrounded by 2 levels of balconies.  This unassuming exterior and elaborate inside are typical of Moroccan Riads, we found out.  Historically, a Riad was the house, including a lush garden, of a well-to-do merchant, located in the market. Thus the unassuming exterior was practical for security reasons.  Now days, of course, the affluent live in the new modern part of the city, so these residences are being restored and have now become the Moroccan version of “B and B’s.”  We were welcomed to the “Riad Fantasia” with Moroccan mint tea, and after checking in, retired to our private room and snuggled into our bed. Tomorrow, we would begin exploring the old town.

The Marrakech Square "Djemaa el Fna"

     Marrakech is a vibrant bustling city with a population of about a million, which includes about 10,000 retired Europeans.  It is located in the south of Morocco on an arid plain with the snow capped Atlas mountains visible in the distance.  Although it goes back to the 11th Century, it is a modern city with wide boulevards and new buildings. It has big plans to become the “Palm Springs” of Morocco, with as many as a dozen new golf courses in the planning.  It also has the largest traditional market (souk) in Morocco, and the busiest and most famous old town “square” (it is anything but square) in the world, the “Djemaa el Fna”, the nerve center of the city.  For hundreds of years, acrobats, performers, musicians, story tellers, merchants, and characters of all sorts have gathered here  to earn money and sell their wares. Every sundown, huge open food stalls are set up, turning the square into one large open-air restaurant.  The area has taken on a reputation as a unique and magical showcase of Moroccan culture, and has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage site.  The square is alive with activity and the air is filled with smoke from the food stands, while a vast array of music and other chaotic sounds compete for our attention.  It has a carnival- like feel to it, with games and street performers hustling the tourists as they stroll through.  

Veronica matches wits with a Cobra.

     The centerpiece, of course, is the snake charmers.  Each is surrounded by a half a dozen BIG snakes, and includes at least a couple cobras.  Real cobras, as in co·bra n. 1. The deadliest snake in the world, capable of lunging more than a meter to strike its prey, which usually dies shortly afterwards of paralysis. 2. Not a plaything to be used as a prop for tourist pictures.  The snake charmer looks like a grizzled older guy.  I can’t help but wonder how many snake charmers actually make it to his age.  I wouldn’t want to be one of these guys when they have a bad day at the office.  He is swaying slightly as he plays a haunting repetitious melody on his instrument.  I lean over to him and offer him 20 durhams to play “Another One Bites the Dust.”  He gives me a puzzled expression.  Lost in translation, I guess.

     It occurs to me that this would never work in the U.S. I suspect that OSHA just would never allow it.  They would require the charmers to have a standby medical emergency and psychological counseling team.  You would have to sign a release of liability before taking your picture with the snake charmer.  The snakes would probably be required to have warning labels attached, like “Caution: Cobras can be dangerous to your health,” or “Caution: To be used by professional snake charmers only.  Do not try this at home.”  It just wouldn’t be the same.  

"I'm sorry, you won't fit in my luggage!"

     Veronica is posing with the trained monkeys now, next with the cobras, then finally with the medicine men who look like they are wearing gaudy victorian lamp shades on their heads.  None of them are the least bashful about demanding 40 or 50 Durhams after they have thrust their animal or themselves at you uninvited for you to pose with for pictures.   “Only paper money!” the man with the lamp shade on his head tells me.    

     Navigating the narrow street (if you can even call it that) from The Square to our Riad is an adventure in itself and not one for the fainthearted.  It is perhaps one lane wide, no sidewalk, cobble stone, lined with connected cinderblock and stucco buildings, and filled shoulder to shoulder with people, many dressed in the traditional jalaba (a full length robe with a pointed hood), rushing from place to place.  Although cars are not allowed on it, this does not apply to motorbikes, donkey carts, or horse drawn carriages, which roll through the crowd oblivious to the people. A donkey cart rolls by with something big and motionless on it, covered by a white sheet.  We figure its a snake charmer-trainee who flunked out.  Suddenly, along comes another motor bike at 30 miles per hour, weaving crazily through the crowd, barely missing everyone, honking the whole time.

     We soon have our fill of markets and mayhem and are ready to spend a few days in the north of Morocco, in the town of Fez.  

Next week: Part 2, The Medina of Fez.

The Fruit and Nut man

The busiest Square in Africa

co·bra n. Not a plaything to be used as a prop for tourist pictures.  

The Medicine Men

The Spice Merchant

Snow Comes to Holland

     What a sight to wake up to.

     We have been hearing from everyone how this was an unusually warm winter, but it was still a surprise.  Up until this week, the temperature had not dropped below freezing once, generally varying between 35 to 45, with a fair number of drizzly, overcast days.  “It’ll get colder,” our downstairs neighbor assured us.  It is not unusual to have snow at Christmas, but it hadn’t happened this year.  

     But this morning, we got up and looked out the window, and everything was covered in white: cars, bikes, road, sidewalk- everything. Not a deep layer, but just enough to cover it in a peaceful white coating.  The temperature had dropped to 28 and has been hovering between 18 to 28 this whole week.  The snow and cold didn’t seem to slow anybody down here, though.  When the sun eventually came up around 8:30 or so, Moms still bundled little kids onto the bike babyseats behind them to haul them off to school or day care or the store, joggers still trotted by, kids still went out to play.  And why shouldn’t they?  This was all quite normal.  I had to remind myself that, after all, Holland is as far north as Calgary, Canada, on the map, whereas Modesto is about level with Sicily.  Big difference.  

     When the temps drop below freezing, “Skate Fever” hits Holland big time.  Many of the Dutch eagerly await the cold temperatures so they can get outside and indulge in the national pastime of ice skating.  Actually, its just called “skating” here.  No need to specify “ice.”  As far as the Dutch are concerned, there is no other kind of skating.  We’ve had 4 days of below freezing temps now. Our neighbors invited us to go out skating with them this weekend, when they anticipate conditions will be just right.  Ice is forming on the canals and lakes around town, but they probably won’t freeze enough for skating.  The first places to freeze will be the “poulders” in the countryside.  They are large marshy areas covered with a foot or less of water.  Since they are so shallow, they freeze quickly and there is no danger of falling though the ice.  They turn into giant outdoor skating rinks.  Everybody has their favorite location.  To be sure, the Dutch grumble about the winter blahs as much as everyone else, but they still enjoy being active outside in the winter.

     With enough cold weather, sometimes its even possible to skate from city to city.  In fact, Holland boasts the world’s largest and longest speed skating competition in the world, the “Elfstedentocht,” or “11 cities tour”.  Its 200 kilometers long (over 124 miles), passing through 11 cities in the north of The Netherlands, and is conducted entirely on frozen canals, rivers, and lakes.  Think of the Boston Marathon on ice- times 5.  Its not held every year since conditions have to be just right for the entire course.  The over 15,000 skaters expected to participate can take quite a toll on the ice, so it has to be quite solid.  

     Each fall, excitement builds for this Super Bowl on ice, and everyone’s attention turns to speculating whether or not this will be a year for the Elfstedentocht.  When it is announced that one will occur, Holland explodes in a frenzy of national celebration-- kind of like when the Red Sox went to the World Series.  Huge crowds gather at the starting point city, which turns into a giant all-night street party.  The race starts the next morning, and the skaters must finish before midnight to successfully complete the race.  In 1963, the weather was so brutal that only 1 per cent finished.  Dutch folks line the route to cheer on the racers in a Dutch version of the Tour de France.  There have only been 15 since it started in 1909, and with global warming and all, 1997 was the last time one was held.  Looks like 2012 won’t be the year either.

     Well, enough for now.  Veronica and I are off to make snow angels in the street in front of house.  After that, it will be time for Glűhwein!

Recipe for a frozen tushie....

Snow on Hog Warts High