Vienna, Last Day / Prague, First Night

This morning I bid Vienna a bittersweet farewell, and prepared for the next leg of my journey to Prague, home to golems and goulasch. As the city disappeared through the window of the train compartment, smeared with the thumbprints of past passengers, I thought about all the things I'd miss: seeing the baroque church spires lit up at night, tripping on the cobblestone streets in the rain, eating gelato underneath the towering statue of Gutenberg and his printing press. I won't be able to run along the overgrown and rubble-strewn banks of the Danube, or take a bicycle ride through the wide and wild poppy fields of Niederösterreich, for a long while yet. These are things I won't easily forget, and don't want to.

I never did a moving-in post on the apartment, but I'm making up for it now with a smörgåsbord of photographs, taken with a heavy heart.

The last view, looking out onto the street.

Walnuts, ahoy.

Before we caught the train, I ran into the Naschmarkt to get one last Hungarian baumkuchen, which only shares its cooking method with the German variety. It's a single, long piece of dough wrapped around a thick spit, baked, and then dusted with various flavors - cinnamon, walnut, cacao, vanilla, "bounty" (coconut and cacao). Je l'adore.

The Czech countryside was stunning, particularly because our train cut through the Sudetans. This meant that in addition to feeling like I was zooming through a Venetian blind - tunnel light tunnel light tunnel light - I got some lovely mountain views. (Seconds later, a train roared past on the neighboring tracks, and I saw my life and a lot of seventies-era paint flash before my eyes.)

Let's ignore the big grey pole, shall we?

A democratic nation with communist stylings.

The train ride was about five hours long, but it was pleasant enough, especially considering that we had an entire six-person compartment - and thus, three seats each to sleep on - to ourselves for most of it. About thirty minutes from Prague, a slight Czech girl dressed for a Victorian tea party joined us, but this hardly changed matters as she silently clutched her umbrella in the corner.

Having learned from our handy guidebook that Czech taxi drivers are a treacherous lot just short of serial killer material, we opted to take the metro to the stop nearest our hotel in Josefov and then walk the remainder of the way... on cobblestone streets. I think the wheels of my suitcase are made of kryptonite; there is no other way they could have stayed on otherwise.

I decided that I liked Prague as soon as we checked in to our hotel, where we were cheerily handed "welcome drink" vouchers for either mojitos or champagne at the bar. It was about dinner time by the time we rolled out, so we decided to meander around the Jewish quarter and Old Town until we found something suitable.

Clockwise from top left: the Church of Our Lady Before Týn, whose right tower is indeed stouter than the left; a quaint Old Town street; St. Wenceslas' horse on the façade of the Storch House; the view down Na Prikope to Palác Koruna.

The first thing that struck me about Prague is that it feels really small. At first I was under the mistaken impression that it was quiet and empty of chatty tourists, too, until we arrived at the Old Town Square and I was rudely disabused of my delusions. Then the city started feeling like Barcelona, with Old Town Square replacing La Rambla and souvenir Bohemian crystal taking the place of teacups shaped like the Sagrada Familia. I think it's the Gothic architecture, and the streets deliberately arranged to lead to the greatest amount of confusion, and all of the scantily-clad and tanned women (tourists, no doubt; natives are pale and actually wear clothes) scampering off to the various clubs and bars arrayed around the center.

A sampling of the oddball stores we passed: I think I know what inspired this glass shop's name; marionnettes!; the bicycle parked by the Absintherie; look what I found! Not pictured: the Museum of Medieval Torture Instruments.

To get to the vegetarian restaurant selected for tonight, we passed by the Charles Bridge. It was spectacular, even with tourists crawling all over it like lice. There was a queue to cross it.

The restauraut's name, Lehka Hlava, translates as "Clear Head," and was located on a warmly lit side street (cobblestoned, of course). It was all vegetarian - one of about half a dozen in the entire city - and featured a ton of different culinary influences and several exotic drinks.

The decorations inside were beautiful, but it was too dark to get any good pictures. Apparently, in the Czech Republic it's not uncommon for lone diners to join other tables if there are seats, so we split a large table with a pair of women from Tel Aviv. They were so friendly, and just as impressed with the menu as we were.

The Greenhorn, juice pressed
from young barley shoots.

Since we were feeling so healthy, we ordered carrot cake, thinking it wouldn't come doused in a delicious chocolate sauce. It did, and so it disappeared too quickly to take a picture. Oops.

Let's take it from the top: polenta gnocchi, barley risotto with tempeh, sesame stir-fry.