The French Connection

Our flight from Prague to Paris on Wizzair (must... not... make... wizzjoke... ) set us back $80 for two people - total; that's with a checked-baggage allowance and all taxes and fees thrown in. The flight departed and left on time, in a new plane (love that great new plane smell).

Leather seats, flawless service, and our cabin attendants had cute accents from Vecses, Hungary-- OK, well maybe not, but they that's where their CEO (pictured) sits at HQ. Touching down in a cute airport 80km north of the French capital, I was overwhelmed with cranky thoughts on why these budget airlines didn't get it together long ago, prior to the 2.5 years I lived in France. Oh well, at least I have all those super useful Air France frequent flyer miles as a memento.

We zipped out of Paris as quickly as possible, sidestepping the nomadic bands of killer poodles (NPR reports that J. Chirac was recently attacked by his poodle. The poodle was coincidentally undergoing treatment for clinical depression...) and stopping for the briefest of moments to consider 4-euro kebabs near Gare de Lyon -- making our way via navette, metro, and SCNF rail to...Grenoble(!). Ahhhh, Grenoble -- "capital" of the French Alps, absolutely required as a blast from the past and besides...we're not in Eastern Europe any more; the only way we can afford a week in a high-cost country is by inviting ourselves to the guest room of a friends top-floor apartment. Oh, and of course by visiting the HP office to enjoy the scrumptious subsidized meals so generously provided by local management. Yes, Virginia, there is wine at lunch in HP France.

Naturally we are hanging in the home of a former HP SPaMster (SPaM = Strategic Planning and Modeling, Slackerboy's job during the off-blog season). Our hosts are Marc Feyhl, his wife Cinzia plus their daughter Ciara. Ciara entertains us speaking 4 languages (German w/Dad, Italian w/Mom, French with peers, English w/us) as well as communicating in the lingua franca of tickle-induced squeals. Those interested in more info on what Brian actually does at HP should visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HP_SPaM

Top Grenoble sights include the fountains of Place Victor Hugo, Prefecture, Place Notre Dame, Batman Kebab, and every pain au chocolate dealer within a 5-mile radius. Notice how in front of the Prefecture (capitalized because it is important) that all five flagpoles sport handsome flags of France. Clearly our French allies have learned much from the Americans about demonstrating their love of freedom, although they should consider adding one more flag immediately. Probably best if it covers the whole of the facade -- otherwise many citizens will no doubt begin questioning the *true* patriotism of Prefecture employees.

As is required of all visitors, Andrea enjoyed a high-speed hiking tour to the top of the Grenoble Bastille (not to be confused with the "real" one in the Marais district in Paris), passing historic fortifications and ancient landmarks, ending with admiration of the views of the town below. Note the cute little boules of the telepherique zooming up to the restaurant of the Bastille, where you can enjoy a delicious lunch in the fresh mountain air, followed by Gauloises and your 17th espresso of the day before you zip back down to your stylish office au centre ville.

From the top of the Bastille we could make out Mont Blanc in the distance; the highest mountain in western Europe at 4,180m. Andrea was tempted to climb the beast, but I warned her croissant might be in short supply at the summit and suggested cannonballs in the city pool as a good alternative.

After the pool we grabbed steak and freedom frites with Greg Delamarre -- an old Club Med pal of mine. Greg and I were stationed at Club Med villages in the Bahamas and Turks and Caicos islands during '87-'88. Greg was born in Chamonix, so of course he has summited Mont Blanc several times... that's him in the Rossignol backpack, and again on the left in the summit photo. Listening to the sport achievements of a good friend over a pastis is way better than climbing some nasty mountain yourself -- you might get a blister.

Our hosts make espresso the vintage Italian way using a stove-top pot. I requested a lesson. Key points:

1. Water level filled only to a level below the safety-valve.

2. Don't pack down the coffee when you fill the filter.

3. Be sure the handle of the pot is not over the burner (it will melt).

4. NEVER use soap to clean the coffee maker. It ruins the taste of the next cup and may give Italians in the room a mild heart attack; just rinse with water.

5. Avoid storing your coffee maker next to a younger, slimmer model - can be detrimental to the pot's self esteem.

Running in the Vercors (think fire trails in a French Alps style) with beautiful views of Grenoble was fun for the whole family - but the pièce de résistance was a trip to the 2nd home/mountain chalet of Claude Laval (another former SPaMster) on Saturday for apertif, dinner, conversation, etc. Note the tennis court just barely visible on the left hand side of the group photo -- suffice to say that it was pretty tough for Claude and his wife to get us to leave, I was ready to move right in.

Other highlights include hanging with even more SPaM homies (Frederic Marie, Danny Berry), watching DVDs on one of our hosts' many viewing stations (two home-theater systems plus one in the kitchen for entertainment while cooking), an overnight trip to Lyon for public art admiration (that's not a mural on the side of that building in the photo) followed by cheese-and-potato gorging, discussing the merits of universal health care with the natives (health care so much better in France and way cheaper than in the US - ask anyone who's lived in both places) and visiting Espace Viking next to the apartment for fitness with the locals.

When heavily muscled French bodybuilders enter a gym they first walk around to shake hands with everyone present, bestowing obligatory kisses on both cheeks of their favorite power-lifting partners. Now that's civilized.

Vive la France!

Czech it out

Prague was one of our most anticipated destinations from the first inkling of this trip, and throughout our Central/Eastern Europe travels it was a standard question among fellow travelers: "Have you been to Prague yet? We loved Prague!" Our guidebook also sprinkles references to Prague throughout, and in fact does so in relation to some of our favorite spots from this trip: "If Krakow is the 'next Prague,' then Ljubljana is the next 'next Prague.'"

Our anticipation was only heightened by the fact that it was deemed our last Eastern Europe destination well in advance (Brian intelligently got tickets from Prague to France wayyyy ahead of time, since August is ultra-peak season for Europe), and because our good friend Len was meeting us there for a whirlwind jaunt.

We had time for one other Czech destination, and Brno was on our list, but we only vaguely knew why -- someone some time back had recommended it, someone we trusted, someone I'm sure we love -- but darned if we could remember who it was or what had been said about Brno. So, after soliciting suggestions from fellow travelers, some web-sleuthing, and some analysis of train schedules, we crossed Brno off the list and made our way to Olomouc (pronounced Olomootz) in Moravia, southeast of Prague. Olomouc has been called "the antidote to trendy, crowded Prague" and the country's (if not Central Europe's) most underrated city.


Like some of the other smallish towns we'd visited, such as Eger, Hungary, Olomouc had a local feel rather than a touristy atmosphere, but it also had sights which were well out of proportion to the town's size, such as the Czech Republic's other astronomical clock (after the one in Prague). The clock originally dates from the 15th century, but was reconstructed basically every century since then, and entirely so after WWII -- and therefore under the Communist regime, so it now features Social Realist-style figures (blacksmiths, peasants, clerks) parading around in circles for 5 minutes, and a golden rooster crowing at the end. OK, I'll admit the look of the clock is actually far grander than its show.



The town hall, which holds the clock, was gorgeous at dusk (first Olomouc pic above), there are several beautiful town squares, a wonderful Plague column (aka Holy Trinity column), said to be the largest anywhere, and lots of fountains.

You can walk from one side of town to the other in about 15 minutes, but to get to and from the train station, there is a super-easy, cheap tram.

The highlight of the town for Brian was a gorgeous, modern fitness center (quelle surprise! suppos). I really wanted my highlight to be the famous Olomouc stinky cheese, which supposedly gets its stink from being aged under hunks of rotting meat -- the Czech Republic even had get special permission from the European Union to be allowed to continue this less-than-hygenic-sounding way of production. Alas, as much as a cheese-lover that I am, I couldn't quite bring myself to like it.





On our way to Prague, we made a slight detour to the Sedlec Ossuary, a chapel with approximately 50,000 human skeletons artistically arranged to form decorations and furnishings, most notably the chandelier, which supposedly has at least one of each human bone. It's not as creepy as it sounds...but that might not be saying much.























And so, on to Prague, where we met up with our friend Len and enjoyed 2 days of fab sightseeing, a rather tepid "Mozart's finest arias" concert (I didn't think you could do opera without stringed instruments, but I guess I was wrong...), lots of good food (and beer and coffee), and lots of laughter.




Prague's sights do justify its reputation as a fabulous European destination, and we craned our necks at the superb architecture as we wandered the streets around the Charles Bridge, Old Town Square, Prague Castle, St. Vitus Cathedral, and Wenceslas Square. The Jewish quarter of Prague is truly evocative, even after Budapest, Krakow and Warsaw. The astronomical clock was gorgeous, and entertaining with a skeleton (Death) ringing the bell, the apostles parading, and figures representing vanity, greed, and hedonism observing.











The crazy building on the right is "Dancing House," designed by Frank Gehry, also known as "Fred & Ginger" (that's Fred on the right with tousled hair, and Ginger's wispy dress on the left).













We tried absinthe, the old-fashioned ritualistic way: small glass of bright-green absinthe under the spout of a table-top fountain, with silver absinthe spoons holding sugar cubes perched on top of the glass. The ice water droplets dissolve the sugar cube as it drips into the absinthe, which then turns cloudy the way ouzo or Pernod does. Hallucinations start about eight minutes later...just kidding!...it's now believed that absinthe is no more psychoactive than other alcohol and ill behavior associated with it was only alcoholism in disguise.





For my final Central/Eastern European image, I liked this mural of bulldozers forever chasing soviet tanks around a mobius strip. It's probably too much to hope that a region with such a fractured history will see permanent peace...but let's share that hope anyway.

So this Polish guy walks into a bar...

Glorious views of the Tatras mountains graced the windows of our speedy coach on the smooth rail ride heading through eastern Slovakia -- out of the mountain wilderness then north and eventually east again to Krakow on the other side of the Tatras. If you look carefully in the reflection on the mountain photo taken from the train you can see Andrea and I snacking while we snap pictures during the trip. Quite odd that "less developed" countries like Slovakia and Poland have faster and more pleasant rail transit than mighty America - but there are fewer SUVs on the road and hardly any McDonalds so the overall quality of life is not *really* up to our high standards...

Krakow is gorgeous in a "rebuilt after the devastation of WWII" kind of way. After being occupied and eventually smashed and burned by the Nazis, then "liberated" by the Russian military, Krakow natives used photos to recreate an ambiance in the old town that would remind them of their history; cute little ancient streets and charming buildings with wonderful small restaurants and cafes around every corner. Even our apartment has a vintage faux-17th century doorway. Sure, cafes are nice, but every town in Europe has cafes -- what Poland has that the rest of Europe lacks are their fabulously wonderful bar mleczny; translation: "milk bars."

Milk bars are subsidized restaurants dishing out heaps of authentic local cuisine, with lots of locals dining next to you, all at wonderfully low prices accompanied by smiling "You're an American, aren't you? Welcome to Poland!" service. Cheap, delicious grub in a country where people seem to genuinely like you just because of your accent; what's not to like? Cabbage, potatoes, soups, sausage, more cabbage, and yes, even milk. Menus are extensive and rarely provided in English, so we prepare with our guidebook to memorize what numbered items we want to oink out on well before we approach and order using the numbered list and a lot of pointing.

Occasionally we venture outside of milk bars for meals (only when we can't find any of them open, of course) and are rewarded with the best cabbage soup in the universe. As a "downside" each and every waiter we meet in this fine country pressures us to quaff massive quantities of Polish "bison" vodka mixed with apple juice- dangerously tasty and therefore having enormous potential to negatively impact one's workplace productivity. Fortunately milk bars don't serve alcohol, we can repel the peer pressure from waiters by ordering small amounts, and anyway we don't have to worry about pesky things like "work" so everything is staying well within our rigorous vacation control limits...

When not gorging ourselves on tasty Polish cuisine, we stroll historic streets admiring monuments to the uprising of Poles against their former oppressors and gazing at statues of Polish luminaries like Copernicus. See the big C pictured on the far left with a hep model of the solar system he probably put together with pop sickle sticks and some glue. Just imagine what the guy could've done if he had a nice HP laptop.

The Poles don´t encourage intellectual pursuits to the detriment of sport and physical conditioning. There are many cheap fitness center choices, and quite a bit of community messaging on the importance of eating right and exercise. For example, note the over-developed abdominals on these gents holding up the balcony of a downtown office building.

Since it is now so modern and beautiful, it is easy to forget that Warsaw was completely wiped out by the end of WWII, but locals make sure you remember with very well executed museums that convey the extent of the devastation (see photo to the left taken at the end of the war). Poles generally think of the US as their big ally to the west, and easily forgive that the NY Times originally referred to the Jewish ghetto uprisings against the Nazis an "over-reaction".

The Soviet years were hard on Poland -- but the pride of the Polish people in the Solidarity movement that started in Gdansk and eventually led to the fall of their communist masters is what came through loud and clear at most of the museums we visited.

Like most of Eastern and Central Europe, Socialist realism artwork is in large supply - yep, I am referring to those well-muscled emotionless blocky statues of workers and soldiers bravely going about their communist duties for the good of the neighborhood.

The Palace of Culture and Science was in this style and especially impressive; 3.3 hectares with 3300 rooms. Meeting hall for 3K people, theaters, swimming pool, etc. It is still the tallest building in Warsaw -- wow. It may have been good to be at the top of the communist Poland food-chain, but I expect that actually it was just downright scary most of the time. Visiting the communist museums in these former Soviet countries send chills down our spines.

I´ve been a bit out of touch with developments in the US. Is it true that Social Realism art forms are gaining more fans and that new installations are popping up all over? Let me know, please.. and keep an eye out for an exhibition near you.

Almost paradise

So, what to do in Slovakia, besides pass through on the way from Hungary to Poland? Bratislava doesn't get fabulous reviews, and we're always on the lookout for great hiking areas, even more so since our Slovenia hiking plans got rained out. So the Spiš region called to us; it tempted us with the Tatra mountains but we settled on Slovensky Raj, or Slovak Paradise -- how can you go wrong with a name like that?

Slovensky Raj is known for gorges and waterfalls, and the gorges with waterfalls rrunning through them -- we spent 2 days of quite adventurous hiking – the kind you find very little of in the fearful, litigious USA. The trails were very well constructed and well-signed, but they didn't bother carving out easy routes, they simply made it possible to get through the terrain: lots of ladders (horizontal and vertical), metal steps affixed to the sides of cliffs with water rushing below, steep slippery rocks with chains to help you pull yourself up or let yourself down, lots of rock-hopping back and forth across creeks...so much fun! With a gorgeous cliff overlook, a place serving great lentil soup in the middle of the trail network, and trailheads easily reachable by bus, it adds up to a highly recommended hiking wonderland.







Of course, Brian doesn't actually consider 6 hours of hiking to be enough of a workout for a day, so he was happy to have another communist-era fitness center about 200 feet from our hotel. I myself consider 6 hours of hiking to mean I deserve a nap. Isn't it nice that we both get what we want?




While Brian concentrated on eating goulash in Eastern Europe, I concentrated on meat with fruit sauces, which I love. The best was a strawberry-and-green-peppercorn sauce on roasted duck, served with mashed potatoes (die-die-must try), at Menza, a fabulous retro-chic restaurant on Liszt Square in Budapest. I also ate my way through cranberry sauce on chicken, pork with prune, and chicken with sour cherry.

I had read about cold fruit soup in Hungary, and am still kicking myself for waiting until our last night there to try it -- a red currant soup, pink dreaminess in a bowl. Another feature of Hungary was the Bull's Blood wine out in the Eger region – deep red, lush, and delicious.

Brian briefly mentioned the Budapest baths with the chess players in his last post, and for some reason I told him he should leave it to me to expound (since I'd forgotten to write about the baths in Turkey, I figured I'd catch up on that at the same time). So: the Hungarian baths are like a very wet playground; many different fun areas to be explored, thermal baths in varying heats and varying levels of minerals causing various shades of yellow-green (nicer than it sounds). We did a little lap swimming exercise for a self-righteous start to the day, then headed for the outdoor pool waterfall jets for a shoulder massage. This pool also had a surprise foot-tickling mechanism, whee! Next was the current pool – super strong jets sweeping us around in a circle, delighting kids and adults alike. Then we headed inside to the thermal/mineral baths, making ourselves tingle by alternating super-hot with super-cold. We then found the sauna, which was even hotter, tremendously hotter -- and the cold pool by it was even colder (I'm not sure whether we added to or subtracted from our lifespans with that part of the experience). All in all, the complex was tremendously impressive – we found even more rooms with more features (such as an aroma sauna) as we tried to find our way out -- it was hard to tear ourselves away, but other activities were calling.

My Turkish bath experience (hamam) was quite different, more spa and less play. I did the bath after a long day of hiking, and felt grubby to start with. I tried to communicate that I wanted to start with a shower, but between the language barrier and the prescribed order of the hamam elements, it didn't work. They slathered a mud mask on my face and put me in the sauna so that the day's dirt could seep deeply into my pores – or maybe the dirt on my legs just meant that the mud mask wasn't only on my face. I moved on to the loofah scrub-down (yowza) and soap massage on a hot marble slab, then cold shower, jacuzzi, and relaxation lounge. Biggest surprise: the jacuzzi was cool rather than hot – it felt great in the steamy room!

Also, back in the Balkans post, I somehow forgot one of the Sarajevo highlights -- the National Museum with the Haggadah from "People of the Book." Has anyone read this one? It's a wonderful novel by Geraldine Brooks, who wrote "Year of Wonders" and won the Pulitzer recently for "March." The book is a fictionalized history of an actual Jewish relic called the Sarajevo Haggadah, which we tried to see. It is in a hermetically sealed case (good, I totally support that) in a separate room behind locked doors (are you kidding me?). You could only sort of see it from a sideways kind of very bad view. They only open the room for special events or visiting dignitaries or something. Bah. They did have a touch-screen console about it which you could actually page through, though, very cool.






This last picture is for Venitha, and everyone else enamored with the hat and its travels. ;-)













Also...is there irony in the fact that Brian calls himself “slackerboy” here, yet the large gaps in blog posts are when it's my turn to write? You can be assured that his Poland post will be up soon!