Maria & Brett's HUGE Trip 06-07-08-09-?

The Obamas come to visit us in Prague

maria_brett — Mon, 6 Apr 2009 06:14:00 GMT

Waking up early this morning we felt something abuzz: 'there's something happening around the corner and we should go an check it out', we thought.

So we walked down the road and bumped into Barack and Michelle Obama...
Not exactly how it happened, but we feel privileged all the same.

The Obamas flew into Prague for a 24 hour dash of meet the Czech President (who has the distinguished honour of representing a country who recently sacked its government), have a gossip with the leaders of the EU states (even more ironic because the Cz Rep currently holds the presidency of the EU) and to chat with 20,000 fans and spectators who turned out on a hazy but bright Sunday morning to hear his message of hope and future change.

Even though we queued from before 7am and stood and waited til he appeared after 10am, we left feeling inspired and that we'd witnessed something great and powerful in the making. This one guy had come to Prague and lifted everyone's spirits by the message that he and his government are going to tackle the nuclear renegades: states and terrorists who put the public at risk and don't play by the rules; and that it's time to get tough on climate change and energy reform.

The fact that he paid homage to a statue of Tomas Masaryk, founding father of (then) Czechoslovakia, which looked over Obama's podium outside Prague Castle - and the diaspora of Czechs living in Obama's Philadelphia / Chicago - touched the crowd by its sentimentality and the way that Obama 'gets it', that he knew the crowd he was addressing and he would not forget the Czech people. They only hope he's true to his word.

Gallery: The Obamas in Prague

maria_brett — Mon, 6 Apr 2009 05:12:00 GMT

Obama visits Prague on a european tour. Lucky for us it was just around the corner at Prague Castle, so the early morning start wasn't entirely painful...

Winter ball in Kobyli - deep, deep heart of Czech kul-cha!

maria_brett — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 07:20:00 GMT

So we accepted Ales' invite to trundle down the D1 from Prague to Brno and head to his wee town of 2000 people for the once annual winter ball. Held inside because... well work it out for yourself... too bloody cold in the snow and ice outside, the townfolk and 2 little Aussies dressed up in their Moravian finest (the townfolk did, not the okkers - "what's traditional Aussie?" we asked ourselves? Too chilly for a pair of stubbies and thongs, we excused ourselves by thinking. "If it were summer...." Nope, still wouldn't fly. Sorry, I got nothing? You???).

So back to Kobyli, we knew there'd be a touch of dancing, a bit more drinking, and more than a splash of local colour. But we weren't prepared for the full scale of all three! By night's end we were both paired off with locals for a few spins round the dancefloor (Maria: when it came time for us to dance together, Brett insisted his steps were right and mine were too slow!); I quickly found out that the local boys were plotting to get me absolutely smashed - the vodka chaser with every pint of beer, wine and spirit kind of gave that away!; and the sheer intricate beauty and screams of colour in the locals' costumes simply defied belief. It's one place where being caught staring at a woman's bosom is entirely appropriate and indeed complimentary!

With our fill of the local ingredients we slipped away sometime after 1am, with the party continuing well past 3am. We were invited back to meet Ales' family the following day for a quick hello before returning to Prague, and the whole family was there - thrusting bottles of their homemade wine into our hands, pictures of his siblings from the late 80s all dressed up in traditional garb at other festivals, and a DVD of last year's town "hody" - where the locals parade through the streets giving toasts to their womenfolk and their wine, and take Monday off from work.

We barely scratched under the surface of Kobyli, where the residents are proud to not hail from the big smoke, Prague - or even Brno. This is a sleepy looking town on the surface that you'd drive through in an eyeblink, yet for its 2000 residents there are over 700 private wine cellars - almost 1 per 3 people. That's a lotta cheer!! Guess where we're going this June!

More photos from THE BALL!! http://journals.worldnomads.com/maria_brett/gallery/15963.aspx

Videos!!!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXkJpHA_Lw4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5lGFSrqXug

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NOQ5X4ETXM

Gallery: Kobyli winter ball

maria_brett — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 06:42:00 GMT

Invited by Ales, whom we met at Cejkovice during the Brno MotoGP, we headed off to his home town for a night of dance, traditional costumes and one or two drinks. Ouch, my head hurts.

Gallery: Junket in Lapland!

maria_brett — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 19:19:00 GMT

-35 degrees celsius, a log cabin in the middle of nowhere, an endless supply of Finlandia vodka (which was, unfortunately, taken advantage of on my part), ski-dooing, reindeer sleighs, huski sledging and bare-arsed workmates…now this is a work junket if ever there was one!

There's blood on the streets: must be Xmas in Cz Rep

maria_brett — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 04:51:00 GMT

Spent our time dodging flying scales and bloody innards from freshly decapitated and debowelled carp on every other street corner; fathers with their kiddies picking out the best Christmas tree to take home to mum, who's no doubt enslaved by the kitchen sink chopping up potatoes (traditional cold potatoe salad mmm!) and further filleting the carp to make carp schnitzel (mmm) for a traditional chrissy dinner - which all happens on the 24th just after "Jezisek" visits (little Jesus) who's obviously santa's little helper (no santa here) because santa can't be everywhere at once.

Welcome to the retail peak of the year - we mean, festive season!

By the way, it's a logistical nightmare for parents, this Jesizek tradition: he arrives after the first star appears in the sky (signalled usually by one of the parents out on the balcony with a lantern or torch, waving it around) then all of a sudden the presents appear under the tree - so the trick is to distract the kids long enough (not by an overnight sleep, as in the west!) to be able to put the pressies under the tree. Ask any kid what jezisek looks like and they'll be stumped, or they'll draw a cloud on a piece of paper, or they'll just smile and say they don't know. Yet the mystery surrounding the christmas visitor is enough to keep kids looking forward to the evening of the 24th... or is it just the promise of more pressies (the bigger day for kids is 5th Dec when St Mikulas comes, and if they've misbehaved they get dragged down to h... best not go there!).

Here, just as in many other countries and places round the world, Christmas week is spent dashing madly round the place buying up gifts and hiding them from loved ones; coming home late-ish after work parties; enjoying the odd indulgent spiced wine or dessert or even a whole slab of cake; and gearing up for some quality time spent with family.

So for those of you who read this, have a very happy festive season and a wonderful 2009. Enjoy your families 'cos we're looking forward to seeing ours in the new year.

Brett and Maria xx

ALL THE PICs here: http://journals.worldnomads.com/maria_brett/gallery/15011.aspx

Gallery: Christmas in Prague 08

maria_brett — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 03:16:00 GMT

Need we say more??!! ** WARNING: if you're offended by freshly slaughtered fish, don't look at this gallery (sorry, morbid, we know - but it's on the streets!)

C'est la vie à Paris!

maria_brett — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 03:13:00 GMT

With the global economy doing what it is, we jumped on a cheapy SkyEurope flight to Paris to see what mischief we could get up to before budget airlines start packing it in.

Of course that meant being at the airport for a 05:45am check-in followed by an extortionate onboard hot-choccy but no matter because we were strolling through the Orly Sud arrival terminal at a time that most Parisiens were thinking about arriving at their offices - what a way to spend a Friday!

Dumping our bags at the St Martin apartments near gare de l'est (got a great deal: 60 EUR per night for 1-bed apartment for three nights. Wouldn't pay more though!), then saunted down Magenta Blvd in search of another overpriced cafe o-lait (4.20 EURO each!!!) before deciding that our budget limited us to baguette-n-cheese, grocery store style, for the rest of the day. No matter again - we're in f#$%ing Paris and it's quintessentially Parisian all around us: French terraces all of the same height; boulevards with patisseries, boulangeries and of course bistrots every other shopfront with their daily specials and menus on chalkboards out the front, all written with the same French hand it seems. And the people! from every corner of the globe and of every skin colour, but more French than you and I will ever be... One thriving metropolis that just buzzes, day in day out.

The only way to experience the real Paris (we reckon anyway - given our extensive *ahem* experience over 4 days!) is to buy a metro ticket for a little over a euro and just ride the different metro lines. Each of the many hundreds of stations has its own local colour - with vibrant billboards for upcoming local acts, rabbit-warren access tunnels that you walk seemingly miles through to get to connecting lines and platforms, and a new set of people queuing up for the regular trains every couple of minutes, briefcases or shopping bags in hand after a day of toil or retail therapy - everyone going somewhere or about to see someone or moving about the city with regular stresses, hopes and fears, expectations and imaginings. Not everyone in Paris is queuing up for the Eiffel Tower or waiting patiently in line to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre...

So we loved what we saw and heard and smelled (ok maybe not the last bit) in this ever-pumping underground artery system that keeps the real grit of Paris going every day.

And walk and walk we did! Our tip: never buy a 24-hour or 3-day travel pass when you visit a new place (and that includes museum passes!) because you never get the full value out of it. Even though we were on and off metros and buses all day, we still only used the equivalent of half the value of a 24-hour pass - and by the time we spent 4 hours at the fantastic Pompidou centre (museum of contemporary arts) we knew we'd had enough museum hopping for the weekend. Time to chill!

And chill we also did in equal measure. Gathering up a picnic hamper-worthy selection of hams, cheeses and wine from the local weekend markets we headed home for an arvo indulgence in the comfort and heating of our own apartment (why pay x amount per night for accommodation if you never enjoy it!). And all-French television of course. The only country we've visited so far that doesn't have even one foreign station (usually BBC or CNN is our friend!). So we quickly became addicted to America's Most Smartest Model (yep, apparently the double superlative title is INTENDED to be ironic, but something tells us the irony would be lost on the high IQ viewers).

Paris is a city that will open itself up to you in many ways:

you'll never have the same experience twice (we've both been there separately before, and it could have been a completely different city)
you'll never ever ever see it all in a weekend or a week, or more, so you've just gotta pick a few sights (museum, historic, popular) and just go with the flow
each quarter - or arrondissement - has its own history, minorities and local flavour and therefore has its own town feel to it. So choose wisely and go with an open mind - outside the city centre you'll find that it's real life and not glossed over with a heavy tourist brush.
Contrary to the stereotype of the arrogant Frenchman who pretends not to speak your language, you may actually find people who are embarrassed that they don't speak English or another language, and that they genuinely want to communicate with you but feel limited. Very humbling experience, whatever the country you're in.
Go to the supermarkets: buy that 4 euro bottle of red; indulge in that block of cheese and grab that stick of baguette and ask the deli for 100g or so of prosciutto... all the ingredients of a simple but cheap and delicious meal - whatever the time of day!
walk up that quiet alley away from the landmark, go a few more blocks right or left and open the door to that quiet cafe or noisy wine bar. You'll have the best coffee, friendliest encounters and thud in your stomach that you'll never want to leave!
Try anything on the menu that you've never tried or heard of before. After an exhausting day of walking and new sights we were trudging back to our hotel and not in the mood to talk to each other (Maria: ahem...). At 10pm we still hadn't eaten so we walked into the first bistrot we could find (near the gare de l'est station, so our expectations weren't high!) and found THE MOST DEPRESSING SCENE ever. We're talking dreary muzak that'd bring you to blood-infused tears, a downstairs bathroom that hadn't seen the light of day or disinfectant for centuries (and the kitchen keyhole was right next door!) and our sole waiter and fellow diners were like extras out of a road-to-nowhere-roadside diner where no-one's going anywhere and have no lives to go home to. Get the picture?? Well... the 7 euro beef bourguignon was the most delectable thing we'd ever tasted. So French yet SO WELL DONE and tender and full of flavour... and so NOT expected from a place like the one we found ourselves destined to die in. It instantly transformed our mood and made us look into each other's eyes and confess eternal undying love for each other... blah !!!

... but only if you go there with the right balance of wanting to experience something different through a foreigner's eyes with the limited time at your fingertips. Cos you don't want to spend your whole time above ground yet if you're another lemming in the metro underground every day then you're probably not interested in what's sitting metres above you day by day.

Our flight home was late on Monday night but at least we had the novelty of trying to disguise the pungent smelling cheese we'd bought and hid in our carry-ons. We've perfected the art of the "it's not us, what are you looking at us for?" look.

** Check out our sen-bloody-sational photos here: http://journals.worldnomads.com/maria_brett/gallery/14356.aspx

Gettin' down 'n' dirty in Berlin

maria_brett — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 07:29:00 GMT

What better way to show off the wonderful city of Prague and its beautiful, nice-smelling people (especially at gyms, squash courts and on any public transport vehicle) than by comparing it all with their brethren up the road in Deutschland who... are so ... different? Having the privilege of opening up our home to guests doesn't come along very often, so when it does we relish it - and that's why we got outta town to Berlin when Dan & Rob came for a visit.

So a continental train trip was in order, and therefore enough refreshments to say goodbye to the working week and officially kick-start the weekend with D&R. At least it helped our karaoke skills as we barrelled down the mountain and sought to make international relations with other fare-paying passengers.

Berlin greeted us with a big hug - the kind you get when you arrive at a huge multi-leveled central station after a six-pack of beer and some delicious cab sav from down under. Before too long we were settled in the hotel and pounding the pavement for a late night pizza in some suitably themed mexican cantina with painted senoritas and blokes in cowboy hats on the walls. Jager bombs all round, mister!

Dan set the standard pretty early on as we sat down to a cruisy Saturday morning brekky of lattes and paninis and muffins in a local cafe. "So what do you guys want to see?" we asked the boys. "Is there a G-Star shop in Berlin?" Rob replied. So we paid the nice lady, jumped on a tram and made our way across town - past the Berlin Wall Documentation Centre on Bernauer Strasse (opposite part of the remaining intact sections of the wall) down to the centre of town to the infamous Kaufhaus des Westens (KaDeWe) - like a huge David Jones but bigger and better. Like a bee to honey, Rob wasted no time in locating with G-Star section with pinpoint accuracy...

With the retail therapy bug abated for the time being, we followed our noses up to the 6th floor where we found the most sumptuous gourmet offerings on the planet - well so it seemed at the time. Foodies beware! We strolled past freshly shucked oysters (the shuckers were hard at it!), whole tuna and salmon being filleted on demand for foodies sipping on a crisp sauv blanc, a steak and grill bar pummelling the floor with whiff after whiff of mouth watering smells, a pasta bar with the freshest parcels of ravioli just waiting to be cooked up, a seafood bar with a queue out the door, and.... a coffee bar with the aroma of something that was just too good to be true. So we stretched our 2.50 euros and enjoyed a latte while we ogled and salivated at what was going on around us.

With bellies warmed up by tastebuds that wouldn't take no for an answer, our mission that night was to head out in Prenzlauer Berg area (north-east Berlin) for a nice meal and a load of laughs. The laughs wouldn't be a problem, but we felt a little daunted at the task of finding a rare gem in this bustling city of thousands of taste-tempting eateries offering delicious menus from all over the globe, this international city being as eclectic and magnetic as it is. Oh well, we thought, let's just head out and see what we find.

It didn't take long before we stopped in front of one place and stood there peering in through the window, speechless. Not that the couple we were staring at minded at all. In front of them were two steaming bowls of tender pieces of beef and lamb, each sitting in pools of the most deliciously thickly curried sauces - and garnished by simply stunning arrangements of vegetables that had been painstakingly carved to form swans or or some other birds that were about to fly through the window and nip off our noses for being so nosey... Well it worked. We didn't dare look at the prices as we strolled through the already packed restaurant, gorgeous thai waitresses flitting in between tables carrying ever more of these steamy dishes that were doing more to our sense of smell than our watering palates could handle.

We were told by one of these smiling waitresses that unfortunately the restaurant was full that night (cue: collective sigh - awwww), but that if we wanted to wait 5 minutes she would be happy to show us to the bar, where she offered to take our coats. Before we turned around again there were 4 cocktails sitting on the bar in front of us: surely this isn't intended as punishment for not making a reservation, we thought. And then devised a scam where we'd crawl through Berlin from packed restaurant to packed restaurant getting loaded up on free cocktails before moving to the next... "Your table is ready", she urged us, as we snapped out of our collective scheme and followed her to our table surrounded by a throng of other guests devouring heady dishes and washing it all down with cool whites or spicy reds - but leaving the intricately carved feathered things untouched as a sign of respect to the apprentice's skill or just not knowing where the hell to start or what to do with it.

'Goodtime' was unanimously voted as THE best thai restaurant on the planet - or at least in Berlin, or anyway at least for all 4 of us on that night. It set the bar extremely high and we reckon you should just book a flight and challenge your senses - just DON'T book ahead: http://goodtime-berlin.de/goodtime_main.html

The rest of the weekend's antics just can't compare, though they're definitely worth a mention for their randomness:

(1) Maria and Dan rewriting the history of the Brandenburg Gate as the place where a KaDeWe bag with unspecified items inside withstood the force of Maria's hand in a retaliatory blow to Dan's cheek (in more ways than one!)

(2)Dan turning his nose up at just about everything:

(3) D&R not missing any opportunity to pose for the camera, regardless of the where and the when:

So it was all over far, far to soon when we boarded the Prague-bound train after a weekend of fab food, fab fun and we can't forget to mention a fab bike ride round the city that offers Praguers a fab opportunity to showcase what they've got - if you know what we mean :)

We miss you Dan and Rob! Come back for a visit anytime.

See our gallery for the rest of our photos: http://journals.worldnomads.com/maria_brett/gallery/14321.aspx

Gallery: C'est la vie à Paris!

maria_brett — Thu, 6 Nov 2008 20:07:00 GMT

A long weekend in Paris was just what the doctor ordered - well, we thought it was a good idea anyway.

Gallery: Madness in Berlin

maria_brett — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 05:33:00 GMT

A long weekend with the infamous and adorable Dan & Rob in Berlin saw us leaving Prague after a working week on Friday and arriving in Berlin 5 hrs later by a rickety train and accompanied by a lot of laughs. Join us as we put a modern spin on this already funked-up city.

Gallery: San Marino MotoGP 2008

maria_brett — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 06:22:00 GMT

San Marino MotoGP - one year on!

maria_brett — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 06:07:00 GMT

How quickly does a year go! We returned to Italy at the end of August for the 2nd San Marino MotoGP - which happened to fall on the same day as my b'day (could celebrate it in worse ways!).

True to form, Italy again served up delicious meal after meal (I'm homesick for the food already!) soaked in Adriatic olive oil and complemented by home grown chillies and wine, and bathed us all in balmy sunshine and 35-degree blue skies.

I was expecting a carbon copy of last year (you know, same hotels, same circuit etc) but we enjoyed a different race result - this time it was Casey Stoner who crashed out and allowed Valentino Rossi to take the checkered flag, a complete role reversal from last year - and instead of visiting the Ducati factory (closed for summer break!) we took a drive up to the Most Serene Republic of San Marino (real name) which gives its namesake to the San Marino MotoGP which actually takes place down the road in Italy.

San Marino is perched high up on a rocky crag which overlooks the coastline as if keeping an eye on the happenings down below. Although it was settled by an outlawed Croatian stonemason and his 'mate' in 300AD or so, its humble beginnings have given rise to one of the wealthiest nations - no doubt due to its tax-free status (bargains galore) and gorgeous narrow streets lined by old-style villas and state buildings - all of which now sprout a boutique shop or cafe or even a place where you can buy guns or cross-bows or AK-47 replicas... mental!

Of course I saw it all through a clouded zambucca-induced haze from b'day celebrations the night before, after the GP race. All thanks to a couple of aussie cousins from Perth who now work in mines in Karratha WA - who thought it would be a good idea to not only buy me a drink over dinner but a whole bottle of the stuff which tasted just oh-so good! Thankfully I was lucky to have shared the night and the bottle with a whole bunch of wonderful people we'd just met over the GP weekend: a newly-wed couple, Steve and Annie from Las Vegas, who are now on our map of must-visit friends across the world; a couple of Scottish lads who took rooms in the schmickest 5* hotel in town (lamborghinis and Rolls' out the front) and spent the whole weekend paying off the hotel staff to play tricks on each other - including emptying out the other's room of all his stuff while he took a shower so he'd have to come down to reception in a bathrobe. The staff made a fortune in 50 EUR bribes...

By the time we boarded our pane back to Prague on Monday night at 9pm we were walking zombies but full of that post-GP glow which you only get after being a part of the highest-level of motorcycle racing, all in a place and with other people that you can't experience every other day.

PS, check out this video of Eugene Laverty breaking in his leathers Irish-style (and look out for British GP winner, Scott Redding) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKQ6rMWYKDw

Our photos: http://journals.worldnomads.com/maria_brett/gallery/12943.aspx

Gallery: Just can't get enough!

maria_brett — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 07:02:00 GMT

Wanting to escape a poor Prague summer, Brett and I headed for the pristine waters of Zadar, Croatia for 10 days. It felt like 2006 all over again only better.

A short return to Zadar, Croatia

maria_brett — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 06:33:00 GMT

Wanting to escape a poor Prague summer, Brett and I headed for the pristine waters of Zadar, Croatia for 10 days. Zadar is my home away from home but this time it was even better as my parents and cousin Klaudia were going to be there to greet us.

I hadn’t seen my parents for 6 months and even though I knew it wouldn’t take long for dad to get on my nerves – I was very excited!

I’ve always had mixed feelings going back to Zadar. I don’t know whether it’s the short fuse of the people (živčani), the respect for women and the great public transport (note sarcasm), the thousands of tourists (was there a special airfare from Australia this year?) that pack the streets, the old grannies (Babé) spotting you from 100 metres away and shouting at/ordering you to buy their home-grown produce… and don’t even get me started on the subject of customer service.

Having experienced the above on more than one visit, in addition to the frenzy that comes along with being obligated to visit every relative known to man, Klaudia, Brett and I made sure this time things were going to be different. And they were. The secret – pretend you’re a local and just go with the flow!

Zadar’s history and surroundings are breathtakingly beautiful and if the opportunity comes up to get your butt there, take it. However, go on the off season and perhaps take a friend to keep you sane (Klauds – bring on 2010!).

To sum it up, the highlights:

- The sunsets from the Kolovare

- Walking along the Riva and sitting by the sea organ

- The aesthetic history of the city – over 3000 years old

- Hiring a scooter and exploring the surrounding islands

- Catching up with my wonderful cousins

- Finding a gastronomic jewel, Kaleta, on the island Preko

- Not giving a #$%&! and being able to experience the real Croatia

Btw – it took my dad 4 days, a record.

Maria

The Absinthe Tour of Cyprus

maria_brett — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 04:54:00 GMT

(See our photos here: http://journals.worldnomads.com/maria_brett/gallery/11201.aspx )

What to do with a week of your life and a visit from your good mate from Oz? You activate your Out of Office reply on your work emails and head off to sunny, dusty Cyprus. Tim stopped by our humble place in Prague on his whirlwind bachelor tour of Europe - not a bad destination for a young man full of sprite and enough charm to get your grandmother into... a lot of trouble! I was just stoked to have him here, to share a piece of our little world, and to have a part of back-home with us for a wee bit.

So it was off to Cyprus for a bit of action, dust, history and good ol' kul-cha! What did we know before getting there? Not a lot: it's a small island which is governed by two countries (Cyprus on the south and Turkey on the north, with only the Greek-influenced southern side in the EU); it's a small island (did we mention that already?) and a popular tennis player by the name of Marcos Baghdatis calls this place home.

We couldn't leave Prague without stocking up our duty free supplies, clinking our way onto the midnight flight with absinthe, baileys, cigars and a wee dram of Czech slivovice (like rakija or grappa). Ouch. And this was all just to help us to cope with the 3:30am arrival in Larnaca!

Picking up our rented 4WD at 4 in the morning, there was something not quite right about the grittiness under my bum, on my fingertips, and the mysterious but pungent odour emanating out of the seat covers: it was dust, dust and sweat. Lots of it. Thinking we'd been ripped off, it wasn't til we woke up in the bright heat the next morning that we realised this place is defined by the dust and you just invite it into your heart unconditionally - or else risk making an enemy out of it.

We quickly found our groove, shirking the main highway and heading up into the hills on our road to nowhere - actually, to Lefkara, a small village known for its traditional lace. And we were in search of a good feed and some cool beers. We got it all: old women who would try every trick in the book to make us buy something we really didn't need ("something for your mama's cousin's gardener, perhaps?"); a crock-pot of spiced lamb and couscous (yum! after months of no lamb in Prague); and MONSTER beers, the good old Big Bot served in its full glory to the table with a shot glass-sized tumbler to wash it all down civilly. Welcome to Cyprus!

Winding our way down towards the coast, we stopped by Choirokoitia to walk amongst neolithic-age ruins (up to 7000+ BC!! Crazy!), before winding our way into Lemesos on the southern tip - part fortress town; other part modern metropolis buzzing with youngsters josting for a seat at outdoor bars to watch the finals of the 2008 Eurovision Song Contest on huge outdoor TV screens (the cafes all playing the game "Mine's bigger than yours!" - well it worked for us). As we downed ouzo-on-ice and watched young blokes fly past us on latest model sportsbikes without helmets or other protective gear, we definitely had the feeling this was a unique place on earth: a cosmopolitan island in europe.

Our trusty 4wd seemed to know exactly where to take us: first to the southernmost tip which hosts a 'monastery for cats' (Agios Nikolaos), where furry friends seemed to laze around unthreatened by caretakers shooing them away. Continuing along the salt pan which oozes with life at other times of the year we called in at Kourion - a site of worship from as far back as 6000BC which was prominent during the Greco-Roman times. This place with its ruins of forums, stadiums, baths, houses, laneways, columns and private houses sits atop some pretty dominating cliffs that stare almost all the way to Egypt - and you could imagine the Egyptians cruising past 3000 years ago wondering whether to stop in for a bit of Egyptian diplomacy.

Cyprus seems to remind you all the time of its long-chequered past. Almost everyone's been here and called this place their own, most of it by force: we're talking Greeks, Egyptians, Persians, Romans, Byzantines, Arabs, early English, Venetians and Ottomans. More recently the Brits came back and set up military bases here and there (bringing English Brekky tea and driving-on-the-left which still exists), and the Turks got a piece of the action when they decided to occupy the northern half in 1974.

Pafos took us in for a couple of nights while we set out on day trips and explored the huge archaeological parks that seem to creep up on the town from all directions and threaten to swallow up the Pommy bars, tattoo parlours and scooter rental shops. We were blown away by the Tombs of the Kings - built entirely into bedrock right by the seaside - talk about prime location.

Looking at the map of Cyprus we spotted a road that hugged the rugged shoreline in the northwest, all the way up into the Akamas peninsular. Thinking it would make for a cruisy arvo drive we set off the next day in search for a lunch spot, a swim and some chilled sea vibes. What we got instead was a free spinal shake-down worthy of a theme park and enough dust in every orifice to allow customs officers to question us about illegally exporting natural resources. We will never trust a Cypriot map again! We were a-bumping and a-grinding through some of the most desolate and no-man's-land terrain we'd ever seen, and we reckon our 4wd's shocks hadn't been changed in years. What looked like 45 minutes on paper probably took us about 3 hours and a lot of frayed tempers.

However.... the scenery from no-man's-land was in some places breathtaking (because we were chocking from the dust), calling into Lara beach for a well earned swim and snooze - not before negotiating a track that had been overcome by grazing goats. This is where we really let the Med soak our bodies clean from all the grit, and it was pure bliss to stretch out on a bench under a thatched hut and just snooze off with the sound of the sea calling from distant parts of Asia.

The worst of the bumpies behind us, we couldn't resist pulling off the track at Avakas Gorge, and luckily we had a geomorphologist with us (Tim) who was able to explain the behaviour of the river which, once a trickle, turned deadly as it carved layer upon layer out of the soft layers of rocks. As we trekked and scrambled our way up through the cool and moist gorge we were seemingly miles from the dusty scrub that had tortured us earlier. We only had to dodge the falling rocks set loose from the wild mountain goats above us... cheeky buggers!

Our fling with the Republic of Cyprus was coming to an end and it was time to point the 4wd north through the Troodos mountain range and the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus in the north.

The mountains took Cyprus to a whole new level: thick Cyprus pines, gorgeous wildflowers that we'd not seen down by the sea, winding roads through the greenery that lulled us into a dreamy mountainous vibe - must be all that fresh air! Drunk with all of this we thought it'd be cool to stake out a 11th c. monastery in the hills that houses some amazing frescoes. We wound our way through mountain-perched villages and around narrow windy bends until we crossed a river where the sign pointed out the way to "Agios Ioannis Lampadistis". We arrived too late in the day to expect any kind of civil welcome, but bugger that - we've come too far for niceties - so we asked the first girl we saw (sitting in the rosegarden tapping away on her laptop, hmmmm) if we could take a peek inside. "I'll see if I can find the keys" she said with a well-educated euro-english accent, returning after a few minutes with the priest's keys and opened up the church.

Moving aside huge sheets of protective plastic hanging from scaffolding to reveal vast panels of ancient frescoes, she explained that the church and its frescoes were undergoing restoration by a team of academics, scientists and artists - basically anyone who has an educated interest in winding back centuries from the clock and all the damage over time: some crusaders had even gouged the eyes from some of the icons and left the rest of the frescoes untouched. We felt like we had crept inside someone's house and they were due home any minute. After a very generous amount of her time (she had been working on the restoration all day and it was now quite late) we thanked her and left the volunteers to catch up on their Facebook or write emails home to mum. Bizarre.

We shacked up in a mountain village called Pedoulas and had only one request: we wanted to try the multi-course meal called mezze. So when we asked the owner (who we supected owned the whole street)how much it was, he said "no problem, you enjoy it tonight - you see". Yeah, but how much? "I also give you homemade wine, no problem". Yeah, but we don't want you to rip us off, you hear? "What time you like? Eight o'clock? Ok". Arrrgh!!! ....

So we cleaned up and came downstairs where several little plates greeted us: olives, cheeses, hommus, dips, breads, more cheese, little meaty things, some fish, chips (mmm!) then large plates of meats (pork, chicken, more fish, lamb, beef - all marinated or curried or bbq'd)... it was just one endless procession of torture by the end of it. Thank god we'd ordered some ouzo to help it digest!!! The local wine was pleasant but not memorable apart from the fact we sculled it at the end to finish off the meal - and then passed out for the night.

Maria was violently sick the next day - I reckon it was the WILD CHERRIES she ate from a roadside tree, she reckons it was the water from the taps. We'll never know; but we'll also never forget how sick she was. All through the day (we were on the move again in the 4WD) and into the following night AND next day, she was sick, sick, sick. Ask her what she remembers about it and she'll be able to describe different ceilings in intimate detail, passing from one place to the next.

In that time we hit up the capital, Lefkosia/Nicosia, but on the northern or Turkish side. Taking a couple of trips in the daytime we climbed the ancient fort at Keryneia (Agios Ilarion) and had a gorgeous last supper at the benedictine Belapais Abbey which sits atop a mountain range above the coast. What I remember most about the north is the constant reminder that you're in a part of Turkey (Turkish flags proudly flying everywhere, even a giant version is cut into a mountainside, possibly a km long); with this came tasty foods, spices, loads of barber shops, men walking the streets everywhere or playing backgammon on the footpaths, smoking, people taking their tea on chairs outside their shops, cars that were either left- or right-hand drive (shipped over from mainland Turkey vs driven across from EU Cyprus), and most of all the friendliness of people we met.

We could have easily stayed another few weeks to soak up more of this tiny place of which we only scratched the surface.

Gallery: Cyprus - a country divided and rich with history

maria_brett — Tue, 3 Jun 2008 01:01:00 GMT

One week on a tiny island? Not much to see and do? You've gotta be kidding!! It's impossible to see every inch of this island: Greek on the south and occupied by Turkey in the north since 1974, this place has been settled, colonised, occupied, built on, built over, destroyed and rebuilt by civilisations for over 10,000 years! And the diversity in both people and land makes for an exciting experience. The only thing missing was a private audience with Marcos Bagdhatis

Gallery: Across Ireland on two wheels and a lot of craic!

maria_brett — Fri, 9 May 2008 17:05:00 GMT

Back in November last year we had the pleasure of meeting Aidan and Noel from Ireland at the Valencia MotoGP. Not only did the guys (a) get me drunk before having to meet Brett for dinner (b) raise a lot of money for Down Syndrome Ireland (DSI) and (c) drink the hotel bar dry (I guess you wouldn’t expect anything less from a couple of lads from the emerald isle!), but they also invited Brett and I along for the annual DSI 1000km ride around Ireland in May. Before we knew it May had arrived and all we can say is that we had an absolute craic!

Motorbike trip around Ireland for charity

maria_brett — Mon, 5 May 2008 06:12:00 GMT

Maria: Back in November last year we had the pleasure of meeting Aidan and Noel from Ireland at the Valencia MotoGP. Not only did the guys (a) get me drunk before having to meet Brett for dinner, (b) raise a lot of money for Down Syndrome Ireland (DSI), and (c) drink the hotel bar dry (I guess you wouldn’t expect anything less from a couple of lads from the emerald isle!), but they also invited Brett and me along for the annual DSI 1000km ride around Ireland in May. Before we knew it May had arrived and all we can say is that we had an absolute craic!

Brett: Ok, so I was attending on behalf of my company as we had donated the major prize for the weekend and riders who raised over 3000 EUR were in the running, but it wasn't all work.

We managed to sneak away to Dublin for a couple of days before the ride began, to hang out with some of our friends from our TESOL teaching course that we did in Sydney. Citizens of the world, Majella and Alys are known to us as Global Professional Housesitters and it was only pure luck that we met them on a stint in Sydney as they prepared to head to Canada (for a spot of teaching and IT work) and then onto Ireland.

Hugs all round as we said goodbye and donned leather suits (well, I did) and headed off the next day to meet a bunch of burly blokes at Joe Duffy's 2-storey BMW shop to pick out our bikes for the weekend. Talk about kids in a candy shop on Christmas Eve - Paddy style!!! One by one, 8 of the men (most of them marshals for the weekend) were handed the keys to beautiful BMW bikes that would be their ride for the weekend. Let's see how much rubber's left by the end of it!

Maria: What happened next was one of the highlights of the trip for me - it took all of two seconds for Brett to appear at Joe Duffy's before the scream (Nice one Dayglo) "look at the yellow power ranger" rang out across the showroom. Poor Brett was now stuck with the power ranger nickname for the rest of the trip. It was hilarious! Ahhh the quick wit of the Irish.

We were lucky enough to be given a BMW 1200 RT for the weekend thanks to the never ending generosity of Aidan and Joe Duffy's. I personally would've preferred a Ducati (next year Aidan?!) but I guess beggars can't be choosers! ;) I must add however, that as a pillion the BMW was bliss. Comfortable..ahem..heated seats, side handles and a back rest. All that was missing was the espresso machine. Some might say that we should've just hired a car but by the way Brett was riding I can tell you it felt like I was on the back of a Suzuki 1000 GSXR!

Over the course of the weekend I began to understand the passion these guys have for their bikes. It's such an exhilarating feeling that can't be matched and to do it for a great cause makes it that much better.

For anyone out there contemplating a bike trip - DO IT! It's a great way to see a country (or countries) and to meet its people. The DSI run 08 will stay with me for a very long time not only for the ride but for the amazingly wonderful people we befriended.

A big thank you to Aidan for organising such a memorable weekend and to Noel and Gemma for welcoming us into their home.

Brett: I was especially keen to get to ride around Ireland on this trip. Not only would we get the chance to ride through some of the most spectacular scenery on stretches of road (and a lot of twisty bits!) that you could only dream about, but we were privileged to be in such good company of charitable souls who just love their motorcycling to bits.

Of all the riding that I did in Australia the most memorable part of it was the camaraderie. This is by no means unique to Australia, but transplanted in countries all over the world. I just knew it would be special to be part of the Irish riding community for just a weekend. And the Irish invented what’s known around the world as road racing – where races take place on real roads that are closed for the weekend, not in specially designed private circuits.

So it was a tragic blow to the whole Irish road racing community – and to the group I was riding with – when we learned that racer Martin Finnegan (#45) was killed in a road race at Tandragee at the same time that we were riding along the coast nearby. His bike had seized, throwing him off into the crowd. Although the mood was dampened when we all pulled in for drinks that night, it changed to one of solidarity 2 days later when we joined the 80km procession which followed the hearse that took his body from Armagh (north-east coast, Northern Ireland) to his parents’ home in Lusk, north Dublin. Riding 2-abreast and escorted by motorcycle gardai (police), the column of bikes stretched back over 8km as we traveled at speeds of about 80km/h. You can’t imagine the number of bikes that turned out to commemorate Martin’s achievements – or simply to try and come to terms with his passing.

We were also privileged to meet Robert Dunlop on this trip – brother of race champion, the late Joey Dunlop. Here's a video of us arriving in huge numbers with police escort: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jumohE6Rv5Q

However two weeks after we shook his hand and felt the genuine modesty radiating from his wide-grinned smile at his late-brother’s “Joey’s Bar” at Ballymoney, he too was killed in a spookily similar way.

Clip from BBC: http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/motorsport/motorbikes/7405075.stm

It was a serious reminder about the risks involved in road racing – but you can’t take away from these guys how much passion they have for the sport. We certainly felt this when we got off our bikes after flying through some twisties with Dermott and Arthur, putting the BMWs through their paces in supersport conditions in the far north-west of the Republic on some amaaaazing country roads. Dermott summed it up as we gathered in the bar for 3 pints of Guinness, one after the other – with the same pace we’d had on the bikes that afternoon: “that was quite possible the best ride I’ve had – in over 25 years of motorcycling”.

It was hard to hang up the leathers, say good bye to our newfound friends and return to Prague – and work – the next day.

We’ll be back.

Gallery: Sue & David's engagement party - live broadcast

maria_brett — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 18:06:00 GMT

Following Mum and David's recent engagement (yeeee haaaa!!!!) my sisters and David's daughters combined forces and threw a surprise engagement party (at Mum & David's house!!), gathering most of Mum and David's friends and family together at a moment's notice. Although we couldn't be there in person, we were transmitted into the heart of the party, and the party into our living room via Skype - thanks to my sister Amy who set it all up. The result was hysterical, exciting, amazing (we were having breakfast while they were all having champagne!) and incredibly beautiful to be part of such a gathering and celebration. We really felt like we were there. This is how we viewed it...

Why does Scandinavia get it right?

maria_brett — Wed, 9 Apr 2008 00:54:00 GMT

Is it their high cheekbones or obsession with a funky, modern monarchy? Or is it the dry salted fish that improves their diet and overall wellbeing? Or perhaps their penchant for clean, tidy, modern orderliness, as embodied by little-known lifestyle brand 'Ikea'? Or maybe it's their refined civilisation, honed and honed after all the years breeding vikings and then defending their tiny civilisations against the Brits and each other?

We reckon it's because they're all so good looking, they've made bicycling a sexy sport (and practical way of getting round town) and they know how to make a caffe latte to please the soul. That's gotta be it: the latte-o-meter. If we could judge euro countries against each other, Denmark and Zurich would come out on top (see our other report on Zurich: although Zurich's only a city, it deserves to stand up against other countries). To give you something to compare against, it's pretty hard to find a good latte in Prague, and if you ride a bicycle round the streets here you might as well wear a neon target on your back for all the homicidal drivers!

Our trip to Denmark started on a whim (Maria found a cheap airfare) and ended with a reunion worthy of Oprah. Connecting 'Denmark' with a distant memory of an exchange student that stayed with us (the Murphy's) back in 1990, when I was about 10 years old, instantly led us down a path of global private investigations. Stefan spent 10 months with us as a 15 year old, and I recalled him to be very shy but very happy. where is he now, and what is he up to?

We quickly rang mum who had the phone number of his family from 1990. No email address. (It was pre-internet when he was in Oz!). Well, it's worth a shot - we rang the number and his Dad answered on the third ring, telling us that Stefan was in South American climbing some mountains! Jeezus! Cut to the chase: we made it to Copenhagen, met Stefan and had a wonderful, wonderful time both catching up on 17 years and also getting to know this city that is modest in size but big on colour, smiles and just civilised living - and a gorgeous canal network modelled on Amsterdam.

Stefan was the perfect host, driving us up and down the coast to get a feel of Denmark outside the big city, and to some castles and fortresses that reminded us of the history of a country that has always had to look over its shoulder, yet remain happy with itself and its people.

After hugs all round, several dinners and coffees and of course Danish beers, we said our goodbyes and vowed to return: although it was early April it was cold enough to be winter. Spring was just around the corner and we could just feel the life starting to emerge from a long Scandinavian hibernation.

It was such a beautiful city to explore, but so inspiring to meet up with Stefan again after 17 years. I recalled how I used to tell people he was like my new brother. He still is!

Gallery: Civilisation for a weekend - Denmark!

maria_brett — Tue, 8 Apr 2008 01:26:00 GMT

Budapest: dental makeover capital of eastern europe

maria_brett — Sat, 1 Mar 2008 08:06:00 GMT

If Prague is popular for women (and possibly men?) wanting a cheap boob job, why is it that Budapest is the Prague of dental jobs? Any googler looking to have their crowns tipped or canals rooted might find comfort in such places as the Fortuna Hotel which offers not only breakfast as a standard inclusion but also a composite filling or even a "Cast Partial Upper Or Lower (complete with teeth)". One would hope so!

So we skipped all that, dodged all the neon signs that lured us into the web of unknown 24hour dental delights, and cut to the chase: we had only 36 hours in Budapest.

It started with a free weekend (rare these days), continued with a train timetable and a hint of nostalgia for a great trans-european overnight trip. Instead of hitting the pubs in Prague after work on Friday we darted to the squash court for our thrice-weekly fix (Maria: 2 games, Brett: 47 (ahem, i think it's the other way around Brett!)) before tram-hopping to the main station for our 10pm departure. By the skin of our teeth we made it (and those of you who know "Brett and Maria Time" are laughing right now (ahem...Brett time. I told you we should've taken the metro Brett ;) )) but wasn't helped by the fact that half the station had been ripped up under construction and the signs to platform 5 led us up onto platform 2 with nowhere else to go. Go figure!

So we found our couchette compartment and were gobsmacked to find that we'd checked-in to a moving 3-star hotel, complete with a multi-lingual concierge who fastidiously made our beds and ensured our handtowels were folded just neatly over the basin racks and advised us that he'd wake us up half an hour before arriving into Budapest in the morning - with our breakfast, if we'd care to fill out the menu now...

So the breakfast was a pre-packed nutella-filled croissant accompanied by an equally pre-packed deep-fried salami stick (Brett was in brekky heaven and Maria in brekky hell!) but the coffee and tea were just what we needed and the service was first class.

And we hit the streets of Budapest at 7:30 in the morning!

By the time lunch had rolled around, we'd induldged in some gourmet food shopping at the markets (actually, thick Hungarian salami that would stink out our cabin on the way home!! Actually, that was Brett's beer burps); walked over one of the spectacular bridges that span the wide expanse of water that is the Danube (or 'Duna' in local lingo - which reminds me: which idiot had the ludicrous thought last year of canoeing from source in Passau to the sea in Moldova?!(That would be you Brett dear) Thank God that was canned!); then onwards up the "Pest" side of the river via a tram to some random stop; up the hill to the castle overlooking the "Buda" side (wow, what a view fit for a king or queen!); nearly wind-blown OFF the castle-top across the other side of the river - but instead we had our boots of lead on and took the underground instead (thank God we got the trams and buses without inspectors up to here, because we'd not been able to find a working ticket machine that DIDN'T swallow up our cash).

Take a breath...

... then on to St Steven's cathedral which, although we found it instantly spectacular or distinct from the other thousands of similar-looking cathedrals in Europe for the reason that it had reams of gorgeous blood-red marble blocks and gold-gilded ornaments lining its interior, we were also like the other mortal souls who wanted to see a real human hand that had been cut off and put on display for hundreds of years.

And by this time it was... only 1pm!

So a snooze was in order back at our fantastic last minute hotel find after all those miles (and something to do with a rickety train trip), and of course you have to test the comfy-ness of the bed, so into a deep sleep we went....

... until the night-time Budapest (and stomach rumblings!) lured us out again.

Have you ever visited a place and then tried to recall all your romanticised pictures of that place before you got there? Apart from being a city on a river, I pictured Budapest to be a slow-paced, grand old-buildinged metropolis where brown and reds would be the order of the day, goulashes were being dished out left, right and centre, and spas and thermal centres were dotted here and there - oh and a little bit 'disinfected' as a thriving tourist centre. I even had my "Prague eyes" on: where you expect that other places in the region just don't cut it compared to where you live.

Well, strike it all out and replace it with a down-to-earth, modern, funky, friendly place to rival Prague. Closer to the Dead Sea than most other European capitals, we felt like we were more connected to the West - or something modern and Now - than in Prague where it's only a stone's throw away from Germany. The locals seemed more comfortable in their own skin (even when parading around naked under their thermal=spa gowns!) or is such a short trip too brief to scratch under the enamel and get to the veneer?

Take Menza, for example. Stepping into this packed-out restaurant we knew we were in for something special when we were told we had to wait at least half an hour for a table. Making a bee-line to the bar was a tricky affair dodging the waiters as they criss-crossed the room under the sharp watchful eye of the maitre d', all of them dressed schmickly in waistcoats and matching funky runners - and they bloody smiled as though they were enjoying themselves and were happy to have you there.

We won't recreate the sumputous meal course-by-course but let's say this neo-70s restaurant, where we expected James Bond to walk into at any moment, had the best soup and most mouth-watering boar goulash (with blueberry sauce, yum!, with more than the standard 'three pieces of meat only' that are served at other ahem places in Central Europe. Brett: I've actually sworn off goulash until I return to that same place! Maria: Thank God for Menza!) was a more than memorable discovery in Budapest. And did we mention how cheap it was?

Sunday - or our 'last day' in Budapest - greeted us with a kiss of blue sky, but not before we took part in a buffet breakfast to end all brekkies. Gotta love last-minute value!

Our goal was to traipse along the grand Andrassy avenue (picture: long, straight, tree lined, dramatic old manor houses) towards Heroes' Park, stopping in to some of the old metro stations that follow the avenue underground. At the grand centrepiece (obelisk guarded with bronzed horses etc) we laughed at a kitschy music-clip being filmed, before heading into the park for a wee-wander. Spring was here, as hundreds of families and people of all ages and walks of life did whatever they wanted to enjoy the first gorgeous weather of the year, even though all the trees in the park looked as bleak as a lunar landscape without their new leaves.

Peeking in at the outdoor thermal bathhouse we saw a picture of summer activity, with suntanners, swimmers and of course the oldies taking a stroll around the perimeter. Opposite, the zoo was back in fashion with a queue down the street almost stopping traffic. We were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the elephants and Hippos as they backed onto the street. Back in the park, the edge of the lake (which probably didn't even freeze over during winter) was swarming with fisherfolk (what on earth would you catch in there, apart from a stomache bug?!), with preztel sellers peddling their wares (of course accompanied by the dodgiest of "pop" music blaring from gaudy mini stereos).

Our day was nearly at an end, but not before wandering back into town to discover that shops were actually closed on Sundays - even in Budapest (probably the reason for all the activity at the park!). Looking at a map to see where we were, an odd looking couple approached us and asked us something in Hungarian ("do you have money?" was the first thing we thought) then when they saw we didn't understand, they asked in English "Do you want some help? Are you lost?" and we were gobsmacked. Where else in a big city would you find this hospitality? And when we tried to say the odd word in Hungarian, like 'thank you', 'hello' or 'please', their faces would light up with a huge smile - but then we'd be left stranded after a string of more Hungarian words came splashing forth - the smile still painted hugely the whole time.

So it was off to the station to our awaiting couchette for the overnight ride back to Prague. Unfortunately, our expectations were set quite high due to the unexpected 5 star couchette on our way to Budapest so you can imagine our disappointment when we rocked up to find an old Eastern European train, decked out with thin foam matresses, smelly communal WC, and a conductor who had obviously downed a bottle of vodka in his 30min break between arriving and departing.

I guess you just have to laugh and see it as an experience!

Our personal favourite was when he showed us to our compartment, tried to force the lock, couldn't lock it therefore showed us to another all whilst a fag was hanging out of his mouth and squinting due to the smoke. So much for the non-smoking signs on the door! And we wondered why we were the only people on board that carriage. And THEN he came back later to show us how to lock the doors...again.

Actually, we have another favourite - on our arrival into Prague, at 3.30am, Brett knocked on the conductor's door as we needed to collect our tickets (he had told us the night before that he'd wake US up!). He apparently staggered to get up in what looked like one of those smokers rooms at the airport so we decided to just let him be and left.

So we didn't get the dental makeover but what we did get was a sweet taste of what Budapest has to offer. If you have 36 hours to spare you won't be disappointed by a city that is a "fusion" of laid-backness and coolness with an Eastern European twist.

Gallery: 36 hours in Budapest

maria_brett — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 22:00:00 GMT

Overnight train to the capital of dental makeovers, the home of goulasch and did we mention the friendliest people?!

Firing up for freeezetown

maria_brett — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 08:38:00 GMT

"Waaaaa... waaaahhhhh...", not the screaming of a newborn but the perfect harmonic of a fine-tuned rally car as it came straight THROUGH OUR WINDOW - well that's what it felt like as we tried to prise our eyes from a deep Sunday morning sleep. Hang on - rally cars outside our apartment block - in Prague??? We're used to stepping on dog crap outside our apartment door, yes, and maybe step over the comatose and snoring lumps of local winos as we make our way to the tram stop, yes, or maybe even try not to gawk at the young (and old) couple getting it on as if they were making their own porn movie. But wait - there's a car rally going on there too, with race-prepared cars flying around corners below the castle walls!

Just another one of the Czech Republic's little mysteries that have filled our daily lives since the last time Christmas rolled around.

Although at the same time last year miniskirts were clearly still being flaunted - this year we're almost exhaling icicles, and we still stop to look at puddles on footpaths and in gutters to see if they've ACTUALLY really frozen over. (We have to pretend we're looking for a lost coin though.)

Yes, everyone's Christmas rolls around quicker and quicker every year.

"What the f#$@ am I doing, sitting at the wheel in a fully-looaded transporter van with 2 colleagues next to me bouncing along the cobblestoned roads that will eventually turn into freeways, with the destination "Birmingham" plotted into the GPS navigator?" mused Brett one Sunday morning as he headed off on a 2+ week motorshow campaign for his MotoGP events company. It makes total sense, that you come to central europe to do a spot of teaching to ‘immerse’ yourself in the culture, you know, put on a tweed jacket and sit in a smoky bookshop cradling a pipe that you don’t actually know how to use (it happens!). What happened to take Brett away from Prague and on an international journey involving his MotoGP and travel dreams (and yes, leaving his girlfriend behind when he goes away).

When December rolled around Brett returned exhausted but with a complete racing outfit (no he didn’t sleep in it), and hibernated for days. Thank God for outdoor ice rinks in the center of town, so we were off like penguins, putting on our relaxed faces as we struggled to hold hands and glide effortlessly (so we thought) our anti-clockwise way around the rink full of expert tiny-tots diving in and out of our legs. Ahhh, time for some hot wine. And another one, please!

Winter a time for hibernation? Yeah right. If anything, all the shenanigans happen indoors out of sight. The girls showed Maria how to realllly let her hair down (don’t mention Becherovka to her – on fear of your life!), and we showed Russian Angela inside a real rocker’s bar: men thumping their chests, swinging from the lampshades, bartenders stripping their vests off, blowing fireballs with such ferocity we thought the whole wall of spirits behind them were going to spontaneously combust...

With one of our great mates, Sarah, leaving for home in the U.S. soon, December also brings its melancholy sadness. So we all upped and went off to the hockey stadium to see Czech Rep finally get one up over Sweden (another anniversary, we saw the same match last year). Now thoroughly experts in all things ice hockey, the sadness has been put on hold for now...

We’ve got a festive season to prepare for! Huge pools of live carp are already appearing on every other street corner and we’re on the hunt for the biggest turkey and leg of pork to roast for an Orphans’ Christmas lunch on the 25^th. With Christmas falling on the evening of the 24^th in Europe, we’ll be gathering with a bunch of other stranded ‘others’ for a feast of food, festivity...

... and a toast to all of you on the other side of the world, without whom Christmas just won’t be the same. Our friends here will help us to make it a special day in our own way – almost as good as the real thing which we’ll miss dearly.

So Veselé Vánocé a Stasné Nový Rok!