When I wrote last, I was in Munich, but after having a great time in the Bavarian capital I had begun my journey (don't worry, it wasn't epic) to Prague, Czech Republic.
I took the train from Munich Hauptbahnhof to Nuremberg (still in Germany). From there I had to ride the bus to Prague, but didn't know the way to the bus station. The first person I asked spoke good English, and was very helpful (check and check)! She had been going in the other direction, but turned around to lead me to the bus station. I found my seat on the bus and it headed East out of Germany, and through the hills of the Czech Republic.
We arrived in Prague, and I got out at the main train station. I had not been looking forward to finding my hostel, because the directions that I had been given online were longer and more complicated than anywhere else I had stayed. They read: subway, walk, tram, walk, hostel! (it was alot more complicated in real life, but you get the picture)
I walked around the station, and eventually found the metro entrance. I needed a ticket, and the machine didn't take Euros (yippee I get to do more conversions), so I went to the bank in the station and exchanged some money. So far, doing anything in the Czech Republic was difficult. There was a knew currency to deal with, and very few people that I had met spoke English. I didn't actually even know WHAT language they spoke (German? Czech? Republican? The answer is indeed Czech, now we know!), but I did know that it was alot harder to guess at what the signs meant. The bank didn't give me any coins, and the ticket machines didn't take bills, so I went to Burger King to make some change (and I GUESS I will eat the burger) and enjoyed not carrying a hundred pounds around on my back for a while.
I finally got my ticket (after educating my self on the different coins in the Czech Crown currency), and went down to the subway. Good thing I hadn't "gone all Munich" (meaning not paying for the subway), because there were multiple police officers checking everyone's tickets at every entrance to the subway.
I took the metro (or subway, or underground, or tube, or whatever you want to call it, I never know which to use), to station I. P. Pavlova (isn't pavlova a type of cake? If so, I totally encourage other cities to name their subway stations after delicious foods. "Next station: Three Cheese Cheese Toast"). From I.P. Pavlova I got on the tram with the help of some locals, and got off at what I thought was the right stop. It was indeed, and I walked up the hill and found my beautiful hostel.
Once inside, I met my roommates: two CANADIAN girls (from Vancouver, like almost all the other Canadians I have met backpacking). I get excited meeting other Canadians after long stretches without them so we chatted for a while, and they told me all about how awesome Prague was, and this crazy pub crawl they went on, and this six storey club they went to, and how they were so crazy about the olympics, and how they were going to a Canadian bar that they had been told about, and were gong to watch the women's hockey final against the U.S. that night. I had plans to do the free tour of Prague (which they had recommended) early the next day, and the hockey game wouldn't be on until late (or early in the morning, actually) so I stayed in the hostel that night, did a little bloggin', and greeted a new roommate into the hostel, Arps (Arpana for long) from Australia! haha she said all the same words funny like Alice did! it never gets old!
The next day, Arps and I did the Free English Tour of Prague, which was awesome because it was free, it was in English, it was of Prague, and it was free. We thought the tour started at our hostel, but quickly discovered that, on the contrary, we had to join the tour group in the main square. (Funfact about the main square: it is called Wenceslas Square, after Good King Wenceslas. THE Good King Wenceslas. Like the Christmas carol. He was King of the Czechs like a thousand years ago, and a good one at that, so he became the patron saint of the Czechs, and gets to have a whole bunch of places named after him).
We got to the main square fifteen minutes late, and couldn't find the starbucks that we were supposed to meet outside, but did find like 10 different tour groups in the square, so we joined onto one, and pretended it was the right one.
The tour was really good. Our guide (with a definite Irish accent, but he knew his Czech nonetheless) told us all there was to know about everything we passed (without boring us, because how can you get bored listening to an Irish lilt?). The main square was surrounded by lavish, grand, old buildings, and the extent of the well-preserved Old Town was impressive. I was unaware that there were so many in-tact historic buildings in Prague. We saw the Old Town and another picturesque square, as well as Josephov, the biggest, or oldest, or best Jewish Ghetto in Europe. Everywhere we went was punctuated by gorgeous architecture and views of the river.
After the tour Arps and I explored across the river around Prague Castle (largest castle around? I can vouch for it's size), and I caught the tram back to the hostel to continued catching up on this blog.
Back at the hostel I met the new people in the room. The Canadians had moved out that morning, but we now had an American (the nice kind) named Anna, a Brazilian named Gil, and two Welshmen named Calvin and Jude.
That night, our newly-formed group of 5 took the advice of our Canadian predecessors, as well as our tour guide, and went on the pub crawl. A great time was had by all. (Small world story: At one point I ran into a Canadian girl who had tried out for the olympic hockey team but missed the cut. We had a mutual friend that came up in conversation. AS IF.)
The next day I took a break from all the tours and sights and people - just like Rick Steve's had told me, wouldn't want to get over-saturated and burnt out now would we - and let myself sleep in. Arps and I found a Mexican Restaurant next door to the hostel, and it was some of the best Mexican food I have ever had. That meal single-handedly changed everything I had ever thought about Mexican food in the Czech Republic.
I found a laundromat in the neighbourhood and did some much-needed laundry for cheap. I also searched for a barber shop so I could get my ears lowered, but nothing was open (it was after 5pm on a Sunday, my hopes weren't that high), so I went back to the hostel and prepared for the game that night. THE GAME: Canada vs. USA. International Hockey Supremacy. Intense. Or so I expected.
I donned my Canada shirt like a good little Canadian boy, and prepared to live stream the game to my laptop, but, miraculously (no, that word is not too strong for this situation), the TV in the bar in the hostel was showing English-language European coverage of the game! Live! I couldn't believe my luck!
Since the two Canadians from my first night at the hostel had taken off to Poland, I was apparently the only Canadian left in the hostel. There were a few Americans, but none of them cared about hockey, so I was the only person interested in the game. A British guy and a South African guy tried to make sense of the game of hockey, and I explained the game to them. They asked questions at THE MOST inopportune times , but that wasn't their fault, they didn't understand what was happening. They drank their beers and laughed at my living and dying with every moment of the game.
Gil, Arps, and Anna were going out to a bar, and invited me along, but I politely slammed the door on any hopes they may have had for me leaving my spot in front of the TV for the next three hours.
The game, as you all know, was incredible. This was the first event of the entire Olympics that I had been able to watch, but there was nothing that I would rather have chosen. I put a little effort into containing my spontaneous yelps and cheers, but eventually gave up on that and forgot that anybody else was in the bar. At the end of the third period another Canadian came down, and, though he didn't follow hockey all the religiously, I had myself a cheermate.
Overtime. Seriously? Insane.
Sid scores the winning goal, I jump up and yell as loud as I could. The other Canadian cheers and goes for some sort of double high five slash possible hug and/or chest bump, and I slap one of his hands out of the air (painfully). As soon as I see everyone else in the bar staring at the two Canadians, I stop screaming, but cannot stop loudly celebrating this amazing moment in my life, and so many others'.
I go to sleep with a smile on my face, and it is still there when I wake up and hop on a train to Berlin.
