On The Road to Brno
I had it all figured out. With my trip winding down (more or less) and a need to have some sort of stability surrounding my intended return to Cyprus, I broke every rule in my Eurotrip "book" and (gasp) used the "P" word: plan. Down to Vienna I would go from Prague, then to Budapest, a swing back to Salsburg to hang out with the von Trapp family (R&H anyone?), some Alps Switzerland, then Geneva, Paris, London, back to Amsterdam and it's off to Cyprus. All without breaking a sweat.
The best laid plans.
I arrived at the Prague main train station 40 minutes early, assuming that I would be one of the first on my six hour trip to Vienna. Yes indeed, no reservations for this cheap skate! And, in fact, I was so diligent with my money, I figured out ways to spend all of my remaining Czech crowns before I got to the station. It would be nothing by waltzes and Euros for the next few days. But, when I arrived, "Wien" was nowhere to be found on the boards. I ran back and forth, up and down the platforms, praying for some sort of sign. It came in the form of a Czech college student. Seeing me in my despair, she approached me in English and asked where I was going. I explained my situation and showed her my ticket. However, this was my downfall, because my ticket only said I was headed as far as the Czech-Austrian border (my railpass covers Austrian travel, but not Czech). My new friend insisted that I must be looking for a Breclav-bound train, and pointed me towards a slow moving milk-run train headed only to the border. I protested, but she would not hear it. I eventually found myself chugging down the tracks, waving goodbye to Prague and wondering where in the heck I was headed.
This is my worst travel fear. Showing up at night, in a small, rural town where I can barely speak the language with no room reservation and no way to get out is not my idea of a good time. And that, it seems, is exactly what was happening. I grabbed my guidebooks and stared at the Czech map, trying desperately to figure out the route of this train. I traced a few possible paths, but nothing seemed to work Finally, I found a conductor who spoke no English and, through a series of hand gestures, sketches, bad German and guidebook hysteria, I eventually figured out the route. We would be headed by one relatively large town, the town of Brno. My guidebook makes passing mention of it. And lists the possibility of a place to sleep. That was good enough for me. Off to Brno we would go.
Yet, my introduction to this fabled town of my salvation was indeed a rocky one. I hopped off at the first "Brno" sign I saw, only to discover that I was about 50km away from town, at an unmanned station (how does one buy a ticket with no local currency?) where all of my fellow travelers were afraid of me. I pulled out as much Czech as I could to try and decipher the schedule, discovering to my delight that there would be a train to the main station in 35 minutes. That put my arrival in Brno at 23:47, with no place to stay and no money. Yet.
As I left the train at Brno main station, wondering both how I would find a place to sleep and how I would pay for it, the first thing I noticed was that this town was kicking! Pedestrian-only streets, rope lights above the streets, thumping techno from discos. Already sounding like a nice place. I stopped by an ATM, pulled out Kc2000 (about $50)and started walking, trying not to be distracted by the lights and sounds. I turned down streets, walked up alleys and, suddenly, was confronted with a sign from the gods: "Youth Hostel, Beds Available." It turns out that Brno is not a popular town, so the one youth hostel around always has space, even at 00:17. I raced in, claimed my bed (for about $11, which is ridiculously cheap in Europe) and sat down at the free computer to quickly check my email.
Where I met Martin, a Danish traveler. We chatted for about an hour, covering politics, history, travel, the EU, a good smattering of late-night hostel chat. And it turns out that Martin is on his way to Vienna. We exchange email addresses and plan to meet up when we get there.
If we get there.
I spent my night dozing, planning to catch an 8:00 train headed to Austria. But, when I awoke at 9:36, I realized that this was not going to happen. I was too tired, to sluggish to force myself onto another train to Vienna. Today, it seemed, was my day in Brno.
What I discovered is that Brno is a delightful little town. The home of Gregor Mendel (of genetics fame), it maintains a scientific and innovative edge. Yet, despite the flashy buildings and multinational corporations that are moving in, the town has a lot of old charm. I strolled an open air market, bargained my way into a kilo of peaches for about $0.50, checked out Mendel's old green house and monastery, and headed for the castle. I had a terrible lunch, where I am sure the waiter ripped me off by about $10, which was quickly remedied when a tipsy Czech man decided he wanted to chat with me (via German and pictograms). I enjoyed tea in a tea room (the latest trend in the Czech Republic) and then found myself heading to (get this) a Czech production of "Twelfth Night" in the castle I had visited earlier. (Mom, Dad, does this sound familiar, if we replace "castle" with "ancient Greek theater"?). As I heard Shakespearean verse sung in Czech (and performed exceptionally well; one of the best "Twelfth Night" productions I've seen) under a star-filled sky in a Hapsburg-era castle, I knew I hit the jackpot. Brno, for it all the insanity that went into it, won me over big time. And the next morning, when I rolled out at 8:50 for Austria, I was actually a little sad to leave.
Lessons learned from this experience:
-- 1. Always keep at least Kc1000 in your socks.
-- 2. Listen to directions in train stations
-- 3. Don't let planning interfere with your trip
(P.S. Special thanks to the hungover Englishmen in the Brno hostel for giving me the title for this post. I was forced to listen to a poem with this title as I munched on corn flakes and banana in the breakfast room with them. Just imagine it pronounced slured, with the rs as ws, in a thick Cockney and "Brno" far more like "Bruno")
The best laid plans.
I arrived at the Prague main train station 40 minutes early, assuming that I would be one of the first on my six hour trip to Vienna. Yes indeed, no reservations for this cheap skate! And, in fact, I was so diligent with my money, I figured out ways to spend all of my remaining Czech crowns before I got to the station. It would be nothing by waltzes and Euros for the next few days. But, when I arrived, "Wien" was nowhere to be found on the boards. I ran back and forth, up and down the platforms, praying for some sort of sign. It came in the form of a Czech college student. Seeing me in my despair, she approached me in English and asked where I was going. I explained my situation and showed her my ticket. However, this was my downfall, because my ticket only said I was headed as far as the Czech-Austrian border (my railpass covers Austrian travel, but not Czech). My new friend insisted that I must be looking for a Breclav-bound train, and pointed me towards a slow moving milk-run train headed only to the border. I protested, but she would not hear it. I eventually found myself chugging down the tracks, waving goodbye to Prague and wondering where in the heck I was headed.
This is my worst travel fear. Showing up at night, in a small, rural town where I can barely speak the language with no room reservation and no way to get out is not my idea of a good time. And that, it seems, is exactly what was happening. I grabbed my guidebooks and stared at the Czech map, trying desperately to figure out the route of this train. I traced a few possible paths, but nothing seemed to work Finally, I found a conductor who spoke no English and, through a series of hand gestures, sketches, bad German and guidebook hysteria, I eventually figured out the route. We would be headed by one relatively large town, the town of Brno. My guidebook makes passing mention of it. And lists the possibility of a place to sleep. That was good enough for me. Off to Brno we would go.
Yet, my introduction to this fabled town of my salvation was indeed a rocky one. I hopped off at the first "Brno" sign I saw, only to discover that I was about 50km away from town, at an unmanned station (how does one buy a ticket with no local currency?) where all of my fellow travelers were afraid of me. I pulled out as much Czech as I could to try and decipher the schedule, discovering to my delight that there would be a train to the main station in 35 minutes. That put my arrival in Brno at 23:47, with no place to stay and no money. Yet.
As I left the train at Brno main station, wondering both how I would find a place to sleep and how I would pay for it, the first thing I noticed was that this town was kicking! Pedestrian-only streets, rope lights above the streets, thumping techno from discos. Already sounding like a nice place. I stopped by an ATM, pulled out Kc2000 (about $50)and started walking, trying not to be distracted by the lights and sounds. I turned down streets, walked up alleys and, suddenly, was confronted with a sign from the gods: "Youth Hostel, Beds Available." It turns out that Brno is not a popular town, so the one youth hostel around always has space, even at 00:17. I raced in, claimed my bed (for about $11, which is ridiculously cheap in Europe) and sat down at the free computer to quickly check my email.
Where I met Martin, a Danish traveler. We chatted for about an hour, covering politics, history, travel, the EU, a good smattering of late-night hostel chat. And it turns out that Martin is on his way to Vienna. We exchange email addresses and plan to meet up when we get there.
If we get there.
I spent my night dozing, planning to catch an 8:00 train headed to Austria. But, when I awoke at 9:36, I realized that this was not going to happen. I was too tired, to sluggish to force myself onto another train to Vienna. Today, it seemed, was my day in Brno.
What I discovered is that Brno is a delightful little town. The home of Gregor Mendel (of genetics fame), it maintains a scientific and innovative edge. Yet, despite the flashy buildings and multinational corporations that are moving in, the town has a lot of old charm. I strolled an open air market, bargained my way into a kilo of peaches for about $0.50, checked out Mendel's old green house and monastery, and headed for the castle. I had a terrible lunch, where I am sure the waiter ripped me off by about $10, which was quickly remedied when a tipsy Czech man decided he wanted to chat with me (via German and pictograms). I enjoyed tea in a tea room (the latest trend in the Czech Republic) and then found myself heading to (get this) a Czech production of "Twelfth Night" in the castle I had visited earlier. (Mom, Dad, does this sound familiar, if we replace "castle" with "ancient Greek theater"?). As I heard Shakespearean verse sung in Czech (and performed exceptionally well; one of the best "Twelfth Night" productions I've seen) under a star-filled sky in a Hapsburg-era castle, I knew I hit the jackpot. Brno, for it all the insanity that went into it, won me over big time. And the next morning, when I rolled out at 8:50 for Austria, I was actually a little sad to leave.
Lessons learned from this experience:
-- 1. Always keep at least Kc1000 in your socks.
-- 2. Listen to directions in train stations
-- 3. Don't let planning interfere with your trip
(P.S. Special thanks to the hungover Englishmen in the Brno hostel for giving me the title for this post. I was forced to listen to a poem with this title as I munched on corn flakes and banana in the breakfast room with them. Just imagine it pronounced slured, with the rs as ws, in a thick Cockney and "Brno" far more like "Bruno")
posted by Ethan at 6:26 AM
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