A girl lay in bed staring at her phone, looking at a blank post, waiting for text to be written.
A girl had a million things to say but couldn’t hear her thoughts.
A girl has been in pain for too long.
A girl lay in bed staring at her phone, looking at a blank post, waiting for text to be written.
A girl had a million things to say but couldn’t hear her thoughts.
A girl has been in pain for too long.
Stuck in transit hell. Cheap flights come with cheap experiences. A 15 hour layover in Hong Kong, to be exact. And not even an overnight one where I could just book a ridiculously overpriced room! A 6am landing for a 9pm ride home, utter joy.
I managed to spot a NZ passport in the hands of another passenger disembarking, and hope flooded me that maybe he had a lifetime of purgatory waiting ahead of him, too. Alas, he was on an earlier flight to Melbourne, but he helped kill the first four hours.
Then I wandered, looking around for some thing to buy. My pattern for the better part of 3 hours was walking to the end of one terminal, resting my shoulders cause damn my 7KG bag + 1000KG “little handbag” carrying all the actual heavy stuff like magnets and keychains and spoons (don’t ask).
At 1pm, I found a little collection of chairs, hidden at the end of a terminal, behind some potted plants. I say chairs but I mean loungers. I nestled into one, wrapping myself around my bags, and promptly slept for 2 hours.
My nap gave me the refreshment needed to make it to boarding, and I headed out in search of sustenance.
I ended up fawning over a bag that had a really pretty print, but the practicality issues were eating away at me. I tried it in this way and that and looked inside it 100 times, but I just knew that the size wasn’t practical or functional for me, and I’d never end up using it. The girls at the store didn’t seem too disappointed though, they got cuddles with my new Lotso-Huggin-Bear I picked up at the Disney store.
How I managed to refrain from buying 101 Star Wars magnets, pens, plush toys, I’ll never know.
I continued my world of shopping, complaining to mum about my itch to buy something since deciding against The Bag. She suggests some perfume (ehh…) and then a watch. A watch! I’ve been using the same one for years, and it’s gone through a reconstruction and many, many battery replacements, but I love that thing.
So I go on a hunt, remembering a whole isle of watches in the more centralised shopping network of the airport. I end up asking help narrowing down between three, and buy two of the same but in different colours because I couldn’t make up my mind. Thank you aunties and uncle who contributed to this delectable purchase.
With this, I figure it was time to give my flight a check to see if they’d announced the departure gate. Nope, 2 hours to go and no gate.
I depart to get a tea, and wait in line at the overburdened-as-usual-starbucks for about 30 minutes. I get back and there’s still not a gate listed. I make a pact that if it’s not there by 8pm, I’ll go talk to airport information. So far, I had counted 11 earlier delays on the board
Meanwhile, I’m chatting about the whole ordeal with Erica, who tells me she expects a blog update about the tea obsessed departure board goblin, so here it is.
While writing this, a gate has been allocated to my flight, with 7 minutes to spare. So off I go, to the land of departure gate waiting areas, and 11 hours away from home.
See ya soon, folks.
Well, it’s been a while since I left home, a while since I posted, and is only a short while before I’m home again.
Day forty-one. Whoozah.
Picking up from where we left off on the previous post, I left Dublin for Amsterdam on the 19th of June. Tash, the mutual friend putting me up, directed me with the help of Google maps to her location once I landed at Amsterdam airport (my third time there this trip) and I was welcomed with open arms.
It almost felt like home. I had my own room, the girls were lovely, and totally didn’t judge me about my lack of need to do anything (well, not when I was around anyway). I quieted my self-made feelings of guilt by telling myself I’ve been non-stop exploring the world for 5 weeks prior, sick days not included, and deserved a little R&R before flying home to dive straight back into being a functioning member of society.
On my first day, I got a shopping itch. It was my last stop, aside from a short trip south to Rotterdam, so I knew how much money was left now more than ever, and my stacks were looking pretty bland: two postcards sent home, 5 posters sent home, a Jameson’s scarf, and some magnets were all I had to my name.
I went out in search of The 9 Streets, which is apparently a good shopping destination comprised of shops and eateries spread out across, coincidentally, 9 streets. When I was supposedly there, I was underwhelmed. Given a revisit with company it may have been a decent excursion, but alone I felt like I was getting continually lost, there was a lot of construction going on, and most of the shops were something I could find in New Zealand.
No matter, I decided to walk home through the Museumplein and check out the Van Gogh Museum and then anything else around it. I meander my way there, hiking over canals and nearly dying at the hand of insane cyclists all the while.
I stumbled across a “Torture Museum” whose poster had a large wooden chair embedded with spikes for sitting criminals onto. It looked interesting, some more medieval stuff, and reminded me of the “Inventions of the Middle Ages” documentaries I used to watch in the weekends. It was awful. There was some rough artwork depicting a lot of torture devices, but none with explanations on how they were actually implemented. The info cards around the place named a device and what someone might have done to earn that punishment, but didn’t point to which device matched the name. There were a few relics, physical pieces in the museum, but again I say few.
I carried on to the Museumplein to discover all tickets to Van Gogh were sold out for the day. I walked around the park a little, having no-one with me to take a photo in from of the I Amsterdam sign, I took a photo of all the other crazy tourists.
I made my way home, and Tash asked if I wanted to go to the ballet. Yes, of course. We bought tickets for the next night.
When I say “we” bought tickets, I mean I gave my card to Tash telling her it was my shout, and she booked the tickets. While we were walking to the event that evening, she was trying to liase with some friends from work and flatmate-Georgia about where to meet. Georgia was telling us to go to a completely different venue than what was printed on our tickets. We research, and Tash has bought us tickets to a contemporary, interpretive dance number entitled Nicht Schlafen or similar. We trudge along to it.
A nightmare. Which maybe is what it was supposed to be, a waking nightmare in which no-one gets any sleep as the title may suggest? I’ve never thought I would be interested in this type of dance, admittedly having never seen any to base this on but kinda really feeling like it’s not my “thing”. Turns out I can trust myself and my gut feelings. I wanted to leave, but we were at the end of a row in which it would be blaringly obvious. We tried to just drink a lot of wine, but you weren’t allowed to take anything into the theatrr. More entertaining than the show was the audience. The venue was actually rather large, and surprisingly full.
I refuse to believe people knew what they were signing up for, but the lady next to me cried during one part as if she had obtained total comprehension and it was a moving piece of beauty, where I had no idea what was going on. I’m obviously just uncultured. The first 30 minutes were 9 people on stage running into each other at high velocity, screaming and ripping each others clothes off. The rest of the show kind of felt like that still. The only thing I know for sure is that at one point, a pair were representing a horse and trainer, and the horse subsequently died after being stabbed (?) to death.
The next day, I went to the Heineken experience first thing to avoid crowds. I had prepaid my ticket, which was an excellent choice, and trudged through the opening history.
The commemerative trowel used to lay the first block that built the brewery.
We walked through an introduction on how beer is made, which I skipped thanks to some lessons at the Jameson’s factory where they indicated at which point in the brewing line refinery is stopped to make beer rather than moving on to create whiskey.
The vats were pretty cool, though.
In towards the interactive part, there was a station where you can personalise the label on your own beer, ride a small 4D ride “where you are the beer” as you follow the brewing process through a factory from the inside. As well as many walls and ceilings made of bottles, with lights glowing out from behind.
They taught you how to drink beer with a small half pour, including how to maximise the life of your foam head to stop your beer from oxygenating.
There was also a number of photo stations and interactive zones like a huge podium that acted like a keyboard set to percussion mode when you hit different parts of it, and a beer pouring station.
Good to know after some 5 years since being behind a bar, I can still pour the perfect beer.
There was a room where they honoured the sports they are supporters of, in which the Haka was playing on a loop in the background.
Finally, you could take a punt at kicking a (digital) conversion for yourself, and then the bar. Your wristband gets you two free drinks, as well as the half pour that taught you how to drink earlier in the experience. Beer for breakfast, mother would be proud.
From there, I do finally go to the Van Gogh Museum, picking up this fine photo before seeing the no photo signs.
The store was a wonderful place for gifts, where I got some things for mum, dad, and myself.
I spent some more time with the streets, marvelling at how everything was so same-same-but-different, and then turned my attention to repacking my bag and weighing it with Tash’s handy luggage scale.
Some redistributing of items between the two bags brought me under the 7kg weight limit for carry on, and I still had a couple of items I could leave behind like my ratty one-use umbrella bought in Rome, the last of my travel shampoos, and the ability to wear two shirts on the airplane.
After many UberEats deliveries, it was time for Blink 182 in Rotterdam.
So, last night, I trained to Rotterdam from Amsterdam, checked into my hotel that photos promised to be awesome, lovely, and kitsch, which the lobby was, but turned out my room was just old. Oh well, only one night and a safe place to stay for the concert. I head off in an Uber, find my seat (cause screw general admission when you have no-one looking out for you) and make friends with the guys next to me.
The location of the seats was awesome, the night was great, the music epic.
In the end, I had to wait 30 minutes for an Uber back to my hotel due to high demand, and I was freezing. Compared to how hot most of my days had been, my fingers felt like they were going to fall off. It was 15°C, Pete messaged me from home letting me know it was 5° there. Joy.
Today, I trained back to Amsterdam, having bought some Blink182 merch and having another fight with my backpack, and checked in to my hotel airport.
In 15h and 35m I’m boarding my plane to start my journey home. The new release movies have been updated on the in flight entertainment (thank the lord for being away over a month) and I have about 9 hours of screen entertainment by way of movies. Accompanied with food, music, and reading my kindle, the journey shouldn’t be too bad.
Seeya soon, home. Miss you terribly.
Coming to Dublin was probably the greatest last minute decision I could have made.
We landed at 10pm, and the sun was still setting, leaving everything an eerie twilight grey. All the signs in the airport were in English. Not just the directional ones, but the adverts too. It felt like heaven.
I caught a bus to my hostel, and checked in. There were two entrances into the dorms from the lobby, and I’m sure the receptionist told me to take the right one, but by the end of the unpleasantries I went straight through.
The hostel is a maze.
I’m sure they do it so you have to sleep in the hall at one point and save them running water costs. I have no idea what happened but I knew I had to be on the second floor, she was adamant about that, but I was to be in room 29 and each floor seemed to only be going up in 6-10s. I was following the “Rooms 20-29” plaques through mazes of halls and stairs and more stairs. Eventually, I started going downstairs again until I came across a tiny little cubby like area at the bottom of a staircase, with no plaques and a door that read “fire door”. Now, it doesn’t say “FIRE EXIT” but I still stood there confused, trying to figure out if I had followed the plaques wrong. I head back up the stairs, double check the sign that sent me down here, and head down again.
I push through the door, with no where else to go, and discover room 29 on the other side. Random, random layout in this building. I push through, collapse on my bed, and fall asleep.
I’m up the next morning to head to Murray’s Bar for the live screening of All Blacks v Samoa. I ask for tea and they don’t ask which fruity-green cocktail I want, just bring out a steaming mug of good, black tea. Dublin, I love you. A decent eggs bene and some rugby to start the morning, and I’m off.
I make my way to the Jameson’s factory on Bow street, and buy a ticket for their tour.
While I wait for the 12 o’clock start, I ponder their gift store. I’ve bought next to nothing while I’ve been here, and spent far less (I think) than anticipated. I wonder about getting dad a scarf, because he’s metro like that – and it’s his birthday, but mum advises while he likes Jameson’s, it isn’t his favourite. The tour is called up, and we head in.
We learn about the history of the brand, the process in making the liquor, and eventually a comparative taste test. The taste test results in the whole group having 3 shots before 1pm in the afternoon, and a complimentary drink is still on offer with the purchase of our ticket.
I sit at the bar and order their mixed version, instead of straight, and watch it get made as nearly a 50/50 while my body screams woah tiger we still have to walk back to the hostel. I take a nervous sip and it tastes amazing, not a single shiver of hard liquor reaction runs down my spine. An Australian joins me, I hear his accent and he hears mine and we’re fast friends, chatting over our drinks so we don’t appear alone at a bar. He splits off to meet up with his girlfriend arriving that day, and I decide to buy the scarf for myself. I’m incredibly happy.
I walk around, in a general opposite way I got here from the hostel kind of circle so I can look at new things, and stumble across a church.
The church turns out to be the only church from the Medieval era still in use today, in Dublin. It’s free entry, so I wander around, and the receptionist tells me a little bit of history but advises the cards around the building will be more interesting than her prattling on, and to watch out for the lucky stone around the corner.
It’s such a small, old place, so I touch the stone. Shop owners used to believe that the success of their business greatly hindered on them touching the stone once a day. Previously, I haven’t touched any of the “lucky” emblems around. The statues on the bridge in Prague being swarmed with people every minute, I just hate to think what’s been left on them, and if they’re ever cleaned. Maybe I’ll blame currently being sick on touching the thing, not very lucky, huh!
I wander around a little more, and round a corner to Dublinia, history of the vikings museum. You can see its very kid friendly from the get go, looking very interactive, but what the hell. Viking history is different to all the other history I’ve been looking at lately and interactive is fun.
The first floor is a concise Viking history, including a table with the Viking Runes laid out next to the English alphabet so you can spell out your name. Mostly using phonetics as not every letter has a direct translation. The floor ends talking about Valhalla and Ragnarok, and what it means for the Vikings. You exit into this pitch black room which occasionally lights up with lightning-esque flashes to reveal this terrifying wall.
We head up and learn about the settlements and Kings after the Viking rulers. It’s here that history starts to get a little too recent for me and I mostly just enjoy the interactive experience. The top floor was items on loan from the National museum and another interactive experience on archeology. It was great fun. I definitely felt 12.
The exit to the museum was through a bridge which has beautiful stained glass windows, and led into another church. I ventured outside to look at it from there.
From here, dinner time at BoBo’s Burgers, and bed.
The next morning was Lions v Maori All Blacks, which I again got up for. We lost, never really having much possesion or promising runs, but 2 South-Africans about Dad-age sat down and saw me watching the game so we chatted like old friends.
I wandered around again, settling down for lunch in an adorable Tram Cafe. I message Rimal about being homesick, just wanting to skip the end and come home, about wanting more than 2 days off before I go back to work haha. Rimal calls me, immediately, bless, and chats to me for maybe an hour and eventually settles me down about the notion of going home, and I setup a countdown timer to help me along.
I head into the Leprachaun Museum, advertised as a history lesson on Irish Folklore. It was pretty much terrible, a good way to kill an hour for me who was just looking for something to do, but I wouldn’t recommend it, to anyone.
My time slot changed while I was waiting as I was the only one who booked in, so the receptionist graciously moved me to 20 minutes later which was fine by me, and she wrote me a voucher for a free gift from the gift shop at the end of the tour for being so obliging. The gift turned out to be a rainbow lead coloured pencil. I laughed and went on my way.
From the museum, I made the long way home. Roommates recommend Sweet Miss Sue’s for dinner (or SMS) for some good fish and chips (and tartar sauce and mushy peas, my first time) yum! and the manager turned out to be from NZ having lived in Ireland for 14 years. It was awesome, but I started getting the sniffles, and my ear hadn’t unblocked from the airplane ride into Dublin, so I headed home and went to sleep.
Today, my sniffly nose has turned into a full on snot-demon, and my sinuses are clogging my ears and throat too. I went out purely in search of flu medicine, tissues, and vitamin water, had a TERRIBLE hot chocolate and cinnamon-bread-labelled-as-banana-bread and an okay lemon muffin from Insomnia (coffee chain). 2 of my 3 roommates didn’t come home from a concert last night, and at 5pm in the afternoon still haven’t been home all day. I wonder if they’re dead.
I managed to liase with a friend of Elanor’s who is hooking me up with a place to stay in Amsterdam (that place is SO expensive) and explained my homesick dilemma to her, and how I’d love to just go straight there from Dublin rather than through Belgium as previously planned, and she’s a-ok with that.
So I booked my flight to Amsterdam and settled down with some chips, updated my blog, and am now settling down to read some more. I love my kindle.
Monday in Munich!
Today is a day of disappointment. A true let-down. Heart break.
Pete didn’t call.
We’d made plans earlier that he would call at 2 or 3am NZT, which would be 4 or 5pm Munich time. I messaged him at 3pm to let him know I was ready, if he happened to get out of a game early, and chilled out in the common room to wait and read.
My alarm goes off at 4pm and the message is still sitting as unread. Unusual length of time for a Dota game, but not unheard of. Though, usually he would have responded to me at least once even if still in game. I send a reluctant “babe?” and go back to reading.
I’ve still not heard from him the next time I check, and still the message is unread.
I start spamming skype, messenger, and even try call his phone. No answer.
My brain switches to panic mode. He wouldn’t have gotten into bed knowing he had plans to call me, because he knows he’d just go to sleep there. So the only two places he could be are the computer chair and the couch. He doesn’t fall asleep in his computer chair, so chances are he went to the couch to watch some Shark Tank, and has fallen asleep.
Crestfallen, I check the power and internet/phone outages at home, just to confirm nothing is wrong there (there isn’t) and wait a little longer for him to wake up. He doesn’t usually sleep for too long on the couch, it is super comfortable but you eventually stir enough to realise where you are. He doesn’t get in contact. Reluctantly, I accept the fact that he must be dead, then. I order some pizza for dinner, have a beer, and get in bed. 8am NZT he wakes up to inform me he fell asleep, and then promptly falls asleep again while typing out something else. Joy.
Tuesday morning I quickly chat with my Mum and Dad, and Perry, and have another call with Pete, finally, before heading out to the most exciting thing about being in Munich. The BMW museum.
I knew I was getting closer even before I saw the building stick up over the top, because all the streets were lined with BMWs.
Inside was beautiful. The layout is a little maze-like and there’s not a 100% clear direction to go, with lots of little offshoots which lead to other places. I back tracked a lot to try and catch everything, but I know I missed at least two rooms.
I did not, however, miss Elvis Presley’s 1957 restored 507. She is SO gorgeous, I have to have her. My new favourite ultimate car, even though it goes against everything I believe in (2 door, convertible).
The museum was amazing, I stopped at the M1 cafe for lunch and had brilliant homemade iced tea, and bought a couple things in the gift shop.
The afternoon ended up being laundry day (sigh) which meant a lot of waiting around because even though I was staying in a 6 storey at-least-ten-rooms-a-floor hostel /hotel, there was ONE washing machine, and ONE dryer.
I conned a roommate into ordering “the best burgers in the world”, according to a receptionist, with me, but minimum delivery order requires two people, and we chilled out eating and waiting for my washing.
The next morning, she’s at a loss for what to do, and I tell her I’m heading to the Neuschwanstein Castle in Fussen (Hohenschwangau, I think I spelt that right). I explain all the details, the 2.5 hour train journey, the bus from there to the bottom of the castle, the ride up to the castle (or else you’re stuck walking 40 minutes uphill in the blistering heat) and then the further walking around to be done, not to mention coming home again too. She’s in.
We head out at 9am so we can buy a Bayern ticket. It’s essentially a daily pass for ALL public transport lines inside Bavaria. It’s a god send. Instead of paying €40+ for our ticket only to Fussen, we bought a Bayern 2 person ticket for €16 each, which got us to the main station from our hostel, on the train to Fussen, on the bus to the castle from Fussen, and all of it back home again. We went out in the evening too, and it covered those lines also.
The day ended up with remarkable timing. We didn’t plan anything out in advance, and we didn’t buy tickets to go INTO the castle because they only do specific tours to lead people through, and both of us had decided we’d seen enough castles. However, there was always a bus or train when we arrived at whichever station or stop we wanted to depart from, even including the Fussen return only running once an hour.
From the train, we start to see mountains after 2 hours of flat land, and know we are close.
We decide to be fancy buggers and catch a horse drawn carriage up to the castle, like real princesses. But really, we watched a couple buses go past and they were jam packed with people standing in the aisles like cattle, so for the extra few Euros it was worth it.
Our first look of the castle is where the carriage drops you off. Due to the steepness of the cliffs, there’s not enough turning room for the horses any higher up so, there’s still a short walk.
We walk to the front of the castle, but there’s no good shot due to it being under construction. We enjoy the view of the cliffs, and venture round the back to head to Marienbruche, the bridge where nearly all photos of Neuschwanstein are taken.
The bridge is over a deep gorge, with a river (?) flowing through it. The water is an amazing blue, and I wish I could have gotten more photos of it, but without a wrist strap I was terrifed of watching my phone plummet to its death.
Here’s the money shot. Yes, I took this myself on my phone, whether it looks like 1,000,000 other photos of it or not, I do not care. This one is mine.
We take a couple of selfies in front of it, too, eventually leaving when we see how long the line is to get on the bridge behind us (again, timing! plenty of space when we arrived!) We meander back down the path, stopping to really take in the landscape, and the other “Lego” castle in the area, as so eloquently put by my roommate.
On the train ride home, Mona and I start sorting out times to meet up, even though my feet are killing me from all this walking. Hopefully the 2.5hour train ride sitting down will mend that.
I take the roommate to Marienplatz, after using a pay to enter public toilet in the terminal. Ugh. She leaves me to go exploring on her own in the evening, and I get hit on.
It’s strange, but it’s similar to Mr. Creep. I’m waiting outside a shop so I’m easy for Mona to find, and a guy walks up to me, really close to my face, and starts talking in German. “Sorry?” He says something in gibberish again, and I clarify “sorry, English only” hoping that will put him off. It doesn’t.
“Like you.” Sigh. “You LIKE me?” “Yeah.” He nods his head enthusiastically. “Well, you CAN’T like me, you don’t know me.”
He throws his hands up and yells “what the hell!?” in my face. I pull my phone out and frantically start messaging Mona and Pete so I can spam him to make it look like I’m otherwise busy. Mr. Creeptastic skulks away, eventually walking back past with a friend talking to each other in German while both looking like they want to spit on me. Well, hey, you didn’t think I was disgusting when you were trying to hit on me, did you? Note, I was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a jumper. Wtf people.
Mona shows up, and takes me on her walking tour through things-to-look-at-she-doesn’t-know-the-name-of (it was great, I recommend it haha) and takes photos of me as requested.
We go to a Biergarten for dinner and, surprise, beer!
I refrain from stealing a watermelon themed bike. I love watermelon theme.
And then we get takeaway cocktails (because it’s legal to drink on the streets! Huzzah!)
We split up at the train station, both heading home, so I can rest before my flight to Dublin the next day.
By the end of it, Munich ended up being awesome.
My bug from the last post ended up being pretty gnarly. It was definitely not a 24 hour thing, lasting closer to 72. I managed to have a brief period to purchase the art prints, I ended up getting all 5, and a short trip to the post office. The lady behind the counter looked at me blankly when I advised I’d like to send the post card and poster tube to New Zealand. Almost as if she’d never heard of the place.
Eventually, she gestured to the post card, affixed some stamps on it, and said to dump it in the orange box outside, but she kept waving away the poster tube. I decided to hold onto it until Munich so I could speak real English with someone to explain. The “orange box” outside ended up being around 10 different orange boxes, of which all had different Czech writing on them, obviously labelling different places/services. I held onto that, too, for hostel reception to post for me.
On day twenty four, I had to check out of Hostel Ahoy and had a 10am bus to Munich from Prague. That wasn’t sitting well with my stomach, though, so I booked a hotel room for another night in Prague to curl up and die in my own space, and cancelled my bus (full refund!)
I waited at the hostel after checkout at 11am, as the hotel didn’t allow check in until 3pm and I thought I’d need to stay close to a bathroom. Turns out, I didn’t use it once, and so hiked off in search of my hotel at 2.30.
I arrive, only to be informed by the receptionist that my booking is for tomorrow night, and they’re fully booked. Bugger. Sleep deprived, ill-me booked the wrong day. Not even sure how that happened. I use their lobby to sit down and take a look at everything. Having still been okay without a bathroom, I decide to risk it and just get on a bus later in the day.
I arrive in Munich at 10.30pm, the sun is still giving enough light that it’s not pitch black in the night, and I check in.
I promptly use the bathroom (oh dear) and then fall asleep after a bucket of water.
I decide to take Sunday easy, and spend the day in the common room. It feels like a hotel lobby and not really a place to meet other travellers, but I strike up a conversation with a guy due to his kiwi plush toy in his backpack, thinking he’d be from NZ – an American. He shows me to the beer hall near Marienplatz for dinner where I have the most delicious chicken of my life (because I hadn’t eaten real food in 3 days or because it was really that good, we will never know), and apple juice. The hall is huge, mostly communal, and full of a loud band playing traditional music. Every 5th song is a short tune to raise your mug to. Prost!
I have little photos for this post, because I didn’t get out much these two days. I’d say I’m sorry but really you should be sorry for me that I was so ill. Hah.
Today, I am ill. Very, very, horribly ill. I’m assuming it’s a 24 hour bug of some sort, considering I didn’t sleep at all last night mostly out of fear of vomiting in my sleep, and then managed a few 2 or 3 hour naps this morning.
I had a shower immediately after vomiting this morning, as the time between vomits were getting longer and longer, and a refresh was definitely something I needed.
I then gave it half an hour, and braved a trip to the grocery store for some bread, salted chips, and lemonade. Starving as I was, a good sign.
I made it there and back without incident, but immediately stepped into the bathroom for a quick catch up on the evacuations. It’s now been 40minutes since I laid down, watched some netflix, and consumed a portion of chips and some slices of bread. My stomach is rumbling but I’m sure it’s the digestion.
Tomorrow I catch a bus to Munich, so I’m really hoping this passes tonight, considering how travel sick I can get.
On my first night in Prague, I went out for dinner to a vegetarian restaurant with a roommate purely because the reviews were amazing. “Clear Head” turned out to be excellent, we got a 2 person platter so we could try a bunch of things. I then ordered a hot chocolate for dessert and whaddaya know, they served me quite literally a espresso mug of melted chocolate. It was delicious, though.
On day twenty-one, my roomate took me out to Old Town Square with the astronomical clock, Prague Castle, and St. Vitus Cathedral. The clock is currently going under renovations, and honestly the castle was a bit bland compared to so many others I’ve seen lately! But St. Vitus Cathedral was more than I could have imagined.
I never realised just how large it was, on the inside it goes all the way to the top, no levels or anything in the main hall.
People are, on average, about as tall as the white structure in the middle. You can see a gate leading into it. Look how huge this hall is! It was breathtaking.
What made the day great, though, was braving 1,000,000 stairs to the top of the Great South Tower in the cathedral. A seperate ticket, just something we decided we wanted to do, and thank Apollo we did. At the top, I had to sit, my thighs burning like I’d done 1000 squats. There are actually just over 280 steps, winding up a circular tower to this view.
As soon as I stepped out onto the balcony, the pain in my legs disappeared. Looking down at Prague I felt like a King.
We were in the windows at the top, right before the blue/green roof starts.
From there, we wandered around the castle some, and then started heading back to the hostel, stopping for lunch and some sights on the way.
Yesterday, I slept in a little, and decided on an art history tour day. I made my way to the Mucha Museum, where I was not allowed to take photos. The works were incredible, and I discovered my favourite piece, a poster for a play.
Unfortunately, in the gift shop, it would appear it is not very popular and you can only buy a poster. Not like some of the others that have magnets or cards or bookmarks. I do not trust my ability to keep a poster safe for the next 3 weeks.
I also discovered my favourite series he did, The Moon and The Stars, with my favourite of the pieces being The Moon. (The end one.)
The Moon was on plenty of memorabilia, so I bought a bookmark/magnet, hoping I can affix it to my fridge.
Today’s plan was to go back and find out how much it would cost to post the prints back home in a tube, as I found out a post shop is across the road from the museum. I’m really hoping I’m up for the journey soon.
I continued my art tour on to another museum which was also showing Mucha works, but also had Salvador Dali and Andy Warhol exhibits.
I felt very cultured walking through all the artwork.
My favourite piece, I think, was this. The Horse of Caligula. I really couldn’t say why. There were elephants with Dali’s notoriously long misshapen legs, and images based on the mythology I love in Greek and Roman culture. This one, however, just made me laugh.
I then continued on to a wax museum. When I went in, you go down to a basement level with narrow halls, and the certain feeling that something in there is meant to frighten you.
So, pansy little me went back up the stairs and waited about 10 minutes for someone else to buy tickets so I could go in after them.
There was mostly Czech historical figures, and then a few I recognised, and then a very small room that had some famous movie stars also. The likes of Jim Carrey, Julia Roberts, George Clooney, and Tom Cruise.
Pretty sure they even got his weird teeth right.
This one was pretty satisfying, I imagine he’s on display locked in a chamber on purpose.
So, it’s officially been over an hour without any negative effects from my journey with the bland food. I think it’s time to venture down to the Mucha Museum again, see how much it costs for postage, and for each print. Wish me luck.