CRF: Czech Republic

"CRF" is not a crime show you've never heard of, it stands for "Cutting Room Floor." Below are some of our favorite pics that never made the blog. We figured we'd reminisce a little while we vacation "off map." (Back on the trail April 14th).

The Czech Republic is one of the more impossibly romanticized countries we’ve been to – everyone thinks they know something about it, but very few tourists visit the countryside outside of Prague. It’s alternately rough and glossy, with vast green spaces and prettily painted towns. We camped by this lake, called Lipno, for a while. Most of the campground was empty, but a small cluster of permanent residents lived together in much-extended mobile homes. They played music at night and the men went out fishing in the mornings and evenings. It was very peaceful. Our license plate got stolen.
This was in the vast museum-church complex in Olomoac – a few cupids hanging on a golden chain.
Something we don’t often show on the blog – normally, whenever we eat a strange or local candy or sweet, we take a picture of it. Who knows, now, what this Fidorka tasted like? It was probably mint, but that recollection may be influenced by the green background. We do remember that the blue Fidorka was the best, filled with coconut.
Prague is certainly beautiful, but was also awash in the full rush of tourism that taints the early summer months. The brooding, bohemian city of reputation is hardly visible anymore. There were more American tourists per local than anywhere else, it seemed.
This little icon was affixed to the wall of an old wooden church, preserved in a skansen in the town of Rožnov pod Radhoštĕm.
The second city of the Czech Republic is Olomoac, capital of Moravia, far off in the east of the country. The Czech student population makes it somewhat more interesting than Prague, and one can carouse more easily and cheaply (if that’s the point).
This was a market square, sans produce.
We stumbled upon a country fair in the town of Štramberk. This woman was selling spices. There were monkeys doing tricks and lots of frying foods. It was a confusing, crowded mix of carnival barkers and wide-eyed Czech farmers – a cascade of noise down the main street.
The pretty, carp-pond and lily pad town of Telč, where we explored a terrific old pile of a manor house. Unfortunately, they didn’t allow pictures – so we couldn’t include it on the blog.
Schoolchildren running back to their lessons.
An old stove and wooden paneling in Olomoac.
We spent a few nights at a very bizarre, much neglected campground near Rožnov pod Radhoštĕm. Our tent was nearby to the fence around the place, and not so far away from a little bar/café. In the summer evening air, a group of men used to sit and play the guitar, singing American songs translated (we think) into Czech. One night, a group of young school children were staying there – this was part of the remains of their dinner, cooked in the faded grandeur of an old canteen.

Read all Czech posts, including a few about castles, one about the original Budweiser (and a beer named "Merlin"), greasy food, greasy fish and "the prettiest town in central Europe."

CRF: Austria

"CRF" is not a crime show you've never heard of, it stands for "Cutting Room Floor." Below are some of our favorite pics that never made the blog. We figured we'd reminisce a little while we vacation "off map." (Back on the trail April 14th).

Austria was rainy. It’s too bad, because it’s such a great outdoors place – but it’s true. Our time there was damp, drizzly and overcast. But we had a good time, camped in some beautiful places, took a few nice hikes, enjoyed Vienna and ate a lot of Schnitzel (which was both horrible and fun).

This bottle of gentian liquor was particularly awful in an intriguing, highly drinkable way. The taste was bitter beyond belief, the stuff smelled like turpentine – but this is the endearing thing about any obscure tipple: it makes you feel very warm and enthusiastic about the experiment of drinking it.

We camped by the Danube for a while, and took a few swims near this little beach.

If there’s something about the country that makes us feel remorse, it’s that the Austrians seem incapable of being saved from bad food. How can a country so well off, so serious, so committed to health and hiking, be so obstinately tied to fried, ground, slab-sided, stuffed, cheese-covered, heavily-sauced meats? The food is beyond heavy. We left feeling a kind of permanent heartburn.

This is Hohensalzburg Castle, which sits like a grand duke above the stately streets of Salzburg. We took a few stabs at getting a castle hunting post out of it, but the weather was uncooperative and there were other things to do.

One of our favorite drinking places in a city full of them, Bunkerei was set down in the verdant shade of Augarten park, near our rented flat in Vienna.

Yet another view across the Danube, of a storm curling up over the hills toward us. At this campsite, near Rossatz Amsdorf, we struck up a pleasant friendship with a Polish father and son who were bicycling along the river. The son, about seven or eight, was very enthusiastic about befriending us, and dragged his more reluctant father to our picnic table. The boy wanted, first, to discuss camping stoves.

Drinking is more than a casual pastime in Austria – we still laugh about this, though. A vending machine dispensing liquor in the little town of Admont.

I crawled out of the tent one night, during a pause in the rain, to take this picture. The mountains were glorious, but the valley we were in attracted and held storms, so that they rolled down over us as though caught in a groove. Despite the wet, we still very much miss the tent.

Read all our Austria posts.

CRF: Switzerland

"CRF" is not a crime show you've never heard of, it stands for "Cutting Room Floor." Below are some of our favorite pics that never made the blog. We figured we'd reminisce a little while we vacation "off map." (Back on the trail April 14th).

Switzerland is a magical place. It’s one of the few places where everything you’ve heard about ends up being true – the mountains soar, the lakes glisten, the pastures are verdant, the towns cheerful, the cows peaceful and the people straightforward. We spent our time hiking a lot and falling in love with every nook and cranny. Switzerland is definitely one of the most picturesque places on earth.
This picture was taken on one of the ferries of lake Luzern, on the Ursee. We spent quite a few days close by the water here, camping at a beautiful ground in Brunnen. Our tent was just a few feet from the shore.
This is the first place we stayed, near Gruyere. It was a pretty old farm with about thirty Swiss browns and nice views. For breakfast we were served thick cuts of cheese and glass jars of sweet, clotted cream along with honey and plum jam.
This picture was taken at another campground, which Rebecca wrote about lovingly.
An old couple in the city of Luzerne. This was when we were walking back from the verkershaus museum, a few minutes before a torrential rain began.
This was on our hike up into the land of berggasthauses. A family was sitting at an outdoor table at the little farm. They had a sign advertising fresh goat cheese and they waved for us to join them. We regret not stopping, but we were in a hurry.
Thinking of Switzerland is to conjure images of the Alps, but the country is just as much about water as it is rock.
This was at a market in Bern, the capital (did you know that?) that we fell in love with.
On an amazing hike, looking down at the majesty of lake Luzern.
On this hike we were headed towards a castle that turned out to be just a stone house. This is the amazing part about Switzerland – the hills are teeming with hikers, cows and farmers.
The national sport may very well be paragliding.
We stayed at a berggasthaus on the shore of this little pond, which had the clearest water we’ve ever seen.

Read all Swiss posts, including lots more about cheese and some about chocolate.

CRF: San Marino

"CRF" is not a crime show you've never heard of, it stands for "Cutting Room Floor." Below are some of our favorite pics that never made the blog. We figured we'd reminisce a little while we vacation "off map." (Back on the trail April 14th).

A little over a year ago we were in San Marino. Every microstate is strange, but this little country is one of the strangest.

We explored San Marino with a kind of frantic, springtime jubilation. The weather had finally warmed up after our long, soviet winter. There were flowers and plenty of sunshine. We hiked to every corner.

We had a goal of having an Aperol spritz in each of the country’s nine municipalities – we can’t remember if we actually accomplished the feat or not, but we came really close. This was what remained after a group of young kids shared a bucket of “sprizz” (as they call it). We look back pretty fondly on the “apperativos” they serve with drinks.

Tiled roofs in the capital, which has some of the best views in the country and some very cool towers.

We camped for more than half our time in San Marino, at the country’s only official campground. The on site restaurant was called “Garden,” and we ate there more times than we should have. The pizza was so good we couldn’t help ourselves.

A police car hood – we thought about doing a post about all the different military and police divisions, but never ended up doing it. Somewhat comically, tiny San Marino has two different types of police and six different divisions in its military - including the fearsome Crossbow Corps. (We're not making that up).

Flowers at the weekly market in Borgo Maggiore.

One of the few gas stations.

A burnt tree near where we illegally camped one night.

Read all Sammarinese posts!

Coastal Drama on Gozo

Walking down towards the Azure Window we were in awe of the scenery - and the crowds. It's amazing that people take bus tours in such a small country, especially on Gozo. But they do. Even though you can walk across the island in about two and a half hours, or take a public bus anywhere in about fifteen minutes. They're carted from place to place, let off to take some pictures, then herded back together and driven somewhere else. Unwilling to go more than a few yards from his bus, one American man whistled at another tourist who was in front of him. When the tourist didn't move, the man snorted. "Now I won't get a good picture," he said.

The Azure Window is probably the most visited natural feature of this green little isle, and for good reason. Notice the scale - there's a person on top, there in the picture - and the setting. But it's hardly the only beautiful, interesting bit of coast.

Near Xlendi and its perfect natural harbor, the coastline takes on a strange, rough/smooth mix. Gozo - like the rest of Malta - is mostly limestone, and the softer varieties of the stone are carved and rubbed smooth by the waves. Here, in a cupped hollow of rock, someone had cut a door.

On the opposite side of Gozo, at the base of a long valley, Ramla Bay's red sands stretch in a perfect crescent. The sand is as soft and fine as down, the color is beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight - though, admittedly, more deep orange than red.

This was, according to tradition, Odysseus' view for seven years as a prisoner of the nymph Calypso. Her cave is supposedly tucked into the cliffs that rise to the west of the beach. When we were there, few people were in their swimsuits. A cold wind was coming in off the sea to the north, and the water was frigid.
Near Dwejra, the fishermen earn extra money by taking tourists on short boat rides into the caves that dot the cliffs there. The ride begins in a sort of small, pondlike lagoon that the locals call the "Inland Sea." Between the lagoon and the real sea, a high cliff runs - there's a narrow passageway, though, just wide and high enough for a small boat to pass through. On the other side are a few other grottos, mostly uninteresting other than being watery.
Fungus Rock, a high-sided bump of land near St. Lawrenz, is one of the only known places in the world where a type of rare plant grows - not actually a fungus, but somewhat resembling a black mushroom. The Knights of Saint John jealously protected the rock during their control of the archipelago, and thought that the plant (which they named "Maltese Mushroom," and is now called Cynomorium) had powerful medicinal qualities. They built a rickety cable car basket from the nearby cliffs to the top of the islet, and smoothed the sides of the rock to discourage thieves of the plant - it was thought, at the time, to be unique to Fungus Rock, and the Knights treated it like a treasure.
On a walk, also near Xlendi, we found these old salt trays. At least, we think that's what they are. Among them, cut into the rock, was an open cistern that drained a cupped slope of limestone into a shallow pool. The water there was sweet, but these square, dry indentations had a thin powder of salt at the bottom.

Malta is beautiful, but much of the main island is clogged with buildings and motorways. Escaping across the channel to Gozo feels like going to the country, even if it's only a relative sense of calm.

If you go to the Azure Window, make sure to clamber around the rocks, down to the shore and along a narrow path towards the arch. There's a hidden, small cave there, where the view of the Window is spectacular. The sound of the surf against the rocks is amplified by the hollow, and the waves come almost right up to the floor of the cavern. When we were there, two young Gozitan couples sat drinking beer and staring out at the dramatic scene. For a while we were alone with them. Then a few Spanish tourists showed up and we left.

Here's a video of our trip back through the cave from the open water into the Inland Sea. We were alone on the boat except for its reticent pilot and a french woman.

Xlendi Bay, Home Sweet Home

On the corner of Xlendi Bay, where the main road from Victoria meets the waterfront line of restaurants, we feel like we can predict the future. That corner white and blue building above is where we rented an apartment. The rhythm of the waves heard from our window in the morning tells us what kind of weather the day will bring, before we even leave bed. A loud group making their way down from the bus stop in the late afternoon means the restaurants won't clear their oil+vinegar sets from the tables quite as soon as they'd planned. A certain boisterous laugh made us know, immediately, that it was a group of Americans. Perhaps likening it to clairvoyance is a bit of a stretch, but we feel a bit ahead of the town's rhythmic ebb and flow.
We awake to the fishermen going out, and it feels like it is only us and them that have opened their eyes to the day just yet. When we hear them come in, we know that it is time to take our trash down to the curbside for 8:30 collection. By this time, the diving school students have arrived and made black constellations in the blue green water below our patio. So has the Xlendi Pleasure Cruise boat, a small compact thing that sits waiting patiently for any biters. The sound of the garbage truck signals a final check of our backpacks and we make our way out to catch the 8:45 bus to Valletta. Without ever once looking at a watch.
Xlendi Bay sits and waits for people to arrive and enjoy it. In our seven days here, we have not been able to figure out the business hours of any establishment. They all seem to run according to the same principal as us; when you hear the day come out your window, you better get up and ready. If we are home during the day, we have a truly Pavlovian response to the clinking of utensils being set out on the tables below. We fix ourselves a sandwich and smell pizza and pasta wafting upwards to our patio. In the evening, the clinking begs us to uncork our wine and plate whatever we've made. At least once a night, we hear a rendition of Happy Birthday from below.
Xlendi is a place for special occasions and daytrippers. But mostly daytrippers. They lap onto shores like waves. We feel like the thin line of current that shines in the bay - that last mark of arrival when all other incomers are long gone. Daytrippers, or "afternooners" more precisely, announce their purpose more than they realize they do. Backpacks and sensible shoes mean that they want to climb the white staircase that zig zags up the cliff. Then, come down and around to the tower. Afterward, they get a treat from Gelateria Granola and/or sit for lunch. The click of high heels hitting the pavement out of a parked Jeep Tour vehicle, tells us that they are going to skip the hike and go straight to lunching. Souvenir stalls open, selling thick knit sweaters you hope you won't need and thin Maltese flag beach towels that you purchase optimistically. (Ours will leave this country with us, unused).
The Boathouse Restaurant is the first to open and the last to close. Churchill, on the opposite side of the bay, is sporadic at best. We were told about both by a woman from whom's minimart we bought our necessities in Valletta. When she described The Boathouse as being on one side of the bay and Churchill as being on the other, we hadn't really thought that they were as close to each other as they were. "They are both great. Or anything in between. It's all good!" she'd said. Moby Dick restaurant and bar was right below us, where these British women ate smoked salmon salads. When we arrived without a cell phone and saw a sign to "call upon arrival" on our door, the proprietor of Moby Dick gave our landlord a ring as we drank coffee. When we left, he gave us a business card with a wink. He also had rental apartments available. No hard feelings.
That first afternoon, as we waited, a very tan man who had initially asked if we needed a cab kept checking up on us. As we sat and waited, two huge groups of high schoolers on Spring Break occupied Xlendi Bay. A French group raucously swam and pantsed each other as they changed back out of their bathing suits. A Spanish group sat along the water's edge, chain-smoking and texting. Sunglasses on. These two lovebirds snuck away to a cave and jumped a little when we came clomping in our boots.
It is a beautiful bay with nooks and crannies, old churches and limestone cliffs. The modern buildings may be a little bit of an eyesore, but the laidbackness counteracts them perfectly. The water is clear and full of fish. In fact, we really wonder if the Maltese Scuba School we saw advertised on a flyer back in our St. Petersburg schoolhouse was here. We'd seriously considered signing up, but thought that it'd be difficult to blog underwater. It's amazing to think that we may have wound up right here, in the same apartment, in the same village, having made an entirely different decision.
At night, when everyone is gone, the bay transforms back into its most natural state. A few lights, illuminate the road on one side and the staircase on the other, but those will turn off eventually. The sunsets are as spectacular as the sunrises. All we hear is the water out our windows. Home Sweet Xlendi.