Belgium: dichotomous Brussels and divine Ghent

As on previous occasions, I've decided to post these notes in the present tense, under the dates when their bulk was penned.

April 19, 2011: Brussels

[I never warmed to Brussels; however, I came to truly appreciate the balance it represents, in Belgium and the rest of Europe.]

Leisure class on the Eurostar from London was very nice; with a full meal, unlimited wine, and only one other group in our whole cabin, it's truly an affordable luxury.

The view from our apt.

While the walk to pick up the keys was a bit far to drag luggage, we found the office, and then our apartment, with little difficulty. Our apartment is amazing: so spacious, and a block from the Grand Place. At night, I simply stare out our corner window on the scene below, sipping gueuze; television can't compete.

There's a nice, big grocery store on the next corner; the only hiccup was milk. They only carry various flavours of UHT. I wonder if this is normal. We picked up some breakfast stuff, meats and cheeses, and some local beer:

• Cuvée René Grand Cru Oude Gueuze: the Good Beer Guide Belgium gives it four stars. My virgin palette -- yes, this is my first lambic -- found it to be like a witbier, with a tang. Like, oh, the best of the limited champagne I've tried.
• Mort Subite Gueuze, which I don't believe is made in the traditional way. (The style isn't protected, unlike the German styles, for example, so corners are often cut to save money.) Either way, I enjoyed it; a bit darker than the Cuvee Rene, with ginger notes.

This city has such life. Like Dublin. Maybe more so. The clusters of kids on the cobblestones of Grand Place; so many different conversations and styles of music drift out on the street and up to our windows.

In the Grand Place, with chocolate shops all around, it's Bruges, through and through. At times, staring down a narrow cobblestone alley, it's like Venice. Seafood on the tables enhances this. Near our apartment, with the Asian grocers, Japanese restaurants, and, at night, the lurid neon, one could be forgiven for replaying Blade Runner. The trash helps with this. As do the homeless, laying out on mattresses under scattered canopies.

I thought we arrived on garbage day, but this veritable army of trucks operates continually, including in the wee hours. This dichotomy, the trash and dirt beside the Grand Place and European politics, reminds me of Athens; extremes of excess and beauty, and then whole blocks forgotten, no doubt populated by those same elements each night. I'm of mixed feelings, it must be said. We've met some fantastic folks, but there are certainly areas where you should keep your map out of sight and your head down.

The restaurant area facing St. Catherine's Church reminded me of La Rambla, particularly when Spanish guitar could be heard from a big top tent further down, earlier on. Barcamoule was where we had supper, and my mussels were excellent. Very friendly staff. So many languages around us. A group that seemed to be winding down from a conference included a woman from Lisbon (now living in Sao Paolo), an Irishman and an Englishman. The city is crawling with suits and purpose.

Who needs sleep? This city surely feasts on them. It's Tuesday night!

My strangest observation, however, and another dichotomy, has to be the amount of pollen you see in the air, against all the concrete. Where does it come from? And yet, strangely, I'm fine; clearly it isn't ragweed. If this turns, I will be miserable.

* * *

April 20, 2011

It's so warm. Unseasonably so -- by ten to fifteen degrees Celsius, according to a gentleman at the train station. We haven't packed for it, but we'll happily make do with the shorts we have.

First, to the Grand Place to witness its transformation to a garden centre; oh, to be here for the flower carpet. Then, to the boot sale/flea market in Vossenplein Square. So many old board games, Tintin books, paintings and records. After a snack on the patio of a bordering cafe, we're off to the Cantillon brewery and museum.

We almost missed the place, it's large, wooden warehouse doors are so unassuming. The front area, for there's no room to speak of, opens to the basement where they clean the barrels, so our first smells are heavily laced with a dampness, and mustiness, just under the expected yeasts. I was immediately a boy, back in the Bussey's basement before they'd finished it. I have good memories of summer explorations there, the coolness welcome after the midday heat. (Little wonder I lose days in secondhand bookshops.)

All are free to wander; the only tour is the pamphlet they provide. Once you've finished exploring, it's back to the 'bar' at the front for samples of their gueuze and kriek (flavoured with cherries or raspberries). The spontaneous fermentation that is at the heart of these lambic beers is a hefty subject, but all can appreciate the "holy" cooling tun, where wild yeasts and bacteria living in the Senne river valley are allowed to blow over its open top; pictures of the resulting foaming barrels really do appear miraculous.

I bought a bottle of their Grand Cru, and a bottle of Gueuze Boon at de Bier Tempel shortly thereafter [before I realized that Favourite Beers, in town, stocks the latter; Leigh has a fantastic selection of Belgian beers].

We walked back such that we'd pass the Manneken Pis, to see the little guy, yes, but also because the GBG Belgium recommends the pub next door: Poechenellekelder. We enjoyed a few lambics -- Girardin Gueuze 1882 for me, and some faros for the ladies (sweetened with sugar and caramel vice fruit, normally) -- as the ebb and flow of Pis lovers washed over the patio area. Make sure you go inside, should you have the chance: the puppetry displays are amazing (and a little unsettling, if I'm honest).

A bit tuckered out from the walking, we elected to have a kip before supper and further exploring. Sushi delivered by train was the consensus later that night, followed by another recommendation: Delirium. I don't know how many different bars they have in that place, but be warned: the menus -- books, really -- are different for each. While the ladies sampled various fruity Floris options, I went for a Rulles Estivale, followed by a Grande. The place was hoppin', and we enjoyed checkin' in periodically with the marine, Paul, and his friends as they attempted to meet every person and beer on offer.

* * *

April 21, 2011: Ghent

Leaving Brussels for Flanders, you quickly realize that the guides aren't exaggerating: it's a different country. I'd never considered that I should've felt many reminders of our trip to Bruges by this time. I hadn't -- other than the Grand Place, as stated -- until we went to Ghent. The French of Brussels gives it a familiar feel to anyone who's spent time in the Outaouais region. Both Bruges and Ghent, however, while very welcoming, are clearly foreign when it comes to communicating. And, much like Czech, I found that the limited Dutch in our guides was useless without pronunciation details.

Our pace to date is beginning to show: in between nodding off on the train, I looked over at Tea and noticed a red fleck on her eyelid. Confused, I made many pawing attempts for it before concluding, "It looks like you have cheese wax on your eyelid." This kicked off many waves of overtired hysterics before we reached our destination.

The entrance of Sint-Pieters station is truly beautiful. After a few minutes of gaping and snapping pictures, we eventually found a working vending machine and bought tram tickets to town. Not even half a dozen stops later, we were in the heart of gob-smacking Ghent: the Graslei. Based on yet another recommendation from the GBG Belgium, we made our way straight to the Belga Queen, securing a table on the patio while lunch was still on.

We saw many disappointed groups turned away as we supped on delicious steak and lamb, and, in my case, many glasses of unfiltered Palm. Belga Queen was a footnote in my guide -- with a joke about the communal toilets with translucent doors (prior to locking) -- but I cannot recommend it highly enough: the staff were so friendly and helpful, and the food was the best to date [and of the whole trip, looking back].

Next, we stopped at the tourist information centre in Sint-Baafs, and picked up a recommended walk. Happily, it intersected with another recommendation, Dulle Griet or 'Mad Meg', named after the cannon of the same name in the square known as Friday Market. I witnessed the famous basket being raised to the roof, only later learning that they ransom shoes to ensure tabs are settled. [Correction: Tea has informed me that the shoes are actually collateral for a particular beer that's served in a very expensive glass. Ah, Belgians and their custom glasses.]

A few more stops, for ice cream, and the famous Tierenteyn-Verlent mustard --

"What types of mustard do you have?"
"We have our mustard."
"Ah... I'll take two jars then."

And we were back for sunset on the Graslei, a sight I'll never forget. On the way back to Sint-Pieters, we walked through the beautiful Citadel Park, and the immense Sint-Pietersplein (St. Peter's Square). As it was on the way, and uniquely situated on a moored houseboat, we took in one final recommendation -- De Planck -- and some of their own 'huisbier'.

* * *

April 22, 2011: Brussels again

With the ladies shopping, I find myself with some time at À la Mort Subite, intriguingly referred to as possibly "the best surviving fin de siècle long bar on the planet" by the handy GBG. It means "in sudden death" and is named after a card game, I gather. While reading about all sorts of Belgian beers and breweries -- the outrage at Flemish institution, Hoegaarden, temporarily becoming "a Wallonian lager" is a favourite -- I sampled Lefebvre's Hopus, a beer of the month that was pleasant, with currant notes; the bar's gueuze "sur lie", which was tastier than the stuff I bought in the grocery; and Alken-Maes' Hapkin. (Incidentally, Alken-Maes owns the Mort Subite line, and have been bought out by Heineken.)

After lunch on "kebab street" -- as it's called in Use-It Europe, Tourist Info for Young People, a neat map with commentary that Tea found -- near Grand Place, we spent some time in the comic strip museum before hitting up one last recommendation: Bier Circus. I have another book on beers of the world that includes three tours of beer meccas, one of which happens to be for Brussels; it chooses to end at Bier Circus. I take that to be a (well deserved) compliment. (Although I guess some could say that few would remember it then.)

Oddly enough, it's where my evening ended as well. But before that, with rain threatening, I finally sampled Geuze Boon Mariage Parfait -- and it really was -- with the ladies, wondering whether the nearby film crew would get their shot before the skies opened. When they did, I enjoyed a Rochefort 10 inside.

All was fine 'til, standing, we noted that the rain still had an edge. U2's Rattle and Hum is playing on the television too at this point, and I'm shocked to realize that while I've listened to the album hundreds of times, I've never seen the footage that accompanies the candid interviews between the tracks. It was so obvious that the barman came up behind me, saying, "You don't have to leave."

Another then. And what do I choose? De Dochter van de Korenaar's Embrasse is on special. Oh, so beautiful, but at 9% and 66 cl, not a nightcap. I was fine -- Tea and Kae support... u'm, no, back me up on this -- 'til we hit the stairs of our apartment -- the many, many stairs -- at which point, with the blood a-pumpin' through my veins, I had myself a little sit down. The ladies then went shopping for one of those five-minute hours, returning with pizzas for themselves and a kebab for me. One bite of that wrapped napalm later, I packed it in.

Up next: Amsterdam

If you're interested in more pictures, there are 90 between our Picasa albums of Brussels and Ghent.

Puttin' the Kae in UK

Kae's visiting again! Woo hoo!

Trooper that she is, after much excitement and a big breakfast, the three of us then went shopping in Gloucester. Well, Tea and Kae shopped, for our imminent tour of Belgium and the Netherlands, while I'll kicked back in the New Inn with a book and a pint. I got chatting with a local, Don -- thanks, again, to the Roots swag I picked up in January; that stuff is aces for starting conversations about Canada -- who'd visited a fair bit of our beautiful country.

Many of the old travel guides I've been reading lately reference rail lines that no longer exist, including the old Honeybourne Line, which Don remembered from his college days, travelling from his home, then, in South Wales, to Cheltenham. I said that our rail network pales in comparison to theirs, and while he agreed, he said it's as the modern system does to that of his youth, when, for example, Cheltenham had three stations, and there were twice as many stations along his route to the college.

He and his family visited Canada in 2008, and had planned that part of the journey would be by rail. When they got to the station in Toronto, they learned that some signalling error had caused a derailment, and that Via was now putting buses on. (Their destination was Montreal.) Coincidentally, this was in late July, and they'd just learned about the terrible fate of Tim McLean. None of them slept a wink on that leg.

Overall, they really enjoyed Canada, though. They got to see Niagara, Toronto, Ottawa, Quebec City and Montreal during their time there. I was surprised by what impressed him the most about our country, however: how apologetic the French Canadians they met were about their poor English. He said it was just so unexpected and genuine.

As I packed up to move on, he said I could come back and visit him at his 'office' any time. I love the New Inn!

From there, with the girls still occupied, I moved to another pub I'd been meaning to try: Dick Whittington's. Like the New Inn, it is also a historic building. I was surprised to find, in Darrel's book, The Story of Gloucester's Pubs, that the pub had suffered from poor management recently. I strongly suspect that's no longer the case, as the publican who served me was very friendly and generous with bar snacks. He also had an excellent spread of real ales on, including two from the Great Western Brewing Company, which I'd never tried before. Excellent stuff.

* * *

The next day -- a very special one for Tea -- we decided to go to Birmingham, for a day out and supper at Jamie's Italian. While standing around at our train station wondering why there were only buses on, who should appear before us but Matt, picking up his tickets for Edinburgh in a week's time. Having nothing better to do, he agreed to join us, on what would now be our drive to B'ham (for the first time).

The trip was seamless -- surprising, considering we were driving in the second biggest city in the UK -- and, as happened the day before, the girls soon left me -- with company this time! -- agreeing to meet at Jamie's later.

Aside: prior to splitting up, we'd all been shocked to discover a wide range of 'American' foodstuffs at the Food Hall of beautifully-designed Selfridges store in the Bull Ring: we're talkin' Jif and Skippy peanut butter (from Ohio!), Aunt Jemima pancake mix, Lucky Charms, a whole 'American baking' section... The list goes on. How the heck we've been ignorant of this mecca for so long is beyond me.

You'll no doubt be shocked to learn that we found ourselves at a pub shortly thereafter. First, the Wellington, which was much calmer than the last time I'd been there, and then the Anchor again. The highlight of the afternoon was definitely Beowulf's Killer Stout, which we wisely consumed as half-pints (7.9% ABV).

Eventually we found our way to Jamie's -- much later than the girls, we learned, sitting in the Anchor. Having had to walk by the patio at Jamie's to get from the Wellington to the Anchor, both Matt and I somehow failed to notice them waving at us. Ahem! A few missed calls and texts later, we sheepishly finished up our pints. Thankfully Jamie's wasn't busy, so we were quickly sat, once we'd made our way back -- and only ten times off our agreed time, I must add!

You must (must) be tired of hearing this by now, but, yet again, Jamie's failed to disappoint. In fact, my special of pork loin with beetroot and basil that had been honey-glazed and roasted, was one of the best dishes I've had to date. We got the antipasti plank again, and the bread selection; just a fantastic spread. This was Matt's first time at a Jamie's, and I'm sure he'll be bringing the family to one when they're over for a visit.

All in all, a great weekend. Now, off to pack!

Up next: Brussels

Birmingham: Back to Jamie's

With a rainy Saturday developing, we decided, on a whim, to take the train to Birmingham, for a bit of shopping and a meal at Jamie's Italian. Happily, we were under blue skies before long, enjoying the bustle of the Bull Ring. There's such an energy in that city, and in the open market especially; the air's a-buzz with it, the shouts of the vendors hawking their produce or auctioning off their cuts of meat coming over the top.

We put our name in at Jamie's Italian, and with an estimated wait of forty minutes, took their pager for a stroll. We came upon a fantastic find then: a bin, outside a lingerie shop of all things, filled with old water jugs advertising various breweries, £2 a pop. We picked up five, for less than we've paid for one in the past.

Shortly thereafter the pager went off. I'm happy to say that the Birmingham location is yet another example of the stellar standards we've come to expect from Jamie's. I went with their specials exclusively this time: a golden beetroot soup to start, followed by crab and risotto cakes with a fennel salad. Both were superb; simply superb. The only way the crab cakes could've been any better was if they'd included a few more tangerine segments -- maybe one per cake -- vice the one. Such an amazing blend of flavours. Tea's mushroom panzerotti was the same; probably more so, in fact.

Finally, while we were initially disappointed to learn that our beloved lemon polenta cake is a seasonal offering, the waiter was absolutely correct: the chocolate, raspberry and amaretto brownie with bourbon vanilla ice cream was truly to die for. And I don't normally make a fuss about the bill, but I think it's important that I highlight how affordable Jamie's is: all that, plus their fabulous selection of breads, a bruschetta starter, 1.5 litres of their lovely house red, and tea and coffee only cost £64. At the risk of officially joining their marketing team, I'll reiterate a sentiment I've blogged before: this is some of the best food I've eaten out; ever. And I've paid a lot more than that for meals of similar composition.

Pleasantly full, it was time for a bit of shopping. The last train home was around half nine, so we stopped up with enough time for a pint. Tea's CAMRA app. pulled through again, pointing out the wonderful Anchor Inn, just down the road from the Bull Ring. I'd recommend it for the atmosphere and friendly staff alone, but the list of real ales they had on pushes it to legendary status in my books. And it seemed to be a local favourite too, with lots of folks -- a range of ages at that -- havin' a good time.

The same could be said of the Royal Union, where we finished the night, back in town. It was good to see. We've decided Robin needs to let the dogs come down and mingle more, though.

As always, we've created a Picasa album with more pictures from the afternoon and evening.

Hay-on-Wye: Book town of Wales (and my heart)

Walking in on Friday, we decided it was time for another mini-break. That evening we booked The Swan in Hay-on-Wye for following night. While the weather the next morning wasn't as good as the forecast, it steadily improved as we made our way west. Only fog awaited us as we checked in early and set about exploring Hay.

With rain threatening, we kept the walk short, down by the lively Wye river. Benches dedicated to fellow lovers of the British countryside could be seen all along the trail, and we took advantage of one part-way, enjoying the view and those smells you only get near fast-moving water.

The reviews Tea had read said the Swan's food was a bit poncey, and the fab Blue Boar was just across the road to boot, so guess where we ended up for lunch. Their food was excellent -- a beef burger for Tea and cottage pie (think shepherd's pie) for me -- and while their namesake IPA was a bit bland, the Landlord more than made up for it.

Bellies full, it was time to see what Hay is famous for: books, books and more books. I've never seen so many shops in such a small town. And some of them are so specialized -- on botany and ornithology, children's books, nineteenth century British authors... Honestly, that's three different bookshops -- you wonder how they can survive. In a word, or phrase, Hay Festival: tens of thousands of visitors flood the town with one thought on their mind: reading.

I won't bore you with my amazing finds -- including the ones I left on the shelves; it's easy to spend well in excess of a thousand pounds on one book, in case you're wondering why I wouldn't satisfy my every whim -- but the highlight of the day was certainly the illustrated edition of Voltaire's Candide by Peter Pauper Press, hardcover in a slipcase. Beautiful!

We decided to rest up a bit before supper. Back in the hotel room, I took in some of the FA Cup fifth round play, very impressed with how non-league Crawley Town fared against Man U. -- that's right: a team effectively four leagues below the team at the top of the Premier League, and, in the end, they were beaten by but one goal. Incredible.

We'd heard the Old Black Lion was the best restaurant in town, and we were lucky enough to get a table without a reservation... Just. The locals were so friendly, first offering us their seats while we waited for a table, and then one gentleman finished early, taking his digestif to the pub area, so that we might have his table sooner. Such a great atmosphere, before I even touch on the fabulous food: a T-bone steak for Tea, and a starter of duck, followed by braised lamb shank for me; superb! Plus, they had the Wye Valley's own Butty Bach on hand-pump! Love that stuff.

The next morning, after a big, tasty full English at the Swan, it was out for a proper hike, south toward the Hay Bluff. The weather was great again, but it had rained overnight, making it easily our muddiest walk to date. Thank goodness for wellies, is all I have to say; well, thank that and balance I summoned from the depths, hauling one boot out while another sank up to my shin, over and over again for a stretch. And I was grinnin' like an idiot, brought back thirty years in one afternoon.

The pig farm was another highlight: these big sows snuffling over to the fence (thinking we had food, no doubt) and scratching themselves on saplings the size of my forearm. Oh, and I can't forget the wee lambs, still trying to master the trick of standing up for seconds at a time. And if walking through all these farms doesn't give you a flavour for life here, every farmhouse we passed had a stool out front with cartons of their eggs and a tin for the money. Stepping back in time would approximate the feeling for some, I guess, but I've never known life like this. Period. It's heaven to me; plain and simple.

After a light lunch at the Blue Boar -- why mess with a good thing? -- it was time for more shopping. I had visions of popping 'round to many different shops, but that was before we entered the phenomenon of Hay Cinema Bookshop. It's pretty much a TARDIS. An old converted theatre, it just keeps going on and on, gobbling up afternoons like kids' sweets. Again, I won't bore you with all that made up our two shopping bags' full. For me, the highlights were N. C. Wyeth's Pilgrims, and a beautiful edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, illustrated by Peter Weevers (although Tea also got some great photography manuals).

The day quickly getting away from us, we decided to hit the road. We still wanted to stop in Ross-on-Wye on the way back, and by the smaller roads that really shouldn't be travelled after sunset. 'Cause it was on the map, we did take one detour: to Arthur's Stone, dented by the elbow of a giant slain by Arthur, according to legend. The kids who were biking away as we arrived didn't seem so impressed, jumping up 'n' down on the neolithic burial chamber moments before. (I leave the mutters and grumblings of "no respect..." and "tanned hides..." as an exercise for the reader.)

We caught the last of the light as we pulled off at Ross-on-Wye. We'll definitely be back, as some of the walks beside the river looked absolutely idyllic. As it was, we stopped in The Mail Rooms for a few pints -- New Moon is an excellent dark, incidentally -- and tea for Tea. When we learned they'd run out of Sunday roast -- of any sort! -- it was down to the Seven Seas for kebabs; super messy, but delish!

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the weekend.

New Year's in Prague

Well, before I start on our trip to Prague, just a few words about our Christmas: it was nice 'n' quiet, with plenty of delicious turkey and roasted veg leftovers -- Tea cooked her big meal on Christmas Eve, which they get off here -- mulled wine and cheesy movies. On Boxing Day we were on our way to Telford and then Newcastle to watch Newcastle United vs. Manchester City live! -- Robbie and Lill got us amazing seats, and the atmosphere in St. James' Park was top notch: the 52000 in attendance birthed this undulating roar that was unlike anything I'd experienced, even at the fantastic matches in Dublin the summer past -- and celebrate Jan's birthday; and, man, I knew her Stan was one-of-a-kind, but there's no half measures with any of the Geordies I met: tons of elaborate 'fancy dress' costumes and things still in full swing when we left in the wee-ish hours.

Tuesday, December 28

Luckily we'd padded our schedule with a day between Newcastle and our flight out of Bristol, as the M1 was pretty much a parking lot for large swathes of the 27th. With an early afternoon flight, we got plenty of sleep, even after a late night of packing. This was our first time on EasyJet, which was much like the other discount airlines (if a bit dirtier, to be honest, although, hey, it could've been worse with how quickly they turn around those planes).

Prague Airport is a ways out of the city, and that, combined with my poor direction sense, particularly at night, and the strange currency, had me a bit worried as the cab ride stretched on. 700 Czech koruna may seem like a lot, but it's really only about £23. (I was just starting to get the hang of converting that on the fly as we left.) After quickly dropping our bags, it was time to meet Ron and Michelle, fellow Canadians coincidentally in for Ronnie's big birthday, near the Prague Orloj, or Astronomical Clock, which was just a few blocks from our hotel. The first of many meals of goulash, chased with much pivo (pretty much all the Czech you need, incidentally) of various sorts, followed.

Wednesday

Prague Castle, or simply 'the hrad' to the locals, topped Ron 'n' Michelle's list for their last day, so we agreed to meet them up there after a fantastic breakfast in our hotel's cellar. (You can see a number of advertisements around town for pubs and restaurants in these cellars, and it's definitely a neat experience.) The hrad grounds stretched on and on; standing in the beautiful St. Vitus Cathedral, you could be forgiven for forgetting you're still within its walls. At minus 10°C, we soon needed some mulled wine, as we admired the icicles hanging from the mouths of the cathedral's gargoyles -- "Ice vomit!" as Tea so eloquently put it.

Michelle wanted to pick up some art, so we shopped our way back to town, over the famous Charles Bridge. (I've seen pictures of it in the summer, and I have to say, even then, there was something so right about it set against grey clouds, snow resting on its 30 statues.) I know many would call the galleries and little stands along that stretch touristy, but I was really impressed with the quality of the watercolours and ink drawings I saw; probably the most beautiful and varied I've seen of what you would consider readily available to the casual buyer.

Shopping's thirsty work, so we decided to stop at the Hotel U Zlatého Stromu's heated patio for some refreshments. Well, one look at probably one of the best menus I've ever seen (in terms of presentation) quickly pushed this well beyond even our substantial definition of a 'snack': check out Page 72 for a glimpse of Ronnie's skewer from the gods. More than sated, we resumed shopping, determined to rebuild our appetites for the amazing ham sandwiches at the Christmas markets -- reminiscent of the "slab o' ham" sandwiches from Cologne... Boy, do they know how to cook good pig in that part of the world!

While I think I preferred the Christmas markets in Cologne overall, one area where the Prague markets excelled -- and the old town square market, in particular -- was the live entertainment. The traditional (what I would call medieval) instruments, lighting that didn't drown out that of the big tree and stalls, and plenty of room for all to gather round really made for an immersive experience. (I recorded this sound clip by the stage.)

Speaking of medieval, later, when looking for somewhere to warm up and have a few, we happened upon such a themed restaurant. Initially, only the bar held our interest, but as late afternoon became evening, we learned that they were putting on a show later in the basement. Well, expecting something along the lines of Medieval Times, I was really impressed by the quality of the entertainment -- excellent musicians, belly dancers (carrying snakes and juggling flaming torches at different times throughout the show) and swordplay -- and the food; more food than we could eat, in fact. (I recorded these excerpts right from my seat.)



Thursday

We decided to skip the hotel breakfast in favour of an epic lie-in. In typical fashion, the idea came to us that New Year's at the Prague State Opera's gala event, Johann Strauss’ operetta Die Fledermaus, would be fun. However, we didn't bring any nice clothes with us, so, after a breakfast of klobasa from the old town square Christmas market, it was off to buy new outfits; Tea was crushed, of course.

The stores were surprisingly quiet for that time of year. We completed our mission in record time, I thought, and was particularly tickled that Tea found such a beautiful dress. After dropping our shopping in the hotel room, we decided to try the restaurant, Rainer Maria Rilke, right next door. It was a beautiful place, if a bit drafty, and the owner was very accommodating. I had roasted duck -- his grandmother's recipe! -- and Tea had salmon. So tasty!

New Year's Eve

Since this was the last day of the Christmas markets, we spent some time picking up a few gifts, and stuffing ourselves on the treats, of course. I think it's safe to say Tea's favourite was the trdelnik, which is a spiral of dough wrapped around a roller (called a trdlo), sugared and cooked over open coals. Very addictive!

It started to snow as we wandered 'new town', so we stopped in Branická Formanka for lunch. The place was packed, with only reserved tables open. However, as the Good Beer Guide Prague stated, it's always good to ask: we found a table that was apparently reserved special for us. Our waiter was very friendly, actually (which is unusual for Prague, incidentally). Good goulash and beer followed, then it was back to the hotel for a kip before the big night.

I'd reserved a taxi to the State Opera House for 6:30 p.m., but found, once we were in the lobby, it was the hotel driver who would be taking us. And then he offered to pick us up at a time of our choosing! No mad hunt for a cab on New Year's in Prague, apparently. The Opera House was absolutely breath-taking; the ceiling and balconies were so beautifully detailed.

Tea and I felt perfectly at ease amongst the well-dressed crowd -- thank goodness we'd shopped! They had an open bar, which was a nice touch, and as I was reading the English summary of the operetta, beer in hand, Tea struck up a conversation with a Dutch couple nearby.

When the operetta started, I surprised to see a large flat-screen above the stage, for the Czech and English subtitles as it turned out. (The operetta was performed in German.) I think there was a large French contingent behind us, as you could hear their translations -- presumably for their non-polyglot or short-sighted members -- in the quieter moments. (That, and there was an enormous cheer when the cast got to "Bonne année!" at midnight.)

After the first act, the buffet was served. Oh - my. Let's just say we were foolish to attempt to queue for what descended to a free-for-all. (It brought to mind a music video from ages past where everyone was in tuxedos and gowns to begin with, all prim and proper, only to become something like bipedal zoo animals by the end for reasons that escape me -- please comment below if this rings a bell, as it's bugging me and my Google-fu is weak.)

As Act III came to a close, champagne was passed 'round the audience, the cast toasting the new year with us in an astounding number of languages. Then, over the course of no more than twenty minutes, the orchestra pit was raised to meet the stage, thus creating a large dance floor. During the first few numbers, as couples slowly made their way to the front, there was one real stand-out: you could tell this couple had been dancing together for many, many years, and there wasn't a step they didn't know. Simply mesmerizing, as they made use of the still-sparsely-populated dance floor. But then it was packed, and stayed so as we shared a final drink with that Dutch couple, before saying our goodbyes around 2 a.m. I'm sure that place was hopping 'til the moment it was scheduled to finish, an hour after that.

A quick New Year's skype with Tea's family, and then it was time for bed.

New Year's Day

The hotel had humanely extended the hours of breakfast; after taking advantage, we set out to check some last spots off our list: Obecni Dum, and the Alphonse Mucha (pronounced MOO-ka) museum. (I'm embarrassed to admit that, while being a fan of his art for many years, I didn't realize he was Czech. A happy surprise, I can assure you.) We both really enjoyed the museum: the layout was excellent -- and beautiful, of course. There were many pieces I hadn't seen, and themes to others that I'd never picked up on. The documentary was also very well done. We came out of there with laden arms, in search of sustenance.

Another item on the list -- well, let's be frank: my list -- was a 'tankovna' or tank pub, where they serve unpasteurised pilsner (mostly Pilsner Urquell in Prague) from these polyester-lined steel tanks. Bredovský dvůr was my first choice, as the GBG Prague also highlighted its honey-glazed ribs. And with good reason! They were absolutely amazing! (Although Tea 'n' I probably could've shared an order.) The Pilsner Urquell was also excellent -- could I pick it out from the stuff for export if I was blindfolded? I honestly think so. The difference in the 'nose' and depth of flavours is significant.

Wandering the city the day before, we'd been handed a number of flyers for various concerts, either on New Year's Eve or early in the new year. We'd made the decision to go to the New Year's concert in the Clam-Gallas Palace, featuring Vivaldi's Four Seasons, as well as selections by Mozart, Dvorak, Pachelbel and Telemann. We left Bredovský dvůr with just enough time to make the 6 p.m. start.

Clam-Gallas Palace is famous for a number of reasons, including hosting a concert by Ludwig van Beethoven himself, as well as a ball that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart attended. Sitting in that intimate room, which honestly held little more than fifty guests -- a private concert, really, in other words -- so ornate (thinking of the Opera House again), and with that history in mind... Well, good G**, even I can't fail to grasp that I've really arrived: the Europe I've always dreamed of is before me.

I don't mind telling you that that ten-piece string orchestra's performance of Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D brought me to tears; and flowing ones at that. The whole concert, certainly less than an hour, was unbelievable, really. A violin soloist, Lucie Hulova, according to the programme, took the floor a few times, and her performance of Winter (I don't know which movement of Concerto No. 4 specifically) in particular opened my eyes to: 1) the leeway they have in performing these pieces, as she sprinkled little... quarter notes, I would imagine, throughout, and 2) what true passion can bring to a performance -- particularly when you standing barely 15 feet from the musician!

If you haven't guessed by now, I would have to put this in the Top 3 concerts of my life; if weighted with ticket price, at the equivalent of £15 per person, it shoots to #1, easily. And, as I said, we had our pick of these concerts without even trying. What an absolutely amazing city!

We finished off the evening at the nearby pub, U Zeleneho stromu. They had pretzels at the table, hanging off these neat little trees, and more unpasteurised Pilsner Urquell. At some point an entry on their beer menu caught my eye: Master Special 18°, which doesn't mean 18%, by the way, but rather is the percentage of malt sugar present before fermentation. Still, generally speaking, the bigger the number, the stronger the beer. This was brought home to me when I ordered it, "Is a strong beer, yeah?" was the waitress' reply. Well, holy tootin', she wasn't kidding. A beautiful dark, it was so much smoother than I'd expected. In truth, I nursed it, because with every swallow I could feel its punch. I defy anyone to have three of those in a night and make it home under their own steam.

Sunday

Our flight wasn't scheduled 'til the early afternoon, so we took the opportunity to go a-wanderin'. We ended up outside the hrad main gate as the changing of the guard was finishing; quite the production, especially under the gaze of those battling titans.

Then it was back to the hotel to pick up our bags, after lunch at the nearby Prazsky most brewpub. All in all, a fantastic trip. Tea's already talking about returning in 2011, which suits me fine.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.