Somewhere in Germany

Last night we wandered into Prague – we took the tram from just outside our campsite (which is run by the most lovely people and their big dogs – we seem to run into animals wherever we go…) We found our way towards the main square in the Staré Mesto (all Czech names are entirely unpronounceable) and saw the astrological clock and the surrounding buildings (This being the square in which Tom Cruise blew up an aquarium restaurant and ran away from the baddies in Mission: Impossible) and then took a trip along the historical Charles Bridge. In Staré Mesto we had seen beautiful churches, large squares, narrow alleyways and sprawling buildings reminiscent of Rome, but crossing the river and looking up the hillside to the huge palaces and cathedrals lit up in the darkness – this was something entirely unique.

We then went in search of the John Lennon wall (I’d been Wikipedia-ing in the van before) and with the clue from one of the campsite ladies that it was near the French embassy, we set off. We found the Serbian embassy near the Charles bridge, then the Japanese, Maltese and American embassies before asking two nearby policemen who pointed us in the right direction.

We found the French embassy (I was a little worried that the British embassy wasn’t easier to find) and across from it was the John Lennon wall. It looks, in the half light of street-lamped late evening light a soot-blacked old wall with a couple of stray pieces of graffiti, curiously left to read. As you get closer you see that the entire wall is nothing but graffiti built upon graffiti, with pictures of the former Beatle alongside excerpts of his lyrics, peace symbols, etc. There is even a sculpture of his face set out of the wall, and a hanging ban-the-bomb symbol made of branches. A bizarre sight in a beautiful old city. The group that owns the section of historic wall allow the graffiti to exist there and be added to. In 1988 the authorities tired of it and painted over the slogans and pictures. In two days it was already covered in pictures of flowers and messages.

Today, we are appreciating the Autobahns. The kind of roads that speed you along, and are so smooth you can still sleep through them. As long as you aren’t driving, of course. We should arrive in Wiesbaden, near Frankfurt around 3pm today. (We are only one hour ahead now, of course. We sorted the whole ‘time’ lark out pretty well, didn’t we?)

We stay in Wiesbaden tonight, either France, Belgium or Germany on Friday, near Calais on Saturday, and we catch a Eurotunnel train then drive home late Sunday morning.

Austro-Czech Border

It has been longer than I would like since our last post. We have not slipped off the continent, we are still battling through, I assure you.

Romania seemed like an ever-so-slightly tiresome film to some of us. To others it felt like we had already seen it once, and now we were watching it reverse.

Certainly it felt as if someone had their finger on the pause button from Brasov to Cluj. A short day's journey via Sibiu, the European city of culture was slowed to a crawl by on-the-kilometre-every-kilometre roadworks. The road was falling back into the earth.

When we did get to Sibiu we ate Mcdonalds, having driven through what looked like an industrial park. We were told that we had ‘missed’ the old town. Then we remembered that Liverpool had been a European city of culture. We drove on.

We stayed once more at Cluj Napoca; enjoying a meal in the restaurant that was run by the Dutch couple who owned the campsite.

Leaving Romania into Hungary was a breeze compared to leaving Romania for Moldova – as Romania is in the EU. Member states apparently feel that ‘whatever our neighbour has, we’ve already got’.

In Hungary we met the Tőroks, Mark and his mother Monika. We spent an evening at Mark’s uncle’s house. The uncle, Auguste, is an ex-headmaster and he and his wife, Mary showed us around the house that they had designed and built themselves. We ate a beautiful veal stew that had been prepared on an open fire, were offered more ice cream than it is possible to eat, and most of us visited the bathroom ironically decked out in communist memorabilia; red banners, photographs of Lenin and communist manifestos.

We then took wine and conversation in his front room/the Hungarian national library. The final anecdote began, as they all did, like this, “During the soviet era…” and continued:

…a heavy smoker who drank a lot of vodka went to the doctor. The doctor examined him and said that he had good news and bad news.
“Tell me the bad news.”
“We have to take your right lung out.”
“Oh no! What on earth could the good news be?”
“You will have more room for your liver.”

We had a short drive to Vienna yesterday before enjoying a thoroughly inadequate two hours in the city. We did eat fantastic pizzas (right continent, wrong country) and saw the beautiful Stadt park several times, walking between the van and the St. Stephan square, with the most amazingly huge soot-stained church. Stephen (my brother) has been noting with glee the number of European kings and saints of his namesake.

My parents were looking for a hose in Vienna. Our’s barely holds water and takes three people to wind it up. They walked into the Austrian Caravanning and Camping Association shop – a huge affair in a prominent place near St Stephan’s square.

Mark: Have you got any hoses?
Saleswoman: No, you want a camping shop…

Our souvenir fruits pressed on us leaving Moldova will unfortunately not make it home, so we are on the look out for more sturdy souvenirs in Prague today. There is a strange sort of tax-free Disneyland between the border control of Austria and the Czech Republic. We wandered around the factory outlets (drawn to a halt by the Styrofoam castles that tower over the connecting road) and ate crépes. We are now heading toward Prague.