Cesky Cesky Cesky Cesky yeah

Trip Start Apr 12, 2006
Trip End Ongoing

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Saturday, July 1, 2006

After consuming enough calcium last night to strengthen 100 femurs and ward off arthritus until my final days, the potency of those bloody Kangaroo cocktails pretty much wrote off my morning entirely. I arose some minutes before twelve and took comfort in the fact that it was overcast and sleety outside, and that a day of cosiness and lethargy were totally justified. Made meself a large pot of coffee, had a chat to some randoms in the hostel, then tuned out for a couple of hours with an acoustic guitar in hand, finally reunited with the six strings that i used to rock on out so much back home. After getting some chops back on the axe, as well as the fingertip callouses that smoothen over from lack of guitar wielding, i trotted on down in my thongs along the cobbled streets, past the elevated view of the castle in the foreground, the river and pitched medieval houses lined along the banks below, and hooked up with the harem of ladies, who appeared considerably worse off than me. These bloody kangaroos had taken their toll across the board. Everyone except Therese got up at the unseasonably vicious hour of eight to check out the sights, so the two of us headed off in the mid arvo to do the same, as the others attempting to purge their hangovers via a series of nana naps.

Cesky Castle is one of the most impressive tourist sights i'd come across to date. With a huge protruding, ornate pinkish tower emanating as the centrepiece, the body of the castle spans a large width along the riverbank cliff and maintains its' original 'medieval' impression with restored grace. The Cesky Castle is pretty much the drawcard for this little town, the crowning glory of a village that really doesn't look like it's changed much at all since the good ol days days of knights, busty wenches, moats, swords and chivalry. Strolling through the immaculate hedge lined gardens, through a forest of tall oaks to the lilypad pond at the edge of the property, the area was a fantastic spot to see, roam about in and take in the rich history. We checked out a small sculpture exhibition in the depths of the castle quarters, cold, dank, dimly lit and windy down into the undergroud. The walk up the castle towers was also extremely impressive, if not a little harsh on the beleaguered carcass, offering an fine 360 degree view of the entire village and its hilly surroundings.

Walked Therese back to their hostel and agreed to meet up again later on for some dinner. I returned to the awesome vibe and good times of Krumlov House in the mean time, jamming out on the axe some more and trying to fashion some rock hits for the impending return to my home country and the birth of the next greatest musical act of all time. Got chatting to a couple of blokes from Melbourne, would you believe - Paul from Northcote and the guy in charge of the hostel, Matt, who hailed from North Carlton. We all agreed that Melbourne was second to none in livability and culture, and we all look forward to being back home soon enough.

For a change, i went down to a local pub called 'La Boheme' and threw down a pint of 'Bernard', ogling the England-Portugal soccer match on the projector screen and still feeling like a bit of a deadshit from last nights bollocking. I did go for a run today though, so give us a bit of credit. Met up with the harem of chicks after the beer, and joined them for a bite to eat at a great little vegetarian place literally on the banks of the Vltava river, run by a sheepish looking bloke who resembled Steve Irwin if he ever went hippy. Enjoyed a couple more beers and sparkling repartee with the chicks, learning a great deal about the plight and needs of women, and coming perilously close to growing a set of breasts myself. The evening fell darker upon us on our outdoor wooden bench table, as the illuminated pink-red Castle tower loomed large above us directly across the water. It got chilly, and we moved on, up to the castle quarters to check out some Baroque festival that was on there tonight. Not only was it exhorbitantly expensive, but it was just about to finish anyway, so we'd missed our window. Sat by the castle gates, talked a little more, then walked back through the hazy night streets, past ajar wooden doors and momentary scenes of bearded Krumlovians enjoying pints and debauchery with their fellow villagers. The medieval vibe is no less abundant at night, in fact, evermore present than in the daytime. I farewelled my harem, retired as pimp, and pranced up through the main town square, up along cobbled roads to my hostel on the hill. Over a cup of the cheapest nastiest wine that Europe had to offer, rivalling even the deplorable 1 Euro effort back in Amalfi, I whiled the evening away with a fierce game of Pictionary with five girls from the States, then hit the hay 'pon Midnight, and dreamed until morning.
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