The new-found power of two for navigating from airport to hotel was a good thing, as one really only has about half a brain left after flying across the globe for 10 hours watching “The Secret Life of Bees”. We were staying in West Berlin, in a well- and cheerily-run pension with a hostess named Daisy. We had a view of the sun-spotted courtyard. Our duvets were covered in hearts. We took long, satisfying naps. And Daisy smiled at every word. Yes, very cheery here indeed in West Berlin.
In contrast, East Berlin was a much more serious place. We had two full days of sightseeing in this formerly divided city and we spent most of it, as Gina put it, “blowing out our feet in Berlin”. We took in many sights, including the Reichstag, where we temporarily surrendered our picnicking knife to security before touring the terrace with views of the city; the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, where we walked amongst the symbolic pillars and throughout the subterranean information center, wondering at the pure insanity of it all; the Unter den Linden, reportedly a lively, leafy boulevard stroll but in March, well, a bit more like forging across the Arctic tundra (but a refreshing walk nonetheless); the VW Automobil Forum, where we nearly drove away with the new “California Biker” van, the latest in Eurovan technology, if only we’d had an international driver’s license; and Checkpoint Charlie, a highly educational if somewhat touristy display, but well worth it for the history we learned about The Wall and the Cold War.
From Berlin we traveled 3 hours by train to the much smaller town of Gorlitz, located on the Neiss River along the border with Poland. We stayed in what could only be deemed the most authentic pension in town – The Dreibeiniger-Hund, or “Three-Legged Dog”. It’s the type of town and accommodations we would normally find on one of our European biking adventures – slightly off the beaten path, compact, quaint, and essentially tourist-free (ourselves excluded). It’s also apparently one of the many formerly East German towns that have begun embracing capitalism. This was evidenced by the brand new Subway sandwich shop in town. Wanting to do our part to further the capitalistic cause, we ordered a meatball sandwich and washed it down with a Coca Cola Light before crossing the river for a quick stroll through Poland. Given the democratic progress in these former eastern bloc countries in just the past 20 years, Gina is convinced that 30 years from now, we’ll be pulling out the “Rick Steves’ Afghanistan” for planning our next big adventure.
From Gorlitz we caught a morning train to Dresden, where we tossed our luggage into a locker and ambled around the Old Town in search of sites and some fresh air. We found both, from the rebuilt Frauenkirche in the New Market Square to the river-side promenade where we buttoned up our collars once more and wondered what it might be like to be there in the summer with the sidewalks unrolled and the river boats untethered and us, of course, on two wheels instead of two feet. We thought about Judy, a fellow American we had met at our West Berlin pension, who passed through here days before, a golden ticket in hand to visit the Green Vault. She told us we should see it too. We had smiled and said, Yes, we will look into that, all the while not having any idea what the Green Vault was. We have since learned it’s quite the amazing collection of treasury and crown jewels. I think we’d better stick with Tiffany’s.
Dresden was actually just a train-stop on our day, as our ultimate destination was the riverside town of Bad Schandau, less than an hour southeast of Dresden at the base of the Saxon Switzerland National Park. Hopping on the S-Bahn out of town, we picked the two seats next to an inebriated, and bonus – smelly – couple. Moving across the compartment from them created a bit of an international incident, with much profane hand gesturing from the gentleman (and I use that term loosely) followed by some shushing by his slightly less-inebriated wife. Normally we wish we could better understand what people are saying to us in German. In this case, I think it was best that we could not. We joined them for a time on their Drunks on Holiday tour, following them from the Bad Schandau train station to the ferry across the Elbe River to the main town, before leaving them dockside with a hearty hiccup and goodbye.
Bad Schandau was to be all about hiking the beautiful mountain trails and enjoying the local spa. With the name “Saxon Switzerland ” evoking fond memories of the Alps , we were a bit surprised to find that the hiking consisted mostly of walking from one person’s backyard to another’s. Having ridden through Bavaria a few summers ago, where we’d pop out of the woods into a random biergarten, this retrospectively should not have been quite so surprising. We are convinced, however, that this would be a fabulous river valley to bike through come summertime. The spa was also quite interesting. Touting the “Liquid Sound Temple” as its top attraction, we braved the co-ed locker room with our pieced-together swimsuits (let’s just say we only had one to share between us) to “dive into this other world”. And another world it certainly was. The temple – a.k.a., saltwater pool – was a kind of Flower Power meets Altered States. There were bodies floating everywhere. People hanging from the side of the pool by their toes. Old people floating even older people around like slightly surfaced submarines. A Pink Floyd light show was playing on the ceiling to the tunes of an Egyptian marketplace. Weird, man, is all I have to say. It was time to move on to another town.
Having finally mastered how to say hello, goodbye, and the ever-important “do you speak English” in German, we were slightly unnerved on our train from Bad Schandau to Prague to realize that we had no idea how to say anything in Czech. Or read anything in Czech, which doesn’t help when trying to find the exit from the train station. There are many vowels strung together with squiggly marks over them. Quite troubling, like whoever invented the language had the tremors when writing and couldn’t control his pen, leaving errant scratch marks on the page, but then before he knew it, everyone was writing that way. Even more troubling – the currency. Everything is in very large amounts – thousands of crowns – making on-the-spot conversions in one’s head quite complex. Your first thought is “I can’t afford that, it’s thousands of dollars!” But actually, it’s not. It’s more like 63 cents.
Our first few days in Prague were spent poking our way around Old Town, the Little Quarter, and the Castle Quarter. In the Little Quarter, we climbed Prague’s Eiffel Tower, all 400 steps of it, as no trip with Gina to Europe would be complete without sweating your way up some claustrophobic tower stairs to, and I’ll grant her this, the best vistas in town.
The rest of our city tour was primarily at ground level, gawking at cathedrals and castles and the number of other tourists – surprisingly high for the off-season. Yesterday we experienced something not yet seen during our past few years of European travels. When asked by a local shopkeeper where we were from, our reply of “America” was immediately met with a big smile and the words “Ahhh, Obama!” In fact, she was so excited she grabbed pen and paper to write out for us the date of his upcoming trip to Prague . This was a most different – and welcome – response to our being Americans abroad.
Today we took the bus an hour north to the Terezin Concentration Camp. We almost didn’t make it, for we first had to navigate a maze of ticket sellers who spoke no English until finally finding one who could help us. Her words “Hurry, you only have 30 minutes to catch the bus” were initially perplexing. Why would we need to hurry when we’re standing right here at the bus station? It took us a few (wasted) minutes to realize that the bus station we needed to be standing at was two underground subway stations away. This sent us into an Amazing Race frenzy of frantic directions, finger pointings, misunderstood phrases, and a little bit of running, but in the end, we made it. Our navigational troubles were put into perspective (i.e., really no troubles at all) upon arrival at the camp. This is the second camp we have toured and it was even more disturbing than the first. The horrors of these places simply cannot be comprehended and the photos and relics left behind are hard to bear witness to. Never again.
Tomorrow we plan on continuing our pounding of Prague ’s cobblestone streets, visiting the Communist Museum in the New Town, ironically located above a McDonalds. From there, I’m not sure what sights come next, but really, who needs Rick Steves’ self-guided walking tours when you’ve got Gina planning your day?