Venice Carnival

After many weeks of planning, mask buying, costume planning and program organising, it was time.

5:30am on a Friday we headed out, all 2 mini-buses (12 people) of us. 6 South Africans, 1 Irish-man, 1 Brit, 2 Americans, 1 Guatemalan, 1 Romanian. A real 'bunch' if ever there was one.

Our first stop was Arco, Lake Garda, for a much needed champagne breakfast. One of many little bleached-white pebbled 'beaches' that surround the enormous lake. The sun was shining, the mountains looked hazy in the background, the water was crystal clear and the food was good.

There were even some little friends who joined in, although I have a small suspicion that they were there for the bread and not the good company...

Luckily, on the way there we overshot the turnoff and the TomTom took us a slightly more scenic route back to our meeting point, along the tiny little back roads through the vineyards, so when, tummies very full, we hit the road again after brunch, there was a very clear silence as everyone drifted off. I tried my very best to stay awake with Frank, the designated d, while we listened to the only 4 cd's we have here (there was no where to plug in an ipod... horror!).

We arrived in Venice in the afternoon, parked our vans in a ticket and boom free parking area (very un-south african!!) and headed off towards the train which would take us across to the island. And then... there we were!

Venice is exactly what you imagined it to be. Gondola's floating by, buildings look worn in the most picturesque of ways. There are people everywhere and pizza places on every corner. Cobbled stoned streets line the waterways and twist through the buildings and the water. Well. Although it is quite possible that if you fall in your skin would sizzle off, it is the most beautiful, milky, teal-y, turquoise.

After wandering around lost for a bit, we found our hotel and had a quick shower and change (By change I mean GLAMOURIZE) for the evenings festivities. You see, we were headed to a BALL!

Unfortunately, due to a military death and subsequent government mourning, the venue was changed (it was meant to be held at the Arsenale's Navy Club) to the Hilton Hotel. Not that I'm complaining! A lot of people were unable to make it so it was relatively empty when we arrived (late) so the story we're going with is that we hired out the 8th floor of the Hilton for Venice Carnival. Naturally.

There was a lovely spread of sea food snacky-things and then lasagne (HOORAY) for dinner, and, of course, limit-less prosecco, which we attacked with full force. (Much to the dismay of the extremely-late people that arrived later.)

However, there is only so much prosecco one can drink, so it was back over the Canale della Giudecca for us to find a bar of sorts with a variation of drinks (that didn't cost 8 Euro each).

I noticed a strange thing in our drunken wandering. Everywhere we went we saw this:

Did we miss a party? Are we a few blocks behind the parade? Why is no one throwing confetti at us? Do we not look fabulous enough? (We were a pretty fabulous looking bunch!)

After being chased out of a bar in San Marco square (most things close around 12) we found ourselves in the very conveniently located bar 'Ginger' across the tiny alleyway from our hotel. One summersault and some stairs to bed? Perfection. Plus the bar man kept giving us extra (free) drinks... although this could be due to his POSSIBLE uuuh, crush? on the Irishman. Possibly...

The next morning Frank and I (amongst the last to leave the party) woke up (well after breakfast) and somehow managed to piece ourselves together in a respectable-ish manner.

We then proceeded to eat our way across Venice in an attempt to 'cure' ourselves and see the sights. Only to wind up back in San Marco Square where we settled in to view the sights with a few bottles of rose.

(Turns out the reason things close so early at night is because people spend all day parading their costumes and are (not surprisingly) too tired to party.)

People mostly dress up in Venetian style costumes but there are the occasional crazies like the Joker and a Sylvester and Tweety I saw, but didn't snap.

After our wine was up we made our way back to the hotel to freshen up before heading off to dinner. Apparently, everyone else was also heading home and we got very lost (and very squashed from time to time). But eventually, with the help of our fellow South Africans, managed to find our way.

We then headed to dinner (conveniently around the corner from our hotel) at a lovely little restaurant where all (now) 18 of us sampled various seafood dishes and pizza's. I had the seafood risotto (trying to stick with the new rule of doing things that make us uncomfortable). After a few bottles of wine and a return to our bar-across-the-alleyway we very definitely summersaulted up to our beds.

Unfortunately for me, while the risotto was an excellent choice during dinner, I woke up saying, "Fish was a baaaaaad choice."

It was a pretty long car ride home but there was a stop at McDonalds when we crossed over into Austria. (This cured me, but left a few other passengers with the McRumbles, shame).

We had a brief stop off at a very strange airport out in the country side to drop off one passenger. A strange airport in a stranger area which I have dubbed 'Skaapstad.' (Due to said passengers concern that he would have to shoo sheep off the runway before they could take off).

Then, it was home.

12 passengers in 2 mini buses, non of us Germans, but all of us very happy to be Home. In Munich.

Czeching Out: Prague

The first thing I noticed about Prague, (given that we drove there) is that the roads, unlike in Germany, have potholes. (The second is that the money is ODD and it will take more that your morning coffee to understand why you got copper coins back when you paid with 100Kr note).

Prague is a little run down in places. It is gritty. Its wounds are raw and it's history is real and recent. It may have been the gloomy clouds hanging over us, it might be my sensitivity to it's history, or just that it is the end of winter and the summer bustle has not yet arrived, in it's hoards. But it was calm, and quiet, and still.

When you stand for a moment, and cut out the obvious sounds like the trams and tourists, and just look out at the Vtlava flowing past, you can feel it. I don't know what it is about that place, but there's SOMETHING in the air that just calms you right down, and opens your eyes to see all the intricate details on every lamp post and building.

Of course, when the sun goes down it's a completely different story.

The pub beyond every second doorway becomes far more visible. The students and contiki-goers transform themselves from earnest sight see-ers to hard-party-ers, and the lights go on.

The Prague winds urge you to Do Something That Makes You Uncomfortable, like drinking Ginger cocktails, climbing trees and dancing till 3am (although this would only make you uncomfortable the next morning when your legs no longer work and there are Things To See).

We stayed at The Mosaic House, which is part of the chain of St Christopher's Inn's. They cater for everyone, 'from backpackers to business men' so you can do the dorm thing or just have a regular hotel room. There is, of course, a big screen for sport, and the area transforms into a little discotheque at night, and then there's the bar that has drinks specials from 6-12pm. And the drinks... they're goooood! My recommendation: a Moscow Mule. (Ginger, ginger ale, lemonade, VODKA, limes).

After a night of hard cocktail drinking, and then dancing on as many of the floors at Karlovy Lazne. 5 floors, each with a different type of music... it was hard work.

Saturday was, therefore, a slightly later start. And we took it slow. Meandering around, over the Bridge of Legions, up on the Petrin tram to behind the castle to see the gardens, 'observation' (as one clever American called it), Petrin tower, Petrin cafe (CAKE), and then around and back down towards the river. Over St Charles bridge and into the Old Town Square where we promptly found ourselves an Irish Pub and settled down.

Well, until we made friends with the Norwegians at the table next to us, piggybacked onto their night of fine dining and spent the night telling tales of Africa. After dinner we found a little place called Hemingways, complete with books and a typewriter and a VERY impressive liquor cabinet. Needless to say, Sunday morning involved a Very Important Pitstop at McDonalds before the drive home could begin.

And that was Prague. Viva La Boheme!

In the absence of my camera cable

I can only share this:
The kids are (attempting) making a fire.
In this short spell of quiet, before their arguing begins again (they
took an extra dose of horrible this morning I think) I am just
breathing in the smoky air and DREAMING a braai, on a nice, cool
afternoon, with nothing else to do but be full.

Please rsvp yes!