Dateline: 14.22 25 Aug 1996
Location: Czech Republic, Praha, CKM Juniorhostel
It is now clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that
I do, indeed, have the flu. Everything aches, dizzy, feverish, stuffy nose,
exhausted feeling... only ephedrine keeps me up and running. I just swallowed
my last tablet, so that means I'll have to head over to the pharmacy to
buy some more - a frightening thought due to the energy expenditure involved.
Flu or no flu, I'm leaving on a couchette very early in the morning of
the 27th (01:20, to be precise), so I can only hope this wears off by then...
Being sick makes appreciating anything tough, but sometimes
you run into a sight that simply overruns continual low-grade emergencies
like the flu, as happened today when I passed through the subway station
at Námestí Republiky. One of... hell, the most impressive
piece of Communist architecture I've ever seen. Entrance to the tunnel
is through a loooooong escalator (set to run at warp speed!), down a white,
cylinderical, perfectly geometrical tube lit by orange lights. OK, getting
injected through a gigantic syringe into the bowels of the earth is funky
enough in itself, but what made my jaw drop was the tunnel: the walls were
composed of glass bricks, all somewhat concave and lit from the above with
more of those orange lights, as well as a few ordinary flourescent tubes.
The lights reflected and warped onto the glass blocks, creating elliptical,
oval, spiral, twisty neon shapes along the whole length of the wall...
wow! The rest of the decor was dark, albeit sufficiently well-lit to prevent
stumbling into walls, but the glass wall really stood out. Not even Stockholm's
T-Bana achieved such heights of... imposingness? While the Communists may
have a dismal track record when it comes to keeping things in repair, when
they really set out to do something the results could be like this. A fact
that is, of course, entirely hushed up about in the West, which always
did live in morbid fear of Communism succeeding.
Oh Father, I have sinned. During the last week, I have...
-
exchanged money at an East European train station instead of the bank
-
SHAME ON YOU. REPENT!
-
purchased food and other commodities at small shops, not supermarkets
-
SHAME ON YOU. REPENT!
-
eaten at restaurants in the central and touristy (read: expensive) districts
of town
-
SHAME ON YOU. REPENT!
And, for these grievous crimes against the sanctity of my wallet, a mere
flu is but a mild penance.
Food in Praha remains interesting. At breakfast, I
had another chance to play the always-exciting game of "let's find out
what this stuff whose name consists entirely of accented consonants is",
and later on it was time to get some chow. After deciding that having the
name Lima ("Slime", for you non-Finns) was too bad an omen, I ended up
in the neighboring EuroSpar (yup, the oh-so-trendy euro-prefix is even
more popular on the other side of the Iron Curtain). The award for "most
fascinating Czech product" goes to the guarana drink "Erectus", which comes
in a yellow can bearing an abstract outline of something with two legs
displaying a prominent, well, erectus. It should be noted that another
one of these protuding appendages was sticking out the figure's neck -
make of that what you will. At any rate, after getting past my giggling
fits and buying some "Yo!" orange juice - excuse me, "pomeranchóvy
nektár s duzhinou" - I ended up buying some Instant Goulash(tm)
for dinner. At approx. 30 pfennings a cup, you could call it cheap, even
when compared to the 57 koruna (3.3 DM) the restaurant next door was charging
for it. Although I expect that the restaurant's goulash contains meat and
vegetables instead of freeze-dried styrofoam, but...
Today's topic is... tap water! I think that...
STOP. Before proceeding, answer the following question:
Your author is...
a) delirious
b) demented
c) bored out of his fucking skull
d) more of the above
You may now proceed.
...water quality varies from country to country. (No shit, Sherlock!
[At least not in the water, Watson.]) The water of Stockholm was good,
ie. just like Finnish water. (A clear example of hydrocentrism. How politically
incorrect of me.) The water in København was a bit funny and the
showers had no hot water, major negative points for that. Berlin's water
was downright bland, but the showers had hot water. But Prahan water is
another story... first off, I'll grant that the hot water worked, which
is most pleasant when you're under the in-flu-ence. However, this was the
shower's water, the hot water from the bedroom sink's tap was ORANGE. Not
slightly tinged, not discolored, but nuclear carrot orange. Needless to
say, I kept well away from this stuff, but the cold water from the same
tap tasted, if not exactly good, at least quite drinkable. So I slurped
it merrily, filled my water bottle, cooked my goulash and assumed it was
safe although at one point I did have the slightest suspicion that maybe,
just maybe, the water had a slightly orange tinge to it...? But tonight,
in a fit of flu-induced delirium, I stuffed a handkerchief up the tap to
stop it from dripping. Obviously, the hanky got soaked and started leaking,
so I pulled it out - only to find out that it was literally encrusted
with orange and brown rust particles. Mm, mm, good. I think I know now
why most Interrailers stick to bottled water, despite the expense...
The day's budget
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