Thnks fr th Mmrs (Prague, Czechia to Vienna, Austria)

For our last full day in Prague, dear reader, we decided to stay local and have an easy day. It's always nice to relax the day before a transit day. They always end up being so stressful despite the best laid plans. However, let's not anticipate tragedies that may not befall us. 😉

During our sojourn here, the spires of the Church of Our Lady for Týn have been our beacon to guide us home. The turrets rise above the skyline of the old town. They are the archetypal image for every castle in every fairytale ever written. And yet, when you enter the main square, the church is nowhere to be seen. The front of the building has been consumed by restaurants. There is also an outlet for the same eatery towards the back of the church. It has been so camouflaged by other buildings, it almost doesn't exist. At ground level anyway.

The spires that direct me home.

Our apartment is on a lane that runs directly into one of the walls of the Church of Our Lady for Týn and I never registered that it was there. This, despite the fact that I had used the spires to guide me home. Given the proximity of the church and it was our starting point for the day, we had a slow morning. Nothing really kicks off in Prague until 10am anyway.

Up the laneway we wandered and through the archway into the ticket office. The tickets on sale were for a concert being held in the church later in the week. We were surprised that entry to the Church of Our Lady for Týn was free. The Catholics could certainly learn a thing or two from the Jews, given the cost of visiting their synagogues and the Jewish Quarter.

The hidden entrance.

From the ticket office, we emerged into a small courtyard that housed the entry arch of the church. In we walked to discover that all photography was forbidden. Why? So you would buy the postcard photos of the interior. I would have been happier paying for entry and taking my own shots. And, dear reader, there were photos worth taking. It was over the top as you would expect a fairy tale castle/church to be.

Looking skyward.

When we reached the statue of the Infant of Prague, I was desolate. A replica statue had been a prized possession of my grandmother and it was passed onto my mother who similarly venerated this icon. The one must have shot and I couldn't take it. The 'no photography' rule is one I adhere to strictly. Even if the reasons are spurious and an attempt at money-grabbing. There were, however, rule breakers in the church. Security had no chance of catching them because he was too engrossed in his mobile screen.

We exited onto the square through the seating area of the two restaurants. Any wonder we hadn't suspected it was there. Our next visit was across the square to St Nicholas. It too is used for concerts. The church itself is small but, it's a church so it still has the wow, gold, over the top factor. I'll let the pictures do the talking.

The chandelier. I don't know why a church needs one, but ...

The chandelier in perspective.

St Nicholas, a Hussite church, was nowhere near the same the level as Our Lady for Týn, but there were many more people in the smaller space. Perhaps a reflection of its obvious existence on the square? Or the fact that you could take photos and entry was free? Anyway, more pictures.

The relatively unadorned pulpit.

The organ. Nice spot. Looks like heaven. Apparently.

It was nearing 11am and Jayne was keen to torture me by making me stand with the thronging crowd to watch the astronomical clock. We threaded our way through the crowd and found a suitable position where I could see the clock, but still had some personal space. Momentarily. A tour guide then came and stood next to me and waved his flag at his sheep. As they flocked in, I walked out. We could come back later to witness the obligatory clock spectacle.

It was too early to eat so we went home for an hour or so to blog and research Vienna, our next destination. Happily, the sun was still shining as we emerged back into the square for lunch. The cloud and drizzle that has haunted us for days stayed away. We scored the same table we had had the other day, an excellent spot to watch the passing parade of buck's and hen's parties as well as enjoy the afternoon sunshine.

Mellowed by lunch and the sunshine, Jayne walked me back across the square to watch the astronomical clock do its thing. The crowd gathered as expected, a smaller crowd because it was Friday and late and most of the tour groups would be heading back to wherever they came from. Came the hour. The skeleton on the clock hit a hammer on the bell, chiming o'clock. Apparently a door opened higher up, cuckoo style and some apostles popped out. Way too much excitement for me. The assembled masses clapped respectfully and we all went our separate ways. 

To use a Shakespeare quote, "Buzz, buzz".

The guide book described this tourist trap experience as underwhelming. I'm not sure that it is accurate. Perhaps, non-existent would be more accurate. What a waste of time.

It was back home again to begin packing, well, not so much packing, as getting organised for packing. We had been in proximity to the party strip all week and hadn't really ventured out at night. So as we waited and watched, the sun set. I grabbed the camera and out we went. No commentary, photos below.

Not sure the astronomical clock tower looks ok.

Purple lights? Who knows?

Lady for Týn

A longer shot of the astronomical clock tower.

Some obelisk. I forget.

Transit day from Prague to Vienna dawned and we were up early to be on the road before 9am. In a move akin to reading the instruction manual, we followed our host's initial instructions on how to get to the apartment. In reverse, obviously. It was a much easier path to tread than the one we carved out for ourselves. Local knowledge wins. Who'd have thought it?

As is our organisational practice on transit days, we arrived waaaay too early. So early in fact, we did not have a platform allocated. We hadn't had breakfast so we searched for a café where you sit down and eat. People like to do that. In an area where everyone is waiting for someone or something, people like to do that, a lot, for a long time. Vacant tables can be as scarce as a female nomination for a safe Liberal seat. 

We found one at Pauls and duly dropped our bags and packs and settled in to coffee and pastries. They're not the best, as I have noted previously, but in transit, beggars can't be choosers. It was nice to sit down after a 30 minute bag-drag session. Hmmm, sounds like a post Mardi Gras event in Sydney.

A platform was finally allocated and off we went. We'd been on the platform a few minutes when another traveller arrived and asked us if this was where the train to Vienna left from. "We hope so," we replied. Then followed a discussion about where to stand and how do you know etc. Here's a top tip, dear reader: Where possible download the travel company app. It is full of good information.

There are some weird things happening in Czechia.

The train arrived close to time. We scrambled on board to find on old German couple in our pre-booked seats. After a brief exchange which I'm sure involved him telling his wife, "I told you," they in turn moved the woman in front of them. The domino effect. The small bags were stowed above and the big bag in a space two rows behind us.

And that was it. Thnks fr th mmrs Prague, Fall Out Boy style from 2007. Not totally relevant apart from the title, but a great clip. Also, they should buy a few vowels.

Off we went towards Vienna with everyone in the carriage facing the wrong direction. There are no guarantees when travelling by train in Europe. So be warned, if facing the opposite direction to travel causes motion sickness, you will need to carry medication.

We were comfortably settling into our journey when the carriage attendant arrived and demanded we move our large bag. The space we, and others, had used was not for storage. There was, in fact, no storage for bags except over head. Here we go again. Time to hoist the 22kg bag in the air. All I needed was another few inches in height. Thankfully the nice man across the aisle, the one with some serious neck and face tattoos, helped me get it into position. The guy behind me sat and watched his wife stow their lighter, but still large bag. Jayne usually adopts the Daniel approach and helps by staying about of the way, at times such as these.

This was another one of those shared trains. It was Austrian based which meant no internet or electronic signage until Austria. I do not understand. They can co-operate sufficiently for a train to travel through countries, but the 'owning' country is the only one to supply internet.

The trip was largely uneventful and we were on time as we approached the outskirts of Vienna. People even started moving and getting bags organised. Then we slowed to a halt but the announcement was difficult to understand; the gist of it was we had "sustained some damage". We knew not what or how. We knew not how long we would be there. We sat. We waited. We moved slowly forward. We stopped again.

Anyway, that continued for a while until we eventually arrived at Vienna hbf. Interestingly, the signage in the carriage still showed the train to be on time.

We had received explicit detailed instructions from our Vienna host. Where to catch the 13A bus, where to buy tickets and where to alight. The lovely man who sold me the tickets enquired as to my age. If I was over 65, I was entitled to a discount. Ouch.

The bus arrived, we piled on with everyone else and secured seats. Despite the bus being driven by a real person, he acted like a driverless metro train. At one stop when he considered we'd been there long enough, he closed the doors and drove away. There was a family of four trying to negotiate their exit who ended up going one stop further than they wanted because they could not alight in time. Ok then, Note to self: do not dawdle.

Our unassuming home.

Our desired stop achieved and the correct direction to walk determined, we arrived at our door 5 minutes later. Frederica was there to meet us and showed us through the flat. It was really lovely, well appointed with an excellent outlook. There was also a welcome gift of sparkling wine (Trocken) and chocolates. What a delightful welcome to a beautiful apartment in a very trendy area.

The view from the bedroom balcony.

We ventured out for some supplies but that was pretty much it for the day. Wine on the balcony off the bedroom. It overlooked a park. Very relaxing. Time was spent there checking out the serenity. And a woodpecker. A great spotted woodpecker to be exact. That was exciting, I'd never seen a real woodpecker in the wild.

Woody doing his thing.

With the excitement over for the day, we walked all of two minutes to the recommended pizza place, Momo, across the road. Pizza with genuine, imported Italian ingredients. Goood pizza. Still served uncut. I swear one day I'll fold the entire piece in half and start eating.

Until next time.

London Calling (Sydney, Australia and the search for the northern lights)

Have you missed me dear reader? Certainly I have missed travelling and it was quite unusual for me to shelter at home during the humid months. I detest Sydney in February, you can break into a sweat just getting out of bed. Now the the time has arrived for us to chase a cooler clime. It's off to the northern hemisphere, this time in search of those elusive northern lights, followed by a meandering wander through Scandinavia, Germany, Czechia, Austria and finally France. Yes, yes I know we've been to France on multiple occasions, but Paris. Swoon. We love it.

Sorry, there are no photos of interest in this post, but I promise to make amends as our journey unfolds.

The more intricate details of where we are going will be revealed as the blog posts are published. Suffice to say this journey begins in earnest in ... wait for it ... London. Ah, the city I most love to hate. I have tried to like it, really I have, but it's just ... without. Without what you ask? Lots of things really. It's just a passive aggressive version of Melbourne with worse weather (the forecast is for rain every day we are there). We begin in London because there was no choice. More on that later.

Qantas

Let's talk flights. My relationship with Qantas has soured and the resentment lingers. It's like a teenage love affair and being dropped by the person you love. Well, so I've been told. I've been stood up but never dropped. As I was putting together this trip, the airfares Qantas wanted for 2 return Business Class seats was well north of $20K. Even my bad back couldn't stomach (see what I did there?) Business Class at those prices.

Not to be deterred, I phoned; as a platinum frequent flyer, I thought I'd request the release of the required seats. After all, they were being discounted for sale on their website. The response, "Sorry sir, we are not releasing any seats on the requested flights." "But, they are on sale," say I. Same response. Cheers Qantas. So what is the point of being a Qantas FF with the lauded platinum status? Three parts of bugger all, I would suggest.

Once again I resorted to Fly Business For Less as I did some years back. Their service is first class. The result is outbound flights with Vietnam Air into my 'beloved' London and inbound with Qatar from Paris - largely to avoid the ridiculous charges applied at Heathrow. And because of London. The price? Around half what Qantas was asking for seats at the pointy end of the aircraft. We have flown internationally with both airlines before without issue, so this was really a no brainer.

Grudgingly. I admit that I will miss the Qantas first class lounge in Sydney. It is unlikely that we will see it again because my platinum status will dissolve at my next anniversary, largely because I've flown with every other airline but them. It is like being a teenager again and I'm just seeing what is out there. On the plus side, our last two international trips will have netted savings around $14k because we chose not to fly with Qantas. That buys a lot of fancy meals and champagne and we still have lounge access with the other airlines.

Packing

Ah, the perennial issue, compounded by the fact that we are cruising with Viking, chasing the northern lights and then travelling by train across Scandinavia and Europe. Space is a premium. We don't want to be lugging huge bags around the train stations. One remedy was to purchase a vacuum pump and a couple of bags to try and reduce bulk. Our -20°c parkas are, unsurprisingly, extremely bulky. This has proven to be quite effective.

It doesn't look like much, but then it's not all there yet. A mixture of packing cells and vacuum bags to make the best use of space. Despite my best effort, another suitcase was required, although it is carry-on size. For two months of travel from the frozen Arctic to Paris in Spring, we have managed to contain all our clothes in one large suitcase, 2 carry-on cases and our backpacks. Pretty happy with that.

My vacuum packed snow jacket. Gloves for size comparison.

All ready to go.

Chasing the lights

The northern lights or Aurora Borealis have been on my list for quite some time. The quandary was how to see them? We spoke with some Swedes we met in Budapest a few years back and they recommended a place in Sweden, naturally. The concept of hanging around the frozen wastelands of anywhere for an indeterminate length of time did not set my heart a flutter. And the cold is most definitely not on Jayne's list of things to get excited about.

Then my travel agent (yes, dear reader, I do use one sporadically) suggested a Viking cruise up the coast of Norway. I had already checked out Hurtigruten but the level of comfort and cabin space did not live up to Jayne's exacting standards. So Viking it is. Tragically, the cruise leaves from London. Hence the title, that 1980 classic from the Clash. You can relive your memories here. The only plus side to this is that we get spend to spend some time with Zoë before we sail away on our quest.

Traps for young players

Ok, Ok, I'm not young, nor am I an inexperienced traveller, but that didn't stop me making a rookie error. Accommodation, as you will discover in subsequent posts, is a mixture of hotel and AirBnB. In London I opted for a hotel that was in proximity to Fenchurch Street Station because that is where we board the train for Tilbury which is where the ship departs.

Ever mindful that London is ridiculously expensive, I decided to use some accrued Accor points to defray the cost of our stay. There is a Novotel within walking distance of Fenchurch Street Station. Excellent. I had multiple tabs open in my attempt to find the best accommodation. I jumped from maps to the hotel sites to the Accor site to make the booking. No Booking.Com problems for this traveller.

Hotel booked. The spreadsheet that covers the trip, our accommodation, mode of travel, places of interest has been slowly populated over the months preceding our departure. As February 24 drew closer, I explored how to get from the despised Heathrow to our hotel. And that is when I discovered it.

The Novotel near Fenchurch Street Station is Novotel London Tower Bridge and the hotel I booked is the Novotel London Bridge. What's in a word? About 2km in distance, 20 minutes on a bus or 30 minutes on foot and a river crossing. The names are so similar. Ah well. We still have a bed.

Sydney to London

The usual quandary of how to get to the airport was solved when Uber sent me a 50% off your next ride voucher. Pick up booked for 11:30am, for a 3:15pm flight. From our door to the SkyTeam Lounge in a under an hour.

We arrived at our hotel in London after over 30 hours in transit. Vietnam Airlines weren't faultless, but they were very good. The staff were lovely and attentive, the food was excellent, the flights were on time and (as a tier 2 airline as I've seen them described) Business still comes with a lie flat bed. The down side? Well, first world problems. The Lounge in Sydney is pretty average, the one in Hà Nôi is better. There is a limited selection of wine available in the lounge or on the aircraft. And the staff don't offer re-fills as attentively as say Singapore or Qantas. A small price to pay for a flat bed that allows me to walk pain-free after a long flight.

Heathrow. Really what is there to say? If you know, you know. It's like covid. Best avoided. The disembarkation process and baggage collection went quickly and smoothly. Surprisingly. No doubt the e-passports have streamlined the process. The baggage collection area was a seething, heaving mass of humanity. And their over-sized bags and squealing, crying children. All that was required to create hell was the sound of leaf blower in the background. 

The signage to get to the train was inadequate, at one point we were directed into a blank wall. The staff, posted at regular intervals to be of assistance, weren't really. Unless you cornered them. Despite it all we made the train.

And then London. The city I love to hate. Where to start today? In an attempt to make us feel at home, there was track work on the Underground and the line we had decided to use to get to the hotel was closed. It wasn't a huge inconvenience except to use the Elizabeth line cost almost 3 times as much. Almost £14 compared to just over £5. The benefit? None really. It's 10 minutes faster than the Piccadilly line. However, it does beat the estimated $400 + for a cab! Does anyone actually catch A cab to London from Heathrow?

The good bit? It's not raining so the 10 minute walk to the hotel from the tube was easily negotiated. We had arranged for an early check-in at the hotel because we landed at 7:30am. However, the hotel has a midday check-out time and was fully booked. Why would you offer an early check-in, for a fee, if you can't deliver?

The result: we are sitting in the hotel bar drinking very bad coffee, well it is London, charging our phones, sorting the e-sim and finishing this blog before we finally get to shower, change and go hang with Zoë.

And so we are back. I will blog frequently but I'm not guaranteeing a daily dose.

Until next time.

Spill the Wine (Amsterdam - final)

This is my final post for this Odyssey, dear reader. As such, there may be photos dropped in from anywhere on the trip.

As Sunday clawed its way into the conscious of Amsterdammers, the street cleaners were once again hard at work. The piles of detritus on a Sunday morning were larger than those from yesterday. It also appeared that some sort of bike-hating monster had ranged the streets, pushing bikes over and stacking them in doorways to stop people leaving their apartments.

The off-limits rotunda in Vondelpark

Amsterdam is not pretty in the early morning, dear reader. The fact that streets are so dirty is probably the only aspect of the city that we dislike. And so, to breakfast. Today we found a café up near the flower market. Once again the coffee was very good. I don't get what was going on with the coffee in Hungary, Austria and Germany. Lift your game. Today's food fare was toasties - an Americano for me (bacon, tomato and cheese - not sure why this is American but anyway) and a Hawaiian for Jayne (ham, cheese and pineapple) which she requested, without the Hawaiian component, eliciting a second look and a slight smirk from the server and a shake of the head from me. 

We briefly entertained the thought of sending some tulip bulbs home to the (current) favourite child who lives in the Southern Highlands. Only to be informed that export to Australia is not permitted. Indeed, the flower seller we spoke with said, "Absolutely not. I can send nothing to Australia". No Dutch tulips.

A photo without people in Vondelpark is not easy.

Sunday is a quiet day and many shops were not open. We walked around an area near the hotel where we had not previously been but there wasn't much to see. Aside from the Rijksmuseum and Rembrandt's House we have covered just about all the major attractions and it was a deliberate decision not to visit these two places.

In reality, we were just burning time until we met friends from home. They arrived yesterday to do the reverse of our trip, Amsterdam to Budapest, although with a different company. We had arranged to meet at Café Luxembourg for drinks at 4pm which was peak pedestrian time in the hospitality areas of Leidseplein and Spui. 

Flowers in Durnstein

As we wove our way towards our rendez-vous, a car pushed its way across the crowded footpath to try to enter the main street. There was oncoming traffic which included a tram. The driver astutely decided that the nose of his car was in danger so he did what any Amsterdammer would do; without any indication, he put his car into reverse and started to retreat onto the footpath he had just crossed, paying absolutely no attention to the fact that there were numerous pedestrians behind him, Jayne and me included. After the initial collision with my arm, a lightening fast assessment of the situation resulted in me drawing the attention of the driver to my presence by belting the back of his car. I also let him know bluntly, that I was not impressed with his cavalier disregard for pedestrians. As a memento of this encounter, I now sport a bruise on my arm and the driver is currently searching for a job involving sex and travel.

Having survived the near-death experience, we made it to Cafe Luxembourg which was crowded, as expected, but we nabbed a table, collected chairs and took up residence. We did not recognise any of the wait staff and were generally ignored until Jayne lassoed a passing waiter. Shortly thereafter, a beer and a bottle of 'room temperature' chablis arrived. Unconcerned, we chatted with Dave and Vikki and enjoyed the afternoon.

Don't I look fabulous?

Then on to dinner back at Peppinos, that restaurant we so enjoyed the night before last. The restaurant quadrant was filling up with all sorts of interesting people. There was the ubiquitous hen's party from the UK. Each of the girls was wearing a T-shirt with a number, handwritten on the back. Except one, ah, young lady. Her t-shirt said PTO. I'll just leave that there, in case my speculation gets me into trouble.

Our table under the awning provided an excellent view of the passing parade. We ordered some wine and sat chatting as we waited for the first of the meals to arrive. In a brave show of daring and imagination, we had the same entrees as last time. 

Canal life

The title today, dear reader, is somewhat misleading because we didn't spill any wine. (A classic song by Eric Burdon and the Animals, 1970). Neither did our waiter. However, he spilled our entire dinner. All four of them. Somebody had clearly moved a chair by the door to the restaurant, the one that the wait staff use to access the kitchen. Out comes our waiter, tray held high, obscuring his view and then he was gone from sight. Risotto and pasta went flying across the street as our waiter was sent sprawling to the ground. He was clearly shaken and hurt but appeared at our table, still wearing our food on his clothes and in his beard, to apologise for the delay. We were more concerned about him than we were about a delay in our food arriving at the table.

We chatted with him later in the evening. He was still very apologetic but had changed clothes by this time and his injured hand was in a glove with some ice to keep the swelling down.

Sculpture in the garden of the Rijksmuseum

After a very enjoyable evening, we farewelled Dave and Vikki and dawdled back to the hotel for our last night in Amsterdam.

There is not much to report from that point. We were picked up next morning and dropped at the airport. Jayne witnessed an unusual sight in the lounge: a woman, clearly the indecisive type, conducting her own wine tasting at the bar, prior to selecting what she wanted to drink. That was new.

The quintessential Dutch view.

The plane was late leaving which truncated our time at Dubai Airport. We arrived back in Australia on time at 10pm, Sydney time. Europe is such a long way from home and we were in transit for around 28 hours. Despite the discomfort of long distance travel, we are planning our next European assault.

European Reflections

1. The triple US cancers of McDonalds, Burger King and Starbucks are everywhere. Sadly.

2. Cigarettes. Everyone still smokes. Surprisingly. In Amsterdam their smoke smells sweet and strangely reminds me of my undergraduate days at uni.

3. Service. The further east you travel across Europe, the less enthusiastic the service becomes. In fact, many wait staff were afflicted by RBF - not all, of course, some were delightful, but there were many who clearly did not enjoy their work.

4. Sheets. What is it with Europeans and doonas? The doonas are arctic rated and there is no sheet between the doona and you. It is either melt or freeze.

5. Hotel housekeeping can be 'a choose our own adventure' experience: depending who is on duty, you might get your towels changed but not your bed made, you might get your bed made but not your cups and glasses cleaned, you might not get the room attended to at all ...

6. Language #1. A very important Dutch word, 'ongezouten'. It means 'unsalted'. Ignore it at your peril.

7. Language #2. Some of the European languages are seriously taking the piss. In Dutch for instance, the menu is tagged "Eten and Drinkenen". Really? Eating and drinking?

8. COVID. COVID is referred to as "the corona". No one wears a mask, ever, anywhere. If you see a mask it is probably covering the face of an Australian.

Until next time ... November ... Vanuatu.