Germany to the Czech Republic

Friday 02/05
Today we are on a quest for a pair of these foldable camping chairs – the ones with netted holes in the armrests for drinks – and fresh trout, which creates itself far more difficult than we could have imagined. First stop though is a local garage that came recommended by Martin and my mum to get Vera's oil changed. The head mechanic, an old guy who seems to know his stuff, just says, “Leave it here, come back at 5 and it's done.”, whilst talking to five other people simultaneously. We set off with my mum to 'Bauhaus', a DIY market where we don't find the chairs we want but buy cigar lighter clip-on lights, cable for the planned interior lights and some other assorted bits and bobs. Since doing work on the van I'm in love with DIY places and this one is an absolute gem. Well stocked, clean, and a helpful assistant directs us to a nearby pound shop where they sell these camping chairs. We jump in the car and race over there. After the initial euphoria subsides we disregard the pink fluffy chairs and settle for colour coordination in the form of tasteful stripy shades of green.
The day before we'd decided to cook trout and asparagus for dinner. Mum knows a place that sells smoked fish, so we drive over to give it a try. Three places later and we finally hunt down fresh trout in a small village called Altendettelsau. I see them being hit over the head and gutted. Fresh indeed, and they tasted lovely later.
At 5 o'clock we pick up Vera and a random woman who had her own car serviced wandered over to have a chat about where we were from and what our plans were. The old mechanic sees us off with tales of him staying in Hampstead in 1966.

Saturday 03/05
Saturday we set off to Bamberg via local trains. After a quick breakfast in Nuernberg Hauptbahnhof we mount a doppeldecker carriage on a Regional Express. The weather is absolutely glorious. Duvets and pillows hanging out of people's windows as we rush past. Everywhere is very clean; even the graffiti is nice and looks very professional.
Bamberg is a medieval town about 60 miles north of Nuernberg. Miraculously it survived the Second World War bombings with little more than a blemish and most buildings in the old town are extremely well preserved. The place is full of tourists trundling along behind guides holding up umbrellas or signs – one group even wears matching baseball caps and trainers; no doubt Americans. The magnificent cathedral is closed for an organ concert. We decide not to wait and instead explore the medieval alleyways. Crooked Tudor-style houses stand shoulder to shoulder with Regency grandeur. We follow a sign to 'Little Venice' which turns out to be little else than a terrace of Tudor houses backing on to the river Regnitz. A number of them have boats moored off their picturesque back gardens. Wandering aimlessly we hit upon a flea market within the meandering maze that is the Old Town. Items on offer range from an life-size edifice with the face of an old woman to some Wedgwood pottery and generic knick-knack (this is one of these words that you've always hear as a non native speaker but have never seen written down, so apologies for any typos). We wash down lunch in a little courtyard with two Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbiere – a local speciality beer the taste of which can easily be recreated by tipping a packet of smoky bacon crisps into a pint of Guinness. Enjoy.
Content to buy nothing in the illustrious boot sale we stroll back to the station. As we settle on the upper deck there is commotion down below. Sounds like some mildly rowdy teenagers who had one to many Rauchbiere but emerge do eventually three young maidens trying to sell Schnaps, biscuits and 'Schleifen' (ribbons) to fellow passengers to complement a wedding budget. The bride-to-be laughs the loudest. As they approach us I pretend I'm English and say “No, but thanks.”. Turns out the future Mrs So-and-so is American and learned all the German phrases by heart. We still don't buy anything.
In the evening we cook the trout and asparagus for our last supper in Heilsbronn. Martin doesn't turn up because he helps out in one of the Gasthauses here. After a couple of glasses of wine my Mum as usual wants to put the world to rights. Tomorrow we'll move on to Prague, or Brandys nad Labem, to visit my uncle Peter and his partner Katharina. They moved there permanently last Christmas after 10 years of sacrificed holidays to build their house. I have great admiration for their perseverance. Katharina fled (then) Czechoslovakia with her mum and sister in the 70s. Their properties were confiscated by the communist state. After the wall came down in 1989 Katharina succeeded in receiving compensation in form of a piece of land. They sold it and purchased a ramshackle building in 1996. I haven't seen Peter in over 20 years and wondered if he has changed at all.

Sunday 04/05
We check out of our 70s dream after a yummy continental breakfast with coffee, rolls, meats and boiled egg and are back on the road at 9.30 to the sounds of Manfred Mann. It is shorts weather and as it is Sunday the roads are void of lorries and generally empty. We're happy to be on the go again. At the former border we stop to be ripped off, err, change some Euros into Kroner and buy one of those motorway toll vignettes. We think of my mum claiming that the road is flat all the way to Prague as we battle yet another hill at 30 mph. About every 2 hours we stop to give Vera and our bums a well earned rest. Katharina had sent instructions which prove to be excellent as we circumnavigate Prague on its patchwork of ring roads. After overall 6 hours we arrive spot on in front of their house. The welcome is warm and we sit down for a chat after I've shoehorned the van into the back garden. Except some grey hairs Peter hasn't changed one bit. Later we have delicious Coq au vin with baguette and salad and talk about cars, politics (I refuse), food and holidays.
Katharina's mum has Alzheimers and P and K share caring for her with K's sister. Apart from the roof structure they have done everything in the house themselves, including handling 6.5 tonnes of roof tiles, 600 metres of underfloor heating tubes, 8 cubic metres of concrete (some of which hardened to a little mound in the garden, now planted upon with kitchen herbs). Peter talks about his plans of setting up his own business building proper bread ovens for the garden (think Jamie Oliver). I promise to help him set up a website once we're back.

Monday 05/05
Waking up in yet another house with the strange noises. K's mum already came out of her self-contained flat at about 6 and was ushered back in by K. The house isn't completely finished yet and on the first floor where we sleep the ceilings haven't been put in entirely so we are all just separated by high stud walls. 50 centimetres too high in fact because the builders misread the measurements. Swallows are nesting underneath the eaves and dogs bark at early risers.
My command of the English language is rapidly deteriorating. I presume this is because of all the German I speak and also caused by my having to translate a lot. Words constantly fail me in both languages and trying to pick up some Czech just adds to the confusion. I think that memories are linked to the language you speak, because I now remember things I haven't thought about in years, and I believe they are triggered by the use of German. Not just any memories, but also words and knowing how things work – in German I have a better understanding of how an engine works than in English (if that makes sense), because I don't know all the words for the parts.
Today we are going to have a look at Brandys nad Labem and I also want to fix some things on Vera – the dipped headlights aren't working, and I want to finally install the interior lighting.
Peter has a dab hand at baking and we're having homemade rye bread for breakfast. Mum, Bre and I venture into Brandys nad Labem. All houses have two numbers here; one from the old communist days which is an ever increasing number in the order the houses were built, and the new 'western' style denoting the number of the house in the street. We thought Brandys to be very rural and quiet until we hit the main road which is teeming with cars and pedestrians. It is lined with a mixture of German brand and local shops. The palace (an old Habsburg hunting place) is unfortunately closed for the day but we have a stroll through the neglected park and shortly afterwards decide to go back and relax – although in my case it's out with the toolbox.
Peter used to be a car mechanic and has every tool I could wish for. After faffing (another of these never seen written down words) around for a bit I figure out the problem with the lights is simply a missing fuse. Never occurred to me that the empty slot in the fusebox could have anything to do with it. The guy from Holloway Electrics must have knocked it out when they were installing the stereo. With Peter's good-humoured advice, a riveting gun and and a hot glue pistol I manage to install the interior lights which work a treat.
Dinner is usually at 6 as K's mum likes to follow a strict routine. K serves up lovely pasta; farfalle with mixed vegetables and tomatoes; and dessert comes in the form of Linzer Torte, a dark concoction of spices, cocoa and homemade redcurrant jam, courtesy of P's very commendable baking skills.

Tuesday 06/05
M, B and I are off to Prague today. K drives us to the next Metro station and we don't even get that much lost before we find the ticket office and the right platform. A 24 hour ticket for all public transport within the Prague network costs 100 Kronar; approx. £4. From Mustek stanice we walk towards the Republican Square, have a coffee in a kavarna in an Art Deco building, Obecni Dum and then to the Old Town Square. A sudden thunderstorm causes us to seek refuge under some trees. While admiring the metal grilles we're standing on we decide that we might be safer under some big umbrellas at a nearby bar. After crossing Charles Bridge we choose one of the tourist traps to have our lunch in. A fantastic career as an actor had been lost on the waiter. The range of expression from delight to sheer contempt, and the speed with which the change is executed, as we decline both aperitif and starter would have put a Laurence Olivier to shame. He even points out (literally with his finger) that tips are not included in the final bill. The cheek.
K and P told us about a few attractions on Petrin, a hill next to Prague Castle, near the Hunger Wall. This was the site of the Prague exposition in 1891, and there remain among others a viewing platform in the shape of the Eiffel tower (62 metres) and the Bludiste with a hall of mirrors and maze which, according to the Lonely Planet, is good for a laugh. Our ticket is valid on the funicular railway that brings us up near the People's Observatory. My mum gets lost in the maze as we amuse ourselves in the hall of mirrors next to a bus load of German school children. We walk down the hill back into town to find K and P a little something, which we do, and details of which we can't disclose at this moment in time because they might actually read the blog before we go.
In the evening more food, drink and merriment, and also a sometimes little heated political debate between the 'adults'. Bre and I remain shtum (another of these pesky little words).

Wednesday 07/05
Mum is sulking a bit today and we all decide it's time for a rest. Bre's just about finishing her first book, I'm writing this and everyone else is just lazing around, interrupted only to down some more coffee and original Czech sweets that are very colourful, and incredibly sweet and sticky.
Bre's just asked me whether I want the Lonely Planet Guide to add some real facts about Prague, rather than making it up as I go along, but it's time for some more coffee and sweet things now, and I suddenly feel quite sleepy in the sun.