Tuesday
LOCATION: Plzen, Czech Republic
APPEARING: Paul | Mo-Jo | Alex
APPEARING: Paul | Mo-Jo | Alex
"Why stopping at Plzen?"
I figured that it would break up the ride to Prague, provide an opportunity to see where Pilsner was invented (at the Pilsner Urquell brewery, which we toured), and perhaps find something a little less busy than where we were headed.
Rolling in by rail, we wondered if it had been a mistake. Rotting factory carcasses, graffiti, and a soviet-looking train station was the first hello. Town had an edge. It was a bit seedy, with many, many places to play slot machines and other games at bars labelled "Herna."
On the Pilsner Urquell brewery tour, we met some fine Canadians (MO-om/JO-anne), and Alex, an American who lives in Beijing. Deep in the cold, dank bowels of Pilzen, drinking unfiltered, unpasteurized beer from wooden barrels-- somewhere between the first beer and the volunteered re-fill-- we decided to all get food together in town. Dinner was fantastic (the platter of food in one of the photos, AKA "The Brewer's Plate"), and cheap, the beer was good. The company was outstanding.
On what may have been a wild goose chase, Alex lead us in the direction of the bus station as the mist set in. Through "casinos" and what may have been strip clubs, we found the bar we were looking for, a place with a large welcome to American Military. The decoration: every sort of weapon from WWII to Vietnam, American flags, confederate flags (I take it they don't really get the meaning), bear, deer, fox skins hanging everywhere. Thick with smoke. Not a single English word being spoken... and violins. And guitars. And a flute. Many liters deep with beer, and air so thick with smoke you could feel it... the band, informal and open to everyone who needed to sing or play, charged into the night.
This is why I travel.
I figured that it would break up the ride to Prague, provide an opportunity to see where Pilsner was invented (at the Pilsner Urquell brewery, which we toured), and perhaps find something a little less busy than where we were headed.
Rolling in by rail, we wondered if it had been a mistake. Rotting factory carcasses, graffiti, and a soviet-looking train station was the first hello. Town had an edge. It was a bit seedy, with many, many places to play slot machines and other games at bars labelled "Herna."
On the Pilsner Urquell brewery tour, we met some fine Canadians (MO-om/JO-anne), and Alex, an American who lives in Beijing. Deep in the cold, dank bowels of Pilzen, drinking unfiltered, unpasteurized beer from wooden barrels-- somewhere between the first beer and the volunteered re-fill-- we decided to all get food together in town. Dinner was fantastic (the platter of food in one of the photos, AKA "The Brewer's Plate"), and cheap, the beer was good. The company was outstanding.
On what may have been a wild goose chase, Alex lead us in the direction of the bus station as the mist set in. Through "casinos" and what may have been strip clubs, we found the bar we were looking for, a place with a large welcome to American Military. The decoration: every sort of weapon from WWII to Vietnam, American flags, confederate flags (I take it they don't really get the meaning), bear, deer, fox skins hanging everywhere. Thick with smoke. Not a single English word being spoken... and violins. And guitars. And a flute. Many liters deep with beer, and air so thick with smoke you could feel it... the band, informal and open to everyone who needed to sing or play, charged into the night.
This is why I travel.
