St Goar to Prague

Day two started very early with breakfast in a kind of garage area under the restaurant. I attempted to jog up and down to get warm and was complimented by Simone, who approves of personal fitness. It was at this point that I noticed that there was still someone asleep in the caravan next to ours, and fearing Leighton would carry out his much-promised threat to leave anyone not ready to go, I gave the door a good rattling. The drive during the morning up the Rhine Valley was beautiful, even though it was through the bus window. It had not occurred to me before that we would be seeing the world through the bus’s window, and this would also affect the quality of the photographs. If we had been driving in our own car, we would have been stopping every few minutes, and it would have taken 12 years, not weeks, to get to Sydney.

We did stop at Heidelberg and were allowed two hours to sightsee and take photos. The weather was beautiful and the old university town looked magnificent. I hoped to see students walking about promoting facial scars from duels still being fought, but the place was a picture of fine architecture and calm and tranquility. We arrived at our next stop, a campsite in Prague. As we made camp, the cooks began preparing the evening meal. After the meal, we settled down in a circle and began singing and playing. Leighton had brought a guitar, which was a great improvement on the travel guitar I’d bought especially for the trip. The party gang set off into town to find the nightlife.

Day 3 Tuesday 24th Sept 07: Prague Day two started at the now regular time 7.30 am with the most beautiful sunrise. Those from the drinking party who managed to emerge briefly for breakfast very quickly disappeared back to their pits. Ben climbed out of his sack at 5.00 pm and missed Prague. After the now typical 10-minute breakfast of cereals, toast, and a lukewarm cup of tea, we set off into the centre. We parked the bus behind the palace overlooking a sunny skyline, and I disembarked in shorts and tee T-shirt. As the coach slipped away back to the campsite, the sky turned grey and then black. Within 60 minutes, it was pouring down. We spent most of the day in two bars with Gordon, Ted, and Mac. We’d been driven into a bar come pizzeria by the weather and had an omelet and the first beer of the day. We had the second in the Café Monmatre, once the haunt of Franz Kafka, and the third and fourth in the old communist bar. After a very short look around the wet and cold streets leading from the bar to Wenceslas Square, we were forced back to the bar by the cold and my prostate. I had a similar experience on my last visit to this beautiful city, but on that occasion, we stood in the cold watching a strange procession of very large men dressed like the Blues Brothers, but carrying red roses. At one point, I was trapped by five or six of them in a small toilet in a bar across the road. I eventually discovered they were the Czech National Ice Hockey team attending the coach’s funeral. On this occasion, I did manage to find an internet café and check my mail before surrendering to the weather once again. It had gone from autumn to summer and then winter all in a day. I was totally unprepared. We had a further beer in the communist bar to wash down a perfectly cooked sirloin stake in a cream and mushroom sauce, accompanied by potato scallops and French beans wrapped in ham. Finally, before returning to the tent, we retreated to a fancy wine bar and had a couple of palatable bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon from the Morava area. We arrived back at the campsite to find no bus. JonPal had taken it to have the thermostat replaced. Not a good sign after only three days. All in all, despite the weather, we had a very rewarding day. The inclement conditions allowed us to get to know more about our three travelling companions. Mac was taking 3 3-month paid leave from his job as a turbine engineer based in Dublin. He’s been doing the job for 15 years and spends most of the time travelling the world installing turbines. He’s not touched alcohol for three years, but didn’t reveal why. Gordon is outgoing and far more revealing than Mac. After gaining a degree and getting his ideal job as the Cultural Director of a theatre in Glasgow, he was sacked because he claims he was not up to the job. I admired his honesty. I suspect Glasgow for him was a return to his family roots; his father had left the city, as many Scots did, to work in the steel mills in Corby in Northamptonshire. Later, his father was made redundant like thousands in the rolling mills in Sheffield after Thatcher had woven her spell on the industry, but was lucky to find employment with the post office. We agreed we would have a party if she were to die while we’re on route in homage to Corby and South Yorkshire. The conversation made me think of my song about the effect of Thatcherism on Grimethorpe. Grimethorpe You dug to survive like a mole underground, risking your life just to keep the bills down And what spare cash you made well you spent in this town You were born and brought up in this place Chorus There’s a hole in the ground where the money came from There’s hole in this town now the old mine has gone and the shop fronts are bordered from despair and fear With no chance of work and no signs of the old winding gear One man knew a decade ago, that the mines would be dead along with king coal But it’s time to stand firm and don’t give into the dole Remember your sons and your daughters Chorus So you fought like a dog to keep the old ways, for the nurses the workers and their rights to a say But the times have little changed as back in old days Betrayed by all trades and their leaders Chorus And the Grimethorpe’ band played the miners’ anthem, as a tribute to halcyon days Sing follow the horses oh Johnny my laddie And the miners were forced out to graze There’s a hole in the ground where the money came from, remember your past and the things you have done And don’t ever forget your part in that year And the name and the faces of those who shut the old winding gear The third Muskateer, Ted, is much more reserved and less forthcoming than the other two. He’s taking three months’ unpaid leave from his job as a programmer in Dublin and is very quietly spoken, making it very difficult for me, with my failing hearing, to follow much of what he said.