Day 3: Brno
Just around the corner from the Bishop's Court was one of the two major city squares, Zelný trh (this language has a serious shortage of vowels). Zelný has a big market where local farmers come to sell their produce. At one side of the square stands a famous baroque fountain from 1695. I strolled around for a couple of minutes before entering the Moravian Museum, which is right next to the fountain. The museum was established as far back as 1817 and I wouldn't be surprised if some of the people I encountered inside have been working there from the start.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that the first person I encountered actually had a working knowledge of English. Again, they had tickets for the various floors and a combination ticket with a slight discount. Feeling grand, I bought the full Moravian experience and was handed a pamphlet written in somewhat uncertain English, highlighting the various exhibits… of last year's season.
The first department presented the history of dinosaurs, and the man on duty even had a manual in English for me to borrow. It was all presented in an accessible and academically solid way and I felt very upbeat when I finally handed the manual back and moved on to the physics exhibit. This one looked even more impressive and well done than the dinosaur section, but sadly, the information was all in Czech. Still it was so well made that even yours truly, no rocket scientist at the best of times, was able to understand parts of it.
The next exhibit was a huge and extremely well done presentation of the history of Moravia, with lots of old artifacts (weapons, tools, jewelry) from different periods, displays showing how people used to live, dress, eat etc. There were also several miniatures of old settlements and cities. It was all very well made and all in Czech. It was the most frustrating thing. I was clearly walking through one of the better museums on the European continent and I couldn't understand a single word of it. Not one of the employees lurking in the corners and fixing me with a stern look could answer a single question in English. My tip to the management: Look for less paranoia, more foreign language skills next time you hire people.
On the top floor was an exhibit centered on the Czech rivers - the country has an abundance of them - and here I again encountered one of those extremely talkative ladies whose utter lack of foreign language skills does not in any way stop them from droning on and on to poor foreigners. This particular lady seemed to have a fetish for glass. Even though I made it clear as… well… glass, that I spoke no Czech, she insisted on following me around, pointing to the various objects and chattering incessantly in Czech. About every other word she pronounced was "sklo", which means glass. Smiling tightly and clenching my fists in my pockets, I was able to leave the room without killing anyone, but it was a narrow escape.
In the next room was a series of paintings, all of Czech rivers. Some of them were quite nice, others were of that peculiar school of art where the main point is to confuse the hell out of the spectator as to what he's actually looking at.
During the two hours I spent in the museum, I saw nary another living soul, except for the employees (and I suspect some of them, though technically alive, were pretty soulless creatures). The Moravian Museum is an unrefined diamond, it must surely be a wonderful museum if you speak the language and if they'd only bother to make some translations available, it should also have a huge potential with foreign visitors.
By now, I was feeling pretty stuffed on experiences but famished on actual food, so I decided to find a place to lunch. I found a very pleasant looking restaurant a few yards east of the square, just behind the baroque fountain. The place was almost full even though it was only 1PM, and the main course seemed to be beer. I managed to grab a table at the far corner of the room where I was presented with a most impressive menu. It contained page upon page with the most delicious sounding goodies and it was presented with a charming wit. The waitress even understood a few words of English.
When she first came around to take my order, I was only halfway through the menu, so I asked for another five minutes. She graciously awarded me closer to thirty, by which time I was ready to eat the tablecloth. Settling for something that should be easy to make and would thus reach my hollow frame before it expired from lack of nourishment, I settled on omelet and toast.
Ten minutes later I was presented with a huge plate of steaming omelet and a smaller plate with two thin slices of very dark bread, each heavily salted and with a small slice of garlic on top. This was obviously what passed for "toast" in Brno. In addition I was brought a basket of regular bread, which was included in the meal (I had failed to notice this, but it did say so on the menu). The omelet was good though maybe a tad bland, since all the remaining salt in the establishment's possession seemed to have gone on the "toast". Still, it was more than sufficient to quench my hunger, the price was ridiculously low and the service, except for the long waiting period before I could order had been friendly and good, so I left a solid tip and staggered out onto Zelný trh.
I walked a bit up and down the narrow cobblestone streets around the square before popping inside the tourist information office to inquire about seeing the old City Hall Tower. There are a number of anecdotes and tall tales about this construction. The building itself is from the 13th century and it was in use as City Hall until 1935. The present entrance area is from 1511 and was made by the sculptor Anton Pilgram. The various statues and figures on the front represent different virtues, but for some reason the spire above the image of "justice" is strongly bent out of shape. According to legend, this was done because old Anton didn't receive his last payment from the city council, and he therefore decided to bend the spire as a final and permanent "fuck you", set in stone for the coming generations to see. I immediately felt a warm kinship with the man.
In the passageway, a crocodile hangs suspended from the ceiling, a gift from a Turkish ambassador back in 1608. Locally it's known as a "dragon", and the dragon is one of the city's symbols. On the wall is a wheel, another symbol of Brno. The story goes that a wheel maker from the nearby town of Lednice made a bet that he could chop down a tree, make a wheel and roll it the 50 km (31miles) to Brno all in one day. He won the bet, but it was rumored that he'd entered into a bargain with the devil, and from that day on, he lost all his business and died in poverty.
I paid a few cents to enter the old tower and climbed wearily toward the top. I have a slight problem with heights and the wooden stairs were creaky in the extreme, but I fixed my stare at some point straight ahead, clenched the railings tightly and finally made it to the top. The view was great but I was too terrified to enjoy much of it. The floor was creaking even more than the stairs and I had no intention of becoming the lead character in the paper headline "Obese tourist killed as floor gives way". Besides, I knew that the tower bells were about to strike and wishing to preserve both life and good hearing I descended as quickly as my shaking legs would allow me.
Having safely made it to the bottom, I went outside and spent the next hour or so idly strolling around the city center. Brno has the largest pedestrian street grid in the Czech Republic, even bigger than Prague and the narrow streets and cozy open spaces all seemed most inviting. There are lots of pleasant little shops and cafes all over the place, and in the other of the two main city squares, "námestí Svobody" (freedom place) I bought an overpriced lemon sorbet and sat down to send text messages back home to Norway.
I went back to the cyber cafe to check my e-mail once more, and then drove off in the general direction of the Spilberk fortress, situated on the highest of the hills surrounding the city. Spilberk was built in the 13th century, but most of the present structure is from the 1640s. It has withstood attacks and sieges from many invaders before finally falling to Napoleon in 1809.
Personally, I love the story of the Swedish siege here in 1645. The Swedish commander, general Torstensson had sworn that he would take the city by noon on Easter Day, and came very close. The townspeople were at the verge of surrendering when one of them had the brilliant idea of ringing twelve strokes with the cathedral bells even though it was only 11 o'clock. General Torstensson, being a Swede, fell for the trick and withdrew his troops. To this day, the church bells of the Brno cathedral strike 12 times at 11 to commemorate the stupidity of the Swedes.
I drove around for a long time unable to find a parking lot close to the fortress. When I finally found one, it was at the foot of the hill and I had the longest, most exhaustive climb I hope to have for as long as I live. Hundreds of locals on foot or on bicycles were spending this sunny Saturday afternoon on the numerous roads crisscrossing the steep hillsides. If I hadn't been dangerously close to a heart attack, I would probably have found the scenery very pleasant.
I finally managed to crawl the last few meters to the entrance level, where I bought some refreshments and slumped down on a bench. I was panting like an asthmatic hippo and perspiring freely. The view from up here was good and there were lots of tourists swarming all over the place, many of them foreigners. After I few minutes of rest I felt strong enough to conquer the last few steps up to the actual fortress.
Being too cheap to pay for admittance to the interior, I was satisfied to drift idly around the ramparts and the courtyards. Along one side, there were small structures, which at first almost looked like small bell towers. On closer inspection and inquiry, these turned out to be shafts providing air and a means of transporting food down to the prison dungeons below. I briefly ventured inside to see if they had a souvenir shop. This consisted of a couple of books in Czech, and one type of postcard with an overview of Spilberk. As I was about to leave I noticed that on the other side of the fortress was a huge, half-empty parking lot. Swallowing my tears I half walked, half rolled down the steep hillside again, to where my car was parked and set course for Slovakia.
Driving out of Brno I could see several herds of deer grazing in the fields or along the edges of the forests. The scenery was sunny and pleasant and I was in good spirits. I had finally gotten in touch with my uncle, and we had agreed to meet in Bratislava the following day, since he was busy trying to negotiate jobs this evening (he's an opera singer). On impulse, I decided to make a quick detour into Hungary just for the hell of it. I crossed the border between the Czech Republic and Slovakia without any kind of passport or customs control at all, but I had to buy a new "vignette" to show I had paid the Slovakian road fees. I then managed to negotiate the complex and confusing roads around Bratislava without getting lost more than a couple of times and soon found myself approaching the Hungarian border.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that the first person I encountered actually had a working knowledge of English. Again, they had tickets for the various floors and a combination ticket with a slight discount. Feeling grand, I bought the full Moravian experience and was handed a pamphlet written in somewhat uncertain English, highlighting the various exhibits… of last year's season.
The first department presented the history of dinosaurs, and the man on duty even had a manual in English for me to borrow. It was all presented in an accessible and academically solid way and I felt very upbeat when I finally handed the manual back and moved on to the physics exhibit. This one looked even more impressive and well done than the dinosaur section, but sadly, the information was all in Czech. Still it was so well made that even yours truly, no rocket scientist at the best of times, was able to understand parts of it.
The next exhibit was a huge and extremely well done presentation of the history of Moravia, with lots of old artifacts (weapons, tools, jewelry) from different periods, displays showing how people used to live, dress, eat etc. There were also several miniatures of old settlements and cities. It was all very well made and all in Czech. It was the most frustrating thing. I was clearly walking through one of the better museums on the European continent and I couldn't understand a single word of it. Not one of the employees lurking in the corners and fixing me with a stern look could answer a single question in English. My tip to the management: Look for less paranoia, more foreign language skills next time you hire people.
On the top floor was an exhibit centered on the Czech rivers - the country has an abundance of them - and here I again encountered one of those extremely talkative ladies whose utter lack of foreign language skills does not in any way stop them from droning on and on to poor foreigners. This particular lady seemed to have a fetish for glass. Even though I made it clear as… well… glass, that I spoke no Czech, she insisted on following me around, pointing to the various objects and chattering incessantly in Czech. About every other word she pronounced was "sklo", which means glass. Smiling tightly and clenching my fists in my pockets, I was able to leave the room without killing anyone, but it was a narrow escape.
In the next room was a series of paintings, all of Czech rivers. Some of them were quite nice, others were of that peculiar school of art where the main point is to confuse the hell out of the spectator as to what he's actually looking at.
During the two hours I spent in the museum, I saw nary another living soul, except for the employees (and I suspect some of them, though technically alive, were pretty soulless creatures). The Moravian Museum is an unrefined diamond, it must surely be a wonderful museum if you speak the language and if they'd only bother to make some translations available, it should also have a huge potential with foreign visitors.
By now, I was feeling pretty stuffed on experiences but famished on actual food, so I decided to find a place to lunch. I found a very pleasant looking restaurant a few yards east of the square, just behind the baroque fountain. The place was almost full even though it was only 1PM, and the main course seemed to be beer. I managed to grab a table at the far corner of the room where I was presented with a most impressive menu. It contained page upon page with the most delicious sounding goodies and it was presented with a charming wit. The waitress even understood a few words of English.
When she first came around to take my order, I was only halfway through the menu, so I asked for another five minutes. She graciously awarded me closer to thirty, by which time I was ready to eat the tablecloth. Settling for something that should be easy to make and would thus reach my hollow frame before it expired from lack of nourishment, I settled on omelet and toast.
Ten minutes later I was presented with a huge plate of steaming omelet and a smaller plate with two thin slices of very dark bread, each heavily salted and with a small slice of garlic on top. This was obviously what passed for "toast" in Brno. In addition I was brought a basket of regular bread, which was included in the meal (I had failed to notice this, but it did say so on the menu). The omelet was good though maybe a tad bland, since all the remaining salt in the establishment's possession seemed to have gone on the "toast". Still, it was more than sufficient to quench my hunger, the price was ridiculously low and the service, except for the long waiting period before I could order had been friendly and good, so I left a solid tip and staggered out onto Zelný trh.
I walked a bit up and down the narrow cobblestone streets around the square before popping inside the tourist information office to inquire about seeing the old City Hall Tower. There are a number of anecdotes and tall tales about this construction. The building itself is from the 13th century and it was in use as City Hall until 1935. The present entrance area is from 1511 and was made by the sculptor Anton Pilgram. The various statues and figures on the front represent different virtues, but for some reason the spire above the image of "justice" is strongly bent out of shape. According to legend, this was done because old Anton didn't receive his last payment from the city council, and he therefore decided to bend the spire as a final and permanent "fuck you", set in stone for the coming generations to see. I immediately felt a warm kinship with the man.
In the passageway, a crocodile hangs suspended from the ceiling, a gift from a Turkish ambassador back in 1608. Locally it's known as a "dragon", and the dragon is one of the city's symbols. On the wall is a wheel, another symbol of Brno. The story goes that a wheel maker from the nearby town of Lednice made a bet that he could chop down a tree, make a wheel and roll it the 50 km (31miles) to Brno all in one day. He won the bet, but it was rumored that he'd entered into a bargain with the devil, and from that day on, he lost all his business and died in poverty.
I paid a few cents to enter the old tower and climbed wearily toward the top. I have a slight problem with heights and the wooden stairs were creaky in the extreme, but I fixed my stare at some point straight ahead, clenched the railings tightly and finally made it to the top. The view was great but I was too terrified to enjoy much of it. The floor was creaking even more than the stairs and I had no intention of becoming the lead character in the paper headline "Obese tourist killed as floor gives way". Besides, I knew that the tower bells were about to strike and wishing to preserve both life and good hearing I descended as quickly as my shaking legs would allow me.
Having safely made it to the bottom, I went outside and spent the next hour or so idly strolling around the city center. Brno has the largest pedestrian street grid in the Czech Republic, even bigger than Prague and the narrow streets and cozy open spaces all seemed most inviting. There are lots of pleasant little shops and cafes all over the place, and in the other of the two main city squares, "námestí Svobody" (freedom place) I bought an overpriced lemon sorbet and sat down to send text messages back home to Norway.
I went back to the cyber cafe to check my e-mail once more, and then drove off in the general direction of the Spilberk fortress, situated on the highest of the hills surrounding the city. Spilberk was built in the 13th century, but most of the present structure is from the 1640s. It has withstood attacks and sieges from many invaders before finally falling to Napoleon in 1809.
Personally, I love the story of the Swedish siege here in 1645. The Swedish commander, general Torstensson had sworn that he would take the city by noon on Easter Day, and came very close. The townspeople were at the verge of surrendering when one of them had the brilliant idea of ringing twelve strokes with the cathedral bells even though it was only 11 o'clock. General Torstensson, being a Swede, fell for the trick and withdrew his troops. To this day, the church bells of the Brno cathedral strike 12 times at 11 to commemorate the stupidity of the Swedes.
I drove around for a long time unable to find a parking lot close to the fortress. When I finally found one, it was at the foot of the hill and I had the longest, most exhaustive climb I hope to have for as long as I live. Hundreds of locals on foot or on bicycles were spending this sunny Saturday afternoon on the numerous roads crisscrossing the steep hillsides. If I hadn't been dangerously close to a heart attack, I would probably have found the scenery very pleasant.
I finally managed to crawl the last few meters to the entrance level, where I bought some refreshments and slumped down on a bench. I was panting like an asthmatic hippo and perspiring freely. The view from up here was good and there were lots of tourists swarming all over the place, many of them foreigners. After I few minutes of rest I felt strong enough to conquer the last few steps up to the actual fortress.
Being too cheap to pay for admittance to the interior, I was satisfied to drift idly around the ramparts and the courtyards. Along one side, there were small structures, which at first almost looked like small bell towers. On closer inspection and inquiry, these turned out to be shafts providing air and a means of transporting food down to the prison dungeons below. I briefly ventured inside to see if they had a souvenir shop. This consisted of a couple of books in Czech, and one type of postcard with an overview of Spilberk. As I was about to leave I noticed that on the other side of the fortress was a huge, half-empty parking lot. Swallowing my tears I half walked, half rolled down the steep hillside again, to where my car was parked and set course for Slovakia.
Driving out of Brno I could see several herds of deer grazing in the fields or along the edges of the forests. The scenery was sunny and pleasant and I was in good spirits. I had finally gotten in touch with my uncle, and we had agreed to meet in Bratislava the following day, since he was busy trying to negotiate jobs this evening (he's an opera singer). On impulse, I decided to make a quick detour into Hungary just for the hell of it. I crossed the border between the Czech Republic and Slovakia without any kind of passport or customs control at all, but I had to buy a new "vignette" to show I had paid the Slovakian road fees. I then managed to negotiate the complex and confusing roads around Bratislava without getting lost more than a couple of times and soon found myself approaching the Hungarian border.
posted by Ghost of Goldwater at 10:00 PM
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