Youngs Around the World

With multi-style juxtaposed architecture, winding cobblestone streets with antique street lamps, castles and bridges that reflect on the sparkling River Vltava, and a panorama of Florentine elegance, Prague dazzles. While you could easily fill your days inside Prague’s museums and churches, the ultimate Prague experience is walking through the city, marveling at the beautiful Old Town Square dominated by the unforgettable Gothic Tyn Church; lingering on the dreamy Charles Bridge with stunning views of Prague Castle; strolling Wenceslas Square with the powerfully illuminated National Museum at its head; and climbing to one of the many elevated viewpoints to take in the magnificent red-roofed cityscape. And once you’ve let your starry eyes dance around Prague, you’ll want to return again and again to see the stunning views in the changing plays of light.

Of course, there are hidden treasures all around the city – a graffiti-covered John Lennon memorial wall, an Italian palace garden with a stalactite wall revealing faces likely conjured by Dante’s Inferno, and obscure modern sculptures by local artist David Cerny – that inspire touristic scavenger hunts, the hidden fruits of which are discoveries of interesting streets, pretty parks, and romantic nooks along the way.

Beneath the glitter, in dimly lit local pubs and in narrow alleyways, lies an arty, obscure culture of music and literature. You feel it on the streets at night as cool jazz seeps out of doorways, enticing you inside for a spot of warmth and a bitter Czech pivo (beer), and in ambient book shop cafés with brooding literary types sitting solo with a coffee and a well-worn paperback.

With our cheery traveling companions, George (who graciously hosts our website) and Jennifer, we spent five nights in the historic, romanticized city of Prague. We sampled a smorgasbord of Czech beers – the crisp fall air and cloudy skies always seemed to set the mood for a round – and cautiously dabbled in the local cuisine. Like German and Austrian fare, Czech food is heavy on meats, hearty stews, cheese, cabbage, potatoes, bread and dumplings. Street food in the form of pastries and sausages is omnipresent and cheap.

On our third night, when the four of us had the pleasure of meeting up with another friend, Jasmine, for dinner, I discovered a gastronomic delight called Sviloska – thick slices of roast beef with sweet bread dumplings, smothered in a rich sauce and garnished with cranberries and sour cream. Washed down with a half-liter (or two) of Pilsner Urquell and you are guaranteed to wake up a little more plump the next morning.

One sunny afternoon, towards the end of the week, Aaron and I went for a long walk on our own. Heading for one of the many elevated viewpoints, we ambled around the Charles Bridge, browsed some magnificent watercolors of Prague Castle, and ended up in a beautiful park overlooking the city. Yellow leaves lit up the trees and speckled the tree-lined walkways. It was magic. Young mothers pushed baby carriages while old men shuffled along on their daily walks. Teens flirted in the refreshing greenspace. Mountain bikers pedaled around. The park was noticeably free of tourists, which increased its enjoyment factor tenfold, and the view was magnificent. While we have observed the countenance of Prague locals to be generally dour, the faces in the park wore the happy and light expressions that you would expect to see among glorious yellow trees on a bright fall afternoon.

We loved Prague. It is easily one of the most beautiful cities in Europe – a city in which we spent more of our time walking starry-eyed through the streets and watching the world go by than delving into the museums, art and literature, religious influence, and the fascinating history of the Communist grip. Mysterious, hypnotic, jazzy and full of life, Prague’s intrigue and inspiration for artists and writers is easy to imagine. Even days after leaving, visions of Prague are still spinning through my mind and I am utterly fascinated. I am dazzled.

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Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

Who doesn’t love The Sound of Music? I was captivated by this movie as a child and have fond memories of my mom singing the songs when the movie was shown on television each year. She has the prettiest singing voice and when I hear the songs in my mind, it is her voice that is singing them. My poor deprived husband has never actually seen the movie, a fact that endeared him to me even more when he agreed to embark on the guided The Sound of Music tour in Salzburg, where the movie was filmed, and even feigned excitement.

Salzburg, a city dating back to the 8th century, is most famous for two things: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and The Sound of Music. The city is surrounded by forest-covered mountains and straddles a gurgling green river with the historic old town on one side and the new town on the other. A medieval fort stands atop a cliff edging the city, dominating the skyline. The surrounding mountains are dotted with sparkling lakes and picturesque villages.

Rain was in the forecast during our brief two-night stay in Salzburg and, while we generally avoid tour groups, this was a perfect example of an exceptional time when joining the herd was advantageous: we had little time, no guide book, and wanted to visit several places that were spread out around the city and in the surrounding countryside.

Our guide was a flamboyant and witty fellow who kept us laughing as we rolled from one Sound of Music film location to the next. From the Von Trapp family home and the glass gazebo to the charming Mirabell Gardens with the Do Re Mi steps, the hills were alive with the Sound of Music. Our guide possessed encyclopedic knowledge of Sound of Music trivia and filled the intervals between sights with stories of the real Von Trapp family and the many liberties that were taken by 20th Century Fox to turn the real life story into one of the most famous musicals of all time. I didn’t actually know that there was a real Von Trapp family until this tour – a family that escaped the Nazis in the end by training to Italy (rather than hiking over the mountains), making a living through musical performances, and eventually settling in Stowe, Vermont. We sang the songs and marveled at the beauty of Salzburg.

The highlight of our tour was a stop in the charming little town of Mondsee. We visited St. Michael’s Church, where the Von Trapp wedding scene was filmed, and then sat down at a cozy café for some “crisp apple strudel” with hot vanilla sauce. We couldn’t find any schnitzel with noodles. The tour was cheesy but delightful and that first afternoon in Salzburg turned out to be the last good weather before the rains came. We walked around town a bit on our own – admiring the architecture, stopping by Mozart’s house, and browsing the pretty Christmas shops in the old town – but the cold and rain motivated us to spend most of the next day hibernating in our room.

Our stay in Salzburg was short but lovely and educational. I can’t wait to get home to Iowa to sit down with my family and watch The Sound of Music…and hear my mom sing the songs.

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The quaint resort town of Berchtesgaden in the German Bavarian Alps is a place of stunning natural beauty. The surrounding area, called Berchtesgadener Land, includes national park lands as well as a crystal clear glacial lake – the Konigssee.

Hitler fell in love with the area and bought a house there in the 1920s as did several of his key henchmen. The quiet mountain retreat of Obersalzberg eventually became the southern headquarters of Hitler’s government. For the Führer’s 50th birthday in 1939, he was presented with a lodge constructed atop Mount Kehlstein at a bewildering height of 1,834 meters. While most of the Nazi structures around Berchtesgaden were destroyed during the Allied invasion at the end of WWII, the lodge on mountaintop, referred to as both Kehlsteinhaus and the Eagle’s Nest, was left untouched.

After Oktoberfest, we needed a place to dry out and relax for a few days. Berchtesgaden was only a couple of hours from Munich by train and sounded like the perfect escape from the urban chaos. In Munich, buildings grazed in cement pastures and raucous pedestrians filled the streets. As the train whisked us away, the cityscape gave way to magnificent forest-covered mountains, dusted with the colors of fall. Peaceful alpine villages dotted the sweeping green valleys and cows grazed in wide open spaces. Cheerful guesthouses were covered with flower boxes, each overflowing with bright-colored blooms. Even in the confines of the train, we began to breathe easier.

Our small hotel, Pension Greti, was located in one of the outlying villages near Berchtesgaden, a pleasant two-kilometer walk from the Konigssee. It was a charming place with cozy, country-style rooms – a perfect retreat on a chilly autumn night. The village seemed to consist of guesthouses and restaurants, each as lovely and welcoming as the next.

On our first morning in Berchtesgaden Land, the weather was cool and wet but the forecast was optimistic for the afternoon. After lingering over a fabulous breakfast in our hotel cellar, we ventured out to the bus stop to catch the bus to Dokumentation Obersalzberg, the former Nazi compound-turned-museum, documenting Hitler’s rise to power, the lives of the Nazi elite, propaganda, racial politics and, of course, the concentration camps. Throughout our travels, we have come to understand that the Germans are deeply ashamed of their dark past. After seeing the Holocaust Museum, Yad Vashem, in Jerusalem, we were curious to discover the perspective of exhibits in a German museum.

Similar to Yad Vashem, the most interesting part of the presentation at Dokumentation Obersalzberg dealt not with the specific horrific acts perpetrated in the death camps but rather how a deranged maniac like Hitler came to power and influenced a nation toward genocide. The propaganda campaign, conceived and implemented by Dr. Joseph Goebbels, one of Hitler’s most loyal followers, was one of the most ingenious in history. While Yad Vashem approached the propaganda element by highlighting Hitler’s powerful rhetoric and anti-Semitic caricatures, Obersalzberg displayed more photographs of the Führer himself than we have ever seen – posters and other propaganda photos, staged to create and sell an image of Hitler as a man of the people, as a humanitarian, which slowly elevated the depraved lunatic to God-like status in the hearts and minds of his followers. The photos were both fascinating and haunting. I looked into those narrow dark eyes and saw evil but hindsight is twenty-twenty. Would I have seen it then? Would I have been able to see through the propaganda to the madman?

Just as we’d finished absorbing the propaganda campaign, Aaron suddenly noticed that the sun was shining! We tried to focus on the next section of the museum but it was no use. We had to get outside! We turned in our audio guides and headed for the bus that would carry us to the top of Mount Kehlstein and the Eagle’s Nest. The bus climbed for 35 minutes – higher and higher and higher. It was dizzying! We marveled at the views of Berchtesgadener Land below, still shrouded in mist but illuminated from above. It was one of those beautiful moments when the passing clouds filter the sunlight into visible rays beaming down to earth, as if God is smiling from the Heavens.

The terrace of the Eagle’s Nest is leased out to a restaurant which donates profits to charity but the real draw of the lodge, besides its sinister past, is the view. Ascending the final 124m stretch in an elevator, we gasped at the vastness of our surroundings. We were at eye-level with snow-capped mountain peaks. Forest and field spread across the valleys like a green blanket while the Konigssee glittered in the sunlight. Climbing the craggy terrain behind the lodge to the viewpoint on the highest boulders of the peak, we were on top of the world.

It took three buses to get us down the mountain and over to the Konigssee to catch one of the last boats of the day. We were quite impressed to have made it and excited about the two-hour excursion. As the boat glided smoothly away from shore and into the horizon, we were treated to a view that rivaled Milford Sound in the fiord lands of New Zealand’s South Island with dramatically steep-sided mountains plunging out of the water. The sun, still visible over the western peaks, lit up the red, orange, and gold trees on the eastern mountainside and created a mirror image on the surface of the lake. It was magnanimous.

We were headed to St Bartholoma, a pretty onion-domed church on the edge of the lake. The Catholic pilgrimage church is named after St Bartholomew, the patron of alpine farmers and of milkmaids. Halfway there, the captain slipped the electric boat into neutral, picked up his Flugelhorn (similar to a trumpet), and rang out a series of notes which echoed off the sides of the mountain. It sounded as if another horn player was repeating his every note, the clarity of the echo was astounding.

When we spotted St Bartholoma in the distance, we were disappointed to discover that the western mountains had already cast its postcard-perfect view in shadow. As we neared the dock, however, we saw that the soft light created a wintry pall, an ethereal glow, across the lakeshore. Stepping off the boat, we walked among the autumn trees and along the emerald green lake. The chapel doors were open and we found the interior modestly appointed with iconography and a simple altar. The chapel, which is accessible only by long hike or by boat, was quaint and lovely.

The sun had sunken completely behind the mountains as we made our way back across the lake. The ride was peaceful and we stepped onto the dock feeling relaxed. Since we’d been on buses for most of the day, the walk back to Pension Greti was a welcome opportunity to stretch our legs.

Our stay in Berchtesgadener Land was short – two gray days divided by a single blessed afternoon of sunshine during which we took in the historical highlights and breathtaking scenery. We enjoyed the infusion of German history into our alpine retreat but the best part of the German Bavarian Alps was the chance to escape the city, get lost and breathe in a few gulps of fresh mountain air before moving on to the next adventure.

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10) Oktoberfest began in 1810 as a wedding celebration and horse race; it is now the world’s largest fair with over six million visitors and profits in excess of $1 billion each year.

9) The beer served at Oktoberfest by the “Big Five” German breweries – Paulaner, Spaten, Lowenbrau, Augustiner, Hofbrau, and Hacker-Pschorr – is generally a pale lager with 5-6% alcohol, specially brewed to complement the traditional German foods: pretzels, raw radishes, sausages, roast chicken, roast pork, cheese spaetzel, potato pancakes, sauerkraut, grilled fish on a stick, and Obatzda (a fatty, spiced cheese-butter spread).

8 ) In Germany, beer is a food group and the Germans’ right to consume it – even during business hours – is protected by law.

7) Security guards man the beer tent exits to stop people from stealing the beer glasses; they confiscate upwards of 150,000 glasses/year.

6) Germans believe that stone beer steins keep beer colder and fresher than glass mugs. Whereas Americans display beer steins on shelves, Germans actually use them for drinking beer.

5) Dancing on tables inside the beer tents is not just allowed, it’s encouraged.

4) All German songs sound like drinking songs and most of them are.

3) Pretty young girls at Oktoberfest love to show off their heaving bosoms in the traditional Bavarian dirndl. Men love Oktoberfest for the same reason.

2) Real men wear lederhosen.

1) Three cheers for the half-METER weiner!

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We began our three-day stay in Bruges the way every respectable Belgian tourist should – by sampling the frites and beer. Our hostel was located close enough to the Grote Market (main square) to walk there but not nearly far enough to burn off the sauce-smothered, heart-attack-waiting-to-happen, deep-fried Heaven served up at the two competing frietkots (frite carts) on the square. Frites are big business in Belgium and the picturesque Grote Market, a magnet for locals and tourists alike, is prime frite-selling real estate. There is apparently an ongoing controversy among locals over which of the two frietkots is better. Interestingly, the eight square meters of cobblestones under the two trailers is auctioned off every three years so that often one or both frietkots are replaced by new ones and the debate starts all over again. Upon reading of this, we felt it our personal obligation to make our own determination. It’s a tough job…
With bellies full of salt, carbs, and grease and plenty of daylight left, we set out on a long walk around town. Bruges flourished as a port town around the 12th century, attracting increasing capital inflows as trading ships began to arrive from all over Europe. But around 1500, the Zwin channel that linked Bruges with the sea began silting up, gradually halting the city’s prosperity. It was not until the 1950s that Bruges reemerged as a tourist destination. The medieval city – often called the Venice of the North – is a dreamy place with colorful gabled houses, towering stone churches, cobblestone streets, lovely parks, quiet canals, and pretty old bridges. The canals are dazzling, particularly when they catch the hazy reflection of the cityscape, but Belgian architecture is Bruges’ most defining feature. We spent hours strolling in wonderment through the Grote Market (a UNESCO World Heritage Site) and the narrow cobbled streets lined with Belgian storybook houses.

On our second day in Bruges, we rented bicycles and cruised out of town, following a trail along a pretty tree-lined canal that led all the way to the sea. We didn’t make it that far though, stopping instead in the village of Damme. Parking the bikes in the small square, we wandered through the quaint, cozy village. The air was brisk and the sun was shining – it was a beautiful day! We sat outside at a restaurant that boasted over 100 kinds of pannekoeken (crepe-style pancakes), ordered some hot drinks and one each of the sweet and savory varieties of pancakes. Ladies and gentlemen, in addition to frites, chocolate, waffles, mussels, and beer, the Belgians do pancakes…well! Mine was so stuffed with fresh spinach that it resembled a burrito, smothered in cheese and cream sauce…the gluttony continues.

After a pleasant afternoon in Damme, we pedaled back to Bruges and rode around the refreshingly bicycle-friendly city – through grassy parks, painted with the colors of fall, and along picturesque canals – until our bike rental expired. Auto traffic in the inner city was minimal and it was nice to see people of all ages enjoying an afternoon on two wheels.

After a long bike ride, it feels great to stretch your legs with a walk. We ventured over to the Church of Our Lady, which houses the only one of Michelangelo’s masterpiece ever to leave Italy during his lifetime: the Madonna and Child. The sculpture was originally intended for a church altar in Italy but was purchased by a wealthy Belgian family and gifted to the Church of Our Lady. While we may have been “museumed out” from our adventures in Italy, we could not miss the opportunity to see a Michelangelo.

Our last day in Bruges, my 33rd birthday, was wonderfully uneventful. While our travel pace has been significantly more relaxed in Belgium than it was in Italy, we had still spent most of every day pounding the pavement. I wanted a day of rest and the cozy common room of our hostel provided a perfect place to hibernate with good books and free Wi-fi. When we finally did emerge in the afternoon, we meandered toward the canal and bought tickets for a canal boat ride. Unlike the Venice of Italy with its canals full of personal, municipal, gondola and commercial boat traffic, the canals in Bruges transport only small, motor-powered tourist boats. We had seen them everywhere – with tourists packed in like sardines – and it seemed like something we just had to do. Our boat was equally crowded and the thirty-minute ride seemed rushed but it did afford views of charming waterside homes and other historical gems that could not be seen from the street. The excursion was pleasant but I would have preferred a canoe.

With a strange celebratory energy in the air, we indulged in a round of overpriced beers in the Grote Market, which is decidedly most alluring at dusk when the dim streetlamps and fading daylight cast the stunning building facades in a soft, romantic glow. Walking through the square at this hour is like stepping back in time. The tour groups have dissipated, horse-drawn carriages pass by with the clippety-clop of metal horseshoes on cobblestones, and you can imagine the medieval square in its maritime glory. Just off the square was a lovely Greek restaurant, The Olive Tree, which we had spied earlier. We sat down for a quiet dinner and a relaxing conclusion to a perfect birthday.

Belgium was not a part of our original Europe itinerary but rather an afterthought that, by happenstance, became a week-long stay. Belgium’s charm is refreshingly unpretentious, likely a result of its proud beer-drinking culture. Every beer in Belgium is served in its own unique glass and any local can excitedly explain the difference among the three Chimays. The air is brisk but everyone is outside, bundled up in jackets and scarves, engrossed in good-spirited conversation over heavy food and big beers. It would be difficult to choose a favorite city of the three that we’ve seen. Brussels has such a festive multicultural energy; Antwerp is laid back and livable; and Bruges is one of the prettiest cities on the map. We love Belgium – the architecture, the people, the beer, and the food – but are somewhat relieved to be moving on from the ubiquitous and irresistible temptations of gluttony.

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