ROMA

We woke up Thursday morning in Rome, the Eternal city, my long professed favorite city in Europe. Of course, I gave it that distinction when I was 8, so I had little recollection of why that actually was. I would figure out part of this at the Roman Forum, where we started our day.

I'm not a classics or anthropology major, nor do I have any overwhelming interest in the Roman period, but, simply put, the Roman Forum is the COOLEST. It has an undeniably awe-striking quality. Walking amidst the beautiful ruins and gardens and hills was probably the highlight of the entire trip. Every corner was breathtaking. Additionally, the forum was hosting a special exhibition on Nero, which was very interesting. All of this goes as well for the Palatine Hill, they are essentially the same place.

After that walk and some solid doner kebab and gelato, we checked out the colosseum, more hyped but no more impressive than the forum. We got in a few good "Are you not entertained?!?"s and "Titus of Gaul!!!!!"s before heading to see the central sights of Rome: the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, and the Piazza Navona. These were by and large beautiful but spoiled by mobs of tourists (like ourselves, I suppose).

This would be a theme in Rome, as it was the weekend of John Paul II's beatification, as well as the week following Easter. It wasn't terrible, though, as we just had to stay out of the center during peak hours. That night, it was fine as we got some drinks and some italian meats and cheeses and sat out on the Spanish Steps for dinner. (This was, by the way, probably the time me and Max were most confused for a gay couple and not two travelling tourist friends. This was with just cause, as it was objectively romantic. And AWESOME.)

We decided to hit up the Vatican the next day, before the beatification celebration got too rowdy for us. We cruised through San Pietro and the Vatican Museums, somehow avoiding all the 2-3 hour lines that the guys hawking tours said there would be.

Even so, all the museum-walking kicked the crap out of us, and we returned to the hostel for massive rally naps.

Afterwords, we decided to check out the nearby and allegedly "studenty" neighborhood of San Lorenzo in what would go down as aone of our better decisions in Rome. San Lorenzo was very reminiscent of Kreuzberg in Berlin: young, fun, cheap, edgy, and unpretentious. We got pizza at a restaurant called Formula 1, which was the best pizza I got in Italy. For 6.50, I got a pie stacked high with mushrooms, ham, artichokes, olives, and a hard-boiled egg. The house wine was also cheap and good.

Following dinner came one of the strangest, and one of my favorite, experiences on the trip. After grabbing a couple of beers, we were wandering San Lorenzo when we came across a bar that had live folk covers drifting out from inside. Since we had to finish our beers, we took a seat on a bench on the sidewalk and listened to a couple solid folk songs.

When we heard the opening to Bruce Springsteen's "Adam Raised a Cain", though, we had to go in, spurred by our mutual, undying love for the Boss. Unfinished bottles in hand, we began to sing along.

This display of affection for the music, as well as our familiarity with the lyrics, astounded and delighted the two guitarists in this tiny bar. We were instant favorites with both the musicians and the crowd (numbering about 8), such that they played about 6 more Bruce sings in a row. After about the third, the lead singer asked us where we were from, and was ecstatic about the answer ("New Yersey!!" he yelled) and went right into "Jersey Girl."

The whole affair got everyone really riled up and into the music, and at certain points, one of the guys would come to our table mid-song to sing along with us. People in the bar were looking at us excitedly and asking about us. It was all very strange and exciting.

Eventually, we had to call it a night, though I was hardly ever prouder to be a Bruce fan.

(Note: I wrote most of this blog post right after Rome, and I'm now finishing it a couple weeks later. This will not be quite so detailed.)

The next day was kind of crappy weather, and we got some more doner and then walked around the Villa Borghese. We decided that night to go to dinner again in San Lorenzo, as we had had a great time there. While walking around the neighborhood, we came across something I initially thought was a mirage.

There was a small wine bar on one of the side streets. Well, not really a wine bar, more of a wine miracle. It had several large stills, and plastic bottles for filling up wine. I saw the price 1.60 on the sign outside, and I assumed it was for a glass, which would be a reasonable price. Upon closer inspection, though, the sign definitely said 1.60/liter. This was simply astounding. Me and Max, obviously not about to pass this up, filled up a bottle for before dinner. They were helpful and happy, and gave us cups and free cashews. PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THIS PLACE.

Anyways, we were feeling the wine by the time we got to dinner, which was at an osteria apparently famous for its meat dishes. I got some tasty skewers, but the portions were not huge, and we hit up a pizza place on the way home. All in all, a great night.

The next morning, after working out yet another misbooking, me and Max had most of the morning to do some exploring. We checked out Trastevere, and some other places near the colosseum. We got doner one last time, and fought through crowds of nuns and Poles in searing heat to get back to the hostel. It was a good way to leave Rome, because I honestly couldn't have taken much more of it. But I will never forget the strange, amazing times I had in Rome, especially San Lorenzo.

It was a great trip. A trip that will be written about for generations to come, and I made it back to Paris safe and sound. I then realized how little time I had left in Paris, and set to planning three blog-worthy weeks. COMING SOON!!

FIRENZE

When we arrived in Florence, the skies had darkened, and we were let off in a slightly boonsy section of town, where everything was closed for Easter. After a stressful 15 minutes trying to figure out the buses, we headed towards our hostel. Located in a leafy outer district of Florence, full of sports complexes and stadiums, we were a safe distance away from the throngs of tourists that descend upon the city center in search of Renaissance beauty.

After settling in at the hostel, we decided to take the evening to discover a bit of the city, resulting in a walk that yielded two of my favorite discoveries in Florence: the first was in a small corner shop, where a bottle of Birra Moretti was 1.30, a solid deal. Then we realized that in Italy, beer comes in giant 66 cL bottles. It was a full two thirds of a liter of pretty good beer, for fairly cheap, and that wasn't even the best deal we saw. (We later snagged some Moretti's in Roma for 90 cents, a mind-blowing deal.)

The second discovery was the aperitivo buffet, an Italian specialty at bars. The idea is that you buy a drink, then get unlimited access to an appetizer buffet. Not only was the food actually delicious (bruschetta, seafood pasta, pizza, couscous, chicken wings, etc.) but the deal allows you to get one of those fancy expensive cocktails you normally wouldn't spring for. BECAUSE YOU'RE GETTING FREE FOOD.

After dinner, we grabbed a couple more Moretti's and roamed the streets before setting up on the steps of the Duomo, the 4th largest cathedral in the world. After catching some of the Knicks-Celtics finale in a bar, we returned to the hostel.

The next morning, we got up for a free walking tour of Florence. I would suppose they use the free tours as training grounds, as our guide did not speak English very well. It was all fine, though, as we got to see some cool renaissance architecture, before splitting off to find lunch. We found it in the form of an awesome market. We cruised the free samples of meats, cheeses, sauces, and olive oils before settling on a decadent porchetta sandwich, which consisted of fatty slabs of roasted boar topped with delicious pecorino cheese.

From there we decided to mix it up a bit. We had seen a poster for a rally against the "Imperial War" in Libya, hosted by the communist party of Florence, and we wanted to check it out. When we first arrived, the rally was more like a picnic, but they were selling 50 cent glasses of wine in a souvenir communist/Leninist plastic cup. We obviously each got one and helped ourselves to some glasses (cups) of wine. Knocked out by the walking/wine combo, we went back to the hostel for some rally naps before dinner.

That night essentially consisted of pizza, cheap beer, and more walking. The next day we went to Siena, where we essentially did the same stuff we did in Florence, but with more hills and better views.

Back in Florence that night, we grabbed another aperitivo buffet before taking advantage of a free museum night that apparently no one else in Florence knew about. We got to go to the Accademia to see Michelangelo's David, a stunning sculpture that garners the distinction of being the only Renaissance art I will praise in this blog. It was very impressive.

The next day in Florence, we rambled around a bit , seeing the Uffizi, the Duomo, a panoramic view from the belltower, and a delicious roast beef sandwich from the market.

Our train out was at 6:30.

It was to be my first major mess-up of the trip, as it turns out I had accidentally booked my tickets for March 27th, not April 27th. After some panic and bargaining, they made us pay a fine to stay on the train. We ended up with a room to ourselves though, which allowed us to watch Animal House, though, so it was all good. The stress from the train, and crappy weather dampened the mood, and we didn't do much before crashing in the hostel in Rome.

But what adventures did await us there . . . . Muahahahaha

VENEZIA

On Friday morning, Max and I awoke, eager to start our glorious bro-venture in Venice, Florence, and Rome. There were to be many delightful candlelit dinners, gondola rides, enchanted piazzas, and awkward moments when we would be confused with a gay couple.

With this anticipation in mind, we zombied ourselves out over 45 U-Bahn stops, plus another bus ride to Berlin Schonefeld airport. We would be flying Easyjet, my third budget airline experience, to Venice. The flight was fine, Easyjet being comparable to Ryanair.

Our nearly complete unfamiliarity with the Italian language showed itself immediately after landing, as we took a 10 minute detour to Parking Lot 5 of Venice Marco Polo airport, rather than Bus number 5, which would eventually take us to Venice, when we found it.

(To be fair, this was after we had to wait a half-hour to buy our bus pass because the only receptionist working decided to take a break shortly after our plane and a few others landed. True Italian service.)

The walk to parking lot 5 was nice, though, and confirmed one thing I had remembered setting Italy apart from other, more Northern European countries: the trees. Due to its Mediterranean climate, Italy's foliage looks nothing like France or Germany. It's not easy to describe, but it gives Italy a palpably different atmosphere.

At the hostel check-in, we encountered the first of many travel planning mistakes, as we had accidentally booked two beds in an all-female dorm. It was quickly resolved, though, and we took off on waterbus to see bella Venezia.

While we're on the subject of waterbuses, I would like to ramble a bit about their awesomeness. After 3 months of trains, subways, planes, landbuses, and god knows what else, it was endlessly refreshing to ride around Venice in a boat for three days, especially at a similar price to those other modes of transport. Not only can you chill in the deck and get a nice sea breeze while watching the beautiful buildings of Venice go by, but the system runs at the same or better efficiency than any other public transport system I've been on. Even though New York can't do it, Venice posted arrival times of boats at each stop. They were never late, either. And even though Paris can't do it, Venice runs its main transport system all night long.

Anyways, for the first day, Max and I were content to just wander around the streets and waterways. We grabbed some pasta for dinner and got to sleep pretty early, after a long travel day.

We started out on the second day at Murano, where we got a brief but exciting glassblowing demonstration. The island didn't yield much else, and we headed back to Venice proper, where we enjoyed some amazing pizza and wine in Piazza San Polo. Afterwards, we checked out the cathedral of San Marco, probably one of the two essential sights of Venice, along with the Rialto bridge.

After dinner that night, we ran into a group of students from the University of South Carolina who were studying in different cities across Europe. It was nice to hear some American, especially Southern, voices, and we wandered around for a bit before ending up at a bar in the one square in Venice that had them. I tried the Venetian signature Aperol Spritz, which was hands down the driest drink I've tasted. We eventually made it back to the hostel, where I got to sleep early, awaiting Catholic Easter Mass the next day at Il Redentore, a massive basilica.

To be completely honest, Catholic masses have always made me a bit nervous, just because it's a mix of familiar and strange experiences in an intimidating setting. I figured this would be worse in an Italian cathedral that could easily fit two or three 1st Presbyterian Church of Ramsey's in it.

It turned out not to be so bad. The church was fairly plain and airy for an Italian cathedral. The all-Italian service was accompanied by some sort of all-monk contemporary Christian band, one member of which played a mean 12-string guitar. I swear they played an Oasis cover at one point.

The service was about 45 minutes long, and walking out to a view of blue lagoon, brilliant facades, and immense sky was an unforgettable experience. It was also one last reminder of the beauty of Venice before our train ride to Florence.

Auxiliary Post #1: Warning to Parents -- Do Not Read

This is my first auxiliary post of my spring break. Because of the wealth of experiences I'm having and because the city summary posts are sort of dedicated to an item by item retelling of events, this is how I will indicate some other feelings about certain overriding themes. I am writing this first one halfway through my stay in Rome, before even having started my Venice and Florence posts. It is a very important issue, though, and I have to get it on paper.

It's about beer.

I know what you're going to say.

"Brendan, if you're going to tell us how awesome beer is, hold your words because we KNOW how awesome beer is, and we don't want some uppity European to tell us."

Or you might say:

"Seriously, Brendan. Beer again? Sometimes I don't even think you're seeing anything in Europe besides the bottom of a pint glass. Don't you think the beauty of ancient cities is more important than beer?"

You're both right. Beer is awesome, and sightseeing is important. But you're looking too narrowly. The amazing thing about beer and sightseeing is that they can be done together. Beer is awesome to drink in public, amongst crowds, strangers, on the steps of famous buildings, in the presence of beautiful views, in the shadow of years of built up history.

That's right, I'm talking about open container laws.

Let me give you a familiar scene I've experienced in many cities in Europe and you tell me when it ceases to parallel the US (thanks to the presence in most places of open container laws):

- - - - - - - -

You're walking in the city. It's late evening, and unseasonably warm for the middle of spring. The lights in the windows come on along with the stars as the sky darkens.

You are headed downtown, and as you go, the streets get livelier and livelier. Delicious smells emanate from the restaurants with open doors and windows. It is a beautiful night.

You look to your left and you look to your right; flanking you are two of your best friends in the world. They are also feeling blessed by this bountiful spring evening. There is a feeling of possibility in the air. All the worries you had earlier in the day have faded, setting the stage for a night free from problems and full of opportunities.

You wonder amongst yourselves what you should do. It's far too early for a club, and you don't want to coop yourself up in a bar. It would be a shame to waste this night.

Your friend comes up with the brilliant idea to get a beer at the corner store.

This is a great idea, you all agree. Beers are tasty and refreshing and it is fun to drink them with friends. Most people agree with that.

You head to the corner store. You glance over a wide selection of delicious beers before settling on a fairly standard brand from the local region. Not fancy, but it's refreshing and a 660 mL bottle only sets you back $1.70. You bring the beer up to the cash desk where you pay and the friendly shop owner offers to open your beer for you. You are thankful for his generosity, but tell him you've got it. You open your beer and walk outside into a beautiful square full of people. At one end, a man is playing "No Woman, No Cry" to an enthusiastic, spontaneously gathered crowd. At the other end is a beautiful building with a well-lit facade and sprawling steps, where people are congregating and socializing, beer or wine in hand.

You take a swig and head for the steps. You see a cop on the way. He looks at your beer, then your face. There is a pause. He smiles mischievously and reaches for his holster. He unbuckles it , and pulls out a beer of his own. You shake hands and sing along to Bob Marley. Afterwards he lets you fire his gun at some pigeons. Then you continue on to the steps.

As you walk over, you are exulting with your friends in the beauty of the night, cracking jokes about cops and pigeons and foreign people. You are having so much fun that you accidentally bump into a woman and drop your beer, which shatters on the ground.

No worries, she says, and hands you an extra. You take it and walk to the steps together. She is the most beautiful woman in the world, and, as you will later discover, she is your soulmate and an incredibly wealthy patron of the arts. You will later get married and she will use her immense family fortune to prop up your shitty blog-writing career for decades.

- - - - - - - -

Believe it or not, this exact scenario has happened to me at least eleven times since coming to Europe, in various cities and countries. Let me guess where it deviates from the American version: right when the store owner offers to open your beer for you? That means that everything after that, from the cop to the wealthy and generous woman to the dead pigeons could never happen in the USA.

Even though I may have slightly exaggerated some things, it is true that they open your beers for you in Europe. I've even had them pull out the corkscrew for a $3.00 bottle of wine.

This just doesn't happen in America, thanks to our open container laws. Sure, drinking in public is still fairly common in places like stadium parking lots, fireworks shows, and similar venues, but you can't really just grab a beer and drink it on the streets. You can't really hop on the train and drink a road beer. If you're drinking and you see a cop, that beer instantly is hidden between your legs, or at your side.

In Europe, public, outdoor drinking is just part of the culture. It is also usually done much more sensibly than indoor drinking. Drinking outdoors is just about enjoying the environment, rather than getting intoxicated or drinking competitively.

So in closing, I like to live in a world where someone can walk into a greenhouse at the national botanical garden with an open beer, have their bag checked by the security guard, and then be allowed to go in without a second glance at the beer.

That's Europe, folks.

BERLIN

Paris and Berlin are both capitals of premiere countries in Europe and the world. They are each greatly populous, two of Europe's biggest cities. But after that, the similarities tail off. As I said, these cities are both hugely populous; with Paris having roughly 2.2 million within its city limits and Berlin 3.4. Paris, though, is only about 100 square kilometers and Berlin is roughly nine times that size. This means that Paris, despite having a smaller population, is much more densely populated. It is crowded and fast-paced while Berlin is spread out, laid back, seemingly empty sometimes in comparison.

This is far from the only difference, though, or even the most important.While Paris's history is defined by the period from 1789 through the early 1900's, Berlin may inarguably the city at the forefront of the last 100 years of history.

Paris's stunningly beautiful architecture is is also rather uniform, almost entirely a relic of Baron von Haussman's mid-19th century city overhaul. Berlin, meanwhile, is an eclectic blend of styles and eras, changing from neighborhood to neighborhood, a result of its asymmetrical growth pattern and history as a partitioned city.

Paris is also a city that clings fervently to its French heritage and tradition; Berlin is a progressive metropolis, one that has raised questions about the meaning of identity and heritage in order to come to terms with its own checkered past.

Many differences remain, but the point is that while Paris and Berlin are undoubtedly two of the world's greatest cities, springing from a similar area, they are worlds apart in terms of feel and attitude.

To me, especially coming from Paris, the best thing about Berlin was the way it confronted and analyzed its history, rather than displayed it as unquestionably proud heritage.

This feeling of thoughtful progress was everywhere in Berlin.

Meanwhile, I have a story to tell.

The train ride from Prague to Berlin was enjoyable, as I got some writing done and enjoyed the German and Czech scenery before we rolled into Berlin around 1:15. Max met me at the station, and helped us get to the hostel where I dropped off my bags. Then it was straight on to the neighborhood of Prenzlauerberg for a sunny afternoon in Mauer park. This open space had been a death strip between the two parts of the Berlin Wall during the Cold War, but today it was flocked with people from young to old. We grabbed some flatbread pizza things from a vendor and a couple of beers and sat down to enjoy the sun and listen to the USSR themed, Balkan folk, polka, reggae, punk, ska band the Cosmonauts.

After a while, the group, which was me, Taylor and Alia, plus Max and several of his friends, ambled over to a small amphitheater where a dense crowd was packed in to watch the free open air karaoke. This was easily the best part of the afternoon, as we watched in delight while people from all over the world either butchered or glorified various classics. To recap, the best performers were definitely the guy who did "Purple Rain," the girl who sang Frankie Valli while seducing a middle-aged German dude, and, especially, the little kid who absolutely brought the house down with "No Woman, No Cry."

After Mauerpark, Taylor, Alia, and I returned to the hostel. From there, hungry and tired, we walked to a nearby Asian restaurant. Low expectations turned into fabulous food, and we made American fools out of ourselves by eating outrageous amounts before crashing at the hostel.

The next morning, I met up with Max for a personal tour of the city. Taylor and Alia settled for a professionally guided bike tour, though somehow saw less stuff than me and Max in the same amount of time. High praise for an amateur tour guide.

We started the day at the Eastside Gallery, the longest preserved stretch of the Berlin Wall, as well as the world's largest outdoor art gallery. Miles of murals both impactful and incomprehensible covered the wall. We moved on from there to the neighborhood of Friedrichshain, shabby but soulful, for a delicious lunch. I had a knoblauchwurst burger with a ton of arugula (common in European sandwiches, thankfully).

We headed from there to Alexanderplatz, where we began our walk down Unter den Linden, Berlin's (not as charming) answer to the Champs-Elysees. It was however, equally if not more interesting than the Parisian boulevard, as we saw the spot of Hitler's infamous book-burning, a poignant memorial to the victims of war and tyranny, and various museums before reaching the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag. We headed down through the tiergarten, the Holocaust Memorial, Potsdamer Platz, and into Schoneberg (I think?) where we grabbed a beer at a famous hang out/cafe. I was pretty beat then, so I went back to the hostel to rest up a little.

When Taylor and Alia got back, we journeyed back up to Prenzlauer, where we walked around before settling on a cheap fast food place for dinner. My burger was surprisingly phenomenal, pickle and all (Europe IS changing me!), but the highlight of the night came next.

We had had a wine bar, called Weinerei(sp?), recommended to us by both Max and others, and decided to check it out. The premise, which to us aspiring Parisians sounded truly ridiculous and unbelievable, was that you paid two euros for a glass, then got access to as much wine as you wanted, from their whole collection. At the end of the night, you simply paid as much as you felt that you owed.

When we arrived, we were shocked to see that not only was this the case, they also had honor system food, were incredibly friendly and helpful, had a warmly decorated bar, and a large number of wines to choose from. Let's just say we spent a great deal of time there. At the end of the night, we hit up a doner kebab shop on our way out, fulfilling my dream of late night Turkish fast food. Then it was U-Bahn, and good night.

The next morning, Taylor and Alia were heading off to Copenhagen, while I was staying behind in Berlin before my Great Italian Broventure with Max. I said goodbye to them before, since Max was still in a final, headed by myself to Curry 36, to grab some of Berlin's famous fast food/street food, Currywurst. It was a satisfying, if strange meal, and I definitely prefer doner, but the Currywurst was a nice change.

Later on, I met back up with Max to head to a biergarten, again in Prenzlauer. With the incredible sun we'd had all week (it was like 70 every day in Berlin), this was an incredibly relaxing experience, as well as a good opportunity to hang out with Max's friends, who were pretty cool as well. More importantly, I got to taste a few delicious beers, including my summery favorite hefeweissbier, and kristallweissbier.

Around sunset, we moved on to dinner, at a nearby restaurant owned by a friendly Palestinian man. Max had another exam the next day, so we called it a night.

The next morning, I checked out of the hostel and trekked to Krumme Lanke in Southwest Berlin, where Max lives and where I would be staying for the next two nights. Though on the U-Bahn and technically in Berlin, the neighborhood felt more like a suburb, a leafy little hamlet situated on two beautiful lakes, perfect for running, sunning, or beer drinking, of which we saw all three. Later on, after Max's final, we took a field trip to Templehof, the former airport for Berlin and site of the Berlin airlift, now a city park. The immense complex, which contained the largest building in volume at its time, was so big that it took us nearly an hour and a half to find the entrance to the park. When we finely did, it was one of the largest open areas I've seen anywhere close to a city. On the runways, it was about ten degrees hotter, making it feel like a true summer day, with people grilling, playing frisbee, and sunning in the grass.

Hot and thirsty, we took the U-Bahn to Mitte to refresh ourselves at a bar with over 100 beers. After hanging out there, and drinking a delicious Kostritzer Schwarzbier, the whole group moved on to Kreuzberg for some of Mustapha's famous Doner. Though it was a long line, we were able to relax with a few beers, thanks to one of my favorite perks of Europe, lack of open container laws. More on my thoughts about this coming up. Mustapha's proved to be the best doner I'd had, and indeed one of my best meals on the trip. As a tip, the vegetables in the doner are so good, if you go, you don't even need to get the meat, it's auxiliary to the gemuse.

The next morning, Max and I worked out some travel stuff before heading out to the Olympiastadion, the colosseum of of fascist architecture, site of the controversial 1936 olympics. The building and grounds were impressive, and strikingly parallel to what one would associate with Nazism, at least from the outside.

After walking around the quiet, wealthy neighborhood of Charlottenburg, we went back to Krumme Lanke to prepare for Max's program's farewell dinner. Though he would be staying in Europe even later than I was, Max's program was ending, while mine had another solid month to go. So it was a bit strange to be at a farewell dinner, and I got hit with a wave of misplaced nostalgia. I did, however, really enjoy Berlin, and would be sad to see it go the next morning.

First, though, we had the dinner, staged at the classy Galileo's, Italian restaurant extraordinaire. The buffet was alright, the company was good, but the real attraction came following, at the farewell party for Max's program.

For this, we headed to a bar in Friedrichshain, a divey place, but ideal for the occasion. I had a great time, making the most out of my status as a relative unknown, as well as the beer deals and foosball tables. Max and I had been determined to make the party last fairly close to when we had to leave for the airport, as we had a ten o clock flight the next morning. We succeeded in not getting back to his house until 3:30ish, then got about three hours of sleep before getting up to head on our Italiadventure. That, though, is my next story. For now, I get to reflect on the city of Berlin, one that has embraced itself and made a difficult past into a dynamic present. Cheap, fun, intriguing, diverse, and little like Paris, it was a welcome breath of fresh air.

Have a Good Night, Good night, Goodbye.

Thusly, the Czech flight attendant greeted us in Prague, beginning our spring break, whose first stop in the capital of the Czech Republic yielded many similar turns of English phrase, beer cheaper than you could imagine in Paris, beautiful buildings, and awesome matching sweaters.

But first, the flight, the sketchiest of my life. Having booked it on a budget Czech airline allegedly called "Smartwings," according to its website "smartwings.com", I expected to find it listed as such when looking up my terminal on Paris-CDG's website. Smartwings was nowhere to be found, though, and my flight was allegedly being carried on an airline suspiciously called "Travel Service"

This suspicion was only amplified when my tickets were issued at the desk by some company named "Swissport." When Taylor, Alia, and I got to the plane, it was Travel Service again. When we got in the plane, it was Smartwings. Having had nothing answered as to the name of the airline, I decided to think of it as what it most certainly was: "Low Budget Czech Airline." The plane made Ryanair's fleet seem state of the art, and was most likely a relic from the communist era. My seat was broken such that it could fold in half. Nevertheless, we made it safely to Prague, eliciting the titular greeting in a thick accent from the husky looking Czech lady.

After touchdown, we made our way into Prague by skipping fares on the bus and metro, consecutively, thanks to help from a friendly local American student.

As we wandered from the metro station to our hostel, we turned a corner into Old Town Square, and immediately fell in love with Prague, as we stared up at the Disneyland-meets-Gothic-stronghold Old Tyn Church. It was around midnight, and the square was mostly empty, save for one open shop, selling beer and sausages. We sat ourselves down and got acquainted with Prague.

After checking in at our nice and very central hostel, we got a couple of pints at 40ish crowns: roughly 1.70 euros. We thought those were amazing prices. We had yet to truly get to know Prague.

We started the next day at the Easter Market in Old Town square, an installation that only added to Prague's nearly unsustainable quaintness. We eventually made our way over to the astronomical clock tower, which, despite hosting weddings what seemed like every twenty minutes, was open to the public to go to the top for only 50 crowns (2 euros(3 dollars)). The view was spectacular, as Prague has countless beautiful old buildings and a cascade of red tile roofs. After a meeting of couple nice British friends, we moved on towards the Charles Bridge. After all the walking, it was time for a beer. Or four. We pub-hopped for about four hours, trying pints in different neighborhoods, with prices plummeting to 24 crowns. Then it was time for a break before heading out to dinner at an Italian restaurant, which seemed to be the "specialty" of Prague. The tomato soup tasted good, but did not end up well for our stomachs, contributing to our night's early demise.

Before we headed in, though, we did stop at one bar, which brings up a very salient point about Prague. The Czech Republic is a country that still does not have a smoking ban in bars, making it the first country like that I've been to a bar in. I don't mind the smell of smoke, and sometimes I even enjoy it. But the bar we went to that night made the smoking ban seem like the best legislation of the past thousand years.

Starting off on the ground floor as a nice, but crowded and fairly smoky wine bar, it winded down several stories in a labyrinthine manner. The farther you descended, the smokier it got, and the more confusingly configurated and crowded as well. By the time you reached the last bar (or was it the last bar?) the air was so thick with smoke that it almost made moot the fact that you couldn't remember how to get back anyway. It hurt to open your eyes, and I'm positive I would've passed out from lack of oxygen had I stayed any longer.

Besides that adventure, though, Friday night was fairly tame, as our stomachs could not handle much besides that tomato soup.

Saturday was late starting and we headed off to get street food for lunch at the market. I got a delicious mix of potatoes, sauerkraut, cheese, and sausage. We followed this up with ice cream and then it was off to the commercial Melantrichova street for some cheap, Eastern European shopping. I settled on a pair of sunglasses and a sweet blue sweater with skulls and crossbones on it. Enticed by its incomparable style, Taylor and Alia bought one each as well, leading us to look like some sort of strange, hipster tour group. From there we did some pub hopping, even finding Hooters Prague (!) at one point. We got dinner at a neat, cheap, seemingly local Czech place where 6 euros got me a huge helping of curry penne pasta, a side of fries, and a pint of delicious Czech beer. We moved on from there, alternating between pints at a bar and cans of beer drunk outside. It was in this manner that Prague endeared itself to us. We didn't do nearly as much sightseeing as we might in other cities, but we got to know the city through its streets and its beer.

As a final note, the most hilarious translation in Prague was the salads category on one pub menu:

"Salads irreparable for eaters flowers."

PS: Blogs from the rest of the trip to come as I am able to transcribe them. This is tiring work!