Hola Praha

To be frank, geography is not my keenest skill.

When Sonya asked me how I felt about the Czech Republic, I thought it was in Africa.

Turns out, it is right up there by Austria and much cheaper to fly to.

Fine by me. Then, by some sort of providential pintervention, I discovered the most beautiful library I've ever seen and looked to see its locale: Prague, Czech Republic. Yep, yep. Definitely fine by me.

We arrived in Prague mid-Monday and were greeted by a gust of warm air and sunbeams. We very nearly lay on the sidewalk and wept.

I knew she and I would get on well when, upon walking into the city and seeing some native american dancing (because, of course), she said, "Ok. First order of business: ice cream." Praha was a little disappointing in that region, but that's the only one.

Our hostel was just on the outskirts of the old town square, where we arrived just in time to experience their Easter Market.

Trdelnik is a local favorite. It's like slow-roasted dough on a spit. Looks like a sugar-coated napkin ring. Vanilla, almond, sugar, and dough. 

That tree has sombreros, giant eggs, and streamers all up in it 

 While in the Czech republic, we had several run-ins with adorable dogs. People had dogs everywhere off their leashes. Weird breeds, too.

My favorite (not pictured) was a wee white dog that looked like the puppy version of a polar bear. Seriously, it had cub ears not dog ears. I could have snuggled it all day long.

This, of course, led to a discussion between myself and Sonya on the nature of dogs and leashes. Do we dog-leashers condition our animals to yearn for freedom and, thus, run off when unleashed? Do these unleashed foreign dogs behave because they are entrusted with their freedom?

So many questions.

The dog on the right there, Sally, we saw running around a bagel shop in Prague. Just happy as a bug running all about. Nobody minding at all.

Her owner, Lucien, we learned is actually a Seattle native who just kind of ended up in the Czech republic. He's part of a blue grass band there, and it's awesome. 

Lucien also informed us that the US imports their German Shepherd police dogs from CZ because they are some of the best dog trainers in the world.

 Betcha didn't remember that Prague is the hometown of Franz Kafka! Blanking on Kafka? It's ok. Not all of us are English majors.

Kafka. Think "The Metamorphosis." Think man gets turned into a giant bug. There you go! Now you're with me.

Fun fact: Kafka, though from Prague, was only popular after death, largely due to the fact that he wrote only in German. Not Czech. In fact, Czech was language #13 for his works to be translated into. WHAT. Crazy, I know.

Beautiful, no? No wonder Hitler wanted to make Prague his summer home following his victory in World War II. 

An example of a principle I learned from a horrid Freshman reading requirement called..oh shoot! What is it?Something to the effect of Transcendent Grace, or, to define it instead, the idea that even non-Christians and non-Christian things can teach us more about and be used for the Kingdom of God. 

Now then, that example. Hitler. 

Because he wanted to make Prague his summer home, he ensured that the entire Jewish sector of the city be left untouched. Yes, it was in the major floodzone, but not to be touched by man. He wanted it to be used later on as a commemoration over his enemies. 

Yet, because he lost the war, the Jewish section of the city is one of the only untouched areas of Judaism that remains intact to the core. 

The music hall (which I could not get a good shot of) has six statues on the roof. 

I think it was Mozart, but it could have been Beethoven--I am seriously losing credibility here--played in that hall. But the statues! 

One of the musicians up there was a Jewish man. The German dude who took over the building wouldn't stand for that, so he sent his lackies out to go shove it off the building.

However, they didn't know which one it was, so they measured the noses and wrecked the statue which had the longest. Ironically, it was the only German musician up there. Pissed the leader off in the extreme, but the Jew stayed. :) 

One of those bridges, by the way, is called "Most Legii," which looks like Most Legit. Soooo we walked across it. 

I'm rather certain that what's featured below is the senate building, with gardens named after some family whose name I didn't catch while eavesdropping on a segway tour group. 

It was also a peacock garden 

 Okay this is my favorite part of the garden. This is a faux-natural dripping rock wall. I think I like it particarly well because I didn't know it was fake until I reached the plaque at the end.

On my way down the wall, though, I had been noticing things that looked like trapped faces or trap doors or huts with feet (the picture on the left if that dang plant hadn't been there).

Then, upon reaching the plaque, I learned that that was the whole point. the wall was designed with an air of magic and mystery about it. There are all kinds of hidden little tricks in it. So whimsical. I loved it.

Then there's the astronomical clock.
Let me tell ya. They are dang proud of their astronomical clock.
At the top of every hour, two little windows open and saints go round and round peekaboo style (as in the picture), while a skeleton rings a bell (up there by the upper circle on the right). Then, for the finale, that golden rooster shakes its feathers, does a little dance, and crows.

The clock itself tells you basically everything from position of the sun, the season, the time, where on the star chart we are, and the phase of the moon. The moon part, though, is manually changed every single day, but nobody has any idea who does it. It's all very smokey and mysterious, Quasimodo like.

Oh! By the way, all the historical information I'm pulling out is from our gorgeous Australian tour guide named Ashley. He also specializes in pies.

In Dublin's Fair City (#momweek2014 closing ceremonies)

Dubliners are just not like Belfast folk.
Dublin is not like Belfast.

Each time I go there, I feel as though I hit culture shock as great or greater than when I visit The States.

It's crowded always, as dirty as Belfast is clean, loud, and trying to find an actual Dubliner is pretty near impossible.

However, Jansie was flying back to Oklahoma from Dublin, and it is the capitol of the republic, so we decided to explore. And, despite my wee grudge against its "city"ness, it is pretty good looking.

After some bus struggles (when do I not have bus struggles?), we made it into the city: Jansie with The Book of Kells on her mind, and me with a countdown of 15 minutes to find free wifi in a semi-quiet location.

Off we went!!

My mom understands my hang-up about books. How could she not? She's the one who instilled them into my heart. She read aloud to me hours and hours of fairy tales and Laura Ingalls Wilder and Nancy Drew, not to mention all the books on tape we listened to when painting a room or going on a road trip.

Thus, she loved The Trinity Library and Book of Kells exhibit, or so she said. I was not present for that section of her journey. I was off skyping. But more about that in a few days. :)

Next came a run-in at a local bookshop. It was so darling I wanted to pocket it and take it home. There were so many books I wanted to read!!! And yet, so many that are still on the "to-read" shelf that must be cared-for first.

From there, the hapometers were sinking (4pm and still hadn't eaten. YIKES!), so we sought out sustenance, finding a sweet little place whose name I have entirely forgotten, and it fit our qualifications perfectly: cozy, inexpensive, delicious.

On to the Dublin Castle and gardens and an attempt at the Chester Beatty Library, but it was 5 and closing. Woah. Time really disappeared there.

and a lovely cathedral...

and then...gelatto! They have just the most delicious rum and raisin flavor. This place is the best. However, I can only ever find it when I get lost...similarly to my favorite book shop in Belfast. I think something is wrong with me.
The rest is a blur: a walk to bus 16, a flurry of languages on said bus, a drop off in the pouring rain, and snuggles and Amelie and sleep. Then she was gone.

I love my ma. We're often too different and often too similar and often we struggle against division by a common language, but nobody snuggles or loves or takes care of you quite like your mom can. Nobody's driving skills can make you want to wet yourself quite like your mom's can either, but man. For all our mutual crazy and ability to drive (ha! Drive. Completely unintentional pun.) one another mad at times, I would not trade my mama for anybody.

Jamie and Jansie's Very Good Adventure (#momweek2014 p.4)

Belfast-Carrickfergus-Whitehead-Larne-Ballygalley-Glenarm-Carnlough-Ballycastle-Portaneevey Car Park-Giant's Causeway-Port Stuart

Our means: Rental car and prayer.

This world traveller loves and trusts her mother.
and is also a pain in the butt passenger.

However, we made it through day one alive, with only 13 curb hops and a side mirror scrape from our BnB entrance.

We took the coastal route, which means it took much longer, but gave us the most gorgeous views.

Also, it is worth knowing that the British are all about accuracy. For instance, rather than using an American phrase like, "The best in town," a Brit would say, "One of the good places to eat in town."

For that reason, it wasn't the best adventure we had, but it was a very good one.

First stop: Carrickfergus, where we roamed about the castle and looked out into the sea. Yes, that rainbow did go before us all day long. There was no pillar of fire by night. 

Glenarm is quite wee, but it is the site of a gorgeous little church, this cool old castle wall/bridge and possibly the most amusing pedestrian sign of all:

Breakfast was an Ulster Fry (meat, meat, meat, egg, potato bread, soda bread, tomato). It's standard. Oh, did I mention that's just the SMALL version? HA.

All this from the Carnlough "Harbour Lights Cafe," which was quaint, cheap, and right on the water.

Naturally, when we passed a Maud's in Ballycastle, it was our cue to pull over and indulge. Only the hope for another on the route stopped us from going back in. We're that embarrassingly addicted.

We overlooked the fabulous Carrick-a-rede rope bridge from the Portaneevey Car park. Actually, the road bends and falls just past that car park and drops your view onto the bridge and wild waters.

Neither of could breathe at the view. Had to turn around.

Giant's Causeway was nearly unrecognisable to me due to flooding. The wind had something to prove, apparently, but we stood our wee ground and took in the salted gusts and unnatural natural rocks.

However, as Jansie would put it, the hapometer (happy meter...it's my level of grumpiness depending on hunger. Similar to hangry, but it goes up when I eat...) was getting low.

It took us an unreasonable amount of time to find a place to stay and some grub, but totally worth it.

Thank you to the two local ladies who recommended both.

The Wine Bar is a local treasure, located at the end of the town. Literally. "Ya hit the harbour, see the three story, and go up). Easy enough!

The food was inexpensive and delicious (I got this coconut curry monk fish dish that was just so good), and the desserts. Ohmygosh, the desserts.

I had honeycomb chocolate brownie cheesecake. Yes, that's all one thing. Jansie had saltwater caramel chocolate torte. (can you see me drooling just rewriting this?)

Our bed for the night was at "An Amazing Bed n' Breakfast, though the fancy insignia above the door may disagree by a letter or so...:)

It was indeed a amazing house. ;)

Full and exhausted, we called it an early night. Or, rather, I did. That woman is like the energiser bunny, I swear...

#momweek2014 (part 3)

I know I've just recently told you about my love for Newcastle, but my mother wasn't with me.

Since it was St. Patrick's day, I didn't have class. So, Jansie and I grabbed a bus (or two) and made it down to Newcastle.

I always love the drive there. The weather's always different (even rain has its variations), and I see new parts of the city and countryside that I don't often get to.

Finally, we got there and promptly walked to Maud's for ice cream. They're known for their honeycomb "pooh bear" ice cream, but for copyright issues, it is officially known as "poor bear" ice cream these days.

That's how you can pick out the locals from the foreigners.

I'm tellin' ya, ice cream is always the answer.

Speaking of which, when the Kanukuk group was here, they kept asking me for the best places to eat or go or whatever, and I told them I was useless for that kind of stuff, but I'd be able to tell them the best coffee shops.

That is just not true.
I mean, to an extent it is: I can usually tell you the coffeehouse with the best vibes.
But I know ice cream.

It is my not guilty even kind of pleasure.

In fact, after Maud's and Mom's first fish n' chips--
["It's not my first! I've had Long John Silvers!" 'You've had nothing.']
--we had ice cream again.

It's a place called The Strand, which is a double decker and overlooks the ocean.
Oh HELLo.

To, ya know, burn off a few calories, we then walked to Tolleymore Forest. I am probably spelling that wrong, but I am okay with that.

On the way to the forest, by way of the Bryansford Lane, we came across a field of sheep.

Being that I am an antagonistic little sister, I baa'd at them.

They did not like that.

The entire field started for me, baa'ing loudly in reproach of our approach. Made for a sweet shot, being held captive on Jansie's camera.

The forest was just like I'd left it: green and tall and full of that tingly sensation that something greater than you just has to exist.

It was getting dark and touristy, so we headed back, snagged a bus (complete with a family of 3 plus one large dog named Holly, along with lots of other colorful folks), and vegged out for the rest of the evening, totally pooped.