Prague of 1,000 towers, Bohemia of 1,000 hills

Oh you who have always dreamt of a romantic, colorful Europe- each building older than our country, each riverside sunset more lovely than your date- let Prague be the city to keep these dreams alive. If you go to most cities in Germany, you will find a few remnants of this picturesque time, but so much was destroyed in the war, the major cities really haven't retained much of that charm. But Prague, city of 1,000 towers as it is called, lives up to its name. From the Elbe, the main river of which we spoke previously, it may be impossible to count the endless towers, each building boasting at least two just to compliment its flamboyant green or pink. A stroll along the Elbe will certainly demand a careful consideration of the importance of aesthetics  even for one so visually challenged as myself. The eb and flow of the hills as they roll and sweep, sometimes raising a wave of picturesque little towns, houses enjoying their eternal surf towards the sun, and then the trees take over once again to remind the eye where true beauty lies. I hope this isn't too indulgent, I try not to make you jealous, but wet your tongue for what an ideal European city can do to a weak minded tourist like myself.
But enough landscaping! Prague was for me a city of 1,000 hopes as well as towers. My first evening out on the town had me wandering off with my fiddle and banjo, generally deciding the middle would be a good place to start (this is how most of my adventures start). Before really getting anywhere I passed an Irish pub with such a great name I couldn't resist.. it was not your usual 'McKinny's, or McFlinn's, or O'Flannigan's' Really the only thing that determines an irish pub it seems is a Mc or an O in the title, OK and a Guinness sign out front.. let's be reasonable. But O'Che's was the name of this one, with a giant mural of Che Guevara. So I stopped my bicycle and asked if they might need a musician that weekend. Sure enough without hesitation I had a gig on Sunday night. And thus started the long string of hopes that began building up that eve- in Germany this kind of unannounced spontaneous arrival would not have been In Ordnung and I got many a sour face with an email address to conduct any further inquiries. But here, I ask, they accept and done. As I get farther east I am assuming this will be the more profitable kind of busking, and it was a source of great hope for me that already it was so much easier.
So then moseying along I saw a group of youngin's (meaning my age) with instrument cases. I went ahead and imposed my English on them, something I hate to do, but will have to learn to accept. Well they took me rambling through the little back streets of Prague to come out upon my dear friend, the river. On a friday night the waterfront was packed with people, I suppose this is the most natural thing in the world- water is our life source, and being near it is so relaxing, even when this same body a week ago was 10 ft about where we were all sitting, lulled and hypnotized by this twinkling power. But it was above these waves, that another surge of hopes came rushing through me, for I heard the music I've been searching! It was perfect! The first band we passed was so good, I had to stop and allow my friends to disappear, perhaps I had lost them but these sounds could not be missed. This band, accordion, cello, bass, violin, cajon, and all singing, were painting colors with their harmonies. They took songs that to me sounded like traditional Czech, Hungarian, Romanian melodies and put them to wonderful jazz chords with balkan rhythms. It was enchanting! They were doing with Eastern European folk music what I have heard done with American folk music and it was so fun, inspiring and hopeful! I have been told by many that I will not find the gypsies I'm seeking, and that I will not be able to infiltrate those societies in order to learn that music, and that I had better not go. Indeed in Berlin, my experience with the gypsies on the street that I sought out for jams were not playing music I was really that interested in, nor was I very interested in how they treated me.
But I walked on a little farther to see my friends all sitting there, and I coaxed out their instruments.. and the jam that I have been longing for, the jam I thought would never happen, the jam that I have truly been terrified of began. These musicians were incredible, I had stumbled upon a jackpot! They played klezmer, gypsy jazz, balkan, blues, they played for the joy of the motion and the ecstasy of the speed! I have been playing so much old time, where the beat is a bit behind and the groove is relaxed, so to jump onto this rhythm was a whole new animal. The boom chuck boom chuck first seems quite tame, you jump on with great confidence, only to find it rides so different in the gut, and at this speed, if you fall off the train, there's no getting back on.. I fell, with great embarrassment, thinking maybe I had better just watch. But it was irresistible, I had to jump on again, and I grasped for the reigns, and held on a little longer, but again the stallion bucked me off. But a third time I mounted and I felt my gut hone in on the rhythm.. I squeezed my legs and rode for all I was worth, my ears like jugglers- melody, chords, rhythm, melody, chords, rhythm, darting attention a million notes a minute, but not falling off that horse! Oh my, what a ride! And what hope! This was my first real gypsy jam, and I had made it. It was certainly embarrassing in the beginning, but I had come around and figured out some of it, I had started to learn the tunes, my ears began to adjust.. I have been so afraid that it would simply be too hard, but really it's just like old time, just a different language, a different horse. So much hope, and it continued through the rest of my time in Prague, but it came time finally, (after once again staying through too many proposed departures) that I had to hop on my own true stallion and head east for Bohemia!
Now, Bohemia is a term much romanticized and indeed I was so excited to bike through true Bohemia, I guess I was hoping for a whole area of musicians and writers and artists, sipping on wine or absinth? bringing infinite (as art is infinite, no?) beauty into the world.
HA! Perhaps that bit of Bohemia exists somewhere, but all I found were infinite hills.. 1,000 hills and to put my hopes in perspective, 1,000 fears. These last few days biking through the alp run offs have been like a dose of the start of my journey. It hasn't been so much due to the hills, yes they make me more tired, there has been not one stretch of even 1km of flat, it has been only up and down, and mostly really just up.. But that isn't so bad, legs adjust, mentality adjusts. But the little things that happen when you don't understand the language. For example, by now I have lost all my good water bottles, and so I went into a supermarket looking for some good shaped bottles of water that I can keep reusing. I bought 2 huge ones, also knowing I needed a lot of water. I biked off quite content with myself only to realize after the sun has gone down and everything is closed, that I just bought 2 huge bottles of terrible flavored water, with which I must now cook my lentils. I tried to make it better by adding copious amounts of hot sauce (thanks Brian!) but this did nothing for the flavor. I learned that night that sometimes making something spicier does not necessarily mean making it more delicious.. very sad discovery. Also I have now managed to lose my raincoat, and my bike gloves.. actually 2 pairs of bike gloves, and got my first flat of the trip. But life goes on, the road goes on, and Budapest awaits. I believe little periods like this are inevitable and perhaps healthy on this trip. But it is certainly a scary thing looking at that road, always east, always farther from what I know, always farther from the certainty and safety of the west. It does get to you after a little while, all the stories you hear about how dangerous it all is, how crazy I am. I look at that road and realize there are no faces out there I recognize, that as far as that road takes me there will be only new interactions, only introductions, only goodbyes. I am on the road to goodbye, and it is a hard road.
But the smallest things bring such huge sparks- a resting group of cyclers all stand and wave as I ride by, a couple christening a house blow me a kiss, a child dancing and laughing to my fiddle in the park. We have a beautiful race, and I'm reminded of that every day. It is for this fact, for this proof, that I wish to keep biking, that I turn my back to the sun as the day comes to a close, and I rejoice in the morning as I fly into it's shinning face with bell a ringin'!