Cesky Kromlov and more Prague

The gypsy cookout was quite a fantastic affair. It was in an old 15th century prision, and with the fire going it was rather toasty inside. I began to imagine myself turning on a huge skewer over the open flame.

While in Cesky Kromlov, I went to the Egon Schiele musuem. One thing is for certain: he likes his women, and he likes them sans clothing. But don't let my sarcastic jibe fool you; I think he is a fabulous artist.

The morning that I headed back to Prague, it poured down rain and I ended up taking a taxi to the bus station. The driver was positively putrid. I thought I may faint from his body odor or my increasingly desperate attempts to hold my breath. Anyway, my mostly intact nostrils and I boarded the bus, where I sat next to a very chatty and very humorous Brit. About an hour into the trip, a man boarded the bus and sat directly behind us. He made my taxicab driver smell like a patch of petunias. Deliana (funny girl from U.K.) and I wrapped scarves spritzed with perfume around our nose and mouth, yet somehow his stench lodged itself in the back of my throat for the next two hours.

Upon arrived in Prague, I grabbed a bit of dinner with Deliana, then I wandered off to find a hostel. The place I stayed at had free breakfast, but it was not for anyone inclined to sympathasize with the Princess and her dreadful pea. This morning I noticed what appeared to be fain stains of blue ink all down the sides of my body. Yes, they were bruises.

On Saturday I went to Prague Castle. The swarm of tourists buzzing around the castle was enough to give one an anxiety disorder. You couldn't stand anywhere without being jostled or stepping in the way of somebody's photo op. I accidently wandered through the palace rooms and the church without paying the requisite entrance fee. I felt a little bad about it, but not quite bad enough to go wait in line with the hordes to make a retroactive payment.

I was actually in a rather peevish mood by the time I left the grounds. However, this was all remedied by some rather fantastic spinich quesadillas. (Props to Sejal for ridding me of my ignorant perception that Mexican food in Europe cannot possibly be good.) On a semi-related tangent, spinich is apparently my new best friend. In the last three days I have consumed it at four different meals, prepared in four unique ways.

After my happy Mexican food outing, I wandered to an art expo that was housed in a crumbling warehouse in the dodgy end of town. It was quite fasicinating. Highlights included a wax likeness of Saddam Hussein, wearing only his skivvies, suspended in an underwater tank.

I went to the movies in the evening and saw Kinsey. My comment would have to be: !!!! Aside from the !!!! aspect of the movie, I found myself cringing over the blatantly obvious methodological flaws in his research (primarily response biases).

That was a fairly nerdy note to end on. I apologize.