German phrase of the day: g'spritz = "with bubbles in".
Got up very early this morning, so as to have plenty of time to pack - and then found I'd overdone the earliness. As I was sitting around wondering what to do, I got a message from Pat to say that his first ever show on internet radio was due to start in a few hours. He's been asked to DJ for www.party934.com for a few hours each week, because the American "graveyard shift" is actually an ideal time for an Australian to be awake and broadcasting.
On realising groggily what his message meant by "first show", I got almost as nervous and excited as he sounded. Unfortunately, he was due on-air just as we were due to be out the door and walking to the station for our train to Vienna. I fenagled a little bit of extra time from my family so as to be able to hear the first 5 minutes of his show - hooray for family! It's kinda lucky I did listen to the first bit, or Pat wouldn't have had any warning that his mic wasn't working. Lack-of-hooray for technical problems! He wrestled with unfamiliar software while I tried to update him on what it sounded like. There was absolutely nobody "official" online to cover him while he fixed his mic, so he tells me he just resorted to playing music for the entire two hours, without pauses for talking. Baptism of fire.
I had to leave him battling technology, however... because it was a fair step to the station with packs on, and we couldn't afford to miss the train we'd booked. We made it in good time, and wandered to the correct platform. The station's only been changed into Prague's main station in the past week or so, and the new bits are built under the old station. There are points where you can look up to balconies and domes above, which belong to the now-abandoned old buildings. They'll redevelop it into a shopping mall or something, but I secretly like the idea of commuters scurrying around nervously beneath a big echo-y ghost station.
When we boarded our train, my engineering father realised it was a Pendolino. To us mere mortals, that means it's been designed to tilt into each corner so that the passengers don't notice the discomfort of being flung around by inertia. Mum has decided that the ideal way to travel is "with an art-lover and an engineer" - because you get random insights that you otherwise wouldn't. I think she said that after I pointed out to her that the manhole covers in Oslo had an interesting coat of arms on them. >.>
Anyway, our very comfortable train took us through rural parts of the Czech Republic, and through the slummier bits of outlying cities, both of which types of scenery were fascinating. The buildings here are so different, and so old. We passed rows and rows of allotments - Europe's answer to the vegetable patch and garden shed. A lot of the sheds seemed to have been done up into 4-metre-square holiday houses, with cute little windowboxes and decorated awnings - so that families can spend the weekend gardening, away from the city. We passed harvested fields where flocks of little brown deer ran alongside the train.
Eventually the country houses began to look different, and we crossed into Austria. Just after we entered Vienna, our train crossed over the Danube - and to my delight, it's really, truly blue! A sort of shimmery cobalt blue, like a crinkled silk scarf.
We disembarked not long after, and tried to find the right bus stop to take us near our apartment. We failed, and had the kind of four-way row only members of a family can have... where everybody's a little bit at fault at once, and nobody's going to admit it. We caught a taxi to our apartment instead, and got there safe and sound in the end. The next challenge was that our "greeter" spoke only German - and we speak only English, with a bit of French and Japanese between us. He took us up to the second floor and gave us our keys, and then we embarked upon a strange game of charades. I had made the mistake of trying to thank him in German for picking up my pack, and so the poor man decided that I must speak more German than I was letting on. He addressed several of his explanations to me, and then to mum when I proved no use. Still, we managed to understand several reasonably complex pieces of information - like the fact that the supermarket was around the corner, past the first set of traffic lights. I guessed traffic lights must be "Ample", like "Ampleman" in Berlin. I don't even know how to spell it accurately; I've only ever heard it spoken.
The man eventually managed to pass all the information onto we four stupid foreigners that he needed to, and seemed relieved to be gone. I felt sorry for him - I suspect he'd been expecting people who had at least a cursory understanding of German. We all slumped into the sofas in the living room, exhausted. Dad and I recovered long enough to go out and scout for places for dinner, and then the four of us vegged out until 5.30, when all the restaurants opened.
We settled upon the "Knossos", because it was close, and because even our knowledge of Greek is better than our knowledge of German - thanks to the cultural mix back home, we at least know Greek food-words. Turned out to be an awesome choice - Pip and I ordered the "fischplatte fr 2 personnen", and we were presented with a mountain of calamari, mussels, and other mystery-seafood surrounding an entire baked fish. Not very pricey, either! It was so early that we were the only people in the place, and I think the man who served us was the manager. He was very jolly and friendly, and jumped into our photo with delight. When I fumbled and dropped my fork mid-meal, he materialised from around the corner with a new set of cutlery and a sly grin.
After dinner we returned to our apartment, and I fell into bed early.
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