My American friend moved from Prague to Berlin last weekend, and we drove her there. Her neighborhood, Neukölln --former West Berlin American sector--is like Little Turkey. It has one of the highest immigrant populations in the city. needless to say, there was kebab, tea houses, shawarma. Once, we saw some pretzels being sold on the street, to remind us where we were. And there was currywurst.


It rained all weekend, and the punks -- for which Eastern Germany has a reputation -- were partying under overhangs in the city center. Some even had a little fire going in a can.
We walked copiously, visited the Brandenberg Gate, got soaked, saw the wall at Checkpoint Charlieand the DDR Museum. Intersected the Berlin Marathon (those people were soaked) ate falafel, went home.

Going through the wall at Check Point Charlie



A Brazillian drum band played here as encouragement.

Prague and around

1. Natasha was visiting from Saint Petersburg through the social phenomenon www.couchsurfing.org Naturally, we found a place to throw daggers.
2. The only place a resident peacock could escape small children--atop the electricty shed.
3. Prague TV tower at night
4. Dog surveys the city, Karlovy Vary.

Some recent pictures

First three are Karlovy Vary, today, in the dull drizzle. Second two are on top of a nearby mountain. Sixth is the old military training ground which is now offices and the public library.

People's hobbies 1: Orienteering

Orienteering, or racing from one spot to another with a map and compass, was developed in the early 20th century by the Swedish military. Orienteering has since transitioned into a sport, and you can find competing clubs in every country, though it still remains most popular in Scandinavia.

Czechs also seem to love this sport, and last Saturday we went to see what it was all about: we entered the childrens category, 3.5 kilometers on foot.
"Should take us 1/2 an hour" we sneered. The electronic start screeched, and we were off, pelting through a pine forest while people in funny wind-breaker type clothes were combing the underbrush everywhere around us, looking for their coordinates, labeled by an internationally recognized orange and white flag.

For someone who can't read maps (me) every giant hill came as a surprise. It often happens that you run up something, desperately looking for the next point behind a rock pile, which the "clue board" held onto your wrist by elastic shows with coded symbols, and you realize it's in a totally different place, up a totally different hill. 3.5 kilometers in hilly terrain? Turns out it's killer.

Five kids entered our category, and we managed to come in 3rd, after 56 minutes of ragged breathing, drenched sneakers, wild-eyed searching and sprinting over wet logs. Seeing as there were two of us, this wasn't exactly the quick finish we'd envisioned.

No matter. Old men finished the race sooner, and some awfully fit participants were racing as much as 12 kilometers with more than 20 coordinates to find. One woman finished with two giant mushrooms in hand, already designing her post-race dinner. Sport drink was handed out, and beer was for sale, and some older men changed their underpants in plain view, as I hear is the custom in Europe.

So, in sum, a race that uses your head. Or as a kid in a Youtube video puts it: "It's not like a cross country race where you're just blasting, it's a whole nother experience."

Things cooked and wrapped up by grandmothers

There is something ingenious about grandmothers wrapping up food. My own g-ma was a fastidious tin foil salvager--judging by the foil's wrinkles and loss of sheen, my sandwich was the 17th that had been protected by that malleable metal.

But the two Marie's here (Michal's grandmothers have the same name) are on a higher level of salvage. This past spring, I received walnut berry cake, skillfully wrapped in layers of bread bag, carefully snuggled into an empty Kleenex container, held tight with a giant rubber band.

Likewise, when I opened the fridge yesterday, I found a plastic tub that once held grapes, full of a special meat and soy patty,(Karbonatky) covered and lined inside by plastic bread bag. The whole thing rubber banded in place like a little girl's pony tail.
A large cake box, greasily addressed to Michal, held a surprisingly benign looking hill of white rolls. Turns out they're Buchty, sweet bread rolls filled with a thick plum jelly. Heated up, they're pretty delicious.

Never judge a book by its cover, or could it be the other way around?