Slow Down, You Crazy Child

Remember that time we took the struggle train to Poland and every possible thing that went awry actually went horribly wrong? This weekend, the universe repented in a real and major way. These three amigos forgive it wholeheartedly.

Maybe it was the sunshine that welcomed us warmly at 5am when we hopped off the night bus. Or maybe it was the many, many decadent Eiskaffes and Viennese coffees that we sipped while basking in that sunshine. Maybe it was because people smiled at us on the streets and trams. Oh Vienna. It was all of these things and so many, many more.

Of course you can tell from my copious pictures and posts on various social media platforms that I am in love with Prague in spite of the perpetual precipitation and chilly weather/people. But sometimes folks need a small hiatus from the things they love.

We hopped on the night bus Friday after work and arrived in Vienna early Saturday morning. Outside the bus stop, we saw a weird light on a building yonder. We shook the sleep off a little bit and realized this city has something we haven’t seen in a long, long time. THE SUN. Kirstie, Andi and I realized simultaneously that the sun was rising. We looked at one another and practically took off running in that direction, and quickly arrived at the bank of the Danube. Depravation or delirium? I’m not sure. But if you’d been up at dawn on the banks of that great river, you’d have seen three friends dancing and laughing like the lifeblood had just been poured back into their bodies.

Even at that early hour, one thing we noticed quite quickly is that people acknowledge one another in Vienna. At first we wondered why people were smiling at us and looking us in the eyes. We felt a little uncomfortable until we realized that the Czechs have conditioned us to their blank stares and chilly exteriors, but that it’s actually quite nice to meet friendly faces. Humanity is good.

We spent the weekend meandering the streets of the most beautiful city in Europe (perhaps a matter of opinion), soaking up the best things in life at outdoor cafes, wandering through palaces and rose gardens and river bend concerts.

I love that cities have personalities and that you can glean some meaning from the feeling they exude. Vienna was just so warm. My faith in humanity was so fully restored by the people who offered us directions and history and suggestions and pastries and coffee for nothing in return. It was a good reminder to be that person, that offerer, in Prague or wherever possible.

Kirstie and Andi left Sunday night, but since I had a meeting on Monday I got to stick around a little longer. I went to mass and a concert and got to bask in the glorious twilight for just a little longer. What a city. I was pretty reluctant to board that bus home on Monday, even after I changed my trip to a later time.

Climbing out of the bus in Prague, I was surprised to hear someone laugh, “can I offer you an umbrella?” My friend Vaclav just happened to be coming out of the metro at the same time—he walked me to my stop and chatted for a few minutes. It was a gentle reminder that the Czechs are wonderful, too. You just have to get to know them first. This week, the sun is shining and Prague is a magical fairy tale city. Life is good. People are good. The world is a good place.

Make Thee an Ark

"And the waters prevailed exceedingly upon the earth; and all the high mountains that were under the whole heaven were covered." 

Genesis 7:19

Last week, we celebrated a great milestone in The Prague--our 80th hour of sunlight. This. Year. 

That's right. In six months, we've had 80 cumulative hours of sunlight. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 

We should've laughed. Last week's 15 minutes of sunlight that got us to the grand total of 80 hours might have just been the last we'll ever see unless we start building an ark--like, yesterday.

Prague is under water. 

They call it a 100 Years Flood. It hasn't stopped raining in days, and the river just keeps on swelling. It's eerie and terrifying to watch the water keep rising. Twenty-three years of hurricanes hasn't prepared me to watch a natural disaster that gets worse and worse daily, steadily climbing to the climax of destruction. 

Andi and I decided not to let the rains get in the way of our half marathon training, so we braved the storm yesterday for our long run of the week. Our river promenade was completely covered; I was up to my knees wading through the main square in town.

The metros are closed, as are schools and many other operations. It's a truly devastating thing to witness--this beautiful, ancient city just being drenched and soaked and washed away.

Sunday morning run--the Vltava beginning to swell

Old Town Square on Saturday before the floods

!http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-22747240

Send up some prayers for sweet Prague and Central Europe!

The Spectacle

Fresh off a long hard work week, we picked up bikes in rainy Prague on Friday night and rode through the glistening city. Saturday morning, we hopped a train to Cesky Raj for a bike ride and picnic in the mountains of the Czech countryside. Even in the slight drizzle, we discovered quickly that the English name for the area, “Bohemian Paradise,” is an apt description indeed.

The steep slopes and country roads made for some strenuous treks, but the sights, camaraderie and fresh mountain air made every climb well worth it.

Fields of Rapeseed sponsored by the EU for use in production of biodiesel

We were getting a little hungry when we spotted a tiny little chapel atop a nearby slope. We parked our bikes and began our ascent, noting that the path was called “the way of the cross” and was marked at intervals with the Stations of the Cross etched in stone. The way up was not only incredibly steep, but recent monsoons had turned it into what was essentially a 60 degree mudslide winding around the mountain. As Ryan so reverently noted, “the way of the cross wasn’t an easy trip for Jesus, either.”

We finally made it to the top and the view was every bit what we’d anticipated. From afar, we saw what seemed to be a wedding procession, and after a few minutes it appeared they were scaling the mountain (more adeptly) and heading toward the chapel where we’d just made our picnic. As they got closer, we became more and more bewildered.

It was indeed a wedding procession. The bride was bedecked in purple; the person cloaked in white was—of course—Gandalf. Between our broken Czech, the party’s broken English and context clues like elf ears and wizard ensembles, we learned that we had stumbled upon a traditional Czech Lord of the Rings wedding.

So we did as you do here in the Czech Republic—shared our vino, bread and strawberries, took shots of plum vodka with the wedding party, and partook of the ceremonial merriment. At one point we realized all cameras pointed at us—at a Lord of the Rings themed wedding on top of a mountain in the Bohemian countryside, WE were the spectacle. WHAT?!

It was one of those moments of being in just the right place at just the right time. Thank goodness for photographs, otherwise I’m not sure I could trust my memory of that unreal scene.

Found a castle built into the mountain

Bohemian Paradise

Czech Lessons

I read an article this morning about why it’s important to travel while you’re young.

Among his litany of sophic insights, the writer noted:

“You will begin to understand that the world is both a big and small place. You will have a new-found respect for the pain and suffering that over half of the world takes for granted on a daily basis.

And you will feel more connected to your fellow human beings in a deep and lasting way. You will learn to care.”

I was nodding my head in absentminded assimilation when one of my students walked in and asked what I was reading.

I asked her to read a bit of the article for a short warm-up to the lesson, and we proceeded to discuss the effects that travelling has on a person as a citizen of the world. What we didn’t discuss—and something I do plan to tell them by the end of classes —is that my students have taught me more in the three months I’ve been with them than I could have ever anticipated or expect to reciprocate.

At first, it was hard to get to know them. A thin shell of skepticism is a protective barrier surrounding all Czechs; a generational defense mechanism reminiscent of the communist era.

Once you earn their trust and affection, however, you’re in—all the way in. They care deeply about those they permit into their circles and care for their friends in every way they are able. My students are the sources of almost all of my knowledge of Prague and the secrets of this magical city. They come in day after day with suggestions of things we must do or places we must see, and they are all so excited to take me on visits to their “willages” when classes are over. Each village has something special to offer, especially during the summertime. I could spend every weekend of my life checking off towns in the Czech Republic from the list they’re continually creating for me.

My students are also my wellspring of cultural enrichment. Without them I may have been surprised on Easter morning (which is the Monday after what we consider Easter) when all the boys in town—ranging in age from 2-102 years—run from door to door with switches, exchanging slaps and the promise of youth for colored eggs, candy and ribbons from the resident females. 

One thing that many expats notice right away is that the Czechs have many universal, defining features. An easy way to quantify this is that I (as well as all of my friends) have yet to meet a Czech who doesn’t enjoy “picking up mushrooms in the nature.” It’s a thing.

They’re also characteristically honest: 

One of my students said the following to me today regarding his colleague: “It’s important that she knows that no one in the office loves her. She needs to know.” 

And characteristically scrappy. So many years of being under the communist hammer instilled penchant for thwarting authority whenever possible. In 1891, the Czechs were inspired to build a replica of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Parisians told the Czechs they could never create something so amazing. So the Czechs responded by creating an exact replica that is one meter higher than the original. Including, of course, the hill on which it is mounted.

These may seem like trifles, but to me they’re quite revealing of a national identity shaped by the past, including most recently the communist regime and the revolution that ended it. It’s a pretty great country, and I feel so lucky to have this opportunity to explore these things that make us the same and different. The world is a cool place.  

“That strange feeling—like the first signs of spring, like good news, had come over them.” -CS Lewis

St. Vitas and the castle looking mighty lovely in the sunshine

our very own castle nook

prettiest little town in the world

We Boarded a Train to Krakow

Friday morning, my roommate Andi and I were discussing how we’d spend our long weekend (Easter is celebrated on Monday here?) and we decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to visit Krakow, Poland. Because Poland is so Catholic, there would be tons of festivals and celebrations for the Easter triduum.

Of course anyone reading this knows that spontaneity is a quality I admire in other people, but not one that I possess. I have an evolving list of places I’d like to visit, and under each entry is an itinerary, transportation time tables, the recommended amount of time to spend there and the historical significance of the place. I had Krakow planned to a science.

We recruited our best friend to join us on the excursion, and then:

10:29pm: Boarded a train to Krakow (with a little difficulty: we tried to find our train wagon and were directed to opposite ends of the platform three times. After a quick game of platform ping pong, we found seats just in time for the train to pull away)

12:30am: Train stewards wake us up to check our tickets.

2:30am: Train stewards wake us up to check our tickets.

4:30am: Train stewards wake us up to check our tickets. Yell at us, something about Warsaw.

5:00am: Train stewards wake us up to check our tickets. Yell at us: “This train—not Krakow. Warsaw.”  We didn’t panic or blame. As this information washed over us and sank in, a light came on and suddenly it all made sense. In our hurry, we’d hopped on the wrong train wagon. Fun fact: A single European Train has the ability to split into different parts at various intervals of a trip.

7:35am: Arrive in Warsaw.

Whoops.

7:36am: Sprint to the ticket counter in search of tickets to Krakow. The one helpful train steward had written something in Polish on our tickets; we expected the ticket counter people to understand our predicament and help us. Foolish. More Polish people yelled at us, directed us from counter to counter (some of which would not open for two more hours) and wouldn’t help us until Andi stomped her foot and yelled back, “NO! HELP US! KRAKOW NOW!”

8:35am: Boarded a train to Krakow

11:40am: Arrive in Krakow

11:45am: Lunch: Ravenous, we stopped at the first Polish café we saw inside the terminal. Pointed to something on the menu, pleased with ourselves for a) making it to Krakow and b) ordering our first Polish meal.

It took this many tickets to get us to Krakow

12:15pm Served a plate of Doritos and ketchup

1:00pm: Get tickets for the train that leaves for Auschwitz in a few hours. Head to the city center to explore. Krakow is an amazing city. So beautiful and quaint, and everyone—young and old, boy and girl—was carrying wicker Easter baskets through the market. Charming and adorable, it made us laugh a little bit. We went into some beautiful churches and soaked in the general feeling of hope and happiness that the city exuded. There were musicians on every corner; our favorite was a dad and his young daughter singing outside a cathedral in the center. His highly stylized opera music contrasted delightfully with her childish squealing.

Alleluja indeed.

3:30pm: Hop the train to Auschwitz. Train takes about an hour longer than it’s supposed to, so we arrive at 5:30pm, and take off toward the camp.

6:00pm: What camp? It’s nowhere to be found. No signs. No signs of life. The camp would close in an hour, so we decide to scrap the Auschwitz plan and head back to Krakow where we could put that extra time to good use. After another quick game of ticket counter ping pong (we’re becoming quite skilled at this point), we realize that the next train will not leave for two hours, which would make us miss our night train back to Prague. Cue panic attack. We spot a bus coming over the hill and run to meet it at the bus stop. As I step to ask the conductor if he’s going to Krakow, he slams the doors and speeds away.  Thirty minutes later, a second bus arrives and—THANK GOD—carries us back to Krakow.

This was the best part of the trip. The bus traveled through small towns throughout the country, affording us a glimpse of the Easter Vigil celebrations. Churches were illuminated and surrounded with hordes of the faithful. Every grave in every cemetery was illumined with candles, a sight which I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

At some point along the journey, we began to reflect upon the day and were reduced to a fit of uncontrollable laughter. We laughed until we ached; laughed like crazy, hysterical madwomen until we arrived back in Krakow.

8:30pm: Arrive in Krakow for the second time! Twice in one day—how’s that for success? We run back to the center to check off one more Poland must do: pierogis! We make it just before the markets close and go back for second and third helpings of these delicious dumplings. All is right in the world. We grab two bottles of wine and sprint back to the station.

10:00pm: Depart Krakow. The train stops for an hour in the middle of the night “for daylight savings time.” Because why not?

9:30am: Wake up and spot Zizkov tower from the train window. WE MADE IT BACK TO PRAGUE! Cue laughter, tears and overwhelming joy. IT’S AN EASTER MIRACLE!  

We calculated that 31 hours of the 35 hour trip was spent in transit. Juxtaposing our final series of events with my original itinerary sent us into another fit of laughter. What are plans? There’s no such thing. 

Throughout those 35 hours we were collectively yelled at by SO MANY Polish people, slipped on SO MUCH ice, had iceballs thrown at us, and just generally failed at so many things that it’s honestly hard to believe it all happened. Still as we sit here on Easter Monday, watching Friends and recounting the weekend, we chalk it up in the success column. Sometimes the old adage is true; it really is more about the journey than the destination. That’s a lesson we learned aboard the literal Hot Mess Express.

Chinese Eggplant

I count myself among the luckiest of people because throughout my life I’ve been surrounded by the most wonderful, uplifting friends. Moving abroad can propose some pretty formidable obstacles. There are times when it would be completely reasonable to just throw hands and the air and scream “does anyone here understand me?”

For reasons I can’t justify, I am extremely blessed to have a tightly knit group of friends/family here. My roommate Andi and I have shared some pretty amazing adventures—from traveling Poland bottom to top (accidentally) to sharing a bottle of Lambrusco in a paddleboat on the Vltava to miles and miles (and miles) of half marathon training—she is my copilot in the whole cooking in Czech adventure.

Some of our best work comes from her beautiful Chinese heritage. Here’s our favorite, Chinese Eggplant:

Ingredients:

2 long Chinese eggplants, cubed

 1 1/2 tablespoons soy sauce

 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

 1 tablespoon white sugar

 1 green chile pepper, chopped

 1 teaspoon cornstarch

 1/2 teaspoon chili oil, or to taste

 2 teaspoons salt

 2 tablespoons vegetable oil

Directions:

1) Place the eggplant cubes into a large bowl, and sprinkle with salt. Fill with enough water to cover, and let stand for 30 minutes. Rinse well, and drain on paper towels.

2) In a small bowl, stir together the soy sauce, red wine vinegar, sugar, chile pepper, cornstarch and chili oil. Set the sauce aside.

3) Heat the vegetable oil in a large skillet or wok over medium-high heat. Fry the eggplant until it is tender and begins to brown, 5 to 10 minutes. Pour in the sauce, and cook and stir until the sauce is thick and the eggplant is evenly coated. Serve immediately.

Veni Vidi Vici

Sitting here looking out the window at snow covered Praha, I keep sinking into daydreams of last weekend in Rome. You know those rare days when everything seems to work out just the way they should? We had three consecutive days like that in what is now one of my favorite cities in the world.

Upon finding out that Benedict was stepping down, I began to research when the conclave would begin and decided I must be in St. Peter’s Square to see that smoke. When it came down to it, they moved the conclave up and had chosen Pope Francis just a few days before our scheduled arrival. It worked out just fine.

Kirstie and I stumbled sleepily to the airport at 4am Friday and arrived in Roma in time to get a little lost, find a small restaurant outside the tourist center (best pasta ever) and hit the ground in search of some quality ruins. We found the Colosseum, allowed it to take our breath away for a minute or two and proceeded to walk around and around exploring and basking in the sun and antiquity.

Our entire trip proceeded in much the same way. We walked and talked and soaked up what felt like the warmth of summer (it was 50 degrees…). It was my second visit to Rome, yet every single second was new. People were so kind—we met so many friends who were eager to point us in the direction of “the best restaurant,” “the best part of town,” “the best cathedral,” et cetera.

We found many of these bests on our own; throughout the weekend we stumbled upon a huge changing of guards celebration at the President’s Palace, the arrival of Silvio Berlusconi (so many jocular Italians, so many political jabs) at the parliament offices, and of course plenty of the world’s best gelato.

What we didn’t get to experience, however, was a Vespa ride. Can you imagine? No one wanted to let two bright eyed American girls drive motorcycles in the lawless traffic of the world’s oldest city, and their only reason was that we’d never ridden one before. Rude.

We stayed out late Saturday night just taking everything in, walking with our new friend Alfonso, an archaeologist currently excavating the Appian Way. He gave us the grand tour through the Trastevere and the Old City, and took us to—guess what—“the best Italian restaurant.”

Sunday was my favorite day. I couldn’t even sleep thinking about getting to see our new Papa in real life. We rose with the sun and hit the road to the Vatican. We were waiting at the bus stop with a flutter of excited nuns when a transit officer came up and spoke to the lot of us in Italian, indicating that the bus would not be arriving. One of the sisters turned to us, questioned “San Pietra?” and gestured that we should follow them. 

The tiny little sisters (each of them was about half our size) took our hands and took off running to the nearby metro station. Sweetest/funniest moment of my life. They guided us through the metro, and when we were separated by the massive crowd, they stood on their tiptoes to make sure we knew where to hop off the car.

We all got off at the right station and weaved our way through the crowds. They led us all the way to St. Peter’s Square, kissed us, and then danced off in the other direction to celebrate mass with Pope Francis. We waited in the square for a couple of hours, the crowd growing in depth and spirit around us. Flags from every country around the world, Catholics, non-Catholics; all gathered for the same reason. Crazy, crazy experience being a part of something that much bigger than yourself. There was a little boy next to us, probably no more than two years old, cooing “Viva Papa Francesco!” adorably and inexhaustibly for the whole morning. The rest of the crowd was just as excited.

As long as I live I’ll never forget the feeling of being in that crowd and seeing that window open to the Vicar of Christ on earth. I think I still have chills.

After Papa Francesco’s greeting and praying of the Angelus, we joined the delighted crowd in a mass exodus. Kirstie and I strolled along the river until we found—wait for it—THE BEST RESTAURANT EVER. Le Cupole. Next time you’re in Roma, hit. it. up.  We shared our last pizza and bottle of wine and hit the ground with just enough time to make it to the airport. We arrived in Praha to a world of white and it took some serious self-discipline not to turn and RUN back to that airplane bound for sunny Roma.

Alas, it is good to be home, and really there’s no place quite as dear to any of us as good ol’ Praha.

The Merriest World

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”

J.R.R Tolkien

Preach, brother. Growing up, we ate dinner (and in fact most meals) as a family. Even in the days of football practice, piano lessons and club meetings, we waited until everyone could sit around the table together. In college, it was the same. This time I chose my family (or rather, my family chose me…thank you Kappa Delta), and we loved the sound of our house mother ringing that dinner bell that signaled a deep fried, smothered in butter, home cooked meal for upwards of 100 sisters each night. They’ll always be some of the happiest times in my memory.

Moving into “the real world” brought new goals and adopted family. I lived and worked in New Orleans, the food capitol of the world, probably. There’s no such thing as a bad restaurant in that town—it simply wouldn’t survive. My roommates and I quickly realized that eating out every night would result in three very large, very poor twentysomethings, so we decided that we’d take turns cooking and sharing meals on week nights.

I’m more grateful than ever that we did so not only for financial and waistline preservation purposes, but because now--living in Prague—cooking and grocery shopping is a constant challenge/learning experience. I’m so happy to have laid the groundwork for our culinary endeavors in a place where recipes are not written in what is quite possibly the most unreasonable language in the world and temperatures were in Fahrenheit.

Cooking is just as important (if not more) here in Europe. The purpose of shared meals is manifold; it helps us understand one another, it teaches us about different lifestyles and cultures, and as Tolkien said, it makes us much merrier indeed.

My friends and I have a running list of the things we cook and a list of ingredients (in English and Czech, hallelujah) that we need to recreate the meal. We live life a little more simply here—we miss lots of typical American ingredients (peanut butter, cilantro, chicken broth and Tony’s just to name a few), we don’t have crockpots and some of my friends even lack ovens. Hello and welcome to our real life Iron Chef challenge.

Scars

It’s a gloomy day in Praha, so I’m taking this opportunity to hole up with some coffee, my bff and our thoughts on last Sunday’s trip to Dresden, Germany (disclaimer: they’re about as dismal as the weather outside).

Ten of us departed Prague early Sunday morning bound for the capitol of Saxony and what was once one of the cultural, educational, political and economic centers of Germany and Europe. From the second we hopped off the train, it was evident that we had not done our research. We were immediately confronted with an extensive corridor; glassed in strip malls as far as we could see. We wandered toward a tower in the distance that looked more indicative of the old town we’d seen in pictures.

As we got closer to the centre, an eerie feeling fell over us. The whole town was empty and quiet. The main town square was absolutely massive—probably about the size of a football field—but no feet tread on its cobblestones. There was only an odd, crooked light post in the center with an inscription in German a few feet away. Kirstie took a picture and we made a mental note to translate it later.

We kept walking and discovered the buildings and monuments that put Dresden in the travel books. There were some gorgeous cathedrals, an opera house and a palace; but they were all locked against curious travelers.Going in, we knew that Dresden had been bombed during WWII. I suppose I just hadn’t considered the repercussions. I had one moment when it all clicked: the ugly, cold modern architecture juxtaposed harshly with centuries old buildings, the black char that characterizes the older ones, the emptiness, the feeling of complete desertion—WE did this. 

February 13-15, 1945. The United States and England blew Dresden to smithereens. I learned that the off kilter pole in the middle is a memorial to the 25,000 people (mostly civilians) that were killed in the bombing. When the war ended the communist East German government rebuilt the city in the socialist style—hence the cold, characterless buildings that comprise much of this historic city.

Since the reunification of Germany in the early 1990s, some of the beautiful buildings have been restored, and to be fair, the ones that survived are worth the trip to see.

I understand the role the US played in WWII, and of course I fully support our country. But experiencing the loss of humanity and the brokenness of this city first hand sort of rocked my world. I think we were all pretty happy to get back to Prague late that night. We spotted Zizkov tower from a distance and celebrated being back in our sweet city.

Home Sweet Home

Fun Fact: Dresden both invented and named the coffee filter.

King Cake, Y'all

My favorite culinary endeavor so far was one of my earliest. It was February, there was snow up to my knees, and everyone at home was dressing up for Mardi Gras balls, catching moonpies, and Instagramming pictures of their favorite hometown King Cakes. I was a little homesick. My tight knit group of expat friends were getting together for a potluck dinner, so I decided it was the perfect time to have a taste of home and introduce my new friends from around the world to the magic of Mobile (and New Orleans, I guess) and Mardi Gras.

I trekked from store to store in the snow to acquire all the necessary ingredients. I was still getting accustomed to a seemingly nonsensical language (it’s actually quite beautiful) and that the concept of an all-inclusive shopping venue hasn’t made its way over here yet. I miss Target.

There was a point when I almost surrendered. What kind of King Cake doesn’t have colored icing? No King Cake of mine. When I finally found it in a tiny corner potraviny (read: grocery), I actually squealed a little bit, and the shop keeper gave me one of the rarest gifts a Czech can give to a stranger—SHE SMILED.

The King Cake was happening. It took all day, and yes, baby Jesus was a peanut, but sure enough there was a purple, green and gold ring shaped confection filled with cream cheese and cinnamon at dinner that night. It was a wonderful liaison between home and my new life and friends here in Prague.

I combined a few different recipes to come up with the final product. Here’s a recipe for some Southern love, Mobile tradition, and the introduction of “y’all” to foreign vernacular.

Ingredients:

·        

1        1(16 oz) container of sour cream

·         1/3 C sugar

·         ¼ C butter

·         1 tsp Salt

·         2 (1/4 oz) envelopes dry active yeast

·         2 large eggs, lightly beaten

·         6 to 6 ½ C bread flour

·         2 (8 oz) packages cream cheese, softened

·         2 tsp vanilla extract

·         Cinnamon sugar

·         Powdered sugar

·         Juice from one lemon

·         Purple, green and gold tinted sparkling sugar crystals

·         ½ C warm water

      Directions

Melt sour cream, sugar, butter and salt in medium saucepan over low heat until combined. Set aside to cool.

Stir together yeast, 1/2 cup warm water, and 1 tablespoon sugar in a 1-cup glass measuring cup; let stand 5 minutes.

Beat sour cream mixture, yeast mixture, eggs, and 2 cups flour at medium speed with a heavy-duty electric stand mixer until smooth. Reduce speed to low, and gradually add enough remaining flour (4 to 4 1/2 cups) until a soft dough forms.

Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface; knead until smooth and elastic (about 10 minutes). Place in a well-greased bowl, turning to grease top.

Cover and let rise in a warm place free from drafts, 1 hour or until dough is doubled in bulk.

Punch down dough, and divide in half. Roll each portion into a 22- x 12-inch rectangle. Beat 3/4 cup sugar, cream cheese, 1 egg, and vanilla at medium speed with an electric mixer until smooth. Spread cream cheese mixture evenly on each dough rectangle, leaving 1-inch borders.

Roll up each dough rectangle, jelly-roll fashion, starting at 1 long side. Place one dough roll, seam side down, on a lightly greased baking sheet. Bring ends of roll together to form an oval ring, moistening and pinching edges together to seal. Repeat with second dough roll. Place a coffee can in the middle so as to preserve the integrity of the ring.

Cover and let rise in a warm place (85°), free from drafts, 20 to 30 minutes or until doubled in bulk.

Bake at 375° for 14 to 16 minutes or until golden, and then allow to cool for at least 10 minutes.

While the cake cools, whip up your glaze: stir together powdered sugar, butter, lemon juice and vanilla extract. Stir in milk two tablespoons at a time until it is desired consistency.

Spread glaze over cooled cake, top with colored sugar and laissez les bon temps rouler!

Recipe sources: http://www.southernliving.com/food/holidays-occasions/a-salute-to-king-cake-00400000007599/

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emeril-lagasse/king-cake-recipe/index.html

Fine Print

Saturday saw the first harbinger of spring in Prague! For the first time in two months, the sun shone resplendently for an entire day. The final snowcastles from last week’s blizzard melted into the cobblestones and everyone in the entire city seemed giddy.

We couldn’t wait to spend every minute in the precious sunlight. Lindsay had a book that would lead us along a hop on/hop off tram 22 tour of the city and tell us about everything along the way. All day long we basked in the sunshine—from the National Theatre to the Victims of Communism Memorial to the Lennon Wall, we laughed like children and felt as if we were seeing the city anew, falling in love all over again.  

It was the perfect day, until Lindsay looked down and realized her phone was missing. Assuming she must’ve left it on the tram, we used the Find My iPhone app to track it down. We felt like we were in a high intensity spy movie as we split up to track down the phone; Lindsay and Kat at home refreshing the tracking device while the rest of us sprinted past backpack laden tourists and elated, pink cheeked locals on the metro escalators.

We never found the phone. What we did find, returning to our guidebook a few hours later, was a small caveat at the bottom: “Be hyperaware of your surroundings on the 22 trams as thieves and pickpockets are more abundant here than anywhere else in the city.” Noted.

Bustling Charles Bridge

Love Locks in Lesser Town

vary'd it up

We shied away from windows. We knew if we looked, we wouldn’t go. It’s a good thing we didn’t. The whole world is white. White sky, white land, white trees scattered among fields and mountains and hills of intemerate whiteness. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

A quiet bus ride with three sweet friends is all it took to go from what we thought was the most beautiful place in the world to what may actually be the most beautiful place in the world. Karlovy Vary (Carlsbad in English) is a town outside of Prague founded by Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV and celebrated for its healing spas.

We hopped off the bus and wandered a little way, feeling as though we’d entered the twilight zone. Everything was silent. Snowy streets were untrodden, shops that lined the streets were closed tightly, and we were the only souls meandering the lamplit streets.  

I have a friend from Karlovy Vary who is studying in Prague, so I asked him what we should do on our day’s visit. By fortuitous accident, Jozef happened to be in KV for the weekend and offered to show us around! We found a map left outside an information stand and began to walk to where we’d meet him. Ten minutes into our exploration found three pairs of snow soaked boots and layers upon layers of wet socks and tights, but we were so distracted by our surroundings that we hardly minded.

I can’t count how many times we stopped short in awe of snow-capped gazebos or larger-than-life Christmas dollhouses. We rounded one corner and were met with the Kostel Sv. Petra a Pavla, a church built in Byzantine style by Russian architects. I’ve never seen anything like this in person before; even looking at pictures now it’s hard to believe such a thing exists.

We met up with Jozef and he gave us the grand tour of his hometown, from one end to the other. He showed us the healing fountains and told us the legend of Charles IV’s founding of Karlovy Vary: the king was hunting with his dogs when a deer led them off the side of a mountain. They landed in a pond of magical water and were instantly resurrected, so Charles decided to establish this as his town.

Jozef made us taste some of the spring water, explaining that we must experience the city with all of our senses. The water, though refreshingly hot, was terrrrrible. We gagged and sputtered and felt like vampires—it was full of metallic minerals. Jozef laughed and took us to a place with the famous KV delicacy, oplatky, to get the bad taste out of our mouths.  We watched them make the thin, wafer cookies, and then we chose a few kinds to try. Our dear tour guide did not lead us astray this time. They were delicious! I will be sending some home for souvenirs :)

 We all fell in love with Karlovy Vary and cannot wait to go back in the spring to go rafting down the river and in the summer to the famous film festival. Everyone talks about how beautiful it is in the springtime, but I seriously can’t imagine it being any more magical than what we experienced yesterday. 

"What's that?" we asked Jo, indicating the massive boulder protruding between two buildings and atop another.
"That's Jesus!" Jozeph replied, astonished with such a ridiculous question.

Life In A Snowglobe

Our backyard, a winter wonderland

Charles Bridge

(such a magical place. credit to www.ivebeenthere.co.uk)

Promises

Lindsay and I were experiencing some major symptoms of FOMO this week with Mardi Gras impending in the homeland, so we did a little recon to discover how Prague celebrates our favorite time of year. Saturday was so cold and gloomy that we almost didn’t pull ourselves from our warm beds, but I’ll forever be so happy that we did. Carneval Praha rocked. my. world.

We greeted the morning with mimosas at Lindsay and Ryan’s house and moved on to the shindig. We knew we were getting close when we heard accordions and a little street band, and then we saw the costumes. Medieval gowns, egg carton hats, jesters, bears, horses, gorillas, straw men—you name it, there was a costume. The band played and everyone danced and sang, and surrounding pubs passed out shots and beer and doughnuts. This is what life’s all about—so much joy. 

Conspicuously present were legions of an older generation, just as blithe and merry as the rest of the revelers, if not more. We deduced that this is a form of triumphant rebellion: communism suppressed so many expressions of art, music and dance; this is their way of showing that it did not defeat them.

Our Czech friend Kryspin joined us on our adventure, and we were so glad to have his language interpretation when three masked men hopped aboard a stage set against the Malo strana skyline and began to shout. We were asked to join them in a solemn promise to put revelry first, with a minor caveat prohibiting us from storming the castle.

We joined the parade down centuries old cobblestone streets, pausing at intervals to accept a mug of beer or mulled wine, all the way down to the island adjacent to Charles Bridge. Snow began to fall as we partook in more singing and dancing, a pig roast, and the traditional “shooting of the bear.” We’re still not entirely certain what this means; from what we saw, the costumed bear we’d followed down the route was veiled in white and gently poked with a knife. A few hours later, we saw the bear smoking outside a fried potato kiosk—maybe that’s what caused his untimely demise.

Today again we experienced the season’s jubilation when we stumbled upon another pig roast. It was exceptionally cold, so the band was inside a pub and folks young and old were swinging to a band of jammin geriatrics. Unless you’ve witnessed it, there’s no way to convey the way this scene just warms the soul through and through. Our wee bit of homesickness assuaged, Lindsay and I and the rest of the group made our second solemn promise of the weekend—this time next year, you’ll find us in costumes celebrating the triumph of the human spirit in the best city in the world.