Day 330: I love you Prague, but you’re bringing me down (Thanks, Hostel Florenc)

Having lived in Prague for a year, I can honestly say that being a tourist in this wonderful (glorious, beautiful, fabulous) city is not the same. But perhaps, it had a lot to do with where we were staying: Enter Hostel Florenc, located conveniently practically inside the Florenc bus terminal in Prague. We hadn’t planned to stay here. Instead, we had made arrangements to stay in a studio apartment in the old town for our entire week (turned two) stay. That is, before the owner of the flat decided the price was in euros instead of dollars (as it was stated online). We tried couchsurfing. We tried AirBnB. But ended up at Hostel Florenc because it was the cheapest, included breakfast, and advertised decent wi-fi (something that is increasingly important for a girl trying to put up a daily blog post about her trip around the world).

I didn’t realize how tolerant Andrew and I have become along this trip until today. I mean, sure, I’ve chuckled at ourselves throughout incredibly uncomfortable bus rides through Africa. I continue to make fun of Andrew for getting frustrated over teeny cups of coffee that come with milk when he had specifically asked for black. He continues to make fun of me for getting frustrated over the lack of dipping sauce when I order calamari, or there’s no lettuce in my Greek salad, or the bed isn’t made, or his bag explodes all over our tiny room for the night… (I just asked him what he makes fun of me for, and couldn’t stop him from listing every. single. thing.) One of us gets worked up. The other rolls their eyes and laughs. We get over it.

But after one full week of staying at Hostel Florenc, a stay that included a missing camera (mostly our fault), a clogged drain in a dirty, shared bathroom, an oven-like room, 4AM wake up calls thanks to construction noise and dozens of buses starting up outside our window, internet speeds so slow they rivaled those in Africa… When we got back late last night, I opened my big backpack to discover its contents soaked – including the inside of a binder full of women electronic outlets, camera accessories, and the worst part: a paper bag full of ticket stubs, travel pamphlets, and one full travel journal… I could no longer tolerate Hostel Florenc and followed Andrew down to reception, completely disappointed with not only Hostel Florenc, but that our week long stay in Prague was not nearly as glorious as my year residing in the city had been. To try to make up for our disastrous accommodation, Andrew acquiesced to an afternoon of thrift and vintage shop hopping in and around Vinohrady and Žižkov.

After stumbling upon some fun stores in Budapest, I decided to put a little more effort into looking for fun thrift and vintage stores in Prague. I found some good articles and lists, did a bit of cross referencing, and tried to go to an area where it looked like the most were. (You can check all of the inks out here, here, and here!) We ended up starting in Vinohrady and I ducked into several hoping to find some new (to me) clothes that would fit into my budget.

First stop: Second Street Boutique

I found several things, but they were all on the regular priced racks and I couldn’t justify spending the equivalent of $10.00 on a second hand shirt. I didn’t realize the bargain bins were such a bargain until I had already been inside for fifteen minutes- if you go, head to those first! Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything. If I weren’t traveling around the world- living out of a backpack (and trying my hardest to stick to a budget) I would have bought a few things, but… if I bought something I’d have to give up that much of my daily budget annnd I’d have to figure out how to stuff it into my backpack… I walked out empty handed.

Second stop: Second Hand Fox’s

This was set up more like a boutique, which kinda meant there wasn’t tooo much to choose from. It’s right smack in the middle of lots of other choices, so it’s worth stopping, but don’t get your hopes up.

Third stop: Second Móda

Random stop in between other shops on the list. I went in because there was a giant (not exactly friendly in the end) dog I wanted to be friends with and it looked properly packed. There were piles. and stacks. and disorganized racks of clothes. It was great. But possibly too vintagey for this trip?

Fourth stop: Praha Thrift Store

This one reminded me most of my favorite back home. It was organized. It was full. There were even weekly discounts (although none applied to me). It wasn’t terribly expensive, but I just couldn’t find anything… I started to feel a little disappointed, but reminded myself it was all about the adventure of it instead of the final purchase today.

Fifth stop: Bohemian Retro

This was probably the most vintagey (and fun) store on the list. There was even a ‘man chair’ for Andrew and a lovely American (I believe it’s his wife’s shop) who had been living in Prague for awhile to chat to while I mulled over a bag and if I could take it around South America with me. In the end, I decided the bag wouldn’t work on the road and we headed back towards Old Town for some langosš (you can see him eating it in the video above) and a photography exhibit.

I was a little bit bummed that we went to sooo many places and I was returning back to Hostel Florenc empty-handed. And then I remembered that my bag got soaked the night before and if I were to get something fabulous, the way this trip has been going, chances are it something would have happened to it… It was a good day of distraction (from our hostel nightmare) and one that wasn’t as touristy as our other days in Prague have been.

The photography exhibit; Viktor Kolář: A Retrospective was nice- well, that’s just it- it was nice. It probably shouldn’t have been called a ‘retrospective’ in my very humble opinion, and that it wasn’t arranged in chronological order was a bit strange… Disconnects like these make me curious how the show was curated. But I always feel like I learn a bit more about photography and what I like and dislike when looking at others’ works, exhibitions, and even ‘retrospectives.’

Back at Hostel Florenc, we were greeted by the worst reception girl on the whole of this trip. Seriously, she was that awful. I’m jumping ahead a bit, (simply because I don’t want to talk about Hostel Florenc in another post) but the reason we stayed so long at Hostel Florenc in the first place (despite less than lovely conditions) was because all of the other women at the front desk were so nice! Apparently this woman (with bright red dyed hair I might add) was not in the same training session. When we went to check out and ask if the manager had anything for us to make up for my soaking bag (we were hoping for at least a refund for one or two nights stay) she muttered under her breath the entire time about how we left the window open (we didn’t) and it was our fault (it wasn’t). Had she simply followed the typical customer/hospitality rules of apologizing and being nice about an unfortunate situation, I would have chalked the whole thing up to the joys of travel… and our plain bad luck some times.

Instead, she decided to be a horrible person and I walked out in shock at how terribly she spoke to us before we left- after staying for (and paying for) eight nights! I was fuming as we crossed town to meet our couchsurfer host for the night (Thank God for him!) and if the hostel wasn’t located in such a crap location (in the middle of the Florenc Bus Station) I probably would have marched back in to give her a piece of my mind. Instead, I took to Trip Advisor and left quite possibly the worst review I have on this entire (nearly one year) trip.

They of course, responded and said I lied. While I fumed- again- at Hostel Florenc, Andrew laughed at how absurd they were and took to writing a Trip Advisor review for them of his own. A few days later, in Barcelona we met up with a friend of ours who had stayed in the same place and had a similar (terrible) experience with them as well. We commiserated. Andrew showed her our list of what we would include in our future boutique hostel/guesthouse (investors wanted). She approved.

We all agreed hospitality is key. All Hostel Florenc had to do was apologize profusely for the inconvenience. Perhaps offer a dryer. Maybe even some complimentary tea or coffee after I spent an hour trying to clean up a mess that wasn’t my fault. But noooo, they shot us dirty looks, talked badly about us under their breath, and didn’t even thank us for our week long stay! My only hope is that others stumble across our reviews and possibly this post so they realize it’s worth it in the end to pay more to stay elsewhere!

Day 329: Museum of Communism oh, and another walking tour

I have a small obsession with Communism. You may remember I’m a big fan of old communist propaganda prints? I’ve been to this museum before, but obviously, in order to feed my obsession I didn’t mind returning! The Museum of Communism isn’t nearly as thought out or artistically designed as… say, The House of Terror in Budapest was, but it’s not as bad as some of the Trip Advisor reviews say it is. It is in desperate need of some updating (or at least a discount until it is updated?) but if you’re into history, you might enjoy it. Afterwards, wanting to make up for two bookkeeping (planning/blogging/escaping the heat) days, we joined anotherfree walking tour through Prague. We were so pleased it turned out to be sooo much better than the worst ‘free’ walking tour we took a few days ago. Our guide, David was so nice (and educated and certified!) we ended up sticking around for the second part of the tour on the other side of the river!

The Museum of Communism was just as I remembered, not fun to pay for (a bit overpriced for an exhibition space so outdated in my opinion) but fun to see nonetheless. I think one of the downsides to this trip (in a way) is that we’re exposed to so many great museums that when we come across one that isn’t up to par with some others around the world, we get a little disappointed. At least I do.

I looked the museum up just now to find out some more information and was a bit surprised to discover the founder is also responsible for Bohemia Bagel (an old favorite) and U Malého Glena (a jazz club that was right across the street from my old apartment). Bohemia Bagel was one of the few (at the time you could count on one hand) places where you could get a good internet connection and a western style breakfast or brunch. It was great. These days it’s full of backpackers on a the free walking tour associated with the restaurant or signing up the affiliated pub crawl. I’m wondering if the same owner is responsible for this… If so, I’d like to shake his hand for the good bagel sandwiches six years ago and wring his neck for putting my old favorites on the average 19 year old backpacker’s to do list today. (If you’re interested in reading more about the American born entrepreneur, you can do so here, and here.)

During the first half of the free walking tour, we covered much of the same ground (and information) as we did during the first one. Old Town Square, the Astronomical Clock, the Clock Tower, the stables next to and behind Tyn Church, the Jewish Quarter, and stopped short of Charles Bridge. The group was not so large, and aside from the weird American family (working for the state department abroad) it was a great group to talk to. The weird family took off early, and the guide was so sweet, we decided to stick continue on with the tour on the lesser side (Mala Strana) for the second half of the tour. Although, I really appreciated that there was a break and an option halfway through to continue on, or leave, or perhaps pick up with the tour on another day!

The tour ended within the walls of Czech Castle. We had just enough time to sneak down to the gardens for a view of the city below before it started to rain during our walk back across the river. We ran into two girls from the tour at the same restaurant our guide suggested. As they were from South Korea, they were a bit flabbergasted to find out we had lived there for so long, knew where they went to school, and could even do spot on ajjushi impersonations for them. I never think this is crazy, half of my friends are from my time in Korea. When you’re surrounded by similar people or at least doing similar things, it doesn’t seem as unique. It was my life. It just happened to be in a country not everyone would think a girl from Kentucky would pick to reside in. Chatting with these two tonight made me wonder what reactions will be when we move back to America. Are we really that unique for having lived in South Korea for so long? I don’t really think so, but I’m sure we’ll find out in a few months!

We managed to escape the torrential rain (perhaps you can tell by the gloomy sky above?) but our room, despite having all of its windows shut, did not. Neither did my backpack- full of clothes, souvenir ticket stubs, tourist pamphlets, and one of my travel journals full from this trip. But we’ll get to that tomorrow. Don’t be surprised when Day 330’s blog post is titled For SHAME, Hostel Florenc, For SHAME!

Day 202: The day our bus got stuck in mud

3 AM. Seriously. That’s what time our bus was scheduled to leave Mocimboa da Praia. When we rolled up to the bus around quarter to, we weren’t exactly surprised to see many passengers had shown up even before we did and were fast asleep. By the time the bus left the “station” it was going on four in the morning. Because it seemed to be less than half full, we picked a row of three seats with hopes of being the only two sitting in the row so Andrew would have enough leg-room. Big Mistake. HUGE. Because we spent the next hour driving around town picking up more… and more… and more passengers. By five o’clock in the morning, a woman who defied every stereotype of hunger and famine that all of the commercials about Africa had represented when I was younger had taken over half of our row. Andrew’s legs were in the aisle amid the standing passengers and I was trying to will my squished self back to sleep.

And then, not twenty minutes later, we woke up to our bus slipping, gears grinding, and then the engine giving up. This day was now going to be known as the day our bus got stuck in mud. Apparently the buses leave so early to avoid the heat. Not quite dawn, we were told we would have to wait for the sun to come up and dry the mud.

So, we waited. Half of the bus unloaded and Andrew and I climbed into some vacant rows and fell asleep for an hour or so. The sun came up. There was a pile of trucks behind us. One bus was stuck ahead of us. Barefoot men pushing bikes loaded down with coal cruised past us all.

At one point a group of men, some in their late thirties, (I’m guessing) some in their early teens came down the road holding shovels and machetes above their heads. They were riled up, shouting, waving their weapons of choice around, circling the bus. The few others who had stayed on the bus didn’t seem to be phased, one older gentleman even rolled his eyes over the spectacle. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure what to make of it at all. I did what anyone else (clearly out of her comfort zone) would do: I slipped my backpack under my legs and leaned back against my seat pretending I was bored out of my mind.

I’d like to think this tactic worked, for there was no harm done, but really, I kinda doubt they were going to harm anyone. I think they were just all worked up thinking they could dig an enormous bus out of the mud. Once they realized they couldn’t, they slinked back to wherever they came from.

We were eventually pulled out by a Caterpillar tractor and made our way down to Pemba. It was crowded. There were at least twenty people (probably more) standing in the aisle of the bus. A random group of six men appeared out of nowhere asking for a ride on our bus. The men, we guessed a mix of North African, possibly Arabic, and Indian said that they lost all of their things and were having trouble bartering with the driver getting onto the bus. At one point, they asked Andrew for $50.00 to get on the bus and said they would pay him back when we got to Pemba. Andrew relayed this to me, thinking we didn’t have enough cash on hand.

“I have it.” I told Andrew, and then added with a slight smirk, “That’s what they get when they don’t think to ask a woman…” But then, I started feeling badly, wondering how others would help us if we were in the same predicament. I even slipped my fifty dollar bill into my hand… but then the bus stopped and the men were let on. Twenty minutes later at a standard “safety” check, an officer climbed on the bus, ignored the twenty other men standing in the aisle and pulled all six of the foreign men off of the bus.

I guess it was probably a good idea I didn’t hand over my $50 after all.

Fourteen hours after we first boarded the bus, we arrived in Pemba. We were exhausted, sore, and hungry. The owner of Ten Degrees in Tanzania recommended a place to us in Pemba. She said it was a great place to hang out and had dorms that would fit our budget. We headed there.

Unfortunately, Russell’s Place was nothing to write home about, except in the form of complaints. We were given dubious looks when we asked for beds in the dorm, then not only charged a ridiculous fee, but led to an open air loft above a barn that seemed to house a generator for the entire lodge, and didn’t notice the wafting smell of garbage until after we had checked in and showered. After the past few days, I didn’t have any energy to complain, let alone walk around to find another bed to sleep in, so we sat down for dinner, and then crawled back into our respective bunks immediately after.