Frozen Fingers, Soviet Planes, and Chocolate Pie

Through my wool socks, my toes were hurting. The fingers on my gloveless hands were hurting even worse. And while Scotty and I watched Bohemians gut out a point in a 1-1 draw against the favored home squad, the pain reminded me how stupid I was for not coming better equipped on this trip to Olomouc on what happened to be the coldest weekend of the year. I wish mom had been there. To comfort me, tell me how I'm the handsomest boy in my class, yes. But also to tell me to take warmer clothes. Just in case.

Olomouc is in Moravia, the far east of the country, if that's possible (the Czech Republic is about the size of South Carolina). I went with Scott and some of his friends, a bubbly group of Brits, Yanks, and a Pole. Upon arrival late Saturday morning, we quickly realized how nasty it was outside. Shit. None of us had properly prepared ourselves. After a "brunch" in a pub restaurant (highlight was beer with a shot of cherry syrup and a cherry at the bottom), we found our hostel and checked in.

First order of business in this little town was a search for protection against the elements. Olomouc not being Prague, there wasn't a Vietnamese-run second hand store every few blocks so Scotty and I headed to the local Billa (Czech supermarket chain). He wanted long underwear, but settled for a pair of plaid pajamas he fished out of a bargain bin near the dairy secion. I found a "Furberry" (Fake Burberry) scarf in the same bin for 20 Czech crowns (Kc). It turned out to be the best 20 Kc I have ever spent. Stylish, cheap, and warm.

Meeting up with the rest of the gang, we hit the town's main square and took a look at their Astronomical Clock, which according to Wikipedia was shot to shit by the retreating German army at the end of WWII. There was also a huge pillar adorned with angels, apparently a show of thanks to God for those who survived the Plague.

With the sight-seeing out of the way, we headed for the greatest of Olomouc's attractions: chocolate pie. We each had a slice in a recommended cafe, and it was terrific, a bit of a firmer consistency than cheesecake, and a taste similar but superior to a Hershey's kiss. To wash it down, I ordered a piece of chocolate cheesecake, which was equally delicious.

One quick hostel power nap later, Scotty and I emptied our backpacks and layered on every article of clothing we had in preparation for the two hour Bohemians football game. Night game. Over his regular underwear, Scotty put on the plaid pj's (picture at the end). Now my man is a cool, tough looking guy as explained in a previous blog, but the nightwear made him look like an eight-year-old. Fantastic.

The game was a struggle, for both the players and the fans, due to the plummeting temperatures. Once safely in the bosom of the away section, Scotty pulled out his green Bohemka scarf from inside his coat and wore it proudly. About 400 strong or so, the Bohemians fans were beered up and outcheering/outsinging ("Bohemka je, a bude, a my jsme sni vsude!") the pussy Olomouc fans, most of whom didn't bother to show up. And just as Scotty and I were starting to lose heart in our team and feeling in our appendages, the Kangaroos' hard work paid off. Forcing a turnover near the opposing teams goal, our boys were able to put one away late in the second half and stave off defeat. Scotty and I left hurting but happy.

It was a good night. The beer and shots flowed, and we bounced from a traditional Moravian restaurant to a pub called Rasputin's to the surprisingly hot "Meex" dance club, then closed the night at one of the coolest bars I've been to in the Czech Republic. Back during the days of Communism, the Soviets rewarded the Party elites in Olomouc with a building for a supper club. The "building" in this case was an old Soviet passenger plane. Now it's a late-night place drinking hole which includes a flight attendant/waiter and a dance floor and DJ up near the cock pit. Hell. Yes.

A post-6am bedtime and a pre-10am wake up and checkout left us a bit groggy in the morning, so we returned to the pie cafe and ordered ourselves some quiche and berry smoothies. A good cleanse, though Scotty went with another slice of pie and not one, but two shots of Slivovice, a potent Czech spirit made from plums. The waitress blinked twice after hearing his order, then shrugged and went off in search of his breakfast booze.

Feeling satiated and thus drowsy, the group split. Some headed to a pub to continue drinking, but I felt I should take in some culture, so I headed out into the cold with one other from the crew: Max, a flame-headed Mancunian and aspiring pilot in the RAF. After accidentally walking around nearly all the old fortress walls of the city, she and I hit up the beautiful St. Wenceclas cathedral, popped into the free church museum for a bit, then returned to the pub and killed the last few hours until the train left. A good 36 hours in Olomouc.