METRO

I was awoken this morning by the familiar ripping sound of a chainsaw weilding Czech in my bedroom. A moment of silence and then a deep resonating boom that made the stuff on my desk reverbarate.

I don't live in forest, or near one, in fact the place i live in insults me daily with a total lack of green. i look from my windows and see only concrete. They are cutting the trees down now. The bark is black, the trunk wizened and knarled. Snow clings to the flatter surfaces. On the uppermost branch there is a hint of a bud. This tree is alive. There were three like it this morning. Each stained by the pit in iniquity and death that i reside in, but each still there, grasping to life like an animal to its prey.
The trees lie scattered as dust now. Sodden dust, but nothing will grow here. Concrete remains.

The day was passeing quickly when a phonecall from a friend brought me out of the time machine that's boredom and gave me a chance to use the daylight. So, at 4:30pm, i grabbed my flying jacket and rucksack, and headed for the metro.

Walking up the road towards Muzeum i recalled the first time i walked here, a year ago, on a holiday. It seemed an exciting place then. Now, living moments away i see it for the mundane place that it is. I don't detest it, but it wins no place in my heart.

I walked down into the subway, along the dank corridor, down the many steps. I bought my 50P ticket, and headed down the escalator. I always walk down them, never stand still. Seems to take so long if you do. The flurry of people on the upwards escalator made me aware that a train had just left the platform. If it was going to skalka, it's not a problem, if it was going to deyvitska (lit) i'll have to wait for the next.

I reach the platorm and look left, 50 seconds since the last train left. I have a wait to enjoy. The czechs don't understand personal space, you have to understand that before you use the metro. Give them an inch and they'll take it, with extra.
A strong draft turned into a wind, blowing from right to left. Headlights peered through the darkness of the tunnel. Glistened off the many pipes and cables embedded in the walk. Lit up the danp blackness. With the light and wind arrives the noise, brakes, motors, hydraulics, footsteps, unintelligable conversation.

The door arrives just to my left and i take a step back as people hurridly leave the wheeled metal room. I allow others to get on first, i want to be closest to the door as i'm getting off at the next stop. The last person gets on and i step aboard the machine moments before the red doors slide closed behind me. As they do so, i turn towards them, i do not want to spend the entire 40 second journey trying to avoid eye contact with everyone.
The metro accellerates quickly, a few people take a step as they move to counter the change. This is metro A, it has the newest trains, the nicest stations. It serves the tourist destinations.

A giant unseen hand pulls me to my right as the train decelerates. I step into the busy, dreary, crowded and overcomplicated maze that is Mustek. Its tunnels spread under a large part of the city centre. I head down an escalator, deeper underground. Into the tunnels. I have no idea where these tunnels truly lie in terms of what's above, in truth i don't see a connection, though i will find out someday. I reach the bottom of the escalator and breathe in a sample of the stale air that circulates. It's heavy.

I watch with a smirk as people follow the signs pointing to metro B, my destination, the signs lead you through a long tunnel, it goes around things. My choice is a tunnel that goes direct to the end of the metro B platform. A few steps deeper and i arrive on the platform, the familar wind of imminent arrival on my right cheek.

Metro B is the busiest metro, it serves the most stations, the most people, the stations are at places the czechs want to go. The trains are old and graffitied, the platforms seem designed to shed abuse. As the carraige arrives two feet from my face the doors open. There's no time for hanging around on the yellow B line. I'm going three stations.

The doors close and i realise the air in the train makes that on the platform seem fresh. There's a smell of stale yet fresh paint, but this carraige hasn't seen paint since it was last graffitied. The bloke on a seat in front of me is playing with his mobile phone, it's clear he's just using it to keep from looking round the carraige though. A new smell wafts towards me. The smell the homeless carry with them. They use the metro. There are no ticket barriers here and no inspectors on the B Line. There's no point. The destitute use the metro as a means of staying warm. They do not haunt the stations, they'd be moved on.

I arrive at my destination, Andel, Angel. This station is special. 20 years ago this station was called Moscow. Murals depicting the greatness of the the now dead CCP are on the walls. The name is changed, these remain. A dark reminder of what was. One of them shows two cosmonauts. There are two escalators going upwards today. That's good, when there's only one there's a giant queue to get on it. I head up, a cold wind tearing down the violently sloping tunnel and into the station as a train departs. I do my shopping and return from whence i came. The Metro.

Another ticket bought and i step from the cold of the upper station into the unknown of the metro. This station is always so busy, so full of people. Everyone wants to get on or off a metro.
I cram myself into the train, personal space zero. There's a rucksack two inches from me at eye level. Being 5 foot 8 is sometimes a real pain in the arse.

Stations are waited for and once again i step into Mustek the maze. The air feels heavier than before as i walk up the steps. Like breathing in a steam room, only it's cool. I stand waiting for the metro A train, on the metro A platform. It arrives oh so quietly compared to the choking mechanical destitution that B is. A single stop and i'm at Muzeum. It's a hateful place. Well lit, yet the soul of the place is dark, seedy somehow. I dislike it. Up the steps and into the open, a park near the museum.

As i rise into the open the cold grips me and the noise from the three laned road beside the park overpowers the scene. This park is shadowed by the giant museum, the trees are blackened by the road and city. A single white statue stands in the centre of a circle of winter killed grass. The black mud beneath shows more than the dirty brown green of the grass. I walk up a path paralell to the road. I loathe this place now it's dark. Black trees, the din of the road, the poorly lit bushes, this is what i hate about cities. The bits no-one cares about.

Out in the open, when everyone stops caring about a place, nature reclaims it in its own way. In a city where concrete is the rule, not the exception, nature will never reclaim what we stop caring about.

Stags, Jets and Chains.

Why is it that i only seem to write blogs after travelling? Perhaps it's only then that my life becomes intresting enough to write about, or at least it's an event that throws up perculiar situations with startling regularity. Ah well, here goes another outpouring of tedium interspersed with mild wit.

Easyjet flight EZY6503, East midlands airport to Ruzyne, Prague. It's the first time i've flown with sleazyjet and the first time i've flown from EMA. Finding EMA wasn't a problem and it didn't really take that long to get there, it was well signed, which is good.
They say your opinions of a place are sealed within the first few seconds of seeing something or someone, it's true, within a moment of seeing the terminal i had compared, in my mind, the building to a motorway service station, a single story affair that looked like it was never intended to see international traffic at all.

Going inside i was struck by the low ceiling (not something you accociate with an airport), a total lack of organisation, and the smell that only an aircraft hanger has, a sort of mix between between aviation fuel and oil. I wasn't so impressed.

Fleasyjet have a "self service checkin" at EMA, which is possibly the most stupid thing in the world, ever. First you queue up to check yourself in and get your baggage tags and boarding card, then you queue up all over again to dump your bag on the conveyerbelt, at which point the staff still have to ask all the questions and see your passport. After waiting about an hour in the queue, on went my bag and i headed in the direction of the gents, some 30 minutes later i found them.

Then it was off through passport control and security. At birmingham it's coats off, bags and metal bits on the scanner. At east mids, it's all that, and then you have to take your laptop out of your laptop bag. Why? They've got a f**king x-ray machine? It's just more hassle. At this point the stag party in front of me noticed the attractive security woman on the body scanner. I swear they all left change in thier pockets specificly to get felt up by her.

My laptop and laptop bag went through fine, no problem. Then they came to my animal bag, contents: one kryptonite new yorker chain.

"You can't take that on the plane sir"
"Sorry?"
"We can't allow you to take that onto the plane sir"
"It's a bike lock!"
"It needs to go as checked baggage sir"

At this point i was seriously considering putting it round my neck and calling it jewelery, Mr T manages it, why shouldn't i? As it was it was back to the check in desk. Another queue was entered. Waited for. Cursed at.
"You can't put that rucksack on this conveyer sir, it needs to go to the outsized luggage conveyer"
"You're kidding"
"Fraid not, it's just at the other end of departures"
So, my small animal bag, now classed as outsized luggage was checked in.
Back through passports and security i went. Laptop out, wallet, phone, keys, everything out. Done, through, sorted.

Through to the departure lounge, you may recall me noting that the outside looked like a motorway service station. Well, the inside here looked exactly like a motorway service station. Even down to the peeling paint. I got out my very secure laptop (they'd checked it twice) and started to watch a movie, my laptop bag on the other side of the table.

5 minutes later along comes a security bloke;
"That your laptop bag mate?"
Bear in mind that i've got my laptop on and in front of me.
"Yes"
"Uh, uh, well just don't leave bags unattended"
Now come on guys, you've x-rayed the bloody thing to go on a plane and now you're getting twitchy about it being more than a metre away from me? Get real!
An hour later they called the flight, gate 5. I sauntered over to gate five. Took a seat, waited. Waited some more. Then the breezeyjet staff arrived. Set up the desk. Opened the door. Looked as through they were going to start boarding. And then closed the door and desk, and changed the gate call to 6. Gate six was right next to gate five, and they're just doors onto the apron, we had no bus to board, just had a walk to the plane! Pure randomness. Anyway, gate six was passed through and i walked towards a very new looking, if slightly orange, measlyjet aircraft. As we queued to get on the plane up the steps i could feel the steps rocking from side to side, swaying with every step that people took, like that bridge in London. It was really offputting!

If you've flown with crazyjet, you'll know that once you're on the plane it's a free for all, there's no seat numbers, so you just grab what's available. I grabbed an empty row, parking my weary arse in a window seat behind the wing. Sitting behind the wing is noisier than further forward, but you get to see the flaps and whatever.

The plane left the stand 20 minutes late, at which point i realised why the row was empty. The row behind, the adjacent row and the rows behind them contained that stag party from eariler, they'd spent every moment from the time they checked in to when they got on the plane in the bar. Great, beered up brits. Love em. Bastards. I endured a flight full of my seat getting knocked and nudged (the most annoying thing in the world, by miles) and the noise. They took a particular liking to the air steward who they instantly assumed was gay. Poor bloke was about as camp as El Cap.

The stag party's contents revealed thier acedemic prowess when one exclaimed, after crossing the north sea, "Hey look, i can see France!" I considered for a moment informing them that it was Holland and that the plane wasn't going to one of the Spanish Chav resorts. After an otherwise uneventful flight the Captain informed us of the weather in Prague. "-1C, snow, windy"

There was an exclamation from behind as the stag party realised that a long sleeved tshirt wasn't going to cut it. I chuckled to myself. As we decended i looked through the window towards the wingtip, each flash of the strobe on the end of the wing revealing for a fleeting moment the blizzard outside. Time progressed and EZY6503 headed towards a frozen terra firma, wrapped in a thin white sheet of snow, fresh and still falling, all the time turning a dusting into a blanket. Within minutes the airport was in sight and we were touching the runway, possibly the most gentle landing i've ever experienced, there was no bump, i only wish i could land like that!

I exited the plane rapidly, pausing only to look at the snow that was somehow falling inside the skybridge. I was eager to avoid the rush at the baggage belt. Unfortunatly they'd put four flights on the same belt, ah well. My bags were the last off of course, so by the time i got out of the airport it was 10pm CET, having landed at 9.

A quick bustrip and a short while on the metro and i arrived at my flat. Bags were dropped , coat swapped and i went back out. I needed milk for tea. Speaking of which, my kettle just boiled, which means it's time to stop rambling. I'll blog my week at home sometime, maybe tomorrow, tell the filthy masses about the forum ride, dental appointments, riding the chase and driving cars.

Filmsets and tracks

I know we’ve lost the blogs, but I’m feeling the need to share my last few days with you guys. This time, I got piccies!

First off, the week was boring as f**k, too much travelling, house hunting and lecture attendance. So, along came Saturday when I woke with one idea in my mind, take the bike to town, ride street. After finishing my Cini Minis (that’ll be Cinnamon Grahams to you English speaking masses) I dragged my sleepy arse down into the lobby and spent the next 10 minutes deciding how to get to town using the giant wall map. The pChromo isn’t too keen on riding any distance, so I decided to ride to Skalka, a metro (underground) station, and go into town on that. The ride from Skalka to Muzeum takes about 20 minutes, and is just enough time to sort out the chain tugs again. Having gotten off the metro I climbed out of the darkness and into a beautifully blue morning, you don’t appreciate the sky until you’re climbing out of the underground station. I pointed the bike down the hill and headed for Charles Bridge, one of the major landmarks in Prague. To get there I had to ride down through two of the major shopping streets and into the Old Town. Wenceslas Square was, as usual, full of tourists, and another exhibition from Skoda. I rode down into the old town through the gate tower and into what is supposed to be a pedestrianised area, Old town square was full of a hell of a lot of noisy people wearing orange. Not just orange Tee-shirts, but orange jumpsuits, orange overalls, orange hats, orange faces, orange EVERYTHING. It only took a few seconds to work out what was going on as high above I heard an airhorn in the clock tower as a Dutch flag was swathed around the balcony a few hundred feet up. Czech Republic Vs the Netherlands. Great, now I had to dodge tourists and beered up Dutchmen. I began riding over Charles Bridge which mostly involved track standing and swearing in 5 different languages. Well, I was riding until the bridge police threatened to arrest me if I didn’t stop, For god’s sake guys, nick the pickpockets, not the guy trying to use the bridge for its original purpose. Having walked about a hundred yards, I got back on and sprinted the rest, shedding tourists left and right. I decided that it was possibly not the best plan to ride through the touristy area while the bridge police had their blood up I headed for a bar. While pint is only 50p, it’s never too early. A half litre of Pilsner Urquel (better than Stella, sorry Peaty) was drained from a glass and I headed up the hill to the castle. If you’ve been or you know someone who’s been to Prague, you’ll know it’s a big ass hill. Having ridden up that I felt deserving of another pint, and treated myself to one. You can never have enough beer.
I rode round to the back entrance of the castle and got off the bike. They don’t have policemen in the castle, they have soldiers, the sort that carries a gun with a bayonet. One doesn’t mess with that sort. I progressed through to the front entrance. The front tries to be a bit like Buck House, including having two soldiers who’s sole job is not to blink, move, or take offence to the masses of tourists whose sole job is to try to get the soldiers to blink, move or take offence. Simply put, they’re a photo opportunity. At some point I’ll get I picture with one. Maybe he’ll smile. I rode from there to the steps that go from the castle to the lesser quarter.
Half a mile of steep stairs. They were what I’d come for so I rode them. Slowly at first, but by halfway down my brake fingers were so pumped that I just had to let off the brakes. Steps it doth seem are much easier when you hit them mega fast, so long as you can keep your feet on the pedals of course. It was getting on in the day by now so I headed for Rocky O’Reilly’s, Prague’s best Irish pub where they do God’s Own Steak Sandwich. If the big man came down, he’d eat a steak the sandwich there, unless he’s a veggie of course, Lunch was marked with the third pint of the day. Little and often guys. I was feeling refreshed so I went to a camera shop and bought some batteries for my digital camera, some day I’ll work out why some work and some don’t. I rode back to old town square where the Czech rep. - Holland match crowd were drifting away, having seen their team win the match. Old town square is usually a busy but quiet place that’s always kept spotless, the Dutch left it knee deep in Stella bottles and plastic beer cups. Damn foreigners.


Having cooked an entire day in town I headed for a fast food place and then for the metro back to Skalka, stopping on the way to talk to Jan, who was riding this superb chopper. I arrived back at halls and cracked open a cold one. I’m sure someone said you should drink 8 pints a day or something, I’m trying my best.






Sunday was greeted by falling on my face front a foot up when I reached for my alarm clock. If you’ve ever fallen out of bed onto your face, you’ll know that it’s bloody hard to go back to sleep, even if it is 6:30am. Breakfast was made and I discovered I was out of teabags. Damn. I replaced the tea with a beer and vowed to go shopping. I might get some more beer, reach that 8 pints a day. I rode to Skalka again, stopping at the petrol station to use their air line. Got some proper pressure in those tyres now, stair sets here I come! I rode down to old town square where they were laying out metal barriers. Interesting. I abducted a policeman and used my limited Czech and unlimited ability to get Czechs to speak English to find out what was going on. Turned out it was a cycling marathon. The course was about a half mile, cobblestones all the way. I rode the course and thought my ankles and wrists were going to fall off, these streets take it out of you. First to ride were kids on various sorts of bikes, Argos bikes, BMXs, mountain bikes, everything. Next to ride were the junior roadie bunch who were mostly riding cyclocross bikes, Maggers, you’d have loved it. You’d have won too. I found out that the main event wasn’t till three so I decided to go for a ride, try and get lost. I rode past the Mústek metro stop and over a bunch of big thick electricity cables which led to what looked like temporary traffic lights and a big light board. ‘This is odd’ thought I. I rode on a few extra metres when I heard someone yell “cut” through a megaphone. I looked around to see a hundred pairs of eyes staring at me with a look that told me I was somewhere I shouldn’t be. It was about that time that I saw the three cameras, the purpose of the traffic lights, mirror image signs and the 20 cars all pointed the wrong way down this street with mirror images of Irish number plates. I’d ridden into a film set. Oops. A small amount of backtracking and explaining was done and I sat and watched for a few minutes. I was feeling the need for a beer so I headed for the pub. There’s never a bad time for beer. Once leaving the pub I picked up a baguette from a fast food hut and sat down to eat my lunch. Within the first bite I was aware of someone standing over me. I looked up to see an unwashed face who mumbled something in Czech, then in English. “Do you have 20 crowns so I may use the payphone”. Twenty crowns is about 50p, and will get you a pint, or a bottle of whatever you want in one of the seedier off-licences. I’m not paying for someone else to wreck their liver, my habit costs enough as it is. I called upon my full abilities with the Czech language to suggest to the guy that he might have better luck elsewhere. He left empty-handed. Two bites of my rather pleasant sandwich later I became aware of someone who looked about my age standing next to the bin a few metres away. He glanced around and reached into the bin, pulling out a half eaten green apple which he instantly began to consume. This is capitalism in action. The rich here drive Porsches, Ferraris, new BMWs, the best. The poor here are truly poor. Not only are they homeless but they’re desperate enough for food that a bin is a supermarket. My pity is momentarily suspended as I spot the collapsed veins and track marks of a heroin addict. He can’t have been any older than most of you guys. Come winter, no doubt, many of these who cannot find a bed in the few shelters will freeze to death. I finished my sandwich with a guilty feeling, sat next to a £100 helmet and a £600 bike. I headed back to Old Town Square to watch the race. The starting bell went and 30 or so racers set off on the short course. Within a two minutes they were back round at the start, really banking it over even with the slippery cobbled street. The bikes were really taking a beating, one guy pulled out as his rear wheel disintegrated, another as a carbon chainstay snapped. These guys went at it for about ¾ hour, really hammering. It was about then that I spotted the guy second from last. He climbed from second to last to about the middle of the pack by the middle of the race. No big deal for a pro roadie you might say, but this guy was riding twice the race of every other guy there. Clipped in and going for it hell for leather, this guy lacked one right leg. He didn’t come first but in the mind of pretty much everyone there he won.




I met Jan who had his chopper with him again.

We rode to the railway station where I helped him load his monster onto the train, no mean feat given that the platforms here don’t meet the level of the train. The station is a place with a lot of steps, and a lot of dealers and escorts. Not somewhere you might want to hang around. I got on the metro and headed back to Skalka to ride home. My halls are near a major tram terminal station, and I have to ride past it (or through it) to get back. I thought I’d ride through it and hopped over the barrier to ride the tram rails into the station. As I looked ahead I saw a shaft of light penetrating the sky. Odd. Very odd. As I rode into the station proper I saw the source, a giant searchlight, now trained on the station itself revealing what looked like heavy snowfall people milling about a number 22 tram. Then, once again, I spotted the cameras. Same film crew. The Tram was full of big red numbers, with people squeezed in-between. Odd. Turns out they’re filming a commercial for some mobile phone company. I’ve ridden into their sets enough today, I wonder if I’m in it….

The First

I’ve been here a week now and it’s kind of feeling like home, room’s full of bike and bikey stuff. For those of you who’ve not noticed, I’ve not been around much recently, since I’ve moved to sunny Prague to study medicine. Spose I’d best start at the beginning, always thought it was a good place to start.

Last Friday was the day of the flight, so naturally I spent all morning packing instead of doing it the night before. This flight was a little different though, not only was it the Friday flight to Prague (the one with all the chavvy stag weekenders) but I’d just entrusted the P.chromo to the oversized baggage desk. Upon handing it over I warned them that it was going to have to stay upright or the forks would piss oil everywhere. With classic brummy humour I was kindly informed that my large brown bicycle box contained a bicycle and that it’d be fine, so long as it was in the x-ray machine. Great. Beware the wit of the witless. After sitting in the departure lounge for ages with all the people buggering off to sunny Spain or somewhere else where the Germans bag the sunbeds first I finally got on the plane. Plane was a tiny little thing but they still hadn’t filled it. Got the entire row to myself, bonus! Ever managed to bag the window seat when it’s a really clear day? I still like watching everything shrink below, trying to work out what town we just flew over, seeing forests below and thinking “it looks like a good place to ride”. Arrived at Prague airport at about 6, that’s 5pm to you lot. I lost an entire hour! Gutting [:(] Prague airport is an ODD place, you have to walk through the departures place to get out, so you could go duty free shopping on your way in if you wanted. I’m partial to a bottle or two of baileys so they were acquired while admiring the row of polished Skodas that fill the arrivals hall (they had a DB9 in Birmingham) Then, off to the baggage reclaiming place. Why is it that there are never any trolleys in the baggage hall? There’s a caseload outside by the taxis, but you can’t get to them without going through customs, and once you’ve been through you aren’t allowed back in. Crazy. After waiting half an hour for my bag to arrive (always the lost one to hit the conveyer belt!) I carted my bikebox on the trolley through the arrivals hall. Ever noticed that even though you know that no-one’s waiting for you, you still look for your name on those cards that the taxi drivers and tour operators are holding up? No? Just me then. The bikebox as it turned out was as wide as three people, and that’s exactly the number of people who had to scatter out of the way for every step I took while trying my damnedest to politely shift their arses in a language most of them clearly didn’t understand, hell, I even tried French, but that wasn’t so successful given that the bloke I wanted to move then said “sorry chap” in a very Scottish accent. I hate taxis. Trusting your life to some muppet who’s only skills are the ability to swear in 6 different languages whilst driving, eating a doughnut and using a mobile phone. It’s not illegal here yet, so everyone’s doing it as much as possible. The Czechs don’t have a word for hands free kit. They’ve never heard of one. My taxi was not so much a taxi as a bus. I thought I was paying for one for myself, nope, this one was a minibus with two stops to make before me. The first load was a bunch of southern gents who were very talkative, but got slightly cagey when asked what they were going to be doing in Prague, My fellow taxi traveller, a rather fetching brunette from Toronto was convinced by the time we’d unloaded them that they were here for a weekend of spearmint rhino and filthy foreign back street brothels. Yes, there’s a spearmint rhino here. Once I finally arrived at halls (spent longer in the taxi than on the plane, how crap’s that!) I dragged my crapola into the room that the poorly translated guide to halls had termed a ‘cell’, Turns out it wasn’t that badly translated. All it really needs is a little window in the door and a slot to pass meals through. I built the bike (god bless hollowtech 2 cranks, only needed 4, 5 and 6mm Allen keys to build the whole bike) and then climbed into bed, at least that’s comfy.
On Saturday I woke up to the realisation that I had no milk, no teabags, no sugar, no breakfast cereal and no bowl to put any of the above in. My tea starved brain kicked into action and put me on the bike in the direction of the city centre, there I shall find breakfast I thought. I knew roughly where the city centre was but my rather brilliant plan was to follow the tram. There’s a terminal right outside the halls, so all I needed to do was follow it from there. Easy peasy. Only it wasn’t. I followed the wrong tram which resulted in my going an extra 3 or four miles. By the time I got into Wenceslas Square (like Oxford street, only with more tourists) I couldn’t ride the bike for fear of running over a beered up brit or one of those damned American pensioners that seem to get everywhere. Having found somewhere to eat, I realised I’d forgotten my bike lock, and rode back to the halls, following the right tram route this time. In desperation I rode through a McDonalds drive through and then spent the next 10 minutes trying to explain what I wanted. I mean for heaven’s sake guys and girls, if you’ve got a sign saying “McRoyal” in great big letters and I ask for a “Mcroyal“, I might possibly not mean that I want a Mcsalad with fanta. I dropped the bike off at the halls and took a tram down to the supermarket, it’s a spar, but not as you know it, it’s more like one of those giant Asdas. I spent about 20 minutes trying to find some teabags since these euro types just don’t understand the need to put milk and sugar in tea, they’ve got a whole aisle for tea and coffee, and one single sort of tea that you or I would recognise. Milk, sugar, cereal a screwdriver and a bowl were acquired and then I wandered over to the drinks section since I was advised to drink bottled water. Water it seems is like tea, everything but the sort you want. After looking at a lot of pictures I picked a bottle with a green top (rather than red, blue or yellow) that looked to be un-carbonated and unflavoured. I sauntered over to the till and handed over my card. It’s easier to pay with a card here, you don’t have to look blankly at the cashier when they announce the price in some foreign tongue. I packed my purchases into the carrier bag when I spotted it… Disaster, I’d picked up lemon flavoured water. I used my very best sign language to try and explain my dilemma to the information desk but she was having none of it. Information desk I thought, problem solved, it’ll be in the shop somewhere. In I wandered to find the information desk unmanned, after standing there for 10 minutes I gave up pestering uninterested staff and decided to bugger off with my lemon flavoured water. I walked out of the shop, past the security desk when I heard a shout behind me. Next thing I know I’ve got 6 plain clothes security guards round me yelling at me in Czech thinking I’ve lifted the lot. Fortunately I’d kept the receipt and a disaster was averted, well, I think it was, the security guard keeps giving me dirty looks every time I go in now.

After all that I needed to hear some English spoken and to eat a decent meal so I headed into town to the biggest (possibly only) Irish pub in Prague. They do the best steak sandwich in the world. Ever. There was a Man U match on so the pub was packed with plenty of brits, so it wasn’t too bad. Everything’s better after a beer anyway.

On Sunday I sinned, I ate at McDonalds twice. I had a feeling for a moment that it was going to be “supersize Alex” for the next few months, until I realised that if I did, I’d die of heart disease before I qualify. I went to the supermarket and bought about 10 packets of those noodle blocks with the sachets of flavour things. At 8p each I can’t afford NOT to eat them.

Monday was the day we were supposed to register at the university, off I trotted after getting up at some unholy hour. Tram journeys during rush hour suck major donkey arse. There’s always a whole bunch of old biddys that get on and it’s the done thing to give up your seat for the infirm, what they didn’t realise was that at 7 am in the morning I was feeling a lot more infirm than they were. After nearly sleeping through my stop (while holding onto the standing rail) I traipsed over to the Dean’s office for registration. Registration basically involved handing over a cheque for uni fees, signing a few papers, and queuing to do the above for 3 hours. Thanks guys. Organisation and bureaucracy on a scale that not even Stalin could match. I met several people but most seemed keen on chatting mindlessly while my stomach called lunch. I went to the Irish pub for lunch and examined my new timetable over a pint of Pilsner Urquel (better than Stella) and a Toasted BLT sandwich. Timetable starts on Tuesday the 4th, so I’ve got some time free.

Tuesday was slept through, for my sins I apologise, I didn’t even go out of the halls. Wednesday was similar, except that I decided to go on a street ride, relearn some lost skills, learn some new ones. First thing I did was to stop flat hopping, you can’t really bunny hop properly on a full sus so I’d kind of forgotten how, especially since I use clips on the other bike. Once I’d got that dialled in again (sucks to be learning the basics again, but it’s got to be done) I started playing with some steps, riding up steps is a piece of piss on a full susser, not so easy on a hardtail, you lose momentum pretty quick with these little wheels. Liking the tyres though, beat the tram to the supermarket the other day. Admittedly he had to stop at a station, but those things are quick.

Thursday was spent waking up and then getting into town. I spent an hour looking round the main touristy area for the building where I had to get my student ID card when the heavens opened. When it rains here, it REALLY rains. About 10 seconds and you’re soaked through. It was lunchtime so I beat a hasty retreat into KFC. I’ve decided that KFC isn’t fast food and that I won’t die if I eat it every single day, it’s chicken right? After one of their fine Twister Wrap things I gave up and headed into the tourist information shop, only to find out from an exasperated looking assistant that the place I was looking for was over the road. Oops. Got in there only to find that the place was closing and that I needed to go back on Friday. I came back to the halls and got the bike out thinking I’d have a go at a drop I’d seen. On my way over to it I saw three kids on BMXs riding onto a raised platform for a manhole. It was about a foot up onto it, and the other side was a 6 foot drop. Once they were up there they were having to either get off the bike or attempt to hop round and ride off the way they came. The top of the platform was bevelled and BMX brakes are not exactly top notch, so the inevitable happened, boy and bike landing in a mildly amusing heap at the bottom, it’s a good job that kids bounce. I can’t really understand why they were riding up onto it, once they were up there , there was simply no-where to go. Their attempts to communicate with me were met with a blank stare, I’m pretty sure what they were saying was the Czech equivalent of “can I have a go on your bike, I won’t go far” or “go on mista, show us some tricks” or “how much was your bike?” Or maybe I’m paranoid.

Today was pretty poor, rode the bike down to the hyperspar, did some shopping, got worried that I’m only using that nasty MBR freebie lock, ate under some golden arches *cough* and rode back to the halls wishing I’d waited a few minutes between finishing a large coke riding a mile.

I’ll get some photos for you guys tomorrow, let you see my Eastern European hell, maybe even show you some of the ‘culture’ you’re missing. [;)]