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Fountains of Wangen im Allgäu


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Perhaps the most unique attribute of Wangen is its fountains. There are several well preserved hold-outs from centuries past, but the stars of the show… CONTINUE READING >>

Perhaps the most unique attribute of Wangen is its fountains. There are several well preserved hold-outs from centuries past, but the stars of the show are a series of seven “Figure Fountains” installed in the 1980s and 90s. These are not even slightly traditional, in a conventional European fountain way, instead they are off-beat, whimsical, and in some cases, more than a little sarcastic.

These fountains are unlike ANY you’ve ever seen! You’ll laugh, be in awe and even get a scare! For more info: https://www.gypsynester.com/wangen.htm

Visit our GypsyNester YouTube Channel!

Just Wangen It (in Germany)

The whimsical fountains alone are reason to come to this charming Bavarian Village. But the reasons to stay are many.

Sometimes dumb luck is our best tour guide. That is certainly how we stumbled upon… CONTINUE READING >>

The Eagle Fountain

Sometimes dumb luck is our best tour guide.

That is certainly how we stumbled upon Wangen im Allgäu.

We wanted to get a real feel for small town Germany, so we skipped the big city, Munich, and pulled off the Autobahn in hopes of finding a traditional village.

Far from experts, since this was our first visit to Deutschland, we still think it would be hard beat what we found.

Hotel Roessle Garni in Wangen, Germany

Following the signs to the “zentrum,” the center of town, we spotted the Hotel Rössle and pulled in to see if they could put us up for the night.

Not only could they, but they furnished us with an excellent guide book to Wangen’s Old Town attractions and a recommendation for the best nearby German grub. With a few hours until feeding time, we headed out to see the sights.

The Bath House Fountain, Wangen, Germany

Perhaps the most unique attribute of Wangen is its fountains.

There are several well preserved hold-outs from centuries past, but the stars of the show are a series of seven “Figure Fountains” installed in the 1980s and 90s.

These are not even slightly traditional, in a conventional European fountain way, instead they are off-beat, whimsical, and in some cases, more than a little sarcastic.

St. Anthony's Fountain. Pigs!

While walking into Old Town, our first watery encounter was St. Anthony’s Fountain. The saint is seen sitting on a bench overseeing a smattering of pigs.

Since this was once the site of the town’s Saurmarkt, where swine were bought and sold, there is more than a little touch of irony.

At first we didn’t see how this could be called a fountain, but then we noticed a small trickle of water feeding into a little pool that three of the piglets were drinking from and frolicking in. Perhaps the most fun was finding all the little stray piggies hiding around entire square. Very clever.

The Repressed Allgäures Fountain

Our next encounter was even more surprising.

Approaching the statue of The Repressed Allgäures, a bronze rendition of six men lying one on top of the other, we were spritzed from out of nowhere by a small stream of water.

We were fast learning that these really aren’t ordinary fountains.

This one was downright cheeky, one of the men’s mouths spit a stream of water across the street every so often.

The Repressed Allgäures Fountain

In this particular region of Germany, known as Allgäu, the locals, Allgäures, are said to be so uptight that a local saying goes something like: “Stack six Allgäures and the one on the bottom will be just as repressed as the one on the top.”

We didn’t find this The Donkey Fountainto be the case,
but this and several other witticisms are printed on the base of the fountain anyway.

Who knows, perhaps the fact that Wangen means “cheek” in German inspired the artist.

As we were walking away, a sneaky young mother walked up planning a big surprise for her little boy, attempting to place him in the line-of-fountain-squirt.

Instead she received an unexpected dousing. Cheeky indeed. The boy, who was well out of range due to his diminutive stature, was still somewhat disturbed by the entire affair.

Now on a mission to see all of the fountains, we were lucky they were in close proximity of each other. We found The Red Tape Fountain that takes a poke at the government, The Sparrow Fountain jabbing at religion and The Donkey Fountain that depicts the Aesop fable of the peasant, his son and a donkey walking to town.

Down by the river, The Bath House Fountain has a wife struggling to wash her husband’s hair. Last, we came upon The Seeker After Truth.

The Seeker After Truth

This thinker is leaning on a pile of books depicting the classics from the likes of Socrates, Homer, Plato and Dante, along with holy books like the Torah, Bible and Koran.

Atop the volumes he is contemplating the magical Latin Sator Square, whose meaning has never been fully understood.

We certainly understood one thing though, it was suppertime. Our hotel hosts had highly recommended the Gasthaus Lamm, which happened to be right between the inn and Old Town, so we happily took their advice.

This truly was a typical gasthaus, or what might be called a beer hall. Pure Germany, bring us a couple steins of suds please Fraulein.

schweinefleisch schnitzel

As soon as we had crossed the border into Germany earlier in the day, David started thinking about Schnitzel and Spätzle, and this looked like just the place to score the real deal.

He didn’t order Wiener Schnitzel, because in Germany that will always get you a piece of veal, he went with the schweinefleisch schnitzel.

He was not disappointed, a huge slab of pork, smothered in gravy, was served next to a heaping mound of spätzle.

A heaping mound of spätzle

Spätzle literally translates to “little sparrow,” but is actually a soft egg noodle common in most of the Germanic countries.

In general, the place on the plate that dumplings always occupied in Bohemia, was filled nicely by spätzle here. These are not menu items for the fainthearted, a meal like that will put down even the hardiest of travelers. Our next stop was bed.

The next day just happened to be market day in Wangen, so we got to combine the rest of our sightseeing with the food, fun and frivolity of a small town market.

Dominating the Marktplatz, the plaza where the market is held, is the Old Town Hall. Originally a part of Wangen’s fortifications, it dates clear back to the 1400s. Its quintessentially Baroque architecture looks straight out of a story book.

At the base of the tower, there is an arched gate leading out to the rest of town.

Two other medieval towers survive as landmarks in Wangen as well. The tallest, The St. Martin’s Gate, is adjacent to the church of the same name.

The church and tower are among the oldest structures in town.

At the opposite end of the old walled city is The Women’s Gate, or Frauentor, also known as The Ravensburg Gate.

While these are all referred to as gates, they could better be described as clock towers with passageways through their bases.

The road that connects all of these gates is Herrenstrasse, literally “Rulers Street,” because this was where most of the town’s movers and shakers lived.

It has been the main drag on any given day for some six centuries, but on market day, it was really rockin’.

Accordion music filled the air while we browsed through booth after booth of local produce, cheese and especially sausages. This would seem to be a very sausage centric society.

That was fine by David, he gladly ordered up a Bratwurst mit brot for some walking food, and we headed back over to the Saurmarkt to snap a few photos of the little brass pigs at St. Anthony’s fountain.

Seemed only fitting, since we were as happy as pigs in slop.

David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com

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Market Day in Wangen im Allgäu


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The food, fun and frivolity of a small town market. David learns to “milk” mustard… CONTINUE READING >>

We combined the rest of our sightseeing with the food, fun and frivolity of a small town market. Dominating the Marktplatz, the plaza where the market is held, is the Old Town Hall. Originally a part of Wangen’s fortifications, it dates clear back to the 1400s. It’s quintessentially Bavarian Baroque architecture looks straight out of a story book. At the base of the tower, there is an arched gate leading out to the rest of town. For more: https://www.gypsynester.com/wangen.htm

Visit our GypsyNester YouTube Channel!

Attack of the 1000 Dollar Mammogram

Ten people. TEN.

This is how many people I dealt with while getting my annual mammogram. How did something so personal turn into an assembly line? As if getting my boobs pancaked and my skin yanked so tight that I felt it all the way up to my ears isn’t bad enough. I get to be treated like a cow in a roundup.

Before I go off on a complete diatribe, I want to be fair. I’m ALWAYS a wreck at mammogram time. My mother died of breast cancer. The final ten years of her life were hell as the cancer spread to her lymph nodes, her spine and her brain. I learned to administer shots. I watched as her brain fluid was removed from a shunt in her… CONTINUE READING >>

Veronica Writing

Ten people. TEN.

This is how many people I dealt with while getting my annual mammogram. How did something so personal turn into an assembly line? As if getting my boobs pancaked and my skin yanked so tight that I felt it all the way up to my ears isn’t bad enough. I get to be treated like a cow in a roundup.

Before I go off on a complete diatribe, I want to be fair. I’m ALWAYS a wreck at mammogram time. My mother died of breast cancer. The final ten years of her life were hell as the cancer spread to her lymph nodes, her spine and her brain. I learned to administer shots. I watched as her brain fluid was removed from a shunt in her head to make room for the chemo to go in. I know too well the consequences of a mammogram that reveals something bad.

To add insult to injury — in a brilliantly stupid move — I booked my mammogram the day after I went to roller derby camp. My breasts were the only part of my body that didn’t hurt. I guess I didn’t want them to feel left out.

My first visit wasn’t terrible, just very impersonal. It felt a whole lot like a bureaucrat’s idea of the quickest, most efficient way to herd women through their yearly indignity. The person I made the appointment with was not the person I checked in with. Once checked in, I was sent to a phone booth in the lobby to call a centralized area of the hospital that dealt with insurance before moving on down the line.

I was given a fluffy robe and a locker. After a quick stop in an interior waiting room, the boob smashing was performed by a really nice technician. In the end, I was told that a doctor would take a look at the results and I would receive a phone call in a few days. In, out, done.

A week later, I get the call. Something was wrong. I must return for further tests, possibly an ultrasound. The woman at the end of the line obviously had a sheet of paper in front of her outlining the proper way to kindly defuse panicked patients. The answers to my (what I thought were reasonable) questions went something like this:

“Ma’am, I don’t have that information, you’ll have to speak to the radiologist when you come back.”

“Yes it’s a possible cyst, but don’t worry, 90% of the time it is not cancer.”

“All I know is that something was seen and they want to run further tests.”

And the like.

Veronica's Mother

By the time I returned for “further tests,” I was a total wreck. I had spent most of my time thinking about my mother’s ordeal, the horrendous pain, the unbelievable indignity, the treatments that had rendered her unrecognizable.

I thought about the day she posed for her last picture with her grandchildren — the former model smiling for the camera, her head so swollen from steroids she had to wear a neck brace.

By the end, my mother — a relentless degree-gatherer — lived in a world of hallucinations and oatmeal.

I didn’t come in for “further testing” in the best frame of mind.

Veronica's MotherA whole new crop of folks were there to greet me. I told each of the receptionists that I would like to see the radiologist and my mammogram results prior to any more testing. It was very important to me to see what they saw.

I was escorted back to the mammogram room and the technician began her spiel. I interrupted, and asked once again to see the radiologist. I was told that I could see the doctor when we were finished with the mammogram.

I insisted. The technician’s response was unbelievable, she rolled her eyes at me — ROLLED HER EYES — and said, “That’s not the procedure here.”

Very near tears, I again insisted.

After more eye-rolling and arguments about “the way things were done here,” she finally relented and stormed from the room. Left alone, I went from near-tears to embarrassed full-on-bawling.

Mortified by my lack of self discipline, I entered the radiologist’s office in full blubber mode. The doctor explained to me that an area in my left breast was a cause for concern. She showed me a dense area that the initial mammogram couldn’t see properly and wanted to see some different views. Armed with this knowledge, I was able to continue the tests feeling more at ease.

The second round of X-rays were sheer torture. Any kind of composure I had regained was ripped out from under me. Sensing that I was an emotional wreck, the eye-rolling technician had become very kind toward me as she twisted my left breast nearly upside-down, clamped it between two glass panes, and hand-cranked the gnarled mess down harder to obtain a better view.

My skin from my chest through my neck to my forehead was so taut I thought it would split. It hurt like hell — and back came the tears.

After releasing me from the vice, the technician assured me that she “made it go away,” meaning the new views were clean and I had nothing to worry about. I forgave her the eye-rolling escapade and thanked her profusely.

In the waiting room, I sat trying — once again — to regain my composure. This was getting embarrassing — which just exacerbated the situation. Now that I was alone, I started imagining how everyone beyond the waiting room doors were talking about the crying crazy lady they had on their hands. Not helpful.

A new woman (person #9, in case you’ve been counting along) entered the room and told me that the radiologist, after looking at the new results, wanted an ultrasound performed. What? I told her that I would like to see the new X-rays. I was escorted to the ultrasound room.

After a short wait, a very sweet ultrasound tech (#10) greeted me and asked me to lie back on the table. I again asked to see my X-rays. #10 said the radiologist would be there shortly to go over the ultrasound with me and we should just get started.

I said I’d rather wait until I could see what we were looking for. #10 left the room and returned with the radiologist, sans X-rays .

At this point, I was told it was unnecessary to see the X-rays, as they didn’t show anything conclusive. The ultrasound was ordered because of my family history.

What? Why did I have the second mammogram? How much was this going to cost? Is this just more “procedure” to jack up the price? Who can I talk to about this?

I gave up. I was in no emotional state to argue anymore. I felt like I had no control over my medical choices, no rights as a patient, was mad with no outlet — and felt helpless as hell. I cried unabashedly throughout the entire ultrasound.

In the end, I did receive a clean bill of health. Hopefully I’ll be finished fighting my insurance company before I have to go through this again next year.

They’ve declined to cover every bit of this.

Veronica, GypsyNester.com

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Our Quaint Bohemian Village

Klatovy, Czech Republic, a quaint Bohemian village, was just what we were looking for after the hustle and bustle of Prague. We found a rare Baroque Pharmacy (with leeches!), ate fried pork neck, saw a weirdly adult looking “baby Jesus” and were introduced to Sgraffiti, an amazing way of decorating buildings… CONTINUE READING >>

Klatovy, Czech Republic

Our final endeavor in The Czech Republic was to find a quaint Bohemian village for a repose after our exhausting urban adventures in Prague.

Aimlessly wandering through the southeast part of the country, just to see what we might find, we stumbled upon Klatovy.

We didn’t pick Klatovy specifically, as much as Klatovy picked us.

As we drove through town, the square looked just too inviting not to stop and hang for a while.

Guesthouse in Klatovy, Czech Republic

Just off the square we found a small guesthouse with reasonable rooms and a cozy cafe.

Called a penzion, it was close to what we’d call a bed & breakfast in The States.

Checking in, we were asked our preferred breakfast time and were quickly escorted to our sunny little guest room.

Perfect, the car could stay put and we could tour the town on foot.

Námestí Míru, or Peace Square

We started at the center of town and worked our way out.

Námestí Míru, or Peace Square, like town squares most everywhere, has an open center, with benches, flowers, trees, statues and a fountain, that is surrounded by businesses, eateries, churches and civic buildings. Several are among the top points of interest for the town.

The Black Tower

The first attraction to catch our eye was The Black Tower. The tallest structure for miles around, we would have had to been blind not to notice it.

The 265 foot high tower was built back in the 1550s, when Klatovy, situated at the crossroads of major European trade routes, was one of the richest cities in Bohemia.

An astronomical clock, certainly not as jammin’ as Prague’s more famous version, but way cool in its own right, was added in the 18th century.

Adjacent to the tower is Klatovy’s Town Hall. Rumor has it that a secret door leading to the tower’s torture chamber connects the two and The Black Tower cast a more ominous shadow once we we made aware of that lovely fact.

Originally built at the same time as the tower, the Town Hall was remodeled in 1920 and the outside adorned with Bohemian style sgraffiti.

Town Hall, Klatovy, Czech Republic

Sgraffiti is a style of decorating walls by scratching through one layer of plaster to expose a different colored layer underneath.

The word comes from Italian verb sgraffiare, meaning to scratch.

Also the word origin of graffiti, another popular wall decor the world over, though we must admit our preference for the non-spray-painted sgraffiti. Much classier.

Sgraffiti in Klatovy, Czech Republic

We had first noticed scratched ornamentation at the Schwarzenberg Palace in Prague Castle and, having never seen (or more likely noticed) it before, we thought it not very common.

Turns out that sgraffiti is very popular, certainly in Klatovy. From Renaissance Italy, the technique was brought to Germany and spread like wildfire throughout Europe.

Wow, we need to pay better attention.

Church of Immaculate Conception and St Ignatius

Across a narrow street from The Black Tower we found the Church of Immaculate Conception and St. Ignatius.

The church is famous for the catacombs beneath it, that were added during its construction in the 1600s.

The Jesuits used the tunnels as a final resting place for their fellow priests and for protection in case of attack (can you IMAGINE being stuck down there with all those dead bodies?), but in later years local nobility and VIPS also were entombed here.

Catacombs at the Church of Immaculate Conception

We were highly disappointed to find the catacombs closed due to renovation work, but brightened up when we noticed an open door around the back.

Because we were curious and knew this would be our only chance to see them, but mostly because we are obnoxious buttholes, we decided to try to sneak a peek.

Holding our breath we quietly peeked through the doorway, craning our necks down the dark, damp, dusty corridor toward where we figured the dead dignitaries must lie.

Before we could get into any real trouble, we caught a glimpse of some workers inside the tunnels, then we heard footsteps.

What should we do? Desperately trying not to pee our pants, we ran like scared children back out into the street.

The White UnicornU bílho jednorožce, the Baroque Pharmacy /></div> <p>Once outside, we realized that we really hadn't seen a thing, but we did have another shot at finding some macabre oddities. U bílho jednorožce, the Baroque Pharmacy "At the White Unicorn" is right beside the church. Originally run by the same Jesuit priests, then later a private business, it is now a museum of bizarre medical practices from the past.</p><p>The front room looks like a friendly little business with bottles lining the shelves and drawers filled with various medicinal items. The most interesting feature is the large whale tusk protruding from the wall that gives the pharmacy its name. Back in the day the horn was believed to be from a unicorn and have curative powers. The place could be described as charming, but the back room, well that's another story. </p> <div id=

We realized that we really hadn’t seen a thing, but we did have another shot at finding some macabre oddities.

U bílho jednorožce, the Baroque Pharmacy “At the White Unicorn” stands right beside the church.

Originally run by the same Jesuit priests, then later a private business, it is now a museum of bizarre medical practices from the past.

The front room looks like a fri

endly little business with bottles lining the shelves and drawers filled with various medicinal items. The most interesting feature is the large whale tusk protruding from the wall that gives the pharmacy its name.

Back in the day the horn was believed to be from a unicorn and have curative powers. The place could be described as charming, but the back room, well that’s another story.

Beyond the doors lay a laboratory of questionable tactics. There were blades for bleeding, strange electronic instruments, and bugs, plants, roots, fungus, hooves, antlers, bones and animal entrails for producing medications. Even an enormous leech swam happily around in a jar.

Our guide seemed to take perverse pleasure in watching the squeamish reactions from the group as she upped the ante with each new potion and device. By the time we got out we were definitely a tad queasy.

A Czech Ice Cream Truck

Maybe some ice cream would help.

Czech it out, an old-timey ice cream truck just waiting for us right in the square.

With frozen treats in our bellies and our nerves calmed, we were ready to explore a little more and venture out beyond Peace Square.

The White Tower

The White Tower grabbed our attention because it stands out so starkly against the surrounding structures.

Built in 1581 as a replacement bell tower to the Nativity of Virgin Mary Archdean Church, it is a striking sight, gleaming white and topped with a traditional onion shaped dome.

We walked right through it, since it has an archway as a base, and continued on to check out the church.

The Archdean Church was Klatovy’s first, and is now the oldest building in town.

Built in the mid twelve hundreds, it became a major destination for pilgrimages after 1685.

The Archdean Church

That was when an image of the Virgin Mary had been brought in and was said to have bled and have healing powers.

The pilgrimages continued for centuries before fading away, but have recently been renewed.

If we had been around for the first week of August, we could have seen it first hand.

The original painting remains in the church, but the image has become somewhat of a symbol for the town and reproductions can be seen all around.

You can’t swing a cat in most of the shops or restaurants without hitting a replica proudly displayed.

The oddest thing about the work (okay, other than the bleeding part) is that the “baby” Jesus looks creepily like a miniature full grown adult.

That and he’s dressed like a medieval priest. Guess they weren’t going for realism.

As we worked our way out from the center of town, we came to the medieval fortifications that protected Klatovy through countless dynasties and power struggles.

Dating back to the 1400s, these are some of the best preserved ancient walls in all of Bohemia, even after the town has grown out beyond them.

Sadly, some parts have been torn down to make way for the expansion, and in some places the original walls have been incorporated into more modern buildings, but in general the ramparts and semicircular bastions still look ready for action.

Medieval fortifications

Of course by now we had worked up quite an appetite and were ready for our last Czech dinner before crossing over into Bavaria. The little restaurant at our Penzion sounded like a good idea, stuff our guts and then just walk up the stairs to fall into bed.

Fried Pork Neck!

Browsing the menu, it looked as though Pork Neck was the specialty of the house, so we ordered up a “Grilled Pork Neck Steak with Golden Fried Onion Rings” and a “Fried Pork Neck with Onion Rings and Tomatoes on Coarse Wholemeale Toast with Cheese Au Gratin.”

The latter was advertised as “For Small Hungry,” as if that is possible when eating a pork neck. Gotta say that the Czech version of country cookin’ suited us fine.

In the morning, we crawled out of bed at our appointed breakfast time, expecting the typical Czech hotel buffet-style breakfast.Instead what we found was an incredible culinary send-off for our incredible Czech journey.

A beautiful spread at a table set just for us, with flowers and sumptuous eats – breads, cheeses, yogurt and juices – that’s when we realized that we had just had two meals in a row without a dumpling. Now we were ready for our transition from Bohemia to Bavaria.

Beer and sausage, Ho!

David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com

Can’t get enough of the Czech Republic? We have much more for you!

Czeching Our Tires! Driving in the Czech Republic – A GypsyNester Guide

Driving in a foreign land can be challenging, but we have found that it affords us with opportunities to discover out-of- the-way gems we would never see from trains, planes or tour buses. It is only by car that we can truly stumble upon things GypsyNester-style.

The superhighways in Europe… CONTINUE READING >>

Klatovy, Czech Republic

Driving in a foreign land can be challenging, but we have found that it affords us with opportunities to discover out-of- the-way gems we would never see from trains, planes or tour buses.

It is only by car that we can truly stumble upon things GypsyNester-style.

The superhighways in Europe (Autostrada in Italy, Autobahn in German speaking countries, Autopista in Spain and Autoroute in France) are fantastic.

Smooth, wide, incredibly well maintained roadways where folks drive FAST! Especially in Germany, where there are no speed limits. On the downside, they are usually toll roads, with the exception of Germany, and pretty expensive.

Secondary roads are fun!

Secondary roads are generally well marked, but can be somewhat slow going due to traffic and their tendency to go right through the center of every little town.

It is very important to always know the name of the next town along the way, because that is how the routes are indicated.

These routes are by far the best way to see the countries up close and personal, but not a good choice when trying to cover a long distance on any kind of schedule.

Poppy field in Czech Countryside

Having learned these elements and becoming reasonably competent at navigating our way through several countries, we felt comfortable enough to venture into Bohemia and give driving in the Czech Republic a try.

Since the creation of The European Union and the adoption of the Euro, the hassle of clearing customs at every border while driving across Europe is a thing of the past.Czech Countryside

Still, we had no idea what to expect as we ventured into the former Czechoslovakia, since they are not a part of the currency zone.

Years ago David had an experience while trying to enter Croatia involving several hours in a trailer next to one of those red and white striped wooden gates that always show up in old war movies.

While the Croat border personnel were perfectly cordial, at least as far as he could gather with absolutely no ability to communicate, their technology on hand to check our visas consisted of a black rotary dial phone and a giant hand written ledger, leading to some considerable delays.

Border crossing into the Czech Republic

We had visions of a repeat performance or worse. Luggage strewn all over the side of the road while stern faced guards yell at us in Czech, point guns, wave hands and fling underwear.

As we approached the crossing, a giant Communist era border check point building looming on the horizon didn’t ease our tension.

But it was closed. Empty. Hadn’t been used in years. The Czech Republic, while not yet a member of the Euro currency zone, is in the E.U. and so has no customs clearance at the border. We drove right by the scary old edifice without a single siren or flood light chasing us.

David shows off his safety vest

A few points must be addressed immediately upon entering The Czech Republic – headlights must be on at all times and every vehicle must have a bright yellow safety vest (included in most rental cars) to wear in case of a break down, it’s the law.

A toll sticker is required to drive on the major highways. They are available to cover tolls for a few days, a month or a year.

We bought our sticker at the border for two hundred fifty Koruna, about fifteen bucks, for ten days of compliant driving. Way cheaper than the tolls in Italy or France, where we spent that much for every few hours of high speed locomotion.

Prostitute in the Czech Border Region

The Autobahn we had taken through Austria turned into a two lane at the border, but it was a good one, complete with frequent passing lanes.

Not being in a hurry, we were pleased with the smaller road because we wanted to see everything along the way. Little did we know that everything would include hookers.

Lots of them. Prostitutes were standing at almost every little crossroad, leaning on guardrails and sitting on bridges for about the first twenty miles into the country.

We learned later that this is legal, or at least in a semi-legal decriminalized gray area, and completely common on every road entering the Czech republic from Germany and Austria. The truckers and tourists seem to like it enough to keep the business flourishing.

České Budějovice

Following the highway wasn’t too difficult, at least until we reached České Budějovice, a pretty good sized city famous for brewing the original Budweiser beer.

This is where we first encountered what would become our main problem with driving in the Czech Republic… signs written in Czech. It’s hard to know what the name of the next town is when the letters are almost all consonants with odd marks over them.

Kutná Hora

Trying to retain unfamiliar street names really came into play a little later when we tried to find our hotel in Kutná Hora.

The town is small and we got to the general vicinity of our lodging fairly easily but between the tiny winding one- way streets and the incredibly indecipherable signs, it took over an hour to find it… three blocks away.

We decided to explore the town on foot after that.

Czech Countryside

The Czech Republic is having to play a bit of catch-up with the rest of The E.U. as far as its roads are concerned.

There are few superhighways and many of the secondary roads, even the ones marked on the map as major national routes, are very narrow with barely enough room for two vehicles.

Often they lack any sort of lines painted on them. Driving at night would not be an undertaking we were ready to try.

Czech Countryside

Another escapade we decided to pass on was trying to navigate the city streets of Prague.

In the past we have been brave enough to venture a vehicle into the depths of Paris, Milan, Rome and even the most insane traffic of all European cities, Naples, but that was when we were a little younger – and a lot crazier.

Plus, in the aforementioned cities we could make a bit of sense of the traffic signs.

After the difficulty we had locating our Prague hotel, that we specifically chose for its convenient location on the outskirts of town, we felt pretty good about our decision to use the subway and our feet for our sightseeing.

Czech Country side

For a metropolitan area of over two million people, Prague has very little freeway system, but construction is rampant.

Projects are frantically trying to change that, still for us strangers in a strange land, the road closings and detours became quite an adventure.

This was especially true when trying to find our way out of Prague. Several times we followed a detour only to be diverted right back to where we had been before.

Either the Czechs really suck at routing detours or we missed some tiny little orange signs with indecipherable words and symbols on them. By the time we finally found our way out, we had settled on it being a little of both.

From Prague we got our first experience of a Czech superhighway, or Dálnice. We wound our little rented Citroën up till the engine was screaming and barreled down highway D-5 toward the town of Plzeň and the German border.

Maybe it was because this route headed toward Germany, or maybe Czechs just like to drive fast too, but we were getting blown away while doing the posted speed limit of 130 kilometers per hour, a little over 80 mph, which was about all our French compact cruiser could manage.

Blurs were blazing by us and every time we passed a truck, a Mercedes or BMW traveling at NASCAR speed would climb up our back bumper from out of nowhere. We made a command decision to pull a green flag pit stop and return to the pastoral peace of a two lane highway to do a little low speed exploring.

During our last couple of days in Bohemia we didn’t have any set plans. We wandered down some off-the-map back roads and into some amazing little walled towns.

Ending up in the moderate sized village of Klatovy, we simply stopped in at the first open establishment that had food and rooms.

Turned out to be a fine place to lay our heads and gather our wits before venturing back out onto the crazed speedway conditions of the German Autobahn. A driver must be rested and ready for that experience.

David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com

A Wee Bit Crazy! Czech Countryside Driving


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