The winter is so cold that I cannot even get my pores to open in a hot bath, but the adversity it provides is like a flint upon which to strike and spark. As I have said before, there are faces that Europe only shows when the weather is deadly. Prague is a delightfully dark city, as you can see from the evil tower above that resembles my dream home, and the hanging statue of a man sitting on a dead horse. Maybe he has been flogging it.
I write this on the second floor of an ancient building that reeks of shabby, decaying splendour. An East German man with blond dreadlocks down to his waist is playing the didgeridoo on the couch while I watch the silent, ceaseless snowfall. On the street below is the cafe where I just drank so much coffee that the waitress expressed concern for my well-being. Seriously though, if you are ever in Brno, go to Transistor cafe on Bayerova and try the Espresso Torrone. One is never enough.
I don't know what this 1960s art-piece in Litomysl represents, but it looked like a bird feeder for the Ringwraiths.
There have been many occasions in which I have thought to myself, "Andrew, you're not in Kansas anymore."
...a coffee date with a stunning Olympic decathlete...
...staying in a flat with six East European guys, which means I end up on my hands and knees all the time, cleaning the apartment...
...scrubbing sulphuric acid out of the floor boards when one of the flatmates decides to store his car battery in a rucksack in the wardrobe...
Welcome to Eastern Europe.
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