Saturday we woke up early and left the sketchy hotel. Our destination that morning was the town where DH's and M.’s great-great grandfather was born. It was a tiny little town at a crossroad with a population of about ten. We talked to three of them. I use the term talk loosely. My Czech is definitely functional, not conversational, and it’s not all that good. The whole experience was very surreal. Think about a kid packing up and leaving his country, going across the ocean to a land where he wouldn’t know the language or the people, knowing he probably would never see his family again. It takes guts. I have a new respect for my ancestors.
We toured the Pilsner Urquell brewery that afternoon. Learned a lot of technical mumbo-jumbo about beer, sampled beer straight from the barrel. Mostly though, we watched this guy who we later found out was a brewmaster from Seattle. There was a section of the tour where they show you the barley, water, and hops that they use to make the beer. There is a bucket of barley out so visitors can touch it and smell it. They have about ten tours a day, probably of about ten to twenty people each, all touching the barley.
The guy ate the barley.
I shudder to think about it even now. He probably has the plague.
We assumed our car roles, and we headed back to Prague. It was a true test of my navigating capabilities and M.’s Czech driving. The drivers were crazy, the map was terrible, and the three of us were exhausted. We were doing okay until Prague decided to put a parking ramp in the middle of the road and have all the lanes exit into the parking garage. Luckily for us, they gave five hours of free parking on the weekends.
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