Checking Out Český Ráj

Daisy, me, and the Honda Shadow 600 outside the Hrubá Skála Chateau. Taken by a passer-by and, sadly, slightly out of focus.

It takes more love to share the saddle than it does to share the bed. -- Unknown

Ever since I got my Czech motorcycle license two years ago, and bought my 2002 Honda Shadow 600, I've had this dream of going on an overnight motorcycle trip with Daisy.

While that may strike you as a perfectly reasonable goal given that 1) I have a motorcycle, and 2) Daisy was entirely agreeable to the idea, somehow I just hadn't been able to get it together.


The Hrubá Skála chateau.

Part of it, I’m sure, was a certain apprehension to committing to such an adventure. I'm a relatively new motorcycle rider, I don't have tons of experience riding with a passenger, Czech drivers are insane and aren't used to motorcycles sharing their highways, and I don't speak the language all that well, should a problem arise.

Uneasy rider, if you will.

But when you've got a blog called Gusto, there's not much chance of backing out of something like this.

I had to go for it.

Which I did. Or I should say we did.

And where did we go?


Daisy looks across to the chateau from one of the many overlooks.

We decided to check out Český Ráj, or Czech Paradise, a justly celebrated region of the Czech Republic that we had somehow, in all our years of living here, never visited. It's famous for its spectacular sandstone rock towers and its Middle Earth-like landscape in the valleys below. The hiking is superb, and I was looking forward to working up a mean thirst.

Plus, Český Ráj is only some 120 kilometers or so from our house in Černý Vůl, at least via the country-road route I chose for this trek -- a quite manageable two-hour ride or so on the motorcycle. (It's more like 90 kilometers on the highways direct from Prague.)


Climbers scaling one of the many spectacular rock towers.


More climbers.

I reserved a "luxe" room at the 14th-century Hrubá Skála Chateau or castle, in Hrubá Skála, a village around 6 kilometers southeast of Turnov, which had been recommended to me by a couple of friends, one of whom got married there. It commands sweeping views of that part of Český Ráj and is surrounded by the aforementioned sandstone monoliths.

So after work on a recent Friday, we went home, threw off our work clothes, dressed in our biking finest, stuffed my Honda saddlebags with the bare essentials (underwear, toiletries, backgammon, a bottle of Bohemia Sekt Brut), slipped on our helmets, and hit the road.


Daisy goes rogue among the sandstone formations.

And you know what? As soon as rubber met road, all my apprehension disappeared, like those big trucks in my rear-view mirror. The sun was shining, the tank was full, the weekend lay ahead, and my baby was behind me.

As someone once said, only a biker knows why a dog sticks his head out of a car window. What a thrill it is to be zipping along winding country roads, leaning this way and that, the wind in your face, the smells of manure and flowers and wheat fields baking in the sun wafting around inside your helmet.

And I still get a kick out of observing that unwritten code of motorcycling (I had to learn it by experience; no one ever tells you these things) -- that is, always waving, nonchalantly, at other motorcyclists passing in the opposite direction. Just an effortless extension and slight turn of the left wrist, or a slowly extended left foot if your hands are otherwise occupied. (And distinctions are definitely made for those riding on whiny Vespas or other type of scooters. They don't deserve waves.)

We meandered from Černý Vůl to Kralupy, up to Velvary, over to Melnik, then connected to Mladá Boleslav, up to Turnov, and then a few more kilometers to our destination -- up the winding, leafy, sun-dappled country road to the spectacularly situated Hrubá Skála.

At Hrubá Skála, I parked the bike, killed the engine, and thought, "We made it!"

How was the hotel? Well, you couldn't ask for a better location, but it's sorely in need of someone to read the staff the proverbial Riot Act. Food at the restaurant was OK but seriously hampered by lackadaisical, albeit friendly, service. We ate outside on the terrace overlooking the valley and saw many couples waiting endlessly to get noticed by the waiters.

Even though we were generally fairly served in comparison, watching other couples be ignored kinda ruins your own meal, you know?

The breakfast "buffet" the next morning was also one of the saddest such displays we've encountered. Bland, unimaginative food, and atrocious attention to items that had run out, like coffee and milk, let alone eggs and bread. Even though we arrived a full hour before breakfast ended, there was little left to choose from except a few slices of cheese and meat and one boiled hot dog.)


Our room.


Another view of our room.


The view from our hotel window.

Our "luxe" room -- No. 122, which set us back around $115 per night) was quite lovely and had its own spacious toilet facilities (a rarity at this hotel, where most of the rooms share baths down the hall). Horrifyingly, however, the jacuzzi bathtub was suffering from a rather large infestation of ants, most of them, interestingly, winged.

After I brought the problem to her attention, the woman at the front desk quickly offered us another room, but it was a standard double and paled in comparison. Housekeeping was gone for the day, so Daisy bravely tackled the vermin with a can of Raid while I sipped a beer on the terrace. (Hey, she volunteered!)

We never saw another ant for the rest of the weekend, and spent the rest of our time hiking, sleeping, eating, and drinking.

We explored all the trails winding around above, below and around the chateau. We gawked at the rock climbers scaling the sandstone towers, and discovered a hushed memorial to fallen Czech climbers hidden deep in the forest. We picked wild blueberries (at least that's what I think they were) in the forest, and drank a few beers and had a snack at a whimsical teahouse nestled within a tiny arboretum not far from the chateau.

We looked (unsuccessfully) for our first geocache near the Adam's Bed rock formation (across from which is an "erotic" sandstone relief of two lovers, which was apparently defaced in more modest times) and drank wine and played backgammon on the chateau's outdoor terrace.

We had a great time.

Despite all that, though, I couldn't wait to get back on the Shadow on Sunday for the ride home. My confidence had been firmly rooted. We took a different route back, this time mostly on highway all the way back to Prague.

We reached a top speed of around 112 kph, which for me, especially with a passenger, is quite fast. There's no windshield on my bike, and you'd be surprised at how hard the wind pounds you in the chest when you're going 90 or 100 kph. Choppers are meant for slow, easy riding, which is why the country roads around here are so perfect. That's my kind of riding.


As we ate dinner on Saturday night, a hot-air balloon drifted over the castle.

Now, we're planning to go back, perhaps to explore the trails around the more touristy Prachovské skály area of Český Ráj. And that's just the thing. Even though the chateau left a lot to be desired in many significant areas, we'd probably stay there again when we revisit this area. It felt rather private and a lot less trampled than what we saw of Prachovské skály as we drove past on the way home.

We'll take Emma back with us next time. Then again, there was a decent looking campground near Prachovské Skály, so we might just go that route, too.


The Middle Earth-like rock formations and valleys surrounding the chateau (above and below).








A charming little teahouse in an arboretum near the chateau. In addition to tea, they served beer and light snacks, as well as homemade tie-died clothing. Very cool.


Enjoying a few beers and some surprisingly tasty couscous at the teahouse.


A memorial to fallen Czech climbers deep in the forest near the chateau.


Someone in this photo needs a haircut.


The twin towers of the 14th-century Trosky Castle overlook the Český Ráj region.


Wine and backgammon on the terrace.


Trying, unsuccessfully (and rather ridiculously), to locate my first geocache near the Adam's Bed rock formation.

The Best Steak In Prague

This is it (pommes frites not shown).

If you're a steak lover -- an aficionado of thick, tender, juicy cuts of beef -- the best steak in Prague isn't to be found in Prague.

You must drive a measly 18 kilometers from Prague 6 to the village of Okoř -- 22 minutes away, according to Google Maps -- and sit yourself down at a table at the Family Hotel Okoř & Restaurant, a clunky name for a truly charming establishment that'll make you believe you're sitting at an inn in the French countryside. (If that wasn't enough, it's even a stone's throw from the picturesque ruins of a 14th-century castle.)

Order the beefsteak filet with green pepper sauce and French fries. Medium rare. It'll set you back a reasonable $14, and comes with some of the best French fries around, to boot.


I started with this lovely salad of goat cheese and sun-dried tomatoes.

Then ask for a bottle of 2007 Bremerton Selkirk Shiraz from South Australia (around $25), a luscious, peppery red full of dark fruits that'll knock your socks off (at least it did mine) and which goes wonderfully with the steak.

For dessert, try the baked pear with a peppercorn crust and caramel ice cream. Also goes good with another bottle of that Shiraz.


Baked pear with a peppercorn crust and caramel ice cream.

The hotel, I am told, uses a local butcher for all their cuts of meat. It's Czech beef, not Argentinian or American, but don't let that deter you. It's quality stuff.

I've never had a bad steak there. Ever.

In fact, I'm hesitant to even talk about the Family Hotel Okoř & Restaurant -- the friendly service, the reasonable prices -- for the usual reason in these situations: I don't want my favorite eatery, unknown to most people, to become a hot spot. But considering its location, I'm betting that is an unlikely scenario.

You can drive, if you don't want to drink, or hop in a taxi, or take the 350 regional bus from Dejvická for a 44-minute ride.

If you're lucky, you'll run into Czech composer and singer Petr Hapka having a meal. He lives in the village. It's rare when we don't see him.

Sure, there's more on the menu in Okoř than steak. (The menu on the website needs to be updated and doesn't reflect the current offerings, however.) But I always seem to order one thing when I go there.

Why mess with success?


The castle ruins in Okoř.

Gonna See Kasabian

We're very excited. We're going to get to see one of our favorite bands, Kasabian.

They're one of the headliners at the Open Air Festival on August 14 at Letiště Panenský Týnec, about 50 km north of Prague. From what I gather, it's some old military airport that's been converted into an outdoor concert venue.

I went crazy and bought a VIP ticket but can't seem to find out what that means exactly! Anyone out there know what that entitles us to?!

We're also thinking of camping but also can't find much information about this, either.

Any advice or tips on attending this festival would be appreciated!

Pussy Galore

Oscar basking in the warm grass.

Every time I bend down to give old Oscar a scratch behind the ears, I think I ought to give regular Gusto readers an update on all the cats that I've written about over the past couple of years.

You may remember that Oscar is the stray cat that adopted us shortly after we moved into our house out here in Černý Vůl, northwest of Prague. He's been through a lot, that Oscar -- most notably an almost fatal brush with pneumonia last winter. He was so sick that he allowed us to take him to the vet. He lived in our bathroom/toilet for a month while he took his medicine.

He recovered, and while we would have liked for him to have stayed inside permanently, he is a wild one, and he wanted back out, where he's lived ever since.

He survived the harsh winter of 2009-10 and, except for the occasional cough and myriad ticks (which he patiently lets Daisy remove), seems to be in excellent health and spirits.


Oscar likes to lounge in the sun on the covering to our woodpile.

Oscar can be found reliably on our doorstep every morning and every evening, waiting for his wet and dry food, and found sunning himself in various favorite locations around our garden during the day.

He's a tough old cat, but affectionate and loyal.

Most of the time, when we arrive home from work, he scampers in front of us on the sidewalk to our front door and plops himself down and rolls over on his back, hoping for a belly scratch. Of course, most of the time we're happy to. When we're through, we'll walk forward, and he'll jump up and scamper ahead and do the same thing all over again.

More like a dog than a cat, really.


Oscar is always waiting to greet us when we come home from work. Doesn't it look like he's wearing eyeliner?

We really love Oscar and always get a little worried if he doesn't show up right on time to get fed. As they say, we are his hoomans.

Remember Flake? She's the newborn kitten we found in our backyard just an hour or so before we were supposed to catch a plane for Croatia in 2008.

Our landlord was kind enough to take care of Flake, as he named her, for the two weeks we were gone. He and his wife nursed Flake back to health by feeding her milk through an eye-dropper, before passing her along to us once we returned from holiday.


The very lucky, and lovely, Flakey, a few weeks ago at Stewart's house.

As you may remember, my good friend Stewart and his family adopted Flake a month or so later, once she was eating solid food and on the road to recovery.

I’m happy to report that Flake (or Flakey, as she's now known) is doing great in Roztoky, except for a recurring eye infection of some sort. When we found Flake, her eyes were still closed, and I’m afraid we may have actually caused the infection in our efforts to care for her and clean her off.

Flakey was shortly joined in Stewart's household by Flukey, yet another (albeit older) kitten that showed up on our doorstep around the same time. Stewart's kids wanted a second cat, and Flukey fit the bill nicely.

Both are doing well.


A recent picture of Flukey. Says Stewart: "She's a lovely cat, my wee pal. She's also a bit nuts....had a bit of a tough start in life so I think she appreciates a happy homestead. She gets so relaxed she forgets herself and repeatedly falls off couches, beds etc. Very funny."

And then there's Luna.

Luna, as Emma named her, was a gorgeous 8-week-old kitten who showed up on our doorstep last fall. After a few weeks of living inside with us, Luna was adopted by another friend of ours, Venera, where she's been thriving ever since.


Luna in her new home recently.

There are few other cats we've seen eating recently from Oscar's food bowl -- Ghost Cat, Black Kitty, and Orange Cat -- but all seem either to be too skittish or too thuggish to be candidates for adoption.

I'm so glad we found good homes for all these stray kitties, but I'm also glad we haven't had to perform that task again for quite some time.

Perhaps getting Oscar fixed while he was at the vet did the trick!


Our housecat Chicho, gazingly longingly out our front door, no doubt at Oscar frolicking about. We lost our other housecat, the beloved Zhenya, at the end of December.


Chicho curled up inside Daisy's yoga bag.


Oscar likes nothing better than to roll over as we're trying to pass by on the sidewalk and beg for a scratch.

Cool Old Tatra Firetruck

I took these photos a few days ago in the nearby village of Nebušice. The local fire station had pulled their vintage Czech-made Tatra firetruck out into the street.

I'm not sure when this truck dates from. Someone out there probably knows better than I do. I'd guess the early '70s.

You can't see it very well, but there's a smallish water nozzle stuck on a swivel in the back that a firefighter would man, sort of like a machine gun.

This is a very cool vehicle, certainly. And they obviously take good care of it.

But I must admit, it doesn't inspire a lot of confidence if this is the only equipment the village has at its disposal with which to fight fires.

Not So Humble Pie

Looks like Daisy's got some competition!

I've posted photos here before of Daisy's intricate lattice-crust pies, such as this amazing creation or the strawberry-rhubarb extravaganza pictured below, which she baked a few weeks ago.

Paul Sindelar, Daisy's father; Alyson Adams, his wife; and Paul's stepdaughter Hannah sent us the above photograph of their incredible Memorial Day-inspired pie.

Fantastic.

Alyson said they all contributed to the making, and to the eating. It's another strawberry-rhubarb, with the crust recipe coming from Paul's mother. Alyson says it never fails.

If this pie tasted half as good as it looks ...

Breakfast In America (And Other Delights)

Daisy, Emma and I took a trip home to the United States recently. Of course, food and drink is always a big part of the adventure.

I miss American food, and visiting local diners and neighborhood restaurants is always high on my agenda. There's nothing I enjoy more than sitting down in a booth at an old-fashioned diner, ordering scrambled eggs, sausage, rye toast, and coffee, and reading the local newspaper.

Whenever I'm on vacation, I also end up taking pictures of a lot of the food I eat. (Funny, there was a story in "The New York Times" while we were there about this very practice. Most people think I'm a little strange, but I don't take photos of every meal!)

One of the highlights of our trip to the U.S. was a visit to Holsten's Ice Cream Parlor in Bloomfield, N.J., where they filmed the controversial last scene of "The Sopranos" (below).

Their vanilla malt is to die for (no pun intended).

Calling Off The Dogs

It's hard to grill hot dogs in the Czech Republic. They all seem to explode after a minute or two on the barbecue. (See above.)

Hot dogs in the United States don't do that. We wouldn't stand for it! ;-)

Anyone know why they do that here, and if there is a brand that doesn't?

It's also interesting that there is no such thing as a hot dog bun in Prague, either. We're forced to use these long rolls they call rohliky, which are usually kinda tough and stale unless you get them right out of the oven.

Life is hard.

Eggs Post Facto

Does that mean it's farm-fresh, or the factory just doesn't give a s**t to actually wash their eggs before they sell them?

I must admit to being slightly disgusted early on a Saturday morning.

Knock Knock!

I think we've all been through this door.

Spotted on a recent outing in a Prague suburb.

Made me smile.

The Good And The Bad About Box Wine

"You look like my mommy after her box of wine." -- Ralph Wiggum on "The Simpsons"

I was in my local wine shop last week, The Wine Depot in Horoměřice, and noticed part of a wall devoted to boxes of wine.

I was intrigued.

I'd been hearing that boxed wine is actually pretty good nowadays -- (I'm not talking about those small boxes of cheap-o wine you see in the local grocery shops) -- that respected vintners are getting in on the act and that's it's not all Franzia and Boone's Farm swill.

I asked the wine clerk on duty, and she confirmed the rumors. The stuff they were selling is very good, she said. I decided to give it a try.

The wine is inside a five-liter plastic bladder inside the box itself. Pull out the spigot and start drinking!

The wine stays fresher longer -- for weeks (if it could possibly remain undrunk for that long) -- because no oxygen ever gets to it.

I've now tried two Italian varities, both from Farnese -- a lovely, smooth Sangiovese Daunia and a brutish Primitivo that really seemed to knock me on my butt(but in a good way).

The two wines averaged out to about $6 per liter -- a fantastic deal.


There's only one problem. Or maybe it's not a problem.

I've found that I'm drinking a lot more wine -- a lot more -- than I did before. And I drank my fair share before.

When you have a seemingly endless stream of good wine flowing out of a convenient spigot in your kitchen, it's hard to resist going back for another glass. And another.

Imagine if wine instead of water came out of your kitchen faucet when you turned it on and you'll get the idea.

A bottle of wine naturally imposes some limits to your drinking.

I'll keep working at this problem and get back to you.

A Crappy Sign

I am all for dog owners in Prague cleaning up after their pets. It's a big problem.

But this sign seems to be suggesting that dog owners get a little closer to the issue than I'd personally be willing to go.

The guy seems to be worshipping at some poo altar.

Plus, that's already a sizable pile, and more is on the way!

Hilarious.

R.I.P. Nibble Richards

We've buried two cats in our backyard over the past couple of years -- Oscar Junior, a stray cat we'd grown mightily fond of, and our beloved Zhenya. (Read more about them here and here.)

Over the weekend, I discovered that there's at least one more family pet at eternal rest in our garden.

While doing some yard work, I noticed a small wooden sign stuck in the middle of a cinder block. I'd seen the sign before but had never noticed its faded writing. I think I must have assumed it was some sort of garden marker and hadn't paid it much attention.

On closer inspection, I discovered that the sign reads:

R.I.P.
Nibble Richards
2000-2003

It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that the dearly departed was likely a hamster or a gerbil and that Richards was the family name of our house's previous occupant.

What a fantastic name for a hamster.

Rest in peace, little guy.

Venus de Why-lo?

We came across this provocative -- and crudely rendered -- lawn sculpture in our local home-and-garden shop the other day.

The view from the rear was just as revealing, if you know what I mean.

No price that I could see, but I'm sure it was in the hundreds of dollars.

Who would buy such a monstrosity? And perhaps more importantly, where would they put it?

Classy stuff.

Rest In Peace

Over the weekend, we planted a beautiful little azalea bush on Zhenya's grave in our backyard.

We really do miss her.

A Little Piece Of 'Mad Men'

I've always loved these drinking glasses.

If I remember correctly, I bought them in an antique store in Cumberland, Maryland, sometime in the 1990s.

There used to be another city glass in the original collection -- Paris. It shattered one day in the sink a few years back. It was a sad day.

I've always wondered about the choices of cities depicted on these glasses, which by my reckoning must date to sometime in the 1950s, considering that Havana is one of the designs.

They look like something out of "Mad Men" to me.

I can understand Rome and Madrid and Paris, and maybe even Bombay, but The Hague??!! I've always been curious as to the thinking behind that choice. It's an obscure city even today.

Who knows? There may have been a bunch more in the collection. New York and London spring to mind as obvious candidates. I probably didn't buy a complete set.

These glasses are great for gin and tonics, which is why they're on my mind. We pulled them out last night for the first G&Ts of the season.

These glasses make any drink taste better somehow.

If anyone knows anything about these designs, I'd certainly appreciate it if you'd leave a comment.