The Long Journey Home: A Taste of Europe Part Two

‘Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.’ – Omar Khayyam.

The Second Half of Europe

We travelled to six cities in Europe before going back to the UK. After spending three weeks in Russia, it was almost reverse culture shock to return to a world where there were other tourists and people spoke English!

We deliberated long and hard over which cities to visit during our fortnight travelling across Europe. In the end, we settled on staying largely in Eastern Europe, visiting Warsaw, Krakow, Budapest and Prague. We finally headed west a few days before going home, checking out Munich and Paris.

You can read short stories from Warsaw, Krakow and Budapest in Part One. In this post, Part Two, I’ll tell short stories from my time in Prague, Munich and Paris.

Prague

We buy cheap bottles of beer and make for the river. The Vltava River that runs through Prague is serene. Elegant swans sail by, looking disdainful. We pick a spot close to the riverbank and sit cross-legged to drink our beer, revelling in the early summer warmth and the evening light.

I’ve had a headache all day. I ignore it now. Drinking an ocean of water hasn’t helped, so perhaps beer will. The river is peaceful, the beer is good despite its low cost. We talk endlessly while we drink. A veil of darkness draws over us. The lanterns from pedalos on the water bob and weave across the inky black water, leaving a yellow trail of light.

A Mystery Creature

Despite the early evening gloom, my eyes spot movement on the small beach below us.

‘Look!’

I stop mid-sentence and point, watching as a creature about the size of a beaver scuffles along the exposed rocks, nibbling grass stems. P and I watch, trying to work out what it is.

‘It looks like a beaver,’ I say, slowly, ‘But the tail isn’t flat like a beaver’s tail.’

We watch as the creature, whatever it is, slips back into the water and cruises effortlessly past us. It is too big to be a rat. It’s tail isn’t like a beaver tail. Can rats swim? Do they really get so big? It’s definitely not an otter. Not cute enough. If it is a rat, that’s pretty disgusting. We resolve to Google what it could be upon our return to the hostel.

Identifying the Creature

Our park beers evolve into drinks at a cheap bar. We don’t get home until 2am, tipsy and a little chilly. In our inebriated states, we forget to find out what that creature was. The following evening, the creature is back at the same spot, as we drink more beers in the gloaming. Still we don’t find out what it is.

I don’t remember to find out until about four weeks later. When I finally Google it, I learn that the creature is a Coypu. A species native to South America, it is invasive across Europe. In various languages, it’s known as a ‘beaver rat’ or ‘little beaver’. Our confusion was well-founded! Here’s the link to the Wikipedia article that finally enlighten us about Coybu!

Munich

We take a free walking tour as an introduction to the city. Our guide is Irish and well-informed, leading us around the city. He regales us with stories of Munich’s past and present, introducing us to important historical sites.

Munich has a fascinating, occasionally dark, history. In 1923, Hitler made his first bid for power in the Beer Hall Putsch. This particular coup failed. However, it resonates with me that there were a couple of times during this time when the course of history could have been completely changed.

History Could Have Been Rewritten

During the Beer Hall Putsch, Hitler was wounded. A metre or two to the right or left, he would have been killed. Instead, he was arrested and tried for High Treason. This is a crime usually punishable by death.

But, what do you know? The judge overseeing his trial was a Nazi sympathiser. Hitler’s trial was a spectacle. He was sentenced to five years in prison. Eight months later, he was released on good behaviour. He started writing Mein Kampf during this spell in prison.

Imagine if that judge had been ill on the day of the trial. Or a different judge had been chosen. Or… Another judge would have sentenced Hitler to death.

How Chance Changes History

The Nazi party ultimately came to power in 1933, with war breaking out five years later and the rest, of course, is a sad, brutal history. Isn’t it extraordinary how much chance plays a hand in our lives?

As we continue on our tour, I think about the many chances in my life when things could have turned out so very differently. It was lucky chance that led to P and I meeting and ultimately, taking our trip together. And it often isn’t until later that we realise just how much chance plays a part in determining the way our lives go.

A Tribute to Jewish Citizens of Munich

This looks like a normal pavement, but this is actually a subtle tribute to the citizens of Munich who did not want to make the Nazi salute as they passed a monument commemorating the deaths of Nazi sympathisers who died in 1923.

If a person passed and did not salute the monument, they were beaten. After a while, people slipped down a side street to avoid the monument. When the Nazi’s realised, they set up a post to punish anyone who was passing without a legitimate reason.

Later on, as the violence escalated, people were sent to Dachau if they did not salute the monument. Once the war was over, the lane was paved with gold in memory of these individuals. We will never forget their silent, risky protest.

Paris

We have six hours.

We walk from Gare du Nord Station towards the river. The streets are quiet at this early hour. Rubbish is piled on every corner. Cardboard, sodden and swollen after rain and plastic bags of trash, decomposing and smelling ripe.

In doorways and under overhangs, people lie buried under blankets, still sound asleep. They are different to the homeless people we normally see. These people have possessions and occasionally, I spot children. I realise they must be refugees and feel a stab of emotion. They have nowhere else to go.

We pause to take photos of the Louvre before pacing along the Seine. It is running high, breaching its banks and overflowing onto the paths that run alongside. Across the river, the iconic Eiffel Tower rises above the rooftops, not exactly beautiful but far from ugly.

The Last Hours of our Trip

These are our final hours on the continent before we return to the UK. It is the first time P will be back on home soil in eighteen months. For me, it has been six months. I feel emotional, close to tears. Our trip, so long in the making and so wonderful in the undertaking, is almost at an end. In just over twenty-four hours, I’ll be leaving P and going back to Wales.

He has become my closest confidant, my ally throughout our trip. We have been nearly inseparable. I can’t imagine anyone else I could spend so much time with, 24/7, just us two. I try to avoid thinking about our parting. Tears well unbidden as we cross the road and walk up Champs-Elysees towards the Arc de Triomphe. I brush them away.

Overwhelming Emotion

After muffins and coffee and a good howl in the privacy of a Starbucks bathroom, we walk up to the Sacre Coeur through Montmartre. Street artists try to grab our attention, but we brush them off. Armed soldiers weave through the tourists, a show of protective strength.

We are both quiet. These are our last hours together just us two. P is tired. He didn’t sleep on the overnight bus. We sit on the steps with the Sacre Coeur at our backs and all of Paris laid out below us. We are comfortably, mostly, silent.

An hour later, we are on the Eurostar home. It’s time to get back to the real world. Our adventures are behind us. Gone but never to be forgotten.