Wednesday, July 1 - PRAGUE/DRESDEN (revisit) & Happy Canada Day!

It was a better sleep on the train than the night before. The police only checked my tickets and passport once. When I woke up, it was already 7am, half an hour before the scheduled arrival time. My plan was to spend the first half of the day revisit some spots in Prague, and to take the train in the afternoon back to Dresden.

The temporary luggage storage boxes at Prague’s main train station was ridiculously expensive - it cost me 60 Koruna for a few hours, but I had no choice. After depositing my backpack, I took a subway straight to the Castle, again. My goal was to see it without the crowd, and it worked out well. The Castle in the early morning without too many tourists was quietly elegant. Every little detail in architecture design seemed to be more outstanding. I could sit down and take my time to appreciate this magnificent building more than the first time I was there. After another inside out tour around the beautiful St. Vitus Cathedral, I walked down to Charles Bridge. The historic bridge was different to me with a smaller crowd on a hazy morning - again, more interesting to see the stories behind those statues than fighting through the tourists. My third destination of the day was Petrin Tower, also known as the Little Eiffel Tower because if strong resemblance of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, only much smaller. The two English girls I met at the hostel recommended me to check it out, and it didn’t disappoint. I took the funicular up the hill and climbed the tower, then it came the best panorama view of the entire City of Prague. It gave you the view from a different, but better, angle to see the city than from the Castle. From the top of the tower, you could see the entire city to the east, the Vltava River curved across the city skyline and made a U-turn to the north, the Castle on the hill to the northeast, and on the other side, a big stadium complex. It was a view that would ink in my head for the rest of my life. I got of the funicular half way down the hill and visited the cherry orchard for the last time for some fruit refill. My plan to revisit those popular spots worked out well, it was time to go pick up my backpack and head to the other train station to catch the train going back to Germany. Of course, with no surprise, Shane cut the time too close, again. So, I had to run out of the subway all the way to the platform. The exact situation I had when sending off Sijia 3 days ago: same train, same less-than-three-minute-before-departure, only to the opposite direction. Funny enough this time, just as I was gassed when I boarded the train, thinking how lucky I was again, I found out that train was the one which was supposed to be here an hour ago: the train was almost exactly 60 minutes late! It took me a while to get back my breath and sat in a section with a few other backpackers from Vienna. I was satisfied with my short Central Europe excursion and was then on my way back west again.

A couple of hours later, I arrived back in Dresden. I wanted to walk around my beloved Eastern Germany city once more, but had to take my first shower in almost 3 days first. I checked in the same hostel I stayed in a few days ago I was there, and was given the key to the same room; again, I was the first to arrive so I had the chance to choose a bed. After the shower, I met two guys in my room from Hong Kong. Then, I headed out for a stroll in a gorgeous sunsetting evening on the Elbe. I walked across Augustusbrücke, taking in everything from the Old Town waterfront. The Brühlsche Terrasse, Frauenkirche, Hofkirche, and Semperoper under the last orange rays of that day’s sunlight was another view one always wanted to go back for. Crossing the bridge, I walked onto Augustusstraße to see the Porcelain wall. It was just after sunset, tourists were gone, there were only me and the wall of paintings. A group of artists happened to be there to play some classical music, and it could not be more fitting. Coming back across the bridge after dark, I took some night shots of the city. Not wanting to go back to the hostel in an on and off light drizzle, I treated myself with a slice of cheesecake and a beer on the patio outside a cafe by the Golden Statue of Friedrich August II. Arriving back at the hostel, I found a new roommate - Mitchell, a girl from UW in Seattle who just came off an exchange term in Vienna. Meeting a West Coaster, again, in the same room of that hostel made the stay even more special. Instantly, we dove into endless conversations about our trips, home, and others. When we were all tired into late night and the last topic came in was inevitably what we were doing the next day. She said she was going to hike in Bastei. “Are you serious?” That was why I added this extra day here! That was where Caymin told me to go. What a coincidence! So, I didn’t need to plan for the next day any longer - I was going to hike this place, which was recommended by a Cali girl, with this Seattle friend I just made!

Sunday, February 28, 2010 - Golden Day in Canada

This was a day all Canadians had been waiting for ever since the Olympics were announced to Vancouver: Men’s Hockey final with Team Canada battling for the pride - “This Is Our Game.” After two weeks of magnificent display in both sports and culture, record-breaking gold medals for this country as a host, and days after nights of non-stop parties on Robson and Granville, it was only fitting to end it with a bang. However, the stake was high, and the enemy was fierce. Canada vs. U.S.A. Nobody could ask for a better matchup with the Gold on the line. Team Canada had to go through a tougher road, including a 7-3 rout against the Russian powerhouse, to get here because they were defeated by Team USA in the preliminary round. So, this is a revenge the Canadians wanted badly since last Friday - not mentioning the heart-wrenching overtime loss in the World Junior finals earlier this year: the boys’ version of this game - this is a much bigger stage with a Nation’s pride on the line, this is Luongo, not Brodeau, this is Our House. But the Americans had another plan for sure, this is their revenge as well, they had waited for 8 years for this, since Canada beat them to win the gold in Salt Lake City. As Chris Cuthbert said: “Team USA has never won gold outside its boarders. Team Canada has never won on home ice. Something’s gotta give this afternoon.”

I went out with the couple of Americans I was hosting. But obviously, nothing was early enough on this Sunday morning. Our original plan to watch it at the theatre in Edgewater Casino fell through, as people were waiting in line 6 o’clock in the morning. After walking around the vicinity, we settled down in front of the two big screens outside of Molson Canadian Hockey House, only a couple of blocks away from Canada Hockey Place where the game took place. I was glad my friends found a few American fellows to cheer together; for otherwise, it would be too overwhelming for them in the sea of red and white. After last few rounds of trash talk and anxious waiting, the moment finally arrived. “Good afternoon, Canada. Is there anywhere you’d rather be for the next 3 hours.”

The game started as a particular final: physical, tightly defensive, and well structured. As I felt, Team USA was doing a little better in a very even opening. They were playing a very good puck-possession game, as they had been doing throughout the tournament. They were doing better in small battles, especially in the face-off circle. That Kane-Kesler-Brown line caused scary trouble in the Canadian zone every time they stepped onto the ice. But it was Team Canada who opened the scoring. A defensive mistake by one of American’s best player Brain Rafalski, a shot and rebound, then Jonathan Toews sent the home crowd into elation. He also sent the Americans trailing for the first time in this tournament. First period, Canada 1-0 USA. The second period started almost the same way as the first did. Both teams were careful and both teams had chances. Seven minutes in, just after an aggressive penalty kill, Corey Perry found Ryan Getzlaf’s centering pass loose in front and buried it passed Ryan Miller. 2-0! Canada! “Is it really coming?” Every Canadian was looking ahead, but nobody would take it for granted. With the way Team USA played in the tournament, it was almost impossible for a shutout from Louie, as most Canadians might have dreamed of. As it proved, the Americans responded. And it was that most dangerous line on ice who created it. Ryan Kesler cruised down main street, played a give-and-go with Patrick Kane, tapped the ice wanting the puck as he skated toward his Canucks teammate on the other end of the goal, and tipped in a shot by Kane. Team USA was on the board and started to pressure. Gladly, the scoreboard did not change again in the second period. The third period started with a couple of “Dings” on the American goal, when both Shea Weber and Chris Pronger hit the posts. Team USA dodged a couple of bullets and they were still well alive in the game. Then came the waiting game for the Canadians. Everyone squeezed their hands and just wanted the game to be over. Team Canada started to put their defensive structure on: one man forecheck, others stayed back, not taking too many chances. With the experience and talent like the veteran captain Scott Niedermayer, who was playing an extraordinary game as a leader albeit being slow here and there, the team kept the Americans to the outside. Team USA started getting frustrated as the clock ticking down. But an ominous thought reminded me of that series-turning game Canucks vs. Blackhawks in last year’s playoffs. We played a great defensive game to preserve a 1-0 lead until inside the last 3 minutes when a minor error by Willie Mitchell cost us the game, along with the momentum of the series. This game was evilly similar to that memory. Inside 5 minutes to go, I was looking at the clock almost every 10 seconds - the time simply couldn’t go any slower in that situation. I believed most Canadians felt the same way: hands were squeezed, breaths were hard to take, any superstitious behaviours were out, the light for celebration was on the horizon, but every second became tougher to kill at the same time. 3 minutes to go... 2 minutes... 77 seconds remaining... the time was almost there. Team USA was in desperation, timeout was called, Miller was pulled for the extra attacker. It seemed, although slowly, the clock was counting down to a nationwide eruption. But just as the Canadians started chanting “We Want Gold”, it was the Americans, with their last breath, who jumped up in jubilation. A weak shot from the blue line, which Luongo probably should have frozen, dropped; then in the same sequence, Zach Parise came from behind the net and pounded on a deflected rebound to the back of the net, with 25 seconds remaining in the 3rd period. Just like many Canadians, I dropped my head, face into my hands. The entire country went into a coma. NOOOO. What happened? I was sure I wasn’t the only one that time who started to doubt. Anything could happen in overtime. What if...? We had waited for so long, and it was so close! I’d rather see a 5-0 loss than a last minute comeback. This is terrible! This is unacceptable! The bad thoughts went on and on. It was like a reality I could not face. A few Americans in the crowd started cheering wildly, not for winning anything yet, but for barely staying alive, for then. I didn’t know how many heart attacks this overtime would cost. For the fans, it was debating, hoping, and struggling. For the players, they had to regroup right away. It was a 20-minute full period 4-on-4 hockey before shootout was needed. Team Canada came back out onto the ice looking “fresher”, as Alexander Ovechkin said later in an interview after the game. The were controlling the puck better and creating more chances. But as we all knew, anything could happen, a stinger would end everything. 7:25 into the overtime, Scott Niedermayer, as consistent and reliable as he was in the entire game, gave up the puck in the Canadian zone to Joe Pavelski, who had only one man to beat to shock almost everything around to dead. An instant flash went across my head: it’s all over. Good thing was that we heard another loud chant of Luuuu. Yes, Louie bailed out the captain. How bitter a pill would it be to swallow for Scott if that happened, at the end of such a Hall-of-Famer career! Fortunately, that play wouldn’t matter when history was written, only 15 seconds later. I’m sure you all knew what happened. If not, I’m sure this country let you hear what happened.

From Robson Square to Whistler Village; from Canada Hockey House to Gretzky’s Restaurant; from Cole Harbour, NS, to Tofino, BC; the entire Canada burst out with the loudest roars that rumbled across the second largest country on this planet. I jumped off the stairs I was standing on, fists into the sky, and hollered my lungs out. YAAAAAAAAY!!!! YEAHHHHH!!!! YAAAHHH!!!! High-fives were not enough this time. We dived into each other’s chests with the biggest and warmest hugs, tears in our eyes. YES! WE DID IT! WE WON THE GOLD! This Is Our Game! For a good 3 or 5 minutes, I didn’t even know who scored the golden goal. When I saw the replay and found out the golden boy was Sid-the-Kid, I turned around trying to find that American who stood behind me, clearly didn’t know anything about hockey, couldn’t even track the puck (i.e. didn’t realize American’s last minute tying goal until 10 seconds after they scored...) and kept bitching nonsense throughout the game. You know what he said? “Crosby didn’t do anything in this tournament.” Too bad he fled the scene in the soonest he could, smartly. After settling down for a bit after the initial eruption, I started to realize how blessing I was to be in that moment, witnessing all. This is a country who take such high pride in this game that nothing except a Gold would satisfy the expectation. This is a nation who know this game so well that it’s blended in their culture and history. Hockey + Canada = GOLD - this is an equation they will never let anybody break. This was almost a relief than an accomplishment. You could see from the older generation’s eyes, it seemed they were simply happy to be able to see this moment. One might have lived a whole life, but not seeing this. When we popped up the victory drink while singing O Canada for one last time shoulder by shoulder, I felt so proud to have that golden red jersey on my back and that giant Maple Leaf at the front. As we cried the last note out and looked into each other’s eyes with happy smiley faces, we all knew the party just started...

My American friends obviously couldn’t enjoy their planned win-win situation to celebrate with the crazy Canucks, which I totally understood. So I sent them off on the escaping journey and dived into the sea of Red and White. People were on the trees, streetlight poles, and roofs. Robson and Granville were impossible to walk through. The rowdy crowd brought out cheers waves after waves. Being there was almost the best moment in my life. Although extremely tired, I didn’t want to leave the celebration. So we watched the Closing Ceremony at Robson Square, got some food, and marched on. Not until it was almost midnight when I was completely exhausted, I had to call it a day. But... What a day! What a game! What a memory that will last forever in the rest of my life! It was a Golden Day in Canada!

Tuesday, June 30 - AUSCHWITZ and KRAKOW

(Things kept reminding me this place should not be forgotten: A week ago, the 65th anniversary of the liberation of the camp; A week before the Christmas, the infamous “ARBEIT MACHT FREI” sign was stolen and Poland declared state of emergency.)

Auschwitz - a name I came across so many times from history books, television, and movies; a place so dark that many people still cannot bear to go back for a visit; a symbol that will remind us forever of a page human beings try to forget. It was a destination I had to include in my itinerary. So there I went, for a special day-visit, to a place I heard so much, but knew so little...

I was woken up a couple of time by the train conductor and polices for tickets and passport, and it was a bit chilly early in the morning, so it wasn’t quite a good sleep. I arrived in Krakow at around 7 in the morning, got some information for the tourist information office, stored my luggage at the train station, and went to the bus station right by the train station to catch the bus to Auschwitz. Poland was a real Eastern Europe feeling, the prices were low on most of the merchandises, cities were less modern, rules are less obeyed on the streets. I was trying to have a small breakfast and got a cake/bread like muffin. Unfortunately, it proved to be a wrong idea to buy the things you didn’t know - I threw out right away after the first bite. The trip from Krakow to Auschwitz was about an hour and a half on the highway in a bus van. The highway was more of a two line traffic with alternating passing part and frequent slowdowns by farm vehicles. It suddenly somehow felt like back in the rural side in China. The bus dropped us tourists off at the backdoor of the concentration camp museum. From there, there was nothing to be identified differently than another normal city park with beautiful trees and lawns. But once you entered the museum, it wasn’t hard to be reminded of where you were. The solemness was deafening. Several sculptures stood in the hallway. Historical photographs hung on the walls. Notification board told you this was not a place for any lightness. Almost immediately, my emotion turned horrific, my breathing became harder, and my heart started to feel it - like a time machine switched back to 65 years ago.

I joined an English guided tour because I wanted to learn as much as possible in the only day I had there. And I was lucky to have a guide of a middle-aged woman who was a school teacher hometown of Auschwitz. The entire day, she gave us a memorable lesson in a tone of a teacher telling an emotional hometown story to her students. The story was so vivid as she constantly used first-person tone and told us: “Remember, this is my hometown, only less than 2 kilometers from here...” The tour started with a documentary film as a general guideline to tell people what had happened there, seemed that people didn’t know about it. Then, we were led into the blocks of the concentration camp. First in sight, of course, was to pass through the notorious metal gate with the sign of “ARBEIT MACHT FREI” (“Work Makes You Free”). It was a symbol of the biggest political propaganda and the biggest lie in human history. Millions of victims were led to this gate in the hope of working hard for a better life. What they didn’t know was it was the gate to hell. It was only a gate of no more than 5 meters tall and 10 meters wide, but once you stepped in, it was a different world. You were surrounded by two rows of barracks with electric barbs on top. You were under the watch from every corner of security tower. You were into a process of not only to death, but of stripping of your dignity and humanity. That was probably what genocide and holocaust was about: death was only the way, extinction was the destination.

The well-known Auschwitz concentration camp was divided into several sections because of the expansion. The mostly known Auschwitz was more about Auschwitz I. The main camp was the much larger Auschwitz II-Birkenau a few kilometers away. Comparing to others, the original Auschwitz I was more of a “luxury hotel”. When the Nazis realized the complex in Auschwitz I was soon not big enough to host the rapid-growing numbers of prisoners, they started expanding the camp to other bigger properties. In order to accommodate all the prisoners they received, they had to shovel the maximum amount of people into the minimum amount of space; and they meant that. It became worse in the later camps they built. We were led into different blocks of buildings with different stories behind them. But the theme of the stories was the same: horrific. From the chemical/medical experiment the Nazis did using prisoners, to the little washroom where hundreds of people used at the same time, to the little corner of less than a square meter where 4 or 5 people had been kept in, to the “shower rooms”, to the crematorium facilities, to the death/execution wall, to the bunker beds (if you can call those beds), to ... ... It was suffocating to listen to the stories behind. Sad, anger, unbelievable, heart-breaking, soul-pulling, nightmare, ...... I could not think of a word, or any combination of words to describe my feeling. I could only watch, listen, and take. Digest would be a miracle. How could one human being treat another like that?! HOW? We went through different blocks, saw those photos of prisoners with their birth date, checked in dates and death dates on - some of them were months, some of them were days, some of them were elderlies, some of them were only teenagers. We saw those belongs stripped off right away when they entered the camp, including shoes, clothes, bags, personal gadgets, tools, so on, and... their hair, loads of it. It was no longer a history lesson, it became a gruesome life experience, a living nightmare. We spent about two and a half hours in Auschwitz I, learned so much about it, but knowing there were still a lot to learn. If the “luxury Auschwitz I” was that, what would be the real Birkenau like? After a brief lunch break, we rode a bus to Auschwitz II-Birkenau site. The area of the site was massive. Most of the buildings where prisoners stayed were already destroyed, but not the railway that brought so many Jews, Gypsies, Poles, and others. The towers of the main gate was still there, and the office/residence building for the Nazis camp officers. The way that railway line was built was ever fitting for the story that happened there: There was only one way in, not alternative ways out. The long straight lines of two iron tracks dragged my mind from the victims’ hometowns all the way to this one destination. It must have been a long journey filled with hopes and anticipation. Who knew where the end would be. By the time they got here in that crowded train, a few of them had already lost their lives. Maybe the alive should’ve wished they were dead before stepping down into the hell awaiting ahead of them. The pre-selection happened onsite immediately when they were unloaded from the train. The unusable ones would be sent to “shower” soon. The capable ones would enter the small cleaning facilities to be recorded into the camp. The living (if you can call that “live”) was to the extremes: usually 3 levels of bunker beds with straws as cushions, the people who lived on the top level would be the lucky ones because no proper sanitation facilities still existed in Birkenau buildings, so the ones staying in the bottom would have to survive the human feces from the folks above them. We walked along the train tracks all the way into the end where the memorial was established. Sometimes, when things cannot be explained, art is a way to express them. Our guide finished her duty with the story of her fellow town people from Auschwitz came out at the end of the war and learned what happened inside those walls (Yes, the people less than 2km away didn’t know the camp for a long time), then started to help free the victims with whatever they had and could offer. That was where our tour ended. I believe it was a proper ending as hope always exists: “When it’s dark enough, you can see the stars.” As I said at the beginning, we were very grateful to have a guide who had the passion so powerful to give us an unforgettable experience. We all thanked her with our most sincere applaud. My tour in the camp didn’t end there. With the time I had, I set on a journey around Birkenau by myself, trying to see more of it. I saw the destroyed crematorium facilities. I took pictures of the memorials around. I leaned against the fences and barb wires. I tried to put myself into what it was like there. Then, I went into the small building where the cleaning process happened when the prisoners entered the camp. There, I walked through the process of how the prisoners were “cleaned”. In the end, when there was nobody else in that building, I sat down, put myself into those pictures of victims and survivors.

It was a muggy day, but as a person who cannot stand heat, I didn’t realize how thirsty and how sweaty I was until I got back to Auschwitz I museum again. With a few last surveys on those striking photographies on the walls, I stepped onto the bus going back to Krakow. Since I still had plenty of time before my train, I had the opportunity to walk around the town. It was a beautiful city with a long history and well worth a stay. The Main Market Square was the largest medieval town square in Europe. Since it was already late afternoon and most of the places were closed, I decided to have a tourist style walking tour around the town. I entered from the Barbican and Florian Gate, took the Royal Route, through the town square, all the way up to the Wawel hill, where the Royal Castle was located. Obviously, the Polish Royals still reside there and the coronation happens inside as well. The Main Market Square was indeed large. There were a lot of churches, cathedrals, sculptures, historical sites around the Town Hall. I enjoyed some artists work and birds hovering above the towers of the churches. After coming down from the Wawel hill, I went on to the University Route. Krakow is known for its history, and academics of course played a big part in that. It has one of the oldest universities in Central Europe, second only to the Charles University in Prague. The most famous story had to be that Pope John Paul II graduated from there. The academic atmosphere was tremendous along the road. Old university buildings were surrounded by trees and parks everywhere. Pubs were right next by where students gathered and shared their ideas about dreams. A long detailed exhibition of Pope John Paul II legacy was in display along the route when I was there, so I had the chance to learn more about the noble man.

It was a long day and I finally realized I was tired when I sat down at the square in front the train station. At around 22:00, I finally boarded the return train to Prague. I found exactly the same cell I stayed in the night before coming to here, settled down, and trying to digest what just happened in that day.

No Promise

Guess Shane can never keep his promise, or ambitious hope, to keep writing his blog. Another long period he retrieved to his own world.

I spent an awesome Christmas in the beautiful winter wonderland: 3 days snowshoeing trip to Elfin Lakes. It was an epic trip because Mother Nature cooperated the whole way with sun shine and t-shirt temperature on the mountains. I built my first snow cave and enjoyed a sound sleeping night in it. New Years was boring as I had to fulfill the family responsibility to go to a friend's home and watch a kids movie to spent the NYE. Since it's been warm spring weather all winter long so far, I had to burn my bank account to head up to Whistler for a couple of trips so my board won't just sit beneath my bed the entire season. However, they were all worth it! The first trip, I was lucky to stay with some CSers on a luxury condo. So, day-time on the slopes and night-time in the hot tub with beers. Then, sometime in mid-January we headed up for a one-day trip, and I had no word to describe how amazing that day was. 70cm snow in 24hrs and 23cm fresh powder in a sunny cloudless day with endless views - it was only EPIC (or as I said after the day: *wordless") Of course, there were other shenanigans all around, but I don't want to know most of them. This world/society is still too complicated for Shane to understand.

One highlight in the new decade so far was meeting my American idol: Greg Mortenson, the author of Three Cups of Tea. What this man did to Shane was simply incredible. A climber, and a humanitarian - don't know what I can ask for more. He's always inspiring. It was a pleasure, more of an honour, to meet "Dr. Greg". I waited almost 3 hours after the presentation to have my books signed by him. He was such a humble man that was apologizing to everybody who waited that long in the end. But I was just so

happy to see him, finally. I was never a big autograph person, he's the

first book author I had from; the only other time was from Bayern players. In the picture I took with him, I felt he was a giant looking down at me. Hopefully, one day I'll stand on his shoulder to follow some of his legacy. Also, he wrote to me in one of the notes he signed to me: "Shane, when your heart speaks, take good notes." That was one of the reasons I remembered I was not doing anything here again. Thanks, "Dr. Greg", I'll keep that in mind.

JAAAAAAAAAAAA!

A bit more than two weeks ago, Bayern’s season seemed to be going down south with no turning back. Vice captain Philipp Lahm (who I think should be the captain of the club) vented out his frustration to the media and received record club fine. The injuries to star players Arjen Robben and Frank Ribery looked devastating to blow the season away. Luca Toni (who should make his way out of the club as soon as possible) declared war with head coach Louis van Gaal. Off the pitch, “Hollywood Bayern” was a mess. On the pitch, players couldn’t deliver when it matters. A premature (too) early exit from the Champions League seemed to be only a matter of time. As a fan, I was on the edge of suicide, wondering whether my early season visit to Allianz Arena was a curse or a short-lived boost for the team.

Then, after a disappointing draw and failed to make up the ground with Bundesliga leader Leverkusen, some power started to turn the wheels around. A favour from Bordeaux and a minor win over Haifa set up a must-win showdown with another European giant Juventus in Turin. On the way to the do-or-bust match yesterday, the team managed to connect two vital wins domestically. One over the Enke-less Hannover, and the other over the then on-form Mönchengladbach. Not convincingly, but those back-to-back wins couldn’t come at a better time when the team’s confidence level was on the brink. With some luck, they pulled themselves back from the edge of the cliff. Then came yesterday, the season on the line against a gigantic task away from home, Bayern had no mercy on the Old Lady. The team dominated from start to finish. The mistake by Martin Demichelis which led to Trezeguet’s fantastic goal could easily have been the end of the tourney. But the players’ confidence was not what it was like two or three weeks ago. They kept the pressure and piling on shots and opportunities. The question was only: Were they going to waste the good chances they got again and again like a few weeks ago? The answer came from a 35 years old goalkeeper, Hans Jörg Butt, who added his interesting goal-scoring history against Juven with another penalty. The cool, the calm, the German ironman mentality told every doubter Bayern was still in there. The team went on with a dismantling performance, only withstood sporadical fights from the Italians. The aging captain Mark van Bommel was like a reborn kid, drilling crossed right into the middle of Juven’s heart. Bastian Schweinsteiger was playing like a leader, believing his every shot from long range could beat the Italian best Buffon. The height, the strength, the relentless football Bayern played caused chaos on the other end. The result said it all. If you asked me whether I believed before the match, as a diehard fan, I would certainly say yes, we had a chance. But 4-1? I would never imagine in my wildest dreams. The team came back from we-have-not-lost-anything-yet to we-now-have-a-chance-to-win-them-all. It was a best day so far in the season! Maybe the season just started...

Auf geht’s Bayern!

Monday, June 29 - PRAGUE (Old Town)

It was my last day in Prague, but I felt there were still many places I hadn’t seen. I started to grow feelings with this beautiful city, increasingly realized why everyone spoke so fondly about this place. The history, the architecture, the entire Prague still had a lot for me to discover. So I decided to buy a copy of the guidebook Sijia was using. It was the only special guidebook I bought during the trip in addition to my Lonely Planet. With that, I slowed down my pace and started tasting the city from deep inside.

After saying bye to my two English roommates, I checked out from the hostel but had to temporarily store my luggage there before the night train. I didn’t feel too safe about it after all those happened there. I started the day with the Jewish Quarter. It was kind of disappointing, so I just walked around the synagogues and the Old Jewish Cemetery. I came back to the Old Town Square and had a good look around it. There was another MJ memorial under the Jan Hus Statue. I sat down there and wrote a short personal note wishing the King to “have a good moonwalk up there.” I also waited to see the famous Astronomical Clock striking the hour. Some people said it was overrated, but I was still amazed by the scientific and technical ideas on that clock from hundreds of years ago. I took several breaks that day, sitting down by the river and in front of the Wenceslas Square. to read the guidebook and write my diaries. I was glad to catch up with some background knowledge about the places I visited in Prague. It would be a shame to leave that beautiful place only seeing (but not knowing) it.

I picked up some food and supplies (including an expensive charger and a power converter since the guy stole mine when I lent them to Yujing) before leaving for the train station. The plan was to take a night train to Krakow in Poland, visit Auschwitz for a day, and come back to Prague on the same train (reverse direction) the next night. It was my first night train in Europe. On a hindsight when I told friends the story, they all said I was crazy to take a night train in Eastern Europe alone two nights in a row. I didn’t feel too much of that. The standard of the train was obviously not as luxurious as those ones I took in Germany, in fact, a bit ghetto. But guess those frequent long distance train travels in China made me feel fairly comfortable to take the risk. I took the ticket saleswoman’s advice and found Wagon 350 of that train. The wagon was divided into compartments with doors for each of them. Two long hard bunker seats inside. There were not many people taking that train, so every other compartments in my wagon was empty. There were travellers and local folks. I felt pretty good because I could occupy one compartment entirely to myself and lock the door. I could spread out my belongs whichever way I wanted and sleep comfortably on one bench. There started my short Eastern Europe adventure. A traumatic day was waiting ahead.

Today We Remember. LEST WE FORGET!

Today is the 11th day of the 11th month of the year. At the 11th hour, I bowed down my head and held two minutes of silence. Today I saw a backpack stapled with badges of Normandy, Juno Beach, French-Canadian flags, Flemish flag, 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion... Today I saw a man holding a young man’s portrait in uniform in front of his chest. Today I saw a bulky man in camouflage uniform labeled U.S. Army. Today I saw big men weeping right beside me. Today I saw reflections of that day when I biked around Flanders Fields in Belgium: the cemeteries; the memorials; the words on the white marble stones that wives, parents, and children left for their loved ones who were gone too soon; The Menin Gate Memorial, then came the sound of the Last Post. Today I read In Flanders Fields again. Then, today there came another poem: One Day.

ONE DAY (by Gina Neumann, Little Flower Academy)

I dream of a day when my grandchildren come
up to me and say “Nana, what is war?”

It won’t be from ignorance
Or failing to watch the six o’clock news
or not paying attention to the movies or TV shows.

No, it will be because of my grandchild
will genuinely not know what a war is.

Because there will be no wars for
my grandchild to witness, or participate in.

Then I’ll sit my grandchild down and tell him about
my Great Uncle Frank, World War II veteran,
I would tell him that he was just seventeen when
he was conscripted into the war
And that he was sent to faraway places,
and saw terrible things
That not long ago, the world was unsafe,
and we needed people to defend our freedom.
And that brave men and women risked their lives,
for our country.

My grandchild will have questions,
many of which I cannot answer
For myself, I do not even know them

I may be an idealist
For I am only seventeen,
And yet I still believe,

One Day.

So today, when you take off that poppy from your jacket tonight, please do not forget...

This Is (not) It

When I went to watch This Is It, I hoped it would be a closure for my tribute to MJ. Unexpectedly, I was in more denial afterwards. I still couldn’t believe the man had dead. I miss him more now. I wonder what his concert in London would be like if it actually came on stage. I remember I said a few years ago that I’d pay big money for his concert if it were 10 or 15 years ago, but not then; because he had well passed his heyday. After watching that documentary and a few live performance clips of him in this century on YouTube, I have to admit I was wrong. The man still had it. He still knew every bit, in details, of his music. He was still a master, a genius, an icon. He knew exactly what he wanted, from the band, from the fans, and from himself. At 50 years of age, he could still sing and dance those brilliant moves effortlessly. It was simply his. He only needed to feel it. He was the King of Pop, but he was the one who worked the hardest in rehearsals, directing everything into perfection.

A legend gone too soon. I miss you, MJ!

Sunday, June 28 - PRAGUE (National Theatre)

It was Yujing’s last morning in Prague and Sijia was leaving in the afternoon, so we didn’t do too much in the morning. After seeing Yujing off at the train station, Sijia and I walked to Wenceslas Square. We stopped by the Statue, where the MJ memorial had grown a lot bigger than two day ago. Fans sent in flowers and their condolences to the legendary King of Pop. Some of them dressed MJ style and simply sit by the memorial to relish the glorious moment, being it either the tunes or the dances, probably both. Photos of MJ, copies of old archive paper, even his concert tickets reflected in the candle lights. Some of the words left by were very emotional to read through. The good time long ago felt like only yesterday.

We had McFlurry at the MacDonald’s at the square. A trivia I learned, from there, was that they charge for ketchups at MacDonald’s in Czech. We somehow decided to see the Dancing House before Sijia was leaving. Running out of the subway stations and having a look at the building for 10 seconds (maybe 15, not too much exaggerating), we cut the time so close that Sijia caught her train less than 2 minutes before it left. Coming back to the city after the hasty chase, I dived into some quiet streets in the city before walking along the riverside to the National Theatre. It was a beautiful building with golden roof. It so felt like the theatre to be in so, although it was almost closing time on a Sunday evening, I decided to go in the box office to check out what kind of shows were usually played there. I chatted with one person working there and he introduced me to their websites and all different programs they were running, which ranged from Opera, to Ballet, to Orchestra, and others. They all sounded like high-quality shows. Well, after all, it’s the National Theatre. In the end of our conversation, with no serious intention at all, I asked: “I’m only here for two more nights. Is there anything going on tonight or tomorrow night?” The guy replied: “Yes. There is a Jazz Opera tonight with English subtitles. And, ......” “How much does it cost to go to the Jazz Opera?” I was still just asking for information. “If you don’t mind sitting on the top, it’s 300 Czech Koruna, ..., the cheapest is 100 Koruna.” He obviously recognized I was a budget traveller who couldn’t afford too much. “We are closing now. But if you want to go, you can still get the tickets from the box office at the theatre before the show.” 100 Koruna, 4 Euros?! For an opera show at the National Museum of Czech Republic in Prague?! I WAS trying to find a fair-priced classic concert or something like that in a church or somewhere because Prague felt like THE place to enjoy a show in that genre. But I never imagined going there because I thought I would need to pay big bucks to just have a visit inside this grand theatre. Almost without hesitation in a blink of an eye, I was 90% sure I was going to this thing, not forgetting to ask one more question: “What’s the dress code for the show?” The guy looked reluctant but didn’t want to turn me down (or make that money from an extra seat), “You should be OK if you are sitting at the top level.” I thanked him and got a plan for the evening.

With still 2 hours time to the show, I decided to walk across the river to find the cherry orchard Caymin told me to check out. I passed by an intriguing group of sculpture dedicated to the victims of communism. With Caymin’s detailed description (she even drew a picture of it), I easily found the orchard slope on the north side of the funicular. That place became as my daily fruit supply, for free. I also had another angle of view toward the Castle. I was planning to get back to the hostel and put on at least a pair of long pants, but the hostel was further than I thought from the Theatre, so I had to give up the plan for food and turn back to get into the show before it started. There I went, with a pair of shorts, a dirty t-shirt, and a backpack, I walked into the stunning National Theatre where everyone else around me was all fully dressed up like where it should be. The security guard and service personnels all stared at me and surely wondered what this bum was doing here. I wasn’t there to teach them a lesson that people should not be judged by their looking and I certainly understood I should not dress cheaply like that to go into that place. All I could think of was “What the hell, I got what I wanted and I would never know any of you again.” So I bought the ticket and quickly sneaked onto the stairs leading up to the top floor. Trust me, the time in the theatre was not easy to me at all for any second. The place was simply so elegantly decorated that my inappropriate outfit could not fit in any corner. I was embarrassed to check my backpack and even all the people around me on the top level was dressed up nicely. It was an agonizing wait for the lights to dim and the show to start. The Jazz Opera’s name was Dobře placená procházka. It was a classic beautiful story about love and money. It was funny. It was well played. And the audience provided a boisterous atmosphere. It turned out to be a big crew at the end of the encores, some of whom started rising from the seats and singing, dancing from the audience during the play. I fully enjoyed it. Although my seat at the top level was very far from the stage, it gave me an overlooking view of this splendid theatre. I felt like being in a royal palace of golden walls, sparkling chandeliers, and grand columns. If it were not the uncomfortable I was getting after the lights were back on, I would have stayed there for the longest I could. For the money I paid, I could not ask for more.

I sneaked out of the theatre with a happy smile. The first thing I did getting back to the hostel was to brag about my 4 euro experience at the National Theatre of Czech Republic in Prague to my roommates. The two girls were students from Redding, England. One of them studied business, the other archaeology. The archaeologist became curious when she learned that I was from Xi’an, where the Terra Cotta Warriors and Soldiers Museum located. She told me some of her excavating experience, vivid storytelling of brushing dirt off the ground to dig out treasures. She even excavated a piece which was displayed at a famous museum. The thing mostly amazed me about these two girls was their travel style. They were both young fellows younger than me. But they were super organized and knowledgeable. Their travel idea was obviously not going out drinking partying every night. They told me they were getting to bed early because they had been on the road for more than a month. They both kept their own travel diaries which were two thick book of photos, cards, tickets, and so on, inside more than 4 or 5 pages writings per day. They were not only sightseeing as they knew all the background stories of the places they had visited. They were kindly enough to recommend places where they had been to that I should visit, including Sainte-Chapelle in Paris and Amalfi Coast in Italy. I truly enjoyed the conversation with them. I also liked their backpacks where they stitched the patches on from all the places they visited. I could always learn a lot from my fellow travellers. Comparing to them, I was still a newbie on the road.

Saturday, June 27 - PRAGUE (Castle)

I woke up early so I went to the train station to book my night train to Auschwitz. Surprisingly, I found out that my Eurail pass was not valid in Poland. Luckily, it was Eastern Europe and train tickets were cheap. I only needed to pay 14 euros for a flexible ticket to cover the Polish part of the transportation. The lady who helped me sounded very patient and explained everything to me. Since I asked for the cheapest option, she didn’t charge me for reservation fee and tole me to “go on Wagon 350, you will find space there.” I had no choice but hoping for the best; or, this could be one of those classic Euro trip stories, especially in the eastern region. I came back to the hostel and had breakfast before meeting Yujing and Sijia at the lobby. We first had to told Sijia what happened last night and go to the police station to report. The plan for the day was to go to the Prague Castle -- the Castle of all.

We bought some food from the supermarket and I grabbed a Czech newspaper with MJ covering the front page. In a way, MJ was more influential in Europe than in America; and some of his concerts there had to be ranked top live performances in the history of entertainment.

The Prague Castle is located on a hill on the west bank of River Vltava. According to Guinness Book of Records, it is the biggest ancient castle in the world. It was majestic from every view and Roman Empire was here. One thing about the beauty of Prague was that during the War, when the Nazis invaded Czechoslovakia, this country did not put on a fight and surrendered right away. Thus, almost all the historical treasures sustained the brutal wartime. I appreciated the fact that the irreplaceable are in their original face and this jewelry city feels real now. However, I had to justify the notion against a country who kneed down in front of the Nazis to leave us with this beauty. We walked up the hill after getting out of the subway station Malostranská, and passed by St. Wenceslas vineyard. Already, there were a massive crowd of tourists. We entered the Castle from the east gate. We passed by a blacksmiths shop, a stage set up with white sheets hanging in air as the background, and caught an outdoor live performance. Then, we arrived at the heart of the Castle: St. George’a Basilica and St. Vitus Cathedral. We were lucky to have a comprehensive Prague guidebook from Sijia, so we had the chance to not only have a look of this magnificent place, but to learn the stories behind it. St. Vitus Cathedral was the first big cathedral I visited in Europe, and there couldn’t be a better first one than that. I learned these majestic buildings took hundreds of years and generations of architects to finish. I wowed in front of the spired buttresses, the Golden Gate, the Rose Window and the facade. I walked by the outer courtyard, the high-vaulted naves, the colourful stained glasses, and the treasury tomb of John of Nepomuk. The entire experience was all first time to me. We came outside of the Castle from the eastern gate and watched the changing of the guard. Then, we walked along the South Garden and dropped down to Lesser Town Malá Strana, heading toward the famous Charles Bridge. This bridge used to be the main connection across River Vltava between Old Town and Less Town to the Castle in old time. Nowadays, it became the center for artists, kiosks, and tourists during the day time. It is well-known with the statues on both sides of the bridge, and the bridge towers on both ends are equally impressive. I got the best view of the Castle across the river on the Old Town end of the Bridge. The timeless river, the ancient Castle, and the old bridge combined into a frame one could only dream of. We had dinner not far off the bridge when a passing shower came. After a short break back in the hostel, we went out to the center of the Old Town for the outdoor concert. Unfortunately, the concert just finished when we arrived -- it was only 22:00. Dejected, we decided to let food and beers solve our pain. We bought some yummy assorted meat potatoes from the stands at the still-busy Old Town Square, and enjoyed it in the drizzling rain along the cobbled streets. The night ended at La Casa Argentina, a lively bar next door to our hostel. I had the best beer so far on the trip: Czech Pilsner.