Štrůdltåget

I run to the station.

And find the kindest train.

Bound for Berlin!

Berlin was only for breakfast.

Bound for Prague!

Is this a good place to stop?

They’ve got Scandinavian styles.

And one Mussen.

And two Mussen.

That’s a good amount of Mussen!

Prague has an old church that they call a castle.

Keir wants to go in the old church that they call a castle.

He ponders how to get into an old church that they call a castle.

And reluctantly queues for tickets.

We find ourselves inside an old church that they call a castle.

We find ourselves experiencing powerful emotions.

As have those before us.

We find ourselves balancing light and darkness.

As have those before us.

We find ourselves distrustful of birdmen.

As have those before us.

And we wonder what we would find if we drew back the curtains.

What mysteries they shroud.

Whether they might offer enlightenment or imprisonment.

And whether we could tell the difference.

We wonder if we can’t simply pay for answers.

And if our funds would go to good use.

We ponder this intently.

And await illumination.

The outside is fully illuminated.

But only raises more questions.

So we raise our beers.

To friends and family, roach and human alike.

We also try the Czech wine…

… and decide to go elsewhere.

We watch for trams and carriages.

We watch for kings and cannons.

We’re excited to see what else is in here!

But it might be unsafe.

Maybe we should get out of the big city.

And into the big train.

Far from the hustle and bustle.

Into the lush green countryside.

And the simple village life.

Keir checks what’s behind the bushes.

It must be around here somewhere.

Camelot?

Camelot.

Camelot!

On second thought, let’s not go to Camelot. ‘tis a silly place.

Karlštejn, on the other hand, looks worth a visit.

We would like to eat hot dogs and retire.

Or at least have a strudel.

But instead we trudge up the hill.

And find a less churchy castle.

One that could properly defend the lands.

And did so for a very long time.

Until those pesky Swedes came along.

But we don’t see many Swedes here.

The Swedes left for Tenerife, and the town is guarded once more.

At last, I wave adieu to the Mussens.