Woke to another perfect day with swallows circling outside our Juliet balcony; sent a comprehensive report about Saturday’s Verdi requiem performance to Simon; got ready to leave; roused Gary.
Finished the Nescafe and the English Breakfast Tea Bags and two ridiculous pastries purchased the day before for the ‘just-in-case’ scenario – ridiculous, as in visually completely different, but both containing the same custardy substance.
Bye bye Barcelona.
A swift walk 4 x 4 blocks to Passeig de Gracia station where we successfully operated the ticket machine but less competently negotiated the stairs (see Day Twelve), and caught a direct train to the airport. Walking from the train we noticed a little dog was also going to fly, his cabin baggage sized kennel on his mum’s back.
With loads of time to devote to whatever Barcelona airport’s departures required – our backpacks were considered ‘special’ and had to be taken to an isolated conveyor belt – we walked the length of Terminal 2 stopping for coffee and attending to a forgotten Festival of Voices issue. Security was as always – I’d forgotten to drink or throw my water – and boarding had all the similarities of previous times excepting that the size of the ‘small bag’ allowance redefined ‘small’; a fully laden backpack plus two over the shoulder bags didn’t raise an eyebrow for example.
Flying over the alps was stunning. Whose alps? Not sure. More research.
No fuss exit at Prague airport but our booked driver was delayed. What a surprise when he did appear; quite alternative looking (hippy-esque), with few English words (asked if we had drugs in our backpacks) and a swish BMW. The drive to our apartment seemed lengthy and complicated but revealed a green healthy landscape and so many distinctive buildings, both residential and public. Wenceslaus Square was a buzz with what looked like a concert about to happen but it turned out to be a protest of some 100, 000 passionate Czechs wanting to oust the Prime Minister or as I saw, the Crime Minister, Bablis.
We drank beer and ate a vaclavske trdlo, found a supermarket for provisions and returned to our new home to write a blog; the excitement of the protest an audible presence.
Icecreams and people watching on the Square; Gary is not impressed, giving it full marks for tackiness prompted by obvious pining for Barcelona.
Maybe tomorrow will show us why Prague is a jewel for so many.