A Walking Tour of Prague

by Laura Marriott

My journey to Prague did not get off to an auspicious start. I arrived at Vaclav Havel airport in a little bubble of anxiousness, fleeing the wreck of a disastrous year. Multiple bereavements and family illnesses had made my final year of University more of a trial than a pleasure. Then, I was offered the opportunity to spend a month in Prague, much of it on my own; hopefully giving me time to recover in peace. First I was to attend a political sciences summer school at Charles University in Prague and then I had several weeks of nothing but the heat of my own company. The accommodation that I was staying in was painted in the industrial yellows and greens that are more often than not to be found in hospitals and forever carry with them an air of sickness. It was the cheapest and the worst accommodation I have ever stayed in. I hoped to spend as little time in it as possible.  

As I walked into town in a heat wave that made the future shimmer, I realised that I had never been more confused. Further, it soon became apparent that I did not have the language or map reading skills to navigate my way around the city tram system with ease. Eventually, it became easier to accept my status as permanently ‘lost’. All I had to do was set off on foot and try to remember the way back.  

Prague is like a maze of ever decreasing circles, with the city becoming older the further into it you go. The outskirts are marred by the grey Communist architecture that can be found across much of Eastern Europe. The centre of Prague is still dominated by medieval architecture which survived the cities more recent Communist past. Sandwiched in between the gold plated orthodox churches are souvenir shops selling crystal beads, and English and Irish pubs broadcasting the premier league; intended the market Prague as the perfect destination for city breaks or stag weekends for the (marginally) more affluent West. The further into the centre you go, water begins to out price beer, and restaurants selling goulash and absinth stay open all night to catch the drunken footfall as people make their way home.  

I walked every road, alley, and cobbled street in the city, stamping out my frustrations and confusions on the ground; using them to propel me further.

Click to read more ...

A HIKING TALE

by Nancy King

The Sierra Club hike was advertised as: Strenuous Hike along the streams and meadows of the Grass Mountain area of the Pecos Wilderness, ~10 mile one-way hike with car shuttle, possible 2000 ft. cumulative climb.

It sounded doable to Nancy King on the trailme although I usually hike only seven or eight miles. The preceding weeks had been stressful and my system felt full of grunge. Maybe the sight of wildflowers and panoramic mountain vistas would act as emotional system cleanser and make me feel better. So, I signed up.

By seven o’clock, on the morning of the hike, I didn’t feel well and was on the verge of canceling. But I made a decision, that I would be okay, and with many deep breaths, set out to meet the group at 7:30. There were eight hikers; I was clearly the oldest, and the leader, a cheerful, upbeat guy in his early forties, was so welcoming that he carved a space in my worries and filled it with optimism. But I was unnerved when I heard people ask him, “So how long is this hike, really?” Funny question. The blurb said ten miles. Hadn’t they read it?

I’ve learned that if I’m able to walk behind the leader, I get charged with his or her energy, but if I’m at the end of the group, it’s a slog all the way, an energy sink. As we started up the mountain, with me just behind the leader, the relentless uphill climb made me wonder if it was going to go on ad infinitum. I huffed and puffed up the first four miles, hoping I’d make it to the top, wherever that was.

Click to read more ...

Hidden Venice Beach: A Walking Tour

words + photos by Don Mankin

Someone once wrote that if you tip the United States on edge, everything that’s loose will slide down to Los Angeles. I would add, if you tipped Los Angeles on edge, it will all slide down to Venice Beach.

The best place to see all those loose odds and ends is the “boardwalk,” which has no boards but lots of asphalt. That is the Venice Beach known far and wide – the low rise mix of vintage buildings and radical modern architecture lining one side of the boardwalk and the vendors, entertainers, and champions of obscure causes with provocative signs -- “meat is murder” and “circumcision is worse” -- lining the other. And then there are the people walking along the boardwalk in outfits they would never wear at home.

Few visitors stray far from the boardwalk. Those who don’t miss the best show of all -- the other attractions that make Venice Beach the largest spontaneous outdoor theme park/playground and one of the most interesting communities in the world. To discover the hidden highlights of Venice Beach, just follow this easy, leisurely walking tour. It should take about three hours or more if you want to shop, linger, and eat, or less than three if you are in a hurry.

THE BEACH

The first stop is the beach, which begins just a few yards west of the boardwalk and extends for over 100 yards to the water’s edge. On the way to the beach, stop and check out the new skateboard park at the foot of Market Street and watch the boarders sail into the air, frozen in mid flight against a dramatic background of broad sandy beach, crashing waves, coastal mountains and big sky.

From here, you can take off your shoes and shuffle on the sand to the water. Most days the beach is almost empty except for a few sunbathers, surfers, or meditators gazing at the sailboats gliding off shore or, at the right time of year, dolphins playing in the breaking waves. Look south and you can usually see the outline of Santa Catalina Island in the distance; look north and you can get a better look at the background that framed the soaring skateboarders -- a beach curving around a vast bay all of the way to Malibu and beyond. Behind that, the Santa Monica Mountains taper down to the ocean. When visitors tell me that they think that Los Angeles is ugly, this is where I bring them to change their mind. I have never failed to do so.

Click to read more ...

Walking in the Dark

words + photos by Rachel Dickinson

It was a yak trax morning. Well, lately every morning’s been a yak trax morning because the snow just keeps falling and if I don’t wear those metal coils on my feet, I’ll keep falling as well. I take a walk with my friend Heather at 6:00 a.m. every day. I like to walk with Heather because she owns a reflective vest and I feel like she will be the first to go when we get hit by the salt truck that comes barreling around the corner. Me, I dress in blacks and browns and blend in beautifully with the landscape and the darkness. And during deer hunting season, I don’t go anywhere without Heather because I know I look like a big deer just begging to be shot.

Before we began walking in the pitch black – the shift happened somewhere in December – I used to look for animal tracks in the snow on the sidewalk. One morning I saw deer tracks followed by two sets of kitty tracks, then skunk tracks, and finally rabbit tracks -- and this was all on my front sidewalk – leading me to conclude that I must stay awake one night to see if the animals actually meet in front of my house for a party or if they all have someplace to go. Now that it’s dark when I leave the house, I expect to actually run into some of these animals on the sidewalk but except for the long-haired black and white cat named Feisty they’ve all managed to avoid me – I suspect they’re lurking between the houses, waiting for me to pass before continuing with their early morning party scene.

The village is quiet in the morning. We head out on Johnson Road and take a left on to the old railroad bed that cuts across the back of the village. When I was a kid a couple of trains would come through the village every day and we would lay pennies on the tracks hoping they’d get flattened. We were also the nerdy kids who’d stand by the tracks and wave to the engineer. I ran into one of my nerdy childhood companions the other day – hadn’t seen him for decades – and he’s still a train geek, chasing them all over the Northeast. I think it ruined his marriage (although in true train geek fashion, he seemed clueless about that).

On either side of the old railroad bed is swampland. I think I’m supposed to call it wetlands but I know a swamp when I see it. Beavers have built a lodge near the path – a huge mound of chewed off sticks – and have constructed dams across sections of the swamp. It’s beautiful and if you squint and block out the snow it kind of looks like some place in Louisiana and not upstate New York.

Click to read more ...