Harrachov – Heading for the Hills
“Zlato, I did something stupid,” I start. “Tell me,” Alex tries to hold back laughter. “I’ve accidentally reserved a non-refundable weekend stay in Harrachov, in mountains… So I guess we’re going?…”
…Two months later, we’re counting the hours and minutes till we leave Prague. While our rental car whooshes down the highway to the northwest, I fill Alex on what’s included in the stay, for the price we paid. His jaw drops over the steering wheel, but then he collects himself and answers, “There must be some catch… Will they steal our livers?”
In two hours, we reach Harrachov.
A small town situated in the valley of the river Mumlava on the border of the Giant Mountains and Jizera Mountains. When I was two years old, my father taught me how to ski there.
After we check in and the door of our room closes, Alex exclaims, “That guy looked friendly! Not like an organ smuggler.” Then he looks around “This place is really…” he searches for a word. “Functional… right?” I scan the room. It’s a typical Czech ski resort accommodation. I remember the childhood winter drill: in the morning, brush your teeth, get breakfast, put on your ski suit and ski boots and hurray, march to the ski slope; come back in the evening just to have dinner, and collapse into bed. “Functional,” I smirk. “Exactly.”
Splashing noises suddenly fill our room. We look at each other. “Is somebody upstairs taking a shower?” I ask. “Someone is totally pooping there,” Alex identifies the sound. We will take our noise revenge in this kingdom of paper-thin walls later, in the night. But now we rush out of the room without words.
We fly through the forest, with no clear direction.
We turn left at a crossroad. After 15 minutes of steep climbing and heavy breathing, my phone starts burning a hole in my pocket, but I resist the urge. “What kind of wuss checks GoogleMaps anyway?” I scold myself. My patience pays off. After another 15-20 minutes, the road suddenly ends. It gives me a lame sense of closure. And all that without technology. I feel so proud.
While we walk the same way down, we pass a couple of hikers. “I so wanna tell them that it leads nowhere, ” Alex sighs. “Lásko, don’t play god.” I tease him. They need to get their own closure.
We get back to the familiar road and decide to follow the signs this time; see some famous landmarks of Harrachov.
The chairlift is an exotic experience for Alex
It takes us to the highest point in Harrachov, Devil’s Mountain, over 1000 meters tall. “Seeing your legs hanging 15 meters above bare rocks really makes you have faith in engineering,” Alex comments on the ride. We visit the viewpoint, the natural energy point Janova skála and then have a beer at the tourist crossroad Studenov before heading back to town.
We must give the renowned Harrachov Bobovka, the forest bobsleigh, a whirl.
I look around at the 20 small kids standing in line with us and feel a little stupid for worrying about the dangerous ride. The ride is obviously fine, but they scare us with a couple of signs in the end. One of them politely suggests us to GET OUT and another one vents at us all its resentment about the government and the European Union.
A bit thirsty and cold, I get an idea, so I turn to Alex. “I wanna show you something. If you don’t know it, it’s my treat.” I realise I’m setting myself up, but continue anyway, “Do you know what Bombardino is?” Alex is already prepared with an enthusiastic. “No!” Regardless of whether it’s true or not. But it turns out, he doesn’t know it for real. As I bring the white hot drinks topped with whipped cream to the table, his eyes light up. Bombardino is a delicacy imported to the Czech ski slopes from Italy. The sweet, creamy goodness makes us feel all tipsy and warm inside.
We get hungry and can’t wait for dinner at our penzion.
We know it should be all-you-can-eat soup, all-you-can-drink beverages and one hot meal. Without the possibility to influence or know what it will be. “I’m not a picky eater. I’ll eat anything; I just hope there isn’t any cabbage,” I learn from Alex. We approach the dining room. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as the smell of cabbage soup tickles my nose. The waiter informs us the main dish is pork steak, boiled potatoes and cabbage. I laugh my ass off. I love cabbage.
Our guesthouse doesn’t acknowledge the existence of vegans, vegetarians or cabbage haters. I tempt Alex to find some hotel restaurant and get a sundae. But he bravely eats the content of his plate and even goes for seconds. We need to keep our strength for the next two days of adventures…
…The last morning Alex sits in the car and prepares for the ride back home
I lean on the passenger door and get lost in thoughts. This trip happened rather randomly, but I enjoyed the hell out of it. Don’t get me wrong; I love Prague, but it feels great to see something different every now and then. A stream of water sprays my face and wakes me from my deep thinking. I look for the source. “Stooop!” I yell while Alex plays with the windshield washer, and this time it’s him who laughs his ass off. We’ll both come back home with a six-pack. And our internal organs still intact.
Find out what brought Alex to the Czech Republic.
