One Week Ago: Olomouc

I arrived in Olomouc right at the end of the hottest part of the day, numb from five and a half hours in a worn-out metal box that ideally would have sufficed for no more than a quick trip to the shopping centre or an edge-of-town housing estate. The air-conditioning was a couple of slide open windows towards the back of the bus, behind the tiny luggage rack where my backpack lay buried like a hairpin under rubble. A thin strip of curtain blocked out the sun. The space between seats was barely enough for me to stretch out the soles of my feet, let alone my aching legs.


Navigating from memory, I reached the Poets' Corner and a minor brush with fame: Greg, photographer, blogger, hostel owner and fellow IgoUgoer recognised me from a profile snap and a few dozen pictures of the Czech Republic. After a healthy dinner of goulash and beer we headed around the corner to the ice hockey, watching the local team thrash an abysmal Slovak select side - composed of overweight teenagers in tight-fitting uniforms and their father's ice skates - nine goals to two. I finally fell into bed at half past one, semi-drunk and totally exhausted, kept awake by Dutchmen snoring and an amusing case of pumped-up Austrian patriotism.