Five Days, Ten Countries, Endless Bliss...

We quickly traded tagines for tapas and grilled meats for goulash, and found ourselves asking daily, "What local brew do you have on tap?" In the course of ten short days, we jetsetted to five amazing countries, all the while basking in the beautiful glory of being back on more civilized ground. From Barcelona to Berlin, from the Czech Republic to newly independent former Yugoslav republics, and soon onward to Hungary, it just keeps getting better. We both admit that Morocco can't begin to compete with Europe in so many different ways, but oddly at times, I find myself missing the chaos a bit. Just a bit. But not nearly enough to go back anytime soon.

David and I remind ourselves constantly that this trip isn't about staying in the comfort zone. But I have to admit it's awfully hard to rally to push yourself out of it into places like Marrakech or Fez when you're chugging yet another different half-liter of draft beer for under $2, or licking up endless gelato that gets creamier the farther east we head (go figure), or dipping your toes in the Adriatic as the sky offers up yet another amazing sunset, or hiking in the shadow of yet another range of stunning alps (there are quite a few where we've been!), or marveling at lovely architecture, or riding on well-designed, immaculate public transportation (and I don't mean a donkey either).

When our Click Air flight left Casablanca in the wake of numerous suicide bombings, and less than a few hours later we were making the sharp turn for the decent into Barcelona, I could feel excitement buzzing in the air. Even from thousands of feet up, I could see the goodness this vibrant city was going to offer. The atmosphere was very European, the feeling very San Francisco. We both felt at home the moment we stepped off the plane, and our short two days exploring the sights and neighborhoods were jam-packed but delightful. We both chuckle now that it took us until the last day to realize they speak a different dialect. Catalan isn't much like the "burrito" Spanish I learned growing up in California, which explains why no one returned my "buenos dias" greeting and responded in terms I couldn't begin to understand. At one point I had to ask if I really was in Spain or if we'd made a wrong left turn into Portugal.

We did Gaudi, we did parks, we did tapas, we did Las Ramblas, we did Gracia. Our time in Barcelona was too short, but we'll return one day when the Euro loses its run against the dollar. It was a shock to land in a chilly, grey-skied Berlin after sporting Tevas and t-shirts for a few days, but it was great to see David's brother, Andrew; his wife, Lyuba; and our new niece, Elizabeth, just over three months old. Lyuba, who hails from Uzbekistan, completely outdid herself and greeted us with an amazing homemade meal. We feasted on her native borscht; an amazing roast duck with baked apples and rice; a lovely green salad; yummy bread and butter; and ice cream sundaes with fresh fruit for dessert. WOW! We joked about the best part of the meal being the assurance of not getting food poisoning after leaving the table. And as is always the case with any true Russian-influenced meal, the requisite vodka shots were flowing. I glady declined and let the boys have at the hangovers.

We thought we'd died and gone to heaven, and we both quickly agreed there's nothing like spending quality time with family. Obvious reasons aside, the digs were spacious and clean (not to mention free), the food oustanding (Lyuba's breakfasts almost surpassed her dinner), the shower amazing (an important part of our accommodation assessments), and the free laundry in the high-speed German washing machine a true luxury. Although Lyuba's English is limited, she's fluent in German, and Andrew did a good job of translating for us. We spent great evenings drinking beer, eating good food, and just catching up and playing with the baby. It was a real treat and a nice break from being on the go.

Next was Prague, which didn't disappoint, although David fell prey to exhaustion and ended up hotel-bound our last day there with a bad headache and overall icky feeling. A good day-and-a-half of sleep did the trick, and I'm pleased to report he rebounded quickly. We lazed in parks and pubs along the Vltava, explored amazing cathedrals, listened to great music on the Charles Bridge, and (guess what's next?) drank great Czech beer.

We then ventured out of the big city and away from the large tour groups to a wonderland we hesitate to share. Our two nights in the southern, laid-back town of Ceske Budejovice (which took us two weeks and three countries to finally pronounce; by the time we'd reached Croatia, I'd finally perfected the name, which I won't even try to replicate phonetically here) offered a cheap cozy pension along a creek, excellent pizza, great coffee, killer ice cream, peaceful riverside strolls, a casino gambling adventure, and the crown jewel of day trips--a visit to medieval Cesky Krumlov.

The latter, which I'd read about during my Sierra Club Outings catalog production days, delivered all that and then some. After a quaint hour-long ride on a rickety, fat, old two-car "train" that stopped to pick up every local on his or her way to hike the Czech Greenways, we packed in a great seven hours exploring Crumbcake's (my cutesy nickname) cobblestone narrow streets, old castle, awesome churches, and, well...um...okay, truth be told, three of those hours we spent on the requisite daily beer sampling, food gorging, and sketching and reading by the river. Our waiter was an ultra-hip honest Czech guy who told us the local beer everyone advertised was crap, and who arranged to let me have the awe-inspiring Bohemian feast for two as a feast for one. (David didn't want to imbibe in so much food, which explains why his jeans fit him today and mine don't...I'm not smiling). The prices AND the meal were happily reminscent of the Middle Ages. My platter included a tasty chicken thigh, salty slab of smoked ham, millet casserole, potatoes three ways (boiled, pancaked, and dumplinged), and pickled slaw. It rocked, despite the weight gain. I'm sure we'll puke it off later in the year in India (sorry, bad joke).

Heading next for Slovenia, we decided to break up the trip and stop for a few nights in Graz, Austria. Lonely Planet had said good things about the place, despite it being the home of our [lame] California governer Ah-nold and a mecca for hoardes of Italian tourists grazing among the glitzy shops. All that aside, and despite our funky, outdated, somewhat creepy, overpriced pension in the burbs, we enjoyed a peaceful night and a fun full day here, not to mention HUGE ice creams at cheap prices defying the Euro, not to mention my waistline. Our shining moment was a cool tram ride to the end of the Number 1 line and a visit to the Mariatrost, a huge basilica that has become the Mecca for for countless Catholic Europeans. We happened upon a lavish wedding ceremony, heard defeaning bells ringing, and hiked over an hour back to town through a beautiful wooded park. Dinner proved even more monumental with a giant schnitzel, an alp-sized mound of fries, a green salad with the yummy local pumpkin seed oil dressing, and of course, more beer and giant ice cream. Austria knows how to have a good time in the culinary and potent potables end of things, that's for sure. No wonder Ah-nold spent so much time in the gym.

We caught a morning train to Maribor, Slovenia, just an hour south of Graz, at the suggestion of the aforementioed ultra-hip Czech guy from Crumbcake, who--after lugging five bags around Maribor for an hour in 80-degree weather to locate (unsuccessfully) a hotel in our price range (or any hotel, for that matter)--became not so ultra-hip. We figured he must have been raving about the place due to its numerous winter sports offerings, which we soon read about, and this being the end of April, well, let's just say the snow ain't so grand in Maribor this time of year. We gave up, headed back for the train station, found we had to wait 2.5 hours for the next train to Ljubljana, and parked it at a cool cafe with two giant Zlatarogs, the local favorite beer. Thank you, Lasko brewery, for your wonderful Slovenian suds; you turned an otherwise unfavorable first impression of a country into a happy chance encounter with nirvana. Zlatarog quickly became our favorite brew of choice and, as you'll soon read, Slovenia my favorite country thus far. In fact, I venture to say it will be a highlight of this entire experience. More soon!