Czech Trails

...go walking. Stumbling across Czech Trails was an accident, the concepts of promotion and competition and business have yet to take hold in the former communist countries ~ something we were to discover throughout the trip.

Never have I visited a country with the degree of ignorance that I took into Czech. Events on the homefront had hindered usual levels of research. I knew where the country was; the ‘schoolboy’ bits of ...
...haven’t specifically checked this with Czech Trails (our hosts) but the general feeling from travelling with them is that the company is infinitely flexible. More on the practicalities later. Let’s walk…

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THE TRAILS

The first two walking days were scheduled for the Krkonose (apologies to Czech readers, my software does not permit Czech characters) ~ the Giant Mountains. ... more

A friend had the idea that “one of those East European countries that used to be hard to visit” would be a good place to go walking. Stumbling across Czech Trails was an accident, the concepts of promotion and competition and business have yet to take hold in the former communist countries ~ something we were to discover throughout the trip.

Never have I visited a country with the degree of ignorance that I took into Czech. Events on the homefront had hindered usual levels of research. I knew where the country was; the ‘schoolboy’ bits of its history: Austro-Hungary, the defenestration, the Nazis, the Prague Spring, the Velvet Revolution but only in the vaguest terms; none of the language at all, and only the vaguest idea of the specific geography I was heading into.

The plan was a day and half in Prague, then joining up with the walking group under the aegis of the CzechTrails company to head out for four days walking in the Krknose and the Jizersky Hory. Upon our pick-up at the airport we discovered it would not be quite like that. “The group”…well, we were it. This did come as something of a shock. In retrospect there are pros and cons to finding yourself in this situation, but there is a lesson to be learned: if you are booking with a small company, and particularly if the ‘group experience’ matters to you then do ask your hosts to confirm party lists ahead of time ~ if you’re travelling solo in the hope of meeting up with like-minded individuals you may even wish to make your booking conditional. Most small companies will understand this and will be happy to let you transfer to a different date should the need arise. I haven’t specifically checked this with Czech Trails (our hosts) but the general feeling from travelling with them is that the company is infinitely flexible. More on the practicalities later. Let’s walk…

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THE TRAILS

The first two walking days were scheduled for the Krkonose (apologies to Czech readers, my software does not permit Czech characters) ~ the Giant Mountains. Despite the name, and the fact that these are the highest hills in Bohemia, 'giant' is relative and altitude hovers about the 1,000m mark. Be warned however, as all European hill-walkers will know, the weather can be temperamental even at that height. The Rough Guide to The Czech & Slovak Republics is very off-putting in telling us that there is “an average annual temperature of around freezing….[and] persistent mist – around for about 300 days in the year”. Possibly. But the average temperature is skewed by virtue of very low Winter readings, in Summer my local guides advised that even on the hills it should be around 16-20 degrees C. Mists come and go as they do in all hill country. They weren’t a problem on this trip.

Met at our hotel by our hosts & guide, we collected our picnic and set off in warm sunshine through the village of Harrachov. This is a ski resort and admittedly very ‘touristy’ . Architecture, on the main street at least, has more Alpine/Scandinavian feel than typically Czech. If you wander up through the back fields however, you will find older cottages scattered on hillsides where families must have lived for generations…some of them small enough to have their integral animal byres still evident, albeit now cleaned and converted into…what? kitchens? utility rooms? who knows.

Our first walk was to start high above Harrachov, altitude gained by virtue of a ski lift doing summer duty lifting the tourists to the buffet/kiosk (read: bar) with a view. This is a mode of transport I’d not experienced since my schooldays and not one for the faint-hearted. As a non-skier I imagine that the requisite snow-cover for such activity does at least give the illusion of a soft landing should anything go awry. I watch too many James Bond films! Certainly I felt safer once we’d figured out how to bring down the safety-bar-cum-footrest. Then all I had to worry about was getting off at the top. If you can bear to look over your shoulder: do. The view was worth the seat-squirm and all the more enticing for being viewed suspended in mid-air, seeing it from the hilltop later felt a little tame.

Safely deposited on the crest, where it turned out the refreshment stop was closed, we left the views of the valley and plain behind and finally began to walk.

Despite the altitude, which in Britain would indicate open moorland or something even more barren, to begin with this was a walk in the woods.

Pinewood encroached on either side. Not the dense conifer plantation of our Forestry Commission, with its dark forbidding plantless groundscape: but more open, with green undergrowth and birdsong every where. Stop and twitch as we did, we never spotted the sweetest songsters much less identify them. There were others more familiar, chaffinches, jays, and somewhere in the distance a truly persistent cuckoo.

Trails in Czech are numerous and clearly marked, both on maps and on the ground, coloured flashes at regular intervals on trees and rocks or whatever is to-hand suffice to keep the main routes, at trail crossings there are detailed signposts, although the latter are subject to person- and/or weather-damage and are no substitute for map and compass (or local guide). Nevertheless it comes as a surprise to discover that many of these routes are wide and tarmac’d roads. Cross-country ski trails in winter, they double as cycle routes during the summer. It’s easy walking – but easy walking might not be what you’re looking for, and it can be hard on the feet and the joints. Of course there is also the psychological impact of being kitted out to full mountain spec (well, almost), only to meet the family in city casuals complete with infant pushchair.

This is not the whole route however, and some of these trails should be explored (on foot or by bike) for they illuminate something of the more recent history. Coming upon a clearing, we find empty buildings, disused picnic spots. A former factory holiday-home, where the communist workers would have spent paid-for breaks. The accommodation looks to have been very basic, but the opportunity for time-out in the countryside has to be applauded. To the capitalist mind it is very strange seeing these facilities unused. The infrastructure is all in place, there are any number of possibilities: private-let holiday home, café or bar, hike-through hostel, scout hut, study-centre… The Czechs are a very pragmatic people. Have no doubt they will catch up.

The road wound on, along the ridge, with occasional views over valleys on either side, then dropping slightly before heading upwards through dense-knit pine of the more familiar brooding variety.

As the land opened out again, we were halted. This is where we discovered the true nature of the Czech. Beer is food. To walk past an open hostelry is not an easy thing to do. In fairness, the halt is probably a genuinely pleasant stop, usually. This year however, extensive building works are going on. Machinery disturbed the stillness and half-finished extensions clouded the view. We retired inside.

Beers were ordered and, as much out of confusion at the offer as anything else, so was soup. We were puzzled at even the thought of ordering food when we were carrying lunch…but went with the flow: which was to turn out to be a very good idea indeed. Bowls of warming beefy garlicky soup and crusty rolls were disposed of surprisingly quickly for such un-hungry mortals.

We stepped outside into the first spots of rain. A light shower. Nothing to worry about. We said. Whilst digging waterproofs from the depths of packs packed in bright warm sunshine. A few hundred yards more and we left the ‘road’ to head up a proper mountain path. Rocky. Sharp incline. Sharp precipitation too. The light shower had wandered away in the front of a painful hail. The temperature had dropped, also sharply. It’s okay. Hail showers are mad-five-minute affairs. They never last. And ~ oh wow ~ look at that! Turning away from the hill we were climbing to look back over the narrow valley: we were greeted by a fairy-tale view. The hills retreated in interlocking ranges, most of them dense with pinewoods, dark and brooding under the creeping menacing cloud, but tucked into one vale, and not the most distant one, was a golden light, where the sun still shone. Mist danced on lower reaches of the dark slopes near at hand. There was no sign of the hand of man in this, time vanished.

Still the weather gods hailed their ice at us and we turned back to the climb. Looking at the tops of our own range, the darkness crept ever nearer…the hail gave way to rain…the light simply gave way. Then a flash, and the crash instantly upon it. Storm directly overhead. Nowhere to go, but onwards and upwards.

Still part of me is thinking: this is short-term temper-tantrum weather. It will blow itself out.

True the storm did abate, but the next 7 or 8 miles were in settled persistent ice-cold rain. It would be an unconvincing lie to say that this did not detract from the remainder of the walk. My experience is that wet-weather walking is best done in large-ish groups, where there is at least a chance of humour taking over. For the most part we withdrew into ourselves and our own thoughts. Some sympathy here for our guide. This part of the route could have been fabulous. We were on the open moorland tops with views that could have stretched in all directions (but on this day didn’t). We could have taken an additional outward swoop to take in more of this wild country (but were more than a little reluctant to do so). We could have explored the border pill-boxes left over from the Second World War (but history could wait). The descent should have taken us back into the woods and down the waterfall edge, but by then water was seeping into everything, and with every few feet of descent the temperature fell even further. Falling water held little attraction. Picnics lay forgotten in packs and thanks were offered for the soup-stop. Contemplating my ill-judged putting on of waterproof without underlining it with the fleece ~ and weighing the feasibility of trying to add warmer layers at this point against the benefit of simply getting down more quickly, my one comforting thought was that my feet were warm.

Happiness is dry socks!

~

The following day we woke to cloudy skies and the forecast was for more of yesterday’s unseasonableness. Karel, our guide, sensitive perhaps to the mood at the end of the previous day’ inclemency, was full of alternative suggestions. There was the glass factory and museum, this being Bohemian, glass is a big thing ~ and indeed not to missed, whether your taste is for the simple or the extravagant the locals cater for it with tasteful-to-kitsch in an uninterrupted panorama of style, all locally made, much of it hand blown in small-scale factories and at astonishing prices ~ thereafter we could indulge in the hotel pool or the sauna. Our immediate counter that, well, it’s not actually raining right this minute so we want to walk seemed to be a surprise. A quick compromise was reached in that we would walk, but only locally. This can’t really count as a trail therefore. First-off we headed up the route we would have come down the previous day, to view the Mumlava Falls. This was a very pretty route through mixed woodland. There’s a children’s Fox-trail with lots of foxy exercises to do… well, you almost have to, don’t you….so I dutifully crossed imaginary rivers on narrow logs and stepping stones, and wove in and out…but I drew the line at the crawling under low-lying logs, pleading impediment of backpack (not to mention too many dumplings!).

The falls themselves are a serious of short drops…picturesque rather than dramatic…hypnotising not in their awesome power, but in their quiet industry and artistry. Looking beyond the water itself there are beautifully sculpted basins and shelves in the grey-yellow rock, tempting bathing pools, but for the icy-cold of the water and the unpredictable depth, and a speed of flow belied by the relatively gentle incline. The play of light on water reflects the shades from the rocks below and the overhanging greenery but briefly as the foaming crashes and currents swirl and dance away.

From the head of the falls, we back tracked down the lane of yesterday’s depressed troop. Today, it was a gentle roadwalk. Tarmac. Trees. Birdsong. Idle conversation. Emerging at the main road, we swung round to skirt the body of the town and head up another lane. Climbing slowly but steadily to the upper reaches of Harrachov…this is a long village… 7km was the figure quoted….but up here the houses become more scattered…ski-resort development impinges still in some places and the poor souls living hard-by the Discoland shed have our deepest sympathies. Further out the road follows a tiny mountain stream, on the steep hillsides across it inaccessible cottages cling faithfully to the old places, and maybe the old ways though that can no longer be assumed…. there are still meadows, wildflowers tiny white specimens unrecognised by us massing among the more common dandelions and clover…a family of plastic ducks moored by a family garden amused us as much as the wagtails diving and dipping for insects over the water. Out in the long grass, a cat stalked and pounced but came up empty and sheepish.

Reaching the end of town, a small log cabin, clearly a hostelry but apparently closed. Not to be deterred Karel knocked on doors and found a cheerful host, bemused by our desire to sit outside in this damp unpredictable weather but happy to serve us. We drank our beer amongst the fresh scent of rainwashed trees and earth, and with the brook babbling below …and talked of wishes and dreams and places not yet visited.

The walk back to the centre of town was simply that. (Perhaps my observations were distracted as a result of having a beer or two & having broken my own prime directive for female walkers: ALWAYS use the facilities!) The remainder of the day was eased away in a long late lunch of very good goulash at the ‘czech pub’ i.e. the place the locals use, which apparently is under new management and much improved. I cannot speak for that, & sadly I can’t remember the name either (but it’s right next to the open air clothes market!) I can vouch for the goulash!

Thence we did as you must and went in search of the history of bohemian glass. Not much was happening in the factory (Czechs start work early and most finish round about 2pm)…the museum was similarly quiet, but of course this is the off-season for Harrachov. Do take an hour a so for a wander round this exhibition. It’s not a space-age interactive display. It’s an old-fashioned multi-roomed gallery of simple display cases. My rusty German wasn’t really up to gleaning more than the basics from the information panels, but the skill in producing the exhibits, not to mention the very fact that they have survived, being such fragile objects is phenomenal. You will find much here that leaves you cold, much that you really would not give house-room to if paid its true value, but I defy you not to find something that makes you catch your breath. Even in the pieces we did not like, we had to acknowledge the craftsmanship in producing them.

~

Two days later, we found ourselves in Raspenava, in the Jizerske Hory national park: walkshorts and sunglasses to the fore. A truly beautiful morning. Picked up from the hotel for a short drive through the outer reaches of town that we had not come close to on our explorations the previous evening, up country lanes, through an adjacent village or two, we disembarked at the foot of a forest trail. This is a relatively short distance from Harrachov, but a completely different landscape. The Jizerske Hory range is lumpy rather than sharp. The hills are craggy, great granite-like boulders balance in unlikely positions eroded and stratified by wind and rain. The woodland is mixed deciduous largely beech and birch but with ash and oak, only on the very tops are there the remnants of pineforest.

From Bartlova, we headed into the trees, a sandy footpath climbed steadily in welcome dappled shade…in a sharp if not deep ravine, the Hajeny brook sang and gambolled downhill enjoying the sunshine as much as we were. White water at every turn. The earth still damp after recent rain. The air humid. An easy path, but a good solid ascent. Everywhere still there is birdsong.

Crossing the water we gain a more rocky path. Out of the trees, we’re surrounded by scrub, grassy banks and bushes, generally following the river up the cleft but climbing ever higher above it, eventually crossing it again for the final sharp ascent to the peak of Palicnik. The summit itself registers just under the thousand meter mark, and is an adopted crag. The top is gained partly by rock scramble but assisted by iron ladder over the least accessible leaps… a small area, thoughtfully guard-railed where the drop is sheer, a large wooden cross stands with no explanation for those who might seek one, the view is truly panoramic… ranges of hills and clefts on three sides, and to the west the broad valley of the Smeda river stretching towards the plain and the steam and smoke rising from the distant factories of Poland beyond.

Back from the pinnacle onto more solid ground we find ourselves incongruously back on the broad hard surface of a cycle-track-cum-ski-way. At this height, in the sunshine and after a good climb up, it’s acceptable for a while. There are open views, down into the valley, and we’re seeing the first real signs of the decimation of acid rain. Pine stands, near-branchless and sunbleached, standing skeletons of trees, eloquent in their stark emptiness. To admit they have a kind of beauty feels like a sacrilege, and yet….

A broad sweep of road brings us close to Polish border, which crops up all around you in this part of Czech and can be disorientating. Here it is to the east, but also out there to the west. These land borders…a drainage ditch and a warning notice which brought to my mind those old MoD signs about land being ‘restricted, within the meaning of the Act’…a simple sign, a huge import…our island heritage runs deep and it is difficult to fully comprehend that those trees which I can reach out and touch are another country.

Just as the road is beginning to takes its toll on feet more used to gentler surfaces we’re led off and upcountry. The sign banning cycles strikes me as superfluous (but having seen the Czechs cycle…who knows, maybe not). A real uphill clamber. On these tracks my friend leaves me standing…and I don’t seek to keep pace. Exertion is a good thing, but not so much as to stop it being fun…it is a good climb if I can raise a smile at the top…or in this case not the top…my co-walkers dutifully waited for me at the head of the steep incline (or as I prefer to consider it: at the point where they needed a sit-down!)…but there was more onward and upward, gentler now, but still rough country…a combination of open moor and new pine plantations… still a cuckoo calling for all her worth somewhere way across the valley…this peak, Smrk by name, is not a peak but an open expanse. The highest point is marked picnic tables and by a tall gaudy yellow and steel look-out tower. It serves no purpose but the pleasure of being able to see all around. Karel told us how when the building project was complete and the tower opened a huge party was held, people climbed up in the evening carrying their food and their wine, brought their children and their dogs. There is something of the eccentric English Victorian in this behaviour, reminiscent of the observatory long since gone from Ben Nevis and the café atop Snowdon. The base of the Czech tower does have the facilities for a “buffet” but no-one has taken up the licence yet. Only a matter of time one feels….a wooden box by an information board holds a visitors book….full of happy-traveller comments. Across the way, where the moor gives way to forest there’s a cottage, a log-cabin of the american backwoods type…we’re told that until very recently it was the full time home of a solitary gent. People pass through here daily, walking, cycling, ski-ing…but the isolation is still palpable. The ghostly stands of acidified pine, reminders of how the world is turning. I tried to imagine if snow would make this place more or, maybe, less bleak.

Dropping back down our rocky ascent path, tiny newts skittered out of our way. Flowers by the wayside caught more attention than they had on the upward clamber. Half-hidden, tiny white blooms.

Regaining the tarmac, we followed the road down to Lazne Libverda, careful to avoid the cycle speed-merchants: 50-year-olds careering madly downhill like children, skidding to halt in open space to compare top-speed achievements like adolescents seeking glory …but earning our grudging respect as we watched their progress on the steep and direct uphill as they went for another circuit.

We’re back now among the beech and the boulders. It is strange to see these huge boulder-rocks in woodland, being used to the English hills where such geology automatically speaks of the tree-free wilds. Here the animal-shapes we see in the stones (a fish-face, an elehpant) are incongruously dappled by tree shade. Some support trees themselves as lithe towering Ash sprout from bare rock it seems. A long winding descent in the warmth of the afternoon…the beer is only half-promised as the expected inn has a reputation for not always being open…. such uncommercialism has taken its toll, the place is now fully closed, sliding already to dereliction, the pool empty, weeds sprouting through the tennis court, no beer to be had for another kilometre or so. The alternate bar, when we reached it, was a joy. A rough and ready kind of place. Rough grey blankets lined the wooden benches, a couple of tables were occupied by older folk ~ a couple by the window, a lone gent by the door, finishing their late lunches. A radio played songs from the American ’50s and tunes half-recognisable behind their disguise of Czech lyrics. Row upon row of football pennants suspended from the ceiling above the bar. Three beers took an age to arrive: for what rush could there be? The décor was dark and gloomy. The domestic back room not quite hidden by a flimsy screen-cum-curtain. A stage set almost.

The hostess, when asked about bus times, claimed not to have been on a bus “for at least ten years, we go everywhere by car”. Still a source of pride, it would seem.

The bus shelter too was a pleasure…seemingly adopted by the local primary school, it was painted with large bright flowers, and sunbursts.
The bus arrived on time and we headed into Frydlant for the evening (about which more later).

~

The following morning we wake again to a downpour. The axiom “rain before 7 fine by 11” is quoted, but I figure it probably doesn’t even rhyme in Czech. Oh me of little faith! Peter & Karel arrived, picnics at the ready and, in K’s case at least, ready to walk. For our final walk, setting out from the village of Ferdinandov a few kilometres away, we have an extra member of the party. We are joined by the boisterous Kira ~ Karel’s loveable Ridgeback. Her complete lack of reaction to the yapping and barking of her fellow canines as we complete our walk at the end of the day will impress us, but for the rest: she’s not yet out of puppyhood, and utterly excitable…scampering after every forest scent, fascinated by the sound of water (which she loves to walk through, but shows no desire to swim in), she covers at least twice as much ground as we do…her hunter instincts leading her to peer into the darker cover even if she doesn’t really expect to find lion or leopard.

Up we climb, once again tree-shaded, with dancing waters of the Velky Stolpich below full of exuberance after the night’s heavy rain. It’s becoming an axiom that the ascents and descents are the ‘best bits’ of any day’s walking in Czech for as soon as you find yourself on the ridges or half-height breaks in the hill, you will find yourself on tarmac. There are, of course, circumstances where this is a blessing. I’m the first to welcome ‘a bit of flat’, but to this walker it’s no substitute for the more secluded rougher pathways…of which the hills hide plenty… whether they can be linked into sensible day routes without resort to cycle-ways, is something requiring more study of maps than I’ve yet had time to devote. Equally the more open cycle routes do also offer wider views of the land around, so avoiding them totally may not be the answer.

Whatever the answer: we’d had swung south from the brook and, back on the tarmac, we were having to watch our backs. This was a Saturday, and the area was hosting a cycle race, we weren’t in the thick of the competitors, but traffic was definitely busier than we were used to…sadly traces of the activity showed along the road as time and again we passed the discarded empty rubber solvent tube of on road repairs. Litter is not a noticeable problem in Czech generally, for it to be introduced to the hills by way of the speed-merchants would be a shame. The counterpoint was a family staying in a log cabin, in a roadside clearing, remote by modern standards, back-sheltered by pines, views into pines at ground level and maybe over their tops from the attic-floor: a holiday home almost certainly. Children earth-dirty and laughingly making camp in the woods with nothing but what was to hand. City children most probably, but not yet so taken with the western capitalist toys that they are lost in such idyllic seclusion.

At a crossroads we take a sharp left and find ourselves heading northwards again, roughly following the 900m contour of the Stolpichy hill. A brief excursion from it took us down to the Krasna Mari ~ a boulder outcrop of the kind much favoured for transforming into ‘viewpoints’. A slightly shaky metal rail provided an illusion of comfort upon reaching the summit, but getting up there was unassisted on this occasion. A hand over foot clamber, not for the short-limbed. The views are a different angle on yesterday’s sightings from Palicnik, whose cross we can make out: so tiny from here. Below: the shining blue of the dome of the Cathedral of Hejnice in the upper reaches of the Smeda valley. I’d recommend you pay more attention than we did on the way up, for it’s easy to become distracted on the retreat and find yourselves facing an unfeasible gap in the rocks.

When in doubt, go back and start again! A momentary excitement, no more, terra firma was soon gained without mishap.

The next stretch of road was mercifully short, before we hit the descent. By now it was again raining steadily, but we were back under the trees on rough paths. The regular red blazes on the trees marking our route. Karel and Kira dropping down way ahead of us…Kira looking back anxiously at intervals.

These parts of the trails I really loved, climbing or descending, rough ground….no wide views but the close details in tree and rock and water. The scent, especially in this clean rain-wet air.

As we gained the lowest slopes, children and parents were gathering in some unexplained pageant, decorative bunting and paper signage hung from the trees, and jesters and princesses lurked beneath brightly coloured pacamacs and kagouls, games and picnics were afoot. The simplicity of this, and as the valley broadened out into meadow, the scattered oaks and hedgerows and wildflowers, (and I own up: the weather) all put me in mind of an English Mayday. Perhaps the peoples of Europe are not really so different.

And so, slightly damp, we wandered down into Hejnice for the traditional end of walk refreshment. Strange to be drinking czech beer in a chinese restaurant with an african ridgeback asleep on your foot…

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TRANSFERS, TOWNS & STOP-OVERS

The walking was the thing. That was our reason for being in Czech. However, you cannot evaluate such a holiday without consideration of the non-walking days and other interludes. In this case, there was Prague; the transfers from there to Harrachov, thence to Raspenava; those two towns themselves; Frydlant; and at the end of the week, the border village of Srbska. Space prohibits my detailed impressions here and these can be found "Small-town Czech" in the General: Czech Republic section.

CZECHTRAILS: Organisation, Hosts and Guides

A final few words on our hosts. CzechTrails is a small company and a relatively young one. Long-established operations and large companies do offer certain securities and guarantees which may be less reliable when you opt to travel with “the small and local” operations. This has to be a personal-priority decision. For me, the friendliness and flexibility of the small operator will always win out.

Negatives:
- for a web-based company responses to e-mail enquiries can be a little slow at times
- accommodation was not as advertised
- the brochure, supplied at our request, is out of date

Positives:
- the crucial items were in place: airport pick-ups and drop-offs went without a hitch
- we could not fault the choice of replacement hotels
- local information – being hosted & guided by people on their home turf gives you insights you cannot possibly gain any other way, whether it is the best routes, local history or the best restaurant or where the best price Beccarovka is to be had
- optional extras: clearly such options (in our case Liberec & Swieradov Zdroj) become more difficult as the group-size increases
- personal service: being able to adapt routes and itineraries
- of prime importance to walkers: the packed lunch! No see-through cheese sarnies here…Peter’s freshly made salads are among the best. Fresh fruit. Water supplied.
- & ultimately being welcomed into your hosts home and garden is something slightly special…hopefully Pete & Karel have forgiven my photographic enthusiasm, which saw me backing into & upending one of their garden flower-tubs! At least I was nice to the animals.

Recommendations to the company would be:
- ditch the brochure & bring the website up to date
- if e-mails are to be unattended for more than a day or two, set-up some auto-response holding reply
- investigate alternatives to the tarmac cycle-routes…if completely off-road circuits could be devised, so much the better…but this may not be possible
- prompt receipting of payments received would reassure the web-wary amongst us

Recommendations for travellers:
- brush up your language skills or buy a phrase book
- if you play, and can fit it in, take your tennis racket ~ even the smallest Czech towns have good quality courts
- Keep an eye on their website as I understand they are planning some longer supported hikes, with the Tatros mountains being one option under consideration.
- Go for it!
 

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