On Shore Leave in Cheb

After sharing a 40 of fake Tequila (but Real Tequila Taste!), I needed a little sleep. With sunglasses.

My co-conspirators.

Yes, the going was hard, especially when the Mayan slaves revolted. (This and some of the following pictures look bad because I photographed them off of Viktoria's camera. You can see the reflection of my camera in them.)

Setting out from Lucie's house. Note Sergio's tin whistle, ready to pipe us towards glory.


Fuck paddling, let's walk and listen to tunes.

Those lazy slaves needed a firm hand.

See how happy coffee makes you. Improves race relations too.

On the road again.

An idyllic scene of fellow canoeists at a bar on the Ohre.

Sergio pretending to paddle while Viktoria pulls.

No, I'm not actually still in Canada - they just have stop signs here for some reason.

My new shades.

Yes, I even had to put up with people in love.

Loket: a lovely little place. We razed it to the ground, of course.

I don't know what the fuck this is, but it has the sign of the eye in the pyramid on top. Those Illuminati - they're everywhere.

Viktoria lurking in the Water Closet.

Loket's castle.

Enjoying some well deserved fried cheese and beer in Loket.

Viktoria Mara, woman of adventure and mystery.



Cheb - last stop in the Czech Republic. Perhaps the last stop in the Great 2008 European Canoe Adventure. Yes, I am beginning to feel like gracefully bowing out of this performance. I think it was the recalculation of my schedule - based on my careful observations of how many kilometres I was actually able to paddle upriver per diem. I had hoped for 20, but it's turned out to be more like 15. And then I recalculated the distance, baring in mind that my 1:500,000 scale map of Germany doesn't show all the torturous twists and turns of the actual river, and increasing my estimates by 15%, and came naturally to a longer distance. My new estimate would have me arriving in Amsterdam not by the end of July, as I'd hoped, but on August 26. It's a case of theory crashing headlong into actuality. The impossibility of reaching this distant objective in the two months maximum I'd like to spend canoeing, has led me to conclude that I'd like to wrap up the trip soon - as soon as I can sell the canoe for a reasonable price. I have really enjoyed my three couchsurfing experiences so far, and would like to spend my remaining month in Europe doing that - preferably in the Mediterrainian region.

Voicing these thoughts, Viktoria and Sergio were quick to jump ship. They were willing to stick it out for another couple of weeks - after which they had to be in Switzerland - and help me get up this last stretch of upriver. But I felt that the trip was probably winding down and that they should go and do what they wanted. An honourable discharge.

They performed valiantly. I wouldn't have been able to paddle up some of the stretches of river that awaited us if not for the combined effort of three paddlers. During one interminable stretch, where the river turned into a concrete encased chute, too deep to get out and pull, and with no paths alongside to escape to, the three of us paddling full tilt were just barely able to make headway. I was afraid that I might have a mutiny on the Sarka, but fortunately my crew was made of stronger stuff than that.

And this despite their woefully inadaquate outfitting: tissue paper thin garbage bags for dry sacks, all-cotton clothing, and a tent from Wal-Mart that was designed for a planet where it never rains. I tried to help out from with loans from my high-performance MEC gear whenever possible, but they still never slept as well or were as comfortable, relatively speaking, as I.

This river was supposed to get easier after Karlovy Vary, but it was a cruel lie. Yes, perhaps there were less rapids, but the current was often stronger than ever. I've found that paddlers who have only ever paddled down a river really have no conception of the current. You have to go up it to really get to know it intimately. I felt a constant sense of guilt for inflicting this wierd form of punishment on unsuspecting Sergio and agreable Viktoria. This is my pennance - for a life of excessive ease and comfort - how did I ever get my friends mixed up in this?!

It took us four days to reach the outskirts of Cheb. After three days, we were happy to get off the river and walk the rest of the way. Cheb itself is a bit of a letdown. The goonish security guards in the the grociery stores and the 'no guns' signs in many store windows (alongside 'no ice cream' signs - the noxious mix of tourist and crime) alerted us the to prevalence of crime here. When Viktoria tried to set up her display of Guatamalan crafts for sale, she wasn't harrassed by the police, but by about 30 Gypsy kids who swarmed her from a nearby apartment building. We are told that Cheb is known for its thriving prostitution industry; it's cheaper for Germans to come here and hire them. I suppose it's the kind of seediness common with many border towns.

This is my fourth day now in Cheb, and my current mission is to try to find a buyer for Sarka. Thanks again to my guardian angel in Prague, Stan, I've got a list of possibilities, including a scout camp, and three rental companies. But the big question before negotiations can even begin is, "Does anyone speak English at any of these places?" If not, I've got a couple of other options: maybe the shop that sold me the canoe would like to buy it back, in which case i could courier it to them. Or, if all else fails, I'll push on and head into Germany, continuing the trip while looking for someone to buy my canoe and release me from its terrible bondage.