Getting off the beaten path in Cesky Krumlov

By TARLIKA NUNEZ
School of Communication
University of Miami

CESKY KRUMLOV, Czech Republic— My teeth are chattering, my pulse quickens and my body shivers as I shed the four layers of clothes that wrap my body to the ground. My socks and shoes are the next to go, followed shortly by my breath.

“What the hell am I doing?” I ask myself.

The van, loaded with bicycles and a raft, arrives at the departure point (Photo by Tarlika Nunez).

I’m experiencing Cesky Krumlov, a medieval tourist stop in the heart of Bohemia four hours south of Prague, in quite a different fashion than the average tourist.

“Relax or adrenalin?” our tour guide asks in his Czech-drenched Spanish, passing my friends and I the bottle of cheap rum he purchased to revive the feeling in our frost-bitten limbs.

“Adrenaline!” escaped my mouth before I could even process the odd question.

“Where does that impulse come from?” I think to myself as I glance at my friends who are shooting me the evil eye, in what can only be described as a look of mutual fear.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, before I go any farther let me start at the very beginning, (a very good place to start).

A guide readies one of the bicycles (Photo by Tarlika Nunez).

“This is a new, mostly unknown tour,” the receptionist tending the front desk of our hostel said as she holds up the brochure. “I haven’t tried it, but it sounds fun. “You mountain bike, horseback ride and raft all in one day.”

“Wow that sounds perfect! My friends and I only have one day and we would love to do all three activities while we’re here.”

We figured it would be a great way to see the Bohemian countryside and get off the beaten-tourist path. Little did we know we would experience more than our U.S. $60 per person would ever allow us to do in the States.

The next day, I found myself sipping my beer carefully, trying not to spill it all over me as the van sped around the steep-mountain curves that lined the countryside. It is 9 o’clock in the morning and our tour has just begun.

Early into the drive, we discover that our “tour-guides” know as much English as we know Czech (which is about three words). Luckily Spanish was a language both Marek (our 28-year-old driver/tour guide) and one of my friends shared in common. Who would have thought we would have to journey to the rural backlands of the Czech Republic to practice our Spanish?

Cesky Krumlov is a scenic Medieval town in the middle of Bohemia (Photo by Tarlika Nunez).

As I peer out the window at the rolling, rich green pastures, I’m recalling whether or not Marek said mountain biking was first. I’m just thankful we’re riding down the mountain instead of biking back up it. One hour later, we stop near the chilly Austrian border, wondering why it was we’re not wearing more clothes.

“See you at the bottom,” our tour guide shouts out the window as he drives away in his yellowish-looking-expedition van topped with what appears to be a homemade raft.

Since there is only one path down, my friends and I opt to follow it to the bottom. Along the way I began to wonder if we would be doing the hour long trip it took by car, on this bike.

As we journey through the country-side of what you would expect to see in Ireland, singing songs from the “sound of music,” we stumble upon a shepard and his herd of sheep. It was at that point I realized if the tour ended right then, I would have gotten my money’s worth.

Half-way down we see our yellow expedition van with three Kozel beers awaiting us on its hood.

Sheep on a rural road are the cause of an unscheduled break in the bicycle ride (Photo by Tarlika Nunez).

“They sure know how to keep college student hydrated here,” I thought to myself as Marek comes out shouting “caballo, caballo” (translation: horse in Spanish).

We had arrived at the second part of our journey … horse back riding. Marek gestures to our beer and directs us up the hill to a decaying-old barn, where a man who spoke absolutely no English was saddling up what appeared to be our next mode of transportation…the horses.

Before I knew it, we were running full speed through the forest with branches grabbing at us, as if they were arms attempting to tear us off our wild beasts. No warm-up, no nice trail ride, just a full-on gallop.

I wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or ecstatic and I sure didn’t have time to think about it. My palms were sweaty and my center of attention was keeping my rear in the small English saddle that topped this wild creature.

Horses await their riders (Photo by Tarlika Nunez).

My imagination took me in and out of “Lord of the Rings” and I recalled my classmates telling us the trail ride they partook in yesterday was a measly, slow saunter, five minutes from the center of town. Ours seemed anything but that.

Whether it was my friend’s horse bucking out of control or my horse persistently trying to run down the vertical cliff that lined our riding trail, I realized once again that we had gotten more than we had bargained for on this tour.

Yet, as we approached the old barn, I knew “adrenalin” would take on a whole new meaning from that point on.

Reporter Tarlika Nunez and friend Ericka Miller get instructions for their horseback ride (Staff photo).

Next we found ourselves in a house-restaurant-bar in the middle of nowhere feasting on a traditional meal— schnitzel and beer— and of course, a round of shots courtesy of our two tremendous tour guides who insisted we keep a good buzz during our adventure.

I was not quite sure the reason they persistently kept us drinking until Marek explained what was next on our agenda.

“Rafting, very cold. You get wet, must take clothes off,” he said.

“What? No way! This must be a translation problem because it’s 45 degrees Fahrenheit outside and he is telling me I have to get undressed.”

It wasn’t until this point I realized why we had been drinking all day long. It was freezing and we were headed for some intense rafting.

After a pint of rum and a serious pep talk, I found myself undressing into shorts and a tee-shirt in the frigid air.

One of the Czech guides (Photo by Tarlika Nunez).

Before I knew it, I was precariously teetering over a 10 foot, 90-degree-angle waterfall.

It was about to swallow our raft in one big gulp and, of course, there were no safety precautions— no helmet, life vest or travel insurance— to save our sorry necks.

“Am I alive? Am I alive? Am I alive?” I gasp just as my heart begins to beat again. The ice-cold water soaks my body while a storm of glacial wind whips past.

In the back of my mind, my mother is frowning, disapproving of my little fling with disaster and telling me to get out of the freezing water.

But then again, when have I ever listened to my mom’s wisdom?

That day I survived mountain biking, horseback racing and treacherous rafting. What better way to get off the “beaten path?”

---