Handball just might be the coolest sport you’ve never heard of.

I’m not talking about the handball I use to dominate on elementary school playgrounds with my incendiary slicies.

I’m not talking about the handball that old men with arthritis play at the gym because they can’t grip a racket anymore.

I’m talking about team handball, an action-packed, high-scoring sport that’s like soccer for the hands.

It’s a sport so popular in Europe that there are professional leagues for both men and women.  If you don’t have a subscription to Obscure Sports Quarterly, the only way to discover handball in America was by watching late-night Summer Olympics broadcasts.

Handball isn’t esoteric and bewildering like cricket; it’s a relatively simple game where two teams of 7 players score goals by throwing a ball into a net guarded by a goalie.  The team that scores the most goals in 60 minutes wins.

The catch is: there’s a 20-foot crease around the goal that players can’t enter.  Offensive wizards circumvent this obstacle by darting through defenders, leaping into the air like a frog and firing a shot before his feet touch the ground.

It makes for some pretty acrobatic — and rough — entertainment.  Fouls are unlimited in handball, and often times a defender will slam a player to the ground before he ever gets a shot off.

When we visited Berlin, we were finally able to see a professional handball match live.

There weren’t many seats left for the Berlin Foxes game by the time we arrived at Max Schmeling Hall, so we were relegated to the top of the corner.

The game was fast and furious.  Drummers set the rhythm of the game with their hypnotic high tempo cadence.  The crowd erupted and chanted every time a player from the home team whipped a ball into the net.

And fans smacked noisemakers against the railings to the beat of a popular German song called “Das Geht Ab” — a song that was played no less than 30 times throughout the game.  We were convinced they were saying “Das Get Up” until I just looked it up.  Listen to this song and tell me it’s not a catchy sports anthem…

When the final buzzer echoed through the packed arena, the Berlin Foxes had defeated VfL Gummersbach 30-24.

The experience was similar to that of the hockey game we attended in Prague.  You just don’t find this kind of interactivity at sporting events in America.  You also don’t find this kind of respect for the opponent.

Fans of the home team actually applauded the visiting team as the announcer introduced each player.  In America, we would boo ‘em.

It’s not just handball that we want America discover.  It’s the overall experience and the sportsmanship.

]]> http://thejetpacker.com/handball-the-coolest-sport-you-never-heard-of/feed/ 1 http://thejetpacker.com/new-years-in-berlin/ http://thejetpacker.com/new-years-in-berlin/#comments Tue, 05 Jan 2010 00:26:17 +0000 Jetpacker http://thejetpacker.com/?p=1630

New Year’s Eve is like a martini of anxiety, excitement and optimism that’s stirred at a feverish pace for the entire day. And come midnight, everyone downs it in one throat-scorching, eye-bulging gulp.

This year, we drank the martini in Berlin… and it was dirty one.

On the morning of December 31st, our last day in Berlin, we woke up before our alarm could annoy us into consciousness, eager for the clock to tick faster. Fireworks were already cracking the airwaves outside our hotel (actually, they started a few days ago, but we’ll tell you more about that in other posts about our time in Berlin). People were flooding into shops and mini-marts until they were drowning in the liquor isles. Dumpsters were filled with bad memories of 2009 until they vomited onto the sidewalk.

There was a palpable energy that coursed through every street as if they were the veins of the city, pulsing with adrenaline.

The epicenter of this party is on Strasse des 17 Juni, the famous stretch of boulevard that extends from the Victory Column to the city’s most famous landmark, Brandenburg Gate.

Over a million people converge on this quarter-mile celebration to dance in tents blasting Euro-pop and techno, drink potentially life-threatening amounts of alcohol in the beer gardens, eat potentially heart-stopping amounts of sausage and fried foods, and mingle with uninhibited partiers from around the world.

But getting there was a challenge.

You know the phrase “Go out with a bang”? Berliners take idea this to a whole new level. The closest we’ve ever been to a war zone is playing a videogame called “Call of Duty 2″, but we think the walk from our hotel to the party may be similar to what it’s like in the crossfire of battle.

We had to duck, dodge and dart past fireworks being launched by drunks into streams of people walking along the streets. Alcohol and fireworks is a combination so dangerous you wouldn’t even find it on a hole-in-the-wall Chinese take-out menu.

But these weren’t your run-of-the-mill flashy, pretty, sparkly fireworks. No, these fireworks were simple flashes of white light that also made the loudest bang we’ve ever heard.

At one point someone threw a firework that looked like a small stick of dynamite into a doorway that Jackie and I were walking by. When that thing exploded, it rumbled through our bones and left our ears ringing.

It was a serious test of courage. And sanity. I mean, it takes a significant lack of rational thinking to continue on the journey and not retreat to the confines of a well-fortified hotel room.

Eventually we merged into a river of people heading for the celebratorion zone. We didn’t exactly know where we were going, but we felt safer in such a large group so we didn’t care.

Of course, aimlessly following people who also don’t know where they’re going leads to foolish mistakes like walking around random buildings in search of an entrance to the party street.

Finally, we passed through a gate patrolled by cops inspecting people’s bags and trudged through three inches of slippery, mushy snow, often hopping over empty champagne bottles and fallen barriers.

Once inside, we walked the street for a bit before staking out a spot to stand in to ring in the New Year. There weren’t any seats or benches, so a short, cold, metal pole to lean on had to suffice. Despite the freezing temperatures, the snow, and our boots being completely soaked through, the view of the Brandenburg Gate embraced by spotlights warming the cold night sky was worth it.

The last few hours of 2009 evaporated faster than the snow beneath our shoes. Seemingly without warning, a clock popped on the screen and the countdown began.

At the stroke of midnight, fireworks rocketed into the sky to herald the New Year. The anticipation had marinated in my mind for so long that I expected an earth-shaking display of exploding color on a scale akin to Sydney or London… and for that reason, I actually felt kinda underwhelmed.

I really shouldn’t though. Last year, we celebrated the New Year in Chicago with this pageant of mediocrity…

And a few years ago we joined the collective groans of a million people in Vegas when the hotels put on this flaccid performance…

So in comparison it really wasn’t that bad. I just anticipated more flair from such a vibrant city.

After the professional fireworks show ended, the locals took over the scene, assembling in front of the Reichstag to launch bottle rockets and set off Roman candles.

Unfortunately, we had to make our way back to the hotel to pack up for a flight a few hours later, so we couldn’t hang around to watch the fireworks sequel.

However, that might have been a good thing. Every time a loud boom made the buildings shiver, an ambulance would scream down the streets a few minutes later.

We got back to the hotel around 2 a.m., packed up, and headed to the airport around 5 a.m. And the party was STILL going in the streets of Berlin. So much so that it took us nearly an hour to find a cab and we feared missing out flight.

In the end, we made our flight, and didn’t lose any appendages to firework explosions or frostbite. I’d say 2010 has started off well.

Even though Jackie and I passed Cannabis College, we should have had our diplomas revoked.  After arriving at the Dampkring coffee shop, one thing became very apparent:  We didn’t know what the heck we were doing.

After convincing Jackie to go buy the stuff at the counter (it wasn’t that I was intimidated, I just had to, uh, save our seats.  Yeah, that’s it…), we had to light the darn things.

First, I couldn’t get the lighter to work.  I knew how it worked, I just couldn’t make it work.  That’s what a novice I am.  I had to have Jackie light my joint for me.  Second, I forgot to inhale on my first puff.  I sucked but I didn’t inhale.  (That statement fits in more contexts than it should.)

Finally, after 20-something years of curiosity, I finally inhaled my first puff of marijuana.  It was bitter and earthy and it made me feel like I was breathing humid summer air; my lungs felt warm and congested like the onset of a cold.  The taste was like when you go to the supermarket and you can practically taste the smell of the herbs hanging in the air — except this was more pungent and fiery.

The experience was everything I thought it would be.  Music sounded louder and better.  I was light headed.  My reaction time was about five minutes too slow.  Things that are never funny were suddenly funny.  We talked about things that should never be talked about in a normal conversation — like male mermaids.

And we really enjoyed watching a woman engage in a staring contest with the Dampkring’s resident cat.  Neither of them blinked for at least 5 minutes.  Their eyes locked in an intense stare.  But it wasn’t a competition.  It was like they were talking to each other… telepathically… like the understood each other on a cosmic level and…

This is what the cat's vision must be like.

Sorry, it was like I was there, man.  Anyway, weed wasn’t as glamorous as those expressionless, red-eyed stoners flopped on the couch at parties made it seem.  But I’m glad I tried it.  Even more so because I tried it on a day when we didn’t have much planned — there was no way I’d be able to comprehend what was going on.

Besides, after our visit to the coffee shop, all we had on our minds was food.  So we went to a waffle stand AND a pastry stand, and stacked up on sweets like we were preparing for a natural disaster.  I don’t remember eating it, but it must have been good because it was gone in a few bites.

You never know where you'll wind up after smoking a few joints. Perhaps a giant clog.

I’ll never forget waking up in the middle of the night to see Jackie licking chocolate residue off of a waffle tray, perhaps hoping the waffle would somehow magically regenerate.

Visiting a coffee shop in Amsterdam isn’t for everyone.  But if you’re bored with the canals, the clogs and the tulips, it can be another way to experience the culture of Amsterdam.  Here’s a taste of the coffee shop culture in Amsterdam…

Is Weed Legal in Amsterdam?

This information might come in handy if you’re ever on a episode of “Jeopardy,” but contrary to popular belief weed and hash is NOT legal in Amsterdam.  Coffee shops are technically illegal and possession is a misdemeanor.

But there’s a policy of tolerance in place and coffee shops are widely accepted by both the government and the public.  You won’t get busted for weed as long as you aren’t disturbing the peace and you don’t carry more than 5 grams at a time.  The policy on smoking outdoors in public is iffy, so it’s best to stay inside a coffee shop.

As of 2008, psychedelic mushrooms and space cakes have been banned, though apparently there’s a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy that allows some shops to continue to sell as long as they keep it on the down low.

Up until our visit to Amsterdam, I had never done a drug in my life.  The closest I had ever been to getting high was under the influence of laughing gas at the dentist.  I didn’t even know what weed smelled like until I went to an Eminem concert.  I had always been curious, but I was too paranoid about trying it; the mental picture of cops with machine guns crashing through the window as soon as a joint touched my lips was enough to render me a wallflower at many a party.

But now that we were in a country where I didn’t have to fear jail time, I knew I had do it.  The problem was, I had no clue how to do it.  So we went to a place with all the answers… Cannabis College.

Our professor was a barely legal girl that had problems maintaining eye contact.  She told us about the history of marijuana use, how it’s made, its medicinal value and how to smoke it properly.  She handed us a map listing all 200-something coffee shops in Amsterdam (the number is always changing based on new laws) and we went on our way.

What To Expect Inside A Coffee Shop

Notice the conveniently placed French fry stand next door. They must make a fortune off stoners with the munchies.

For our first time smoking weed, we settled on Dampkring, one of Amsterdam’s most popular coffee shops thanks to its appearance in “Ocean’s Twelve.”  Despite its great reputation, I was still nervous; I kept thinking we’d open the door and walk into dorm room at Arizona State University, the walls covered with trippy images and peace signs, Bob Marley blasting through the speakers, people with dreadlocks yammering on about how they make their own clothes out of hemp.

But it was nothing like that.  You’d think it was like your neighborhood coffee shop… if it didn’t reek of weed.  It was relaxing, people spoke softly, alternative music played in the background, and people read books and played chess.

And it wasn’t just young people.  There was a group of middle aged tourists and even a few businessmen.  We quickly realized that is a part of general life in Amsterdam.  Instead of Happy Hour at T.G.I. Friday’s, workers congregate here after quitting time.  They smoke out and relax.  They don’t get drunk and rowdy.  In fact, getting drunk is looked down upon in Amsterdam — it’s more dangerous and more obnoxious than weed, which is why it’s less tolerated.  Coffee shops usually sell coffee, tea, and some soft drinks, but never alcohol.

The weed menu looked like a food menu; there were tons of options — different flavors, different potency, different effects.  The guy at the counter was very nice and helpful.  If you don’t know what you’re doing, they’ll recommend something for you, so you don’t accidentally end up buying the strongest stuff they sell.

With the new anti-smoking laws you can’t smoke tobacco in a coffee shop, but most places offer some sort of mixed herb thing if you prefer not to smoke a pure joint. Most people bring their own papers and wrap their own joints, but we went the newbie route and bought two joints that were pre-rolled for about €5.  Read about our experience here.

Finally, if you do end up visiting a coffee shop while in Amsterdam, don’t go walking around the city stoned out of your mind.  It’s not polite to Amsterdammers, and of course there’s the risk of pickpockets, getting lost or getting hit by a tram.

The flag for the city of Amsterdam is like an advertisement for debauchery — bold red bars sandwiching a black bar with three “X’s.”  And that XXX debauchery is best on display in Amsterdam’s infamous Red Light District.

Amsterdam actually has three red light districts, but the largest and most popular is in De Wallen, near Centraal Station.  The main drag stretches for a few blocks down a canal lined street with hundreds of red windows that branch off into various dark, thin alleys.  (Why the red light?  It makes skin look younger and smoother.)

Perusing the red light district is like window shopping… except the mannequins are alive and they wear tacky bikinis and lingerie.  The girls advertise their services in the windows by dancing seductively, winking at you to lure you in, and tapping on the glass to get your attention.  One girl was giving herself a very thorough breast examination in the window and she had an intensely serious look on her face that concerned me.  Other girls went for the passive route, sitting there with a morose frown, smoking a cigarette, making no effort whatsoever.

Each building looked like an open box of chocolate with red-cubed trays displaying a different alluring treat, perhaps a young, chubby brunette or a tall, busty blonde.  There was even a bank of windows that belonged to a group of large black women catering to the BBW crowd.  Oddly enough, this section was smack dab in front of the district’s most unusual feature: an old church… called the Old Church (or Oudekerk in Dutch, it dates to the 14th century).

We often saw younger men talking with the women behind the glass, negotiating a price as if it were a garage sale — anywhere from €40 to €200 for 15 to 20 minutes is standard — but we didn’t see anyone go in or come out of a room.  However, there were quite a few windows with the red light turned off and the curtain shut.

So what was it like seeing all that?  Honestly, it wasn’t that weird.  Now this is coming from two people who live in Southern California, where tiny skirts, fake breasts and midriffs are on display every day.  Walking the beaches, perusing the malls or going to a nightclub is like being in a red light district — the girls advertise in a similar fashion, except the intention is not as blatant.

For conservative people with old-fashioned values, however, Amsterdam’s Red Light District must seem like a gateway to a neon-red hell.  Only a thin layer of lingerie stands between you and your imagination.

Over the past couple of years the area has shrunk dramatically.  In 2007, some brothels closed down due to suspected criminal activity.  And in 2008, the government shut down prostitution in even more buildings to make lofts for young designers.

So it’s best to see the Red Light District before it becomes a relic of the past.  The area is most crowded at night when the women work the windows and curious tourists pack the paths along the canal.  It’s generally considered a safe place, but you have to be cautious of pickpockets, shady drug-dealers and pimps (sex workers are unionized and pimps are forbidden).  Photography is strictly prohibited, so don’t plan on taking home any free souvenirs.

As strange as it sounds, the Red Light District isn’t as seedy as you might think.  It’s actually surprisingly clean (though I insisted on carrying a bottle of Purell with me anyway), and it’s not uncommon to see families with children walking through the area (heck, they probably see worse on MTV anyway).  The area may be defined by a long history of prostitution, but it’s characterized by its liveliness, great architecture and picturesque views of the canal.

So leave your inhibitions at the hotel, come with an open mind and don’t be embarrassed.  There are thousands of people just as curious, and you’re not doing anything wrong by examining a different culture with a different set of values.  The Red Light District is a great place to understand and appreciate the tolerant, laid back lifestyle of Amsterdam.

The Czech Republic cultivates some of the best hockey players in the world — the country won gold in the 1998 Olympics and bronze in 2006.  So as huge fans of the sport, we couldn’t wait to go to a hockey game in Prague.  We just didn’t expect it to be so… different.

Of the 14 teams in the Czech Extraliga — the top professional ice hockey league in the Czech Republic — two of the best teams are located in Prague: HC Sparta Praha and HC Slavia Praha.  Sparta won the league championship in ’06 and ’07 while Slavia won it all in ’08.  We wanted to check out both teams, but only Sparta was playing at home when we visited Prague.

Sparta plays at Tesla Arena, an old arena with a capacity of just over 10,000 (as opposed to Slavia’s recently-constructed 17,000-seat O2 arena).  And it just so happened that during our visit Sparta was playing a big game against a major rival: HC Pardubice (with only 14 teams in the league, isn’t every team a major rival?).

How The Hell Are We Going To Get Tickets?

The city of Prague is so English-friendly that we assumed it’d be a piece of cake to order tickets at the box office.  But Tesla Arena is located on the outskirts of the city where not many tourists frequent and English speakers are few and far between.  When we got in line, it finally hit us: “How the hell are we going to get tickets?”

There were tons of people waiting in line.  There were fans of the opposing team trying to cause a stir and cutting in line. And no one spoke English.  As we inched closer to the box office, we tried to come up with ways to communicate our ticket order.  Maybe signal the number 2.  Maybe plop down a large bill and see what we get.  We had no clue.

But just before we got to the window, Jackie asked a nice guy named Michal for help. Fortunately, he had just spent 6 months studying English in Australia.  What a relief.  We gave him money and he bought our tickets.

Michal was attending the game by himself and was eager to practice his English, so the three of us sat together.  He was a fantastic guide with a surprisingly firm command of the English language despite only learning it less than a year prior.  He was like our personal Czech hockey guide: he talked to us about the great players on the team, the rivalry between the two teams and what was going on during the game.  And we in turn told him about the NHL.

NHL Vs. Czech Extraliga

We’ve been to a lot of NHL games, including games at six different NHL venues across the U.S.  So we have a pretty good grasp on what makes a great hockey-going experience.  And while our experience at the Sparta game was certainly great, it was also very different from what we’re used to.

The Czech game isn’t as fast paced as the NHL and the goal celebrations aren’t as theatrical (check out video of Sparta scoring a goal here).  But the experience in the stands is vastly superior to the NHL.

Fans of the opposing team sit in a secluded section on one end of the ice and the hardcore fans of the home team sit on the other end.  And for the entire game, both fan bases compete for supremacy.  When Pardubice scored, the fans would chant and ridicule Sparta.  When Sparta scored, their fans would do it right back.

And for the entire game, drum lines from both teams wailed away, the rhythm getting faster as the momentum shifted, frenetic thumping when their team scored.  Each side had a designated fan with a bullhorn that would shout instructions to chant or dance or wave flags.

So even though the game on the ice wasn’t as fast as we were used to, the show in the stands amplified the speed and energy of the game.  It was exciting and entertaining; we couldn’t help but get wrapped up in the spirit of the competition.  I’d take this any day over an NHL game where fans remain quiet in their seat until things start to go their way.

Well, I’ll take everything besides what sounded like a small bomb that went off in the Sparta Praha fan zone.  Jackie and I were the only people startled by this, so perhaps it’s a regular thing to have small explosive devices detonate in the middle of a game.

A couple other things we loved about the game in Prague:

#1.)  Tickets are cheap!  The most expensive tickets for the best seats are less than $10.

#2.)  The players shake hands after every game.  We rarely see that display of sportsmanship in the NHL — only when a playoff series ends.

#3.)  There’s a strange ceremony at the end of the game where if Sparta wins, the team stays on the ice and the hardcore fan with the bullhorn tells ‘em what a good job they did.  Then the players dive across the ice to celebrate.

Luckily, we got to see this first hand — Sparta Praha won 5-1.

Check out Sparta’s home page here.

When a pub is older than most countries in existence, you know it’s gotta be good.  U Fleků was founded in 1499 and today it remains the oldest and most popular pub and microbrewery in Prague.

Why has U Fleků lasted for over 500 years?  Because this isn’t your ordinary watering hole.

#1.)  This place is huge.  There are 8 beer halls with a capacity for 1,200 drunks.

#2.)  There isn’t a tacky jukebox where for a quarter, some jerk can buy the right to belt out an off-key rendition of Bon Jovi’s “Living On A Prayer.”  Instead, the entire hall sings and sways to the music of a live accordion player.  I had no clue what the hell I was singing, so I just made up words (which I’m pretty good at thanks to the undecipherable lyrics to any Red Hot Chili Peppers song.)

#3.)  You can only get one kind of beer here: U Fleků’s homemade dark lager.  Options are for people who have never found greatness.

When we first sat down, we weren’t greeted by a waiter.  We didn’t receive a menu.  No.  Before our butts even hit the seats, a waiter plopped down two beers right in front of us.  That’s right.  You don’t ask for a beer here.  You just get it.  They know why you’re here and they don’t waste any time getting you sloshed.  If only all things in life were this easy.

Now, I don’t want to be stripped of my man card or anything, but I’ve never been a fan of beer.  Jackie doesn’t like it much either.  American beer is like a bitter, unrefreshing soda.  And you know what they say, “if it looks like piss and smells like piss, it’s probably beer.”

But my mouth was blissfully violated by the unimaginable greatness of U Fleků’s luscious libation.  Everything changed when I took that first sip.  It was sweet.  It was smooth.  It didn’t have much carbonation.  It was kind of like drinking a doughnut.  And if there’s anything I’ve always wanted in drinkable form, it’s a doughnut.  This is the kind of beer that makes me want to take up alcoholism.

And what makes it even better is that the sweetness of the beer compliments the saltiness of the food.  By the time I was done eating, I downed three mugs.  Though, according to the ridiculous amount of out of focus photos we took of us drinking, it would appear as if we had way more.

Now that’s not to say that U Fleků doesn’t have its faults:

#1.)  It’s way more expensive than most pubs.  Our bill ran almost $60 for our meals and some drinks.

#2.)  If you think it’s free, it probably isn’t.  That basket of bread?  Yeah, that’ll cost you.  During our meal, a waiter came by and dropped off two shots of a cinnamon liquor reminiscent of Goldschläger.  We thought they were complimentary.  Turns out they were $5 a piece.

#3.)  U Fleků isn’t popular with the locals.  It’s a tourist spot all the way.  And when I say tourist spot, I mean bus stop for every single German tour bus that visits Prague.

But with such a lively atmosphere, fun music, communal tables and awesome beer, the pros outweigh the cons.  Their website is only in Czech, but take a look.

Prague is famous for its ballets, operas and marionette shows.  But its most popular form of performance art is also the most unusual: black light theater.

In black light theater, UV lights are used to pop fluorescent costumes off an infinitely black wall, creating the illusion that a performer is floating in a dark abyss.  It’s supposed to produce a trippy, hallucinogenic effect kind of like a drug, but this method is way more legal and way more safe.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t come across as cool as it sounds, which in unfortunate to report because I had high expectations for black light theater in Prague.

Yes, the techniques are inventive (objects manifest out of nowhere, performers fly into the air, the body contorts into unthinkable shapes), but the shtick wears out its welcome well before the end.  The performers don’t talk during the show; it’s all dance and acrobatic displays, so the story is rather sparse (though some would say “easy to follow”).

We went to two theaters in Prague.  The first…

Image Theater

One of the most respected black light theaters in Prague is Image Theater.  Many reports say it’s been “wowing” audiences since 1990, so we thought “The Best Of Image” show would be this mind-blowing piece of eye candy.  In reality, it was interesting, but long and monotonous.

The theater was absolutely packed the night we went, so it was very cramped and very warm (the theater can only hold a few hundred people).  When the lights came down, we were in complete darkness and a lively beat burst through the speakers.  Then the black lights turned on.  But instead of revealing bodily fluids like it was a crime scene in an episode of “CSI,” bright and unusual costumes popped out of no where as dancers rolled across the stage.  The performers danced and executed acrobatic tricks with various set pieces like hula hoops and fluorescent nets.

This process repeated itself about 10 times, with each vignette lasting about 4 or 5 minutes.  The performances didn’t have a story; it was more about showcasing costumes and interesting techniques to make it seem as if things appeared and disappeared instantly.  In between segments, two comedians performed a “Spy vs. Spy”-style act that wasn’t all that funny and got really boring, really fast.

Overall, the experience was strange and unique, but it got tiring after 2 or 3 segments.  We thought we may have hit Image on a bad night (the performers seemed a bit lackadaisical and the timing was off), so we decided to check out another theater…

Laterna Magika

I’m cheating a bit here because Laterna Magika isn’t exclusively black light theater, but it does employ many of the same techniques.  Laterna Magika is a multi-media performance that incorporates elements of dance, film, music, pantomime and black light theater.  Like other black light theaters, the performances are non-verbal and appropriate for all ages.

Shows take place in the Laterna Magika Theater, a newer construction attached to Prague’s illustrious National Theater.  The glass cube exterior promises a modern interior, but that’s not the case.  The theater was lit by hundreds of standard 60-watt lights, the stiff seats were a hideous sea foam green color and the tacky lobby looked like it belonged in Tony Montana’s mansion in “Scarface.”

We saw a show called “Wonderful Circus,” about two clowns vying for the love a woman.  It was a simple story that was needlessly long.  We though the show was over after about an hour, but everyone stayed in their seats and we realized it was only intermission.  Overall, the performance was innovative and imaginative but way too repetitious.

Props Used In "Wonderful Circus"

Black light theater is a unique, avant-garde and thoughtful, but the originality of the concept wears off pretty quickly.  If you plan on visiting Prague, I still think you should try to see one black light theater show so you can form your own conclusion (after all, it’s subjective).  There are plenty of theaters, and with healthy competition breeding the creation of new techniques, I’m sure there’s a fantastic show to be found.

The Prague Experience website also some sample pictures from Laterna Magika and Image Theater.

I’ll be honest… I had my doubts about spending New Year’s Eve in London.  It’s cold and drab in winter.  There’s always cloud cover (in every season).  The people are quiet.  The city is old-fashioned (which is code for occasionally boring).  Our holiday was destined to be uneventful.

But if you look at any New Year’s Top 10 list, London is always listed as one of the top places to visit.  So it had to be better than I expected.

We left our hotel around 9 p.m. with a simple yet well-conceived plan: follow the crowd.  A stream of people headed towards the Thames River, so we joined, not knowing where we’d end up.

A few minutes later we arrived at the Victoria Embankment, the walkway across from the London Eye, where there were already thousands of people — boisterous and intoxicated.

We picked a spot and sat down.  Then a bobby with a bullhorn yelled at us to stand back up.  The embarrassment of being publicly called out didn’t last long.  Apparently the same thing happened to our neighbors earlier, so we instantly became friends with them.  There was also a group of four young people from Brazil, as well as a husband and wife from northern England (and for some reason the wife really liked to talk about her Pagan background and brag about young men being attracted to her).

Interesting conversation made the wait fly by, even with achy, stiff legs.  The last 15 minutes of the year was a swell of excitement that continued to rise as my bladder continued to fill.  A giant countdown was projected on a building across the river, and with each passing second, the cheering got louder.

When the clock hit midnight and Big Ben chimed, the first fireworks shot off the London Eye and exploded into the surprisingly clear night sky.  The crowd erupted, hugged, kissed (some graphically), and high-fived.  But the cheers quickly faded.  And for good reason.  What followed for the next 10 minutes can only be described as…

The Best Fireworks Show We’ve Ever Seen

Every time we thought we had reached the grand finale, an even bigger and brighter display of noise and color blazed across the sky.  The fireworks came so fast and furiously, we couldn’t even take a breath.  Everyone stood in awe.  Maybe there were celebratory cheers, but the fireworks were so loud and intense, they were drowned out.

During the show, I actually feared for the safety of the London Eye.  I thought that thing was gonna crumble under the weight of the rumbling.  That’s how epic this fireworks show was.

But the oversized Ferris wheel survived.  And long after the show had ended, a buzz permeated the crowd.  Maybe the buzz was about where to go get buzzed.  But I’d like to think they were recounting the amazing scene they had just witnessed, like we were.

With major cities competing to put on the best New Year’s fireworks show, I can’t even imagine how epic next year’s display will be.

Since our time in London was limited, we didn’t go on an all-night bender to kick off the new year.  Instead, we waded out way through the crowd to get back to our hotel room, ordered some atrociously overpriced (but delicious) room service and went to bed.

The next morning, there was a New Year’s Day parade that passed directly outside of our hotel.  We didn’t stay to watch (it was nice, but it was no Rose Parade) since we were leaving London the following day and wanted to pack in as much tourism as possible.

If anyone ever has any reservations about visiting London for New Year’s, our only advice would be to absolutely visit.  There’s something for everyone’s tastes:  Big Ben chiming in the New Year, an absolutely amazing firework display, bars and thousands of partiers going all night, and a family-friendly parade touring the city the next day.

Wanna go to a place where the drinks aren’t the only thing on ice?  At the Absolut Ice Bar in London’s Piccadilly district, everything is made of ice — from the walls, to the counters, to the seats… even the cups.

It’s a little pricey (£23 Thursday – Saturday night), but it’s a memorable experience.  Plus, when you will have another chance to visit one of the only permanent ice bars in the world?

The price includes one drink during your 40-minute session (something with Absolut vodka of course), but really they should give you another drink for having to suffer wearing those hideous coats.  It’s like being in a cult run by an eccentric fashion designer.

After we got our drinks, we walked around, made friends, listened to techno remixes of Coldplay and even licked the wall to see how it tasted.  Not recommended.

Besides the unique experience, the best part about a visit to an ice bar is that it’s only temporary.  We felt cozy enough during the first half of our session, but the second half got a bit chilly.  Not to mention that the ice seats, despite being covered with tacky slabs of fur (they really need a new designer), can be a real pain the butt — literally.  We loved the experience, but we can’t fathom how some people can actually spend the night in an ice hotel.

Make reservations here.