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Don’t Drink The Water

Don't Drink The Water

I’ve left Karlovy Vary and am slowly working my way back into online existence after an intense introduction to Berlin’s nightlife this weekend, but I felt necessary to retroactively blog one little tidbit about Karlovy Vary

I could go on and on about the various uniquely Karlovy Vary elements of the festival. There’s the eclectic mix of people that populate the town during the festival that either look like wealthy Russian vacationers in their 50s and 60s or twentysomething backpackers who will juggle films and blackout drinking (one extremely drunk one somehow mistook me for Antonio Banderas when I was walking home and demanded that I hug him), and then sleep in tents in a often drenched football field. There’s the films, which I go over in this story currently running on the main site. There’s the spas offering wacky/scary sounding treatments like hydrocolon therapy and lymphnode drainage. There’s the food, which my picky habits found a bit challenging to negotiate (I also hate sour kraut), so I was essentially left eating some sort of beef-filled slop that smelt good so I bought it and once I realized I liked it refused to go out on any more limbs.

But there’s also the water. Throughout the city, there are 12 different fountains that spew out mineral water. Each is a different temperature, and each is said to have different “healing patterns.” I finally tasted it toward the end of the trip. You buy these little ceramic sippy cups and then fill them at the fountains:

The water essentially tastes like blood and pennies, and the only “power” I felt from it was two days of my own private version of the hydrocolon therapy.

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