We made it to Klenova Castle near dusk and set up camp. We parked next to two Dutch guys and right down the way from some other Americans who were driving an ice-cream truck (The Rolling Cones). We put up the tent (Thank you, Sierra Designs!), chatted a bit with our neighbors, then got into costume and headed to the party. Jessie went as a Viking, Andrew was a entomologist, Sarah was a pirate, and – with by far the most original and self-made costume – Anand was a space-man with a jetpack and a drawn-on mustache.
Klenova castle was full of revellers drinking beer, eating sausages and chicken, and listening to a progression of live bands. The party was sponsored by Hendricks gin, however the gin room was incredibly crowded and it was a push-shove-y process trying to get up to the bar to get some drinks. Sarah and Andrew managed to get a couple drinks for the Group just as the bar ran out of gin. We decided to get out of there before there was a riot. Later, we met some great guys from the Bharat Express team, and Andrew chatted with a fellow Seattlite (driving a 1982 Toyota Starlet with Washington plates).
Around 1:30 we headed back to our tent and tried to go to sleep. Andrew offered us all earplugs and in the morning we all wish we’d taken him up on his offer. Highlights of the evening include our dutch neighbors staggering back to their car where they spent a lot of time moaning loudly and drunkenly, another group of ralliers wandering around trying to figure out who spray painted their car with black paint. Over the course of about half an hour, they loudly deduced that only the owner of a black car could possibly have black spraypaint. As we were camped next to one of only two black cars, we were prime suspects. The pre-dawn interrogation through the walls of our tent went something like this:
Angry Rallier 1: Hey, hello, is this your black car?
AR1: Which one is yours, the metal one?
AR1: You sure it’s not the black one?
AR1: Where are the owners of the black one?
Angry rallier 1 is not convinced and attempts to maneuver us into a confession:
AR1: Well, if this black car doesn’t belong to the guys in the tent, I guess they won’t care if we trash it!
AR2: We can’t do th…Oh, riiiight. Yeah, let’s “trash their car”! (then lots of shouting amongst themselves in some unidentifiable language, banging on the black truck). Hey, did you spraypaint our cars?!
And later, realizing that this tightly-meshed web of intrigue has somehow failed to ensnare the culprit:
AR3: Who was it who dicked our car? AAAA! YOU FUCKING DICKERS!!!
Ah, mob justice.
Needless to say, we awoke not exactly refreshed, but certainly motivated to get out of there and get to Vienna. The aftermath of the Czechout party was pretty hilarious. Our Dutch neighbor from the black truck was sprawled across a small mattress next to the truck in his skivvies, looking much the worse for wear. Another guy passed out by the remains of the bonfire 50 meters away with his head resting uncomfortably on a log and his hands resting comfortably in his pants. Good times.