Somewhere along the way, I became friends with the owner of that wonderful tea house that infused so many of my nights and early mornings with music and laughter and a constant stream of new faces. His name is Andy and he has a gorgeous little cabin in a very well hidden settlement in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Once a year, the settlers build a large fire in the clearing and spend the night playing music and games, drinking beer and paying homage to the original settlers, who were tramps, for want of a better name.

This is the tramp fire.

In his endless kindness and hospitality, Andy invited a few of us non-settler types to experience the wonderful vibe of that evening. But it was far from home and Burt was off the road, pending some serious TLC, so it was on me to find the best way to get there. Now, for those who've known me for a while, it won't come as a shock that I didn't have internet access on my phone, so I had to make notes from the computer and take them with me on paper. Which is fine when things go to plan. Which they obviously didn't.

I checked with the driver before hauling my sleeping gear up the steps and picked a seat near the window, so I could gaze at the passing scenery. We'd be on the bus for a few hours, so snacks had been made and I was already starving. The first hour is the worst, as I tend to spend most of it thinking about how many hours I'll be on the bus. Snacks help.

After an uneventful ride, we came to a stop with the right name on it and slumped off the boiling bus to follow directions to the settlement. Naturally, they made no sense. For one thing, there was no field to turn left at. For another, there wasn't a soul in sight to ask. As much as I love the Czech villages, they really need to stop recycling names, because people like me just can't get a break. It was about this time that my traveling tramp fire companion decided to use her limited data plan to get help. An excellent plan. I was stoked. Soon, we'd be sitting by the fire with the musicians, having a jolly old time.

"Yeaaahh..."
I always love this kind of start to a sentence. It means I've done an epic job with the directions. I eyebrowed the 'go on' signal.
"We're further away now than when we started."

Hm.
That was quite a long way from what I'd wanted to hear, but not as far as we were from where we'd wanted to go. We had only one choice. We'd wait for the next bus and go all the way back and start again. And the 90 minute wait passed quickly and without finger pointing.

When we got back to where we started, already tired and peeved like you can only imagine, the next job was finding the right bus. Good news! The next one's tomorrow!

Determined not to let this be what we did today, we eventually concluded that a car rental was the only way. Now, for those who knew me for a while, it won't shock you that this was nowhere in my budget. But we committed, all the same, with the future Burtwoman coughing up the cheddar. Stop judging. I paid her back less than a year later and let her use the prestigious Burtwoman name.

We rented a car. It was a classy little compact number with bicycle wheels and a dashboard from ikea. But it was a fun journey and the whole thing gave us photo ops and this little story right here.

Scenery you can't shake a stick at.

I'd say we followed signs and got directly to our destination, but that would be ignoring this little part.

Turns out, the Citigo is not an off-road explorer, even if I am.

When we did finally arrive, we took my old tent and set it up by the stream, then got to making a cuppa and watching the fire master get busy with a pile of logs. I made a point of mentioning the uneven ground, so the tea wouldn't get knocked over, and then, not five seconds later, forgot about it and knocked it over myself. Luckily, future Burtwoman didn't rub it in at the time, nor years later, whenever I would mention her now-famous tea spillages.

I fell in love with Andy's cabin at once.

As the night grew loud and the people grew jolly, I snuck a few shots over shoulders and under cover of darkness, so as to capture the authentic moments without disturbing them. We basked in the flames that lit and heated every face, and listened as the songs belted out above the roaring and crackling.

The fire grew tall and the fire master knew no fear.

Music rang out into the night, into the forest, and into our memories.

My old friend.

Some potential new friends and a night that's not leaving me soon.

The village pub kept the beer flowing and heaped in a little extra atmosphere.

As the intensity of the flames gave way to the peace of the shallow stream, we awoke the next morning to find ourselves almost completely alone. The settlers had gone back to their cabins and the fire was but ashes in a gray heap.

Left with the smoke.

Somebody had to come back for these.

The trickling stream that runs alongside the settlement provided a refreshing dip.

All told, the tramp fire was a night to remember and we are thankful to our friends and hosts for inviting us to such an intimate and special night.