About two months before I move, I began my bi-yearly ritual of packing up all my stuff to be shipped to my new country of residence. Each country has its own unique postal problem, some more acute than others. The trick is knowing what items will be flagged by customs inspectors and lead to the detainment of your contraband.
In Norway, for example, you won’t have too many problems in terms of contents, but the practice of just leaving your package on your door step or with a perfect stranger that lives in your building is an issue. Luckily, Norwegians are quite trustworthy people and you’ll probably get your stuff somehow. In Korea, it’s virtually impossible to find a full service post office to send your package from, but getting a package delivered- no problem, this is a country of people who love buying things, including online purchases (Koreans are the ultimate consumers) so the infrastructire is firmly in place top handle the demand. It also helps that people work longer hours, so you might even be home when they try to deliver you something, if you aren’t as lucky as I was, and have a door man that would sign for packages for the tenants and bring it up to you himself! In Czech Republic, the problem is the post office itself. It is easily the most confusing place on earth, so many windows that only do very specific tasks and an arsenal of documents and signatures are always required to do anything! I actually have to bring my passport in order to pick up my mail, a receipt and ID card? -you say. “Not enough”, not on the Czech postal army’s watch!
Despite the inherent unpleasantness of going to the Czech post office, something happened the other day that was out of character for them. I got a notice to pick up a large letter from the package window at the main Pardubice post office. When I went to the post office, with my friend Mila, to translate, we selected our queuing number “455” from the many, many options on the automated ticket distributing machine. We nestled into the comfy chairs speculating how horribly complicated picking up this thing would be. When it was finally our turn, it was a package that I assumed would never arrive as it was a birthday gift from Norway, that was addressed completely incoherently; the house number was where the postal code should have been, there was in fact no postal code anywhere, nor return address. About the only think correct information listed was my name and the country- yet, they found me! I was quite surprised, especially since the last package I received (which was addressed correctly) was a month late and was completely broken, dripping and moldy! Then there was the time they charged me $40 USD in tax for a used blanket that I had sent from the US, apparently there is a heftly flat tax on anything called “a blanket”. I was received a similar bill when my mom sent me some coffee. Based on the tenuous relationship I have had thus far with the Czech post office, they have redeemed themselves slightly as a result of their extra effort to get me my birthday care package.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
The Idiocracy that is the Czech Grocery Store
When I lived in USA, I used to romanticize the notion grocery shopping in Europe. I imagined pedaling my bike while wearing heals and fitted skirt confidently to the local shop (my stereotype of Europeans was that they even bicycled fashionably). I would pick up freshly baked bread everyday, then maybe get fresh flowers from an old woman, who would say hello and tell me in broken English that I looked lovely and should eat more, because I’m too thin! Then I’d go to the green grocer and the proprietor would also be really welcoming, and jovially recommend the best papayas while musing in amazement as to why I don't have a boyfriend, and how lucky that guy would be. (I said it was fantasy right?) *sigh* papayas,in Czech Republic, lol.
So, let's talk about reality. The worst day of my life is every time I have to go to the grocery store in the Czech Republic. If you were to compile every moment I have spent in the check-out line of Penny, Bila, Albert, and don’t even get me started on the rude A-holes at the Czech Tescos; then together that is pretty much the worst day(s) I can imagine! I have completely altered my shopping habits as a result of this unpleasant procedure. I have come up with some basic rules which make the process a bit easier:
1. Never get a trolley/ cart; it requires that I remember to always have a ten crown coin with me, and since the toilet also costs ten crowns it’s really hard to keep those coins in stock! I don't like to get my hopes up, only to discover I haven't got the correct coin. However, this is not a big switch in lifestyle for me, not using carts/trolleys that is. I have never believed is using those things, those are for families! I would never want to be mistaken for being anything other than an ultra-hip swinging single when I shop. I love the feeling of walking past some mom with two screaming kids, cart full of baby formula and diapers, with my bottle of wine, and frozen pizza, bypassing her b-lining it to the check-out, if condoms were widely sold at the grocery stores here, it would be even more of a statement to include them as one of my purchases. That's a non-verbal statement I'd be proud to make openly in that scenario.
2. Target quantities 6: 10 items or less if I have a basket, but even baskets can be a burden, and just make me spend more money. Czech stores never have enough baskets to go around, so I have learned to live without them. It’s an effective way to generate pity, when you have an armful of items you're laboring around the store, while the other shoppers lazy asses are just pushing ‘n browsing like there at the art gallery. I have figured out that I can sustain myself on six items. For example 1. Eggs (breakfast) 2. Yogurt or cottage cheese (breakfast compliment or snack) 3. Bread (I’m of Norwegian heritage, so according to my people bread can be two entire meals right there!) 4/5. Grape tomatoes and green olives (they function as ingrediants but they can stand on their own too). 6. Hodge-podge; maybe pasta, or cheese, tomato beans or kidney beans, fruit, a bar of Milka, but usually just a bottle of wine. That’s really all you actually need, since central Europeans eat hot lunch either in the canteen at work, or at a local café, you don’t need meat, nor do you really need to cook, just some light dinner snack will suffice most of the time. I will admit, Don Delillo made an impression on me when his protagonist in White Noise described grocery shopping as a religious rejuvenating experience, interesting idea. However, I have never found nirvana or anything close to that under florescent lights nestled between the dog food and frozen carrots.
3. Avoid the 5 o’clock shop: This is probably common sense and true in all countries, but I will say it anyway, as it’s an especially acute problem in Europe where store actually run out of staples like bread and fresh vegetables. An additional issue is Czech’s actually eat dinner at home with their families, and most of the time, someone actually cooks this dinner. A novel concept, I thought this was just a myth growing up that mother’s prepared meals for their family and they sat down and ate it… together. I have a mothers that doesn’t believe cooking is something that should be done more than once a week or for other people besides herself, except on a really special occasions. Thus, I don’t cook, not that I don’t know how, I’m actually a pretty good cook, but I’ve got no one to impress, so I’m happy with eating a bowl of tomatoes, olives and kidney beans- and calling it a meal (I am not joking, I eat this on average 4 days a week and totally love it!)
4. Select your check out line carefully: The shortest line is not always the best choice for expediency. Czechs are loyal shoppers, they go to the same store 3-4 times a week minimum, you can trust their judgement on this one, they know which clerk is fast and nice, and which old bag will smell terrible and yell at you, in addition to being slow. So if you see one queue with 2 people and another with 4, you should investigate the reason for this before committing to the short line. I usually regret just getting in the shortest line.
5. Organize your shopping on the conveyer belt: Bear in mind that the check -out bitch is not going to help you in any way, and since you have to bag your own groceries, make it easier for yourself, spread out your items in the order you want her/ him to ring them up (i.e. heavy stuff first, bread and chips last) Another key, is if you have forgotten to bring your own bag, make sure that it is the first thing in the row, it will completely stunt your bagging progress if the bag is at the end of the conveyer belt. Then you’ll get yelled at, for bagging to slow, and holding up the line. For those that cannot imagine the problem, think about what a grocery store looks like in your country. In most countries there is a space for the checker to slide you groceries to after they have done their weighing and beeping. In Eastern Europe and CZ, they don’t have this area! After the beeping and weighing your item basically falls off the end onto the floor if you aren’t ready to put them somewhere. It’s like birthing a baby, or being a baseball catcher, it’s really stressful because you want to organize your bag properly but the if you grew up in a country where some pimple faced high school kid does this for you; you don’t have the training to do this job, let alone quickly! I have studied how Czechs do this in utter amazement, they are so fast! Old people and foreigner just put everything back in the cart/trolley/ basket then use this little side counter to reorganize, but that just seems silly to me, what a waste of time! So I mentally pump myself up when I’m in line, strategizing how to tackle the bagging. This is why in instated rule #2, it solves the problem usually.
6. Weigh your Fruit and Veg: I almost forgot! In the US we have a scale in the fruit section, but I always thought it was just for cheap bastards that were pinching pennies or didn't trust that the cashier would enter the correct weight/ price. I have never actually used it in the US. In Europe, it actually has a really important function! For my American readers; this will shock you! In CZ, if you don't remember to weigh your own fruit and veg, then tag it with the appropriate bar code; they won't let you buy it! I know...a store that WILL NOT LET YOU GIVE THEM MONEY- I had never heard of such a thing either untril I came here. I still haven't really come to terms with the concept that sometimes clerks won't take your money simply because it's too much trouble for them, the result is you either can't have the item, or other times you get it for free. One time I forgot to weigh and tag a bag of oranges, the old wench store clerk snatched the oranged from my pile of purchases and tossed them in the go-backs pile. Nope, I had missed my opportunity- no oranges for me, and no second chances! Then she gave me a really annoyed look as if she were fed up with my games, and hadn't the time for my igornace. Can you imagine such a scenario ever happening in the US that didn't result in the woman immediately being fired, and me getting my oranges and a huge appology from the store manager?! Me either.
Maybe I should submit this blog entry to grocery stores; it wouldn’t change anything, but might make them laugh. If I managed a grocery store, and I knew that for foreigners, shopping at my store was the worst day of their life that might have an impact on me.
So, let's talk about reality. The worst day of my life is every time I have to go to the grocery store in the Czech Republic. If you were to compile every moment I have spent in the check-out line of Penny, Bila, Albert, and don’t even get me started on the rude A-holes at the Czech Tescos; then together that is pretty much the worst day(s) I can imagine! I have completely altered my shopping habits as a result of this unpleasant procedure. I have come up with some basic rules which make the process a bit easier:
1. Never get a trolley/ cart; it requires that I remember to always have a ten crown coin with me, and since the toilet also costs ten crowns it’s really hard to keep those coins in stock! I don't like to get my hopes up, only to discover I haven't got the correct coin. However, this is not a big switch in lifestyle for me, not using carts/trolleys that is. I have never believed is using those things, those are for families! I would never want to be mistaken for being anything other than an ultra-hip swinging single when I shop. I love the feeling of walking past some mom with two screaming kids, cart full of baby formula and diapers, with my bottle of wine, and frozen pizza, bypassing her b-lining it to the check-out, if condoms were widely sold at the grocery stores here, it would be even more of a statement to include them as one of my purchases. That's a non-verbal statement I'd be proud to make openly in that scenario.
2. Target quantities 6: 10 items or less if I have a basket, but even baskets can be a burden, and just make me spend more money. Czech stores never have enough baskets to go around, so I have learned to live without them. It’s an effective way to generate pity, when you have an armful of items you're laboring around the store, while the other shoppers lazy asses are just pushing ‘n browsing like there at the art gallery. I have figured out that I can sustain myself on six items. For example 1. Eggs (breakfast) 2. Yogurt or cottage cheese (breakfast compliment or snack) 3. Bread (I’m of Norwegian heritage, so according to my people bread can be two entire meals right there!) 4/5. Grape tomatoes and green olives (they function as ingrediants but they can stand on their own too). 6. Hodge-podge; maybe pasta, or cheese, tomato beans or kidney beans, fruit, a bar of Milka, but usually just a bottle of wine. That’s really all you actually need, since central Europeans eat hot lunch either in the canteen at work, or at a local café, you don’t need meat, nor do you really need to cook, just some light dinner snack will suffice most of the time. I will admit, Don Delillo made an impression on me when his protagonist in White Noise described grocery shopping as a religious rejuvenating experience, interesting idea. However, I have never found nirvana or anything close to that under florescent lights nestled between the dog food and frozen carrots.
3. Avoid the 5 o’clock shop: This is probably common sense and true in all countries, but I will say it anyway, as it’s an especially acute problem in Europe where store actually run out of staples like bread and fresh vegetables. An additional issue is Czech’s actually eat dinner at home with their families, and most of the time, someone actually cooks this dinner. A novel concept, I thought this was just a myth growing up that mother’s prepared meals for their family and they sat down and ate it… together. I have a mothers that doesn’t believe cooking is something that should be done more than once a week or for other people besides herself, except on a really special occasions. Thus, I don’t cook, not that I don’t know how, I’m actually a pretty good cook, but I’ve got no one to impress, so I’m happy with eating a bowl of tomatoes, olives and kidney beans- and calling it a meal (I am not joking, I eat this on average 4 days a week and totally love it!)
4. Select your check out line carefully: The shortest line is not always the best choice for expediency. Czechs are loyal shoppers, they go to the same store 3-4 times a week minimum, you can trust their judgement on this one, they know which clerk is fast and nice, and which old bag will smell terrible and yell at you, in addition to being slow. So if you see one queue with 2 people and another with 4, you should investigate the reason for this before committing to the short line. I usually regret just getting in the shortest line.
5. Organize your shopping on the conveyer belt: Bear in mind that the check -out bitch is not going to help you in any way, and since you have to bag your own groceries, make it easier for yourself, spread out your items in the order you want her/ him to ring them up (i.e. heavy stuff first, bread and chips last) Another key, is if you have forgotten to bring your own bag, make sure that it is the first thing in the row, it will completely stunt your bagging progress if the bag is at the end of the conveyer belt. Then you’ll get yelled at, for bagging to slow, and holding up the line. For those that cannot imagine the problem, think about what a grocery store looks like in your country. In most countries there is a space for the checker to slide you groceries to after they have done their weighing and beeping. In Eastern Europe and CZ, they don’t have this area! After the beeping and weighing your item basically falls off the end onto the floor if you aren’t ready to put them somewhere. It’s like birthing a baby, or being a baseball catcher, it’s really stressful because you want to organize your bag properly but the if you grew up in a country where some pimple faced high school kid does this for you; you don’t have the training to do this job, let alone quickly! I have studied how Czechs do this in utter amazement, they are so fast! Old people and foreigner just put everything back in the cart/trolley/ basket then use this little side counter to reorganize, but that just seems silly to me, what a waste of time! So I mentally pump myself up when I’m in line, strategizing how to tackle the bagging. This is why in instated rule #2, it solves the problem usually.
6. Weigh your Fruit and Veg: I almost forgot! In the US we have a scale in the fruit section, but I always thought it was just for cheap bastards that were pinching pennies or didn't trust that the cashier would enter the correct weight/ price. I have never actually used it in the US. In Europe, it actually has a really important function! For my American readers; this will shock you! In CZ, if you don't remember to weigh your own fruit and veg, then tag it with the appropriate bar code; they won't let you buy it! I know...a store that WILL NOT LET YOU GIVE THEM MONEY- I had never heard of such a thing either untril I came here. I still haven't really come to terms with the concept that sometimes clerks won't take your money simply because it's too much trouble for them, the result is you either can't have the item, or other times you get it for free. One time I forgot to weigh and tag a bag of oranges, the old wench store clerk snatched the oranged from my pile of purchases and tossed them in the go-backs pile. Nope, I had missed my opportunity- no oranges for me, and no second chances! Then she gave me a really annoyed look as if she were fed up with my games, and hadn't the time for my igornace. Can you imagine such a scenario ever happening in the US that didn't result in the woman immediately being fired, and me getting my oranges and a huge appology from the store manager?! Me either.
Maybe I should submit this blog entry to grocery stores; it wouldn’t change anything, but might make them laugh. If I managed a grocery store, and I knew that for foreigners, shopping at my store was the worst day of their life that might have an impact on me.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Vino Vino Vino!
It's the most wonderful time of the year, if you live in Pardubice and you are a big lush; yes, the last weekend in August is the Pardubicky Festival Vina (The Pardubice Wine Festival). This annual event starts Friday afternoon and runs until Saturday afternoon, with a short pause for sleep. The Old Square is packed with local wine growers and vendors selling their best bottles and hosting tastings. There is a band stand, and a separate special tasting that runs until 6pm inside the Chateau. I was told that in years past even the fountains were filled with wine!(I understand this was stopped because Czech just drank "the decorative fountain", rather than spending money at the festival proper).
My company is a sponsor so employees receive free entrance and tasting tokens. I meet up with a colleague and her friend at the entrance, and we went on a hunt for our companies VIP party, we saw everyone up on the second floor balcony, but couldn’t figure out how to get there. We tried many doors, until finally another colleague came and got us. (It was not obvious, and we were sober at that point). We had some food and a couple drinks with our colleagues, but they were all drinking dry white wine- yuck. We decided to set out to find the award winning wines, and taste the most expensive wines we could find. We meandered among the French, Slovenia to Austria rooms and on to the Chilean wines; drinking and sampling all the way. Stopping briefly to buy some delicious cheese to clense the pallete, and down stairs to try New Zealand wine, all in an hour’s time! I spent every token! We actually hide behind one of the booths with some friends we had meet at one of the Chilean booth, as it was passed last call, we squatted behind the booth, and sample a few more bottles, until security tracked us down and shuffled us toward the square.
On the way we got to chatting with various festival goers, a conversation exchange that occurred with much ease as everyone was sloshed. We all made empty promises to each other and declared that we would see each other in the square; promises immediately forgotten along with names, the moment we went our separate ways. My colleagues and I needed to make a stop at the other work party where we heard there was a lot of good food. The way it worked out we ended up spending the rest of the night there and never even made it to the main square festivities. I understand the party continued after I called it quits at midnight. Apparently many others ended up at a dance club until the wee hours of the morning. I, however, woke up feeling remarkably okay, and even went jogging this morning. I was the only person in Pardubice that felt that way I presume, based on the fact that I was the sole runner on the normally high traffic trail.
If you plan to visit Pardubice, I highly reccomend planning your trip around the last weekend in August.
My company is a sponsor so employees receive free entrance and tasting tokens. I meet up with a colleague and her friend at the entrance, and we went on a hunt for our companies VIP party, we saw everyone up on the second floor balcony, but couldn’t figure out how to get there. We tried many doors, until finally another colleague came and got us. (It was not obvious, and we were sober at that point). We had some food and a couple drinks with our colleagues, but they were all drinking dry white wine- yuck. We decided to set out to find the award winning wines, and taste the most expensive wines we could find. We meandered among the French, Slovenia to Austria rooms and on to the Chilean wines; drinking and sampling all the way. Stopping briefly to buy some delicious cheese to clense the pallete, and down stairs to try New Zealand wine, all in an hour’s time! I spent every token! We actually hide behind one of the booths with some friends we had meet at one of the Chilean booth, as it was passed last call, we squatted behind the booth, and sample a few more bottles, until security tracked us down and shuffled us toward the square.
On the way we got to chatting with various festival goers, a conversation exchange that occurred with much ease as everyone was sloshed. We all made empty promises to each other and declared that we would see each other in the square; promises immediately forgotten along with names, the moment we went our separate ways. My colleagues and I needed to make a stop at the other work party where we heard there was a lot of good food. The way it worked out we ended up spending the rest of the night there and never even made it to the main square festivities. I understand the party continued after I called it quits at midnight. Apparently many others ended up at a dance club until the wee hours of the morning. I, however, woke up feeling remarkably okay, and even went jogging this morning. I was the only person in Pardubice that felt that way I presume, based on the fact that I was the sole runner on the normally high traffic trail.
If you plan to visit Pardubice, I highly reccomend planning your trip around the last weekend in August.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Life in the Village: a trip to the cottage
When I signed my contract to work in Czech Republic, the language and cultural barriers were less of a concern than my feelings about living in a small town (a populous of only 100,000 less than 1/5 the size of where I had been living previously) What comforted me was that it was only an hour outside of Prague, so I figured I could still easily escape to Prague if i caught small-town-fever. I certainly had a “what am I getting myself into” feeling when I drove through the countryside on my way to town the first time, but was pleasantly surprised at the liveliness of old town once I arrived and settled in.
One of the more confounding conversations I regularly have with Czechs at work or around town is their curious weekend activities. I would estimate that one in two report that they spend their weekends at their cottage in the village, this confused me, because as far as I was concerned, we were ALREADY IN The VILLAGE! I would laugh to myself when people would say they needed to escape the hustle and bustle of city life, just as I was planning a weekend excursion TO THE CITY, to escape the doldrums of our little city, which insiently gets progressively less exciting come Saturday night. This odd proclivity toward village life runs deep in the Czech Republic, and is not limited to East Bohemia; it has its roots to Communist times.
During the occupations, the Czechs were not able to travel or cross borders easily if at all. So they had to find alternate way to keep themselves entertained within their own borders. Another immense loss to the Czech lifestyle steaming from this time was the decline of the family garden, a long standing valued tradition amongst Czechs. Since everyone had to work by law, this meant there weren't enough jobs in the countryside, so people had no choice but to relocate to the cities. To accommodate the influx of workers, the “commie blocks” sprung up. The skyline of every city and town throughout Czech Republic is now dominated by these ugly concrete high-rises just beyond the city center (I live in one myself). It is unusual to find a Czech that is proud to live in one such block, most just accept that it is inevitable if you wish or need to live in a city, but most are quick to tell you they spend their weekends at the cottage. The cottage requires constant upkeep and most Czech have ongoing projects at their cottage, usually general improvements or repairs, and gardening. Much like Africans count their wealth interms of how many children they have; Czechs measure wealth in terms of how many fruit trees they have. These gardening commitments ensure that they are at the cottage every spare moment.
The idea of the cottage is fascinating to me. Americans consider a weekend home a luxury that few can afford, to Czech's it normal and middle class to have a cottage. As far as weekends go, I love a low-key Friday dinner out with friends and an exciting Saturday night out til dawn, followed by a good solid lie-in on Sunday, so the idea of packing up and heading out to the cottage to garden and do home repair doesn’t sound like a fun weekend to me! When you consider the fact that many of these cottages don’t have plumbing, or electricity, I find myself completely perplexed at what draws people there. It sounds more like a punishment than something anyone in their right mind would do out of their own freewill; but that is the Czech mentality.
I had to find out more. In mid July there was a killer heatwave which lasted more than a week, at one point I actually flinched when I brushed against the exterior-facing wall of my flat, the concrete was hot…inside! There was only one thing to do, I had to get out of the city, without air-conditioning, there was no way I could bear to be in my flat a moment longer. A lovely Czech friend of my had extended an offer to stay at her cottage over the weekend with her family. If nothing else this would satisfy my curiosity about this widespread tradition. I took the local train about a million stops to the village, which in actuality was only about 20 km from my town, it just seemed far away in an un-air-conditioned crowded regional train. The first thing I thought of was that my cottage in Oregon was the lap of luxury compared to this cottage. I'm not saying it was uncomfortable, just rustic. Our cottage was really just a house in the country, this was an actual cottage, and old farm house, even the brick floor had a depression in the high traffic areas it was so old. I found that charming, and made this place intriging. The doors and windows remained open at all time, the bathroom was put in by the family, it was a big step above an outhouse, despite being outside in the former barn. The town itself was so small that it didn’t have a school, a market, or local government, the several hundred-year-old church had its door chained, and weeds threaten to completely overtake the courtyard. It did have a pub and a massage center though…odd. I enjoyed our little walk around town the air was nice and clean, and it was much cooler since it had just rained.
“What’s next?” I kept asking, confused about what I should be doing the whole time, once we had taken a walk, and eaten something, I really didn’t know what to do. Not to mention, the electricity kept going out due to the passing rain storm. We all did some reading (when the power was on), which reminded me of my summers in Oregon. “What’s next?” We played some cards, which I admit was pretty fun, as I rarely have time or an opponent for such activities. “What’s next?” We ate again. “What’s next?” We watched a film. It was raining most of the weekend so, I assume our options were somewhat limited, or were they? I really had no idea what to do with myself; napping sounded good, but I thought that might be perceived as rude. I also found myself feeling really bad that my friend’s mom was doing so much cooking and cleaning, I offered to help; besides it being something to do, I really felt like I needed to help out. I’m not used to being waited on; this would never happen in my own house growing up, or even nowadays when I visit my family, it’s always a do-it-yourself meal plan (my mom generally doesn’t cook...at least anything that anyone but her would want to eat).
I really hoped that I would have a greater understanding and sense about this local custom after my weekend at the cottage, but I think I might be even more confused. I am so happy I had the experience, but I think it’s unlikely that I’ll seek that sort of entertainment again if there isn’t some sort of regiment of planned activities that includes a hike somewhere of an opportunity to try something that I can’t do at home more comfortably.
One of the more confounding conversations I regularly have with Czechs at work or around town is their curious weekend activities. I would estimate that one in two report that they spend their weekends at their cottage in the village, this confused me, because as far as I was concerned, we were ALREADY IN The VILLAGE! I would laugh to myself when people would say they needed to escape the hustle and bustle of city life, just as I was planning a weekend excursion TO THE CITY, to escape the doldrums of our little city, which insiently gets progressively less exciting come Saturday night. This odd proclivity toward village life runs deep in the Czech Republic, and is not limited to East Bohemia; it has its roots to Communist times.
During the occupations, the Czechs were not able to travel or cross borders easily if at all. So they had to find alternate way to keep themselves entertained within their own borders. Another immense loss to the Czech lifestyle steaming from this time was the decline of the family garden, a long standing valued tradition amongst Czechs. Since everyone had to work by law, this meant there weren't enough jobs in the countryside, so people had no choice but to relocate to the cities. To accommodate the influx of workers, the “commie blocks” sprung up. The skyline of every city and town throughout Czech Republic is now dominated by these ugly concrete high-rises just beyond the city center (I live in one myself). It is unusual to find a Czech that is proud to live in one such block, most just accept that it is inevitable if you wish or need to live in a city, but most are quick to tell you they spend their weekends at the cottage. The cottage requires constant upkeep and most Czech have ongoing projects at their cottage, usually general improvements or repairs, and gardening. Much like Africans count their wealth interms of how many children they have; Czechs measure wealth in terms of how many fruit trees they have. These gardening commitments ensure that they are at the cottage every spare moment.
The idea of the cottage is fascinating to me. Americans consider a weekend home a luxury that few can afford, to Czech's it normal and middle class to have a cottage. As far as weekends go, I love a low-key Friday dinner out with friends and an exciting Saturday night out til dawn, followed by a good solid lie-in on Sunday, so the idea of packing up and heading out to the cottage to garden and do home repair doesn’t sound like a fun weekend to me! When you consider the fact that many of these cottages don’t have plumbing, or electricity, I find myself completely perplexed at what draws people there. It sounds more like a punishment than something anyone in their right mind would do out of their own freewill; but that is the Czech mentality.
I had to find out more. In mid July there was a killer heatwave which lasted more than a week, at one point I actually flinched when I brushed against the exterior-facing wall of my flat, the concrete was hot…inside! There was only one thing to do, I had to get out of the city, without air-conditioning, there was no way I could bear to be in my flat a moment longer. A lovely Czech friend of my had extended an offer to stay at her cottage over the weekend with her family. If nothing else this would satisfy my curiosity about this widespread tradition. I took the local train about a million stops to the village, which in actuality was only about 20 km from my town, it just seemed far away in an un-air-conditioned crowded regional train. The first thing I thought of was that my cottage in Oregon was the lap of luxury compared to this cottage. I'm not saying it was uncomfortable, just rustic. Our cottage was really just a house in the country, this was an actual cottage, and old farm house, even the brick floor had a depression in the high traffic areas it was so old. I found that charming, and made this place intriging. The doors and windows remained open at all time, the bathroom was put in by the family, it was a big step above an outhouse, despite being outside in the former barn. The town itself was so small that it didn’t have a school, a market, or local government, the several hundred-year-old church had its door chained, and weeds threaten to completely overtake the courtyard. It did have a pub and a massage center though…odd. I enjoyed our little walk around town the air was nice and clean, and it was much cooler since it had just rained.
“What’s next?” I kept asking, confused about what I should be doing the whole time, once we had taken a walk, and eaten something, I really didn’t know what to do. Not to mention, the electricity kept going out due to the passing rain storm. We all did some reading (when the power was on), which reminded me of my summers in Oregon. “What’s next?” We played some cards, which I admit was pretty fun, as I rarely have time or an opponent for such activities. “What’s next?” We ate again. “What’s next?” We watched a film. It was raining most of the weekend so, I assume our options were somewhat limited, or were they? I really had no idea what to do with myself; napping sounded good, but I thought that might be perceived as rude. I also found myself feeling really bad that my friend’s mom was doing so much cooking and cleaning, I offered to help; besides it being something to do, I really felt like I needed to help out. I’m not used to being waited on; this would never happen in my own house growing up, or even nowadays when I visit my family, it’s always a do-it-yourself meal plan (my mom generally doesn’t cook...at least anything that anyone but her would want to eat).
I really hoped that I would have a greater understanding and sense about this local custom after my weekend at the cottage, but I think I might be even more confused. I am so happy I had the experience, but I think it’s unlikely that I’ll seek that sort of entertainment again if there isn’t some sort of regiment of planned activities that includes a hike somewhere of an opportunity to try something that I can’t do at home more comfortably.
Life in the Village: PROLOGUE
I grew up in the suburbs of Los Angeles, the town(s) I lived in were on the small side (assuming you consider populations of 80- 100,000 small), but when you consider that I was insolated if not surrounded by a 50 miles stretch on almost all sides of urban sprawl with no open space in between, you can hardly call this living outside The City. As a young adult I was on a quest to relocate closer to the action, a fairly normal practice for people my age. Indeed, I am a city girl at heart, even though I love nature and being outside, I just don’t know how to function in small towns.
When I was a kid, we had, well still technically have, a cottage in coastal Oregon. It wasn’t huge, but nice, each of us had our own room, and the house sat on a half acre of land, so there was plenty of space to run around in our little forest, although one had to be mindful of the poison ivy patches. The beach was 10 minutes away by car, (bear in mind it was an Oregon beach, so it was usually overcast and freezing), there were a couple kids around, but every activity they suggested we do, seemed like a cruel joke to me. The mere suggestion of trying to trap woodland creatures for no apparent reason led me to help my dad organize the garage, rather than join the local kids on their bizarre “fun” adventures. Yes, I pretty much hated it there. After a few days, I was bored out of my mind, so bored in fact that my preferred task was getting a jump start on my summer reading list for school. I regularly knocked out two books a week, and this coming from the world's least motivated student! My favorite activities included going to the costume store and trying on funny outfits, getting a meatball sub, at “The Sandwich Station” followed by a float from the old school A&W root beer stand, but these hubs for fun were in town proper, almost 20 minutes away by car! In lieu of a ride to town, I had to settle for walking to the local mercantile; located in a log cabin along the main road. In this shop you could get all manner of sundries, and you could rent films! There wasn’t much of a selection, but they did have the Lost Boys, which had just been released on VHS, my favorite movie at the time. I rented it over and over! If I were to have written one of those first week back to school English essays about my summer, it would have read like this: I spent my summer playing horse shoes with my dad, until I lost the horse’s shoes in the poison ivy ravine at the base of the forest. Therefore, I began practicing archery, until I lost all the arrows in the poison ivy ravine at the base of the forest. After that, I switched to darts; until those too were gobbled up by the poison ivy ravine at the base of the forest. Later in the summer I wised-up, avoiding the middle-man, my brother and I just hit golf balls into the poison ivy ravine. Once I had exhausted our family’s supply of airborne sporting objects; I read the entire Sweet Valley High canon, watched Lost Boys more times than the film's editors, and counted the days until I could return to LA. The End.
I offer this preface to give the reader an idea of my point of reference when it comes to talking about villages, and villagers. Am I a city snob? Without question. Am I biased? Absolutely. Am I ashamed of my blanket judgments on village life and villager? Well not entirely, because there is some truth to every stereotype, and it's no as if I'm malevolent towards the village existence, I envy villager; I envy the simplicity in which they live; their ties to their community and their sense of self and purpose is admirable, but that doesn't mean I understand it.
When I was a kid, we had, well still technically have, a cottage in coastal Oregon. It wasn’t huge, but nice, each of us had our own room, and the house sat on a half acre of land, so there was plenty of space to run around in our little forest, although one had to be mindful of the poison ivy patches. The beach was 10 minutes away by car, (bear in mind it was an Oregon beach, so it was usually overcast and freezing), there were a couple kids around, but every activity they suggested we do, seemed like a cruel joke to me. The mere suggestion of trying to trap woodland creatures for no apparent reason led me to help my dad organize the garage, rather than join the local kids on their bizarre “fun” adventures. Yes, I pretty much hated it there. After a few days, I was bored out of my mind, so bored in fact that my preferred task was getting a jump start on my summer reading list for school. I regularly knocked out two books a week, and this coming from the world's least motivated student! My favorite activities included going to the costume store and trying on funny outfits, getting a meatball sub, at “The Sandwich Station” followed by a float from the old school A&W root beer stand, but these hubs for fun were in town proper, almost 20 minutes away by car! In lieu of a ride to town, I had to settle for walking to the local mercantile; located in a log cabin along the main road. In this shop you could get all manner of sundries, and you could rent films! There wasn’t much of a selection, but they did have the Lost Boys, which had just been released on VHS, my favorite movie at the time. I rented it over and over! If I were to have written one of those first week back to school English essays about my summer, it would have read like this: I spent my summer playing horse shoes with my dad, until I lost the horse’s shoes in the poison ivy ravine at the base of the forest. Therefore, I began practicing archery, until I lost all the arrows in the poison ivy ravine at the base of the forest. After that, I switched to darts; until those too were gobbled up by the poison ivy ravine at the base of the forest. Later in the summer I wised-up, avoiding the middle-man, my brother and I just hit golf balls into the poison ivy ravine. Once I had exhausted our family’s supply of airborne sporting objects; I read the entire Sweet Valley High canon, watched Lost Boys more times than the film's editors, and counted the days until I could return to LA. The End.
I offer this preface to give the reader an idea of my point of reference when it comes to talking about villages, and villagers. Am I a city snob? Without question. Am I biased? Absolutely. Am I ashamed of my blanket judgments on village life and villager? Well not entirely, because there is some truth to every stereotype, and it's no as if I'm malevolent towards the village existence, I envy villager; I envy the simplicity in which they live; their ties to their community and their sense of self and purpose is admirable, but that doesn't mean I understand it.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Self-Help at Starbucks
When I first arrived in the Czech Republic I had a strong aversion to anything American, this meant that I protested even looking at Burger King, McDonalds, Subway, or KFC for fear that I might be mysteriously teleported home. I figured:"I moved to Europe for a reason, and I won’t let these degusting American franchises rain greasy western plight on my central European fantasy". That being said, I still, to this day, have problems ordering coffee drinks at cafes. It’s not even the language barrier, it’s that Europeans don’t seem to understand that I want way more coffee than they are willing to sell me, and that if even a drop of milk or a speck of sugar infiltrated my coffee; I will spit it out and demand a new one. Another notable difference in the relationship Americans have to coffee as compared to the Europeans is that for Americans coffee is medicinal. Many of us literally cannot function without our morning coffee. Tea drinkers may have a similar addiction, but from my perspective it really doesn’t compare with the wrath of an un-caffeinated American coffee drinker. Often I purposefully don’t drink coffee before my first class so that I can remain incoherent throughout- it makes the day go by a little faster.
I think it was back in autumn when I had to make a trip to the American Consulate in order to get something notarized. The Consulate is located in Mala Strana, a neighborhood I used to live in a few years ago, so I knew they area well, and had plans to do my business then relax at the *Hanging Coffee (see foot note) before work. The owner of The Hanging Coffee is an interesting fellow; he opens the café when he feels like it, which often has nothing to do with the posted hours. On this particular day, it was one of those days where he was there, sweeping the front walk actually, but wasn’t “open” despite it being after 10am. I asked when he would be open, he said “maybe 11:00”. I can’t really take chances when it comes to getting my coffee fix, especially when I’ve just spent an hour going through security and dealing with some of the most unhelpful consulate workers ever. My other coffee place of choice had been Café Loretta ** (see footnote) just a 2 minute walk from the Hanging Coffee, but the place had changed ownership, and I wasn’t even sure it was a café anymore.
Two strikes, still no coffee, I walked back down the hill and scoped out possible café option. Mala Strana is quite touristy as it sits nestled between Prague Castle and Old Town, this means that most of the cafes are touristy and overpriced, and I really wasn’t in the mood to hear tourists trying to read maps and argue about how to fit in a trip to the Mucha Museum, the Charles Bridge, the Segway tour of Old Town, and The Prague by Night Ghost tour, while trying to figure out if 60 koruny was a lot of money to pay for a coffee- the answer is "yes" by the way. I was working hard to stear clear of anyone wearing Croqs and money belt to try to avoid overhearing this type of conversation. I found a simi-out -of -the -way place that seemed nice enough, just as a pack of middle aged Americans passed me, bitching about Starbucks. “Oh lord, Starbucks is here too, I wouldn't be caught dead in there!” one woman exclaimed loudly as they waddled past me. Before I had time to enter café of choice, I turned and looked across the square. “Of course”, I thought, “I know exactly what to do; I can hide from these annoying tourists in plain sight!” “Starbucks!” No self-respecting American visiting Prague for the first time would step foot in that place, and no ignorant annoying American would visit Prague because they think it’s in Russia!
I confidently entered Starbucks for the first time since I had left The States, the proverbial Starbucks aroma hit me and instantaneously mentally transported me to another time and place, the male barista in his familiar green smock looked up with a big American-style smile and said…”prosim?”I was immediately pulled out of my nostalgic trance and dropped back into reality. I ordered in English…well Italian actually, it is Starbuck after all, to try to sneak back into that other world, just for a second, he understood, and went about assembling my order. Okay, that wasn't so bad I thought, so far so good. When I settled into a table near the window, I listened to conversations buzzing around me, they were in Czech, French, Spanish, Korean…no English to be heard anywhere! These patrons seemed to be students mostly and maybe a few tourists, but no American tourists, just as I had hypothesized. I sat back and enjoyed a coffee that really was “grande” not just in name. It was bitter and watery and lovely, like coffee should be. I sipped my piping hot coffee out of a paper cup with a lid and gazed out the window, it had started to rain, and again it became sadly apparent who the tourists were, they busted out their dorky hotel issued plastic parkas with pride then scurried around like ants that had lost the scent of their leader looking for shelter, while the locals simply opened an umbrella and went about their business. At that moment, I remember feeling really thankful, and not just about having never worn a plastic hotel issued parka- EVER; rather, I felt that my two worlds had seamlessly blended into one singular existance. I could still get a coffee that didn’t taste like fruity-thick-sweet-creamy-crap served in child's play tea set sized cup. And by fruity, I mean gay, yeah, I said it! European coffee is totally gay. I love the gays for dancing, shopping, gossiping, advising me regarding if I look good in certain jeans, etc., but I like my coffee straight!- Thanks. That day I learned to accept a self-definition which I had been fighting for a while. I am an American living Europe- my sensible shoes are a dead giveaway, or perhaps it was the fact that I was in Starbucks, drinking what amounts to a pot of coffee in touristy Mala Strana, but whatever. That's who I am, I'm that girl, and I'm ok with it.
**The Hanging Coffee: http://www.uzavesenyhokafe.cz/en/ The Hanging coffee has a unique tradition that had fostered loyalty among the local expat community. Upon your first visit to the hanging coffee you may be offered a free drink, paid for by another patron in the café, in return on your second visit you are asked to do the same for another newcomer. Thus, it’s a good way to meet people. On my first visit, a girl bought me a drink, I think she was Moldovan, Ukrainian or some other former soviet. I wanted to thank her, so I went over to where she was sitting and we got to chatting for a few minutes, we didn’t become best friends or anything and I was having trouble understanding her to be honest, but this gesture did keep me preaching the gospel of the Hanging Coffee for years to come. Oh, and yes, I did buy someone a coffee upon some future visit, although I think it might have been someone I already knew that had accompanied me.
**Café Loreta: Once located on the ground floor of the school I did my TESOL class in, I went this café everyday during that class. The two girls that worked there feared me, I recently learned from my friend Drew that got a bit cozy with one of the baristas after our class ended. I was always running late for class (because I am always running late generally in life) but it was physically impossible for me to handle my 9am all-day-class after being out late the night before without my morning Americano, which I ordered at a feverish pace in terrible Czech each morning. The fear factor was that I quick to scold them if I saw them reaching for the milk. I would fling my 20 koruny into the pay-tray and rush out yelling “dekuji” as I tramped up the stairs to class. The café closed at some point after I moved away, which is too bad, that place brings back good memories of people and a time that is long gone. I would like to have had a chance to revisit Loreta's, and ruminate about how full circle my life has come since that time. Now it exists only in my memory. I think it might be an ice cream shop now- I don't get excitted about ice cream, it has milk in it.
I think it was back in autumn when I had to make a trip to the American Consulate in order to get something notarized. The Consulate is located in Mala Strana, a neighborhood I used to live in a few years ago, so I knew they area well, and had plans to do my business then relax at the *Hanging Coffee (see foot note) before work. The owner of The Hanging Coffee is an interesting fellow; he opens the café when he feels like it, which often has nothing to do with the posted hours. On this particular day, it was one of those days where he was there, sweeping the front walk actually, but wasn’t “open” despite it being after 10am. I asked when he would be open, he said “maybe 11:00”. I can’t really take chances when it comes to getting my coffee fix, especially when I’ve just spent an hour going through security and dealing with some of the most unhelpful consulate workers ever. My other coffee place of choice had been Café Loretta ** (see footnote) just a 2 minute walk from the Hanging Coffee, but the place had changed ownership, and I wasn’t even sure it was a café anymore.
Two strikes, still no coffee, I walked back down the hill and scoped out possible café option. Mala Strana is quite touristy as it sits nestled between Prague Castle and Old Town, this means that most of the cafes are touristy and overpriced, and I really wasn’t in the mood to hear tourists trying to read maps and argue about how to fit in a trip to the Mucha Museum, the Charles Bridge, the Segway tour of Old Town, and The Prague by Night Ghost tour, while trying to figure out if 60 koruny was a lot of money to pay for a coffee- the answer is "yes" by the way. I was working hard to stear clear of anyone wearing Croqs and money belt to try to avoid overhearing this type of conversation. I found a simi-out -of -the -way place that seemed nice enough, just as a pack of middle aged Americans passed me, bitching about Starbucks. “Oh lord, Starbucks is here too, I wouldn't be caught dead in there!” one woman exclaimed loudly as they waddled past me. Before I had time to enter café of choice, I turned and looked across the square. “Of course”, I thought, “I know exactly what to do; I can hide from these annoying tourists in plain sight!” “Starbucks!” No self-respecting American visiting Prague for the first time would step foot in that place, and no ignorant annoying American would visit Prague because they think it’s in Russia!
I confidently entered Starbucks for the first time since I had left The States, the proverbial Starbucks aroma hit me and instantaneously mentally transported me to another time and place, the male barista in his familiar green smock looked up with a big American-style smile and said…”prosim?”I was immediately pulled out of my nostalgic trance and dropped back into reality. I ordered in English…well Italian actually, it is Starbuck after all, to try to sneak back into that other world, just for a second, he understood, and went about assembling my order. Okay, that wasn't so bad I thought, so far so good. When I settled into a table near the window, I listened to conversations buzzing around me, they were in Czech, French, Spanish, Korean…no English to be heard anywhere! These patrons seemed to be students mostly and maybe a few tourists, but no American tourists, just as I had hypothesized. I sat back and enjoyed a coffee that really was “grande” not just in name. It was bitter and watery and lovely, like coffee should be. I sipped my piping hot coffee out of a paper cup with a lid and gazed out the window, it had started to rain, and again it became sadly apparent who the tourists were, they busted out their dorky hotel issued plastic parkas with pride then scurried around like ants that had lost the scent of their leader looking for shelter, while the locals simply opened an umbrella and went about their business. At that moment, I remember feeling really thankful, and not just about having never worn a plastic hotel issued parka- EVER; rather, I felt that my two worlds had seamlessly blended into one singular existance. I could still get a coffee that didn’t taste like fruity-thick-sweet-creamy-crap served in child's play tea set sized cup. And by fruity, I mean gay, yeah, I said it! European coffee is totally gay. I love the gays for dancing, shopping, gossiping, advising me regarding if I look good in certain jeans, etc., but I like my coffee straight!- Thanks. That day I learned to accept a self-definition which I had been fighting for a while. I am an American living Europe- my sensible shoes are a dead giveaway, or perhaps it was the fact that I was in Starbucks, drinking what amounts to a pot of coffee in touristy Mala Strana, but whatever. That's who I am, I'm that girl, and I'm ok with it.
**The Hanging Coffee: http://www.uzavesenyhokafe.cz/en/ The Hanging coffee has a unique tradition that had fostered loyalty among the local expat community. Upon your first visit to the hanging coffee you may be offered a free drink, paid for by another patron in the café, in return on your second visit you are asked to do the same for another newcomer. Thus, it’s a good way to meet people. On my first visit, a girl bought me a drink, I think she was Moldovan, Ukrainian or some other former soviet. I wanted to thank her, so I went over to where she was sitting and we got to chatting for a few minutes, we didn’t become best friends or anything and I was having trouble understanding her to be honest, but this gesture did keep me preaching the gospel of the Hanging Coffee for years to come. Oh, and yes, I did buy someone a coffee upon some future visit, although I think it might have been someone I already knew that had accompanied me.
**Café Loreta: Once located on the ground floor of the school I did my TESOL class in, I went this café everyday during that class. The two girls that worked there feared me, I recently learned from my friend Drew that got a bit cozy with one of the baristas after our class ended. I was always running late for class (because I am always running late generally in life) but it was physically impossible for me to handle my 9am all-day-class after being out late the night before without my morning Americano, which I ordered at a feverish pace in terrible Czech each morning. The fear factor was that I quick to scold them if I saw them reaching for the milk. I would fling my 20 koruny into the pay-tray and rush out yelling “dekuji” as I tramped up the stairs to class. The café closed at some point after I moved away, which is too bad, that place brings back good memories of people and a time that is long gone. I would like to have had a chance to revisit Loreta's, and ruminate about how full circle my life has come since that time. Now it exists only in my memory. I think it might be an ice cream shop now- I don't get excitted about ice cream, it has milk in it.
Harvey and the Great Curtain Caper
Harvey is one of the first people I became friends with when I returned to Czech Republic. He’s a smart and worldly guy; works in the film industry, and seems pretty competent at adapting to his surroundings unlike many expats I know in Prague. However, if he were to have a handicap; it might be his Briticisms, well no, on second thought, it is not so much Briticisms- they’re just "Harveyisms". He hasn’t adapted his diet much, so despite not having a kitchen, he has figured out how to make fried chicken in a small frying pan on a hot plate. Being the suffering artist that he is, he has lowered himself to drinking store bought tea, rather than growing and drying his own tea leaves; something which he considers a normal practice. Another interesting thing about Harvey is he has method to everything he does. I guess this is not surprising coming from someone who has a story board facing his bed. Just watching him make a cup of tea in quite engrossing, because he does it the exact same way every time. I know what you're thinking; most people do things in their own kitchen the same way most of the time, but not with the mindless sameness in which Harvey carries on. Step 1: decide to make tea, take out milk from the refrigerator, and do something else for a few minutes. Step 2: grab (a) cup(s) and place it on top of the refrigerator handles facing to the right for one cup to the right and to the left if there are two cups, pour milk into cup (while asking if his guest wants milk*) and add tea bag, again carefully positioning the tag to lie against the handle. Step 3: start boiling water, go sit on sofa and watch a clip or two on YouTube or similar. Step 3: Turn off boiling kettle, wait a bit little longer, then pour into cup, and stand there casually timing the steep. Step 4: Remove tea bag and is enjoy. Perhaps this is your standard tea operating procedure too, but with Harvey, it is always this exact process, no phone call or ring of the door bell will disrupt his precision.
During the summer, Harvey and I would regularly meet Monday afternoons and have a few beers in one of the millions of beer gardens in Prague, we’d talk about this and that, mostly about things that Czechs do that piss us off, or Harvey would have long contemplations about how it is possible that some of this students had gall to ask him such stupid questions, and not be completely embarrassed for themselves. (Whoever said there is no such this as a stupid question is probably someone Harvey would think was an idiot). As the summer wore on, autumn arrived and Harvey happened to mention a conversation he had had with his land-lady, who incidentally he has a tremendous crush on, despite her being married, and being about 55+ years old. (Don't let Harvey's old-man-name confuse you, he is a spritely young 32 year old, who would definitely be carded in the US). Perhaps because Harvey has this boyish crush on his land-lady, he doesn’t really manage to be very assertive nor effective when it comes to getting things fixed in the flat. He told me that all summer he has been going crazy with the early morning sunlight. His flat has great big windows, a voyeurs dream, since they seemly lacked any sort of window coverings, but terrible for getting a full night sleep. This was a point on contention for Harvey, so whenever he passed his land-lady he would tell her he needed curtains! She would reply there are curtains. There were these lacey sheaths that cover the length of the window, but they provided no respite from light or anything really. He continued pleading with this woman and her husband every time he saw them to no avail.
It was now mid-Autumn, the days were much shorter, and colder, and the issue was no longer sunlight, but heat; the windows of this 100+ year old building were drafty and a nice thick curtain would have provided some insulation. To prove how drafty it was Harvey had me stand next to the window. After a few minutes of commiserating about the draftiness, I noticed a string that was in my way, I moved it a few time out of my eye line, before asking him: “What is this?” He replied that he didn’t know, but it had always been there and he wished it weren’t. Then we looked at each other with mutual understanding and back at the string. “Pull it!” he said with a look that can only be described as sheer unabashed glee. Suddenly, a thick, dark woven curtain fell between the two panes of glass. I wonder if Harvey had had one of his students over, if they would have passed the curtain IQ test. It was a glorious day, and it still makes me laugh whenever I cross the street in the direction of Harvey’s building and see light in his windows, but nothing else, as the curtain have been permanently draw ever since.
**If you have read any of my other blogs, you probably don't require this footnote, as an illusion to my dislike of milk pops up in every post it seems. I shall say it again to be clear,I do not drink milk under any circumstances, and no not like it (Sam I am)
During the summer, Harvey and I would regularly meet Monday afternoons and have a few beers in one of the millions of beer gardens in Prague, we’d talk about this and that, mostly about things that Czechs do that piss us off, or Harvey would have long contemplations about how it is possible that some of this students had gall to ask him such stupid questions, and not be completely embarrassed for themselves. (Whoever said there is no such this as a stupid question is probably someone Harvey would think was an idiot). As the summer wore on, autumn arrived and Harvey happened to mention a conversation he had had with his land-lady, who incidentally he has a tremendous crush on, despite her being married, and being about 55+ years old. (Don't let Harvey's old-man-name confuse you, he is a spritely young 32 year old, who would definitely be carded in the US). Perhaps because Harvey has this boyish crush on his land-lady, he doesn’t really manage to be very assertive nor effective when it comes to getting things fixed in the flat. He told me that all summer he has been going crazy with the early morning sunlight. His flat has great big windows, a voyeurs dream, since they seemly lacked any sort of window coverings, but terrible for getting a full night sleep. This was a point on contention for Harvey, so whenever he passed his land-lady he would tell her he needed curtains! She would reply there are curtains. There were these lacey sheaths that cover the length of the window, but they provided no respite from light or anything really. He continued pleading with this woman and her husband every time he saw them to no avail.
It was now mid-Autumn, the days were much shorter, and colder, and the issue was no longer sunlight, but heat; the windows of this 100+ year old building were drafty and a nice thick curtain would have provided some insulation. To prove how drafty it was Harvey had me stand next to the window. After a few minutes of commiserating about the draftiness, I noticed a string that was in my way, I moved it a few time out of my eye line, before asking him: “What is this?” He replied that he didn’t know, but it had always been there and he wished it weren’t. Then we looked at each other with mutual understanding and back at the string. “Pull it!” he said with a look that can only be described as sheer unabashed glee. Suddenly, a thick, dark woven curtain fell between the two panes of glass. I wonder if Harvey had had one of his students over, if they would have passed the curtain IQ test. It was a glorious day, and it still makes me laugh whenever I cross the street in the direction of Harvey’s building and see light in his windows, but nothing else, as the curtain have been permanently draw ever since.
**If you have read any of my other blogs, you probably don't require this footnote, as an illusion to my dislike of milk pops up in every post it seems. I shall say it again to be clear,I do not drink milk under any circumstances, and no not like it (Sam I am)
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Monday Eating Riturals in Prague
You won’t hear many workers saying the following phrase, “I love Mondays”, but I do, because I work in Prague every Monday. It’s one of my easiest days, and allows me a mini-vacation of sorts. I have tried to diversify my activities each week, seeking out new restaurants for lunch or getting in some big city shopping done, and of course trying my best to keep in touch with Prague dwelling friends. Over the summer I calculated that during the tenure of this job contract I had 91 opportunities to sample different restaurants, and that was the mission, I kept it up for about two months, but then I started forming my allegiances and it was all over.
Some of My Favorite EATS:
Despite my desire to vary my Monday activities, I am a creature of habit, and my loyalties to those places and people I like best limited the scope of my Mondays. As of late one such local favorite is Himalaya; an Indian restaurant, I was introduced to by friends Holly and João; the best masala sauce I’ve ever had!Recently topped off dinner with a quick digestive walk over to the Paladium mall, where you can take an express escalator to the fantastic food court for some nice cakes, followed by a trip to the free bathroom (not many of those in Prague).
Another Monday favorite is meeting my another proud Praguer, Pia for our monthly tea and cake date at Café Café; not the most creative name, but it is everything a posh European café should, be, attractive waiters, sumptuous cakes, and over-priced but interesting hot beverages all in a classic atmosphere, black and white frame photography lines the walls and lovely deep reds and black furnishings inspire a blend of deco elegance work in tandem with the grandiose Victorian chandeliers giving it a glamorous feel. It’s a cherished monthly powwow, which I need to make the time to reinvigorate this tradition, as we have both been busy lately.
When I’m in a hurry, as a result of sleeping late, and just need a small bite before classes, I go to the Creperie across from the French Cultural Center. I have to admit, what I think I love most about it is, I never see anyone I know there, so I can be guaranteed to have some time to myself to read or just ruminate while enjoying a mushroom-spinach-ricotta crepe. The best thing about this place is they have a non-smoking section which is usually completely empty except for moi!
In the summer I have an insatiable hankering for salad, so I was thrilled when I discovered a tiny boutique hotel around the corner from work that had cheap Chicken Cesar Salad on the menu and a unique back garden that was actually partly enclosed with a giant skylight, so that even in rainy Czech summers, one can still sit "outside". The service is beyond terrible, but my need for salad overrode any service inflicted dissatisfaction I have with the experience.
If you would have asked four years ago, I would have said the best place to get a meal in Prague is Maly Buddha, the enchanting aroma of the dark cavernesk restaurant, the specialty teas, the Thai dishes in addition of Nepalese and other Southern Asian inspired gastronomy is delightful. However, they open late for lunch, so the only time I can go is dinner, and I rarely find myself in Mala Strana after work, so it just hasn’t happened. I used to eat there twice a week, this year, I’ve only eaten there once!
I was introduced to a Lebanese restaurant which I quite enjoy, despite it’s convenient location just on the river on the border of Staro mesto and Novo mesto, again, they open late so it’s rare that I make it there for a meal. One night I had some time to kill before meeting a friend, so I went there and just ordered a cup of Dahl soup and a giant bowl of tatziki with pita- a perfect meal! Sure it was a little embarrassing how much parsley found its way into crevasses in my teeth, which lead to tooth scrapping incidences the rest of the night, but it was worth it.
Last but not least, the grand old classic, which probably graces the top ten lists of most expat Prague inhabitants, The Globe book shop café. I always liked it, but usually I just went in and picked up a book or magazine and went on my marry way, but one day after picking up the latest New Yorker, I had some extra time and decided to trot over and sink into one of the velvet chairs and fip through my new read, over a filtered coffe (another difficult find), when I looked at the menu I realized they served a breakfast burrito- one of my all time favorite foods, I hadn’t had in quite a while. I assumed it would be terrible, as most Mexican food is in Europe, and by Angelino standards it was mediocre, but it still reigns supreme in terms of my first choice for brunches in Prague.
I will be taking a trip to my hometown in California in about a month, and I have already started mapping out what I want to eat as well as the can't miss restaurants I've been dreaming about since expatriating myself. Thus, I thought it an appropriate time to think back on some of the wonderful meals I've had in the Czech Republic, even if none of the above contain any Czech dishes- maybe in another blog I'll focus on my favorite Czech restaurants.
Some of My Favorite EATS:
Despite my desire to vary my Monday activities, I am a creature of habit, and my loyalties to those places and people I like best limited the scope of my Mondays. As of late one such local favorite is Himalaya; an Indian restaurant, I was introduced to by friends Holly and João; the best masala sauce I’ve ever had!Recently topped off dinner with a quick digestive walk over to the Paladium mall, where you can take an express escalator to the fantastic food court for some nice cakes, followed by a trip to the free bathroom (not many of those in Prague).
Another Monday favorite is meeting my another proud Praguer, Pia for our monthly tea and cake date at Café Café; not the most creative name, but it is everything a posh European café should, be, attractive waiters, sumptuous cakes, and over-priced but interesting hot beverages all in a classic atmosphere, black and white frame photography lines the walls and lovely deep reds and black furnishings inspire a blend of deco elegance work in tandem with the grandiose Victorian chandeliers giving it a glamorous feel. It’s a cherished monthly powwow, which I need to make the time to reinvigorate this tradition, as we have both been busy lately.
When I’m in a hurry, as a result of sleeping late, and just need a small bite before classes, I go to the Creperie across from the French Cultural Center. I have to admit, what I think I love most about it is, I never see anyone I know there, so I can be guaranteed to have some time to myself to read or just ruminate while enjoying a mushroom-spinach-ricotta crepe. The best thing about this place is they have a non-smoking section which is usually completely empty except for moi!
In the summer I have an insatiable hankering for salad, so I was thrilled when I discovered a tiny boutique hotel around the corner from work that had cheap Chicken Cesar Salad on the menu and a unique back garden that was actually partly enclosed with a giant skylight, so that even in rainy Czech summers, one can still sit "outside". The service is beyond terrible, but my need for salad overrode any service inflicted dissatisfaction I have with the experience.
If you would have asked four years ago, I would have said the best place to get a meal in Prague is Maly Buddha, the enchanting aroma of the dark cavernesk restaurant, the specialty teas, the Thai dishes in addition of Nepalese and other Southern Asian inspired gastronomy is delightful. However, they open late for lunch, so the only time I can go is dinner, and I rarely find myself in Mala Strana after work, so it just hasn’t happened. I used to eat there twice a week, this year, I’ve only eaten there once!
I was introduced to a Lebanese restaurant which I quite enjoy, despite it’s convenient location just on the river on the border of Staro mesto and Novo mesto, again, they open late so it’s rare that I make it there for a meal. One night I had some time to kill before meeting a friend, so I went there and just ordered a cup of Dahl soup and a giant bowl of tatziki with pita- a perfect meal! Sure it was a little embarrassing how much parsley found its way into crevasses in my teeth, which lead to tooth scrapping incidences the rest of the night, but it was worth it.
Last but not least, the grand old classic, which probably graces the top ten lists of most expat Prague inhabitants, The Globe book shop café. I always liked it, but usually I just went in and picked up a book or magazine and went on my marry way, but one day after picking up the latest New Yorker, I had some extra time and decided to trot over and sink into one of the velvet chairs and fip through my new read, over a filtered coffe (another difficult find), when I looked at the menu I realized they served a breakfast burrito- one of my all time favorite foods, I hadn’t had in quite a while. I assumed it would be terrible, as most Mexican food is in Europe, and by Angelino standards it was mediocre, but it still reigns supreme in terms of my first choice for brunches in Prague.
I will be taking a trip to my hometown in California in about a month, and I have already started mapping out what I want to eat as well as the can't miss restaurants I've been dreaming about since expatriating myself. Thus, I thought it an appropriate time to think back on some of the wonderful meals I've had in the Czech Republic, even if none of the above contain any Czech dishes- maybe in another blog I'll focus on my favorite Czech restaurants.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Czech Prom: so two broads walk into a ball...
January is Prom season in the Czech Republic, for reasons that have been explained to me, but that I still don’t entirely understand, most schools have their senior prom, or ball, as they call it, between New Years and Valentines Day. Nothing like darning a 10,000kc gown and heading out in the ice and snow, a full 18 weeks before you actually graduate to celebrate graduation! Ahh, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I go on, please take a moment to remember your own senior prom, and or some typical teen drama prom footage; having trouble? That’s probably because the prom in the US, while iconic, isn’t really that big a deal, and many students don’t go for a variety of reasons, ranging from financial, general disenchantment with the whole idea, inability to get a date, inability to find a date that is young enough to be allowed in, etc. Now that you have a picture of the event in question in your mind, just toss that idea out the window, because the Czech prom is something quite unique.
For starters, there’s the preparation; Czech students spend a year, sometimes more, preparing for this event by learning how to dance. The students take dance classes on Friday evening intermittently throughout the school year with their classmates.* They learn to the Waltz, Rumba, Salsa, ballroom styles of every kind. The two fifteen year old girls that I tutor are already taking classes. After class, it’s usual to see overdressed teens mucking up the ambiance at every restaurant and pub in town. On my last birthday, while out with a friend, I watched as two drunkedy-drunk school girls, took turns falling off their bar stools, while their equally impaired friends tried to help them up. (Clearly it was a dance night- which I unfortunately had to share my birthday festivities with).
Finding the perfect dress for the prom is another challenge, here in Pardubice, there are a few shops which carry the required and desired attire, but the cost is astronomical when you consider the average monthly wage is about 22,000kc gross and a nice dress is about 10,000kc, easily half mom or dad’s salary and about the same amount one would pay for rent on a small flat. Most students will rent their dresses, which is still pretty expensive, but to get the best dress, the girls start shopping early. In the case of the eightteen year old girls I tutor, they picked out their dressed over the summer, and still didn’t get their first choice!
Once prom night 2010 finally rolled around, it was a miserably cold icy night, I was thrilled that I only had to walk across the street to what used to be a public swimming pool, but has been since turned into a ball room. I invited Helen, a British teacher friend, who was similarly excited to witness this spectacle. I was invited by another of my students that I used to teach in the evenings. Helen and I were taken aback by how incredibly formal the students were dressed. I once wore a suede strapless mini with spiked hooker heals to a formal school dance. Another time I wore terry cloth bedroom slippers, just to be a disrespectful asshole and as weird as possible, oh and then there was the time I wore an Elvira inspired dress with a cape, oh and who could forget the punk rock troll corsage with real red radishes- very smelly- exxxxcelllant! (Thanks Tom). So this was quite a sight for me to see the students taking a school sponsored event so seriously. Once inside we noticed that there were several bars, but mostly it was the parents boozing it up, the students seemed well mannered. Helen remarked that we should come to this bar every weekend; after all there was a live band, dancing, and no smoking!
The prom officialy kicked off with a high energy techno dance number perform by pre-pubescent overly made-up girls in what we thought were kind of slutty outfits. (I think Mrs Allen was responsible for costume and makeup*) Helen stood mouth agape and said in the most maternal voice ever, “You can see those girls’ knickers, what are they thinking with those costumes?” Then a word or two from the principle, maybe a song or two from the band, and then it was time for the real show! Each graduating class came to the floor and performed a dance number. The first class did Chicago, complete with feathered boas and zoot-suits. The second class did Mama-Mia, the third class performed Thriller, much to my delight. After each class finished, each student was individually recognized. The MC would call them by their full name and they would walk down the aisle as if they had just won a Oscar, as they walked family and friends throw coins at them- violently with dangerous velicity, and sometimes from the second floor balcony! Several girls almost slipped on the coins in combination with their already cumbersome long dresses. Once they reached the podium, they received a long stem rose and a Miss America-esk sash with their class year, and their knick-name on the back. A picture is taken and off they go (back to school for another semester despite this recognition of their completion of high school).
After each student has been recognized, there's a special dance where student dances with their mother or father, this was interesting to watch, we really are our parents' children, it was so evident who was related to who. Mom in leather pants and a halter top dances with long haired metal son, the next top model dances with her hunky dad, my super tall student dances with the only man in the room taller than her, her father, etc. This seemed to be the last formality of the evening, after that it was time to get sloppy drunk and dance until 2am. It was around this point that Helen and I found ourselves hanging with the parents, enjoyable- yes, but also an association we were not comfortable with, so we thought it was time to call it a night.
I was really glad I got this chance to go to a Czech Prom, it made me feel sort of sad for American students, because this is what Prom should be. This was a celebration, a rite of passage, not a rite of privilege. It was open to absolutely everyone and everyone danced, everyone had a partner, everyone looked smashing, and I really like how each class seemed to have a sense of camaraderie. This was not a popularity contest, there was no king or queen, just a bunch of students dancing and celebrating together with their families... their banker, their barber, and their baker, each standing by proudly snapping pictures. When I asked my girls if they know everyone in their class, they all say; yes of course. When I tell them there are people I probably had classes with that I never learned their name, this idea seemed impossible to them. I had to explain that American high school students have 7different classes, each with different teachers and different students in each, thus, you know the names of those you run with, probably the names or faces of the cool kids, maybe a few of the super scandalous kids whose reputation proceeds them, but most of which, you would be unlikely to ever have a single conversation with, and would promptly forget their name upon graduation anyway. These students seem to really appreciate these friendships, and their teachers, it’s nice to see. American could really learn something from the Czechs.
(picture from the prom can be viewed here in the Pardubice album.
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=591285583#!/album.php?aid=276766&id=591285583
*High School student in the Czech Republic, like many other parts of Europe, are tracked, therefore, they usually go to school with the same 40-50 students throughout their the tenure of their high school experience, so they all know each other quite well. Additionally, they have the same teachers that follow them from year to year. In Czech high school the teachers change classrooms, rather than the other way around as it is in the U.S. In this was the student also forms a close bond with their teacher as well as their classmates. Evidenced by the seemly constant high school reunions that people my age seem to be attending as often as once a month, but at least once a year.
*Mrs Allen was the coach of the drill team of the high school I attended and famous for loading the girls up with makeup, outfitting them is gogo boots fishnets and having them wear matching wigs.
For starters, there’s the preparation; Czech students spend a year, sometimes more, preparing for this event by learning how to dance. The students take dance classes on Friday evening intermittently throughout the school year with their classmates.* They learn to the Waltz, Rumba, Salsa, ballroom styles of every kind. The two fifteen year old girls that I tutor are already taking classes. After class, it’s usual to see overdressed teens mucking up the ambiance at every restaurant and pub in town. On my last birthday, while out with a friend, I watched as two drunkedy-drunk school girls, took turns falling off their bar stools, while their equally impaired friends tried to help them up. (Clearly it was a dance night- which I unfortunately had to share my birthday festivities with).
Finding the perfect dress for the prom is another challenge, here in Pardubice, there are a few shops which carry the required and desired attire, but the cost is astronomical when you consider the average monthly wage is about 22,000kc gross and a nice dress is about 10,000kc, easily half mom or dad’s salary and about the same amount one would pay for rent on a small flat. Most students will rent their dresses, which is still pretty expensive, but to get the best dress, the girls start shopping early. In the case of the eightteen year old girls I tutor, they picked out their dressed over the summer, and still didn’t get their first choice!
Once prom night 2010 finally rolled around, it was a miserably cold icy night, I was thrilled that I only had to walk across the street to what used to be a public swimming pool, but has been since turned into a ball room. I invited Helen, a British teacher friend, who was similarly excited to witness this spectacle. I was invited by another of my students that I used to teach in the evenings. Helen and I were taken aback by how incredibly formal the students were dressed. I once wore a suede strapless mini with spiked hooker heals to a formal school dance. Another time I wore terry cloth bedroom slippers, just to be a disrespectful asshole and as weird as possible, oh and then there was the time I wore an Elvira inspired dress with a cape, oh and who could forget the punk rock troll corsage with real red radishes- very smelly- exxxxcelllant! (Thanks Tom). So this was quite a sight for me to see the students taking a school sponsored event so seriously. Once inside we noticed that there were several bars, but mostly it was the parents boozing it up, the students seemed well mannered. Helen remarked that we should come to this bar every weekend; after all there was a live band, dancing, and no smoking!
The prom officialy kicked off with a high energy techno dance number perform by pre-pubescent overly made-up girls in what we thought were kind of slutty outfits. (I think Mrs Allen was responsible for costume and makeup*) Helen stood mouth agape and said in the most maternal voice ever, “You can see those girls’ knickers, what are they thinking with those costumes?” Then a word or two from the principle, maybe a song or two from the band, and then it was time for the real show! Each graduating class came to the floor and performed a dance number. The first class did Chicago, complete with feathered boas and zoot-suits. The second class did Mama-Mia, the third class performed Thriller, much to my delight. After each class finished, each student was individually recognized. The MC would call them by their full name and they would walk down the aisle as if they had just won a Oscar, as they walked family and friends throw coins at them- violently with dangerous velicity, and sometimes from the second floor balcony! Several girls almost slipped on the coins in combination with their already cumbersome long dresses. Once they reached the podium, they received a long stem rose and a Miss America-esk sash with their class year, and their knick-name on the back. A picture is taken and off they go (back to school for another semester despite this recognition of their completion of high school).
After each student has been recognized, there's a special dance where student dances with their mother or father, this was interesting to watch, we really are our parents' children, it was so evident who was related to who. Mom in leather pants and a halter top dances with long haired metal son, the next top model dances with her hunky dad, my super tall student dances with the only man in the room taller than her, her father, etc. This seemed to be the last formality of the evening, after that it was time to get sloppy drunk and dance until 2am. It was around this point that Helen and I found ourselves hanging with the parents, enjoyable- yes, but also an association we were not comfortable with, so we thought it was time to call it a night.
I was really glad I got this chance to go to a Czech Prom, it made me feel sort of sad for American students, because this is what Prom should be. This was a celebration, a rite of passage, not a rite of privilege. It was open to absolutely everyone and everyone danced, everyone had a partner, everyone looked smashing, and I really like how each class seemed to have a sense of camaraderie. This was not a popularity contest, there was no king or queen, just a bunch of students dancing and celebrating together with their families... their banker, their barber, and their baker, each standing by proudly snapping pictures. When I asked my girls if they know everyone in their class, they all say; yes of course. When I tell them there are people I probably had classes with that I never learned their name, this idea seemed impossible to them. I had to explain that American high school students have 7different classes, each with different teachers and different students in each, thus, you know the names of those you run with, probably the names or faces of the cool kids, maybe a few of the super scandalous kids whose reputation proceeds them, but most of which, you would be unlikely to ever have a single conversation with, and would promptly forget their name upon graduation anyway. These students seem to really appreciate these friendships, and their teachers, it’s nice to see. American could really learn something from the Czechs.
(picture from the prom can be viewed here in the Pardubice album.
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=591285583#!/album.php?aid=276766&id=591285583
*High School student in the Czech Republic, like many other parts of Europe, are tracked, therefore, they usually go to school with the same 40-50 students throughout their the tenure of their high school experience, so they all know each other quite well. Additionally, they have the same teachers that follow them from year to year. In Czech high school the teachers change classrooms, rather than the other way around as it is in the U.S. In this was the student also forms a close bond with their teacher as well as their classmates. Evidenced by the seemly constant high school reunions that people my age seem to be attending as often as once a month, but at least once a year.
*Mrs Allen was the coach of the drill team of the high school I attended and famous for loading the girls up with makeup, outfitting them is gogo boots fishnets and having them wear matching wigs.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Holidays Aren’t for Celebrating
Here is accounting of the official state holidays in the Czech Republic for 2010 only about three of these warrant some celebration or notice. (and only if, the conditions are right, i.e good weather)
1 Jan: New Year's Day
5 Apr: Easter Monday, i.e the woman beating holiday (we’ll get to that later)
1 May: May Day.
8 May Liberation Day.
5 Jul: Day of the Apostles St. Cyril and St Methodius.
6 Jul: Anniversary of the Martyrdom of Jan Hus.
28 Sep: Czech Statehood Day.
28 Oct: Independence Day.
17 Nov: Freedom and Democracy Day.
24-26 Dec: Christmas
One not so special Wednesday back in early November I was giving an English lesson to one of my colleagues at work. Towards the of the lesson as the conversation was waning, I asked my student if he had any special plans for commemorating Democracy day, as it would be the 20th year anniversary of the fall of communism in, what was then; Czechoslovakia. I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but his reply lingered in my mind for days. “Holiday’s aren’t for celebrating in the Czech Republic”. He went on to explain that Czechs despise parades and holiday pomp which they perceive to be reminiscent of the Soviet days. At which time there were military parades regulary and attendance to these events were somewhat obligatory. So what do Czechs celebrate? Well the answer is basically Christmas, New Years and maybe Lent/Easter if you happen to be religious, but otherwise; there is no reason to celebrate-ever, at least in the manner of Anglo-American traditions. It seems that holidays are generally for staying home and resting, but sometimes for visiting relatives that live out-of-town, going to Ikea, or possibly, but rarely doing some sort of outdoor activity if one is very progressive or rich, usually skiing, nordic walking or cycling.
Christmas in the Czech Republic
As for me, it was the strangest thing; I got bitten by the Christmas bug rather early, and let it be known that I am not a fan of Christmas generally. Halloween was kind of a letdown for me, so once it passed and I remembered that having a meaningful Thanksgiving of any proportion was virtually unthinkable (as I hadn’t meet any local Americans yet) I decided why not just start decorating for Christmas. So I got a tree, a fake tree that is, as it was barely even November and there seemed to be no real trees available for sale yet. Previous to the actual 3-days of Christmas, I had been in Dresden for the Christmas markets, that was such a Christmasy affair, I figured I would have had my fill of Christmas, but no, the week after I got back, I had my company Christmas party (which I was sick for, and left really early) and then co-hosted my own Christmas party with my friend Helen in my tiny flat (you’re welcome neighbors) and finally the week before Christmas I was in Oslo celebrating “Jul” with my Norsk comrades, but upon my return I was still ready for more! Sejal, a friend from Norway, came back with me, and we had the most casual Christmas ever! We opened some Champagne and a bag of cookies, and watched DVDs in bed all day, then when it was time for dinner we tossed up a salad and heated up some frozen pizza, which we ate at the table, just to be a little fancy. After dinner, we headed out to the square to listen to carolers and drink hot wine from our newly made friend’s not even remotely concealed flasks, followed by a tour of the castle (Note: sending drunk people unattended into a castle containing fine glassware and rare medieval works of art was perhaps not a well thought out, but no colameties occured in our presence). So that was Christmas Eve in Pardubice. I actually don’t remember what Sejal and I did Christmas morning, it’s possible that we didn’t leave the house, and watched “the Office” all day.
Boxing Day We were up early and headed west, first to the city of Plzen, the home of Pilsner Urquell. When we arrived we were unsure that we had actually arrived, it seemed to be the only train station on the westward route that had no visible sign announcing itself. We cautiously disembarked and asked a uniformed conductor if we were indeed in Plzen, his replied affirmatively with a snicker, as if we were the dumbest girls he’s ever come across, and pittied the people of Plzen that would have to deal with us all day. First stop was Tesco, (to use the free bathroom) which appeared to be the sketchiest place in town. Then we headed towards what we believed to be the center, we just went in the direction of the ornate steeples (a navigation tool that works quite well in the Czech Republic). We did eventually locate the square and it was seemed pretty immense but also almost completely deserted, considering most shops were closed (I guess Plzonions don't celebrate Boxing Day, what a suprise). We wandered a bit, but we had a train to catch in two hours, so we looked at the Velky Synagogue(applily named: the big synagogue as it is the second biggest in Europe) and a lovely church in the center of the square, both were viewed at the speed at which Clark W. Griswold looks at the Grand Canyon in National Lampoons vacation http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQJH5tZLGis. We were getting hungry and these ubiquitious Pilsner reminders everywhere in town meant it was time to find “the Pub” I had seen this place advertised on a park bench on our way into town, and so that somehow made it worth visiting for us. We were the only customers at first, it was cavernous, and was a PYOP (pour-your-own-pivo) establishment (my favorte!) As other groups of dinners and drinkers came in and were seated, we noticed a score board of sorts which tallied the number of ounces poured per table. Unfortunately, Sejal wasn’t drinking so it was up to me alone to win it for us. I couldn't do much damage in an hour and a half, but it was a cleaver idea.
We arrived at Marianske Lazne around five o’clock., naturally it was already quite dark, and covered in snow, which was a switch as it was fairly temperate and sunny in Plzen, and only an hour or so away. M.L. is located in the mountains in the west of Bohemia, so it was to be expected that we would encounter snow. We phoned our hotel to shuttle us into town, they came promptly and whizzed us up the icy hill to our five star resort! Upon check-in we were served some tart but tasty hot wine (I drank Sejals) and we booked a bunch of spa appointments. In fact they actually had to Soup-Nazi us and said we were only allowed one massage a day. Thus, we extended our stay to two nights and doubled our appointments- take that spa nazis! We were pleased with our accommodation, the view from our balcony of the ski slopes and the town below was fabulous! We decided to dine at the restaurant as it seemed like a treacherous walk to get down the icy steps and road to the center, we’d save that fun for daylight. I think we had planned to have an after dinner swim, but dinner ran long and we wound-up having baths in our 8-jet tub instead, which lulled us right to sleep afterwards.
The next morning we set the alarm, as the day was jam-packed with Spa activities, however, the breakfast was not to be rushed or missed. It was probably the best complimentary hotel breakfast ever. First of all, we had our own reserved table, none of this get-your-food-and-hope-you-can-squeeze-in next to some loud annoying family or some smelly backpackers, no, we had our own beautifully set table with our room number proudly displayed on a gold placard waiting for us each morning. The buffet contained all the usual offerings, but the chef would also prepare special requests like pancakes (which we had on the second morning). The hostess was really nice and spoke good English, she greeted us each morning formally and while we were enjoying our coffee and pre-breakfast mini treats, talked about how worthless men are, this warmed our hearts and made us take in instant likening to her. The rich clientele brought their little fluffy dogs with them, un-tethered and unattended; they just roamed free in search of crumbs under other peoples tables, at the omelet bar, wherever. After breakfast it was massage time, my massage was good, not Glen Ivy- good, cruise ship- good, or even cheap Thai-massage parlor in Los Angeles- good, but for a hotel, I guess it was satisfactory overall. But Sejal had a different experience, during her massage someone entered the room several time and engaged in what was apparently a hilarious conversation in Czech. She was lying on her stomach at the time and considered her options. 1. Hope they went away soon, and try to ignore it. 2. Ask politely the the intruders and the masseuse could chat after her massage. Or 3. Turnover and say something like “hey you assholes, get the fuck outta here, I’m NOT paying to hear you bitches giggle”. I thought the last one seemed an appropriate response, but she opted for the first option, then complained to management and demanded a second massage for free. She was only able to get a discount on her second massage, and the promise it wouldn’t happen again, well and the fauder I needed to spice up my blog.
After lunch in the lobby bar, we headed out on the town, down the icy path, down the steps, past a beautiful abandoned hotel, and into the center, by this time the sun way already falling behind the hills quickly, and Sejal was again not feeling well, so I parked her at a café, and ran around snapping picture before we lost the light. After my romp around town, I needed a rest so I joined Sejal in the Kolanada (one of the main attraction of the town in the summer) and had afternoon tea. We ventured out again as evening feel, and when Sejal was better, we window shopped, and casually searched for a resturant for dinner, eventually we settled on a place called Churchills (there’s one in every touristy town in the world, I’m convinced- each is owned separately and completely unique, but always with the same hook- the name). The pub/ restaurant was nice, very cozy, but the easy-listening Muzak station was awful! Churchill himself would have been horrified by this soundtrack! After a good meal, and Richard Marx songs dancing uninvitedly in our heads, we headed up the hill to our snowy challet, we watched Billy Madison in Czech, and because I’ve seen this movie so many times, and know every line, I just translated he entire movie for Sejal in the appropriate character voices. I was kind spent after that, so off to bed I went. In morning Sejal had more treatments, while I went swimming. We tried to use the sauna but that was an unbelievable 44 euro for two hours, sure it was private, but still, can’t we all just share and save some money! In the afternoon we caught the train back to Prague where we had dinner at the Lebanese restaurant, 700kc later, we eventually made it back to Pardubice.
So, even though holidays aren’t for celebrating, I really did have one of the best Christmas’s I’ve ever had.
1 Jan: New Year's Day
5 Apr: Easter Monday, i.e the woman beating holiday (we’ll get to that later)
1 May: May Day.
8 May Liberation Day.
5 Jul: Day of the Apostles St. Cyril and St Methodius.
6 Jul: Anniversary of the Martyrdom of Jan Hus.
28 Sep: Czech Statehood Day.
28 Oct: Independence Day.
17 Nov: Freedom and Democracy Day.
24-26 Dec: Christmas
One not so special Wednesday back in early November I was giving an English lesson to one of my colleagues at work. Towards the of the lesson as the conversation was waning, I asked my student if he had any special plans for commemorating Democracy day, as it would be the 20th year anniversary of the fall of communism in, what was then; Czechoslovakia. I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but his reply lingered in my mind for days. “Holiday’s aren’t for celebrating in the Czech Republic”. He went on to explain that Czechs despise parades and holiday pomp which they perceive to be reminiscent of the Soviet days. At which time there were military parades regulary and attendance to these events were somewhat obligatory. So what do Czechs celebrate? Well the answer is basically Christmas, New Years and maybe Lent/Easter if you happen to be religious, but otherwise; there is no reason to celebrate-ever, at least in the manner of Anglo-American traditions. It seems that holidays are generally for staying home and resting, but sometimes for visiting relatives that live out-of-town, going to Ikea, or possibly, but rarely doing some sort of outdoor activity if one is very progressive or rich, usually skiing, nordic walking or cycling.
Christmas in the Czech Republic
As for me, it was the strangest thing; I got bitten by the Christmas bug rather early, and let it be known that I am not a fan of Christmas generally. Halloween was kind of a letdown for me, so once it passed and I remembered that having a meaningful Thanksgiving of any proportion was virtually unthinkable (as I hadn’t meet any local Americans yet) I decided why not just start decorating for Christmas. So I got a tree, a fake tree that is, as it was barely even November and there seemed to be no real trees available for sale yet. Previous to the actual 3-days of Christmas, I had been in Dresden for the Christmas markets, that was such a Christmasy affair, I figured I would have had my fill of Christmas, but no, the week after I got back, I had my company Christmas party (which I was sick for, and left really early) and then co-hosted my own Christmas party with my friend Helen in my tiny flat (you’re welcome neighbors) and finally the week before Christmas I was in Oslo celebrating “Jul” with my Norsk comrades, but upon my return I was still ready for more! Sejal, a friend from Norway, came back with me, and we had the most casual Christmas ever! We opened some Champagne and a bag of cookies, and watched DVDs in bed all day, then when it was time for dinner we tossed up a salad and heated up some frozen pizza, which we ate at the table, just to be a little fancy. After dinner, we headed out to the square to listen to carolers and drink hot wine from our newly made friend’s not even remotely concealed flasks, followed by a tour of the castle (Note: sending drunk people unattended into a castle containing fine glassware and rare medieval works of art was perhaps not a well thought out, but no colameties occured in our presence). So that was Christmas Eve in Pardubice. I actually don’t remember what Sejal and I did Christmas morning, it’s possible that we didn’t leave the house, and watched “the Office” all day.
Boxing Day We were up early and headed west, first to the city of Plzen, the home of Pilsner Urquell. When we arrived we were unsure that we had actually arrived, it seemed to be the only train station on the westward route that had no visible sign announcing itself. We cautiously disembarked and asked a uniformed conductor if we were indeed in Plzen, his replied affirmatively with a snicker, as if we were the dumbest girls he’s ever come across, and pittied the people of Plzen that would have to deal with us all day. First stop was Tesco, (to use the free bathroom) which appeared to be the sketchiest place in town. Then we headed towards what we believed to be the center, we just went in the direction of the ornate steeples (a navigation tool that works quite well in the Czech Republic). We did eventually locate the square and it was seemed pretty immense but also almost completely deserted, considering most shops were closed (I guess Plzonions don't celebrate Boxing Day, what a suprise). We wandered a bit, but we had a train to catch in two hours, so we looked at the Velky Synagogue(applily named: the big synagogue as it is the second biggest in Europe) and a lovely church in the center of the square, both were viewed at the speed at which Clark W. Griswold looks at the Grand Canyon in National Lampoons vacation http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQJH5tZLGis. We were getting hungry and these ubiquitious Pilsner reminders everywhere in town meant it was time to find “the Pub” I had seen this place advertised on a park bench on our way into town, and so that somehow made it worth visiting for us. We were the only customers at first, it was cavernous, and was a PYOP (pour-your-own-pivo) establishment (my favorte!) As other groups of dinners and drinkers came in and were seated, we noticed a score board of sorts which tallied the number of ounces poured per table. Unfortunately, Sejal wasn’t drinking so it was up to me alone to win it for us. I couldn't do much damage in an hour and a half, but it was a cleaver idea.
We arrived at Marianske Lazne around five o’clock., naturally it was already quite dark, and covered in snow, which was a switch as it was fairly temperate and sunny in Plzen, and only an hour or so away. M.L. is located in the mountains in the west of Bohemia, so it was to be expected that we would encounter snow. We phoned our hotel to shuttle us into town, they came promptly and whizzed us up the icy hill to our five star resort! Upon check-in we were served some tart but tasty hot wine (I drank Sejals) and we booked a bunch of spa appointments. In fact they actually had to Soup-Nazi us and said we were only allowed one massage a day. Thus, we extended our stay to two nights and doubled our appointments- take that spa nazis! We were pleased with our accommodation, the view from our balcony of the ski slopes and the town below was fabulous! We decided to dine at the restaurant as it seemed like a treacherous walk to get down the icy steps and road to the center, we’d save that fun for daylight. I think we had planned to have an after dinner swim, but dinner ran long and we wound-up having baths in our 8-jet tub instead, which lulled us right to sleep afterwards.
The next morning we set the alarm, as the day was jam-packed with Spa activities, however, the breakfast was not to be rushed or missed. It was probably the best complimentary hotel breakfast ever. First of all, we had our own reserved table, none of this get-your-food-and-hope-you-can-squeeze-in next to some loud annoying family or some smelly backpackers, no, we had our own beautifully set table with our room number proudly displayed on a gold placard waiting for us each morning. The buffet contained all the usual offerings, but the chef would also prepare special requests like pancakes (which we had on the second morning). The hostess was really nice and spoke good English, she greeted us each morning formally and while we were enjoying our coffee and pre-breakfast mini treats, talked about how worthless men are, this warmed our hearts and made us take in instant likening to her. The rich clientele brought their little fluffy dogs with them, un-tethered and unattended; they just roamed free in search of crumbs under other peoples tables, at the omelet bar, wherever. After breakfast it was massage time, my massage was good, not Glen Ivy- good, cruise ship- good, or even cheap Thai-massage parlor in Los Angeles- good, but for a hotel, I guess it was satisfactory overall. But Sejal had a different experience, during her massage someone entered the room several time and engaged in what was apparently a hilarious conversation in Czech. She was lying on her stomach at the time and considered her options. 1. Hope they went away soon, and try to ignore it. 2. Ask politely the the intruders and the masseuse could chat after her massage. Or 3. Turnover and say something like “hey you assholes, get the fuck outta here, I’m NOT paying to hear you bitches giggle”. I thought the last one seemed an appropriate response, but she opted for the first option, then complained to management and demanded a second massage for free. She was only able to get a discount on her second massage, and the promise it wouldn’t happen again, well and the fauder I needed to spice up my blog.
After lunch in the lobby bar, we headed out on the town, down the icy path, down the steps, past a beautiful abandoned hotel, and into the center, by this time the sun way already falling behind the hills quickly, and Sejal was again not feeling well, so I parked her at a café, and ran around snapping picture before we lost the light. After my romp around town, I needed a rest so I joined Sejal in the Kolanada (one of the main attraction of the town in the summer) and had afternoon tea. We ventured out again as evening feel, and when Sejal was better, we window shopped, and casually searched for a resturant for dinner, eventually we settled on a place called Churchills (there’s one in every touristy town in the world, I’m convinced- each is owned separately and completely unique, but always with the same hook- the name). The pub/ restaurant was nice, very cozy, but the easy-listening Muzak station was awful! Churchill himself would have been horrified by this soundtrack! After a good meal, and Richard Marx songs dancing uninvitedly in our heads, we headed up the hill to our snowy challet, we watched Billy Madison in Czech, and because I’ve seen this movie so many times, and know every line, I just translated he entire movie for Sejal in the appropriate character voices. I was kind spent after that, so off to bed I went. In morning Sejal had more treatments, while I went swimming. We tried to use the sauna but that was an unbelievable 44 euro for two hours, sure it was private, but still, can’t we all just share and save some money! In the afternoon we caught the train back to Prague where we had dinner at the Lebanese restaurant, 700kc later, we eventually made it back to Pardubice.
So, even though holidays aren’t for celebrating, I really did have one of the best Christmas’s I’ve ever had.
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