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.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
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.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
My Neighbor: guitar hero super stomper extraordinaire
The orange walls* are closing in on me, (see footnote) and the only escape is into the 5*C Sunday that awaits just beyond the street door, which can offer little more than a bunch of closed shops and fog at the moment. It’s November now, so long gone are the days when I could just go to the park, go to an open air café and read when my upstairs neighbor decided to hammer for hours or invite friends over with tappy high heels or stompy boots over to noise-up my life. Things stayed open later and the beer gardens in the park were open on Sundays in summer, a fact I never appreciated until the onset of autumn, when my mystery upstairs neighbor and I entered into our stressful one-side relationship.
Let’s see what do I know about him? In reality, almost nothing, I’m not even 100% sure he is a male. I know what songs he likes to play on the guitar when I’m trying to relax after a long day at work, and it seems he’s doing some kind of construction on his bathroom that involves a ton of drilling and a hammering. He is not Amish, he constructs on the lord’s day! I know that after a hard day of hammering he likes to play songs on the guitar with the word one in it: “One” by Metallica, “One” by U2, come to mind as some of his favorites. Sometimes he sings along, and sounds manly, so I have decided he, must be male. He watches TV in the morning, usually the news, and spends more time in the living area rather than the kitchen, and tons of time in the bathroom, usually with the ceiling fan on. He takes short showers, and doesn’t seem to use anything electric in the bathroom (other than the drill) things like razors, trimmers, toothbrushes, hair dryer, penis pump- whatever men use to get ready. So he’s definitely got to be male; no woman would forgo a hair drying this time of year! My conclusion is he is a 400 pounder , or 181 kilos, in other words 28.5 stones based on his stomping. I imagine he has a nasty, ratty beard, not had a hair cut in a while, and he eats cereal and makes the tapper friends bring him pizzas or Mc Donalds for every meal, (there has to be a reason for the amount of time he clocks in that bathroom, (and there is no Los Jarritos here) so it has to be a result of pizza* (see footnote). What confuses me is how his fat, lazy ass finds the energy to do all this pounding and drilling, and why he has all these female friends, that clearly sleep-over as they are up and high healed tippy-tapping by 7am, but I have never heard any sex sounds from above- that’s a relief- it would wreak havoc on my self-esteem if this slob was getting some from sexy-shoe wearing squeaking- squawker girls (one of his female friends laughs, no cackles in the most annoying way) when I’m all alone in flannel jams in my single bed. (See footnote on this topic). Oh, and this neighbor of mine, smokes pot in the stairwell in the late afternoons, I’m sure of it. When I’m running the steps (something I do as a result of being too indecisive about which gym to join) it is often a 14 floor hot box, and the most intense part is always around the 13th floor; his floor!
The last two weekends in addition to his construction project, this guitar playing stomper has also thrown a couple parties! I have made a pact with myself that the next party he hosts, I’m going up! I will attend this party as a reconnaissance mission, because I must know who he is and why he was not taught to step softly, or at least take your shoes off when you’re I the house- this is not the US! People actually soil the soles of their shoes when they leave the house- there are elements here man! Last sentence- he is silent alas. I hear only the faint sounds of someone's far off spin cycle groaning and vibrating my walls just slightly, I was going to step out for a while, but perhaps I should stay and enjoy the silence.
FOOTNOTES:
**Orange Walls: the walls of my kitchen are a delightful shade of peachish- orange. I think it’s supposed to be Tuscan looking. You would have to have lived my life to really understand my hatred for certain shades of yellow and orange, as I had a yellow and oranges bedroom when from ages 0-12, and I spent many a ‘night thinking about how I could destroy that dandelion wall paper, the flowers actually frightened me as a toddler- they just looked like such an unfriendly sinister flower. Some little girls picked dandelions on their way to school- I squashed them like a cigarette butt and cursed their existence.
**Pizza** This footnote actually require another footnote about the Grandiosa Effect" a term I have invented to decribe what it's like to live with 8 Scandinavian male college students. Sounds like a fantasy eh ladies? Well, it's not! The two month after I finishd university, I was preparing to move to Prague for the first time, but could not actually go until late July, so I continued living in a dorm on the University of Oslo campus, though no longer a student. 7 rooms, one bathroom! The problem was, those sneaky Sweds decided to double up- rooms that were intended for one, were occupied by two to save money. Scandinavians in general don't really cook, and Scandi males only cook one thing- Grandiosa frozen pizza. As the ritual went, the oven worked overtime that summer, as each boy fired their pizza one after another, then took it in their room to eat alone (anti-social scandi's! I was always alone in the kitchen eating my salad). Then two hours later the run for the bathroom started, so between 19:00-21:00 I would hear the boys scrambling for the newspaper, some footsteps, then the lock snap on the toilet door; the bathroom was booked solid for two hours! I often had to walk over to friends places that lived nearby, if I needed to use the toilet, because there was no chance it would be available, and even if it was, it was not a place I wanted to spend any time. So,that was a long story to explain why I think my neighbor eats pizza.
**COMENTARY ON SINGLE BEDS***I know I live in Europe and even when you ask for a double bed at a nice hotel, it’ll probably be two single beds shoved together, I get that, but just because you’re “Single” doesn’t mean you want a single bed! It’s kind of offensive that when you’re job arranges your accommodations, as is the case with many overseas jobs, that they ALWAYS assume a single bed is appropriate. When I renewed my contract in Korea, I told them I needed at least a double bed in order to continue working for that school. I mean really, I’m not 5, I can handle a big girl bed! Besides, I have been sleeping in a double bed or larger since I was like 15. I do a least try to take in a lover at least once in a while, and I find it pretty presumptuous of employers to assume that it won’t happen often enough to warrant a larger bed! They always refer to the space quotient in the flat, I remember having a lengthy conversation with the Korean management at a former job, about which is more important, being able to do yoga in my flat, or be able to have special friends sleepover (not on the floor). What a strange conversation to be having with your boss, while elementary age children filtering past, and popping in to ask random questions about what was in today’s snack box. “Sorry kids, teacher is talking about her crappy sex life with the director and his translator that has resulted from her single bed”
Let’s see what do I know about him? In reality, almost nothing, I’m not even 100% sure he is a male. I know what songs he likes to play on the guitar when I’m trying to relax after a long day at work, and it seems he’s doing some kind of construction on his bathroom that involves a ton of drilling and a hammering. He is not Amish, he constructs on the lord’s day! I know that after a hard day of hammering he likes to play songs on the guitar with the word one in it: “One” by Metallica, “One” by U2, come to mind as some of his favorites. Sometimes he sings along, and sounds manly, so I have decided he, must be male. He watches TV in the morning, usually the news, and spends more time in the living area rather than the kitchen, and tons of time in the bathroom, usually with the ceiling fan on. He takes short showers, and doesn’t seem to use anything electric in the bathroom (other than the drill) things like razors, trimmers, toothbrushes, hair dryer, penis pump- whatever men use to get ready. So he’s definitely got to be male; no woman would forgo a hair drying this time of year! My conclusion is he is a 400 pounder , or 181 kilos, in other words 28.5 stones based on his stomping. I imagine he has a nasty, ratty beard, not had a hair cut in a while, and he eats cereal and makes the tapper friends bring him pizzas or Mc Donalds for every meal, (there has to be a reason for the amount of time he clocks in that bathroom, (and there is no Los Jarritos here) so it has to be a result of pizza* (see footnote). What confuses me is how his fat, lazy ass finds the energy to do all this pounding and drilling, and why he has all these female friends, that clearly sleep-over as they are up and high healed tippy-tapping by 7am, but I have never heard any sex sounds from above- that’s a relief- it would wreak havoc on my self-esteem if this slob was getting some from sexy-shoe wearing squeaking- squawker girls (one of his female friends laughs, no cackles in the most annoying way) when I’m all alone in flannel jams in my single bed. (See footnote on this topic). Oh, and this neighbor of mine, smokes pot in the stairwell in the late afternoons, I’m sure of it. When I’m running the steps (something I do as a result of being too indecisive about which gym to join) it is often a 14 floor hot box, and the most intense part is always around the 13th floor; his floor!
The last two weekends in addition to his construction project, this guitar playing stomper has also thrown a couple parties! I have made a pact with myself that the next party he hosts, I’m going up! I will attend this party as a reconnaissance mission, because I must know who he is and why he was not taught to step softly, or at least take your shoes off when you’re I the house- this is not the US! People actually soil the soles of their shoes when they leave the house- there are elements here man! Last sentence- he is silent alas. I hear only the faint sounds of someone's far off spin cycle groaning and vibrating my walls just slightly, I was going to step out for a while, but perhaps I should stay and enjoy the silence.
FOOTNOTES:
**Orange Walls: the walls of my kitchen are a delightful shade of peachish- orange. I think it’s supposed to be Tuscan looking. You would have to have lived my life to really understand my hatred for certain shades of yellow and orange, as I had a yellow and oranges bedroom when from ages 0-12, and I spent many a ‘night thinking about how I could destroy that dandelion wall paper, the flowers actually frightened me as a toddler- they just looked like such an unfriendly sinister flower. Some little girls picked dandelions on their way to school- I squashed them like a cigarette butt and cursed their existence.
**Pizza** This footnote actually require another footnote about the Grandiosa Effect" a term I have invented to decribe what it's like to live with 8 Scandinavian male college students. Sounds like a fantasy eh ladies? Well, it's not! The two month after I finishd university, I was preparing to move to Prague for the first time, but could not actually go until late July, so I continued living in a dorm on the University of Oslo campus, though no longer a student. 7 rooms, one bathroom! The problem was, those sneaky Sweds decided to double up- rooms that were intended for one, were occupied by two to save money. Scandinavians in general don't really cook, and Scandi males only cook one thing- Grandiosa frozen pizza. As the ritual went, the oven worked overtime that summer, as each boy fired their pizza one after another, then took it in their room to eat alone (anti-social scandi's! I was always alone in the kitchen eating my salad). Then two hours later the run for the bathroom started, so between 19:00-21:00 I would hear the boys scrambling for the newspaper, some footsteps, then the lock snap on the toilet door; the bathroom was booked solid for two hours! I often had to walk over to friends places that lived nearby, if I needed to use the toilet, because there was no chance it would be available, and even if it was, it was not a place I wanted to spend any time. So,that was a long story to explain why I think my neighbor eats pizza.
**COMENTARY ON SINGLE BEDS***I know I live in Europe and even when you ask for a double bed at a nice hotel, it’ll probably be two single beds shoved together, I get that, but just because you’re “Single” doesn’t mean you want a single bed! It’s kind of offensive that when you’re job arranges your accommodations, as is the case with many overseas jobs, that they ALWAYS assume a single bed is appropriate. When I renewed my contract in Korea, I told them I needed at least a double bed in order to continue working for that school. I mean really, I’m not 5, I can handle a big girl bed! Besides, I have been sleeping in a double bed or larger since I was like 15. I do a least try to take in a lover at least once in a while, and I find it pretty presumptuous of employers to assume that it won’t happen often enough to warrant a larger bed! They always refer to the space quotient in the flat, I remember having a lengthy conversation with the Korean management at a former job, about which is more important, being able to do yoga in my flat, or be able to have special friends sleepover (not on the floor). What a strange conversation to be having with your boss, while elementary age children filtering past, and popping in to ask random questions about what was in today’s snack box. “Sorry kids, teacher is talking about her crappy sex life with the director and his translator that has resulted from her single bed”
Table of possible Contents
Today is November 1st. I have been in the Czech Republic a little over four months now per this tour. During these months, I have kept a list of things that I find strange or interesting. Thus, think of this blog entry as a preview of what’s to come, a table of contents if you will, except in no particular order other than order of inspiration. In each blog I shall address a handful of these as they relate to the days happenings.
-Czech Waiters: would all be fired if they worked in the U.S
- The Office: cocktail hour
- Pealing out: in a 4-cylinder compact 4-door hatch-back
- Dumplings
- Documentation: "show your pass!"
- The Czech Mail Service
- Marriage and Weddings
- Bicycle Pub Crawl
- Business Casual
- The Cinema
- A trip to the Doctor
- The Police
- The Roma
- Self-Help at Starbucks
- Holidays: aren’t for celebrating
- Dog culture
- Mondays
- Olomouc
- Kutna Hora
- Escaping the Czech Republic
- The Mall
- The Village
- Standing in line
- The Czech Railway
- The Prague Restaurant Quest
- Finding Big Ben
- Sparta Hockey: The rivalry
- A run at the river
- The orange wall are closing in on me
- Karlovy Vary: Welcome to Russia
- The Hloubetin Subway Flood
- Making friends and maintaining enemies
- The Great Curtain Caper
- My upstairs neighbor- guitar hero super stomper!
- Herna Bars
- the idiocracy that is the Czech Grocery Store check out station
- Mojitos- the trendiest thing to hit central Europe since the mullet amd mustashes
- Everyone loves Bryan Adams (and they think he's American)
-Czech Waiters: would all be fired if they worked in the U.S
- The Office: cocktail hour
- Pealing out: in a 4-cylinder compact 4-door hatch-back
- Dumplings
- Documentation: "show your pass!"
- The Czech Mail Service
- Marriage and Weddings
- Bicycle Pub Crawl
- Business Casual
- The Cinema
- A trip to the Doctor
- The Police
- The Roma
- Self-Help at Starbucks
- Holidays: aren’t for celebrating
- Dog culture
- Mondays
- Olomouc
- Kutna Hora
- Escaping the Czech Republic
- The Mall
- The Village
- Standing in line
- The Czech Railway
- The Prague Restaurant Quest
- Finding Big Ben
- Sparta Hockey: The rivalry
- A run at the river
- The orange wall are closing in on me
- Karlovy Vary: Welcome to Russia
- The Hloubetin Subway Flood
- Making friends and maintaining enemies
- The Great Curtain Caper
- My upstairs neighbor- guitar hero super stomper!
- Herna Bars
- the idiocracy that is the Czech Grocery Store check out station
- Mojitos- the trendiest thing to hit central Europe since the mullet amd mustashes
- Everyone loves Bryan Adams (and they think he's American)
Sunday, October 11, 2009
The Arrival- Part Dva
When I book a hotel room, I usually request a high floor, not too close to the elevator, nor facing the street traffic. I enjoy getting a good night sleep and find hotels are rarely a good place for this. I would be staying in this particular budget hotel for 10 days, so I figured would be a good idea to ensure I get a decent room. My requests were clearly not recognized. My room was on the ground floor; actually it was just around the corner from the reception desk, breakfast room, conference room, and a taxi company that apparently uses a hotel room as its dispatch office! All this time I thought it was just ghetto hotels in Anaheim that doubled as taxi offices. There must have been a reason why I was assigned to this room I rationalized, maybe it was the only long-term guest quarters. It had a big closet, little kitchen and three beds. I could have a sleep-over as soon as I make two friends, or I could eat cookie in bed and not worry aout the crumbs, just rotate beds! I could just jump out the window if there was a fire, or if someone visited me they could just knock on my window when they arrived, it was just next to the front door of the hotel, easy access! Despite what it lacked,…which was, well, everything I asked for, I was so happy to be in my hotel, I frankly didn’t care that this room was totally unsuitable. Almost immediately after I arrived Lindsey called, (the person that I would be replacing/ my buddy for the week while I got settled). She said some friends were meeting for drinks, and would I be up for a night out. I had been up about 20 hours at that point, but I said “sure, come get me”. 40 minutes later I heard Lindsey and Andrea arrive, (how could I miss it, I could hear everything that went on in the reception area) Andrea had my job before Lindsey, so together we were three generations of English Lectors.
I realized when I opened the door; I didn’t know who was who, until they spoke. I knew Lindsey’s voice since she interviewed me and we had spoken earlier that night. We headed out on a short walk around the corner to what could only be described as a sports bar. Big TVs, wood paneling, bar stools, jerseys signed and framed on the walls; typical male-style interiors. Seated around a big booth were about ten people, most of whoms’ names I was too tired to learn. I sat next to Mila, who helped me order something to eat as it had been a while since I’d done that, so it was appreciated. I remember thinking she and I will probably become good friends- and we have, we meet for lunch usually once a week. My first official Czech beer arrived promptly, what a treat, and soon after the best “palačinky” I have had yet, in the CZ. I was impressed how friendly everyone was, and how easy it was to chat with everyone that was within ear shot of me on the long bench seat. After a few rounds, Andrea announced it was disco time. Our group deteriorated a bit as we walked the several blocks in the direction of the disco, we walked the cobbled streets, which I remember making note of how nice it looked with the moss growing between the cat heads; as I would soon learn the bricks were called. I hate cobble stones now by the way, they are the main culprit that makes me late to class in the morning – without cobbles; I could walk so much faster!
On the way to (Hanny Bunny) “Honey Bunny” , the disco, we briefly stopped at Lindsey’s flat, which I would inherit within a week, so I asked if I could come inside, as I had been imagining it for months and the curiosity was killing me. The outside seemed dark, it appeared the block was gray and yellow, I was hoping in the daylight that would turn out to be an optical illusion.… yeah, not an illusion. The flat was nice, and I was pleased how close it was to the center; on the map it seemed further down the street. But no time for pondering curtain patterns, onward, the Bunny was waits for no one!
Honey Bunny: how to describe this place and do it justice. It is bright blue, let’s call it Raspberry Slurpy blue. It reminds me of something you might see in Tia Juana, arched doorway, trash barrels out front, with a burly bouncer perched upon a rickety stool, usually surrounded by several thuggish looking guys smoking in the shadow. You hear the bass as you approach, but when you get inside you realize that the song shuttle just switched to one of the following HB classic hits: Big Girls Don’t Cry, La Bamba, the Summer Lovin remix, something by Bryan Adams, or if you’re really lucky something off Chronic, or DoggieSyle. What you will never hear; is anything that has been released in the last decade. The music is beyond ridiculous, it has a terrible sound system, the dance floor is made of knotty uneven wooden logs the rest of the décor reminds me a barrack and the place is packed EVERY weekend! This is one of two nightclubs in town; the other has an equally corny rhymny sort of name and is owned by the same people, so I would guess the sound track isn’t much different. However, this did not stop me and my jetlag from dancing up a storm and swollowing round after round of vodka tonics into the early morning hours.
I made it! I stayed out as late as the girls! Man, am I tough! We walked home under the cover of darkness, so it wasn’t as late as most of my nights out in Korea, but considering I was on about hour 27 of no sleep, I felt very accomplished, enough to declare my first day in the Czech Republic a success,so off I stumbled to my ground floor room, to be lulled to sleep by the sound of Taxi customer service calls.
I realized when I opened the door; I didn’t know who was who, until they spoke. I knew Lindsey’s voice since she interviewed me and we had spoken earlier that night. We headed out on a short walk around the corner to what could only be described as a sports bar. Big TVs, wood paneling, bar stools, jerseys signed and framed on the walls; typical male-style interiors. Seated around a big booth were about ten people, most of whoms’ names I was too tired to learn. I sat next to Mila, who helped me order something to eat as it had been a while since I’d done that, so it was appreciated. I remember thinking she and I will probably become good friends- and we have, we meet for lunch usually once a week. My first official Czech beer arrived promptly, what a treat, and soon after the best “palačinky” I have had yet, in the CZ. I was impressed how friendly everyone was, and how easy it was to chat with everyone that was within ear shot of me on the long bench seat. After a few rounds, Andrea announced it was disco time. Our group deteriorated a bit as we walked the several blocks in the direction of the disco, we walked the cobbled streets, which I remember making note of how nice it looked with the moss growing between the cat heads; as I would soon learn the bricks were called. I hate cobble stones now by the way, they are the main culprit that makes me late to class in the morning – without cobbles; I could walk so much faster!
On the way to (Hanny Bunny) “Honey Bunny” , the disco, we briefly stopped at Lindsey’s flat, which I would inherit within a week, so I asked if I could come inside, as I had been imagining it for months and the curiosity was killing me. The outside seemed dark, it appeared the block was gray and yellow, I was hoping in the daylight that would turn out to be an optical illusion.… yeah, not an illusion. The flat was nice, and I was pleased how close it was to the center; on the map it seemed further down the street. But no time for pondering curtain patterns, onward, the Bunny was waits for no one!
Honey Bunny: how to describe this place and do it justice. It is bright blue, let’s call it Raspberry Slurpy blue. It reminds me of something you might see in Tia Juana, arched doorway, trash barrels out front, with a burly bouncer perched upon a rickety stool, usually surrounded by several thuggish looking guys smoking in the shadow. You hear the bass as you approach, but when you get inside you realize that the song shuttle just switched to one of the following HB classic hits: Big Girls Don’t Cry, La Bamba, the Summer Lovin remix, something by Bryan Adams, or if you’re really lucky something off Chronic, or DoggieSyle. What you will never hear; is anything that has been released in the last decade. The music is beyond ridiculous, it has a terrible sound system, the dance floor is made of knotty uneven wooden logs the rest of the décor reminds me a barrack and the place is packed EVERY weekend! This is one of two nightclubs in town; the other has an equally corny rhymny sort of name and is owned by the same people, so I would guess the sound track isn’t much different. However, this did not stop me and my jetlag from dancing up a storm and swollowing round after round of vodka tonics into the early morning hours.
I made it! I stayed out as late as the girls! Man, am I tough! We walked home under the cover of darkness, so it wasn’t as late as most of my nights out in Korea, but considering I was on about hour 27 of no sleep, I felt very accomplished, enough to declare my first day in the Czech Republic a success,so off I stumbled to my ground floor room, to be lulled to sleep by the sound of Taxi customer service calls.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
The Arrival
'Arrival Day' in a new city, state or country, I feel foreshadows what is to come. If the day is too difficult, you've probably made a terrible mistake and should go home. If it's too easy, you've probably made a terrible mistep and haven't moved far enough out of your boring little comfort zone. If the day full of challenges you sucessful overcome, you'll be fine.
I arrived in Prague in late June, it was the second time I had been there, the first being three years earlier when I had lived there breifly. I had an amazing time, so I made a half-hearted promise to myself that once the time was right I would return. Of course I made this promise never for a second thinking it would be anything other than a quick holiday. The funny thing about opportunities is they are so fleeting. We are so wrapped up living the life that we think we should be living, that we forget that it is possible to change course for no logical reason. An opportunity arose, and it felt right that I return to this place where I have so many happy memories. In addition, the move seemed an ideal escape route from my enjoyable- yet somewhat dead-end part-time jobs and my pattern of destructive soul-crushing relationship(S) back in L.A. So, I left the U.S.A for the third time, in the same manner of the first two times, waving my middle finger recklessly at any emblem of America and declaring my emancipation from the shackles of the land of the free- home of the capitalistic sinkhole and it's brainwashed citizenry- not to put too fine a point on it.
The transatlantic flight was one of the more interesting flights I have ever been on, I took New Zealand Air for one thing; LAX to LHR, seemed like a mistake when I booked the flight, but turns out it was the second leg of the Auckland- London flight. I was seated next to a sweet little chap of about 10 years who was traveling alone; a divorce statistic, mother lives in New Zealand, father in England, thus he made this journey with some regularity- poor kid. I figured, although I had the dreaded middle seat, at least I could probably pilfer some of his unused leg room when the sleeping hours got underway. On the other side of me was a intelligent British women, we chatted each other up for the first hour or so, she owned a textiles company and seemed to have an interesting life. Naturally, I invented a life nothing like my own, (it's a little tradition I have to entertain myself on long flights or first dates lacking the potential of a second) I think I may of told her I was a Norwegian Au Par, that had been working in the California until I feel in love with a married older man, whom was the friend of the father of the children under my charge. As the story went, there was a big fight when this married man told my employeer of our mad affair, so I was now returning home to work on my families lingonberry farm. (I couldn't say that I was having an affair with the father, that would have been too predictable!) The boy next to me was pretty quiet at first, just sat looking out the window, and listening to his ipod Touch (that should have been my first clue that this little guy would be trouble).
During dinner we hit a little turbulence, because that's just what happens when you order red wine on an airplane, it never fails. My British friend and I just kept our spirits up by keeping the booze flowing even after dinner, some more wine, a mini vodka/soda or five. It was getting difficult to stay in character the more lushy I got. I think the youngster next to us was jealous of our slightly brash drunken banter and decided he wanted to participate, so he started downing coca cola and cookies in quick secession. I watched this brazen little bastard order a six-pack of cola, and a massive handful of chocolate cookies. Each brought one after another by the evil flight attendants, who clearly have no idea what effect these products inflict on the passenger seated next to a adolescent boy consumming them in large quantities! About five hours into the flight the little dude was off his ass! He was unstoppably chatty and wanted to play trivia games with me and my drunken British comrade for the remainder of the trip, I would be just about to doze off and the little bugger next to me you pinch my face or sock me in the arm to get my attention. If that flight had been delayed or if we had to circle a minute after the designated arrival time, there would have been some serious child abuse Economy class, row L!
One the second leg of the flight I was seated next to an anti-social elderly couple in the emergency row, thank-you-very-much! I stretched my legs, and opened by book which I was excited to get back to as I didn't get a chance on the previous flight. It was warm, no ventilation, "oh well" I thought, we will take off shortly and it will come on then. I waited- we all waited. I sweated, we all sweated. Water was served, yet the toilets were off limits. Seemed there is something wrong with the plane and we would be delayed on the tarmac during the repair process. "No need to disembark the plane, clearly sitting in a tin box in summer is a fine place to leave 100 or so weary travelers." Eventually we got going, the air conditioning came on, I had almost finished my book when we landed in Ruzyne. Then I promptly left my book with that last remining chapter unread on the plane and off I went to start the next chapter in my life.
***************************************
Everything went accordingly, it didn't feel like I was in a foreign country as everyone did what people always do in airports, which is act like they had never been in public before, and remain in total denial that other people have the right to share the space they occupy. I often finds myself asking the question, in places like airports: "am I invisible today?" just as a large man steps directly in front of me totally blocking my view of the luggage carosel, or when a small child running around with no obvious supervision runs smack into me, followed by the "where did you come from? look". The luggaged arrived, and off I went to meet my driver, at first I didn't see him, but eventually a friendly face came up to me and asked if I was who I am, and off we went. I was a little sad he didn't have sign, instead he'd been give an picture of me, no sign required. I am always a little jealous of people who have official looking drivers who greet them with typed signs with their name, makes them seem really important. Since the majority of my travels are done alone from start to finish, I find myself also being quite touched when I see wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, or children waiting for people to arrive with open arms and flowers. I think this is why I really enjoy picking people up from the airport; I want to be that person who makes people feel welcome and missed.
The car ride was strange because my driver didn't speak a whole lot of English, although he was willing to try. I probably annoyed him with my non-stop commentary and small talk. The ride was long, we went through downtown Prague, and through the countryside, very flat it twas. He asked me if I needed to stop to use the bathroom several times, and promised it was no problem. Was I crossing my legs ackwardly or something? I figured we were there when we turned off the main highway and went through a village, which was VERY small and sad looking, I was glad that wasn't it. We continued through a forested area; "did this guy know where he was going?" He took some calls on speaker phone, one being my boss, the other being his girlfriend. Earlier, I had shared my only Czech phrase "jsem svvobodny" (I'm single) so perhaps he was feeling guilty already. When we finally came to another town it had been a good 30 minutes since the last, I saw some smoke stacks and factories, some small houses, I was feeling like Ren did the opening seen of Footloose. This town was so small and so remote! My driver pointed out some key points of interest and dropped me at my hotel, where did "kick off my Sunday shoes" and relax, ahhhh but not for long, the night was young .
I arrived in Prague in late June, it was the second time I had been there, the first being three years earlier when I had lived there breifly. I had an amazing time, so I made a half-hearted promise to myself that once the time was right I would return. Of course I made this promise never for a second thinking it would be anything other than a quick holiday. The funny thing about opportunities is they are so fleeting. We are so wrapped up living the life that we think we should be living, that we forget that it is possible to change course for no logical reason. An opportunity arose, and it felt right that I return to this place where I have so many happy memories. In addition, the move seemed an ideal escape route from my enjoyable- yet somewhat dead-end part-time jobs and my pattern of destructive soul-crushing relationship(S) back in L.A. So, I left the U.S.A for the third time, in the same manner of the first two times, waving my middle finger recklessly at any emblem of America and declaring my emancipation from the shackles of the land of the free- home of the capitalistic sinkhole and it's brainwashed citizenry- not to put too fine a point on it.
The transatlantic flight was one of the more interesting flights I have ever been on, I took New Zealand Air for one thing; LAX to LHR, seemed like a mistake when I booked the flight, but turns out it was the second leg of the Auckland- London flight. I was seated next to a sweet little chap of about 10 years who was traveling alone; a divorce statistic, mother lives in New Zealand, father in England, thus he made this journey with some regularity- poor kid. I figured, although I had the dreaded middle seat, at least I could probably pilfer some of his unused leg room when the sleeping hours got underway. On the other side of me was a intelligent British women, we chatted each other up for the first hour or so, she owned a textiles company and seemed to have an interesting life. Naturally, I invented a life nothing like my own, (it's a little tradition I have to entertain myself on long flights or first dates lacking the potential of a second) I think I may of told her I was a Norwegian Au Par, that had been working in the California until I feel in love with a married older man, whom was the friend of the father of the children under my charge. As the story went, there was a big fight when this married man told my employeer of our mad affair, so I was now returning home to work on my families lingonberry farm. (I couldn't say that I was having an affair with the father, that would have been too predictable!) The boy next to me was pretty quiet at first, just sat looking out the window, and listening to his ipod Touch (that should have been my first clue that this little guy would be trouble).
During dinner we hit a little turbulence, because that's just what happens when you order red wine on an airplane, it never fails. My British friend and I just kept our spirits up by keeping the booze flowing even after dinner, some more wine, a mini vodka/soda or five. It was getting difficult to stay in character the more lushy I got. I think the youngster next to us was jealous of our slightly brash drunken banter and decided he wanted to participate, so he started downing coca cola and cookies in quick secession. I watched this brazen little bastard order a six-pack of cola, and a massive handful of chocolate cookies. Each brought one after another by the evil flight attendants, who clearly have no idea what effect these products inflict on the passenger seated next to a adolescent boy consumming them in large quantities! About five hours into the flight the little dude was off his ass! He was unstoppably chatty and wanted to play trivia games with me and my drunken British comrade for the remainder of the trip, I would be just about to doze off and the little bugger next to me you pinch my face or sock me in the arm to get my attention. If that flight had been delayed or if we had to circle a minute after the designated arrival time, there would have been some serious child abuse Economy class, row L!
One the second leg of the flight I was seated next to an anti-social elderly couple in the emergency row, thank-you-very-much! I stretched my legs, and opened by book which I was excited to get back to as I didn't get a chance on the previous flight. It was warm, no ventilation, "oh well" I thought, we will take off shortly and it will come on then. I waited- we all waited. I sweated, we all sweated. Water was served, yet the toilets were off limits. Seemed there is something wrong with the plane and we would be delayed on the tarmac during the repair process. "No need to disembark the plane, clearly sitting in a tin box in summer is a fine place to leave 100 or so weary travelers." Eventually we got going, the air conditioning came on, I had almost finished my book when we landed in Ruzyne. Then I promptly left my book with that last remining chapter unread on the plane and off I went to start the next chapter in my life.
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Everything went accordingly, it didn't feel like I was in a foreign country as everyone did what people always do in airports, which is act like they had never been in public before, and remain in total denial that other people have the right to share the space they occupy. I often finds myself asking the question, in places like airports: "am I invisible today?" just as a large man steps directly in front of me totally blocking my view of the luggage carosel, or when a small child running around with no obvious supervision runs smack into me, followed by the "where did you come from? look". The luggaged arrived, and off I went to meet my driver, at first I didn't see him, but eventually a friendly face came up to me and asked if I was who I am, and off we went. I was a little sad he didn't have sign, instead he'd been give an picture of me, no sign required. I am always a little jealous of people who have official looking drivers who greet them with typed signs with their name, makes them seem really important. Since the majority of my travels are done alone from start to finish, I find myself also being quite touched when I see wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, or children waiting for people to arrive with open arms and flowers. I think this is why I really enjoy picking people up from the airport; I want to be that person who makes people feel welcome and missed.
The car ride was strange because my driver didn't speak a whole lot of English, although he was willing to try. I probably annoyed him with my non-stop commentary and small talk. The ride was long, we went through downtown Prague, and through the countryside, very flat it twas. He asked me if I needed to stop to use the bathroom several times, and promised it was no problem. Was I crossing my legs ackwardly or something? I figured we were there when we turned off the main highway and went through a village, which was VERY small and sad looking, I was glad that wasn't it. We continued through a forested area; "did this guy know where he was going?" He took some calls on speaker phone, one being my boss, the other being his girlfriend. Earlier, I had shared my only Czech phrase "jsem svvobodny" (I'm single) so perhaps he was feeling guilty already. When we finally came to another town it had been a good 30 minutes since the last, I saw some smoke stacks and factories, some small houses, I was feeling like Ren did the opening seen of Footloose. This town was so small and so remote! My driver pointed out some key points of interest and dropped me at my hotel, where did "kick off my Sunday shoes" and relax, ahhhh but not for long, the night was young .
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