The Bones Church

Last Tuesday, the four of us went to the Church in Kutna Hora, where victims from the plague, mass graves, had been unearthed centuries ago erected as walls, arches, monstrances, altars, chandeliers, and a family crest. How Christain is using something so sacrosanct as bones to spice up your decour? I don't know, but it looked as if the set of the Temple of Doom had been transplanted to this spot outside Prague. This is the chandilier, with lower jaws linked together as ropes, skulls atop where candles would be, femurs dangling beneath like nice crystal stalagtites.

The Orchestra

Two nights ago, we decide to attend the Symphony at the Rudolfinum Concert Hall, with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra upon the stage. We dress up. The girls, two very attractive Aussies, wear their dresses and earrings. Ryan, a fellow westcoast surfer from LA, and I dress in slacks and button shirts. We look nice; we're going out for a very classy, cultural night. But in a turn of bad luck, we get there too late, and there not selling tickets, the doors are closing. So we did the only thing we could do: we walked in like we had tickets. It was actually intermission; everyone out on the steps was getting some fresh air, as it we seemed to be, too. Four seats in the back, untaken. So we take a seat, barely able to contain our giggling in an utterly silent auditorum as the orchestra prepares to fire up. When they finally do, it is breathtaking: violins, chellos, drums, small brass, symbols, flutes, two singers (one deep soprano, and another more Bocelli sounding dude), and the most intense conductor you've ever seen, his hands jerking here and there, his wiry, gray hair bouncing with all the movement. And a choir as well, at least thiry males and thiry females. At the very end (about 45 min in duration), the crowd's silent, then rips up in applause for ten minutes! 10 WHOLE MINUTES OF NON-STOP CLAPPING!

I couldn't believe it. The past three days have been this kind of unforgettable experience one after another. And the orchestra was only the beginning of the night. We went to dinner, a small Italian place in set off a cobblestone alley way, with a piano player, even real Italians chatting it up over a bottle of wine behind us. And from there to this wacky Czech club; Eastern European clubs I just can't get used to.

The next day we walked up to Prague Castle. The view from the bridge, looking up at Prague Castle, you wouldn't believe is real. Something not even walt disney could think up. A Czech man, at least 70, seeing that we were lost, lead us up the hill, took three trams with us, telling us about the history and architecture. He used to be a tour guide. His parting wisdom was this: "when I was in a different country, somebody took the time to show me, now i'm showing you, and now when you are in your country, you show someone where to go." Need I go on. The past days I couldn't dream up if I wanted to. And that's only half of it. There's so much to tell but I"m running out of minutes on the net. Next time.

Where I lay my head

By others suggestion, I will now tell you where I stay. And may I also suggest reading anything by Jorge Luis Borges (Brandon Leach, if you read this, check him out, especially An Old Man with Wings, and think of his surrealism and philosophy as a visual with narration: I present to you the "Graphic Short Story").

By chance, I chose the Czech-Inn Hostel over Sir Toby's Hostel, only because I couldn't find the latter on the net. Black Deal! (that's a inside joke, use past posts for reference). The hostel is possibly the nicest I've ever stayed in: sandwiches and soup at the bar, along with what the bar does best, internet, great staff--young and friendly--and many hostelers to hang with. It's bran-new. Everything's very chic, smooth lines, not many colors other than white, and funky art work on the wall, one titled "Stag Beetle Never Feels Alone," another "Pig in Fog." And they're very geometrical; you can make out the animal but where they detect the feelings or the fog is anyone's guess. (Did you know in British English you put the period outside qoutations, inside in American English). I'm staying in a ten person room, 9 roommates coming and going through the night. But it's not too bad, and mostly everyone is respectful. Two Brits, however, were the exception. My first night I woke to what I thought were a girl and a guy brit about to...you know. I keep hearing this, "no, really love, get down (they're in the top bunk) and grab the condom, please, really..." At first I was dimly aware of them in the room, but as I came to I realized she wasn't saying "condom" but "ipod". That was a relief. They continued talking, though, and the girl had the most annoying accent, very high pitched and nasaly, southern England I think. I have this theory: in London, they have the Hugh Grant accent; as you travel north, it becomes more and more Shaun Connery; but as you go south, that's where the drum-bleeding winy accent calls home.

Everyone here says its the best hostel they've ever been to. So that's where I'm staying. Still looking for an apartment. Not much luck so far.

Travel knowledge

A change of clothes can give a new lease on life--except when they're the ones from a few days ago that haven't been washed, instead stuffed in a bag with other sweat-smelling pants, underwear, and socks that haven't made it to the laundry either. Then you just smell.

A group of twenty or so went to the crazy fun-house bar, which the Dutch girl showed me the night before. Since I had been the only one who'd been there, I was in charge of directions. We made it. Doubts circulated at times, but in the end I got us there. What else can you ask for? Rounds of absinthe were coming and going. We sat in the top floor, cramped and close, but looking down on all the movement was incredible.

Everyone took it real easy today.

House

Imagine a club desinged by Richard "Data" Wang from the Goonies. Disparate, eclectic parts fastened to walls from cars or trucks, or lawnmowers, with small little engines rigged up to turn their gears, cylinders, or crank shafts; and green and red lights positioned around them. Everything spinning, wherever you look. But not randomly--the place, with all its chaos, had some sort of artistic form. Only in Eastern Europe. And house music constantly pounding. Behind where we were sitting was this spinning wheel (six feet in diameter) with other smaller spinning wheels welded to it. Above us was a second-floor balcony, made of rebar; the total hight of the bar was maybe twelve feet, so the people on the second floor, from floor to ceiling, had maybe four feet.

The girl that took me was actually Dutch, from Holland; typically American of me to confuse that with Norwegian, but I am what I am--what can you do? I asked her if she ever heard of Dutch Bros. Coffee. She hadn't. I told her Oregon has the best beer in the world, which she contested, saying every person says that of their native home (but Oregon's the exception to the rule, I said).

Earlier in the night, when I was first getting on the tram that'd take me to the our agreed upon meeting spot, I ran into two guys, Americans, who were going to the same club. On my way home, after the Dutch girl got off at her tram stop, I was left to find my way home. But when I looked out the tram, there were those two guys that live next to me! I got off, they knew what tram to take, we waited, and then toook it. But at the next stop, I lost them. They were at the bathroom (it's legal to use the streets). Tram 59 showed up, and I jumped on, thinking it was the right one, which it ended up being. I was ready to fall into bed, it being four in the morning, and cold. And even though the bartender charged me more because I'm American, I still only paid four bucks for the two drinks I orderd. A successful night in Prague.

We'll see

Tonight I'm meeting a norwegian girl, who also lives in Prague, and then she's going to show me a new club, the one someone toook her to when she first arrived. It's not a blind date, but we've never met and we're going out for drinks. A half hour ago, I was a little nervous (you never know how these things are going to work out), but after one Pilser, and a good conversation with some New Yorkers, things are looking up. Today I learned my funds were low; how could that be I said to myself! I just got here. Then I remembered most of my money was in my savings account. Relief. One good thing, in this whole monetary predicament, I won't throw my money away on booze--because it only cost a $1.50 for a half pint! And you thought I was going to say because I'll be staying in...not likely;)

Czech-inn Hostel

Yesterday I went to lunch with James and his colleagues, one German, one Czech, two Americans (Californians). They clued me in on Czech food, tipping, and other useful insider knowledge. I had the czech equivalent of biscuits and gravy, meat with sauce and four pieces of round bread with no crust.

After I left there, I went directly to the cell phone/pawn shop store, which James had drawn directions to. A strange place, a cell phone pawn shop. Hundreds of used phones in cases, and new ones, too. The consumer in me wanted a new, sliding, crome (shiny) samsung. With great restraint, though, I settled on a Sony Ericson, not unlike my own, except tri-band (US phones run on different frequences). It has black jack on it, however, though they call it Black Deal. The phone works, supposedly I can receive text messages from you all at home (dial a 00420 for the Czech code in front of the number), and it only cost me 1750 kc! I'm ashamed to say this, but with a cell phone back in my pocket I feel whole (that's suppose to be read ironically, but not really).

At the hostel, I met a Canadian whose running in the Berlin marathon today. I guess the marathon--along with one in Paris and Chicago--is suppose to be great for fast times. He introduced me to an American girl, very fun, outgoing, a nurse, who then introduced me to three of her friends, one Aussie, one from South America, and another from DC. We went to dinner, had drinks. The girls were a little tired and slow; they'd each had at least two shots of absinthe the night before. (sorry by the way if my email lacks much pinazz; I'm a little tired and slow myself today). We made our way back to the hostel, which has a bar, and continued the festivities. It eventually got late, and one by one the five of us started to call it a night. First the South A, who had to catch a plane back home in the morning. Oh, if you've never stayed in hostel there's something I have to feel you in on: in mere moments, and I don't know why it is, you become best friends with whomever you're hanging out with--something in the nomadic lay down and pick of backpacking, or an unconcious longing for true friendship, something anways. And it is actually very funny, because your conscious of the sponiety of this friendship, years of actual experience with your bestfriends supplimented by this common experience of backpacking. So enough of that--sorry, I've been reading pyschology journals and the antrhopologic prose has worn off.

Back to the farewells. First the South A., with her hug and peck, very European. then the american nurse, a straight forward american hug, arms around the neck, no peck. And then the aussie, who inlcuded a peck, but I'm not so sure if that's an aussie custom, or if she was just add-living that last bit.

I have a meeting with my employer tomorrow. I've learned more of my teaching responsibilities. I'll have a class of 10, only conversation, no grammar, unless the student
ask for help. But I devise the whole lesson plan myself.

Okay, Im goig to bed. Night.

R.I.P. Alarm clock

I plugged in my electric shaver with the Euro adaptor, and it seems to have worked well. And even my ipod, although it became a little hot. But after carrying my alarm clock thousands and thousands of miles, having it take up space in my luggage (approximately the size of a pair of shoes, maybe my Diesels), this morning the clock bit the dust. Around 8 am, as I read my book, listenig to my recently plugged in Radio Alarm clock, a loud POP almost made me fall out of my seat. Burnt wire smell. Smoke pluming. You see, I have an adaptor to lower the voltage from European 220 to American 110, but the adaptor doesn't fit into the hotel outlet--hard to explain why, but it doesn't. The song playing when it fried was "California Rest in Peace" by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

Yesterday, I walked all over Prague--through every square, in a huge Cathedral, across Charles bridge, up all the way to Prague Castle, where two Czech soldiers stand guard, stone-faced like you see the British guards on postcards. Like Rome, it is said that Prague was built on seven hills. But there's something the legend leaves out that my legs will fill in: they were steep, steep hills. My feet and legs were hurting, tired, ready for a break by the time I reached the top. So I had a beer inside the castle walls, cost short of five bucks--but could you have a beer on Capital Hill, not for a hundred dollars. I think it was worth it. Besides, with the news my Rodeo sold, I deserved a celebration (plus I have the money to celebrate).

Too Euro

On the metro, the streets, in restraunts or bars, no one knows I'm American. A Czech girl came up to me and asked me directions! My shoes, my jeans, belt, glasses--they look so European I pass on the street and no one gives me a second glance. My haircut. Thank you my super gay hair stylist for giving me a great Euro trash haircut; I fit right in. But on the second day, I've found myself already trying to look more American, because at least bad publicity is good publicity, right? Right now, for instance, three Brits couldn't figure out how to input the @ symbol, so instead of asking me, they ask the czech girl next to me, and then fumble through the language barrier. (But in all truth, I enjoy my anonyminity (sp.); notice me silently looking on at their predicament).

Last night, on a walk downtown, I stumbled upon the cannonball 8000 race cars and drivers, at their hotel. Each car was pulling up to the car and checking in with the organizers of the event. Then they sped off, revving the engines of their porsches, mercedes, lamberginis, to the car garage. One driver, who was being interviewed by a camera guy, said his car was nothing, only cost 70 Euro. Nothing...right. The race started in London, then to Brussels, Paris, now Prague, and finishes in Istanbul (I think). There was a corona promo truck with a 15 foot blown up Corona bottle in its bed; Czech promo models in blue and yellow spandex suits with white, knee-high cowboy boots; and camera men videoing and shooting the event. I guess the race gets its name from a Bert Reynolds movie; the brit girls working the event told me this, and I think they were a little suprised to learn I knew nothing of the movie.

Flight and Arrival

After leaving PDX (and managing to have dad take only two photos), I spent 20 hours in flight, arriving in Prague at 1:20 pm their time. Luckily, my contact here, James, was waiting for me at the airport. Oh, but before I get to that--customs gave me a bad time. My passport is a little rinkled, cover tattered, binding seperated expect for the spine, and the customs woman didn't like that. I told her it was worn but good. She said: "that's not my problem, that's yours." She put it under the blacklight, turned it around a few times, and then pushed it abruptly back across the desk to me. Okay. Thank you. I'm leaving before you change your mind.

James took me a book store; we bought a map and a dictionary. He pointed out two books of his (teaching English to Czechs by James Braham), and then we bought a metro ticket and headed toward Haje station. On the train, he called my employer and the hotel, rattled off something in check, and--bang!--I have a resrvations for five days at the hotel Opratov Twin, and a meeting with Mr. Krcek at 5 that night.

I spent almost two hours talking with Mr. Krcek about the school and my responsibilities; I also spoke with some of the students. We discussed my hourly salary and schedule. Because so many students have enrolled, classes are delayed two days, starting on Wednesday instead of Monday. Remember I'm doing all this on no sleep and going on 25 hours of travelling. My eye lids were beginning to droop, to say the least.

The metro is so simple. This morning I've been in old town Prague. And to my surprise, I knew where I was. Walking through one of the main squares, I said to myself, I think the astronomical clock is around the corner here. And it was! I went to a nearby cafe and a had a coke, worked on my czech with the waiter. Dekuji is thanks. "Kde je internet," I said to him, and that brings me to where I am now, spending way too much online.

Sbrohem!

Damn Gypsy's!

Hey, Heather....where r u?