My favorite building in Prague.

The Municipal House.



Stained glass archway over the entrance way.



Built in the early 1900's, the building has about 500 rooms, decorated by 30 Czech artists in Art Nouveau style.



Every detail of the building was created as art. From the ceilings...



...to the door handles.



Even the fish tank was something special.

I'm Dan-sick

Dan at work.

I don't miss New York. I don't miss working. I am fine without cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping. I don't think much about the gym. Or shopping at J Crew. I talk more with my family now than I do when I am in the States.

But walking around a romantic and beautiful city like Prague, I do miss someone.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. Mine is about to burst with fondness.

The man from Panama

"Do you know where the Communism Museum is?"


How do I explain Carlos?

The first day I met him over breakfast at the hostel, he was carrying around a Russian newspaper.

"Oh, do you speak Russian?"

"Russian is my seventh language."

"Wow, you speak seven languages?"

"No, eleven."

This shocking piece of information was followed by a story about his travels and how he was some kind of situation (I don't recall the exact details) about how he was at some restaurant or something, and how he spoke German to the waiter, Dutch to the people at this table, English to the other table, and everyone was looking at him like, What just happened?

I don't remember the details because Carlos recounted several tales like this one, this a frequent situation he finds himself in life. After telling us about that, he talked about his bad experience with the Italian mafia. He told us how he "pimped out" his bike in Amsterdam. I also learned that he is from Columbia but now lives in Panama but also lived in Switzerland, China, Holland, and other places I probably forgot. He is only 32 years old. He is a hard character to track down.

Now, he is traveling indefinitely.

With stories like that, which he tells so casually and succinctly in English, how can you not like Carlos? I can honestly say that I never met anyone like him.

We agreed to go to the Museum of Communism together. He suggested that we walk there, he knew the way, but when we started wandering around aimlessly, I realized that he didn't know where we were going and quite frankly didn't care.

"I have a lot of stories," Carlos told me, "which one do you want me to tell you?"

"I don't care," I said, "we have time."

"That's right, we have our whole lives."

So he told me a story about how some Mexican cops tried to cause trouble with his friend, because that's the kind of thing that Mexican cops do, and the way he managed to get that out of that situation, by speaking to the cops in a Mexican accent and becoming their friend.

We talked about all the languages he knows, and we saw some people down the street making some motions with their hands.

"Oh, they are using sign language." Carlos said.

"Do you know that, too?"

"Yeah!" he said, and as we walked past these guys, he started jamming out on pretend drums. They weren't doing sign language, just some air drumming and he just joined the band.

We got to Wenceslas Square, and Carlos suggested we sit down and people watch. We sit on top of a big monument and we're talking, and all of a sudden, a bunch of kids surround us; they are taking a class portrait. Carlos immediately stands and joins the portrait and I follow him. The teachers take a ton of pictures but then they seem confused why there are so many people, and they start counting everyone. The kids pointed us out and we ducked away, laughing.

We continued walking around in circles. "Our conversation is more important than the museum," Carlos explained.

I suggested we look at a map, but to Carlos, speaking with the locals is much more fun. So he asked everyone for directions, trying to speak Czech, but I am not sure he really listened or understood the answers because we kept walking up and down streets, our footsteps getting smaller when it seemed like we were getting close. Finally we made it. I enjoyed our conversation, but at the same time, my New York City efficiency was starting to come out and I was just getting tired of looking for this museum in such a haphazard way.

It was an interesting history lesson about the state of communism in the Czech Republic and the Velvet Revolution. I zipped through the exhibit, having to wait for Carlos to finish. He was incredibly touched by the video that documented all the protests in the very square that we sat down in earlier and couldn't stop talking about it.

We went out to dinner. I suggested a place mentioned in the Lonely Planet guide, but when we walked in, Carlos thought the German tourists there were a bad sign. So he wandered into a jewelry store, asking in broken Czech where a good place to eat was that wasn't McDonald's. We ended up going to a pizza place full of locals.

"This place was meant to be," he exclaimed.

We had conversations about Panama, wars, religion, communism. It was fascinating and deep, but I started to get really tired. Our trip to the museum, which I thought would take a few hours, had taken all day. But it wasn't a bad thing. I may come back to Prague, but who can be sure if I will ever meet someone like Carlos again.

Two young men who burned themselves in protest of communism.

What a ride!

Me with bike.

My dad has traveled across America by bike. My brother Peter is planning to follow his footsteps (er, wheel tracks) next year. Both of them are big advocates of traveling by two wheels. They tell me, "Yvonne, there's no better way to see a place than from the bike."

That philosophy was the one of the inspirations for signing up for a three-hour bike tour of Prague. How great would it be see to see the sights, learn the history, and get some exercise for the first time in over a month?

As soon as I got on the bike, I learned immediately that Prague is not a bike-friendly city. Considering that most of the roads are cobblestone, it makes for a bumpy ride. Between looking at the sights, you have to dodge everything from cars to people to trams to small animals. Let's just say, it's an adrenaline rush.

Our tour guide, a South American who grew up in Los Angeles, was friendly enough, but her commentary didn't enlighten me as much as I hoped. I learned the place where her friend got married, where she liked to go dancing and where to get a cheap beer (and some marijuana, if I wanted some).

"Here is the place where Mozart premiered Don Giovanni. Isn't a big deal over here in Prague because this is the only city where that opera was successful. Doesn't the building look cool?" It WAS cool, but still, kind of weird that she was getting paid to tell me so.

When the tour was over, I started walking and talking with Darren and Claire, a couple from Edinburgh, Scotland, who did the bike tour with me. They were going to a restaurant that our guide had recommended as having really cheap, really good traditional Czech food.

"May we chum you along?" Darren asked. It took me a few seconds to figure out what he meant, but it sounded good to me.

"Sure!" I said.

The guide was right about the restaurant. It seemed like the real thing. I was amused looking at the list of sides they offered: boiled potatoes, fried potatoes, potato croquettes, mashed potato. I ordered the house specialty which was pork in a sweet cranberry sauce that came with these fried potato balls on a side plate. Strange looking and strange in the mouth, but pretty good, nonetheless.

Darren and Claire were a sweet couple. She worked in marketing for human rights. He quit his job working in finance and now taught people how to ride bikes. They told me about their lives, their jobs, their city, and I told them a little about mine. At the end we shook hands and traded email addresses. I doubt I will ever see them again in my life, but for that evening, I really enjoyed their company.

That's the strange thing about this traveling thing. People just kind of breeze in and out of your life. And some of them I am fine having them come and go, content in the short time we had together, and there are some--the true gems--that are hard to part with.

I came back to the hostel and was crushed to learn that it was Adam's last night in Prague. I thought we had some more time. So Adam and I sat at the hostel bar with Carlos, a fascinating and funny guy from Panama, and some others, and we drank and talked. The whole time I was thinking that I really didn't want to say good-bye to him. We talked about meeting up again, maybe in Australia, maybe in New York, maybe in France. When we hugged good-bye, it seemed unlikely.

I felt the same way with the Germans, and I remember Kristina saying to me, "Well, it is sad to say good-bye, but isn't it a nice feeling to know that there are so many great people out there in the world?"

I guess it is a nice feeling, but sometimes I think it would be better if I could scoop up all the good ones and bring them home with me.

Perspective from my bike: Charles Bridge.



Potato balls, anyone?



Dinner with Claire and Darren.



Carlos, me, and Adam, at the hostel bar.

Change of plans

View of me and the city of Prague.

In the fashion that one would lay out their clothes on the bed the night before a big day, I went to bed Tuesday night, the entire day Wednesday mapped and planned out. I would wake up, have breakfast at the hostel, then go to a café and begin working on my creative writing (now that my classes are over, I plan to spend some time each day writing some fiction and/or studying Polish). I would follow that up with a bike tour around the city, and then meet up in the evening with two girls I had met earlier for a pub crawl. I wiggled into my sleeping bag, feeling content with my plans, the other five beds in my room empty, topped with white folded comforters.

I woke up to find that I had three new roommates: all of them male. Standing there in my pajamas, hair sticking up, bad breath, I made small talk with two of them who were from Philadelphia, while at the same time, tried to discreetly find a clean pair of underwear in my bag. Welcome to hostel living!

I was eating breakfast alone when an Andre Agassi look-alike, with a shaved head and coffee brown eyes, sat by me and we started chatting. His name was Adam, he was 33 years old and he was from Australia. He had spent most of the summer surfing on the French coast and was now journeying through some cities in Europe before he headed back home. I told him about my goals for the day, and he said he wanted to go to Prague Castle. I had been planning to go to the castle on Thursday, but after some more easy conversation, it occurred to me that I liked talking to him. So in one full swoop, I ditched all my plans. It was kind of exhilarating.

We met up a few hours later, and walked around the castle grounds. We purchased a ticket to only see the highlights, which included the Old Royal Palace, St. George's Basilica and the Golden Lane. We also took a look inside St Vitus Cathedral, the largest church in the country. I had been to Prague Castle the last time I was here in 2000, but I have few memories about it. Now I know why. While the castle itself and the views of the city are magnificent, the rooms and displays inside were completely underwhelming. I was glad to have Adam with me, as we kept ourselves busy with conversation about everything from religion to work to film.

Adam is a definite fun-pig, a person who seeks balance in his life, the epitome of a person who works to live. He is probably one of the most well-rounded people that I have ever met: he enjoys all kinds of sports, surfing being his favorite, which he does every weekend back home. He loves movies, speaks French, indulges in expensive clothes, enjoys his food and drink, has a million friends. He is the type of person who can speak well about any topic.

"Is there anything you are not good at?" I ask him.

"I am a person who is good at many things but not excellent at anything." If he could be excellent at one thing, he wishes he could speak every language.

I could tell that he had the type of personality that could adapt to anyone, and I could tell that maybe I was not the type of person who he would normally hang out with. He was sort of a daredevil, a complete optimist. I, perhaps too sedate and moody. And so I kept waiting for him to get bored with me, but we just kept talking. Even when I told him that I had a boyfriend--which I know from experience can sometimes change everything--he didn't say anything, afterwards suggesting we go out to dinner at a pub.

The pub was coincidentally Australian-themed, the food simple but quite delicious. I was excited to discover that they served wine, and so the two of us downed three glasses of Chianti each. By the end of the meal, it was 6:30 and I was completely drunk. I was a little embarrassed. I tried to keep cool, even when I went to the bathroom and found myself washing hands next to a man peeing in a urinal.

Seeing my state, Adam suggested we go back to the hostel. I was positive that Adam would ditch me now, but he came around while I tried to sober up and write emails, inviting me to his hostel room. We popped open a bottle of wine he got from Germany. We drank from plastic cups, mine kept leaking, and we listened to bad eighties music. I downloaded a bunch of "so bad, it's good" songs for my ipod, including Lost in Your Eyes by Debbie Gibson.

Sitting there in that little room, I couldn't believe that I was in Prague, with a guy I just met, someone who was so different yet so the same as me, sharing some great wine, talking the night away. The day turned out better than I ever expected. I went back to my room late, met one of my other roommates, a Mexican guy named Carlos, who tried to encourage me to continue the party with some whiskey and tequila. I declined, crawled into my sleeping bag, with a sweetly fuzzy mind, and no plans for the day ahead.

Prague Castle



St. George's Basilica



My home in Prague.

Czech, Please

Me in the Old Town Square.

The last time I went to Prague, it was seven years ago, and I arrived in a vintage silver Volkswagen Beetle. I took the 11+ hour journey from Warsaw with Jacub and one of his friends, the car being Jacub's, he being the driver. My memories of that trip are a little fuzzy, but I do remember the ride there. In Poland, there are no major highways so in order to get to the Czech border, we had to drive on all these little two-lane roads, which winded through so many towns, for what seemed like an eternity. Then we crossed the border, and all of a sudden, there were fast, multi-lane highways. After driving through what seemed like every town in Poland, the Czech Republic road system seemed so much more efficient.

My experience crossing the border from Poland to the Czech Republic wasn't as dramatic this time around since I took the train. But again, I did notice an immediate difference. This being my fourth trip on a Polish train, my experience shows that there are never any station announcements, the stations themselves are often times badly marked, the conductors brisk and annoyed. Therefore, you always have the feeling like you're not totally sure where you are.

This train ride was no exception until we went to the Czech side and all of a sudden, we were getting long announcements about where we were and where we were going. Stations were clearly marked with uniform blue signs with white letters. The conductor smiled and answered questions. It finally felt like someone knew what they were doing. In Poland, I was never quite sure.

It didn't stop there. When I arrived, it took me a few minutes to figure out how to buy my Metro ticket, but once I did and saw the station, I nearly jumped for joy. There were subway maps, lots of them, and they were easy to read and made complete sense! After the Metro, I hopped on a tram, which is similar to what they have in Krakow, but here they told you what stop you were at and all the stops on the line were clearly indicated. In Krakow, I learned after time that there was some kind of tram map (which one knew where to get) but the stations were never announced; you always had to figure out where you were by instinct or good luck.

After checking into my hostel, I decided to wander around the Stare Mesto, the old town of Prague. I barely opened my guidebook, deciding instead to wander about and get lost in the beautiful cobblestone streets with cotton-candy colored buildings. Besides the sights, there were tourists everywhere. Nearly everyone standing around had a camera in hand and for the first time in a month, I kept hearing English being spoken. Not British English or some other kind of accented English, but American English. Americans were everywhere.

I was among them. It was impossible not to walk around mouth agape and take as many pictures as possible. Everywhere I turned, I saw something beautiful. Every building was different. I marveled at many, each with is own story told in architecture, colors and statues.

I finally opened my Lonely Planet guide book and found a French patisserie called Au Gourmand that sounded heavenly. When I walked in, I was immediately in love: there was the old-fashioned décor and then there was a gorgeous array of French desserts.

I pointed to the strawberry and raspberry tart shyly, indicating that I didn't speak Czech.

The man behind the counter snarled in English, "Do you want to eat here or takeaway?"

"Oh," I said, somewhat surprised. "Here."

"Then why are you ordering at the counter? You can sit down."

In Krakow, all ordering is done at the counter. And no one would speak English like that to me. And it suddenly occurred to me that I was experiencing a little bit of culture shock.

So I sat down. He brought me my food, and I am telling you, this berry dessert was the best thing I have eaten in a month, maybe more. After eating it, I decided my next trip will be to France, my blog will be called French Cheese. And if I get fat, it will be so worth it. I watched the three counterboys/waiters talk to each other as I ate.

"This is the best thing I have eaten in a month," I told one of the waiters. "Did you make it?"

He got embarrassed. "No, the chef did."

I wanted these waiters to be my friends but they weren't interested in talking to me. I waved good-bye to them and they weakly waved back in return. Their bad luck. It's a good possibility that I will return.

One of the many ornate buildings I saw.

The best thing I have eaten in a month.

One of the statues on the famous Charles Bridge.

Hand-painted egg ornaments (yes, made from real eggs) at a tourist shop.