Czech Republic, you've taught me that…

Me in Prague.

I'm a city girl at heart.

French patisseries aside, Czechs make bad desserts. But I'll eat them anyway.

You might make good beer, but I still prefer wine.

It can be really cold in October.

There is nothing to fear but fear itself.

I can handle being alone for a long period of time.

You shouldn't get attached to your bed.

Old Czech grandmas like to speak with me--in Czech. Nodding and smiling gets you by.

Plain yogurt and granola with a ham sandwich is a really good breakfast.

Good signage and Lonely Planet guide maps are a tourist's best friend.

There's something really nice about a tea bowl.

There are places on earth where there are miles and miles of short green grass.

Czech men seem kind of shy, but when they are drunk, they like to yell in the streets.

Sometimes you have to get off the train and get on a bus.

I really dig art nouveau.

Your language sounds like Polish, but when I speak Polish you don't understand a word I say.

I am the same person in the Czech Republic as I am anywhere else.

Two weeks can feel like two years.

I enjoyed our time together, but I think it is time to move on. It's not you, it's me. You're really great, I really mean it, but if I stay in your country any longer, I might die because none of you Czech people will talk to me unless you work at a restaurant, a hotel or a train station. And death is not an option because there is just so much more I need to see right now and things I need to be talking about. I think we can still be friends. Peace out, CR!


Hey, Czech man! What are you looking at? I said good-bye already!

Hey, Brno! You're boring!

The view from here? Not so good.

It might be naïve of me to have thought that I would like every place I visit during this trip. But even the places I found a little ordinary (Ceske Budejovice) or strange (Karlovy Vary), I could find something that amused and delighted me.

I don't like anything about Brno.

I came in yesterday evening, my train cabin next to some ugly Americans, who were drinking beer, talking on top of their lungs and just being the type of nuisance that made me embarrassed for my country. I found my way to my hotel, which was recommended to me by Steffi, one of the girls I spent my birthday with. She went to university here for a semester and suggested that I stay on the hotel on the college campus because it was cheap. My room is a little dorm, with two single beds, a desk, some chairs, a bathroom and a mini-kitchen. The only strange thing is that there appears to be no one who goes to school here. I have seen only a handful of students.

I found a sheet of paper in my room with Guest Rules and it includes the statement, "Do not hesitate to ask the receptionist about any necessary information." It does not mention that the receptionist does not like to answer questions about any necessary information. I tried to find out about the computer lab (the response was pointing outside in annoyance) to using the laundry room (With a deep sigh: "I guess you can use it, but you can't use it now.")

I took the tram into town for some dinner, and there was no open store or restaurant in sight. It was only 7 o' clock. There were a few people milling about, mostly young people, so they had to be going somewhere. This place, I could not find. I finally went into a coffee shop for some dessert just because it was the only place I saw open, and then I went to McDonald's for dinner.

Sunday was no different. Everything was closed. I wandered about the touristy sights, which had me yawning, the architecture ugly, the air cold on my skin. I found a restaurant that was open, a pasta place, where I ate spaghetti and flipped through a Czech woman's magazine. Inside was one article that I think was supposed to help readers practice reading English. It was an essay written by a British woman defending Americans. She wrote about how Czechs think all Americans are stupid and fat, that no Czech wants to learn American English because they think British English is superior, that Czechs disagree with our government and hate the American commercialism infiltrating their country. In the essay, the writer urged Czechs to have an open mind about Americans, that the stereotypes were not always true, the decisions of the government not necessary any individual's fault. I had heard rumblings of anti-American sentiments in my travels so far. It's one thing to hear it in conversation, but this article, written in a national magazine, took me a little by surprise.

As I am reading, low and behold, the same ugly Americans from the train come and sit at the table right next to me, where they proceeded to have a very loud conversation about midgets.

I needed to get away from them, so I headed to Coffee Heaven, an extremely overpriced European Starbucks-like chain, where I grabbed some coffee and cake, and contemplated my life. Along with this town being a complete drag, all this alone time has made me sentimental and introspective. I found myself getting teary-eyed by the quotes written on the café walls.

"Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart." - Confucis.

This made me think about the day I left New York for this trip, and the knowledge I had then that I was doing something that I really wanted to do, that this trip meant the world to me, that I was going somewhere with all my heart. Would I be able to continue living this way back in New York? Would I really be able to pursue my writing there, with all my heart, or will I drag my feet on the ground because I will be too scared?

Saturated in my thoughts, I went to the Capuchin monastery crypt which was probably the worst place for me to go. Inside the crypt are about a whole bunch of dead bodies from the 18^th century that have become mummified. Walking through the rooms, I saw charcoal grey bodies, mostly bones, through many still had loose skin attached, others still were wearing clothes and their shoes. It was their faces that got me: all of them wore different expressions, but they all looked terrified. Little kids ran by me with wide eyes and donut-hole mouths.

Note to self: When contemplating the meaning of life, don't go to a crypt. It doesn't make you feel any better.

So I did something that does make me feel better. I went to the movies, and went to see an American movie, Becoming Jane, which is a fictious account about writer Jane Austen's life. And there were plenty of Czechs there enjoying the American movie as well.

It is possible that Brno is more lively (at the very least, open) on the weekdays, that the place is truly exceptional in the warm, lazy days summer. I am willing to believe that. But I don't think I ever need to come back to find out for sure.

Back to school: My hotel/dorm.

The bustling main square.

Brno's Cathedral of St Peter and Paul.

How to make Czech beer.

Choose a location like Ceske Budejovice that has great water: it's the most important ingredient for a good beer.



Build giant wells to get the water from underground. Store water in giant silver cylinders.



Create beer in the brew house by mixing the water with ground malt: The process takes about 10 hours and includes three processes: mashing, filtering and boiling.



Add yeast to the liquid and let it ferment for about 10 days.



Let beer age for 90 days.



At this point, the beer is freshest and tastes the best. But it must be pasteurized after this stage or it will go bad in a week.



Bottle the beer.



Package it up and it's ready to drink!

By the way, Budweiser Budvar is in no way related to Budweiser in the United States. They explained on the tour that a man who used to work at their company moved to the United States and started his own beer company and took the same name. Budweiser Budvar created beer first, Anheuser copyrighted the name first. Therefore, there are two different opinions on who has the original Budweiser. Does anyone have a preference?

Where's Yvonne?

Going nowhere.

The other day, my friend Brian emailed me pictures from his recent vacation to Greece. The pictures showed him and his friends in shorts and tank tops, walking the ancient ruins, eating meals by the ocean, the sunlight reflecting off their sunglasses.

Yesterday, I got an email from Adam, who after Prague had ventured to the Croatia coastline, where he spoke of "hot sunny days." Some of his friends even got sunburned.

And then there is me. I go to Ceske Budejovice, a town whose name I can barely pronounce. From the moment I got here, it went from normal autumn temperatures to January frigid. Today as I walked to the Budweiser Budvar brewery, the town's biggest attraction, I was wearing my warmest sweater, my green puffer and rain coat, and the cold still bit through my jeans. The sky was blue, but the next minute it was grey. It rained on and off. My umbrella rippled uneasily in the brutal wind. The rain drops felt like ice on my red and cold hand. I was on a busy road filled with cars and trucks puffing diesel fumes in the air. I walked by a mall, a massive OBI store--their version of Home Depot--Communist style buildings, and not much else.

Most people go the beach when they go on vacation. I decide to go to east bumblefuck Czech Republic.

How did I end up here?

I asked myself this question today, and I just laughed.

When I was planning this trip, my goal was to focus on a few countries and really get to know them. I wanted to see the main attractions, but also get off the beaten path and find some hidden treasures along the way. I wanted to see how the real people live. And I guess I have got it here: Ceske Budejovice is a fine place, but it's just ordinary. It's where Czech people live and work and have kids and go to the mall and drive cars. It reminds of New Jersey.

I feel like I have been in the Czech Republic forever. Poland seems like such a distant memory. I have only been in this country 12 days, it feels like a year.

I enjoyed the beer making factory. Afterwards, I looked in my guide book for something else to do. My other options for the day were the South Bohemian Motorcycle Museum or the Museum of the Horse-drawn Railway.

I head out tomorrow.

The mall.


Obi.


View of the square from the top of the Black Tower.



The Black Tower.

My new favorite thing: The tea bowl.

On top of the world.

My day started trying to find the bus station and finding myself in a sketchy parking lot filled with parked buses and not a single person in sight. I finally bumped into a disheveled-looking woman with hair sticking up.

"Do you speak English?" I asked. "Do you know where the bus station is?" Blank look. "Autobus?" I pointed to one of the buses. She shook her head. Don't know.

I found it a block away. I think she knew.

I took the bus to Cesky Krumlov, 50 minutes outside of Ceske Budejovice. Next to Prague, it is the Czech Republic's second biggest tourist destination because of its picturesque town surrounding a magnificent castle--the Krumlov Chateau--perched on top a hill.

I started the day by climbing the Krumlov Chateau's round tower, up the stairs round and round until I reached the top. Considering that I heard that this town is usually a zoo of tourists, I think it was an impressive feat that I was alone on the balcony. The view was breathtaking, and I was happy to have it all for myself.

I wandered the castle grounds and then the garden. The garden was uninteresting until I walked through a hedge of yellow leaves that smelled of good old-fashioned fall. It reminded me of candy corns, pumpkins, hooded sweatshirts and leaves across the grass. I inhaled deeply and thought to myself, this is life outside a cubicle.

I took a long lunch, stepping into a vegetarian place with hesitation only to discover it was just the place that I wanted to be. My table and chair was wooden, the chair shifted when I sat on it, but it all felt very warm and the whole place had a nice bohemian vibe. I ordered a burrito and green tea, which was served in a pot and was poured into a small clay bowl. It felt strange at first to drink from a bowl, but as I got used to it, I loved the feeling of cupping my cold hands over the warmness and taking slow sips. If you put too much tea in the bowl, it got cold too fast, so you could only pour a little at a time, and then it was pure perfection.

For dessert, I got blueberry dumplings, which of course, had whipped cream all over them (I have found that most desserts in the Czech Republic are not that good and they try to compensate the fact by putting an enormous amount of whipped cream on top). The dumplings were good, however, and I ate slowly, drank my tea deliberately, taking in the soulful piano music and reading my book. It was one of the best meals of my trip.

The waiter looked like an outdoorsy, hippy type, with chin length blonde hair wearing a black fleece pullover. He spoke English to me but would always start giggling nervously and would awkwardly dart outside to get my orders. When he was figuring out my bill, I found out he was from Prague, and he started asking me where I was from and if I was staying in town.

I told him that I was only here for a day, that I was staying in Ceske Budejovice.

"No one ever goes there," he told me, "It has a nice square though."

"Yeah, I think I am the only tourist there."

He asked me if I was staying around town for a while. Was he hitting on me?

"Just for the day," I told him. He giggled and jumped away. Friendly guy, but a little too rabbit-like for me.

Afterwards, I wandered the streets a little, poking my head in tourist shops, trying to stay warm (I heard the waiter tell another table that it might snow tomorrow!) I went back to the castle for a tour of the old theater that was built in the 18^th century. There is only two like it in the world, and it is compete with all the original stage, seating, scenery, props and costumes.

The tour was the strangest thing ever. There was only me and this family of five who where there and we had to sit in the theater in almost complete darkness while the guide talked. You could barely see anything and the guide would barely look at us when he spoke. We then went under the stage where we could see how they manipulate the sets with robes and wooden machinery.

"It's a little uncomfortable in there," the guide said. It was also freezing cold. And dark. And he didn't demonstrate anything, which was a bummer. Instead of showing us the different sets and costumes, he showed us a poster with pictures of them, but it was so dark, you had to squint to see anything. I left 30 minutes later feeling like "What just happened there?" I saw the guide walk past me and then he broke out into a run into another building. Why does everyone run around here?

I took the bus back, wandered around the bus station mall, ate some mall food, then briskly walked back to the pension. After writing some emails, I could hear jazz music coming from the bar next door, but there is no place I would rather be than in bed, out of the cold and watching CNN (the only English channel on TV).

Krumlov Chateau.



View from the top.

Tea pot and tea bowl.

Sign on the bus.

Letting go.

Last night, I found myself getting nervous about my day of traveling. I had already booked my ticket from Karlovy Vary to Prague. But then I either had to take another bus (if I made it to the Prague bus station in time) or take the metro to the train station and catch a train to Ceske Budejovice. I was fraught with indecision and anxiety. That's one thing that happens when you travel alone. You have to make all the big decisions by yourself.

But I tried to think about it more rationally. Why was I getting nervous? What was the worst that would happen? That I would miss the bus and be stuck in Karlovy Vary? That I couldn't find a connection in Prague and would be stuck there another day? That I couldn't find a place to spend the night? My worries were senseless. Even if I found myself in these situations, I am sure that I could figure something out. My fear is the idea of something going wrong.

That's when I made the realization that this is the way I live my life. I always want to do everything right the first time, and my biggest fear is messing up. And this not only about my travels, it affects my work, my relationships, my writing, everything.

It's kind of funny then, that I decided to travel for three and a half months in Europe, because here, I end up making mistakes everyday. There's no way that I can know everything. Sometimes I get it right the first time, and other times I don't. I am on the ride of my life, and it is almost like a roller coaster (in a good sense because you all know that I hate roller coasters). The problem is that I am gripping the handle bars too tightly and sometimes, in order to really have fun, you just have to throw your hands up in the air and let go.

So in the end, it all worked out fine. I took the bus from Karlovy Vary to Prague and then took the next train to Ceske Budejovice. It was all very non-eventful and easy until I noticed we were stopped at a station for a long time. I looked outside and it wasn't my stop. But then the conductor came by and pointed outside to all the people going on the bus. I was supposed to join them. He helped me with my bags, and I got on a bus that took me to the city. I made a mistake. I didn't know. It all worked out at the end.

Ceske Budejovice, the home of the original Budweiser, was a welcome change from Karlovy Vary. The moment I left the bus, I felt a sense of relief. There were convenient stores (something I couldn't find in the spa town), graffiti on the walls, strange clothing stores and even stranger people walking around. In the middle of this blue-collar town is a beautiful square, filled with rows of colorful buildings, one of the biggest in Europe. It looks and feel like a place where real Czech people live. I haven't seen one tourist yet. I checked into my pension, ate dinner at the place the girl at the front desk recommended, and went to the bar next door for a glass of wine. The town seemed to go to sleep as soon as night fell. I was also tired from my day of traveling and so that was just fine.


Cool building in Ceske Budejovice.



The town square at sunset.



After dinner walk.

The spa life.

The spa.

This morning I was grumpy. I walked to the bus station and found out that there weren't any buses to my next location. Tomorrow, I will have to travel back to Prague and then take a bus or train to Ceske Budejovice. I will be traveling all day.

After walking around with a cloud looming overhead, I realized I needed to adjust my attitude. Where did I need to go? I have all the time in the world. I am on the trip of a lifetime. I am in no rush. The journey is part of the trip.

Maybe I am grumpy because I haven't really spoken to anyone besides waiters and annoyed bus ticket counter people in the last few days. Or maybe it is just the water.

To cheer me up, I decided to walk to the Albert's grocery store and buy myself some food for my trip tomorrow. I picked up some fresh rolls, sliced ham, chips, chocolate. I noticed that their cookie selection wasn't the greatest: lots of wafers. But I did enjoy the large ice cream display they had, which prompted me to get one, even though it was only noon. Is it ever too early for ice cream?

Afterwards, I headed to the spa, which is a grand white building that looks a little frayed around the edges. I was a little nervous about my 30-minutes of pampering, but then I remembered that it was only 30 minutes. I walked upstairs to my first treatment, which was going to be a "peat" bath. The place looked more like a hospital than a spa facility. There place was white all over--a very institutional feel--with long hallways and door after door of rooms. I sat on the chair next to my room, where others (mostly older women) were waiting as well.

A woman wearing all white briskly walked from room to room. I am not sure what she was doing, but she obviously worked there and was obviously very busy. She talked loudly, slammed doors, sometimes carried out large white sheets out of rooms and throwing them in a large laundry bin. She took my spa schedule and stamped it. It was all very official.

She called me over, and I followed her into one of the rooms, where there was a large silver bathtub that she was filling up with water that came from two gold handles. She said something to me, which I think meant get undressed, and so as she prepared the water, I got naked. She helped me into the tub, set a timer for 15 minutes and left.

I thought that I was getting a mud bath, but instead this was a warm bath with mud particles inside. The tub was so big, filled with water all the way to my chin, that I had to force myself not to float to the top. When I lifted my arms, I could see brown speckles all over them.

I could hear the woman outside slamming doors, talking loudly, people walking by and so instead of staring at the white hospital tiled wall, I closed my eyes and tried to relax. It felt nice. Fifteen minutes later, the alarm rang and I pulled the string that was hanging from the ceiling. The woman came back in, helped me out of the tub and pushed me into a shower, where I had to rinse off. Without my asking, she opened the shower at one point and helped me with my back. Then she wrapped me in a bed linen and led me to a little cot where she made me lie down and she wrapped more blankets over me, put the timer on and left. I could have fallen asleep there, in that little cocoon, but the timer went off again. I felt like I was part of some kind of recipe, and I was done.

I dressed and headed downstairs for my massage. With a few other women, I was showed to a locker room, where we stripped again and put the bed linens around us. Then we walked into this really large room with grimy wet floors, filled with random bath tubs and showers. No one told us what to do, but the girl who was with me went into one of the showers and so I followed her direction and rinsed off again. I came out and stood there for a while, holding on to my bed sheet.

I watched a hefty naked women, with large breasts down to her waist, walk into a corner. One of the technicians turned on a hose and started spraying her full blast with it, focusing on her legs at first and then her belly and then she made her turn around and do her back.

Oh my god, I thought to myself. Is this the massage? I mentally prepared myself for being hosed down for 15 minutes while everyone watched me. Then again, if this woman had no shame, I could handle it, too.

A woman called my name and I was led to another room, where I breathed a sigh of relief. There was a massage table. The 15-minute massage focused on the shoulders, back and butt. Most American spa therapists never touch the butt, but here they went at it with full force. My butt seemed to have a lot of tension in it.

For the shoulders, she made me sit up completely naked while she worked my neck. I couldn't help but smile. In America, they are so particular about nudity, making sure you are covered the whole time, that this would never happen. I felt completely comfortable though. A woman walked in and started talking to the therapist. I tried to ignore their conversation until the alarm went off.

I left the spa feeling really good. I wished the experience lasted longer, but then again, I feel that way anytime I leave a spa. I was glad I could experience it Czech style.

After the spa, I went out for lunch, read a book, practiced some Polish, then took a nap. I have a nice life. What do I have to complain about?

Is this a spa or a hospital?



Dirty tub o' mud.



Ice cream delights at Albert's.

There's something in the water.

Cheers!

Karlovy Vary is a spa town on the western part of the Czech Republic, which I thought would be a nice, relaxing stop after walking up and down the streets of Prague for the last six days. I was envisioning an oasis in the middle of nowhere, a posh, upscale little town, miles of nature walks and spas where I can sit and be rubbed and scrubbed and pampered for hours.

When I stepped off the bus, I was greeted with a rundown bus station, a McDonald's and a giant supermarket.

Looking at the map, the town looked small, so I decided to walk to my hostel. Big mistake. While it wasn't a long walk, my hostel is on top of a hill that is San Francisco-worthy. Walking up it with my hundred pounds of belongings was torturous. Halfway through, I bumped into a bunch of construction workers. I stopped to take a breather and ask one if I was heading the right way. He pointed straight up the hill. I trudged along, stopping again to take a break. I could hear the construction worker yelling, "Keep going!" When I got to the top, I had completely soaked through my shirt with sweat.

The girl at the hostel suggested that I take an apartment I could have all to myself. It cost more, but not too much more. At that point, she could have suggested I sleep in the doghouse. I said yes, sure, whatever, just GET THIS BAG OFF ME! I got to the room (which of course was on the fourth and top floor of a walk-up building) and it was bigger than my New York City apartment. It was more than I needed, more than I wanted to spend, but fine, I'll take it.

I wandered back down the hill (waving to the construction guys) and got some lunch. I decided on this Italian place and since I was so hot, I decided to sit outside, which was my second mistake of the day because I was freezing in ten minutes. The menu was written in every language possible, but not in any consistent order, so I ended up ordering from the Italian menu. The ravioli I got had the pastiest white sauce ever (so much for spa food) and they charged me for the olive oil they placed on my table even though I didn't use any.

This place was strange. Most of the signs were written in either Czech or Russian, and most of the people seemed to be one or the other. I had read that this town was supposed to be luxurious. While it did get considerable nicer away from the bus station, I wasn't sure who would consider this place all that posh. I walked by jewelry store after jewelry store selling ugly and gaudy jewelry, a wig store, clothing stores selling leather outfits and fur hats. Spa treatments were advertised here and there, but the signs scared me. They spoke of "medical cures" and "laser treatments" and showed pictures of ugly naked people taking part in dubious treatments, like the one I saw of a woman standing in a random silver cylinder with a big smile on her face.

The biggest deal about Karlovy Vary is the spring water. It is available all over town, at community drinking stations, and it is supposed to be very good for your digestion. You can buy a little cup to drink the water at the souvenir shops. The cups are made of glass, and they look like a little flask. Some have a handle or nozzle. I saw so many people holding these cups, filling them up at these random water fountains around town, that I decided that I needed to participate.

I bought the baby-sized cup (it even has a cartoon character on it), walked to a fountain and I tested the water. I don't know what to compare it to, but I imagine that dirty pennies in a warm cup of water tastes similar. It was nasty. I looked around to see if anyone was looking, and I dumped the rest of the water out in the river.

Everyone else seemed oblivious to the fact that the water tasted bad. I wandered into an ugly, communist style building thinking it was a museum of something, but instead inside was a giant room filled with springs and miserable-looking people filling their cups in fountains, sitting on benches and drinking. That's when I decided that they must filter drugs in there or something.

I went to one of the main spas to sign up for some appointments for tomorrow. I was really excited about the idea about spending the day in the spa. Most spa treatments here are prescribed by a spa doctor and people stay for weeks, but you can arrange some day appointments as well. The woman said that there was not much available for tomorrow.

I arranged for a partial massage and a mud bath.

"They are 15 minutes each," the girl said.

"You mean fifty?"

"No, 15. Like 1-5."

What miracle cure can you possibly do in 15 minutes?

Well, that sounds like a relaxing…half-hour. Wonder what else tomorrow will bring.

Pick a cup, any cup.



The room of miserable water drinkers.



One of the scary spa ads.



Karlovy Vary-pretty from a distance.

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.

This town is dead.

Boo!

Something was not right. It started last night. I went to my room, and there was someone in my bed.

"Ahh! There is someone in my bed!" I said.

The mound of covers on my bed shifted and I saw a stranger girl peer at me. "Oh, this is your bed? Sorry, we can switch back tomorrow." She rolled back over.

Um, no thanks. I grabbed my towel which was draped on the headboard, my flip flops which were at the foot of the bed, emptied out my drawer filled with all my stuff and moved it to the next empty bed.

She turned to watch me for a little bit. "I guess I should have noticed that the bedspread was not folded up like the others."

Yeah, I guess. Weird-o.

I woke up this morning early because I decided to spend the day in Kutna Hora, a historic town an hour outside of Prague. The night before I looked up the train times on the internet, and this morning at the station, I thought I had everything figured out. About twenty minutes before the train departed, I felt like something was not right, so I confirmed with the information desk. Good thing I did. I almost got on the wrong train.

When I researched for my trip to the Czech Republic, the place that intrigued me most was Kutna Hora. The Sedlec Monastery located there, in medieval times, had been a place many people wanted to be buried. Then the plague struck, they run out of spots, and so the bones of 40,000 bodies piled up. In the 1800's, a local woodcarver was given permission to use the bones to create crazy sculptures to decorate the monastery, including a chandelier that includes all the bones in the human body.

I was one of the first people to enter the place, and it was as subdued and eerie as I expected it to be. But then a giant tourist group came in, and suddenly this quiet little church might as well been the Church of Times Square. The worst was the Czech tour guide with a black leather jacket, black leather pants, a leather bag, a pointer with a feather attached, and a really loud and annoying voice that could be heard no matter where you stood. It really spoiled the whole experience for me, and when I walked out, I saw that there was more where that came from. The buses were lined up. The people were coming in flocks.

I walked into the town of Kutna Hora, which used to be a big mining town, rivaling Prague in significance until the silver ran out. I am not sure whether it was because it was a Saturday or because it was the middle of October, but there seemed to be no one around. All the streets empty, the stores closed, not a local in sight.

I followed the walking tour in my Lonely Planet guide, and then I would find the only people alive in town: the giant groups of tourists. I gritted my teeth when I passed by the leather woman guide and her group at the Italian Court. They were not the only ones. Since we were all essentially seeing the same things, sometimes these groups would overtake me and surround me. I sometimes felt like I was a little lost sheep in the wrong herd.

I tried to pass some time by having a traditional Czech meal at a pub, where almost every table was reserved for one big party. I was petrified that leather woman guide was this P. Parson character, the name which was written on a card placed on almost every table. I left before I found out.

The town has a beautiful cathedral and the sights were okay, but overall, the whole place just didn't feel right. There was no life to it at all. I wanted to see the dead, but not this kind of dead. I was happy to get on (the right) train back to Prague.

Pyramid of bones.

Heavy metal!

My arch-nemesis: The leather woman with the feather pointer.

Italian court.



Cathedral of St Barbara.

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.