Justification, but for Whom?

In two weeks from today, I will finish my time here as an au pair here in Czech Republic.  I will bid farewell to southern Bohemia, the place I called home for the past year with a family that has become something like my own relatives.  (But still quite distant relatives... where there are many awkward silences filled with nodding and such.) 

I can't help but find myself reflecting back nostalgically on the past year, and simultaneously giddy about the future and all that awaits me.  I can scarcely believe it has been over a year since I arrived in CZ.  I feel like the year flew by.  

This past year has provided me so many opportunities that I NEVER would have experienced on my own.  While working for the Grills', I will have been able to visit nine countries, four of them for the first time, and I can hardly forget to mention the incredible Euro Cup Match I witnessed in Basel.  None of which would have been possible with some dinky, minimum-wage job in Kingsport. 

 

I say this in part to "justify" my actions.  At first, I thought I was merely justifying my lifestyle to my parents, who sometimes claim that I eventually will have to enter "the real world".  I was always annoyed at this comment (Karen...).  What does that even mean?  Paying bills, living paycheck-to-paycheck, attempting to save a dime or two, getting married, popping out babies, and the like? 

This brings me to the point that there is some notion within us saying, in order to enjoy our lives, we must first suffer.  After one graduates university, one must scrap by on their meager salary, while they slowly work up the socioeconomic ladder.  In the meantime, one must be married and start having children. 

 Eventually, after 20 to 30 years of hard work, raising children,  saving money for retirement, children's education, that dream vacation, you finally get the kids off to college with straight teeth mind you, and can finally focus back on yourself.  But wait, what's this? Elderly parents to worry about, jobs that you can't leave, and the exhausting idea of a vacation abroad is overwhelming after going 90mph for the last 25 years.  Then, people say, "When I retire I will..."  Yes, because clearly retirement age is the prime age to jet-set round the world.  Most people are in top physical condition for such extravagant adventures. 

I will confess that the younger generations do have a bad case of the "Lazy, half-ass workers, who want to be wealthy immediately, if not sooner, without raising a finger". I see this, and I agree.  There are many of us who still find ourselves questioning "What do I want to be when I grow up? Regardless of having already graduated university.  Do we have it too easy?  Or are there just too many options these days to settle down and decide?

Take me for example, I am getting the opportunities to do things my parents couldn't do.  Between globalization and improved living standards with most generations, we are a spoiled bunch of twerps, who seek adventure and fun without wanting to work.

All of this rambling to say,  I have started feeling the pressure to decide what I want to do with my life, and have a plan for my future, and settle down in an area.  Is it purely an unspoken societal pressure that there is a formula with only limited flexibility? As in, okay study abroad and au pair, that's enough, come back to reality. Or perhaps, it's parental pressure, wanting me closer to home and steady without country hopping every year? Perhaps, it is self-pressure? 

Initially, I was very defensive.  On the phone one day, I ranted and raved to my Mom after she asked what I planned to do next and some mention at my need to entire reality soon.  How is what I am doing any worse than my peers back home?  Why is this such an unreasonable lifestyle for now?  I am not saying she said this by any means, but she does often remind me that eventually, I will have to grow up, and of course that I have "no idea" what it's like.

I began my tirade by saying that they pay for none of my bills, and in that sense, I am completely independent from them financially.  I don't ask for money, and I don't need for money.  I have been able to save some money, which I dare say would be a reasonable amount for any fresh college grad in their first year working.  I have found a job that allows me to support myself, and still get to do what I enjoy.  All my bills are paid for, including airfare and insurance, and... and... 

Then, it dawned on me that perhaps I was defending myself to myself.  I definitely have that mentality that too many good things happening is bound to be followed by something terrible and bizarre, like getting struck by lightening or dying from a spider bite.  Am I just paranoid or is this a guilt issue?  

Most likely both... I can't help but feel guilty for getting to have all of these incredible experiences while I watch my parents work extreme hours and go to bed exhausted and stressed.  I know they are happy for me, but why can't I accept that? 

I had really began to work myself up with the "What will I do next? What will I do in the long haul? What am I doing? "  I tried to plan every aspect for the next year.  I needed to know what my long-term goal was.  I needed to decide on a career.  I needed to know what am I going to do with my life? And all of that, in that instant.  

>Light bulb<

 This is my life.  Here and now. In this moment sitting in Hluboka nad Vltavou, Czech Republic typing  this blog.  Why do I need to know everything right now? Who am I trying to please?  Who is demanding these answers of me? A friend here, a girl from Singapore, grounded me by saying, "Don't worry about it so much.  You can only plan so much of your life.  If you try to control every single aspect you will make yourself crazy and not enjoy the ride because plans never go as planned."

I am not completely unrealistic with the idea that I do eventually want a dental plan, to start a retirement fund, buy a house of my own, and to settle down.  However, while I can see all of these amazing places, and do all of these wild, unique things, then, why not? After all, I am only 23-years-old, and I am doing it on my own accord. 

So, maybe you asking, what will I do next?  Here is the latest.  This weekend I will be visiting my Croatian friend in Vienna.  As I mentioned, in two weeks, I leave CZ and head for Paris where I will be visiting three friends.  From Paris I fly to Nashville and will be in Tennessee until December 30th.  From there I go to Denver to spend New Years with two great gal pals.  Finally, I fly back to Europe January 6th, and will find myself in Berlin January 8th, where I will be visiting yet more friends.

Lastly,  I will go to Madrid, where I will become an au pair once again for seven months.  This is all I know as of now, but I do say, it is a lot to look forward to!

And What about the Rest of August?

Well, after my enjoyable flight from Prague to Atlanta, things didn't continue to be so rosy.  I hurried from Customs to recheck my baggage.  Then, I scurried to my terminal and ate a nice, American meal at Chilli's before heading to my gate.  

I arrived at my gate with plenty of time to spare.  I was still quite elated about my experience earlier with Yoga Master Marcus.  Plus, I was feeling satisfied about my travel ease and priding myself on being such an excellent and independent traveller.  

The gate was packed with people waiting for the same flight to Nashville.  Since no chairs seemed vacant, I used this as an excuse to buy a Mint Mocha Chip Frappuccino from the company I loathe, Starbucks.  Feeling only slightly guilty for my traitorous actions and eating such a high-caloric treat, I sauntered back to my gate with only 15 minutes to wait before boarding.

Then, the loudest clap of thunder roared and the vibrations rattled the walls.  It was so loud that people eyes wide and frightened, looked out the window and all around as if expecting to see that a bomb had just been detonated.  Seconds later, a steady downpour began and only flickering lights could be made out on the tarmac, and a group sigh of disappointment could be heard. 

The flight was delayed by one hour.  Then, 15 minutes, then 30 minutes, then 15 more minutes.  By 11:00, most of us realized that it was just a matter of time before they cancelled our flight.  

A lady I was sitting near had given me the time a half-hour before.  Her, another man, and myself had made some comments about the delay, and kept asking each other if we could make out the latest update on the board across the gate.  A few minutes later, she turned to me and asked, "This flight is going to be cancelled.  You wanna go get a Bloody Mary with me?" 

I didn't even think about it, "Sure!" I exclaimed hopping to my feet.  I was aware this was slightly odd and not really something I had done before, but I didn't have much else to do.

Her name was Sandie, in her fifties, a professor from Martin, TN, but originally from Florida.  I ordered a glass of wine and she had a Bloody Mary and some potato chips.  We made small talk about our lives, jobs, and travel.  Then, I asked if she had any kids.  

A wave of sorrow and pain flickered through her face, and then she told me six weeks before her son had died unexpectedly.  He was 26 and had just finished his Master's degree.  Her eyes were filled with tears, but I could tell she was holding them back with the strength of a fighter.  

I can not think of a worse person to put in a situation like this.  Especially considering, it had only been six weeks. I am wretched in moments like this.  I faintly remembered my mom's friend who had lost her son when he was 19 years old saying, it made her sad because no one ever talked about him.  They were always worried it would upset her if they mentioned him, but it got to the point that it was like he never existed to anyone but her.

Trying to decide what to say, opposed to many "awwww"s and "omg"s as seems natural,  I said, "I am so sorry. What is he like?"  

Her face brightened up and she began to talk about her baby boy with pride and love.  She told me about his degrees and how he use to wrestle, and about the two cats he had rescued, which now she had inherited.  She told me he had travelled all around Europe, and that she met him in London, and they had an amazing time.  They had even planned to go to Paris this fall.  She continued to share with me.  I had no idea what to say when she stopped.

I think sometimes people are so scared of silence.  I know I am.  Normally, I would start speaking frantically, try to be clever, try to lighten the mood, but sometimes, I think people just have to feel uncomfortable, to grieve, to be sad and just feel what they are feeling.  I sat there for a second, trying to choose my words wisely and not be selfish by just spitting something out to make myself feel less awkward.  But really, nothing seems appropriate or comforting in a moment like this.  The truth was, I had no idea how she was feeling, and I really had no inkling of what to say.  

Just a few days before, I had been thinking about the loss of loved ones.  I was thinking about if I lost a friend or family member untimely, how I really do not think I would have the courage and strength to go on.  I just don't know how people cope with such a loss.  So, I said to her something true from the heart. "I'll bet you found strength you never knew you had?"

She tossed her head back and rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh, "You have no idea," she said.  She ran her fingers through her short, blonde hair.  "It's one of those things that you are just waiting for it to kill you."  She took a swig from her drink, "But, here I am."

Our flight was cancelled and due to the time and amount of passengers, we all were shuttled to the front of the airport to rebook.  By 1AM, Sandie and I were still standing in line to rebook our intended 8:30pm flights to Nashville.  After we overheard the airline employees telling well over a hundred people they were on stand-by for the first flight in the morning, I decided I should try a new route.  Sandie was kind enough to let me use her phone to call Andrew, who was expecting to pick me up in Nashville.  Sandie got several of my phone calls from my family that night, and we joked that next time I came home, she would be sitting in the kitchen having coffee with my mom. 

Sandie is what got me through that night.  If I didn't have someone to talk and joke with, I would have gone stark-ravening MAD!  My anger and exhaustion would have overwhelmed me. Having someone to share the misfortune and vent to was a life saver!  Luckily, I had been able to rebook a flight directly for Tri-Cities Airport the next morning at 7:30. 

With small tote bags provided by the airline tucked under our arms, we went in search of a vacant concourse to rest our weary heads.  We decided on the Concourse C.  It was free.... and freeZING.  Up until this point, I could still laugh everything off, and for the most part deal with the circumstances. 

 I didn't sleep a wink that night.  On top of the Arctic temperature and pathetic make-shift bed of rigid chairs, it was so very loud.  CNN was blasting from monitors suspended from the ceiling.  On loop every 10 minutes was an announcement about escalator safety.  Something like, "Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport is proud to announce it is the busiest airport in the world.  We would like to remind you to be careful with soft sole shoes when entering and exiting the escalator.  Serious damage can occur if not careful.  Children should always be escorted by a parent when entering and exiting the escalator.  From all of us here at Hartsfield International, we would like to thank you for choosing Atlanta." 

By 4 AM having not slept in 20 hours, I was near screaming, "Let the bloody escalator eat all the bloody children and bloody morons who don't know how to ride it! AND curses on the one idiot that had this accident, thus making it mandatory to play this %$#@% announcement!!! AHHHH!" Then, going on a rampage busting all the monitors, and the vending machine, and gorging on Starbursts and Kit-Kats.  

Around 6:30 I said my goodbyes to Sandie, and we exchanged addresses and vowed to be pen-pals. I went to my concourse, and then my gate, and then I boarded the aircraft, and then, the airplane was 30 minutes into the flight, when the pilot announced we would be turning around and heading back to Atlanta due to left engine problems. 

 I couldn't laugh any more.  I couldn't shrug it off as one of those uncontrollable situations that happens when traveling.  Unlike Mother Nature, which truly is ungovernable, some lazy oaf didn't do their job properly.  They could have caught this problem before we took-off, fixed it, and I could have been home in my comfortable bed.  BUT NO, because some fool, some cretin, some IMBECILE I was returning to the Atlanta airport, also known as Hell!

 I had to rebook my flight... again.  This time at 12:30pm.  I was really on my last ounce of patience.  Then, just because I suppose, that flight was delayed another hour and twenty minutes.  It took every morsel of control remaining in my body to not break-down and cry at Gate 78.  I was so frustrated, but more than that, completely exhausted.  

Life held no joy at that moment.  I can't tell you the wrath and hatred boiling at my surface.  Nothing could make this situation worse... oh wait... retraction.  >Enter<>

This horrible, miserable creature spoke loud enough for everyone to hear her.  She propped her guitar on crossed legs, and strummed what seemed to me a few basic chords and began to sing her horrible, miserable song.  After her unwanted display of ummm.... talent?... she strutted over to where some boys were sitting with their legs sprawled out onto the chairs across from them.  She seductively climbed over them, and laid on her side, resting her hand in her palm as her shirt rode up exposing her pelvis and stomach, and said, "Hey, I'm Horrible Miserable, what's your name? Are you going to Johnson City? I go to ETSU.  I am majoring in music," with a slutty twinkle in her eye.

 I have never wanted to strangle a stranger so badly! (Well, actually, I am sure I have, but she is most recent.) If I had a choice, I would have preferred to bludgeoned her to death!  I hope her horrible, miserable, powder-pink cowboy hat was crushed under an 18-wheeler as she drove down the highway, obnoxiously singing to Kenny Chesney and putting on frosty, powder-pink lipgloss.

So, after 20 HOURS in Atlanta airport, where I could have driven to Kingsport and back, TWICE, I finally made it home. I was home for three weeks.  I think it is safe to say it was not the most notable three weeks of my life, but it was so very pleasant.

Most of the time, I was visiting family, catching-up with friends, rejoicing in not having au pair duties, and relaxing.  I am so thankful that I got to go home.  The time off could not have come at a better time.  It was great to see my family and friends after 9 months!

 And what about Sandie, you ask? Well, I have written Sandie a few postcards from various places I traveled, and I received one from her when she was in Florida.  I am so glad I met her.  I don't know how, but I think I was put in her life for a reason and vice versa.  Maybe just to send her pretty postcards of places her son has been or wanted to go.  I hope that every time she gets one, her heart is a little lighter, and a broad grin forms on her face. 

Tranquility Personified

It's about time, right?  This is for the family and my loyal followers, which apparently, apart from blood relatives, is only Sam Crawford.  Thanks Samuel! ;-) 

As we drove back from Croatia late one night in early August, I was tormented at the thought of surviving another month of summer with these children.  I should mention that it wasn't just having the girls home all day that made it so challenging.  It was having the girls AND the mother, plus being stuck out in their village house.  I saw no point in me being there.  I had NO freedom, NO privacy, and NO idea what I was suppose to be doing half of the time.  How was I going to make it another month, when each day seemed to trickle by slower than the one before?  Their attitudes, disrespect, and disobedience were at an all-time high.  How would I tolerate it until my planned Italian holiday at the start of September?

The next morning,  Josef and I drove to Hluboka. (I had insisted I needed to go.)  I thought this would be an ideal time to discuss my departure, which I had decided should be around early October.  I am not sure exactly how the  conversation went, but I do remember him trying to convince me to stay longer, saying I could go back home in October, then return after a few weeks... so I thought he was saying.  I was half-ignoring his attempts of persuasion until I heard him say, "And you could leave this Friday."

Uhhhh, back it up sir. What? He continued by saying that I could go home that Friday (in two days time) for three weeks in August.  Slowly, the proposal began to seep in and I suddenly comprehended it.  Go home now? Escape these horrid last few weeks of August.. the perfect escape of this torture?  Holy intervention!

After this, my mind went into hyper-drive going a thousand miles a minute.  Planning all the things I could do.  Would I surprise my parents, or would I tell them? Oh, but what about my Italian trip? I must go all the arrangements are made and Megan is flying all the way from Colorado to join.  I mentioned this to him, and he had no problems with it!

Immediately upon him dropping me off at the house, I began to search for flights.  Within a few hours, I had made all the plans in my head and emailed him the ticket I wanted.  I began to pack with the eagerness of a child before Christmas day, frantically throwing everything in my suitcase.  He purchased the ticket that Wednesday night.  By that Saturday morning, they were driving me to the Prague airport.

I could scarcely believe my luck.  I leaned against a wall of the gate, waiting to board, cursing my heavy, cumbersome backpack, curious as to how on earth I had accumulated so much junk over the last 9 months, and extremely eager to be home in Tennessee.  Things were announced in Czech and people became to scurry about.  I shuffled closer to the check-in even though I assumed they were asking for first-class and Delta's "Medallion Members", which was definitely not me.

Eventually, there was another announcement and everyone began to rush towards the gate.  I followed suit and gathered with the mass.  I was appalled and equally dumbstruck at the lack of any structured queue.  Hordes just stood clumped together with no attempts to form a line.  I was bewildered as to how this would not take centuries to board with no organization.  To my amazement, the heap of people swiftly funneled through, boarding with ease.

To my left, I noticed a tall man with glasses smiling at me.  What the??? I responded with a slight scowl.  I am not sure when or how I became so unfriendly and guarded, but I have.   I glanced down at his boarding pass only to realize we were sitting beside one another.  Great, I just glared at him.  Now, I have to sit beside him for the next 10 hours. He was probably smiling because he saw my boarding pass and noticed we would be neighbors. Oh brilliant, way to be sour and rude. Perfect, really.  

I had scored a window seat. The tall man and I sat side-by-side, and I realized I had to decide.  In those first few minutes of boarding and waiting for take-off, each passenger has a crucial decision to make.  Will I or will I not talk to my neighbor(s)?  There is a small window of opportunity to strike.  Either you and the neighbor will be chatting for the next 10 hours, or you both will be sitting in ridiculously close proximity and trying to pretend the other doesn't exist, which makes those accidental elbow or thigh brushes when you fall asleep that much more awkward. 

Since I had managed to snub him once, I realized I must speak to him.  "Hello." I said cheerily, perhaps to cheerful, nearly bordering forced.  "Hallo!" he retorted earnestly with a large grin spread across his face.

"Where are you from?" I ventured.

"Austria. And you?" he asked pleasantly.

"I'm from Tennessee.  I am going home for a few weeks.  I have been working in Czech the past nine months. And what about you? Are you on vacation?" I continued while attempting to organize myself , desperately clutching the plastic-encased blanket that was disobediently sliding off my lap and shoving my book Eat, Love, Pray into the pocket in front of me whilst my Ipod crashed to the floor.

"Umm, yes, I will take holiday in California for three weeks," he replied with a grin and a prominent Austrian accent .  He sat up very straight and unlike myself was not fighting with three different forms of entertainment, 2 pillows, and an unruly blanket.  He simply had himself, no gadgets or gismos.  I could not help but be intrigued by this man and his severely pleasant disposition.  

I couldn't help but stare at him out the corner of my eye.  I was something similar to a dog that hears an unrecognizable noise, tilting my head left than back right and finally left once more.  It should be stated that my attraction to him had nothing to do with his physical appearance. For lack of a better word, his "aura" emanated something completely captivating and magnetic.  As bizarre as it may sound, the inner peace he exuded was so potent and tangible that I could nearly feel it enveloping me, as if I could rest my head on it's shoulder while we chatted over a glass of red.

A few hours into the flight, he gathered from his neck a string of brown beads with a red tassel on one end.  He was sitting completely erect in his chair, shoulders rolled back, I'm talking textbook, pageant-girl posture! He closed his eyes and thumbed at the beads letting each individual bead slide between his thumb and pointer fingers.  Is he praying?  Ahhh, maybe he's Catholic and that is rosary.  Then, he slept for two hours seemingly never moving a muscle.  Ha. Wouldn't you know Austrians sleep in a military attention position, probably just like their cousins, the Germans.  I couldn't help but laugh to myself. 

As I said before,  I really could NOT stop looking at him.  Like a creepy lunatic, I watched him sleep.  I peered at him with both admiration and complete bafflement.  What was this guy taking? I wanted some.  Did he just have mind-blowing, euphoric sex moments before boarding the aircraft?  Had he won the lottery? WHAT was this man's secret? Why could I feel his peacefulness and contentment?

In attempts to tear my eyes away from Marcus the Austrian angel, I resorted to my various forms of entertainment.  I threw on my earphones, pulled out some pretzels, and grabbed my book from the pocket.  Now, every sense is engaged in its own activity, and I can finally stop looking at this poor, unaware man. 

I examined the pitiful condition of my book and let my hand glide over the tattered cover.  While annoyed with my inability to take care of my possessions, I uncovered a clue. OH, what's this?  I studied the cover more closely.  Eat was written in pasta noodles, Love from exotic flowers, and Pray from brown beads with a red tassel at the end.  I tried to peek down his shirt at the beads hanging from his neck.  Yes, the same!  YOGA-- he is a Yogi! He is meditating not sleeping.  I concluded.

This past year, two things that have greatly appealed and interested me are, the concept of inner peace and contentment.  I was reading this book Eat, Love, Pray by Elizabeth Gilbert.  It is about a woman's search for pleasure, dedication and balance between the two.  Although, I am not a huge fan of the way it is written, and I found the main character completely obnoxious and needy this is not exactly the point.  The point is, I enjoyed the information she gave about Yoga, an activity I had always believed was nothing but a torturous exercise class offered by fitness centers, and completely unaware that it is an entire way of life.  

The idea of quieting my body and mind from my own pesky thoughts, and simply exist and truly listen for an amount of time, greatly enthralled me.  I have been subconsciously searching for something the past year, perhaps a spiritual revelation or awakening or simply an answer. How strange that of all the flights I could have taken, and all the seats I could have chosen, I ended up next to the yoga practicing, Marcus the Tranquil.

After this discovery, I couldn't even try to stop staring at him.  I willed him with my eyes to wake-up.  I wanted to talk to him and find out more information.  I remember having the exact same sensation as a child once.  

My parents were keeping a baby girl of some friends for a few weeks, while her parents were in Europe.  I remember sitting Indian-style on the floor staring into her crib, desperately wanting to wake her up, so I could have the chance to hold her.  I remember the threats from my mom not to touch her or wake her, so I resorted to attempting to stare her awake.  Not that I wanted to hold Marcus on my lap while he cooed, (although the mental image of me cradling a man all of six-foot five is rather hilarious)... but it was the same eagerness and excitement. 

Eventually, he woke up or finished his meditating, and I pounced and began to ask him a million questions, and say things I would never say to a man, especially not a complete stranger.  I felt I could be completely honest with him.  He told me that he was, in fact, a Yogi, a vegetarian (as are most people who truly practice Yoga as a lifestyle), a Christian, had a girlfriend of 8 years, and was going to a three-week Yoga convention in L.A.  He claimed his guru was Paramahansa Yogananda, an Indian man who died over 50 years ago, but is still revered as one of the greatest teachers of ancient wisdom.

I explained that I could sense a peace about him and did the moment I saw him back in Prague... an internal stillness and contentment that radiated out of him, and instead of being freaked-out like one would expect a man, especially a stranger and man to be after a statement like this, he simply replied, "Oh, you noticed that."  The way a person would respond if they got a haircut and a friend happened to notice and comment.  I searched through his rectangle-metal frames to his greenish-blue eyes that seemed to smile back at me.  Fine laugh lines had formed on either side of his eyes, and we stared at each other unwavering, and yet it felt as natural as if it was my friend of many years.

We continued to discuss Yoga and the search of inner peace.  Every word that waltzed from his Austrian mouth was positive and upbeat.  It seemed as if he had a forcefield formed by positive energy that filtered out all negativity.  He was unscathed by nuisances such as, 10-hour long flights, going without a meal because there were no vegetarian options for him, crying babies, loud, untamed children, or general discomfort of flying.  

"I'm really glad I sat next to you," I said unabashedly. 

"I think we were destined to meet," Marcus responded.  Then, he took his brown beads from his neck and held them out to me.  "These are for you.  I have many of these, so I don't need them.  I hope they will bring you power."  I graciously accepted them, and was nearly moved to tears.  

As the plane landed, he promptly popped out of his seat and grabbed his small backpack in the overhead compartment, and then, turned to me.  "Well, goodbye!" he said perkily while shaking my hand.  I thanked him again for the beads and bid him farewell.  

He briskly walked out of the plane and didn't turn around.  It was peculiar how I could feel such a connection with a complete stranger.  I found myself smiling without truly understanding why.  What was even more odd for me was that I didn't feel a sense of sorrow, the way I normally would if I met someone I connected with and parted with nothing but a first name and a memory.  

However, the whole situation seemed so divinely orchestrated that I couldn't feel anything but happiness.  I proudly walked towards Customs with the beads dangling from my neck.  I could see Marcus's tall, balding head towering above, and his lean frame patiently waiting in the Non-U.S. citizen line with a navy blue binder in one hand, and that magnetic, indescribable serene smile swept across his mouth. 

Croatia the Fabulous

Somehow, it just dawned on me today that Friday is the Fourth of July.  Initially, i was melancholy about the fact I will miss it.  In my mind, there are four major American holidays: Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years.  Now, New Years is the one exception where it's almost cooler to NOT be home, but the others, it's a real drag to be celebrating away from friends and family, and especially to be in another country. 

And this year, I have managed to miss all 4 major holidays, plus, my birthday as an extra bonus. Before, I let myself get too carried away and depressed over the matter, I had to take into account all of the other interesting and amazing experiences I did get to experience in place of what I missed.  When I tally the results, I know that missing those holidays for one year is completely worth it.  I am still on the fence on whether I should milk it to the family though... you know, a hefty sigh followed by, tomorrow is the Fourth of July.. sigh. Yeah, my family will be making homemade ice cream, hamburgers on the grill and watching fireworks. sigh. I am not sure what benefit I would hope to come from this moaning and groaning, but I feel any sympathy points I can get from them the better.  Am I terrible or clever? I'm not sure. 

Currently, I am in Croatia, and will be until the following Wednesday, which leaves me a whole other week to survive. Before I start belly-aching about how wretched it is to have to be staying on an island off the coast of Croatia for 12 days, going to the sea everyday, eating fresh grilled fish daily, taking 2 hour long naps after lunch, and walking the promenade with a gelati in my hand, I should express it isn't all bad... as you can see. 

I can't seem to stop singing Croatia's praises, Dalmatia in particular.  It has everything you could ask for! Great weather, sea, mountains, lovely architecture, rich history, friendly people, and all for a reasonable cost. To me, it's as if Croatia is Greece and Italy's red-headed, step-brother, the one everyone forgot about.  In my mind, so many things are similar, but perhaps things like communism pushed it's glory back in the shadows. To me, it's the overlooked jewel of Europe.

Imagine, sitting on a beach of white, smooth, rounded pebbles, overlooking the most placid blue sea that stretches flat for miles, until it meets the feet of some unusual rocky mountains that create the perfect backdrop.  To your left is a quaint town, with thousands of boats in its harbor.  A large square or courtyard lined by restaurants with awnings of various colors spilling into it lies in the center of the town.  People sit, sipping a cold, refreshing beverage while looking out over the port and noting how lovely the light stone buildings with their typical hunter-green, wooden shutters are. 

The street running parallel with the sea is filled with ice cream shop after ice cream shop, all offering the most delectable and creamy gelato.  Every age, size, and nationality can't resist one, and the streets are filled with people shamelessly licking away at these scrumptious treats.   

On the beaches, there are hordes of people from all over, but mainly from central Europe.  If you listen you can hear Hungarians, Czechs, Slovaks, and Austrians all chatting away.  Men run around in small speedos, and more times than not, are accented by giant guts that hang over leaving only the sides of their nylon/lycra blend bathing suits visible.  Women are worse.  All ages, shapes and sizes let it all hang-out with no regard to public scrutiny.  Bikini bottoms here always seem to have a concave cut allowing the bottoms and sides of the butt-cheeks to hang freely. The thong also exists, but not as prevalent.  Women also have no problem removing their tops, or taking a ridiculously long and casual time to put them on. Did I mention all ages wear bikinis? Well, they certainly do. No grandma, floral print one-pieces with those little skirts attached here. No sir.  I can't leave out the children.  Children up to the age of about 3 are completely nude.  While ages of about 4 to 10 go around in bottoms only.  I guess it is the same philosophy Sally Mann subscribed to. 

Now, to start the unbearable part, because I know right now it all sounds like paradise minus the banana hammocks.  Like you would picture in Italy or Greece, many people ride around on mopeds, especially young men.  Young men with dark tanned skin, nearly black hair, and sculpted muscles gleam in the sun.  

Let me remind you where I have been the last 8 1/2 months.  I have been in a small town where the only men around are older married German men or young, barely-legal high school boys.  I nearly forgot cute men my age even existed.  It's as if I have been in some suburban prison and have been freshly released into the wild.  A place where hot young men roam freely on their mopeds without shirts, taunting me, reminding me of the male species.  It's like putting a starving animal in the butcher store. I feel I can't be held accountable for my actions`, which really only goes so far as shameless staring and a gaping mouth.  It's torture though!

The other cruel and harrowing aspects of being here are the lack of any schedule, which sounds ideal unless you are suppose to be working and you have no idea what you are suppose to do. So, I meander and putter about for a bit before retiring back to my tiny room to do nothing in particular.  Additionally, living in such small quarters with paper thin walls really reduces any privacy and that is something I so desperately need, 

Lastly, there is the eldest.  She continues to be a complete brat and often times I am certain she is the spawn of Satan.  I think I am disturbed that a 6-year-old girl uses such cutting remarks with an attitude well above her years. She truly can be the rudest and most disobedient child I have ever encountered.  However, other times she is super thoughtful and sweet? It's odd and frustrating. I almost think she has a chemical imbalance and is bipolar or something similar.

I suppose that in the end after all is considered, it's not sooo bad to have an all-expense paid 12 days in Croatia, but I can't help and be eager for Czech and my more structured life.  I am actually slightly eager to get summer over completely, which is not good.. I'm trying to learn to live in the present instead of always dreaming of the future.

Alive and Well...

A wise and insightful woman brought to my attention my lack of  blogging in recent months. HOW COULD I BE SO NEGLIGENT?! Well, I am here to amend my irresponsible ways.  

In the last few months, things have been going exceedingly well, better than I ever anticipated.  

Life here in Hluboka has improved so much that I decided to stay longer.  It seems I will be staying until the beginning of December.  

Life is not without tension and circumstances I really dislike, but overall, I have finally become accustomed to the way things are.  I still think it's ridiculous how Fina can be the most disrespectful, hateful, rude six-year-old child ever, but now, she is starting to apologize for her behavior, which to me, regardless of how small, shows improvement.  Small Zdenicka still can throw a hissy fit like no other, kicking, screaming, and the works, yet at the core she is so tender hearted.  I have really grown to enjoy these little bundles of chaos.  

The most interesting thing about working with kids is how quickly they change.  I am still amazed to see how far Zdenicka has come with her English level in the past 8 months.  Fina has also improved, and that is rewarding, even if I am not the only person to thank. I can see them changing for the better in many ways.  Seemingly immaterial things but really things that make a world of difference, and I really feel like I have tried my hardest to be a good example even in moments where I want nothing more than to backhand them, and I think I am making a positive influence in who they are becoming. 

The mother and father are still extremely thoughtful and sensitive to my needs, both in different ways, which collectively is perfect. They have also presented me with some great experiences and opportunities that I wouldn't have had otherwise.  Furthermore, they were kind enough to give me a week off for my favorite people on Earth to come for a visit.  I know them as Mom and Dad, but you might call them something more formal like Richard and Karen.  

They arrived in Prague on a dreary Monday morning.  I had elaborate plans of arriving before them getting checked-in to the apartment we were renting, having some delightful goodies to 

welcome them, and other small preparations for our lovely week ahead. 

This was the idea at least, but my bus was 28 minutes late, and then, I couldn't find the apartment through convoluted streets of Old Town Prague. Eventually, with some help, I reached the flat and after a grueling set of stairs, we were all reunited after 7,5 long months. 

Amazingly though, once I saw their faces it was like we had never been apart. It was so fantastic seeing them and hugging them! I am so thankful for inventions like Skype because it has enabled me to stay in constant contact with them, and they really helps me keep from missing them too badly.  Yet seeing their faces and be able to embrace them was so much better than just hearing their voices.

The next three days were spent catching up, enjoying one another's company whilst touring the lovely city of Prague.  I think they were much more impressed with Prague than Budapest, and definitely found Czech food more savory.  We saw many of the main sites including Old Town Square, Astronomical clock, Castle Complex including St. Vitus Cathedral, the Jewish Quarter, Muzeum, Charles' Bridge and the many stunning streets of Prague.  

After the first three days, we boarded a bus and headed back to Hluboka to meet the family and my friends, and spend the last four days enjoying southern Bohemia. The girls were obnoxiously excited to meet them, and the girls really liked them both, but especially "Mister" Richard, which is no surprise considering he's just a big kid.  

We had some amazing days relaxing, visiting Cesky Krumlov, Hluboka Castle, and spending time with a few friends in Ceske Budejovice. For me this visit was light-years better than the time in Budapest.  I think because in Budapest it had only been 2,5 months and I was enjoying myself sooooo much there, and although I was thrilled to see them, I was a bit anxious (and selfish) about the experiences I was missing with my friends.  And because of this I think at time I wasn't as patient or pleasant to be around, and I guess that shows what a jerk I can be.  However, this trip was amazing, and the Grills even told me I could join my parents in Germany if I wanted.  

I chose not to join them for several reasons, and so we parted after 7 brilliant days together, and nervously (like watching your kids go to their first sleepover or something), I watched them go alone to Salzburg and then on to Berchtesgaden.  Once again, I have to say I have developed the utmost respect and gratitude for my parents.  They are such amazing, quality people who I love and adore, and anyone who knows them would agree. I am so thankful that they came to visit, and what's more, that they feel good about this choice I made and where I am living.  Regardless of age, it still feels good to have your parents' approval. 

The few weeks after they left were not so eventful.  It took a few days to fall back into the routine of daily life, but then life was back to normal.  I have continued to enjoy utilizing the public transportation system and escaping into Budejovice in the evenings to enjoy the tea house with my friends, Indian food, or having a coffee on a side cafe of the main square.

It seemed I was in for a mundane ride to summer with nothing too invigorating to break-up the routine. BUT I WAS WRONG! As some of you may know, the spectacular competition of European football talent known as UEFA Euro Cup 2008 is being held this June in Austria-Switzerland.  This is where the top 16 European qualifiers compete in a 3 week tournament and it happens every four years.  This is something I have been looking forward to for the last two years! 

So, imagine my surprise when I got a text message from Joseph asking if I want to go to Switzerland to see one of the game!? Uhhh YES YES YES! Initially, there was still some doubt whether we would actually get tickets inside the stadium, but I didn't care. Friday morning we drove the long 7 hours to Zurich and stayed in a posh hotel, where I got to enjoy my own private room.  Saturday morning, the day of the game,  it was still undetermined if I would be able to get a ticket. 

To my great fortune, after many strings were pulled, I received a ticket to the Czech Republic-Switzerland game in Basel.  Not only that but I was lucky enough to go with the VIP Continental group (German tire company a major Euro Cup sponsor).  I wasn't even deterred by the fact I had to sit alone in the second class seats.  It was an incredible experience! I had tears and goosebumps! To be with 37,000+ fans was breathtaking! I am the luckiest girl to have this experience! The actual game was dull and boring, and Czech squeaked by with a 1-0 victory, but the overall experience was unforgettable.  As if that weren't enough, Josef and his brother snuck me into the VIP after party where I got to eat delicious food and pretend to be rich and important for an evening. 

I am still smiling and immensely grateful for this amazing opportunity I got to experience! Until the next exciting thing, I will be chilling in Hluboka, and more specifically, for the next three weeks, every night I will be posed in front of the TV watching every game I can of the Euro cup! 

I hope everyone is doing well back in the States! Love and miss you all, and I will try to write more frequently! 

Tears All Over Prague

I suppose it had to happen eventually.  Considering the amount I have traveled in the last year, with few problems, a truly hellacious touristic experience was forthcoming.  I guess on the optimistic side, at least it happened with a city I was familiar.

In attempts to avoid visiting the great-grandmother's house again with the family, on a farm two hours away with no driveway but only a path made through some fields, I told them I was going to Prague to meet some friends on Saturday and returning Sunday afternoon.  This wasn't a lie exactly, because I was trying to meet up with some people from Tennessee, but I hadn't actually confirmed the meeting.  The more I thought about it, the more excited I got for a night away, and a day walking around the city, shopping, gawking at attractive men, which Hluboka lacks.  Plus, two of my best friends have birthday's this month, and what a perfect time to shop for them!  Granted, they are both boys, and I am generally at a loss as to what to get boys, but I had some ideas.

I planned to stay in a hostel called Clown and Bard in Prague 3, which is away from the city center and the hordes of tourists.  It looked like it had a fun atmosphere, and I hoped I could meet some backpackers and enjoy the night, and instead of being awoken by screaming children at 7 A.M., I would only be woken up by drunken travelers returning in the wee hours of the morning.  Yes, somehow, it seemed a better option to me.  Probably because I wouldn't feel the slightest guilt or obligation to get up and help them take off their shoes, tuck them into bed, or hold back their hair while they vomited. 

The start of my trip was deceiving because it went off without any problems.  Only for a few moments when I first woke up at 6 A.M. Saturday morning, did I feel a sense of dread and that I should just go back to sleep, and I assume most of that was because it was 6 A.M. on  a Saturday morning.  All the same, I got up and caught the 7:19 train to Ceske Budejovice, and by 8:20 I had boarded a bus en route for Roztyly bus station in Prague.

At 11:20 we arrived in Prague, and in little time I had hopped on the metro and headed for the city center.  My first stop was to the M.A.C. store (that's the make-up one..) For a few seconds I debated hard whether to use cash or card.  I decided to use most of my cash on this purchase, because I needed to withdrawl more money any way.  After a short and cheaper visit to H&M, I was left with 180 kc or roughly 8 dollars.  Everything was perfect.  I had my M.A.C., plus as if ordained by a higher being, The God of Accessorizing, I found my favorite earrings! (Some of you might know the ones I am talking about. --- Megan V., Chai-- the white circles with gold flowers?. I got these beautiful earrings at H&M in Chicago in '06. I was in love with them, and wore them ALL the time.  Then, within my first 3 weeks of Budapest, I lost them.  By a stroke of luck, I found a very similar, but not as lovely, pair.  I fell in love with this new pair as well.  I ended up losing those, and bought yet another pair. Then, whilst in Czech, that pair, pair number 4 broke.  So, to find the originals some 2 years later seems like fate! What? You think I am ridiculous and crazy? HUH? HUH? Yeah, okay fine...) 

After what started out as a seamless day, was about to take a sharp turn south.  I was exhausted, not from being in Prague all of an hour, but from the entire week and waking up so early.  Since I had been to Prague two times previous, and this particular day was swarming with tourists, I didn't think it was a terrible idea to check-in my hostel, possibly take a nap, then venture back out about dinner time.  

Clown and Bard wasn't as easy to get to as I hoped, but at the same time it wasn't difficult either.  It was definitely out of the center, which was a relief to get away from the massive groups of tourists.  The receptionist was a cute, sweet blonde girl, who swiftly informed me I could only pay in cash not with card. This is where the seams had ripped, and I starting kicking myself for not getting money at one of the many ATMs I passed in the city center. When I asked her where an ATM was she told me she wasn't sure, but her eyes told me, "I HAVE NO IDEA! PROBABLY, VERY FAR AWAY!" 

However, she directed me "down the hill near the tram there should be one," and after asking 4 more people and 15 minutes later, I found a KB bank.  I inserted my card in the door (a popular thing with European banks for ATMs that are housed in the foyer of the bank, but accessible after hours by proving one has a valid card) and it unlocked.  Next, I inserted my card into the ATM machine.  Nothing happened, the screen was still showing advertisements.  A nervous laugh began to rustle up, the type that says, "No, no, no this can't be reality. No, no, no... NO!" Frantically, I started pushing any and all buttons.  A screen came up stating, "Please insert your card." I started jumping up and down, tears were building in my eyes, and I was yelling, "I DID INSERT MY CARD!!" (There were surely some profanities mixed in there.)  Then, the screen would change back to advertisements and information in Czech, and I started pushing buttons as fast as possible, while yelling, "GIVE ME MY CARD!" 

Little tear rivers were streaming down my face, and I started to panic when I remembered that I had no phone credit.  I didn't know what to do.  Clearly, pushing these buttons weren't doing any good, and I contemplated throwing something through the glass to set off the alarm, and when the Police arrived, I would say, "Oh Hello! It looks like someone broke that window...But hey, since you're here... can one of you get my card out??!" 

I didn't know whether to stay by my card, or seek help from the hostel girl.  I decided since I hadn't entered a pin number, I was better off leaving it stuck in the ATM.  I wrote down the only telephone number that kept reappearing on the screen, and also, the street name. I hustled back to the hostel, crying a little, talking to myself aloud like a mad person, huffing and puffing so loudly up the hill saying, "Unbelievable!" every third breath.  

I entered the hostel, and the sweet, blonde girl calmly listened, as I restrained my need to panic.  I showed her the number I had written down and asked her to please call.  She was very compliant, and never lost her composure nor changed her expressions. In fact, I realized it wasn't that she was calm, it was that she was expressionless, in a creepy way.  The entire time, she had this odd half grin on her face.  I felt like if I reached around to the back of her neck, I could push a button and a small trap door would pop open, and I could reprogram her at will, to scowl, to look constipated or grief-stricken.

After a few minutes on the phone, she told me what I already knew, that I must call Monday and ask because the bank didn't work weekends.  Of course they didn't.  My tears reached capacity and began spilling over my cheeks.  I was crying in front of the robot (if I am not mistaken, I think she even cocked her head to the side like a dog, but her expression never changed), and I didn't much care. I asked her if I could use the bathroom, and I let the tears fall freely.  

I was in Prague with virtually no money, no phone, no hostel, no idea what step to take next, no water, no travel partner.  After allowing myself a few moments of total despair, I sucked it up and began to think quickly.  I asked blonde robot receptionist if I could use the internet.  I looked up the bus schedule to Ceske Budejovice lightly crying the whole time.  Even if I made it home, I had no money, and I was so distraught about losing my card and the terrible time I was having.  I carelessly poked at the keyboard whose B, Y, and A keys stuck, forcing me to make odd angled and precise strokes.

There was a bus leaving in an hour from a station across town.  Luckily, with the 24-hour metro pass I bought upon arrival, I had plenty of time to make it.  I looked through my bag and counted my coins.  I would have just enough money to get a bus to Budejovice and a train to Hluboka with maybe 15 cents to spare. Next, I emailed my mom and told her to call my bank and have them put a hold on my card.  The more I thought about it, I really didn't see how anyone could steal my money because by the time it was retrieved from the machine, my mom would have put a hold on it.  This made me feel slightly better knowing my hard earned cash was relatively safe.

I thanked the receptionist for her help, and at this moment I realized she was a robot.  She asked, "So, do you want to check-in now?" I looked at her confusedly, and recapped to her what had just happened, how I had asked her where an ATM was so I could get money, and then the ATM ate my card, which is why she was telling the bank's 24-hour help line that the ATM ate my card!? Then, I took it a step further for my daft friend, and told her I had only 182 kc., which was the amount I needed to get home to C.B.  It seemed as though she was beginning to understand when four Australian boys came in to pay for their stay. 

With another, "Thanks for all your help," I made a dash for the metro.  I arrived at the bus station in 20 minutes, leaving me 40 minutes to sit and wait for the bus.  I was starting to breathe normally again, and relax.  I pulled a smoosed piece of cheese and ham bread from my bag that I had bought in Budejovice that morning.  I was enjoying sitting down, eating this delightful treat, feeling like the worst was over, when a very brave pigeon shuffled its way over towards me.  It got frighteningly close and I flicked my foot in its direction, and it fluttered its wings flying a few feet back, which startled me (the same way a Jack-in-the-Box does.. where you feel silly because you know it's going to happen.)  

The little bugger just couldn't take a hint.  It began wobbling its way back to my delicious snack, and I once again flung my foot in his direction, only to be startled once again when he cooed and his wings fluttered.  This occurred once more, it boldly approached me and got within a leg length before I shooed it away.  Then, I noticed the lady sitting next to me was kind of watching my situation.  I felt somehow guilted by this damn bird and the lady who seemed to be eyeing me, who I assume was a PETA member. 

 

Upon closer inspection of this obnoxious creature, I noticed it was limping.  Then, I noticed it didn't have a left foot, just a nasty stump with some partially grown claws.  I can't tell you why, but I was so disgusted by this mutant claw foot thing it had going on that I nearly vomited. Honestly, I couldn't look at it, without gaging.  Then, I really felt guilty about not sharing with this deformed, probably mildly retarded, product of incest bird.  Shamefully, I considered how he probably had a harder time finding food, what with his stump and all, and my lack of benevolence could kill him. Then, I looked back at his vile claw stump and decided there are too many pigeons in the world as it is. 

I was comforted by the fact that more and more people were arriving at the platform.  Yet, as the time drew dangerously close to 3:00, I decided to ask someone if this bus was going to C.B.  The lady looked at the schedule and with remorse said, "Not today."  I felt all my muscles tense once again.  She suggested I asked the information desk downstairs on the right.  Blindly, I descended down the stairs into the metro station, and slung open the first door I saw on the right.  An alarm went off, and I was a bit confused by this but magically I continued to the window.  A guy came to me and I asked if he spoke English.  He said, "uh no, but we're closed."  I asked him if this was the bus info desk, and after looking around the yellow and black room, I realized it most definitely was not, and I had set off their store alarm. Excellent. 

Not surprising, the information desk was closed.  At this point, I was in a hole of despair and anguish.  I faced the closed information window and cried.  My mind began racing with ideas of me having to sleep on the street, getting mugged, and sold into white slavery by Macedonia mafia members.  I know that if I had let myself go at that point, I would have really freaked out and probably not stopped crying.  

The night before, I had written down the times of some buses returning Saturday, just in case I had decided against spending money for a hostel. So, I was fairly certain there would be a bus at 6 P.M. but not positive.  I had no money to go and sit in a cafe to pass some time or relieve my bladder for that matter.  What was I to do for 3 hours? Sit at the platform? And what if this bus didn't come either, nor the second one I had written down? Then, what!? I decided I needed money more than I needed M.A.C.

The metro pass came in handy again, and seemed to be the only thing of immediate value I had. I went back to M.A.C. and tried to return some of my purchases, this way I would have a little extra money in case that bus didn't come, and I had to look into train options, or so I could have options really.  Would it be a shock to know that M.A.C. in CZ doesn't do cash refunds? But, they let me return an eyeshadow, which gave me enough cash to get some more bread and water, and still have some left for a train if that became a possible option. 

For the next hour, I walked around in Prague 5, and noticed how pretty it was, and realizing just how large Prague is and how much I haven't seen.  Unlike Budapest, all the main tourist attractions of Prague are clumped in a fairly small radius, and I forgot that there is a whole other Prague past those main metro stops.  

My bladder was growing more and more anxious. I was too scared to spend any money in case I needed to go by train, which is more expensive. So, I returned to the platform an hour before it was supposedly leaving.  I sat anxious, nervous, and very eager to be back in Hluboka. After 15 minutes, a few people arrived at the platform.  An old lady started asking me something in Czech.  Somehow, she knew all of 50 words in English, but ended up helping me.  She confirmed that was a bus coming, AND that it was going to C.B.  Then, she asked me why I was in Czech, how long, what town I worked in, etc.  It's amazing how people can communicate even with such limited resources.  

Twenty minutes before the bus came I realized that if I didn't use the bathroom now, it would be 2 hours and 10 minutes before the opportunity would come again.  I couldn't believe what I had to do.... I had to use THE METRO TOILETS! I quickly ran back down the stairs, and begrudgingly entered the bathroom with 10 kc in hand ready to pay (yes, you must often for public toilets).  I walked to the window, and the woman laughed, and motioned for me to leave.  Somehow, in my hurry I had managed to go in the boy's bathroom.  This probably has something to do with after 5,5 months of being here I still don't know what means "Ladies" and "Mens."  I have somehow failed to commit it to memory.

Fortunately for me, the bathrooms were clean, surprisingly so.  My theory is that everyone is so repulsed at the idea of them that very few people actually use them, and therefore remain in rather decent shape. 

I hurried back to the platform where the queue had mysteriously tripled in length in a matter of minutes.  My old lady friend found me and insisted I cut to the very front of the line with her, where she had placed her bag 30 minutes before. (Like the days of "ghost men" during neighborhood kickball days. Ha. ) She was speaking with the lady behind her, discussing me, looking at me and smiling at me.  When the bus pulled up, they literally blocked the line by holding up their arms and ushering me on first.  I was really flattered and touched that after such a horrible, horrible day, someone could show me kindness, and make me realize it was all okay, and that it could have been so much worse.  I am highly thankful to this lady, whose name I never found out, only that she had a grandson in 4th grade who was learning English, and that was how she knew some words.  She showed me kindness and gave me help when I most needed it.  To her it was probably nothing more than an average day of small talk with a stranger while waiting on a bus, but to me it was like having someone help me remove a huge bucket of desperation and fear off of me. 

The bus arrived in C.B. right on time, and I had enough time to treat myself to some chocolate ice cream with the extra money I didn't use. Finally, I waited for the train.  I was so relieved to be back.  I boarded the train, and was so excited to get home, and then I became distracted by a drunken German girl and German man who entered my compartment.  She slurred in half English and half German.  She tried to explain to me that she didn't have any ticket. "Vier Man haben tickets in fünf Bahnhof for me and he."  I exited the train as the German couple tried to explain their dilemma to the conductor, which seemed not to be going so well for them.  

A clear, star filled sky hung above me, and a mild breeze blew as I walked to the house, and I had the strangest sense of satisfaction.  It was amazing how truly desperate, scared, alone, and worried I felt just a few hours before, and now, everything was fine.  Earlier, I had thought this was the worse day I had ever had, but somehow now that it was over and I was safe, it didn't seem near as bad, although it really was. I guess I am a realist and I know it could have been far worse.

In the end, the trip in itself was rather pointless, and a waste of money, and lots of worry.  I didn't get any gifts for my friends, and now I have no bank card or money to do so for a few weeks.  I did however gain some valuable travel knowledge.

#1- When traveling, especially if traveling alone, have two cards, either credit and debit, or debit and debit from different accounts. 

#2- Keep some no-touch cash stashed away, minimal of 50 euros I would say, or a traveler's cheque, ideally some cash and a cheque.  Money that is purely emergency funds, because apparently, who's to say when an ATM will eat your card.

#3- Don't travel without a phone or phone card.  Don't travel without credit on your phone.

#4- Keep your bank's emergency number on you, along with your account number.

#5-  If everything goes awry and you feel hopeless, cry but don't relinquish all control.

Angry Villagers

Unfortunately, I was sick again this week.  I haven't concluded whether I work with two of the most pestiferous children on earth, or I, in fact, have no immune system... the answer is still pending. This is the second time this month I have been sick with stomach/bowel region problems.  I won't go into all the lovely details >group sigh of relief<.  However, I can say with complete certainty, it's hasn't been pleasant.  

Normally, at the first sign of sickness, you can find me waiting in a doctor's office.  I am not a hypochondriac, but I believe in the least amount of suffering, thus trying to diagnosis and treat illnesses early.  However, I am not in my normal situation, and I lack the luxury to hop in Fernando the Hondo and zip over to my doctor.  Instead, I must go through the family who employees me.   I must explain to the mother of my ailments, when it began, my guess as to why it began, frequency, severity, etc. and hope that she is understanding the urgency.  

Yet I get the feeling Czech adults do things differently.  They believe in a more natural, doctor-free healing process.  Things like drinking tea and lying in bed all day.  

This is the second time I have been extremely ill with this family and wanted a doctor.  I voiced it this time, and I felt my initial request was shrugged off.  However, the youngest and I were both sick, although completely different illnesses, and the mom suggested I tag along to the pediatrician, and she could look at me too.  Granted, this was not ideal, but I agreed to it. 

The doctor's office was a bit provincial compared to U.S. standards having no equipment besides a white examination table.  Even the table was a bit crude, lacking adjustable features or nifty gadgets that pulled out, sprang up, or detached like American tables.  She "examined" the little one, listening to her heart and breathing.  She grabbed a tongue depressor and shined a light to the back of her throat.  Then, the doctor tossed the depressor onto a plate on her desk.  It was then I began frantically looking around the room for the overflowing jars of tongue depressors, cotton balls, gauze, and cotton swabs, which normally reside on the countertops.  However, I saw none, and my bacteria paranoia began. 

My turn was next, and I was panicking slightly.  Was she going to use the same tongue depressor on me? Does she have only a sole, wooden tongue depressor for all her patients? Am I going to be infected with some rare Czech disease from the saliva of previous patients? After listening to my heart and breathing, sure enough, she grabbed the same tongue depressor as she had used on Zdenicka.  With apprehension, I opened my mouth as she inserted the disgusting, unsanitary plank.  I should have bit down breaking it forcing her to use a new one on the next patients.  

After my perfunctory examination of her pushing on my stomach in different areas and me saying "owww" each time, she concluded her diagnosis and began spilling a lengthy report to Zdenka in Czech. I waited patiently, awkwardly, more concerned about the new diseases in which she lavished me with her popsicle stick, and waited for this interminable prognosis to end.  I was waiting, hoping, praying for the doctor to whip out her prescription pad and write me one for some antibiotics.  Instead, on a scarp piece of paper, she wrote the name of an over-the-counter drug and handed it to Zdenka. 

After thanking the doctor, we left and Zdenka began to tell me what the doctor said.  The following was the "professional medical" advice from the doctor.  I was to eat only dry food for the remainder of the week at five small meals per day.  The first day it should consist of bread and rice, sweet than salty, alternating each meal between sweet and salty.  I was to drink only mineral water and black tea all day, and 1/2 cup of peppermint tea, but only in the morning.  On the second day, I could have a banana and the third some chicken.  I was to rest and drink plenty of fluids.  The over-the-counter medicine,used to treat sour stomach and heartburn, was to be taken exactly one hour after eating.  Finally, I was to go into an empty field at 9:00 PM sharp during a half-moon, holding a lemon in my left hand and a clove of garlic in the other, I was to began spinning in circles and every fourth spin jump into the air exclaiming "Yupee!" (Czech equivalent to our "Hooray!") 

Okay, so the last part isn't exactly true, but these people didn't seem to understand I didn't need their hoodoo medical rituals, I needed a real examination with needles and discomfort.  I didn't have a mild case of indigestion from binging on chocolate, or have a sour stomach or a sodding case of heartburn! (I always use my same analogy.) It was as if I had swallowed an entire community of tiny angry villagers with pitchforks.  They were tromping around my intestines, brandishing their pitchforks and torches in upward motions, yelling "Kill the beast!" in something frightfully reminiscent of the scene in Beauty and the Beast when Gaston is rallying the villagers.  There was some gremlin if not Satan himself in my digestive tract ravaging it without mercy! I didn't need a half glass of peppermint tea. I needed antibiotics or a white blood cell count!

Perhaps, this is the flaw with the two systems, Czech and American, neither are wholistic methods.  American doctors, at least all of mine, are major pill pushers.  I can't count all the times I heard from a doctor, "I'm not sure what's wrong with you, it's probably viral.  But, I'm going to go ahead and put you on a round of antibiotics. If after it you aren't better after, come back in."  They are very eager to stuff a little pill down your throat, the quick and easy route, and usher you back to work.  No, no don't take in mind the long-term consequences of taking antibiotics and prescription pills for every little cough and sneeze.  Disregard the fact that  one's body might become immune to the antibiotics, and yet have no immunity to diseases and bacteria. Some might even wonder if American doctors are in cahoots with the drug corporations.  

On the other hand, the Czechs seem to be all about riding out the illnesses and the natural healing processes with herbal teas and rest.   Antibiotics and other prescription drugs seem to be the very last resort.  I also find this troubling considering significant damage can be done by letting illnesses go untreated and undiagnosed.  When I was raging with fever in Malaysia, even then, they seemed to believe I did not need a doctor, but simply more rest.  I find this excruciatingly annoying and potentially dangerous.

I know my body, and perhaps I didn't do a fantastic job at relaying the severity of my condition this past week, maybe I should have been more persistent.  I did magically recover this week by natural means, but I am still nervous that the demon is simply lying dormant until another time it can molest and plunder my internals!  There needs to be a medium between pill pushing medical tactics and complete finger-crossing, natural methods.  For now, I am simply hoping the parasitic varmint doesn't return to wreak havoc on my body and my apparently nonexistent immune system!

I Like Killing My Own Spiders

I teeter.  I teeter between loving and appreciating my independent state of singledom and feeling completely lonely and in need of a partner.  Life is slow here in Hluboka, which leaves numerous hours for thinking and getting lost in my own head.  Other hours are spent absorbed in movies where the characters find love and happiness along with some crucial life lessons in just two hours.

I was watching a movie the other day that utterly depressed me.  I intensely related with the character, empathized really.  She was a 30-something surrounded by a sea of married friends and other couples.  Unfortunately, she had absolutely no luck with men.  She was drowning in her own anxiety and fears of ending up alone, forever.  Her life became solely focused on her relationship status and her self-esteem was intertwined with this goal.

In the movie, she meets a man when she is least expecting it (riiiiight ...) They spend an amazing weekend together full of drama, passion, and lust.  Expectedly, circumstances force them apart because he must return to his own country (yep, he was foreign), and eventually, she decides to chase after him.  She goes to his country to find him, but through a series of mishaps, she can't.  However, she discovers some important life lessons from some people she encountered along her journey.  At the last minute before going back home, she sees him on the metro... happily ever after.   

 

Although, a decade younger than the character, I recognize the thirst she has.  Her intense desire to be with someone, to have someone, and have someone desire her, to have her, to need her.  I think there is something innate in all of us that longs for companionship and intimacy. For me there is an equal force that wants to be independent and not have to rely or answer to anyone.  

The other day I was speaking to my friend via Skype and we were discussing our perpetual singleness, when I noticed a spider scampering across my floor.  "Sssshit there's a spider! SEE! This is why I need a boyfriend, to kill my spiders for me!" I promptly jumped up, grabbing one of my high heels that had been strewn across the floor and smashed the little bastard with a swift and direct smash.  I heard my friend make a cringing "ewww" and the loud pop my heel made against the floor, and the obvious death of the spider. 

 

As I settled back to the computer, I had this realization.  I was glad nearly proud that I didn't scream, hop around waving my arms hysterically saying "Oh my god! A spider! HELP!"  I was more annoyed and repulsed by the spider's audacity to enter my room uninvited, unannounced, without baring any gifts.  

 "Wait, no... nooo, I like killing my own spiders!" I told him with resolve.  And that is the truth.  Not that I take some sadistic pleasure in killing insects, quite the opposite, but the fact that I can do it myself is the point.  I learned to deal with these situations out of necessity. As a result of my consistent single condition,  I can kill my own bugs, check my car's oil level, I know the difference between a flathead and Phillips head screwdriver, I can travel alone.  I have been able to grow as an individual rather than focused on being a couple and making that work.  

In there lies the dichotomy.  The gratitude and contentment of all that singledom helps cultivate: self-growth, self-reliance, self-love, individuality, and all of those other "self-" words. (feasibly even selfishness?)  On the other hand, longing for companionship, romance, love and intimacy and all those other things that are packaged with being an item.  I would be lying if I denied the yearning to be a "we" at some point.  I suppose the most important thing is, I have been an "I" for the crucial years of self-discovery and personal development.  I have been able to focus on who I am and what I really want to become.  I suppose I will continue to bounce between desiring a companion and loving the single life!  Luckily, at 23, I have plenty of time for it all!

Happy Birthday... to ME!!!

February 7, 2008- I am happy to report, my 23rd birthday was a major success! It all began on the 6th of February when the Grill family gave me a small party. It included: a cake, gifts, and dinner out, my choice.  It was super thoughtful and brought a tear to my eye, especially that radical smelling Versace perfume I have been lusting after the last two years. 

 

Recently, I had been feeling, not unappreciated that's not the exact word, but in need of some encouragement.  My communication with the parents is below par, and there is no structure to my job, often I get discouraged simply because I am not certain of their expectations of me are, and if I am doing what they want.  Therefore, my most cherished gift was a card that Zdenka wrote me thanking me for my help which she said is "perfect".  Also, she told me how happy they are with me and glad I am here.  These words were precisely what I needed to hear in this moment, as if it were orchestrated from her feminine intuition, sensing my need for recognition and appreciation.  It also made my heart warm to the family more, especially Zdenka because I know she was the one pulling the strings.

The following day, on my actual birthday, I boarded a bus at 16:45 that was heading to Prague.  Once in Prague, I navigated the metros to the train station where I bought my ticket, and asked the information man three different times if this particular train was going to Dresden and which platform I needed to be on.  Yes, I am an overly paranoid traveller, but in all fairness, the train's final destination said Basel, Switzerland, which is the exact opposite direction I needed.  (Apparently, the train split in Leipzig, Germany, one going to Basel and the other some German city. ) Plus, the arriving time of the train was different than what I had seen online. I ignored the irritation of the information man when I popped my head in for one last question.  

The train station was eerily empty and the only people lulling about were the many homeless people sleeping on benches.  Once I was on the platform, I asked another lady if this was the proper place for the train to Dresden, and I even asked one of the train controllers before boarding if this, in fact, WAS the train.  When I found a compartment containing only one guy, I joined, and then tried to ask him if this was the train going to Dresden. He couldn't understand me... magically, which made me a nervous.  Finally, when the controller came to check my ticket I asked him if I was on the right train, and if so, when would I arrive in Dresden.  He said, "Yes and it will arrive somewhere around 11." I was thinking, "Hey Bucko! I don't want vague figures here! When does anyone want generalized times when involving trains!? Never. Train systems are down to a very exact science!" Perhaps, my anxiety was palpable, because he smugly said after stamping my ticket, "I can check the exact time we arrive at Dresden main station, " Then he whipped out a handheld computer.  He flicked his eyes back at me giving me a grin that said to me, "Oh yeah... I'm a bad ass! You totally want me..." (Isn't it amazing how I can ramble about nothing for so many paragraphs. It truly is a genetic gift.  Next thing you know I will start writing what I got at the grocery store and how much grapes cost a kilo.)

At 22:45, the train pulled into Dresden hbf.  I was waiting by the door, ready to hop off the train tuck and roll style if I must, because I am that paranoid of a traveller.  I am not certain why I have so little confidence in my own traveling abilities? I have had no major complications in any of my journeys, perhaps my anxiety is slightly unwarranted.  All the same, I arrived and found André with his friend waiting... eagerly. For the first hour or so, André and I tortured his friend with reminiscing of Budapest, and only occasionally explaining who we were talking about. Poor guy! He was a super nice guy, too bad he had to sit through our conversation. 

We didn't go out this first night, and I was more than satisfied with this because traveling, especially being such a paranoid traveller, is tiresome.  We drank some wine and talked over my "Birthday Cake" André made me, which was actually a really delicious quiche, and a very sweet gesture.  I am not sure what time we went to bed, but it was a good night sleep in a exceptionally comfortable bed.  I woke up to André's smiling face, and somehow I managed to return a smile before burying my face in a pillow, even though my normal waking up reaction is a few grumbles, curses and evil glares. (I'm not such a morning person, you could say.) 

After some breakfast and the purchasing of a toothbrush for me, (yes, I managed to forget 3 of the most vital things at home: toothbrush, toothpaste, and face powder...) we struck out on the town.  Dresden is a city situated on the Elbe river and was once called the "Florence of the North".  However, on February 13, 1945 American and British planes dropped approximately 3,000 tons of explosives on the city killing an estimated 35,000 people.  After a mere 14 hours of attack, a city that had existed and flourished for centuries was destroyed.  

Unfortunately, I don't think Dresden was ever restored to it's original Baroque beauty, but that task is perhaps impossible, so much history and priceless artwork was lost.  Not to be misunderstood, it is still a lovely city, but there seems to be a lot of construction occurring, and I won't even go into the major punk scene they have.  André showed me August the Great's palace, a ruler apparently known for his Casanova-like ways, the Frauenkirche (Church of Our Lady) which was destroyed in the 1945 air raids and reconstruction only began in 1990, and finally a cafe where we vegged out for several hours.  I am such a cafe whore, I love them.  Then, we purchased some goods at the grocery and he/we/but mainly he prepared lasagna for dinner.  Ladies, he can cook, he's smart, he's cute, he's German, and an eligible bachelor!! And after dinner, we met two of his friends, Sebastian and Sebastian, at a pub called Mondfisch.  We hoppedto two other pubs before we called it a night.  Now, that I am an old lady of 23, I can't handle such long nights! 

The next day was a rendition of the first with some slight variations.  We ate breakfast at lunch time, and eventually made it out to do some sightseeing.  We took a long tram ride to the part north of the city, (north I think?) and then went to a site where you can overlook the city and the Elbe river, and it was very beautiful.  After that, we used the remaining daylight to see some interesting building facades that were colorful, artful, and modern! Very cool! 

I was in dire need of a Mexican food fix, so we ate at a Spanish/Mexican restaurant, which ended up serving as André's hell. Germany recently passed some new laws prohibiting smoking in public places like restaurants, bars, pubs, clubs, etc. except in designated and separated areas. At this restaurant, their non-smoking area was too small and crowded.  We were ushered to a two-person table beside a large party which had two babies and a little girl.  For the duration of our meal, there was one or two crying and screaming babies, a little girl standing dangerously close to our food, eyeing it and exclaiming, "I'm hungry!" in German.  Our server was friendly enough but she did a poor job at the actual serving part, forgetting my water until mid-way through my meal.  The food was no La Caretta nor Camino Real, but it helped the hand tremors.  André did not enjoy himself, and at one point said he felt like this was some evil, prophetic vision of himself in 10 years.... eating dinner at 5:30, screaming babies, whiney children, annoyed wife, and all the while trying to make the most of your night out. 

Our evening was far from over, so we headed back to André's flat to get ready for our night with yet another one of his friends (who knew he had so many!?!haha jk) Norman, or as some might say, Stormin' Norman.  The doorbell sounded and André forced me to open it.  >Open< "Hello." "Hallo!" Then, I was accosted with rapid German.  As it turns out, Stormin' Norman doesn't speak so much English.  The entire night he kept speaking German at me as if trying to prove it was some hoax and secretly, I was fluent in German. We were able to communicate in English enough for me to discover his interesting taste in music, such as Neil Diamond, Johnny Cash, The Beatles, and other old fogey American music ;-). 

After a very short visit to a pub called FlowerPower, which boasts 70s decor and music, we found ourselves Downtown, which turned out to be a club.  Finally, a place I could shake a leg.  In the main dance area, American pop as well as German pop boomed through the speakers.  Excitedly, Stormin' Norman stormed up to André and I beckoning us to follow him to the next room.  In the next area, Abba's "Dancing Queens" was blaring, and followed by Jon Bon Jovi's "It's My Life." I found myself dancing and belting out "It's now or never, I ain't gonna live forever!" with Norman.  André had made a quick and slick escape.  I am not sure what time we left but it was a fairly ridiculous hour I am certain.

As we walked home, we encountered three Spanish girls. Excitedly, I tried to speak my terrible and limited Spanish to one of them.  It was one of the most disheartening yet encouraging moments! Although, she seemed to understand me easily enough with my wretched broken Spanish, the moment she asked me a question, I became mush.  I understood nothing.  I caught maybe two words, but not enough to piece together what she was asking.   That part was extremely discouraging and simultaneously, made we want to learn Spanish all the more.  I asked her where her friends were from, she said "Alicante y Malaga" and I understood this AND know exactly where these cities are located.  As we parted, I yelled out "Encantada!" and she responded, "Igualmente!" ('Nice to meet you' and "Likewise") It was awesome! I must learn Spanish!

The remaining walk home, Stormin' Norman insisted on letting me hear some of his musical delights.  I put an earbud in my ear and walked awkwardly, head tilted, body leaning in on one side, very Igor-ish in attempts to keep the blasted earphone in my ear.  My arm and shoulder eventually started to hurt from holding it and walking so unnaturally.  Yet Norman insisted I "must hear it! sing to me!" He said, "You sing good." We tra-la-la-ed on down the road, singing "Brown Eyed Girl."  The next song, would come on and he would say, "Kansas!" I would repeat, "Kansas!?" thinking that it sounded absolutely nothing like the band Kansas.... next song, he exclaimed, "Kansas!?" to which I retorted, "Kansas!?! again?" Once again, another song and the exclamation, "Kansas!?" This continued all the way home, and I was baffled as to why he thought all of these songs were by the band Kansas!? The next day André explained he wasn't saying "Kansas" but "Kennst 'es?" which is slang for "Kennst du das?" which apparently means, "do you know?" SOOO, he was asking me if I knew the song, and I was saying every time "KANSAS, AGAIN!?" Ohhhh the joys of language barriers!

My last day in Dresden was perfectly uneventful.  We woke up once again at some absurdly inappropriate hour and ate breakfast when normal people were eating lunch.  We really had nothing planned and I had no strong opinions of what we should do. So, we ended up sitting outside near the train station, enjoying the lovely warm weather, being silent, or chatting.  My train left at 3:10 and I think both of us were a little happy to see me go.  I know how hard it is to host a person, always worrying if they are having fun and such.  

 

This introduces another topic.  I think sometimes I irritate the crap out of André with my passive personality.  André seems to respond really well to strong, demanding, decisive, opinionated, grab you by the throat or scrot to get what they want type of gal.  A woman who doesn't care who she inconveniences if she wants something, and she always wants something.  Basically, that's just not the type of person I am.  Sure, I have many strong feelings and opinions about a plethora of things, however, what bar or site we see just isn't one of them.  I don't think André comprehended that I didn't care what we did because I was just so happy to be away from Hluboka and hanging out with him, to me it truly didn't matter what we did. Plus, I was in Dresden mainly to see him not the city.  The city was just a pleasant perk. Sometimes, I get the feeling André thinks I am some mindless puppet who let's everyone be my puppeteer, and have no strong feelings of my own.  Perhaps, my culture is too polite and passive at times.  We (most Americans I know) are so concerned with not putting people out, we generally will go along with things rather than speak up as to not be rude.  In reality, I am somewhat that sassy, bossy, I want what I want when I want it girl, but I have learned to be flexible and roll with the punches.  Unfavorably, this is an area André and I butt heads a bit, seeing to the fact he is German and they are a more honest, out-spoken lot.  It does open my eyes to areas I need to be more assertive, and I respect André for calling me out on it a few times.

Finally, to finish up this snoozefest.  My two and a half hour train ride to Prague was spent talking to a boy named Daniel from Melbourne, Australia.  He was on his way to Budapest, and it was so great talking about Budapest like it was my child. I shared with him all the sites and things he must do whilst in my city.  

When I landed in Prague, I had a mere hour to get to the bus station.  I stood fumbling with the metro pass dispenser, staring at the poor descriptions of various types of tickets.  I had no clue which ticket I needed, and as I intently contemplated which one I would purchase, a person stepped into my peripheral, and I instinctively stepped aside, assuming they wanted to use the machine quickly.  As I side stepped, my eyes climbed their way to discover the most gorgeous man, who was in fact speaking to me. He was tall, light featured, exquisitely handsome.  He said something in Czech, followed by a "Do you speak Czech?" -"No"- "Do you speak English?" he asked. "Yes." I was a bit weary of him, but I stopped short of being rude because he was too tall, Arian and absolutely beautiful. "Do you want this ticket?" he said handing it to me.  With some trepidation, I accepted the ticket with a cocked brow, "How much?" I asked. "For nothing, For free. My sister just left," ( I thought about inserting, 'and your girlfriend just arrived!' but my tongue was on the ground..) "it's valid until..." he then reached for the ticket, our fingers brushing... >swoon< (it doesn't take much for me) "tomorrow at 3:00. So, you can have it if you want it."  A big smile spread across my face and I extended my hand (mentally I extended my whole body to him, "Take me! I'm yours" type deal).  "THHHANKS!" I exclaimed/drooled with my eyes fixated on his broad, toothy smile. Did I mention he was phenomenally good-looking? 

At this point, screw the metro pass! I could have just floated on a cloud of euphoria to the bus stop. He and I were on the same metro, but I didn't try and strike up a conversation, I mean how annoying would that be.  The poor bloke is simply trying to do a good deed, and gets stuck with some babbling brook of a girl.  Luckily, I ordered some self-control because he got off at the next stop. As he exited the metro and walked down the platform, I willed him to turn around so I could give him one last wave of gratitude, or my hand in marriage.  Surprisingly, he turned and waved and I eagerly waved back. Then, he smiled a big satisfied smile. The kind of smile developed after doing something completely selfless and good for someone else. I briefly considering stalking him, but decided against it.  It was a nice finishing touch to a really lovely weekend! 

A special thanks to my favorite Evilweiß- André K, Zdenka, and to the stunning, let's make babies, Metro ticket bestower, hottie!