I have decided to create a city that is a combination of Chicago, Edinburgh, New York City, and Prague. Michigan Avenue will be located at the end of the Charles Bridge. Old Town Square will be right next to the Royal Mile, and Billy’s cupcake place will be centrally located on Princess Street. Navy Pier will be set up in the Vltava River, which of course runs through Union Square Park. Edinburgh Castle will overlook the whole thing. Everyone that I love from each city will live there, which will really cut down on travel costs and tearful good-byes. There will be discount flights to the real world available for those of you who don’t appreciate perfection.

Life Truths

As soon as you send medicine home, you will need it. Even if you have not needed it for over a year. The following week after you part with it, you will begin to show symptoms that require that very medicine. They will not have it at the local pharmacy.

When you become a teacher, you will go from asking the students to repeat the instructions for four-square to being prepared for the four-square world championships.

As soon as you start a blog and tell everyone you know about it, you will stop writing on it. You will start to feel guilty about it. To make it up to everyone, you will post many things in quick succession.

When you mention that the glitter a child used once was pretty, you will end up with what I will from now on refer to as “glitter luggage.” You cannot get it off. Never mention glitter in a positive light.

When you fall asleep on a bus, you may not be woken up when it reaches the last stop. It is possible to wake up in the bus parking lot. This can happen more than once.

At some point during your travels, you will be caught in the middle of a country’s worst snow in living memory. There’s nothing you can do about it.

When you finally feel like you belong, it will be time to leave.

Ukončete prosím výstup a nástup, dveře se zavírají!

Living in one area for just a short while is peculiar, because when you leave that part of the world to go somewhere else, you still know it. Even though it is going on without you. I am not in Prague anymore, but I know what it is doing all day. For instance, I know that sometimes, people on the 6:45 am Tram 14 headed for Sidliste Barrandov are late for the 6:58 am 198 bus headed for Sidliste Pisnice because the tram often runs late. They have to wait for the 7:07 am 197 bus to Chodov, which is a real pain for them, especially in the cold weather. I know that the nice lady at the Pecivo stand is selling apricot doughnuts every day, and that a mother with two adorable children walks under the crabapple trees on the way to school. The astronomical clock chimes on the hour, and Café Louvre serves delicious plates of goulash. Tourists touch the plaque on the Charles Bridge in the hopes that they will return to the city, and Coffee Heaven continues to play American music. I know this, but no one there knows or cares that I know this. The information just floats around inside my head and takes me away from wherever I am at the moment. 

By the time I left Prague, I had become very comfortable in my ignorance of the Czech language. I know little more Czech than when I first arrived, but it was no longer unsettling to not understand what was going on. Occasionally I would catch words in a conversation like “bread,” “twenty-four,” “Too bad,” or “whipped cream,” but how often do conversations revolve around those things, giving me an opportunity to show off my minimal translation skills? I ended up having to entertain myself when not in the presence of English speakers, and I became very creative in inventing what I assumed people were talking about. I must say that I was disappointed that I had to rejoin the English-speaking world. It had been refreshing to not have to listen to girls’ high-school drama on the bus or the argument between an old man and the employee at Vodafone. Conversations sounded exotic and important in Czech when in fact, they were probably about breakfast or rent payments. 

There are many things that you forget when you leave a place where you have lived. Not on purpose, of course. There are just things that you either took for granted or that became second nature that you forget to miss. For instance, I forgot about the shape of Scottish milk cartons or the fact that Boots pharmacy is really on every other corner, across from Greggs. I forgot that people thank the bus driver when they get off of the bus, and I forgot about how heart-breakingly beautiful this country is. I forgot that you hear bagpipes when you walk down the street, and that you see men walking around in kilts for no apparent reason. I forgot that the buildings emit a sturdy aura of protection, or that even the babies here seem friendlier than other places in the world. I forgot about the plaid bus seats and the fact that the fare is one pound twenty. I forgot that the mochas here are more delicious than anywhere else, and that even rain here is comforting. I forgot that I am not the only one wearing earmuffs from Accessorize. I forgot that the castle looks like a father watching out for his children below, and that you cannot escape the word ‘Lothian.’ I forgot that Scotland became my home, reclaiming me generations after my ancestors decided to leave. I did not forget the people, but through self-preservation, I forgot how hard it was to leave them last time. I remember now.

"Christine, have you ever taken a sleeper train here?" Mom

"Well, if you consider falling asleep on everything a sleeper train, then yes." Christine 

(Note: Mere minutes after I posted this, I fell asleep for an hour and a half on the train. Actual sleeper cars are extraneous and unnecessary.)

I may be the only person you know who could mistakenly agree to a 27 km bike ride because she was under the impression she was headed to someone's house for tea and cake. Conduct a quick inventory of everyone you know. Done? I am the only person. 

I was imagining myself making light conversation with friends of friends, and before I knew it, I had a reflective band strapped to my arm. As I was tying my purse to the handlebars, I realized why I was the only one wearing a skirt and ballet flats. 

It turns out that the Czech town where I went to visit friends for the weekend has an annual bike festival. I heard all about it, but I obviously misunderstood the part of the conversation that implied we would actually take part in it. I caught the comment about tea and cake, but did not realize that it came after the endurance test. 

For Czechs or avid bikers, biking the equivalent of almost 17 miles in one afternoon is like walking from the sitting room to the kitchen or taking a chihuahua for a stroll. For the rest of us, it takes some working up to. Now, let's take into consideration that I cannot remember the last time I rode my bike. I love to bike, but when I dust the cobwebs off of my blue Trek in the spring, I ride it twice around my circle driveway on the first day, and then head inside for a nap. The Czech countryside is not my driveway. 

You will be pleased to know that I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and at no point felt that I was about to die. That is unless you factor in being passed by speeding cars on narrow roads, but that is a different matter altogether. You can hardly ride through a canopy of autumn trees next to a gorgeous lake, watch horses graze in a field, or hoist yourself up the walls of an old church to peek at the mausoleum inside and wish you were somewhere else. 

I held up surprisingly well and only walked my bike up two hills. Then, it was obviously only because everyone else was doing it. Once I found myself at the end, roasting sausage on a stick around a blazing campfire and listening to Czech conversations, I could actually imagine myself consciously volunteering to do it again. As long as there would be tea and cake at the end, of course. 

"A man came over and sat at my table, he said something to me and in so doing turned me into a very small child, a dog, or a foreigner - for these three are none of them capable of understanding what you say, and each of them evokes a sort of pity on account of their ignorance."

-Cees Nooteboom

Language Victory Number One

Today, a girl got on the elevator with me and said, "Floor five please," in Czech. I understood her, pushed the correct button, and said good-bye in Czech. Thank you. Thank you very much. 

Christine’s Travel Advice: How to find the town square

If you are living in Prague during a Czech holiday, you will no doubt feel like visiting a smaller town to get some variety. I am here to help you accomplish that. When visiting a town where you have done minimal research to get there, you will find that the train does not actually come into the town. You will need a bus that doesn’t really bring you to the center either. Now begins a process by which all tourists following my advice can find the town center.

1. Walk in the direction of clumps of buildings. That will be your best bet. The closer they are together, the closer you are to the center.

2. Walk toward a church. All European towns have churches in the center. The problem arises when there is more than one. Pick one. If it is not correct, find the next steeple and head toward that.

3. Head away from the sound of traffic. That is a sure sign of outlying areas.

4. Ask which general direction you should face when you walk. The answer may or may not help.

5. It will be raining when you attempt all of this. Ignore it. Pretend it is not there.

6. Take pictures. It is the modern day equivalent of Hansel dropping bread crumbs so he could find his way back to the bus stop. Or his father’s house, I can’t remember which.

7. All of this walking will make you hungry. You should find a local-looking place, which will actually turn out to be Tex-Mex. You will wonder how far you have been walking. You thought it was only an hour, not several weeks.

8. You will find that the Czechs make exquisite flautas. (I’m talking kalamata olives here.) Tip generously.

9. You will then feel refreshed enough to continue following these instructions to the center.

10. After a few more wrong turns, you will feel elation at having found the town center, which is actually on the other side of a church you walked past before.

11. Insert “Walk around the church” in step 2 before “If it is not correct, find the next steeple and head toward that.”

12. The center will not be nearly as spectacular as you had built it in your mind. You will doubt whether you have even found the center and wonder if you should keep following these directions.

13. Do not fall into despair. Take a few pictures and begin your trek back to the train station. After all, your train will be leaving in four hours, and you need to allow sufficient time to get back to the station.

14. Use your photographic memory to retrace your steps to the bus stop. If you do not have a photographic memory, I can’t help you.

If you follow these tried and true directions, you will find that Google is extraneous. After all, doesn’t every sentimental cross-stitched pillow say that the joy is in the journey, not the destination?

Now, ignore everything I just told you and get a map at a museum. It will be the only way to get back to Prague, and it will show you how you took the longest, most complicated route possible. You are allowed to feel foolish at this moment. 

Also, if you feel that you may at any point during the day require a restroom, stay at home. There is an adorable little café across from your apartment. 

This is my sixth address in one year. I hardly even know where I am, so it's a wonder to me that other people try to keep up with it. I have trouble remembering the area codes, the country codes, the city codes. Am I in Prague 1, DD1 4HE, or 53126? When people ask me where I live, I have to think carefully before I respond. Today, I stumbled upon a quote by Ibn al-Arabi in my favorite book. "As soon as you see a house you say, this is where I want to stay, but scarcely have you arrived that you leave again, in order to be on your way once more." So where am I going next? 

I should conduct a study called Can a human being survive on ham and cheese baguettes and apples? If the conclusion points to No, I am in serious trouble. 

It's a strange thing, living in a hostel. In the morning, you cart your things to the communal bathroom, quietly close all doors behind you, and leave long before the tired travelers even begin to think about waking up. You go to bed early, catch a bus to work, and envy those who are free to wander the city all day. My strange time as a hostel resident is coming to a close. As of tomorrow evening I will be a true Praha, Cesky Republika resident with rent to pay and groceries to buy. I am relieved and excited to have a place of my own, but I cannot pretend that there is not a little bit of regret in leaving the hostel. I will miss the blind cat. I will miss the graffiti at my tram stop, Cerny Kun. I will miss the old man who passes me every morning on his run. I will miss the seeing-eye dog on the bus who always seems cold. I will miss the fact that the ladies running the hostel gave me a four-bed room to myself for two weeks at a discounted rate. But most of all, I will miss the rollerbladers. That being said, thank goodness I found an apartment. It's about time. 

I'm sorry, but toasting the panini does not substitute actually cooking the ham. 

This picture was taken from a bell tower built in 1599 that still has the original bell that was cast in 1518. There is a restaurant in the tower with my favorite brochure translation so far. It says, "If you want to spend pleasant moments on place, where history unites with romance, aspire you after escape out of flatness, have you desire to be nursed and longings to stop the time, you have unique opportunity than, for the only restaurant in the world situated within ancient Gothic belfry with original bell St. Maria cast in 1518 can satisfy all these wishes." I am definitely eating there.

This picture was taken during my first evening in Prague. I was standing on the Charles Bridge, looking at the castle, and laughing, because it was ridiculous how gorgeous this city really is.

My hostel is hugged between a river and a bike trail. Kayaks, canoes, and wetsuits are all available for rent downstairs. A golf course is within spitting distance, as are tennis courts and sand volleyball courts. If I was even remotely interested in being athletic in the least during my brief stay in this hostel, it would be ideal. However, I am not. My main goal is to avoid being run over by athletic people as I walk to catch a tram with padded seats. The truly remarkable thing about this area is the sheer number of people who rollerblade. Yes. Rollerblade. I don't think I have seen this many knee pads since 1994. And they far outnumber bikers. There was even a rollerblading convention in Prague where they flooded the streets by the hundreds. Grandfathers, mothers pushing strollers, and teenage couples holding hands all rode by as I waved from the tram. (Again, the padded seats.) The cheerful parade seemed never-ending. My only question for them was this. "Where did you put all your shoes?"

I have a general rule when I travel and live abroad. Do not eat at American chain restaurants. But Starbucks has free Wi-fi. Nowhere else does. There was really nothing I could do about it...

You know the signs in grocery stores that tell you what products are in each aisle? Here, they might as well be in Braille. As I wandered through each aisle, I wondered how I would go about asking if they had granola bars. Is that a term that non-fluent English speakers often learn? I can't imagine that it is. After finally choosing some (fruit?) granola bars, I was reminded that you don't always have to guess what food you're buying based off of its picture. Some things are self-explanatory. That really was a good Mars bar.

Why do I always sit on the wrong side of the tram/bus? I am always on the side where the sun has the maximum ability to shine directly into my eyes. When I get back on the tram/bus to go back to wherever I was originally, I intentionally sit down on the other side. By then, the sun has moved to the other side of the sky, and I find myself blinded once again. In any other city, that would be fine. I would just close my eyes. But when the stop names are Pobrezni cesta, Poliklinika Modrany, or Palacheho namesti (and you are reading these without their multitude of accent markings), it helps to be able to see them. That way, I can look at them and wave as I pass, after I realize that I probably should have gotten off there if I really want to change trams/buses get to my destination. 

I need a transport card. Simple enough. I'll apply for one. Oh, you need my picture and passport? I'll return another day with that, I guess. I need to fill this form out? I can't possibly even begin to read this... I'm not even sure which word says name. Oh! I could use that photo booth to take my picture! What is it asking me to do? The only English thing on this machine says, "No change given." That's comforting. If I mess up, I lose my money. Should I just press this green button? When do I smile? I'll press the green button again for good measure. Oh, thank goodness they're printing. Oh great. This picture is horrible...

I am in love with Prague. I was warned, but I didn't think it would happen so quickly. In the very first evening in this city, I managed to take the wrong tram, walk through a homemade puppet store, see signs for (and eat) the best goulash in Prague, see signs for "live gipsy music," wander into a cathedral courtyard where I could hear an organ playing inside, see signs for countless free concerts, take a brochure from a guy on stilts, eat trdelnik, a traditional sugary dough, and gaze at the Prague Castle from the Charles Bridge. By the time I got to the Charles Bridge and looked across the river Vltava at the perfectly lit castle, I began to laugh. Here was a lone American, standing on the Charles Bridge, laughing to herself. It somehow struck me as being funny that I get to look at this for the next four months. I get to wander through the streets, meet the people, and figure out how to survive without being able to read anything. This is my city. But how did I land somewhere so gorgeous? It doesn't even matter that I still don't know how to pronounce "Thank you" in Czech. Or anything else for that matter. I will learn. Right now, all I am concerned about is getting on the number 3 tram this morning instead of the number 17. That's what I call progress.