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.