How much do I love my Eastern European cinema class? Tonight we watched TWO Slovak films I've been dying to see for ages (& somehow not available on DVD, way to go Criterion Collection), The Sun in the Net (Hi, Dan!) & Birds, Orphans & Fools. Though I know the popular stereotype of me is that I would naturally enjoy the former, it being hyper-depressing (that being greater than super, for those not well-versed in the secrets of Sonic the Hedgehog 3) & carefully crafted & beautiful, in truth the second one really did it for me. I could quote it forever - "Here comes the new wave!" the protagonists say, pissing. Later one of them lies in bed with the female love interest (though they both do at various points - Jules & Jim, anyone?): "Miluješ mě," he says. "Ne, nedelam," she replies, but nobody is fooling the audience; we've lived enough to never believe the woman in this situation. Wait, what was this entry about?

Oh, anyway, I would be remiss in my painting of "Prague Pictures" if I didn't mention this city's obsession with their new Oscar winner, the chick from Once. Though I recognize that this film was more or less aimed wholly in my direction ("Oh, gee, I suppose it would be nice to have an adorable Czech girl play music with me and maybe ride buses with in an expensive European Union city!"), I wasn't a huge fan. I guess the song was fine, though I thought the reaction of another program girl to the award news was funnier: "Oh, she wrote that song with the guy from The Frames. I LOVE The Frames!" I mean, I guess I would feel this way if it had been, I don't know, John Darnielle, but then John isn't the lead singer of a band whose name means it can easily be confused with "The Bravery" or any number of other terrible British modern rock acts touted by the NME (& anyway, is the Academy really going to reward someone for "There's a monkey in the basement; where did the monkey come from, where did the monkey come from?" Maybe in some kind of fantasy land, the kind where this entry is wholly unnecessary.)

"Yes, & such small portions!" -

I realize that my last post, made in some haste, may make it appear as though I am again disenchanted with things here. This is not the case - I have thoroughly enjoyed this wonderful spring-like weather, enjoyed making some steady progress in the playfully obtuse Czech language, enjoyed my favorite brand of Tesco "American-style" cookies (Chocolate chip hazlenut, fy information), & enjoyed most of all taking all manner of photographs of statues for an upcoming blog entry that can only be described as "monumental." Thanks, I'll be here all night!

And really, though that may be the case, I am accepting some of the realities of this situation, & that has been helpful. Though I mock the program kids mercilessly for their seemingly (or not so seemingly) arbitrary decision to study abroad here, it must have been nice to come to a town with no prior knowledge of the culture, no goals to accomplish (other than "raging" and "balling"), & no expectations. So for me here talking to myself on the internet, painting this disjointed picture of a place I still barely know, it has been helpful to realize that this picture won't match up with the one I had imagined over a year ago (& how could it, when I am hardly the same person now I was then?). "So I suppose it's good to know," and so it is, even if you think this in a language that has THREE VERBS FOR THE ACTION OF KNOWING WTF.

(In writin' class, we call that last bit "an unexpected change in tone." Girl on bus from Vienna - "I prefer getting emails from my boyfriend to talking to him on the phone; he's a writer." Oof.)

Or write a letter that says we feel so alone sometimes with each other:

Well, I suppose I should write something here, shouldn´t I? Spent the weekend in Vienna; I would post pictures, but we´re trying to be literal with the title of this blog nowadays, right? It was very nice, anyway, though I regret having such a short time there. Yesterday, in my continuing tour of Prague makeout spots, I visited Šárka meadow, a mountain ravine outside of town. It also had a McDonald´s next door.

Ummm. I guess I should talk about it more? I really don´t feel like it! Mostly these days I am anxious for spring, as happens this time of year; while the program kids here scatter throughout (Western) Europe in the coming weeks, I will wait for this city to bloom. Already there are birds returning - I saw a hawk in another park this morning, and there was that swan I mentioned last time. But soon there will be leaves on trees again, caterpillars and butterflies again. Someone somewhere once said "I´ll fight off the spring, I don´t want lovely things, I don´t want the Earth new," but of course he wasn´t serious and you can´t be serious if you don´t believe I don´t need these things in my life right now.

And if you can't get here fast enough, I will swim to you:

Though today I watched a terribly gruesome (terrible?) film in my film class tonight (a film in your film class? Get out!), I shall perhaps leave that discussion for another day. In the meantime, I'd like to do some pictures, if that's okay with ya'll. These may be in poor taste considering recent events in my life, but you know, who does poor taste better than me? No one I know! So yes, let's begin. Here is a church:












Looks nice and normal enough, hey? Other than the saint wagging his finger, but we've all had that day; sometimes the heretics just get you down, and you gotta give them the ol' Dikembe Mutumbo. Anyway, let's look inside:











Say, that's a nice enough statue of Jesu....are those BONES? Is that Our Lord and Savior surrounded by a necklace of skulls??

Well as it turns out, it is. This little church is located near the old mining town of Kutna Hora, and last week we had a chance to visit it. Apparently, Kutna Hora was hit pretty hard by a plague of one kind or another, and there were all these bones lying around. Being the ingenious Czechs they are, the church elders decided to make decorations out of them. Of course they did:





























Now aren't you glad you didn't give up on this blog? My birthday is the 28th, by the by, in case any of you want to reward me for this expert bit of blogging.

"I could make you smile, if you stayed awhile..."

"Oh, hello 2004! Nice to see you, again. Are you studying in Prague this semester also?"

A bit tipsy tonight. Some of you have been clamoring for my address, given that my first non-eventful birthday is approaching. Now don't send me gifts all at once, okay?:

[My name]
Kolej Komenskeho
Parlerova 6
169 00 Praha 6
Czech Republic

You are welcomed to further Czech-icize that address at your leisure. Including my name, though you'll find precious few options in that department - better to just call me Jan or Petr, I think.

Speaking of Czech, the first day of my second language class of the year featured a substitute teacher (glad to see someone is getting a spring break, lollies, not) who, and I know I say this a lot but I really mean it this time, was so, so pretty. And she brought her dog. I would definitely not be able to take this class if she were not my substitute. I accidentally propositioned her when conjugating verbs. "Accidentally." "Conjugating." "Quotation marks." I love to pretend, perhaps you've heard.

Second second day of classes brought my much-anticipated mountain class, where we sit around at a small table all day and talk about mountains (in English, Dan. Good grief.) Clearly this is the greatest thing that could ever happen to my academic career, especially when my professor is so quotable: "Chaos and confusion are part of local charm," she says, referring to the inability of Charles University to have any clue where to place their foreign students. Chaos and confusion and adorable Czech girls, anyway. For Thursday's class we will discuss mountains in Native American creation myths and the Hebrew Bible. Later our professor will tell us about wonderful mountains in Cechy for us to visit. I am going to all of them.

Last night I went to a Czech Wal-Mart. While technically it was a branch of popular European department store Tesco, in truth it was a Wal-Mart - even the color scheme was the same. I kept my head up, aware of the danger of falling prices. I bought a coffee press, finally. It was cheap; the premium Kenyan coffee I bought afterwards was not.

What is everyone's fondest memory of the Fidel Castro era? I think I will miss his military fatigues most of all.

nations rise and nations fall (and ours will be no different):

Well, now that I have scared off all of the readership here, I suppose I can continue updating this blog. Today I had my second first day of school of the semester; it was more relaxing than the first first day of school, I think, mostly because it ended so quickly. As though seeking to find an immediate and permanent place in my heart, the professor for this class (History of the Czech Lands and Central Europe) brought his own map(s) to class, unfurling them at random points throughout his lecture. Good on him.

What else? I am reading The Castle, and I greatly enjoyed this little bit, wherein the chariman is explaining to K. the reason why despite his summoning no land surveyor is needed at the Castle:

"It amuses me," said K., "only because it gives me some insight into the
ridiculous tangle that may under certain circumstances determine a person´s
life."

I think we all know a thing or two about that these days. It is chilly here, but not so cold as it has been. I saw a swan yesterday, and seeing it framed on the Vltava in all that sunlight made me glad.

This hasn't a thing to do with Prague, but it is a fitting postscript to my last entry. If you've come for funny stories & pretty pictures, turn away now; this is an obituary -

It is a peculiar kind of wisdom my family showed in not telling me my grandfather was in the hospital. For one thing, he was ninety years old, & Lord knows he had been and out of there plenty of times. And for another, they knew my propensity to worry over every little thing (see also: this blog). So though he passed away this morning, it is a strange fact that there are pictures on my camera I took at a castle (#4) yesterday specifically for him. Amidst all the lovely antiques in this place were a number of ancient, achingly beautiful clocks.

When people ask me about my grandfather (& when I've written about him before) the thing that I say is that he made clocks. This is a funny thing, though - to my knowledge, he never made a whole lot of money doing it; it was certainly wasn't, you know, his job. But he did, up until only a few years ago; so many clocks, clocks lining the wood-dusty staircase I would ascend when we visited the house where my grandparents once lived, clocks like the one that now sit in the house my mother is renting, disheveled & unticking.

Though I know he lived a life before I knew him, these things I've seen, I remember, are how I know him. When I was a child he made me a model steam engine - it was a strange thing, all wood & metal that would burn too hot when the water went in, scalding my fingers. I was never a train type of kid, but I kept it all the same. It was some kind of talisman, I think, & when I finally got rid of it the last time I moved out of [Boulderton]...well, let's leave that stuff to Rudolf II of Hapsburg, okay?

I still have the bowls, though. This is funny, too: Eric & Kelly will no doubt vouch for the large number of these odd, lovingly crafted but seemingly useless artifacts that inevitably clutter any living space I call my own, but though he gave these to all of us, Christmas after Christmas, I kept them all. I found uses for some, sure, but in time they came to be just some kind of personal embodiment, an art exhibit, a living museum. The last time I saw him he had just built a ramp for rolling marbles, & he watched as (without irony) I rolled marbles for minutes at a time, rapt in that simple moment. He sold these things at craft fairs to children like I was once, will never be again.

So anyway, before I get all weepy, let me mention once last thing: at that Jan Who?-s/Czech mafia lecture the other day, the professor told us an interesting little fact: asked to name their role models, Czech boys picked, in order, their fathers, Jaromir Jagr, & their grandfathers. Nothing against my father & maybe a thing or two against Jagr (who I imagine is a world class d-bag IRL), but my grandfather lived a life that I cannot help but love. Perhaps it is wrong to parallel his interests with my own, but I think there is something to be said for following one's passions to their logical conclusion; good luck finding that kind of drive in the average American, to live for ninety years the way my grandfather did, still walking and biking through his own Pennsylvania countryside town every day to the end.

I should be so lucky. And this is why it is so sad, so sad that I am here & he is gone, far away physically & otherwise, so sad to see him go with only his new shoes on.

And if you wait another day, I will wait a day:

Sort of a somber day today in my Czech Republic - the clouds have returned, taking the colors right out of the city and making daylight as impossible to find as a cup of coffee (as you'll see, I have a reason for bringing that up!) I broke a second pair of headphones in my time here on the metro (I'm not putting this in scene, just take my word for it, k?) and I still haven't started classes. Oy.

I feel like I would be failing in my duties as a blogger (ha) if I didn't discuss these things. Long-time readers may wish to respond to this, but I happen to think this has been one of my most optimistic blogs, all things considered. There has been relatively little moping and gnashing of teeth, though perhaps that is just because there really isn´t any reason for me to mope or gnash my teeth. Maybe. But truly, it is a little sad here! - though I have come to terms with so much of what makes this place not America - the language, the immensely valuable coins, the early setting sun, and the fact that I truly seem to be the only one here OK with walking around by his or her self (what is tomorrow, again?)

But the thing that I cannot deal with, as ridiculous as it sounds, is this coffee thing. It's not just the coffee itself, but the lack of those big-windowed American coffee shops yinz are so used to stopping in whenever you've got an hour to kill. Well, I have some hours to kill, too, and haven't the faintest clue how to do them in. These are the kinds of things that don't even occur to you (or at least, didn't occur to me) when you hear about "culture shock" - though I had spent more time at the 61c and its less impressive competitors during the past four years of my life than probably any place lacking four floors of books, the thought that I would somehow miss drinking coffee, reading, and listening to people's conversations wasn't on my mind in the week it took to get here. But now when I hear someone speaking in English on the bus, it's like some engine goes off in my body: "Yes," I say, "I can listen to this person. There is a story here."

There is a Zelda Fitzgerald quote I was trying desperately to find, but somehow Google is only in Czech on this computer. Hi, symbol. Anway, the quote was the epigraph to one of Lorrie's book (Like Life, I think) and it is something like this: "It's so sad to see you go like that, with only your new shoes on." But it must have been strange for Scott too, himself going with those same new shoes. I have wrapped myself in all this adventure, sure, but there is something to be said for old shoes, for finding the comfort of routine and the known in these strange days. If only I could find these things!

we stayed up all night in the kitchen doing my dishes on & on

Today I felt a bit better and attended a long series of lectures on "Czech history and culture." Great, I was totally wondering who that Jan Hus guy was! Anyway, there was one amazing part. Allow me to tell you, readers.

Perhaps you've been in this situation: you're walking down the streets of Prague (okay, perhaps you haven't) and you come across this restaurant. Looks nice enough, eh? So you go in, it being lunchtime and you being hungry and all. As there are no other patrons in the establishment, you imagine that it will be with joy that you are greeted by the waitstaff. Instead, when they arrive minutes later to hand you a menu (don't worry if they don't give you water, nobody in Europe gives you water, just deal you cheapass American) it is with the greatest disdain. When you ask them about the specials, or about really anything on the menu, they'll tell you the chef is on his lunch break and you'll have to wait to ask him.

No doubt you would get up, disgusted, and take your business elsewhere. But as you leave, you'll wonder why it is that such a nice restaurant can afford to stay open while offering such poor service. Perhaps you'll wonder the same about the "Bohemian crystal" shop across the street, which never seems to sell a damned thing, or any of the horrible tourist-trappy storefronts that line Celetna or Vodickova Street.

You want to know why? Because they're money-laundering fronts for the fucking mafia.

Cool story, huh?

Uh, hi. Brno is kind of a dump. I am uploading a bunch of pictures, but I don't have the heart to put them in here. Basically I am sort of ill (no, not from drinking but thanks for asking) and sort of don't want to think about life right now. Hey, look, here is the kind of blog entry I'm used to writing.

the sun tried to warn me, "kid, those wings are made of wax"

Tonight I depart for what promises to be an entertaining weekend in and around the Morvanian capital of Brno. There will apparently be underground caves and wine-tasting, the latter more exciting for me because I´ve lately discovered that many kids in my program are unaware of its basic conceit: "I'm going to get soooo wasted," they say. Oh?

In anticipation of the long bus ride through the Czech lands, I purchased an odd little book of essays by Bohumil Hrabel (of Too Loud a Solitude and Closely Watched Trains fame) called Total Fears. In it, he recounts some of the turmoil surrounded the Velvet Revolution, especially in the weeks prior as police stood guard throughout the center of the city, waiting day in and out for the outbreak of violence they'd been trained to expect.

This is so strange to me! How am I, in 21st century Prague, supposed to picture people in the metro stations "weeping, not with emotion, but with tear-gas" or the sight of cannons of water "gushing, sweeping pedestrians under cars" on Kaprová street, a place I walk every day? Never mind trying to imagine the Prague of Kafka and Milena, of Rudolf II...I can't even imagine the Prague of twenty years ago!

I honestly thought about beginning a long tangent on Marshall McLuhan, "the global village" and my goals as a writer here, but then I remembered the thesis of this blog. And anyway, it's beautiful out today. I'm going for a walk.

"Abe said to God, 'Man, you must be puttin' me on!'"

Oh my gosh, Denmark just reminded me that I totally need to say a few words about the coffee situation here in, as my father would have it, "the former Soviet Union." Which is about the best way to sum it up, actually.

Before I left, I used what remained of a large Macy's gift card I received to buy a coat (but instead used to buy smaller things that all contributed to making me look pretty-like in the hopes of turning some Czech girl's head on the aforementioned metro) to buy a coffee press, fearing the situation here would be abysmal. Then one of your fellow readers mocked me mercilessly for this (Do you want a nickname for this blog, too?) and I left it at home.

Lo and behold, I come to Cechy and find that no one here has the faintest idea what "filter coffee" (as I've come to know it!) is, let alone any kind that would actually taste like, you know, coffee. The only places I've been able to drink it are with the free breakfast that comes with my dorm (this needs its own post; suffice it to say this coffee is not the greatest) and at an Einstein's type place called, no shitting, "Bohemia Bagel." Oof.

So what have I been drinking instead, friends? So much espresso. It makes my head hurt and it tastes so terrible I have to put cream and sugar in it (!) but it's all I've got. I'd like to see you make it through five hours a day of classes in a Slavic language without caffeine.

Okay, so over the weekend I took a little trip to the number one makeout spot in Prague, Petřin Hill. Needless to say, this was not the purpose of my visit. It looks like this:

Though there is a funicular (Pittsburgh!) that will ascend you all the way to that Eiffel Tower-looking thing (I believe "that Eiffel Tower-looking thing" is the official name, in case you were wondering), I chose to walk up the hill under my own power. I stopped halfway up. This was okay, though! I still got some nice piccies of the Prazky hrad (more on this in a second) and beloved Mala strana:

As I was taking this last picture, it started snowing. This was nice; I always have nice moments with snow (in small amounts), and this was the first time it had snowed for me on the Continent. I couldn't have asked for a better place, really. That said, the most amazing part of my little adventure was seeing this building:

How much do I love that America got to put its embassy in the like primo real estate location of town? Gee, lots. And how much time did I later spend daydreaming about the possibility of working in this building (better study that Czech!)? Gee, lots.

In other news, uploading pictures is still a chore, so those of Prazky hrad (that's Prague Castle to all ya'll) and the dreamily titled Vyšehrad will have to come at a later date. Though she won't acknowledge it, Denmark and I are competing to see who can visit the most castles. But really, any excuse is a good excuse when it comes to visiting castles. You think Mario didn't know which castle the Princess was in from the very start?

I have to tempt you with tales of wonderful pictures I haven't uploaded yet, journal. Possibly later today, or tomorrow. It is wonderfully sunny and warm here (thanks, global warming) so I don't want to spend a ton of time on this computer anyhow.

That said, I think it's important that I let ya'll know how my time at the Czech Philharmonic went on Friday night; I know this is very important to all my readers. Here's how it went down: so I got all nice and dressed up, right, thinking that there would be lots of attractive young Czech girls for me to mingle with. You would think! Instead, the Czech Philharmonic mostly attracts people who obviously contributed monetarily to building the place at the end of the 19th century. Which is to say, not a lot of mingling occured.

But that's okay, because I had a front row seat, right? Well, right, sort of. As it turns out, there are two front rows in the Rudolfinum! Mine happened to be the front row that hangs directly above the orchestra. What? Did I really need to feel like I was in my high school trumpet section? Apparently, I did. I know, my ticket cost three dollars, but still. A little compassion.

Since I was sitting in the wrong front row for awhile, by the time I got to my actual seat it was being occupied by what I took to be some mouthy Czech girls. I know, I know; but the thing is, they just glared at me when I gesticulated (in Czech, even!) that they were in my seat. Given my experiences with the kindness of Western Slavs earlier this week (see previous entry, please) I was confused by this. That is, until the intermission, when I noticed that these young ladies were not speaking Czech at all! And what language do you suppose they were speaking instead, journal? Why, that language would be French. Sorry, Dan. As though anyone needed confirmation that French people are the worst.

Hello all. Lots of things today. Let's start with pictures. Yesterday I awoke to find something resembling a sunrise. This was strange. It looked a bit like this:

Some have been asking about where I take classes. This is not where I am learning presently, but I will be learning there shortly. I also eat questionable food in its cafeteria. Today was greyer, but I took this picture when buying concert tickets this morning:

I've probably told many of you this story before, but it is one of my favorites. These statues atop the Rudolfinum depict all sorts of famous composers in the Western canon. When the Nazis came, they naturally wanted to take down the statue of that scurrilous Jew, Felix Mendelson. Being not the most cultured of Germans, however, they didn't know what he looked like. Thinking back to their eugenics classes, though, they said "Gee, he must be the one with the biggest nose!" So down goes the statue with the biggest nose. Unfortunately for these particular Hitler Youths, that statue turned out to be of Third Reich favorite Wagner. Today all the statues are on this building, as far as I know. I'm anxiously awaiting the installation of the John Cage one.

Well, what else? Here's a thing: Earlier the aforementioned cell phone I procured was not working; no text messages going out. Uh oh! So I head on over to the cell phone store. After explaining to the only available employee my issue in a hurried and severe manner, he responds, with a perfect American accent, "I only speak Czech." So there I was flustering about when the customer waiting behind me asks, "Shall I translate for you?" No really, he did! It was really one of the sweetest things that's happened to me in forever, and exactly the kind of thing that would never, ever happen in America.