Beer Drinking

Ok, I have to admit it; Czechs have raised beer to an art form. Like all art, some of it is shit. I mean it tastes like it was made from the water they washed the dog with. Knowing how they feel about their dogs, I could see how dog bathwater would be seen as the basis for some new kind of beer. Germans like to think of themselves as beer connoisseurs, sorry “mein freund” it is just not the case. Per capita Czechs, man, woman and child (believe it) drink almost half again as much beer as anyone else.

Until you see a pub with tens of supermodels slurping down pints and eating pretzels you just have not seen beer consumption at its finest. I am not kidding; sure lots of women drink beer in the USA. Given, that there are plenty of fine fillies down in West Texas that could put a hurtin’ on a keg or two. I will not say anything about skills like that, but I think few of these women weigh less than 160 pounds (75kg). If they did weigh this much you probably could not bounce a quarter off their butts. Just think in the USA three or four beers is considered binge drinking. In Czech, women consider three or four pints, “just warming up”.

I will say back home in Florida I was more than a small stick in the mud about the whole issue. I will even say that I looked down on others who partied a little bit too hard. However, all things being relative the Czech pubs have enlightened me. Sure, I prefer to stay outside far from the choking chain smoke of Petra cigarettes. Some great times are to be had sitting in a pub drinking beer with several Czech supermodels. I am glad many women in Czech are so strong. Not only in conviction, but it becomes important to choose wisely. She probably will need to be able to read the map and can help carry you home.

 Well, not really carry. Verča is strong, but carry is a bit of an exaggeration. She mostly leans up against me and sings as we walk through the park in Olmy or across Vaclavak or Staromak. More than a few times we have tipped back the fabled “tuplak” and tried to get home wobbling from one řízek stand to the next. If we drink enough we usually find our way home, occasionally we have to take the “Prague Gay Train”, but we get home.

I can not think of nearly as many important drinking related phrases in English as there are in Czech. The only way to describe what I am saing is by example. Here is a brief transcript of a good Wednesday night in Czech.

Ceské verze	English version
p1: “Ahoj, Kam jdeš dneska?”	p1: “Hey, Where are you off to tonight?”
p2: “Do hospody”	p2: “I am off to the pub.”
p1: “Mužu?”	p1: “Do you mind if I come?”
p2: “Určíte”	p2: “Sure, I can probably talk you into buying some beer.
{v hospodě}	{at the pub}
Sevírka: “Maté přane”	Waitress: “Can I get y’all something?”
p2: “Si dam dvanáctické, velke”	P2: “I would like a pint of 12 degree beer.”
P1: “Ano, decetku, malé”	P1: “Yes, a small 10 degree beer”
Sevírka: “Dobre.”	Waitress: “Great.”
P2: “Ješte jedno”	P2: “I’ll have another”
P1: “Jo, ja taky”	P1: “Yeah, me too.”
Sevírka: “Fajn. Půl a dětské”	Waitress: “ok. A pint and a kid’s beer.” Men should not order small beers at a pub, unless they are only going to be there for five minutes or it is lunch time.
<šest nebo sedm piv pozdejí>
P2: “Musím jet doma”	P2: “I have to get home.”
P1: “Jsem houbíček”	P1: “I am a mushroom.” to be a mushroom - Normally, means really drunk. Can not see or hear, so he is not sure if he is sitting in shit.
P2: “Paní. Chtelí byšme slivka dvakrat.”	P2: “Ma’am. We would like two shots of slivka.”        A funny joke, they have the same rhyme about beer before liquor.
čekaní>
P2: “Jak se maš? Myslím ze citiš jako hovno.”	P2: “Hey, how are you feeling? I think you look like shit.”
P1: “’No, myslím ze vytahnam sekeru.”	P1: “Yeah, I think that I will throw an axe.” To throw an axe – pretty obvious I think. Yeah, I know, thank god for the weapons check at most Czech pubs.
P2: “Paní, zaplatí!”	P2: “Ma’am, he is going to pay.” zaplatit – to pay. Normally, said to a service worker at the conclusion of service. Also means that his friend will have a bad morning.

Hami! is Czech for Yummy!

One of the first things that you come in contact with in a new country is food. It does not take long before you have to suck it up and walk down to the market. During the summer this is not such a trick, but if you arrive in the fall or early winter the odds are against you. The reason being is the selection of fresh fruits and vegetables in northern climates are significantly reduced.

Czechs eat offal meats and I knew it, I had to be extra careful. Anything that smells like pee being cooked should be avoided. It was several months of trips to different potravíny (groceries) before I would venture into canned things and or things that did not have pictures on the labels.

Pictures on the label’s that is the key, you are thinking. I am afraid not, in this day of hyper marketing and photo sales, it is not always so easy to figure out if a tyčinky, is a cue-tip, a cereal bar or a part of a piece of fruit from the package. Yeah, yeah, I did figure out the difference between them. Only after many months did I figure out what a tyčinky was from an advertisement. The question remains, what you are getting in a can of “pork pieces” or “corn crispies”. Neither of which I am brave enough to try.

When I met Verča, some things became a million times easier. She still does not realize how helpful she is. No, she does not help with money or with things; that was never her role. Her role is to show me how to be more Czech. She is part mom, friend and adventure partner. When she came in that morning with a bowl of soup and told me “I won’t eat it.”, but hands it to me, I should have been concerned.

I am glad that in my many years of cooking I am familiar enough with most animal anatomy to realize that the lovely tasting soup had a dark side. The tang was not that of sausage. It had a lovely broth that went great with Šumava bread, still the things floating in the soup were troubling. As I continued to eat the vegetables and drink the broth the large piece of white flesh floated to the top of the soup. It looked like some sort of packing material came up in my spoon. Always thinking of myself as the adventurous type, I put it in my mouth. There is no mistaking the taste and the feeling in your mouth of tripe. It has the same effect on me as liver, skin grows cold, and galvanic skin response goes through the roof until I can eject the piece however forcefully from my mouth.

I remember I brought my bowl back out to the kitchen. There was mom standing there smiling. I said “Hamí”. She smiled and laughed when she saw there were just the bits of stomach left in the bottom of the bowl. I do not think leaving the tripe in the bowl was seen as bad taste. Mamka was obviously testing my Czechness. Even Slovak moms play jokes on me.

Czech food is quite tasty. Accusing it of being spicy is an overstatement. I do not think that I will ever acquire the taste for smažený syr, fried cheese with tartar sauce. I have tried it, it is pretty good just a bit too much mayonnaise for me. Fresh Šumava bread with garlic and onion butter is tasty with some porek, leek sliced on top. Czech cheesy potato salad with slanína, bacon, and řízek is really good after working outside all day. A large plate of gulaš with pepper rings and onions with knedlik can hit the spot in cold weather.

I do have a hypothesis about some of the seasoning technique used by mom’s in Czech. It is not that they do not like spices, nor is it that they are not available. They eat lots of pickled peppers and pfeferonký, spicy peppers. They obviously like spice to “kick it up a notch”. I think that over the centuries Czechs have learned how to cook, so if it does not come out right it can be covered by the taste of the beer. After three or four pints, even I could finish the tripe soup.

Dog Tricks

It can not be stressed how important dogs are in Czech society. Families are more reasonable about this than singles. A short walk along the tram tracks in summer and it is not hard to see a 120 lbs. (55kg) woman being drug behind 110 lbs. (50kg) dog. Maybe, the dog is cheaper than heat, because she probably lives alone in a one bedroom, 1+1 or a 1+kk, by herself.

Possibly, when she shows her mom the receipts from the grocery store to prove she is eating she really is the bill for the dog’s food. We know she can not keep that figure and be eating 1000czk per week of “diet” Czech food. Judging from the size and health of the canines in the area, it is pretty clear where her spare change goes. Where there are horse-sized dogs there are always presents.

It is pretty difficult in the summer to avoid the presents that the well-fed puppies leave nearly everywhere along the street. If you do manage not to step in any presents on a summer day, the overwhelming scent of well-watered dogs probably will overwhelm you. A choking, diesel smog is welcome in some of the well-ventilated alleys and passages throughout downtown. A trip to the square at “Narodní Třída” is enlightening, when you realize that the contributions to this phenomenon are not wholly canine in origin. A person peeing in public is certainly common. Bums and other urchins peeing outside is one thing. Children boys and girls, men and even women squat peeing in secluded corners and alleys are not really hard to find.

 If you sit and watch, you can see the concern they have for their animals. Every family dog knows special tricks. Dog tricks are almost ubiquitous in Czech. Everyone knows dogs are smart. They can open doors, answer the phone, can pick up groceries. Stories are told in depths of some less than trust-worthy pubs about dogs doing “special things” for their wayward moms. There always has been a theory about dogs and stinky stuff. None of it seems impossible, considering a dog can tell the difference between a bottle and a can in the fridge and retrieve the correct one on command during a hockey game commercial break.

Beware not all dog beer tricks are as gentle and cute as others. Having not been confirmed, but tales do exist of people training their dogs to bring the beer pitcher to the pub. Shamefully, stories also exist that some people have trained their dogs to steal beer from other houses. So pay attention, if you hear “Dineska, Litovel!” The dog might be going for your beer. Or worse the dog might go for your pride and then your beer. Training your dog to do this trick is just wrong.

Litovel

Litovel is Olomouc slang for beer. When you exit Olomouc’s train station, the Sigma Hotel is across the intersection from you. Maybe the 40 foot (13m) picture of a Litovel bottle on the side of the building would mean that maybe it was larger than life. I never did well picking the most effective marketing campaigns for the masses. In Prague, almost any kind of Czech beer can be purchased somewhere in town, except Litovel. I have searched high and low, it seems there is a conspiracy against Olomouc beer in Prague. I found it once in Julius Meinl on Vaclavak.

If there is a mid-week hankering for Jihlavan or even “Cerny Brouck”, Black Beetle, they are easy to come by in a pinch. You would probably sell your soul for a crate of Litovel before you found it in Prague. There are two important things to know when courting a Czech woman, her dog and her beer. The dog might be a cat, but probably not. Her beer well, that is almost as important as her mom’s need for a new liver. Not to imply, that Czechs drink a lot, but they drink more beer than anyone else. I joke that the trams will stop for a beer truck before a pohotovost, ambulance. Civil values are important to keep in any civil society.

It is nearly impossible not to see a family with exactly two children. Not so hard to imagine, but the spooky thing is that they are almost always a boy and a girl. Czech boys have skills. The family will often decide on a single beer of the house, but it is not uncommon to see the woman carrying two different cases of beer home.

A beautiful thing is the Czech women’s utter ignorance or denial of women’s liberation. You never hear any of the picky complaints, and never ever an utterance of the phrase, “…because I am the girl!” A Czech girl on the other hand, is different. She will carry a baby in one arm, pushing the carriage filled with groceries with a crate of beer in her free fingers walking across the cobble stones in spike heels while her male companion lazily eats french fries. She probably cleans the house meticulously and has a full-time job, as the great Yakov Smirnov once said, “What a country!”

After all of that, the least you can do is try to find out which store has her favorite beer. It would be ungentlemanly if you do not point it out to her, so she knows to stop on the way home.

Cooking

Cooking with someone can teach you a lot about them. No, this is not some socio-psychological advertisement of cooking as a way to heal abused children. When you think about it, home cooking is important. If you are seeking acceptance with a new group of people, it can be an easy way to win inroads to acceptance. 

Cooking is both traditional and innovative. When I was told the first time we were supposed to cook chicken together for lunch, I was game. I was sick as a dog, with my winter cold, and tired from chatting with Veronika until the early morning hours. How hard can chicken be? We woke up pretty early and Veronika made us an omelet. She was talking with her parents about the new house. Her parents left pretty quickly and we were just finishing our breakfast together.

“No problem” I thought as she trundled off to gather the potatoes, carrots and other ingredients out of storage. I was trying to look busy and wash our dishes, but she would not allow that. My job was just to be a guest, which by the way I am not particularly good at. The chicken had been thawing overnight and was about ready. Verča was telling about school and how it was nice to have a visitor, because the last few weeks had been lonely. Finals suck for everyone, just in case anyone was wondering.

 
In Czech, students can take a final exam several semesters after they took the class. Not only that, they can take the final for the same class up to three times before they chose the grade that they want. As systems go it seems to work for them. How you could run a 50,000 person university like where I went with people taking finals so out of time and still have the prerequisite system. Someone in the Czech Ministry of Education must be a genius at sorting these things out. They are not only is a genius, but must be a mind-reader with all of the people trying to swindle the system. It just seems a bit crazy to me, but if it works.

We started making lunch and then to take a nap. Yeah right, we were planning to “rest”. Sitting there at the bar we busily chopped vegetables and mashing potatoes. Verča really does know her way around a Czech kitchen. I was just helping out with some new ideas for Czech food. Apples in Czech food; do not seem so new. We were slicing and chopping apples and carrots to stuff under the skin of the chicken. Like all Czech cooking she used lots of sweet paprika and fennel.  She showed me how to make proper Czech kaše, mashed potatoes.

After halving the chicken with scissors, she and I stuffed it with apples and carrots. We closed the dutch oven and threw it in the oven. Juppi! Now that was all done it was time to take a nap. Sleeping next to her always makes me feel better. Even in the middle of the winter cold season. We received rave reviews for cooking when her folks returned from the “new house.”

The next time our culinary powers were joined it was no longer a battle for acceptance, but a test of luck. Had we not done so well the first time, we would have been off the hook this time, I think? Veronika and I are a team, even if we were playing hurt with an injured knee. We were up to this challenge. It was not about cooking, but doing something together. Our pork steaks, řizky, came out well in their Litovel and onion marinade. I think the best part was the look on her dad’s face when he ate the purple (plum, blumý) sauce on his potatoes. Better was her mom’s face when he asked for seconds. It was clear to me that Veronika and I were a good team at more than cooking.

Litovel

Litovel is Olomouc slang for beer. When you exit Olomouc’s train station, the Sigma Hotel is across the intersection from you. Maybe the 40 foot (13m) picture of a Litovel bottle on the side of the building would mean that maybe it was larger than life. I never did well picking the most effective marketing campaigns for the masses. In Prague, almost any kind of Czech beer can be purchased somewhere in town, except Litovel. I have searched high and low, it seems there is a conspiracy against Olomouc beer in Prague. I found it once in Julius Meinl on Vaclavak.

If there is a mid-week hankering for Jihlavan or even “Cerny Brouck”, Black Beetle, they are easy to come by in a pinch. You would probably sell your soul for a crate of Litovel before you found it in Prague. There are two important things to know when courting a Czech woman, her dog and her beer. The dog might be a cat, but probably not. Her beer well, that is almost as important as her mom’s need for a new liver. Not to imply, that Czechs drink a lot, but they drink more beer than anyone else. I joke that the trams will stop for a beer truck before a pohotovost, ambulance. Civil values are important to keep in any civil society.

It is nearly impossible not to see a family with exactly two children. Not so hard to imagine, but the spooky thing is that they are almost always a boy and a girl. Czech boys have skills. The family will often decide on a single beer of the house, but it is not uncommon to see the woman carrying two different cases of beer home.

A beautiful thing is the Czech women’s utter ignorance or denial of women’s liberation. You never hear any of the picky complaints, and never ever an utterance of the phrase, “…because I am the girl!” A Czech girl on the other hand, is different. She will carry a baby in one arm, pushing the carriage filled with groceries with a crate of beer in her free fingers walking across the cobble stones in spike heels while her male companion lazily eats french fries. She probably cleans the house meticulously and has a full-time job, as the great Yakov Smirnov once said, “What a country!”

After all of that, the least you can do is try to find out which store has her favorite beer. It would be ungentlemanly if you do not point it out to her, so she knows to stop on the way home.

Easter Presents

Czechs have a different understanding of money. Well almost everything is different here. There is an old adage, “it is the thought that counts.” Normally, a good present usually preempts many things in the future. Size or value of the present is immaterial, but the quality of the gift is important. To a homeless man, a warm place to sleep is the most important thing. I have never been homeless, and I am pretty lucky for that. In Czech, I need a family and someone to depend on more than anything else. The American tradition is to give treats on Easter, or at least to have sweets around the house. Czech Easter traditions are a bit difficult to elucidate, more than a rousing chase through the square, drunken whipping games and impossibly carved and painted eggshells.

I met Verča at the bus station on her way to Holland. She had been looking forward to this trip for months. I could not have been happier to see that she was finally going. She sent me a sms, asking me to meet her at the bus station when the bus stopped in Prague. As is customary with many things in Czech, the bus was late. You do kind of get used to it.

I had not seen her in a while, so I was excited to see her even for only a few minutes. Her sms said that she was on the new purple bus, good information to know watching the other three purple Škoda busses arrive. As usual, I did do not question her, her bus was a brand new purple Mercedes. The girl has style. The first thing I heard was “Ahoj, ahoj broučku!” I saw her waving from the group of people around the Mercedes. She hobbled over to me dressed in her black jeans and her big, gray, wool sweater. Those who know her, know that this is the real Veronika. I do not like it when she says she is “only a villager”. It feels disrespectful, she is so much cooler than the people who burned the Frankenstein castle down.

She was smiling, and wincing and smiling as she walked. Her knee was hurting again. I do agree with her, anything is better than a knee operation. I was touched as she put her arms around and leaned on me. When we are together she makes me feel that she really does depend on me. I kissed her nose. She loves this kind of kiss so much, and told her I had her Easter presents. Her passion for vodka and strawberries would be handy today. The vodka would hopefully erase the fact that she was going to sit on a bus for 15 hours. I know from experience that anything that can help erase 15 hours in a car is appreciated. I got chocolate from her mom, a homework assignment from Veronika and a rabbit filled with strawberry soap.

Rabbits are kind of special things between us. We both sleep with stuffed bunnies and rabbit-based gifts go back and forth. She was so soft when she provided for me. It is nice to know that I can relax when she is around. After we exchanged presents she asked me for a lekarna, a pharmacy. I do not know much about that part of town, but I do not think there is anything like that near the bus station. After the floods most of the businesses were not rebuilt in that part of town.

She was a little disappointed, but had she let me know more than 10s in advance I could have stopped and gotten whatever she needed. Instead, we bought some other supplies at Czech prices, which are one-third or half of their European counterparts. A crocodile sandwich, a bottle of coke, I am a bad influence, and two packs of blue L & M cigarettes, for Hanka. Gosh, Veronika is a bad liar.

As quickly as Veronika came, she was gone again, but not before I received many more Easter kisses. She is my favorite, even in small doses. I do not understand a lot of what goes through her head. More liquid soap, at least it would smell better than my bottle from Tesco. I appreciate the presents, they are very kind. I know she will have a great trip; Hanka might even smoke one of those cigarettes. 

Alcohol at the Dance

Once at the dance, Veronika was having some trouble with her knee. She never ceased to surprise me. On a trip snowboarding she once bruised her bottom beyond belief and on this last trip she had injured her knee to the point she could barely walk. At the door, I was told “This is a village, you must speak Czech.” This was clear and delivered almost with a foreboding timber in her voice.    

We wiggled through the adult crowd and then down to the lower level. Passing delighted polka dancers and the couples in the hallway. We finally sat down. I think that the first thing out of her mouth was that she was thirsty. “Vodka s džusem” , this was not such an exotic thing I thought. A dance like this for sure could manage a screwdriver.

Trundling up to the line at the bar led me only to another line. Standing in line gave me some time to plan my Czech. Raising my fingers I said “Please, give me two vodkas with juice.” in my best Czech. I am pretty sure that after all of this time, I could say what I needed to say. Maybe even be understood and mostly be correct.

The nice lady behind the bar said, “We don’t have any.”

“Crap!”, I thought to myself. I said that I would have to ask, upon returning to the table. In a short response, Verča said to get something with alcohol. I returned to the bar and ask “Do you have Litovel?” For those who do not know, Litovel is Olomouc’s famous beer and it is at the top of my list when I am in Moravia.

The same woman responds, “We do not have any Litovel.”

I ask “Do you have any slivka?” She shook her head simply, no. I responded to this confounding response, “You do not have Vodka, nor do you have Litovel and now you do not have slivka, where am I? I should call the police.” I quipped. I am not sure how much was understandable but it got a lot of laughs from the ladies and the people sitting around the bar.

I finally asked, “Do you have anything with alcohol in it?” They laughed and gave me three choices, Fernet, Wisky or Tequila. Well that is like being stuck between “fuj” and a cactus. So I returned to the table none the worse for wear with two jiggers of Fernet and a large bottle of mattoni mineral water. Let me say, there were some thank you’s, but mostly it was not received so well.

A few minutes later I was sent to find something again. I quote, “Even white wine will be fine.” knowing full well that wine was not high on her list of bottled fun. In Moravia, drinking something that is so far from the preferred list only a step or two above contempt and I knew it. Most of all I knew that if I had to resort to wine, it had better not be red but had better be Czech.

Usually, getting a Czech girl drunk is not so hard. They do not even ask, “Are you trying to get me drunk?” Maybe they understand that it is some sort of forgone conclusion. Normally, you can just look for a high school and you will find at least three or four stores that will sell cigarettes and alcohol. Life in the villages is different. I apologize for making her drink wine, since when do they not have vodka? Next time, we will bring our own.

Diseases

Sometimes Czech people say the funniest things. I am sure it was just a combination of spoken English in a village, drunken stumbling and a terrible knee injury. When we went to claim our jackets at the coat check, the lady there asked me something that I really did not understand.

When she repeated it and Veronika said something matter-of-factly, I was not sure what to think. Outside we joked all the way home. The woman asked us which disease we had. It is an awfully personal question for a village dance, to which we replied to each other “Horny pussy and horny cock disease!” Czech girls have a special way of putting things. At least, we were sure how to cure that, like an old married couple we went to sleep.

Talk Dirty to Me

In the villages, “You should try to speak Czech”, is all that I can think of when we arrive in Slatinice. That is because people will probably never have heard English spoken, and will have long forgotten their school lessons. Stumbling down the hill on our way home in the middle of the Slatinice night, Verča and I found ourselves randy and a bit tipsy. Now that we can count something of a history together, it is pretty much seems par for the course.

We were singing and talking dirty and as you might imagine, speaking in English and Czech at the same time. On one such evening, we were returning home from somewhere. I am really not sure anymore, but that is the alcohol remembering. Slatinice observes the Czech tradition of crypt-like silence after dark and even by Spanish Harlem standards we were being pretty obnoxious on our way home.

At least when I think of decorum, screaming expletives at the top of your lungs is probably not the first thought that comes to mind. So when I looked up and remarked “wouldn’t it be funny if those are your parents.” I should eat more carrots, because I really could not see who it was in the dark standing out front of their building.

”But I still want to fuck.” she replied, in Czech. It is remarkable, that the rest of the conversation had been in English. So even if her parents were within earshot, like the rest of the village, would not have understood. It is only rude, if you understand it. It was interesting when we arrived to see that in fact the two black blobs were her parents. How proud they must have been to hear us coming home.

At least, they were on their way out to visit some of their friends. Maybe their initial reaction would have been louder if we had a conversation with them immediately. I am not sure what their real reaction was. The next morning, on my way back from the shower her dad messed up my hair as he said “Good morning.” I really dislike people messing with my hair, much to the dismay of my mom and several girlfriends. This time it was alright, kind of a “you are alright in my book”. I get the impression that her folks thought I was a bit “funny” as men go, until they saw I understood a Czech girl talking dirty to me.

Village Dances

For all of you who know me, my favorite activity has to be dancing. Finding myself going to a dance was a bit concerning. Like everything else it is with whom you do something, not always what you are doing. There are many things to appreciate if I would just open my eyes.

I do try to stop and smell the roses. I really like to, however it is tough sometimes to look up from my daily routine. I did not expect for an instant when I got off of the train the night before that I would borrow a suit from her father. Yet there I was, standing in her parent’s bedroom trying on her father’s Sunday best.

Let me back up for a minute. Sometimes, I know that I have my “funky” moods and never seem happy. Everyone has them, but I think that they are just the way. I like to be a happy guy. Better things come to an optimist who realizes half-full is as good as it is going to get. I would probably drink the half I refilled on the way back from the fridge anyway.

Some time after lunch Verča told me that I needed to see how cool life really was. She wanted me to be happy with her and her friends. I think that she had seen me in one of those moods once too many. After all of this time in Czech, I still am not prepared for the traditional chain–smoking band of friends.

Then as soon as they came the boys from the group left. What a spectacular turn of events, I was left with three beautiful Czech women getting ready for the dance. Not in my wildest pubescent dreams, was this kind of thing possible. Maybe I had dreams with one, but never three. They were all dressed to kill. Tonight redefined the concept of little black dress. Yes, I know Domi was wearing white, but do not tell anyone.     

It is nice to be trusted to see the most intimate beauty secrets revealed. It seemed appreciated that I knew how to fix a run in stockings. An honest, but supportive opinion of control top pantyhose received more than one smile. Most of the time, I helped Verča. Not that I thought that Verča needed any help, she is already one of the most beautiful women that I have ever seen. She is a natural beauty. She was smiling and that made her more beautiful than I could imagine. She often fidgets with her make-up. Verča has a way of saying everything is ok, when she lets me help with the body glitter and fun places to put rouge.

There is something in her eyes that makes her shine. Watching them wiggle and slither into and out of several outfits certainly was having an effect on my small brain. Possibly, it was all of the wine her dad kept pouring into me. Maybe it is the payment for waiting for them to settle on what they would actually wear. If I had to wait for this every day every time we went out, it would drive me crazy. Sometimes, I really am glad that I am a guy. All of this is unnecessary, but it is wonderful to watch sometimes. There is a certain rhythm to it, but those are just the Czech asses talking.

Sooner or later, it was my turn. I had to get ready for the dance. I was quickly ushered into mom’s room to borrow some of Dad’s clothes. My rapid fitting was watched carefully, probably with the same interest I had shown earlier, but in return. I felt like Vaclav Havel must have the night before his inauguration. Several cult recollections say that he wore a borrowed coat and tie, and his wife a borrowed blouse. When I was properly fitted and both mom and Verča were satisfied, I was released back to peddle my papers somewhere else. After all of the attention, I carefully checked for ear tags and radio collars. None of it seemed so different than the same comedy playing out thousands of times in small towns all over the world.

A Picture of a White Elephant

On our trip to Rome, I realized how free I could feel. It almost hurt my feelings that I heard that she had not been honest about it. That is another chapter in another book. For the first time that I could remember, I was not worried, I was not planning.

We woke up together in a little better than grubby Roman hotel. I watched her sleep until I got drowsy. She was still wearing her Christmas lingerie; it was black and partially see-through. Against her alabaster skin the fine black nylon looked fabulous sometimes hinting at the pleasures found beneath. We made love several times in and out of those same clothes. I played in her hair; it was like a fiery mane of black spread all across the pillows. Her soft white skin unmarked by the freckles and spots that mine was marked with. I remember kissing her chest from her shoulder to her nipple. One time she had told me that waking up to someone making love to her was a dream she had had.

That morning we made love, we talked about all of the things that we did not want to miss. Rome was not built in a day and we could not see all of it in a weekend. We shook on our agreement to see what we see and not worry if we missed something. This trip to Rome was about exploring not about something more. Maybe I should have believed it.

She told me jokes as she put on her make-up. Her skin glows when she smiles. I admit that I do not understand a lot of what she says, but sometimes it is like there is a translator in my head. Even her jokes are funny when she tells them in Czech. It is more about the telling than the words. Somehow we understood each other and this is what brought us together. We walked all over town, much like we had done the night before but in reverse I guess. There was little need to see something twice; it was time for exploration.

We could see the “White Elephant" from the top of the hill. She kissed me on the cheek and said she wanted to take a picture. I told her that the camera was hers too, and handed it to her. She does not understand my kindness or trust in her. We were standing on the corner there in Rome staring at a beautiful vista that had been shared by millions of tourists, and centurions alike. Strangely, it was our corner that day on top of the hill.

She wanted to take a picture of the White Elephant, but from where we were she was blocked by the olive trees. I told her to wait until the signal changed and walk into the middle of the crosswalk and take the picture from there. From the middle of the street, the olive trees would not be in her picture. The signal changed, and we stood there on the corner in Rome and stared at the White Elephant with the trees in the way.

Some times there is a translator in my head telling me what she is thinking. There is a bond between us, that we understand each other when we are near. Again, the light changes back to red, and we are standing there on the corner in Rome. Veronika tells me something. I am sure that she is giving me instructions to help her take the picture. The signal changes and I walk across the street. She just told me her plan, of course her version is in Czech. Realizing that the plan was not what I had thought, we were standing on another corner in Rome.

We wanted a picture of the White Elephant from the top of the hill. One more time the signal changed to “stop” and we were discussing in two languages what to do. My translator was going crazy. Finally, the translator threw up his arms and said, “dunno.” “Go” flashed again across the same street, this time she took my hand and we walked defiantly out into the street. From the middle of the road, she stood. Exhaled. Focused. Shot. Grabbed my hand as if acting by number and walked me across the street back to the corner where we had started. I looked at her, my translator focusing carefully on her face, and she said “That is exactly what I wanted to do.”

“Exactly!” I am glad that we understand each other so well. 

Thoughts on It All

I am not sure I can say enough positive things about her. She has done more in a short time to make Czech seem like a good place than anyone else. We have had so little time together, but maybe so little time is all you get some times. She certainly came out of nowhere at a time where everything seemed a reason to leave. None of those things have changed; maybe they seem smaller when she was around.

Understanding and seeming confident are not always separable. We did not speak the same language. She studied English and I studied Czech. Yeah, I know, “why would you study Czech?” For the record, that was one of her first questions to me. Maybe trying to communicate is more important than knowing all of the words. Learning each other’s language really has been a point of pride and commonality. It never separated us. Not that misunderstandings did not occur. They just were not a big deal because we were trying to communicate not just talk.

Olomouc

Olomouc, I am not sure what to say about it. It is a town of about two hundred twenty thousand people, in some ways it feels like fifty thousand. It is in the central northern part of Moravia. In the main square, is a great UNESCO obelisk, whose name escapes me? I think the bronze turtles in the main square were more impressive. My first time there, it was so much fun to have a person knew to check under the turtle’s tail to see if it was a boy or a girl turtle. You do not want to embarrass a nice lady turtle by calling her a man, just because she is having a “bad shell” day.

There are always surprises here for me. I have lived in Prague for a while now and in some ways it seems ho-hum. In my heart, I am a small town boy. After a few months there it would probably be routine as well. Sometimes having things in the window are better than having them in your pocket.

American Church Football League

When I moved to the Czech Republic, Petra was one of the first people who called me back and offered some assistance. She did not know Prague, but at least she could speak Czech and smell a rat. I remember after buying a cell phone, which was a necessity. Coin-operated phones are comical in the Czech Republic, and my first flat only had one land-line for the whole building. A word to the wise about the coin-operated pay phones, they are rarer than their card equivalents and usually have been “mickeyed” to steal the coins anyway. Having fallen victim to the phone goblins several times, at least consider other options when you need to make a call.

In Prague and Brno, coin-operated pay phones are relatively common. Just like anything else they are hard to find when you need one. Pay phones in Czech are marked in yellow and green and usually operated by Český Telecom. They come in two flavors coin and card. People without cell phones prefer the card ones because they are less likely to lose the cash to the evil phone goblins. The phones function pretty well, no better or worse than American gas station phones. Be careful though, many tricks abound on how to catch the coins that are returned. Coins jamming the hole, to wads of paper or scotch tape are all common techniques to steal the coins from unwary visitors. It is just the way it is. When it happens to you, it adds insult to injury because you were in a rush and or needed to make the call. It is bad enough that your call was not completed and when you least expect it, you do not get your change back. Argh!

When I got to Brno, I received a text message that Petulka would be there soon. She was at to the wrong bus station. Which was probably my mistake since I thought there was only one? Not to mention that I had no idea where I was when the bus stopped this time. Petra arrived shortly after her sms, and she looked great. Her hair had just been done and she was fashionably dressed. Czech girls are always fashionable. So much so that it leads me to believe that there must be some serious gossip between them when someone shows up under-dressed.

I remember that we went for Chinese at the “Dragon Bistro”. The Dragon Bistros are a successful chain in downtown Brno. Lunch was so much fun, just being together and catching up. Petra is a great conversationalist even if we often have “dictionary dates.” For the unacquainted, dictionary dates are when a dictionary is on the table most of the time, because it is “just easier”.  She wanted to take me to something special.

When she said it was a football game, I figured I was in for soccer Czech-style. Arriving at the field was only part of the fun. Petulko led me on a route ducking through fences and between buildings; I thought we were going to some sort of “pirate rules kickball game.” What I saw were 22 guys in shoulder pads duking it out on the grid-iron. The game was High school football at its best. It was more popular than the XFL at least, and they were not bad players. We watched more than half of it in the wind swept stadium. It was not a popular sport in Czech, but there were ten or twelve teams in each group that were normally organized around international schools or churches.

The game was complete with referees, hand signals and cheerleaders. It was not surprising the cheerleaders were gorgeous, but were more side-line dancers than American-style cheerleaders. They were fun to watch and certainly would give you something to work for if the stadium was a bit empty. We were a bit under-dressed for the late Fall weather and it was a bit chilly so we decided to go shopping for jackets in the warm mall.

We took the trams back across town to go shopping for a jacket. I was concerned at the time that I would not have enough things to keep warm during the winter. I was ready for the worst a Florida winter could throw at me, which was certainly warmer than snow and would only be cold enough for frosty grass a few mornings during the whole year. Petra and I went window shopping in several places around Brno. The new collections were not available, so I did not buy a new jacket. However, Petra found a new pair of pants. Her new stretch pants made her butt look great, I will give her that. Shopping with her is a lot of fun, even if she is a typical girl with no ability to make a decision. That afternoon Petulka showed me a million new things.  Important things like how to save cash at McDonald’s. You can save money at McDonald’s? Sure you can, there are several things in Czech McDonald’s that are not reported on the menu that are actually there. Like the McFry, which is a hot ham and cheese sandwich and a desert which I can not remember the name for but it was just 10 czk and quite yummy. Petra also introduced me to palačinky. A palačinka is the Czech take on a crepe. Her smile was classic when she demonstrated for me how extra marmelajda is essential. Just like our first date, we ended up at the movies.

I know we saw “Ukrýt” the first time, and on the second was “Scorpion King”. I had seen recently in America, but it was still fun, because Czech theaters are modern, and there is a constant discussion with her during the movie about how “interesting” the titulký, subtitles are. Petra probably is one of the few women I met in Czech who actually spoke English nearly fluently. She needed help from time to time, but normally she could keep up at full-speed. Other girls might just be shy. Usually the girls understand the English, so make sure you are ready for a reaction to your comments especially in Prague.

Petra put me up in a friend’s townhouse. Petra and I spent half of the night walking Buddy. Buddy is Petra’s friend’s dog that was rescued from the “bad American” students. Petra seemed quite upset that someone had neutered him. Which I saw as normal, but she thought was a horrible thing to do to a dog. There are a lot of full-strength dogs in Czech, but rarely any strays. I wonder what they do with the puppies when fido decides to sew his wild oats in the neighbor’s yard. Knowing how they love their dogs, it might not be a problem to open your house to another furry friend. Sometimes I bet Honza might also have to go next door to see a man about a dog too.

Bookstore Girls are Easy

I was looking for a Czech cookbook and some presents when I walked into Novotný and Barovíč. N&B is a historical bookstore in downtown Brno. I know well that being on vacation for a month is grounds for presents. When the security guard at the door said something to me and I replied in English, “Thanks, but I do not understand.” The powers that be pushed Petra and I together.

I could not have walked a whole six feet (1.9m) from the Špilberk-side door to the maps and travel bookshelf, a cute girl with black hair cut in a bob and a great smile walked over to me. She looked at me and said something in Czech, but I had no idea what she said. I probably tried to say something back to her, but then she said, “Do you have a wish?” 

That is the kind of statement that dreams are made of, for sure it was an exact translation of something. It was cute and I did appreciate her trying. I gave her the Miss Universe reply, “World Peace and my two front teeth. That would be nice.” However, my humor was lost in translation.

“How you want.” Somehow that felt a bit cold, I am sure she did not mean it. She was probably self-conscious because she did not understand my response. Feeling a bit bad, I looked over to her.

”Miss, I am looking for a traditional Czech cookbook to take back to America. That way we can try and make some of the things that I saw over here.”

“You like Czech food?”

“Sure why not? It is good home-style cooking, not too fancy and not just boiled.”

“You think so? What is your favorite?”

“Uh-oh”, I thought. Never lie when you have not had a chance to plan the conversation better. I went with the easy out, “I am not sure what it is called.”

“Really, I would help you find a book with a rezept for it, if you give me more information.”

“Something with some good pictures and the recipes would be great. I will forget how to say the name anyway.” She walked me over to the foreign language section, and we started thumbing through cookbooks. I have an unfortunate habit of not asking a cute girl’s name who seems more than casually interested.

I was just about to ask her, when I heard “Are you Christian?” Ok, that set me back on my heels a bit. Why does that matter, and why would she ask me that? “I just asked because the American people that I have met are all Christians and they come on pilgrimages.”

“Really? No, I am not Christian. Where do you go in the Czech Republic on Christian pilgrimages?”

”We have lots of old churches; even our money has a saint on it.” Ok, I admit it, I am intrigued.

“I am Adam; may I ask your name?”

“Oh. Hi. I am Petra. Why do you want to know my name?”

“Why did you want to know if I am Christian? Where I am from that is a bit of a personal question.”

“Is it a problem for you? I thought this was normal for USA people. Many times the Americans who I meet, usually tell me very fast that they are Christian. I thought it was important to American people.”

“How about this, can we discuss it all over lunch?”

“I do not know, I am very busy.” she replied.

“Ouch strike out.” I thought.

“Maybe I will have time after school. How will I find you?”

“Well I am staying over at Hotel Slavia, but I could call you from a pay phone or something.”

“Oh, you want me number?”

“Yeah, how else would I find you, since I have no phone? Just showing up at the hotel does not mean I will be there.”

“Ok, how about I go to the hotel after I go to fitness and we can do something tonight?”

“Great”

“So tonight, I will come to you and we will be have fun.”

“Sure. It will be great.” I know I was pretty thrilled with the whole thing. Honestly, I was more psyched about not having to eat another Crocodile today. Thanks to the other members of my Czech support team I did not starve in three weeks in Brno. Lucie had told me about Crocodile sandwiches. She certainly saved me on that one. Imagine how humble you have to be to ask someone for help with this. I did have a lot of trouble by myself down there. Brno has many shops and things, but they rarely speak any English and my German did not feel up to par with ordering things in dekagrams.

The rest was history. She took me to a music club with a great view of downtown Brno and Špilberk. There was a great deck on the sixth floor. In Czech-style we were drinking fruit juice and flicking bottle caps off into the square. It is a lot of fun with her just hanging out. Pity she is Christian. I think that it means something different in Brno, Czech than it does in Macon, Georgia.

Petulka

I liked Petra. She is a funny and kind girl. She was always thinking about the Czech equivalent to the get rich quick scheme. Her schemes usually revolved around dodging as much work as humanly possible. If it works for her, why talk about changing it. I actually saw her once after moving to Czech. A common observation amongst ex-pats; is that after you rent a flat in town once they move to Czech that all of the people they knew before disappear. I have observed this as well, Petra did not do this exactly. I was invited to Brno and met all of her friends. We stayed in touch for a while via email and occasional calls. Then her latest idea struck and she moved to the U.K. Some factory sales job where she was going to be a manager. A supervisory position was right up her alley and she jumped on it. This time I hope that she learned that if it is too good to be true, it probably is. I hope that I see her again before I leave Czech. Just in case, I do not here are my favorite memories of her.

Chasing the Green Dragon

On the second day that I knew Lucie, she came to my hotel. She arrived with her friend. I do not remember her friend’s name, but it probably is not so important. The girls took me to lunch at the Goose foot restaurant. It was the same restaurant that I ate at on my first night in Brno. Their story explained it was not the ”Goose Foot Restaurant”, but “Café Goose”, and that it was a success story of Czech business and that it had great food.

Since I really could not read the menu and it was a lot better for relations that I let them choose. They were more than happy to do so. A few minutes after the three of us sat down by the window across from the park where we had met, her friend got a phone call. Lucie and I were doing fine and her friend left the restaurant to “hear the call better”. Lucy and I were laughing and drinking beer. It is easy going with Moravian women, a lot more so than their Bohemain equivalents. After three or four pints, Lucie told me that she wanted me to try something Czech.  

I should have been concerned having been told that they eat offal meats and put enough mayonnaise on French fries to make a dozen Dutch girls wince at the cholesterol. After a few beers I was game for something Czech. She said something to the bartender and he brought a bottle covered in wax and this funny triangle shaped spoon with slots cut in it. He put a sugar cube on each of the two spoons and poured a turbid greenish liquid over it. Drawing a wooden match from below the bar, he raised it so we could see struck it with his thumbnail and lit the soaked sugar cubes.

“Hmmm, how bad could it be?” the racing blue flame means that there is more than a bit of alcohol. When the sugar melted through the spoon, Lucie told me to blow out the flame and drink it fast. She is amazing; the glass was still flaming when she put her mouth over it and swallowed it whole. The trace of fire around her mouth made me call her a “show-off.” I was a bit calmer about it, putting my hand over the shot glass to smother the flames and then quickly drinking it. The drink had a bit of a licorice flavor and something else, kind of minty and caramely. The taste was almost, licorice Listerine with the stinging bite of 100 proof alcohol.

She ordered two small glasses of beer to wash it down. Before I finished the beer, she had set up two more flaming spoons. Again I burned the crap out of my hand in my weak show of machissimo, compared to her “flaming lips” trick. I still think it was better than burning the hair off of my tongue. Again beers chased, I knew long ago that I was out of my league drinking with her. After my second shot and second kid’s beer I was ready for the flaming spoons. She pulled the same trick again. It was a pretty cool trick. I said why not, throwing the flaming shot back into my mouth. She smiled pulling me close and kissed me, more like she cleaned my tonsils. It was the least I deserved after trusting her enough to unknowingly chase the fabled dragon with her.

We sat back down at our table and were giggling as you might after three shots and three beers. She ordered us red beers and we were smiling like fools when her friend came back and asked “What?” They were talking for a minute when I realized that I had finished renting my beer and now had to return it.

Standing, I informed the ladies that I would be right back. Right after they let me know where the sign for the bathroom was. This elicited hysterical laughter, and it was followed by Lucie standing up and saying she had to go too. We were having some trouble walking, so we took each other’s arm and proceeded toward the stairs. Oh great, two drunks walking down a floor and a half of stairs in the dark, sounds like the beginning of a porn movie, or a horror movie.

We made it down the stairs, she held the rail and I held onto her. Together we could not stretch across the stairs. When we got to the bottom, there was only one door. “Ladies first” is the rule, even if it gets in the way of peeing. She went in first and closed the door behind her. I was leaning against the wall when I heard something thud from inside the bathroom.

“Pomoc!” a creaking voice said, “Pomoc!” (Help!)

Ok, this is a quandary. Do you do the unthinkable and go in while someone is using the bathroom or do you wait and not answer the call for help? Better judgment prevailed and I did not make her wait. I opened the door and found Lucie on the floor laughing her pants around her ankles. She looked up at me and motioned for me to close the door. I did, and then knelt down to help her up. She smiled and said she was a little drunk. So was I but I could help her back onto the toilet.

I am sure that the etiquette books do not ever mention a time when you can comment on the quality of the shave a woman has given her “bikini area” but it seemed a job well done. She finished peeing and stood up. She bent over the toilet and said she even got it around back too. From my point of view, she had done a fabulous job, not a hair in sight.

Now even a little drunk, spending a few minutes inspecting a pretty young woman’s nether region gets to me pretty quickly. I had to pee though. She kind of stood there waiting with her pants around her ankles. I am not sure what I was thinking, but when she said “you watched me.” It was clear what she was thinking. So I opened my fly and showed her.

Why is it so hard to pee when someone watches? A little drunk with a hard on surely does not make peeing easier. I think I was making a bit of a mess, when I heard “Let me help.”

“Ok?”, can you really say no to that? Next thing I knew, there was a warm hand curled around my shaft and a chin over my shoulder, helping me. Realizing that girls do not normally use penises, it is understandable that her aim was a lot worse than mine. At least she had not gotten any on my shoes by the time I told her “pick something to aim at!”

I was not expecting it to help her aim by stroking the length of my shaft. I academically assume that there are other techniques, but this was a new one to me. By the time we were finished, I am not sure how much had gotten into the toilet, but she was looking from underneath my arm and using two hands. The certainty of her technique aside, it was a successful outing. I no longer had to pee. She even shook for me. I appreciated her help, but stopped her before she helped me zip up for obvious reasons. Back to the etiquette questions, I know you are supposed to wash your hands after you pee. Do you have to wash them after someone else helps you pee?

We washed our hands, but mostly splashed each other in the sink and smacked each other’s asses. We stumbled back upstairs. When we returned our fried chicken salads were there and our beer was warm. I bet the Brno bishop could not wipe the smiles off of our faces. A few minutes later, her friend left again. From the kiss between them, I assume that she was not coming back. Most of the rest of this story is blurry. I realize that Czech people are normally quiet, so we must have been pretty noisy when the manager asked us to sit outside on the deck along the street.

I do not know what happened for the rest of the afternoon. I remember the tree there on the sidewalk by the entrance, but that is about all. I do know I got back to the hotel around 7pm and that I needed to go to the bank. That is a good lunch for a work day; I should remember that the next time I have “Nice Day Disease”. 

I Do Not Want to be President

The last time I saw Lucie was last February. She had invited me to her village pub just outside of Brno. As constitutional crises go this was a trying time in the Czech Republic. Vaclav Havel had finished his historical term as Premier of Czechoslovakia and later of the Czech Republic. The Parliament was locked and could not elect his successor, after two attempts they had begun to run out of options.

So in grandest Czech fashion, the newspapers and magazines filled with jokes and commentary about their beloved elected officials’ inability to do something useful. Maybe for once, I do feel for the politicians. The only people running for the top job were all following a legend. Each of them had a checkered past, the crook, the thief or the Mafioso. I know there is a smoking ban in the Parliament chamber. During these debates, even the main newspapers carried stories that more than 50% of the ministers were smoking.

The headlines all read, fifty percent of parliamentarians smoking in the Czech Parliament, given the decision at hand, maybe we will let them slide a bit. I guess it was a slow news day. Lucie and I were talking as best we could drinking beer in her village pub. Everything was great.

The day’s big topic of discussion was my effective use of the Czech inter-city bus system. I had traveled down to Moravia for the weekend, and then out to her village. If you have ever been to the Prazske Hlavni Autobusovy Nadrazi (Prague Main Bus Station) you will understand the topic, just trying to find the ticket counter is enough of a challenge. For such a perilous journey I received many accolades. It was one of my first trips to be arranged in mostly Czech language. I know several people who would rent a car before they would take a bus out of Prague.

Back to the story at hand, Lucie and I are pitching back our share of foamy tops. She had drunk circles around me. If I was counting, I would not be surprised at numbers almost two pints to one. After an hour or two, she told me she had to pee. A slight stumble in her walk showed the beer was getting to her. She was fun to watch walk away. Her ass was like a song, and as song goes, “… I hate to see you leave, but love to watch you go…”

She has an amazing body and she certainly knows it. I could go on and on about her figure, but this is a family show. The only flaw I can find in Lucie was smoking. I do not mean the “good kind” of smoking either. She certainly single-handedly took up her share of the slack that Americans were giving RJ Reynolds’ profit margins.

When she returned to the table, she ordered another pair of 12 degree pints. After number four or five their effect certainly weighed on our conversation. I think the idea of “pissed” comes to mind. She told me that she had been practicing her English. That was a good thing, because Czech sentences were still beyond me.

All such conversations tend to loll from one topic to another, and the alcohol certainly made any misunderstandings seem unimportant. Her inhibitions were well lubricated and she was happily chatting away with me in English.

I bet that two drunks in some West Texas bar invented the Texas two-step on their way to the bathroom. Our soiree of beer and good times would never start the next dance craze, but I can see how drunken cowboys talked each other into learning the “boot scoot”.

We found ourselves laughing and giggling and ordering still another round. She quickly drank another; I remember watching some of the foam slide down between her breasts and sighing. Thinking to myself, a great name for a rock-n-roll band would be “Soapy Tits”. How Captain Bill would smile to be billed as “Captain Bill now playing with Soapy Tits.”

The worst thing about a truly good evening drinking is that so much gets erased. One thing I do remember was asking her to slow down. I am not sure if she understood when I asked, “Hey Lucie, slow down. What are you doing, running for president?”

She replied, “I do not want to be president, just mayor.”

I see the English lessons are working. 

Déjà vu

Sometimes you meet someone you do not expect. Never in a million years. Here is an example of Déjà vu that would leave the most careful minds wondering the odds for days.

It was a nice day, the sun was warm and it was not as hot as it had been that week. I was walking around town, kind of milling about, actually. This town was very different than the towns I was used to. Actually, at night it was too quiet, it was eerie to hear nothing. Days here have a slightly different rhythm, the bells and shouts of trams and their passengers rang off of the walls along narrow streets and passages, a pleasant din of humanity. Rarely, there was a shout of anger, more likely the shout of joy as two friends met at the track.

Certainly, I was a stranger in this place. A place where groups of wayward students celebrating the end of the term by carousing and carrying on as they did, begged for change and other trinkets. Maybe this seemed very different to me because the whole idea of getting paid to finish a semester was one of those thoughts that paying to attend a semester seemed to erase. It is not a bad idea, at least from the perspective of the recently finished. However, upon the thousandth shaking of a can or a hat in front of you it seems to lose its luster.

I got to be a game in my head as I sat there in the park, if someone was so brave as to shake his cup or her hat in my face begging for pennies. I started coming up with increasingly interesting tasks for them to accomplish for their treat. Yes, I agree, it seems a cruel and maybe even a heartless thing to do. I had asked if they could sing, now this was not a new idea. Singing is a bad thing after the third or fourth chorus of some school song; I had never heard nor understood, ten times in an hour. As you can see, the whole idea is fun at first. Later that afternoon, a lone woman painted with black paint or shoe polish came sauntering up with a big floppy hat in her hands.

She was very attractive. Most of the women here are pretty impressive, but she stood out. This, for lack of a better term, underwear model stopped and obviously asked me for a donation. I replied back in English as politely as I could, “What do I get for it?”

I would think that from the reaction on her face, she had taken English for several years. No matter how long you study a language, a native speaker sounds different. She could not have thought that a tradition of harmless begging would be questioned. So I tried in her language, as lacking as it was, “Co mám zpet?” I am sure it sounded like “How many chickens do I get for a pair of socks?”

Her face changed, and I thought once again that I had offended someone by proposing sex with animals or something. Who knew, I was hoping the worst thing I suffered from was case loss. Or maybe a missing word. For a few tense seconds, I waited. She stood there a meter or less from me, staring or maybe pondering. Then in the blink of an eye, it happened. I got my return, not a quick catch me if you can, but a well there you go. She had pulled her halter top down to her waist. I had to say she was very nice. At best I had few words, but she had earned whatever I had in my pocket. I think I became quite famous when I dropped what I had in my pocket into her hat. The only thing that I could think to say was, “Krásna. Jsí velmi krásna.”

Well I guess my secret was out. In the next half of an hour, I think I saw all of her friends. She could just stand in the back and smile. Actually, I think she waived to me once, but I do not think it would have been so appropriate to have asked her name. I tried to subtly wave back. It was just a thing between us. I did notice that there were no bills in her hat when she came back. At least she was smart enough to not tell her friends right away, or maybe she was just hiding the results of her hard work and effort.

I guess I left the park for any number of reasons. I just started to walk, to the center of downtown and to the main bus and train station. The street whose name escapes me, but he was the first president of the country, a time before the communists in the original free state. From what I know he was a great statesman before everything went to pot. He is very dear to the whole democratic notion here. I can only imagine if he were the George Washington of this country.

A while later I went back to the park. Not really thinking that I would see the bands of students, nor really knowing why I went back there every day. I liked the park it had a little fountain and lots of places to sit. There were many flowers in the grass and I liked all of the kids playing in the field. I walked around the corner, and could not believe what I saw.

Now this is kind of thunderclap level disbelief. I recognized the eye make up instantly. Like lightning bolt fast, I recognized her eyes. She had a leather jacket, dark blouse and blue jeans. She wore dark kind of square, Lennon glasses. Her hair framed her face. I do not think she recognized me at all. Actually, I know she had probably never seen a picture of me, even though we had talked every day for months. The thing I noticed right away was her eyes. She had striking eye shadow.

Standing only a few feet from her, I know I must have been staring. She finally looked up from her newspaper or magazine. My heart was pounding in my throat when she looked at me. I tried to say something. It stuck in my throat like so much crumpled paper. I uttered “Lucie, is your name Lucie?” I know looking back that if the same thing had happened to me I would have been stuck in the headlights, just like she was. I tried to say it in her language, but that was an utter failure. I stopped to think of what the other girl thought I said.

I guess, I stepped toward her and almost got run down by a wayward mum and her carriage. The woman looked up at me. I tried to ask again, if her name was Lucie. I know it was, just from the way she looked at me. She said something to me, probably “who are you?”

I tried to speak slowly, and to explain that I was her friend from long ago. I knew she would recognize me if I used her nickname. I had always referred to her with it, “Princežna”. She knew who I was instantly, I mean heart-stopping fast. I was so far away from where she thought I was. Of all of the people she knew, there simply was no way to have guessed that I would show up and sit next to her when she had missed her bus.

We spoke a little, and wrote down what we did not understand. It was a good system to communicate. It seemed to interrupt the flow of ideas at first, but later it seemed to be more natural than to try and understand every spoken word.

She told me it felt odd, but good. I am glad she was happy. I can only imagine what it feels like. At the same time that it feels odd, it is like the answer to a long awaited question. I am not sure how to go about everything. It made the day seem so much better. I was kind of depressed and now I had found a friend. Lucie is a real friend, who had done her best to protect me even after she found out that I had double-crossed her. She tried to buck up and keep her sense of humor. I think that there is something in her eyes, she sat and talked to me for a long while. Soon she realized it was getting late, she said that she had to leave.

After several minutes more we stood and she looked me in the eyes. Her glasses were long gone, but it was the first time that she had sat and looked me straight in the eye. I am not sure what she saw, but she said she would come and have lunch with me. I guess that is more than you would expect.

This was my impossible friend. Lucie said it; she was beautiful when she had. Her eyes glowed and she kind of smiled as she looked away. Not that she was hard to be with, or that she was not excited about the possibility of all of this. It was more than that, if someone wished on every star in the sky for one hundred years, neither of us would have considered sitting in “Moravia Park” and looking into each others eyes. One of those times in your heart when you know that there is something to it but are not sure of how to go about it. I know that her eyes were not cloudy, they were clear and there was something inside her that was banging on the insides of her heart. An unseen jailer would not let it out into the world. It is impossible to believe that on that fateful day that we could have imagined this. I am not sure how to think how her lips tasted that day when she left. Even superficially, they were more than impossible; I think that they were what a princess’ lips would feel like.