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.

Czech Pride

I like Eva, she is a great lady. Sometimes I want to have more time with her, but she moved to Japan. I wish her all of the luck in the world. One of the first times, I had met a Czech family I was with Eva, her mom and her grandparents. We had dinner at her mom’s house in Eva’s village. It seems no one lives in a city in Moravia. Maybe, it just seems that way, but it is tough to remember all the names of the tiny cross-road towns that speckle the Moravian countryside.

Eva was right when she had pointed it out that summer that her mom looked like the picture in the hotel. She even wore pretty traditional clothing. I almost laughed the first time I saw her mom. Often Czech women are unusually tall, even her grandmother was taller than I am. No, that is not saying much, but three generations between 5’9” and 6’1” (1.8m and 1.9m) is unusual. All of the women in her family were tall, slender and were all beautiful. I am not talking about pretty, but they could have all been supermodels each in their time.

I like proud people. Yes, people can be too proud. How do you respect someone who has no pride in themselves. They should stand up and say “I did this.” or “I think this because that is what I think.” “This is me. Take it or leave it!” In general, Czech people are hard to read, because culturally they are proud, but not demonstratively. Probably it is because they could never say they did a good job for themselves. For a thousand years, they did not rule themselves so even after an honest day’s work someone else took all of the credit for their work.

I still do not remember what the conversation was about, but it ended with Eva saying quite loudly that “Czech women are the best fuckers in the world!” No, neither her parent nor her grandparents understood, maybe in German or Czech they would have been taken aback. It was in English, so it was not rude. How do you respond to this? Obviously, the correct response is to get her a couple more drinks. If she feels that way now, in a little while we can talk her into putting her money where her mouth was.

Czechs are proud of their hockey team, even the most inebriated “lager lout” soccer fan would appreciate their intensity as fans. They are proud of the things they have accomplished, even though they complain incessantly. There is no questioning that Czech women are proud of their prowess between the sheets, and rightly so. Not many places that I have even heard of will women proudly state their pride in their nocturnal accomplishments.

Even if it was cheating a little bit, her grandmother did not understand what she said. What would I do, if her grandmother had stood up and agreed with her, would I have been obligated to do that too? I dodged a bullet on that one.

Ja jsu z Moravy!

Around Prague you will see cars with this emblazoned on the bumper, translated it means “I am Moravian!” There is more than a subtle rivalry between the krajs. I do no think I have ever seen Czech pride so brazenly displayed. Nor have I seen on a Brno Škoda, “Jsem Čech!”, maybe they are more than a little different?

Grandfather’s Slivka

How do you describe a culture? Some people would start with architecture, dress or dance. Others still would discuss language and literature. If you really look deeply into the Czech psyche beyond the complaining and constant nagging, it begins to become clear that they try to celebrate all of the same things that everyone else does. They are a little quieter, a little less likely to see a friend in a stranger, but they know when it is time to celebrate. Czechs can not only put on a show, but they can really break out the booze.

Moravians make and consume many varieties of moonshine. It can be made from almost any fruit (apples, pears, peaches and even cherries), but the real thing is made from “světsky”. Světsky are a kind of plum that grows throughout the region. Their moonshine has a slight taste, a little sweet and raisiny. Pruney might be a better description, but that might be seen as a detractor given the prune’s cleansing reputation. At between 100 and 120 proof it is difficult to describe Slivovice, “slivka”, as mild. Compared to gasoline, slivka’s essence is particularly flavorful and mild.

An invitation to a private home for dinner in the Czech Republic should not be taken lightly. Normally, they go out to eat or will meet at a pub. I quickly accepted Eva’s dinner invitation and responded that I would be in Moravia in a few hours. I was not sure how to get to her village from Brno and explained that I would appreciate it if she could go with me to her village. Getting lost in the Czech Republic is not a goal, nor should it be attempted by non-Czech speakers.

I stepped off of the bus in Brno in front of the Grand Hotel. The first thing I saw was her. Eva is around six feet (1.9m) tall and she would be a supermodel in almost any country. She is always dressed in a stylish and remarkably romantic way. Not that she was provocative or inappropriate, but she was always stunning. She has a great voice. It is not squeaky or thin, but feminine with a real, rich and booming sound. Please forgive any impolite description, but she has a sexy voice that is unusual to say the least.

We caught a bus from the main bus station in Brno to the big village near her small village. Finally, after an hour and a half and three busses we arrived at her grandparent’s house. It was a nice little place with a great porch and a yard surrounded by a low wall. Fearing the billowing cloud of chain-smoke, I decided to sit on the porch. A few minutes later, Evička brought me some Czech strawberry soda.

At this point in my stay, I spoke almost no Czech. I could utter the occasional useful phrase, but it is a testament to hospitality for Eva’s family to try and communicate with me. Eva’s English was not so good, but she tried hard to communicate with me. It is a shame that the education system teaches them to read, but never to speak.

A few minutes after a brief discussion about dinner, an elderly man arrived and left a glass bottle filled with a clear liquid near where I was sitting. He said something to me and then walked into the house. I did not understand a single word that he had said to me. Without any translators around; I smiled and shook my head knowingly. Simply smiling and indicating acceptance saves a lot of face on both sides.

When you have no idea what is going on around you, it is better to just be friendly. Half a glass of strawberry soda later, Eva returned. She had a drink with her when she sat down across the porch from me. She put her feet on the arm of the chair where I was sitting. I am sure I was supposed to understand what she was saying, but it was one of those times that the translator was less than understandable. Finally, I got the hint when she started pointing at my feet toward the bottle that the old man left. “Why didn’t you open it?”, she questioned me. I really had no idea what was in the bottle nor did I have any idea why it was all of a sudden it was so important.

“That is grandpa’s slivka”, she exclaimed excitedly.

“Oh, really?” I replied having no idea what slivka was, I gathered that the older gentleman had been her grandfather. Eva stretched to reach over to the bottle and quickly opened it pouring a finger or two into her nearly full glass.

The first mistake I made, was not in accepting her finger more than a splash, the mistake was in choking most of it down on the first draw. I can remember a vaguely sweet taste followed by the gates of hell opening up and grabbing my throat. Motes of fire shot down to my belly as I started to choke and gasp. My reaction besides looking like I drank a bottle of fire was “smooth”. That was choked out of me as if I was being shaken violently.

“Don’t you like it?” she asked. Again with the unanswerable questions, I think I answered this one correctly, but probably spent most of the night sleeping. Blind drunkenness will do that to you. Be careful around Grandpa’s slivka, it is not dangerous. It surely is not safe.

For a Fistful of Korun

The first time I ever saw Eva was at the restaurant where she worked in downtown Brno. I had just arrived. I was eight hours late and I was pretty hungry. I asked at the desk of the hotel and they said that there were several restaurants nearby. Of course, the desk’s answer was almost completely in German. I was pretty sure I understood, but it was many years since Frau Jones had taught me the fineries of the German language.

I remember I took a left at the door which led me to Masarýková Univerzita, Masarýk University. That was my first mistake. Now, this was certainly a fixable mistake, but after a few minutes I was pretty unsure of where I was. I had only just gotten there maybe a half an hour before. I found a phone that took coins and tried to call my friend in town, but Iva was at her parents’ house and would not be in town for a few days. She too agreed that there were many restaurants near to where I was standing. Iva even said many of them speak English. Well, they have English words on the menus at least.

Walking along the tram tracks between Masarýk and the Janačkova Hudbeni Gymnazium, Janačk’s Music Gymnazium, I found the word café. It was emblazoned below a large goose’s foot. I should have easily guessed what Husa meant, but at that point I had no idea. Judging from the other differences I see all around, better maybe not to guess. I walked into the Goose Foot Cafe and sat down.

A tall woman closer to six feet (1.9m) approached my table. When I looked down and saw she was wearing sensible shoes. She was certainly at least six feet tall. She handed me a menu. Of course, in the Czech Republic they will often hand you a Czech menu. This is a nice gesture, but it was not terribly useful. I tried to ask her if she spoke English and she shook her head no. Then she asked if I spoke German. I know if Fr. Jones reads this she will not be happy, but I responded “ein bischen.” It was the truth and right now I was not sure how long my vokabeln would hold.

The tall waitress quickly reacted and handed me a German version of the menu. Without a dictionary or prior preparation I set to reading the menu as best I could. A few minutes later the beautiful, tall waitress returned. It was clear that she had been telling the people in the kitchen about me, because there were several onlookers gawking from the kitchen. I could have assumed it, but Brno was hardly ready for American tourists.

I was honestly having trouble with the menu, and I tried to admit it. I asked her if she could get me something warm and something to drink. I tried to explain that I had had a long trip and could use any help I could get. She smiled and a few minutes later returned with what she liked. She was carrying a big chicken salad and a huge glass of beer. After three or four pints of beer, I was ready to sleep. It had been a long day and everything seemed to be breaking. Maybe some tv and then some sleep would bury enough of my problems that tomorrow would be better.

Now comes a truly cultural question, what to tip. I had been kind of a pain in her ass. So I thought that I should tip at least 30%. That is what I would do in the USA and why should I with any less respect than I would in my home town? When I got the tab it was like 310czk, and I had a 500czk bill so I just left it.

Typically American, well in the Czech Republic, typically American is like a cat with two heads. I remember I left it on the table with a note that said “Danke, Adam.” That was that, I figured. I gathered my stuff and walked out leaving the money on the table. Leaving my money on the table was my first mistake. Quickly, I walked out of the restaurant took a right and went to the main drag and up to Hotel Slavia where I was going to be staying for the next 21 days.

Czech people do not attract your attention with “Hey buddy!” or with a whistle. No they “shhhh” you, just like in the library when you are being too noisy. So, I did not react when I heard it. Maybe it was a sneeze or something, if they wanted my attention they would have tapped me on the shoulder or said something. Not really, I got back to my hotel and walked up the five flights of stairs. Maybe on the third flight I noticed that I was in fact being followed. I intentionally tried not to look back. It could have been anyone from someone at the desk to a cleaning lady. I got to my floor and realized that the slight wheezing sound was my waitress from the restaurant. She was kind and helped me with the door to the floor whose lock seemed to stick badly.

That is what I call customer service, for a three dollar tip she followed me home and helped me with the door. I thanked her in German, but she did not say anything. I slid through the hallway door and went to my room. Being followed by such a beautiful Czech girl was more than a guy could ask for. Before I entered my room, I stopped and looked at her. She told me that I had left my money on the table. She wanted to bring me my change, so she had followed me from the restaurant.

 I tried to explain that it was a tip. She had gone out of her way to help me. Where I was from, you tip service people well who give great service. I tried to make sure she knew that the money was hers and that I truly appreciated her help. She said her name was Eva and that she was happy to meet me.

I received a call on the hotel phone the next day. Eva invited me out for a tour of Brno. I gladly accepted. That still was the best tour of Brno I have had. Evička is a great lady. She is the best friend I could find for a fist full of korun.

“I am sorry. I wanted to call, but...”

Boys and girls in Czech are similar to America in the most general terms. They both want to get into each other’s pants constantly, but in Czech the rules are different. Some things are certainly the same. Fundamental differences are where this story lies. “Letting them down easy” is impossible. The same lack of communication, that allowed one person to develop feelings from the same interactions that a person found feeling-free means that the person with the feelings will not be able to read between the lines.

So if there is not really a relationship involved, then why is it so hard to stop them sometimes? I have felt the sharp side of an axe a few times from women. Probably I even have swung it a few times myself. Some women are so bad at it, that it is almost more fun to be spiteful. Their discomfort is almost worth swallowing some pride. It is possible that she was telling me the truth that her friend had taken her cell phone. Ok, I was born at night, just not last night. She was clearly ignoring as best she could. Probably was a bit embarrassed or taken a back by me calling her bluff and showing up. What kind of pride do you leave a guy with when you say that though? What was she thinking? When you ask yourself this, it probably means that they are not thinking at all.

Men are from Mars and women are from some planet much farther away. Gears change awfully fast in my opinion in most women’s heads. I do understand that lying to yourself is easy and generally hurts more than why you were lying to yourself in the first place. From one day to the next to have the “pedal to the metal” when driving a relationship to “full-stop” happens too often in Czech.

A good example, you can not get kicked out of a historical site for lewd acts one day and the next say that “you do not want to see them anymore.” As open as Czechs are about public nudity and affection, it is important to remember that the authorities at one of the most feared prisons in European history do not appreciate these things with the same ardor as the rest of the population.

It is also too common, for them to walk away from a relationship. Or at least seemingly walk away. Then after not seeing or hearing from them for weeks and or months, they show up on the doorstep or on the phone and expect to be able to pick up from the exact position where they last interacted. This thought pattern is not logical. Probably on the women’s planet the sky is green and the grass is blue.

In defense of being “used for sex”, maybe it should not seem so strange to have sex in someone’s bedroom. In and of itself this is no big deal. Sex by location certainly can be a big turn on. Who am I to say no, but in their mom’s house in a bed with pink sheets and cartoon characters or pictures of them when they were six feels funny. From experience alone, you can put all of that out of your mind. Sex in mom’s house or bedroom can be exciting. Coital interruption to be asked to take out the trash does have some kink to it.

When it all gets down to it, relationships here remind me of ”Self Esteem” by the Offspring. “…It is so hard to say no, when she is ready to go…” I am a guy and sometimes it does not matter how angry I am at the way I am treated or how juvenile the setting. Usually, these feelings are easily suspended for an hour or two. Who am I kidding, a commercial break, if I have to pee first and take off my socks. Being lied to is tough. A tip if you are dumping someone, at least say nothing or make it believable. There are some advantages to being used for sex. Having been through so many different takes on the subject, I can see why it can be a preferred relationship.

In the Park

I did not really know Iva. I mean know her, but I guess I can say that she was included to show the value of listening. She was sort of a mystery to me. I guess the little time that I did know her was spent sitting in the park talking about families. I can only imagine what our time was really like, but here is something that I am sure that would be so common during our talks.

We like to sit in the park on Sundays. It was a small park called “freedom”. In the summer it was always filled with lots of squirrels and people with their dogs and occasionally their cats. I know it was a lot of fun those days to walk with her. Just hand in hand along the edge of the grass. She is still young, but she is probably the most beautiful thing in my life. Her little hats which she loved to wear.

Her little shirt with a big flower on the chest and the blue jeans with flowers trimming the pockets and the pant legs is her favorite outfit. I can not imagine that she could look more like her mom. Her eyes are big and glassy just like her mom’s. Dark hair almost raven hair reminded me of her mom when we first met. Her aunt had found the shirt one weekend in the market and had embroidered the flowers on her jeans.

I do not have any sisters, but there was one person in my life that I promised I would be grandparents with. We never found a way to be together, but we had never lived more than an hour apart for the rest of our lives. That is why today is so sad. I can see my little girl’s favorite playmate her cousin. He was a cute little guy. He wore his USA flag hat. It was a special present from my dad. He had found it one day shopping in the flea market before he died. My dad had wanted it for his grandchild that at the time was still waiting to be born. I thought that it would be better for him. My daughter Elena had been born a few months after him, and they were inseparable. He was cute in his little overalls and a “Mickey Mouse” t-shirt.

His mom and I made sure of that. We would kid that they would fall in love one day and smile like we said we would. It is a strange thought, but I guess it would be an amazing end to a long road for my friend and I. She was glowing as usual, she had been shopping I could see. Her arms full of bags as was her traditional Sunday afternoon in town. I helped her with her bags as she sat down. My “holka” ran to her “hoch” and they played in the grass not far from our bench. They were beautiful together. After all of these years her lips were as soft as the first day we met, by the fountain at the music school.

That was a strange day but I can even remember what she was wearing that day. I can not remember if it was her birthday or just a few days after. It was too long ago. She was beautiful that day, she had a silver backpack and a white shirt with a sunflower on one side and light blue jeans. She looked into my eyes as she would. We did not see each other every week, but most weeks we had.

She had been my dearest friend and confidant for so many years. I could not imagine what I was about to tell her. I had promised her we would be grandparents together, but I was going to have to break our promise. It was killing me, I could not believe how hard it was. No matter how openly I refused to let myself be sad, she could see through me. Only a few minutes after she had sat down she looked at me, and said “Medvedku, co je spatne? You can not be sad, it is our day.”

I could not handle it, thank the heavens for children. Her little boy had caught a grasshopper and he brought it to us to show us. We told him to be careful with fragile things. “Do not hurt animals, they have feelings too. You would not like it if a grasshopper did the same to you.” We tried to be the best parents. I know that our spouses were our first loves, but we knew I think that we were our forever loves. Not to say that we had ever consummated our relationship, we had just known that to be apart would be worse than death to our hearts. We had a few days per month together and would call and talk like children even after all of this time.

It was the most amazing relationship I have ever known. I love my wife, and would never think of hurting her not even in a small way. She knew about my feelings, and so did her husband. We had been careful to not abuse their love by seeking more from our feelings. So we were allowed to have our time together and we were trusted by them.

It did not take long before my “holka” brought her aunt a little bouquet of flowers. We had bought them before we went to the park; my daughter had forgotten to give her present to her favorite aunt. It made her smile. If I thought I understood the beauty of a child before she was born; I would be lying. I can now not imagine not having her around. My friend and I love to have our babies together. It was like something that we used to talk about in whispers. Over our time we developed our own language that only we knew. This made it easier to talk in front of the kids and sometimes in front of the spouses.

It was absolutely about visiting with the squirrels and the trees. Enjoying the summer with our children was special. We knew we were the best part. I think my friend knew why we were here today. She knew, I was an open book to her and I knew it. In these years, she had seldom been wrong in her wisdom and she had not known before I did that I had a problem. Dark eyes, which would not look at me, were a dead give away that she knew something.

We would have dreams sometimes, then call or email each other about them. Sunshine and moonshine knew what made the other tick on many levels and she could feel the sadness in my heart today. It was more than the normal “we only have a short time” kind of feelings. Never had it been guilt that we should not be doing something, we had sworn that to each other. I had never been sorry with her; I had never been more alive on my wedding day. When she stood there in the doorway with a small yellow gerbera in her hand everything changed. I think she was the only woman in all of her village to be married with yellow gerberas in her bouquet. Many people, who knew her, knew that she loved them. It was not about that, on both occasions it was our blessing for the other to be married. I guess it was important to us that day to have the other’s approval.

She looked at me and asked me to walk with her. We stood and gathered the children. They really were so beautiful together making little rings of flowers. Summer sunshine fell on their skin and they were happy being children. There is something to the way this country deals with children that is far superior to my country. It is just a better way. We strolled around the park just out of earshot of the little ones. We had an ever vigilant eye on them as we walked. A few uncomfortable jokes came between us and a few times we had to stop to fix a hair bow or kiss a sore hand or scraped knee.

I tried to tell her that we were leaving. I had gotten a better job and was deciding to leave. Like a mallet hitting her on the hand, she stood there quiet. Not realizing that it was hurting me too. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. We stood there next to each other in the sun. The babies wanted to know why we were crying. I know we had never been in love with each other. We had only one night of passion on a day that was one of the hardest days of our lives. As soon as the words came from my mouth, I wanted more than anything to take them back. To never have said it and to run to my wife and tell her that it was not a good idea and that we should stay.

In the beginning, it was rough between us. She had managed to steal my heart and then to sacrifice it on a stone two times. That is what it had seemed like. Over the years I had realized that it was a hard thing for her to imagine falling in love with someone from so far away. Circumstances are always tough in real life. Our relationship is no different than a million others that happen every day, but it was ours. It was all we had. We stood there holding each other standing there in a field of flowers, not far from where we had met.

I think that we will never see each other again. I will miss her, and my family will honor her family’s memory in every way we could imagine. The four of us had shared many things and many more good times. I remember being worried when our family became five, and she cried and held my wife’s hand when we became six. We had nine Christmases together, maybe ten if you count the first one.

It was hard to imagine no more Sunday afternoons in the park with her, or no more Christmas carp with them. If I could leave her with one thing, it would be the hope that one day we would be old and living across the fence from each other. I think we would have the only yards in the village that did not have a fence between them. She was my family and that would not change even with a great distance between us. I told her that I would try to return. To bring my family back to her so she could see it as it grew. She would still be their aunt and we would do many things together in our hearts.

On the days when the sun is bright, she will always be the sunshine. Those days when it was dark and the only thing you could see was the light from the moon, I would look down on her and hers. Late one night, I know she will call to tell me that we were seven. It would be a little while later, when I would call and say that we were coming to visit so she could meet number eight. That night, we would dance slowly in the garden together and she would wear a yellow dress, and I a blue shirt and slacks. That night there would be no children, no wives or husbands, just two hearts that had spent their lives trying to be lovely together. Dancing in the moonlight until the dawn when there would be no doubt that our hearts were true.

Simply the Sexiest Thing

The sexiest thing happened one November afternoon. After a two hour bus ride, I saw the single sexiest thing ever. When I got off of the bus, I would not have guessed that I would have seen this. The sexiest thing I have ever seen was wearing a dark, calf-length denim jacket, and the requisite four-inch (10cm) heeled leather boots. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail and she was not facing me directly, but she had the best smile. When she saw me, the only thing that she could say was that she worried that she was smiling at the wrong person. I am sure every guy on the street had a smile, because they thought that she was smiling at them.

They Must be in Phenomenal Shape, They Even Graduate from Gymazium

Most of the Czech school system remains a mystery. The stories of ex-pat English teachers are certainly telling tales of the free attitudes of sixteen to eighteen year old Czech women. It is hard to tell in these stories who is the prey and who the predator is. Graduation from Gymnazium, which is different than Czech High School, is an interesting time in the smaller cities and villages.

During the month of graduation all of the shops in town have pictures of the graduating classes of the various Gymnaziums in the window. The one young man graduating from the Dance and Performing Arts Gymazium with the eighteen beautiful girls certainly made a wise choice. For every fortune there is famine, soon his life will fill with the pain and hunger of unemployment. I am not of the opinion that a degree in Modern Dance is treated with the same disrespect that it is in the USA. Especially, given that many medical students are on-line sex workers or sweeping floors in pubs around the country.

The custom for all new graduates is to dress in costume and stroll around town in gangs panhandling for gifts. After being accosted by five or six Czech teenage girls willing to show their gratitude to a stranger for a few coins, certainly makes the afternoon delightful. The story about the girl showing me her assets is one of the more tame stories about this custom. 

Brno

The first time I arrived in Brno, I was lost. My arrival was delayed at the Prague airport, the train station, the bus station and at almost every step of the way. If I am honest, then I can not say I could even read the road signs. Heck, I could not even find a road sign. They are red with white lettering, but usually do not say street, avenue, court or even alley. The whole trip was a comedy of errors one after the other. Usually, street signs are randomly placed on building corners, but it would be hard to do otherwise. Most streets change names every block, so there would be four or five signs on every corner, and that would not help.

I do not think that day; I could have found another problem. It was a terrible day, but the beginning of an adventure that changed the way the world revolved in my head. Maybe “foreign” meant something else to me, or maybe “foreign” was not so scary, just so new.