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.