Four days after I should have walked off a plane into Prague International I walked off a plane into Prague International. The details are complex-- involving a sudden trip to Chicago, my mother and brother putting our house on the market, a lost passport, a lost birth certificate, a lost social security card, money scamming "expedite" services, a money scamming re-booking, a broken iPhone, another sudden trip to Chicago and a hell of a lot of money.
But as Mike Robinette so adequately put it, "It's just money." Easier to say, if you have it, I guess.
Immediately seeing airport ads in Czech made me want to drop my bags, whip out a camera and record everything in sight. As lame and touristy as that sounds, it is a world apart out here. Only the second time I've been on the morning side of the Iron Curtain and the first time I consciously remember. Before I came here I could speak Russian somewhat conversationally-- Czech is similarly spoken--but it's written in the Latin alphabet with all sorts of bizarre accents and underscores and as hard as I tried to understand their sounds (which are not Latin sounds) on the plane, it was futile and I'm learning all over again. So far all I've remembered is "Thank You" and even that manages to put a smile on the local's faces, I can't tell if out of cute badness, or genuine appreciation.
So past guards wielding submachine guns and dozens of "duty-free" outlets, I fumbled my way through the faces to the Customs Counter, where my passport was processed by a drop-dead gorgeous Czech woman in uniform. Through the lobby past dozens of business class pickups waiting, I found a handwritten sign in marker "TAYLOR COWAN." He didn't see me.
"Dobre Den," I said and he smiled, grabbing my bags without a word (he didn't speak English) and lugging them into the parking lot immediately outside where his cab was waiting. He saw me to the hotel, free of charge. I guess the hotel sent him out.
Residence 4 is nice. Tucked away on little Umelecka (pronounced oom-(y)e-lets-ka) in Praha 7, an up and coming district north of the Centrum, it's always quiet here. My roommate Matt and I have a little balcony, great for evening chats and a smoke and a three-room flat that is practical if not a little Calvinist. You can imagine, after going through losing your political identity—and all other forms of identification, the strange sensation of traveling. It’s almost like being a ghost, incognito. I positively love it. With no cell phone, no occupation and almost nothing you must do, the absolute freedom to write and live in a foreign country is exhilarating.
From first impressions and in a word the Republic in which the Czechs live in is refreshing. Its refreshing to see a city not drowning in tourist traps—more a Disneyland version of itself than an actual country. Prague is a living breathing entity, where graffiti is just as valued as art, there are as many statues as people, where you can’t always speak English and get away with it, in short, a place where I would be any day of my life. As Dostoevsky would say “there are intentional cities and there are unintentional cities.” Chicago with her perfectly square grid system, zoned city parks and sculpture, wide open spaces and absolute flatness is the worst and most contemptible kind of intentional city. While Prague, a gem of an undulating urban sprawl comes to life at you from behind every winding hill, every basement hideaway and surprise window.
My friend Hakala gets here soon from stateside, but he's on a later flight and there's class later today so nothing immediate.
Oh, I should tell you that I went to exchange currency today. My professor gave me a 24 hour pass to serve in the stead of the month pass I'll have and I took the 14 tram into Stare Mesto (Old Town), which was sprawling with wide cobblestone boulevards, designer clothing stores, restaurants, cafes and naturally tourists. I entered one place, greeting two foxes behind the counter in Czech (beginning to wonder if the whole damn country was this attractive), I walked right up into line dollars in hand and the security guard, a bear of a man began shouting at me. I couldn't understand what he was saying so I pretended to, nodding. He kept shouting though and now I was genuinely confused, still waiting my turn in line until he came up and physically moved me back from the counter. I hadn't realized that the man in front of me worked for a security company and was loading a locked briefcase full of bills from the counter to take to his truck, at least not until he left. The girls giggled at my touristy error, but I got my crowns!
So now back on the porch, sipping a Budweiser (not the American but the REAL one that America stole the name from) beer with Matt and wondering just how classes and my time in Praha will go. Here's to. And you know what, bearing jet lag, I can hardly contain it--after class I will be out all over this town!
-July 2nd
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