Prague 9/2

9/2

It’s my second full day in Prague, and I think I’ve begun to settle. I bought a French press today that’s also a thermos, then bought both coffee and loose leaf earl grey. I had to go to two different markets – there’s a Czech word for the little markets that line our street, starts with a P and I can’t spell it. I’ve yet to find one that has fresh bread. Anyway, two different markets for milk and sugar, then back to the market across from our door to get a lighter for the gas stove, only to come home and realize that the stove will ignite itself. And then to boil water I had to use a pot because the kettle has either rust or lime built into a nice orange crust all over the inside. I might need to just buy a new kettle, but I’ll wait and see if the soak I’ve got right now will get it clean. So after all that I made myself two small cups – or one thermos worth – of earl grey with a little milk and sugar, sat down by the window, and read a little of my book.

But it’s quiet, and nice, and I wanted to write this down while it lasts.

So, living in Prague? Our apartment is nothing special – it could be, if it wasn’t a series of transient, four month homes for American students. If it was lived in, loved, and cared for I’m sure I would love it. It would be beautiful. But no one stays here more than a semester at a time, which is sad in its own way. We’ve got beautifully high ceilings, and there’s even a small chandelier in my bedroom. The kitchen is wonderful, though woefully under equipped, we’ve got gorgeous views, and the whole place speaks of warmth and character. But the furniture isn’t coordinated, neither are the dishes or the flatware. Nothing works especially well since the tenants don't care for the appliances’ longevity. And the worst are the tragically empty walls. I hate empty walls, nothing makes this place feel more transient than nothing on the walls. Maybe I’ll find a couple cheap scarves and tack them to the walls, if only for a little visual warmth.

I do, however, already have a nice little spot to read and write. I’m sure there’s a word for it, but we have one of those windows that stick out from the main wall of the building, making a gently sloped and trapezoidal “u” out of the living room. There’s three window panes, each with gauzy drapes and when they’re propped open for fresh air, the sounds of the street fill the apartment. Mostly it’s the occasional car, as we’re living in a pretty wealthy neighborhood and cars are a luxury whose necessity I can only imagine if you have more than two children and some place outside the city you go commonly. But the thing is, the suburbs where the prolific public transportation system has less of a presence is considered “creepy” and poorer. I found that interesting, as in America it’s the exact opposite. Well, maybe creepy applies to American suburbs, but less in a mafia kind of way and more of a Stepford Wives kind of way. Oh, they also apparently have a taxi mafia here, that will take Americans into the suburbs if they get into their taxi and I suppose extort them. But we only need to use taxis late at night after the metro stops running, and we’ve been given the info for a taxi company that’s trusted and uses fair rates. Other than the occasional car, conversations in Czech, the intermittent dog barking (it seems everyone in the Czech Republic has a dog – it’s making me a little homesick), and a child outside that is singing something are making up my soundtrack right now. It’s pleasant.

I have the place to myself right now, too, since my roommates decided to go play tourist after we hit the Tesco in the bottom of a department store. That’s where I got my French press thermos, in addition to a bedside lamp. I forgot to get a light bulb, though, and the little markets don’t sell them. I don’t want to go all the way back to the Tesco (it’s like a British Safeway) just for a light bulb, so I’ll wait until tomorrow and I’m back on that end of town.

It’s funny what little things are different here, but still feel pretty American. I got fairly familiar with the subway system in New York when I visited over the summer, and the metro here is much easier to use, far less convoluted and trains run more frequently. So using the public transport doesn’t feel strange, even carrying two bags plus my purse back from the Tesco across three stops. The newer parts of the city have a prodigious American influence – shops, especially. Even if the writing is in Czech, which is actually kind of rare, the images and the colors are very bright and look like any given mall on an American street. Until, of course, you look up and there’s an intricately sculpted Madonna or a giant gargoyle. It really isn’t until you start looking at the art and architecture that you realize you’re not in Kansas any more. Every single building here, with the rare exception of the occasional Soviet structural blemish, looks like it belongs in an architecture textbook. If it’s not the gorgeous and intricate buildings like the one I live in, it’s art deco or something even more modern. Nothing, except the odd soviet building, of which there are few, is simply concrete and blocky, like in America. In the malls and shopping districts it’s like someone threw a McDonalds wrapper over a magnificent painting – it almost hurts to look at. But outside of the shopping districts, everything is gorgeous. I think I look up more than I look forward, which is probably dangerous because I’m going to step into the minimal traffic.

The other thing, too, that makes it a little more… real, I suppose, is the street layout. Knowing what I know about Prague’s history, and medieval European history in general, I’m actually surprised that it’s not crazier. But that’s when I’m looking at the map. Certain neighborhoods make sense, they’re on a grid and I have a general idea which way is which. There’s also usually a slope to the street, so I can remember uphill or downhill. But in the older parts of town, it’s like a kid with a crayon drew the map. And there aren’t street signs anywhere, so to figure out what street you’re on, you have to look at the addresses on the buildings, which are in Czech. We took a brief tour of the oldest part of town yesterday, and I want desperately to go back and spend a long time meandering the streets, and especially go look at the churches. Oh, the churches are so pretty it hurts! But in an hour we made a big circle, and to me it felt like going straight because of all the turns we made. I’m kind of scared I’ll get lost, so I hope I can make a Czech friend, preferably an art major, who I can drag around one weekend and let them worry about where we are. The other thing I want to do, other than make a general tourist of myself in the old town, is go to the art museums in the old square. I keep wanting to use Russian words to describe these things, as the English words don’t carry the same gravitas in my head, but a waiter last night chided me for using too much Russian. “There are no Russians here anymore. You must speak Czech,” he told me. But “square” doesn’t feel right, I want to call it the “ploshid.” I can’t wait to learn Czech.

Speaking of Russian, though, I’ve found it’s doing me more good than English. Sure, everyone speaks English, but most shop workers are older, and even though Czechoslovakia always bristled under the USSR, and the Austro-Hungarians before that, I found that ordering coffee or dinner in Russian instead of English garners me more goodwill than my friends ordering in English. In fact, we were at a Czech restaurant – like a real one, with kabobs and beer glasses bigger and thicker than your two fists – and after two girls struggling to order in English because the waiter spoke such little English, that once he got to me and I ordered in Russian, he used me to communicate with the whole table. Which was pretty cool. He seemed pretty pleased I spoke Russian, as his Russian was clearly better than his English. Up until I started speaking Russian, he’d been pretty dour, but once we started gavoritim pa-russki, he was much more pleasant and helpful. This is the same waiter who told me I need to speak Czech instead, and when I explained I don’t know any Czech, he taught us to say “thanks.” I don’t know how proper this is, or if I’m even saying it right, but its “da-koo-yu.” He was pretty tickled to hear a bunch of American girls murmur our chorus of “dakooyu”s every time he swung by our table. It was fun, and after a plate of bacon-wrapped chicken and the saltiest potatoes ever, washed down with two massive mugs of beer, I had my first real moment of “I think I’d like to live here.” The girls I was out with went out again, this time with more enthusiasm and more intent to drink, and we parted at the metro. I think I’ll end up cultivating a reputation as the fuddy-duddy who doesn’t party, but I’m okay with that. It’s who I am in the States, it’ll save me money, and with the instillation of a reading lamp, my little reading corner is going to be a very pleasant place to spend a semester.

Bonus observations:

·      There is a pho place three doors from our building, and not only do I love pho (next time a bit spicier, though), it’s cheap and a big bowl will last me a couple dinners.

·      The best thing, after how pretty the city is, is the quality and abundance of cheap food. I frequently get takeout in our neighborhood for less than 100 Kc, which is about $5, and a sit down meal with a couple beers is often less than 200 Kc. The most expensive thing I’ve bought so far was my ghetto ass cell phone.