a temporary home

My cute little Astra Apartment in Zizkov is a bittersweet experience. On one hand I have never had a place of my own, which means this apartment is getting all the tender love and care originally saved up for my first house. But on the other hand it is one of the most disastrous places I have ever lived (which in hindsight means I have lived pretty well my whole life). 

Lets start with the bed.  For a pillow we have flat rectangles that barely dent when you sit on it and a comforter from the 60’s.  My dresser almost topples over every time I open a drawer, which means getting dressed in the morning is a balancing act.  There are also random little shrines to the Beatles and tributes to an unknown photographer whose only claim to fame must be that he or she is framed on the wall of an insignificant apartment in ghetto Prague.  I am not kidding, one of the pictures is a snapshot of a side of a house, but not a trendy artsy house, and I’m talking horrible framing, weird shadows, and piles of trash.  It’s great.

Now to the bathroom…the toilet and shower are separate, which I admit is bizarre, has actually turned out quite handy in a room of six girls.  The shower is a work out since the only way to get your head underneath the water is to bend back and clutch your abs. Also, the showerhead once fell inches away from my head as I turned off the water, leaving me paralyzed with fear that the faucet has a personal vendetta out to kill me.

The Washing Machine is capitalized because it is a live person and has a mind of its own.  There are strange markings all over it that have no pattern or hold any coherent thought. When you want to use it you simply turn a couple knobs in random directions, cross your fingers, and hope you hear the familiar sound of rushing water. The dishwasher is a similar story but had such a low success rate that we gave up all together and starting doing all our dishes by hand. The only problem is that anyone who has roommates knows that the number one cause of conflict in a house inevitably ends up being the dishes. 

But I have saved the best for last in my description of the refrigerator.  Sometimes our refrigerator is a good little appliance. But other times it stops being a refrigerator and starts being a microwave.  And when it’s over being a microwave it simply turns off and sits, mocking us oblivious humans who walk by unaware of the troubles about to unfold.  We first recognize the problem when a foul stench starts to leak into every room and the name game commences.  Then finally someone opens the fridge and sees mold growing on our three day old cheese or meats. We then reset the fridge, take out the suddenly overflowing trash, and start grocery shopping again.  It’s amazing how fast the food goes bad over here.

But on the bright side my apartment is filled with neon colors since every room is painted in bright blue, red, or yellow.  How can you hate something that is neon yellow when you wake up in the morning?

So that’s my apartment for you. Hope you got a sense of where I spend my days, especially when it is really cold outside. Slash I made a deal with the refrigerator that if it kept my soup safe over spring break I would dedicate a segment of my blog to it. Just holding up my end of the deal….

Some things never change

Those of you who know me know that about once every couple of months I get violently ill because I refuse to listen to my body and relax.  Well living in a foreign country is no different I guess.  I’ve been sick for a while but nothing really too serious: a headache, a cough, and a stuffy nose.  But today turned out to be drastically different than I planned. I go to church in the morning feeling fine, well relatively speaking.  I come home for an hour or too and my friend Kristen and I decide to go back out to check this other church we have been hearing about.  But I as get ready my body suddenly turns into ice and my headache starts flaring up again.  So naturally my response is to put on more layers and pop in a couple more Advil.  I make it down to the tram and meet Kristen at the metro.  But now I’m a little worried because it feels as if a war is about to commence, both sides are recruiting forces and setting up camp.  Well Prague metro stations have these really intense vertical escalators that are intimidating to even the most clear-headed passenger.  So of course as soon as I step foot on the downward decent into the eternal abyss of the metro station some stupid artilleryman from the enemy side lets loose the first arrow and it sticks me right in the gut.  No joke, it is as if I have sudden vertigo and my muscles simply give way.  I turn dead white and look to Kristen unable to comprehend what just hit me.  By the grace of God we make it down the escalator and I legitimately lie down in the disgusting, dirty floor for I am sure I am about to pass out.  After I feel as if I can muster up enough strength to make it back up the escalator we start the journey back up. But halfway through I know I am not going to make it. Sheer will keeps it in until I get to the top where then I spill all my insides into this poor, innocent trashcan at this random metro station. My body is clearly in full-fledged war by this point.  And whatever is inside me is trying desperately to retreat as fast as it can. We then find a near by bathroom and I live there for the next half an hour.  While sitting there I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation and acknowledge the fact that this would happen to me because sick stories are my specialty.  Well Kristen, being the Godsend that she is helps me back to my apartment and I walk into my room to find my roommates appalled at the sight of me.  Apparently I look like death.  Being safe and sound in an apartment rather than the streets of Prague, I curl up in my uncomfortable bed, finding solace only in the fact that I can officially cross ‘first time sick in a foreign country’ off my list.  

Auschwitz

It’s been a long time since I was left truly speechless. For a girl who thrives off the written word and verbal expression it is a scary thought when comprehension is best left unarticulated. I went to Auschwitz this weekend in Krakow, Poland and spent the day touring the world’s most severe death camp, the most prominent visual proof of man’s capability for evil I have ever seen.  But I can’t actually explain what I saw let alone what it was like.  Words have no weight in situations like this. It took me almost two hours after the trip to even open my mouth. I was paralyzed with fear that my process of comprehension would dishonor the lives of those who suffered. I mean I could tell you that the first time I realized I was crying was when I felt water on my shoulder as if my soul knew something my mind had not yet grasped. I could tell you that I kneeled at the foot of the gas chamber, touching the same floor where millions of women and children suffocated to death, silently praying for forgiveness.  I could tell you I stopped breathing at the sight of scratches in the wall, desperate prayers of men who went crazy from isolation and fatigue. But what would that do? Can such evil even be expressed? How do you put it into words?  I actually cringed on the bus ride home at the sound of this girl behind me whispering ‘wow… that was so sad’ in this emotionless tone.  It wasn’t sad. It was wrong.   Sad does not have enough grief, enough pain, enough utter despair built into the word to even begin to grasp what went on there. So I guess that’s all I can say. I pray for the past, present and future victims of ignorance mixed with hate. I pray for similar atrocities currently taking place all around the world. I pray for the wounds that never healed. I pray over the injustice that still lingers in the air. I pray the world can remember history so as to prevent it from being relived.  I pray for forgiveness.  I pray for Jesus to come back. 

Fat Tuesday in Žižkov

Prague is split up into 10 districts. I live in Praha 3 in a town called  Žižkov. Now let me tell you about  Žižkov. It has an unusually high gipsy population and is known as being economically challenged. Therefore there are mini casinos and Las Vegas replicas on every corner with the occasional sketchy flower shop that stays open all hours of the night.  But recently Mallory and I were online looking for the famous strudel man who apparently lives around the corner from us and we stumbled across a description of  Žižkov I will never forget.  They said, ‘this is  Žižkov. It doesn’t pretend to be anything it is not. It just is.’ I love that.  Žižkov used to be an independent city and I think that got to their heads. They are offbeat and proud to be different.  But despite that it is easily forgotten, easily passed by; but those who do miss out on more than they know. 

For example, last Tuesday happened to be Fat Tuesday in Žižkov, a day within carnival that celebrates and encourages pigging out on meat – pun intended.  Each neighborhood is responsible for organizing their own carnival, but everyone comes to Žižkov cuz we da bomb.  Here is a segment from an expat newspaper called Stars and Stripes that I read "We are the most original," claims Zizkov town hall spokesman Jeronym Janicek, who notes that the neighborhood was one of the first in the city to resurrect the tradition in the early 1990s, after communism fell. A lot of people give the neighborhood credit for helping bring new life into a festival that had fallen into obscurity."

 So we headed out to explore this so called ‘carnival’.   As soon as we caught glimpse of all the commotion we realized we were the sole representatives of the age group ranging from 16 to 35.  It was clearly not the ‘cool’ thing to do in  Žižkov if you weren’t entertaining your sugar high toddler or benefiting from the senior citizen discounts. But nonetheless we were determined to partake in the festivities and so naturally we bought this gross, fat, greasy street sausage topped with a potato patty and a dry piece of bread.  I swear I don’t even remember what it tasted like because I had to swallow most of it in one bite so as to not offend my taste buds.  We’ve have a rocky relationship recently because I’ve started to cook more and more often.  My stomach wasn’t the biggest fan after that fiasco either.  But, never fear,  Žižkov came to save the day once again when we realized they were offering free beer and pastries just one tent over.  Suddenly the day got a lot better. And that’s when the party really kicked off. 

The drums started beating and the mob instinctively responded by sweeping us due east to the heart of the city center. Little make shift floats and men on stilts came out of nowhere and simply started to stroll down the middle of the street. So we followed their lead and took to the streets.   Seriously it was like the a silent dog whistle went off for all of a sudden the road was jam packed with people of all ages wearing masks, ridiculous costumes, and questionable accessories.

At each stop there was either a folk band from back in the good ole days or a truly cheesy clown juggler comedian thing, which the Czech seemed to love strangely enough – maybe it was something in the beer but I guess wouldn’t know, it was all in Czech – and ended with a speech from the  Žižkov mayor (or at least we think).  But, in conclusion, it was a successful day and it taught me a lot about the neighborhood that has been so kind in housing me for the past month.  It’s a bit wonky at times but it’s real.  They don’t hold anything back. They are proud to be  Žižkov and they will laugh at the really corny tricks from the comedian man if they want to gosh dang it! It’s  Žižkov. Don’t mess. 

My Weekend in Berlin

Gahhh, I know by definition I can no longer call myself a true blogger because I have ceased to maintain the daily routine a writer ought to have.  But I have a worthy excuse.  See I have started reading the sequel to Sharon Kay Penman’s Here Be Dragon trilogy and have just entered the reign of Prince Llewellyn's grandson, Prince Llewellyn (they conveniently all have the same name).  Anyway, any time I have a free second I either bust out my novel or go online to look at cheap hostels for all my future weekend destinations. Therefore I realized that it has been quite awhile since I have written anything of substantial value and for that I sincerely apologize.  I will try to be more disciplined in the future. But, nevertheless, the reality of the situation is that I now have done so much that it would be impossible to tell you all about it in the detail that I would naturally prefer.  So I am simply going to cut my losses and move on.  Here are the things I am skipping so you can ask me about later if you would like: my solo day trip to Czesky Krumlov, swing dancing with this old Czech man, meeting up with my USC friends in Prague, and the other many little and random adventures I go on from and day to day basis.  But I doubt this lack of information is anything that will keep you up at night.

So I shall begin with my weekend trip to Berlin to visit Caitlin! Caitlin Borzi has been friend ever since 3^rd grade when we shunned the rest of society finding each other to be far superior playmates, and 10 years later it is like nothing has changed – except the fact that we are prancing around Europe together instead of the swing sets.  I arrive Friday night to an already planned out weekend schedule starting that very hour.  We meet up with our other friends from high school who are studying in Berlin and go to this awesome club. It takes forever to find it in the freezing cold, but once inside it was this sweet European techno atmosphere with solo dancers just minding their own business, soaking up the apparently famous techno DJ we were there to see. I also might have consumed one to many of those crazy German beers because looking back it probably wasn’t as fun as I thought I was having at the time…but don’t tell my mom.

The next day we wake up pretty early for having gone out the night before and start our walking tour of the city.  Caitlin satisfies my need for the classic tourist destinations including the Berlin wall and the communist TV tower, but then she takes back control of the schedule and shows me ‘the real Berlin’.  After living there a year and fully integrating herself into the language and the hipster, modern, artsy sub culture of Berlin, I’d say she was a far more qualified tour guide then I could have hoped for.  She took me to these crazy alien bars, secret artist squatting zones, overrun graffiti/ street art/ poster parks, and showed me the best food Berlin had to offer.  Apparently Berlin is the new Paris in that all the young, poor artists are taking over creating quite an international presence. After the wall fell Berlin felt this need to reinvent itself and start from scratch and embrace the modern, the future, the new… and modern artists eat that stuff up.  So now every inch of Berlin is the artist’s playground and the walls are covered (not exaggerating… im talking all over the place) with street art and posters and there are all these famous squatters who are freeloading off of the abandoned spaces in East Berlin despite any efforts to kick them out.  Needless to say Berlin is a pretty sweet place to be living right about now.

Berliners also embrace the ‘anything goes’ policy, but they take to a whole new level that puts even LA to shame. The massive weekend second hand flee market is proof of their truly crazy fashion sense.  Berlin is the only place I’ve been where being trendy truly takes no skill and random, large clothing items meshed together. It’s great. The only other thing I have to say about my trip is that I successfully spent close to 4 hours in a museum by myself (while Caitlin was at school) learning everything there is to know about the history of the German people and getting way to excited over Napoleon’s hat after he was defeated at Waterloo.  However, at the end of the day, one of the coolest things about my trip was that I got homesick… for Prague.  I loved Berlin but I missed my city, my home.  I missed the beautiful buildings, familiar smells, and immaculately clean streets.  Prague is truly starting to become my very own. 

A History of the Czech Republic

The History of the Czech Republic: Prequel to “the spirit of Prague”

            We had an interesting discussion in class today, which I felt deserved some extra attention. It all started with an assigned reading in which famous Czech author, Ivan Klima, describes the Czech Republic as a paradox, a barren and sort of uncanny city existing within the elaborate and decorated walls of beautiful Prague. But as I started to dive into the philosophical interpretation of Czech identity I realized it would be helpful to understand the more historical but just as confusing events that make up that identity. The Czech Republic has an impressively complicated past containing everything from contested ancestry to evil tyrants to haphazard borders to constant disagreements over the formal name and definition of the state and surrounding territories. Needless to say the Czechs have seen it all and experienced it all; the question is simply has it been too much? 

So before I go any further let me begin with a disclaimer that this is Czech history as I understand it from listening to the many different opinions of my Czech friends and an even separate opinion from my even closer friends called Wikipedia and Google.  So now let us start at the beginning. Apparently the first to settle in the Czech lands were Celtic tribes called the Boii in the 3^rd century BC followed by Germanic tribes a couple centuries later.  Around the 5^th century the Germanic tribes moved out to settle in the westward lands of Central Europe and the Slavic tribes moved in and took their place. By this time the Celtic tribes also seemed to have disappeared but not without leaving one very important legacy: the Celtic name ‘Bohemia’.  The Slavs lived at peace during this age but one tribe seemed to grow more powerful and prominent then the others.  They were known as the Czechs.  The area of the land from Germany, to the Czech lands, to Austria was called Bohemia, but the boundaries of which are even to this day questioned and disputed.  A sub culture of Bohemia started to gain great prominence and was coined Great Moravia by a Greek historian who heard of this ‘distant Slovak land’.  But by the time the 9^th century rolled around the Bohemians had their shot at glory and reigned during the Middle Ages ultimately being grafted into the Holy Roman Empire.  During this time many Germans moved back into Bohemian lands and formed German colonies throughout central Europe mixing the two people groups both racially and culturally. Finally during the mid 1300s Charles IV became emperor of both the Holy Roman Empire as well as Bohemia. This is known as the Czech “Golden Age” because Charles settled in Prague and founded Charles University (one of the oldest universities in all of Europe).  [Also...little known fact… one of the first reformations started in Prague lead by Jan Hus who was burnt at the stake as a heretic. But his followers succeeded from the Catholic Church and formed the Czech Hussite Reformation movement, an event that had a profound impact on the famous Martin Luther] Anyway, during this time 90 percent of the Czech inhabitants converted to Protestantism giving the Hapsburg dynasty (currently reigning over Bohemia and the Holy Roman Empire) reason to enter into a ‘religious war’ in the name of Catholicism while conveniently gaining political power and more centralized control.  The Protestants in Bohemia tried to revolt but were squashed under Ferdinand II. This tosses Bohemia into the ‘dark ages’ as now Protestant Czechs are forced to either convert to Catholicism or leave. O and the Ottomans invade Moravia (which still exists off to the side) and take with them over 12,000 slaves.   Meanwhile over in central Bohemia the Holy Roman Empire falls and Czech lands fall into Austrian rule. 

            Once the Austro-Hungarian Empire falls after World War I, an independent Czechoslovakia is created combining all Bohemian, Moravian, and Slovak lands into one.  A little later Hitler gains power of the German presence in Czechoslovakia and the Slovaks take advantage of it.  They choose to align themselves with Hitler’s coalition in order to gain the right to secede from Czechoslovakia in order to maintain their national and territorial integrity. The Czech side was occupied by Germany during Nazi reign and it was reported that 345,000 Czech citizens, including 277,000 Jews, were killed or executed and thousands more sent to concentration camps during this time.  All the while Hitler continued to call Czech lands ‘Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia’ after Hitler ‘granted’ them independence from Slovakia. Well we all know how World War II ended and American and Soviet armies liberated Czechoslovakia.  Almost the entire German minority living there at the time were expelled and forced to either go back to Germany or were put in prison or detention camps...ironic. Soviet influence quickly took over and the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia increased in popularity (I’m confused too.. I thought Slovakia succeeded ... but it apparently it is still called Czechoslovakia at this time?).   Shortly after the communist revolution took control of the government and for the next 41 years Czechoslovakia became a Communist state within the Eastern Bloc. The government nationalized means of production and the small farms were forced to produce as much as the larger farms, which of course resulted in over production completely killing the land and the Czech spirits.  In 1989, the year before I was born, the Velvet Revolution liberated the Czech people, which happened to take place on the same street I walk on everyday on my way to class. The country peacefully split into the Czech Republic and Slovakia and the Czech people were finally free to be their own culture, celebrate their own history, and experience independence.  The only problem is no one really knows what that means.  What is Czech exactly? To whom do they owe their ancestry? How do they incorporate the years of harsh emperors, persecution, and communism into their celebrated history?  How do they react to the beautiful Baroque buildings constructed for the purpose of propaganda or the statues of Stalin and other communist leaders? Is this their history or is it the history of their oppressors?  Czechs have been searching and struggling to find answers ever since the revolution, which leads us to today; to little American Kristy walking down the streets of Prague just as confused about the spirit of this place as the Czech’s are themselves.

Coming up next: a philosophical look into the people and character of Czech society

 (I'm dorky I know)