Passage into the Czech Republic

It feels strange to have left Poland behind with its multitude of spires and steeples reminding me that God is near. I miss the gentle young priests in their flowing black robes and giggling young nuns wearing their prim and proper habits. It was strange and exciting to see the youth of their clergy. I had grown so accustomed to all priests and nuns being aged. The strength of the church in Poland impacts the feeling of the country. It is so reassuring to walk down the street and when seeing a group of dark colored characters, not being nervous because it is just a group of monks.

Our final night in Krakow happened to be on October 16, the first John Paul II day. Every church we passed had white and yellow flags flapping in the breeze in honor of the great Polish Pope. The Archdiocese even had a gigantic picture of the Pontiff on the wall. Beside the archdiocese, the people held a kind of vigil or celebration service. A choir on stage sang various songs, some traditional, some contemporary. Recorded messages in Polish were broadcast to the throng standing in the courtyard, spilling out into the park. TV cameras recorded every moment. A young priest led the people in some Hail Marys. Children and youth and adults held candles. A sweet peaceful spirit settled over the entire place. Meridith and I smiled to see the young priests with their trendy jackets and their toques. Our favorite was the skater monk, who wore skater shoes and walked with a strut. It was a come and go event. It was special for us to be there and remember the man who not only changed history, but was used to change hearts.

Apparently, the new pope, Benedict, is schedule to visit Poland in the near future. As part of his preparation, he is learning some Polish. The newspapers often report his progress in his studies.

Monday morning, we collected our not yet dry laundry from the top floor of Nathans Villa and hopped a bus for Czescin - not sure of spelling - the Polish border town paired with the Czech town of Cesky Tesin. We joined some Australian guys who were also seeking to cross the border and meandered through town, guided by a good Samaritan. Unfortunately as the Aussies raced ahead of us, Mer tripped and rolled her ankle. Definitely not good timing considering the volume of stuff we seem to have acquired. She limped her way to the border crossing. Chivalry must be dead with these Aussies because they kind of shrugged and did not offer to help. I thought of my brother Gregg and his constant readiness to help people when we were travelling southeast Asia. Gregg, you are a good guy. I am not even sure if you are reading this though.

At the border crossing, they penned us in like cattle as they frowned and flipped through our passports, mine in particular. Perhaps they were troubled by my random stamps and visas. We finally were allowed to go, walked past the border supermarket and into the Czech Republic. I am clearly now winning the race between Gregg and I over who has been to the most countries. We boarded a train to get to the station where we could catch the train to Prague. God provided an extra seat in our compartment so Mer could elevate her quite swollen ankle. I happily read and ate my snacks. Surprisingly, I did not even fall asleep on the long train ride. Usually when I am in a moving vehicle, I am fast asleep.

Our home in Prague for our first two nights was Unitas, which we found after some nice girls prevented us from walking further in the wrong direction. This hotel has perhaps the most interesting history of any place I have ever stayed. It used to be a convent a long time ago, but then when the communists came, they turned it into the office of the Czech secret police and in the basement established a prison. During the Cold War, a man was held there who went on to become President in recent years. We stayed in the basement, and they really have not renovated it much since its prison days. They have painted it with bright colors and murals of flowers and stars, but it is still very prisonish. The cell doors remain. Ours was painted bright blue. The beds were prisonish too - creaky metal bunkbeds which shook with every little movement. Mer is a rather light sleeper and I am a rather active sleeper so together, it is a bad combination for her. I sleep through everything, even her insomnia because of my excessive rolling over. One time she rolled over and I woke up, convinced that I was experiencing a European earthquake.

The first morning in Prague was not too fun. Everything seemed to be covered in scaffolding, including the famous astronomical clock. There was definitely an overabundance of tourists. The streets must be horrific during high season. We were at odds with what to do. After a day of travelling, I was itching to move around. Because of a bum ankle, Mer could not. Eventually we resolved it. She took in a bus tour while I went to, not surprisingly, an art museum. I think every time we split up, I go to an art museum.

This time I learned about Alphonse Mucha, the great Czech painter who some say is the father of Art Noveau. His posters for the actress Sarah Berhardt created a stir overnight in Paris and catapulted him into the spotlight. Besides poster work, he was an accomplished painter, devoting a lot of time to a series of large paintings called the Slav Epic, which were not in this museum. I had a lovely time there.

Meanwhile, Mer was having a different adventure. After being forced to join the tour at a different location, she got lost. When she did get on the bus, the tour was so confusing she did not know what she was looking at. She already knew everything from reading Lonely Planet. She did however learn that Arsenol, the football team from the UK, was in town to play Sparta and wanted to go.

But she could not because we had already bought opera tickets for Rigoletto by Verdi. It is the tragic tale of a court jester whose beautiful daughter dies in the end. The production was far superior to the Krakow one, but then again, they were two different kinds of operas, one French, this one Italian. The woman who played the daughter had an angelic voice. She definitely got the most applause at the end.

The internet cafes were all closed, so we relied on the bus schedule at the hostel. So the next morning, we headed to a bus station to catch the 10 30 bus to Ceske Budejovice, home of a brewery whose significance I will describe later. Well, 10 30 came and went and we learned that our bus only runs on Saturdays. So we loaded up our stuff and hopped on the metro to the main bus station in hopes of catching a bus there. The next bus wasnt until 1 45, and it was at yet another bus station. We figured we would get lunch at the other station and once again hopped on the metro where a cute guy stared at me - I think because of my abundance of luggage plus Mers pizźa box - I dont know how to get an apostrophe on this keyboard. Sorry.

So at bus station number three, there was no place to eat. In fact, there was pretty much nothing, other than a T-Mobile building and Obi, which I found out is like Home Depot when I went there in search of a calling card. So we sat for two hours on a bench, staring at the T-Mobile building in all its glory while a man ate the remains of Mers pizza which he fished out of the garbage while smoking and talking to himself. I sang along with a singing delivery boy who crossed the street and jabbered to us in Czech.

By this time, we knew that we would not make a tour at the brewery and decided to continue on to our final destination of Cesky Krumlov. The bus driver took us to the main station with him where an angry bus driver nearly took out poor crippled Meridith and stalled us enough that we missed the next bus. So we sat at the nice bus station for half an hour. By this time, we were well practiced at the waiting at a bus station thing.

On our next bus, Mer and I got separated. After talking to another backpacker, Mer felt the erroneous urge to follow her off the bus at her stop, taking me by surprise. I wrenched my baggage out of the space between the seats and tried to follow her. The bus pulled away as I realized that Mer had forgot our art collection on the bus. I tore after it, as fast as my pudgy legs can carry me. I actually caught it, but jerky bus driver man ignored my flailing arms and suicidal dive onto a busy roadway. In futility, I followed him and watched him disappear around a bend, over a bridge. We assembled our stuff and started to walk the direction the bus went, in hopes of catching it at the station. Then the bus met us and once again, I chased after it, catching it at another stop. He gruffly told me to go to the bus station and I saw the empty place where our pictures once lay.

At the bus station, the other bus drivers ignored my English questions and none of the counters were open. I looked all around, even in the dumpsters. The long and problem filled day seemed to reach its climax. We sadly gave up the search, and I recalled my Vietnamese hat which was my faithful companion all over Asia until I left it in the car at the airport when I left for home. I wanted Mer to not feel bad - especially since I had done it before. Then to make matters worse, the hostel we wanted was full and we had to retrace our steps to go to another hostel. Thankfully the hostel was a nice place and we got a room to ourselves.

This was the 19th. The 19th of October is my moms birthday. Due to the periodic problems we have been having in making international calls, I wanted to be sure to email her. The cafe was only open for a few minutes so I emailed Mom before we finally found something to eat. At supper, Mer prayed that we would get our pictures back. We had bought some special ones in Krakow that we knew we could never replace.

Then I tried to call Mom. I tried my calling card. I tried calling direct and using all my coins. Finally, I gave up and returned to the hostel. I barely sat down in the room when I heard a knock on the door. Since Meridith wouldnt knock to come in, I was curious who it could be. Lo and behold, it was the American couple from our last bus, smiling at me with beaming faces, declaring, "We have your pictures. They are at our hostel." I walked with them as they told me about how they had been to the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam and how good it is that we are backpacking. I think I said God Bless You a hundred times. I was so thankful and surprised. I guess I shouldnt be too surprised. God likes to remind me of his presence often.

Today was a wonderful day. We meandered around the castle on the hill and sat in a park and had some sturdy Czech lunch. Cesky Krumlow is beautiful. It is touristy, but not in a smothering way. Little cobblestone windy streets are filled with cute shops. Look up and the castle overlooks the city. Behind that are mountains covered with trees in their autumn dress. It is picturesque. Definitely postcard worthy and worthy of a visit if you are ever in the Czech Republic.

We split up again so Mer could indulge in a much-needed massage and so I, surprise surprise, could go to an art museum. This one was devoted to the Austrian Egon Schiele, who spent some of his brief tragic life here in his mothers hometown. He was actually ran out of town for painting pictures of nude pubescent girls. I wasnt too impressed with his work, but they did have an exhibition on Estonian Expressionism that I quite enjoyed. It was several times larger than the Schiele exhibit and took me through various levels of the building with stone walls and wooden ceelings.

So now we are both quite content and relaxed. I think that Cesky Krumlov has worked its charms on us.