Chugga-Chugga Choo-Choo

Give my best to planes and automobiles, but European trains are my new favorite way to roll. They are efficient, fast, and the rider gets the constant feeling that he or she is part of the Hogwarts’ experience—by the time our group made it to Prague, I was ready for a wand and a tall glass of butter beer. May this experience never get old…and may my motion sickness never kick in.

A Day in the Park

Parks in Olomouc are like parks in Nebraska except there are people—lots of people…and everyone is doing something. An observer feels like he or she is stepping into an episode of “Leave it to Beaver” until he or she realizes unadulterated bliss is real life. And is then forced to jump into the ambience.

There are people running, biking, playing soccer, Frisbee, having picnics, reading…and they are all past the age of ten. If Americans could see and feel this bliss, the entire world would be a happier place. Not only will I go back, but I may never want to leave.

Robot

Robot is the only international word deriving from Czech origin. The Czech people seem to view this as their greatest achievement…aside from the kolache, of course.

An introduction and discussion between robots appears in the first lesson of our group’s "New Czech Step by Step" book—it comes before the numbers and the alphabet. Yesterday, during our Czech history class, the lecturer did not make it five minutes without talking about robots. The lecture consisted of, “The oppressive Soviet regime…and I am sure most of you have heard the Czech country is responsible for the word Robot.”

This little quirk amuses me to no end. I have found the Czech Republic’s Koolaid! I can assure everyone…I will NOT leave this country without an authentic Czech robot.

Noise

I have recently decided that someone or something in Olomouc is tracking my habits to prevent me from sleeping. It seems that every time I lay down for the night or even a short nap the volume in the city escalates.

On Thursday, my Indian neighbors were arguing over…well, I do not speak their language so I am not sure, but it was very loud. Friday, it was seven drunk men singing “My Darling Clementine” in Czech outside my window at four in the afternoon. Saturday, the neighbor that I am to be weary of decided he would blare a movie as loud as physically possible—I am fairly certain that people in Nebraska could hear it if they were standing in the right breeze. And finally, Sunday, the light switch in my room has served as an on/off switch for people shouting outside my hostel window. Currently I am tempted to sleep with the light on in the hope that I will get a little peace and quite. However, I fear that that would not serve as a cure for my insomnia either.

So, here I lay. Awake. Contemplating how to solve my problem. I could create my own noise…stage an elaborate revolution—General Sherman style—to get the entire city to shut up…or go to big box store and buy earplugs. Decisions, decisions, decision.

Juxtaposition

Running in the Czech Republic is a interesting predicament. For the past two days I have began my morning with a run down and back up the hill that leads to my Neredin--hostel. Visually the run is extremely stimulating, but contextually it is fascinating. It is very different than the gravel roads and empty highways I hold so dear back in the heartland.

As I pace myself downward, I see an elderly man mixing cement, a woman hanging her laundry, and two students enjoying a cigarette. Upward, I hear the constant beep of car horns and scratch metal wheels hitting metal tracks. Back at my hostel, I see my once white shoes now graying in the city atmosphere and I stand in awe of the juxtaposition between here and my home. Toto, I don’t think I am in Nebraska anymore.

I Would Give My Right Arm for a Proper Washer

Last night, I did my laundry for the first time here. After separating my whites and coloreds, I began to place my first load in the washer. Two pairs of pants in and I realize why Europeans wear the same clothes for days at a time.

My two pairs of pants and a single sweater nearly filled the entire washer—by the time I added a few shirts, I was literally punching my clothing into the tiny hole. I am fairly certain the hole was only a small bit larger than the Fisher Price washer the children use at the daycare where I work. However, I somehow managed to shovel all of my colored clothes inside.

Now I waited…and waited…and waited…and waited. In American, I can put my laundry in the washer and in thirty minutes place it in the dryer. Within two hours I am usually done washing and drying two loads. Not here. In the Czech Republic, I placed my laundry in the washer at 5:00p.m. and at 7:00p.m. pulled my first load out of the WASHER. Immediately, I placed my second load inside and began to carry my wet laundry to my room—there are no dryers here. At 9:00 p.m, I brought my second load upstairs to let the drying begin. It is now 2:00p.m. the next day and my socks are still wet. Never in my life have I wanted anything more than an energy efficient washer and dryer combination.

I am Tamáš

I have finally met all of my quad-mates—well, sort of. I have met all of the quad-mates willing to meet me. One of my quad-mates runs to his room every time I see him. The other men in my quad have told me that this is actually much more pleasurable than to physically speak to him. They have also hinted that he is largely the reason for the mess. Hence, I think I will start running the other direction when I see him too.

The other four men are very nice. Two are them are from India—it would be a sad sight for me to even try to spell their names. They are from Mumbai and will be living in the hostel for the next four years while they study. My favorite trait about them so far would have to be that, while they seem to cook all of their meals inside the hostel, they never make Indian food. I have seen them make both pancakes and hardboiled eggs throughout the week but not a single curry or anything with vegetables. The closest thing to Indian food I have seen made is rice—and I am not sure it is their rice. Continually, I am wondering if I am actually living with Raj from The Big Bang Theory’s brothers. This thought usually sets me off on an unremitting laugh.

Last night, I met the last two men. They are both from Romania and are staying for the next three weeks. Tamáš is a history professor. He and his PhD student Laurent have come to Olomouc to study Central European architecture—probably because of the Czech Republic is known as place unscathed by war.

Tamáš possesses a peculiar idiosyncrasy that causes him to apologize for almost anything and everything. It is almost like a nervous tick. When the men first arrive home Tamáš came around the corner saying, “Hello, you must be the new arrival. This is Laurent. I am Tamáš. We did not make this smell and filth.” These apologetic interjections went on four about forty-five minutes and by the end of the night I was tempted to say, “Really, Tamas, I do not think it was you.”

Interestingly, Tamáš will be presenting to our group Monday on, “How Nationalism has Influenced Central Europe Over the Past Two Centuries.” Tamas was very excited to tell me of this fact and, of course, apologize for his poor English—which is probably better than my own.

Overall, my quad-mates are not bad. They are like an added lesson in world culture—not to mention what it is like to live with men. Sometimes I am tempted to thank them for their enlightenment—that is until I step outside and smell the bathroom.

Victory

Today I decided I was going to make my own dinner. After class, off I went to Olomouc’s big box store and embarked on an hour-long journey to find food among other things. I bought pasta…and rice…and water…and laundry detergent…and coke. I was set, or so I thought.

Stepping towards the counter I realized I had no idea how I was going to get all of this junk home. I was needing to carry half my weight in groceries a half mile with both eggs and bananas in cheap plastic sacks. The task seemed impossible. Back in Nebraska I would drive a car; here in the Czech Republic it was not possible. Why was I so stupid not to make that distinction? Why?

Oh well, I had paid for the groceries…they were going to make it back to the hostel, dammit. And so I set off. 800 yards, 800 yards that is all the farther I need to make it. I could do it. I knew I could.

Halfway to the tram stop, my heart racing and my muscle shaking I contemplated what I could discard. The water was the heaviest but definitely the most essential. There was no giving up my coke and I felt I would need the detergent eventually. It was in a Catch 22.

Suddenly, a small elderly woman stopped to tell me something. While I am sure her words translated to “you’re an idiot,” I decided to believe she was providing me with helpful words of encouragement. And, again I set off.

With 200 yard to go I turned the corner to the tram stop. My hands were now blister, my shirt soaked but the end was approaching. I was going to make it. As I carried my bags up the four flights of stairs to my room I felt a sense of triumph. I had made it and I was going to make my dinner. Still, I will be damned if I ever try it again.

Luck of the ???

Last night was St. Patrick’s day—an American classic, but not a favorite among the people who actually live in Europe. Being Americans…our group decided to celebrate anyways. Thus, we donned our green and found an Irish party along with a stop at Olomouc’s only Irish pub from there we began to celebrate Ireland—or American, or alcohol, or just about anything and everything else.

I arrived late with around 10 other members of our group who had gone out for dinner first. Not surprisingly we had already attracted a large audience and those person who hadn’t already decided to leave starred at our group like a circus sideshow.

Approximately ten minutes after my arrival a woman asking if we were from America approached two of the boys in our group and myself. Yes, we nodded. Excitedly, she told use that she taught English in a small town near Olomouc and that she, “knew you must be from American because you all talk so loud and wear The North Face.” Certain that I could not think of a better description of an American myself I smiled. Good or bad that is our group and I am fairly certain it is not going to change.

It Wasn't Me

My third day in the Czech Republic started off with a boom. Literally. Around 8:45 this morning, I woke up to a loud bang by my door—but not the answer your door quickly kind of bang. It was the someone has made me very angry and I am going to make as much noise as physically possible kind of bang. Perhaps, one of my elusive quadmates? I did not know. As I sat in my room, scared to go outside, I listened as a woman screamed what I can only surmise to be Czech profanity. I was not what I should do. I am not a fighter, and I am not equipped to be a fighter in Czech.

Alas, it was 9:15 and I had no choice but to leave my room to see what had made this woman so angry. Stepping out I saw that she was a cleaning person and very upset with the cesspool of a bathroom I had previously mentioned. Quickly I scurried to the bathroom as she yelled angrily in my direction. Motioning apologetically I tried to tell her, “It is not my fault. The room was this disgusting when I arrived.” It was no use, and I fled the quad like the running of the bulls—white flag and all.

It was my first truly frightening experience of the trip and I hope I never see the cleaning person again. I am not certain how to say, “It was them. They are the pigs” in Chesky but everyone can be sure I will find out.

Made It!

Good evening, all! I am currently enjoying a bageta pikani—a sub sandwich with salami, swiss cheese, and what I can only discern to be mayonnaise mix with red pepper—washed down with a Coke, of course.

The flight—which I am sure is everyone’s first question—was exhausting. However, modern technology has made it impossible for me to complain about its quality. My iPod and two square meals coupled with three movies that I would never waste a subscription to Netflix on—but, were enjoyable on such a long flight—made 20 odd hours of traveling go by swimmingly.

Sadly, I could not fall asleep on any of the three planes. I am sure, by the time our group arrived back to the hostel from dinner, I appeared to be the walking dead. This, however, worked well in preventing any major jet lag thus far.

Our hostels…are made up of quad-units with two people per room with two bathrooms in each quad. I managed to score a room to myself because of the odd number of girls in our group. In my quad there are two-to-six other people—none of which I have met. I did see one of the men as I was walking back from the bathroom last night, but was not fit to hold a conversation. My individual room is small but clean with lots of shelves to hold all of the stuff my mother bought me. The bathroom, on the other hand, is a cesspool. Not to speak too much in a generalization but its atmosphere has led me to believe that all of my quad-mates are male with single-male hygiene. The kitchen also speaks towards my generalization. I mean, I am all for saving the environment but am also really tempted to break out the Clorox and ammonia in copious amounts.

Classes…this morning we started our orientation—which consisted of two short presentations and a guided tour in the afternoon. The first presentation was similar to what a person would hear when going on a college visit, “This university has been around for yada, yada, yada…There are small classes with only blah, blah, blah students.” The second speaker was a little more interesting—and an interesting look into the lack of European prudence. Nothing bad or wrong, just different than what would appear in an American classroom. It was enlightening really, and the majority of our group found it downright hilarious.

On our afternoon tour, we visit all of the major cathedrals—that were open—in Olomouc. The man giving the tour was a professor at our college and a very funny little man. In the first church, our entire group stood in awe of the beautiful carvings and paintings while the professor remarked that this is a less impressive building and he promised to show us better.

Tomorrow our group will go on another tour and begin our lessons in Czech, but today I am planning to call it a night. I will post photos and write to all of you again soon.

Best,

Laura

P.S. For anyone wanting to send me letters, gifts, small unmarked bills…my address at the university is:

PALACKY UNIVERSITY

International Liaison Office

Křížkovského 8

771 47 OLOMOUC

Czech Republic.

(CORRECTED!)