Czech It Out

Camera? Check.
Comfortable walking shoes? Check.
Passport? Che..wait, yeah--check.

All right. Let's go to Prague.

Patrick's grandmother came dashing out of the garage, serenading me in her native tongue, apparently instructing me to get something from her car, as all I picked up was "mein auto."

With my jacket in one hand and an apple in the other, I found myself powerless.

"Um, Paaatrick! Your Grandma is yelling at me, and I DON'T SPEAK GERMAN!"

After my translating friend talked it out with his grandmother, we left for the Czech Republic with our cameras, walking shoes, passports, and steering wheel lock. We took off in, naturally, the family Volkswagen.

"By the way," Patrick mentioned, "Ome wasn't yelling at you...that's just her. She wasn't mad."

Good. I feared I had angered the matriarch. “You did tell her I don't speak German, right?”

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure she ignored me."

Touché.

Hour and a half later, a pair of Aussies, a native German, and the American kid reached the border. As we pulled up to the booth, we joked about what the guards were going to think when such a diverse group of youths requested to enter the Czech Republic. Shortly thereafter, we were asked to drive six meters ahead and pull over behind a blue BMW.

After our passports each earned a stamp, we continued on our way. Apparently, a completed highway between Dresden and Prague provided a 2 1/2-hour drive. Unfortunately, completed could not describe the highway, as the Czechs had not yet finished their end. This required Patrick, along with anyone else headed to Prague on Easter Saturday, to detour through a small town along the Elbe River. On the bright side, with traffic at a standstill, Kath and I took some great pictures out the window. On the other side of the coin, our drive took closer to four hours. As we inched through the town we realized the number of cars was not so much the problem as was the men PAINTING A CROSSWALK ON THE STREET AT NOON.

Patrick: "Unbelievable."


Finally, we reached Prague (or in Czech: Praha). I looked around excitedly as my Swedish friend Tuve (who I actually met last semester when she studied at SDSU) had told me Prague is one of the most beautiful cities she had ever seen.

Along the outskirts of town my excitement dwindled and I started to wonder if Tuve had lied to me in some cruel, European joke. With buildings in disrepair and a train station in disarray, Prague first impressed me as less than stellar.

Patrick, with his innate sense of direction, and Zak, with his copy of Shoe String Guide to Europe, navigated us to the visitor information center where we snagged a map of Praha and made our way to the "old town."

"Man, Prague kind of suc..."

We turned a corner and SHAZAAM: PRAHA! We may as well have hopped in a Delorean with Michael J. Fox and gone back in time, as the contrast between the street from whence we had come and the street on which we were standing was worlds apart.

From the posters in the visitor center, we recognized the building in front of us as the Royal Orchestra Building, where composers like Mozart, Beethoven, and, Chopin had graced the stage. Continuing through a large archway, the grandeur of Prague continued to grow.

Royal Orchestra

The old town, dating back to 1231, housed an overflow of Easter tourists. My trio of friends and I made our way to the marketplace complete with cobblestone streets and shops on either side of the narrow streets.

With so many options and so much hunger in my stomach, I finally decided on a bratwurst. As I ate my delicious lunch (made even tastier by the exchange rate: 1 US dollar = 20 Czech Crowns. My bratwurst: 30 Crown), and the rest feasted on something called "Grandma's recipe.” We soaked in the Prahaian (I just made that up) atmosphere and listened to a group of street musicians sing "It's a Long Road to Tiporary."


After checking out the arts and crafts available from the market vendors, we wound our way through another narrow street surrounded by brightly colored, centuries-old buildings, until we came to the Vlatava River. Working our way through the masses (Praha claims a population of over 1 million, in addition to the thousands of tourists meandering the streets this day), we began crossing the famous Charles Bridge, which connects the Old Town with the "lesser town" (or, as I later looked up, the "Mala Strana"). On either side of this lengthy bridge we discovered musicians, artists, and statues depicting various religious events, erected by the Catholics between 1600 and 1800.

Charles Bridge

One specific statue is said to bring good luck to whoever touches the base. As we lined up for our chance at good luck, Patrick had to bring up how many people probably touch this statue everyday. Way to kill the mood, German.

Charles Bridge statue

After walking about Mala Strana for some time, we decided to take a rest and grab a pint for 22 Crown (remember 20 Crown = $1 USD).

Rejuvenated, our intercontinental sightseeing group headed toward the monastery. From the top of the hill, we fell in love with a beautiful view of the entire city, with Prague Castle to our left, the whole of the town in the distance, and the green, sloping grounds of the monastery right in front of us. After walking through the greenery and soaking in the sun, we decided it was time to check out the Prague Castle, via the 9th century.

Prague Castle

Monastery

The entire complex (the largest in Europe) is made up of a series of majestic structures. After making fun of a middle-aged American guy in awkwardly short shorts (sadly Patrick is right; you really can pick the Americans out of a crowd), as well as the guards who can't move or speak who are "guarding" the castle grounds, we decided to hop in line to enter the St. Vitus Cathedral. My watch read nearly half past five, and a security-looking man came to us hopeful tourists at the end of the line and said in a handful of languages, "Closed, come back tomorrow." So, being the considerate youth we are (wait, we just got done making fun of complete strangers...) we started to look for something else to do. Just as we looked over our shoulders, the entire line surged forward and a heap of people made it into the Cathedral at the last minute. Apparently the lesson here is ignore authority. Whatever.

St. Vitus Cathedral

Sauntering towards St. George's Basilica, I noticed a poster displaying flags from all over the world. A closer look revealed that one flag, the American flag, had been decorated with a huge X over the top. Patrick offered his condolences, and the Aussies just laughed. What could cause such a scandalous act against Old Glory? I can think of about a thousand motives for the unknown hooligan, but I get the most satisfaction out of blaming Toby Keith. And Bill O'Reilly.

Moving on.

We made our way back across another bridge toward our car but not before stopping at a pleasant outdoor restaurant. Wishing to take advantage one last time of the ridiculous exchange rate, we sat down and ordered up. Our laughing, merrymaking, and general tomfoolery were cut to a halt when we asked for the check and our waiter threw down the bill.

"1,137 Crown."

“Sir, can we split this four ways?”

"No. One table, one check. We have 200 guest here. One table. One check."

Right, first of all, I could see pretty clearly there were not 200 other people eating. Secondly, it took us longer to come up with 1137 Crown between the four of us, making change back and forth, than it would have just to pay for our own meals. What I'm getting at here, young people, for those of you going into hotel and restaurant management, is this: the customer is always right. Except in Prague. There the waiter stands awkwardly until you come up with the money. I mention this because it almost ended our day on a sour note, until we realized the entire exchange was hilarious, and it became a running joke for the rest of the trip.

Walking back to the ghetto to get our car, our feet worn and stomachs full, we were glad to see the Volkswagen all in one piece. Looking at the pictures, I still can't believe I traveled someplace so random as Praha, Czech Republic. Hopefully, one day, one of my students will wonder aloud what it's like in the Czech Republic, and I will be able to tell him or her. In all reality, though, I'll probably tell them whether they ask or not.

Up next...Storming the Castles!

----------------------------------

Note: The experiences are mine; however, I looked up some of the historical information (e.g., names and dates) at Prague Experience.

Germany: The City Dresden & the Village Böla

For those of you planning on travelling to Europe with ambitions of having a "real" experience with "the people of the country" and "getting in touch" with another culture, my best advice is to do what I did. Befriend a man who grew up in a 330-person village, and if he happens to be kind enough to invite you to his house for Easter, you should promptly accept. Without Patrick's hospitality and generosity, my German experience more than likely would have consisted of a hostel in Munich and a city map with me wondering if that hill over there was the Alps or not.

However, with my fun and knowledgeable friend as not only a world class host, but also a stand up tour guide, I feel that I “carpe diemed” Deutschland like it was going out of style.

After 16 hours on the bus, Patrick and I wound through the roads of East Germany skipping from village to village, sunshine and countryside abounding, until we reached my home away from home away from home, Böla. With 330 (332 with Patrick and me) people populating this village, word had apparently spread that the Schobers would be housing an American and a pair of Australians (who arrived a day later than I). Near as I could tell, if the 4th of July is the best time to shoot off fireworks, then early April is the best time to renovate a roof, as Patrick's dad climbed down a ladder to greet me.

Patrick's house

The house where Patrick grew up turned out to be the house his father grew up in, and his father, and his father, and his father. Patrick's brother lives across the street, and his uncle down the road. As I said, the Aussies stayed a day in Copenhagen, so I found myself the lone foreigner on this particular afternoon. After meeting the gang (Patrick's dad, Andreas, and mother, Martina) we went upstairs and had some delicious German meatballs. Patrick's father spoke pretty decent English, and his mother spoke next to none. I actually picked up a fair amount of German, mostly credited to Patrick's 18-month-old niece, Lilly, a.k.a. “the cutest kid in the world”. As her parents (Patrick's brother and girlfriend) did their best to teach Lilly basic German, I did my best to listen in and am proud to say I now have the German linguistic skills of a two-year-old.

Looking out the window in the kitchen, we were able to see the goings-on of the whole village. Whether someone drove out or rode their bike down to the bakery next to the pond, any type of activity could be noted. This proved a comfortable out in the event Patrick's family ran out of English or the Aussies and I ran out of German at the breakfast table.


The best part of staying at Patrick's house in the village had to be the stories his parents told. Growing up in the Russian-controlled federation, Andreas and Martina were not allowed to leave East Germany. They told us that when the announcement came over the radio that the wall had fallen, people all over Berlin got in their cars and headed west...just because they could.

When Neil Armstrong landed on the moon, they had to watch it on pirated West German TV, because the Communists controlled the airwaves. We looked at a world map, and Andreas told us he was just happy to have people from all over the world in his house, because when he was our age, a line was drawn, dividing the world, and people either stood on the American or the Russian side.

Another favorite part of life in the village for me was the Easter Walk. After all 16 of us had finished our Easter dinner, we headed outside. Andreas, Martina, Grandma Schober, Patrick, his brother, his brother's girlfriend, his aunt, uncle, cousin, his grandparents on Martina's side, Zak, Kath and of course, Lilly, all put on our shoes and hiked through the village. On the walk Patrick pointed out places where memories had taken place, as well as different plants and sceneries native to Germany. Back at the house, we all had cake and coffee, which were followed by a tradition I'll bring back to America: the Easter nap.

Dresden is a city known not only for being the capital of Saxony (a federal German state) but also for the tragedy it endured in 1945. As WWII raged on, the Anglo-American powers wanted to show the Russians they were still a major player in the war. It was decided to bomb Dresden, a town with no strategic value to the war. Upward of 30,000 people died, and the town was reduced to rubble. Only recently did the people of Dresden restore the city cathedral, funded by worldwide donations, using some of the church's original bricks.

Dresden Chapel

There was even a made-for-TV movie about it, half of which Patrick and I watched with his listening intently and then translating for me. As one can imagine, this became tiresome for both of us. That's a whole different story. I really need to learn a second language. Moving on.

River Elbe

Next to the River Elbe lies Zwinger Palace built by August the Strong, beloved king of Saxony. The palace abounds with towers, fountains and gardens. Patrick explained that a rivalry had built between Dresden and Munich to claim the most beautiful and historic city in Germany. Standing outside the opera house, actors dressed as royalty from the time of King August roamed the streets. It reminded me of Disneyland.

Zwinger Palace

Opera House

In addition to the rebuilt "old town," the "new district" of Dresden displayed a different era of beautiful buildings with a number of award-winning architectural masterpieces in the center of the city.

UFA Cinema Center

Next time...Prague!

International Jackrabbits

I arrived back in Jonkoping yesterday (departure from Dresden, Germany: 6 p.m. on Wednesday. We got to Jonkoping at 11 a.m., goooood times on the bus.) after a week in Germany. While I organize all that happened in Deutschland, I thought I would replay a night spent in Sweden and Wyoming—at the same time.

A little background.

Of all the things I miss about home, I found myself pleasantly surprised that I genuinely missed going to the girls basketball games. I'm sure the fact that they systematically dominated almost every team that came to Frost Arena had something to do with it; nonetheless, part of me wished I could have been in Brookings for the WNIT extravaganza.

After getting up at 2 a.m. Sweden time to see the Jacks make waste of the Hoosiers, I was happy to see the next game against Wyoming fell earlier in the day—10 p.m. here in Sweden.

I also realized I needed to recruit some fans to watch the game with me—enter Patrick from Germany and Zak from Australia.


The night starts off with a band as I realize I need to PAY WYOMING TO WATCH THE GAME. Classy Cowboys, classy.

$8 later, we three intercontinental fans crowd around a feed not worth $8, but still better than the radio. This, however, was before the commentators began calling the game.

Watching the game with two people that don't go to SDSU presents a few challenges, like getting two guys fired up about a place that they didn't know existed a few months ago. Luckily, these guys were great sports.

Patrick: Why does your shirt say, “Give me more cowbell baby?”


Me: Oh, they used to call us “Moo U” and would ring cowbells at us, so we took the negative and turned it into a trademark positive.
.
Patrick: Moo U? Hahahahaha

Me: Easy, Patrick.

Patrick: I'm sorry, but that's funny. (Throughout the night a few sporadic “moo u, haha” comments from a wildly amused Patrick.)

An added curveball though, was that Patrick had never actually seen a basketball game before this.

Patrick: What are they wearing?
Me: Those are basketball uniforms, pretty standard.

Patrick: Really? I've seen beach volleyball. They should wear something more like that.

Me: Hahahaha

The Wyoming "Cowgirls" are introduced and each throw a T-shirt into the stands. Um, cute?

The game progresses, a low scoring, defensive battle with the Jackrabbits looking sharp. After a few buckets are exchanged Zak notices the scoreboard ISN'T ON THE SCREEN. What exactly did my $8 go to? The T-shirts thrown in the stands?

Not to harp on the Wyoming commentators (OK, that's exactly what I'm about to do) but seriously, did two parents win the "announce a game" sweepstakes? First of all, I could have sworn they sat there with a book of sports clichés: "She was not to be denied," "She's the real deal."

I could have handled this if the announcers hadn't referred to the Wyoming girls by their first names. Nothing takes the edge off of a basketball game like hearing, "I thought a foul should have been called on Vogel after she stole the ball from Stacy, but luckily Tiffany was there to get the rebound." And: "After a miss by Amber, Courtney really hustled to keep it in bounds." Zak asked me in all seriousness if #12 was the daughter of the announcers. I couldn't give him a straight answer.

ANYWAY, the game continues and Patrick's comments from a first timer, especially in his German accent, provides an overflow of entertainment.

"Oh no! We're wearing SDSU t-shirts and SDSU is losing!"

So Patrick stands up and starts clapping. Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap “DEUTSCHLAND!”
Hey, it's the thought that counts.

We stand with him, as the game is getting tighter (as we see in a separate window, since the scoreboard is still not on the screen)

During a time-out Patrick asks, "Who is this guy? Is he with your university? I hope not." That would be the Wyoming mascot, a guy dressed up like a cowboy.

Patrick: Oh, right.

Something else from a completely biased opinion: how about the officiating in the first half? Apparently when someone from South Dakota sneezes on a Cowgirl, it's a foul . . . . . Moving on.

Patrick: Who are those guys? The coolest kids in America?
Me: That's the pep band.

Zak: Weren't you in the pep band in high school?

Patrick: Hahahah

Patrick: By the way, Germany beat Czech Republic today in the European cup qualifying round!

Way to one-up the SDSU-Wyoming game. Come on now.

The game reaches half time with SDSU down by a few shots. We eat some chips and I do my best to explain a little SDSU tradition.

The second half begins with Zak making the excellent point that I had to pay $8 for the game, yet there are ads every few seconds. Hmmm, I think it's time to start the Dir-ty Pro-gram chant.

Patrick: Wait, who are those guys?

Me: Male cheerleaders.

Patrick: Seriously? (followed by a look questioning everything he ever learned about America)

The game continues with the Cowgirls pulling away a little bit. I'm trying to hide my obvious frustration when Zak cracks, “Is there anyone from Wyoming in Sweden we could hang out with?”
Me: NOW IS NOT THE TIME!

Zak's a good friend though, and gets right back on the SDSU side and gets legitimately excited when they start to rally.

We begin to bust out the Spirit Fingers, which my worldwide friends find ridiculous, but partake in anyway. Zak decides to do the "Anti-Spirit Fingers" and puts his feet in the air, rubbing them together while Wyoming is shooting free throws. AND IT WORKS.

Patrick: Aaron, you need more cowbell.

Me: I don't have on one me.

Patrick: They have cowbells in Bavaria.

State hits a 3 and high fives fill the room. Zak is referring to Megan Vogel in casual conversation as if he's known her for years. "Man, if the refs would quit calling random fouls on Vogel she could really take over."

Camera pans over crowd.

Patrick: So this is America?

Zak: Um...are they lassoing?

Patrick: Wow.

Zak's suggestion: If they keep calling fouls on Vogel she should earn one and just punch someone in the face.

Haha, fair enough.

Muckenhurst hits a 3.

Zak: Her name alone deserves three points. Veridgan does a good job of running the point.

Patrick: The what?

The game ultimately ends in the favor of the opponent, though the Jackrabbits held their own against 11,000 rabid fans.

Patrick: You'll get them next time.

Though it was a few weeks ago, I just thought I'd say nice job, Jackrabbits. The whole world is proud.