CHRISTMAS MORNING AT HOME lyrics by Cheryl Ernst Wells, music by John Rosenberg

Wrapping paper everywhere

The sound of little footsteps running up and down the stairs

On Christmas morning at home

The sight of you by fire glow

A quiet moment for a kiss beneath the mistletoe

On Christmas morning at home

Up and down the streets of town

Decorations have been strung

And somewhere in the distance you can hear

Carols being sung

There's one thing I am certain of

The greatest gift is being happy with the ones you love

On Christmas morning at home.

CAN YOU TASTE IT?

   In my opinion there is no other food that induces joy more than cake. Think of birthdays, weddings, christenings, you name a special occasion, and cake is the high point of the celebration. Buche de noel is a favorite French cake made to look like a log and served only at Christmastime. Cakes these days are often works of art so beautiful it seems a travesty to eat them. There are reality television programs about cake making and pastry chefs become celebrities because of their skill at making fondant flowers and ornamentation. Wayne Thiebaud is well known for his paintings of cakes. 

   I really love cake, any kind except carrot cake. Cake makes me momentarily happy when I'm blue. I think I get happy just looking at cake.

 

THE SINGING FOUNTAIN by Cheryl Ernst Wells

VIENNA

   Diane slept peacefully during the turbulent flight over the Atlantic and woke shortly before landing. October in Vienna is the first faint hint of fall with pleasant sunny days and crisp cool nights. The young woman at the Hotel Karlskirche welcomed guests from three countries, switching effortlessly from German to French then English with dazzling courtesy. The hallways and rooms at the hotel were decorated with valuable contemporary sculptures and paintings, all in bright primary colors. The balcony in Diane's room overlooked the magnificent Kunsthistorisches Museum and it's twin, the Natural History Museum across the park. Voluminous white clouds filled the sky and Diane could smell the chance of evening rain in the air.

   She walked down to the busy Mariahilferstrasse shopping district. In a gift shop full of Mozart memorabilia and miniature violins in tiny velvet lined cases, she bought some postcards to write on the train to Brno. In the Museums Quarter where the Modern and Leopold Museums face one another from across the wide concrete plaza, Diane sat eating a ham sandwich from a street cart and watched some noisy boys in baggy pants do tricky maneuvers on their skateboards. Hanging three stories up, teetering on the edge of the gray, monolithic Modern Museum was an art installation by Edwin Wurm. It was a small white house with a red roof looking as though it would tumble onto the ground at any second. 

   Across the plaza the white cube shaped Leopold was exhibiting an Expressionist show featuring the work of Egon Schiele, Kathe Kollwitz, Lyonel Feininger and Emil Orlik among others. Within the serene interior of the museum was a white marble foyer illuminate by skylights four stories overhead. The most notable aspect of the architecture was the absence of echo throughout the vast atrium as the visitors streamed in. The galleries were housed on the floors above and as Diane passed from one to the next she absorbed the impact of the Expressionist movement; the ferocity of color, the boldness of form and the power of the content. She stood before an etching by Kathe Kollwitz of a mother and dead child that moved her so deeply tears welled up in her eyes. A painting by Lyonel Feininger of a woman in a long lavender dress amused her. Feininger had captured the movement of the woman's legs as she walked creating the impression that she would spin right off the canvas into the gallery.

   Diane left the Leopold satiated and inspired by the art. Early on in her education she had realized that she lacked the essential mysterious spark that separated a great artist from an average one. She didn't mourn the fact rather she had accepted it. Knowing her limitations allowed her to enjoy painting her minimalist concepts without the angst of longing for recognition or acceptance. Diane was able to revel in the genius of others without envy or self- deprecation in the face of their greatness.

   In the time-honored tradition Diane sat at a wood paneled, old world cafe at four o'clock with the Viennese. There were mothers with their children in school uniforms just out of class and tatty, older men smelling of pipe smoke reading the newspaper having cake and coffee. Later Diane slowly strolled through the Volksgarten admiring the last of the summer roses, their colors intensified by the warm radiance of the setting sun. At twilight she took the bus around the Ringstrasse past St. Stephen's Cathedral with it's elaborate Gothic tower pointing up to the heavens. She could see the glittering dome of the Opera house and horse drawn carriages escorting tourists through St. Stephen's Square. The street lamps glowed along tree lined avenues flying off of the circular boulevard like the spokes of a wheel.

   When night had fallen as she walked the narrow cobblestone alleyway back to the hotel past rows of little shops selling antiques, old prints and books, Diane wished that she could live half of every year in Europe. Somewhere in one of the apartments above someone was playing Chopin on the piano and Diane imagined that somewhere in Warsaw someone else was playing Mozart. Music and art, she thought, transcend borders. 

   

   

   

The Singing Fountain by Cheryl Ernst Wells

13th century Castle Louka was a fortress

Castle Louka Moravia, Czech Republic

   They turned off of the main road onto a long lane forested on either side by massive oak trees, the thick branches forming a sheltering arch and casting dark, leafy shadows across the lane. The first of the grounds keeper's sheds appeared two hundred yards up ahead, one of several on either side of the gravel pathway leading to the main gate. Once at the arched entry the castle could be seen in full. It was an imposing, rough hewn stone structure with sloped, red tiled roofs, turrets and towers.

   Ivan parked the car and they walked the pathway, passing a row of ancient workshops and finally what remained of the damaged storehouse. The blackened brick exterior still stood but the tiled roof and interior timbers had collapsed, exposing the building to the cobalt blue sky above. As they passed through the guard tower, the walls of the five-story palace loomed above them. This was not like the Renaissance Zamek Castle, with it's pristine white plaster exterior carved with geometric scraffiti. This was a Gothic structure, domineering and festooned with small windows on every level. Castle Louka was a fortress.

   It was only until the great carved wooden doors to the palace were opened that the real glory of Castle Louka was revealed. The ceremonial hall was as big as a playing field and its' alabaster white, alveolar vaulted ceiling rose three stories high. There was a fireplace one could stand upright in and the stone floors showed the centuries wear of noblemen and women, warriors, servants and now tourists that had trod them. Along the walls of the chamber were carved oak paneling and at the end of the hall was a leaded glass window two-stories high. On either side of the chamber were two wide staircases leading to the upper floors. There were no furnishings within the hall with the exception of a huge globe of the ancient world before the window. Diane had been in many European castles but this one felt different. It felt familiar.

   As they climbed the staircase and passed from one wing to another, Ivan spoke of the Vindrich clan, the Moravian family that had owned the castle through the centuries and the changes they had made to the original structure as their fortunes grew. In 1948 the last descendant who had supported the Nazis was forced out of Czechoslovakia and had sold the castle to Mr. Paul de Meyer for a desperately low price. Now there were tours all year long with the exception of mid December when the younger Mr. de Meyer spent his holidays there.

   Diane and Ivan crossed a covered wooden bridge connecting the palace with the tower, four stories above the main courtyard with a wonderful view of the river below. A small ferryboat was slowly shuttling tourist from the nearby village and depositing them at a dock from which they could climb the steep, wooded path that led up to the castle entrance. A group of ten or so people was gathered in the courtyard waiting for the next tour.

   As they entered the tower Ivan said, "This wing is off limits to the tours so you won't be disturbed. It now houses guest quarters and Mr. de Meyer's private apartments. The light is good most of the day. You will be sharing the large studio with Maria but you each have your own bedroom. We men are in the other wing."  Ivan opened the door to the studio which was a large converted sitting room flooded with light from windows on three sides. Maria Varias was in one corner working on a life size, Gothic marble sculpture of Christ on Mount Olive.

Excerpt from The Singing Fountain

   I wrote my first novel The Singing Fountain after returning from Prague. It is the contemporary story of a San Francisco painting conservator, Diane Nolan, who travels to Moravia, Czech Republic to restore fire damaged paintings at Castle Louka, 13th century ancestral home of the Vindrich clan. The castle is now privately owned by a Belgian billionaire, Stephen de Meyer. He has assigned Ivan Sudek the task of hiring a team of international conservators to restore the castle's valuable art collection.

   A love affair with de Meyer's enigmatic assistant, Willem Verhoeven, dramatically alters the course of Diane's life and the discovery of a hidden castle room reveals an 18th century Vindrich family secret that mirrors Diane's life in the 21st.  

   Summer in San Francisco, autumn in Vienna, New Years Eve in Prague, Spring in the Hampton's and a happy ending in Moravia.

Sometimes Little Things

   There's a tunnel across from the National Theater in Prague; an underground pedestrian walkway that connects one side of the busy Narodni trida with the Stare Mesto. We used it almost everyday as a short cut to our favorite cafe when we lived on Pstrossova Street. There's nothing particularly remarkable about the tunnel, in fact it's funky. It's damp, covered in graffiti and smells of urine. Nevertheless, it's one of my favorite places in Prague. I loved stepping down into the darkness and hearing the sound of my footsteps echo off the walls, then resurfacing again, squinting my eyes for a moment against the sun.

   I'm not sure why, of all the beautiful places in Prague, that funky tunnel is one of my favorites. I can't explain it.

Living In The Old West

   It's different here in Colorado from anywhere I've ever lived. This is the old west with the military thrown in. There are cowboys, good old boys, suits and soldiers. We have Fort Carson army base, NORAD and the Airforce academy. We have ranches, housing subdivisions as far as the eye can see and magnificent mountain ranges that stretch like a backbone down the state. The first thing I noticed when I moved here was how polite most people are. It's a shock to the system having just returned from Prague where, in general, many people are bordering on rude.

   The pace of life is slower, the air is cleaner and the traffic on the roads and highways is thinner. Whereas the Bay Area where I lived for thirty some years was one of the most liberal places in America, Colorado Springs is one of the most conservative. A lot of the people I meet here are overtly cheerful, think Colorado is heaven on earth, and resent the influx of Californians. We are a subject of ridicule here which frankly amuses me. Whenever I see those 'come to California' commercials I get a little weepy and if I see a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge I practically fall apart. I miss the Bay Area with all it's faults. That aside, it is wonderful to be with family here. I was raised by a single mother and my only sibling, my older brother, had gone off to college by the time I was eight. As a child of the Leave It To Beaver and Father Knows Best generation, I always longed for a traditional family.  I must be careful not to expect a TV show version of family life. I'm prone to fantasy and have a natural aversion to reality.

Brzy Nashledanou Goodbye Prague

January 24 - 29, 2007

•January 24, 2007•

   We were worried about what penalty we would have to pay to break our six month lease with Sylvia. Turns out she was very understanding. We are packing and cleaning the apartment today. Decided to fly out of Vienna for Colorado to stay with family. Paul's sister and brother, niece and nephew live there and we haven't seen them in quite a while. If we had really wanted to stay in the Czech Republic I'm sure we would have tried harder to solve the problem. The reality is we're both ready to go home, home in the broader sense of the word. That icy wind off of the Vltava was the harbinger of our departure. Even the Rocky Mountains couldn't be that cold.

•January 25, 2007•

   Today is my birthday so we went into old town to shop for presents to take home. We bought art deco and art nouveau jewelry, Czech glass from the 1930's, books and pashmina scarves. It was a great way to spend my 58th. I'm very happy to be going back but I know that when I'm in the U.S. I will miss Prague. I'm never satisfied to be where I am and always wanting to be on the go again. Paul doesn't know how to explain our decision to cut our trip short to friends and family. For my part, in the words of Rhett Butler, I say, 'Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.'

   On January 29, 2007 we flew from Vienna to Denver. We spent a few weeks with Paul's sister in the small town of Manitou Springs on the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. The house next door to hers was for sale; a big, rambling, split level 60's house with a fireplace, great views of the Garden of the Gods park and Pikes Peak. The neighborhood is quiet, the neighbors are friendly and mule deer forage in the backyard. One morning Paul and I looked at each other and said, "Why not?" and made an offer on the house. A month later we moved in and , for the present, Manitou Springs, Colorado is home. But knowing us, that could change at any moment.

Trip To Vienna

•January 15, 2007•

We just got back to Prague from a four day trip to Vienna. It's a scenic train ride from Prague through the dense forests of Vysocina province, miles of dormant farmland and snow covered hillsides under a bright blue sky. Imagine the sight of a small village, every cottage with a plume of smoke rising from the chimney and kids bundled up and playing by the tracks, waving as the train speeds by. The countryside is so dreamlike in white. Four hours later the train pulls into Sudbahnhof station and the stately, Baroque splendor of Vienna greets you.

We stayed in a small hotel near the Museums Quarter and spent every day in one museum or another. The Leopold had a magnificent exhibit of German Expressionists. Explosive, bold color and thought provoking content infuse the works of Emil Nolde, Max Pechstein, Ernst Kirchner, Otto Mueller, Lyonel Feininger and Kathe Kolowitz. I love Impressionism, Modernism, Cubism and Symbolism but at this stage of my life, none of them speak to me with as much volume as Expressionism. There is so much raw power and psychological intensity in the work of these artists from the 20's and 30's that you can't help but be moved. One of my favorite painters is Egon Schiele who died in 1918 before the full force of Expressionism was felt in Austria.

We spent one whole day in the Kunsthistorisches Museum. I would be willing to live in a broom closet just to spend everyday with the magnificent works of art there. Monumental works by Rubens, country village scenes by Brueghel the elder and his incredibly detailed Tower of Babel, portraits by Holbein that are so realistic you expect them to speak. Cranach, Vermeer, Canaletto, Caravaggio, a spirit elevating feast of beauty. When it comes to art I'm a real gusher.

With some exceptions the Viennese speak English. Although I can say a few things in German, I'm always embarrassed that I'm unable to communicate in the language of the countries I visit. I speak some French but I have a terrible time remembering gender. I don't know why inanimate things have to be assigned a sex. Why is a pen feminine? Doesn't make any sense. Maybe that's why I can't remember.

I bought six, delicate  19th century French pencil drawings in a shop in an alleyway, all signed with the name Marie Alexandre Dumas. What a moniker!

•January 20, 2007•

We went to the Czech  and American Embassies today for information about my visa extension. Got two different stories as to what I should do. A little disconcerting. At the moment so many people are coming to the Czech Republic and overstaying their visas that when they're caught the government is expelling them and not allowing them to return. Many laws and rules here change so rapidly that web information is not always current. At the American Embassy we asked if another trip for a few days to Vienna would suffice and they were pessimistic. They gave us the address of the foreign police station and suggested I file for an extension there. We arrived and found the office vacant and stood there with a Korean couple trying to read a note on the door in Czech. We're talking about the place that is supposed to service foreigners here!

Overnight the weather has gone from balmy to bitterly cold. Paul and I stood shivering and  I asked him, "Are you ready to leave yet?" and without hesitation he said yes. Three months is up on the 27th and on that day we will be on a train out of Prague for somewhere as yet unknown.

New Years In Prague

•January 1, 2007•

Paul and I almost never go out on New Years Eve so staying home and going to bed at ten is no sacrifice. It's the tradition here to shoot off fireworks, not just little poppers but big, loud boomers. It sounded like war had broken out. Paul's cousin, Milan, usually spends New Years Eve in his front yard with a hose at the ready in case fireworks set his roof on fire. The main celebration takes place in Wenceslas Suare and is covered on the local TV station.

Which brings me to television in the Czech Republic. I'm sure there are the equivalent of cable stations but we don't get them in our apartment. One local station shows old episodes of Night Rider, Charlie's Angels and Air Wolf all dubbed in Czech. These are shows I never watched when they were current much less in Czech and how ever many years later. Current American shows like Monster Garage, Pimp My Ride and Orange County Cycles are popular here, all dubbed in German. We get CNN and thankfully Conan O'Brian and Jay Leno.

We've gotten addicted to a German reality show called the Ludolf's about four, bachelor brothers who own a car parts junkyard in some small German town. It's in German with Czech subtitles and the characters are so compelling we never miss an episode. The two middle aged brothers live in an apartment above the junkyard and look as though they haven't bathed, cut their hair or changed their clothes in weeks. They all love to play with model cars. Everything in the yard is piled high in well organized rows and the oldest brother has total recall of every item. If someone needs a carburetor for a 1970 Volvo sedan, he knows if they have one and exactly where it is in the yard. It's a kind of idiot savant show and we're hooked. I wonder what that says about us?

•January 10, 2007•

It is coming up on three months since we arrived and I have to extend my visa. Our first trip to the Czech Republic was in 2002 for a family reunion. Three generations of relatives came from Canada, Slovakia and America. Paul and I became enchanted with the country, decided to buy a house here and began the complicated bureaucratic process to establish foreign ownership. We spent months in the States searching Czech real estate sites on the Internet. We wanted to buy an apartment in Prague but even in 2002 that was really out of our reach. The price of real estate, like everything else here, is going up and the British and Dutch are buying in. 

Photos of Prague by Paul Wells

December 21 - 28, 2006 Christmas in Prague

•December 21, 2006•

It feels much longer than two months since we've been here. It's unlikely that we will move back to California but we're having difficulty deciding where to settle next. Of our own choosing, we are displaced persons without a home here or elsewhere to go to. Strange feeling. It was fine when we were young, moving from place to place, but age tends to make us all want to sink roots.

The best advice I would give any young person is to travel. Young people are welcome almost anywhere and have the flexibility to adapt to situations and minor hardships. It doesn't take a lot of money to travel if you're willing to stay in hostels, camp out or meet other young people who will let you couch surf. At best, I think travel can teach tolerance and broaden human understanding and at worst it makes you appreciate home more. Having extolled the virtues of travel, I must admit I'm ready to go back to the U.S.A.  I've begun to count the weeks until we return. So much for life as an ex-patriot.

•December 24, 2006•

A traditional Czech Christmas dinner includes a baked carp. Two men have set up a table on the corner of our busy street. They have big, beautiful carp in water filled troughs and people line up to buy them. The men pull the fish out by the tail and then smash them over the head with a heavy wooden mallet. It's horrible. On and on it goes, thud, thud, thud. I makes me think of the lyric from that old Beatles song, Bang, bang Maxwell's silver hammer came down on their heads. Puts me right off fish. Two blocks from our apartment is the Flora, a large, multi-level shopping mall. It's lavishly decorated for the holidays and full of shoppers. In the Levi's store they are selling an ordinary looking pair of jeans for $200. Am I out of touch or is that nuts? Everything in the Flora is expensive but it doesn't slow down spending. 

Credit cards are a fairly new phenomenon in the Czech Republic so now the Czech's can dig themselves into debt just like the rest of us. It's a real sign of prosperity when people can buy what they can't afford. Eva goes to Germany where she can get quality merchandise for less money. It's only a two and a half hour drive to Dresden and a four and a half hour train trip to Vienna. I bought Paul an etching and a beautiful book on Czech Cubism for Christmas.

•December 25, 2006•

Today we went to Eva's for a couple of hours. She made sandwiches and cookies and that was our Christmas dinner. It was just the three of us. Very grim. Now I know how lonely the holidays can be for people with no family. One year in Oakland I decided not to cook Thanksgiving dinner and we went to a restaurant instead. I remember feeling so sad to see people eating a restaurant turkey dinner all alone. To me the holidays aren't about presents or parties. Holidays are about family together, telling funny and touching family stories and remembering loved ones who are gone.

So this was our Prague Christmas. Pretty dismal but Christmas, like paying taxes, comes every year and there will be others.

•December 28, 2006•

We went to a fabulous exhibit in Old Town of Czech Cubist and Expressionist painters and print makers. You would have difficulty finding the name of a Czech artist in most of the books on Modernism, Fauvism and Cubism. it's a shameful omission that artists like Emil Filla, Josef Capek and one of my favorites, Jan Zrzavy, have been so overlooked. We saw an exhibit of paintings by Rudolph Kremlicka, one of the first Czech Modernists, and friend of Andre Derain at the Tower of the Stone Bell in Old Town when we first arrived. I was very inspired by his paintings. He made me want to come home and paint.

At last a dusting of snow! Excuse my enthusiasm but I'm from California and haven't seen snow since I left Ohio at ten. There is so little of it that it will be melted off by tomorrow but for the moment I'm enjoying every flake on my coat and in my hair.

Art Is Everywhere In Prague

December 12 - 19, 2006

•December 12, 2006•

   The four a.m. music again and this time Paul knocked on the right door. Sure enough, when it opened a young man stood there looking as though he had just smoked a bong full of weed and the apartment reeked of it. The guy spoke English and Paul told him to turn it down. The guy apologized and Paul told him to get some earphones.

•December 16, 2006•

   I have neglected the journal lately. I've been sitting day after day at the kitchen table drawing, painting and constructing mobiles and paper dolls for Christmas presents. Our tree is decorated, there are festive decorations all over the apartment but it still doesn't feel like Christmas. I'm homesick.

   Our original plan was to move here in June and be back in the U.S.A. by Christmas but our house didn't sell until June and the debacle with our studio was unexpected so our plans were moved later into the year. Paul doesn't attach much importance to the season but I knew for myself that the holidays away from family back home would be lonely. I had anticipated having Christmas with the Czech family but for some reason that is not going to happen. Thanksgiving was weird. We had a bad Chinese dinner in a shopping mall and then went to see The Illusionist at the IMAX.

•December 19, 2006•

   Some personal observations about the Prague Czechs: They do everything in a rush,walk, eat, talk. The average Czech man is unusually tall and not terribly fashionable but the average Prague woman is beautiful and stylish. The current rage is the long, straight dyed black hair and tanning salon look. They wear fur lined jackets and very high heeled boots. It's amazing to watch these women navigate the treacherous cobblestone streets in these high heeled, pointed boots and shoes.

   The average Praguite has no sense of personal space. They could have an empty boulevard and yet they still manage to get as close to you as possible without physical contact. On the street they make these speedy advances toward you and you're sure that they will bump you or knock you down. Just before impact they artfully twist a shoulder or step sideways and move on. For a person like myself with limited mobility issues, getting on and off a tram and subway is a nerve wracking experience.

   Politically correct hasn't made it to the Czech Republic. That's a good thing or a bad thing depending on your weight, race or disability. There is no such thing as disabled access in many buildings and the cobblestone sidewalks and streets can be hazardous with the odd missing stones. You see very few people of color in Prague and fewer still in other cities with the exception of the Chinese and Vietnamese. I've heard that some Czech's have their prejudices against Asians living here because of the flood of cheap goods they sell in their shops. They feel this gives them an unfair advantage over the Czech shop owners. Just wait until Walmart opens here.

   Prague has a problem with the Romas. Some of them are thieves and criminals. They ride the trams in small groups pickpocketing and stealing purses and briefcases. Paul and I have both had to fight them off on the streetcars. Prostitution is legal here and there are brothels in the Wenceslas area. Like any big city there is crime and drug dealing here. We read on the English version of the Prague Post that one rapidly growing crime is elder shoplifting. As I wrote before, everything is getting more expensive here and some of the elderly on fixed incomes have taken to the old five finger discount. When they're caught the police make them return the goods and frequently let them go without charges.

   Paul had a funny experience along those lines. He was in a small market near the apartment and had put his gloves in the shopping cart. He was choosing produce and when he turned back to his cart some guy was trying on his gloves. Paul made him aware that they were his and the guy was appropriately apologetic but probably would have made off with them had he not been caught.

Photographs by Paul Wells

Winter In Prague

Prague Journal December 3 & 5th, 2006

•December 3, 2006•

The rains that have been pounding western Europe are now moving east so our drive through the countryside will have to wait for better weather. We have been spending a lot of time in the Stare Mesto these past few days. It's being turned into a replica of a medieval village in preparation for the holidays. There are food stalls selling sausages and mulled wine, shops selling traditional crafts and sweets, and a large stage in the middle of the square for musical performances. It's like the tower of Babel here. People come from everywhere to spend Christmas in Prague. Judging by the chill in the air we should have a white Christmas. My poor arthritic knees are feeling the wear and tear of walking everywhere and soon we will have to break out the thermal underwear.

Art is everywhere in Prague, right down to the iron gates and fences. The city is full of examples of Jugendstil, Cubist and Futurist architecture. Today we visited the Cubist Museum. Artists like Kubista, who changed his surname to reflect his art, Gocar and Gutfreund made a strong impression on me. The museum has a wonderful collection of furniture, paintings, sculpture, ceramics and graphics on three floors. Czech cubism is so dark and muscular, not fanciful like so much French cubism. We had lunch in the museum restaurant with its evocative black and white decor. Lousy food but great ambiance. 

Around the corner from the museum is the Dorotheum auction house annex. We bought some etchings by Czech artist Emil Orlik and a lovely drawing by T. Frantisek Simon of a Dutch woman by the sea. There is so much affordable, beautiful art to buy here. I feel like a kid in a candy shop. Soon I will venture out and do some drawing of my own around town.

Down a side street we came upon the Estates Theater where Mozart conducted Don Giovanni. There is a fabulous sculpture in front, a cloaked figure with no body inside. We watched an ice skating rink being erected across the way. The juxtaposition of the old and new looks so strange.

•December 5, 2006•

All over town tonight you see groups of three dressed up like bearded St. Nicholas in a long white robe, an angel and a devil parading the streets. Parents are out with their little children and when one of these trios approaches they ask if the child has been good or bad all year. If the child has been good the angel gives him/her a treat if the child has been bad the devil will take them. Of course no child will admit to being bad. Seems a little like Halloween with treats and frights.

Last night we attended a vocal concert given by the students of Charles University where Eva teaches. The students ranged in age from 15 to 18 and were quite good. The concert took place at the top of a 17th century tower which used to be the entrance to old Prague. We climbed the creaky wooden stairway and sat with about thirty parents and teachers. It was strange to imagine that hundreds of years ago guards stood watch in the very room where we sat. I think more than anything I will miss the ever present reminders of Prague's rich history.

I'm getting wanderlust and want to be out in the fresh air of the countryside. The air in Prague is pretty bad because of all the diesel fuel. Eva says there is something called the Prague cough. You don't see smog like you do in L.A. Here it's low lying  bad air. You see black grime on the first floor of buildings and dust accumulates in the apartment. I'm not sure one is related to the other but everyday I sweep piles of dust. It must come in on our clothes and shoes because it's too chilly to open the windows. Mystery dust.

People of Prague by Paul Wells

•November 22 - December 1, 2006•

•November 22, 2006•

   We were woken up last night around four a.m. by loud hip hop music in the building somewhere. It went on for a while and finally we went into the hallway to locate the offending neighbor. We went upstairs and knocked on what we thought was the right door. Behind it, a fragile, frightened woman's voice said, "Ano?" or yes  and we realized we had made a mistake. This morning we complained to the building manager on the top floor and she said she hadn't heard a thing but suspected it came from an apartment rented by two young Slovakian men who came and went a lot. It turned out that the disembodied voice we had heard behind the door was that of an older woman who had lost her husband to cancer two weeks before. We felt horrible.

   What I can't understand is why no one else in the building was complaining. No one even peeked out into the hallway. Some Czechs who lived under the repressive Communist regime are very non confrontational. They learned to make themselves invisible to avoid scrutiny and to this day are obsequious to authorities. Others have reacted completely the opposite and rebel against even the slightest imposition of authority. Paul's cousin, Klara, told us that when she complained to a neighbor who had parked in front of her driveway, he wouldn't move the car claiming that the streets belonged to everyone. An obvious case of democracy run amok. The Czechs have been oppressed and dominated for decades, centuries actually, by one nation and another and psychologically those traumas are still being played out even in the new generation. Maybe that's one explanation for the other occupants being able to tolerate the intolerable.

   We bought flowers and put them in front of the old lady's door with a note of apology.

•November 26, 2006•

   After one month we have stopped worrying. We are taking a more what will be, will be attitude. Not very mature or pro active, but it feels more like life. One of the best things about the location of our apartment is that it's two blocks from an IMAX theater showing all the newest releases. We went to see Borat the other day with Czech subtitles. Paul and I were in hysterics but the young Czechs didn't seem to find it very funny. Lost in translation maybe.

•December 1, 2006•

   I'm not someone who starts conversations with strangers in foreign places. I know people who are. My Aunt Eve, for instance, can make acquaintances anywhere in the world as long as they speak English and will spend an hour talking to strangers in a cafe. I guess I'm a little shy when meeting people and consequently I haven't made any friends here yet which was one of the things I looked forward to. Many Czechs especially in Prague speak English so the language barrier isn't the problem. It's not just my shyness either. As previously stated, the Czechs are reserved.

   Interestingly enough, the older Czechs are often the friendliest. Paul and I were at a bus stop and , in my pathetic Czech, I asked an older woman what buses to take to get to a certain location. She began speaking Czech to me and seeing that I didn't understand, guided us on to a bus and got on with us. We had to change buses mid way and when we'd arrived at our destination she got off, walked us to the address we were seeking, waved goodbye, crossed the street and caught a bus going in the opposite direction. She had gone clear across town just to make sure we got where we were going. I was very moved. Things like that give me renewed faith in humanity.