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.

Photographs of Prague by Paul Wells

Prague is one of the most unchanged capitol cities in Europe.

Prague journal November 17 - 19, 2006

•November 17, 2006•

   I am having difficulty adjusting to public transportation. The streetcars are always crowded and we spend a good part of each day waiting for one. A very nice custom prevails in Prague. If you are elderly or disabled, people will readily give up their seat to you. In California we drove everywhere. I can't imagine driving in Prague. It's chaos. It's not like Italy. That's pure insanity. Our landlady, Sylvia, says that drivers in Prague will cause an accident just to prove that they have the right of way. That must explain the ever present sirens. The day Sylvia drove us in her black Rover to our apartment she tried to merge into oncoming traffic and was nearly rear ended, horns blaring. She jumped out of the car and started a shouting match with the driver behind us. Thirty seconds later they were laughing and waving goodbye. Try that in Oakland and see what happens.

   Sylvia and her husband are  interesting characters. She is Czech and married to an Italian. They own an Italian shoe boutique in Wenceslas Square. She is high energy, lots of make up, dyed jet black hair and speaks Italian with a Czech accent to her husband who speaks Czech with an Italian accent back to her. They're fair landlords but they haven't invested a penny to improve the apartment so we've spent money at the IKEA on the outskirts of town trying to make the place more comfortable and homey. Fortunately Paul packed three of our Japanese scrolls in his suitcase and we've hung them on the otherwise bare, white walls.

   One thing I will never adjust to is smoking in restaurants here. I'm a reformed ex-smoker so I can sympathize with the addiction, but four or five chain smokers in a crowded, over-heated restaurant while you're trying to eat is a form of torture. In one of our favorite restaurants we were seated at a long, shared table having lunch one afternoon when two men sat down across from us. They took out their cigarettes, ready to light up when Paul said, "Ne, prosim," or no please. They looked at us as though we were crazy. They did, however, wait until we'd finished eating then lit up. I bet that would start an international incident if you tried that in France.

   It was a clear, Autumn day today so we decided to explore the Stare Mesto or Old Town. This is one of the most popular tourist areas and it is easy to see why. Millions of korunas have been spent on beautification projects to 17th century cathedrals and building facades. Elaborate architectural detailing and heroic statuary decorate the pastel buildings, side by side, like a tray of fancy cakes. Narrow dark alleyways lead you to iron gated gardens or tree lined boulevards with elegant shops. In the Josefov district is the ancient Jewish cemetery and the several synagogues that compose the Jewish museum tour. Horse drawn carriages clatter on cobblestone streets and a quiet little back street will suddenly deposit you onto a busy boulevard next to the Vltava with a stunning view of the castle and St. Vitus Cathedral on the hills, high above the opposite bank. This part of town, along with the Mala Strana on the other side of the river, are what most tourists see of Prague and little else.

•November 18, 2006•

   We are living such a disconnected life here, we showed up a day early for a dinner engagement with Paul's aunt Jetti. I think our being here without a job or even a plan, baffles our Czech relatives. No one, not even our closest friends, had any idea the stress we were under before leaving the States. We sold our home at the beginning of the real estate slowdown in California. Our business landlord of twenty-six years was considering tearing down the building and putting up live/work lofts and wouldn't guarantee that we would have our space in six months, even if we prepaid the rent. We decided that it was wise to close up shop rather than take the chance of a mid-winter call from him telling us to vacate our studio. We began to take every difficulty as a sign that it was really time to move on and an affirmation of our decision to leave. So in three months we moved an entire household and business and finished two difficult restoration projects for equally difficult clients before leaving. Maybe that is why we are sleeping an average of ten hours a day and find it difficult to initiate any serious undertaking. We're still a little befuddled and it's probably the reason we don't even know the day of the week. We did show up the next night for dinner with Jetti and Eva and had a great time.

•November 19, 2006•

   Eva is a jazz singer and we went to hear her perform at a festival in Wenceslas Square. There were several acts at the concert, one of which was an African American blues singer named Vera Love. She's seventy-some years old and sings every song at the same ear-splitting volume. She sang a lot of standard like Kansas City, Stormy Monday and the like. The Czech audience, at first reserved, was finally won over by her total enthusiasm. She was like a force of nature, thrusting her hips and shimmying, repeating "Dobry, dobry, dobry," which is good in Czech, and by the end of her performance the crowd was cheering. Paul and I were sitting with another African American singer who lived in Germany and she and I were in hysterics at Vera's lack of inhibition and energy at seventy. Poor Eva, who was not feeling well that night, had to follow Vera's act. As a former singer myself, I know how demoralizing it can be to follow an act that is dynamite and loved by the crowd. Eva was a true professional and soldiered on, sore throat and all.

   There are concerts and clubs with live music every night in Prague. There is the ballet at the National Theater and symphony at the State Opera house near our apartment. There are chamber orchestras playing in churches and at the castle and jazz groups at cafes all around town. It's a great city for music.

Prague journal November 14 & 16, 2006

•November 14,2006•

   Our sixth day in our apartment in Prague on Vinohradska Street. It's seven a.m., blue-gray and wet outside. We live in a well kept, five story building and aside from the creaking floors, soft footsteps of our upstairs neighbors or the occasional shriek of laughter from the child one floor down, this building is silent most of the time. Our third floor apartment is spacious with typical high ceilings, a large living room with a wall of windows looking out on busy Vinohradska, a bedroom with two armoires, exercise cycle, and a kitchen with room for a pony.

   How can I describe the bathroom? A toilet and bidet, small sink, washing machine and a deep triangular shaped tub with a semi circular shower curtain rod all in miss matched shades of blue and green. At least once a day the odor emanating from the toilet, probably due to outdated plumbing, forces us to spray copious amounts of air freshener and keep the bathroom door closed. So far everything works and that's what matters most. The furniture is ugly at best and torturous at worst. The bed is basically a three inch foam mattress on top of a hard platform. The television works but a former tenant stole the remote control and the landlady hasn't replaced it. The inconvenience of having to get up and change channels doesn't much matter since there are only four t.v. stations in the Czech Republic and not much worth watching on any of them.

   There is nothing apart from the luxury of space and the good location that makes the apartment worth the price we pay every month. In our desperation for a place to live, we overlooked the deficits of this apartment because of its superiority to others we had seen for the same rent. Having stated the worst, the upside is that it's quiet, clean, functional, warm and directly across from a streetcar stop.

   When we stayed in Prague in 2004 we lived one month in an apartment next to the Vltava River behind the big boulevard, Narodni trida, and the majestic National Theater. On the ground floor you could still see the tide line from the flooding of the river during the disastrous storms of 2002. Everything then was inexpensive except for petrol. Two years later the value of our dollar has declined and the Czech currency, the koruna, has strengthened. The cost of many things here has doubled with the exception of petrol. Beer and bread, the staples of life here, are still cheap.

   When we told our friends we were moving abroad, almost without exception, they said, "How great! I wish I had the courage to do that." I realize now that it wasn't courage but rather desperation that motivated our move. We were sick of Oakland, California, couldn't bear the idea of breathing the toxic fumes associated with painting restoration one more year and as two people looking at the downhill slope of middle age, we figured it was our last chance to start a new life in a new country. From our previous trips here we found the country and culture different enough from our own to be fascinating and yet similar enough to be comprehensible.

   So here we are, thousands of miles from friends and family in the U.S.A., in a country where the language would take me a lifetime to learn, winter and the holidays rapidly approaching and clueless of what comes next. When I stop to think of it, that's what life is really about. We're all clueless of what comes next.

•November 16, 2006•

   We're living an aimless life for the moment. We're so physically and mentally exhausted from the hard work and upheaval of the last several months that we sleep a lot. We even nap during the day and this is new to me. I've never been a daylight sleeper. It used to amaze me that Paul could fall asleep any time, anywhere. Of course, then I would hear him up in the middle of the night, pacing and worrying about one thing and another. I think that worrying is a natural by product of aging. Paul and I have decided to take worry duty in shifts. He takes the night shift and I take the day, however I'm consideringt retiring from worry as it doesn't seem to be very productive. The reality of what we have done is sinking in now but the excitement is keeping panic at bay.

   We try to communicate with people in Czech as much as we can. We've studied the language back in the States but anything other than the niceties gets dicey and degenerates into gibberish. I find that the Czechs, knowing that their language is difficult, appreciate even a half hearted attempt. Even foreigners who have lived here a while can still make glaring errors. Eva, Paul's cousin, told us a story about her French mother's struggle with the language after years living here. Eva, her mother Malci, and Eva's infant son, Petr, were in a store when a woman looked at Petr and said, "What a beautiful little girl." Malci replied, "Madame, he is not a she. She is a he." It sounded even funnier in Czech.

   My mother used to tell me that I was born with a little gray cloud over my head. That's the impression the Czechs give me. On the streetcar, in the shops, going about their daily lives they seem perpetually gloomy. Maybe it's a hold over from the Communist era or maybe it's cultural. I don't know. I do know that they are not overly demonstrative, are deeply family orientated, culturally proud and naturally private, unlike the average Californian who will tell you their life story without hesitation. These, of course are generalities, something my husband tells me I'm prone to.

   Certain very old Czech customs prevail. One is the country cottage or chata.  On the weekends the Czechs head out of town to their chaty, some of which have been in their families for generations. They can range from shacks with outhouses to chalets with all the modern conveniences. This tradition is something the Czech people treasure. The countryside takes your breath away with its little villages and golden fields of safflowers merging with low rolling hills of bright, green grass. In the winter it is a sea of snow with herds of fallow deer in the woods and families ice skating on the frozen Brno reservoir, when viewed from the surrounding hills, become a living Brueghel painting. It must break hearts to have to head back to the city on Sunday night.