Czech women spend their money on 5 things: hair care, manicures, cigarettes, clothes and food. In that order. My list looks more like: food, chocolate, wine, beer and workout t-shirts. Last Saturday however, I became a fully-functioning Czech lady-citizen and spent some money on hair care. (I was a bit disappointed that there wasn't a Czech lady-citizen ceremony, but I couldn't find a number to call to tell them that I was taking the oath.)

Apparently working for IBM and moving half-way around world has taken its toll on my golden locks and I am way more gray on-top than I would care to admit. So I checked around to see about recommended places and prices to un-gray myself. Turns out there aren't many english speaking hair-dudes within the hair-dude community and not surprisingly, they can charge what they like. A typical hair-cut and dye job is priced at about the same as a full kidney transplant in most 1^st world nations. And while the Czech women and their expat lady friends can live with these prices I had a very hard time justifying them.

So whats a gal to do, you ask? Well you go to your local hypermarket and you buy the Salon-in-a-Box. For the equivalent of $8 CAD, you can get a fully-functioning Loreal #15 brown, do it yourself dye (or perhaps 'die') kit. Daring I admit, but really who would notice if I showed up as a purple headed enablement leader? Most of my work is with the male population in Eastern Europe and lets face it most men wouldn't notice and many of the women here have purple hair anyway so it wouldn't be a problem.

So come Sunday afternoon, I locked myself and Caroline into our upstairs bathroom and opened the box. That wasn't even hard. The box came with one set of gloves, 2 or 3 tubes of stuff and a container for mixing. What the box didn't come with was english instructions. After staring at the pictures where the smiling, maicured lady demonstrated how to do this, neither Caroline or I were any further ahead. And since the iactual written nstructions didn't mention the words for butter, chocolate or beer I decided that google translate would have to be deployed.

So off to the computer we went and I typed in the first sentence from the instructions:

MAKE SURE YOU WEAR THE GLOVES it screamed. How bad is this stuff I screamed, if you have to wear the gloves. IN THE VERY FIRST SENTENCE.

The next set of instructions weren't so straight forward. This is what I got from Google:

Apply the rest of the remaining 2-3 cm shemesh co y of the Incas and the roots.

So according to Google, the box was supposed to contain an Inca.  I automatically assumed it was an Inca warrior who would dye my hair for me while gently massaging my scalp with his strong warrior hands. (well, perhaps I made that last part up, but the Inca part is at least true). Nonetheless, we were really hoping to go back into the bathroom and find the warrior awaiting his assignment. But no. Nothing but a couple of wet towels and Bailey the Dog wondering what all the fuss was about.

At any rate, we felt we knew enough to start the process. So Caroline carefully mixed the appropriate tubes of brown gunky stuff into the test tube like container and we let it sit for a few minutes so that it was properly absorbed. And then it really did turn purple. And smelled so much like ammonia that my nostrils were burning. Once again I found myself wondering how bad is this stuff really? Oh, and did I mention the mixture was now full on purple? Not mauve or light purple, but purple. Putting purple ammonia on my scalp wasn't sounding all that pleasing with or without the warrior. But I decided to go ahead anyway – afterall, $8 is $8.

OMG. It was just like being in the Lord of Rings where gollum finds the ring and screams “it burns us, it burns us”. But at least my hair wasn't turning purple; it was indeed brown as advertised. Although probably not as brown as it could have been as there was no way I was keeping that stuff on my head for the recommended length of time. So as soon as possible I rinsed out the ammonia and lathered my head with polysporen instead of the conditioner it called for. Turns out that polysporen has many conditioner like properties so this wasn't a bad idea at all and it soothed the 3^rd degree burns.

And finally, after all was said and done, I went back to google to type in the rest of the instructions to see if we had done something like mixed the wrong stuff together. What I got back from Google was this:

Grind can pass the final quantity evenly enough to pee the whole length of hair. 

So I obviously didn't do anything wrong and it wasn't even ammonia after all but plain old pee. Which makes sense when I think about it cause the bathroom did smell for quite a while like a hundred cats had peed on my head.

Which probably explains why Bailey kept visiting us.

People Who Should Not Travel

I am what 'they' refer to as road warrior.  I have been through most of the world's major airports and I've seen a lot behaviours that I wish I hadn't.  As I get ready to board yet another flight, I thought i would publish my own personal set of behaviors that should get a traveller banned from flying or staying abroad.  Feel free to add to the list as I'm sure there are others... 


1. Any passenger, namely me, has the right to turn around and tell the dude behind you that cutting his nails on an airplane is so over the top gross, that they are to cease immediately.  Especially, wait for it... If the cuttings fly over your shoulder.  Seriously. 

2.  No one should be able to grab the back of your chair and pull it backwards by 90 degrees simply because they can't get their ass out of their own chair without this support.

3.  Every passenger should have the right to switch places with the parent of that child who won't stop kicking your chair - despite staring rudely and outright asking them to stop.

4.  Mandatory shower and teeth brushing sessions for all passengers who I decide need it.

5.  You are not allowed to be rude to the airline people. Yelling and screaming at the person behind the counter because the flight is late is NOT their fault and they should not bear the brunt of your anger.  And it makes me crazy.  

6.  Don't stand in the aisle with your crotch or your ass in my face.  I don't like it.

7.  I will decide who can and cannot take their shoes off inflight.

8.  Do not ever assume that just because the lady cleans up after you in the Hilton lounge she is stupid and cannot speak English.  Over heard in the lounge in Bucharest recently....

(Remember it has to be in your loudest voice (dressed in your loudest clothes) so everyone eating breakfast can hear you)

"Phil, do you know how to work the Espresso machine" 
Phil doesn't know so of course you turn to the lady in the lounge and in your bestest loudest voice you ask ' DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH'

And since you are in Bucharest where everyone learns English, she replies very quietly, 'please don't yell and how can I help you'.     And then rude lady yells back at Phil... "Hey Phil, she speaks English".  SHE should not EVER TRAVEL.

Oi!!!! 
     

A visit to the MUNICIPAL LIBRARY – MĚSTSKÁ KNIHOVNA

Lynn and Paul are our Canadian/Czech neighbours who left the confines of Etobicoke many years ago to run their own business in Prague.  Paul was born in CZ but his family left for Canada when he was 5.  The idea that they have lived here for many years coupled with the fact that Paul speaks fluent Czech has left us giddy with all the questions we can get answered and the help we can receive.  For example, up until 2 weeks ago we were still untangling ourselves from the 'Martin owns our car' mess as we finally received everything we needed to register the car in our name.  Paul was brave  generous enough to accompany Stu on this little errand.  One complete afternoon later and voila, we own the car.  Which would never have happened if it was just Stu trying to do this. 

Many things boil down to the fact that If you do not have knowledge of the Czech system or the language, then you are simply in for a world of hurt.  The Czech people can be just plain suspicious of foreigners and are not willing to help, but bring along your Czech speaking buddy and things miraculously open up for you.  So having Paul and Lynn for friends is a very good thing for us.  I am not sure if that there is any value in it for them, but you know we've not really given them any choice in the matter and quite frankly we will not let them out of our sites.   

Fast forward to this particular Saturday and Stu and I and Bailey the Dog are on a walk with Lynn and Paul and their puppy Roxy.  While we enjoy walking with our other friends and their dogs, Lynn and Paul offer the additional benefit of being able to communicate in Canadianese:  RCMP, Muskoka, Timmies, The Leafs, Peter Mansbridge, CBC, HNIC... the list of Canadianisms is endless and they get them.  There isn't anyone else that we can communicate with like this.  Mention Muskoka to someone else and you are just as likely to get slapped. 

After the walk, Lynn has decided to take their daughter Sam into the MĚSTSKÁ NIHOVNA which is the Prague library and I, in my very subtle fashion, invite myself and Caroline along for the ride.  According to the library's website, they have an 'extensive collection'  of English language books.  I have been searching for a solution to the amount of money I am providing to Amazon to have them deliver English language books and perhaps this is it. 

In to town we go and (except for the detour for frozen yogourt) we have no trouble finding the library.  It is a beautiful old building right in the heart of the old town with some parts of it dating from the 11th century.  The first place we visit is actually The Clementinum or the National Library of the Czech Republic which was founded in 1781.  But even earlier than that, say around 1622, the Jesuits were using this building as part of the library for Charles University.  Sam is acting as our interpreter and after a couple of false starts we end up in the area where they 'collect' their English books.  The first book I find is a 1970's cast off from the Scarborough Public Library called Stories from Ontario.  Surprisingly, neither girl seems interested in this one so we continue our tour.  After about 5 seconds we figure out that there are no books for tweens in English in this building.  In fact, in the past 4 weeks, we've purchased more books from Amazon than this collection holds, so we need to move the tour next door to the mestska nihovna.  And since the municipal library of Prague was the one actually advertising its extensive collection of English books, we are feeling more confident.

Sillies.  Turns out that extensive in Czech means 3; with 1 being a dictionary.  Even the dictionary isn't really a dictionary but rather a book of colloquialisms of English for people new to the language.  Lynn opens the book to a page where they discuss what 'flying fu**' means and we quickly decide the girls won't want that book either.

Libraries 2, us Nil. 

So off we trot to the bagel store and the bakery in Old town instead. At least here we know that the collection of cookies is extensive and there will be more than 3.  And we can read the menu in English.  All's well that ends well.  

I've been getting asked by the 2 or 3 people who still remember us, what life is really like on a daily basis and how has everyone settled in. Well, for me there really is no change. I am still flying all over Europe only the trips are of shorter duration and I am home on the weekends plus on the odd day during the week. I've officially flown over 100,000 miles this year which equates to an awful lot of time spent both in the air and in airports. The Prague airport is small at least and is precisely 30 mins from home so I can leave for some flights as late as 1.5 hours before hand and still have time to go to the lounge. I've also made Diamond level at Hilton which really only means that I get free internet and that the dude at the front desk is slightly more polite to me.

At home, I've figured out how to drive by myself to a few places without a map or a gps and can actually get to the kids school without getting lost. I can also walk Bailey the dog in the local park and can leave that map at home. I've got about 100 words in my Czech vocabulary and can actually ask someone how they are and would they like some butter. Progress by anyone's standards.

As for Stu and the kids, there has barely been a hiccup. Both kids have settled into school and have made some really nice friends, most of whom live in the neighbourhood so they can get on their bikes and go and fetch them. The weather is getting pretty crappy now so we find they are in the house more often. I say its the weather as I'm sure its got nothing to do with the fact that we actually have English television now. School is going well for them and they've both just received their mid term report cards. We are very pleased with their marks and their teachers comments.

As for Stu, he has turned 884 Pod Valem into a social hub with the usual 'come for dinner' or 'stop by for a beer' kinda stuff going on. He has managed to make friends in the neibourhood and has gotten heavily involved in school activities. Some things haven't changed. One thing different seems to be that both Stu and the kids have been sick with colds which they almost never were at home. We think it is the change in diet (for example we don't drink much orange juice any more) so we've started to supplement our diet with vitamin C pills and cranberry tablets. I've been lucky so far and I chock it up to just not being around as much.

We are very much looking forward to Christmas with both sets of parents arriving in about 3 weeks. We will spend some time in Prague and have then rented an apartment in Val Gardena, Italy where we will be for Christmas. The kids and Stu will ski while the rest of us will wander the villages and I'll do some snow shoeing. We'll go to Salzburg on the way through and see the city in the winter which is supposed to be spectacular. We'll then have some more time in CZ before they all go back to Canada. I'm just looking forward to being in one place for more than a day and actually relaxing, as much as I know how to any way.

I must say it hasn't been the easiest transition, especially for me, but I think for the most part we are pretty much there now. We know how to get groceries and how to visit a doctor. We can buy clothes if needed and have discovered the local Home Depot. We found pumpkins to carve at Halloween and Caroline went trick or treating. Haircuts are being dealt with and we can find used ski equipment. Things we would all do in Canada. Finally, we've got friends in the neighborhood that we can count on in an emergency and can always find someone to share a glass of wine with. We miss many many things and people from home but after 4 solid months of being abroad, we are finally settled.  There is a matter of the over the counter drug thing so if anyone wants to reach out and help me get some Advil Liqugels, Gravol and Benelyn ... please do so!  You can get an aspirin and chicken soup without a prescription and thats about it.

Finally, we can sleep 4-6 guests, in case anyone wants to visit and we've already had 4 sets of visitors from Canada who can attest to our tourist skills – so just drop us a line and let us know when you want to come!

And let me leave you with one last piece of advice from my travel experiences: never, and I mean never, have a meal that includes Brussel sprouts and then get on an airplane. It is hazardous to the environment. Just sayin.

Entertainment

Over the past couple of weeks we've managed to take in a bit of European culture. Culture, in my opinion, is like a garage sale – one man's junk is another man's treasure.

A couple of weeks ago I had work in Madrid, home of The Bernabeu. The Bernabeu is the 90,000 seat stadium home to Real Madrid who just happened to be playing AC Milan in a Champions league game. I've never seen a professional football match – unless you count McMaster playing U of T in girls undergrad play in 1984. So the opportunity was not to be missed. The internet was the source of the tickets so as you can imagine there was a bit of a premium attached to them. Like a 130 Euro worth of premium, but that's a story for another day. I had to go.

So off we trotted, me and 2 workmates in our freshly purchased Real Madrid gear. There is no way to describe what 90,000 screaming, whistling, drum banging, foul mouth, smoking patrons of the Bernabau are like. LOUD and LOUDER come to mind. The whistling in particular is something to experience. Its like having 90,000 traffic cops stopping you at an intersection by all blowing their whistles at once. However, now that I've gotten my hearing back, I recognize it for what it was: a fabulous football match with the opportunity to watch Ronaldo, one of today's greatest players, weave some magic on the field. He was really something to watch and I'm glad I went although from what I understand he is a bit full of himself; I can totally relate to that and am not nearly as critical as others might be. After all, if my football career hadn't have been cut short due to injury who knows what might have been. Alas....

Sports in Europe is very different than North America on very many levels. For example, in the Bernabeu spectators from the visiting team are limited to one tiny section of the stadium. There might have been 500 fans come in from Italy and they were all dressed in red and sitting away from everyone else in their own section. So what you have is 89,500 Real Madrid supporters dressed in white and 500 AC Milan supporters, dressed in red, all sitting together in their own little corner of the world. So you can imagine that they hardly stand out at all. And at the end of the game, regardless of who wins, the visiting team fans are made to sit in the stands for at least an hour while the home team fans clear away. Very wise me thinks.

Also different is that almost everyone pulls out a sandwich wrapped in foil at half time and sits in the stands and politely eats their snack. No popcorn or ice cream or nachos. Just a sandwich from home. The NFL and all their tailgaiters wouldn't know what to do.

And then there are the super fans. They sit behind a goal and create their own equivalent of a sports mosh pit. They spend the whole game, and I mean the whole game chanting God Bless Real Madrid, etc... all the while banging a thousand drums and tossing each other in the air. Again..very similar to the platinum seats at the Air Canada centre. Its uncanny really.

Also the same is the lineup in the mens and womens bathrooms. There was me in my bathroom. That was all. Just me. While next door, 5000 men did a happy dance in line while waiting for their turn.

Oh and as for the game, Real Madrid won. 2 – Nil. Yippee.

Now, while that was on Tuesday, Friday back in Prague we all went to watch the Czech Sparta hockey club take on their arch rivals from Pardubice. I'm not sure what the Pardubice team nickname is but the Czech dude beside me assured me that it was Scum Sucking Pig Dogs. Contrast the Tesla arena with the Bernabau: maybe 3000 people sitting in a barn, politely eating bad sausage and drinking beer. No foil wrapped sandwiches. And not nearly as noisy, although the people tried really hard. The only reason the kids agreed to go (other than the fact that we've told them that they need to experience stuff with us at least once and then if they don't like it, they don't have to go back) was for the food. But, OMG was it bad. The only thing recognizable were the chicken sandwiches from KFC and how bad is that when you are dining on KFC and thinking man, this is good.

However, the price was right. For 4 of us including parking, tickets and dinner...any guesses on the cost? Under $50. All in. And all for the privlidge of sitting on very very hard benches in a freezing cold arena and watching the home fans scream at the visiting fans. As for the bathrooms, again there wasn't any lineup but I did have to play, find the toilet paper. Looking for toilet paper after you sit down and start doing your thing is not a very good strategy. And it gets worse when you find out that there is one common toilet paper dispenser for all stalls and its on the outside by the sinks. Of course it is – totally makes sense right??? It especially makes sense when you come out of your stall to find the other two stalls occupied with men who haven't bother to close the doors and are just standing there doing their thing with their back to you.

The kids, of course, were bored out of their minds once the food was gone but Stu and I enjoyed it.

Now onto Act III. Czech television. We finally broke down a bought a TV. We had not had one up until a few weeks ago and even when we finally bought it, we could only get bad english shows from the 80's dubbed in Czech or we had to watch straight up Czech television. This is a story from Czech TV and I didn't even see it but Stu assures me that it happened.

There is a version of America's Got Talent in every country that I visit and there is one called Czech's got Talent. Here is a sample (remember I am apparently not making this up):

Week 1: Czech lady in lovely red dress shaves her head on national TV. Thats it.

Week 2: Same Czech lady comes back. Different red dress. Very revealing. Slits all the way up the thighs. No bra. Low plunging neck line. Does a wrigley kinda dance thing and pulls off her panties. ON NATIONAL TV. 8:00PM. ON CZECH'S GOT TALENT.

She's not done.

All to stripper kinda music, she pulls a whistle out from between her boobs and THEN ... and I can't believe I'm writing this..she puts the whistle between her thighs, makes sure its, um, inserted all good and tight like into the netherreaches (cause I don't read harlequin novels, I'm not sure what the right term for netherreaches really is) and proceeds to blow the whistle 3 times. ON NATIONAL TV. 8:00PM. ON CZECH'S GOT TALENT. I don't know if she won or not, but I think Stu voted for her.

The moral of the story: we now have satellite with full Sky TV programming at a cost of $1500. Caroline is no longer allowed to select the programming and we only watch things with the Disney logo.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving in another country

Then more things change, the more they stay the same.

 I haven't been in Canada for a Thanksgiving now for a number of years due to business trips so it was good to keep that consistency.

According to the local Expat community Thanksgiving is an exclusive American only holiday.  It was quite funny watching the looks on people's faces as we told them that we would be shopping for a turkey on the weekend.  A turkey? they would cry in unison while quickly scouring their mental calendars to determine, if indeed, they had missed October and most of November.  In some cases the mental calendar already had them into December, having completely bypassed Autumn altogether.  

So our mission this past week was to educate the neighbor folk on the fact that we Canadians have something to be thankful for AND to find a turkey.  Hard to say really which was going to be harder.  

We'll start with the education piece...mainly Aussies and Americans in this category.  The Americans couldn't get over the fact that Thanksgiving is actually tied to the harvest and not to shopping and football.  The Aussies, more in tune with America than us colonial cousins, seemed to be on the late November program as well.  As for the Czechs, they apparently have nothing to be thankful for despite the plethora of beer, cheap sausage and size 10 bodies.  No Thanksgiving for you!  (At least I  don't think so anyway.  There was a national holiday on a Tuesday in September that no one was able to tell me what it was for.  It coulda been Thanksgiving or  "Take Your Dog for a Walk Day".  All I know is that the Metro was empty and lots of people were walking their dogs.)

Now for turkey. Getting a whole turkey to roast at any time of year is a challenge.  You either have to order it ahead of time from Robertsons Butchers or you have to hope.  At the time , hope seemed to be a good strategy, so we ignored Robertsons and instead went to Macro - the local Costco equivalent.  Macro on a good day is a challenge; anyone who owns their own business shops there so it is always crowded, noisy and scary.  Scary cause you don't always know what you have to buy in bulk or what you can buy just one or two of.  For example, you are ok if you want one roll of paper towel, but God help you if you try to buy anything less than a crate of eggs.  And I mean a crate -as in hundreds.  If you approach the cash with the wrong number of eggs, the cashier lady will just look at you with venom in her eyes for a few seconds before she launches into her "not enough eggs" tirade ..... all in Czech of course.  We have learned to smile back in Anglicky and say 'pardon'.  Which makes her even madder cause she knows we will leave our 10 eggs with her to put back.  

On this trip however, the eggs were the least of our problem as we couldn't find a turkey. If only tradition called for a juicy pig's knee or lips and assholes (better known as sausage) then we would have been all set.  As it was, nary a turkey to be found.  Goose, duck, pidgeonski - but no turkey; at least not an intact one.  We did manage to find legs and a breast which is good cause I think deep down Stu is a leg and breast man.  That he is a leg and breast man just went horribly wrong for him when we got married.  But thats a story for another day.   

So that is what we went with.  OMG.. (Thats oh-em-gee if you are not from the Facebook generation).  It is sooooooo not the same.  How do you stuff a leg? Or a breast? Or make proper gravy? Or pull the wings off and eat the crackled skin?  The short answer is that you can't.  But it was ok.  It was turkey at least.  And stuffing cooked in the oven, and brussel sprouts, and carrots.  

And us together.  Which I think was the whole point.        
   

   

 

Buying a car: Buracracy Part II

So here we are - a family of 4 including 2 kids with pretty healthy appetites. Which is fine by me cause I'd rather have them eat than not. So you can imagine my discoOmfort as a mother when I had to sit down and tell the kids that we would be moving to a system of eating on alternate days.  Girls on Tues, Thurs, Sat and Boys on Mon, Weds, Fri. Sundays, Bailey the Dog will eat. True to form, Caroline immediately started a list about what meals her days should include and Jamie just stared at us and uttered 'macaroni and cheese'. I realize that this seems like a harsh policy but it is the reality when you need to walk miles for your food, slay it in the grocery store and then bring it back in your knapsack. If we were anything but suburban, white, Torontonions with big butts and an appetite for computer games then this might not have been such an issue.  Mighty hunters we are not - except maybe in a virtual world.

The Albert Hypermarket is a 15 minute walk from our house. Well, 15 minutes for most people; 20 for me. I have bad knees you know. The daily walk to Albert was fun at first, but then the operative word became 'daily'. Fun quickly becomes drudgery when you need to walk every day in order to build up any kind of inventory in the fridge or the cupboards. Keeping food in the house when the only vehicle you own is a vintage '64 FEET, is a challenge - volume is simply not doable and deciding who gets to eat the 1 yogourt you could carry home, is no fun at all. Well, who is kidding who, it was fun when I won the yogourt. - especially blueberry. I like blueberry. It didn't take long to figure out that the alternating feeding schedule and yogourt contests simply weren't working. The kids were whining about how unfair it was that the other kids got to eat everyday. And I totally got their point. I was cranky too as hard as that is to imagine. It was time to buy a car.


Except, in the Czech Republic, unless you are an EU citizen, you need to have a long term visa in order to buy and register a car with the SFPD (Secret Foreign Police Dudes) and of course, we only have a short term visa for now. So out on the internet I searched on 'cheap porsches, Czech Republic, 500ck, low mileage, driven by old lady'. While that search didn't yield much, it did lead me to Ciarnan Kelly, or 'just call me Kelly', for short. Kelly is an American living in Prague who has been selling cars there for years (at least that's what it said on the internet so it had to be true, right?). I decided to email him first as I didn't want to appear too eager. He replied immediately with the information that we wanted - and a solution to our problem; I couldn't believe our luck. Because he was so helpful through his emails, we asked if he would send a car to come and get us so that we could look at cars on his lot. Kelly works for AAAAuto and immediately cause of the name I got this whole image in my head of Herb Tarlek sitting behind his desk - which would be situated outside on the car lot - and who has trouble trying not to laugh at the rubes coming by to look at the crap he has for sale.

True to his word, he sent a car for us and after it was an hour late in getting there, we finally did manage to meet him. The image of the lot wasn't far off, but Kelly wasn't any Herb Tarlek; unless Herb is wondering around in Levis and a Red Sox t-shirt. Turns out that Kelly doesn't sell cars anymore, but is instead something much more important in the AAAAuto world but he had decided to take us on as a charity case. I knew the alternating feeding schedule would work in our favour somehow....

After looking at car on the lot which I had deemed as being 'cool' and pretty I was ready to buy. Stu however felt that perhaps we should do a test drive. Details details... At any rate, after 4 hours of backing and forthing and Kelly being very patient and us having endless discussions about what happens if the car we've chosen doesn't have cruise control, or brakes, would that be a problem...we decided to buy. (Its now 10pm and I'm glowing orange again because I am so tired).

But now comes the hard part. Paperwork. Turns out the contracts would be in Czech. The insurance would be in Czech and, this is my personal favourite, because we didn't have the right visa, we would have to register the car in someone elses name. So in essence, buying a car means that you sign a legal document that you can't read, deposit $20,000 into a secret bank account, and then hand the asset over to someone else. Sounds about right to me. So that what we did. Martin, whom at the time we had known for 2 weeks, 'agreed' to own our car. Kelly 'agreed' to keep our $20,000 in his bank account and the SFPD agreed not to arrest us for not having the right visa. Another tick in the win column












   

How do you spell buracracy

I have been told several times to expect bad service, long line ups and general disdain for my angliky-ness when ever you are dealing with the Czech government.  This past week was a total test of that theory and I was not disappointed.

First stop health care.

You need to first understand the sluzby (service) culture here.  Do you remember the lady who growled at me in the Kika when I was trying to get the Kika bus instead of walking home with unfinished furniture in my knapsack?  NO BUS FOR YOU!  Ya well, she turned out to be nice in comparison to many of the clerks, cashiers and other workers that we've had the pleasure of meeting.  I suppose if I were making the equivalent of $15 a day, I'd be grumpy too.  But these people take it to a whole new level.  Its funny how people adjust cause now we just expect it.  In fact if we don't get yelled at or ignored, we think we've done something wrong.

Just in case you thought getting OHIP ( ontario health insurance) was onerous, try getting public health care in CZ.  

Before you can get health care, you need to have a visa and an employment contract.  Imagine you are out for a country drive and you end up in a town that has a friend that you haven't seen in ages.  You arrive totally unexpected; you, the kids, the dog.  No car.  A bank account, but no paycheque.  A nice school for your kids, but no way of paying the tuition. You also have no furniture, but that is totally your problem.  Your friend, not knowing what else to do, ignores you for say, 2 weeks, despite your pleas.   And then after figuring out that you are not going away, scrambles into action.  For us, that friend was IBM Czech Republic.  

Despite the countless emails and meetings, IBM CZ seemed to be totally unaware that we were coming.  And what does this have to do with health care you are asking?  Well when you move to a foreign country and you trying to figure out who pays when you have your stress induced heart attack, health care becomes a concern.  It would appear that sluzby, or lack of it, begins at home.

Fast forward a few weeks and we have all the paperwork (as well as temporary health insurance) and I am now ready to bravely face the people at the VZP (which is the national health care program) in order to get full coverage.  On this particular morning, I take the kids to school with Stu and he then drives me to the address written on the piece of paper I've been given.  I'm not sure why I was expecting there to be a sign on the outside of the building but I was.  Clearly I was setting myself up for disappointment.  We are now somewhere in Prague where the only word I recognize is 'porn'.  No one speaks English and everyone is in a hurry.  I go into a lekarna, which is a drug store, figuring that they might know.  I politely point to the VZP words I have written.  I politely get ignored - that is until I step in front of clerk and shove my paper in front of her and dance the 'where the f*** is this place' dance.  Good news....she knows!

Turns out that the VZP office is a tiny hole in the wall on the first floor of a hospital complex.  As far as I can tell I am the only one who thinks that labeling or numbering the doors would be a good idea.  Actually, Stu thinks so too since he has been trying to find me since parking the car.  At any rate we are together now and we enter the waiting area.  There is a numbering system in the waiting room and this particular machine has 8 options to take a number, each labeled with the particular service you need.  None of them are labeled as 'porn' and as a result we have no idea about the services so we take one of each.   Funny enough, everyone in the waiting area is surprised when one of our numbers comes up first before all the others.  We totally march in ahead of everyone else having skipped the entire queue.  I am expecting to be tackled at any moment so as we walk in, I don't breathe a word of angliky and position myself strategically in front of Stu so that if something happens, he'll take brunt of it and not me.   Me so clever.

The lady expecting us is sitting behind a desk in a small open concept area.  Maybe 5 desks in total.  There will be no secret conversations in this room.  Every one will know who you are and why you are there.  We approach the desk, each with our great big Canadian grins on, and say 'dobre den' just like any average czech.  That, however, is the end of the civilities because the next words I use happen to be in English and that apparently is enough to send her into a not so happy place.  She looks at us with the same stare i've seen before - the kind that comes with an out of body experience that says this cannot be happening to me.  Usually though, they are reserved for things like car accidents and heart attacks and not because someone speaks English.  Fortunately, it only lasts a second before it turns into a rather large and somewhat exaggerated shrug of the shoulders accompanied by the word 'angliky' uttered in a 'you gotta be kidding me ' tone.  This is enough for the others in the office to peak out from behind their computer monitors and giggle in that 'ha ha, you lose' kinda manner.  

Going well so far I think.

I am now emptying my knapsack and producing every piece of paper I have ever received or signed with regard to our move.  This includes my employment contract, lease agreement and passport.  I even produce the last grocery receipt for recently purchased toilet paper.  My thinking here is that if I am buying toilet paper I must be serious about being part of the Czech society.

I am now expecting hands to be thrown up in the air and another shrug.  Instead another lady comes over and in very halting English asks for my name.  I show it to her on one of the papers (and no it wasn't the toilet paper receipt as it has been several years since you've had to provide ID to purchase toilet paper).  She types my name into the computer and prints a 1 page document, applies an official red stamp of some kind and that's it, I've got health care.  At least I think so as there is nothing in my language to indicate that this is really what I've accomplished.  She, however, is convinced that her job is done and we are expected to leave.  I spend 10 minutes gathering up my papers and she watches every move ensuring that we are actually going to walk out.  As if we were gonna hang.

                         

And yes I've disappeared for a while. Life just has a way of of being all or nothing and in the past two weeks, it's been both. As of August 31, I was cut off from IBM Canada and while I expected it to happen it became apparent that IBM CZ did not. As of today, Sept 13, I am mostly functional again. And it has taken that long to get me a CZ ID card, CZ email, a new computer and an application for a corporate credit card. I am however still missing my lunch vouchers. I'm not exactly sure what they are but I think that, by law, IBM has to subsidize my eating. I expect that there are not enough vouchers to subsidize my drinking. Sigh....

Still in the all or nothing category, Mike and Christina arrived with Bailey the dog on the exact same day that we finally got our furniture. I was away when it all happened but from what I understand, Bailey was more than a little annoyed that we left her and moved to another continent. I really don't get it. Not only did we leave her at the Ross Dog Spa in Smiths Falls where she was in more than capable hands, I made it a point to tell her what was happening. I opened a bottle of red and sat her down and explained that we were moving and that she would follow. Apparently, she has the selective hearing of any other child and only heard blah, blah, blah, leaving, blah, blah, 9 hours in a crate, blah, blah, pee on your blanket while in the crate at 36,000 ft. As you can see I really glammed it up but she was having none of it.

We spent the weekend in Czesky Raj again and this time we packed a lunch rather than chance the larded chleb and chicken smoz from a couple of weeks back. We took Mike and Christina there and they found it just as beautiful as we did. We stayed in a lovely chateau built on a sandstone overhang with a gorgeous view. Miles from nowhere. Which becomes important when you arrive at recepce and they point politely to the 'we do not accept credit cards' sign and wait while you try to find the billion Czech krown from your pockets to prepay the bill. Alas, lint is not legal tender so off we go back to town to find a bank machine that will give us enough cash. 45 minutes later we are back at the chateau and can actually continue our day as all debts have been paid - including 100 ck for Bailey the dog to stay with us.

After hiking for a bit we decided to drive to Jicin which is a town about 30 mins south of where we were staying. Jicin was hosting the annual Fairies festival under the stars and we all thought it would be neat to go see. Hmmmm...

Any guesses as to what we got?

Take a small town square. Add one heavy metal band. 20 Czech fast food kiosks. Too many teenagers in tight jeans, white tennis shoes and some kinda t-shirt. A generous dose of mullet hair cuts. Cheesy dollar store stuff. And the entire town population..and you got yourself a Fairies festival. We lasted long enough to try some of the food. I had some kinda potato thing with onions and sauerkraut and cheese and a whole lot of yum. There was also smoked ham on the spit served with a slice of rye and horseradish. It reminded me of the Food Building at the Ex. Good, fast and cheap but mostly regrettable within 12 hours of consumption.

All in all though a very good weekend.

Let them eat chleb...

Imagine you are hungry.

Not a little hungry, but superdyduper hungry.  The kind of hunger you might get if you just climbed a billion stairs to see some famous castle in the middle of Bohemia.  And that you are with your friends and their kids and dogs and that you are with your family (minus the dog cause she isn't even in the country yet).  And that everyone is hungry and tired and just a little cold cause apparently summer ends in July and this is clearly August. 

Anyway, what would you do?  

Well, like us I think that you would head to the only restaurace that you can find - at the bottom of the hill near the castle. And naturally so would everyone else who has made the trek to the same famous castle that you are sure has a name but you don't know what it is.

And, like us, since you would be the only non-Czechs in the very busy restaurace you would be ignored until everyone else served by the one waiter dude who happens to be more than a little crusty on this particular winter Saturday in August.

And so we sit.  And wait.   And listen to the kids whine about how hungry they are and that they are going DIE at any moment cause they haven't eaten for 3 hours and that there is a McDonalds on the outskirts of Prague that we could get to in just over an hour if we left now.   (The McDonalds thing actually makes sense given how long we've been waiting, but we are on our first Czech adventure for the weekend and damn it, we will eat Czech food.)  

So while we wait, we study the menu which is all in czech.  Between us, we recognize 4 words:  chleb, kureci, Coca and Cola.  It is settled then; we will all have bread and chicken and Coca Cola for our meal.  Except for Caroline who has spotted the Czech word for Fanta.  There are worse meals than bread and chicken and I'm sure it won't kill us.   And so we order 8 chicken somthings and a hundred litres of Coke.    

In the meantime, because my Czech bathtowel dance has been so successful in the past, I take it upon myself to order enough chleb for the table.  I change up the dance to replace the rubbing of my arms in a drying motion with a pointing at the menu and hugging the whole table to ensure we get enough chleb for everyone.  Crusty waiter dude can't believe what he is witnessing and the look on his face says it all.  He has obviously never learned the dialect of Czech that I speak/dance/mime.   

Turns out that crusty waiter dude wasn't staring at me cause my Czech is a little suspect.  He can't believe I ordered what I just ordered.  The chleb part was right but apparently I should have paid more attention to the 6 words after that. I now know that they stood for (in no particular order):  vile, disgusting, horrid, bad and finally 'don't do it'.

What we ended up with was 8 pieces of rye bread covered in a thick layer of pork lard topped with breaded nuggets of cold pork fat, topped with red onion. I don't ever remember wanting to spit something out in a restarace before, but this, this, was totally overwhelmingly vile.  You know the saying 'going to the dogs?'. That is exactly where this stuff went to.  Frodo and Lucky loved their impromptu meal and we didn't have to eat it. Win-win.

They might be giants

Back to school.

This year that phrase holds so much more meaning for all of us. New city, new school, new friends, new shoes...or not.

Shoes, pants, shirts, boxerkys (you can't make that word up)and shoes. Doesn't seem to matter, we can't find it in our size. The problem is that everyone in Czech is the same size. And since we are imports, there is an obvious conversion error. For example, Czech boxerkys come in sizes small and smaller which convert to Canadian size of 'dont fit my ass'.

The general Czech population all appear to be the same size which I think is a hangover from the communist days when someone decreed that everyone would be a size 10 and would like black clothing. Since that day the whole population has been bred to be a size 10. Even now when the borders are open and the shelves are stocked with a multitude of styles, those styles only come in size 10. The funny part is watching the toddlers in Wenseslas Square trying to walk in baby's first size 10's.

So where does that leave us? Well, pretty much on the nudie side of the equation. Two days ago we spent hours at the Chodov mall shopping for shoes for the kids to go back to school in. Thank God that both kids are in school uniforms, otherwise we'd still be at the mall. How hard can it be to find a pair of dress shoes for the boy and a pair of running shoes for the girl? We spent the first hour in the Czech version of Payless which would be very good value for your Czech koruna except that every box contained a size 10 shoe. We then spent the 2nd hour - well I spent the 2nd hour - explaining to Jamie that he wasn't getting a pair of Bugattis before I did. It wasn't until the 3rd hour and 4th store that we found something in the kids sizes. And I will be damned if we weren't going to buy them.

Even now, 3 days later, Jamie is not overly happy with the spiked heels and Caroline doesn't care for the smell of the polyethylene, but I don't care. Our kids have new school shoes, just like they would if they were in Canada.

Continuity is critical.

More to Jerusalem than feet

In case you were wondering, there is a lot more to jerusalem than feet.  

I love history. Understanding where we came from, how things ended up the way they did, learning about the past.  Fascinating.  I know it is like watching paint dry to many people, but for me it is pure excitement.  So getting a glimpse of a city which has been standing and which has been fought over for more than 3000 years was pure bliss for me.   So bring along your imagination for a few minutes and travel with me to jerusalem. 

I am working in Tel Aviv and there is really no good way to get to Jerusalem except through a bus tour.  I've taken enough of them to know what to expect but it still doesn't make it any easier  I already know that someone will show in their 3" 'touring' heels and they'll be in bare feet at some point after they figure it out.  I also know that 4 of the 5 people we will pick up wont get the 'be ready at 7:15am memo'.  And finally, I also that it is not good for the heart to get all worked up about this before breakfast and that I will need a distraction.   Since I am  going to Jerusalem I figure I've got a choice of 3 Gods that I can pray to in order to get that distraction.  God must be American cause that's what he sends me. 

We've all met him somewhere before.  The American on tour.  Dressed in his finest pink polo shirt and navy shorts with skater dude shoes - the kind that Jamie likes -except that Jamie is 13 and my distraction is 65 and bald on top. We'll call him Tony. As in Tone-ehh, you know like his buds would call him when he enters the pub at home. Tone-ehh is accompanied by his 30 year old dolly friend that he picked up in Italy. She has no idea how old he is, or at least that is what he volunteered to me.  I must have had my 'I'm alone, please speak to me' shirt on.  Oh, and he's always done one better than you.  Always.   

Once inside the gates, it is easy to forget about Tone-ehh. The city is at once dirty and dusty and hot and noisy and cramped and old and alive.  But above all it is a city that you can feel.  Every street has a story.  Every building has a history.  People have been fighting over this land since before there was an Israel. When it was just desert and mountains and literally the centre of the known world which is why the Egyptians and the Phoenicians and the Babylonians and the Romans and the Hebrews wanted control (don't ask me in what order who conquered who - but I bet that Tone-ehh knows).  To control this land was to control trade and much that was known to mankind.  All roads lead to Rome?  Ya well, throw Israel in there too.

Jerusalem is divided into quarters: Armenian, Jewish, Christian and Muslim.  On this particular day they all seem to want to live in harmony with each other which makes me happy. I've already managed to see one terrorist incident in Tel Aviv, I don't need another.  Perhaps it is the precense of hundreds of army and swat team members with big-ass guns that dissuades people. No matter.

We have reached the Wailing Wall.  One of the most sacred sites in all of Judaism. If my story is correct, this was the site of the original Jewish temples from way back when.  After the 2nd one was destroyed and a mosque was built on top of the site, no one dared destroy the mosque because the 3rd temple can only be built on that site by the Jewish messiah when he arrives.  The Wailing Wall is the western wall from the 2nd temple and the only surviving piece of that holy place.  I'm fascinated by the devoutness of the people praying at the wall. It is not something that I have in me and for someone to live their lives with such faith is not something you see everyday.  

Tone-ehh has goose bumps in memory of his mother even though he's not really religious or Jewish.  Of course he has.  I need to put on a different t-shirt.

On to the Via Dolorosa. The street Jesus walked on the way to his crucifixion. The 14 stations of the cross leading to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.  However, I must admit that I am more transfixed on lunch than I am on the church.  At 54 degrees I need to eat and drink and reenergize. Tone-ehh is behind me speaking with a young man from the Congo. He is about 6'4" and black and while I didn't hear the whole conversation, I did hear ... 'look at you, you must love basketball.  Who is your team?'. I love Tone-ehh.

After lunch we go to the church. The church is built on the site of Jesus' crucifixion and the ground which held the cross is glassed in with an alter built in front of it. Similarly, inside the church is the slab of rock where they prepared his body for burial.  People are kneeling and praying at the slab and it is no less a site than seeing the jews at the Wailing Wall.  Jesus lived and was real that much I'm certain of, but whether or not he is a God is a debate for another day.  Standing here and taking it all in really makes you think and wonder.  

I wish I knew where Tone-ehh is to share the moment. 

   

On the road...

I have been in Israel for a couple of days now.  Very Very hot.  Like >50 degrees hot.  Enough to kill you hot.  I spent the day in Jerusalem in the old city and it was everything I ever imagined.  The history, the religion, the people, the narrow alleys, the Muslims being called to prayer, the Jews at the wailing wall, the feet....

Ah, the feet you ask?

Ya well when you are here and it is 54 degrees out, you can't help but notice people's feet.  I know its weird, but think about it: its too flippin hot to do anything so anytime you can, you sit in a shady spot with your head lowered trying to keep your face out of the sun.  That leaves you without nothing but cobblestone and feet to look at and since most people are in sandals, feet it is. 

And where exactly am I going with this?  Well, here is my thinking.  If you were gonna wander around all day and have your feet on display, wouldn't you want to have your nails cut, you know or clean them, at least a little?  Or, and this is just crazy talk I know, how bout even wearin' shoes of some kind?  Kids mostly, but come on, there are '000's of people wandering through there, its just gross. 

PUT    ON     SOME     SHOES

And while you are at it, cut your nails and clean your toes.  Prosim. 

Refugee status was granted..part 2

So as we sit at Kika alternating between panic, hilarity and hunger (cause now its about 1:00pm)I phone Stu cause he'll know what to do. So I call him and the first thing out of his mouth is 'I don't know what to do'. Eventually the panic in my voice gets him moving and a cab arrives. Now why didn't I think of that? Well truth is, I tried to call a cab but the number I had didn't work and even if it had what are the odds that I could dance my way through that phone call. And I didn't need any more bath towels.  So in we pile with our unfinished linen closet and various sundries for the 500 ck ride home. It's obvious that the cab driver dude sees me for what I am cause for that same price I could have gone to Tuscany. Another lesson learned: panic costs.

Home again and still no groceries as we were supposed to pick them up after we had the linen closed delivered.  So this time Caroline and I walk to the other side of town where there is the local version of a 7-11. I willingly pay premium price for Dr Oeteker frozen pizza some laundry soap and 2 pivos. Clean laundry and a full belly...maybe things will be ok.

And then it happens.

Our gate rings. All the houses in the 'hood have locked gates and you have to be buzzed in. But cause we are the crappiest house in the nicest neighbourhhood (even though the house is really very nice) we can't actually buzz anyone in, we have to go to the front gate and open it. If we had staff this would be the type of thing we'd send them out to do but, you know, on this particular day the staff aren't available so we answer the gate ourselves. And while on the outside we are playing it cool at the thought of someone visiting, inside we are all doing jumpy claps.  

I thought at first it that maybe the cashier lady from Kika and was still mad and she had found where I lived.  But it wasn't her. It's Debbie and Dee and we are very happy to know them. Hi! We say. Hi! They say. So far so good, this Czech language isn't as hard as people say it is.   Debbie and Dee have come to invite the new girl (that's me) to the wine bar with all the ladies from the hood.  Really, the more things change, the more they stay the same.  So now I have to figure out how to tell them that I actually have to go bed soon cause its almost 6:30pm and I will turn into a pumpkin.  So while they chat with Stu and the kids, I formulate my plan of action.  I will tell them that I am very tired from the move and that I'll have to pass for tonight.  How sneaky is that!  

In the meantime as I am lost in my own little scheme, they either looked in the house and saw that we were without furniture or Stu actually told them.  I'm still not sure which, but no matter it was obviously enough to get their attention.  So while I am getting ready for bed (going onto 7 now) the ladies at the wine bar are apparently busy making a plan and creating the Pruhonice Refugee Rescue Committee or PRRC for short.  Who knew?  Within an hour the PRRC has elected a board of directors and taken on its first case - oh and consumed about 5 bottles of bubbly.  And since there is no sense in wasting any time, the gate rings again (with still no staff to answer it if you can imagine) and the husbands of the members of the newly formed PRRC arrive at the door with blow up beds, sleeping bags, lawn chairs and most importantly a cooler full of Czech beer.  Being a refugee might be ok.  In all seriousness, we are totally thrilled and overwhelmed by the fact that these people whom we have never met before have decided to adopt us.  So while John and Martin blow up the mattresses we of course do the neighbourly thing and invite them in for one of their beers.  And since nothing says beer drinking like a good snack of watermelon (remember, no groceries right) we cut some of that up with our newly purchased Ikea cutlery and serve snacks to our new friends.

By now its going on to 10pm and I've started to glow the orange that I do when I'm about to turn into a pumpkin.  Except that just as I'm trying to go to bed, John puts me in his van and drives me all the way up to the wine bar to meet the ladies.  I have to meet them he says, why I say, because he says.  Good enough for me.  Suffice to say, 1 hour at the wine bar followed by 1 hour at the chip shop with creepy guy and then followed again by one hour at the 'dance' bar.  Oi!  Did I mention that the dance bar has a pole in the middle of the dance floor and the ladies from the committee have decided that they own the pole.  So now, in case you didn't follow along proper like, let me summarize:  I tried to go to bed at 6:30 but instead ended up watching the neighbourhood ladies pole dance till 1:30am.  Everyone try to keep up please! 

Refugee status was granted...

Maybe not not the same refugee status that the Tamils will get when they land in BC, but we were declared refugees none the less. Lemme splain.

Friday we moved into the house; 4 weeks from Friday we will get our furniture. Really not the best start and all thanks to a longshoreman's strike in Montreal.  All week I've been hearing about "the official handover" for the house and all week I've been totally primed for it cause I'm thinking there will be cake and balloons and everything. Nope.  The official handover means you get a set of keys and a bunch of instruction books for the appliances, which are all written in Czech. Not even a sniff of cake.

So now we have keys, no cake, and we are ready to sit and relax. Except, we don't have anywhere to sit. So Jamie and I decide (well really I decide) to walk to Kika which is a German version of Ikea. The operative word is walk. It's only 15 minutes but when you are trying to carry large unassembled furniture in a knapsack it becomes a problem. There is zero English in the shops here in Pruhonice and so when I get to the cash, I speak my very best English loudly to make them understand. I then add a dance. And the lady behind the counter speaks just as loudly back at me in Czech.  She doesn't dance which is probably where the communication problem is, but I don't say anything.  In the meantime, the people behind me in the lineup are either fascinated or frightened and it would be hard to tell except that  en masse they leave to go over to the other checkout so my money is on frightened.

So I turn my attention back to the lady behind my cash.  I speak loudly and slowly and dance the word for 'delivery' one more time.  She smiles back sweetly, slams down the 'we are now closed' sign at the end of the cash desk, takes my visa card and dismisses me.  Thank you for your patronage. 

In the meantime, Jamie is sitting in some big comfy chair he found by the exit, watching youtube on his ipod and totally oblivious to this whole thing and I've got about 100lbs of linen cupboards and area rugs to get home.  More to come. 

Good news for all the ladies

Bra sizes are international. So the same 44 DD I was at home has translated just nicely over here.

How to find a door... and other lessons

Ok. Did I mention the irish pub? Apparently we are the only ones who go to bed around 10:00PM, everyone else is at the Irish pub right below our open windows. I'm old and have a day job which makes me cranky when the ladies from the hen parties start their drinking at 10 and then spill into the streets so that we can all enjoy the fun. They are all the same - they travel in packs of 4 or 5 and usually include the bride to be in a wedding veil or tiara and everyone in matching t-shirts that say:

Sarah's last day of freedom
Prague 2010
Celebrated with:

Samantha
Laurie
Catherine
Amy

And since I'm bilingual now that roughly translates into:

Olga's last day of freedom
Praha 2010
Celebratedenska with:

Sarka
Danil
Vera
Jarenka

Damn I'm old.

Which leads me to my next topic, How to find a door. How odd you may be saying, and yes you would be correct. So, because I have a day job and we are relatively responsible parents we were not out drinking all night but instead were trying to sleep so that we could get up and meet with our friendly bank lady at the local Ceska Sporitelna. Jarka was expecting us for 9:00am and it was a 10 minute walk from the apartment.

What they don't tell you is that in prague the addresses can be wonky. So you walk past one building and it is addressed as Ryterska 4 and the the building next to it is Ryterska 7 and the one after that is 23 and then you are back number 6. There is no rhyme or reason. But it gets even better cause when you find the building, they put the entrances behind big wooden doors and hide them from the public. So when you are already late cause you couldn't find the right address and then you couldn't find the door, you just become more latherer. And then you ask 3 different dudes on the street and they send you in 3 different directions AND one of you has some kind of gps thingy that couldn't possibly steer you wrong, that just makes you ..well..I'll leave that up to you. Lesson 1: go early and know your vystups.

We have arrived

Well, we have arrived.

We have settled into our dingy apartment and outside of the fact that can afford groceries and arrived with more than a $1 in our pockets, we could be refugees. Language has been a bit of a barrier so far but nothing I couldn't get over by doing the same squaky chicken dance that I learned in China.. You know the one where you stand on 1 leg and rub both arms furiously underneath opposite armpits. This of course is the international language for bath towels. Which, by the way, were on sale at our newly adopted Tesco store. 236 czk - down from 399 czk. (divide by 18 if you care to convert)


We cant figure out if groceries are cheaper or more expensive. Pasta seems very expensive at about 40 czk but things like fresh tomatoes seem very cheap at about 16 czk for 8 fresh, juicy ones. Deodorant also seems very cheap which leaves me wondering why it is used so infrequently by many members of society here. I may just go buy some and hand it out to folks as a free "we are from Canada, have a free gift from us" token of appreciation. I'm still thinking on that one.

We wandered the old town a bit today and while Stu and I were still inspired by the buildings and the beauty of it all, our globetrotting children seem to be slightly jaded. Apparently a trip to Rome or London qualifies as having been there and done that so no need to see another set of ruins or old buildings or clocks or churches and stuff.

Tomorrow it's off to work and then for a visit to our new house.