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.
Cesky Raj
A trip to Cesky Raj
Caroline in a treetop climb
Jamie at Cesky Raj Park
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, August 20, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
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!
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!
Monday, August 16, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
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.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, August 08, 2010
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.
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.
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