Travels through Germany and the Czech Republic / 1994
Wilhelm Raabe, a German writer, once exclaimed, "Oh, Prague, what a piece of my free soul you took away from me!" After spending six days strolling through the mystical capital of the Czech Republic, Prague took more than just my soul. It took my Kathy.
I was trying to figure out who I was, and didn't think I could do so while I remained tied to my life in Columbus, Ohio: family, friends; work, school. All of it was a life lived under constraints. I attended The Ohio State University because I could afford it - they offered me the most financial aid. My job was the easiest one I could get. All my friends were just people who lived next door or a few floors down in my dorm. Would I consider them my friends if I were thousands of miles away? And my family, well, I had no choice about them. "So who's the guy underneath it all?" I wondered. When all the influence of others is stripped away, what's left?
Of course, I couldn't really find out unless I got away from it all, went somewhere where I would not have any ties - some place I could just be me.
And so, I went to Europe.
The idea occurred to me sometime during my third summer behind the counter of a Dairy Queen. A guy can only stomach so many Peanut Buster Parfaits. Not that I actually ate that much ice cream. Hearing thirty-seven customers announce daily, "If I worked here, I wouldn't stop eating - I'd be so fat!", can really curb an appetite. Weight Watchers had nothing on our clientele.
The lack of imagination on the part of the customers really bothered me. Often times, they would peruse the menu before settling on the same thing they've had for the last nine years or so. This had its advantages of course, like when we'd get a new person on staff.
"See that guy about to walk in the door," I'd whisper. "Nutty Double Fudge."
The rookie would be amazed when the gentleman would step up, take a look at the menu hanging overhead for two or three minutes, as if today may be the one day he doesn't get a Nutty Double Fudge, but then of course he'd do it. He'd do what he'd been doing once a week for as long as I'd been there, and order his Nutty Double Fudge.
Another time I was coming from the back room and witnessed a trainee pause at the blizzard machine, as if to think.
"What's wrong?" I inquired.
"I forgot what kind she wanted," she said. "I'm too embarrassed to ask."
I looked at the customer and back to the trainee. "Her eyes suggest sadness. She definitely wants a Pecan Cluster."
"That's it!" she exclaimed, before adding two spoonfuls of pecans, a half a pump of fudge, and a half a pump of caramel.
I always wondered if the customers studied the menu so much, just to make sure we still had what they wanted, or if they were just stalling, not wanting to get home to their unimaginative lives. The owner always got a kick out of my thoughts on these matters, but they were never truly appreciated by other employees or the customers. But then, the customers never did value my techniques as a soft serve artiste, either. Finishing the cone with the patented Dairy Queen curl is something that takes time and effort to perfect. Unfortunately, that's always the first part of the cone to go.
Don't get me wrong, Dairy Queen did have its positive aspects. Where else can you get unlimited free refills on every flavor of Mr. Mistee? Where else can you get an official Dairy Queen shirt with an official DQ logo on the sleeve? Only at Dairy Queen do they treat you right.
In the end, however, these were not incentive enough to compensate the monotony. My friends at Burger King always complained about their work, too, but at least they had variety. Customers demanding it made their way: hold the mayo, extra cheese please, no salt on those fries. At Dairy Queen people just don't take risks. If only I could have traded the sameness of the small vanilla cone for the high drama found in burgers and fries. Now there would be excitement.
Out of all the staff members, only the manager had been there longer than moi. I was even known as "the cake man," for the ease and efficiency with which I was able to craft and decorate the Dairy Queen ice cream cakes ("Take one home today" went the commercial). I became a legend in ice cream. This was who I was: the cake man at the corner Dairy Queen.
Or was it? I began to think that there had to be something more to life. Was I really letting the world out there slip by because some guy relied on me to make his cakes? So he could fill his pockets? This was his life, not mine, I decided.
It was September 2, 1993 when I vowed to never again pass the hours of my vacation behind the counter of the Dairy Queen. It wasn't enough, however, to just claim liberation from the frosty shackles of the shake machine. Somehow I had to demonstrate to the ice cream world that freedom was mine.
And that is how it occurred that on June 30, 1994, I found myself aboard TWA Flight 740 as it touched down in Frankfurt, Germany. Four weeks before I broke up with my girlfriend. Three weeks before I bought a plane ticket. One week before I bought a brand new bag. Dad had pulled all the suitcases out of the attic for me to look over. I told him I wanted to travel a bit lighter than either him or Mom could picture. I wanted to step off the plane with nothing but the bag upon my back. No check-through luggage for me.
After landing, I thought the first thing to do would be securing a room for the night. Information was helpful in telling me where the Frankfurt youth hostel was. In order to get there, I took my first ride on the Eurail system. Every country in Europe is connected to the others by hundreds of thousands of miles of railroad tracks. A Eurailpass is good for passage on just about any train in seventeen countries in continental Europe (including Ireland). For the low price of seven-hundred sixty dollars, I was able to travel the rail system for sixty days, twenty-four hours a day. After validating my pass at the Airport, my train adventure began, as I made my way to the Frankfurt Haus der Jugend, where my first ever hostelling experience began with a hot shower followed by a not-so-hot meal of meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, green beans and a Coke.
Later that night, I found myself in the hostel lobby, chatting and playing cards with one of the guys assigned to the same room as me. Eventually Blaine from California started telling dumb jokes. It became a contest, which of us had the worst riddle. Most were groaners, at least that was the response elicited from the young lady sitting in the corner, thumbing through some fashion magazine.
"Want to join us?" Blaine asked, after she eventually chuckled at a particularly stupid joke.
"No. I'm waiting for a friend."
"Suit yourself."
We continued with the jokes, and she continued to be amused here and there behind the pages of her magazine. I thought we should try again.
"Mind if we join you?" I asked.
"I guess that'd be cool. What're you guys playing?"
Just then her friend showed up. "If we have four, I guess we're playing euchre," I answered.
Kathy and Molly were about two weeks into their own two month trek around Europe. In the morning they would be making their way to either Berlin, Munich or Prague, they informed me, and asked if I wanted to join them. I was a bit split on this. A third of me wanted to go with them, a third wanted to stay and check out Frankfurt, and a third didn't want to impose. Since that was two-thirds against, I declined. After a few rounds of euchre, a few rounds of stories, and the obligatory tips for touring this crazy new continent (it was my first day after all), they wished me the best of luck. Halfway up the stairs, they realized they never learned my name.
"Just call me Mr. Man," I winked. And with that, Kathy and Molly were gone.
I soon found that Frankfurt was not the greatest city for just hanging around checking things out. It is an industrial city, the likes of a Detroit. As far as I can tell, Detroit is not the first city people visit when venturing to the United States for the first time. I had only ventured to Frankfurt because it was the cheapest city to fly into.
Within two days, I was on to Munich. The information booth at the Munich train station provided information on a few youth hostels so I just picked one. And that's where I discovered the usefulness of having a reservation. Fortunately, I had taken the night train, so it was early enough to get to another Jugendherberge before they even opened for check-in. While waiting for the gate to open, I found myself pulling out my trick card deck. I only knew one trick, but it was enough to impress the Japanese people who arrived just after me. Of course, they may not have been impressed at all. They were probably insulted and laughing at me for thinking they didn't know the secret. After an hour of chatting with people who didn't understand me, I was thrilled when I heard a familiar voice.
"Hey! It's Mr. Man."
And with that, Kathy and Molly were back. They had spent the last few nights in this very hostel and were taking a day trip out to a concentration camp. We made plans to do dinner after they got back from a day trip to Dachau and I got back from free museum day in downtown Munich (Sundays if you get the chance).
The heart of Germany has a strong Turkish population, so we decided to try our tongues at this cuisine. Maybe sausages and potatoes and beer were growing old (but probably just the sausage and potatoes). After dinner we went to a beer garden and that is where it happened. That's when I fell in love with Kathy.
It was the night before the fourth of July, I remember because we were the only ones celebrating. Kicking back over a couple steins full of dark beer, we passed the hours exchanging stories, trading life experiences. Now I have always been known as a story teller among my friends. Perhaps a little too well known. As soon as I begin "The Orange Kool-Aid Story" or "The Kim Deal Story" or any other adventure I'd undertaken, friends would either run from the room, or run to cover my mouth. Not Kathy, though. She was the most appreciative of audiences.
"Your turn, Mr. Man," she noted after telling about the time she and Molly met at age five. "Make it a good one."
I began. "I guess I could tell about the time I met Kim Deal."
"Kim Deal?" Kathy interrupted.
"Yeah, she was the bassist for the Pixies and is now lead singer of the Breeders."
"I know who Kim Deal is! I love Kim Deal. You actually met her?"
Kathy was the only person I ever told the story to, who listened attentively throughout, asking relevant questions, and oohing and ahhing at the appropriate moments. What was formerly the twenty minute Kim Deal Story became the two hour Kim Deal Experience as I included every minute detail I could remember from the brief moments I shared with my rock star hero. And after the telling was ended, the three of us discussed our favorite parts of the telling, I repeated a few of them, and then we all joined in singing our favorite Pixies and Breeders songs. The fact that she could completely delight in my own experience, that she truly understood the power and meaning of my encounter, told me something about Kathy. We would forever be connected in Kim. I loved her immediately.
We became lost in the moment until Molly pointed out that it was 12:45 and the hostel locked its gates at precisely one in the morning (apparently they had tested this the night before). Jumping up, we ran to the nearest bus line, not even stopping for the fountain that stood between us and our bed for the night. We arrived back just in time, too, as the man was unlocking his padlock to clamp on the iron gate.
Just before they reached their room, they informed me that they would definitely be heading to Berlin the next day. I had just arrived in Munich that morning, so I wanted to stay and see a few more of the sights. But I wasn't prepared to lose them again. Odds were probably against running into them a third time at some random point on my trip. Standing there slightly intoxicated and sopping wet from the fountain, I pleaded. "Take me with you to Prague!"
"We'll talk," Kathy replied. "Breakfast. Seven-thirty."
I often wonder what Kathy and Molly said to each other after retiring to their room. What were their individual opinions about some guy they just met tagging along on their European vacation? Well, I know at least one of them had no problem with it. As soon as we sat down to our continental breakfasts the next morning, we started making plans for getting to Berlin. The question did not come up at all of whether they'd let me intrude on their trip. It was just understood we were now traveling together.
I traveled with Kathy and Molly for the next ten days or so. We planned on staying only two days in Prague, but that was before we got there. Franz Kafka was right when he wrote of the city, "Prague doesn't release you. This Mutterchen (little mother) has claws." Kathy and Molly were only able to get out after six days; it took me slightly longer.
I wasn't sure how it happened, but as soon as we arrived, Prague was home. Traveling through a foreign continent, visiting a different city every few days, often discovering a different language each time, it is difficult to feel truly comfortable in any one locale. Stepping off the train in Prague, we knew we had found something special.
Perhaps it is the ease with which one can navigate through Prague that makes it special. There are three metro lines in Prague: A, B, and C. If that isn't easy enough, they are also color coded: red, yellow, and green. These three lines go anywhere in the city that one would want to go. Prague is cordial, warmhearted and, after an hour, it is a familiar friend.
In addition to the friendliness of the city, it is also one of the most inexpensive in Europe. I had brought along one of those happy travel guides to point out places of interest along the way, like "Mozart slept here" or "This is where Kafka did laundry." My guide was Europe on $50 Dollars a Day. After two weeks, I was doing Europe on less than thirty dollars a day, a fact that can be attributed to the simple fact that by the end of those weeks, half of my time had been spent in Prague. It is possible to dine at a cozy sit-down restaurant on five dollars, and that covers a salad, a main course, a beer, a dessert with coffee and the service. Of course, if you find that beer better than anything America could offer, and you want a second, you must be willing to pay the extra fifty cents. Cultural events are similarly underpriced. We paid less than ten dollars to hear a string quartet perform Dvorak at one of the renowned music halls. They have it all - dymphonies, orchestra, even marionette operas!
My favorite was the black light theater. Imagine sitting in a theatre. It's pitch black and suddenly you see a person floating across the stage! Throughout the performance, other objects just seem to float in the air: people, plants and trees, animals, and ghosts. The concept was that the background and the stage-hands all were cloaked in black felt. The objects were either white or a neon color. The only light cast on the performance was a black light, which illuminated the main character but not the two big guys that were carrying her or any of the other props around. The performance was titled "Aspects of Alice" and centered a slightly grown up Alice, a few years after her time in Wonderland. Very well done.
All of this is secondary, however, to the look and feel of the medieval city. Hradcany is the castle that dominates the city's skyline, and has done so for the past 1,000 years. For anyone to visit the Old Town Square and the area of Vaclavska Namesti and stay less than a week would be simply immoral. Everywhere you turn, from Wenceslas Square to the banks of the Vltava to the former Prague Ghetto, there is a feel of being connected with the history of the so-called 'City of a Hundred Spires'.
And it was with Kathy that I experienced it all. With Kathy, I journeyed out to the town cemetery in search of the grave of Franz Kafka; with Kathy, I strolled the St. Charles Bridge (Karluv Most), tossing coins to the street performers who danced with their marionettes; and with Kathy, I ate. Each night brought a new cafe or restaurant where we dined in style, whether it was roast pork with dumplings and sauerkraut at U Radnice, nachos and beer at Jo's Bar, or just crepes at a street stand.
Kathy and Molly were getting restless, though. Not that they didn't want to remain there forever, people watching at the Statue of St. Wenceslas in Nove Mesto or watching the figure of Death ring the death knell on the astronomical clock in the Stare Mesto. They had a rough itinerary of places they still wanted to discover before heading back to Washington, D.C. and Colorado, respectively. Their plan was to head out to Turkey on the night train. I did want to go with them. I still had to profess my love to Kathy, after all. But one thing kept me from going with them. Maureen.
During one of those end-of-the-school-year "What are you doing this summer?" conversations, I discovered that my friend Maureen would also be spending the season abroad, studying in the Czech Republic at the Prague Agricultural Institute. She said she'd get me her address and phone number, and I said I'd certainly come see her if I found myself in Prague. "Don't count on it, though." I told her. "I don't really have any set plans, nor do I want to make any."
I think I was exiting the train from Berlin in the main Prague terminal before I realized that I didn't have any number or address for Maureen. In all the confusion of moving out of the residence hall and back home, getting my plane ticket and Eurailpass, and trying to find stylish clothes so as not to look completely like an ignorant tourist, I never got her address. It couldn't be that difficult to find her, though. Prague is not a large city on the scale of New York or Paris. Besides, how many Prague Agricultural Institutes can there be?
And so, out of duty to the promise I made a friend, I regretfully declined to continue my adventures with Kathy and Molly. I saw them off at the train station. Throughout our time together, I had been the supplier of the gum. As I stood on the platform and looked up at them, the train starting to hum, Kathy asked if I had any more gum. I had one piece and handed it up through the window. Just as the train started to pull out of the station, she took it, split it, and handed me back a third. "Three ways," she smiled. "Friends forever." And with that she was gone. I chewed that piece of gum longer than I'd ever chewed a piece of gum before; until it was but a few pieces of grit loosely connected with saliva. Prague had taken me from my Kathy.
It was late, so I made my way back to the OASA youth hostel. At 160 Czech crowns per night (at the time $1 bought 28 crowns), it was definitely the cheapest hostel I stayed at during my travels. The Berlin Jugendcamp was about the same price, but that was just for a spot on the floor of a giant tent - not my own bed and locked storage space, with a continental breakfast.
At least I had my agenda for the entire next day mapped out: Find Maureen. I knew it wouldn't be easy. All I had to go on was the name of the university. But I had to find her, or my departure from Kathy and Molly would have been all for nought. I did have my address book with me - for the few postcards I would send - which had her address in Columbus in it. Figuring her roommate might have more information, I made the long distance connection, first checking to make sure it wasn't four in the morning there. Tani had no phone number for Maureen in Prague but gave me the number of Maureen's parents in Indiana. When I called them, they advised me not to bother calling the university. Apparently the switchboard operators only speak Czech. Their way of communicating was to wait for the weekly call from Maureen, but that wouldn't work for me. They were able to give me the name of her advisor, though. "If you run across Majka Nemcova while you're there, he'd know how to find Maureen." So now all I had to go on was Prague Agricultural Institute and Majka Nemcova.
Upon waking, my first stop was at an information booth. I had the simple question, "can you direct me to the Prague Agricultural Institute." The lady with the big smile directed me to take one bus to another and get off at the second to last stop. That would be it. Sounded simple enough. My first problem was deciding which direction to go. When I got to the second bus, I found that it ran north and south. It didn't list which one went to the Prague Agricultural Institute. I figured if I didn't find it one way, I could go back the other way. I sat near the middle of the bus and hoped the driver would speak in English. Unfortunately, he didn't say any words that sounded remotely like those within the name of the school, choosing to say something like "U koncete vystup a nastup. Dvere se zaviraji," which is not useful at all to someone with no understanding of Czech. It wasn't until the bus stopped and the bus driver stared at me and said something that I realized I was at the end of the line. The second to last stop had come and gone and I had not seen any sign of a university. I walked across the street and waited for the next bus going back the way I had just came from. As the bus made its first stop, I jumped out. I figured I should make sure the university is nowhere around before I took the bus all the way back across town.
Just outside the bus stop, I saw a gravel road that stretched about a quarter of a mile, down behind some trees. Feeling adventurous, I walked along the path and was rewarded when I saw a sign. Praha Institut. This had to be it. Beyond the sign were some big gates and a cluster of about eight or ten buildings.
Nothing distinguished one from another, so I picked one. Got to start somewhere, I figured. I walked in and there was a secretary like looking lady who seemed to be saying the same thing as the bus driver. My attempts to speak to her failing, I walked past her. After turning down a hallway, I heard some unintelligible voices. It appeared that class had let out, as thirty people were streaming out of the room. The scene became more promising when I heard English mixed in with the Czech.
I wandered into the classroom and saw a young woman talking to a grey-haired man. It would have been an incredible story if it was Maureen that I saw talking to the gentleman in the only classroom in the one building that I wandered into at the Prague Agricultural Institute. What happened, though, was next to incredible. The two were speaking English and stopped when I appeared.
"Can I help you?" asked the man.
I wanted to explain that I was looking for my friend Maureen and I only had the name of this university, assuming this was the Prague Agricultural Institute, and the name of Majka Nemcova and I was wondering if they could help me in finding either. In saying all that, however, I had to start with:
"I'm looking for my friend Maureen…"
"Maureen Dugan?" the man asked.
"Yes." I answered.
The girl spoke. "That's my roommate. I'm on my way back to the room right now; do you want to join me?"
Wow.
As I was speechless, the girl seemed confused and made to leave without me. "I'll see you later, Mr. Nemcova."
"Wait!" I cried. "I'll come with you."
As we departed Majka's company, she asked me which class I was in with Maureen. I didn't understand. "I'm not in class with her."
"Then what are you doing here?" she asked.
"I'm traveling around Europe for a few months and promised Maureen I'd visit if I made it to Prague."
"But how did you know she was going to be in that classroom?"
"I didn't."
She stopped walking. "So you've just been wandering around the whole institute looking for her?"
"No. That was the first room I looked in. I just got off the bus five minutes ago."
She informed me that Maureen had overslept that day. She was supposed to be in the very classroom that I walked into - the only classroom I walked into.
We got to the room, and the roommate announced my presence. "Maureen, you have a visitor."
She was twisted up in the sheets of her bed and rolled over, opening one eye. Then the other. "Ryan?" She seemed surprised to see me.
We spent the rest of the day catching each other up on our adventures. I told her my adventures with Kathy and Molly and she hinted that I was stupid for not going with her. I had promised to stop by and visit her, however, and I am a man of my word. Having accomplished my goal for the day, though, it was time to continue my journey. As evening settled, I found myself back on the train, this time on my way toward Florence, Italy. Maureen later told me, of the three or so classes she had each day, five days a week for a month and a half, she only missed one: the day I came to visit her class.
So now that my trip is over, and I'm back home with my family and friends, my employers, my instructors, what have I learned? I had expected to spend a lot of time alone, reflecting on who I was. Cutting all ties with home, I figured would prompt the discussion in my head concerning what was really me, who this guy was that would just leave his life at the Dairy Queen, just toss a bag on his back and hop on a plane. Away from parents, buddies, girlfriends, employers, instructors, etc., I was supposed to do that. I didn't though. I just spent my time creating more ties. One to a girl, also in love with Kim Deal, who has stopped responding to my e-mail messages. Another to a mystical city, thousands of miles away, where I don't know the language, nor do I know any of the people anymore, yet I am forever beckoned to return. Oh, Prague, what a piece of my free soul you took away from me.
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