Witch Burning Night & May Day

So! Spring is a great time to be in Prague, especially for the past few days. Despite the yucky weather, Prague has been hopping with events as people catch spring fever.

Last night, April 30th, was the yearly Witch Burning Night (or WBN as I, the lazy blogger, will now be calling it). WBN is a night that celebrates the burning of all the witches in Prague- better known as the Inquisition, or, to some, religious persecution.

Or maybe they just love Monty Python?

There’s also the possibility that WBN comes from Beltane, a pagan festival meant to celebrate the end of winter and the return of the sun. Personally, I lean towards this explanation, as it dovetails with what many of my students have said to me.

WBN is celebrated by making bonfires in parks. There is music, and food, and a lot of women dressed up like witches. Which, if you think about it, is kind of like asking to be set on fire. We didn’t see any witches burned last night but we DID listen to some excellent Czech folk music, and there was a bonfire. And a bunch of dudes roasting sausages.

Today, the first of May, is also a holiday in Prague. There are a couple of angles to this celebration.  May 1st is Labor Day, which means that most businesses are closed. WOO HOO NO WORK! *ahem* There is also a student component to the holiday that I haven’t quite figured out yet. But I did see a pretty sweet student parade today, which included, among other things, a giant dildo, a wheelbarrow full of beer, and about 20 people chanting “Allen Ginsburg!”

May 1st also celebrates luuuuuurve. According to lore, women in Prague must be kissed underneath the cherry blossoms in order to stay beautiful for the rest of the year. However, I’ve also heard that women will die within 12 months if they are not kissed. Ladies: You should probably go make out now, just to be safe.

Another Day, Another Czech Adventure.

This time, it was a haircut. And like many adventures, this one did not end well.

After I walked out of the salon thinking, ‘maybe it’s not that bad.’

And then I looked at the picture. 

I mean, I’ve seen women here with curly hair. Maybe not as often as straight hair, but still, we exist, I am not some strange apparition out of a Czech hairdresser’s nightmare. As she was cutting I kept thinking, ‘okay, this is where it gets better. Right here. Nope, here. Heeeeeeere.’

And then,

‘Crap.’

I knew going in that getting a haircut from someone who doesn’t speak English would be taking a risk. I accepted that. This, however?

After blow drying my hair into a triangle, the hairdresser tried to fix the mess by adding gloss cream. Worst was the moment when our eyes met in the mirror. I think she could read the horror on my face, as she stood, hands buried in the mess, ineffectually trying to scrunch it into some semblance of order. She smiled weakly, then twisted one pathetic curl in the front and said, “good?” I nodded and ran out of there as soon as I possibly could. Everyone in the salon stared at me, and not in a good way. Maybe my horror story will prevent some other poor woman from  sharing my fate.

 

In Summary

Haircuts in the Czech Republic:

Salon price, Supercuts results. 

 

Next time I’m doing it myself.

Baking, Like Everything Else…

…is different in the Czech Republic.

Today, I continued my slow return to the normal state of things by baking. Baking bread- Chocolate chip banana bread.

(please read that last sentence in a James Bond voice).

Yesterday I went to the grocery store to buy the necessary ingredients. Flour and sugar were no problem, but baking soda and baking powder were almost impossible to find. Finally I did find them- hidden  between vanilla powder and instant pudding. They only sold them in tiny little packets that are good for about 2 uses. Very odd indeed to an American! Though I can see the appeal, especially since each packet was only 3-6 krowns.

 

I was also unable to find chocolate chips. Chocolate chips! I thought these were pretty standard grocery items, but maybe not. Is baking not really a thing in the Czech Republic? Do people just not like chocolate? I have noticed that fruit, poppyseed, and cream cheese flavored pastries are much more common than chocolate. So, maybe. Hmmm.

Luckily, I came up with a solution. And that solution was to chop up a Milka bar.

 

Another challenge, as you can see in the picture, was that we have almost no cooking utensils. I mean, we only have the one pot pictured above, and definitely no mixing bowls.

(We used to have three pots, but then two of them broke- one only seconds after being A) in Liam’s hand and B) full of boiling water)

So, yes, I made my batter in a big stew pot.

And apparently my guestimating skills are improving because, wouldn’t you know, we also don’t have measuring spoons/cups.

Challenge #3: The bananas I bought this morning from the Potraviny next door (corner store/fruit & vegetable stand/cheap liquor store) were not ripe enough. However! A little research online showed me that if I put the bananas in the oven at about 150 C for, say, 20 minutes or so, they would be smooshy and sweet, perfect for bread. I tried this and it actually worked! Ok, they were kind of liquidy and looked like something a baby had thrown up and maybe left a bizarre banana scented gel on the countertop. But they were mushy and sweet and blended perfectly with my batter.

 

So, in the end my banana bread came out more of a banana cake. Bar. Thing. It’s tasty, anyways. Especially the giant chunks of Milka bar.

Book Updates, And A New Page On HannahKollef.com

Why hello, world.

It’s been a while since we talked about my books. So, a quick update:

1. Yes, I am still writing Path of Pins. I am about 3/4 of the way through the first draft now, and should be on the editing stage within the next two months. Woo hoo! Tentative release date? Sometime late next fall. I’m thinking October, if I’m ambitious, and November if I’m realistic. Perhaps Christmas.

2. HannahKollef.com has been updated- head over there to check out the new Deleted Scenes page. The reason for the update? Well, I’ve added a new deleted scene! It’s a lost storyline from Path of Needles, concerning an elderly Japanese fox and the message he carries for Kat & Roger. Have a look. There’s even a picture!

 

 

3. Reviews! Somehow, I managed to miss this very nice review from Reese’s Reviews.  She liked my book, guys. Gave me 4.5 / 5 bats!

I think that’s it for the moment. I’ll keep updating if anything changes. For now, have a good day, and enjoy the spring weather now that it’s finally here.

English Class

I teach English to a politician in Prague.

I rarely get to see him- he almost always cancels his lessons- but when I do its always an odd experience. He is a small, quiet man who looks a lot like Mr. Rogers and a little like a mouse. I’ve never seen him without a sweater vest. He has a slight hunch, thin, bird-like limbs, and likes to talk about his grandkids.

His office is filled with ornate Victorian furniture, on which are piled reams of paper and stacks of Czech folklore magazines. In one corner a live palm tree has grown so large it touches the ceiling. An outstretched frond is draped over the fluorescent lights that hang overhead. Its lower leaves spill over onto the dozen other potted plants that carpet the floor. Beside it is a wrought iron candle stand that comes up to my waist. The metal is shaped like a skeletal tree in winter. Inside a scattering of globular white candles have been impaled on the iron branches.

I imagine the room in the dark, with those flickering lights dancing strangely over the encroaching jungle in the corner. It makes me think of Lord of the Flies- of a little boy hiding behind a desk, dirt smeared on his face, the fire lighting his eyes so they gleam like a cat’s.

A beautiful dark painting is overwhelmed by the gilt frame that explodes around it. Leaves and golden roses pop from the wood in a truly hideous display. It looks like it would stain my fingers with glitter if I tried to touch it. I don’t.

We always sit in the corner, in squat chairs of dark wood and poison green velvet. The cushions sink a good two inches when you sit. They are stiff, but soft. There is a round table, complete with lace doily and winged, snarling lions carved into the legs. A blind cherub stares at me from just under the lip of the table. His wings stretch out along the wood until they blend with the lion manes. Then the display cabinet in the corner, 7 feet high, equally dark and ornate.

He told me once that everything in the room is an original. I wonder. Is he a collector? Or  is there something sinister lurking here? There were open boxes of dishes sitting by the door on my way in. Fine china peeked out of straw and newspaper. More to add to his collection?

He was outside the room when I wrote most of this, speaking to “visitors from a very important company.” If they are the same men I saw when waiting outside his office- swarthy, suited, one enormously fat, one comically small, and one especially vacant looking man built like a brick shit house- then I have to wonder. Maybe it was the frank discussion of communism and corruption I had with my 7 AM student that had me wanting to pull out the ‘M’ word. Maybe it was the expression on the fat one’s face- dour discontent, mixed with arrogance and a kind of surly confidence. Maybe I’m just paranoid.

Or bored. 45 minutes is a long time to sit alone in an empty office.

“This is what happens when you find a stranger in the Alps!”

Last night I had a dream that I went shopping for clothes, and as a bonus I received a free refrigerator from the clothing company. I brought it home and put it next to the 5000 k fridge we bought from Ikea. Vanessa, Liam and I looked at the fridge, then each other, and had a cartoonish “oh the irony!” chuckle.

(if you’re confused as to why this is funny, read this post. Or maybe I’m just not funny, in which case reading the post won’t help at all.)

In other news! Last weekend I went back to Vienna to pick up my visa. I am almost officially legal! I mean, I am. There are just a few more bureaucratic hoops to jump through. But!!! I have the damn thing, and I’m staying till at least September. I mean, hopefully for another year, but you never know. Shit happens. 

Now, some Vienna pictures:

Look! A confessional!

Some fancy church stuff. They were big on gold & purple in old-timey Vienna.

Why yes, that is a dead guy! I’m not sure who it is, but there is totally a skeleton in there, and they put armor and fake wings on him so he must be important.

Bored, cold, and hungry, I wandered into this empty church. Suddenly organ music started playing. It was very pretty, and kind of comforting, till I looked up and saw a bunch of demon statues staring down at me.

A super old-timey car. Does it remind anyone else of Indiana Jones and the Holy Grail?

St. Stephens got all dolled up for the evening.

Otherwise, life goes on.

I’ve been a bit sick, but that didn’t stop me from going out (a little) this weekend. Overall it was a pretty relaxing couple of days, which, after the last few weeks, I definitely needed.

WARNING: YOU MAY BE ABOUT TO EXPERIENCE EXTREME JEALOUSY

Last night we met up with a friend at a local bar called The Big Lebowski. And yes, it is named after the movie. The Big Lebowski was smoke free, and had pay-what-you-want drinks. They also had really delicious white russians, which is nothing less than you’d expect.

The bar is actually a tiny little house. I doubt it would pass any kind of safety inspection- the ‘bar’ is a tiny room downstairs, and then you climb a rickety staircase to the second, open floor. I had trouble navigating the stairs in heels when I was sober. I imagine that it’s much more difficult when you’re drunk.

The second floor was kind of strange, with low ceilings and doorways and a curiously uneven floor. I wasn’t sure if our waiter was extremely tall or if the cartoonish proportions of the room just made him look it. I was also a little afraid that the floor would collapse beneath us, but it didn’t, so that’s fine. The walls had pictures from old movies (Forest Gump, the Godfather, etc) and there was even an old VHS video camera. Overall, I really liked it. As Vanessa pointed out, it was a little like being in a 50′s diner. A dirty, faded diner.

There was just one problem: the floor was bare. I really think a rug would have tied the room together.

Random music time! I made a wee tiny playlist on youtube. Check it out if you’re looking for some new music, or you’re bored, or you’d like to judge me for my taste in music.

And now, I’m going to go eat some lunch because I’m huuuungry. To conclude this post, here is a picture of a hot dog with  breasts:

Never Buy a Fridge From a Meth Den

I don’t know if you know this, but this week I moved from my Oxford-TEFL housing to a shiny new apartment. We can see A) the metro and B) the giant Prague baby tower from the front of our flat. It’s a pretty fantastic place.

Why yes, those ARE giant, faceless babies crawling up the television tower.

This week was spent in a flurry of lease-signings, gas / internet meetings, furniture movement, and 1 too many Ikea trips (in addition to teaching. And lesson planning. And extensive metro travel. And good lord Jesus I am tired).

There was only one problem with our new flat: no refrigerator.

Us: “Can you get one for us?”

Landlord (Ll): “For 5000 Kč.”

Us: “Can we take that out of the security deposit?”

Ll: “No.”

Us: “Can you get anything cheaper?”

Ll: “No.”

Us: “What if we pay for half, and you pay for half?”

Ll: “No.”

Us: “So-”

Ll: “No.”

(If I’m giving you the impression that our landlord is anything but a straight up businessman, don’t be alarmed. Dude just knows what he wants. I actually really like him- and his three mystery siblings, who all own shares of the apt. We met his brother and I swear to god they are at least twins. I like to imagine they are quadruplet brothers, actually, differing only length of hair and manner of dress).

Obviously we did not want to shell out that much money for a stupid appliance. And so, being the intrepid young English teachers that we are, we went online to find a used one in Prague. And lo! So we did. For a beautiful 1500 Kč- a mere 76 US dollars. Not bad, right?*

So! Saturday morning, the day we had to move out, we got up bright and too-freaking-early to go out and retrieve this fridge. Which we would then have to carry back to the flat ourselves, but hey! we’re young and intrepid and we are going to save money WOO HOO.

How we felt

How we were about to feel

Vanessa, Liam and I got off the tram and arrived in one of the sketchier areas of Prague.

“Where did she say she lived again?” I asked Liam.

“Next to the, and I’m quoting here, ‘Paki restaurant,’” Liam replied. We had a bit of a nervous chuckle over the fridge owner’s racism.**

Soon Broanna*** came down and let us in. She was wearing pajamas and was a little skinny, but seemed very nice. The apartment building was run down inside, with peeling wallpaper and a little bit of trash in the corners of the floors, but the railings were iron and pretty so I chalked it up to ‘character’ and went on in.****

We got up to her apartment after maybe three flights of stairs, which would later prove fun to climb with a fridge in hand. Broanna’s front door opened to a dark, heavily wood-panelled hall, which was also quite cluttered. I was instantly enveloped in the smell of stale ramen noodles and used canola oil, as well as a general air of neglect. And darkness.

“I have some friends staying with me,” Broanna threw over her shoulder as she led us through the flat. And indeed she did! They appeared as we walked through, as if they’d been hiding in the cracks, waiting nervously to see if it was safe to emerge: skinny, sleepy, and uniformly bleary eyed and twitchy. Broanna led us into an equally dark kitchen/living room, in which was more furniture & clutter. Additionally, there were at least three mattresses laid out on the floor that had been recently used.

“Here it is,” Broanna said. Before us was a small fridge. A little beat up, perhaps, but in the poor light it didn’t look too bad. It wasn’t plugged in and it smelled weird, which again should have been a no no.

Broanna hovered over our shoulders as we looked the thing over. Vanessa, being the sensible one, made her skepticism clear. Unfortunately we did not listen to her, and with Broanna peering over our shoulders it was difficult to have a frank discussion. SO! We forked over the cash, maneuvered the thing out of the meth den apartment, down the stairs, and set it down on the sidewalk.

Where we immediately realized we’d made a huge mistake.

We (and by ‘we’ I mean Liam, in his role as token male) got it across the street before bits and pieces started to fall off. At this point, it was quite clear that none of us wanted the damn thing, and we certainly didn’t want to bring it into our lovely, clean, newly-renovated apartment. After all, it:

1. Smelled strongly of mold, ramen, and burnt plastic
2. Had a mysterious pink dust all over the coils on the back
3. Was missing the drawers inside, as well as the metal plate that would cover the mechanical stuff in the back
4. Had mysterious plastic pieces on the inside
5. Was home to an angry, anthropomorphic cockroach named Larry. Larry did not take kindly to our disturbance of his home.*****

We definitely wanted our money back. So we called up Broanna and tried a number of tactics- apologetic remorse, careful explanation of how the fridge did not live up to her advertisement, growing annoyance that she had sold us this piece of crap. We even offered to let her keep five hundred ks as well as to carry the fridge back up to her flat, which meant that she could make more of a profit in the long-run than she’d made from us.

Obviously, this did not work.

We hung up, now saddled with a fridge we didn’t want and substantially lighter wallets. So what did we do? We dumped the damn thing by a dumpster across the street from Broanna’s aparment, that’s what. And then we ran off in a panic calmly walked away, chalking it up to another lesson learned in Prague.

And that lesson, my friends:

If you go to buy something 2nd hand and it lives in an apartment that looks like a meth den, don’t buy it. 

 

 

Bonus lesson: Listen to your mother when she tells you to spend more money on something that works, rather than going cheap and getting a piece of crap in return.

 

(This story ends with a trip to Ikea. Our new 5000 Kč fridge will arrive tomorrow evening.)

 

 

 

*…looking back, it’s all so obvious.

**How did we not know?!?

***I changed her name. She doesn’t deserve a normal name.

****I repeat: How did we not know?

*****This is a lie, but the kind of lie that is perfectly plausible. Seriously. You should have seen this thing.

In Which the Czech Republic Looks at Native Americans

 

 

 

Have you ever heard of Karl May?

He was a German adventure writer (1842-1912)  whose novels mostly took place in the American southwest (cowboys and Indians, people). His books were very popular in the Czech Republic, and were made into a number of movies that were filmed in Croatia.

So: German writer, American setting, Croatian filming.

A few weeks ago Liam and I went to an exhibition on Karl May’s work at the Náprstek Museum of Asian, African and American Cultures. It was very interesting, though the exhibit was less of a ‘history’ exhibit and more of a love letter to this man’s work and his movies.

It was also a little less “PC” than most American exhibitions.

Here, you can see an illustration from one of Karl May’s books, depicting a native. Are we surprised that these books came out in the 1800′s? Nope. Nooope.

There was also a bit of saucy language. Personally, I found this refreshing. But I doubt you’d get to say the word “bastards” in many American museums, especially not ones that are trying to bring in the little kiddies.

Then, of course, there was this:

Why yes, those are racist Mammy dolls in the gift shop. Hanging from the ceiling by their necks. I asked my Czech friend about this, and she was surprised that I was surprised to see them there. I don’t think it has quite the same connotation over here- certainly they weren’t meant in a “man does this museum hate black people!” way. But it was definitely one of those cross-cultural “um….what?” moments.

The rest of the museum was really nice- I loved the exhibits they had upstairs. Very cool pieces of bone work from Australian natives and just a really cool set up. I did have another odd moment, however, in the Native American section. As one can imagine, it was a little weird to learn about Native Americans in the Czech Republic. Especially when I saw this:

I mean, this looks like a bad picture from a New York Times article on city life. The caption, in case you’re curious:

“A young Native American couple walking through Minneapolis in Minnesota (2008).”

It just doesn’t strike me as a museum-style image. Then again, maybe I’m weird. Maybe there’s a “Natives of New Jersey” exhibit somewhere showing a bunch of Mafia dudes riding around in a Mustang.

On a completely unrelated note, I have accidentally locked myself in A) a Viennese church courtyard and B) the women’s bathroom in the Mayor of Prague 9′s office. Stories to follow. Eventually.

AND to conclude, here is a completely unrelated picture of a Newfoundland and a horse being adorable:

Vienna!

I’m sitting in the nicest hostel I’ve ever been to, actually watching the news on a television for the first time in a month and enjoying my 3 euro breakfast (on my second delicious cappucino- yes, this may be heaven). Outside, snow is falling on the streets of Vienna. 

The weather just flashed on. Instead of the usual NY-NJ-PA triad it’s showing me France and Tripoli and the UK.

I know you’re probably all sick of various “ooh I’m in Europe!” posts, but I’m not writing this for you. I’m writing it for me- because for a little while there, as I got so caught up in the stress of finishing my course and trying to find work, I lost sight of why I was doing this. Yes, I’m discovering that I love teaching, and that’s great, and I love the area I’m living in, and the people I’m living with; but this- sitting in a hostel in Vienna, watching it snow, and wondering what else I’ll get to see today- this is why I packed up my life into one suitcase and made the move to Prague. This is the life fantastic. And good god, is it fantastic.

And you know, you just can’t take weekend trips to Austria when you’re living in New Jersey.

So. Yesterday.

We got to Vienna around 2:30, settled into the hostel, and took off for Stephensplatz, the metro stop by the famously huge St. Stephen’s church. After that, we ended up wandering around the city. Along the way we found two absolutely beautiful churches tucked into the street between Hermes, Gucci, and a variety of other high-end consumer spots. And inside the second church – The church of St. Augustine, I think- we saw an actual, real-life, habit wearing monk. He was distributing bibles and he looked a little overworked, poor guy. Meanwhile, Vanessa and I were pretending to look at an altar to Mary and sneaking peeks out of the corner of our eyes. There may have been comparisons to Friar Tuck, except I think Friar Tuck had more hair. 

Then we went to St. Stephen’s, and man was that impressive. The church was HUGE. Outside about 30 different guys in a variety of silly outfits tried to get tourists to take their tours. We navigated our way through this minefield, fending off cape wearers and people offering carriage rides. Inside, the church was as impressive as the exterior.

There was also a great deal of wandering. Neither of us had a particular agenda we were trying to fulfill while we’re here. Instead, we kept our eyes open for cool looking buildings and walked towards those. On the way, we stumbled across a number of neat things, including this clock:

There was also creepy pinnochio. I wanted to take a picture with him, but the shopkeeper came out and glared at us. Apparently, giant wooden dolls are not to be touched.

We also ate. A lot. It turns out that the coffee shop we stumbled upon, Cafe Leopold Hawelka, is actually quite famous. Off the main drag, and tucked between a few other shops, Cafe Hawelka doesn’t really look like much. But inside everything is made of dark wood. The chairs are a mish-mosh of benches, stools, and hard backed wood. The waiters wore an eclectic mix of tuxedos from different eras, and the strudel was absolutely delicious.

Cafe Leopold Hawelka

For dinner, we ended up at Figlmüller, where we had their famous plate-sized schnitzel. I say plate-sized, but in reality the schnitzel fell off the edges of the plate. It was incredibly delicious. We also had a glass of the Figlmüller red wine, which is made in-house and is also freaking amazing. Good god. I was stuffed when we left- sadly, we couldn’t finish the schnitzel- but I was also really, really happy. We took the rest of our schnitzel home with us, but instead of giving us the usual styrofoam boxes the waiter came out with a square of parchment paper and a rubber band. It was all very classy. 

We’re going to go wandering again today- though we may keep the wandering to the inside of museums, since it is snowing a lot. And I’m pretty content right now. But y’know what? After writing this big blog about Vienna and how happy I am that I went away for the weekend, I’m actually starting to miss Prague a little bit. Which is ridiculous- it’s only been one day, for Christ’s sake. Still, I miss it- the castle, and the river, and hanging around in our little kitchen, drinking beer with my flatmates while we bitch about lesson planning. Maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome. Maybe it’s a side-effect of having walked the Most Legii bridge every morning for a month. A sight like that doesn’t leave you easily.

 

And then I wrote some poems and stuff

A semi-sequel to night flight. Not yet done, but I’m posting it anyways ho hum. 

night flight continues

now:

the city is before you

and the city is full of lights

and yours is bursting-

it is a sodium reaction

burning beneath your sternum

it is more than the chest can hold

chemicals explode, and

one fire turns to thousands

that burst free

they are fireworks that scream into the night

and they fly to join the lights of the city

and it is wondrous

even as it sears away

the silence

and the flesh;

yet  you are still the night flight

even among the lights on the ground

and you are looking down at those burning souls

as the lights burst from your chest;

you are watching from above as

you are stitched into the city’s tableau

and the city welcomes you as one of its own.

the jazz swells

and the fire burns

and desire has left a gaping hole in  your chest.

later

your bones are dropped into the river;

ground to sand and calcium dust.