First I’ll start with a character. He will be the common thread across this post. He’s a lot of fun (you’ll see) and at times he might not fit in. Look Mom, I’m a real writer (I can jump between time periods and run multiple stories at once). (This post might be weak and hard to follow)
The first time I saw him, our common thread, our character in question, he was dressed in all black. Cooking Polish sausages on the barbecue, it was Sunday night at “Goodbye Lenin” One of the most famous hostels in all of Krakow (Poland). It was a free BBQ and I felt a little greedy as I edged my way up for seconds. The man in all black looked at me and said “Come over here, I’ll fill that plate right up.” All was safe as of yet, but things would soon change.
Flash back one night to Prague. I am in a crowded bar/club in the north end of town; far away from most tourists. I am there with a few very memorable 18 year old French guys. I’ve been in the same hostel as them and some other sweet Brazilians as well. We met up with a group of French girls that the guys had known from home. The guys were Parisians, the high stakes type of person who can cary a lot of weight in a stereotype. What I mean by that is that if they were extra nice or mean and from some tiny farm in France, one could argue that they don’t properly represent the population of France.
Gabriel and Johnathan are only 18, but years ahead of their time. They represent France (and particularly Paris) with the highest marks. To put it simply, they are all that you ever envied in the Parisian lifestyle and None of the negative stereotypes that come along with it. They have a passion for enjoying life in moderation, but none of the pretentious attitude that often accompanies individuals who believe they have figured out the secret to living a happy and meaningful life (myself included). While everyone is drinking back home enough to sink a ship, they could not be bothered to hastily finish a beer in order to catch a tram ride on time. They smoke marijuana throughout the night, but only a tiny pinch at a time, mixed in with the tobacco of a whole cigarette. These are the signs of someone who wants to enhance life, not escape it.
I asked Jonathan why he insisted on making sure I made it on the right tram the night before and he jokingly said “Because I don’t want you to think that the French are mean. I’ve got to fix that stereotype.” After spending three days with him and Gabriel, I knew that was a true joke seeing as I had met two of the more genuinely good people on my trip to date. I bated them several times. I wanted to see if they would budge from their heightened level of understanding. They would not budge.
They were the dreamers who still had a function to participate in life. They never had anything mean or controversial to say about anyone. Everything was maybe. I even tried to bate the with guy talk about women. They seemed almost asexual in their lack of participation, but in reality, they were just too classy to stoop to my devils advocation.
We met up with 6 of their friends from home. A lively bunch of girls. They were still living for the spice of life, but also happened to enjoy a good judgment. Hell, they were ruff around the edges. In true Parisian stereotypical fashion, they were “so cultured” that they had the God given right to judge other’s lack of it (a true case of a bastard).
Once there were 8 of them in the same room, they would snap into French without fail. Johnathan would protest and request that they all spoke in English so that I wasn’t left out of the conversation, but even he fell victim in moments. But most of the time, he would just look back at me and translate what was going on. He, 7 years the younger, had taken me under his wing in a sense.
The bar/club was called “the cross” and it was almost entirely made out of spare car parts. Skillfully welded together to give the place a true industrial feel. It impressed everyone who walked in it’s 3 stories. We spoke with some local Czech guys when we first got in who wanted to recite everything they knew about California as soon as they learned I was from there. They were not even interested in a conversation. It was a laundry list, dump, of all of their Californian cultural merit badges. We were still in Czech Republic, where it was very good to be an American.
The only true tragedy of the Parisians is how they find it so damn cultural to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes in a row (each) in only a few hours. They are the chain smokers of chain smokers. I like to think that I have gotten a lot better in tolerating cigarettes being smoked in my presence since I’ve been abroad, but in a few short ten minute blocks, I was ready to barf. To top, they for some reason all participated in a strange ritual of blowing the smoke in each other’s faces. Once one did it to me and I coughed loudly. She looked surprised and said sorry. I wondered if she was culturally diverse enough to notice the lack of a miserable flame perched between my cold shaking fingers.
I wind had shifted so that everyone’s smoke trails were blowing directly into my face. I stood up and moved up wind of everyone. One of the gals said “Did we scare you off.” and I replied with “No no, I just want to get out of the smoke.” and a few of them let out an audible grunt of dismay almost to say “What, you don’t enjoy a good cigarette? How inferior?” I wanted to punch some faces at that very moment.
I was time to see the band that was playing that night. The music was from the Jungle group. Imagine fast ray-gay and you won’t be too far off. It was an incredible experience. I was immediately sucked into this pit of people dancing without control of their bodies. I had hardly ever even heard this music, let alone seen how to dance to it. It was more of a shake and the the room was electric.
It’s now been 4 days since I have had the word “decidedly” stuck in my head from a book that I have been reading. Just a thought.
This night, despite the smoking, had decidedly made my time in Prague memorable. Prague is beautiful, but packed with tourists and any chance I can get to speak with real locals is usually my favorite part of a city.
We stayed up all night and headed strait to the train station (provided we grab a quick shower at our “Hostel”)
The place we had been staying for the last 3 nights was loosely known as a hostel. The people running the show had obviously read “The 4 Hour Work Week.” They had set up a situation based on trust. The reception for this place was only open for a few short hours in the morning. Everyone staying in the hostel were essentially on the honor system and it worked perfectly. There was a free washing machine and a single computer with free internet. Reception was on call in case of an emergency and if you didn’t have a phone, then you could use the phone at the bar across the street for free. When I first got to the hostel to check in, I was let in by some fellow people staying there, but then found myself sleeping in the kitchen (which doubled as reception) for 2 hours until someone else called reception for another reason. I sat in this empty “Hostel” and said “Now I’ve seen it all.”
Skipping forward to the train ride from Prague to Krakow, it turned out to be a crowded one. I rushed to grab a seat but learned that I was in a car that was completely reserved. I dashed out to run into the next cable car and finally found a seat that was not reserver. Who said travel in Europe was easy anyway. It has been the most stressful and hectic to date. I think people say it is easy because they haven’t been to other regions where it is even easier. Train travelers in Europe tend to be afraid of buses, but they are sadly mistaken. At least In a bus, you know you get a seat. (well, maybe not in Costa Rica).
I set my bags down and try to catch up on some sleep that I missed from the all nighter from before. There is a couple of people who nervously and anxiously are standing in the gap between cable cars. There are a few open seats here and there and I wonder why they are distressed. As the conductor wakes me up, he asks me, “Where are you headed?” “Krakow” and he says “Well, this train will be spliting soon and you will want to be in the first 4 cars. The back ones are going to Berlin.”
Yikes, that could have been a small problem. So I stand up from my perfectly good seat after my 2 minute nap and attempt to make it to the front 4 cars. As I make my way up, I see that there are tons of people standing in the doorways between cars. They are practically shoulder to shoulder. I shamelessly force my way in and say in a big loud voice “who’s got room for one more?!” I figured I might as well dive right in. Luckily the passage way was mostly full of a local Czech field hockey team that were making their way back form a 2 week tournament circuit. We chatted for a short while before I had them teaching me all the most offensive words I could think of in Czech. They were a fun bunch and helped me pass the 4 hours I would be standing up (without sleep from the night before). After those first 4 hours, many of the people got off the train and I had a seat it sit in for the last 4 hours. Who said European travel was easy again?
Skip forward to yesterday afternoon. The man in black is now staying in my dorm room in the bunk beneath me. As I try to grab a quick nap in the middle of the day, I hear him rustling around. I look down and he has a small roller bag full of what looks like pottery and a golden Christmas wreath. This wierds me out and I notice that he has three large black trash bags full of, well, who knows. Periodically he invites members of the Goodbye Lennon staff up into the room and shows them various items, presumably for sale. Wait a second, wasn’t he BBQing last night? Why is he staying in my dorm room? Something is not adding up. When things don’t add up, I tend to get to thinkin.
Back to the train ride. I am now on a smaller, local train that leads directly to Krakow. I see a local sticking his head out of the window and enjoying the breeze and I decide to do the same. I put on some of my favorite tunes on my Ipod and watch the world wizz by. I am greeted with fields of lavender and mustard plants. Then there are fields of thistle. This place is farm land nestled in the valley between the mountains. All earlier train travel is forgiven. The only word that comes to mind when describing this place is “Hidden”. I can already tell that I am going to like Poland.
Just as I am enjoying this stellar moment a milk carton almost hits me in the head. What the fuck? I look forward and there is an Asian man who is throwing trash out of the window. I wonder if he would like me to murder him and he lights a cigarette. Some things you just can’t get away from.
Flash forward to later that night, not after the train ride, but the next night, the one where I saw the Christmas wreath. I was in the bar underneath Goodbye Lennon with a few fellow backpackers. The place was close but were were still hanging out on the couches. One of the backpackers comes out of the bathroom and asked us if anyone was trying to open her door and flicking the lights on and off.
The man in all black? I instantly go cold. Everyone around me finds this hilarious and start to tell ghost stories. “Why are you even scared? Do you even believe in ghosts?” “Decidedly not, but once you are spooked, it doesn’t take much.” This is the first time on my entire trip that I am actually scared.
That night, I don’t sleep in my room for fear of the man in black who tends to serve me sausages from time to time. We hear several creaks and movements in the bar and I can’t stand it.
I live. Naturally.
The next morning I crawl back into my bed as the man in black is running his local business below my bead. I spend the next 4 hours eating pirogies (Polish Dumplings).
Later tonight, I went to an Indian Restaurant with a few friends and returned to the hostel with the man in all black running another free BBQ. I was only paying $12 a night for this place and it had free breakfast, internet, laundry, and BBQs. I love Poland and even though I’m pretty sure the man in all black is a Gypsy, I love him too!
Tomorrow I’m off to Berlin.