Of Airplanes and Sweaty Pants

Old Town Prague - I made it to Prague in spite of myself. I've had a few little mix ups since I left for the Czech Republic the best of which was booking my ticket from Minneapolis to JFK instead of Newark (I mean, come on, it's all New England or New York or whatever up there on the East Coast). My plane landed about an hour and a half or so behind schedule. I had 2 hours to get onto my flight to Frankfurt and I was at the wrong airport. There was no time to evaluate the best option and plan it out. I had to rely on a sure(?) thing.

So I took a taxi from JFK to Newark at 6pm. "The Tunnel" wasn't too bad so we made it in a little over an hour. Unfortunately it was one of the most expensive hours of my life. The taxi with tolls and tips cost $140. UGH. UGH GUH HUG UGH. Fortunately the driver was a Pakistani expat. So I was able to ask one or two questions about the politics o'er thar and keep him talking, hands flying off the wheel gesturing this way and that while our eyes stayed locked penetrated the depths of one anothers' soul. We never more than 2 feet from the bumper in front of us in slam and go NYC traffic but with no eyes and no hands he got me to beautiful Newark airport in time. He earned his $140, I got a magic show, politics and government lecture and expert driving for only $2 a minute. Can't beat that price, not with brass knuckles.

On the plane I sat next to a youngish Russian couple living in Connecticut (pronounced as spelled). He insisted on eating the first class meal and pouted, shouted and heckled until he damn well got it. She "doesn't like Spanish and Italian." It was unclear if she meant the places, the people, the languages, anyone speaking the languages or anything to do with any of the above. He selected the take off, a loud procedure, to tell me a story in Russian about how people (I am not sure of what relation to me or him) had tried to walk from the tip of Patagonia across the Eurasian continent via the Beiring straight (I assume they took a boat across THAT). Well they got arrested in Russia because they didn't get their passports stamped. How silly to walk so far only to be arrested for no stamp.

I know what you are probably thinking: "Okay... and..."

That expression must have been written on my face as well because Misha felt obligated to relate the story back to his previous topic of conversation, cars. "If you built a bridge between Alaska and Russia, you could drive around the entire world!"

"Wow, da." I smiled and agreed.

"But not Japan" his wife added

"Or australia" He said.

"Also Iceland" I rejoined.

"But there is a tunnel between France and England, so that would not be hard."

I decided not to delve into the fact that it's a passenger train tunnel, so driving would probably not be advisable.


In Frankfurt I had a LONG layover. The languages de jour are Russian, Turkish and Arabic. I got to Prague a few hours late. It was already quite dark. I managed to navigate the city and the public transit with my bags flawlessly. BOOYA-KASHA.

The first hostel was full. The second was literally a gymnasium full of young people, noise and light. The third was just right. I had to walk about a mile up a big hill through a dark park but the strange middle-aged British man under the lamppost was right, there was lots of cheap housing in dorm rooms (MY OWN ROOM!) at the top. A pretty view of the city nearby to boot.

Czech is not Russian, but its close enough for both parties to think that there is understanding. These conversations have left both parties a little less sure of where we stand in the world and have resulted in me consulting my guide book religiously. The young people speak a lot of english though. I am immediately spotted as an anglo. When I open my mouth to sputter some broken Russian or Czech they just smile, wait for me to finish and say something relevant in English.

I am starting to get over the "oh God, I don't function here" feeling today and am moving into the "F-it this shit is hilarious" phase.

Being the obvious and uninitiated tourist somewhere is like a first date. Curious and naive yet terrified. I know that I am paying too much for a so-so lunch but there is nothing to do about it. There is nothing like sitting on the bed for 20 minutes with the guide book trying to memorize where I need to go for what I need to do and getting 'psyched up' to get it done. Then I think about what I am going to say to seem cool and fit in. But it's all for naught. Locals can smell fear.