Powder's blog

I would like to write this post in honor of Douglas Adams, who through his work Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, taught me an important piece of information: never travel without a towel. Adams applies this to intergalactic travel but I think it’s a good idea for travel in Europe as well. A towel can be used for cleansing, blankets, and articles of clothing as I learned not only in traveling but also in crashing after long nights in other, more conveniently located dorms.
 
Beyond towel knowledge though I also learned to be flexible. This was something I struggled with immensely not only in travel plans but also in nightly plans. Although most of us had emergency phones, we rarely used them. Facebook was the main form of communication so plans could change in an instant without anyone really knowing. However some of the best stuff was done on the fly. I think it will be interesting to see how I transition back to the states. I’m not sure if I’ll return and text minimally or burn through the screen on my iPhone in a blaze to reconnect.
 
I’m not sure if I would describe this semester as rewarding. As a gluten intolerant vegetarian my diet truly suffered in Prague, leaving my body struggling to function efficiently. Food is a grand part of my life and it definitely put a damper on my semester abroad. The most rewarding part of this semester was the classes I took. Two of my professors were active members during the Velvet Revolution and as the semester progressed and I felt more comfortable asking questions they opened up about the violence and torture Communism brought. It was interesting to hear personal stories about near death escapes from the country, faking deaths and assuming new identities, and handing out pamphlets as children in giant hockey bags. I learned about Central European politics, European history, and Czech culture but beyond this I will take away the personal stories my professors shared with me.
 
The semester abroad was definitely a learning experience. I was forced into new, uncomfortable social situations, presented with linguistic challenges, and I got lost many times. There were ups and downs, successes and frustrations, and a lot of beer between all of it. Prague was an entirely different world and as this secular country begins to celebrate Christmas, the streets are lined with beautiful decorations and squares filled with holiday markets donning giant, ornate trees. I’m glad to be leaving; I miss home and friends. But Prague, you were different. And different is good.

The semester in Prague was a learning experience and I hope I can pass on my knowledge to others. The first thing prospective Prague students should know is that patience is a virtue. English speakers are few and far between so deep calming breaths between conversations might be necessary. Often I feel voiceless in Prague, almost uneasy, something that future students should be prepared for. My semester was also relatively lonely.  Upon my arrival it seemed as though everyone came with a travel buddy. I didn’t know anyone before meeting students at the six-hour layover in Paris but I looked to be the only one initially friendless. I didn’t realize that I needn’t to come with a friend, but it definitely would have helped. By the time I made friends, all the buddies had already made their travel plans. From there it was difficult to get in on the travel train with anyone.
 
Housing is always a big concern among students, something I can provide great insight on. There are four dorms in Prague, no home-stays, and we aren’t allowed to find our own apartments. The first apartment is Osadni. I haven’t been there but I believe it’s the biggest. Osadni is on the other side of the water, and a bit farther away than the other dorms. Transportation however is quick and easy. Unlimited metro passes are cheap so living there isn’t too bad. Then there’s Machova, which is about a 20-25 minute walk from campus. There’s great public transportation from there as well. Now NYU says Machova is typical residence hall style. When we think of college dorms we think of gross, constantly wet bathrooms with a bunch of stalls and a bunch of showers. This is not the case in Machova. There are usually about four rooms per suite, two people per room. The suite consists of a room with a kitchen and dining table and one and a half bathrooms. It’s really not a bad situation. Next to Machova is Slezska. This dorm is a bit closer to campus, maybe 15-20 minute walk. Also it has great transportation around it. Again NYU says Slezska is a typical dorm, but it’s not. There’s a huge kitchen upstairs. Two separate sets of cooking stations and about a 20 person dining table. In each suite there’s usually a two person room and a four person room. These rooms share a living area with a couch and a fridge and table, and two full bathrooms. The last is Jaurisova, the dorm I live in. It’s awful, in the middle of nowhere, and is an apartment building that NYU rents out some rooms in and charges us way too much for. Honestly, I think my experience in Prague would have been much better if I had lived in a better location.
 
In order to have a good time in Prague I would simply suggest living in the dorm that’s best for you. Seeing the city and enjoying the culture will come with the stay, but to capitalize on everything Prague has to offer, live as close to the city center as possible. Trust me, the 45-minute schlep just to get to the other dorms was a night ruin-er. 

There was no major epiphany for me, just a small one. It didn’t happen until recently. While my mother was visiting, I learned that I actually knew something about Prague. I feel like my time here has been spent in a haze. I constantly carry a map with me and prior to receiving a visitor, I claimed to have never understood Prague’s history. I remained steadfast in my belief that this semester’s knowledge resided solely in the disciplines of economics and law.
 
It turns out I knew a bit more than I let myself believe. On the first night of playing tour guide I led my mother into Prague Castle. The Castle is the biggest in the world and has been renovated into a palace to hold the presidential offices. I showed her historic buildings on our way up to the pseudo-fortress (that’s the difference between a castle and a palace; a castle is fortified) and found myself thoroughly surprised at my ability to reiterate knowledge I thought I had never retained from week one.
 
I think I had not given my memory enough credit. I was thrilled to realize that as we walked past monuments I could recall obscure facts that had been told to me during orientation, a blurred period of exhaustion. I was even more enjoyed to realize that I had finally figured out the public transportation. I didn’t need to map out my trips before hand anymore. On our second night out, mother in tow, construction had changed the traffic patterns and caused us to get rerouted in the wrong direction. It scared me a bit. At night, in the dark, a plain map in hand; I wasn’t confident that I could rescue us. However I prevailed victorious and with one quick transfer managed to get us back on track.
 
I wont be surprised though if once my mother leaves I begin to draw a blank. The need to impress may have had something to do with my recollections. Had I not been under pressure to perform I don’t know that I would have retained obscure knowledge or maneuvered the transit system so skillfully. Maybe pressure was all I needed to feel a bit more comfortable in my surrounds. Prague has never felt like home to me, but maybe the ease that comes with knowing something about the area might help the last couple of weeks seem less intimidating. 

Strangers may play a much bigger role in our lives than we give them credit for. We measure our kindness not in how we treat our friends, but how we treat strangers; we increase our karma by holding the doors open and giving up seats on metros for those in need. Without these strangers in our lives, personal opinions may never surface. Physical appearance is something strangers may play a bigger role in than we give them credit for. We think all our friends are beautiful, funny, and kind, making it almost impossible for an accurate, shallow comparison to exist. We need strangers to tell us we’re pretty (or ugly), thin (or fat), and well dressed (or sub-par) all at a cursory glance. The man who smiles at you in the grocery store or the woman who tells you she likes your shoes at the bank all help create, or demolish, self-esteem.
 
In my preparations before attending NYU and coming to the city I, like many of my peers, delved into the world of Sex and the City, hosting all night marathons with the girls. Even in Carrie Bradshaw’s busy, hip life she writes a column about strangers and the drastic role they play in our lives. In cities like ours (Prague, Madrid, Berlin, NYC, etc.) where we’re never alone yet always alone, strangers make a difference.
 
Czechs are notorious for being rude. Nobody smiles in public, laughs in public, or holds the doors open for you unless you’re old and shriveled. Which is why I was surprised when a local Czech ultimate frisbee player gave me her jersey.
 
The woman is one of the beautiful Czech ladies every man wants to make their wife. She’s tall, thin, with an impressive smile. I have played with her a couple of times and I have no idea what her name is, but when she offered to give me her jersey, I could have kissed her.
 
I was flattered and impressed with this woman’s kindness. She didn’t just walk up and ask if I would you like a jersey but when I asked whether she knew when the team would be ordering the next batch, she just gave me hers. I said I would bring money but she insisted no.
 
It’s moments like these when Czechs take me by surprise. When you expect glares all day, the occasional smile can do wonders.
 
Oh, and I’ll be sending my new friend a jersey from back home. 

The ambiance is that of a post-communist country, stifling. Although the iron curtain has been lifted, the Czechs still live their life muffled. For a secular, free-loving city Prague is surprisingly reserved. People glare at individuals making too much noise on the trams, service in stores and restaurants is unfriendly, and minimal smiling occurs amongst strangers; it’s all very different from the say-all, do-all atmosphere that NYC fosters.
 
The food in Prague is indicative of the atmosphere: heavy. Czechs like their meat and potatoes. Literally. Goulash is a dish on almost every menu, as well as potato pancakes. Now this unusual form of spuds may seem odd, even gross but trust me, it’s glorious. Potato pancakes are essentially potatoes friend in the shape of a pancake, but it doesn’t stop there. They are sautéed in butter, garlic, and seasonings galore and oh so salty. Sauces in Prague are heavy, usually meat based, and aren’t so much a marinara sauce as they are homemade gravy. Beer is typically had along side of these dishes, adding to the carbohydrate intake you didn’t know your body could endure. Czech food is like the Czech personality: deep, heavy, enduring, but once you really start to dig in, you find yourself pleasantly surprised and decide to come back for more.
 
Prague, unlike Manhattan, does not smell like garbage and urine 24/7. In fact rarely do the streets of Prague really disgust you. Sanitation is top notch; even public restrooms aren’t the scary entity they are in NYC. The thing that does smell in Prague though is the men. I’ve gone into the main big-box store and there were about 40 different types of deodorant, yet no one seems to use them, or even notice the odor emanating from their bodies. On the tram is the worst: the men insist on holding the bar above their heads, thus exposing you to their armpits. Although I don’t miss Manhattan street smells, at least the people had hygiene figured out.
 
The architecture is preserved, pristine but filled with meaning, secrets. Almost every old building in Prague has played its role in communism, and much of it is still in use. Old town halls convert into shopping buildings, schools into restaurants. It doesn’t matter that a Hard Rock Café currently resides in the bottom of a building; the mural of golden angels still gets photographed. Beneath the beautiful exterior lie stories, secrets, and character.
 
The piece of Prague culture though that best embodies the Czech atmosphere is the women. They walk through the cobblestone streets in black stilettos and tight dresses, their blonde hair slicked back into a perfect bun. The Czech Republic is known for their beautiful woman. These women have piercing eyes, impossibly high cheekbones, and long, slender necks. On the outside they are beautiful, just like the archaic buildings in the Prague area, but if you dig deeper, there’s so much more. They are serious, stoic, and although many of them were not old enough to truly feel the sting of communism, it’s as though the pain has been passed down. 

Before coming to Prague I read past reviews from previous students. Many of them all consisted of the same thing: sex, drugs, and alcohol. And how they were abundant. This is entirely true, and in Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, he doesn’t hold back. The “lightness” in the title refers to the theory that the world continues without us, thus our lives no longer bear the burden of the future (heaviness), and they are now light. The “lightness” also refers to the sex and love in the Czech Republic. I have yet to decide whether or not the Czechs live their life with such “lightness.” Sexually? Yes. Care free? Not so much.
 
 Sex and love in Prague are completely separate. Sex does not equal love, and although love usually equals sex, it’s not necessary. In Prague making love is not a synonym for sex. Prostitution is legal, and women don’t walk the streets, instead catalogs are dispersed so one merely has to call. During my orientation they told us that one in five women at Charles University (the prestigious Prague University) has posed naked for money. Sex is casual and a way of life here. In fact, what we consider loyalty in marriage is not the same here. Men cheat on their wives, not because they don’t love them, but because they would like to have sex with another woman. And it’s acceptable.
 
On the flip side, I’m not sure if the life-is-short-and-has-minimal-affect-on-others mentality has sunk in to the Czechs yet. Although the beer drinking, sexing locals can get unruly late at night, there seems to be a somber attitude amongst the lot of them. Many lived in the Communist regime and under the thumb of oppression so the Czechs seem nervous, almost paranoid. I have not seen this “unbearable lightness of being” amongst my companions walking through the streets and it isn’t until meeting someone multiple times they will actually open up and have a conversation with you. No, the Czechs are not light in this sense. They are not able to live life “without a mission” as Kundera so aptly puts it.
 
From my perspective The Unbearable Lightness of Being, although historically accurate, showed me a Prague I was unfamiliar with. As Kundera followed the lives of his fictional characters I only recognized the sexual aspect of the story, not the deeper meaning. Maybe the author attempts to show the reader how life should be, using Communist tumult as a setting. Or maybe Kundera knew a different Prague than I. 

To preface this piece: I won’t lie; I’ve never read a travel book. I think I probably had about five of them laying on my countertop before coming to Prague, but I barely opened them. I’m not a fan of doing the typical touristy things, and maybe the person who wrote the book and I have completely different perspectives and interests. Realistically I could have read them, but this summer Harry Potter 7.1 came out, so I was a bit busy. Sorry Rick Steves, but Harry is my number one man. Needless to say, I have no idea what a travel book sounds like, or how to write a piece similar to one. So bear with me.
 
Prague has many “great good” places, however mine is quite obscure. While I’ve gone to interesting bars like The Big Lebowski where you determine how much you want to pay for your drinks, or the Herna across from one of the dorms who gave us Listerine when we asked for absinthe, they aren’t quite my favorite. There’s clubs like Lucerna where on Fridays we go in and dance eccentrically to 80s and 90s music, or Mecca where Wednesdays are free and the house music just keeps getting louder. We have these places, but my personal favorite is where I go on Thursdays after class: the ultimate frisbee field.
 
On Thursday I go to practice my favorite sport of disc with a local Czech team and here I’ve learned more about Czech culture than I have anywhere else. When I first attempted to get to this field, I didn’t make it. I didn’t necessarily get lost, but I didn’t quite make it. I stood from the street, looking down through trees and fences, watching people wearing backwards trucker hats throw a frisbee disc, but I couldn’t figure out how to get in. After an hour of walking around, I went home. The next week I took a different route and prevailed victorious! The field was tucked away in a nice, classy neighborhood where people own houses and drive fancy cars protected by gates. To get there, nameless side streets have to be trekked upon but in the end it’s worth it. The field sits on top of a mound, overlooking houses. The grass is real, not astro turf and it will be gone soon but I don’t mind because it smells nice. Even though I have to bang my cleats together to get the dirt out, it’s still worth it.
 
Here is where I have legitimate interactions with Czech locals. We laugh, we play, and occasionally they’ll even ask how my week went. In the mix of our scrimages I’ve learned names, faces, and who actually knows how to play. The atmosphere is light hearted and friendly and playing with these temporary teammates has become my favorite part of the week. While other “great good” places entertain the idea of alcohol or dancing or relaxation mine consists of running, jumping, and getting dirty. The field near the giant houses is where people hang out and have a good time. It’s my “great good” place. And it's free. 



***The video is of a guy from my home state jumping over a guy to catch a disc during an ultimate game. If you're bored, watch it. 

Prague is an aesthetically beautiful city, but maybe that’s just me. The cobblestone streets add a home-y feel to the tall buildings and street vendors. I know nothing about art and the extent of my skills went towards mastering the deathly hollows symbol, yet Prague has an artistic feel about it. Old buildings with original architecture have remained throughout the centuries in pristine condition. Prague has never had war and destruction plague its city so the need to replace buildings has been minimal.
 
One thing that the Czech Republic has that other locations don’t is a ridiculous amount of castles; even my inartistic eye was able to pick up on the looming beauty above me. Castles are so prevalent here that the government building is in fact a castle. Prague Castle is not only a tourist destination, but is also where President Klaus resides. The castle sits on a hill across the water from campus, and is about a 20-minute walk from class, not a bad place to kill time on our breaks. Within the castle however is an epic cathedral, of the Gothic style, with cringing gargoyles peering down. Even though the cathedral is a popular tourist site, masses are still held there daily.
 
The first form of art de Boton introduces is the art of the geography around him. I first saw Prague’s natural art form on our end-of-orientation-week boat cruise. The program chartered a large boat equipped with rooftop dining to “tour” the students around. Dinner was served on board and after eating we took our drinks to the roof to enjoy the scenery. At around seven o’clock at night (19:00 Prague style) the sun was just beginning to set and cast a beautiful light on the water. As we gazed off into the distance all of us regretted having to leave the boat that night. Prague had natural beauty.
 
Prague has graffiti, but it’s special.  I’ve become numb to the concept of graffiti since NYC has just as much of this spray paint as it does rats, so I didn’t even notice the legitimate graffiti art Prague had to offer. Every day I walk under an underpass to get from the metro to my tram and it wasn’t until about month into the program did I notice the artwork right in front of me. The pseudo tunnel was not covered in gang symbols, follicle symbols, or any indecipherable symbols. Instead it had two large Godzilla-sized portraits showing different emotions. The art also had a signature. I have no idea who painted it or the meaning behind it, but it must be something good since no one has painted over it and the government hasn’t removed it. Maybe this art is tolerated because of the previous suppression under the communist regime, or maybe it’s just because it’s beautiful. Whatever the answer though, Prague has figured it out. 

Although I acknowledge MacCannell’s ideas on spiritual pilgrimages and find them to be mostly credible, it wasn’t what I found to be the most interesting. The author speaks on the interests of tourists, most of which are stereotypical. MacCannell even defines a tourist as “someone who seems content with his obviously inauthentic experiences,” providing examples of “staged back rooms” like tours at Disney World. This brings the question to mind; in MacCannell’s opinion are those of us who travel authentically not tourists? What are we then? This brings the majority of us students studying abroad to an identity crisis.


When I think of a tourist I think of Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, a funky hat, and sunglasses. This is stereotypical, but not entirely inaccurate. I’m from Alaska and even the tourists who come up to visit our glaciers commonly wear these items. Maybe they wear the flowing shirts because they’re comfy, maybe the shorts provide calf freedom, maybe the hat is them letting loose, and maybe the sunglasses are just reasonable in every situation. Or maybe none of this is accurate. When I first came to school in NYC, my cousin, a Manhattan resident, told me whatever I do just don’t look up when I walk around, I’d look like a tourist. Thus the stereotype is programmed into our brains.


So if I’m a student in another country, not taking tours, traveling cheaply, and temporarily living here, am I tourist? Was I ever? Maybe I could be considered a resident now, after all people do ask me for directions, but really I feel like a tourist. I don’t have the desperate need for “false authenticity” MacCannell describes, which maybe be atypical in my situation, but I believe this is mostly because the Czech culture really is truly foreign, and much of what they do has no interest to me. When we first arrived everybody wanted to get a beer and a sausage, but not me. Everybody wanted to go to a castle, but not me. Everybody wanted to go to an ex-pat Czech club, and while I went along, I ceased this nasty habit almost immediately and have started look for the alternative routes to culture, much like the mail boats MacCannell refers to. So I am in limbo, a possible tourist, still a target for pick-pocketing and public transportation cops, but content with my external position in the Czech community. If I apply MacCannell’s definition then no, I am not a tourist. However, this doesn’t mean the locals can’t laugh when I give them my very best “Dobry den!”

The small blue book didn’t have a summary on the back but it didn’t take me long to figure out what accounts it would describe. After the first mention of “phone tapping”  (pg. 7) I knew the context of the story. Klíma writes of seven, nonconsecutive days of his life during the Communist rule. As a suppressed writer Klíma alludes to the oppression of the regime in place and the microscope he was under. Although the stories were generally interesting, the underlying theme is what connected the individual days.
 
Throughout the story, although a majority of the days took place in Prague, I could not recognize their locations. Klíma biked all over the city, so everything was reasonably close, yet unfamiliar to my rookie experience. There were some locations that I recognized, but those places are no longer rolling, green fields; now they mostly consist of apartment complexes and business offices. Klíma lived in a different Prague than I did, not just in the political sense but also in an environmental sense. While old buildings and statues remain from lack of war, many have been added and restored while new buildings crop up in nearby places.
 
During the chapter entitled “Sunday Morning” the author discusses his relationship with Charter 77, the original document appealing to the Communist regime on the topic of human rights. “My friends had drafted a charter for the defence of human rights. Although I had not signed it myself — I felt that I had written enough texts of my own showing what I thought about the state of the world and about human rights— I couldn’t escape responsibility for it.” (pg. 133) When I read this it excited me. During our two-credit grueling orientation course we learned all about Charter 77; what it started, it’s repercussions, and how the people who were associated with it were treated. Not only did I learn about this during orientation, but also my renowned professor, Jan Urban, has first hand knowledge of the document. The gray fox professor told us, his students, how his father was actually one of the original drafters of the Charter. Klíma eventually disappears to a cottage to escape persecution, which, after Urban dictated, was all too real. Families were separated, prisoners were taken, and the Communists were not torture-shy.
 
Not only was Klíma’s work interesting to read, but also with the knowledge I had previously received from my professor it made the book all the more credible. 

My life in Prague is erratic. I have one class a day, Monday through Thursday, and the meeting times vary. My morning routine, however, is relatively static. Although my earliest class is at noon, I get up at 9:30 every morning, regardless of whether I have an “early” class, or a late class. I like to take my time getting ready so I usually make myself some eggs, then yogurt and berries, and then a banana. While eating I watch an episode of a crime show, lately I’ve been completing the entire NCIS series. After my TV viewing I get ready to leave. It’s hard to study in my room, the desk isn’t very comfortable and anytime I try to study on my bed I fall asleep, so I like to go into class early and get work done. If it’s my noon class I’ll go in early and stay late. For my classes that don’t end until 6 though, I go in extra early.
 
 It takes about 40 minutes to get to class and it’s quite a tedious trip. I get on the 11 tram and take it to the subway stop Muzeum. The tram ride takes awhile, and depending on the time of day, can be quite packed. Muzeum is 6 stops away and about half an hour. I’m not sure if other European countries are like this, but Czechs don’t care about their scent. The tram constantly smells like a sweaty man and makes the already difficult ride even more nauseating. After I get to Muzeum I can either take the subway one stop and then walk to class, or I can just walk from Muzeum. If it’s nice out, I walk. The path takes me through Wenceslas Square, the ultra-touristy area of Prague. It makes for some good morning people watching. The entire time I’m listening to music on my iPhone, getting myself pumped up for class. Every morning I listen to “I Am Woman” by Helen Reddy for inspiration.
 
We have two NYU buildings but only one has comfy couches so I beeline it straight for that one.  I switch my music to classical and begin to study, which usually entails reading. I do a lot of reading. I go to class, suffer through the boring topics and participate during the exciting ones. Then, if it’s late I go home but instead of walking to Muzeum I take the subway one stop then hop on the tram. I go home and usually have rice for dinner. I don’t eat meat and I don’t eat gluten, which is very difficult here, especially since all of the groceries are in Czech. I’ve gotten quite good at sautéing veggies so I add those to my rice and that’s my dinner. I begin to study again, getting things like research done; all the while I’m on Facebook chatting with people about our plans for the night. If I go out I leave around 9:30 to meet up with friends from one of the other dorms, if not I study until about midnight, and then I go to bed. My days are reasonably repetitious, but that’s how I like it. 

Our words are what make us. Eloquence is a highly sought after gift and as we revise our blogs, our thoughts, and our conversations we define ourselves. To be in a foreign country without language is to live in a state of limbo, teetering somewhere between existence and nonexistence, to be an emotional wraith wondering in the shadows. So we cling to the familiar, the English-speaking that surround us, and live in monotony with our few friends at our few bars eating what little food we can make out of what few ingredients we understand. Voiceless in Prague I cannot call out for help but merely give those passing by a look of desperation.
 
The Czech language is difficult, annoying, and not very attractive. I had a local Czech man tell me that it would be pointless to learn the language seeing as I could only use it in one country, and “Americans’ tongues can’t form our words.” I was happy my ignorance seemed justified to others, but life is still difficult. When coming to Prague they told us not to worry, everyone speaks English. This is a bold-faced lie and I will openly call out any NYU staff member who continues to perpetuate this fallacy.  The professors speak English, occasionally staff in restaurants and bars at tourist-happy sites speak English, and tour guides speak English. This seems like a solid amount but no; grocery shopping, clothes shopping, any kind of shopping, asking for directions, and trying to make friends becomes quite difficult with a rock-solid language barrier.
 
Those who speak English are generally younger, well educated, and few and far between. Public service jobs that require minimal education, which are the majority of people that you will be asking for help during a stay in Prague, do not. In fact, in my intensive Czech course during our two-week orientation period I never even learned how to say, “help” or “emergency,” things I fear I might need with the winding roads and highly alcoholic beer Prague has to offer. I have also noticed that body language and gestures are not used as often in the Czech Republic as the US, making menial tasks even more difficult. I have no problem asking people for help, directions, or just general assistance but in Prague I’ve been more hesitant. Czechs are very friendly once you get to know them or liquor them up, but as NYU warned us, they are quite unapproachable and do not welcome strangers. Not only is it difficult to ask for help in a non-English-speaking country but matters are made worse when the person you are inquiring upon glares as you pick their brain for directions. The Czech Republic is a beautiful country with beautiful castles and beautiful people, but all of this can be masked by an ugly film called the language barrier. 

After a year in NYC, I was spoiled; non-stop public transit, a constant metro, and an app to help navigate the system. I came out of my freshman year raving about the bonuses of public transit, but now I know every city can’t be New York City. Prague has trams, buses, and a metro system. They’re clean, safe, and don’t smell so terrible that you breathe into your shirt to mask the smell of urine, garbage, and body odor. Overall, they sound much better than the good old MTA but ask me any day, and I’d choose the vagrant-teeming underbelly of Manhattan. The public transit system of Prague shuts down at midnight.
 
The metro stops entirely, and while those three lines aren’t much, they’re still preferable to the slow trams and buses. The tram and bus systems switch to “night trams” and “night buses.” Not only is it difficult to learn one set of tram schedules, but two are too much to ask. When we first arrived and tried our hand with the night trams we were told that our normal day tram was the same as a night tram by the name of the 56. This statement was entirely inaccurate. As we got on the friendly 56 to go to a club on the other side of the river we felt confident. We had routed out a plan, drawn it on a map, and knew about how long it should take us. After fifteen minutes of unrecognizable stops though we learned, to our dismay, the trams were not the same. We hopped off, grabbed a cab, and headed into the opposite direction.
 
Maybe this could have been avoided, but only maybe. Google maps in the Czech Republic does not provide that lovely public transport option like it does in the states, and there is no app that can tell me how the system works like the impressive NYC Mate. In order to illustrate a plan of attack I have to go to the public transit website, select English, “plan a journey,” and then instead of simply being able to copy and paste the addresses of points A and B, I have to find the locations on a map. It’s not quick, it’s not easy, but it’s the only option.
 
Prague is not on a grid. This is saddening and ads to the public transit woes, but I grew up with real street names and step-by-step instructions; however Prague is another bag of snakes. My route to class involves two unmarked tunnels with no names that go through little shops. The tunnels aren’t on the maps but it’s the quickest way to get from the subway stop to class; it also happens to be the only way I know. At night though the tunnels shut down and the doors close so my familiar area becomes less familiar. Now my friends and I are forced to use landmarks like “the one sausage place” or “Erotic City” or “The Newyorker.” 

A semester abroad is not a vacation. Boton details the anticipation of travel, the excitement built up in the days before departure, but I could only feel dread. I was not going on vacation; instead I was going to a foreign, non-English speaking country, to take classes for four months.  The few friends I told called me crazy for going so far away, so young, but I didn’t realize how truly ludicrous my trip to Prague really seemed until I began to pack. Two suitcases, four months, one seriously confused girl. I told almost no one I was leaving until one day, via Facebook, I posted “Off to Prague for the semester.” It seemed I had been denying my departure for a while.
 
Boton so lavishly illustrated not only the anticipation, but also the actual departure so beautifully, yet my experience was not quite so poetic. I left friends, family, and my home state behind and I kept looking back. On the plane ride between Seattle and Paris, Jefferson Airplane’s “Leaving On A Jet Plane” began to play on the Iphone I would soon retire. The coincidence was too much, too soon, and I missed Alaska. I missed the open fields and the cool air as I sat in the hot, cramped Air France seats. I sipped my pre-flight ginger ale and contemplated, so plainly, water. In the Czech Republic one has to pay for their water at restaurants and I began to long for my cool, crisp well at home. I was sweaty, thirsty, sad, and tired.
 
Never once did I peer out the window to admire Baudelaire’s clouds. When I was a child I used to stare, nose to the plastic ultra-sealed windows, and imagine eating the floating frost. I envisioned that it would taste much like refreshing cotton-candy, air flavored which I thought at the time was possibly the greatest flavor there could be. I yearned so badly to taste cloud. Now I fly through the ice crystals, not even noticing their epic existence.
 
Baudelaire so wildly describes these white nebulas that I wonder, can traveling too often be a bad thing? Can there be a “too much” with travel? Businessmen are experts at travel, for flight attendants travel is their business, and for me, traveling back and forth between school and home, is only business. I have lost the childish joys of flying on a plane, popping my ears, and drinking sodas. That age old quote told us that really, it’s not the destination, and it’s the journey that matters, but not here, not now, not for me. I’m thrilled to be in Prague, safely settled in, but when I look back, my 24 hours of plane rides and layovers will not be what I remember. Sorry Boton, but this is where you and I diverge.
 

“I come from the land of the ice and snow, from the midnight sun where the hot springs blow” is how I started almost all of my admissions essays when I first applied to colleges, it seems a little tacky now. It’s true though. I’m from Hatcher Pass, Alaska, a beautiful mountain range about an hour north of Anchorage. I went to Wasilla High School, and for those of you who just made the connection, don’t ask. I welcome questions about mountains and wild animals and snow but will quickly dodge anything of the political nature. I ended up in NYC simply for one reason: Gallatin. I’ve always known I wanted to be a lawyer, but what to do before then seemed to escape me. All the majors I looked at were good, but not great; almost there, but not quite right. Then I found Gallatin. I fell in love; my mother claimed my eyes sparkled. No structure, no restrictions, and no one telling me what to do sounded amazing. As I grew older throughout my high school years I became less dependent and more independent, but with my independence came an attitude and a desire to challenge authority. Gallatin would give me space, resist from looking over my shoulder, and so I flew the nine hours to New York to pursue my dreams of mild rebellion before law school.  As of now, I’m studying the Economics of Law: The Money Behind the Madness. Essentially it would deal with contract writing, corporate law, and the legal system in regards to a free market. I like math, money, and rules (or lack there of).
 
So from Alaska to New York I thrived, but then on a whim I decided to go abroad the fall of my sophomore year. It came down to the fact that I wanted to be a Resident Assistance and I also wanted to go abroad, thus sophomore year was my best option. I chose the fall because of one odd, but important reason: I play Ultimate Frisbee for NYU and the competitive season is in the spring. I chose Prague because of its history and central location. The Czech Republic has been through a revolution much more recently than most countries, so my curiosity spiked and I arrived in Prague, sweaty, exhausted from over 24 hours of travel, and a little sad to be so far away from everyone. I relaxed a bit when in the parking lot of the airport, waiting for the bus, I saw two men get out of a car casually; they were shirtless. It reminded me of all the nudity Alaska provided me over the summer and I smiled.
 
I have yet to view Europe before now so I’m still taking it all in and adjusting. Prague is a great place and I’m hoping to learn more, love more, and see more of what Mother Earth has to offer, piece by piece.
 
Loves,
 -C
 
P.S. The beer here is wild, highly alcoholic, and cheap.