Traveling Baker

As we stepped off the train in the Czech Republic, I half heartedly shouted the name of our friend Petra, and about three women turned around. I guess Petra is a popular name here.

We found our pal Petra, who bearhugged us and introduced us to her mother and the boyfriend of her mother, George. Petra’s mother does not speak English and the only English that George knows is “no problem,” so Petra is serving as our host and as our official translator.

The drive into town was a harrowing nighttime ride down what Petra volunteered is “a very dangerous road.”

George, smelling faintly of fine Czech beer, stomped on the accelerator, manhandling curves around steep hills in the blink of an eye. I checked to make sure my seat belt was secure. A bicyclist on the side of the road quickly became a blur in my sideview mirror. George was laughing maniacally when a large rabbit hopped into the road, peered into the racing headlights and panicked.

It all happened so fast, but when I saw the crunch of rabbit fur and rubber bumper, I covered my mouth, which hung wide open in shock. George raised his arm in the air and declared something in Czech that must have been, “Oh well, the rabbit is dead now,” and kept speeding down the highway.

While we were getting over the bunny massacre, Petra explained that there simply was not room at the house for us, and that we would be much more comfortable in another place they set up for us. “No problem,” we told her. She elaborated on the new arrangements. “It is at the police station,” where George works, she said.

“There is a bed, and a toilet and shower.”

When we got to the police station, George opened up a set of iron bars, and showed us a tiny jail cell, with two concrete cots and a toilet in the middle. I pretended to be impressed.

Fortunately, old George was playing a trick on us. Our real room was upstairs, no iron bars, and much more comfortable.

So long story short, I have been roaming the halls of the local police station in Kaplice, Czech Republic, wearing a Policie hat, and pretending to be important. Somebody has to do it.

More highlights from the past day or so …

• Petra’s mom not only washed and ironed our laundry, but drove us around and cooked a great Czech meal. She was so nice to us.
• “Shall we go see the gypsies,” Petra asked us. “They are doing an all-day event.” Sure, sounds great. I imagined taking pictures of exotic dancers. Um, no. Not quite. What we found was a small-town carnival, like you would find at fall festivals all over the United States. “This is the gypsies,” Petra told us, confused by our mistaken impression.
• I have learned one useful Czech phrase: “One beer, please.”
• We ventured into Linz, Austria, yesterday, to browse an antiques market. There were lots of strange characters there. At an outdoor cafe, I ordered an iced coffee, but when I got it I had coffee with ice cream and whip cream. Not exactly what I pictured, but I did not complain.
• We were blown away by the stunning beauty of the nearby town of Ceske Krumlov. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous town. More on it later, when I get a decent keyboard. And I am not even sure I spelled the name correctly. By decent keyboard, I mean one that does not invert the Z and Y key. And one on which I can make an apostrophe. A question mark would not hurt, either.

Oh well. Life is good. We are going to Prague in the morning, and I will celebrate my birthday there on Tuesday.

Ceske Krumlov