Kafka

You know, Kafka lived here in Prague.

Sometimes I feel like this:


Prague's Franz Kafka International Named World's Most Alienating Airport

Gotta love The Onion...

No Jews Here

So, the other day, I went to the old Jewish Quarter (which is, like, down the street from my apartment). There are a bunch of beautiful old synagogues there. Each one has been converted into a museum. Some of the museums are focused on the history of the Jews in Prague and (what is now) The Czech Republic. Others detail what medieval Jewish life was like. Still others talk about the Holocaust and, specifically, the concentration camp Terezin (which is nearby). Most strangely, a couple talk about Judaism in general - what it was, how it was practiced, what the rituals were, etc... Everything is written in the past tense. It's very surreal.


Up until the war, Prague (and the Czech Republic) supported one of the most thriving and storied Jewish communities in Europe. Now, there are no Jews here. In the entire country there are (something like) a few thousand, and their average age is (something like) 75. The synagogues are now mausoleums to a people that have vanished from the country. As far as the museums are concerned, Jews may very well no longer exist. It's weird reading about yourself in the past tense.




Side note: Now that spring is slowly approaching (very slowly...) there are tourists all over Prague. Most of them seem to be Italian. I hear more Italian than Czech these days. Many of the Italians are student groups - from high school, I think. They must be on (the equivalent of) senior trip. They're everywhere. You can't walk ten steps without getting swept up in another tour filled with (largely disinterested) Italian kids. Oh, there are also French groups, and Spanish groups (haven't seen any Germans yet...). Western Europe must be conspiring to send all their youth to Prague for some reason. Maybe so that they develop a better appreciation of their own cuisine... and learn a little something about these "Jews" they keep hearing about while they're at it...

Gypsy Girls Fighting

I apologize for this. Normally, I wouldn't do this. But, one of my student sent me this video (he sends me all sorts of stuff). I feel like I have to post it. The subject line, in his email, was "gypsy girls fighting". Here it is.


Sorry for that... I'm not sure they're actually "gypsies".

Gold Class

So, last night, Ruth and I decide to go see the movie “Duel: Frost/Nixon” (yes, they added the word “duel” to the title – I have no idea why). At this point, it’s only playing at one cinema in Prague – at one time. We go to the cinema, and ask for tickets. Now, its worth mentioning that I noticed, on the board of “now-playing” movies, that there was a “GC” next to the time for our movie, and only our movie. At the time I didn’t think anything of it. Oops.

We order tickets. They end up costing the equivalent of $16. For a movie ticket?! That’s crazy. Usually, a ticket costs half that amount! The guy at the counter tells us the movie is expensive because its “gold class”. We have no idea what this means, but we figure we’ve come this far, we might as well just watch the damn thing. He asks us where we want to sit, and shows us a screen with a theater layout. The theater has three columns of seat pairs that are each four rows deep. That’s 24 seats. Small theater, right? That’s what I think. We select two seats on the right side of the theater. After handing us our tickets, the ticket guy tells us not to buy food at the concession stand, but rather to buy it “upstairs”. Ok…

Our theater is not listed on the regular directory. Instead, a separate sign points the way. “Gold Class: This Way” We go up a separate escalator and wind up in a very upscale bar. The ticket-taker woman rips our tickets, and then hands us a menu. What do you want? Cocktail? Ice-cream? Cake? Sushi? An entire meal? These can be yours. Hang your coat up in the coat-closet, the movie’s about to start.

The woman leads us to our seats in the theater. The theater, by the way, is not small at all. It’s a regular sized theater – only, it has 24 seats. It’s the seats that are large. They’re gigantic recliners. In between each pair of seats is a table. This is where you would put your sushi, had you ordered some. “I wonder if these seats recline…” I feel around for a… there it is – a switch. And, yes, they recline. And, yes, there’s a leg rest that comes up if you recline far enough. This is comfy…

The movie: good, but not earth shattering. The seats: amazing. Was it worth $16? Yes.

Dogs!

People love their dogs here. They bring them everywhere. On the subway, on the trams, into shops, into restaurants, everywhere. You rarely see a “no dogs allowed” sign. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one…

So, the dogs poop everywhere. And their owners don’t bother to clean it up. The sidewalks are littered with poop. People step in it all the time. There’s always someone dragging one of their feet across the cobblestones. They're not disabled – they just have some poop on their shoe.

Yesterday, in class, I had my students debate whether or not dog owners should be fined if they’re caught leaving their dog’s droppings on the sidewalk. Clearly, no such law exists at the moment. It was a very lively and spirited debate – about poop. We didn’t use the word “poop” though. *wink, wink* (This blog has been rated PG. Hiding the children won't be necessary.)

On Thursday, I went to a little bar with some friends. The owner of the bar had three miniature dachshunds. They were cute, until one of them started barking incessantly at the people at the table next to us for no discernible reason. Then, we noticed the poo – directly under our table. And the other, messier, poo – about a meter away. Mind the ground – even indoors. Poo is everywhere.

Um...

There are some crazy people in Prague. I was sitting on the tram the other day, and I took notice of a man sitting at the front of the car when he coughed up something on the tram floor, and then rubbed it in with his foot. Taking a look at this man, I saw that he was scratching something on his ankle. And it was bleeding. The blood was running down his leg. His socks were black, so I couldn’t see if they were blood soaked, but they must have been, because the blood was running out of his sock and down his shoe. After a few stops, he got up and left.

Another day, I saw a man (sitting on the tram) having an intense conversation with a man sitting across the isle. Looking closer, I noticed that the man who was talking (very animatedly, by the way) was crazy, and the guy he was talking to was not actually talking, or listening, but was, in fact, a stranger who was staring straight ahead, trying not to attract the crazy man’s attention. It wasn’t working. When his conversation buddy got up to leave, the crazy man shook his hand and thanked him for the conversation. My friend said, "That guy's a heroin addict."

And, yet another time, I was waiting at a tram stop with some friends (why do these stories always involve the trams, I wonder…) and a drunk, crazy, and possibly Italian guy came up to us and started cursing, in English, at inanimate objects. He took our nervous laughter as a sign of friendship, and when we got on our tram, he got on too. The tram ride was short, and our new friend spent most of the ride talking to himself rather than us. When we got off, we said goodbye, and he followed us. As soon as the tram drove away, he started peeing in the street. We took the opportunity to disappear into a restaurant. In the restaurant, as we’re getting ready to sit down, I see our buddy walk by the window. Oh no… Slowly count down. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… And in he comes. He opens the door, yells, “My friends!” to the frightened waitress while gesturing toward us, and then leaves. We never saw him again.

What’s with the people in this town?