La Vie Greyhound

And I thought I was doing so well, too. I stretched my final hours in Prague as much as I could; I had a final beer with my British metal boys, said fond goodbyes to everyone at Ujezd...basically I didn't leave the hostel until 23:30. I knew I would be cutting it close. I caught the Metro at Narodni Trida thinking of all the chaotic transfers I would have to perform. When I got on the Metro, however, I remembered that the yellow line intersects with the red line at Florenc, the national bus station. For a short trip like Praha-Brno, the train ticket was $45, the bus ticket was $6. The price difference pretty much made my decision for me. I thought I was the bees' knees. I hauled all 55kg of luggage to the bus station without inconvenience or problem. Then began the shitstorm maelstrom. I arrived to a VERY empty bus station. Workers were hosing off the cobblestones, garbage collectors were collecting the garbage (as they are wont to do). Hmm. Suddenly a very official-looking man came up to me and said "the station closes at 12" in Czech. In my mind, I repeatedly smacked my forehead. Why didn't it occur to me that the bus station would close? Bollocks. It was a "dammit" moment, ala being stranded in Nashville when there was no room for me on the Greyhound back to Memphis. Only this time, instead of being a felicitous "when life gives you lemons" moment, I realized I had nowhere to put my luggage. No lockers anywhere. I considered biting the bullet and taking a night train, but that would have involved much more hauling than I was frankly willing to do. No, instead, I couldn't remove the words "it's gonna be a LOOOOONG night" from my thoughts. And a long night it was indeed.

I set up camp outside the bus station at 00:30. I unsheathed my hockey stick and placed it on my lap to fend off the homeless. It sort of worked, until a man who smelled like body odor, unwashed flesh and rotten garbage came up to me. He wanted a cigarette. I obviously didn't have one, but someone had left an empty pack beside me. Now, know that this man was a trash collector. Not the kind who works for the city, but the kind who collects garbage for fun. Something of a hobby. He carried an impossibly grungy little plastic bag full of...whatsit. I gave him the empty pack, and he smiled with unabated delight. I'd made a friend; it was a pity that he was a friend I was not especially interested in having. I worked on my broken Czech, but between his grunts and mumbles, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to understand him even if I spoke fluently. To be frank, this guy was giving me a rash in a very bad way. When I told him I was American, his eyes lit up. He had something very important to tell me about...well, who else...John F. Kennedy. Screw the single bullet theory. Some homeless dude in Prague did it. He finally left me alone and I wrote some very odd things in my journal, like

"when you're human, the world is your oyster. When you're a dog, the world is your toilet. Dogs win."

After writing for about half an hour, an affable sort of drunk stumbled over and introduced himself as Jan. He was impressed by and interested in my hockey gear. Not the "I'm going to take you down an alley, beat the shit out of you, and steal your stuff" kind of interested, mind you, but the "I'm a fan of hockey" kind of interested. We talked as best we could about Czech hockey. Between his slurring and my inability to put together a coherent sentence, this was an interesting endeavor. Finally we gave up and played street hockey for about half an hour in the bus station parking lot. I figured it was high time for the game to end when the ball rolled under the wheel of a van...a police van. I went around the side to get my ball and I was greeted by four Czech police officers. I think I made their night. They were surprised to see someone playing hockey in a bus station parking lot at 3:00, and greeted me, "dobri vecer!" with an intonation of "well boo! who the hell are you?". After I talked to them a little, they asked if they could play. Then one of the officers (who was quite good, by my reckoning) started playing with the drunk. Yes. I played street hockey with a drunk and an officer of the law. I returned to my former post, the drunk went his stumbling merry way, and the officer bid me fond regards. Bizarre. I caught the 5:15 bus to Brno after my time in Bizarro-World Bus Station PurgatoryLand, and as soon as I found the hostel (at 9:15), I slept the sleep of the dead. I walked around the city center a bit, but that pales in comparison to my first full day in Brno.

The Brno 15k

I explored far more of the city than I really wanted to. I was seeking Hala Rondo, an old professional venue. (Incidentally, I'll be watching Jaromir Jagr, Martin Straka, Pavel Kubina, and other NHL stars play in a charity game there on Tuesday.) I never found the damn place, but I ended up walking through the very edge of civilization, past mile after strange mile of fenced-in gardens...all tilled and worked by old people. "Well...this tears it. If I were in America, I would know I wasn't in Kansas anymore when I started seeing car dealerships." It was a day of self-fulfilling prophecy. Half a mile later...SAAB! VOLVO! VYPRODEJ! (sale). I winced a little. The car dealerships are almost always on the city's very periphery. I gave up on finding Hala Rondo; I had two more search options. Since I had no idea where "Sportovni" Boulevard was, I decided to shoot for a rink in Kralovo Pole, in the northwest of the city. I walked toward the nearest thing resembling sentient life and went north...north north north, following the Kralovo Pole signs through other suburbs. Apparently I did an utterly massive end-around on the city center, because I walked from the Southwest corner of the city all the way to the Northeast corner. My feet were wont to fall off, and I was dead close to giving up (I was miserably tired and it was raining to boot). Kralovo Pole isn't a street. It's a damn district. I had a lot of street-combing to do. I came to a wide street lined with factories. "I'm going to laugh my ass off if this is Sportovni." The day of self-fulfilling prophecy continued. Big red letters, "Sportovni." I dropped to my knees and started cackling maniacally as I got utterly drenched. From there I found the newest rink in Brno in short order, and went inside to watch a team play--a team that I could keep up with. It was the coldest I've been in years. I was wearing a soaked t-shirt in a 34-degree room. But I stuck it out and watched the whole game. I tried talking to some of the players afterward. No one spoke English, though, and they didn't seem especially interested in interacting with me. Better luck next time.

My free time has been spent talking politics with Hungarians and speaking Russian with Italians. How's that for weird? This trip just gets more and more surreal with each passing day.

In other news, I missed America for the first time today. Allow a rephrase: I was on the level with myself about missing America for the first time today. My parents are getting a new house and all my friends are going back to school VERY soon, and as solipsistic as this sounds, it's difficult to imagine all these things going on, all these people and places I love and care about...happening...without me. Batesville and Sewanee were fairly seminal parts of my life for the last...well, let's just say forever, and I'm frankly pretty sad at the prospect of not having them as parts of my life anymore. I miss helping my mom in the kitchen. I miss hanging out in my single with my friends. I miss going to flea markets with my father. I miss my fraternity, my professors, and the Society of Pretentious Film. I miss my Batesville friends and Heber Springs mischief. I even miss going to class (yeah, it's that bad).

And at the end of the day, I've decided that it's okay. It gives me something to anticipate on shitty days. Today, however, is not a shitty day. It's actually pretty beautiful, and I think I'll go for a walk and a brisk skate. Comments, as always, are not just welcome, but encouraged.

Love and best wishes.

Josh