Too Many Stories, Too Little Time

Last I updated, my Bar friend was going to introduce me to his younger friend, Jakob. I thought we were going to the dacha. However, we went about Prague, and I saw some pretty alright places. in the process, I faced an interesting challenge--my Russian gets me by, but Jakob spoke no Russian. Furthermore, he spoke English very poorly. I had to will myself to make my vocabulary shrink so we could comunicate. It was an exercise in patience. Among the places we went, we hit up two little chuck e cheese-style billiard places. When Jakob lost two games, he complained that "heer tapels are baat". Obviously. So we went to another one. The tables were bad there too. ;-P
Here's where things get more complicated. The next day I met a really nice Indian guy named Deepak in my hostel, and we wandered around Prague until we met his pakistani friend. So let's talk about multiculturalism for a minute. An Indian, a Pakistani, and an American wander around Prague until they decide to take a bus to a little town outside Prague, Kutna Hora. Kutna Hora is known for several things: five-story communist apartment buildings, rubble, nice people, and Kostnice, a nice little 14th-century cistercian church in the woods. But it's no ordinary little church. It's an ossuary. The church is decorated with the bones of 40,000 dead, just waiting to inherit the kingdom of god. A chandelier utilizing every single human bone in its construction hung over the whole grisly procession, and a big graveyard was just outside the door. I told Deepak, "anyone who says that Christianity isn't a little fucked up needs to come here."

So this was the night of the thirtieth. Because of a booking error, I had nowhere to stay on the thirtieth. I ended up sleeping on the couch in Archie hostel, after checking several places for vacancies. That one took some smooth talking when the attendant came in the next morning. I slithered out of it and proceeded to haul my luggage across town. In the process, I've determined that I'm only staying in one hostel per city. Moving ONE of those bags across Prague would have been a nightmare, but two...well, with two I felt like I should be in the iditarod. My summer sled dog career over here seems to have more promise than My hockey career, though.
My efforts to play are continually thwarted. It's all closed. In the local woodwork, I hear whispered rumors of in-line hockey, and I remember hefting my inlines in my hands when I was packing and saying "nah...there's no way in hell I'm going to need these." Balls. But finding the rinks is rewarding, because I run across cool things everywhere I go. For instance, when scouting out a rink in southwest prague the other day, I stumbled on the Charles University Botanical Garden. It was gorgeous, and...well...I filched a tomato. Yes, I know, I'm ashamed too. It brings to mind a question Deepak asked me the other day: "Josh, do you think that life is a journey or a destination." Though I've always held this belief, It seems now more than ever that my life has very little to do with destinations, and everything to do with the things I encounter along the way.

"Never get out of the boat. Never get out of the boat...unless you're going all the way."

Instead of missing the states, I think it's more productive for everyone involved if I just wish you guys were here. So get your asses to Prague.

Hugs for most, kisses for some, love for all.

often licked, never beaten,

J. Brandon Harris, Conqueror of Europe.