First Taste of Ice, a Strange Passage through the Land of the Gypsies, and Other Final 2007 Praha Adventures (Read: Wandering Rocks)

I have a hell of a lot of news to send your way, folks. Last you read, I was waiting until Monday, when the public rink opened. Since Saturday, life has been more or less a nonstop adventure...I've been so busy I haven't even had time to journal. Gag. I'll try to remember everything in chronological order, but for the purposes of keeping the narrative bite-sized, I'm breaking it up into subheadings. Here we go; hold on, cause there will be a lot of gear shifting.

The German Ladies Go to Malebolge (But Josh Avoids Vanni Fucci)

Shortly after composing my blog on Saturday, I went out with the usual suspects--as though there is any such thing as "usual" here--and met, among others, two German girls. We talked about classical music and literature, and I consequently recommended Kutna Hora (the ossuary) to my fourth group of folks. They were slated to depart the next day, Sunday, and they were bound by train to Bratislava. I asked them their point of departure, and when they answered "Hlavni Nadrazi" I just said "oh." I wandered across Hlavni Nadrazi once, but that was during a cozy midday. Regardless, the place was crawling with mumbling, half-conscious homeless people in various degrees of intoxication and mental imbalance. I turned on my heel and left. These ladies, however, were taking the 1:00 am train to Bratislava. If the place was questionable during the day, I was fairly terrified to think of its nocturnal dwellers. Hence I decided the only gentlemanly and safe thing to do was to escort Carol and Ruth. After hunting down some postcards, we caught the last metro to Hlavni Nadrazi and had an hour to kill. Ruth and Carol wanted to go outside to smoke and drink coffee, so I went with them. Through the duration of my stay in Prague, I've wondered "so, where are the Gypsies? There are supposed to be Gypsies here." I found them. A whole lot of them. And they were all staring at me and the two little German girls...whispering, talking among themselves at a suspicious distance. I looked at the girls and said "ladies, I recommend you finish your smokes now. I'd really prefer to be somewhere that isn't here." Before going, I made sure to say "it's time for our train" in as many languages as I knew and at reasonable volume. By this point, I was trying to avoid having them waiting for me when the girls got their train. There were about fifteen of them by now, and, as expected, they milled around the only exit door as soon as we went in, but I kept making furtive glances back, and they were moving en masse toward another section of the train station. I'd like to think my little ruse worked, because I didn't see any of them when I walked out sporting my Muscovite scowl. The rest of my night was uneventful, but it was about the scariest moment on the trip yet. I'm quite glad I did it, though, because they seemed especially interested in the Germans.

Pete

Upon my return to the Hostel, there was a Brit nigh-dead drunk on the computer. I thought I'd strike up a conversation with him. He had been touring death metal fests all over Europe, and he was trying his damnedest to order a Nine Inch Nails ticket online. Though drunk off his face, He was a good guy, and since fine motor skills were eluding him, I helped him put in his info. I figured if I helped him buy the ticket, I'd have some company to the concert. Helping a drunk dude type in his credit card information is a special and irrevocable bond, I think. He thanked me profusely the next day and we've been buddies ever since.

Skating, no hockey

Monday came (as it often does,) and it was to be a big one. When I read about the public skating thing, it mentioned that they allowed you to play hockey, as long as you were careful. Coming from a U.S. public skating culture of insurance liabilities, I found that unlikely, so instead of buying sticks before I went, I thought I'd scope out the territory first. I thought it was better to skate than look like a weirdo with a hockey stick. (To be fair, though, anyone in Arkansas who owns a hockey stick looks like a weirdo, so you'd think I'd be used to it by now.) I had a good skate, and it seems the walks around Prague have been good for my endurance. But sure enough, there were guys playing hockey, and damn was I jealous. Furthermore, I could actually keep up with them. I checked the bench to see if they had extra sticks, but no. But I had learned a valuable piece of information--it only took me two and a half danm weeks to find, but I found a place to practice.

Stick Shopping Shenanigans

To my shame, I don't know the Russian word for hockey stick, much less the Czech one. So when I go stick shopping, I speak English. I speak English with a crankypants old hockey shopkeeper lady who knows about ten words of English. This proves to be unfortunate, since her English totally overlaps with my Czech. I even tried "baton," but she spoke less French than she did English. The communication breakdown was insurmountable, but when I asked her if she took credit cards (in Czech,) she directed me to an ATM. She took my absence as a handy opportunity to close the hockey shop half an hour early. Dammit.

NIN concert
I had to go back to the Slavia Praha rink later that day, but not for a game. I had the most awesome concert of my life to see. Pete and I went together, and the concert defied words. It was packed, and I might have heard three people speaking Czech out of the cast of thousands.

Karaoke

A bizarre karaoke dive bar followed. I thought it best to avoid singing Russian songs, so I opted for "Sultans of Swing" instead, and brought the house down. Then Pete's metal friends and I more or less screamed AC/DC's "Back in Black" all together. Not artful, but certainly entertaining. On the way back, Pete got propositioned by three prostitutes. He smiled at them, so I guess he had it coming. As a general rule, after 21:00, the Muscovite scowl comes on. It's served me well so far.

If at first you don't succeed...

Yesterday was chaos. I had too many things to do, and too few of them involved hockey for my liking. The obvious thing to do, therefore, was put off the non-hockey stuff for today. I'm on a mission, dammit, and it's a hockey mission. Stick shopping took an eternity, but I succeeded, because I had the money when I got there, and though the lady was clearly displeased, she took my money regardless. Victory was mine. I dashed to the public skating rink (on the other side of Prague) and arrived...at 17:40. The rink closes at 18:00, but I got in a good brisk stick and puck skate. From there, I went to watch a fantastic movie about the Beastie Boys at the Island Outdoor Cinema. Then to bed, because I had a long day the next day.

And I Still Do...

I got my final fix of touristy Prague at St. Vitus' Cathedral, where I started to put together my photo montage of Eastern European stained glass as something of a side project. I climbed the 287 steps again to the top of the great south tower, and now I'm writing my final entry while I still have reliable internet. I'm sure I'll have a good story about getting a report from the Prague police, transit to Brno, and my final few hours of hockey in Prague. Speaking of, I have to get to the rink so I can get a couple of hours in before my chariot awaits. I know this one was rather long, but your comments are appreciated.

One city down, 30+ to go.

Ciao.

Josh