Self-Mutilation and the Superfluous Man.

Moto GP/Hungarians

Between being sociable and scrambling to find pickup hockey in the summer, I haven't written in a substantial while. However, this is not for a lack of eventful happenings. When we last left our hero (laff laff), he was walking the Brno 15k. Since then, I've returned to the new rink twice to skate; it's the best ice I've ever gotten to play on--really hard and smooth. The skate was a lot more crowded than the ones in Prague, but there was still plenty of room. The European rink provides a lot more space and room for finesse, but it also makes public skates a lot less chaotic. Needless to say public skates are also substantially faster than in the ice-barren backwaters of Arkansas. The new rink is near the old rink. The old rink had its roof cave in sometime in the last two years, and it has since been overrun by gangs and other people of suspect character. It's quite a place, even from a distance...I didnt' really want to go very close.

I actually made it to the charity game I mentioned in my last post. It was a lot of fun, and you could see the players' unbelievable skill, but you could also tell that they were just having a good time out there. It was no contact, and the final score was 13-10. Jagr's Team won (big surprise). It was awesome, however, to see so many talented players in one place. As something of a non sequitur, the girl at the hostel reception desk told me I looked like Ales Hemsky, one of the goal scorers for the Unicef team. Cool. The beer was also ludicrously cheap...you find me a stadium in America where the beer is $1.50. Go ahead. I dare you. When you find it, tell me so I can go camp in the parking lot.

Ice continues to be elusive. Public skates are only on weekends here, and I'm beginning to get a little frustrated. Part of me wants to stay in Brno beyond my ten days, because I feel like I must have overlooked something, but about 80% of me knows that it's in my best interests to just move on. It is summer, after all. There's not an empty football pitch in this whole town, and they're rife with walk-on games. There's a word for this whole situation, and methinks that word is dammit. By October I hope to be up to my ankles in pucks and ice shavings. (I should be careful what I wish for. I hear Poland is very cold, so the ice shavings might just be in the rink parking lots.) It's getting a shade colder every day, I think, which means soon I'm going buy another several pounds of luggage...winter clothing. Just what the Iditarod dog needs: another ten or fifteen pounds in the sled.

I've met even more characters in Brno than I did in Prague...and I was in Prague a solid twelve days more than I've been here. A brief cross-section of the stories:

Unbeknownst to me, Brno is the host site of one of the biggest motorcycle races in Europe. 100,000+ people (and it seems like just as many motorcycles) clog the city and turn it into a tumult for three days, and then leave a wake of burning rubber and empty beer bottles. And I thought this place was quiet.
The first night of the Moto GP, I met Vidor, Adam, and Mike, three Hungarians who told me that I'd never want for food, lodging, or things to do while I was in Hungary. I took them to a decent Czech place. I swear to god they drank nothing but absinthe the entire time they were here.
My Italian friend Matteo and I made a habit of getting delicious (if slightly dodgy) Gyros from a 24 hour place almost every night he was here. I've been trading idioms with other English speakers. An Aussie injected "Dodgy" into my vocabulary, I gave her "sketchy" as a present from the good old U.S. of A. I now also end many sentences with an interrogative "yeah?"

Lightheartedness aside, Matteo and I also saw something really alarming a couple of nights ago. I was keeping Matteo company while he smoked on the porch, and a guy came up to ask him for a cigarette. Matteo obliged, and he offered us a pull of his vodka. As I was taking him up on his offer, I noticed the kitchen knife in his right hand. A warning flag went up, but just as I was about to go inside and retreat from the possibly unpleasant developing situation, I noticed his left arm was dripping blood. Three straight, deep lines were carved into his arm, and the trail behind him was long and wide. I used my still fairly regrettable Czech to ask him what had happened, and he told me he'd done it to himself, over a girl. I guess it turns out my Wilderness Advanced First Aid (WAFA) training was useful after all. I went inside to the first aid kit, and got the poor bastard a beer while I was at it. I was trying to tell him what to do as I dressed his wounds, but here my Czech abilities came to a grinding halt. Fortunately he spoke some English. He said he wanted to stay with us or go back out, since his father was on his way to pick him up. He went on to say that he hated his father. We kept him busy until dear old dad arrived. I thought it was probably better that way, since I was sure his family must have been worried sick, and the hostel probably didn't want blood-covered sheets. His father, brother, and girlfriend arrived in trio, and what followed was not for me to see. So that was my harrowing experience and good deed for the week. I think I'm actually still a little shaken up.

I also recieved an employment offer from an entrepreneur who's traveling around the world making contacts. It was an odd conversation, because what started out as a friendly conversation quickly became a job interview. My interview skills are good as ever, I suppose, because he wanted, in a few years, to make me director of American operations for Transcendental LTD. I told him I'd see.

Some of you may notice that one of my friends from Prague, Dominque, dedicated a song to me on facebook...Drinking Beers with Mom. This hearkens back to a fun Prague anecdote and foreshadows a fun Brno anecdote. One night I took care of my British metal buddies in Hostel Ujezd, and Dominique watched most of it and helped too. She said I was like the Hostel's "Drinking Mom." I've come to be pretty thrilled about this title, frankly. Last night I helped a big guy stand up and not pass out/throw up in the hostel hall. My legacy continues.

I think I'm more or less done in Brno; I feel stuck in a rut here, even though it's beautiful and peaceful enough. I think it probably doesn't help that the hostel is closing, and being in a place where things are ending and winding down generally puts me in a bad mood. I spent two hours today debating whether or not to leave the hostel. Oblomov lives. I think it's time for a change of scenery. I'll see what Bratislava has to offer; Slovakia, from what I hear, has a more favorable exchange rate, and lots of culture strewn among awful Communist buildings. Wish me luck.

Brno's ONLY Oblomovistic Drinking Mom,

J. Brandon Harris