When I left Prague, I didn’t know where I was going. I had just spent one week existing in love, Nescafe, and thin-mattress passion, and my lover had left for Spain. God knows where my guidebook was, and my map got rained on. (It’s these rare moments when traveling without hostel reservations and friends that I question my motives and overall intelligence). I wanted to go to Cesky Krumlov, but I knew it wouldn’t be the same without Aleks, that I would be trying to recreate something from the past. I would see ghosts of Us everywhere. I packed up anyways, restless legs guiding me forward, and I hit the streets. I somehow remembered my way to Praha Hlavni Nadrazi , the main train station, and felt more at ease when trickles of American English, French, Russian, German and Spanish began to flood the airwaves.
I stood in line for train tickets, still not knowing where to go. I kept telling myself that my heart would guide me, that the destination would reveal itself. The line kept getting shorter and the pressure to make a decision kept building, until…shit. “Ahoj, Brno, today please.”
“OK, I guess I’m going to Brno” I said aloud. This decision could not be more spontaneous. I said it simply because it was the first city to come to mind, and the only train that would arrive at its destination before dark.
I adore train stations in big cities. There are few better pastimes than nibbling yesterday’s baguette, finding a marble nook to cozy up in, and committing to watch anyone and everyone that goes by.
When it was time to board, I plowed my way to the front of the line like everyone else was, and managed a window seat. Huzzah, suckers! I collapsed into the seat and smiled at the rain that was just beginning to fall. Oh yeah, this was good. 4 hours became 5 minutes as I fell asleep. I was in Brno before I knew it.
I heaved my pack back on and followed the crowd into the street. Everyone knew where they were going but me! No other travelers seemed to be around, no one to ask at which hostel they were planning to stay. No taxis. No signs in English. 2 hours before dark. Hm.
But wait! What’s that?! A cart? Selling wine? Sold in recycled plastic bottles? From Moravia? And everyone around me has a few! Strapped to their bikes, stuffed into their sacks, sipping straight from the 2L bottle! Oh my god. And there’s live music too, somewhere in the distance! I had found myself in the goddamned middle of a Moravian wine party. God is good.
Ok, but I had to find somewhere to sleep. I didn’t care where. The first place, anyplace! I had to try 4 different hotels, because apparently hostels were closed for the season. One of those, I walked in on a “men only” sort of hotel…whoops. But, a German gentleman who must have noticed how confused and desperate I was (it was now dark), called the 5th hotel attempt for me, and made my reservation over the phone. Mine was literally the last room available — why, everyone had come for the wine party! It was the first time in a while that I’d spent over $10 for a bed while traveling… $110 to be exact… but well worth it. Besides, I was hardly spending money on anything on this trip, thanks to generous friends and years of solid networking skills. I had a perfect shower, fresh Egyptian cotton sheets, a TV with BBC (this was when I first learned of the Occupy Wall Street movement), and a plush bathrobe. The concierge told me all about the wine and how everyone was gathering in town to have the first sip of the last harvest. “It is not even very good wine, tastes like sour grapes, but we are still excited about it!” I was about to savor Moravian wine on the 13th century streets of Moravia, and I was at home.
Relieved with knowing I had a bed and shower, I wandered back to the street fair. There were folk games, grape juice for the kids, and warm pastries and meats hugging the otherwise crisp air. Everyone was Czech, and so I reveled in my aloneness. I became a fly on the wall and just watched. Thankful, laughing, grinning. This is the life I have chosen. This is the path that I am on. Spinning in endless circles while staying still. A moment where everything is simply okay.
And it was that night that I fully dedicated myself to a career of food and drink, for they are the two things that bring everyone together. Whatever problems we have, it all comes back to the table. Occupy Wall Street was kicking off, and energy worldwide was narrowing focus to community and solidarity. There is nothing that holds so much passion, grace, emotion, stability, or contagious peace, than a homemade meal and selectively chosen wine. No matter how alone I have ever been, a piece of bread or a glass of wine can always break the ice and illicit feelings of comfort and home. The way I see it, I have no choice but to work in restaurants, it’s what I’m supposed to do. And still do. And will continue to do for quite some time.
When I was handing payment for my second plastic glass of wine, the salesman gently grabbed my wrist. His tree root fingers examined my train tattoos, smiled at me, and denied payment. “Dekuji”. I briefly joined in a circle of drunken dancing, and ended up dancing with the German man (that made my hotel reservation for me), and his Czech mistress. They walked me to my hotel, and bid adieu.
The next morning was rainy and cold. The streets were quiet, everyone sleeping in late from the night before. I slowly emerged from my perfect bed and took a perfect hot shower. I turned on the BBC for more news about Occupy Wall Street; my friends were on the TV, holding cardboard signs and getting threatened by police. I questioned if I would ever get back to St. Louis, routed through JFK. I prayed for everyone’s safety and decided to clear my head with a walk. As fog lifted off the streets, a beautiful cathedral emerged, and I decided to follow the line of people walking to service. Legs restless, I opted out of a Czech church service and decided to wander the bell tower instead. The old stairs creaked and squeaked, and I couldn’t help but imagine myself dressed in 14th century clothing, when the structure was built. Everything was so mobile yet so still. And as I sat in the highest point in Brno and looked out across the terra cotta roofs and street markets starting to come alive, it hit me: Budapest. I had to go to Budapest. Only a few hours away. and 10 more days to spend in Europe! Budapest called me. And by early afternoon, I was packed up and seated on a train to Hungary.
I'd Prefer A Train Ride 