CHAPTER 10 - The Long Journey Awaits

PAVEL woke me up that morning at five o’clock, only four hours after we had gone to bed. He walked into the guestroom where I was sleeping, called “Paul, wake up” a few times and, after the third attempt and no response, started gently tapping me on the shoulder.
“What the hell is that? A leek? Listen man, I don’t know what...”
“Paul, wake up,” he continued tapping. “Is five. We must to go soon.”
“Who? What?” I woke up, still half-dreaming. “Pavel? Shit. What time is it?”
“Yes. Is five. We must to go soon for shopping.”
“Five?” I leaned on one elbow. The room started spinning slightly and a jackhammer was pounding on my skull. “What the...”
“Trains for Horní Planá leaves at eight from Hlavní Nádraží in Centrum. We must to go shopping before. I wait downstairs. You go wif clothes and come soon, OK?”
I grudgingly nodded and Pavel closed the door behind himself. I dragged myself upright in bed, threw my legs over the side, and reached for my jeans strewn on the floor. This was no way to start a vacation. Four hours of sleep and a hangover. What the fuck? But then again, I remembered where I was. As far as I could tell throughout my stay in the Czech Republic, the country thrived on sleep deprivation.
Call it a Protestant work ethic, Communist propaganda, or simply a reaction to cold continental weather, one of the things I could never get used to in the Czech Republic was how early the country’s workforce would begin the rat race. I don’t know, maybe it was because I had just come from Greece where, by law, businesses and non-essential services (hospitals etc. excluded) had to shut down daily for the three-hour afternoon siesta. This, of course, results in an endemic nightlife which extends well into the pre-dawn morning. Not true in Prague. I guess I shouldn’t have actually been so surprised though seeing as my Rough Guide travel guide had already warned me that most “Czechs get up so early in the morning (often around 5 or 6) that they don’t have time to start the day with anything more than a quick cup of coffee. As a result, the whole concept of breakfast as such is alien to the Czechs.” Apparently, this even extended to the younger generation as I could tell with some of my morning students, struggling to stay awake by the time eleven-thirty rolled around.
So, I dressed myself, brushed my teeth, and splashed some water on my face in a futile attempt to alleviate my hangover. I needed something stronger so I went into the kitchen where Pavel, dressed and packed, was waiting.
“Coffee, Paul?” his mom politely asked as she stood in front of the stove wrapped in a nightgown.
“Oh. Yes, please. That would be perfect. Thank you very much.” I sat down opposite Pavel and began gently massaging my temples. “My God, why do we have to wake up so early?”
“Is only little early. We go for shopping in Tesco but train for Horní Planá leaves on eight o'clocks. So, you drink your coffee...”
“Thank you,” as his mom placed a hot cup before me.
“...and we drives to Tesco. Is coming here Jarda and Tonda too.”
One cigarette and half a cup of coffee later, Pavel’s two friends arrived. They greeted everyone and just stood by the door.
“We go now?”
“Fuck Pavel. You gotta learn to slow down! Just let me finish my coffee.”
“Okay,” he got up and put his jacket on. “You finish so we go?”

Pavel locked his Škoda’s doors and the four of us walked towards the huge Tesco HyperMarket before us. We secured a shopping cart for a ten koruna coin deposit and made our way through the cavernous supermarket to the alcohol section – larger than anything I had ever seen. Alcohol on one side, four shelves high, and beer on the other. All in an aisle that extended farther than the human eye’s field of vision.
“Beers first? What you like? Pilsner is best.”
“Yeah, I agree. Pilsner Urquell it is.”
Pavel and the others threw ten liters worth of beer bottles into the shopping cart. Already half full, we pushed it down the aisle and surveyed our choices of hard liquor.
“Is difficult. Many good,” Pavel spoke as we all gazed at the seemingly endless variety. He said something in Czech and then turned to me, “We all chooses one bottle, ok? So, four different.”
“Wait, what about the other guys? Robert and Honza?”
“No, no. They shopping yestverday. Only for us. So, Paul, you choose one bottle for you.”
In the end, we got a bottle of Stolichnaya, spiced rum, watermelon Schnapps, and some sort of peach vodka.
“Is good. But we forget one things.” Pavel grabbed a bottle of greenish liquid off of the shelf. “Sour Apfle. Is best!” The others nodded in agreement as we left the shelves of booze behind us.
We stopped in front of the cheeses and spreads section. Jarda went off to get a dozen or so rolls from the baked goods section and we each chose something to eat the bread with. When Jarda returned, all three started laughing.
“What? What is it?” I asked, tub of potato salad in one hand and sun-dried tomato cream cheese in the other.
“Is no place for food!”
I couldn’t help but smile as I noticed the shopping cart before us filled with beer and liquor... with the occasional bread roll and box of cheese spread resting on top. “Ha ha! I think we’ve gotten enough alcohol for this week, guys! Let’s go pay and we can head off to the train station!”
Pavel stopped laughing and an air of seriousness took over his countenance. He turned to me and gazed profoundly into my eyes.
“What? What did I say?”
“Alcohol is not for this week... Is for train today!” and he started laughing louder than ever.

It was a bit before quarter past six in the morning, only a few days before New Year’s 2002, and I was standing at a tram stop near the edge of Prague, waiting for the first tram of the day. Pavel, Tonda, Jarda, and I had returned to Pavel’s earlier, put all the alcohol and food into whatever it could fit into, and had made our way to the tram stop where Robert and Honza were supposed to be waiting for us. They weren’t. As the first tram we saw came and went, I sat down on one of the benches behind us and took out my tobacco.
“So, do you know where they are?”
“Maybe sleep late. They mobiles are off.” Pavel sat next to me, resting his bag between his legs, as I applied the finishing touches to my cigarette. “You want beer?”
“What?” I lit my smoke. “It’s six in the morning! Are you serious?”
“OK.” He called over Jarda and Tonda, handed them a beer each, opened his, and nazdravíed them.
“Unbelievable.”
“You want, Paul?”
“Jesus... Yeah, what the hell.” We all sat there drinking our first beer of the day. Some people arrived, on their way to work no doubt, and threw strange glances our way as they waited for the next tram. We didn’t give a shit. Pavel nazdravíed them too as they either laughed or turned away in disgust.
The other two arrived fifteen minutes late. They put their bags down, took out a beer, and snapped the bottle caps off. A minute or so later, the six of us were sitting in the back of a near empty tramcar bound for the center, guzzling away.
As the others laughed and talked, filling the silent tram with the sounds of life, I once again lost myself outside the window. It was becoming a habit in this town. Prague is such an amazing city to travel through. So small and compact yet so architecturally diverse. Pavel’s house in one of the Communist panelák outskirts of the city was just as far from the center as the Dum was in Modřany. Unlike Modřany, however, he had a tram line running right through his neighborhood. Only twenty minutes to the center if you caught the right tram. And the ride was a scenic rollercoaster of urban transformation. Drab and dreary panelák housing highrises would turn into sleek modern office buildings and, finally, morph into a stunning array of Baroque, Neo-classical, and Gothic buildings dancing in the morning light. A twenty-minute aesthetic treat. I leaned back and breathed it in.
“You have tickets, Paul?”
“What? What do you mean? For the train? Can’t we just buy them at the station?”
“No, no. For tram.”
“Fuck no. It’s too early, no one checks this early. Inspectors at this hour... please.”
“Yes, yes. Then who is this?” and Pavel pointed to a man who had just stepped onto the tram and was now flashing his badge to the few other commuters sitting towards the front.
“Shit. So early? I don't have anything. Do you?”
Pavel shook his head, laughed, and took another swig. Only two more commuters separated us from the inspector. He had been looking at us suspiciously from the start – after all, we had seven large pieces of luggage between us, were drinking beer at half past six in the morning, and making more noise than the crowd at a boxing match upset. Suddenly, Honza stood up, walked towards one of the validation machines that dotted the inside of every tramcar, and took out his wallet.
“Jeden ... Dva ... Tři ... Čtyři ... Pět ... Šest ” he counted as loud as he could while pulling out non-validated tickets from his wallet and inserting them one by one into the yellow machine. Honza laughed and turned to the inspector who was standing only a few feet away and staring. “Šest! Mame šest!”
The inspector gave us all a cold, piercing gaze, and started yelling something. The others replied just as loudly and, eventually, howled the inspector off at the next stop. He was powerless to reprimand us. We were riding the tram legally with validated tickets in our possession – a first for me. We finished our beers a few minutes later, got off at Hlavní Nádraží train station, bought our tickets to Horní Planá, and went to find a nice, comfortable compartment on the train in order to continue the festivities.
As we pulled out of the main station, Jarda took out the Stolichnaya, unscrewed it, and passed it around. We each sipped from the bottle of quality Russian vodka as Jarda then proceeded to take out a portable stereo system. Soon, Status Quo was blaring from the speakers and heads were bobbing up and down with the beat.
Pavel handed me the bottle, “You like vodka?”
“Eh... It’s okay. It’s a little strong for me though. Does strange stuff. But as long as I have some beer to wash it down with, I should be fine.”
“Yes, yes. This is good vodka. Stolichnaya.”
“Yeah. The Russian stuff. Russian vodka is the best!”
“Yes, very good but,” Pavel leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Finland vodka is better!”
I nodded ignorantly, took a swig followed with a little beer, and passed the bottle to Honza. “Hey Pavel, how much were the train tickets to Horní Planá?”
“Is okay. Only one hundred korun each people. But we must to change train one time in České Budějovice.”
“Where?”
“Is in souf. Maybe free hours. Maybe four. You know Budvar beer from there? Is original Budweiser – German name for Budějovice. Not shit American beer-water Bud. This is original Czech beer. Very good ”
“Yeah, yeah. I know the story. You told me before. The American company stole the name or something. Trust me, the original Czech version tastes a million times better.” Pavel nodded, either in agreement or to the rhythm of an AC/DC song that had just begun. “Hey, can I see the ticket?”
Pavel gave me the printed stub. It was written in Czech and English. Passengers:- 6. Tariff:- Normal. Price:- 600. Itinerary:- Radotín-C.Budějovice; C.Budějovice-HorníPlaná. I asked Pavel where Radotín was and, as far as I could understand, he told me that it was technically the last train station that was still within Prague’s borders. It took fifteen minutes to get there from Hlavní Nádraží and meant that the ticket would be a hundred Korunas cheaper. That’s the way he always bought tickets because they never really check until you’re outside the city limits.
But this was a busy holiday train. Before long, a female conductor slid the door to our compartment open and asked for our tickets. Radotín was still a good five minutes away. As she was surveying the ticket’s information, Pavel winked at me and told me to speak in English.
She held the ticket in front of Honza’s face and said something about Radotín.
“Um, excuse me. But we don’t speak Czech. Do you speak any English?”
The female conductor, in her early- to mid-thirties, turned and looked at me suspiciously. “Ehm. No Czech?”
“No Czech! No Czech!” chimed Pavel, Robert, Honza, Tonda and Jarda in unison.
“Yeah. See? We don’t speak any Czech. But excuse me? Is there a problem with our ticket?”
“Problem... is... Radotín no here. Must... Extra koruna. Penalty,” she struggled in my alien tongue.
And then it dawned on me as the others kept working on the vodka and puffing “No Czech, No Czech, No Czech” under their breath like a locomotive.
“But wait! We have public transportation tickets that were validated only thirty minutes ago! The ones Honza used on the tram with the inspector, remember Pavel?”
“Honza? Pavel?! You Czech! No English!” the conductor interrupted and now began waving the ticket in front of Pavel’s face while preaching to them in Czech.
“No Czech! No Czech!” they all replied with grins.
“Pavel, tell Honza to get the tickets out of his wallet. They’re good for all travel inside Prague’s city limits, right? So she should have to accept them, right? Tell Honza to get them.”
“Yes, yes. Is good idea,” Pavel affirmed. He spoke to the conductor, quieted her down for a bit with his logic, and then asked Honza something. As soon as Honza replied, the conductor started bitching louder than ever. “Honza throw away tickets at Hlavní Nádraží. Why to keep them he say.”
The conductor was desperately trying to speak over the heckling coming from our compartment when Pavel jumped up and snatched the ticket stub from her unsuspecting hand. She was furious. She threatened to call the police and have us all thrown out. The door slammed behind her as she left and the others continued their “No Czech!” chant. It felt as if I was in Bedlam and couldn’t contain the maniacal laughter.
“What if she calls the police?” I asked Pavel.
“No police. Now is Radotín. See? And she have no ticket. No Czech! No Czech! No Czech! Ha ha ha!”
A moment later, as the train prepared to leave Radotín, the conductor popped her head into the compartment again. She had calmed down a bit, but asked about the ticket again. This time, we all remained silent. Only the radio could be heard. Pavel then said something. She smiled. He said something else. She smiled and blushed. Then he stood up and said, as he later told me, “You like Sour Apfle? Is great drink. So good. Come. Only one drinks is okay. So good. Now you work. But no one has problem. Come. One drinks.”
Fifteen minutes later, the conductor left our compartment with a grin on her face and the subtle smell of green apples under her breath.
After a few hours, our train pulled into České Budějovice. Our alcohol was nearly gone (only half a bottle of rum remained and two or three beers) by the time we stepped off and tried to stumble onto the smaller train we were meant to transfer to. We sat outside for a moment and split the last few shots of rum between the six of us. As our former train started up again and headed even closer to the Austrian border, the arms and heads of the half dozen or so other passengers we had shared our booze and company with hooted and howled their farewells. Even the conductor that had inspected us all those hours ago just before Radotín winked and gave us a brief wave goodbye as she signaled ‘All clear!’ and climbed back on the boxcar. We were almost there. Horní Planá. The long part of the journey was behind us. Only one more hour to go. Hopefully, I wouldn’t pass out by the time we arrived.
Honza yelled something and stumblingly steered us to a small diesel engine caboose. There were only two passenger carts attached to it. He assured us it was our ride and the conductor standing on the platform verified it. We climbed on and tried not to fall asleep seeing as we were all severely under the influence. Pavel saw me dozing off – the winter sun still shinning in through the window – and took out the stereo as the train departed.
“Musics is good. AC/DC will wake you, Paul,” and he twisted the volume knob to the right. My eyes jumped open. So did the others’ in addition to the handful of passengers’ in the cart. Pavel’s glazed-over eyes twinkled in delight as he leaned back into his seat.
It started snowing heavier outside as we grew louder and more obnoxious inside. I’m surprised no one complained about us, but then again, even if they did, none of us ever recalled any of it. The only thing I do vaguely remember is that we started playing a game – something like charades. I would choose a word in English, try to explain it to Pavel’s friends, and they would have to guess its definition in Czech. My choices, obviously, were limited to Pavel’s vocabulary. Then, they would in turn choose a Czech word and try to explain it to me while I guessed.
I was completely lost – we were all completely lost – and throughout that entire transfer ride to Horní Planá, I think we only successfully guessed three or four words in total. Right before we reached our final destination, they had been trying to explain the last word to me for a good twenty minutes.
“Nadržený Nadržený ” They kept shouting at me over the music. I had no idea. Robert stood up, grabbed his family heirlooms, and cupped them up and down a few times as he repeated the word over and over again. Still no idea.
“You... nadržený!” Pavel interrupted. The others nodded in unison as he kept pointing at me and my crotch.
“Shit. I don’t know. Nadržený. Shit. Is it... Circumcision?”
“Yes ” Pavel cried out in joy as the others looked at him, then applauded approvingly.
“Nice... nice. Nadržený’s circumcision... But I’m not circumcised,” I belched.
“Wait,” Pavel rolled his bloodshot eyes at me. “What is this... Circumcision?”
“Ya know... The skin on your penis... It’s what Jewish people...” as I made a scissors-like motion with my fingers.
“Yes Yes I know ” Pavel affirmed. “But is not nadržený. Sorry,” he sunk back into his seat and said something in Czech to the others.
This time Jarda tried. He pointed out one of the three other people sitting in the passenger cart with us. A middle-aged man in his early forties. He pointed at him and repeated, “Nadržený ”
I shook my head in ignorance, “Fuck... I don’t know,” and began tugging on my goatee.
Tonda took over and pointed at the other two passengers, including the first man, and one-by-one directed “Nadržený ” at each of them. Two of them smiled and chuckled. The third, an elderly woman, stood up in disgust, walked over to Tonda, said something stern to him, and changed carts. He quieted himself, took the smile off of his face and, as she walked away, stated, “Moc nadržený Very nadržený ” The others almost died of laughter.
As it died down and the announcement came over the loudspeaker for next-stop Horní Planá, Pavel once again stood up, started gyrating his hips and pointing to my crotch. “You Paul You are moc nadržený. No sex for you. What? Two or free months?”
I nodded.
“So, you are moc nadržený You need sex. You want to fucking ” Pavel dramatized as the others let out “Ano ” and nodded in agreement.
“Wait... wait a minute...” I racked my semi-comatose brain. “Nadržený... You mean... Horny! I’m very horny!”
“Yes!” Pavel applauded and cheered. “Yes This is it!”
The others cheered along, louder than ever, as we stood up, gathered our belongings, and waited for the train to stop. Pavel wiped a tear from his eye, tried to control his laughing fit, and asked, “What is horny?” I explained it to him as my hand tried to find its way through my coats’ sleeves and he reassured me that it was, indeed, the English word for nadržený.
The train pulled to a halt. We stepped out onto the freshly fallen snow and walked towards town. The train station we left behind us was nothing more than a single track and a small wooden cabin with the sign “Horní Planá” attached to its façade. As the snowflakes from above began to fully cake our heads and jackets, Pavel pointed out the cottage, ‘pension’ as they called it, that we would be staying at in the distance. Each of us stopped there in our tracks, transformed the color of the snow around us from a pristine white to a putrid yellow, and then continued on our way. We knocked on the door. An older woman answered it and ushered us into the welcomed warmth.
She first asked to get our rental and deposit fees all sorted out, then showed us around (bathroom, kitchen, TV room, etc.), and eventually took us upstairs to the bedrooms. Our two rooms, at the far end of the hallway, had four beds each. The lady kept speaking in Czech to them and, as questions were issued, answers were levied. My attention faded rapidly.
I wandered into the bedroom and sat down on the bed adjacent to the window. The view was spectacular. A half frozen lake. Its shore dotted with slightly frosted evergreens and the continuous gentle dusting of snow from above. Horní Planá... Horny... Horny Planá. The guys were right. I was horny. Incredible I hadn’t realized it until they actually mentioned it. I thought back to what Kim had said all those weeks ago. The reason why he was in this country. “The beer is cheap and the women are cheaper.” I smirked as my face pressed against the window and soon focused my attention once again on the scenery that lay before me. Kim may have been right, I don’t know, but he forgot one important thing – this was one hell of a beautiful country too.
I admired the untainted landscape for as long as I could while the others talked away outside in the hallway. But, with my forehead pressed there against the chilled windowpane, I soon dozed off. The alcohol had finally taken its toll. My body needed some rest and could party no longer... it was a quarter to noon.