CHAPTER 9 - Preparations
I didn’t go out that often during the last fortnight or so of 2001. I had to save up some money for my big New Year’s excursion with Pavel and his friends and, honestly, it was just too fucking cold. Dan saw that I was growing bored during those weeks so he lent me some of his books. Unfortunately, I had already read most of them. So, one day, we went to the Městská knihovna v Praze (Prague City Library) and he helped me break the Czech code on the application forms and sign up for a library card. I wouldn’t normally mention such a trivial occurrence, but it shocked me. It was the first time I had ever seen Dan leave the Dum, teaching English aside. I got the card, we went to the English section (a sizeable fifteen bookshelves worth), and chose Don Quixote de la Mancha.
"Good choice," affirmed Dan.
Quixote’s adventures kept me company as I was forced to stay home in order to save a few korunas* (* I needed them both for the upcoming trip and also due to the fact that my Christmas Bonus was next to nothing. Two weeks of no work and no pay. Yet one more reason for me to be cautious of the King.) and keep warm. His travels through the Spanish countryside were amusing enough, as was the occasional beer and cigarette with the guys from the Dum in the TV room. Christmas soon came and went in much the same fashion as Thanksgiving except for two details – I ate a soggy Mexicana microwave pizza this time and three born-again Christians, not one, now joined in the drunken revelry.
A few days later, Pavel called me – the day before we were scheduled to leave – and invite me to spend the night at his house. It would be easier to leave in the morning, he argued, if I was there with him and with all of my things ready to go. I agreed, packed half of the things I owned into that rucksack I had left the States with so long ago, and got on the tram bound for Řepy. Pavel was waiting for me in his car at the tram stop by his house.
"Goddamn. It’s fuckin’ freezing man!"
"Yes, yes. Hallo Paul. How are you?" as we shook hands.
"Fine thanks. Did you walk here?"
"No. I driving. My car there. Where is your bags?" Pavel looked around.
"Right here!" I showed him the seemingly deflated duffel-bag.
"Ha! Ha! You are good man! Good man! Come. We go to my car."
Pavel drove what seemed like a rusty dumpster on wheels. In fact, it resembled one so much, that it actually had trash attached to the exterior... a piece of electrical cord holding up the front grill, a rope preventing the exhaust pipe from dragging on the street, and a plastic sheet substituting for a rear window. He started it up and smoked bellowed out from behind. "Nice! You like, eh? Nice car!"
"Yeah, um. Super. A real keeper... Is it safe to drive in?"
"Yes, yes. Vary safe. My house is cloze."
"What the hell. You only live once, right?" as I sat down and closed the door after me, hoping it wouldn’t fall off its hinges.
"Yes, yes. Hell. Like AC/DC? Hells Bells? Good song. You are good man... You like my car?"
"Um, yeah, Pavel. Sure. It looks great."
"You say me how much? How much I pay?"
"Shit. I don’t know. I have no idea."
"Remember. Is Škoda. Quality. 1982."
"Skoda? What a pity."
"Yes. Škoda quality. Like tanks quality. Nofing hurt it."
"I don’t know Pavel. Honestly, I have no idea," I replied as I tried to cover my exposed neck which the chilled December wind, creeping in through the rear window and smelling slightly of exhaust, kept hitting.
"Five thousands korun!! Very cheap, eh? Like is... I think... one eighty dollars! Super price, no?" A grin conquered Pavel’s face.
"Wow. Such a cheap price for such a high quality machine. You were lucky. What a bargain."
"Yes, quality. But it not working first. I fix myself!"
"Really? What do you mean?" For the first time since we met, I actually wasn’t feigning interest.
"In small pieces. Motor. Inside. All. Cars was like dead. But I fix and now is best! Old cars, yes. But working now! Like tanks!" Pavel stroked his baby on her dashboard.
"Wow, that’s really incredible. You must have some great talent. Putting a car together from nothing at all. Good job!"
"Is nofing," he said dismissively.
We reached Pavel’s house a minute or so later. He didn’t live that far from the tram stop so I wasn’t quite sure why he had driven there in the first place. Probably to show me his car. Maybe so I wouldn’t have to walk in the cold. Either way, I thanked him as we walked into his house, greeted his mother, and dropped off my bag in a room to the back. Pavel’s mother offered me a cup of coffee and I sat there drinking it while Pavel showered and shaved. Just as I was finishing, he reappeared.
"We go?" he asked. A pair of ice skates was flung around his neck.
"Uh, yeah. Ok. Where?"
"We go skate wif friends. Honza, Tonda, Robert, and Jarda."
"Who are they?"
"We all go to Horní Planá tomorrow for New Year."
"Aha. Ok." I got up and put on my jackets. "But I don’t skate."
"Is fine. You watch and drink. We no skate long. Horní Planá tomorrow!"
Half and hour later, we were parking in front of a large skating rink. It was the size of a regulation hockey arena and filled with Czechs of all ages skating away the night. Pavel explained to me that when the local amateur league wasn’t using the rink for games, it was free to the public. Half of Pavel’s friends were already skating and the other two were sitting on a bench nearby drinking and smoking. Pavel introduced us all and then went onto the ice. I sat down.
"So, Tonda and Honza, right? How long have you been waiting here?"
They looked at each other and chuckled. Then at me, "Co?" in unison.
"Have you been waiting long?"
No response whatsoever except that Honza took a long, smooth drag from his cigarette and Tonda slowly gulped down some beer.
"Forget it. You excited about New Year’s? Sounds like we’re gonna have some fun! What’s the place called again?"
They looked at each other and burst into laughter. Honza turned to me and asked, "Pivo?"
"Ok. Thank you. Yes." Honza went to buy me a beer. I turned to Tonda who had a friendly smile on his face. "You guys don’t speak any English, do you?"
"No English. No. Deutsche?"
I shook my head and we just sat there, trapped in a world of linguistic isolation. He offered me a cigarette, which I accepted, and Honza soon returned with beer for all.
"Nazdraví!" we cheered, peering into each other’s eyes. They began speaking in Czech and I leaned back, watching the ice skaters before me while savoring my cigarette and beer.
As it turned out, none of Pavel’s friends there – the ones I would be spending five days with – spoke any English at all except for the occasional ‘Yes’ ‘No’ and ‘OK’. Pavel, for better or worse, would be my only means of communication during the next week.
"Skating is finish. Maybe left one hour. Drink beers and go?" Pavel asked. He and the others had grown tired of skating fifteen minutes earlier and all six of us, by that time, were just sitting there drinking and talking.
"Ah shit. Come on Pavel. We’ve got an hour. Let’s get one more, and then we’ll go."
"Yes, but I driving. No beers for me. We go to home, I leave car, then we go to disco next my home. I drink there. Is many girls."
"Ok, ok. One last beer and we’ll go," I reassured him. Pavel translated for the others, and they agreed. We ordered five new ones. Half an hour later, all six of us were trying to squeeze into an old, but restructured, 1982 Škoda.
Fortunately, I had the privilege of sitting in the front passenger seat. Unfortunately, I had to share it with Robert half on my lap. There was no way four people could fit in the back and not accidentally fall through the plastic rear sheet window. I lost myself staring outside as we drove through Prague’s outskirts. The only things I could hear were the loud voices of five twenty-year-old Czech men and the occasional drunken laughter from the three behind me. Then Pavel hushed them all, said something into the silent night, and they all laughed harder and louder than ever.
He turned to me, "Shit Paul. There is problem."
"What? What is it?" as the others continued laughing.
Pavel’s face was stone serious. "We haven’t petrol," then he broke out into a fit of laughter and joined everyone else.
We were going up a hill at the moment on an almost deserted side street. Pavel shifted into neutral and pulled the hand brake when we could ascend no more. The Czechs piled out of the rusted Škoda, cackling all the while.
They had infected me as well. As the laughter died down, I asked Pavel with a grin, " Un-fuckin-believable. Why didn’t you put any gas in earlier?"
"Is expensive! No cheap like in America. And I forget too. But very expensive! This car is shit! It eat petrol. Shit car!" and he kicked the wheel.
"This car? I thought it was your baby. You fixed it from nothing. Like a tank, remember?"
"Is SHIT!" he kicked it again and laughed. He told something to the others and then translated as he got back into the car and sat down in the driver’s seat, "We push to petrol. There is one after hill."
With the five of us pushing uphill, the car moved with ease and was soon rolling down the other side towards a neon "Aral Petrol" sign in the distance. Jarda, Robert, and Honza had managed to get in at the summit and ride down with Pavel. Tonda and I lit cigarettes and walked towards the station in silence.
"Well Pavel. Did you buy some petrol? I’ll give you some money. How much was it?"
"There is problem," replied Pavel as he surveyed the parking lot adjacent to Aral Petrol.
"What?"
"No petrol," as he continued looking.
"What do you mean no petrol? Just buy some. Do you need money?"
"Money is no problem. Aral is problem. Woman in store say is no more petrol."
"What? How’s that possible? This is a gas station. That’s what they sell. Gas. Petrol. Why is it even open if they don’t have any?"
Pavel turned and smiled, "Welcome to Czech Republic!" He then pointed to the Aral mini-market, "Tonda, Robert, Jarda is in store. Go buy food if hungry."
"OK," and I walked towards the little building in the center of the station. Incredible. A gas station that was sold out of gas. Basically, they were keeping that particular Aral Petrol open just in case someone happened to pass by and wanted to buy a late-night snack. A gas station with no gas. I bought my usual pre-packaged Crocodille Mlsoun baguette and went outside with the others, expecting Pavel to have called his mom on the corner payphone, or at least a taxi, to come pick us up. He was nowhere to be seen. I ate my baguette and turned to ask the others where Pavel, and Honza for that fact, had disappeared to.
"Hey, where did Pavel... oh yeah, that’s right. You don’t speak English."
"Co?"
"Nothing, nothing." I sat down on the pavement, took out some tobacco, and rolled a cigarette.
Right before I was about to light it, Tonda stopped me. "No! No!" and he continued in Czech. He was trying to remind me that we were at a gas station. Fire bad.
"It’s okay. OK. No problem. Aral no petrol. Nema petrol. Without petrol. Bez petrol," as I winked at him and lit up. The others understood my logic and soon followed suit. There's no point in worrying about igniting the gasoline when there isn’t any.
A few minutes later, Pavel and Honza returned. Pavel spat a few times as he walked and Honza was carrying a 1.5 liter plastic Coke bottle that seemed to be filled with gas. He dumped it into the Škoda’s tank and tossed the empty bottle aside.
Pavel turned to me, "We go?"
"But where... How?"
He just grinned and asked, "You have some gum?"
I did. I gave him a piece, he spat again, put the gum into his mouth, and started chewing ferociously. He took a sip of Fanta from a bottle Tonda had just bought, got into the car, started the engine, and repeated, "We go?"
And so we went. Soon, Czech filled the car again as we made our way to Pavel’s house. I couldn’t really make out much except for the occasional "Fakt?" followed by a bout of laughter. Pavel did most of the talking as the others threw in various comments and guffaws. Honza seemed to be reaffirming everything Pavel stated. We reached Řepy in this fashion, parked the car on Pavel’s street, and walked for fifteen minutes or so until we arrived at what seemed like an old warehouse with a small neon sign flashing the word DISCO – minus the S – hanging next to the entrance. We briefly waited in line to pay the twenty korunas cover charge and entered the Dico together.
The interior was, to put it politely, minimalist. There was a long, simple bar to one side of the single, large room. In the center was a dance floor. And everywhere else there were wooden seats arranged around wooden tables. Everything, except for the yellow, green, and red strobe-light hanging from the ceiling, was painted in a horrible navy bluish hue. The boys I was with saw a friend of theirs sitting at a table with his girlfriend. We made our way over and sat down besides them. They began talking, then Pavel turned to me.
"What you drink? Beers?" he asked.
"Yeah sure. I’ll have a beer."
"Okay." He signaled over a young man who was wearing a small black apron. "Šéfe!! Sedum piv a sedum malejch vodek, prosím."
The waiter returned a few minutes later with seven beers and seven shots filled to the top. The others, who had been speaking the entire time, cut their conversation short and each grabbed a shotglass.
"Hey Pavel. What did you order?" as I followed suit.
He lifted his glass, clinked it with mine while looking straight into my eyes, and released "Nazdraví!" We all repeated the ritual with each other and downed the clear alcohol.
"Argh..." Vodka.
So these were the people I would be spending the next five days with. They all seemed nice enough but, my God, what had I agreed to? We would be traveling to a small village in the south of the country near the Austrian border. These guys could drink – which didn’t bother me at all. At least I would have pub company. But what kind of company? I couldn’t really communicate with any of them seeing as my Czech was near nonexistent and their English was even worse. It would be a test of patience and a chance – my first and, as hindsight would later reveal, only – to truly immerse myself among Czechs. We would bond and learn from each other. New ways of thinking and new ways of communicating. And if I ever got too confused, at least Pavel would be there to help me decipher. His English, especially the grammar, was a stone’s throw away from Tarzan’s, but he could still get his message across. Hell, it was better than nothing.
"One more drinks?" a couple of hours or so after we had first entered the Dico.
"Shit Pavel, we’ve already had five shots. I’m fuckin’ drunk. I don’t think so... What time’s it?"
"Yes, okay. We drink... Šéfe!!" he called over the waiter. Five minutes later, we nazdravíed each other once again as we lifted our little glasses to the heavens.
"Ahhhh! Slivovice! Is Czech specialty." Pavel wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Now," he paused and stared squarely into my bloodshot eyes, "... we go to sleep."
"Good choice," affirmed Dan.
Quixote’s adventures kept me company as I was forced to stay home in order to save a few korunas* (* I needed them both for the upcoming trip and also due to the fact that my Christmas Bonus was next to nothing. Two weeks of no work and no pay. Yet one more reason for me to be cautious of the King.) and keep warm. His travels through the Spanish countryside were amusing enough, as was the occasional beer and cigarette with the guys from the Dum in the TV room. Christmas soon came and went in much the same fashion as Thanksgiving except for two details – I ate a soggy Mexicana microwave pizza this time and three born-again Christians, not one, now joined in the drunken revelry.
A few days later, Pavel called me – the day before we were scheduled to leave – and invite me to spend the night at his house. It would be easier to leave in the morning, he argued, if I was there with him and with all of my things ready to go. I agreed, packed half of the things I owned into that rucksack I had left the States with so long ago, and got on the tram bound for Řepy. Pavel was waiting for me in his car at the tram stop by his house.
"Goddamn. It’s fuckin’ freezing man!"
"Yes, yes. Hallo Paul. How are you?" as we shook hands.
"Fine thanks. Did you walk here?"
"No. I driving. My car there. Where is your bags?" Pavel looked around.
"Right here!" I showed him the seemingly deflated duffel-bag.
"Ha! Ha! You are good man! Good man! Come. We go to my car."
Pavel drove what seemed like a rusty dumpster on wheels. In fact, it resembled one so much, that it actually had trash attached to the exterior... a piece of electrical cord holding up the front grill, a rope preventing the exhaust pipe from dragging on the street, and a plastic sheet substituting for a rear window. He started it up and smoked bellowed out from behind. "Nice! You like, eh? Nice car!"
"Yeah, um. Super. A real keeper... Is it safe to drive in?"
"Yes, yes. Vary safe. My house is cloze."
"What the hell. You only live once, right?" as I sat down and closed the door after me, hoping it wouldn’t fall off its hinges.
"Yes, yes. Hell. Like AC/DC? Hells Bells? Good song. You are good man... You like my car?"
"Um, yeah, Pavel. Sure. It looks great."
"You say me how much? How much I pay?"
"Shit. I don’t know. I have no idea."
"Remember. Is Škoda. Quality. 1982."
"Skoda? What a pity."
"Yes. Škoda quality. Like tanks quality. Nofing hurt it."
"I don’t know Pavel. Honestly, I have no idea," I replied as I tried to cover my exposed neck which the chilled December wind, creeping in through the rear window and smelling slightly of exhaust, kept hitting.
"Five thousands korun!! Very cheap, eh? Like is... I think... one eighty dollars! Super price, no?" A grin conquered Pavel’s face.
"Wow. Such a cheap price for such a high quality machine. You were lucky. What a bargain."
"Yes, quality. But it not working first. I fix myself!"
"Really? What do you mean?" For the first time since we met, I actually wasn’t feigning interest.
"In small pieces. Motor. Inside. All. Cars was like dead. But I fix and now is best! Old cars, yes. But working now! Like tanks!" Pavel stroked his baby on her dashboard.
"Wow, that’s really incredible. You must have some great talent. Putting a car together from nothing at all. Good job!"
"Is nofing," he said dismissively.
We reached Pavel’s house a minute or so later. He didn’t live that far from the tram stop so I wasn’t quite sure why he had driven there in the first place. Probably to show me his car. Maybe so I wouldn’t have to walk in the cold. Either way, I thanked him as we walked into his house, greeted his mother, and dropped off my bag in a room to the back. Pavel’s mother offered me a cup of coffee and I sat there drinking it while Pavel showered and shaved. Just as I was finishing, he reappeared.
"We go?" he asked. A pair of ice skates was flung around his neck.
"Uh, yeah. Ok. Where?"
"We go skate wif friends. Honza, Tonda, Robert, and Jarda."
"Who are they?"
"We all go to Horní Planá tomorrow for New Year."
"Aha. Ok." I got up and put on my jackets. "But I don’t skate."
"Is fine. You watch and drink. We no skate long. Horní Planá tomorrow!"
Half and hour later, we were parking in front of a large skating rink. It was the size of a regulation hockey arena and filled with Czechs of all ages skating away the night. Pavel explained to me that when the local amateur league wasn’t using the rink for games, it was free to the public. Half of Pavel’s friends were already skating and the other two were sitting on a bench nearby drinking and smoking. Pavel introduced us all and then went onto the ice. I sat down.
"So, Tonda and Honza, right? How long have you been waiting here?"
They looked at each other and chuckled. Then at me, "Co?" in unison.
"Have you been waiting long?"
No response whatsoever except that Honza took a long, smooth drag from his cigarette and Tonda slowly gulped down some beer.
"Forget it. You excited about New Year’s? Sounds like we’re gonna have some fun! What’s the place called again?"
They looked at each other and burst into laughter. Honza turned to me and asked, "Pivo?"
"Ok. Thank you. Yes." Honza went to buy me a beer. I turned to Tonda who had a friendly smile on his face. "You guys don’t speak any English, do you?"
"No English. No. Deutsche?"
I shook my head and we just sat there, trapped in a world of linguistic isolation. He offered me a cigarette, which I accepted, and Honza soon returned with beer for all.
"Nazdraví!" we cheered, peering into each other’s eyes. They began speaking in Czech and I leaned back, watching the ice skaters before me while savoring my cigarette and beer.
As it turned out, none of Pavel’s friends there – the ones I would be spending five days with – spoke any English at all except for the occasional ‘Yes’ ‘No’ and ‘OK’. Pavel, for better or worse, would be my only means of communication during the next week.
"Skating is finish. Maybe left one hour. Drink beers and go?" Pavel asked. He and the others had grown tired of skating fifteen minutes earlier and all six of us, by that time, were just sitting there drinking and talking.
"Ah shit. Come on Pavel. We’ve got an hour. Let’s get one more, and then we’ll go."
"Yes, but I driving. No beers for me. We go to home, I leave car, then we go to disco next my home. I drink there. Is many girls."
"Ok, ok. One last beer and we’ll go," I reassured him. Pavel translated for the others, and they agreed. We ordered five new ones. Half an hour later, all six of us were trying to squeeze into an old, but restructured, 1982 Škoda.
Fortunately, I had the privilege of sitting in the front passenger seat. Unfortunately, I had to share it with Robert half on my lap. There was no way four people could fit in the back and not accidentally fall through the plastic rear sheet window. I lost myself staring outside as we drove through Prague’s outskirts. The only things I could hear were the loud voices of five twenty-year-old Czech men and the occasional drunken laughter from the three behind me. Then Pavel hushed them all, said something into the silent night, and they all laughed harder and louder than ever.
He turned to me, "Shit Paul. There is problem."
"What? What is it?" as the others continued laughing.
Pavel’s face was stone serious. "We haven’t petrol," then he broke out into a fit of laughter and joined everyone else.
We were going up a hill at the moment on an almost deserted side street. Pavel shifted into neutral and pulled the hand brake when we could ascend no more. The Czechs piled out of the rusted Škoda, cackling all the while.
They had infected me as well. As the laughter died down, I asked Pavel with a grin, " Un-fuckin-believable. Why didn’t you put any gas in earlier?"
"Is expensive! No cheap like in America. And I forget too. But very expensive! This car is shit! It eat petrol. Shit car!" and he kicked the wheel.
"This car? I thought it was your baby. You fixed it from nothing. Like a tank, remember?"
"Is SHIT!" he kicked it again and laughed. He told something to the others and then translated as he got back into the car and sat down in the driver’s seat, "We push to petrol. There is one after hill."
With the five of us pushing uphill, the car moved with ease and was soon rolling down the other side towards a neon "Aral Petrol" sign in the distance. Jarda, Robert, and Honza had managed to get in at the summit and ride down with Pavel. Tonda and I lit cigarettes and walked towards the station in silence.
"Well Pavel. Did you buy some petrol? I’ll give you some money. How much was it?"
"There is problem," replied Pavel as he surveyed the parking lot adjacent to Aral Petrol.
"What?"
"No petrol," as he continued looking.
"What do you mean no petrol? Just buy some. Do you need money?"
"Money is no problem. Aral is problem. Woman in store say is no more petrol."
"What? How’s that possible? This is a gas station. That’s what they sell. Gas. Petrol. Why is it even open if they don’t have any?"
Pavel turned and smiled, "Welcome to Czech Republic!" He then pointed to the Aral mini-market, "Tonda, Robert, Jarda is in store. Go buy food if hungry."
"OK," and I walked towards the little building in the center of the station. Incredible. A gas station that was sold out of gas. Basically, they were keeping that particular Aral Petrol open just in case someone happened to pass by and wanted to buy a late-night snack. A gas station with no gas. I bought my usual pre-packaged Crocodille Mlsoun baguette and went outside with the others, expecting Pavel to have called his mom on the corner payphone, or at least a taxi, to come pick us up. He was nowhere to be seen. I ate my baguette and turned to ask the others where Pavel, and Honza for that fact, had disappeared to.
"Hey, where did Pavel... oh yeah, that’s right. You don’t speak English."
"Co?"
"Nothing, nothing." I sat down on the pavement, took out some tobacco, and rolled a cigarette.
Right before I was about to light it, Tonda stopped me. "No! No!" and he continued in Czech. He was trying to remind me that we were at a gas station. Fire bad.
"It’s okay. OK. No problem. Aral no petrol. Nema petrol. Without petrol. Bez petrol," as I winked at him and lit up. The others understood my logic and soon followed suit. There's no point in worrying about igniting the gasoline when there isn’t any.
A few minutes later, Pavel and Honza returned. Pavel spat a few times as he walked and Honza was carrying a 1.5 liter plastic Coke bottle that seemed to be filled with gas. He dumped it into the Škoda’s tank and tossed the empty bottle aside.
Pavel turned to me, "We go?"
"But where... How?"
He just grinned and asked, "You have some gum?"
I did. I gave him a piece, he spat again, put the gum into his mouth, and started chewing ferociously. He took a sip of Fanta from a bottle Tonda had just bought, got into the car, started the engine, and repeated, "We go?"
And so we went. Soon, Czech filled the car again as we made our way to Pavel’s house. I couldn’t really make out much except for the occasional "Fakt?" followed by a bout of laughter. Pavel did most of the talking as the others threw in various comments and guffaws. Honza seemed to be reaffirming everything Pavel stated. We reached Řepy in this fashion, parked the car on Pavel’s street, and walked for fifteen minutes or so until we arrived at what seemed like an old warehouse with a small neon sign flashing the word DISCO – minus the S – hanging next to the entrance. We briefly waited in line to pay the twenty korunas cover charge and entered the Dico together.
The interior was, to put it politely, minimalist. There was a long, simple bar to one side of the single, large room. In the center was a dance floor. And everywhere else there were wooden seats arranged around wooden tables. Everything, except for the yellow, green, and red strobe-light hanging from the ceiling, was painted in a horrible navy bluish hue. The boys I was with saw a friend of theirs sitting at a table with his girlfriend. We made our way over and sat down besides them. They began talking, then Pavel turned to me.
"What you drink? Beers?" he asked.
"Yeah sure. I’ll have a beer."
"Okay." He signaled over a young man who was wearing a small black apron. "Šéfe!! Sedum piv a sedum malejch vodek, prosím."
The waiter returned a few minutes later with seven beers and seven shots filled to the top. The others, who had been speaking the entire time, cut their conversation short and each grabbed a shotglass.
"Hey Pavel. What did you order?" as I followed suit.
He lifted his glass, clinked it with mine while looking straight into my eyes, and released "Nazdraví!" We all repeated the ritual with each other and downed the clear alcohol.
"Argh..." Vodka.
So these were the people I would be spending the next five days with. They all seemed nice enough but, my God, what had I agreed to? We would be traveling to a small village in the south of the country near the Austrian border. These guys could drink – which didn’t bother me at all. At least I would have pub company. But what kind of company? I couldn’t really communicate with any of them seeing as my Czech was near nonexistent and their English was even worse. It would be a test of patience and a chance – my first and, as hindsight would later reveal, only – to truly immerse myself among Czechs. We would bond and learn from each other. New ways of thinking and new ways of communicating. And if I ever got too confused, at least Pavel would be there to help me decipher. His English, especially the grammar, was a stone’s throw away from Tarzan’s, but he could still get his message across. Hell, it was better than nothing.
"One more drinks?" a couple of hours or so after we had first entered the Dico.
"Shit Pavel, we’ve already had five shots. I’m fuckin’ drunk. I don’t think so... What time’s it?"
"Yes, okay. We drink... Šéfe!!" he called over the waiter. Five minutes later, we nazdravíed each other once again as we lifted our little glasses to the heavens.
"Ahhhh! Slivovice! Is Czech specialty." Pavel wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Now," he paused and stared squarely into my bloodshot eyes, "... we go to sleep."
posted by G.C. PHILO at 6:58 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home