Small Town Charm

March 9, 2013 (continued)

At the bottom of the hill, before we reached the river, there was a large park/garden off to the side.

“We should try this way!” I suggested. “The cathedral is right up there.”

It once again looked like a scene from a movie. The towering cathedral was high on a hill, and the expansive garden looked like a tangled jungle leading all the way to the doorsteps.

“I’m not sure it goes through,” Thibaut said.

“If it doesn’t, we can always turn around,” I said. “It looks like it would be cool to see anyway.”

We started into the garden, and it did look like a small jungle. Willowy trees and twisted vines grew in every which way and covered different walls and fences. The cathedral continued to hover above us on the far off distant hill and it felt like we were crusaders sneaking up on an unsuspecting castle that presided over the region.

At one point we found a small gazebo and I stepped off the path to take some pictures of it. Thibaut followed me and talked of how in France, they were used at weddings quite often. I attempted to throw my camera to Leo so he could take a picture of me, but he was afraid he’d drop it so he climbed the steps to get the device from me.

As we got closer to the river, there was a really neat gate that led to the next path. I stopped to take a photo of it while the group continued on. “Are you coming?” Thibaut asked.

“I am,” I shouted, and jogged down the steps to join them. As I stepped off the last step, I felt a shooting pain jump up my spine. It was as if I had stepped wrong and pinched a nerve or something. It was a sharp pain, but I wanted to keep going, so I grimaced briefly, and then continued walking to join them.

“Everything is okay?” Thibaut asked.

“Yep,” I smiled. “I’m fine.”

We kept walking, and this path eventually led us to the road we’d been looking for. The road wound though a small neighborhood of little one-bedroom houses. At one point, we came to a large fork in the road. One way went straight, while the other started to go up the hill.

“Which way now?” Gonzalo asked.

“I say up,” I said.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said. “But we can always turn around if I’m wrong.”

We started up the hill and passed more little homes with decorative gardens around them. The yards were so tiny and so green. As we climbed, the road turned to muddy slush—the kind that steals shoes off of feet—and walking became more and more difficult. Eventually, it hit a dead end and we had to turn back.

When we got back to the fork in the road, we went the other way. Just a few yards up, we found a cobblestone path that started leading up the hill. We climbed its steep grade. From between towering trees we had a great view of the river below. It reminded me of climbing 14ers back home, and I felt quite pleased that I didn’t get winded at all going up.

At the top, we arrived in the courtyard of St. Barbra’s Cathedral. There was a gravel walking path through the freshly cut grass which we followed to the main entrance. Unlike the other cathedrals I’ve toured, this one entered through the side of the sanctuary instead of the back. Once again, the woman at the desk/gift shop stamped our tickets and ushered us in.

The sanctuary of this church was much darker than others. The stain glassed windows were just as brilliant but not as bright as those from the St. Vitus Cathedral in the castle. The images in these windows were uncannily realistic. They had images of biblical stories as well as historical events, and each of the characters depicted looked more like a painting than a piece of glass.

What was most unique about this church were the walls. Initially they just looked like faded cement to me, but as I stared closer, I realized that at one time they had been decorated with vivid murals. The drawings were faded now and looked more like the hidden remnants of cave man pictographs. Yet looking at them closely, they clearly showed events like the last supper and the crucifixion of Christ.

There were also breathtaking frescos on some of the upper walls that again depicted the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit descending on to Earth. This time, I really looked at the depiction of God. This was how He had been understood for hundreds of years. This was how people thought He looked and what they thought His judgment might look like. In so many ways, it seemed anachronistic to me—yet at the same time, it seemed timeless and unchanged.

There was another small annex in the back where visitors could donate coins to light candles. I did so, this time lighting a candle for hope.

A large student tour group was coming in and their voices echoed off the columns and pillars that encircled the sanctuary. Thibaut, Leo, Gonzalo and I headed out to find the Jesuit College.

Just outside of the Cathedral, a small little shack had been erected and two women were selling mulled wine out of it. We didn’t purchase any, but we noticed that behind their concession stand was a great view overlooking Kutna Hora. We went out on the ledge and took several pictures of it.

As they were taking pictures, I found a small metal gate. The height of the gate hit me perfectly in the middle of my lower back. Twisting around angling myself over it, I got my spine to crack and the pinching pain went away.

We continued on to Jesuit College. The walkway around the side of it was much like the Charles Bridge. Historical figures from past eras of Bohemia surrounded the path. As we rounded the corner, we found a large glass entrance to the building and stepped inside.

We’d apparently found the wrong entrance to the building, because a woman quickly came rushing up to us and, in broken English, told us not to be here and to go to the ticket office. We did so, and in the office another younger woman gave us our fourth and final stamp on our tickets.

“This ticket is for this gallery and upstairs,” she said. “Coat check in room next to this one.”

As we walked around, we realized the college had been converted to an art museum. On this level were some displays about its construction. It was built by the same architect who designed St. Nicholas Church in Prague. It had been used both as a Jesuit College and later as a catholic seminary, before becoming property of the city and converted to a museum.

The architecture of the building was more impressive than the artwork. In the gallery on the second floor, there were some interesting statues, and a few colorful abstract designs. While I enjoyed it more than I thought I would, it certainly was not a highlight of the trip. The best chuckle I got was noticing that tourists were literally lining up to take photos of (and with) some of the nude paintings in the one gallery.

We sat in one room for a while not really saying anything or doing anything. I think we were all a little tired, and in my head, I was trying to figure out how much time we had left.

“We should probably start making our way back to the square at least,” I said. Then we can have the Tourist Center check on our train for us again. Everyone agreed and we headed out.

“My little nephew can paint better than that,” Gonzalo said pointing at one final painting in the gallery. The picture was called “The Red Block” and was mostly just a red canvas. With that as the final critique, we headed out of the building.

It turned out that there was actually a Tourist Information center right outside the college. We asked about the train and she said it came every hour on the 46 minute. That meant the next one would be in about 30 minutes at 2:46. We knew we couldn’t make that one, but we figured we could make 3:46.

On our way, we stopped again at the overlook behind the cathedral to take a few photos. “Why don’t we get a group shot?” I suggested before noticing there was no one around to take it.

“I’ll take it,” Gonzalo said.

“I can go get someone,” I suggested.

“Are you sure?” Thibaut asked.

“Sure,” I said. “I’m American! We specialize in being pushy to get what we want.”

There was a couple standing by the concession stand enjoying some mulled wine.

“Excuse me,” I asked. “Could you take a group photo of us?”

“Sure,” the woman said. I didn’t recognize her accent but she didn’t appear to be Czech. Here English was too crisp to be a second language, but I don’t think she was American or British.

She followed me back around to the ledge and took a few shots with Leo’s camera. “Thank you so much,” we all said. She smiled and returned to join her husband.

Deciding it was time to go, we started walking along one road, following another couple that was meandering about. When the road dead ended, we turned around and wound up back in the courtyard of the cathedral. We found another street and recognized its name. We knew that it ran all the way back to the town square.

As we walked along, Thibaut and Gonzalo fell back a little while Leo and I took the lead. “I’d really like to visit Hong Kong someday,” I told him.

“Really?” He said. “Why?”

“I really do want to see the world,” I said. “I want to see more of Europe, see Asia…I’d love to get down and see some of the rain forest in South America.”

“I see,” he said. “Most of the Chinese students want to study abroad in America.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “American schools are very good, but very hard to get into.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Does America have GPA system?” he asked.

“Yes, we do,” I said.

“And it is four, three, two, one,” he asked. “The four is for the A and the three is for the B and so on?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Us too,” he said. “I didn’t know if America had a different system.”

“We have a different system for everything else,” I said, “but that one is the same.”

He laughed, “I know! How come America uses feet and inches and ounces and pounds? It is so confusing.”

I laughed. “I know! I’ve been confused since I got here.”

“Well anyway,” he continued. “Only top 10% of GPAs get to go to study in America. And you have to have at least a 3.6 to qualify.”

“Really?” I was shocked. The requirement to come to Prague had only been a 2.5.

When we got back to the square, Thibaut and Gonzalo headed into a café, while Leo and I suggested we double check one more time on the train. It was a good thing we did. The lady in this Tourist Information explained the situation in a lot more detail.

“I would say best option is to catch the 4:46 train back to the main station, and transfer to the 5:00 train to Prague,” she explained. “Otherwise, you could catch the one in ten minutes back to main station and take a 3:10 train from there, but you have to transfer in Kolin to get back to Prague and you will basically be transferring to that train that leaves here at 5:00.”

The time was currently 2:37. We had two hours.

We met up with the others at the café and gave them the bad news. It was starting to rain so they suggested we just sit in the café and chat for a while. Each of them ordered a cappuccino and I got a hot chocolate. It was an excellent cocoa, very foamy and sweet. I drank it a bit too fast and burned the roof of my mouth. I didn’t mind though, it gave me the excuse to order ice cream.

The ice cream dish I selected translates from Czech to English as “Caramel Sweet.” It was caramel ice cream topped with whip cream and hot fudge. It was certainly the largest portion of ice cream that I’ve had here, and it tasted more than amazing!

As we ate, we talked more about our home countries and asked questions. We talked of language, of meal traditions, and of other trips we’d taken around the world. At one point, when the conversation seemed to be getting a little heated over America, I made a point.

“You have to remember,” I said. “There is no such thing as a biological American.”

“What about local tribes?” Leo asked.

“Ok, that’s true,” I said. “But being from France generally means you come from a lineage going back over a thousand years. You have language, and customs, and essentially a bloodline that accompanies those things. Same with China. In America, American culture has been built from pieces of other cultures. As people come to America, they bring their traditions that get integrated into our culture. Sure we have our history, and we are certainly very nationalistic in supporting our country, but being American means being part of a very blended culture.”

They understood, and I think even agreed. “Is same in Argentina,” Gonzalo said. “The people there are a mix of the Spanish and Italian settlers that came together to create the country.”

I feel guilty admitting it, but I was so tired, that I think I may have nodded off very briefly after I finished my ice cream. I hadn’t had any solid REM sleep in a while and my brain felt strained trying to stay awake.

When our time was up, we paid. Actually, I paid, because again, I had big bills and I still owed Thibaut some money. Leo said he would pay me back, and Gonzalo covered his own drink. With the change I received, I was able to give Thibaut everything I owed him.

On our walk back to the station, we mostly chatted about language. “I think Spanish is a lot easier than English,” I said.

“Really,’ Gonzalo said. “I think English is easier.”

“With Spanish,” I started, “you have more tenses, but the rules are always the same for everything. English is filled with exceptions.”

“English is much easier,” he said.

“I agree, English is easy language, ” Leo said. “But is very hard to speak English back home in my country. We learn the grammar in school, but outside of school, no one speaks it so it is hard to practice.”

“And your language is impossible!” Gonzalo said to Leo.

“Yes,” he said, “it is very hard.”

“How many letters do you have?”

“Over 5000 characters,” Leo said.

We couldn’t believe it!

“And there are no tenses in Chinese,” Leo explained. “Past, present, future, they don’t exist. You just know based on conversation.”

We waited out in the rain for about 10 minutes before the little train came. When it did, we got on and found seats together. Another woman came through to check our ticket. “We can transfer to Prague on this train right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Second stop, platform 2.”

When we arrived at the second stop, which was the same station we’d arrived at that morning with the herd of little kids, we got off and walked back down the stairs under the tracks, and up to platform 2. Unfortunately, platform 2 was in the middle between two lines going opposite directions.

“I don’t remember which way we came,” I said.

“Me either,” Leo said.

I saw two young looking girls, about my age, standing on the other side of the platform. I figured they were young enough, they probably knew fluent English. I went up to them with our ticket and asked, “Do you know which side is the train to Prague?”

“I think that one,” the one said pointing back from where I had just come. To me, she had no accent and I would have guessed she was American.

“Thank you,” I said and returned to the group.

Within a few minutes, a train pulled up. The sign on the windows said it was going to Brno—the opposite direction of Prague.

“I’m sorry,” the girl said. “We are trying to get back too and we don’t know which way it is.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Must be that side.”

They both laughed. “Where are you from?” I asked.

“Canada,” they both said.

“Oh ok,” I said. “How long have you been in Prague?”

They looked at each other and shrugged. “About a week.” The one who hadn’t spoken yet was the one who answered me. She was taller with burnet hair while the other was shorter with blonde hair. “We just graduated university and are travelling before we enter our master’s program.”

“Very cool,” I said. “We are all on a study abroad program in Prague. We’ve been there about a month.”

“That is so cool,” the blonde girl said. “I wish I’d done that. I’m going to be a teacher and she’s going to be a lawyer so we aren’t really going to have lives in the future. We decided to travel while we could.”

The listed the places they’d been to and they certainly had gotten around in the past months. When the train came, I almost invited them to join us, but the group ushered me along into the crowd and  parted company.

There were large crowds for all of the doors onto the second class cars. “We should get on this one,” I said.

“Let’s do that one,” Gonzalo said, pointing to the second to last coach. We went up the stairs and got on.

As we walked through the car, there weren’t any open cabins. There weren’t even any free seats in the rows between cabins. The train started and we were still standing. We followed the crowd out of the coach and between cars into the next.

“I suggested that other car, but no one listens to the American,” I joked. Leo and Thibaut laughed while Gonzalo kept looking for seats.

We eventually found a cabin with four open places. It was occupied by an elderly lady and a young looking student. The compartment reeked of marijuana, but within minutes of sitting down, I fell right to sleep.

I woke up briefly when the conductor came through to check our tickets, but quickly nodded off again. We all woke up about five minutes out from Prague and when we arrived at the station, we disembarked the cabin.

“Back to reality?” Thibaut said. I laughed. I’d forgotten that I had taught that phrase to him and Lad’ka the week before.

It was really raining here and bitter cold. Standing out by the tram station, we tried to get a little shelter under the bus depot. As we stood there, a gruff looking man with ratty clothes came up to us. He had a pretty nasty looking puncture wound in his right temple and it was certainly infected.

He started speaking Czech quickly and I replied in Czech that I only speak English. He thought for a minute and said, “Homeless.”

I noticed the rest of the group had walked off. “I’m sorry,” I said. “We just got back from a trip and I don’t have any money left.”

He didn’t seem to quite understand my words, but I think he understood my point. He sat back down in the bus depot and I went off to be with the group.

When the tram came we—along with what looked like most of Prague—piled on. We barely fit in the standing area and Thibaut and I were wedged against the doors when they closed. At the next stop, most of the crowd got off and we were able to sit.

It was only 6:00 so we decided we weren’t hungry just yet. We rode back to the dorm and Leo pointed out different restaurants to get cheap food along the way. When we got back, we agreed we’d meet at 7:30 to go for dinner.

As I walked into the room, Aaron was just leaving. I started blogging so I could capture as many memories as I could before we went to dinner. As I was working, I started to nod off. Just a little before our agreed upon meeting time, I went to their room and told them I was going to go to bed instead.

I went back to my room, continued blogging, made some soup, and skyped with my parents before finally heading to bed, about midnight.