Prominent Prague

Let's be honest, y'all, my last entry was kind of shit. Totally uninspired, dry writing, because I was feeling incredibly uninspired in my environment. But I have moved on now, and everything is coming up Milhouse!

The rain is coming in angry sheets, drowning any soul unfortunate enough to be out on the streets. Including me. I pedal my bike furiously, praying it doesn't seep through the thin fabric of my backpack and ruin my Patreon packages for June before I can get to the post office.
I finally find it and wander in, dripping all over the linoleum floor. I smile sheepishly at an older woman and she says something to me with good humor, but I can't catch a single word.
It shows no mercy on my ride home either, and by the time I'm back in the door every part of me is squishing and squashing. Bag, jacket, shoes, pants...shoot, it even seeped down to my underwear. But nothing is going to kill my mood today. Today holds the smell of new adventures, and I'm ready.
I throw my clothes in the dryer for 15 minutes while I cram my last few items into my pack and find a plastic dry cleaners bag to protect it's contents. I'll dry eventually. My book and computer on the other hand need a little more attention.
I'm quickly out of time, and drag on wet pants and still-soggy shoes. Now they are warm and soggy though, instead of cold, and I half-heartedly convince myself that's better.

I book it the mile to the train station with my pack all wrapped in plastic, feeling the burn in my legs with each step and loving it. Though I know tomorrow will probably be a different story.
Finally, I am on my way! Bologna bound, for a night at least.
Two stops into the two hour trip, someone asks if they can sit across from me.
"Preggo," I respond automatically with only a quick glance. When I finally look up at the young man across from me I can't stop the short burst of laughter from escaping my lips. He's wearing a shirt with a picture of some field, a Texas license plate on it which reads AUS * USA, and beneath it, stamped in bold red letters "Lone Star State".
He looks at me with a mixture of confusion, surprise, and worry, and I can't blame him. I grin to myself. I'm gonna go ahead and take this to mean I'm back on the right track.

Sometimes in life (and especially in travel) you can just feel when you're on the right path. As soon as I leave Fano, the world seems to become lighter and fall away from my shoulders, and everything goes back to running smoothly. I breath easy once more.
I arrive at my hostel in Bologna around 4pm and by 6 I am fed up with my endeavors of trying to check emails, post my blog, etc., the internet here being crap. I consider an internet search for things to do on a Wednesday and cast the idea aside as silly. I'll just go for a stroll. Walk to the center, find some pizza, and come back to get to bed early and catch up on sleep.
As soon as my feet begin to move, my spirits begin to lift (helped to do so by the huge arching rainbow and the day moon in my path), and next thing I know, it's 2am before I'm returning to the hostel, one pleasant encounter after another keeping me rolling through the city into the night.

I buy a gelato and plop myself down in Piazza Maggiore, deciding from my last visit that this is my favorite spot. Licking chocolate drips from my fingers like a child, I watch a busker near me slowly roll and smoke a cigarette before packing his things. He catches my eye once and I see how guarded he is. Shaggy hair, leather jacket, cigarette dangling from his lips as we puts his guitar away. He's got an image to protect, of course, can't have people seeing beneath the facade. He glances again my direction as he swings his bag onto his shoulder, and I casually watch him cross the square. When he draws level with me, he gives me a curt, tough guy nod at the same moment I smile. He literally jerks back in surprise, his face breaking into a grin he has no control over, quickly ducking his head to hide this. The corners of his mouth remain turned up until he's out of my view and I find myself amused by his surprise.
We are always so concerned with what other people think about us and with looking cool or assessing glances, that we are shocked and confused by people who would rather show kindness than appear cool and collected. Appear above it all. But I'm anything but collected, and I'm embracing this with humility and humor. If people stare at you, maybe they are just curious. Maybe they like your face. Why do we always assume it's negative? I used to get very agitated when people would stare at me. But why? Because I am insecure. So sure they were judging me negatively. Now I am teaching myself to just smile. And if they don't smile back, that's their problem, not mine. I'll just be over here licking chocolate from my fingers like a child and grinning to myself. Because it's the little things in life.

As soon as mister tough guy packs up, two young buskers take over his spot. I watch them set up, appreciating the girls aesthetic with her bowler hat, long dyed bright red hair, oversized black sweater, and black skinny jeans. She glances over and smiles at me, eyes crinkling behind round, gold wire frames, and I return it immediately. She reminds me of home, and some part of me wants to know her.
They play lots of American classics, and the soul in her voice gives me chills and stops many locals and tourists alike to watch and appreciate before continuing their days.
Something across the square catches my eye, and I realize there are jugglers playing together. That's my cue. I gather my stuff, throw some coins in their case, and head off to my circus people, first sitting near by to watch, but quickly moving to talk to them when I hear words in English thrown about.
"Hi! Where are you guys from?"
New York and Serbia. They just met today. And now Texas.
This is what I love about traveling. You make and break groups to fill a purpose in one moment of time. You meet and form connections with people you will never see again, but in that moment, you are friends and you are solid in your uncertainty. Connected in your disconnect from a standard way of life. You are all you need in this moment, and you will never meet again. Traveling reminds you to stop questioning the future and just enjoy what's in front of you. I hope I will bring this home inside of me.
As we juggle and play and share our experiences, I see the guitarist of the busker duo pass near us.
"Oh, bravo!" I call out, giving him a few claps.
"Grazie! Sprechenzie dutech?"
I laugh, understanding the question, but not where it came from.
"Uh, no...sorry."
"Ah, inglese?"
"Si, per favore!"
He joins our group as if the four of us are old friends, and we sit like this, discussing life for nearly an hour.
Eventually Serbia says it's time for him to go. New York says he'd like to stay and juggle, and Italy and I go for a beer and pizza, which I had set out to find four hours earlier, but when you're following the wind, time becomes meaningless.
We wander the streets, eat pizza, stop at pubs, and discuss all manner of topics for hours without a lull until the last bus to his home is leaving at 1am. Having been a perfect gentleman all night, he asks me only once, before his bus arrives, to join him at his house.
"Ah..no, I'm sorry."
"It's okay, I understand. It was a pleasure meeting you!" He gives me his contact and tells me to let him know if I need anything or if I'd like to busk with him while I'm in Bologna.
And it's this simple. We met, we talked, we had fun, he asked for what he wanted, and accepted my answer immediately when I declined, no trace of annoyance. I'm sorry people of America, but we could really learn some things from Italians about taking rejection without freaking out at the other party. Probably woman would be more open to starting conversations if they didn't think it was gonna end in them being called a stuck up bitch for not wanting to "put out". But that's just my two cents.
And yes, good guys of the world, I can hear your gasps and protests now, but let me ask you...how many times have you listened quietly to your asshole friends disrespect women? To their face or behind their back. Did you say anything to stop this behaviour? If the answer is no, you don't deserve to protest. If the answer is yes, thank you. It's a shared responsibility, ladies and gentlemen. Back to the travel stuff.

Prague. Everything about this place is different than what I have experienced in the last two months. The language is so far from anything I have seen I can't even begin to sound it out or hope to understand, and I suddenly realize how helpful it is to be able to read simple words, such as,
Enter
Exit
Open
Closed
Left
Right
Knowledge I have taken for granted even in Italy and France. Despite this, I have  zero issues communicating, which is the second weird thing. English is everywhere. I hear it in the streets constantly. Every person in every store or cafe (at least near the center) speaks English. Information is offered in about 7 languages everywhere you go, and on and on, making me incredibly lazy, as this is the first place I haven't learned my 5 simple phrases I'm meant to learn each place (see Strasbourg post), because it seems obsolete.
Then there is the sheer number of people. Everyday, swimming in a sea of turned up faces, picture poses, the slow moseying of people with nowhere to be. Yet they all look so unhappy all the time. I feel at times I am the only smiling fish in the sea of tourism. It's not true, of course, but I do wonder why people spend so much to come to places and spend their whole time so unhappy. But everyone is entitled to their life.
I walk the streets often with a grin upon my face, which is widened when recalling a quote I read... "Smile often, it makes people wonder what you're up to."

My Uncle Luis and his fiance, Tanya, come to Prague for two nights, and together we wander the streets and the must-see sights. It is nice to have people to see things with, as I'm almost always alone. But this also makes me realize that in just two months, I have become incredibly used to this fact, and to being on my own schedule, as I am late 2 of the 3 times we make a plan, and my timing seems always to be off.

My first night in Prague, a group of Swedish girls spot me sitting in the square and have me join them, but when I'm ready to leave them, they are full of worry. One in particular.
"Will you be okay? Do you know how to get back? You are alone!"
"I'm traveling alone," I attempt to reassure them, "I am used to this, don't worry."
"But that's not safe!"
And I look into her bright, young eyes, and realize that no part of me currently resonates with these words. I don't feel unsafe.
As my dad said to me recently, quoting Sinbad, "Trust in Allah, but tie up your camel."
The universe puts me where I need to be, my job is simply to keep my eyes open and trust.

I stand on my tiptoes, balanced on the ledge of a small window, peering over the old castle wall to find the view. With my arms supporting most my weight I'm balanced like a small kid peering longingly at something beyond their reach. Suddenly there is a hand extended to me, and I realize there is a young man atop the wall. Seems he had my idea but actually succeeded. I glance at him and he nods, cigarette dangling from his lips, and hoists me up when I reach for him.
We sit side by side, legs kicking the wall above the 100 foot drop.
"It's so beautiful up here, away from the tourists," I eventually sigh, taking in the view.
He stares at me for a moment and then says something in a language I don't recognize. I shake my head.
"America?" He asks with a heavy accent.
I nod.
"Ukraine."
But this is the extent of our understanding.
Realizing we can't understand each other, he offers me a cigarette and watches the view. But after a bit more silence he simply starts speaking to me in Ukrainian. Hands waving, expression full of passion, and I just laugh at the situation and repeat "I don't understand" multiple times, but he keeps talking, and I keep listening, uncomprehending.
Eventually I rise and leap off the wall and he walks with me, hands waving in his speech until I find Tanya and my uncle in the palace garden.
"Ciao!" I smile.
"Ciao," he repeats warmly, and continues on his way.
I think we all just want to feel connected, even when we are not understood.

I had every intention of being antisocial today. I wake and immediately text Luca (an Italian kid I met in Prague) to back out of our zoo plan. I would like to drink some coffee, go to the park to write, and find somewhere quiet to be. Prague is amazing, but it is busy and packed, and I just want a day to recharge my batteries a bit.
But when the universe wants something else for you...
As soon as I sit down with my coffee, I fall into a conversation with a tourist from L.A., which lasts a while before we are joined by a couple from Florida I had spoken to in my dorm. The four of us exchange stories, plans, and tips for another hour at least, before everyone decides it's time to get a move on, it already being noon and all.
Okay, that was nice, but now it's time for me to be alone! I think.
But as soon as I walk into the kitchen to rinse my cup and head out, I hear a gasp. "Oh! Like me!"
I glance over, unsure if this is directed my way, and see a girl turn her pack over to expose the hula hoop rolled up and strapped to the outside.
"Oh, awesome! I never see people with hoops!"
She's Rebbecca from Italy, and she has one hour til she has to leave for her train.
"I  wish we would have had time to play."
"Come on, let's go right now!"
And we're off to the square. We put a sweater down with a few coins on it as an experiment, and start to play and learn from each other. To my surprise, people actually throw money down for us, and my thoughts of busking are further strengthened. With a speaker and a hat, I think this could be helpful for me.
All too quickly our time is up, and I walk her to the station. She gives me her number and tells me I am welcome to stay with her anytime I would like to come to Milan, and then she's off.
"Ciao, bella!"
Another friend made and gone. Another open-hearted invitation.

After four wonderful nights, it's time for me to move on from Prague. There is still much I would have liked to see, but I think each place will be like this, and to truly experience somewhere, I'd need to live there. So off I go.
I've booked my bus online last night, and now, with 30 minutes til it's departure, my downloaded map decides it's not gonna help me find the station. Awesome.
There are two college age kids ahead of me, their business casual attire giving me an obvious clue they are locals and may be able to point me the right way.
I hesitate a moment, not wanting to interrupt them, and call out a quiet, "Excuse me", which I'm sure won't even be heard. To my surprise they both stop and turn, looking at me expectantly.
"I was wondering if you could help me...." I show them my malfunctioning map and ask if they can point me toward the bus station. They fire back and forth at each other for a moment in Czech, before smiling at me.
"You can just come with us. It is a straight shot from where we are going."
"Oh, are you sure?"
"Yes, of course. We don't know how to tell you in English, but if you come, then it's straight, we can show you."
So off we go.
They ask me why I'm traveling, and where I've been, and we talk about what they like and dislike about living in Prague. They are very open and kind, and eventually we reach a plaza and they point me off in the right direction.
"Thank you for helping me, I'm sorry to have intruded."
"No, of course!" They exclaim, "It's no problem. Good luck!" And we split.
I make it to the station just as my bus to Vienna is boarding, and am relieved to have seen, once again, that there is hope for the world, and people who are selflessly kind do, in fact, live in it.
I hope I can be one.