Prague Arrival: 24

Yosef and I ended up dividing our responsibilities as follows: he was in charge of getting us transit from city to city, and I was in charge of getting us lodging. He got us bus tickets from Dresden to Prague, which was originally a tentative point on our trip. We never had a formal discussion adding it to our itinerary, it just happened on its own. 

Before leaving Dresden, I met up with Marija, whom I had met at the wedding, and who teaches political science in London. We talked about forks in the path of the heart, and experiences with roommates. I finally figured out what was wrong with my frothy milk order. She reminded me of my friend Hannah, the general academic nature with an apparent care for her friends, or maybe just the similarity in coloration. 

And then a chunk of the day was spent on the bus. I wrote a few postcards to friends and napped. Finally we arrived in Prague and lugged our bags up. 

At that point my impression of Prague is that it is all uphill, all windy cobblestone which gets in the way of carrying a suitcase. We were too early to check in to the airbnb, and hungry as well, so we found a Greek called Olympos and celebrated our arrival. I finally got a very little cup of dark bitter liquid and tiny carafe of milk. We were both so tired at this point though, so when we made it back to the airbnb (which required some thinking because the keys were locked in a lock-box on the bars of a convenience store a block away and around the corner) we took a nap. 

Actually let's circle back to the convenience store: it was one of many bodega-like markets sprinkled throughout the city. After dinner we stopped in and picked up some more kefir and fruit, as well as some laundry detergent. They are open late, and as far as I could tell, primarily run by Vietnamese people. There's a kind of charm to these smaller shops: the neighborhood corner store that's open late and were you can buy a pack any number of things: cigarettes, liquor, peaches, or shampoo. These peaches were squatter than the ones I'm used to. There's a family-run feel to them: the one next to me in the Ukrainian village I know the owner, and I think his teen son or nephew works there too. There, sometimes fresh tamales are on sale, but there is also whole-bean coffee and a porter I like. Compared to the ones in Washington Heights in NY, the ones in Prague had more fresh produce and fewer dried and canned goods, and there were no cats. I think with these kinds of places it is easy to start fantasizing about what it would look like to live in a place: strolling the streets, nipping into the corner shop for some milk and dish soap. I saw the guy who manned the cashier a day later in the street, and we recognized each other. If I lived there, maybe we would know each others names, I would learn which fruit are in season when, and develop a sense for the local currency. 

After the nap we got dinner. My friend Mark recommended a Czech place called U Sadu, which he had described as "simply a pubby bar, with simple but carefully (would one say lovingly?) prepared food." The waitress was patient with us, and there were fewer tourists there. Afterwards we went for a walk - we saw some great views of the sun setting over a castle, and the Jewish cemetery, which was closed.  

And that was a full day of Dresden, transit, and Prague. 

Kefir and Muesli

I will later perhaps try and make sense of my abrupt return here.

Later, too, I will outline in greater detail the actual details of my trip, which spanned Dresden, Prague, and Berlin. 

But right now I am trying to grasp the things that I gained from my vacation: long walks, kefir in the morning, good meals out, art museums, my traveling companion (my brother, a month shy of 25, who requested we spend most of the time speaking Russian, which we did until we got to Berlin), writing, photography, seeing friends I hadn't seen in a decade or so, meeting strangers, coffee, beer, taking in the streets...hoping to hold onto these things and bring them home. 

Kefir was easy to arrange, the muesli slightly less easy but I was able to create an approximation of my own. The American cereal aisle is dessert for breakfast: from unabashedly candy-flavored, to sugar-coated raisins feigning a balanced start to the day. I was able to find something with flakes and granola to mix in with oats, flax, and hemp. Blackberries were more affordable this grocery trip than they usually are, and the nectarines were on sale. I don't think about the cost of fruit when traveling. Red and Black currant was in season and readily available in Europe. It is such a rarity in the US, especially since black current was illegal for almost a century and continues to be highly regulated as a crop. And so, I can recreate the breakfast Yosef and I had every day in Europe. We had carried a bag of muesli we got in Dresden to Prague and then back up to Berlin, eating exactly one bag between the two of us during the whole trip, and drinking through a box of English Breakfast tea. It is hotter in Chicago than it was in Europe, so here I have been brewing a large amount of chai and sticking it in the fridge for iced chai in the morning.

I realize, dear reader, this is a very literal way to try and capture a vacation to extend it into “regular” life. I do believe though, that some of our life is informed by the ways in which we follow day-to-day actions. And there may be something to be learned from observing what one does when plucked from those rhythms which we neglect to otherwise examine. Some of the ways in which we are in life will not be shaken when we travel, no matter what we hope, sure, but I found more affirmations than disappointments.

Many of the things I did differently were less ... self-indulgent? hedonistic? in nature, than one might expect. These terms have baggage – Protestant ethic morality versus Pagan debauchery comes to mind. But here in 2023: when tired at the end of a long week, I am more likely to fall into watching a show or YouTube endlessly, and sometimes believe that if given the opportunity to exist without responsibilities, this is the sad place I would find myself. And perhaps, sometimes, that is true. But not always. What I am thinking of is Pleasure Paradox/Hedonistic Treadmill. (My father texted me on the trip asking if these terms were mainstream – I said I don’t know, and that I am not a good measure of what is mainstream knowledge in psychology.) I was surprised how much I wanted to do things, even the things that are not the most direct path the pleasure. 

Yes of course some combination of vacation-magic and necessity meant eating out for most of our meals, and this is not something I want to or can do otherwise, though about half of these meals were very enjoyable. At the same time, it seems I found more energy to do the work of finding slower burning contentment, which has been evading me lately. I remember last time I was in Berlin I felt inspired to stop eating meat again - I had started eating it again at the end of my first year of college, feeling unable to push back on the chaotic selection at the college dining hall. But I felt inspired again in Berlin - found the energy to pursue this small bit of idealism after a year break. I continue this way still, eating meat about once a year, the rest of the time automatically defaulting to the way I have eaten since I was 14. Two of the most recent carnivorous instances in the past two years were on this vacation, in Prague, when I found myself sprung out of rhythms. I see a lot online about motivation versus discipline, but personally, life would be easier if I had a better practiced thoughtlessness. Good habits have always felt like the slipperiest of eels thrashing out of my grip.

My tomato plants which had started to carry green berries when I flew out are now holding ripe tomatoes. I made my first harvest on Friday, drizzled with balsamic vinegar and mixed in with burrata cheese which I shared with a studio friend before we went to a small gallery near me. Two small rooms, a stream of people going in and out, it was free. Art museums are harder to arrange at home. They are certainly one of the planned indulgences of travel. We bought three-day art tickets in Berlin, and saw art in every city. But at home, as large as the Art Institute in Chicago is - and it is, it is massive - I have many of the rooms memorized by now. Perhaps next time I will return with a sketchbook. Do a better job of tracking down smaller galleries – and so on.  

I read half of Erwin Mortiers Shutterspeed on my flight back, and finished it my first day home, with a slow realization that I must have already read it, possibly all the way through, when I purchased it - I think in 2015 on a trip to NYC. The graphics on the cover are perhaps, then, more memorable than the text itself. Regardless of my enjoyment of the novel, the act of reading was less laborious than it has been of late. 

I have walked at least four miles every day since returning to Chicago but want to learn to run - time saving relative to walking for a couple hours, some flexibility to do it in the morning before it gets too hot after the effects of my jetlag run out. Yesterday it was raining but I still went, after an apartment viewing fell through, to watch the waves of Lake Michigan crash into the rocks and cement steps that make up the lakeshore. I thought: if I take in Chicago as if it is a new city to me, or a city I love, perhaps living here will be easier. I am good at appreciating the alleyways, the graffiti, the light, but sometimes Chicago feels gray and desolate, its industrial roots mean occasional vacant stretches within the city itself, breaking up life. My experience here, too, is broken up by the plague, the often fleeting or superficial social connections of grad school, and my own personal upheavals. I am trying - started to before I left - to have a true Chicago summer. Everybody here says summer is the best time but I dread the sticky heat. It melts my brain and makes me sick. But I still endeavor to steal some of its spirit for myself; swimming in the lake, attending some of the dozens of farmers markets and festivals that spring up, and eating ice cream. Perhaps these are avenues to fall into conversations with strangers and see the city with new eyes. Bring a camera with me, write about it here. 

 Wish me luck.