The Ossuary at Kutná Hora

Today we took a trip to Kutná Hora, a town about an hour outside of Prague. It is a town home to old silver mines, a church called St. Barbara's, and the Bone Church--the Sedlec Ossuary. Needless to say, the highlight of today's trip was the Bone Church. St. Barbara's was an interesting foray into Gothic architecture, but the Bone Church was the part of the trip that (I hope) will best stand out in my mind.

There was some monk a long time ago who got it into his head to take the bones that were buried in the graveyard outside the chapel and begin "decorating" with them. Honestly, I can't think why anyone would think to do this. When I see bones, I say, "Ew, cover that up," not "Oh, let's see if I can make some lovely rosettes for my mantle out of these human pelvic bones." It just doesn't make sense to me. But in some fit of madness (and obviously creativity pushed to the extreme) this monk developed a most unique decorating system for the chapel that would skyrocket it into guidebook fame in a few centuries.

There is some kind of superstition surrounding the Bone Church--I think it has something to do with people believing that the bones of people who died in the Plague would bring the living luck (it seems to me that those bones would be more likely to bring death than anything else), but I could be wrong about this, so I refer you to the links at the end of this post if you want more info.

The thing that I find most interesting about this place is the sheer number of bones, skeletons, and people (dead, not tourists) that are in this church. There are stacks of them in the four corners,



the skulls are lined up along the candle-holders,



and there is a giant chandelier (the most famous part of the chapel) made up of every bone that is found within the human body (with lots of extras)



After having looked at this incredibly creepy, though "pleasantly morbid" (as I described it earlier), I realize that there is no better way that I can imagine my bones being used after I die. I can only hope that I change my mind before death.

This is a more complete (though some might say less reliable) description of the chapel: Sedlec Ossuary, and here is a link to a documentary about the chapel (it's in Czech and I have no idea what it's saying, but maybe I'll give you a kind of good idea of what it's about?).

Taste of Home

Every morning I take a tram to Andel, then transfer to another tram (tram 7) that takes me to the bottom of a big hill that makes me die a little inside every time I look up it. One morning when I was on tram 7, I was staring out the window, probably contemplating the meaning of life when it came to me--in a shop window was an old-style Minnesota Twins t-shirt. I started in excitement, and pointed it out to the girl I was with--another fellow Minnesotan (though not the Twins fan that I am). Someday soon I think I'm going to buy that shirt. I think the label on it said that it's 80 CZK (about $5, obviously they don't really know the worth of the Minnesota Twins). Until then I get a little taste of home every morning when I pass it by.

Otherwise if I get homesick, I hear that the restaurant TexMex is very American here.

Laundry

Tonight I am at home doing my homework and, obviously, blogging. Today a guy from the program turned 21 and is having a party at his apartment to celebrate. I asked him if he was going to go out and buy himself some alcohol today, to exercise his new-found alcohol rights. He said that he'd already bought alcohol while he was here, but today when he was buying alcohol was going to be better than all the others. I would have gone to the party. I would really like to be there right now, actually, but unfortunately, I am here, and I am exhausted.

This exhaustion mostly comes from my house being on a hill and my school being on a hill. This means that, no matter where I am going, I must always walk up a sizeable hill to get to my destination. Not only does this mean that I am tired when I get there, it also means that I am hot, sweaty, and have a distinctly European odor about me by the time I get to the top. This, coupled with the fact that I took a two hour walking tour of Prague Castle today (and factoring in that I'm in general a lazy bum), is why I am not helping the guy ring in a newer and better year at the pub by his apartment. I apologize.


There is one thing I regret not doing before leaving home: buying new underwear. I considered replenishing my supply--I even threw away some particularly old pairs, but I never replaced them. I realize now that I should have gone and loaded up on the Victoria's Secret 5 for $25 deal.

I did my laundry for the first time this whole trip a couple nights ago. They handle their laundry very differently here--Miroslav told me that when his wife gets back from "spa," she will want to do my laundry for me. This in itself will be a bit of a shock for me--Mom has had me doing my own laundry since I was thirteen. Seven years of me being the only one to touch my dirty laundry has made me particularly protective of it.

This, though, is not what has made me wish I had bought new underwear. Rather, it's the fact that I pretty sure there are no residences within the city that have a dryer. Instead of tumble dry low in the dryer, it's hang dry in the living room. For everyone to see.

This is something I would be completely fine with if I were one of those people who doesn't care about what other people think. But, I am not one of those people. I care that people are looking at my leggings, I care that people are looking at my dirty, holey socks, and I care that people are looking at my underwear and judging me for them. I'm sure they couldn't care less about whether or not my socks actually match, or that I have [some] granny panties (sometimes I prefer the extra room), but every time I walk past those clothes, it's all I can do to keep from judging myself, acting as a third party observer, and asking myself, "Who the hell is this person?" before I realize that I'm judging myself.

Of course, the only problem is not that my clothes are displayed for everyone--some kind of limited time exhibit. It's also the practical fact that those clothes are hard once you take them off. Any of you who have ever hung things over a drying rack to dry your clothes know that your clothes are incredibly stiff by the time they are dry.

This presents the problem of chafing.

I suppose I'll leave that to your imagination and say goodnight now.
Dobrou noc!

wisdom teeth--be smart

The other night after dinner, I made the mistake of telling a story about when I had my wisdom teeth removed. "You have problems with your teeth?" my host family worried. "No, no," I assured them, "it's just something we do in America. Most of the college-age kids get them out. It's no big deal." "But why are you getting them out, then?" "Well, because sometimes they don't fit in your mouth and if you leave them in it will mess up your other teeth."

I decided it would be too complicated to try to talk about infections and to go into much more depth, but they kept asking me questions. "It's just something we do. No other reason. I'm fine, my mouth is fine. Everything is fine with me. Lots of people have it happen."

"Well," my host family said, "I have a friend and he has a -- what you call it? It takes pictures." "An X-ray." "Yes, an X-ray machine. He is a dentist as a hobby" (I really hope he meant profession) "and if you want, I could take you to him and he could take pictures of your teeth with this X-ray."

"No, really it's fine. My teeth are fine. I've been to the dentist since I had them out--" (a white lie, though one that I felt was completely necessary to keep them from worrying about my teeth) "--and they said everything's fine."

Their faces were lined with worry over my dental needs.

"Really? Because sometimes you need to see what other people say. A few years ago I went to different dentist and he found things that ...." I couldn't quite understand what was happening after that point.

Moral of the story:
Do not discuss unnecessary surgeries with people from foreign countries. It is confusing and only creates stress on their part over the fact that the person living with them has less than adequate dental health.

The end.

studuju češtinu

I am officially a student in the art of Czech speaking. I am taking "Fast Track Beginner" Czech. This means that, because I am "Fast Track," whenever people speak, I can almost understand what they are saying. Therefore, I am very nearly fluent in the language.

Just a disclaimer before I get too far into this post:
This isn't going to be a very interesting one. I am mostly just going to cut and paste from a Facebook message I sent my parents.
You have been warned.

Czech lessons are going fine. Today I learned how to count up to 199. Success! So, as I've been telling people, it feels really good knowing that I can pay for a meal, even if I don't know what I ordered. I've learned some other practical things that should help me along the way--like "How are you doing?" Unfortunately, I can't seem to remember what the responses are supposed to be, so even if someone responds, I'll still have no idea how they're doing or how I'd respond if someone asked me.

I've found that I am unable to break out of my Spanish rut, though, when in my Czech class. It is as though my mind can only hold one foreign language at once, so I have to purge all knowledge of Spanish from my brain before I have the ability to pick up Czech. Yesterday in Czech, the teacher (Jana) went around the room asking for people's names. When she got to me, I told her my name was Emily Rose and she said, "Emily Rose?" Instead of responding to her with the Czech "yes" (ano), I responded with the very Spanish and very incorrect "sí ." I can only hope that when I get out of here, I still have a decent amount of Spanish left in me--it's a considerably more practical language to remember/know than Czech.

On Saturday I go to Kutna Hora--the place where they have that bone church. That should be fun and pleasantly morbid.

Yesterday I went to a student bar with some of the more hippied out people from the CIEE group. The bar is called Hany Bany (pronounced Honey Bunny) and I had a really good Hany Bany Hamburger with a Pilsner. Whenever I go to bars I only order Pilsner for two reasons: 1) I don't know how to order anything else, and 2) I don't know what I else I would order even if I understood the menu. This is also partly how I ended up with my Hany Bany burger--I had two seconds to look at the menu and order, and I decided it would be too risky to order blind in a country where it seems entirely likely that what I am ordering could end up being some kind of organ (heart, liver, kidney, maybe even brain).

For dinner tonight I had two sausages and some bread and a beer brewed in Brno. Yesterday I had lasagna and a beer from Prague.

Here are some pictures from Prague so far. I haven't even begun to really see all the sights that Prague has, but these are some pictures from the "Welcome Dinner Boat Cruise" on the Vltava River last Friday. There are also some pictures from Petrin Hill, the hill that my house is on. Petrin Hill is also home to Prague's Eiffel Tower, Charles IV's Hunger Wall (they were in the middle of a depression and in an act that predates FDR by some five or six hundred years, Charles IV created his own version of the New Deal and hired people to build this useless wall so they could feed their families), as well as some gardens, a labyrinth, and a Mirror Maze (completely not worth the 50 CZK).


This is a view of the city from the Hunger Wall. I think when I took it I liked the red of the berries and the red of the rooftops.


Prague Castle at night. I am going to tour it tomorrow.


This is a picture from the boat cruise (hence the water). The two towers that you see are from a church that is right next to the study center in Vyšehrad where I have my classes. The study center actually shares a building with a nunnery, so there's always a flurry of excitement whenever we see a nun walking around. They're always dressed in their habits (is that what they're called?) and it makes me think of Owen Meany and his "penguins."

Jsem tady--PRAHA!

For those of you who speak Czech (I do not count myself among you), you will know from the title that I am here in Prague! It was a long and stressful journey (more tired than stressful--everything went perfectly) and I am currently sitting in my house on Petrin Hill in Golden Praha.

I will give you a shortened version of my trip for multiple reasons:
1) There's really only so much I can say about watching True Blood, Flight of the Conchords, and Seventeen Again for hours
2) I've been here for a week and have forgotten some of my journey (though remember the most important things, I hope, and if I've forgotten an important thing already, it really can't be all that important)
3) I don't feel like spending a lot of time talking about all that stuff when I can tell you about my (not so interesting) daily life here in Prague.

The most important thing that I can say about my trip from Christchurch (to Sydney to Singapore to Frankfurt) to Prague is that I was not left behind in Singapore. I managed to catch all of my flights with plenty of time to spare. This is a good thing--I seem to have had all my flight problems on the way from MN to CHC. Success!

the flight from Singapore to Frankfurt was quite possibly one of the more painful experiences of my life. I had forced myself to stay awake through the first two flights that got me to Singapore so that I would be able to sleep for most of the 12 hour flight and maybe wind up in Europe with some kind of amazing, non-existent jet-lag. Sadly, this was not the case. The flight began well enough, with my promptly falling asleep against the window (somehow I lucked into a window seat in all my long flights). Unfortunately, I was woken up about an hour into the flight when the meal cart flight attendant was chastising the man in front of me because he told her he didn't want anything to eat. "You do realize that you're not going to eat for the next eleven hours? That's how long it is until we're going to serve another meal again. Are you sure you can last eleven hours? That's breakfast. That's a long time. So you really don't want a meal? Are you sure about that? Well, okay. I guess if you really don't want one. And it's eleven hours. You do realize that, don't you? Eleven hours. Well, okay." And then she moved on.

I had not been planning on eating dinner, but after that, I decided it would be easier to just take it and poke the meal around a bit. She moved the cart back to me and asked me what I wanted. I was sitting in a particularly noisy part of the plane, and even though I knew what she was asking, I said, "What?" out of habit. "Would you" she pointed to me "like something" she gestured to the cart in front of her "to eat" she mimed shovelling food into her mouth. I'm pretty sure I heard the woman sitting next to me quietly scoff at this. "Yeah, yeah, I know," I said. "What are my options?"

The flight attendant was annoyed now, maybe because she wasted her sign language on someone who was not deaf but just groggy from being awoken rudely for a meal she didn't want to eat. "Like they said over the intercom--" "I was asleep." "--we have fish curry and--" The second possibility was lost into the noise of the engine. Deciding that now would not be the best time to have my first experience with fish curry (I didn't want to dislike it before I'd tried a real version of it) I quickly said, "Yeah--that one. The second one, whatever that was," and she handed me a meal. The woman next to me ordered the same as me, while her husband ordered the fish curry.

Looking at my tray, I was distinctly unappealed (is that a word) to everything on the plate. The salad was a "bean salad" consisting solely of limp-looking green beans and soggy lima beans. The bread looked hard. The dessert was a mass of...something brown.

I pulled the cover off the main course of my meal at the same time as the woman. We both stared at the trays for a few seconds after the foil cover was removed, and then we turned to look at each other, looks of disgust playing across our faces. "I hope the bread's good," I said to her. "I suppose I'll just eat the mashed potatoes," she said in response. The meal didn't even meet my expectations.

When it came time for dessert, I was hoping for some kind of apple thing. It looked like that could potentially be what it was. I thought I saw the woman next to me bite into hers, but after I took my first bite, she quickly asked, "What is it? I was waiting for you to try it." "It's rice something," I told her. We both left our desserts unfinished as well.

I really think I would have been better off sleeping through dinner. Kudos to the man who wouldn't back done and flat out refused to eat their disgusting meal.

I would really also like to point out that it was a complete overexaggeration on the flight attendant's part, saying that we wouldn't eat for eleven hours. Within the next two hours they had passed out a "snack pack" with an apple, some Mentos, a thing of Oreos, a bottle of water, and (possibly? I can't remember) a granola bar. And then a few hours later they passed out bananas.

While we're on the topic of food and airplanes, I feel like now is a good time to mention my most unwelcome welcome to the Czech Republic. I got onto my plane (Czech Airlines) and they said they would be passing out sandwiches and juice (score!) on the hour long flight. Turns out they were passing out cabbage, egg, and mayo (possibly) sandwiches on this weird nutty tasting bread. Minus points for the Czech Republic for even considering this to be food.

One final thing to note before I finish up this note:
I have always thought customs to be a tiring process--you have to fill out forms, wait in line, tell people all about the purpose of your stay, say everything you've done and eaten in the past six weeks, have your bags checked, and practically sell your soul in order to prove that you are worthy of getting into their country. When I landed in Frankfurt, I had to go out into the main area of the airport (as well as get my passport stamped) in order to get to my gate for the flight to Prague. I didn't think twice about this--I was just passing through the airport and I would have no need to be checked because I didn't need to be deemed worthy of entry into the country because I didn't want to stay there. I was a bit taken aback, though, when I arrived in the Czech airport. I followed all the signs to the exit, which led me directly to the baggage claim. After getting my sizeable bag from the turntable thing, I went through the exit marked "Nothing to Declare" and found myself free. No stamped passport, no baggage checks, nothing declared, just sweet, sweet freedom.

On that note, I'm off to do some Czech homework--Intensive Czech classes started yesterday--and I will probably be back after I finish up the homework for another short post, just to get you all updated to where I am now.

Have fun Stateside!