We returned this weekend from an adventure in the mountains with Patrick's colleagues.
A good time was had by all.
Shortly after our return, I had a (get ready for hyperbole) bad Billa moment that I blew into a bad Prague moment that I made into a I-don't-want-to-be-here-anymore moment. Most expats I've met have some sort of traumatic grocery store abroad story (P has a fabulous one about cherry juice). While I find grocery stores in foreign countries to be one of the greatest delights while traveling, I find them to be one of the greatest challenges in a place where I'm actually living. When you depend on the items and the aisles and the cashiers on a daily basis, the grocery store becomes a microcosm for all that is unfamilar.
So. Gus and I set out for post-weekend-away-provisions. We started at the Italian bistro and ordered a pizza. No trauma. Then we entered Billa. Billa is always fraught with strangeness: The weighing of the produce, the frenetic pace at while everyone shops, the narrow aisles, the four thousand kinds of sauerkraut. Added to this foreign-to-me mix is Gus's love of bare feet. The dude just wants to see his toes. Last week, in 50 degree weather, he ripped off his shoes and socks in the stroller and gleefully shouted to tongue-clucking passerbys, "Cold toes! Cold toes!" He cannot be coerced into wearing footwear. Unlucky for us, this is a keep-your-coat-and-wool-socks-on kind of town. So of course, in Billa, he liberated his feet and the comments began. I ignored well, only minorly irritated, until one woman became loud and aggressive. She pointed. She smacked my shoulder. She yelled at those around us and rallied what I interpreted as ire. When I finally listened, I found that she was not yelling the word for shoe, but that she was yelling "ucet"---The word for receipt. She wasn't mad. She was worried. And sure enough, she had cause for alarm as a tiny scrap of paper was sticking out of Gus's mouth. He had devoured the entire pizza check and grinned ala Cheshire cat.
I was humbled, sweaty, and flustered. And as I dodged one of the speedy shoppers through my embarrassment, Gus simutaneously bucked, and a bottle of beer flew out of the basket onto said shopper's feet. Glass and beer covered his pants and shoes (thank goodness he kept his on) and everything else nearby.
The poor ale-soaked man I'd assaulted took a deep breath, raised an angry finger, and let loose. Security rushed over to assist in the shouting. And so, I responded to the hollers of the duo and the stares of the growing crowd in the only language I knew: I sobbed (sheesh). At the sight of tears, all reeled back. I guess folks don't cry in Billa. Their English was far better than my Czech: "No problem. Go home. No problem. Go home."
I now had the pizza to tackle. This is a rule-following kind of town. I wasn't going to get my pizza without my ucet. I had one saliva soaked scrap that had half the bistro name on it. When I presented the pathetic piece, the waiter's eyeroll was all I needed to start sobbing again. He responded in similar alarm and shooed me out with my pizza box.
After an evening of self-pity, I woke determined to stop the negative internal rumble (mutter mutter grizzle grizzle swear word swear word). The antidote to not liking Prague is to see Prague, and so we enjoyed a four mile walk to Gus's best pal S's house. Our jaunt took us past the castle and across the Charles Bridge through Old Town.
It didn't make me click my heels, but it did make me stop the stinking thinking (despite an initial fifteen minutes of ranting about the secondhand smoke, lethal cobblestones, and public urination). And after two cups of coffee, watching sweet S hug little G and the two of them serve each other imaginary tea, my smile was sincere. We have good sights to see and good friends to visit. In shoes or not, we are okay. We are blessed. We have much for which to be thankful.
But, we may avoid Billa.
Transition as pathetic as my self-pity:
I have inked in my sketch for P's faculty Sketchbook project (I don't know if I'm allowed to share the website yet). Every three weeks our books get traded. So exciting. Felt really good to doodle for my own sake. I haven't done that in a long time.
