Christmas Czech Point

The adventure is on! 

Excitement (hopefully), romance (uhh…), and mishaps (with a money-back guarantee)—just a few of the many things everyone has anticipated about my solo jaunts across Europe. Instead of going home for 2 weeks for the holidays this year when I’d just have to come back to take my exams before heading to the States for good, I decided to run around the Continent a see the sights. Part of which, I have planned to do alone (*queue shrieks of terror from all my relatives*). This has unsettled many adults in my family who have seen Liam Neeson’s crowning achievement “Taken” a few too many times. Luckily, I, unlike Neeson’s street-naive daughter, do not plan on telling any strange men where my hotel is and what my room number is, and therefore do not anticipated being kidnapped and sold into sex slavery. 

So far, that plan is working. Rest assured guys. 

My first stop on my own was Prague in the Czech Republic, where I spent Christmas. It was the most relaxing Christmas of my life, I’m not gonna lie. 

I stayed at this swanky hotel, the Art Nouveau Palace, which was almost a little too glamorous for me (I said “almost”). It had the most beautiful breakfast buffet I’ve ever seen in my life, with smoked salmon, pate, eggs, bacon, pancakes, and they served some kickass coffee, too. 

I arrived in Prague after a long and arduous journey: I had a layover in London Heathrow (and we all know how I feel about Heathrow: I hate it, and it was an airport designed by an idiot). Then, upon arriving at the Prague airport, I had to go through passport control since I was entering the EU from beyond. Now, in these European countries, they have lines for European passports, where people just zoom right on through, and then a line for everyone else, which is where I ended up waiting for an hour. It was hot, it was late, I was tired, and I had hired a car service to pick me up at the airport that I was praying would wait for me. Eventually, I was next in line to get my passport stamped, but as soon as the family in front of me was finished, the man in the booth put up a sign and shouted to go to another window. I was at my wit’s end by this point, and might have half shouted “No!” in the middle of the airport before running and shoving my way to the shortest line, near tears of frustration. Or, we could all choose to believe that I handled myself with grace, dignity, and poise. 

To their credit, the car company did wait over an hour for me at the airport. And after an ordeal of a day, I spent that evening languishing in the massive bed I had all to myself. 

View of Prague Castle from across the Vltava

I went exploring over the next few days. Prague was the one city for which I had no real expectations going in; honestly I went to Prague purely on the recommendation of others, and boy did it pay off. Overall, there wasn’t a ton “to do” in Prague, but it was an absolutely lovely city for walking and wandering. Apparently it was one of the few major cities that was spared bombing during the 20th century wars, which means that quite a bit of it’s old architecture remains intact to this day. The city was filled with rambling streets and a myriad of Art Nouveau style buildings in Easter egg colors. 

Astronomical Clock in the Old Town Square

I explored various Christmas markets, and did quite a bit of souvenir shopping at the market in the Old Town Square. It was picturesque (though there wasn’t any snow!), especially at night when all the lights were turned on. And it was massive, making the dinky little market in Daley Plaza in Chicago look like a toy version. One day, for breakfast, I had a trdelnik, a traditional Czech pastry that is essentially just dough covered in sugar, so where could you go wrong, really?

Aside from just wandering around and eating things at the Christmas Markets, I did try to do some sightseeing. There were several small niche-interest museums that I visited including the Kafka Museum, the Museum of Communism, and the Mucha Museum. Now, when I say “small” and “niche” I mean in a house or on a side street in an old shop front. The Kafka Museum was cool, though definitely trippy and would not make any sense to someone who was unfamiliar with Kafka. It was fun and I got through the whole space in just over an hour. The exhibits were a strange, and sometimes startling, mix of historical artifacts (mostly letters, a few drafts, some photos, and even an object like a watch now and then) with audio-visual…experiences…I’m honestly not entirely sure how else I would describe them. There were often eerie sound effects in areas where reading letters between Kafka and his father, and a strange video interpreting one of Kafka’s most contentious and mysterious works, “The Castle”, along with many other oddities. But it was interesting and informative, and definitely a fun way to pass the time for an hour or so. 

The Museum of Communism was tucked away near on of the main modern shopping thoroughfares, the sort of place that you wouldn’t be able to find unless you knew exactly where to look, but I think it was well worth it. The museum was bursting with artifacts from its own Communist history, many of which were quite fascinating, though I wish I’d had the foresight to book a guided tour in advance, as I think a tour guide might have helped bring the exhibits to life. There were old uniforms, exhibits about propaganda and political cartoons (the ones they used against the US were particularly amusing, and not altogether irrelevant today actually). My favorite exhibits were the small recreations of Communist era rooms. There was even a rather moving video about the history of resistance against Czech Communism and the events leading up to the Velvet Revolution in 1989. I found myself crying right there in public after watching that video—I sometimes forget that Communism was a very real and very scary and very unironic thing in many parts of the world. However, the museum gift shop did not kowtow to such emotional sentiments. This gift shop was, in fact, the most self-aware and ironic gift shop I have ever been in. Naturally it was the perfect place to get all of Ethan’s souvenirs. 

Me and Lenin 

The Mucha Museum was lovely and very conveniently located just across the street from my hotel. I popped in on Christmas Eve and had a look around. I’ve loved Alphonse Mucha for quite a while (but the aesthetics of Art Nouveau have always appealed to me), so this museum, filled with a range of his works, including many of his most famous posters and subjects, was a dream and the perfect thing for me to do on Christmas Eve. Chances are, you’d probably recognize some of Mucha’s more famous works, actually, as his whole aesthetic is making a comeback. I’ll include some photos of his stuff. 

Mucha's Flower Series

Aside from the niche museums, I found ways to keep myself busy. One night, I happened upon a woman selling tickets to a Christmas Carol Concert that would take place in a Medieval church. How could I say now to that? Plus, with the insanely favorable exchange rate, the ticket was only like $3 (everything in Prague was so cheap it was incredible). I had to wander around a bit to actually find the church, but it was gorgeous. The concert was really fun as well, the choir performed Christmas carols from around the world in their original languages. 

Views of Prague from Petrin Hill Park

On Christmas Day I slept in and then decided to take a walk in the famous Petrin Park on the other side of the river. It was quite warm on Christmas, and the park turned out to be on a rather steep hill, so by the time I got to the top, my coat had come off, I was red-faced, and out of breath. But the views of the city were definitely worth it. Plus I got a little exercise in and saw Prague’s own mini version of the Eiffel Tower (I didn’t go up because it was going to be another 200-some stairs). I took the famous Charles Bridge back across the river, and then had a lovely traditional Czech dinner in the hotel restaurant before a 4 hour Skype session with my family. 

And back down the hill...

Overall, it was a really really lovely holiday. I don’t think I’ve ever really just been out and about on Christmas Day before, so it was nice to just sort of wander at my leisure, it felt very luxurious, though I did miss my insane family a bit (is this better than eccentric guys? *wink wink*). 

Austen Through the Leeds Glass

Though the culture shock has yet to subside, I feel as though I’m getting my sea legs slowly but surely. I’ve met some really great people (I’m not living alone guys, I swear!), and as Ryan said, I’ve formed my “International Squad” since I’ve yet to meet any true English students. The “Freshers” all just moved in today, so I’m sure I’ll be bumping into some local Brits soon enough, plus once everyone is on campus, there will be tens of thousands of local Brits all over the city. 

It’s only been a few days, but I’ve gone shopping without incident, I can get on the bus without causing a news worth pile up, and I finally got a UK phone number (I feel so official). Everyday, things are coming to me a little easier, but, don’t get me wrong, England is still a strange and foreign land. I know, who would have thought that the gray little kingdom across the pond could seem so exotic? To my American eyes, though, everything looks unfamiliar. Even though there is no language barrier, I am as disoriented as though I’d stepped through a mirror into a strange, off-center of my American reality. They sell almost all the same things as in the US, but the brands are different, the measurements are in metric, and the prices in £. And the most off-putting thing of all is the actual spoken language. “Sure” I thought, “I speak English, the UK will be perfect! No language barrier!” But after a day or two here, I quickly realized that while they speak English, it’s not really my English. There such a variance in vernacular and colloquialisms between British English and American English, that I constantly find myself asking clarifying questions, 

“And an aubergine is…?” “And you use washing powder for…your…dishes?” 

Even just the pronunciation of certain words has me asking people to repeat themselves (the Yorkshire accent can be thick and almost as garbled to my untrained ears as a thick Scottish or Irish accent at times!). Here's a video of what English speakers sound like to non-English speakers, and though I don't feel my understanding is quite so garbled, it still takes some adjustment of the ears!

There’s a lot to get used to. Certain items that I’m used to buying in bulk can only be bough in small, exorbitantly priced packages here. Everything is expensive here, really. In my residence, it costs £2.60 for one wash cycle and another £1 to dry! It’s when I start to convert the prices in my head that I start to get heart palpitations. I’m on a budget after all! The outrageous prices have got me learning to cut back in places, though: I’m buying less extraneous food, and I’m walking to and from Uni (yes, I said it, throw the inevitable jokes and comments at me), and even to and from the city center (or centre, now, I suppose), with arms and a backpack laden with groceries! After that, and the fact that I’m on a fourth floor walk up, I won’t even need the free gym membership that comes with my accommodations! My shoulders and calves haven’t stopped being sore since I got here, to be honest. 

While my food and commute situations are passable and fairly healthy, the bathrooms are interesting. The toilets are strange. Let’s leave it at that. The shower is a challenge. I’m on the top floor of an old building, which means that the eaves are an inescapable part of the architecture. In terms of the shower, this means that you kind of have to lean your head to the side while standing in there. It’s absolutely tiny, barely big enough to turn around in, and maybe 5 feet tall at its highest point of the ceiling slope. It’s rough. It makes me miss the hair-clogged drains of Wellesley’s showers. Actually, wait, no, strike that. 

There have been some really nice adjustments and shocks though. I’ve gotten to know several of my flatmates (the people who live on my floor and with whom I share a kitchen for those of you speaking American English) pretty well! The girl across the hall is Australian and she’s really friendly and helpful! There’s another Australian girl who I never see, a Swedish girl who is a health nut, a quiet and sweet Dutch girl who I’m quickly befriending, and two guys from Germany, one of whom is perfectly nice and normal, and the other of whom is a total enigma to me. He’s hard to pin down in words that one…

It’s a stark, but lovely contrast from Wellesley, where everyone kept there doors shut and never interacted with other people on their floor (unless they were already friends). Both of my years living in Tower, I never really knew who was living around me, aside from recognizing their faces in passing now and again. Whereas here, it’s just the opposite! I tend to eat breakfast with at least one or two of my flatmates, and yesterday, the German enigma cooked dinner for four of us! It was really nice to chat and share a home cooked meal! 

Another not unpleasant adjustment is the drinking age in England. While I’m still underage at home, here I can legally drink (though I do have to carry around my passport since my Illinois driver’s license doesn’t cut it abroad!). The second time I went grocery shopping, I did succumb to the temptation to purchase some alcohol, just for the thrill of it! Naturally, I bought the prettiest bottle of wine I could find. It’s a pink, sparkling moscato—sickly sweet and oh so girly. It’s really nice actually, with the types of pasta that I’ve been making (but then again, I’m not really a wine connoisseur…). I also went to my very first bar, or “pub” since I’m in jolly old England. The other night, some flatmates and I went out to a pub night hosted by our residence hall at a nearby pub. It was quite English, with dark maroon carpet, antler chandeliers, rugby and “football” (soccer) matches on, and a name like “Hyde Park Pub”. Though I didn’t have “a pint”, I did have some rather nice cocktails that were on Devonshire’s tab! This also happens to be where I met and bonded with several of my new international friends (who I’m not making up, I swear). 

In fact, we all have met up a few times since to watch movies and such. We all went to dinner with some other people just today at a Mediterranean cafe just down the street. It was delicious! I had Moroccan mint tea and a lamb tagine (like a curry-stew type thing), both of which were delicious. We all decided we’re probably going to a Fresher’s week roller disco tomorrow and we also bought tickets for a trip to Scarborough a week from tomorrow! 

Yummy and aesthetically pleasing mint tea!

Before I left for Leeds, I downloaded an app on my phone call “1 Second Everyday”, which takes 1 second of video for each day and stitches them together. I thought it would be a nice way to document my time abroad. What’s funny, is that I’ve found myself so busy with errands and my new friends that I haven’t taken a single video since I’ve gotten here! I guess that’s a good thing, though it will make for a rather short video at the end of the semester (I’ll feel a little like Ben Wyatt watching his claymation video, “Requiem for a Tuesday”). 

I’m having a good time. I met with my program director recently and he asked me if I regretted coming to Leeds, and I realized that I didn’t really. Even though everything here is really strange (more than I thought it would be), I’m enjoying the unfamiliar.  This blog has helped me with the transition, I think. Things are stressful and foreign and frustrating sometimes, but when I reflect on them and try to treat everything with a healthy sense of humor, it helps me feel like I'm doing ok, it helps me process what I'm experiencing and laugh off things that would normally eat at me. And even though, as the school keeps on reminding us (including via a rather interesting and detailed “dramedy” at the orientation meeting), this is just the “vacation” stage of culture shock, I’m not too terribly worried about the descent into the other, more despairing stages. I’ve got a few friends who I’m hoping will last, and I know it may get hard and it may be scary, but the only way to stop fearing things seems to be to face them head on (at least in my experience, and it’s worked so far!). Plus, I can do almost anything for 6 months, right?

Reverse Culture-Shock, who knew?

Conquering Boots, Morrison's, Pounds, and the Bus

Or, How I Accidentally Committed Petty Theft

My adventures in culture shock continued later today (surprise). After eating out for breakfast, I knew that I had to stock up on some groceries and other supplies before I turned in for the day. After breakfast, I went to some welcome talks and picked up my ID card. It was late afternoon by the time I was finished, but I needed to go shopping and the city center is only a 10 minute walk from the University. 

I went to a sort of mall, where I stopped at Boots drugstore. This was very similar to Walgreens or CVS. It stocked basic drugstore items, and even a few American brands, but standing there, as the stark florescent lighting reflected off the white linoleum floors, looking at the shelves stocked with brands that I didn’t recognize, the words of a well-meaning acquaintances floated into my head “They may speak English, but remember, it’s still a foreign country”. Those words had never rung so true until that moment, as I was forced to buy Sensodyne toothpaste since the shelves lacked Crest, and then I desperately searched for Band Aids, but found only unfamiliar brands of bandages offered for seemingly too much money. “Surely they must sell packs with more than 40 Q-Tips?!” I said to myself, as I looked at the outrageous price of £2.89. 

I left Boots, with 2/3 of what I had on my list at twice what I thought I’d spend. I made my way next door to Morrison’s, one of the supermarket chains in Leeds. As soon as I stepped in, I knew I was in for chaotic experience. The ceilings were low, not those high warehouse ceilings found in American grocery stores, which meant that the noise of carts rolling, intercom calls for price checks, the beeping of check out scanners, and the general conversation, turned into a wince-inducing din. I already had one bag to lug around, so I went to get a rolling cart. I found them chained together with a coin machine, asking me to insert a £1 coin to rent the cart. Not only did I not have a coin, but I also didn’t want to waste any of my precious money on renting a shopping cart, so I decided to go with one of the handheld baskets. I threw my Boots bag in the basket and began adding vegetables and breads, etc as I went along. The basket filled up quickly and became rather weighty. My biceps were already shot from dragging my luggage up 4 flights of stairs yesterday, so I ended up having to take rests every aisle or so (woefully out of shape, I know). 

I ended up with some veggies and fruits, some bread, butter, cream, cheese, eggs, and spices. I also got some aero chocolate, since it looked interesting. I had to wander up and down the aisles looking for eggs, eventually asking an employee, who mumbled the name so softly and gruffly that I just nodded and wander in the direction he pointed until I found them. Apparently in England, eggs are stored on regular store shelves, which is interesting and slightly worrisome. Needless to say, I’m still going to keep them in the fridge. By the time I went to buy my spices, my basket was overflowing and I was reaching muscle failure. I threw in some jars of salt, pepper, cinnamon, and garlic powder (I couldn’t for the life of me find actual garlic cloves). I went to check out, placed all my items on the belt, and found that I had to bag everything myself. I paid, it ended up being only about £15, not bad! 

I realized that there was no way I would make it the whole 30 minute walk back to my dorm, so I had to take the bus. I checked the bus time and stop on Google maps, and headed out. I had a little trouble finding the stop, and I was so frazzled I couldn’t even remember what bus number I was supposed to take. I ended up walking down a few blocks and back a few blocks, resting every so often. I had crossed the street and was outside the Morrison’s wifi area, and since I don’t have a UK SIM yet, I couldn’t check where I needed to be on Google. I sat on some steps to a church with 6 bags of groceries, looking like a crazy person, for a while, trying to figure out what to do. I ended up walking in the direction I lived, hoping that I would see a stop that would take me where I needed to go.

As luck would have, I found a stop! It was also full of students with grocery bags, so that was a good clue. Getting on the bus was a whole different adventure. I stepped up and had to ask the driver if the bus was going near my dorm, but all I could remember were the cross streets. When she asked where I was going, all I could say was that I was going to the stop nearest those cross streets. I went to pay, and the fare was £2, which isn’t bad! I had gotten some coins as change at Morrison’s so I pulled those out and was frantically trying to set down my groceries, search for the coins in my bag, and decipher which was the £2 coin. The kindly bus driver helped me out as I held out a palm full of coins (the money here is lovely and colorful, but there are far too many coin denominations, and I still have no idea what a quid is…). 

And that's not even all the coins...

I ended up having to stand on the bus, but I made it back to my dorm (which is at the top of a hill), and up 4 flights of stairs. It wasn’t until I went to make dinner, that I realized how little I had bought. Stocking a usable kitchen is difficult. On top of that, I hadn’t bought any tupperware, so I couldn’t make anything that would yield leftovers. I settled on scrambled eggs. As I was unpacking my groceries, I realized that I couldn’t find my pepper. I figured I must have left it unbagged at the store in my haste and briefly mourned its loss. However, after I got back to my room and unpacked my bag from Boots, what do I find, but my jar of pepper. Somehow, while everything was in the basket, it must have rolled into my Boots bag—I checked my receipt and sure enough, it wasn’t on there. Whoops. 

I’ve always loved heist and con movies, wishing I could be like the suave con men who commit daring, yet elegant crimes. I guess having lifted spices in a foreign country (allegedly) will have to satiate that craving. 

There were some high points to my day, however. I met 2 girls from my floor, one from Sweden, and one from Australia, and a guy from Germany. We talked about classes and ate dinner together, and discussed what our home countries were like. Shoutout to Ethan, you’ll love this: the girl from Australia told us about how her tiny dog likes to bark at kangaroos, which apparently come rather close to houses there! Right up into your yard sometimes, and are completely fearless of humans. Amusing, yet terrifying.