where to next? how about....Kenya?

I have spent years searching for a safe, ethical and affordable way to volunteer in Africa, seriously years, so when I accidentally stumbled upon the IVHQ advertisement claiming all three I held my breath waiting for the catch. The website looked pretty legit but what creepy single dude in his mothers basement couldn't pull that off, no I needed something a bit more concrete and surprisingly that came through facebook, where everything is totally legit. Right? Aside from containing more information than you ever wanted to know about any of your non-friends (read: facebook friends) it actually lends an air of authenticity and accountability to businesses by networking strangers. Example, I wanted to make sure that IVHQ was a real organization and not a front for human trafficking and/or general criminal shenaniganary, so I checked out their facebook page that thousands of people from all over the world had 'liked' and saw posts from past, current & future volunteers, which meant that either a) they were a real organization with a generally satisfied following or b) they had a lot of bandito friends willing to pose as teenage girls off on their first big adventure.

I chose to believe the former and booked within days of finding the site, just a little over a year in advance of the start date. Now, if you know me well, you probably find it odd that I planned something over a year before I actually did it, since most colossal decision making in my life is made spontaneously particularly when it comes to moving abroad, but I swear, there is a method to my madness. I knew that if I didn't have an exit plan in place before the end of my second year in Czech Republic that it would be far too easy for me to extend my contract (the visa was valid for another couple years, I had an amazing group of friends, I loved my work, the kids, the country, the beer, the hockey...what would be stopping me?), which isn't a bad thing, except that I already knew I didn't want to settle down in Czech Republic and with every year my roots would get a little bit deeper making it harder to leave and so I needed an epic adventure to get me out of my comfort zone and back out in the unknown and what better way to do that than to book 4 months volunteering in Kenya starting 2 weeks after my official end date?

So now here I am, sitting on a bed in my host family's house in Mombasa, where we (me and my three fellow volunteers) have cultivated a mild addiction to an English dubbed Colombian soap opera, drank a significant amount of chai, chased numerous cockroaches with a rather poor success rate (there was one time when Kylie thinks she may have got one...not sure how you can be uncertain about whether or not you killed a monstrous cockroach but I am willing to accept that as our one and only victory), plotted to kill some overly vocal nocturnal geese, tried camel milk (which literally tastes like licking a camels hump - not the best), read a women's magazine from 1991 with some particularly insightful articles like 'Are you turning in to your mother? How to stop those scary symptoms before it's too late' with a well-intended top ten TIM symptoms list meant to prepare/frighten us and been awoken more than once by some rather enthusiastic early morning playing of Bryan Adams.

Let that be your introduction to our Kenyan life for now, I will write a more thorough description of the work we are undertaking later. For now, it's off to bed for me where I will attempt to get a good nights sleep despite the abundance of farm animals lurking outside our bedroom window.

bathing in beer

As soon as I found out that a beer spa was a real thing I knew I had to experience it. Combining two of my favourite things could only result in general epicness, besides, where else in the world can you bathe in beer and call it a spa treatment? Well, actually it turns out a few places including Germany and Austria, but it originated in Chodová Planá at the family run Chodovar Brewery and so we set off to experience the original "Beer Wellness Land" and that's got to count for something, right?

Of course it only makes sense that the country that consumes more beer per capita than any other country in the world, would invent the beer spa where you are first submerged in a combination of 'dark bathing beer', mineral water, crushed herbs, hops and active beer yeast for 20 minutes before being taken in to a separate room to be swaddled. Legit. They swaddle you like an oversized infant. And it's amazing.

Chodovar Brewery is situated close to the German border about 2 hours outside of Prague or an hour outside of Karlovy Vary, which is where we left from. If you do go, print directions first because the signs are ambiguous at best, we literally saw a billboard for the spa that cryptically described it as being 'only 9km from here' on both sides, giving you a 9km radius of the billboard to choose from and sending us 9km in the wrong direction rendering us late for our original appointment and forced to reschedule for the following morning. Thankfully the trip wasn't totally fruitless because aside from housing the first beer spa in the world they also have an impressive cave restaurant 'Ve Skále' (which literally translates to 'in the rock') built in 800 year-old granite cellars, where we were able to pass a couple hours dining on delicious Czech food and drinking their equally delectable beers. The remainder of the afternoon was spent exploring the spa town Mariánské Lázně (10 minutes from Chodová Planá) with it's beautiful colonnades, singing fountain and enjoying beers in the park before heading back to Karlovy Vary for a BBQ with friends.


Thankfully we arrived on time the following morning and found ourselves being directed down a staircase to a set of cellars, where we were told to ring a bell outside a heavy wooden door and wait to be granted permission to enter. I honestly wouldn't have been shocked had the door opened to reveal an elderly cloaked man holding a torch in a dimly lit corridor, and was a bit disappointed when the door opened to reveal a very normal man in very normal spa technician clothes, the only thing that differed from a normal spa was that the scents of jasmine and lavender had been replaced with that of 'a freshly brewed dark beer'. He quickly handed us towels that were more along the line of tablecloths then towels and directed us to a changeroom where we were to shed our clothes and return donning tablecloth-togas.

From there the woman we referred to as our 'beer mum' took over, guiding us to our separate baths in a communal room where she then individually removed our towels and lent us a hand to climb in to the rather slippery tubs before then returning with cold glasses of beers for us. I suppose the beers are to ensure we didn't try drinking the bath water, which of course we did purely out of curiousity and frankly it tasted a bit metallic (likely due to the unsavoury mineral water and metal bathtubs). It was somewhat surreal to be in an old stone cellar with 3 of my friends sitting around in our own individual baths sipping beers while submerged in unfermented beer. I think we more or less giggled the entire time we were there. After 20 minutes our beer mum returned, urging us to finish our beers and helping us one at a time out of the baths and back in to our towels. She then left us to replenish our glasses while our 'beer dad' took us in to a dimly lit room lined with loungers that we were instructed to lay face up on (which as I am writing this realize how dodgy that sounds, but I assure you there was nothing sinister about this room), from there he went to us one by one swaddling us in large fleece blankets and asking us if we were comfortable, we half expected him to lean in to kiss our foreheads and then read us Goodnight Moon, which would have been a nice touch.

For the next 20 minutes we alternated between short naps and sneaking out of bed to take pictures of us rolled up like a bunch of sausage rolls. When our 20 minutes were up our beer dad came back to unswaddle us which wasn't really necessary since we had made such a disaster of the blankets with our beer drinking and photo taking. We were instructed back in to the changeroom to re-dress and emerged feeling rejuvenated and healthy and softer plus I felt substantially less hungover after the process, which seems counterintuitive since the entire experience revolved around alcohol but hair of the dog I suppose.

All in all I highly recommend czeching it out and when you're finished hitting up the cave restaurant for a hearty meal. And since the treatment (including your beers) only comes out to 660Kc ($33US) you'd be hard pressed to come up with a reason why not to.

teaching in the land of hockey and beer: Czech Republic

The Czech Republic is essentially the polar opposite of Indonesia:

The language is extremely difficult, hockey prevails over football, there are 4 distinct seasons (though I could quite happily do without the arctic style winter),  they are the second least religious country in Europe with just over 19% claiming to follow a religion on the 2011 census, the population of the entire country is less than that of Jakarta, the air is clean, litter is sparse and pork graces every menu. In short, I couldn't have found a more opposite country if I had tried.

I live in Liberec, a small city of around 100,000 situated about an hour north of Prague at the base of a small mountain range. My main goal in finding my next home after Indonesia was to be surrounded by the colour green, and not just in packaging floating down the river but in the form of trees and grass, to be surrounded by air that wasn't doing permanent damage to my respiratory system. (When I came home from Jakarta one of my best friends asked me 'So...is this your voice now?' I honestly hadn't noticed a difference but the general consensus seemed to be that I now had a rather unhealthy rasp.) So you can imagine my delight at ending up here surrounded by forest, mountains and a nice little reservoir where you can drink beers in the sun.

Everything that I longed for while in Indonesia was nestled here in a quaint little country with some questionable traditions. And luckily for me, unlike most European countries the Czech Republic doesn't require you to be EU to work here. So through the process of elimination they quickly raced to the top of the list of possible destinations.

It wasn't hard to fall in love with the Czech Republic what with it's medieval towns and picturesque landscape, Czechs on the other hand take their time. The main difference between Indonesia and Czech Republic is the people. Indonesians made you love them straight away with bright smiles and gentle gestures, Czechs on the other hand want you to win them over, they're not going to like you just because you're there, they need convincing that you are in fact a likable person, but once convinced they are some of the loveliest most generous people you will have the pleasure of meeting. So don't bother feeling dejected if your service doesn't come with a smile, no ones does.

Teaching contracts here usually run for a regular school year (September to June) and the monthly wage is around $1000 depending on who you work for. Unlike (most of) Asia, here your accommodation is not included (I share a flat with 2 American girls and we each pay around $200/mth including bills - the first year I was here the company I am working for helped me organize my accomdation, the second year my co-worker/friend, Petra, helped me find a new flat), grocery bills are usually around $20/week and eating out tends to be between $5-10 (depending on whether it's lunch or dinner since most restaurants have a cheaper lunch menu), beer is legitimately cheaper than water - and runs at about $1.25 at restaurants and $0.50 at the shop I can count on one hand the amount of times I have not ordered beer with my meal since I moved here.

A main selling point for me was the fact that Liberec has a Czech Extraliga (ELH) hockey team, which living up to my national stereotype was important for me after a year and a half in South East Asia where hockey plays a non-existent role. Not only is it quality hockey here but going to a game usually costs around $15 (including a delicious klobása, 3 beers and a ticket about 6 rows from the ice), that kind of price would buy you a six pack and an evening on your couch at home.

I am quickly approaching my departure date and with only 8 weeks left here I can genuinely say I am going to miss it. A. LOT. I have made some amazing friends here and in July will be celebrating one of my best friend's weddings, which will be bittersweet since it will also mark the end of my time here. I have been inside a church decorated with bones (Kostnice Sedlec), seen a ridiculous amount of live hockey, walked through some of the most impressive rock formations I have ever laid eyes on (Adršpach-Teplice Skály) starred in a dubious maternity photo shoot, done wine tours in Moravia and will spend next weekend at a beer spa where you legitimately bathe in beer while drinking beer, and that's only to name a few of the amazing things I have done/experienced here. When I came to Europe for the first time in 2003 I left having fallen in love with the Czech Republic, little to my knowledge 8 years later I would move here and fall in love with it all over again.



 Photos from top to bottom: looking out over the Prague Christmas Markets from the Old Town Hall Tower, a view of Prague, the reservoir in Liberec, 'The Mayor and his Wife' at Adršpach-Teplice Skály, the lake at Adršpach-Teplice Skály and Kostnice Sedlec (Sedlec Ossuary) in Kutna Horá

being a teacher in crazy beautiful Indonesia

Technically speaking I wasn't even allowed to teach in Indonesia because they have a law that says you must be at least 25 years old and I was 23 at the time, but one of the advantages to a country that is openly corruption ridden is that with a little money in the right pocket you can do just about anything. (Seriously, we even managed to bribe our way in to the National Football Stadium to score a goal as a part of a challenge through our school, I also rode on the back of a police motorcycle without a helmet through downtown Jakarta for the same reason). So my being 2 years junior to the offical limit was a non-issue.

I had no idea what I was getting in to but I prepared myself for the worst. My figuring is that if you arrive thinking everything is going to go smoothly then you will be sorely disappointed no matter where you are, however, if you arrive assuming that you will be robbed, left hungry and stuck in a hut then you will be very grateful for anything better than that.

So when I was told that my shared accomodation would have airconditioning, I pictured a rusty old fan, when I was told I would have my own room I pictured paper dividers set up between straw mats layed out on the floor, and when I asked if I would be met at the airport and received this reply from the company I was going to work for "I'll be teaching classes, so you will be met at the airport by Mo, one of the teachers. He's unique, not at all typical of an EF teacher, so don't be put off by his outrageous behaviour", I assumed they weren't taking the piss but rather sending a crazy person to pick me up.


Luckily, everything was better than anticipated. Mo, turned out not to be a deranged psychopath. I did in fact have a room of my own (it even had a lock on the door, however the only window faced in to the kitchen instead of the more traditional 'view of the outside') which came equipped with a real working airconditioner. So for all intents and purposes I was in fact going to be living in a house. A house which I could theoretically lock said psychopaths out of.

This was by no means 5 star accomodation, we had everything from rats to floods. When you pulled open the cutlery drawer you literally had to wait for the cockroaches to run to the back before you could pull out utensils, toilet paper was unflushable, hot water was non-existant, mold was rampant and leaks were an everyday issue during rainy season (which lasts half the year), there was a time when our water pump was broken and we had to use the water that was leaking through our roof to flush our toilets. And as far as Indonesian standards went, we were living well.


Living in Indo is not for the faint of heart. If you want comfortable accommodation you need to either work for an Internationl School or pick a different country.


I was working for a franchise called EF English First and was based in Central Jakarta, unlike working at an international school or even a regular school for that matter, we were simply a language school, meaning we were essentially an after school activity for kids or an after work learning centre for adults. So instead of waking up at a normal time and having a 9-5, our classes started around 2 or 3pm which meant we didn't go in to the office until around 12 to do lesson planning and you didn't finish until around 9pm. The result being that we wouldn't usually have dinner until after work (classes tended to be back to back with not enough time between for a meal) or go to bed until around 2am, which meant waking up late - usually around 10 or 11am. It was a bizarre system, but it worked.


Indonesia may not have been easy, but what it lacked in organization it made up for in adventure and friendliness.

Indonesians are hands down some of the nicest people in the world. No matter where I was people were forever trying to help me get where I was going (even if their directions were wrong) or just smiling and calling 'Hey Mister' (not offensively, more as a slight misunderstanding of the definition of mister). Of course by the end of the year I definitely craved walking down the street anonymously, but in saying that, I now miss being told I look beautiful by random strangers even when I looked my worst, can't have it all I suppose.

Beauty wasn't the only thing on their mind, Indonesians have a habit of asking very personal questions. When teaching a Business English class once, I asked my students to work together to create a list of 20 appropriate questions they could ask a foreign business partner. Here's a small sample from their uncomfortable answers:

What is your religion?
How old are you?
Are you single?
What is your address?

They were honestly shocked when I told them that none of those questions would be deemed appropriate by their foreign counterpart and that some may even consider them to be rude. Indonesians are just very open people and by showing interest in your life they are showing an interest in you, they really do want to hear your answer and they were very surprised to find that you may not want to answer at all.

Religion is a big deal in Indonesia, everyone is something. It's even printed on their ID cards (they are given six religions to choose from: Islam, Christianity, Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and most recently Confucianism - which I'll be honest, I had to google) The interesting thing is that there didn't appear to be any strife between the religions, or even any resentment towards me for not being religious. I was constantly asked about my religion and when I answered that I wasn't religious, they would just nod their head and smile, no one tried to convert me or ostracize me, I was just accepted, which is a lot more than I can say for most countries. Hillary Clinton even commented once that 'If you want to see democracy, Islam, modernity, and women’s rights coexisting in one place, then come to Indonesia. Because I believe this place is more about the future than many other places in the world'.
And if the wonderful people weren't enough to win you over, surely the tropical landscape (from unexplored rainforests to active volcanos), diverse cultures (there are around 300 native ethnicities in Indonesia with 742 different languages and dialects) and food (think creamy peanut sate, spicy fried rice and fresh fruit - all being sold for less than $1 on the street) would.

I absolutely adored my time in Indonesia, it was a struggle for sure, what with over population, some of the most intense traffic I have ever witnessed and a thick layer of pollution blanketing the cities. But I also climbed two active volcanoes, took weekend trips to tropical islands (that costs me less than $100US including my flights, hotels and food), ate a massive amount of delicious street food, tasted Kopi Luwak (the most expensive coffee in the world because it is literally pooped out by a cat), planted rice in a rice padi and met amazing people whom I will never forget. So was it worth it? What do you think.



(Photos top to bottom: with some of the children out at Himmata Orphanage & School for Street Children where I volunteered as a teacher on Sundays, Puppets for sale in Jogjakarta, with one of our hosts during a homestay program in Cianjur where we learnt how to plant rice and visited a floating village, Gili Trawangan, and last but not least, spending Christmas with my friends Tiara & Fika's family)

Teaching ESL

On a fairly regualr basis I find myself writing to people who are interested in teaching ESL (English as a Second Language), sometimes just generally, but most often either with regards to Indonesia or Czech Republic. So I finally decided to put all the info in one place, I'll put it in to three parts starting with teaching ESL abroad, followed by Indo and then lastly CZ so that everyone can (hopefully) find what they are looking for, but if I miss something or you have more questions, just ask.

So I suppose I'll start with the conundrum: How does one end up teaching when they aren't actually a teacher?

For me it started just before my 23rd birthday, I was living in Victoria, Canada where I was born and raised. I had a great job that I adored, working at an Adoption Agency, and was living in a beautiful flat with one of my best friends. But something was missing. I realized I didn't really have anything tying me down, I didn't own the flat or even a (nice) car for that matter, I wasn't dating anyone and while yes, I loved my job, was that really enough to keep me in one place? As it turns out the answer to that is a steadfast, no.

The only issue was that while I wanted to travel more (I had already lived in Australia for a year and backpacked around both Europe and Thailand) I didn't have the money to fund a trip, nor the means to pull off a heist, so my friend suggested teaching ESL. The idea had crossed my mind before, but I thought (quite logically) that you needed a degree to teach, which it turns out, overseas anyway, you don't. Teaching ESL is more of a 'fake it till you make it' type gig. Though not having a degree limited where I could and couldn't teach by quite a large margin, I was still able to find a handful of countries where I was qualified, simply because English was my first language. And so my decision was made.

I took a TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) course throughout November, quit my job, sold my car, moved back in with my parents and started applying for jobs, within a month of my application being sent out I had interviewed, bought a ticket and was on my way to Indonesia to start as an ESL teacher in the capital city, Jakarta. It really is that quick. There are quite literally always job openings somewhere in the world all you have to do is find one you trust and go.

As for taking your TEFL, there are a lot of options out there, you can take the course either at home - wherever that may be - or you can do it abroad (it's offered in Thailand, Spain, Czech Republic, Greece and Vietnam amongst other exotic locations) most courses are about 4 weeks long and cost somewhere in the range of $1000US, but that's a ballpark range and fees will vary depending on the company/country you choose. Once you are finished, if you have a degree you will pretty much be able to work ANYWHERE in the world (the only exception is the Middle East, where they expect you to be an actual teacher with experience and a teaching degree, fair play I suppose). But other than that having a TEFL/TESL Certificate really makes the whole 'the world's your oyster' a reality.

The best salaries are usually in Asian countries, they also generally pay for your flight - reimbursed at the end of your contract - and your accommodation, though in saying that while Indonesia paid for both my flight and my accommodation, I didn't make a high salary and my accomodation was not comparable to what I have been told is on offer in Korea or Japan. But Indonesia is cheap and I wasn't going for the money.

There are so many options with teaching ESL that you really need to decide what you want before starting your search, think about which continent you would like to be on, how long you are willing to sign on for (do you want a contact for one year or do you want to do a couple months in one place and then move on to somewhere new)? How much money you would like to make? And then start your search. It's easy to spend hours browsing the listings so it's good to narrow down your list a bit so you don't get too overwhelmed.

Hopefully that helps anyone who is interested in trying it out! It's definitely been worthwhile for me, there is no way I could have afforded to see as much of the world as I have without it. So if you are on the fence just do what I do every time I am faced with making a big decision, look at all the aspects and then ask yourself: Why not?

Burning Witches in the Czech Republic

In keeping with the Czech tradition of holidays that seem somewhat brutal at first glance, let's talk about Pálení Čarodějnice or in English ''The Burning of the Witches''.

Ah yes, the age old tradition of burning ones enemies at the stake in hopes of ridding the world of evil, but here it's not so much evil as winter that is being chased out (although when the latter hits -23 I would argue that it falls in to the evil category) and not so much enemies as dummies being burnt, making it a much less sadistic holiday then the title suggests. Thankfully as far as I can tell the history of the holiday never included setting fire to an actual person but rather has always been centered around the burning of an effigy or sometimes even just brooms, which should warm your heart a bit considering it dates back to the pagan days when we weren't quite so scrupulous about what, or rather, whom we burned.

How exactly the witch ties in to all this is a bit vague, legend seems to suggest that witches had a scheduled annual shindig on the 30th of April and that burning fires in high places, such as hills, would deter them from making pit stops in your village, while other articles suggest it has more to do with the witches powers being weakened by warm weather and that burning a pretend witch would bring an end to winter (In which case, why not do it earlier? Surely there is no one out there so masochistic as to wish for the extension of a bitterly cold season...), but whatever the reason it's a good excuse to get together and have a bonfire and some beer.

Last year I missed out on the celebration and wasn't about to make the same mistake twice, so when my friend, Dana, mentioned that her family would be burning a witch at their house I asked if I could come along. When I arrived they had already constructed a sort of teepee from branches topped with a dummy dressed in old clothes and a hat that was sitting waiting to be set aflame. We began by first roasting sausages on a separate fire as the big bonfire remains unlit until around sundown, so with a beer in one hand and a klobása in the other I was ready for my first Čarodějnice. The fire was massive and Dana's 3 year old nephew thoroughly enjoyed launching whatever he could (from a safe distance of course) in. By the end you could see a cloud of smoke hanging over Liberec as fires burned  across the country and fireworks were set off in the distance. I'll be honest it was pretty great, so if I make you partake in a bonfire next April 30th at least you have a reasonable idea of why, you know warding off witches and shite weather or something like that...

A Masochistic Easter

Since I seem to have an affinity towards holidays/celebrations these days, Easter can most certainly not be overlooked. Especially when celebrated Czech style.

Similar to Canada (where we give a quick nod to Jesus but more or less take the chocolate and run giving credit to the Easter Bunny) references to this being a religious holiday are more of less completely swept away, which isn't shocking since Czech Republic prides itself on being the most Atheist country in Europe.

In the weeks leading up to Easter all around the Czech Republic Easter Markets are set up and a lamb is baked in the form of a cake or rather a cake in the form of a lamb, a bizarre 3D masterpiece that involves a baking tin shaped like a lamb resting. While the girls are working at ornately decorating eggs the boys are roaming the woods considering branches for their Pomlázka (read: Easter Whip) potential. Whips that come Easter Monday will be turned on said female population in hopes of encouraging youth and beauty. How very quaint.

Last year when I first heard about it, I thought it was a joke, some ancient tradition that is no longer practiced, but I was mistaken and spent Easter Monday hiding in my room watching groups of boys roam the streets with whips swung over their shoulders.

The only consolation is that after noon you are no longer allowed to whip the girls and should that particular boundary be overstepped you are encouraged to take the handy bucket of water that you happen to be dragging around with you and throw it at the offending individual. Convenient how very inconvenient that is.

While I was safe hiding away inside my house last year many were not so lucky, the boys can (and will) come knocking, one would think that out of self preservation you simply wouldn't answer the door before noon but it seems the women here harbour some masochistic tendencies, and in return for being whipped happily hand the boys/men an age appropriate gift of a shot, painted egg and/or sweets. As you do...

I managed to avoid a whipping last year since my male roommates didn't return from their hometowns until after noon, this year, however, I am not sure I will be so lucky as I'll be staying with two friends in Prague, both of whom are Czech and both of whom are male. So wish me luck I suppose and Happy Easter everyone!

so, do you speak Czech?

The most common question I am asked by both Canadians and Czechs alike is "But isn't it difficult to get by when you don't speak the language?"

The short answer: No, not really. I mean there is of course the fact that I am essentially illiterate and deaf, but for the most part my life here is comparable to a Choose Your Own Adventure novel, what could instill in you a greater sense of childlike fascination than not having any clue what's going on, ever.

It was serendipitous that I ended up here at all and then it dawned on me that I had accidentally chosen to live somewhere with an inexplicably difficult language that I had no inclination to be apt at.

So, the first thing I did was to start learning foods so I would know what I was buying at the shops, and though most products are easily identifiable some are definitely not, meat conveniently comes with a picture reminding you what animal it is printed on the packaging while milk is not as easy to identify in it's many forms. To get an idea of what I mean, imagine being illiterate and trying to decide what to pick for your cornflakes, you could very easily accidentally pour whipping cream or buttermilk all over your breakfast. Once you learn the basics you can adeptly do your shopping solo. I try to deter people from talking to me by wearing my ipod but in the Czech Republic you don't really have to worry too much about strangers trying to communicate with you. In two years the only people that have tried to engage me in any type of conversation in the shop have been old people that needed help with something and other foreigners. Czechs just don't really talk to people they don't know, maybe they had really intense 'stranger danger' talks when they were small?

After that I focused on learning words at work and trying to understand more of what the children were saying, although being as they are roughly 3 years old they aren't always coherent even to the Czech teachers. But I did learn some useful things like how to count, colours and clothing along with the likes of vampire, ninja, tree, shadow, sand, tissue and ghost, to name a few.

See the hard thing about being an adult and learning a new language is that you are expected to just pick it up on your own, no one congratulates you every time you say a word correctly or offers you a sweet if you can remember all of your colours. People don't speak to foreigners slowly using easy words or sing you songs to teach you new ones. In fact they usually imitate your bad pronunciations and when you are congratulated it's more patronizing than encouraging. Think about all those times when you have seen people raising their voices at foreigners as if they are deaf. We're not deaf, we just don't understand you, and now we are even more confused because we think we are being scolded for some unknown reason.

Since Czechs aren't particularly chatty people there was very little else I needed to learn. There is no banter with waiters and waitresses, you simply order and say thank you when the food arrives. And you definitely don't try to ask for modifications to your meal the way you would in North America, your food will come as the menu says it comes and that's that. Indonesia was a different story because they are particularly chatty people and very interested to know more about buleh (foreigners) and so I learnt to answer and ask quite a few questions about family, religion, work, holidays, food, kids, my fictional husband etc.

I know more than I let on and if I was moving here permanently I would feel an obligation to learn more, but I am not. I can get by and at this point that's what really matters. It sounds harsh, but I work a 35 hour work week and teach 4 private classes, learning a new language takes dedication and energy that I would rather focus on something like watching hockey or getting to know the local beers. Seems more productive in the long run.

a little bit of independence

Every now and again when you are abroad and feeling a bit nostalgic you find something that feels a bit like home.

In Indonesia I found it in an air conditioned coffee shop while it was raining, I turned to my friend and said 'If you pretend it's cold outside it kind of feels like home.' We both laughed at the idea of missing cold rain but none the less found some twisted comfort in it.

In the Czech Republic it happened when I walked in to a hockey arena. The smell of sweaty hockey players mixed with the cold, the puck hitting the boards, the sticks and the skates cutting in to the ice. This felt like home. If it wasn't for the fact that they strictly played songs that were popular at least a decade ago and made announcements in a language I couldn't understand, it really could have been home.

But for the first time I didn't need someone to translate for me. I could watch the ref making crazy hand gestures and understand, I didn't need anyone and it was like being given my independence back.

The thing is about travelling on your own, is that while you have to be independent to do so you also have to have a certain level of dependence on others. Whether it be trusting the information they give you, following advice on directions or simply trying to communicate with others. When your language and their language aren't the same there is a certain loss of independence required of you.

A prime example of this happened to me last year when I woke up with one of my eyes stuck closed. Something I hadn't realized could happen until then. Eventually slightly creeped out and still disoriented from sleep I walked to the bathroom pirate style, one eye closed against my will to check out the offending eye. With a hot facecloth I washed my face and discovered I looked like a stoned demon. Definitely not my best look.

I did a quick assessment of the situation: eye doesn't hurt (that must be a good sign, right?), look evil (though may be useful), other eye looks normal. Can't be anything too exciting, I decided and headed to work. Makeup seemed like a bad idea, an appealing one, but a bad one no less, so I pulled on a hat and kept my head down, trying not to freak out the other people on the bus. 

When I got to work I quickly cornered Lisa.

'Look at my eye!!! How freaky is it? Is it super noticeable?' Apparently more concerned with the vanity of the situation than any possible ramifications.

'Um, it's pretty bad.' She said diplomatically. In all honesty, I looked like I had been up on a 5 day killing spree. 

'What do you think it is??' 5 years my senior, I expect Lisa to have answers to all my questions like a child asking an adult. I figured I may have rubbed something in it while I was sleeping, but she looked at me and replied thoughtfully, 

'Well, it may be conjunctivitis.'

I paused not knowing what that meant. Something about things ending in -itis sounds so serious. Like Gingivitis and all those pictures they use to scare you at the dentist, as if you forget to brush your teeth one night before bed and an army of bacteria will march through your mouth pillaging what they can beyond recognition. I have seen homeless people with better teeth than they display in some of those photos.

'What the shit is conjunctivitis?!' I asked.

 

'Um, it's nothing really. Just an eye infection.' Well that much was clear, but then it dawned on me.

'Wait. What? Like pink eye??? I have PINK EYE? How did I get it?' I asked, assigning her as my temporary doctor.

'I don't know much about it to be honest. Why don't you just see how it is at lunch.' I nodded and briefly considered making an eye patch but didn't have enough time.

When I walked in to my classroom a hush fell across the room and two of my kids just stood there staring at me, mouths gaping open. Well whatever it was, it was definitely a valuable intimidation tool with the kids, I thought with pleasure. 

I wasn't able to exercise this newly found skill for long, as news of my demon eye quickly spread to my boss who rushed me off to an eye doctor, where they shone bright lights in my eyes and then announced in Czech that something was wrong with me.

Now see here's the fun thing with ESL: unless they are studying to be a doctor, people rarely know ailments, they can tell you about their weekend and their favourite food but ask them why you woke up looking like you are among the living dead and they will talk amongst themselves and turn to you with an apologetic shrug.

It was decided that whatever was wrong with me was enough to send me home for bed rest for the remainder of the week. So i took the medicine that was given to me and sat around googling my condition, which after some research I identified as Pink Eye brought on by a child sneezing on my face the day before. Yum.

So if you are looking for a bit of independence when you are abroad watch sports and if you are looking to feel totally helpless go to the doctor.

A weekend in Karlovy Vary

I spent last weekend in Karlovy Vary, a spa town a couple of hours west of Prague, visiting with friends. And if you haven't been (or even heard of it for that matter) you should, because it is beautiful. I would even go so far as to say it's one of the most beautiful places in Czech Republic, which is saying a lot. Granted apparently there is quite a bit of Russian mafia money in the place so they obviously have the means for building restoration and upkeep unlike many other towns.

Lisa, Suzanne and I arrived late Friday night and spent the evening at Jess and Patty's flat drinking wine and eating snacks. We woke relatively early on Saturday morning and yet somehow only managed to have coffee for breakfast before heading out for the 11am tour of the Becherovka museum.

Becherovka, was originally a stomach medicine that was later marketed as a herbal liqueur to increase popularity (as you do), the tour began with a quick history followed by a walk through the cellar where they keep eerie mannequins depicting the evolution of the medicine turned alcoholic beverage, afterwards you are taken to watch a short but entertaining film and are given 3 shots, beginning with traditional Becherovka, followed by Becherovka Lemond (when I asked our tour guide why 'lemon' was spelt incorrectly, she replied that it was because 'that is how Czech's pronounce it when they say lemon', we still aren't sure if she just made that up or if it is a real fact, but I haven't found anything to disprove it, so we'll just go with it) and finally finishing with KV 14, a super sweet liqueur that's taste was reminiscent of it's humble beginnings as an early 19th century Pepto-Bismol. After the tour and our purely alcoholic breakfast we decided it may be time to get some food in our bellies to control our pre-noon buzz.

Sadly, even though Karlovy Vary is known as a spa town we didn't really partake in the whole spa aspect except to drink the 'healing' mineral water which is foul, I mean absolutely positively foul, like drinking hot rusty blood water. Apparently it's supposed to be very good for you but unless this crap makes you extremely beautiful and intelligent I just can't justify drinking it, and yet we did. Out of some purely sadistic nature we decided to try every single one of them (I suppose maybe the Becherovka had an influence on that decision), but logic was clearly overlooked. Thankfully another thing Karlovy Vary is famous for is their oplatky, a large circular wafer cookie which masked the after tastes of the cave water and has absolutely no health benefit.

So after a morning of eating and drinking, but mostly drinking, we decided to go for a small hike in the surrounding forest which was beautiful and about our only physical activity for the weekend.

In the evening we went out to a bar for drinks, but it would seem that Karlovy Vary has an inexplicably small population for such a quaint city, as we were amongst the only patrons at several places. I am sure it's a more vibrant scene if you come during the summer when they host their annual International Film Festival or even just when the weather warms up and there are more travellers, but I think it may be a rather overlooked location with most backpackers opting for Česky Krumlov and Prague instead. But if you ever find yourself in Czech Republic I recommend checking it out, and opting for a beer instead of the water.

Pancake Day, it's a real holiday...sort of...

On the theme of holidays that aren't really holidays I present Pancake Day, more officially known as Shrove Tuesday, that day on your calendar that you always wondered what the hell it was, but knew wasn't that important because you still had to work. Were it listed on calendars as Pancake Day I really feel it's popularity would peak, just a suggestion.

I suppose you are wondering what the association between pancakes and penance is and to be honest, it's a bit of a leap. Essentially because it is the day before Lent starts Christians figured they needed to eat something delicious to make up for the fact that they would be eating 'plain' food for the following 40 days (this tradition is considerably more mild now with people only abstaining from something they enjoy rather than everything, it's also not a requirement but something more along the lines of a friendly suggestion). Pancakes were apparently chosen to celebrate Shrove Tuesday because of their content - sugar, butter, flour and eggs - foods that were commonly fasted during Lent, although it doesn't seem like any one could agree on what was considered appropriate fasting back in the day with some ruling out all animal products and others refraining from eating anything at all during the day.

Now no matter what your religion it would be hard to turn down a holiday that celebrates eating pancakes even if you don't intend on shriving anything afterwards.

This year instead of making traditional pancakes I decided to go a different route and combine all the best things that are associated with pancakes, the outcome: Maple Syrup and Bacon Pancakes. And they are pretty marvelous.

They are so good I am posting the recipe:

Maple Syrup and Bacon Pancakes

2 c flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 egg
3/4 c milk
1/2 c maple syrup
2 tbsp melted butter
200g bacon

1) Cook the bacon to desired crispiness (I like it really crispy but whatever floats your boat, they're your pancakes), chop in to pieces and set aside.

2) Combine the dry ingredients.

3) In a separate bowl combine the wet ingredients. Mix well and then slowly add to the dry ingredients mixing until there are no lumps, add the bacon to the batter and mix. If it's too thick for your liking you can always add a couple more tablespoons of milk or maple syrup.

5) Heat a buttered frying pan (medium high heat - you can use oil if you like but butter tastes better). Pour or scoop the batter onto the pan, using approximately 1/4 cup for each pancake. Brown on both sides and serve hot.

Ta da!

Seriously, try and not celebrate now. Happy Pancake Day, everyone!

Valentine's Day

I always think it's interesting the really strong attitudes people have towards Valentine's Day. I mean you would never hear someone proclaiming how stupid Easter is, and if you did you may consider whether they are really worth being friends with, after all it is a holiday about bunnies and chocolate, and if you don't like bunnies and chocolate, then frankly we probably don't have that much in common.

But Valentine's Day has a special place in the resentful hearts of many. It's certainly not my favourite holiday, I mean for starters it's not even a real holiday, you still have to work, you don't get to run around gathering sweets and there's not even really an intoxication angle (unless you are single and depressed).

But even as a perpetually single girl I don't find myself in allegiance with all the haters out there. For me Valentine's has almost always been spent with friends, sharing food and wine, with the exception of a few years when I got take out and watched hockey instead. So what about this holiday turns up the bitter in so many?

Some people claim the self-righteous stand of it being "all about commercialism" which I find rather hypocritical considering none of these people seem to abstain from buying into Christmas just months earlier. Others wallow in their grief subjecting anyone who will listen to a tyrant of complaints about couples and love. But are quick to change their tune once they become one of the dreaded couples. While others take more aggressive and not so appropriate approaches like burning memorabilia, mild stalking and hate filled messages. I would not be at all surprised if the police were just as busy on Valentine's Days with disgruntled singles as they are at Halloween with firework-induced teenage rebellion.

My theory is that because it's supposed to be a celebration of love people somehow get caught up in only one kind of love, the girlfriend/boyfriend, husband/wife, mistress/cabana-boy type. But there's more love than just that of a significant other. The love I received on Valentines Day came in the form of a package from my mum, my students all aged between 3 and 5 shouting "I love you Tatina/Tatine/Katina/Katrine" and launching themselves at my legs in to a massive group hug and finishing the day off with dinner and yoga accompanied by Laura, Whitney and Dana.

Aside from the moment when Laura's private student proclaimed '26?!? It's marry time! You must find a husband!" The fact that I am single wasn't even acknowledged, I suppose that's partially because they don't actually celebrate Valentine's Day in the Czech Republic, but I'll take my victories where I can find them.

My point is, it's a holiday that nobody genuinely knows anything about, including why it started, it has no important significance and it's only religious tie is to numerous Saints from history named Valentine that as far as anyone can tell were no more romantic than any other Medieval men. That whole bit about Saint Valentine secretly marrying people is just a legend that people commonly mistake for fact. So, who cares? If you want to celebrate it, do, and if you don't, don't. No one will judge you unless you start turning in to the mildly creepy bitter single that should be cautiously avoided at this time of year.

And if you find yourself in that category then maybe you should consider holidaying in Malaysia next February 14th, where you can be jailed for up to 2 years for celebrating.

some of my homies...

Sometimes I find it really bizarre that my two lives are so separate, there is me at home with my family and old friends, high heels and perfume, walks along the ocean and reading at coffee shops and then there is me abroad with friends who become best friends within days, broken shoes (damn you impractical cobblestones) and cheap perfume, aimless wandering through new cities and long hours spent at pubs with a mix of nationalities that would impress the UN.

Yet the two rarely merge, every now and again a friend from home will come and travel with me and it's only then that I feel that they really get a chance to fully understand me, to see me in my element, natural and vulnerable like you would never be at home.

So upon this reflection I decided that I should write a quick bio of the people who are the most involved in my Czech life this year. People that through photos and stories you probably feel like you already know something about. It feels important to somehow document them since for most of you they will never be more than a face and a name.

So here's some fun anecdotes about them:

Laura is from Boston, USA. She loves cats, like in a weird cat lady way, viral cat videos (shocker), robes and nighties. She also inexplicably loves the UK and would like to marry a British man, preferably with a beard and a cat. Contrary to the crazy middle aged woman you are probably envisioning she is actually a young, fashionable woman who hides her crazy well. She's kind of like a female Chandler, she's awkward, funny and lovely all at the same time.

Whitney is from Rhode Island, USA. She's ginger, loves to sing and takes a really long time to get to the point when telling stories. She often makes rash decisions (like say, getting two kittens from a woman at the museum or buying a violin that she doesn't know how to play) but she is also one of the bravest people I know and she genuinely likes meeting new people (she may or may not have given her phone number to bus drivers - note the use of the plural - and Mormons peddling religion on the street). She is essentially Giselle from the film 'Enchanted', she is sweet to the point of naivety, in a wholesome 'people really are lovely' kind of way.

Lisa is from somewhere in or around Birmingham, UK. (Like when I say I am from Vancouver because no one knows where Victoria is.) She doesn't have a Brummie accent though (thankfully). She loves tea (obviously, I mean she is British) and curry (again, seriously stereotyping her culinary interests based on her nationality, but if the shoe fits...) She has hidden talents like playing the piano and she can name every country in the world. She is funny when you least expect it and loves owls (not like Laura loves cats though...) And can also speak more Czech than she lets on...

Gabi, is from Jablonec, CZ, which is the next city over. She loves hockey and beer (hence why we get on so well) and plays a sport called 'Florbal' (essentially floor hockey) which she is quite good at. She is cute and sweet and seemingly innocent, but get a couple of pints in her and she has a very sick sense of humour, which I adore. She is drop dead gorgeous and doesn't know it which of course just makes her more lovely (as if that was possible) and is engaged to Jirka, whom I refer to as Tom Cruise because of his similar profile (not because of a fall from epic to kinda creepy). Jirka is wildly inappropriate a lot of the time and has the funniest English, which actually improves when he drinks. He told me he learnt some of his vocab from porn (at least he's honest I suppose) and at times has shocked me to the point where I've spat beer out, which if you know me well, you know is a feat in itself.

Lani is from North Carolina, USA. She also loves hockey and beer, in fact she is even still playing hockey and has her gear over here which deserves respect, hockey bags are big and heavy. She loves to bake cakes, especially when stressed, and also shares my passion for bacon, even though she's Jewish (which she is clearly not very good at). She's super smart and has amazing curly hair and she calls toques, toboggans, apparently that's a thing where she is from, but who am I to judge, I thought everyone called them toques until I left Canada.

Suzanne is from Iowa, USA, because apparently everybody in the Czech Republic is American...(seriously, there are so many of them here.) We met randomly at a cabin in the mountains (which sounds super dodgy but isn't, I promise) during my first days here. Suzanne introduced me to Strahov Monastic Brewery, the Lennon Wall, Bohemian Bagel, langoš and trdelník, and together we discovered Beer Cheese, one of the BEST inventions ever. She loves coffee (which we drank lots of in Turkey when we travelled there together last spring) and is just a genuinely lovely person. We refer to each other as Habibi (Arabic for 'my beloved'), a word taught to us by an old Saudi Arabian man at our guesthouse in Istanbul, while he was trying to seduce Suzanne in to becoming his 4th (and final) wife. Legit, it happened and I didn't try to stop it at all, in fact if you listen to her version of the story I was encouraging it...but why would you believe her, right?

While these are definitely not ALL of the people who have had important roles in my Czech life, they are a sampling and honestly I am just too tired to finish...so maybe this will just have to be Part 1...

Photo left to right: Gabi, Lani, Whitney and Laura

Want to see the animals?

Last year between Christmas and New Years Eve I spent a few days in the south of Czech Republic in a city called České Budějovice with my roommate, Jana, and her family. Jana's parent's own a pub there which is conveniently attached to their home. How amazing would that be to just go pull yourself a pint whenever you fancy? Amazingly dangerous me thinks...

On my first full day at her house, Jana and I were chilling in the pub enjoying some delicious food her mum had cooked us and some nice cold beers. When we finished up she turned to me and asked me if I wanted to see the animals. Being an animal lover I said that I did, I figured that they must have a backyard with some farm animals, maybe a small barn I had missed since I had arrived in the dark.

Well, not exactly.

It turns out the animals were, um, not so alive. She opened the door proudly to bunnies, deer, a wild boar, ducks and pheasants all hung frozen in the -20 air.

And I just...stared.

A poker face has never been my strong point, I have very obvious facial expressions when shocked, I recover quickly, but the damage is done by that point and it's plain where I stand. And let's just say, I was shocked, I was expecting Charlotte's Web and ended up with a nightmare from the Enchanted Forest.

'Oh. Wow.' I said trying to convey interest, this was my first time ever being up close to dead animals that were not packaged neatly, I mean we put my dog down when I was 19 and I was there, but that was different.

Hunting isn't really something I have given much thought, I know the stereotypical Canadian is supposed to wear plaid and run about killing moose (and no the plural of moose is not meese), and I am sure this generalization is no doubt founded on fact in some regions, the truth is I have only ever wielded one gun (an AK47 at a shooting range in Vietnam) and only ever been served wild animal while abroad. So I don't really fit that stereotype, I'll just put it out there right now that I also hate the cold and don't say aboot. In fact I don't know anyone that says aboot. But I digress.

The more I thought about hunting the more OK with it I was, I mean at least these animals led natural wild lives unlike the very unnatural factory farms popping up the world over. These animals weren't missing beaks or eating off conveyor belts, they were just out for a pleasant stroll in the winter sun when they were taken out by a predator, or something like that. I suppose the gun aspect isn't exactly natural, but you can't very well expect people to run about karate chopping deer and let's be honest vegetarianism is definitely not for everyone, especially Czechs whose traditional diet is basically just meat, meat and more meat, in fact the only vegetarian option offered at most restaurants here is fried cheese or tomato salad, which is quite literally a bowl full of tomatoes. Nothing else. Just tomatoes.

So the idea of hunting is rather refreshing when you think about it, which I was, when Jana pointed out which animals we would be eating for dinner. Turns out that night would be my first ever taste of venison and wild boar, both of which were surprisingly pleasant.

So I guess the moral of the story is you just need to be open to being surprised, because as it turns out Bambi is rather tasty.

Vampires, Herpes and Pork

Filip was sitting in the dining room smoking a cigarette beside the open window,

'Can you hear the vampires?' He called to me casually.

I was sitting in my room, right off the dining room, reading. But this made me stop.

'What!?' I asked as I stood and walked out of my room.

'Listen, you can hear the vampires.'

His face was deadpan so I knew something had to be amiss, my first thought was that if he could hear vampires that we really ought to close the windows and grab some garlic.

'Vampires?' I asked, hoping that my tone would convey equal parts humor and horror at the prospect of vampires vocalizing themselves outside our window.

He nodded, so I listened. Tilting my head towards the open window I stayed quiet until I heard the screech.

'Oh! BATS!' I exclaimed, Filip nodded like that's what he had been saying all along.

This is my entertainment, just as I know Czechs find my inability to speak their language comical, which is discernible every time I attempt it, the minor slips of words in otherwise coherent English sentences is my simple pleasure.

One of my favourite parts of speaking to people for whom English is not their first language are the translations. It's not even that the sentences or words are necessarily incorrect, it's just not the first word you would use if it was your first language. Like how my boss, in her late 50's refers to her dad as her 'daddy', a term generally only used when you by small children or when you want something.

Last year one of the children at the kindergarten, David, had a cut on his lip. When I asked him what had happened. He stopped and thought about it and then replied,

'It's opar.'

I looked to Petra the Czech teacher for help. She thought about it for a moment

'It's like a cut, but not...'

Unable to explain it further she grabbed the Czech-English dictionary and looked it up.

'Herpes.' She stated matter of factly.

'Herpes. It's a Herpes.' David repeated in a sing song tone, happy to have learnt another word.

I burst out laughing, trying hard to compose myself.

'No, no, no....well, technically yes, but no... Cold Sore. It's a Cold Sore.' A six year old proudly announcing that he had herpes, I thought shaking my head, dear Lord I hoped he didn't go home saying that to his mother.

Well herpes is the correct medical term it's not exactly something you would run around broadcasting if you were a native speaker, if you know what I mean.

Last year my roommate, Jana, and I were on a walk in the mountains just outside of Liberec, as we wandered through the woods, I wondered if there were any large animals in the Czech Republic and more specifically these very woods. Where I come from the idea of a cougar pouncing out to taste you isn't entirely implausible, so I figured I should ask for good measure.

Jana responded, 'Pork, before it's pork.'

Well luckily it's before it's pork, it would be awfully frightening to be taken down by a rack of ribs or an army of bacon. Of course you don't say that, so I just smiled and suggested,

"Pig?"

"Yes! Pig!" She confirmed, laughing. Jana speaks English very well, the comment was made because of a momentary lapse in memory not because she knew the word pork and not pig, although knowing the Czech diet that wouldn't entirely surprise me.

She warned me that while that didn't sound overly threatening, that the wild pigs were in fact rather aggressive and not something we would like to encounter. Indicating with her fingers that they had small tusks. Apparently due to zealous poaching, large predators such as bears, wolves and lynx have disappeared from the Czech forests. And so we are left to roam amongst the vampires and wild pork.

Not quite Cinderella

Friday night was supposed to be a rather uneventful night at the movies, but around lunchtime on Friday I received a text from Lani asking me if I could be convinced in to going to her school's ball instead. My answer? Why not?

Balls are a pretty big deal here, even having an official "ball season" that starts in January and lasts through until Lent.

Now, when you hear the word 'ball' you probably envision men with waxed mustaches acting chivalrous and women dressed in huge ball gowns and impractical glass shoes waltzing around. Sadly, this is not so, men wear suits and get drunk and though some women sport gowns straight out of Disney films, the general feel is like that of being at a rather large wedding. Basically it's just a party where you happen to dress nicely, buy a ticket and have a live band that alternates at random between traditional and mainstream music.

The one that we were attending was a Maturitní ples (Graduation ball), celebrating the students last year of Gymnasium (comparable to a British Grammar School or a U.S. College Prep High School, not just the end of gym class as the title suggests).

Normally, balls are formal attire but last year I attended an "Inside Out Ball" where the men dressed as women and the women as men. So I was interested in the idea of attending one where I actually got to wear a dress instead of an eyeliner mustache. I flipped through my closet, quickly realizing that while I did in fact have a dress I could wear, I was missing a rather important detail. Shoes! Somehow I had managed in a moment of sheer stupidity to bring ALL of my high heels back to Canada leaving me with a pair of rain boots, skate shoes and winter boots, none of which are ball-appropriate.

Cursing myself for my lack of foresight I put together a not all together ball like outfit by borrowing a skirt and shirt from Laura and ankle boots from Lani.

After a quick dinner of spaghetti and meatballs and a few glasses of wine we set off in to the night for my first formal ball in Czech Republic.

My accounts of the ball are a bit blurry but the highlights I can recount are as follows:

1. The boys were drinking peach vodka
2. Brian Adams was played. Numerous times.
3. I was kidnapped by a group of mothers who fawned over me, incidentally this resulted in my misplacing Lani for the remainder of the evening.
4. Lani's headmaster took every opportunity to creep on her
5. There was an abundance of male shoulder pads.
6. I agreed to go bowling with someone. Details, including whom, are hazy at best.
7. A number of the dresses would not have been out of place in Barbie's early 90's prom wardrobe.
8. We both fancied a kebab, but were too lazy to leave and get one.
9. Somebody was being insolent with regards to the Canucks so I smacked him in the head

And last but not least:

10. There was a dance off at the beginning between all the graduating students, including a rather elaborately choreographed Swan Lake number, tutus and all, I would like to take the time now to point out that only 3 of the graduating students were female and that none of them partook in this specific dance. Beautiful.



Photo: Lani and me ready for ball

Stolen TP and Dinner

There is no food and no toilet paper in our house.

Well, there's a stick of salami, about 2 tbsp of butter and a litre of milk in the fridge and our pantry is stacked with canned goods that we can't open because we don't actually own a can opener. So essentially there is no food in the house.

Top that off with the fact that between Laura and I we have a combined total of 19Kc (approx. $1) and there isn't much that can be done to help our failing situation.

Thankfully we were spared eating buttered salami when Laura opened a package from her sister that included 2 boxes of KD (known to Americans as Kraft Mac & Cheese). Between that and chocolate we have left over from Christmas we should make it through the next couple of days on a rather unbalanced diet.

I am so exhausted from travelling yesterday that I may be too lazy to even cook KD. I am currently scheming how I can trick Laura in to doing it, though that is looking unlikely and I am not even motivated enough to put much effort in to my plan, I suppose the scheme is more just wait until she gets hungry enough that she offers to cook, not much of a scheme really...and it's quite possible that she is contemplating the same thing.

I have only had 8 hours of sleep in the last 42 hours. I left Victoria in the afternoon of the 1st but because of the time difference (9 hrs) and the fact that it took 22.5 hours to get here, I didn't arrive back to my house until nearly 9pm on the 2nd. I suffer from a complete and utter inability to fall asleep on flights unless drugged, but the last time I did that I stole the blanket off the guy in the seat beside me and have cuddled strangers more than once. So to avoid that uncomfortable situation I just stay awake.

Even if I could sleep on flights I never would have been able to since I was sitting beside a guy with toilet breath who slept with his mouth open, breathing rancid air in to the small area I occupied between him and the window, when he wasn't sleeping he had the charming habit of reading over my shoulder while I directed uncharitable thoughts at him. By the third flight I was so tired I was nauseous.

It was after this and an additional 2 buses, a metro and a tram ride that I encountered Grandma, the old woman who lives downstairs, on the steps outside our door. As far as I could tell from her broken English and my broken Czech along with hand gestures and noises, there was some sort of old face in or on Whitney's radiator. She also partially acted out a story about one of the cats jumping off the top of the fridge on to her head and something about a radiator that the cats turned on with a coconut? She finished by handing me some homemade Christmas cookies with a smile and a wave and returned downstairs leaving me alone and completely bewildered.

It's during these exchanges that I wish I had put more of an effort in to learning Czech, though I am still not sure I would have been able to follow that conversation.

Our radiators seem to be fine as far as I can tell, which isn't saying much since I am not very technical, essentially this reads, I poked the radiator and it was warm, so it works, but I remain wary of the potential radiator ghost.

I also had a stern talking to with the cats about turning on the radiators and playing with coconuts and now it would seem our only remaining dilemma is the toilet paper, which will be dealt with tomorrow by us all participating in petty crime through TP theft from various bathroom stalls. A glamorous life I lead, I know.