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.