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

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.

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.

Pregnant and Trashy in the Czech Republic (Feb 2011)

I woke up 10 minutes before I had to leave the house, well I suppose I woke up 25 minutes before, but I continued to hit snooze until there was physically no way I could get ready in less time and be socially acceptable. I move relatively quickly in the morning, and 10 minutes is just enough to get the basics done: dress, brush teeth, deodorant, hair up, no makeup, hat, gloves, scarf, boots, and pathetic run to the bus. Most days I at least manage mascara but I figured that the only people who were really going to see me were children and none of them are going to judge me if I don't bring my A-game.
After my first class, I sat with the kids while they ate their breakfast, out of pure laziness really, plus their breakfast looked delightful, some sort of bread with apples and cinnamon in it. Each kid that was expected to be there had a place set for them at the table, two kids had yet to show. I had already eaten breakfast but was hoping that at least one of the kids was sick so I could eat theirs. As luck would have it, one boy was absent, so I happily ate his breakfast.
The other kid showed up around the end of breakfast with her mum who chatted away with Petra, one of the Czech teachers. They looked at me and I smiled, cheeks full of delicious bread, I can't speak Czech and essentially only know words which are not appropriate in mentally sound conversations (sit, stay, poo etc.), so I tend to smile a lot and have the distinct impression that some people think I am dim, I imagine this comes from smiling at the wrong times and saying yes to things that are not yes or no questions. In any case the conversation turned to me, which is always an unsettling experience when you are apart of a conversation where you have no idea what is going on.
Petra said that the aforementioned mum had a question for me, she explained that the mum owned a shop and was wondering if I could model some clothes for her after work. The question caught me off guard, to be honest I didn't even know that mothers name, let alone her profession, plus I looked like I had been hit by a bus on my way to work, but in any case to refrain from being rude I said yes. Petra told her I would do it and then turned back to me and explained that I would be modelling pajamas. I don't know about you, but I think that sounds like the grounds for a cheap backroom porno and I was suddenly very hesitant as to what I had gotten myself in to. The mother was now gesturing towards my chest with a look of disdain, a shocking charade I could understand even through the language barrier. Petra continued her translation and nonchalantly explained that the mother would like to know if I had a push up bra, a very odd question to ask your child's Kindergarten teacher one would think, I shook my head apologetically. The only plus to this question was that a bra would evidently be required which was definitely a step in the right direction.
I managed to coax Lisa in to coming with me. Lisa has been working in the Czech Republic for two years and has been dating a Czech guy nearly the entire time she has been here, so she can understand quite a bit of Czech and has the ability to at least speak somewhat coherently as opposed to my demented child blabber.
So after work we wandered down to what turned out to be a tacky photo shop, decorated beautifully with framed photos of topless and scantily clad women. I was once again overcome with the feeling that I had been cast in something much more scandalous than is within the realm of appropriate for a Kindergarten teacher. Lisa and I shyly walked in not wanting to comment in fear that someone may understand English, we later discovered this was an empty fear and were able to speak to each other quite candidly throughout the entire loss of my dignity, if the other two girls (actual models, not just random teachers) spoke English they did a fabulous job of hiding it.
I was abruptly told to take off my shirt and jeans, and was handed a strap on maternity belly and a pair of maternity pants. I stared at them in shock, this was not exactly the welcome I had been expecting. I suddenly realized this may actually be worse than a backroom porno. I looked at Lisa who looked to be very thankful that she had not been the teacher stealing absent children's breakfasts that morning.
There's no turning back now I thought as I stared at the nude coloured lumpy fabric in my hand. Now call me a prude if you will, but I am not generally in the habit of hanging out in my bra and panties in front of complete strangers so I asked if there was a bathroom and was hastily pointed in the right direction. I went in a 25 year old woman and came out looking like a knocked up teen from Alabama.
For around an hour I was subjected to modeling maternity shirts in cheesy department store catalogue poses in front of a tie dye background while Lisa translated directions given to me in Czech ('Turn to the other side, touch your hair' 'But it's in a ponytail!?' '...act normal...' 'Normal? How am I supposed to act normal with a fake baby strapped to my stomach?' at which point she would laugh the dodged bullet laugh of someone simply observing the spooky situation instead of actively participating). Surprisingly the shirts were for the most part actually quite nice and I figured that Petra must have been wrong about the type of clothes. I counted to Lisa the amount of shirts left in the pile, signifying how long until we could get out of this outlandish situation and home for some much deserved dinner.
Just when we thought it was about to end they opened a new bag and I discovered where they had been hiding the much dreaded pajamas. The bag was approximately the same size as a hockey bag, and if you don't know how big that is, imagine a hockey player in a bag, about that big. And it was full of hideousness. I mean Full. To. The. Brim. with white trash pajamas. Things that would have been considered cute in the early 90's when nothing that we wore should have been considered cute were hiding in this bag eager to reemerge in to the world after laying dormant for nearly 20 years. And I was about to be not only photographed wearing these monstrous outfits with a maternity belly strapped to me, but these photos were going to make their way to the most unforgiving place in the world. The internet. A place where nothing is lost forever, least of all incriminating photos. Good thing I am not considering a career in politics, because the opposition would have a hay day with these glamourous shots.
I stared in utter disbelief at humungous t-shirt nighties with cartoon animals and hearts printed on them and realized that in the backroom of a creepy photo shop in the Czech Republic was where pajamas and my dignity had come to simultaneously die. Lisa literally could not look at me without having to stifle a laugh. I looked about 5 months pregnant and was wearing a giant grey t-shirt with Dalmatians printed on it, I had on no makeup and had a messy ponytail, I looked straight at her and said 'It looks like I should have a bottle of cheap vodka in my hand' 'And a cigarette', she added, 'and a dirty child clinging on to my leg.' We both laughed. The mum looked up and through some misunderstanding I was then offered a shot of alcohol. I was pretty sure I would need half the bottle and felt trashy enough without actually adding a shot of cheap booze, so I politely declined.
Through some stroke of evil, things got worse. The nighties now had buttons down the front for breastfeeding, and I was expected to then unbutton the top and put my hands on my breast while looking in to my top pretending that my nipple was the most fascinating thing I had ever seen. This was definitely a new low. This had to end and soon.
After three painful hours, Lisa and I were finally able to communicate through broken Czech and hand gestures that we had to leave. I was handed the equivalent of about $30CDN, apparently the worth of my dignity, and sent merrily on my way. We made it approximately 5 steps from the closed doors of the creepy photo shop before we both burst out laughing. 'What the fuck just happened?' I shrieked. 'I have no idea.' she responded, laughing. 'My God. I need a beer.'
And thus my weirdest day in the Czech Republic came to a close with a well earned beer, a schnitzel and a very bizarre story.