tourist week, otherwise known as "orientation"

When I was very young, my Dad used to quiz me on the countries I could find on the globe.  People couldn't believe that a two year old knew how to recognize India and France, and I would imagine that they were even more surprised when they heard me squeal "trés vite!" from the back of his bicycle.  Unfortunately, the last 18 or so years have proved my incompetence with maps, and despite all of those early expectations, I'm still monolingual after 5 years of French and one sad semester of Hindi.  There was no method to the way I learned then, no deeper context through which I could understand that "Turkey" and "Hungary"existed beyond some vague connection to Thanksgiving dinners.

Before I left, I couldn't quite shake the sense that I was still playing some hyped-up version of our old family game – but this time, my Dad wasn't be the one pointing, and getting the "right answer" meant ending up stuck in the frozen wasteland of Prague.  I wondered, how can I possibly study Virginia Woolf in Czech?  Literally, what on earth do I know about communist art?  Why oh why would I choose to move to a country with average winter temperatures below twenty degrees?

These are still legitimate questions, but thank goodness, this SIT program's hippie-let's-all-sit-on-pillows-and-channel-the-artistic-answers-before-Czech-yoga-class-philosophy makes it easy to rationalize almost anything.  It's called "Post-Communist Transition and the Arts," which may or may not actually mean much as a title, but somehow involves "experiential," "interpersonal," "reciprocal," and "creative," learning for four months.   My four fellow program-mates and I take Czech lessons and history classes at a school in our school / second home / studio /zen space in a burgeoning hipster district (Praha 6!), with "the best coffeehouse in Prague" on the ground floor.  On Mondays, we meet in a different famous coffee house for literature seminars; on Wednesdays, we have film screenings at a local theater in the mornings.  We see dance performances and visit galleries, take whatever art classes we want, travel Central Europe, and volunteer with organizations such as a theater group / catering service that wants to make art and culture accessible to prostitutes.  I had no idea what I was getting into, but I am eating it up. 

I have a lot more to report – we're supposed to be writing down our observations without analyzing them, and I have a long list.  A quick recap (we're going bowling in a few minutes with all the Czech friends our Academic Director could round up... I'm skeptical, but that's okay):

- Prague attracts obnoxious tourists: it's true, and a lot of people don't really like it.  I am beginning to understand, which might (???) mean I am not a tourist?  While I was on a tram last night, a drunk British woman projectile vomited on my coat, purse, and jeans.  The city has charm.  I promise.

- However, I'm still totally lost most of the time.  The hotel doorman thinks I am an idiot – that's a funny series of stories for another time. 

– People don't dress poorly, but it's nowhere near as striking as the fashion scene in New York

– THERE IS NO SALT ON THE COBBLESTONES! A bad idea.

I got my homestay family assignment today and it looks as though I will be spending the next few months in a European villa filled with antique furniture and inhabited by a Czech screenwriter named Uldrich, his wife Markéta, who curates Prague's most famous Gothic cathedral (in the castle - I've seen it, and !!!!!!!!), and their 14 year old son Krystof, who is said to look a lot like Harry Potter.  I meet them on Friday and move in on Saturday.

I don't have time to finish this post right now, but I just wanted to let you know that I'm still doing well.  In fact, I feel like I have somehow stumbled into the country / program / group I was meant to find.  I'll finish when I pick up my computer from school tomorrow... internet is rationed at the hotel, and I can't ask for the password again. Until then, na schledanou!