Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail better.
I opened a bank account today. Or rather, I opened a bank account yesterday with the wrong bank account, only to coincidentally walk by the correct bank, realise my mistake, and returned today to right my brashness.
Guys. If you ever want a free espresso in Prague, walk into a bank and tell them you’re considering opening a bank account with them. Beats instant Nespresso any day.
One thing I’m starting to appreciate is the cafes here. This culture of being able to transfer from a pot of tea to a cappuccino to a pint of pilsner to a finger of scotch is so readily available everywhere and I’m loving the convenience of it.
Until recently I had only really explored the centre. Old Town with the touristy areas flamboyantly over-charging for coffee and mulled wine out of a food truck, Wenceslas Square and the surrounding attractions, New Town in all its trendiness.
Smichov, a neighbourhood on my (outward) side of the river but south about 3 km, housed my new friends and also happened to claim the closest shopping mall including a positively intimidating Tesco Supermarket (Still with a very limited selection as far as fresh produce was concerned).
Then I began to periodically find myself in Karlin, a neighbourhood area just north-east of the downtown centre, and was introduced to a handful of hole-in-the-wall pubs, clubs and cafes, as well as a poutine place recommended to me, which I tried with a heavy dose of skepticism (The gravy was quite admirable, the curds were – dare I say it?! – mozarrella).
An alternative, literally underground, live-music-and-fire-dancers-on-a-Monday-night labyrinth of a bar, with ladders leading to bunk beds, picnic benches swinging from chains the size of my fist and built into the walls, stunning graffiti covering the walls from floor to cave-like ceiling, stone archways between each unique room, a wrought iron stairway that brings you to an overhead balcony surrounded by what looked like fishnet stockings turned safety net that hangs directly over the dance floor and subsequent fire dancer, this bar required you to pay at the gate in exchange for a plastic key chain on an elastic band and tap at the bar to pay, which you can under NO circumstances loose.
But in the past few days, I haven’t had quite as many concrete motivations for getting up and making the (god forbid!) 20 minute commute to the centre. My relations have been busy as have I, confirming and beginning their new jobs, developing a schedule and a system. I now have three jobs, two of which I haven’t even started, and the one I have be at for a few weeks is now on spring break. So… motivation, excuse, reason, whatever you want to call it, to get up and find a new gem, was not quite at an all-time high.
And so I spent a handful of days binge watching my shows and creating experimental meals with my hot top (For more on that, see my new paunch belly). And then I was doing laundry and dishes at the same time (did I mention my ‘kitchenette’ does not include a sink?) and it was getting a little stuffy so I propped open the angled, wooden loft window above my bed and realised suddenly that it was absolutely beautiful outside. It was just above 0 degrees, a slight fog was hanging around the fourth level of all the buildings (so it hung beneath my vantage point from the 5-floor walk-up closet that I call home), a medley of birds were singing blithe melodies, the sun was hazy and hung about a quarter turn above the buildings. And it was a Sunday, so of course the entire human population in Europe on a Sunday afternoon simply disappears. It was calming and quieting and a strange shock out of the technology addicted spiral I was making a habit out of.
It was probably the first time I’d sat in silence for a good several days.
And so I finished up my housekeeping, packed up my laptop and journal and phone and whatever else (threw, more like) and started walking. It is about a km to the nearest subway stop, where the area is packed with restaurants big and small, phone and bank shops, and a gigantic roundabout in the middle. And I walked there and I didn’t know where else to go so I kept going. I picked a needle of a street that branched off in the same-ish direction that I was headed, eventually finding myself at the next subway station, the transfer centre of my area. I had a buffet style lunch at an Indian restaurant for 135 kc, which for simplicity’s sake, is about 7 dollars Canadian. I wandered down towards the bus stop I now recognised which would take me practically to the doorway of my apartment and noticed a coffee shop.
Atmospheric, spacious but not empty feeling, trendy but not hipster enough to bring the tourists with their glaringly loud voices and cameras (yes, I already have little to no patience for those who don’t even try to blend in, those who stand on the left side of the lift (MOVE DAMNNIT), those who travel in huddles of 10 or 15 people and don’t even think to maybe make their journey a two-by-two kind of event), with the friendliest Czech server I have met thus far. She showed me around, introduced me to the menu, which I gasped over. Real breakfast food?! The closest I had found so far was discouraging and cold. I ordered a pot of almond tea and began to work my way through the e-learning I was expected to learn for my adult teaching job. It was bloody peaceful at that.
I also discovered along that road a convenience store that stocked – I couldn’t believe my eyes at the exotic nature of so rare a find! – broccoli. Oh, you heard me right. I had been to no less but probably more than 5 grocery stores as of yet, and not a single one (even Tesco-gigantor) had this stupid simple vegetable that I took for complete granted at home.
And now? Sitting in a café called Kavarna Alibi, watching the hordes of dog walkers and their children passing by, drinking a beer at 2 in the afternoon because why the hell not, A Neil Young album is playing at a perfectly unobtrusive volume, sitting cozy and comfortable on a couch, the bar is lined with practically overflowing bookshelves, the young woman serving me sits down every once in a while to relax, check her computer, browse Facebook, whatever the hell she wants, and I think that’s bloody lovely. Because she’s doing her damn job perfectly well, so why shouldn’t she?
My goal as of right now is to leave the house at least once a day. It doesn’t have to be for long if I find I have no reason to, or the weather is garbage. It doesn’t need to include spending money or even going anywhere specific. Hell, I’ll let it count if I bring the recycling to the corner stop at Na Santice.
And self patience is one thing, but moping around and not making the most of the opportunity I have been given is quite another.
On another note, I ate a macaron the size of my fist that I ordered completely in Czech and paid the equivalent of two dollars for and ate it on the way home.
I also made a bomb ass curry last night had the leftovers for dinner. It’s been a damn good day.
