bloomacious

This is what was awaiting me when I arrived at midnight on Saturday - the rich scent of Wisterias, which are tumbling down the railing to the patio. Sunday morning I awoke and saw the perfect beauty of the flowers and plants Horst has lovingly tended to around his gorgeous garden. No offense Mom, but I've never really been the garden type - I find them nice, but haven't really felt they were essential (note to save myself: my mother has always kept a beautiful garden in Wichita and this insensitivity has nothing to do with my childhood!) ;) I am, however, (and likely with age) beginning to see the light with landscaping well - the shades of green are heavenly, and I felt like a princess grading my papers on the veranda yesterday afternoon in the afternoon light.
Just when I thought Montagnola couldn't get any prettier, it bursts out in colors I've never seen before, from plants I never knew bloomed. I wish everyone could see the intensity of the gardens here. Montagnolans are quite house-proud and do their best to outdo their neighbors with fuller, brighter, longer-lasting flora and fauna. I've never seen anything like it.

Today was a great day - the kids were in good moods, all the faculty had these serene, peaceful looks on their faces, and everyone seemed genuinely happy to see one another. We have 24 more teaching days left, which is frightening and fantastic at the same time - will I have taught them all I can before their next level of English? Have I done too much? Will they hate me come September when they get their butts kicked in their next class?
So spring continues - this time, for real. Winter tires are off the cars, bare legs blind everyone silly, and the girls in their sky-high stilletto sandals have begun romping around the cobbled hills of campus. (It amuses me to no end watching them at around 2pm, sandals in hand, hobbling on aching feet.) It was 27 yesterday and reached 25 today. The locals are saying it'll be the hottest summer on record. Hmm.
The view from a wine glass full of water...note the gorgeous red crane blocking my view (STILL).

RIP Kurt Vonnegut

If you haven't had the chance to read some of this man's work, put it on your list. He changed the way I thought about fiction when I read him in high school, and I was lucky enough to study his work in college. Read about his life here . As one article states, "Vonnegut mixed literature with science fiction long before it was cool." Fascinating writer.

bonny prague-land and high-lands

The Czech Extravaganza ended with much more of the same – aimless meandering to grumble about how 'things were better when I was here' and get used to the stench of body odor, beer, and stale cigarettes that wafts from even the cleanest of places. Other minute details that shan't be overlooked:
• Prague Castle now charges to get into the cathedral and onto Zlata Ulica, or Golden Lane, where Kafka once lived. (We said no; does one really need to see another shop full of tat?) The average bear could easily spend over 15EUR to see the various (boring) buildings on the grounds of the castle.
• I've taken a liking to Mala Strana, the area below the castle, which I once thought of as a bit boring. Some very bright city planner has limited the tat shops to two per block, and the wide array of cafes and restaurants and galleries gives this area a fresh attitude. The riverside streets have been gentrified since the floods in '02 and are prettily painted, full of lovely shops and restaurants, and have enough green space throughout to easily hide away from the hordes on the…
• Charles Bridge. I remember walking this bridge in the early hours of the morning, once in particular just at dawn, with no one else but me and my companions around, the city dozing, boats moored, birds still asleep and nothing but the moon, the slowly fading stars, and a breeze to contemplate. Somewhere my psyche has added a romantic mist from the water and the soft glow of the theatrical lighting of Prague's many spires. Sigh. Now it is merely an extension of the tat shops in the Old Town. Only a few artists remain on the bridge, selling their mind's eye visions of the fair land. Or you can buy plastic toys, or wooden toys, or Russian dolls painted to look like Manchester United or, of course, the ubiquitous "Czech Me Out" t-shirts, hats, buttons, socks, and bras.
• I have never seen so many KFC outlets in a four-mile radius in my life. Sadly, most were full.
Perhaps, in some way, every time a place so ingrained in the mind is revisited, the reality of time passing can smack you in the face. That said, I'm proud of Prague, of how it continues to stay Czech beneath the gloss and the shiny schtick. We did some wandering away from the center, and that's where we saw the reality of life in this city that for some, represents the quintessential Eastern European experience. We met up with my mate Jack (link on right), who recently moved back to Prague, and he said something that has stuck with me – that for awhile, he was living in two cities – Prague from five years ago, and Prague today, trying to find the balance. I applaud him for finding his ground on returning – how difficult it must be to come back, to start over, when you can taste and feel and know how it once was.

In bonny Glasgow now, beneath grey skies with a chill in the air – just as it should be. Matt and I spent the weekend in the Highlands, climbing Cairn Gorm (well, cheating for some of it) and wandering Inverness and Ft. William. It was a lovely Easter weekend, and I was treated like a princess – dinner at Abstract, a posh restaurant, and a night at a four-star hotel in an old mansion along the River Ness. Sunday we had a fab meal in Ft. William, stayed in a charming B&B, and were ready to cycle on Monday but the weather decided against it. I'm here through the week and looking forward to recharging post-travel, getting ready for the next six weeks, and to say goodbye, again, to friends, students, colleagues, and life in Switzerland.

yedna piva prosim

2 APRIL Czech me out whatever – if I see that t-shirt blaring from a shop window again I might vandalize it. After a day and a night of wandering, I finally have kind of got my bearings back. I tend to be a landmark person, and many of the landmarks are gone or replaced by a shiny new cafes, shops, etc. I have, however, remembered having a drink there or a meal somewhere else, and have realized that we really did get out a lot when we all lived here! Had dinner at the consistently fabulous Universal on Saturday and the lovely Klub Architectu last night; both meals were fantastic, and were under €35 each with wine and starter and sides. So it's not so cheap anymore, but really no more expensive than Italy or Slovenia. We also got to the pub for a football match. I've had a Staropramen, a Pilsner and a Gambrinus so have a good start on the Cesky beers. Am still aversive to Czech wine as they tended to drink it mixed with Coke. What is striking me as most interesting is the cleanliness of the city. I remember thinking how filthy it was when I lived here – cigarette butts, dog poo, beer cans, etc. – and now it's not Switzerland clean, but certainly has Italy beaten.

So today, another cloudless sky. A. is keen to go over the Charles bridge, as we stuck to Starometska yesterday, so we'll head to Mala Strana and perhaps up to the castle. The hordes were already out yesterday, and the old town was bursting with tour groups and backpacking American kids. We're hoping they were daytrippers, and A. is hoping to see a less touristy Prague today – though I'm afraid in the center of town, there is no real Prague left. The 'real' Prague is in the panelackys of Haja, the smoky underground pubs near the bus station, the non-stop Herna bars, or the tall office blocks out by the airport. I don't really remember ever running in to students outside of classes, as the center is a pricey Disneyland offering little value or cultural stimulation to the Czechs themselves.

Praha

31 MARCH. It's just past 1500. I'm sitting at a shiny-new green marble bar, sipping a Pilsner Urquell from the tap (sadly, no Gambrinus in Ruzyne airport), watching Liverpool put the smack down on Arsenal 4-1 on four huge flatscreen TVs, listening to Celtic chillout easing out of the speakers above my head. I remember them doing renovations on the airport when I lived here, but this is far nicer than I expected – there's a branch of Anagram bookshop and a sushi bar - !! – no dumplings or goulash to be found. I got to buy today's Guardian, for €4 but worth it as I've not read a newspaper for eons. Promising myself not to drive A. nuts with the "ohmygod it's not how it was" chat that might permeate everything about this place. My stomach is a bit in knots, wondering what ghosts, if any, will rear their heads, what memories will remind me of the sweet, intense ten months that really were the crux of my decision to stay over here for awhile.

I suppose Prague will always be 'home', as will Lisbon and Ljubljana and Lugano and Glasgow and even London, places I've spent time with people whom I've liked, loved, loathed. With the move ahead of me and finally, possibly, settling into something for awhile, I've been pondering the idea of 'home', as I do with every move. Home will always be Wichita, which will remain constant if larger than remembered, thanks to of my roots; however, in a way, this Midwestern town hasn't felt like home in 15 years. Home, for me, is a feeling; it's the warmth of the candlelight and laughter at a friends' dinner party, the comfort of a good chat with a girlfriend over a steaming mug of tea, the coziness of melting into a long-awaited hug. I am so fortunate to have homes in so many places, to feel that familiarity of a multitude of memories floating about. Home is a comfort zone, knowing I belong somewhere.

My current novel writing attempt looks deeply into the idea of place, as the protagonist revisits a place that was once magical to her. She struggles with the reality of the place ten years after she first left it, and wonders why sometimes she is in love with this place as much as she ever was, and then begins to hate it for what it did to her and what it reminds her of. I do think place shapes a person's character when he or she is there for a reasonable amount of time; while our personalities don't change, the insignificant details that make up a life certainly add new dimensions, new layers, to the essence of ourselves.

I often wonder if those in the international school teaching loop really ever live the expat life that I've been so fortunate to experience. Some of my colleagues here have taught in multiple countries, but always within the womb of the school that finds accommodation, takes care of visas, sets up the electricity and internet, and tosses you immediately into an English-speaking clan of others just like you. There is something dignified about queuing for hours for a visa or transport pass, explaining your case to immigration officers, desperately trying to talk to the "Englsh Spoking" person about setting up water service for your apartment. That feeling of accomplishment, of taking it to da man and winning. With the general busy-ness of everyone here, it's no wonder few locals are in the social circle. That said, I think that's what's missing for me here in Lugano – a sense of belonging to a greater community. I miss the expat life, having friends with jobs that aren't teaching, going to social events, or down to the pub to watch football. I miss having friends who are locals, willing to show me the secrets of the area. I sincerely miss having a life outside of work.

90 Kc for a pivo. Back in my day, it was 30! I remember finding a pub out in the middle of panelaky hell where pivos were 8 Kc! How much can one town change in a mere five years?