October 26, 2007 | Filed under: It's Called "Having a Life." You Should Try It.

I love Prague.

I want to smother Prague in gravy and lap up every last drop, with the help of those spongy, bread-like, slightly sour dumplings. I want to have Prague’s chubby-cheeked little Czech babies who will, as pre-schoolers, toddle around the wine store carrying recycled 1.5-liter water bottles now filled with wine — the bottles nearly as big as they are.

Prague is beautiful. Not beautiful the way Waikiki is beautiful, or Paris is beautiful, but the way any old, industrial city is beautiful. The way Chicago is beautiful. (Again with the Chicago lust. Guess I need to make a trip there soon.) With old buildings, rebuilt, repurposed for current use. With cramped houses lining skinny streets. With a comfortable grittyness. Not dirty, exactly, just … lived in. Worked in.

* * * * *

If I’m in love with Prague, the Czech language is Prague’s current girlfriend, who does not particularly enjoy my hanging around.

I would just like to say, for everyone who told me, “Oh, they all speak English in Prague,” YOU ARE A BUNCH OF LIARS. Or, at the very least, never left the tourist district. Because in my neighborhood (a residential area not super close to the tourist areas) almost nobody speaks English. Nor does the guy at the Metro station, two train stations, and various restaurants/stores I’ve visited. I end up having a lot of conversations, like this one:

Waiter/train station attendant/salesperson: @*(&^@#($$)#@_#%)
Me: I’m sorry, I don’t understand. (Note: this is, of course, said in English because my guidebook doesn’t tell me how to say “no speaky the Czech.”)
W/TSA/SP: @%(#$*%@)#$^()&*#$&@
Me: Uh, sure. Sounds good. Dekuji vam.

Czech is not a Romance Language — something I would have a shot at understanding, if not speaking, exactly. Nor is it a Germanic language — I could scrape by. Nor is it a Slovic language, which is fine because that would help me not a bit. Instead, it is its own unique self. And it is HARD. I’m trying to add a word a day to my vocabulary. At that rate, I should be able to order my dinner next year. I do not do anything unless it’s in person, where I can gesture and pantomime and generally look pathetic. Today I managed to convey, “Hey, beer me” to my waiter, halfway across the restaurant. Without words. That was probably the smoothest transaction I had all day.

* * * * *

Dear Dad, thank you for exposing me to all manner of sausage as a child. I don’t think I’d survive this trip without such knowledge.

Breakfast (provided by the hotel) is interesting… breads and meats (ham, salami, something that I think was bologna and something else that reminds me of liverwurst) and cheeses to choose from. The one thing I instantly recognized — Laughing Cow cheese wedges!

After passing yesterday, I ate the maybe-liverwurst at breakfast today. It was … liverwursty. My lunch (beef goulash) came with a chunk of what I hope was kielbasa (as opposed to pig’s knees or something, which apparently are quite a delicacy around here — I’ve seen them as featured specials on several menus). I am seriously tired of pork. I just want ONE MEAL where there is not a pork product in sight. And I would kill for a green vegetable. Woman does not live on meat and starch alone. At least not this woman. (In all fairness, I get this way with too much domestic travel, too. At some point, my body says, “Salad. Now.” and it doesn’t matter if we’re at the best steakhouse in Omaha, I will be eating a salad for dinner.)

I went to my neighborhood pizzeria tonight: a glass of wine for $1, 100% pork-free margherita pizza and a cucumber/tomato/green pepper salad that was worth every penny of my plane fare here.

* * * * *

I’ve spent way too much time at the computer, so I’ll sign off here. E-mail access is prevalent, so leave a comment or send an e-mail, as long as you promise to do so in English. Please. I beg of you.

* Well, OK, clearly I do or I wouldn’t go through all this trouble to post. Shut up. And thank Lori for all her hard work.

October 22, 2007 | Filed under: It's Called "Having a Life." You Should Try It.

This is my last post before leaving for Europe. I started an entirely different post last week, but, really, this is about all I have to say right now:

Click through for scintillating commentary.

In a cruel twist of fate, it was 80 degrees and sunny out today and when I land in Prague on Wednesday, I can expect non-stop 52-degree days with fog, drizzle and/or light rain. Fantastic.On the bright side, work today sucked (seriously, how can a one-day work week be this bad???), so I am definitely ready for a vacation.

My sister assured me that, “I will NOT, I repeat, I will under NO CIRCUMSTANCES go on Nancy Grace.  Ever.  For anything. No matter how many exclamation points she promises to put at the end of my shocking headline.”

That taken care of, I left the final instructions with my family: If you need a picture of me to plaster on the news, please use the one from my Facebook profile.  Steve can probably figure out how to download it.  Whatever you do, do not be tempted to use my senior picture from the living room wall.

Now I can leave for Europe confident that if a gang of roaming gypsies or Islamofascists (huh? Mr. Huckabee, care to explain?) takes me hostage, at least I’ll look good on TV. And that is the important thing.

Words, pictures and general assurances that I’m still alive … if I manage to find an internet cafe among all those castles, churches and bier gartens I’ll be hanging out in.

* The only Czech phrase I know. What? It’s German? Welllll shiiit.

October 14, 2007 | Filed under: It's Called "Having a Life." You Should Try It.

I leave for Prague in about a week and am in the thick of trip preparations. I’ve scheduled my bills to pay themselves, called my credit card companies to let them know I’ll be wanting to use my card abroad and yes, it really is me, please don’t put a fraud alert on the card and decline all my attempted purchases. (And, oh yes, there will be purchases.)

I even went so far as to register my trip with the State Department. It makes me feel a little nauseous, quite frankly, to voluntarily give this kind of personal information to the United States government, but I guess I’d prefer that they know where I am and that I need to be evacuated, if the situation arises. But still. It’s very Big Brother and it skeeves me out. The State Department, for their part, reminds travelers that the United States does not negotiate with terrorists, so I’d better start practicing my torture-withstanding techniques. I think I’ll suggest we watch Nancy Grace — that should get me out in no time.

I authorized the State Department to disclose my information to family members and Members of Congress. I mean, really, who better to ensure my safe return from a distant land than people who haven’t managed to pass spending bills for the fiscal year that began October 1?

One of the most important items I needed to procure for my trip is a pair of shoes. Shoes for walking all over creation, on ancient cobblestone streets. Somehow, I don’t think my daily diet of 3″ pointy-toed heels is going to make it. I ordered five pairs of shoes in three brands from two different online retailers. I hated four pairs and gave one an “eh, maybe.” I spent most of a day looking for shoes at an actual store here, where I could — imagine that! — try them on before buying.

I came up with these:

Cute, huh? I’m a little embarrassed to tell you that they’re from Jessica Simpson. I would never have guessed that we’d have similar tastes in shoes, but apparently we do!

I also scored these:

Right now an ex-boyfriend’s head is exploding at the sight of those rounded toes. I’ll have you know I wore these with a skirt and tights this week. Opaque black tights. And it looked good.

But neither of these are very practical for wandering around Europe, so eventually I succumbed and bought these:

The Official Walk Around Europe Shoes. For once, I’m putting function over fashion. I know it’s for the best, but if you tell me they’re ugly I still might cry. The nice man at Nordstrom explained that I could even wear them with a skirt — something at least calf-length, but probably ankle-length would be better. Um, yeah. I own … nothing like that whatsoever. I think I’ll be sticking to pants, thanks.

Then Target took what remained of my money, with its extensive collection of wee little things just perfect for international travelers attempting to take only one piece of luggage:

Wee little first aid kit. Because I’m sure to do something stupid over the course of two weeks.

Wee little shaving cream and hand lotion.

Wee little laundry detergent and spray bottle for Febreeze. (Thanks for the tip, Lori!) These supplies will come in handy, as I’m trying to take only four outfits. No, I’m serious: less is more. More room for souvenirs, that is!

For the plane: not so wee bag of M&Ms. And animal crackers. Because apparently I think I’m a seven-year old who will be entertained for at least 20 minutes by snacks in various animal shapes. Let’s face it, I probably will be. Which leaves me … only 17 1/2 more hours to fill.

And finally, the essentials:

Note the journal on the top of the pile — I will make a valiant attempt to actually write something in it. Otherwise I’m just going to be stuck carrying it around for no good reason and will have to rely on my memory for stories to tell you. And no, I will not be showing you the picture inside my passport, taken shortly after I graduated from college, thankyouverymuch. I’m just happy I’m finally putting it to good use.

Now all I have to do is figure out what clothes to take and how much room to dedicate in the suitcase for very important purchases like a complete set of Czech crystal. And an awesome pair of boots. And maybe a keg of beer. OK, a keg might be overkill. A pony keg, then. Do you think I’m allowed to travel with that much liquid?

August 20, 2007 | Filed under: It's Called "Having a Life." You Should Try It., The California Adventure

I’ve been spending a little too much time in my head, which doesn’t make for very good blog fodder, and you’ve gotten quite a dose of my psychotic ramblings lately, so we’ll pass on that option for now. Instead, it’s much easier to tell (and show) you what I’ve done recently, if by “recently” you mean “an entire month ago.”

I woke up one Thursday morning and said to myself, “Self, I think I’d like to go hiking this weekend.” And, because I was Single! and Free! and Had No Commitments Other Than My Friday Night Plans! I could make a decision like that and just dash off for the rest of the weekend. A couple hours of internet research later, I had a destination and reservations for camping overnight.

(I know what you’re thinking. No, I didn’t choose this destination because of its name. If you must know, I rather despise whiskey. Yes, yes, including Irish whiskey. Commence the stoning.)

On Saturday I did a lovely scenic hike up to a waterfall, which provided some nice vantages for picture-taking and a good spot at which to eat lunch and read a book. Until the hordes of other people showed up, and then things felt a little too personal-space-invading for my taste, so I headed down the mountain.

Back at the campsite, I tackled the day’s main project: setting up the tent. I was about 90% done when my campsite neighbors wandered over, offering assistance. I graciously accepted their help, as we took apart everything that I’d assembled. And I can only hope that my graciousness kept on shining when we then put it all back together, exactly the same way I’d had it twenty minutes prior. But, no matter, eventually the tent was up.

Yes, I slept in a sleeping bag. On the ground. With no air mattress, for I am hard core. (Though not hard core enough to consider backcountry camping; I have no desire to haul my tent around with me all stinkin’ day.) Also, I’d say “slept” is an overstatement. More like “napped sporadically for seven hours.”

Day 2 consisted of more hiking. Specifically, the most challenging route available in the park. It was a loop trail so I knew it didn’t really matter which way I went, but two different sets of directions told me to do the trail clockwise. I’m not really one for directions, so of course I ended up doing it “backwards.” No, actually, I started out just fine and was following the directions to a T. However, I was so busy congratulating myself on accurately locating the trailhead 75 feet away from a gravel road by remembering that 8 steps = 5 yards (thank you, years of marching band drills), I missed my next turn, a mere 100 feet up the trail. About a mile in I stopped for water, looked at the map and decided, yup, I’m going backwards. Of course, this being a loop and all, I knew it didn’t matter which way I went — I’d end up back at the parking lot either way. I began to question the directions. Then I realized, the only reason the directions would tell you to go one way vs. the other is if one direction is a lot steeper than the other. So I checked the elevation profile and discovered that my stupidly-missed turn had added an extra 500 vertical feet to my day. Awesome.

You probably can’t tell from this picture, but for much of this hike the “trail” was essentially walking in a dry riverbed, one foot directly in front of the other. 50 degree inclines were not unheard of. Good times.

Putting my waterproof boots to the test.

Directional snafu aside, I made it to the top.

My mother fretted the whole time (You’re going by yourself??? But bad things happen to single women who go traipsing around alone!) and even left me a voice mail on Sunday, reminding me to call her when I was home. A reasonable request, but still — ten times more hovering than I’m accustomed to. She chilled out once I called to let her know I wasn’t dead, but still expressed that she doesn’t like it when I do these things by myself. It’s just not safe.

Good thing she doesn’t know I’m going to Europe. Alone.

View the complete set of pictures here.

July 2, 2007 | Filed under: It's Called "Having a Life." You Should Try It., People I Like Even More Than My Job, The California Adventure

Pop quiz: One of us left the mall Saturday with four new pairs of shoes. Was it me? Keep reading for the answer.

This weekend marked a milestone in my excursions to San Francisco. (Yes, I went to San Francisco. Again. For the second time in three days. Good thing my friends are worth it!) Even more noteworthy than my spending entirely too much money on a dress — a dress for work, no less, not even a dress for fun — was that this was The Time I Finally Figured Out How to Get Around the City.

Previously, I’d gotten directions, arrived at a specific place and then did whatever I was there to do — attend a meeting in X building, stay in Y hotel, meet people at Z location — but I had very little sense of how points X, Y and Z related to each other. This weekend, though, was the breakthrough. I get it now! I know (roughly) which neighborhood is which and how to navigate among them for like eight whole neighborhoods. I know this leaves much more of the city to be explored, but I’m just happy to finally figure out which way is north. (Hint: it is not the direction of the Bay Bridge, where you came from.)

The world of public transportation though…well, I’m going to stick with either (a) walking or (b) blindly following someone else. That’s not entirely true. I managed to successfully navigate my cable car trip, and I think I can handle the bus. Sort of. But the actual Muni? Definitely employing the sheep methodology. To all you baseball fans attending the All-Star Game/festivities this week, I say: Good luck. And please don’t ask me for directions.

We pause now for some rampant consumerism before I continue with the story-telling.

The dress, um, is apparently not available anywhere on the Internet. It is like this dress, only black and has pockets on the hips and khaki detail stitching around just about everything (collar, cuffs, belt, pockets, vertically along the column of buttons). I love it, but it makes me cringe a little because once upon a time, two dress sizes ago, I owned a very similar dress from Ann Taylor Loft. Which probably cost a third of what this dress does. And I may very well have choked on that price. Sigh. (I miss the dress, but not the dress size.)

(Clickety-click for larger pictures.) I am not 100% sold on the above dress, because the detail stitching, while making the dress interesting, also makes it very memorable and limits its functionality. I may trade it in for this (more boring versatile) one instead.

Feel free to weigh in. Nordstrom will be happy to process my return/exchange.

That concludes today’s commercial message. We return you to our regularly scheduled programming.

Day One: Shopping extravaganza. If you guessed that I was the one with all of those new shoes, bzzzzzzzzz. Not this time.

Day Two: Giants vs. Diamondbacks, followed by the Fillmore Jazz Festival. Photographic evidence:

Willie Mays, Giants legend.
Please ignore the disembodied heads at the bottom of the frame. After all, that’s what I did.

Spanking of the D-backs. Please note that the score is 8-0 in the top of the 6th.

I didn’t think it could be worse than the beatdown the A’s delivered to the Yankees earlier in the day,
but the Giants won this one 13-0.

Jazz. Kinda loses something in photographic form.

So that was San Francisco, where the sun shines every once in a while but it never gets above 70. I’m getting the hard sell about coming back for the Fourth, but I don’t know if I can stomach the thought of wearing long sleeves to the beach. In July.

What are your plans for tomorrow?