a thousand words // june 17, 2019

day twenty

I’ve been making a joke every time I see a group of kids being herded around Prague. I say, to an unsuspecting classmate, “I can’t believe all those kids parents sent them on a trip to Prague with their teachers…” It’s especially funny when the kids are like 4 or 5 years old who can hardly get on escalators on their own, or have to wear bright yellow traffic vests to cross the streets. Obviously, these kid groups are most likely Czech natives who have come to Prague or a certain part of the city on a school field trip of some sort, or perhaps are even just in day care or something, but everyone I say that to really falls for it, and they say things like “yeah… well maybe they are from here” gently, so as to not make me feel dumb for the comment.

The truth is I did have that original thought when I saw the first group of kids. I’m almost positive I figured it out before saying it out loud, but I can’t really be sure if I accidentally said it as a real comment or as a joke for the first time. It’s an easy thing to get mixed up I think, I’m here on a school field trip, and Czech kids don’t look all that different from American kids, so perhaps all those kids just go to a super wealthy private school where they culture them by taking them on summer trips without their parents to Europe… Obviously, that is not the case. What a nightmare for teachers, and often you know those kids wouldn’t remember a thing from the trip anyway. These girls must have thought I was crazy, taking a child’s photo. I got several confused looks from girls, the boys were absolutely ignorant to me. I think it’s innate in girls at this point, though to be more suspicious of any strange person or any person doing a strange thing.

My guess though, was that they were just confused, looking at a group similar to theirs, just older and walking around with a bunch of cameras, what are we doing here? Are we Czech? Certainly they know we are American? Also quick shout out to the boy wearing the Darth Vader tee, I’m a huge fan little man.

weekend miser // june 16, 2019

day nineteen

I learned something about art today; it’s subjective. That might sound ridiculous. Obviously art is subjective. That’s what has always made art art. I haven’t ever really been in a situation where I realized just how true of a statement that is though. We visited the art museum today at the Fair Trade Palace. Three of the floors were completely free to students under the age 26. Now this was kind of my idea because I had a friend recommend it to me, but I’m not a huge museum girl myself. After the first exhibit I was kind of ready to leave. It was just a bunch of paintings on canvases, still, lifeless paintings on flat surfaces often behind glass. I could feel the exhibit sucking the life out of me. The friends who were with me sort of shunned me a bit for my under-appreciation of art. Then we moved on to the second exhibit.

On that floor was art like this, massive slabs of colorful and slightly translucent rocks that had strange cuts in them which made the art look different from every angle. There were wire-y structures that hung from the ceilings, and paper maché. There were vivid colors and texturized sculptures. At some point I noticed the others from my group were missing, but I took my time enjoying the art. This piece I described earlier is called “open window” I liked how it looked like this woman was looking through it, sized as if maybe she could climb through the portal into another world, full of color and art that makes you want to do something bigger than yourself. When I left the exhibit I asked my friends why they went through it so quickly. They said they had actually enjoyed the boring panting exhibit more than this one. I was shocked… taken aback, but then I understood, I guess. Art is subjective, entirely. That is why it is art, and that is why we need all of it.

weekend miser // june 15, 2019

day eighteen

After all our traveling to and from Cesky Krumlov, it took a lot to muster up the energy to check out the Saturday morning farmers market that sits on the Vltava boardwalk nestled under New Town. Once there though, I was filled with inspiration and excitement. There were SO many craft beer breweries in attendance, which kind of made Prague feel bigger than Pilsner, Kozel, and Gambrinus. We went looking for brunch, and came across a lot of heavy looking food like the spread pictured above, burgers, and “American style” bbq. This food honestly looked amazing, but I needed something a little lighter for my first meal of the day.

At the end of the market we found some freshly pressed juice, crepes, or better known here as Palačinky, and some amazing ice cream. We sat among the swimming swans as the sun beat down on our backs, very content with our interesting meals. I felt local, yet right at home, perusing the cheap but high quality stands of food and drink. I remember someone in our group making the comment that Prague really just feels like a European and slightly edgier Austin. I’ve kind of felt a similar vibe in my time here. It’s made me feel comfortable, and homesick at the same time. This is a really great city, it just isn’t really mine.

noticed // june 14, 2019

day seventeen

The views just have not stopped. Anywhere I go there is another incredible view of another incredible place. Along with it come hundreds and thousands of other tourists each day. It’s kind of funny that I think of myself a little bit above the other tourists. Maybe because I’ve been here so long, and I’ll be here a while longer, but it was different for Český Krumlov, because I was only there for three days, really two. I was there just as short as most of its visitors, yet, we knew the whole town. It took about 8 minutes to get from one side of the town to the other. From the top of the castle tower seen here, I could see the chapel we hiked to on the other side of the town on a hill just the day before in about 25 minutes.

So while we were there only shortly, it felt like we were almost long term residents because it was so small and we knew it so well. Český Krumlov is not a town for locals. Hardly any Czech natives live in the town anymore. It is so cute and small and beautiful that it is meant pretty much only to appease tourists. Most Czech’s can’t afford to live there any more. I’m not outraged though, if you wanted to live in a fairytale town like that for your whole life, maybe that’s understandable for you to be angry, but I don’t know many people who could handle that, and it’s such a small town. I saw our first tour guide three more times just walking around Český Krumlov in the 48 hours we were there.

architecturally speaking // june 13, 2019

day sixteen

We’ve hit a halfway point in the trip, and we hit it as we found ourselves in the middle of a fairy tale. Český Krumlov, which means a Czech town on a river bend, is something out of a movie. The town is cradled in two or three bends of the Vltava river. We’ve walked probably every street several times in the 27 hours we’ve been here. Settlements have existed in the area since the stone ages, but the town has been around since the eleventh century. It survived both world wars with no damage, and most everything in the tiny beautiful town has architecture that existed similarly in its antiquity. The town is surrounded by massive castle, just smaller than Prague castle, that wraps around one side of the river, overlooking the majority of the little town.

We’re staying in a hotel, Marybeth and I are several floors up, and heat rises. The people on this continent have been building castles for hundreds of years but still haven’t figured out air conditioning. We’re living a constant battle between opening the windows for cool air and closing them to keep bugs out. That’s why I connected with this woman as she opened her window to get some fresh air as we were strolling through town today. When I zoom in I can see her looking at me, smirking, as if to say, “I don’t care about you and your camera, I’m hot as hell in this sauna.”

Today I hiked up to the monastery, had a nice lunch on the river, took an old photo, played in a dark room with negatives and ate some good pizza. We have a plan tomorrow to go water rafting, but we couldn’t help ourselves and took a quick dip in the Vltava tonight. This town is completely overrun by tourists, including ourselves, but it’s a little wonderland. I love it. My only hope is that Czech’s can one day afford to take control back of the city and be able to afford to live there.

small wonder // june 12, 2019

day fifteen

I’ve been waking up feeling a little home sick the past few days. I think we walked into the right bar to help cure that a bit. It was a jazz bar with a lot of American style food. We ate burgers and fries etc. then headed down where a Chicago based blues band was absolutely going crazy on the keys, base, drums, guitar and mic… It sounded a bit like home, maybe just because they were singing in english, maybe because the blues are a very American thing.

My problem is I want to be a journalist. Some parts of it don’t sound too fun, but the joy I get from breaking into someones life and connecting with them in order to get quotes or interview them or just get more information, it’s amazing. There is this terror right before hand, but once you finally work up the courage to talk to someone, man it feels good. We really wanted to ask the band if there was a good email to send the good photos to, but we chickened out. We left when they were on a break, and the bass player saw us and chased us down the street to ask if we could possibly send him some of the photos and it just made me really happy, and it made me remember what it felt like to reach into someones life you would otherwise never reach into. I regret that we didn’t make the first move, but I was happy he did.

location notations // june 11, 2019

day fourteen

We are not sheep being let to the slaughter, we do not approve of or go along with the Third Reich. That is what our tour guide told us this bit of history proved of the Czechs in the second world war. She spoke slowly, but not in a way that she was trying to make sure we understood her, it was more like she wanted us to feel the realness of the space in which we were standing. The young woman spoke so very earnestly of the history of the Church, where seven UK trained Czech soldiers hid after two of them carried out the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, one of Hitler’s right hand men. After the assassination, thousands of innocent Czechs were killed, in Prague and outside of it.

After the tour at the church we visited what was the town of Lidice, 45 minutes outside of Prague. As revenge for the assassination of Heydrich, Hitler commanded that every man in the town be shot, the women be sent to concentration camps, and the children either be adopted to be germanized or sent to concentration camps. Afterward, every living thing was massacred, and the entire town was raised to the ground.

The assassins and the other parachuters hiding in the church crypt were eventually turned in by a deserter, and were attacked in the church. The german army wanted them alive, but after fighting off the Nazi’s for several hours, all seven men had died or shot themselves. The tour guide told us that only two accurate books that had been translated from czech to english existed, and even the movies about the events were not accurate.

“You are part of the story now, you can tell the truth about what happened here. Good luck,” she said before thanking us for coming to learn about the events. We thanked her in return. I was taken with this tour guide the most out of all of the ones we had before because of her intensity. I could tell she genuinely wanted us to know the full truth of the battle at the church. She made chilling and consistent eye contact with anyone who would hold her gaze, and I will not soon forget her stories.

architecturally speaking // june 10, 2019

day thirteen

I spent Sunday morning at high mass at St. Georges Basilica. I took a ton of photographs of the building, but I was drawn to this one of an older woman holding a confirmation rose. Maybe she was holding it for someone younger and she was their sponsor, but I like to think that she got confirmed on this last day of Pentecost. An older woman with white hair can still come home to this Church, I told myself.

I was born and raised Catholic. I know how mass goes. I know when to sit and stand and when to say what responses, for the most part. Everything was in Czech but Ariana was with me and helped me find the online english version of what the readings and hymnals were. We had to stand because we were late, and it was almost two hours long, but I was so stunned by the beauty of it all, I was happy to be there the entire time. I couldn’t stop paying attention. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve done so far.

I’m not Catholic anymore. They say that baptism for Catholics is your parents decision/commitment to raising you Catholic, and then confirmation is your turn to choose the faith. I essentially, didn’t choose Catholicism when I was in high school, because I had gotten involved in other Christian groups or churches around the neighborhood.

I have a lot of issues with Catholicism, but I oddly find comfort in the fact that it will not be heavily reformed or disbanded. Other denominations of Christianity can kind of swing liberally on the scriptures so long as we have the steady rock that was meant to be the Catholic faith. Maybe some of the things they stick to don’t really matter but some of them probably do. I’ve recently started saying (opinion btw) that if you know truly Jesus, and you can practice the Catholic faith, that is probably the most disciplined and holy form of worship. It’s something I’ll never say I’ll never go back to. Who knows, maybe I’ll get confirmed at a white-haired age.

the nocturnalist // june 9, 2019

day twelve

After leaving the photography museum on the Night of the Museums, I couldn’t help but feel a little inspired by the black and white. I knew I wanted to catch a moment that would bring me feelings of a time I’ve never known that night. I knew I couldn’t do it on my own. With the help of the gleaming camera light at the entrance to the photo museum and these two white haired angels who stepped past my frame at the perfect moment, I think I nearly captured it.

There are some photos with faces, there are some with a horizontal frame, but this one speaks to me. A time of beauty and love and things that you fix when they break seems to fade away as these two lovers decent down the stairs towards–and away from the glow of the strange, round, eerie light.

Us young people always believe we were born to the wrong generation, too late in time. We also complain that the way people act and what they believe is still archaic… So what then? Do we hope for the future or long for the past? I think it’s alright to capture nostalgia here and there, but I don’t know, I like living life where I am. I could not deal with a time less understanding. I couldn’t live with faster music either. I left the photography museum feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, excited to be daring again after a short period of feeling down. So I’ll let my nostalgia walk away with these ghostly people in my frame, and I’ll move on today with something of my time.

weekend miser // june 8, 2018

day eleven

The days are just flying by. I’m not sure how to make them slow down, so I have started jam packing them. We finished our day shoot at the music festival and artisans market at Charles Square. Before, we made a pit stop at a local coffee shop, catching the end of an African dance tutorial in the Zizkov area, and walking up to see the National Monument. People from all sorts of artistic backgrounds flooded the scene that lie beyond the band’s fans.

This particular woman sat behind her vividly colored artwork, jewelry, and accessories, eyeing her phone as she awaited customers. She was dressed in her own brightly colored pieces as to show off what customers could look like and dress like if they came to her kiosk. She was probably the most festive of the artisans, which is why I was surprised to catch her on her phone in this photo. Her black cat-eye eyeliner was hard to miss, and make it even easier to see that she was not watching over her table, but over her cell phone.

Nevertheless, I’m sure she had many customers and had many sales, and I just caught her at a dull moment, but I realized as I walked through the tables of artisans, I had no idea what kind of souvenirs I should get for my family and loved ones… What is a good, authentically Czech, non alcoholic gift to give to someone? Certainly nothing from this woman’s table screamed Czech Republic, maybe some other culture though. If anyone has any suggestions, please give me a heads up!