Single holiday May 13 - May 21, 2002 six days of freedom from marital yoke

	Silicon Valley view from San Francisco airport over Highway 280 and Crystal Spring Lakes towards Skyline Ridge (with our favorite Borel Hill)

At the very beginning I had planned my standalone trip to Bohemia with a vision that it would actually be quite hip to get back in time a little, into my past when I was single, and to chat with my girlfriends without a disturbing male influence; to pay a visit to my old associates and relatives, and to be absolutely independent. Right before departure, I really did not feel like leaving at all. It was not even six weeks since we moved into our new home and I felt like a bad stepmother leaving a helpless child at a church staircase.

	Climbing wall at Brumlovka nothing has changed -- blustering aerobic lessons happen behind a black curtain Peta climbs well uphill and everybody's watching.

My premonition turned out to be correct -- California falls apart during my absence there. While I was still in the air somewhere over Atlantic, an earthquake took place. Following few days registered heavy rains and hailstorms (unheard of in May) and a small tornado wreaked havoc near Sacramento (twisters normally have no business to happen in California). After seven days, my plane touched down in San Francisco in the midst of large rain puddles, but sun was shining again; it has been getting warmer since.

And how were my six days in Czech Republic? I confess that my to-do list might dwarf many a checklist of a White House crisis task force. A cell phone, borrowed from my mom, was practically permanently online; SMS's ran up and down, and so did I. Spending those six days on the double, with an ever heavier backpack on my back (besides photo albums, I added inevitable shopping items like CDs, books, DVDs, booze...), and a camera around my neck, I only experienced some relief when I caught up with public transport and could hang on to a post with a book for a moment. Still I did not manage to even meet several people, even less to have a friendly chat with them.

	Brno lake on a pleasure boat with Sid's mom

Turning into a tourist in your home town is an interesting experience -- about the same like looking into a distorted mirror -- some expendable detail becomes exaggerated while another, important thing becomes irrelevant. And so Prague caught me by surprise a few times. To my bewilderment, I discovered I lost some of my sense of direction -- some parts had been rebuilt, my mind does not automatically re-route alternative A to B connections. I can no more recall several street names or best methods how to get there. I totally gave up on driving -- not only I already grew estranged to aggressive Prague driving style (although, I am probably still sometimes considered reckless here in the U.S.), but I also got a feeling that the number of cars in Prague doubled within last 18 months. I did not take chances, especially with my inverted clock rhythm, which made me fall asleep while walking at nine a.m.; guess what would happen if I were sitting comfortably behind a wheel...

Mild May weather was a pleasant surprise, and I would also like to give my best thanks to the good wizard who caused disappearance of the grossest part of my past city life -- canine feces on sidewalks. I swear that during my visit I encountered only two smelly signatures, and those were modestly hiding near a tree. A similar, also pleasant, surprise awaited me at a passport office. It had been remodeled and instead of "interrogation cells" with bars in the windows, I was welcomed by a glazed counter with modern furniture and -- most importantly -- lively, polite lady who professionally answered my queries without a single "can not, have not, will not".

	"Girlies' Party" or gathering of a virtual women-only chatroom

Then I experienced a few moments when I cursed myself in a low voice -- I don't carry my own emergency load of toilet paper anymore; it is futile to expect anything to function between six p.m. and nine a.m.; it appears suicidal to expect a right of way on a pedestrian crossing. In America, I also disaccustommed myself to frowning salespeople, who first finish their chit-chat with a colleague (topic being something like "Mitchell is getting a divorce") or a super-important cell phone call about who got totally wasted yesterday at a party -- and only then they lazily lift their tired gaze up to me, their bothersome customer. Don't get me wrong -- I don't mind shop clerks talking to each other, but if at least one could look in my direction, smile to let me know she can see me, and finish her sentence to her colleague... Am I overly spoiled by a consumer-friendly country???

	A frozen lake ... somewhere in Canada

On top of that, during the whole week, I was haunted by nightmares regarding my flying back. We purchased my paperless e-ticket over the internet, hence I did not have a single "paper" -- piece of evidence that would confirm the fact. We're pretty used to it here at SFO -- I arrive at a gate, I wave my passport and say that my name is Paral and that I intend to fly with them, I get a boarding pass, and that's that. I was not quite sure whether PRG/Ruzyne can handle it, but a lady at a counter there was clearly not moved, and that's good. Finally, I must have broken a record in clearing through immigration and baggage claim upon arrival. My green card took me around huge immigration lines and despite best efforts of mischievous airport gnomes who put my bags at the very bottom of the batch, mere twenty five minutes elapsed between touch down and my meeting Sid!

I trotted right back to work on the next day -- and everything snapped back into place, so that my week on the other side of the globe seemed just like a fleeting glimpse. Only a few pictures remind me that it was for real....

Copyright © 2002-2005 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.