Erasmusblogs

         I have started reading a play by Albert Camus, Le Malentendu. The story is set in a small Czech city. In the preface of the book I read as I wrinkle my brow that the play was meant to be called Budejovice — the name of a city in South Bohemia, not far from Prague.

         Le Malentendue is about a murder. And it is because of the bad weather. A woman, Martha, and her mother, who run a small hotel, are so sick of the harsh endless Czech winters that they decide to kill some customers to steal their money, till they are wealthy enough to start a new life in a Mediterranean country. Let´s see what our dear Martha has to say about Czech weather: "Ce que nous appelons le primtemps ici, c´est une rose et deux bourgeons qui viennent de pousser dans le jardin du cloître." Hard, isn´t it? But let´s continue listening to her: "Je n´ai plus de patience en réserve pour cette Europe où l´automne a le visage du primtemps et le primtemps l´odeur de misère." Enough, Marta. Thanks you very much.

         12th March, Prague. Streets full of ice and snow after a two-day ice storm. I´m on my sofa reading the third act of Camus´ play and half listening to the telly. Euronews is on, and here comes the weather forecast. The camera goes across the map of Europe, while a catchy jingle melody sounds: "Jingjing jingjing jing jing jiiiiiiing jing." Madrid 20º. Jingjing… Paris 12º. Jingjing jing… Berlin 5º. Jiiiiiiiiiiing… Prague 0º. What the fuck!! Warsaw 4º. Bratislava 4º. I can´t believe it. We´re in the coldest place in the world. "Hey, Ben. Have you seen that? 0º. Worse than ever."
         "Yeah…" he says, and something else I can´t understand.
         Jingjing jingjing jing jing jiiiiiiiiing…
         I wanna kill somebody.

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         It is marvellous to be definitely settled, to have eventually found a nice, comfortable place. It is an indescribable moment when you take the keys of your newly found apartment, or when you put your name on the letter box, or specially when you realize that you have a washing machine for yourself. Those living in a hall of residence know perfectly well what I’m talking about.

         In my former hall of residence you could consider yourself lucky if you got the laundry room keys. Very lucky if when returning the keys you were not overcharged. And touched by the hand of God if the washing machine worked properly; I mean washing, instead of just wetting you clothes. Damn, how many times I had to take my soaked clothes and wash them by hand in the bathroom. And later to hang them in the shower and ask my mate not to bath today. I thought there was a drying room, but when I asked for the key at reception, they informed me that such room didn’t exist. "Oh yes," I insisted, "I’ve seen it. It’s in building number…" No way. The woman shaked her head. "No drying room." Ok, ok. I come back upstairs and see the room. A big poster on the door reads, Drying Room. I fold my arms, stare fixedly at the door and mutter, "You, liar."

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         In November I finally got a flat. One day I find an ad on the net, "Space Age Gargantuan flat to share in Dejvicka." "Kitsch, huge rooms." Cool. "Well-situated." Cool. "Open-House Venue on Thursday. Everyone invited." Cool. I’m there on time. Hey, this is the hugest flat I’ve ever seen in Prague. Some people are seeing the flat, and there is still a long list to come, as usual. The room offered is comparatively small; the desk table is amazing, though. From the window you can see the top of the Sparta Football Stadium. The room is an attic, by the way. I like it. Two guys live here (only two in this palace, I can’t believe it), Ben and Daniel, English and Northamerican. We chat for a while, have a beer and that’s all by now.

         Two days later they invite me to have a coffee and a talk. Nice evening. Then they invite me again to go with them next day, Sunday evening, to watch La Traviata at National Theatre. This Sunday is that tricky autumn day when the time officially changes; clocks are put back one hour. I forget it, and I arrive one hour earlier to the theatre. There is a yard beside the ticket office where the kids skate. So I wait there chain-smoking and watching the skaters up and down. I enjoy when they fall, I must admit. Well, Ben and Daniel arrive and I tell them about my mistake, which I soon regret -I wouldn’t give a place in my flat to somebody who can’t tell what time it is. Let’s go to the opera. We are not particularly fond of BelCanto, but the show is amusing, it only costs 1 euro and you are comfortably sitting in a warm, charming place.

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         To find a flat in Prague is not easy. To find a huge confortable inexpensive flat is almost impossible. I tried it hard in October and first week of November. I have succeeded, but only after many frustrated attempts. For instance…
         I get a meeting with a Polish girl to see her flat. She and a Czech girl are looking for a third mate. "Ripska, 25" she messages me. That evening I go to Jiriho z Podebrad area, and look for the street. It’s not as easy to find as I thought. I take out my map, but it’s so windy today, that the paper flutters like a flag and I can hardly keep it in my hands. I ask people, or rather I block their way and show them my cell phone with the address. Some ignore me, some say "No idea." Finally a shabby youngster points me in the right direction.

         The meeting is at 20.00; I’m there half an hour earlier, so I decide to go to a cafe near to kill time. Two girls are looking at the prices on the door. They speak English. Good news, I think. I say some silly remark and they cry out, "Oh you speak English, thanks God." We come in, sit together and drink something. They are students from the States in their year off. "From Minnesota. Never go there. Europe’s so cute." They are cool and pretty. Really pretty. "We’ve been travelling round Europe. Been to France, Italy and Switzerland." They need a cheap hostel for tomorrow night. "Yeah, I have some experience in not finding any place to be." At 20.00 I wave goodbye, wish them good luck and phone my Polish girl.

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         "I make movies," Buñuel once said, "cause we are not in the best of the possible worlds." So I look for a flat cause I’m not in the best of the possible dorms. But first I need a lamp, because my room is completely dark. Then I need a flat because this dark dorm really sucks. Somebody tells me, "Go to Ikea. Cheap and cool lamps." Somebody else says, "Go to Happy House Rentals. Good agency." So today I have a huge breakfast and say, "Let’s do it."

         First I go to the agency. It’s so hidden that it seems unreal. You have to get in a photo store, find a little door in a corner, step into a large hall, ask the secretary, go upstairs top floor, cross a dark narrow hall and knock on the last door. You feel as if the Mafia capo were waiting there to close a deal. Instead, a kind guy opens. He says, "I’m sorry but we can’t arrange rooms, only appartments." He gives me an email address and the name of a cafe where expats put their ads in. Very kind, thanks. "Take tram 9 down here to Ujezd," he finally says. So I go downstairs and hop in the tram.

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         Here´s a simple example of what´s wrong here. The dark side of the Erasmus experience, if you want. Ana and me need an English grammar book for our proficiency course. We have searched for it in some bookstores but failed. So we go to the Rectorate where the Central Library is supposed to be. "No Central Library," says a German-like guy at reception. He gives me a phone and a number. "I´ve lived through this before," I think while I dial information. A metallic distant voice (like from Mars or something) informs me that we must go to the library in the second Faculty of Ed. in Rett. Street. OK.

         At reception in Rett. they don´t speak English. They offer me another phone. No thanks. Enough calls for today. I ask a bookworm-looking guy. He points politely at a dark narrow hall and says, "But you need to fill some papers before taking books." Ok, no problem. Long queue; we stand in as cheerfully as possible though. Ana types the name of the book in a computer. Bad luck. There is only an old edition. Hmm… Well, let´s try. We ask for it, and they send us to the Reading Room. In the Reading Room a tall pale guy helps us to find it. Finally he says the book is not here. We must go to the first Faculty of Ed. and take it from the library´s English department. "Tomorrow we´ll try, ok Manu?" Ok.

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         National Day Celebration Party. Let’s do some sightseeing. Ana, Maria, Pilar and I leave early to see the city. We start in Wenceslas Square where there is a medieval theatre show, Braveheart style. When the knight in shining armour defeats his enemy and get the princess, we clap and go for a stroll in Old Town. There we step into toy stores crammed with Pinocchio and Harry Potter puppets, buy postcards, hang around in Staromestke Namesti with our eyes wide open before Tynn Church. And then we come in a bohemian cafe hidden in one of these labyrinthine narrow streets in Old Town. We have fried cheese, big beers and one hour-and-a-half session of Yann Tiersen. For me this means heaven. The place is called Literarni Kavarna Retezova. Ah, the most lovely waitress in Prague works here, I promise.

         After lunch we cross Charles Bridge to the other side of the river where we run into Michal, a Czech boy who organizes activities for the Erasmus. Since he has nothing to do, he offers to show us some interesting places. First we go to his faculty. "Faculty of Mathematics! Take out your calculators, girls." We look out of the WC’s windows. Wow. Dream-like views. Prague is so amazing… Terrific sights even through the toilets’ windows in the Faculty of Maths!!

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         In the first week we must visit some offices and deal with hundreds of papers. Frustating. These days I have met Czech students capable of speaking three, four or even five languages, but in these offices few are those who speak English. Receptionists are our enemies. No receptionist can speak English in Prague, I assure you. They can´t in my dorm, they can´t in the Rectorate, and what´s more important they can´t in my faculty. So Ana and me stay in front of our faculty reception trying to know where the International Office is. The woman gives me a phone and a number. I dial. Czech language.

         We go eating to a kebah. The waiter speaks Spanish. We DO NOT need waiters speaking Spanish; we can easily say "A pizza please." In bars they are polyglots, and in the offices they can´t speak English! Definitely something is wrong with the employment policies here. I try to cool off and eat the thing. And the man starts singing "Viva España."

         Saturday morning I go downtown alone with no map. I think it´s the best way of getting used to the streets of Prague. I get lost soon. Fortunately I can find my way by following the McDonalds signals. How strange is being lost in this lovely mixture of gothic and art-noveau buildings, and suddenly get happy when seeing one of these ugly red arrows, "Next McDonalds 100m." Cause no matter which city in the universe you are in, there´s a McDonalds downtown. Globalization seems so wonderful today… I choose another place to eat, though. "Gran pizza para vos. Españoles comer mucho mucho."

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        The week before the classes started, there were parties every night in this dorm, till someone called the police because of the noise. Next day we had notes by the European Office reminding us our duties as "ambassadors of your countries." Nice way of saying "were you raised in a barn?" Here parties start like a guerrilla raid. You are in the hall, you blink and next thing you see is scores of people holding beers the size of containers. Beers in Czech Republic are pint-sized; less than one euro each. It´s the cheapest thing you can buy in supermarkets or drink in a bar. Beer is cheaper than water. Absinth is also quite common and not very expensive. In many countries it is banned, but here people buy it in supermarkets as easily as Uncle Sam Tomato Sauce or dental floss. As regards booze, the Czechs know how.

         Some days after my arrival I went with Sandra, Vanesa and Yolanda to an Open Air Party run by Czech university students in a little, cosy island in Vltava river. There were a big scenery for concerts, drinking beer contests… Somebody misinformed us, so when we arrived the gigs were over and the Czechs as pissed as a fart. Czech people are so quiet. Even when drunk they keep silent and polite. Of course they kick bottles, puke or fall over, but smoothly, like if trying not to disturb. We drank two quick beers and stumbled toward Cross, a huge arty pub, completely decorated with recycled stuff, disposal materials and found objects. Awesome!! People in harlequin clothes and red wigs about to performance in first floor -a kind of retro-futurist cabaret, like being stuck in someplace between Twin Peaks and a Marilyn Manson video-; a harcore concert upstairs in a bleak, absynth-scented room; and an easy-going atmosphere underground, where we stood dancing reggae.

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        People working in this dorm can´t speak English. The first days you have 1000 questions to do and all you get at Reception are shrugs. "Can you give me more sheets? Why don´t I have a reading lamp while many people do? Is it true I have to pay for the washing machine, the vaccum cleaner and the ironing board?" Just indifference and suspicious looks. So the first week you feel as a burglar tiptoeing at night, till one day you stop worrying, shut your mouth and use the washing machine only when your pants stock is out.

        As regards problems with language, going to the supermarket may be pretty funny. Everybody fails when shopping, no matter how prepared you are or think you are: czech dictionaries, lists of czech food, consumer´s sixth sense… Nothing works. Everybody has his/her particular record of mistakes. For instance, once I was looking for parsley. Provided the vegs department was full of similar herbs, I had to smell every one. Finally I gave up when I noticed everybody was looking at me, so I took one at random. It tasted like petrochemical-plant product and ruined my dinner.

        While such cultural shock it´s funny in shopping, at offices it´s most depressing. When going to ask for something, they usually send us to another office. Then we cross our fingers and wish it was the promised English-speaking desk. "Hello, I´m an Erasmus student," is a sentence that has completely lost its sense and spins in my mouth like a tasteless chewing gum. In addition, the timetables are always in Czech, even if it´s the English or the French department. We asked the secretary to translate them to us, but couldn´t cause they were in abbreviations. "Not even the Czech people can understand this?" Ana, my classmate, and I stood there astonished, staring the letters like if they were Egyptian hieroglyphics: birds, big eyes, or men in underwear frozen in awkward posture.

        Generally these days you feel puzzled, foolish and like teleported to Uranus. The third say Ana and I got lost and couldn´t find our dorm. It was sunset, nobody in these silent, gloomy streets, only big dogs barking at us. When we finally found our way back, the receptionist´s wooden face seemed to us the prettiest image in Prague. "Home again."

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