Having a wonderful time reminiscing about all my past travel (and other) adventures. Hope you’ll share them with me in my blog, “All Roads Led to Russia.”
Not for you, good reader . . . for myself. To see how far I get into this day without writing anything for my blog.
I’ve been sitting here, staring at a blank screen, hands poised motionless over the keyboard, on and off for the past couple of hours. And I’ve got nothing.
Oh, there’s plenty of news in the media. As usual, it’s all bad, and it’s mostly about Russia. It’s beginning to feel like the Cold War ‘80s again, with all the sh*t happening over there. And it’s not that I’ve become tired of writing about it; but I’m pretty sure that by now you’re sick to death of reading about them: Putin, Peskov, Medvedev, Lavrov, and the rest. Of course, there’s also the Middle East, China, North Korea . . . and it’s all gloom and doom.
But you see what’s happening, don’t you? With Putin making nuclear threats; Netanyahu being chased by the International Criminal Court; the first Trump cabinet nominee already dropping out; and some crazy woman trying to take over Romania . . . well, it’s just downright depressing, demoralizing, and decidedly disturbing.
So, unless something big splashes onto the headlines in the next hours, I’m taking one of my short breaks. Maybe I’ll think of something amusing to talk to you about . . . something not news-related . . . something other than the price of eggs or the latest celebrity to be accused of, well, whatever.
Or maybe I’ll just start my Christmas shopping.
Or this:
Yeah . . . I like that one. Anyone care to join me?
I’ve often wondered how frequent flyers keep track of where they are when they wake up in the morning in yet another Marriott hotel that looks just like every other Marriott hotel in the world. But hopefully, although it may take a moment to remember where they are, they at least know who they are, and what country issued their passport.
Vasyl Verameychyk, on the other hand, might have a more serious problem: that of figuring out where he belongs, and whether his passport will be considered valid on any given day.
Vasyl Verameychyk
A very brief report in yesterday’s news opened with this sentence:
“Vietnam has extradited a Belarusian national who fought as a volunteer in Ukraine on Kyiv’s side to Minsk, Belarusian media reported on November 20.” [RFE/RL, November 20, 2024.]
Wait . . . what?!! How did Vietnam get into the picture?
The report went on to indicate that Vasyl is a Belarusian national who had served in the Belarusian Army for seven years, but joined in the anti-government protests of 2020. Under threat of arrest for his oppositionist activities, he fled to Ukraine, where he then fought as a volunteer against the Russian invasion of 2022 until he was wounded in April of that same year.
He next was denied permission to settle in Lithuania due to his former Belarusian Army service — the Lithuanian government being understandably wary of anyone from a Russian puppet state. So he moved to Vietnam.
Why Vietnam? Good question. The article doesn’t provide that information, and I’m having a really difficult time trying to imagine the mental leap that carried Vasyl from the Baltics to a Southeast Asian country that has drawn ever closer to Russia in recent years, and since 2022 — at the Kremlin’s request — has deported several Russian citizens living in Vietnam because they criticized the Russian invasion of Ukraine.
Vietnamese President Vo Van Thuong with Vladimir Putin
But there he was, when Aleksandr Lukashenko — self-proclaimed president of Belarus — apparently had no trouble convincing the Vietnamese authorities to extradite Vasyl back to Minsk last month to face as-yet-unspecified charges, despite international appeals having been lodged in his behalf.
Putin and Lukashenko: Two of a Kind
Today, a statement was issued from the office of Belarusian opposition leader Svyatlana Tsikhanouskaya, condemning the extradition and placing the blame squarely where it belongs — on Lukashenko’s relentless targeting of his opponents, whether inside or outside of Belarus. [RFE/RL, November 21, 2024.] Clearly, he takes his cues from his Russian patron.
The statement also advises Belarusians living abroad to “remain vigilant against potential actions by Lukashenka’s [sic] security services.” [Id.]
Poor Vasyl; the warning comes too late for him. He did nothing more than express his opposition to an illegal, immoral war. And for that, he found himself stateless: wanted by Belarus, unwanted by Lithuania, and hunted down in Vietnam.
There really is no way to run far enough, or anywhere safe enough to hide in this world.
You may have noticed two posts today, identical but for the titles and the first pictures. The reason is that Facebook — on which I share my blog posts — removed the first one, claiming it didn’t meet their criteria. It was titled “I Have An Incredible New Job,” and featured side-by-side photos of Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy. I guess someone at FB found that offensive. I consider it censorship — and I find that offensive!
I have been watching with unbridled envy as one unqualified person after another . . . after another . . . after another . . . wins a coveted spot on the incoming Trump administration’s Cabinet — subject, of course, to Congressional approval, which shouldn’t be much of a problem considering the makeup of the incoming Congress.
And the one appointment that strikes me as the most original is not actually a Cabinet position, but the new DOGE — Department of Government Efficiency — which, because of its unique status as “non-governmental,” apparently will avoid having to undergo the usual vetting process. This, of course, is most fortunate for Elon Musk, who now doesn’t have to worry about all those pesky conflict of interest issues.
(Incidentally, does it strike anyone else as a little too coincidental that the definition of “doge” includes “president,” “chief of state,” “commander in chief,” “grand vizier,” and “person in charge”?)
Ta-Da!
Anyway, I’ve decided that, being at least as qualified (though clearly not as wealthy) as any of the appointees named thus far, I deserve a seat at the table as well. I’m a native-born American citizen, well over 21 years of age, reasonably intelligent; I have excellent spelling and grammatical skills, most of my marbles, and — unlike any of the others — I still possess a scruple or two.
Therefore, I have accepted the position — which I magnanimously offered myself just a few hours ago — of Chairman of the Committee to Rewrite the English-language Dictionary . . . also known, in typical Washington acronym fashion, as CRED.
And in case you’re wondering about my “creds” for the position as Chairman of CRED . . . well, not to worry. I’ve already vetted myself, and I can assure you that I’ve never had an affair with or been hit on by Donald Trump, Elon Musk, or Sean “Diddy” Combs; never been represented in a legal matter by Rudy Giuliani; and never met with Vladimir Putin or any member of his inner circle, especially not Dmitry Peskov.
In other words, I’m dull as dishwater.
Well, whatever . . .
But I do have a great many ideas for the re-write of the English-language dictionary, which — as I am sure you will agree — is essential to the new administration’s goal of tearing down every facet of the structure that has made America the model of freedom and democracy it has been for the past 248 years, and the capitalist economy on which most of the world’s economies rely.
So without further ado, I give you just a small sampling of what we have to look forward to (not in alphabetical or any other specific order).
*. *. *
Truth. Previous definitions included such outmoded ideas as “accuracy,” “fact,” “veracity,” and “principle.” The new definition shall be: “Whatever any current member of the Trump administration declares it to be.”
Honor, Honesty. Throughout the centuries, words have passed in and out of use. The time has come for all forms of these two to go, and they shall henceforth be stricken from the new dictionary.
Altruism. Formerly defined as “selflessness,” “benevolence,” “magnanimity,” “public spirit,” and “social conscience,” the revised definition shall be: “Whatever any current member of the Trump administration decides is best for the Trump administration.”
Fiscal Responsibility. Forget any ridiculous prior concept of this term. It is now: “Whatever is required to make the rich richer, and the rest of us irrelevant.”
Patriotism. Another one of those words whose usefulness has failed to evolve over time, and is now obsolete. Out it goes.
As I said, this is just an inkling of what you have to look forward to from my Committee (whose subordinate members have yet to be chosen, but will undoubtedly include a spelling champion such as Dan Quayle, and hopefully a grammarian on the order of Arnold Schwarzenegger).
But there is one more word that I must include here, because it is, as we all know, of supreme importance to Donald Trump himself. And that word is:
Loyalty. The definition itself will not change; it will still mean “allegiance,” “devotion,” “fealty,” “obedience,” etc. However, it will now be strictly a one-way concept, i.e., loyalty to Donald Trump.
I have been watching with unbridled envy as one unqualified person after another . . . after another . . . after another . . . wins a coveted spot on the incoming Trump administration’s Cabinet — subject, of course, to Congressional approval, which shouldn’t be much of a problem considering the makeup of the incoming Congress.
And the one appointment that strikes me as the most original is not actually a Cabinet position, but the new DOGE — Department of Government Efficiency — which, because of its unique status as “non-governmental,” apparently will avoid having to undergo the usual vetting process. This, of course, is most fortunate for Elon Musk, who now doesn’t have to worry about all those pesky conflict of interest issues.
(Incidentally, does it strike anyone else as a little too coincidental that the definition of “doge” includes “president,” “chief of state,” “commander in chief,” “grand vizier,” and “person in charge”?)
The Dogs of DOGE
Anyway, I’ve decided that, being at least as qualified (though clearly not as wealthy) as any of the appointees named thus far, I deserve a seat at the table as well. I’m a native-born American citizen, well over 21 years of age, reasonably intelligent; I have excellent spelling and grammatical skills, most of my marbles, and — unlike any of the others — I still possess a scruple or two.
Therefore, I have accepted the position — which I magnanimously offered myself just a few hours ago — of Chairman of the Committee to Rewrite the English-language Dictionary . . . also known, in typical Washington acronym fashion, as CRED.
And in case you’re wondering about my “creds” for the position as Chairman of CRED . . . well, not to worry. I’ve already vetted myself, and I can assure you that I’ve never had an affair with or been hit on by Donald Trump, Elon Musk, or Sean “Diddy” Combs; never been represented in a legal matter by Rudy Giuliani; and never met with Vladimir Putin or any member of his inner circle, especially not Dmitry Peskov.
In other words, I’m dull as dishwater.
Well, whatever . . .
But I do have a great many ideas for the re-write of the English-language dictionary, which — as I am sure you will agree — is essential to the new administration’s goal of tearing down every facet of the structure that has made America the model of freedom and democracy it has been for the past 248 years, and the capitalist economy on which most of the world’s economies rely.
So without further ado, I give you just a small sampling of what we have to look forward to (not in alphabetical or any other specific order).
*. *. *
Truth. Previous definitions included such outmoded ideas as “accuracy,” “fact,” “veracity,” and “principle.” The new definition shall be: “Whatever any current member of the Trump administration declares it to be.”
Honor, Honesty. Throughout the centuries, words have passed in and out of use. The time has come for all forms of these two to go, and they shall henceforth be stricken from the new dictionary.
Altruism. Formerly defined as “selflessness,” “benevolence,” “magnanimity,” “public spirit,” and “social conscience,” the revised definition shall be: “Whatever any current member of the Trump administration decides is best for the Trump administration.”
Fiscal Responsibility. Forget any ridiculous prior concept of this term. It is now: “Whatever is required to make the rich richer, and the rest of us irrelevant.”
Patriotism. Another one of those words whose usefulness has failed to evolve over time, and is now obsolete. Out it goes.
As I said, this is just an inkling of what you have to look forward to from my Committee (whose subordinate members have yet to be chosen, but will undoubtedly include a spelling champion such as Dan Quayle, and hopefully a grammarian on the order of Arnold Schwarzenegger).
But there is one more word that I must include here, because it is, as we all know, of supreme importance to Donald Trump himself. And that word is:
Loyalty. The definition itself will not change; it will still mean “allegiance,” “devotion,” “fealty,” “obedience,” etc. However, it will now be strictly a one-way concept, i.e., loyalty to Donald Trump.
Today is the 1001st day of the war in Ukraine — the war that Russia said was never going to happen, even as it mobilized its forces on the border near the Donetsk and Luhansk regions of Ukraine in February of 2022. Until, on February 24th, it did happen . . . Vladimir Putin labeling it a “special military operation” to support breakaway elements falsely claiming persecution by alleged neo-Nazi Ukrainian leaders — a leadership in actuality headed by a mild-mannered Jewish president, Volodymyr Zelensky.
Volodymyr Zelensky – Before the War
I would say that you can’t make this stuff up . . . only Putin did just that. The entire war — all 1,000 days of it — has been based on a fiction designed to camouflage . . . though not at all convincingly . . . his mad empirical ambition to “reclaim” sovereign territory and reunite the former Soviet republics.
A “Special Military Operation” Begins
And in that 1,000-day span, he has caused the deaths and maiming of no fewer than half a million people — civilian as well as military, on both sides of the conflict — and laid waste to vast regions of a peaceful nation. He has torn families apart, forced millions to flee their lifelong homes, ripped children from the arms of their parents.
He is a murderer, a war criminal, an evil excuse for a human being. He is the 21st Century’s Joseph Stalin, Adolf Hitler and Osama bin Laden combined. And still he sits in the Kremlin, imprisoning his own people under onerous new laws . . . and threatening Ukraine and its allies with the “nuclear option.”
And the world holds its collective breath and wonders . . .
This is not about a Kingston Trio folk song from the 1960s, though I admit that the melody is now stuck in my head. I’ll be humming it for the next couple of days, unless someone plays “All I Want For Christmas Is You” again.
But this is about real soldiers — missing ones.
Mobilized Russian Soldier Undergoing Training – Moscow Region – December 2022
The independent news source Novaya Gazeta Europe reports that 1,010 soldiers — 858 professionals, 150 draftees from the 2022 mobilization, and two conscripts — have deserted from a single division, based in the Volgograd region, that has been deployed in Ukraine since the start of the war nearly three years ago. [Novaya Gazeta Europe, November 19, 2024.]
The original source of the information is IStories, another independent news outlet, which in turn cited a document sent to Russian regional authorities in the spring of this year by the command of the 20th Guards Motor Rifle Division of the Russian Ground Forces. IStories wrote:
“Over 1,000 men have abandoned just one division, while there are at least two dozen divisions involved in the war of Ukraine.” [Id.]
This, IStories says, could indicate a huge number of missing troops.
Yes . . . seriously!
One soldier was quoted as saying that many of the men had gone AWOL early in the war, when they realized it was going to last “longer than two weeks,” as they said they had been promised by their commanding officers. [Id.]
Naturally, no official figures concerning deserters — in fact, no negative data concerning anything — are disclosed by the Russian authorities. During the first six months following the February 24, 2022, invasion, professional soldiers were able to terminate their contracts with the Russian Ministry of Defense — though many were coerced or threatened into staying. Since September 2022, however, all such contracts have been open-ended.
*. *. *
Aside from the question of why this is happening — why the Russian troops are deserting in such unusually large numbers — there is another question that is driving me crazy:
Where the hell are they??!!!
Seriously, where and how do 1,000 or more Russian soldiers hide in Ukraine? Have they been taken prisoner? And if so, why haven’t the Ukrainian authorities publicized it? Did they manage to sneak into other countries bordering Ukraine? And, being Russian — being the enemy — wouldn’t that also have been reported? Have they formed a commune in the Carpathian Mountains? Joined Donald Trump’s transition team? Or Elon Musk’s SpaceX program?
Surely they wouldn’t have returned to Russia to face arrest.
It’s a mystery, for certain. And if anyone has the answer, I’d really like to know where all those soldiers have gone.
I’m writing this on November 19th — the date in 1863 when President Abraham Lincoln stood on a battlefield in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and spoke the words that would not only inspire a nation at war with itself, but would echo through the years to inspire future generations of Americans, both at war and in times of peace.
President Abraham Lincoln
Now, 161 years later, our country is facing increasing external threats from foreign enemies, as well as internal changes that threaten our very ability to protect ourselves from those enemies. The world of 2024 is vastly different from Lincoln’s: our enemies are closer, in terms of travel time; and our weaponry is no longer limited to the musket and the cannon.
What our country needs, now more than ever before, is unity. What we have instead, and are facing to an even greater extent in the immediate future, is divisiveness of a magnitude not seen since Lincoln’s time. And we need a government that will stop fomenting anger and hatred, and instead concentrate on standing up to external foes . . . rather than pandering to them for personal advantage.
So, on this anniversary — and just a week after our Veterans Day remembrance — I thought it would be appropriate to repeat a portion of Lincoln’s address to the troops at Gettysburg . . . lest we forget:
“The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here, have, thus far, so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
Delivering his address at Gettysburg
“. . . of the people, by the people, for the people . . .”
As my grandmother used to say (and as I have quoted many times in the past): From his mouth to God’s ears.
Here is the rest of that summer of ‘91 in Prague, a year and a half after the expulsion of the communist regime. I had arrived just as the last of the Soviet military occupiers were leaving, and the city was in full celebration mode. It was truly a magical time, and one that I feel blessed to have shared with the Czech citizens who made it happen. When my time there was over, I was sad to leave them . . . though, as Dorothy said to Toto, there really is no place like home.
*. *. *
Now, where did we leave off last time? Right — Valerie had been rescued from the elevator and made good her escape from Prague. It was her loss; she missed out on a lot of good times.
On the way to work one day, I noticed printed signs posted on utility poles and trees all along the main streets, but couldn’t make out what they said. When I asked someone at work, I was told they were an announcement of the regular five-year cleaning of the pipes. All water was to be shut down throughout the city — except in the central, Old Town district — for the upcoming weekend. That explained the rusty water in my shower.
Astronomical Clock, Tyn Church – Old Town Prague
But what does one do without water for an entire weekend? Well, if you’re an American on an expense account, you either leave town or check into a hotel where there is water. But being tourist season, all the major hotels were already full, and I could only find space in a lovely little boutique hotel, the Ungelt, just off the Old Town Square. It was perfectly located, and for $200 I had — not just a room — but a beautiful two-bedroom, two-bath suite with a huge living room and a full kitchen. Good thing, too, since it turned out I was going to have to share it with a partner coming in from the Cleveland office.
The partner’s secretary called one day just before the water shutdown to ask whether we could help out with a hotel issue. Her boss would be arriving in Prague a day earlier than originally planned, but when she had tried to add a day at the start of his hotel reservation, she had been told that all rooms in the city were booked, due both to the usual tourist crush and the upcoming water issue. I explained the situation to her, which she of course found incredible, being from Cleveland where tourist invasions were not really a problem and the water system wasn’t 500 years old. But I had a brilliant idea. I said I had just reserved a two-bedroom suite for myself, and I would be happy to have company for the one night. Her reaction was hilarious! She simply could not believe that I — a woman — would agree to share living space with a man — and a married man at that — whom I had never even met. Ah, these moral midwesterners! She just didn’t understand, first, that in most of the western world this would not be considered shocking; second, that he was a partner in the firm and if he tried anything objectionable, I would know exactly where to find his wife; and third, that this was Prague, where practically nothing was considered unusual. So she checked with her boss, and he said “yes please” — which must have sent her into spasms.
Hotel Ungelt, Prague
As it turned out, though, the water was restored before he arrived and I was able to move back into my apartment after only one night in the hotel. He was already on a plane by that time, so I left a note and the key for him at the hotel desk, and said I’d see him at the office on Monday. When we did finally meet, he said he and his wife had had a good laugh over the situation, and yes, his secretary was a bit on the puritanical side. No kidding!
Anyway, while I was staying at the hotel, I was able to do some wandering around the Old Town, where I encountered a family of three from Germany: a young couple and a middle-aged woman, who were driving around Europe on the cheap. The young man spoke English, and told me they had lost their bearings in the city’s twisted streets. He asked if I could direct them back to the student hostel where they had stayed the night before. He showed me a piece of paper with the supposed address on it, but what they had written down was the word “Ulitsa,” which they had copied from a street sign, and which I had to explain means “Street” — not the name of the street as they had thought. They didn’t realize that the street names were shown in reverse, as for example, “Street Main.” Dismayed, they asked where else they might stay, and I told them about the water situation and the packed hotels, and that I had even had to move out of my apartment to an expensive hotel for two days. The young man suddenly became very excited. Could they stay in my apartment, since I wasn’t using it?
Old Town Square, Prague
Now, I’ve heard of chutzpah, but this was beyond belief. Did I have “STUPID” written across my forehead? Was I really going to let three total strangers — and wayfaring tourists at that — move into my apartment, where all my belongings were, and where they couldn’t bathe or flush the toilet for two days??? Really? So I quickly made up a story about a landlord who wouldn’t allow tenants to sublet, wished them well, and got away from them as quickly as I could. They had a car, and I assume they slept in it that night. If they could even remember on which ulitsa they’d parked it!
*. *. *
As wonderfully friendly and generally safe as Prague was, it was not without its problems. The Romany people — commonly referred to as Gypsies — live in many parts of Europe, and were considered a huge problem in Prague at that time. Sadly, they were blamed for every crime that occurred anywhere in the city, whether they were guilty or not. One day, Rudy had picked me up at my apartment, and as we drove down the hill and around the corner, I noticed a man lying on the ground near the rear of a parked car, and saw blood on the ground near his head. I shouted at Rudy to stop, but instead he merely slowed down, took one look at the man, and kept going, saying it was not safe to stop. That was not like Rudy at all, and I kept asking him what was wrong with him. His answer shocked me. He said the man was a Gypsy, and if he was alive, regained consciousness and became frightened, he could very easily pull a knife and kill us both.
A Romany (Gypsy) Family
Now, I’m a city girl, and I’m no stranger to the dangers posed by all sorts of unsavory people. But I’ve also seen the results of hatred and bigotry, and I just could not allow a man to lie there and possibly die simply because we were afraid. So I told Rudy to find the nearest police or fire station. As luck would have it, just up the street we encountered a police car with two officers, stopped them, and led them back to the injured man, who was by then sitting up and holding the back of his head. The officers took charge, and we were able to go on our way. Sadly, that too was Prague. It’s the one truly negative memory I have of that summer, and it will never go away.
But, as with any ethnic group, there are Gypsies . . . and there are Gypsies.
Of all of the wonderful restaurants in Prague that year, my favorite was located outside the city center in a big, rustic log cabin set back from the road in a thinly wooded area. I never would have found it on my own, but my co-workers seemed to know every eating spot in town. The dining room was huge and beautifully rustic, and in the center was an enormous open fire pit with a dozen or more chickens turning continuously on a long spit. And there was entertainment: a group of Gypsy musicians, who — along with the owners of the restaurant — were delighted to meet the friendly American woman who spoke to them in Russian. As a result, I was always given the best table near the rotisserie, and serenaded to the soulful strains of Gypsy violins whenever I visited. (And yes, you can get sick and tired of hearing Zigeunerweisen.) Of course, as an American, I was by Eastern European standards a good tipper, so those guys weren’t stupid. But I had grown very fond of them, and hated saying goodbye to them at the end of the summer. If they went out and committed crimes after work, I never knew about it, and didn’t want to know. They were my Gypsies.
Gypsy Love
*. *. *
Then there was U Fleku — a brewpub that had been in continuous operation since the year 1499, even through the much more recent Nazi and Communist occupations. My friends Joe and Mary Saba — you may remember them from the London episode — came to Prague to work for a couple of weeks, during which time Joe had a big birthday to celebrate. So we —about a half dozen of us — took him to U Fleku and surprised him with a birthday cake. However, the only candles we had been able to find were the size of Chanukah candles, and when they were all lit, we were sure the blaze was going to burn down the 500-year-old wooden building. But it didn’t. And as we sang “Happy Birthday,” we were surprised and delighted to hear everyone in the room join in, singing in Czech. We had clearly chosen the perfect place for Joe’s birthday party — even though I still didn’t like beer.
U Fleku: More Than Just Beer
Oh, and about that cake. I had stopped that morning at my favorite bakery to order it. It was to be freshly baked and ready for pick-up that afternoon. I couldn’t decide which of several flavors to choose, so I said — or thought I said — “either that one or that one,” pointing to two of the samples. The cost was an incredible $7.00, which would have been the price of just a couple of slices back home. But when Rudy went to pick up the cake in the afternoon, he returned to the office with, not one, but both cakes, and for the same $7.00 — an unbelievable $3.50 apiece! I guess I must have gotten my conjunctions mixed up; clearly, I didn’t know my “or” from my “and.” The second cake did not go to waste, though — my Czech friends knew how to eat as well as drink. I could never quite understand how they stayed so slender; must have been all the walking.
*. *. *
One more restaurant story. Well, actually a priest story. Or both. Anyway, I received a call one day from Michael Silverman in the Washington office (also from my London and Budapest adventures), telling me that a client and friend from Rutgers University, Dan Matuszewski, was coming to Prague and would be calling me to touch base. Dan was a delightful guy, and I was looking forward to hearing from him. When he called a few days later, to my surprise and delight he invited me to join him for dinner, and said that there would be a third person with us: Father Theodore Hesburgh, then President of Notre Dame University. I had heard of but never met “Father Ted,” as he was affectionately called, and was honored to have the opportunity. However, not being Catholic, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, and decided I had better be on my best behavior.
To begin with, I couldn’t find the restaurant. I had the name (the Beograd — Belgrade, in English), as well as the address, and I knew where the street was, just off of the lower end of the famous Wenceslas Square. But I couldn’t find a building with the right street number, nor was there a visible sign with the name of the restaurant. So I approached a man walking by, who didn’t speak English, and asked him for the “Restaurace Beograd” — the Czech words for Belgrade Restaurant. Again, though, my pronunciation must have been less than perfect, because the poor man kept saying, “NeBeograd. Praha. Praha.” (“Not Belgrade. Prague. Prague.”) He obviously thought I was suffering from some form of dementia and believed I was in Yugoslavia! As he walked away, shaking his head slowly from side to side in apparent sympathy, I was thinking about how to find a Czech language tutor, and soon. But first I had to find the restaurant.
Belgrade Restaurant: Can you see the name? I couldn’t.
I did locate it a few minutes later, with the help of another passerby, just around the corner from where I had been looking. It seemed that the street, which appeared to end at a cross street, actually made a 90-degree right turn and continued under the same name. Oh, well . . . that’s Prague.
When I finally arrived, Dan and Father Ted were already finishing their first round of drinks, and I soon discovered to my everlasting delight that Father Ted was one of the funniest, most interesting, and most down-to-earth priests one could imagine. I can’t think of a topic we didn’t cover during that dinner, most of it with a distinct overtone of irreverence and accompanied by a good bit of raucous laughter. I’m not sure how much any of us managed to eat that night, but it was a great time and one of my fondest memories of Prague. I do regret, though, that I never did make it to Yugoslavia.
*. *. *
My very first chapter of this blog began with the sentence, “I once climbed a mountain in Czechoslovakia.” I did not lie, although “mountain” may have been a slight exaggeration. It sure felt like a mountain, though. Google Maps tells me that the tallest mountain in the Czech Republic is Snezka, at 1,603.3 meters, or 5,260 feet — just twenty feet short of a mile high. On the other hand, my mountain, Hluboka, is described as “a hill.” But from personal experience, I can tell you that even the hills of San Francisco can’t hold a candle to the one leading up to Hluboka Castle. To me, it was a mountain. And you can’t drive right up to the castle, whether by car or tour bus; parking is at the bottom, and then you walk. Straight up. It probably only took about 10-15 minutes, but it felt like hours. All of my walking around Prague had not prepared my body for that experience, and my legs were sore for a week (a good excuse for more of that marvelous, medicinal Becherovka!). But the magnificent castle at the top was well worth the trek. And that was just one part of a lovely weekend spent at Jana’s parents’ home in the nearby town of Pisek.
Hluboka Castle – Czech Republic
Before I go on with that weekend, let me tell you about all of those Janas I keep mentioning. In order of seniority, they were: Jana Pilatova (the one from Pisek and the smartest), Jana Stefakova (the hottie with the equally hot boyfriend), and Jana Jungmannova (the youngest, prettiest, and sweetest). If you noticed the “ova” ending on all their family names, that’s the feminine designation. The Czechs — in 1991, at least — had no problem with the centuries-old system of gender-specific identification.
So Jana P. had invited me to meet her family and get out of the city for a couple of days. It was about a two-hour bus ride through the beautiful countryside of Bohemia. Her parents had a very nice, comfortable, older home on a substantial piece of land with a huge vegetable garden in the rear. Her father was a farmer who worked for a large produce grower, and everything they ate was freshly picked or killed, skillfully prepared, and incredibly delicious. But they couldn’t understand why I had such a small appetite — which, I promise you, was not the case at all. They could not have been more hospitable, and I found them to be well-educated and politically well-informed, as was their daughter Jana. The dinner conversation was lively, mostly about their joy at finally being rid of the [expletive deleted] Russians. It is a truism that you don’t really get to know a country until you have spent time with the “ordinary” people, away from the tourist areas; and I felt privileged to have had that opportunity.
Pisek, South Bohemia, Czech Republic
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But all good things must come to an end. I was scheduled to return home during the last week of August, having already extended my stay for a couple of weeks at the firm’s request. As much as I loved being there, it was the longest I had ever been away from home, and I was feeling a bit homesick. I had a tape of Simon & Garfunkel’s concert in Central Park, and kept playing “Homeward Bound,” over and over and over again. So when I was asked to extend once more until after Labor Day, some little voice in the back of my head told me I had to decline. When I announced to the gang from the office that I was going, they planned a farewell barbecue at Rudy’s house, and I felt as though I had truly found a second family — a diverse and somewhat quirky family — in Prague, and it was not easy to leave them. But that voice kept telling me to get on home, and so I left as scheduled, with my six pieces of overweight luggage, some beautiful Czech crystal, the strains of Mozart and Gypsy melodies lingering in my mind and heart, and a wealth of incredible memories.
Unforgettable Prague
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A week or so later, just before Labor Day, my mother became ill and entered the hospital. She passed away on September 18th, of congestive heart failure. I had come home just in time. Always, always listen to that little voice.
But even in the aftermath of a tragedy, good things can happen. The loss of someone close to you can bring with it the realization of how precarious life really is, and how important it is to make the most of the time we’re allotted. And as I prepared to do exactly that, it became more and more clear that, for me, all roads did indeed lead to Russia.
Signing off until next time, Brendochka 3/2/23 (re-posted 11/22/23 and 11/19/24)
. . . that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Vladimir Putin played dirty. He had his North Korean friend, Kim Jong Un, send 11,000 troops to fight with the Russians in Ukraine. According to Putin’s own philosophy, that calls for a response. But Ukraine doesn’t have the option of calling on outsiders to do their work for them.
So why is the aggressor surprised when his victims fight back with the only means available to them? Has Putin seen the devastation his weapons have caused in Ukraine? The civilians he has slaughtered? The hell he has created for a peaceable nation that was no threat to him?
Ukraine’s missile struck an ammunition warehouse — a legitimate military target — not a school, or an apartment building, or a maternity hospital.
Paybacks are hell, Mr. Putin. You started this. And Ukraine isn’t anywhere near to being even yet — nor do they want to be. It’s time for you to stop whining, admit the monstrous crimes you have committed, and call an end to it.
You want to be a hero? It’s simple: First be a mensch.
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