Irony Can Be So Ironic

Funny, now, that in the same post in which I wrote such enthusiastic and complimentary things about United Airlines staff, I specifically mentioned the familiarity we all have with airlines losing our bags.

Because, sure enough, while I was writing that previous post during the final leg of my international Prague-to-Denver-to-Tucson trip ... my suitcase was left behind by United Airlines in Denver, and thus did not arrive in the Tucson airport when I did. It was, in fact, the only bag scheduled to be on that flight that wasn't put on the plane, meaning I was the only person left waiting at the baggage carousel at the end.

The nice — but clearly-trained-how-to-let-people-vent-without-engaging — representative explained that they had my bag, and it would be put on the next flight, arriving at 9:45 that evening. Too late, I was told, to have it delivered to me that night, unfortunately, "but we can bring it to you around lunchtime tomorrow."

Arrggh. I won't go through it all. Suffice it to say I was in my same clothes at the United counter when it opened Saturday morning at 5 am — not that big a deal, as I had been awake since 1:30 — to get my bag.

But it is odd. This is literally the third time in the last four international trips I've taken where my bag hasn't arrived with me. And adding to the indignity is that, as a result of my advanced frequent-flier-club membership, United representatives are always excited to carefully place the orange "Priority" tag on my bags when I check in. It's not clearly what the benefits of that tag are, exactly.

David at 5:10 am walking out of United's Lost Luggage office.
Notice that shiny orange "Priority" tag!

Tucson airport is not a hubbub of activity so early.

Ah well. I guess I should just assume it's going to happen, now, and allow myself to be pleasantly surprised when the bag happens to appear on time after all.

Still. For the airline to be losing my bag as I write a post congratulating them for their superior customer service is an entertaining irony.

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On a happier note, I made a point of going to Le Buzz, my favorite Tucson breakfast place, with my friend Anne, at my first real opportunity, and I took some photos and a video to make you all jealous. As it happened, I resisted the temptation the pastries represented and satisfied my hunger with a simple (but delicious) omelette and coffee, but ... it wasn't easy. 😊

My choice: Southwestern Omelette with guacamole and sour bread toast

Sated, Anne and I headed out into the beautiful Tucson sunshine (though it was still early morning, so still cold). Making this trip wasn't necessarily part of the plan, but leaving the Central European winter for the 75-degree Arizona sun wasn't too difficult.

Effective Ways of Filling Time at the Airport

The sneaky little rascal, back in my possession

Pro tip: When you face a three-hour layover in your international travel and need to find a way to make the time pass quickly … just leave your laptop on the airplane and wait to discover you don't have it until after you’ve: 1) deplaned; 2) walked down an endless corridor; 3) gone through passport control; 4) waited 20 minutes for your bag to arrive; 5) rechecked said bag; 6) gone up through the terminal; 7) gone through security; 8) waited for the train to other terminals; 9) taken said train to your terminal; and 10) walked up two flights of stairs and through that terminal to the United Club lounge.

You will find, if you follow these simple instructions, and then, in a panic, go to an agent and ask for help, and she makes several phone calls to various people in the airport, one of whom said she would go look and call back but then never called back or answered the phone again, that the remaining time before your connecting flight will pass incredibly quickly, forcing you to decide whether to stay and hope that someone, or the cleaning team, or someone will report finding your bag before you have to leave, or, resigned, head to your gate and your onward flight.

Ok, so, in my case, while I waited in the lounge, I filled out the United Airlines online Lost & Found form, and the very kind agent who was helping me said that everything found by the cleaners would be dropped in a lock box, which would be opened every 3-4 days, with the contents itemized and … sent to Houston, from whence perhaps they could be recovered.

She also took down my phone number and promised to call if that woman in the international terminal got back to her. When it was time for me to head off to my gate I checked one last time, and she expressed her real sympathy, and took down my email address, and I thanked her, and … 

… and her colleague, who had been at the desk next to her when I first arrived but had been gone since, walked up, literally as I was turning to head out, with my laptop bag, asking if that was it.

A-M-A-Z-I-N-G

Turns out, that woman we had called in the international terminal had gone to look for the laptop after all, and had called back to say she found it, during the two minutes when “my” agent was away from her desk. Her colleague had taken the call, and not being sure if I’d have time to go all the way back to that terminal to get it and return (which would presumably mean repeating all the steps mentioned in my first paragraph, maybe twice), he — perhaps with the ability to bypass some of the more time-consuming elements — had just taken off to get it on his own, hoping to get back before I left … and not telling either of us!

This really is one of those moments they’re making commercials out of these days, with United employees going above and beyond to help passengers. And trust me, I know, we’ve all had major problems with giant airlines and air travel in our lives, whether in the form of crowded airplanes, or rude passengers, or lost luggage, or delayed flights, or whatever. But sometimes, man … sometimes. This was awesome.

I got their names: Brayan Gomez and Cherrie David. Anybody who goes through the United Club lounge in the B terminal of Denver Airport, please stop by and tell them they’re awesome. 

Arizona skies from overhead

Brush with Greatness

So still no news about the visa, and since my 90-day Schengen (tourist) visa expires tomorrow, I'm writing this from the Frankfurt airport, waiting to board my flight to Denver, from whence to Arizona for a week. I'm hoping that news about the new visa will come today or sometime in the next few days, so I can book a flight to Los Angeles (to pick it up) and fly home and to Catalina next Friday.

But if not, I've made arrangements to fly to Michigan and spend a week and a half with friends there. After that ... we'll see. Morocco? Thailand? Belize? England? Montenegro? Who knows.

I did, though, check a few days ago, and while, indeed, the Czech consulate promised to make a determination about the visa after 90 days (a period which expired a week and a half ago), they also said in "especially complicated" cases that period can be extended to 120 days. Now, frankly, I don't think my application is complicated at all, let alone "especially" so. It's all straight-forward, and the only real question-mark that I can imagine is whether the potential benefit to the Czech Republic of bringing me in (i.e., the tax revenues they'll receive from my businesses, the amount of investment I'll make into the country, the amount I'll spend, etc.) is worth it. I don't know the answer to that, of course, but presumably they've got a simple algorithm they apply in such cases, so ... it should be straight-forward.

Instead, I think, honestly, that, in a government bureaucracy, the fact that the statute allows them to take 120 days (sure, for "especially complicated" cases, but that only means they can refer to that if they need to), that's generally what they're going to take. So I'm hoping this delay does not, in fact, reflect problems with my application, but only the ever-familiar slowness of these kinds of processes.

Anyway, the good news is, that means this process isn't open-ended. I'll definitely get an answer after 120 days — so around March 10 — if not before. Keep those fingers crossed for me!

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Difficult to leave Catalina this morning, though, not knowing if I'll see her next week, or in late May. I know she's not a human child, obviously, but ... she's as close to that as I have, and while I'm in no sense the best cat Dad out there ... she's pretty special to me. I hate feeling like I'm abandoning her. Poor thing. Hope I come back soon.

Speaking of which, someone rang my doorbell from the street last night, which panicked her off my lap and into hiding. After I went to the little video system by the front door to determine it was a mistake I came back to the living room and found that the combination of fear and curiosity she was experiencing had resulted in a new game: "Where's the Cat(alina)?" You can play along!

For $10,000: Wherrrrrrrrre's the Catalina?!!?

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Waiting in the passport control line here in Frankfurt it occurred to me that I was standing right behind Jeff Goldblum, wearing super-loose (but clearly expensive) jeans and a big black flat hat. Something like this, in fact, with an enormous brim. 

Note: Not Jeff Goldblum

Anyway, I quickly decided it wasn't Jeff Goldblum after all, but thinking that it would make a quick anecdote about how I briefly thought I was standing right next to Jeff Goldblum in line ... when two airport representatives rushed up to him, apologized profusely (though he seemed a little rattled at the attention, if anything, and didn't seem upset at all), explained that they were his "guides," and whisked him away to the front of the line to get through passport control.

Turns out ... it was Jeff Goldblum!

(And I'm not the first person to be struck by the hat, BTW).

Later, in the Business Class lounge, he was here again — still discombobulated and uncertain. At one point, getting food, he and I did a little do-si-do, which I exaggerated a little bit, hoping he would smile at me as people do, creating a real anecdote. Or who knows, he could say, "wow, you're really friendly -- why don't you be in my next show?!"

But he kept his head down, didn't notice me at all, and I never saw him again.

Thus endeth my brush with greateness.

Now. Time to board for Denver.

My Last Sunday in Prague Until ... ?

As if

Monday morning. My friend Jiri will be calling his friend in the foreign ministry (Foreign Ministry?) here this morning, and this time, unlike last week, he — the friend — has the reference number of my application, so he'll be able to pull up the file and take a look at it. Frankly, the fact that he offered to do so is encouraging, as I had assumed his immediate response would be, "Jiri, there's nothing I can do."

Fingers crossed. In all honesty, the fact that they didn't grant it immediately after the mandatory 90-day period (nor in the week since) is discouraging. But perhaps, with Jiri's friend's thumb on the scale, I'll get good news this week?

In the meantime I've bought a ticket back to the States for this Friday, and I'll have to stay there — or somewhere — until I get the visa, or until late May, when I can get a new Schengen tourist visa.

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Played friendly doubles yesterday at Štvanice, as I mentioned, and walked — it was cold, but I had a Fresh Air podcast to distract me — the half-hour or so to the island.

Approach on the little footbridge on the right-side of the map,
depart from the big bridge on the left side

As I walked up to the entrance of the tennis center I noticed some reserved parking spots close to the front door. You may have to expand the photo to see who they belong to, but ... it is fun being in this tennis-crazed country. I don't remember similar names in the Tucson Racquet & Fitness Club parking lot, at least.

Prestige has its privileges

Speaking of Ms. Vondrousova, check out this photo I took of a placard promoting her tennis academy. If that's not the cutest group of kids you've ever seen I'll eat my hat, and ... look at that little girl in the front left! You just know that 16 years from now she'll be lifting up a trophy somewhere!

Ladies and Gentlemen, your 2042 Billie Jean King Cup Champions

I took a different route home, this time heading out over the Hlakúv Bridge on the western side of the island. From whence I took first this photo of some remarkably dedicated surfers getting some practice. Again, it was below freezing. Wetsuit or no ... that's dedication, homes.

Then I turned around and got this photo looking the other direction, into the setting sun.

Not bad, from a busy urban bridge

Then home, to a bath, pizza, Michigan basketball, and a meowy cat. A decent Sunday, all things considered.

Though ... did I mention it was cold?

Wenceslas, Square and Upside Down

Several of my best friends here are out of town this weekend, so not much socializing available. Still, I forced myself, yesterday, to get off the sofa and get out, at least a little bit, before the 6:30 pm Crystal Palace game.

I started the morning by walking down to Wenceslas Square, to the Starbucks there that is, at least as far as I (and Google Maps) could determine, the only coffee shop outside the train station open at 7 am. It's about a 20-25 minute walk away — I got there at about 7:15.

The red dot is Starbucks

Turns out this was ... a mistake. Coffee and croissant in hand, I walked up to their spacious, and vacant, second floor seating area. Shortly after I sat myself down and opened up my laptop, however, the cleaning woman appeared, and started mopping around the entire area, scooting the approximately 14,000 (from what I gathered) wooden chairs loudly out of her way throughout, and sniffing while she worked.

That experience concluded, they turned on the loud pop music — whether for the staff or the presumably young/international customers gathering for super-early-morning coffee, I have no idea. Who knows — perhaps it's even designed to make longer stays there untenable, to keep us all moving. If so, it worked ... all too well, as I won't be coming back.

Ultimately the fault is mine, of course. Wenceslas Square is the Prague version of Times Square in the US, and expecting any Starbucks there to be clean, quiet, and calm, whether at 4 pm or 7 am, is probably unwise. Still. If you're in Prague, and you want an early morning coffee, I recommend against the Starbucks at Wenceslas Square. 

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Yes, those are functioning balconies

The second trip downtown, in the afternoon, was more successful. I took the advice of several American friends and went to Kino Lucerna — which, according to its website, "was inaugurated on March 12, 1909, and ... is was one of the oldest cinema halls still in operation across Europe and the world" — to see The Brutalist. This isn't my first time at Kino Lucerna — among other things, Liesel and I saw Amy, the Amy Winehouse documentary, there back in 2015 — but it's always a treat.

As for The Brutalist ... well. It's certainly interesting to see that the early-19th century literary trope of "old" Europe being represented in American fiction as rotten, decaying, and corrupting, compared to the innocent-and-therefore-virtuous America, has now been reversed, so we see European (and Jewish) immigrant Laszlo Toth, our protagonist, insisting, in tears, that there's something "rotten" in America, something wrong. (Especially interesting that Israel is represented, by contrast, as the only real place Jews can (or should?) call "home.")

Which, fair enough, I guess. But fascinating that the concept of dynamism, of America as a place of safety and reinvention, and of representing, as Lincoln had it, "the last best hope of earth," is being expressly rejected.

The movie was beautifully shot (in VistaVision!), compelling, and beautifully acted, and it's certainly challenging and engaging. That being said, the message is muddied and the dialog is ponderous, with every sentence expressed mournfully, preceded by a four-second pause to emphasize its importance, and not one person acting or talking like an actual human being. There is no laughter, ever, no suggestion that any character talks about the weather or traffic jams, and in a fairly familiar trope (see my grad school paper on The Ox-Bow Incident), the only characters portrayed as kind and virtuous are the handicapped wife and the African-American friend.

(The only person we ever see our protagonist actively being kind to is the African-American man who quickly becomes his friend, which allows the director to demonstrate his superior character in one simple stroke. The character is eventually abandoned in a similar stroke much later in the movie — this time our hero is mean to him, demonstrating his increasing instability and fall-from-grace, and Gordon is never mentioned again).

This is all ok, to an extent. The Ox-Bow Incident is a simple American classic despite relying on —indeed, depending on, in some ways creating similar dynamics, and I don't need absolute "realism" in dialog. I love the early movies of David Mamet — House of Games and Homicide, for instance — and their dialog is famously stilted and arch. That's part of the fun.

Still, here, in an almost four-hour film, it all gets a bit ... serious and self-important. I'm not sure the movie benefits from that.

But it's never less than engaging, and the movie surprises you (though the pivotal act and final denouement all sort of come out of the blue near the end, as if the writer/director realized he hadn't actually set up any kind of conclusion), and is, as I said, beautiful. Three out of four stars certainly, but a classic? Nah.

One Gimlet, please

Anyway, despite the intermission and the gorgeous concession stand — no popcorn, but mixed drinks, beer, or espresso drinks — I didn't partake, and afterwards took a quick photo of the great statue hanging outside the cinema, then took the tram back home.

Makes me smile every time

According to one website I just checked, "the statue of King Wenceslas on a skeleton hose that was sculpted by Czech artist David Černý [that] questions the status quo of public sculpture."

Another website says "the sculpture is a mocking reference to the more famous equestrian statue of Kind (and later, Saint) Wenceslas that sits in Wenceslas Square, and possibly a mocking nod to Czech president Vaclav Klaus, although the artist will not say what his intentions were."

And nor should he. Good for him.

Anyway, I stopped at the gym on the way home for a little bit, and got home in time to make a bath and some bolognese sauce, so I could eat during the eventually disappointing Crystal Palace game.

Some doubles with a friend (and two friends of his) this afternoon at Štvanice, the island in the Vltava sort of given over to tennis (I'll walk again, to get a little bit of exercise), then home to order pizza and watch the Michigan basketball game. We'll hope for more success today.

Yesterday, West. Today, North.

Cynicism or Realism?

Thursday afternoon, 4 pm. Still too early to hear from the consulate today, so in the meantime ...

Earlier today, knowing of my enthusiasm for Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang, my friend Andi sent me a link to a short video from a 1977 Charles Schulz documentary. I've actually seen the full documentary, but that was still very kind. In a subsequent Messenger chat with her, I commented on how simple a man Schulz was, and how deceptively simple so many of his best strips were. In particular, I mentioned this one:

Whatever Art is, this is it

Here's the link, if the text is too small in the image.

The lesson, about empathy, seems like it's from a foregone age.

I'm a regular reader of the MGoBlog website, which is both extremely informative about Michigan sports, and, unfortunately, seems to be written — both by its creators in the official posts and the hundreds of private individuals who regularly comment on its message boards — by people all to eager to gloat, mock, and insult other teams, and their fans. If empathy exists — and I'm sure those writers would insist they are fully empathetic people — it would appear in the inevitable insistence by those people that they are only joking around and being playful, and participating in a shared traditional and ceremony of "good-natured ribbing" with their counterparts from other programs.

This isn't true, though, as their "celebrations" of wins all too often take the form of overt gloating and mocking the disappointment of others, as if it's impossible to be both simultaneously happy and sympathetic. 

Going into the 2021 game against Ohio State, the Michigan football team had lost eight games in a row against their arch-rival, and 15 out of the last 16. What was a rivalry had turned into domination, and it was as un-fun as anything sports-related could be. Still, since then, and in what continues to surprise all of us, Michigan has won four in a row over the Buckeyes — a streak as satisfying, enjoyable, and wonderful as I could ever have imagined. Still, I'm able to recognize that for a 7- or 8-year old Buckeyes fan in Columbus, who can't ever remember seeing his team beat Michigan, this must be terrible, and he must wonder why his team can't ever win one.

And all I can say is, "I know, and don't worry — this'll change soon."

The tone on that website, however, is pure glee, and pure mockery ... along with repeated slurs about how ignorant and mean the Ohio State coach is and fans are, apparently justifying our own gloating. And these are my fellow-Michigan fans. I grew up thinking we were all nice people!

The funny thing is, when Jim Harbaugh actually commented at one point a few years ago about the hysteria surrounding the game, and the insane amounts of emotion and pressure put on these teams of college kids for what is, ultimately, just a game: a) he was mocked by the press; and b) commenters on the MGoBlog website agreed that, yes, Ohio State fans should listen and learn. The idea that we should at least reflect on our own behavior seems to have eluded everyone.

It's very difficult, right now, not to extrapolate to our political — and geopolitical — situation, as well as to much of popular culture, including pop music and sports. Bullies and bullying dominate, and although I grew up thinking we were all supposed to at least pretend at wanting to understand the wishes and needs of other people, the idea of empathy now seems akin to weakness. It's very depressing.

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One last thing, similarly sad. When I was wandering around the Nürnberg Game & Toy Festival a few weeks ago, I came across a stand with a whole lot of The Little Prince products. Dolls. Games. Toys.

In my naiveté I had assumed that was one book and character we could avoid profiting on. But the author's heirs have, apparently, decided that they would rather have the money, thank you very much. 

The Little Prince Game

Man, the 70s are getting farther and farther away, aren't they? Indeed, pop culture has decided the 70s were a time of discos and orgies, shallow and hedonistic. But when I was growing up we hadn't yet given up on hope, and kindness, and simple pleasures. Childhood always seems simple, of course, and perhaps kids today grow up with similar beliefs.

Hard to imagine, though. I wonder what pop culture icon carrying messages of love, kindness, compassion, and hope will be turned into overwhelming marketing opportunities next? The Red Balloon board game? Carole-King-branded muumuus? An Anne Frank lego set?

Czech Vishenanigans

There is no great achievement that is not the result of patient working and waiting. ~ J. G. Holland.

I sure hope so.

Well, this is a frustrating few days. Still no news.

On Tuesday morning I wrote the Czech Consulate in Los Angeles to say that, now that the 90-day waiting period is over, I was eager to hear. On Tuesday night I received a two-sentence reply.

Very helpful

Also, my friend Jiri here chastised me for not involving him earlier, as he has contacts who could help. On Tuesday morning I contacted him to ask what kind of help he was imagining — if he's thinking of having me make a new application for an Employee Visa (with me pretending to work for his company), I'm not interested, but if he has contacts at the Ministry who could help, I'm all ears. He replied that he had a high school friend working at the Foreign Ministry he could call to put in the good word for me. I said by all means, so he called ... and his friend picked up the phone in Korea. 

They've agreed to speak again when his friend returns on Friday. I don't much know how much good that will do, but it can't hurt — I asked Jiri not to suggest that we're pulling strings in any way, but only to emphasize that he knows me, can vouch for me, and would like to recommend that my application me granted. Maybe it'll help?

In any event, my 90-day Schengen visa (a basic tourist visa) expires on February 22, so I'll have to leave before then anyway, as, even if I receive word that the visa has been granted, I'll have to leave the country to pick it up and return. So I bought a ticket to the US for next Friday. It's not ideal — especially now that all my stuff is here, I'm sort of enjoying the prospect of settling in and relaxing. But it's ok. I'll fly to the US on Friday, see some friends, and then — I hope, assuming I've gotten good news from the consulate — fly to LA, pick up the visa, and fly back home, maybe even within a week.

Of course, that assumes I actually receive the visa. If they don't give it to me — or if they continue to stay silent — I'll have to stay overseas, potentially until the end of MAY. Aside from everything else, this makes packing for that trip difficult. Should I take two giant suitcases, packing everything I might need for three months abroad? Or should I pack lightly, for a quick trip?

Similarly, I think I've found someone to take care of Catalina for the duration of a shorter trip to the US, but it's almost impossible to make plans for a cat-sitter "in case I'm gone for three months." They need to plan as well, after all. And i'd really rather not put her in a kennel for three months, nor force her to travel again.

Once again, this would all be much much easier if I didn't have a cat right now, but ... you know, she's a part of my family. I'm sure things would be much easier if people didn't have infants or toddlers they needed to make arrangements for ... but that doesn't mean you'd ask them to abandon their children. You just have to deal. (Still, though, in this case, they would just be taking their child with them, which isn't so much an option here).

Ah well. This is the last hurdle there is for me in this process. So far I have:

• Gotten a new passport
• Arranged for movers and overseen the packing/moving process
• Flown to Los Angeles to complete the lengthy visa application process (which itself involved a lot of paperwork and bureaucracy)
• Hired lawyers to help me set up two new companies in the Czech Republic
• Sold my car
• Gone to the vet and gotten all pet-travel documentation and certification
• Bought airline tickets for me and Catalina, and flown to Europe
• Negotiated that crazy apartment-search process, moving Catalina on the train and then from temporary to temporary, before finding a permanent home
• Overseen the arrival of my things from the US, and started the unpacking process

All I need now is the visa, and I can open a bank account here, become fully independent, and start to enjoy "living in" (instead of visiting) the Czech Republic. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, while I wait, I'm opening up my email frequently. Which is pointless, most of the time, as the time difference means there's no chance of me getting a message from the Consulate before 5 pm here. It being 8:30 am on Thursday as I write this, that means there won't be any news for at least another 8 hours today. And so I wait, and wait, and wait.

Always Seizing the Carp

Played tennis with my friend Ales (pronounced "Alesh") on green clay at Hamr Zabehlice today — the only court in that club and that I know of in the Czech Republic that has that particular surface.

Generic photo of green clay

Although it's difficult to find red clay in the US, green clay — while not exactly ubiquitous — is fairly common (I played on it often at the La Paloma club in Tucson). This seemed to be a bit better quality than what I'm used to in the US ... and the tape is nailed down better than on the courts there, so you don't get the ball catching the front lip and bouncing over your racket. But still ... a different experience than I'm used to here. Even more surprising, if it's on the Court 1 at Zabehlice — their "Center Court." Huh.

Anyway, after tennis, Ales and I showered and went upstairs for a beer and to discuss our business for a bit. Then, on our way out he showed me that one of his flower boxes now stands by the check-in counter of the club. 

Wait, let me backtrack. As I think I mentioned before, Ales publishes a Czech magazine called Bylinky ("Herbs"), and for a few years sold a translated version of it in the US called My Herbs, primarily at Whole Foods stores around the country. I wonder how many people there knew the original was published in Czech, and sold in Prague? (He's not currently selling the English version, though I know he's continuing to look for opportunities to pick up the traces).

The Czech original

The American version

Anyway, a year or two ago Ales was given the opportunity to buy a brick-and-mortar flower/plant shop in Říčany, a suburb about 20 minutes outside of Prague. He seized the opportunity and now runs that as well.

Ales, on the left, shortly after buying the shop, busy building it out (with his dog)

The current storefront

Then, last year, recognizing a gap on the market, he began putting small self-serve boxes of flowers in about a dozen office buildings around town, where people can grab a bouquet and pay on their phones via a QR code. So far, he reports, not one person has taken flowers without paying for them, though there's nothing really stopping them from doing so.

Anyway, Ales has become acquainted with the manager of Hamr-Zabehlice club after playing there off-and-on for the past twenty years, and he has now been allowed to place one of his self-serve flower boxes there as well. Which, I think, is very cool. So I took a photo. 😀

So, the next time you're at Hamr-Zabehlice and need flowers ...

My friend Nico used to talk about how, from what he had learned, the key to succeeding in business was staying flexible and knowing how to pivot to what's working, leaving behind what's not. Ales seems like a perfect example of this. A magazine publisher who gets the opportunity to own a flower shop/nursery, who then observes a potential market for convenient self-service flower sales ... and during all this agrees that the business *I* suggested to him has enough merit to work on developing it with me as well.

I'm fortunate, and proud, to be in business with him. You'll be hearing a lot more about him —and our business — soon.

Forget Waiting for Godot — Try Waiting for a Visa

Tuesday morning, February 11:

No message yet from the Czech consulate about my visa application. 

I calculated the purported 90-day wait period to end yesterday ... but, given the time difference, "yesterday" for the consulate, in Los Angeles, didn't really begin until about 5 pm my time, so I didn't expect anything before yesterday evening.

So I was sort of hoping I'd wake up to an email today about the visa.

Nope.

Still. assuming I did the math correctly, yesterday would only be the 90th day, so maybe today is the day I should expect to hear.

If I don't hear today, though, this becomes more problematic, because that means the Ministry of the Interior is going beyond the 90-day wait period for my application, which means I'll have no idea when news about the visa will come. My Schengen visa will expire on February 22nd — 11 days from today — and I'll have to start making contingency plans regarding travel, and finding someone to take care of Catalina, without any idea whether I'll be leaving for a couple days, or for three months (until I can re-enter on a new Schengen visa).

Let's hope I hear today!

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Baked pasta with bacon and peas

Had a good weekend. First, on Friday, I went to get the lunch at Pivnice u Sadu ("The Garden Pub"). On my way out I took a photo of the entrance, including the cool beer shelf to make chatting at the pub (presumably during the summer) a little easier.

Then, Friday evening, Liesel arrived, and we spent much of the weekend unpacking most of the 37 boxes I had and filling up most of my dozens of shelves and storage spaces. It was a fair amount of work — Liesel also gave the kitchen a serious cleaning, which it had never had before (even from the professional cleaning woman who came last week). But the place is definitely feeling warmer and more like home!

The Calm

Before the Storm

If I do get the visa, I would then immediately start populating this spare room as well with a new bed and dresser, and chair/sofa, as well as creating a sort of stretching/exercising space. I would also get a new sofa for my living room, and invest in things like bedside lamps, a laundry hamper, and the few other things I'm missing. I'm excited about doing all that.

It would, indeed, be too bad if I now had to leave for three months. But we'll see!

The Fight in the Dog

I met this American guy here, Bobby, via a "Tennis in Prague" facebook group, and he and I played two friendly singles matches (with scores being something like 6-4, 6-2, 8-0 for me in the first one, and 6-3, 6-2, 6-0 for me in the second one). He invited me to play doubles with a Czech couple he's friends with last week, and we won something like 4-6, 6-0, 6-1.

He invited me to play doubles again last night, this time against two new guys. One of them — a French/Czech guy named Eric — was decent/average, and the other, a younger Czech guy named Josef ("Peppa" is the Czech nickname for Josef, for some reason), was really good, but made unexpected mistakes.

Eric and Peppa play together regularly, and play in ATTour men's doubles tournaments at the Sport level. They beat us in the first set 6-2, but I felt that the result wasn't completely representative, so instead of switching partners we kept the same line-up, and then Bobby and I beat them 6-2, 6-4 (after being down 1-4).

None of this matters, really, and even as I type it I feel eyes rolling. I mention it only because: a) it's flattering that Bobby has, twice now, invited me to join him and his friends in doubles; and b) satisfying that both times I was able to help him to a win, even though in the first match he was the second-weakest player on the court, and last night he was the absolutely weakest.

The particularly satisfying thing about it is that I felt, in both of these doubles matches, that although I helped one of the weakest players on the court to the win, I don't think I was the strongest player either time. In both matches one of the players on the other side was empirically better than me, with a much wider array of shots, more power, better serves (and better return-of-serves, etc.). My real strength on the court has always been problem-solving and ... eh, what do you call it? Well, the saying goes, it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the ...

Of course, that's only worth so much. Lots of people beat me, with some consistency. Still. I generally hit above my weight, metaphorically speaking, in terms of both age and skill-level, and I take some pride in that.

I've also started thinking, though, about this entertaining 10-11 years of tennis starting to come to an end. My shoulder (particularly the nerve/muscle that connects it to my neck) really aches for 2-3-4 days after I play, now, and despite an x-ray and an MRI, nobody in Tucson was able to diagnose/identify the problem. When I play these matches I just can't serve with any real power, and better players are going to start teeing off on me. 

And, even when I do play effectively, I then can't play again like that for almost a week. It's a little depressing, honestly. It may be time to start looking for a new hobby. I wonder if they crochet here?

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My stuff arrived yesterday, transforming this:

Through this:

Into this:

The excitement of the day wasn't shared equally by everyone in the apartment, it must be said. One resident decided the only option was to get behind the sofa and find the spot where it was closest to the wall, where she wedged herself in so tightly it was impossible for her even to turn around, really.

I'll just spend time here, thank you very much.

Still, a good 45 minutes after the movers left and it became evidence that the calm that filled the apartment was not a false one, created only to trick unsuspecting cats, she did emerge.

Are they really gone?

Liesel's coming from Vienna today to help me rip those boxes open and allocate appropriately. I'm very excited about finding my clothes, hangars, rugs, cooking utensils, pillows, duvet, coffee-maker, baseball caps, books, and everything else I've been eagerly awaiting for the past two-and-a-half-months.

And hoping Catalina will feel comfortable participating in the paper-shredding party with us.

I Wonder What "Prague" Means in Ojibwa

The longer I live here the more convinced I become that Prague is the Milwaukee of Central Europe. Midwestern in all the ways I described earlier, hard-working, and sensible. Prosaic, surprisingly, less than poetic. Hockey-loving, cold and serious in the winter, but green and playful in the summer. 

From Wikipedia: "[Milwaukee's] history was heavily influenced by German immigrants in the 19th century, and it continues to be a center for German-American culture, specifically becoming well known for its brewing industry."

Sounds familiar.

Oh, it's not exactly the same, of course. People are much thinner and healthier here than their American counterparts — though Americans living in cities, of course, tend to be healthier than those living in rural communities — and few people would confuse the famously magical Prague Old Town for downtown Milwaukee. This being Europe, there's an approximate ratio of one cafe per person, and you're much more likely to see someone reading an actual book on the tram or bus here than you are in the US.

And I can't find someone to clean my apartment in American for $15 an hour, as I can here.

Still. As I watch people trudge past the window of the Miner's coffee shop this early Wednesday morning, bundled in winter clothes, exhaling steam with each step, I'm reminded that for most Prague residents, this is a Wednesday morning of work, obligation, and effort, not of 19th-century romance and magical thinking.

That's true everywhere, of course. All the cities that travelers dream about exploring — Bangkok, Oslo, Edinburgh, Marrakech, Istanbul, Buenos Aires, Melbourne — are, in fact, working cities, filled with accountants and plumbers, IT guys and bus drivers. 

Listening to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me! last week I was struck by the panel's surprise at the news that one New York Times travel expert had recommended that one of the best places to meet locals in Paris was at McDonalds. Because, clearly, the panel assumed it was only Americans who go to McDonalds, whether in the US or abroad. Forgetting that people go to McDonalds, in Paris, Beijing, and Vancouver, and that these cities are not, in fact, designed to be romantic getaways for wide-eyed tourists, but are, for the millions of people living in them ... home.

And those people watch reality shows and Friends, soap operas and Succession.

This is Milwaukee. But with red-clay tennis courts. 😎

Man, I'm ready for spring. 

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The lunch special at Spravovna yesterday was butterfish, plaintains, and mashed potatoes. Yum!

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Finally, after almost three months, my stuff arrives from America tomorrow morning! I'll have my clothes and my dishes, my pictures and my bedclothes, my hiking shoes and my coffee-maker! Yessss.

Respect Your Own Oven Experience

Google translate's understanding of the Czech-language instructions on the back of some packaged roasted chicken I bought over the weekend and needed to heat up seem profound, in some way I can't quite articulate. But yes, one should always respect one's own oven experience.

Yesterday was a productive and satisfying day. I started, after coffee at Miner's and some breakfast back home with Catalina, by taking the train to the suburb of Řiċany to meet with Ales regarding the development of the product our start-up will be producing, and the news was good, filling us both with enthusiasm and optimism. A nice way to start the day.

Ales, who in his normal life publishes the Bylinky magazine, has started another new business that involves putting flowers for sale in local office buildings, available for self-purchase with a QR Code. In other words, there is no merchant or clerk guarding the flowers, which are available simply on the honor system. And, he reports, so far nobody has ever failed to pay, which is pretty encouraging. This is his work car.

There are even more flower stickers on the other side. 

Back home around 12:15, I had time for the lunch special at U Houdku, which on Monday was a chicken breast with bacon and gouda cheese, with french fries and a small side salad.

Then off to my 1 pm appointment at the hairdresser, where Zuzana clipped me down to a recognizable size.

I feel like I lost weight

Then off to the Thai Massage place where, back in December, I bought a five-massage-for-the-price-of-four package for a total of around $175. This was already massage number 4. They're really good, and it's a nice Christmas-present treat I gave myself.

Back home I called a cleaning woman who had been recommended to me to arrange her to come on Wednesday morning (7 am!), then took a bath to get the oil off me, then sat with Cat for a bit before going out to meet with Filip to discuss the need (he feels) to discuss the design of our game cards with a graphic-design professional, to make sure said design is as polished and crisp as it possibly can be.

Then home for tuna sandwich and a Fetaccomplis salad, with some mindless TV before bed.

All in all ... a successful day, and a good start to one of the more momentous weeks in my recent life, which will include the Thursday delivery of all my stuff from the US, Liesel here for the weekend, a singles tennis tournament on Sunday, and, Monday, presumably, the news about whether my application for a Czech Business Visa was successful or not. If not, I'm going to have to leave the Schengen Zone (including Prague) for three months before late February, so I'll need to decide where I want to spend those three months. Current possibilities include Norway, England, Thailand, or Belize, but I'm considering all options.

(But I'd rather just get the visa and not have to worry about it).