Black Girl in Prague

BlackGirl Experiences the Gott

2011-09-12T23:14:00.002+02:00

Karel Gott.

He's a Czech singer.

Famous in the Czech Republic, but stratospheric in Germany. Or so I've been told.

Telling me that someone is stratospheric in Germany gives me a slight pause about how talented he or she is. After all, Germany is a country where people are nuts about David Hasselhoff. Basically I question the German take on artistic merit.

In almost any conversation I've had about Czech entertainment, or celebrities known internationally (very few), Gott's name has always come up.

I imagined that he was somewhat of a Czech Frank Sinatra. If that's an overstatement on my part, try Tom Jones or any aging entertainer on the Vegas/casino circuit.
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BlackGirl on the Rocks

2011-08-23T00:31:00.000+02:00

Last Tuesday was my fifth year landing anniversary.

I still love being here—one of the best life decisions I've made.

After five years, there's still quite a bit I haven't seen or done yet. (Mushrooming, anyone?)

With no urgency or schedule to beat, I'm making or living my way through my Czech to-do list one activity at a time, as leisurely as I can. For example, travel.

Three Summers out of the five so far I've taken solo r&r excursions into “Czech land”. I decide on a quiet town or village, book myself into a hotel or pension for a few days and then do absolutely nothing. Just sleeping and eating, some reading, minimal sightseeing, long walks in nature, minimal or no television-internet access.

It is my ultimate mind-body-soul revitalizer.

My first solo trip four years ago was to Marianske Lazne—Karlovy Vary's less glamorous, sleepy sister town. I came back with bottles of “natural healing” water from the town's many carbon dioxide springs. It took me a week—copious amounts of lemon slices and pinching my nose—to finish the stinky, gassy lot.
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Esperanzaaaaa in Prahaaaaa

2011-07-08T16:00:00.005+02:00

Caught the Esperanza Spalding concert last night at Hudebni Divadlo Karlin.

A phenomenal show.

I appreciate the genre, but I'm hardly a Jazz follower. So considering all the buzz I had heard about Spalding—Jazz prodigy, the surprise Grammy win much to the dismay of Justin Bieber fans, blah, blah, blah—my expectations were “up there”. And...and there was the 2500kc I had paid for two tickets on Monday. More on this in a bit.
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A Prague Saturday in Review: Krivoklat, Beroun, United Islands

2011-07-03T15:00:00.003+02:00

Back to blogging again while the podcast series takes a Summer hiatus.

Last Saturday, I managed to pack in a few new experiences, planned and otherwise, into my Prague-Czech routine.

Krivoklat, Part 1

A popular castle about 90 minutes outside of Prague. It had been on my to-visit list forever until two weeks ago when a girlfriend and I discussed getting out of the city for a day trip. Two other pals signed on for the excursion.

We were scheduled to catch a 9:40am train.

Now, imagine four women with different ideas about timeliness....

We congratulated ourselves on catching the 9:45am train—not bad!

But what a big difference five minutes makes.
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Podcast #6: Drew Power, How to be a Productive "Roque" Star

2011-06-24T12:00:00.010+02:00

According to Malcolm Gladwell in Outliers, it takes 10,000 practice hours to be a master at a particular activity. Now, this is easier said than done, not because of the amount of hours involved but rather for the difficulty we face trying to focus on any one activity for a mere 15 minutes!

We live in an over-stimulated, over-reactive, over-informed world. With distraction as a constant, it takes more than sheer willpower to get things done.

If you have passions/interests/dreams that you want to master, how do you find the time and focus—especially if retreating to a cave and cutting yourself off from civilization (and the next season of True Blood) isn't exactly an option?

In this podcast, I chat with my friend Andrew "Drew" Power, a presentation coach, English teacher and budding rock star (yeah!) in Prague, about how implementing productivity concepts such as GTD (our system of choice) to daily life can free anyone up to focus and be more creative.

Like many artists/creatively inclined, Andrew leads a blended life as a business professional and as the front-man for the rock band "Trey Roque", so we talk about how he handles his "personas"; and also cover his early start as a musician in the UK; the challenges of being an artist, especially in a foreign country; and of course, his vision for his music and life as a creative individual.

And personally, I have Andrew to thank for the introduction to GTD which has been extremely helpful in the past year for me to get more things done—Ha!

As always, I encourage you to tune in and then share your thoughts about the conversation.

One additional note: The series will be on hiatus for the Summer, and returns in September with new guests and more great conversations. If there are topics you want to hear about or guests to suggest, please drop me a line.

Cauky!

Want to listen on the go? Download the podcast.
Experiencing technical difficulty? See Tech Note below.

Show Notes:

Trey Roque at United Islands 2011 (June 25 @ 6:00p)
Trey Roque at Rock Cafe (July 27th @ 8:30p)

Trey Roque Website
Trey Roque on YouTube
Trey Roque on MySpace
"Like" Trey Roque on Facebook

GTD (Getting Things Done by David Allen)
Life Coach Michael Neill

(Tech Note: Sometimes the Podomatic embedded audio player may be blank or you may experience a delay in the audio response after pressing the "Play" button. Unfortunately, this is a server-side issue that I have no control over. Refresh your browser or download the episode instead or try back later. Thanks.)

Podcast #5: “Brewsta”, Prague's Restaurant Sherpa

2011-05-25T23:26:00.004+02:00

Of restaurants, Prague has many. But when browsing through my umpteenth pizza-pasta menu I am reminded that this is not always cause to cheer. Where can a girl get a decent rainbow roll....

Prague has no Zagat's listing—at least for us English-speaking folk...—but it's got Brewsta, the food blogger. Thanks to metabolism that many would trade a secondary organ for (who really needs two kidneys?!....), he has eaten his way around the city for the past four years, and reporting back his experiences—the good, the bad and the sublime—on his popular blog, Czech Please.

His true identity is a slight mystery (sexy voice, though—ha!), but his passion for food and eating out is no secret as you'll hear in this podcast episode. We talk about his start as a blogger—the process and challenges, the restaurant scene in Prague, his “top 3”, Czech cuisine and more....

Enjoy the podcast and leave us a note.

Cauky!

Want to listen on the go? Download the podcast.
Experiencing technical difficulty? See Tech Note below.

Show Notes:

Czech Please Blog

Prague Food Festival

(Tech Note: Sometimes the Podomatic embedded audio player may be blank or you may experience a delay in the audio response after pressing the "Play" button. Unfortunately, this is a server-side issue that I have no control over. Refresh your browser or download the episode instead or try back later. Thanks.)

Podcast #4: Paul Whitaker, The Englishman Who Went for a Long Swim in the Vltava

2011-04-26T23:25:00.006+02:00

One October afternoon in 2009, Paul Whitaker stepped in to his bathroom for a post-run shower and minutes later came out with a big idea—an 18-day swim for charity in the Vltava, the longest river (approx. 440km) in the Czech Republic.

That must have been some shower...!

Actually, it kinda makes sense. Taking showers, if you haven't heard, not only does wonders for personal hygiene, but can also boost creative and cognitive thinking. (Here's a random link that offers an explanation.)

In this podcast episode, Paul joins me to recount that consequential post-run rinse; his training; the planning and organizing in the months leading up to the event, which took place in July 2010; as well as tidbits from his experience swimming more than a third of the Vltava over a three-week period.

We also touch on his twenty-plus years of living in the Czech Republic—what has kept him here; his take on Czechs and friendships; and what comes next after swimming the Vltava.

I hope you enjoy the talk; post comments/questions; and have productive and inspired showers!

Cauky!

Want to listen on the go? Download the podcast.
Experiencing technical difficulty? See Tech Note below.

Show Notes:

Vltava Asistence 2010 (Swim website)

Vltava Asistence on Facebook

Paul's daily blog during the swim

Asistence o.s (The Charity Organization)

Czech media coverage

(Tech Note: Sometimes the Podomatic embedded audio player may be blank or you may experience a delay in the audio response after pressing the "Play" button. Unfortunately, this is a server-side issue that I have no control over. Refresh your browser or download the episode instead or try back later. Thanks.)

Podcast #3: Mary Matz, Crafting a Creative Life & Opus in Prague

2011-03-22T18:00:00.013+01:00

Do you know when to applaud at a classical performance? (Other than at the very end, of course...)

I wasn't always so sure.

But thanks to my recent chat with Mary Matz, I now have some good pointers for when I can freely belt out "Bravissimo!" at a classical concert and not look like a nut to fellow attendees.

More than just an authority on concert-going etiquette and tips, Mary is the creative force behind Opus Osm, the first online magazine devoted to Czech classical music, opera and ballet.

She joins me in this third BlackGirlinPrague podcast to share her love of the arts and her goals for Opus Osm. We also have a very cool exchange about living and growing creatively; what we can learn from the Czech approach to balancing life and creative passions; the anxieties expats face at the 5-year mark; and other funny gems and insights.

Listen in—I hope you enjoy the interview—and then share your take on any or all of the above.

Cauky!

Want to listen on the go? Download the podcast.
Experiencing technical difficulty? See Tech Note below.

Show Notes:

Opus Osm Website

Opus Osm on Facebook

Prague.tv Interview: Mary Matz & Opus Osm

Concert Clapping? Take the poll! :)

(Tech Note: Sometimes the Podomatic embedded audio player may be blank or you may experience a delay in the audio response after pressing the "Play" button. Unfortunately, this is a server-side issue that I have no control over. Refresh your browser or download the episode instead or try back later. Thanks.)

Podcast #2: Jana Olivova, Prague's Speed Dating Cupid

2011-02-22T13:10:00.007+01:00

The BlackGirlinPrague Podcast series rolls on with Episode #2!

And since this February, I tackle dating and romance—from the perspective of a Czech woman: Jana Olivova, the beautiful and super-smart Cupid behind Rande Motyl, a top speed dating agency in Prague for Czechs and Foreigners.

Find out how she got her start in the budding dating industry here; her thoughts on how Czech men stack up against their foreign counterparts; Czechs and their relationship styles; as well as pointers for being an effective speed dater, and other matters.

Now, a single podcast episode can't establish conclusively everything about the way Czechs do love, romance and dating. Jana's perspective is just one slice of something larger that I hope to explore in some fashion in other interviews.

That said, I hope you enjoy my chat with Jana, and leave feedback about it.

Cauky!

Want to listen on the go? Download the podcast.
Experiencing technical difficulty? See Tech Note below.

Show Notes:

Rande Motyl
Speed Dating Prague
Rande Motyl on Facebook

(Tech Note: Sometimes the Podomatic embedded audio player may be blank or you may experience a delay in the audio response after pressing the "Play" button. Unfortunately, this is a server-side issue that I have no control over. Refresh your browser or download the episode instead or try back later. Thanks.)

Do the Right, Fun, Affirming, Productive Things

2011-02-18T22:32:00.007+01:00

Putting together the next podcast this weekend, and it's an interesting episode! In it, I speak with Jana Olivova, the founder of Rande Motyl, one of Prague's top speed dating agencies. Stay tuned for the podcast in the next few days.

My thanks to David Foster Wallace

While I've enjoyed the chats with my gracious guests (two and counting), already I'm not a fan of the production work required to get the podcasts listener-ready. Gotta be honest. The first episode cost me an unholy eight hours on Garageband. (Okay, it was my first time using the software....) This week, I sent off a work-related podcast to an external editor, who then billed me for an hour and a half's work. Do the math. 480 minutes versus 90 minutes

With projects at work or in our personal lives, how many of us end up overwhelmed or drained of enthusiasm because we are doing the WRONG things?
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Move Me Once. Move Me Twice?

2011-02-14T23:10:00.047+01:00

Last week, I read a NYTimes article about French fashion blogger Garance Dore moving to New York to be with her significant other—Scott Schuman, of the Satorialist blog. (A gushy NYMag interview of the two here.)

What a coincidence. An article around two topics, among others, that have popped up on my radar in recent days: Street fashion in Prague. (Does it exist?) Moving for love. (Yea or nay?)

Given that it's Valentine's week, let me try to note my thoughts on the more timely of the two topics before I lose the smidgen of enthusiasm that has me glued to my chair and in the mood to write....

But what a broad topic, and one with a personal subtext too.

When I was still back in the States, I knew I wanted to live in Europe, except I had all sorts of logical excuses and delay tactics lined up that kept me grounded. It took a short whirlwind romance with a Czech charmer I met while on vacation to Prague to light the fire.
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Podcast #1: Lee Davison, All That Jazz in Prague

2011-01-23T11:48:00.016+01:00

New year, new project for the blog:

A podcast series about people and life in the Czech Republic and maybe even beyond. The ins-outs-ups-downs of taking that leap to move abroad. The beautiful, comical, instructive, unexpected twists and turns and life lessons/gifts that come about as a result.

My first interviewee: Lee Davison, an American Jazz singer I met when I first arrived in Prague in 2006. The interview was a hoot for me, as you'll hear.

It was a broad chat that touched on his early days in the Czech Republic as a Jazz singer; the creative hustle--art or money?; his on-screen appearance in the Bond flick, Casino Royale; the allure of Czech women; where he calls home; and living his life dream.

I hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback.

Cauky!

Want to listen on the go? Download the podcast.
Experiencing technical difficulty? See Tech Note below.

Show Notes:

Lee Davison on Facebook

Where to catch Lee perform? At Republika Restaurant (Namesti Republiky) and at Bily Konicek Jazz Club (Staromestka Namesti).

Watch Lee in the Casino Royale trailer link! (Time stamp: 00:55)

You Tube clip of Lee performing with Frantisek Ulhrik

Addendum: Clean Head Phil is the other male Jazz singer in Prague whose name Lee promised to recall.

(Tech Note: Sometimes the Podomatic embedded audio player may be blank or you may experience a delay in the audio response after pressing the "Play" button. Unfortunately, this is a server-side issue that I have no control over. Refresh your browser or download the episode instead or try back later. Thanks.)

Confession: I am a DIP

2010-10-26T12:54:00.001+02:00

Last week, I discovered the name of an affliction that I have carried around for a long time.

I am a DIP—a Dysfunctional Independent Person.

I have walked around believing / assuming / projecting—consciously or otherwise—that I can do life all by my darn self.

And I have suffered somewhat for it, also letting opportunities pass me by as a result.

Now, this self-revelation has been a while coming. Frankly, I should be ticked off it took this long. All that money spent on O magazine subscriptions, self-help books, therapy-coaching, and who knows what else, and everything comes together in October 2010? Two decades later? Really?

Officially putting a name to my affliction came about last week while I was listening to the phenomenal Robert Holden—he of the Happiness Project—on Hay House radio.
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Mike Tyson Owes Me a Hug?

2010-10-03T10:00:00.011+02:00

Two stories about Mike Tyson crossed my radar last week, and then he turned up in my dream. Noooo, I don't fancy him (I did see him at a night club years ago....), but I woke up this morning thinking about forgiveness.

I was at work when I came across a headline picture of Tyson, about his scheduled visit to Prague. (The “Mike Tyson tour” site lists a series of soft publicity events—a visit to a children's hospital, a workout session, a Gala dinner, etc.) At first I laughed. Money must be tight, but I guess the man's got to earn a living.

Then I caught this Funny or Die clip, and laughed even harder. Tyson looked so earnest dancing. He's either doing this for fun or out of desperation.... Was there pay involved? The clip was a hoot.

Then in the comments' box: “He's still a RAPIST.”

Oh yeah, brain check. I forgot—He's supposed to be a bad guy. Read more »

Seeds of a Customer Service Revolution?

2010-09-28T21:00:00.011+02:00

After four years—I picked up visa cislo styry yesterday (woohoo!)—one thing that still exasperates is the abysmal level of what passes for customer service here. Expats and Czechs alike complain about it. But I find it even more maddening when victims whine: “It's just the way things are, what can you do?”

Well, I dunno.... How about taking some action—any action? Just don't sit there and let yourself be abused, and then bitch about it.

One time, I demanded my tip back from a waitress who did not say “Thank you” after I had tipped her.
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Four Years and Now Nesting

2010-09-04T23:06:00.005+02:00

Looks like Summer is done in Prague, and so is my hiatus.

Thanks to all for the comments on the blog post about M1! Jonathan (M1 owner) was appreciative of the feedback. Though the last I read from him was that he let go of a security staff for making racist comments. [Sigh.] I hope things are getting or have gotten better. A visit to the club to see for myself is on my to-do list this season.

Last month, I marked YEAR 4 in the Czech Republic. My “celebration” started early in July and continued into August with visits to IKEA and a host of furniture and design shops around town. Yes, after four years, I was officially done with minimalist living—bed, table, chair—and decided it was time to craft my home. A fun and sobering project.

First, I dusted off my pile of design magazines and catalogs collected over a year ago when I initially thought I was ready to nest. To get my creative juices going I clipped images for a mood board. Next was the question of where to buy.

Now, please adopt your preferred tone or attitude of snootiness (think Grey Poupon commercial) for this next line....Read more »

The "BlackCard" Explained - A Talk with Prague's M1 Lounge

2010-06-21T08:40:00.000+02:00

Emotions are easily triggered at the first whiff of racial bias, and it can often be difficult to admit or accept there are two point-of-views to consider—and that both could be legitimate. After my initial post about M1 Lounge's alleged “BlackCard” three weeks ago, I decided to seek out a different perspective on the matter—the club owner, Jonathan David Bass.

To be candid, I wasn't sure he would want to respond to my initial query—done via Facebook. And after forwarding a link of my blog post about the BlackCard, I half-expected to be turned down. Because though the post was never personal and I was critical of the club and the dealers, it suddenly seemed harsh now that I was in contact with a person involved.

Jonathan was receptive and polite, and promptly sent his response to my questions.Read more »

Attending My First Svatba (Czech Wedding)

2010-06-11T23:58:00.006+02:00

Prague's Museum Night is back again. All day tomorrow, entry to museums around town will be free. But I'm going to miss this year's installation for an exciting personal excursion—my first small-town Czech wedding!

My good friends Hana and Robert are getting hitched in their local village of Vlasim. Weddings by themselves don't make me nervous, but this one has me a tad worried because I may be expected to give a speech—in CZECH!

To be honest, I don't know if this is a joke at my expense. In the past weeks, Hana and Robert have had a grand ol' time dropping teasing hints that they plan to have me read from the Czech bible during their wedding. Jezis Maria! Hana has also told her family that thanks to our weekly Czech-English conversation exchange I have become fluent in Czech. Not true.
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Pricey Good Eating

2010-06-08T23:53:00.015+02:00

What's the message about July if all the good events are packed into June? What to look forward to?

Prague Writers' Festival started this week. The main attraction was Derek Walcott, who unfortunately pulled out because of an illness. I didn't make it to any of the events. A shame on my part—neglecting my writer-ly roots. (I feel a future post coming up about this....) I've got work on the brain and it's staying that way through the next week or so. Plus, I wanted to give my calendar and body a bit of a break. Almost every night for the past two weeks I've had something or another to do. I even skipped the Fringe festival completely—I was that tired.

For food, of course, I'm never tired! Tonight, a new friend made me a tasty Coq au Vin, with a side of pan-roasted buttered potatoes and sweet peas. We had a stunning view of Prague Castle to go along with dinner. Last week, his unexpected treat was a late meal at La Finestra, a new Italian restaurant in Staromestka.Read more »

You Had Me at Pastry Cream: Restocking at Marks & Spencer

2010-06-04T17:49:00.062+02:00

If a decade from now I'm still living in Prague, you can consider blaming or thanking Marks & Spencer, the British department store.

Last month, I bemoaned the absence of Weetabix and other supplies in my pantry. This afternoon, I had a food-court full of reasons to jump for joy. Following a tip, I paid a visit to the M&S store on Vaclavske Namesti in search of my favorite morning cereal. I found the cereal and an array that puts Tesco's middling “international” aisle to shame.

Marks & Spencer has been around for years in Prague but I was never compelled to check it out. Not even after enjoying the addictive potato chips that a coworker often bought from the branch in the mall near our office. Not when I lived in Smichov; an M&S store in the Novy Smichov mall five minutes away. I was in that shopping center every week, but never gave M&S a glance. Maybe this would be a different if I was Brit?Read more »

Prague Food Festival, Part 2 – Let it Rain Ginger

2010-05-30T12:00:00.011+02:00

(Part 1) By now, I had a growing suspicion that I had purchased more points than my stomach could probably handle. Yep, I was getting full. And there were three more must-visit stations to go: Hergetova Cihelna, Cafe Imperial and La Finestra. To pace myself I decided to walk around a bit more and inspect the stations on my list before committing the rest of my points—and gut.

None of the Asian cooking inspired me. Coming from New York City, with its vibrant and diverse Asian culinary cultures, spending my points on fried rice or sushi rolls here seemed a waste.

But maybe not as much of a waste as the 5pts I spent on the burger with duck foie gras and homemade fries at Hergetova Cihelna. I love burgers. I love foie gras. How could a combo of the two go wrong?
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Prague Food Festival, Part 1– 3500 Calories Later?

2010-05-29T23:00:00.008+02:00

I may have eaten a pound's worth of calories this afternoon. Okay, maybe that's a stretch. It's really the guilt from food indulgence talking. Or maybe I'm trying to deflect from the embarrassing amount of money I willingly gave up (I'm supposed to be on a budget!) to play in the gastro-wonderland that's the Prague Food Festival....

I made it down to the Castle grounds after 4pm, but then spent a sweaty twenty minutes (in heels again! I don't learn....) circumnavigating the cobblestones of Hradcanka Namesti, Loretanska and Uvoz streets, and back up the Radnicke stairs before I ended up right where I had started—the entrance to the food festival. I had completely missed it the first time around!
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Sartorial & Cultural Mashups at Romeo and Juliet

2010-05-28T23:00:00.004+02:00

Thursday was a double header. The Romany parade during the day, and then in the evening, the Prague Shakespeare festival with fellow blogger, EmptyNestExpat.

The production: Romeo and Juliet.

Location: The open-air theater in Vysehrad. An unusual but fitting choice for the production which had a high cool quotient going for it the moment the cast walked on stage sporting a punk-goth-biker-ninja-boudoir inspired wardrobe: leather pants, biker jackets, velvet tops, fishnet stockings, micro minis, garter belts, studded wrist cuffs, veils, et al.

Hooo, can I join this bad club?....
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Scenes from Khamoro (Romany) Parade

2010-05-27T23:00:00.065+02:00

Made it to the Romany parade as planned. I took a midday break and joined Namesake at Mustek to watch the procession start on Na Prikope, make its way through to Celetna street, and then end up at Staromestka Namesti.

Enjoyed every colorful and boisterous minute that I was there. The Romany women's bold makeup and beautiful skirts. Little girls attempting to imitate the older dancers' sensual shimmies. Teen girls standing about awkwardly at first, then transformed—drawing courage from the crowd and the cameras—into assertive, elegant dancers. Groups of boys—not quite men—wearing not only their best duds but also practiced expressions of can't-be-bothered. The almost New-Orleans-like cool of the various Gypsy bands.
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First Spring Festival Season in Prague

2010-05-24T19:15:00.002+02:00

After almost four seasons in Prague, this year I'll get a chance to attend three popular Spring festivals that take place annually in the city: the Prague Shakespeare Festival, the Fringe Festival, and the Prague Food Festival. Yay!

How or why have I missed these events in the past?

(Left: Welcoming Spring with the "Walking Pink Petals", my nickname for the groups of women who don this getup in the Springtime and are stationed at popular tram stops around the city.)

In 2006, I showed up in August, three months too late.

From 2007 to 2009, I spent the better portions of May and June of those years attending my company's annual conference in San Francisco, and then visiting family and friends in New York. As excited and grateful as I was back then to get trips home gratis it sucked slightly to always have to miss out on the neat events clustered around that four-to-six week span.

Well, this time around I have the after-effects of the financial crisis to thank for grounding me in Prague. (My company nearly buckled, but got acquired by another with deeper pockets; hence, goodbye free trips to SF in June.) It's all good though. I'm looking forward to a full Summer in the city.

One other interesting festival that also happens annually but that crossed my radar for the first time last week: the Khamoro Festival, a week-long celebration of Roma (Gypsy) culture. I was hoping to catch one of the documentaries at Kino Aero tonight but a sleepless night before left me too tired after work. So Thursday, I'll try for the parade.

Cauky!

Black Card: Color Control or Drug Crackdown?

2010-05-20T11:58:00.007+02:00

There's a new Facebook group protesting the alleged new and suspicious-bordering-on-racist policies of M1, a club here in Prague. (Update: Group has been de-listed. Read my interview with M1's Management.)

Both parties in this emerging sorry tale are guilty of bad behavior.

First, the club owner. His club has often been accused in the past of being hostile to Blacks in Prague, specifically Black men. Aggressive bouncers who enforce crowd (read: “color”) control: “Can't let you in—we have enough Blacks guys in here tonight....” Rude bartenders reluctant to serve Blacks because of alleged low tips.

And now: A “BLACK CARD” to weed out Black people? Sigh.

Disclaimer: I have not been to the club in a long, long while, and I have not heard yet from anyone who has this card or who has been turned away for not having it.
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To Be or Not to Be...Happy & Fulfilled

2010-05-17T12:10:00.004+02:00

Could it be this simple? The obsessive over-analyzer in me is thinking: "This chart needs a 'Maybe' bubble!"

I'm okay. Working my way towards accepting who I am, where I am and what I have. Maybe that's happy enough for the present.

Also this morning from Keith Ferrazi via Twitter: "How do you want to spend your day?" Such a critical question we need to ask ourselves to determine our career paths.

Being a more creative and more efficient me. That was the simplest answer I could think of when I saw the tweet. Of course, if I had to get more granular....

Crumbs #1

2010-05-15T22:02:00.102+02:00

What are "Crumbs"?*

Bits and pieces of things that cross my radar during the week but that I don't have the time or don't want to devote a lengthy blog post to. I always have (had) a lot of them, and I suppose tweeting could do the job these days, but 140 characters? Not always enough for all my mind-chatter.

(*Naming inspired by marketing author and NYT writer Rob Walker who calls his blog compilation of random stuff “Linkpile”.)

Law & Order gets canceled. Boohoo. Like the NYT article mentioned, the show was a New York City institution, and a mainstay for the acting community. I'm not an actor, but even I had an L&O moment....

1998/99? Senior year at Columbia. In front of the main entrance to Barnard. I ran into Benjamin Bratt and Jerry Orbach taking a break from a shoot. They were very polite. Bratt was sooo hot—and at the time riding on the fame of being Julia Roberts' squeeze. He gave me an autograph. Then he winked at me. Swoon...! I don't even remember what I did with the book he signed. But I'll never forget that wink!

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PDiA – Public Display of Inappropriate Attire

2010-05-13T19:01:00.007+02:00

I was busting a fine sweat on the Stairmaster when I saw the most ridiculous sight: An hirsute man parading the gym floor in short-shorty-shorts. Worse, the pants appeared to be made from a thin, polyester-like fabric that left little to the imagination. I could see that he had arranged his “package” pointing rightward.

What a moment to not have a camera phone!

Cannot imagine any guy getting away with such an “outfit” in a standard gym in the States. He'd get laughed at, reprimanded or thrown out of the club for having inappropriate wear.

From my vantage point—on the stairs to nowhere—his attire barely caused a stir. (Or were people being polite?) Which got me thinking: What does it take to cross the line of good taste on this continent?

Food Pantry Famine

2010-05-06T07:11:00.006+02:00

It happens each year. Despite months of careful rationing, I start to run out of my non-Prague food supply. It's a painful process. A sidebar of “Things Not Available Here” on a new expat-in-Czech blog got me thinking about my own foodie needs*.

Two months ago, oh how I howled after hunting through my cabinets and realizing that the recently empty jar of Lee Kum Kee's Chiu Chow Oil was indeed my last. (Some days I still search the cabinets hoping a jar will magically appear. There you are. I knew there was one more left!)

Last month, I ran out of Garri—a Nigerian staple that helps calm my late-night munchies. (Soaked in ice cold water, with roasted peanuts and scoops of sugar—Yum!) There are African suppliers who I can buy from in Prague, but I really prefer to get Garri from my mom. I just trust what she buys better. It's a weird quirk.... But if and when

Carodejnice - Witch Burning in Prague

2010-05-02T19:56:00.064+02:00

Do you want a temperate and lucky Spring-Summer? Try burning a witch. Friday evening, Namesake and I trekked down to Kampa Park to watch the annual Čarodějnice or witch-burning festival. (See old articles about it here, here and here.) The tradition, which has pagan roots, is believed to bring about a pleasant and lucky Spring season. Back in the day, Czechs would create straw effigies, build bonfires to burn their “witches” and celebrate the end of Winter and its gloom, of course, with copious amounts of sausages and beer. But at some point in time (Spanish inquisition, anyone?....), "tradition" did not pan out too well for a number of unfortunate women.
Read more »

Fresh Face

2010-04-29T23:46:00.001+02:00

I've been let out of Blogger's Template Purgatory--Yay! For a long time I griped about the limited, nay, measly, no, pathetic template options that Blogger offered. Any attempt to change the layout of my blog, for example, trying to install a second sidebar column, ended up in a mess of code errors. And I just did not have the time nor patience nor desire to learn CSS. Often, I simply regretted not starting up with WordPress.

But now I'm so tickled that Blogger-Google launched its "Template Designer" functionality. 2-column split sidebar? Just click a button! Maybe this will do for my blogging what new workout clothes can do to inspire a return to the gym.

Call Me Two Years Ago...

2010-04-07T21:51:00.008+02:00

Had dinner with a young gentleman from Virginia this evening.

Not once, not twice, maybe four or five times he insisted/cajoled/flirted that I come out Friday and/or Saturday night to party with him and his three other Army buddies.

"You'll have a great time," he promised.

"If only our paths had crossed two or three years ago," I told him half-jokingly.

Because mention Friday or weekend evening outings to me these days and my eyes glaze over as I imagine lost hours of sleep.... When did my bed become so attractive?

Am I getting o-l-d?
Read more »

Moving to Europe – Three Tips

2010-01-29T17:23:00.004+01:00

I'm writing because Seth Godin made me. Okay, not directly.... I listened to a webcast he gave about the importance of “shipping” aka getting things done even when you'd rather not. And believe me, I had a nice, long list of “legitimate” reasons about why I wasn't writing this post. So listening to Godin's talk I felt guilty about letting my “lizard brain” get the better of me all week. The result is this post, imperfect, but done.
....

I suspect that many of us end up in Europe with minimal forethought. I'm guilty of this.

I'm tired of America [or insert current hell-mouth]. I want to spend six months in France [or insert dream escape]. Let me see if I'll like it....

And many of us do—like it, that is. I mean, hello, five weeks of vacation, cheap beer (Prague, at least), siestas, aperitivos, ...

And then heart-/headache when we try to prolong the fantasy.Read more »

Milan on My Mind...

2010-01-22T15:50:00.003+01:00

My younger sister is spending a semester at SDA Bocconi in Milan.

I'm looking forward to visiting her in March, especially if walking the streets I can run into men that look like this.

Ciao....!

The Job That Dare Not Cross Your Expat Resume?

2010-01-21T02:54:00.006+01:00

For those thinking of crossing the Atlantic to put down roots (or a shack) in Europe, fellow expat blogger Camille has a funny and candid post about a type of employment ailment that you might develop during your stint here.

I call it the if-nothing-else-I-can-always-teach-English syndrome. In Camille's case, she's dead set on NOT succumbing to it.

Disclaimer: Teaching is a fine and laudable vocation. But not everyone should do it. Certainly not as a last resort, unless you've always had an interest/passion. Raise your hand if your family, worried about your employment prospects, has ever suggested: "Maybe you should try teaching...." Methinks this could explain the glut of ho-hum teachers we find in certain school systems.

Camille's angst is about a subset of teaching that plagues the expat landscape: teaching English as a foreign language or TEFL-ing. Put aside manual labor or waiting tables or au pairing, and it's about as low on the expat-job totem pole as you can go. Being a porn star commands more respect. The expat forums in Prague are chock full of vitriol against TEFL-ing and TEFL-ers.

When I eventually get to ask a new expat what he or she does, there's almost always a faint note of apology/embarrassment when s/he tells me: "I'm teaching English". Some try to play it off: "Yeah, it's just for a while you know while I [insert justification]." Bottomline: They'd rather be doing something else.

Here's my take on teaching English as a job option: It's cool for those who are abroad temporarily, I say maximum two years. You won't make a killing but you have enough to pay [cheap] rent and get away for [inexpensive] weekends to other European cities. It's also fine if you're retired and collecting pension or whatnot so you don't really need the money, or if you have a spouse/partner earning money. You just want to keep busy. Knock yourself out. Any other scenarios? Add them to the Comments Box.

I'll admit that before coming to Prague, I thought of TEFLing and had even taken a qualifying exam to start a certificate course. But as providence would have it I stumbled across a good part-time job (on Craigslist Prague of all places) with my current company, which eventually led to full-time employment a year later. I tell everyone this upfront: Without this job life in Prague would have been less fun for me. To stay here would have meant burning through what was left of my savings (depleted by two-thirds after the transition dust settled, which was really a full-year later!), or living a very reduced lifestyle.

Teaching English, it's like an extended summer job. Or to pick up on one of Camille's point: Think of it as teaching a local to speak better English so they can move into jobs you would like to have but can't because you don't speak their language or have the connections. Ouch.

A post about working in Europe has been on my mind for a while. (Keep in mind, scenarios vary by country/region.) This is certainly not an exhaustive post. It's a big topic! But it took Camille's entry to get me started on one angle of it. (Thanks Wheelville!)

Are you TEFLing? Did you TEFL? Think it's really not that bad, or want to defend it? (You better do so vigorously. Ha.) How's employment in Europe (or elsewhere) panning out for you? Please share.

Amen to Righteous Indignation Tweeting

2010-01-19T13:55:00.006+01:00

Gotta love Penelope Trunk!

She went to a rodeo event sponsored by the McDonald's Corporation, in Madison, Wisconsin where she lives. Not only did she and her kids have to sit through a show peppered with insulting remarks about women and pro-gun propaganda (okay, so maybe each to his/her own in this case....), the icing on the cake was a lampoon of President Obama by the burger corporation's very own mascot--good ol' Ronald McDonald outfitted in a rasta wig and hat. Read her account here.

Like the savvy social media maven-ess that she is, she documented her ire on her popular blog and has now sparked a full-on Twitter rebuke against McDonald's.

If you tweet, get on Penelope's bandwagon:

@McDonalds Racism is not okay and neither is hate. Please stop your support of the All-Star Rodeo. http://bit.ly/4AiXT1

I can't wait to see how or if McDonald's will respond to this. Go Penelope!

Addendum: To be fair and balanced, here's an opposing commentary about Penelope's bandwagon.

An Early Case of the Expat-Itch?

2010-01-16T06:49:00.006+01:00

Happy New Year and New Decade to those of you who drop by this blog every now and then. Diky moc!

I was in NYC for the holiday period. Returned to Prague this week to find the city buried in snow, and asleep. At first I thought there was a national holiday, but I suppose returning from Novy York can make most cities look subdued by comparison.

I also feel a need to mention that my skin last absorbed vitamin D four days ago, about fifteen minutes into my plane's descent into Prague airspace. I saw the sun through the windows and then cau! Sunny NYC winters, I miss them just as much as getting water for free in restaurants and crazily delicious take-out Thai food.

Blame it on a mix of factors, but Prague is getting small-er to me. Landing here over three years ago, I knew that Prague was no BigApple or London—duh—but these days it's as if I'm getting reminded of it constantly, and not in a good way.

Thursday I'm riding the tram, heading back to my first day of work, and here's a snip of a dialogue in my head—acted out by a Thumbelina-sized demon and equally miniature angel flanking both sides of my noggin.

...
Demon: Holy crap, the men in this town sure are ugly! Girl, you are going to be single for the rest of your life if you stay here.

Angel: Don't be so extreme. And that's kinda mean. Or to use a phrase we've learned a lot about in the past two years—EGOIC.

Demon: Well, here's another familiar word for ya: C-E-L-I-B-A-C-Y.

Angel: Pay that she-demon no mind. You will have sex again, granted just not with the type of men that you're staring at right now.... Look, you've just come back from three weeks in the greatest city in the world and things here don't look so hot. Completely understandable. The gloomy weather isn't helping. And you're still sick and feeling blah from your bug, which if you remember BFF said was indicative of an allergy to the United States because you always end up getting sick when you are there.

Demon: An allergic reaction to America as an excuse to stay here? Angie-babe, you are so lame and in D-E-N-I-A-L.

Angel: Okay, one more spelling and I will sock you. Don't let this halo fool you. What she needs is time and medication—I mean, meditation. No one is saying Prague is IT forever. She knows she can leave whenever she wants—when the time is right and for the right reasons.

Demon: And oh enlightened one, when will that be and for what reason(s)?

Angel: That's for her to figure out, without the two of us buzzing around in her head.
...

Will my Prague-angst grow or diminish? Is this just new-year malaise? Hard to tell. What I know is this: I don't want to make any hasty decisions or linger if my time here is up. Let's see how this/what unfolds in the months ahead. Sure to be interesting...

Mystery SMSes? Not So Mysterious Outcome

2009-12-18T10:33:00.002+01:00

Two nights ago, I received a text message that went like this:

Good evening. I got your contact from my friend. I heard you are very active, interesting and nice person inside so I told myself why should not I try to send you a message. I like to meet people like you. If you have this the same I will be happy when you answer me. If not after take my apologize please and be sure I will delete you number. Regards, xxx.

Awww, isn't that....? You fill in the blank.

Okay. Friends should not pass out other friends' personal contact information without prior approval or notification. Isn't this just common sense or did social etiquette rules change while I was neck deep in work last week?

So I wrote back. (I didn't save my text so I'll paraphrase.)

Thanks for writing. But can you let me know who gave you my number?

Reasonable request, right?

Of course, I understand you, but I am not in the position to tell you this, because I promised it to him. Don't find anything in it because there is not special reason...

I don't think I ever mentioned it on the blog, but about two years ago I was pestered with phone calls and text messages from a guy who claimed we had met during my trip to Nigeria in 2007. I have very few friends back there, so my social calendar is always slim—I remember everything, and I certainly never met him. For a few days, he insisted we had crossed paths; he also sent me flowery prose about our potential relationship. When he finally admitted to getting my number from someone we knew in common, it took another two months (plus more prose) to find out—not from him, mind you, but from my aunt who it turns out was covertly involved in this novella. Relatives!—that he had manipulated my cousin into giving up my number. How? She worked in a dentist's office; he was a friend and client of her boss. He saw my picture on her desk and asked if he could contact me. She said no, and when she continued to refuse he took the matter to her boss.... Classy, uh?

Back to the present. At text #2, I had to roll my eyes: Not again. What is the matter with these men? These shenanigans are so elementary school. If you refuse to give up your source it's because you did not go about things the right way in the first place. How about:

Your friend's hot. Is she single?
I think so.
Sweet. Will it be okay to get her number?
Hmm, let me check with her first.

Easy, easy, easy! I can't imagine why I would have said No. I mean, I'm single. VERY. But I still have standards. Ha.

My reply. Again, paraphrasing.

I'm not asking because I want to call this person you know to yell at him or her for giving you my number. I just don't make it a habit to welcome or encourage text messages from strangers who claim that we have friends in common.

My thing is anonymous meetings have to be on my terms. I don't start chatting with you just because. It's my prerogative as a woman to decide if communications can proceed. Just answer one darn question.

I am really not in the position to tell you this. I understand you don't like I sent you message, you are not open for talk and I respect it thats why I am going to delete your number and will not contact you again. Thanks.

Maybe he reads this blog, and now thinks I'm not so nice. Haaa. Oh well, at least this episode was mercifully quick.

My Morning Cup of Inspiration

2009-12-05T12:17:00.006+01:00

In the past months, one of my favorite things to do in the mornings is to listen to something inspirational.

An interview from Oprah's Soul Series, downloaded from ITunes. Or a podcast from Ariane de Bonvoisin's First 30 Days website.

Some folks need a cup of coffee to get going. I crave a pep talk.

I got one this morning listening to a podcast interview on Ariane's site with Immaculee Ilibagiza, a Rwandan woman who survived her country's genocide. Her story of survival is amazing--she hid in a tiny bathroom with seven other women for three months--but what really blew me away was her account of her transformation afterward. Even after going through that horrific, terrifying experience, she was able to get to a place of forgiveness and renewed faith in a higher power.

Imagine the world with more people like her.

If you've got 20-30 minutes to spare in the mornings or whenever, listen to a Change Nation podcast. I think it beats scrolling through Facebook updates.

Cauky.

Addendum: Foundation Rwanda

Third Time Approved and a Long Dinner

2009-09-24T11:48:00.005+02:00

I'm loving this September in Prague. The weather has been great. (Today looks a bit iffy, but it was sunny all week so one grey day ain't that bad.) This time last year I was digging out winter gear. I remember because last September I went off to London and was grateful to escape the chill in Prague for a week. What puzzles me now are people who absolutely swear this is a colder Fall season. What?! We must not be living in the same city. My boots and jackets are still packed away. Hopefully well into October.

Moving on. Good news. I picked up my third renewal visa on Tuesday. Woo-hoo. (Read about my first and second renewals.) Mirek (Miroslav), my sweet-faced immigration consultant, was on-hand again to navigate me swiftly through the Foreign Police's red tape. From entry into the building to getting the visa stamped into my passport and exiting, the entire process took about ten minutes. Sweeeeet. I had a coworker recently complain about how Mirek's firm handles immigration. Again, can I say: What?! Try dealing with the Foreign Police on your own and let's "re-talk".

Here's a tidbit about me: I'm a glass-half-full-if-not-overflowing kinda girl. I'm always grateful because I know things could be worse!

I've heard of grown men reduced to tears by the machinations of the sadists at the FP. Or sadly, companies that bungle the visa process for their expat-employees. Read about EmptyNester's experience here. Last week, Expat.cz published a very timely article about visa rejection.

By the way, I'm still sorta famous. Mirek told me: “We saw you on tv!”

What they say about fame is true! For a second, I thought, “Hmm, did I have another television appearance recently? Gosh, I can't keep track of myself....”

Ha! I'm ridiculous!

And well-fed. Last night, I was treated to a delightful dinner at a chi-chi French restaurant by a business acquaintance. Hmmmm. By chi-chi we're talking the type of restaurant where the waiters don white gloves to place cutlery on your table; surprise you with amuse bouche; appear to refill your wine glass after two sips; and give lengthy presentations about the cheese platter. Ooh-la-la? It was delish. It was fun. It lasted five hours. Though it's almost noon today I have yet to touch breakfast. BlackGirl loves these types of experiences and would like to have more of them!

Tonight, I'm heading to a free motivational seminar—how to achieve your goals, be successful, etc, etc. I wonder if wanting more evenings of five-star dinners can qualify as a goal?

Cauky.

The Furniture Project: BlackGirl and Lulu Get a New Sofa

2009-09-19T16:19:00.006+02:00

There's a part of me that feels I came to Prague to “grow up”. Yesterday, I brought home my first sofa. Yay!

Yup, I've been here three years and have had no real furniture save for a bed, a table and a chair. Ask my guests. (I also have an air mattress that I'll be selling soon because felines and inflatable stuff don't mix.) Meals with friends were conducted picnic style on layers of blankets and pillows. When I was tired of seating at my table I went to the bedroom. It's no wonder napping became a favored pastime.

Why did furniture shopping take so long? In no particular order: Laziness. Budget. Uncertainty. Time. Perfectionism. Patience.

Then I pledged to get a kitten from my friend Mme D whose two cats had a litter. And then I pictured a new kitten wandering about my empty apartment alone and the image struck me as sad. (Indeed her first week in the apartment, unaccustomed to me and with no proper hiding place Lulu crouched in corners or stayed in her hooded litter box.)

Well, the situation got me thinking: “She's going to need furniture to play with and hide under.” I joke not. Getting a cat forced my hand.

Through a random browsing of Prague's expat website I found Klara, a sweet Czech student pursuing a certification in interior design and who was looking for clients to start her portfolio. She showed up at my apartment one Friday afternoon in late July: “Wow, you're not kidding, it's really empty.”

Weeks later, we trekked to Libensky Most, to a desolate former shipping yard that now houses antique and used-furniture shops or bazaars as they're called here. In one store, we saw terrific antiques, but found them quite expensive and/or in need of repair. Another store was filled with rejects from the 80s and early 90s. A lot of glass, pleather and atrocious patterns. Then I saw it: a boxy two-seater, stripes, no arms, two backrests supported by steel frames. Hmmm.

Intrigued, I called Klara over. We bounced on it and found it stable. In a sea of ugly three-seaters and sectionals, the sofa was plain and small, and thinking it would look lost in my living room I pictured it in the kitchen. We moved it out of the row to take measurements: we each grabbed one end and—what the...? The two seats separated and swiveled outwards slightly; the backrests buckled. Whoa. A defect? We pulled again, making a 90-degree rotation, and to our amazement/delight/glee the sofa transformed into a flat daybed.

Sold! For approximately $60. I joke not. I knew that a good makeover would completely transform it from a charming or lucky bazaar find into a stylish piece worthy of being included in a design magazine.

Klara helped locate an upholstery store in Prague 4 where I chose a light gray brushed suede fabric. The makeover and the fabric (expensive!) cost over five times the price of the sofa, but some things you just know are/will be worth the extra cost.

Placed in my living room yesterday, the sofa looked stunning and plush. I'm still camera-less, so Klara took pictures with her phone. (When she sends them I'll post.) Because she's been so instrumental to the [on-going] project I offered her the “inaugural sit”.

Lulu and I took a quick nap on our new daybed this afternoon. As I type, she's still curled up on it fast asleep.

Cauky.

In Brief: BlackGirl Self Interview

2009-09-15T07:46:00.009+02:00

BlackGirl, Where have you been and what have you been up to?

Still in Prague, keeping a low profile. It's been a strange year, and I've had a lot of thinking to do.

About what exactly?

The usual stuff—life, asking questions, looking for the big B: balance. Strangely, once the half-marathon was over I got unhinged. I didn't realize how much energy, not just physically, I had put into achieving that one goal; when the day came and went and the high faded things I had neglected came rushing at me for attention. I became very cranky.

Are you better now?

It took almost five months, but I'm getting back to me. A few days break in late August helped tons. I packed a bag and went off to a tiny mountain town called Bedrichov in the Jizerske Hory region. On my second day, I decided to take a walk to the highest point in the area—an old television tower. Well, thanks to my rusty Czech I ended up taking the long way there. Three hours on a small, winding road heading to who-knows-where is a lot of time to talk to oneself—aloud. The rest of the trip I was also able to get to a second reading of Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now". Love Mr. Tolle!

That's been your only trip?

Nope. After the race I was in Saint-Petersburg, Russia, for a week in April. For a company conference. The city is massive! And beautiful. I stayed on Vasilievsky Island—the Hermitage and other top sites (Church on Spilt Blood—simply divine) were just a ten-minute-plus walk away. My hotel was a dream—ten different types of saunas and steam rooms, a gorgeous indoor pool. I tell ya, traveling on the company's dime sure is sweet. I'm going to miss it.

Uh-oh, what does that mean?

Yeah, that pesky financial crisis hit my company kinda bad. We're getting acquired.

Doesn't sound good. You've been through acquisitions before at two other companies; you know what happens with those, right?

Yeahhh, but that's topic for another post—if I feel like it.

Did you meet any oligarchs in Russia?

NO. (Sucking teeth.) I mean, where the heck were they?!

Probably losing sleep over the crisis.

You've got a point.

Any other trips?

Scotland (Glasgow & Edinburgh) for a week in May. The States (California & New York) for five weeks from late May through June. Caught up with my family, my girls, and some friends from way back—high school. Facebook does have its uses other than time-wasting.

Other highlights?

Tan returned to Prague for a brief spell! She wanted to give Prague another try, but the job market was bone-dry. She's back in Australia now. It was great to have her around again if for a while.

Aren't you going to mention your “two seconds of fame”?

Oh that. Obama was in town in April. (Squeal!) I went with some friends to see him. I ended up getting interviewed by two Czech television stations. Friends watched it on the evening news and I got a flurry of SMS messages and Facebook comments.

Were you tickled?

Of course. I'd been waiting for that moment all my life. (Snort.) I was more concerned that my statements (the question was about nuclear proliferation—yikes!) made no sense. But it's impossible to sound dumb in a 5-second clip. I think.

Who's loving you these days?

My crazy new kitten Lulu. Unfortunately, my camera is out of commission so I can't post a picture of her.

Are you back to blogging again?

I'm still in recovery mode, so no promises. Let's just take things one entry at a time.

Run BlackGirl, (gasp...) Run!

2009-09-13T22:14:00.015+02:00

It was almost a year ago that Namesake and me stood on Staromestka Namesti at the annual Tesco 5K Night Run, and as we watched the runners cross the finish line I declared that I planned to run my first race—a half marathon—in 2009. Which I did, and the summary of that race marked my last real blog post.

(The next post will give a quick summary of what I've been up to since that race. Promise. But please don't get excited—it ain't that much.)

I returned to the square again last night for this year's run. Namesake was there again for support and to capture the Kodak moments.

But was I in for a shock or what? 5K's are freaking intense! Unlike in a half-marathon or other longer races, there's no time to build momentum—the opening shot goes off and everyone starts flying. It was insane.

Before the race started, I had breezily told Namesake: “Don't go anywhere. I'll back in thirty.” Haha-ha. I was sucking wind 1km into the event.

This was not the same BlackGirl who cruised through a half-marathon in March. Sure my running regimen up until the race had been spotty. (On a few occasions I would show up at the gym, give the treadmills a passing glance and head for the sauna instead.) But left-over confidence (if there is such a thing) or plain naivete had me thinking the 5K would be a peach. And, and it also didn't help that I queued up at the end of the pack (a lesson for the future?); throughout the race it seemed I was trying to play catch-up and thus was running faster than I had anticipated.

On the final stretch down Parizska street I was oh-so-ready to give it up and start walking. Then I saw the finish line (Can I make it?) and the clock up ahead: 00:28:xx. (Oh yes you will! You are gonna make it under 30 if it kills you!) I tapped into the last bit of juice I had left, heart pounding and sprinted to a 00:28:08 finish. Woo-gasp-gasp-I-may-have-a-heart-attack-hoo.

Happy to report that BlackGirl Power was very much on display last night as Kenyans swept the three top spots in the race in under 16 minutes.

Call it the Tesco-5K effect—Namesake has now vowed to run the race with me next year!

I "Heart" New York....

2009-09-11T13:16:00.005+02:00

....Always.

Run BlackGirl, Run!

2009-04-04T23:04:00.013+02:00

Wanted to share some pictures and one bout of silliness from my first ever race—last Saturday's Prague Half Marathon.

My time: 2:01:39. Not bad for a newbie runner. :)

It was a good—maybe even great—first experience. Namesake, Ci and her boyfriend came to see me off. (Thanks guys, you rock!)

My starting pace was pretty conservative, probably slower than it needed to be, but I wanted to prevent early flameout. Once I got comfortable I gained momentum. No cramps or stitches; an even tempo with enough energy left at the last kilometer to make a mad dash for the finish line.

And mad it was. The reason? Pure and simple competition. Not race timing as one might expect. Because of my slow start I had already made peace with the fact that I wasn't going to get to the finish line in under 2:00:00—until one particular runner came along in the last two kilometers, and I figured out that she was using me for “target” pacing. Grrrr.

She passed me. A few minutes later, without much of a change in my pace I passed her. Within seconds (really) she “sped up” and passed me. And then—here's where things clicked for me—her pace slowed down again once she was ahead of me. Hmmmm.

My competitive side, which had curiously stayed dormant for the first 19 kilometers, suddenly kicked in: “Lady, you picked the wrong girl to use as your benchmark. I'm gonna drop your ass, and good luck catching me if you can!” As soon as I saw the 20km mark I took off past her and did not look back.

Run BlackGirl, Run!

The effort nearly killed me. I was so sure that my heart or lungs or a blood vessel—something internal—was going to explode. Either that or I would drop at the finish line in a faint.

Then I saw the clock time.... Afterward I realized that I probably owed the woman a “Thank You” (and a “Well Done”). Without her, I don't think I would have tried harder in that last leg.

Next year, I'm aiming for 1:45:00, and healthy competition. :)

Cauky.

Take a wild guess who the race leaders are?

Sprinting for the finish while I'm still at the 10km mark.
The insanity is almost over.
I poached this picture from "Empty Nester", a reader of this blog and recent American Expat to Prague. She came up to me as I was waiting and asked: "Are you BlackGirlinPrague?" :) Second time in two weeks this has happened to me.

Obama-mania Comes to Prague!

2009-04-03T09:28:00.003+02:00

Is this Prague's biggest event of the year? Probably.

Obama comes into town tomorrow and will give a speech on Sunday morning. I'm making plans with some friends to go hear him speak. Gates to Hradcany Square, where the event will be held, open at 7am, but crowds are expected before that time.

Looks like I'm going to be setting up my alarm. As I wrote to Namesake: “It's a rare man that I would get up that early for these days.”

My concern now is what four hours waiting outdoors will do to my disposition. I'm cranky and ravenous in the mornings!

Is Prague the place to be in April—for Black people? It would seem so—three other celeb figures will be in town: Tina Turner, Beyonce, and Ice-Cube.

Tina and Beyonce will be performing within three days of each other—April 27 and 30. Yours truly is on a budget and “should” only spare funds for one..... Who will it be?

Say. Do. Now. Later. Now.

2009-02-23T10:06:00.010+01:00

An internal dialogue from the last few months. Can you relate?

The last two sections of this article pinpoint what ails me. The author's advice is similar to an approach that I decided to follow in January. I'll touch on that in a different post.

Now, I'm off to go get something done.

Hot Topics, Cold Sunday

2009-02-22T10:09:00.010+01:00

I woke up early for a Sunday morning—7:30am. Too early to be thinking about racial bias, and the complexities of foreign aid to Africa. But these two topics grabbed my attention in the list of articles featured in my daily email subscription to the NYTimes.

On aid to Africa. First impression: Hard to disagree with Dambisa Moyo. I completely see the connection between foreign aid to African countries and increased corruption—it's an unfortunate and unintended side effect. Second impression: Smart woman—Harvard, Oxford. Third impression: I love her shoes.

On hidden racial biases. Can a test determine whether I have a strong bias for Blacks over Whites or vice versa? Though I think I'm tuned in to what my biases are, I was curious to find out what the Project Implicit test would reveal. (Take the US Election 2008 task.) Results? No automatic preference for one race over the other. Not to give toooo much credence to an online test, but that sounds about right. Living in America, I picked up “learned” biases that I didn't have growing up in Nigeria. Living in Prague, I find that these biases have become essentially useless.

Okay, more cereal and less cerebral for my Sunday morning.... It's cold outside and I feel disinclined to go for a run. Heading back to bed? Looking mighty attractive.

Cau.

PS – I'm playing hostess to younger Sister MoneyBags in a few days. (She's getting her MBA, hence the moniker.) This will leave two immediate family members—my Dad and younger brother—who have yet to pay me a visit in Prague.

Two Reasons to Carry a Camera When I Run

2009-02-01T20:24:00.009+01:00

I went for a run late this morning. Training for a half-marathon that's coming up at the end of March.

Running in zero-degree weather isn't my idea of a rollicking good time, but pride (I've publicized my athletic intention to family and friends) and vanity (mini movements leftward on the scale) are great motivators. Plus, I've already paid 35 Euros ($45) to be at the start line—I hate to waste money.

Two things made me glad I ventured out, and regret that I don't make a habit of carrying my camera anymore. The first happened five minutes into my run.

Stromovka Park—a block away from my apartment in Holesovice—when covered in fresh snow is gorgeous to behold. (Stromovka means “Place of Trees”.) Apparently, we had gotten some snow earlier in the morning. Trees, plain and brown during past runs, were now powdered white and adorned with ice crystals. The scene sparkled; the air was light and crisp. A small wind blew specks of snow off branches; I got a cool dusting on my face, and I just felt so happy and alive and grateful.

“Wow, I want to share this experience! Why not blog it? It would be a nice way to return to posting. But wait, no picture? Darn, that would be a letdown, dontcha think? Maybe you should turn back to go get your camera. Oh man...”

Once I get into a run turning back is hard; plus, I don't trust myself—I could get home and find an excuse not to return. (Facebook, anyone?!) So, sorry I have no picture to show of my moment being at one with nature.

Thirty five minutes later, then I really wanted to kick myself for not turning back for the camera—because how often do I go out for a Sunday run and half-way through find myself being ferried across the Vltava River in a sailboat?

Here's how it happened: on a whim I decided to silently trail another runner. His route took us out of the park into the streets of Bubenec, past bus stops and nondescript rows of apartment buildings. Definitely nothing transcendent was going to happen for me on this stretch. When the guy made a beeline for his building I continued ahead until I hit a highway. To my left, cars and buses speeding past; to my right, the Vltava River; and across the river, the Prague Zoo in Troja.

One of the things I enjoy doing on runs is to see how far I can go along one side of the river until I find a way to get to the other and end up with a nice loop back home. So far I've found one connecting route—a rarely used bridge next to what I think is a water treatment plant. (Can't you just smell the roses?)

As I ran on the highway today, I wondered how and when I would find a way across, or if (already dreading the uninspiring landscape) I would have to turn around and head back the way I came. And voila, down by the river bank, a dinghy! A plain, small boat that takes people across the river, and you just pay with a standard bus-metro ticket. Sweet!

All smiles and happily violating my “Keep running unless you're about to pass out”, “Don't get in any water vessel without a life vest” rules, I joined a woman and her two children in the boat.

For someone who had recently come to bemoan the lack of novelty in her days, the two-minute boat ride to Troja was a welcome “adventure”.

"This is so cool and quirky! How many people know about this boat? And what's it called? The Prague Dinghy? Damn, I really should have brought my camera!...”

We've still got the whole month of February to get through, so there could be more snowy runs in Stromovka and a chance to get some nice shots. And something tells me I'll be back on the dinghy for another ferry across the river. :)

Cauky.

Kde Je BlackGirl?

2008-10-11T13:05:00.007+02:00

Hi folks,

BlackGirl is still around. Swamped with work. (Who isn't?) Testing out a potential romance. (He's Slovak.) But mainly grappling with a case of blogger's block or whatever the term may be. It's simply this: I'm not exactly the same person who started this blog some two years ago. But yet I feel that I'm still writing like her, focusing on the minute when my real world, personality, thoughts and passions are bigger. So, I'm not only looking for more time in my day, but also for creative rebirth/direction. Stay tuned.

To friends and readers: Thanks for still checking in. Throw me insights if you have them.

To the new BlackGirls in Prague who've left comments: Welcome! I'll be sure to respond soon and make arrangements for coffee.

Cauky!

Looks from London

2008-10-01T09:49:00.011+02:00

I can't believe it's October. Where did time go? I want more hours in my day so I can attempt to have a life. My schedule has taken on a disquieting monotony—eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work—and I haven't seen many of my friends in weeks. But I suspect that additional hours if they come will get cannibalized by? Sleep. Which is what I did the most of during my trip to London two weeks ago. And eating too. I'm back at that “number” that gets me all freaked out and eating soups and salads for a month. We all have that number.

Random shots from visit #5 to London:
BlackGirl & Squeaky, Westminster Abbey in background. Confident even when I'm dead wrong (sound like anyone we know, name rhymes with tush?), I insisted the clock tower was not Big Ben and tried convincing a passing local that the tower was elsewhere.
London Eye. Maybe next time.
I knew he wasn't allowed to move—or kick me.
Missed Borough Market on my last two trips. Not this time.... A fun way to spend a Saturday morning. I could have stayed for hours, but my wallet started to hurt.
I should eat more vegetables, but....
....fudge brownies will do just fine, thank you very much.
I am waiting, begging for someone to open a decent dim-sum spot in Prague. In the meantime, London will just have to do. Lunch at Pearl Liang.
Chrysanthemum bun. Yummy to eat even though I thought it looked like a nipple.
Getting myself to Buckingham Palace. Finally.

Permission Granted

2008-09-16T21:32:00.005+02:00

I'm still in good standing with the Czechs. My long-term residency visa and work permit were extended today. (I still find it puzzling how a year qualifies as “long-term”, but hey, one knows better than to argue with immigration....)

Of course, this also means I have decided to stay an extra year. It's a two-way thing.

Prague has been good for me, and even though I can find things (the weather!) to gripe about I am content and at ease here.

Cauky.

Motivation

2008-09-15T21:19:00.005+02:00

Brrr. We have a cold week ahead. It was in the 40s today. At this rate I doubt there will be a transition into Fall at all. I'm not happy. Winter gear should stay hidden until late October, but clearly this is not going to be the case for this year. Looks like winter might be a long one.

Weather I can't control, but two things perked me up today:

A new toy! My co-worker returned from a visit to home (US) and brought back an Ipod Shuffle as I requested. See picture. So pretty. It's for my running or walking, however my “training” turns out.

I feel a bit decadent about the Shuffle since I already have a regular-size Ipod. But my 30G model has been/is cumbersome to run with. Not to mention that a while ago the back-and-forth motion of the velcro-ed arm band when I ran left a quarter-size bruise below my armpit. It broke skin and the area stung like heck for days whenever I showered. I couldn't imagine an entire winter of that.

The second item is for my attempt to be a swimmer. “The Miracle Swimmer” DVD from Transpersonal Swimming Institute. (The rest of the DVD's title goes: “Learn to be in control in water, shallow and deep: Prevent panic”.) I'm more interested in the deep aspect because this is where I “lose it”. I cling to the wall and refuse to let go.

Five swimming classes have drilled stroke techniques into me. But none have helped my fear of deep water. Then in March an article in the NYTimes about the TSI approach caught my interest, and when I enrolled in my swim class a week ago I decided to order a TSI DVD. It wasn't cheap (about $50 plus S&H), but if it gets me over my fear it'll be worth every penny. I'll report back in another post.

Prague Night Races

2008-09-14T23:05:00.009+02:00

Ay, winter is here. If not, it sure feels like it.

Last night, I went out to Old Town square with Namesake to see the annual Prague Night races. The temperature was 47F. I wore a sweater and a jacket, and casual sneakers for the first time since April. I felt under-dressed. Namesake wore even less. We shivered as we watched runners cross the finish line for the 5k women's race.

Two thoughts occurred to me:

One, The winner came in at under 15 minutes. Other runners quickly followed. Earlier that morning I had gone for my first outdoor run. Correction: my first outdoor “walk”. These women were sprinting. What I am still doing is a slowww motion jog.

Second, It's only September and in the 40s, and I'm fully clothed and cold. What is it going to feel like in January in the single digits or below and wearing less?

Why these two thoughts? Yours truly is “training” to run the half-marathon in March 2009.

Namesake offered a consolation re the first point: Don't worry, you're not trying to break any world records. Sure, but at my current rate I will probably need all three hours to finish.

On the second, she pretty much thought I was insane.

Over brunch at Savoy this afternoon, my friend Ci shook her head and with her delicious Argentinian accent summed it all up: “I don't know why you want to do this thing when you could be inside, in the pub drinking.”

(Bartender-Runners for the Hilton Bartenders' Race)

Dekuju USPS & Ceska Posta!

2008-09-06T17:53:00.010+02:00

Items SisterDoctor sent from New York arrived safely yesterday. When my company's reception desk called to tell me I had a package I was so thrilled I did a victory dance. Yay! (I live a “get pleasure out of any moment you can find” lifestyle....)

What did I get?

A blue-tooth headset for Skype – I was tired of not having mobility during calls.

Replacement Koss earbuds for my Ipod – I think these buds are just awesome; they mold to your ears, and are a great value at under $20.

Reads I didn't have time to pick up on my last trip. Books are pricey here and you don't get a wide selection.

Alavert – Allergies were kicking my behind most of July-August. The supply I bought from New York in May is nearly gone. Could I have gone to the pharmacy here? Yup, but I trust what I know until it stops working....

Mail – Unfortunately, nothing from NYState Lotto stating that there is an unclaimed winning with my name attached to it.

Coaster Tea Biscuits (Nigeria) – I asked for “a few”. I expected my sister to throw in four or five packs—she sent 19! But most didn't survive the trip intact.

24-7 Skincare Set – My third win from Lucky Magazine! I enter the online drawings monthly. First win: eight shampoos and conditioners from Alberto VO5. Second win: a pair of jeans. What I really want to win is a shopping spree. C'mon Lucky!

Levi's Mid-Rise, Straight Leg 552 – My alternative to skinny jeans. Gives me a narrow look without the indignities—muffin top and loss of circulation—of the typical skinny jeans. They fit pretty well now, but I'm picking up my gym routine again and a few pounds will definitely melt off. What then?

Anyhoos, getting a package made me feel like a kid again—boarding school and getting contraband care packages from my mom through teachers who lived in our neighborhood. The experience has me thinking I should arrange to get packages every couple of months. It's a nice change to the routine. Next time, include more food items. Top on the list: Lemon Curd from Trader Joe's. (I discovered Lemon Curd in Amsterdam; now I'm addicted.) Yum!

Eivissa: Starter Tattoo

2008-09-05T12:56:00.009+02:00

After years of indecision, I finally got inked—with henna. During a night stroll through San Antonio. A little reptile on my left arm. The tattoo artist was a sweet hunk called Joachim. He wanted to charge me 15 Euros. That wasn't so sweet to me.

Me: For this itty bitty gecko? I don't think so.

Joachim: Okay, 12 Euros. A really good deal because the design is intricate and takes more time to do....

Hmm mm.... I looked over at other designs, trying to imagine the finished product on my skin, wondering why for years I hesitated about getting marked. I've pointed to the difficulty of settling on a design or choosing a location or the effect of time on the skin and thus the tattoo. Other times it's been me looking ahead—30 years and staring at an inky blotch on my body and maybe thinking, “What was that all about?....”

I remember getting my navel pierced in college and for a while being mesmerized by stainless steel hanging out of my flesh. Of course, the novelty faded and eventually it seemed as natural/mundane as having ten fingers. Until recently when I began to feel a soreness around the ring, and wondered if it was time to part ways with this memento from my youth.

A ring you can remove. A tattoo, not so easy. But I'm still enticed by the thought of getting one. After abandoning braids it took about two years of twisting my hair before I committed to dreadlocks. And I don't regret the decision. Staring at the henna hunk's sketches got me thinking: Exploring tattoos via henna could provide gradual steps to getting one permanently. Or perhaps I don't even need to ever make a commitment—just experience tattoos vicariously.

Joachim: Okay, if you don't want to pay more then choose something else, like these (pointing to a group of big blocky tribal tattoos). The gecko will fade sooner anyways because it takes less ink....

Bingo. I looked at him, all smiles.

Me: Less ink, less money. 10 Euros.

Joachim: (Laughing) God, you're worse than the Italians!

He got me later though.

Me (to Darcie): After all these years, I'm getting a tattoo....

Joachim: (Smirking) Yeah, and it's fake!

Touche.

Eivissa: How to Get a Free Beach Chair

2008-09-04T11:49:00.001+02:00

Growing up in Nigeria, I watched my mom, grandmother and female relatives bargain with abandon. Everything—big or small—was negotiable. Bargaining was a verbal dance, a stroking of egos, a careful mix of petulance and flirtation. Executed well, both sides walked away satisfied—the buyer kept more of her money, and the seller still made a profit and got entertained on what might have been a slow market day. Because of those early experiences I think today I have a fair sense of when, where and how I can cut corners. I love getting a deal. Who doesn't? Rent, credit card interest rates, gym memberships, etc. But oddly sometimes the small items provide the most satisfying victories. What do you think?

The first evening in Ibiza. After waking from a long nap I joined MadameD on the beach five minutes away. (Ahhh, such conveniences....) I grabbed a nearby beach chair. Since I showed up at 5:30p with only an hour and a half left before the chaises got packed away I expected to pay less money. Imagine my indignation when CabanaMan came around and wanted to charge me full price: 6 Euros. I protested.

Cabana Man: I'm sorry, but this is not my policy. I would let you stay but my boss is over there watching.

Me: Really? Point him out to me. I want to talk to him because this policy is kinda unfair. I'm only going to be here for one hour and I don't think I should pay full price.

CM: Yeah, I know, but he's really busy right now and I have to pack everything by seven.

Me: Ok, but I don't want to pay 6 Euros. Let me go talk to your boss. Which one is he?

CM: Uhhhh, he doesn't like to talk to customers. He gets angry if I send people to him.

Me: (Yeah right.) I thought you said he was busy.

CM: Yeah, he is but he also doesn't like to be bothered. He gets mad at me if customers come to him... Look, I'm just trying to do my job.

Me: I know and I admire you for that. But there are other empty chairs all over the place. How about you go pick up those chairs and when you're done you can come back for mine. See?

He paused, looked around, and to my surprise, walked away. Feeling proud of myself I settled back into the chair and figured that I had just bought myself a free hour.

Until 6:05pm....

CM: Umm, I really need to pick up that chair.

Me: (Drats!) You're done already? Are you sure you got all the chairs? (I looked around. He had...) You're fast!

CM: Yes, so it's after six, I have to take your chair.

Me: But I thought you said till seven. Why are you changing the time now?... My friend has paid for her chair, and she has it till seven, right? So come back when she leaves and you can have my chair too. (Darcie, by the way, was snorkeling during this exchange.)

CM: But you didn't pay and I have to take your chair. That guy over there (another CabanaMan nearby) is staying till seven. You can ask him for one of his chairs. He's my friend, he's a real nice guy.

Me: Ohhh, ok.... Weeell, since he's yourrr friend why don't youuu ask him for me?

CM: Just go and ask him. He's nice.

Me: (Whining.) Why are you being so difficult?

CM: I'm not difficult. I just want to do my job. You see that beach all the way over there? I still have to go there to pick up chairs. I've been working since 7 this morning, almost 12 hours. I just want to get out of here.

Me: Really? That's a long day. You must be sooo tired.... Believe me, I don't want to make things hard for you. But why don't you just come back at seven when you have to take my friend's chair, then you can get mine and everyone's happy....

CabanaMan looked around helplessly. At this point, I knew it was only a matter of buttering him up. But how?....

Me: You have such nice teeth.

CabanaMan shook his head. Why today? Why this woman?....

Me: Yes, you do! They're realllly white. Are they natural or do you bleach them?

CM: No, I don't bleach.

Me: That's great! Let me take a picture of you. Can I take a picture of you?

I reached for my camera.

CM: I need to take your chair.

By now, there was not much force behind the words. I could tell he had given up and I was going to keep my 6 Euros. I snapped his picture.

Me: Cool. Here, take one of me....

I handed him my camera. He obliged.

CM: It's a nice picture.

Me: Wow, this is a great shot! Are you a photographer? Do you do photography? 'Cause you've got skills, you know.

I saw a smile. Yes!

CM: Okay, let's make a deal. You tell me how long you'll be here for and I'll come back at that time to take the chair.

Me: (Bingo!) 6:50.

...6:50pm

MadameD and I packed our things. I glanced over across the sand and waved at CabanaMan. He smiled back. I think he enjoyed our dance too.

Sixth Time Will Be the Charm

2008-09-02T22:48:00.011+02:00

Ahoj. Summer is over—I wore a sweater yesterday, a blazer today. Will I need my leather jacket tomorrow? Did summer ever start at all? Prague was unusually cool and wet this year.

Disconnecting and taking an eight-day break to Ibiza gave me plenty of time to think. Maybe too much time actually. Because I returned with a list of “changes” to implement.

Uhh, isn't it a bit late in the year for resolutions? BFF asked over the weekend.

I say not at all. Returning from Marianske Lazne around this same time last year, I resolved to opt out of my dramatic dalliance with Pch. And look how well I turned out! Of course, I was inches away from psychotic in the first weeks, but hey, what do they say about change? The first ten days are the hardest....

Ibiza renewed my commitment to master swimming—five (yes, five) previous attempts notwithstanding. The waters looked sooo inviting, it was a shame not being able to dive in; but I suck at drowning.

So, where to swim in Prague?

Every other week I discover something cool about Holesovice, my new neighborhood. For example, I live less than ten minutes away from Vystaviste, an exhibition arena that also has sporting facilities, including a 25-meter pool. I eagerly went online to find pool hours to plan a schedule for practice.

Well, even better news awaited me.

Browsing through the site—used Google's translator 'cause my Czech ain't where it needs to be for the task—I discovered the link for a Czech swimming school that offers classes for adults!

Don't laugh. Actually, it's okay if you do. But I think the universe is telling me this is my time to finally get my fins.

I subscribe to about 25 blog feeds, including First 30 Days—a site about positive living. My Google reader was swamped from my time away. I skimmed a few entries from all the various sites, trashed about 90%. One entry I skimmed was from 30Days and featured a podcast with Tim Ferris, the 4-hour work week guru. Curious, I listened to the podcast, then checked out his blog where I found this entry: "Total Immersion: How I Learned to Swim Effortlessly in 10 Days and You Can Too".

A pool minutes away from my apartment, a swimming school with instructors who speak English (I've already called), and reference materials? I'm reading too much into this. I know. But humor me. I'm in a good mood and feeling optimistic. Classes start next week.

Addendum - Sharing something else I stumbled on. Looking for swimming pools anywhere in the world? Try this link.

Eivissa: Highlights and Fireworks

2008-09-01T20:56:00.004+02:00

(I'm undecided about extending my Flickr pro account, so for now I'm posting pictures directly on the blog....)

Formantera – Two hours away by ferry. Pristine beaches, clear waters. You can wade out far and still feel the bottom, which was important because yours truly is a fake swimmer.

Cala Bossa – Loved the name, loved the mesmerizing emerald waters even more. Just thirty minutes from San Antonio.

A lazy "train" excursion to Santa Ines, a small village in the mountains. On the way, we passed vineyards, citrus groves, almond trees, and fig trees so low hanging you could extend an arm to grab their fruits, which a few passengers did. I sat next to a Brit and his 11-year-old son who was super impressed to learn about the perks of staying in a three-star hotel: “Wow, you have a pool?! We're staying in a hostel; all we have is a jacuzzi and it doesn't even work....”

D'Alta Vila, Ibiza Town.

MadameD with cornrows! And getting a taste of what millions of black women endure in the name of beauty. Ahh, I remember those days, the tightness, the soreness, the headaches. I gave her two Advil tablets afterwards.

Television
Last days of the Olympics. Usain Bolt was something else, wasn't he?
A reminder of why television can be a bad thing – MTV's X-Factor.
On the other hand, The Daily Show, International Edition.
Start of the DNC.

Catching an outdoor Flamenco show. Very electrifying and sexy. Not so sexy: whenever the male dancers twirled, their hair—an odd curly mullet 'do—dripped sweat in all directions.

Friendships.

Low Point
Although weather forecasts predicted sun throughout our stay, on at least three days, the mornings and early afternoons were ominously overcast. We ended up canceling a snorkeling trip because of the iffy weather. Oddly, the skies always cleared up by evening.

WTF?
We paid half-board (breakfast and dinner) only to discover at dinner that even non-alcholic drinks—water, juice, soda—were not free. Grrrr.

Fireworks going off at about 12:10am right behind our hotel on Sunday. It's unclear what the occasion was but the display was deafening (ear plugs were ineffectual) and went on for 15 minutes. I thought to myself: This is what a war zone must sound like....

Friendships.

Eivissa: B+

2008-08-31T09:51:00.011+02:00

Ahoj folks! Seven days of sun, sand, water and the mighty buffet line went by faster than I imagined they would.

Eivissa aka Ibiza: Gorgeous, clear blue-green waters, clean beaches. Absolutely nothing to do but wake up each morning in time to catch breakfast on a patio with a view of the harbor and yachts—hmm, how do I get me one of those?...—then retreat for a nap, the pool, the beach or an island. Decisions, decisions!

It was a good trip—some ups, a few downs, and funny moments sprinkled in between. MadameD and I stayed in San Antonio, the island's epicenter. In hindsight, for the type of trip we wanted—relaxation, no noise—we should have parked ourselves in Ibiza Town proper. We chose San Antonio thinking there was more to do there. “More” was nothing but hotels, clubs and bars. No sense of a “local” life, just tourists and more tourists. During one evening stroll, I came to a conclusion about San Antonio: it couldn't figure what it wanted to be—Las Vegas or Coney Island, so it settled on both.

Ibiza Town, quieter, had a bit more charm to it, including Alta Vila, a picturesque fortress town (and UNESCO World Heritage site) from which to get a spectacular view of Ibiza and its environs, and the sea. And oh yes, more yachts. If MadameD and I had harbored any fantasies at all—any—of being whisked away to sea by frisky European playboys, staying in San Antonio, I concluded, would have done nothing for our cause.

Here's my two cents (sans partying tips) to anyone thinking of going:

Stay in Ibiza Town (or elsewhere), hop the bus to San Antonio—it's only 3.50 Euros and a quick 30 minutes away. Vacationing with three or four friends? Rent a car—make it a Benz; at Motor Luiz it costs the same as a Toyota! :)—and drive to the quieter beaches and the mountain villages. Feeling flush/going with a large group and you want a more private experience? Rent a yacht (MadameD asked—they start at about 800 Euros...) and explore the coves and secluded beaches where the public ferries don't dock.

Oh, one more thing: Food. If you're doing a package pay for half-board—breakfast and dinner—it's worth it. Before heading to the beaches stop by a supermarket and pack a picnic or you'll get fleeced. (In Formantera, I payed 18 Euros/25USD for a ham and cheese sandwich, a Diet Coke and 1L bottle of water....) Don't expect to really find authentic Spanish food (at least in San Antonio).

Oh, another thing: leave your closet at home. I ended up not needing half the clothes I packed. Bikinis, cover-ups, a few tanks/tees and shorts/skirts are all you need. Okay, one cute outfit just in case you're invited for dinner on a yacht....

Will roll out a few more posts about the trip and pictures this week.

Where Will I Be?

2008-08-19T23:12:00.002+02:00

As of tomorrow...

IBIZA!

For the next eight days.

Sun, Sand and—fingers crossed—some Sexy Spaniards.

Heading out with my friend and partner-in-stress Madame D.

Updates when I return.

Cauky.

Where Am I?

2008-08-18T12:50:00.003+02:00

Still in Prague.

Busy, busy, busy.

Barely a moment to stop and blog.

Even forgot to mark my two-year anniversary.

Last Friday.

I'm exhausted.

This week, taking a long-awaited break.

Coming Back Online

2008-07-13T16:57:00.012+02:00

This no-internet-at-home business is done. After 17 days without access I'm throwing in the towel and calling the phone company tomorrow. I've not been very pleased with the side effects of the experiment:

To catch up on personal email or to Skype home I stay at work till late—I'm talking even-the-security-guards-have-gone-home-late, exiting-the-building-with-my-ID-card-late, only-the-hobos-hanging-around-my-boondocks-near-the-Czech projects-metro-station-late.

Lacking access to the online weather forecast, so having no clue that a day starting out sunny and pleasant will turn rainy and chilly, walking home shivering and with numb toes. Odd weather we're having this summer in Prague.

Missing out on telecommuting, a perk that comes with my job. Last week, a go-ahead for a software release came after 9pm—I could have executed my part of the process in my underwear from the comfort of my kitchen. But I was at work till 10 and felt like a fool as I talked to a coworker who was already at home. "No, I'm not trying to rack up points for my next performance review...."

Not being able to check the tram schedules. I resort to texting friends like I did before heading out last night: “Need times for #17 tram at Veletrzni after 10:30.”

Big or small, the inconveniences have made me cranky. Is this withdrawal? Or just bad timing?

July has so far been a particularly irritating month—maybe not the best month to undertake a drastic lifestyle change. My buttons seem to be getting pushed indiscriminately. I feel, hmmm, volatile.

A few minutes ago in the bar where I'm typing this entry—some guy calls out from across the room: “Are you writing a novel?... Can I read it when you're done?... Are you a writer? You look like a writer to me.... Where are you from?... I was in South Africa for one year....” And on and on. Different time I would be up for the banter. But today I'm a bit annoyed to feel...on display. Maybe it's my imagination but I get the sense he's putting on a show for the benefit of the three women with him, and because the rest of the customers now seem to be listening, and I have to be witty and/or interesting. Dude, I'm just here to check email and Skype, go find another ethnic girl to help ramp up your cool quotient.

Yup, so that's me this month—in a good mood one minute, but check on me an hour later and I'm annoyed as heck and looking to bite someone's head off, a sarcastic or cutting remark on the tip of my tongue.

I think I need a vacation—and my internet.

Going Off the 'Net Grid

2008-07-06T18:58:00.003+02:00

A new personal experiment: How long can I exist without internet in my new apartment?!

When I moved to Prague I was happy to live without a television. Cutting off the tube habit was painless since wandering the streets of Prague was more entertaining than staying indoors glued to BBC or Skynews or dubbed American shows. In those early days, I imagined that tv-free living would translate into more time for reading and my writing. The internet would be for skype calls home, checking email, blogging, and making sure I didn't miss any important news, like the start of World War III, for example.

But somewhere along the way this vision got perverted; life without television did not translate into increased productivity. I wasn't reading more, in fact I barely read. Short stories never materialized. I blogged but sporadically—as my archives can attest to. Instead I often wiled away hours browsing aimlessly. In particular I remember a Saturday glued to the screen watching the entire 8th Cycle of America's Next Top Model on YouTube! (Rooted for the Russian runner-up Nata.)

My computer-the internet had become time-suckers. The one thing both helped me to do well was to procrastinate.

I try to refrain from categorically lambasting television, computer or modern devices. They are useful tools—in certain doses. But we consumers tend to misuse them. Personally, I've not been very judicious about the time spent online and the quality of that time. Hence the experiment. A clean up of my web habit.

So I'm currently without home internet access for the next few weeks. (Typing this post from KFC—not good for my goal of getting Dana Torre's body. Ha!) How long exactly, I cannot say. For now, I've started to carry a checklist of the high-priority things I need done online and setting limits for time-intensive things like Facebook and RSS feeds. Will this mean more time for reading? Picking up a new skill? Only the next few weeks will tell!

And do share your experience if you've done something like this before.

Cau!

Bod Envy — Dana Torres

2008-07-05T20:35:00.009+02:00

Though I defected from NYC, I still make sure to get my daily dose of the NY Times online. In last week's Magazine section was a picture that left me slack-jawed with envy.

Dana Torres.
Swimmer.
9-time Olympian.
Physique even David would envy.
41 and out-swimming athletes two decades younger.
Mother of one (With those abs?!)
As of Friday, the oldest athlete to make the Olympic swim team.

I want her body—as long as my girls stay inflated AND I don't have to spend $100,000 to get it. Yeah, she spends that much money maintaining. Read about how here.

Although I have decent eating and exercising habits I'm not always as vigilant as I could be. I'm sooo now inspired to do better. As soon as I finish off the cheeseburger I'm eating....

Two Years in Two Hours

2008-07-04T17:17:00.006+02:00

It took a bit under two hours to move almost two years (save two months) worth of belongings from Smichov to Holesovice last Friday. The transition was swift and painless, and I couldn't have asked for nicer movers than Armand, an Albanian, and his side-kick George, a dashing Georgian student. George from Georgia. Couldn't have made that one up.....

An aside: are we Americans ever going to shake our bad reputation when it comes to world geography? After introductions, George felt the need to add, “I am not from the States....” Gee, can ya give me the benefit of the doubt that I would know of a country called Georgia?

Quite happy with the new place. Three weeks before the move, I went with my new landlord to a nearby supply store to select colors for the walls. When he had told me beforehand that the walls needed fresh paint I blurted, “I want the living room to be green!” Eh? He looked, hmm, skeptical. "Your walls. Just make sure you pay rent...."

At the paint shop, he said very little as I inspected the palettes. “What do you think? CRV48-S2030-G50Y or CRV49-S2030-G50Z? Ugh! This is soo harrrd!” He was a bit more responsive when I moved on to the blue palette for the bedroom.

The following weeks were then spent in sheer terror. The decision to go green was impulsive, with little research done beforehand. (Of course, afterwards I wasted hours online—Apartment Therapy, HGTV, Domino—trying to justify my choice.) The only thing I had to go on was a visit last February to an interior design firm that I interviewed for an article. The firm's studio, set up inside an apartment, had muted green walls that I quite liked, but I could not have imagined that they would be inspiration four months later....

Love my green walls. (Still can't peg the name of the shade though.) Even the landlord is impressed.

Settling in will take a while. Okay, a few months. I know me. Though I chose wall paint on a whim in minutes, it'll take me a millennium to decide on furniture. And that I already have a bed, desk and chair—sleeping, eating, working—means I will feel no rush to get anything else. A bad paint job can be easily fixed. Bad furniture not so good. I'm prepared to be patient, and I think all those home design websites I have bookmarked will come in handy.

Baby Bro Turns 16

2008-06-23T13:49:00.005+02:00

Today is my baby brother's 16th birthday. They grow up so fast—in his case, well over 6 feet 6 inches, and still growing! When I visited home in May I barely skimmed his shoulders.

One of the hard things about being away is watching from afar as he matures into a young man, missing milestones such as birthdays or his first date, which happened a week after I left. Awwww.

He took her to the movies. They saw The Strangers. Later when I called to snoop he said he thought she had a good time, but he wasn't sure about what to do next. "Where should I take her now?" Could my little bro actually provide me insight into the inner thoughts of men?

He drives us all batty with his lackadaisical approach to homework, but he's a sweetie and a terrific kid.

Happy 16th Tobi.
We love you.
Do your homework and watch out for those low entryways.

Power Geek Girl - Window Snyder

2008-06-21T13:26:00.004+02:00

I web browse with Firefox, use Thunderbird as my email client and put up web pages at work with the Sea Monkey suite. But little did I know that one of the honchos at Mozilla—the company behind these products—is a 32-year-old black woman by the quirky name of Window Snyder.

Read about her here.

She sounds amazing.

I want to be like Window.

You Can Take a Girl Outta New York City...

2008-06-20T13:13:00.008+02:00

....but you can't take New York City paranoia out of a girl.

Call it a twisted urban mindset, but thanks to the stories of assaults and gruesome crimes presented for our daily viewing pleasure on the 5pm news or re-enacted 24-7 on dedicated cable networks, I started to wonder as someone then living in America if I could ever avoid becoming a statistics.

When would it happen?
How would it happen?
Who would be my grim reaper?
Someone I know or a stranger?

Taking the subways late into the night, even walking less than three blocks home from the bus stop sometimes felt like huge risks. But worse was knowing that even inside the four walls of your home safety was not a guarantee. So how did one exist? With rules and strategies, and of course, prayer.

When I moved to Prague I was glad to leave those sort of thoughts behind. Well, in a way.

No matter how safe I feel and that violent crime is pretty low in these parts, every once in a while I still find myself gripped by random thoughts of carnage.

I was at work late Wednesday afternoon when a man called about the closet I had put up for sale online.

Could he see it this evening, he asked. It was too short notice, I told him, and recommended the following evening. I gave him the dimensions of the closet, mentioned that it would need to be taken apart and that I had tools for doing so if he decided to buy the closet. I have my own tools too, he said with a laugh. We set a time—8:00pm, Thursday.

So tell me, why did I walk into my apartment later that evening and immediately thought:

Oh my God, are you nuts?! You live alone and you just told a complete stranger—a man with TOOLS, girl, TOOLS!—that he could come to your apartment at night. He could be some nut job trolling the online expats forum looking for female sellers who live alone. What if he has POWER tools? Perrr-fect for you to get dismembered with! CallhimbackCallhimbackCallhimbaaaack!

I sent a text message rescheduling for a DAY-time meeting. He called the next day to say he had found a better deal.

Okay. I may have lapsed into temporary insanity Wednesday night, but I think it was a needed jolt of realism that though Prague is a safe-r city I should not completely throw away common sense and take unnecessary risks.

What say you if you're also an American living abroad? Do you have to remind yourself to be guarded?

Talking Points #1

2008-06-17T09:00:00.008+02:00

1/ You never realize how much you have until it's time to move. Where did all these shoes come from?! It's hard to imagine that in the past year and a half so much footware has traveled across the Atlantic—in mine and other people's luggages—to end up here in Prague. In the pile pictured, only one pair was purchased in Europe.

An advantage of moving is the opportunity to whittle down one's possessions and free up space. But I'm not sure that I'm in whittling mode right now. Maybe one pair....

2/ Prague is awash in used furniture—it's summer, that time when non-locals who've had enough pivo, are tired of low wages start skipping out of town. Every other marketplace post on Expat.cz is a listing for “Mattress and Table for sale” “Moving—Everything Must Go!”, etc. Now I'm tossing my two cents—a bed and a closet—into the mix. But unlike many I'm not leaving town, just switching apartments and the new bedroom is small. With such a saturated market, I'm surprised that I've already got one interested buyer. Then again, my stuff is in excellent condition.

Another option I've considered is selling the closet and bed to my landlord or whoever will take over the studio. Yesterday, a man came by for a look at the apartment. I told him both items were up for sale if he decided to take the place. I asked why he was moving. He said: “I'm having trouble with my wife.” I think he'll be needing a bed and a closet....

3/ Something's cooking work-wise. Can't say much about it yet....

4/ Melissa C. Morris. Read about her in the NYTimes's Style section. Personal trainer turned socialite by way of marriage. I wanted to dislike her—living my imagined life of leisure darnit!—but I haven't been able to begrudge the girl her good luck. Why? I thought her blog would read like an itinerary of the shopping excesses one tends to associate with yummy-mummy-socialities and the such, but it's curiously designer-name-dropping lite and filled with mundane details of her life. She seems almost relatable. Modesty it turns out is a pretty disarming weapon.

5/ Lastly, because I never got around to writing at all about my trip back to New York City and the emotions surrounding being back home, I was pretty wow-ed when I caught up with Madame K's blog this weekend and read her spot-on summation of how I feel about NYC now that I don't live there anymore.

Cau.

Three's Company: Les Frenchies (Part 2)

2008-06-15T08:59:00.008+02:00

(Better to read Part 1 first to get background....)

This BlackGirl ain't that desperate.

Listen, we expat women out here in Prague know that our expat men have easy pickings among the local females. And I'm sorry, but the last thing I want to do here is throw myself into this town's orgiastic mindset because I want to figure out if a man is interested in me or not. I'd rather stock up on batteries.

No text or phone call from G by Thursday and I took his number off my mobile. No drama. I'm a big girl.

I sent a text invite to H to join me and a group of friends on Saturday for Prague's Museum Fest—an annual one-night event in which all national museums in the city give free admission from 7pm to 1am. I figured this was safe to do—with other people around it would not seem too much like a date.

On the day-of (yesterday) only my namesake would be coming—others were tired or had last-minute obligations. I showed up at the meeting point and waited.

H came up behind me on the left.

G showed up on the right.

Can we say major “What the f--k?!” moment?

I mean, “Qu'est-ce que f--king c'est?!”

I gave H a look as in “Whhhy?” He had enough sense to look embarrassed.

Sure, it's okay for you to bring a friend along—it was supposed to be a group thing, yeah—but could I have gotten some advance notice that it would be G? I mean, I know you boys have been friends for four years and not telling him would have seemed sneaky, but really, didja have to surprise a girl like that?

(From the left, G, H and namesake.)

And G, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! You don't have the guts to pick up the phone and close the deal—you had all week—but the minute you think your friend might be picking up where you left off you want to throw yourself back in the running? You attach yourself to his invite? What a cock-block.

G offered an awkward, lame apology about not responding to last Sunday's text.

I was tired, you know, busy....

Yeah, and so was I, homme-y. But what about the remaining 100+ hours of the past week? And I'm being lenient on you because I've already deducted 44 hours for sleep.

I shrugged. “C'est ne pas problem.” No need to start a scene. I chose to be friendly and made small talk until namesake showed up.

When I met H last Sunday I pegged him as the laid-back type, but now I couldn't figure out if I was dealing with a natural reticence or awkwardness because G was around. But eventually he eased up a bit while G seemed aloof—sulky—and like the previous Sunday hard to pin down.

Kinda all over the place...can't keep track of him, namesake noted at one point during our evening at the Naprstkovo Museum (Asian, African and American-Indian Culture) in Old Town.

We spent two hours browsing, taking in some Afro-Cuban music and foodie treats, drinks. Conversation started and stalled, and picked up again. Namesake had to meet an acquaintance at Bodeguita at 10p so we left the Frenchies—they had friends who might possibly show up at the same restaurant and said they'd catch up with us there.

I didn't stay long at Bodeguita. When I came out, H was on the sidewalk chatting on his mobile. G was nowhere to be seen. I hung around impatiently while H talked to his family (he mouthed) until I gave him a quick kiss goodnight and walked off to catch a tram.

I wondered about G. Where he had gone off to? Why he had come at all? What purpose had it served other than to make everyone uncomfortable. Sure, I can understand if he was mad—which I think is pretty much a given—but I see no reason to soothe his wounded ego. I know some would think inviting H was scheme-y—a ploy to rankle G—but as I wrote in Part One I had different agendas for both men. Fine, you can call me naive too.

But it really is simple. G screwed up and if he wanted to get back in my good graces (and yeah, my pants—ha!) a bit more attention and a candid-sincere “I'm sorry I fracked up. Please let me make it up to you.” would have helped his case.

I have my pride to live with too.

Do What You Say: Les Frenchies (Part 1)

2008-06-14T07:12:00.009+02:00

Friends of mine are currently dealing with men who talk much, then do little or nothing. My girls are a pretty independent lot—they have minimal patience for such behavior and thus go about proving that their lives do not involve indulging these men's inflated sense of self. In return, the men sulk like little boys deprived of a toy that they paid fleeting attention to in the first place.

It's all rather disappointing at this stage in our lives. Why? We're not asking (yet or at all in some cases) for exclusivity. We just want directness and consistency.

Here's my addition to the fray:

At a French food festival last Sunday in Old Town, I met G, a somewhat-smoking expat Frenchman. (The accent!) He came on to me under the pretext of an expertise about authentic mustards. I allowed him to strut his feathers, not letting on that the typical coarse Americaine that I am the only mustard of interest on my radar is industrialized honey-mustard. Of which there was none at the mustard stand where I was only killing time waiting for my friend C to show up.

A few sampling of mustards later, G led me towards his group of friends for an intro where I met H whose face lit up with what I can only assume was some interest or curiosity as soon as I came into view. Hmmm, la noire. Please introduce....

G played the big man around festival, ferrying me and C (who showed up late) from stand to stand:

Taste this cured meat.
Have a cup of wine.
You like pate? Here, I buy this jar for you.
Good French restaurant? Ardoise—I take you there for dinner.
Yes, I cook (kissing his fingers) I invite you....

Pleaaaasse do and I hope you devour me....

I was completely turned on—maybe it was the wine. (And it helps that I love to eat.) C was swooning with approval, grinning from ear to ear.

... The festival was dying down. By now, G and I had exchanged numbers. I had gotten to know a bit about H and had swapped numbers with him too. To be honest—and you may not believe me—it was a friendly gesture on my part. I had dirty motives only for one Frenchie. Me and H had talked about African food, running and a bunch of other topics, and I thought he was a potential friend as I'm trying these days to even out my social network—I want more male friends.

Here are two little things about G that I noticed: seemingly strategic showy gestures of goodwill for others coupled with a short attention span. He was with you and then just as quickly out of sight, off to say something to this person or another. Back and forth. Back and forth. It had a dampening effect on my excitement. But still I lingered because he had offered to drop me home. When the festival eventually closed down (C had cunningly excused herself early) G walked ahead with his cousin. I saw no reason to be mad—the cousin was from out of town and rightly had some precedence. Don't you think? But still, when you kinda leave a woman alone, she starts to wonder.... H kept me company as we trailed them.

The cousin parted ways. H made his goodbye at G's car. I got a ride home, exchanged kisses and got fervent promises of "I call you", "Dinner", etc.

An hour later, I sent a “Thanks” text to G for the ride and the jar of olive spread that he had bought me.

A text came through—from H.

Nice to meet you, he wrote, and perhaps a shared African meal sometime soon.

Absolutement. Sure why not? I wrote back.

No response to my text from G that night.

Nothing at all throughout the following week.

(Part 2)

An Early Goodbye to My Smichov Studio

2008-06-11T06:51:00.012+02:00

After just a little over a week of searching I have found what will be my new apartment as of July. I'll be relocating to a one-bedroom flat in a different neighborhood—Holesovice in Prague 7.

I had been thinking about a move since January—my needs (and more so my certainty about staying long-term in the Czech Republic) had steadily outgrown my charming studio in Smichov. It was time to stop living temporarily—a state I had clung to by not furnishing much and only thinking of the apartment as a place to cook and sleep. But of course it was more than a crash pad.

One of the difficulties of expat-living in Prague is making personal connections. I interviewed a shrink once for an article on depression among expats and she noted that many clients out of loneliness tended to socialize with people who were not always right or good for them. Some social settings and individuals left me cold; some sapped me of energy; promising connections sometimes never took off or were cut short by the other party leaving. Many times I preferred to be home alone in my cozy studio cooking or listening to music. Having a comfortable place to myself afforded me a getaway where I could reflect on my needs, my energy and my faults, to constantly refine my precepts about people and relationships. I think today my network of friends is better off for it.

Apartment 9 wasn't a perfect haven though. There was the toilet that occasionally emitted fumes so noxious they reminded me of stink bombs from high school. Luckily it knew better than to act up when guests were around. The oven with a mind of its own—arbitrarily switching off in the middle of a roast or bake job and causing me constant worry that I would someday suffocate from a slow gas leak or be burnt to a crisp from an explosion. The four different tram lines a stone's throw from my window—super for getting me wherever I needed to go but horrible for my sleep. The grating of the garbage trucks twice a week at about 6:45 a.m. And of course, my fair bit of crying about Pch.

These days I feel pretty definite about staying in Prague and I want a place to reflect this. Sure, I could just customize the studio a bit more—add a couch, hang up pictures, buy a bookshelf, personal touches, etc. But sometimes you just wake up and know when you're done with a place, when it has served its purpose—for which you're grateful—and that you're now ready to cut ties and move on.

How Million-Dollar Ideas Come About

2008-06-08T11:14:00.007+02:00

If I had only one entry to post this month I could not ask for a more amusing story to recount than one about what happened to me late Friday morning.

An epic footware disintegration while heading to an appointment.

For years, I owned a pair of super-comfortable Kenneth Cole sandals that saw me through four (five?) summers in NYC before I decamped for Prague in 06. They would have been perfect for the cobblestones of my new city, but the thick rubber soles that provided my feet such great cushioning also made the shoes a bit hefty to add to my already stuffed suitcases. I left them behind.

During this last trip back to the States, I cleaned out my NYC closet—donated a ton of stuff, trashed a few—and rediscovered my beloved sandals, looking seemingly just as solid as I'd left them almost two years ago. This time they would not be left behind.

Unpacking in Prague, I noticed a thin crack on each sole. “Hmm, didn't realize they were so fragile after all; I should have packed more carefully....” But nothing so alarming to dissuade me from wearing them.

Friday morning. I had an appointment to see a flat in Holesovice. (I am moving house....) I strapped on the sandals for the first time. I took a tram, disembarked and began the seven-block walk. I noticed my sandals felt a bit loose. I thought a strap had come undone. I looked down and sure enough the right strap was not in place. I adjusted and continued on.

But a few meters later, another strange feeling that something else was afoot. (Yes, a pun.)

I looked down to the left:

The lower half of the sole was jutting out at an angle.
Behind me: a trail of black crumbs and a sizable chunk of sole.

My
sandals
were
falling
apart.

Can we talk panic? Regardless of how slowly or gingerly I tried walking the next two blocks bits and pieces continued to trail me.

A woman walking her dog stopped to stare in disbelief. If she had been anywhere close to a size 9-10 I swear I would have mugged her. Instead I shuffled on looking for a convenience store. Luckily, the street had very little human traffic and most didn't seem to notice (or pretended not to).

One store owner chuckled at the ravaged state of my sandals and suggested heading to a main street one block over to find shoes. But he couldn't be sure. Super. More walking... Would there even be anything left on my feet by then? I pictured myself wandering Milady Horakove in my bare feet.

Heading over to hunt for a Bata, I stopped midway—by now, the only semblance of support left was coming from one corner of the right sandal; otherwise, all that separated my feet from the pavement was the thin upper sole.

And then a lightbulb moment! The thin sole was still fully intact and being held together by the straps! Technically I still had a shoe.

I tore off the remaining chunks of rubber, stuffed them into my bag (I was already thinking what a hoot it would be to take pictures for a blog post....) and voila! I had fashioned myself a pair of super-uber-thin strappy sandals.

I tell you there's an idea here. A light-weight (you'd barely feel them in your bag) emergency pair of shoes for those unexpected footware emergencies!

Fine, it's already been done--the flipflop--but the above scenario is probably close to how those informercial products that sell like hot cakes come about..... Someone improvising a solution to a sudden (or in most cases, nagging) problem.

My “new” sandals may not win any awards for comfort but they got me to my appointment and even held up when afterwards I decided to take a quick walk through a nearby park before getting on a tram home.

Beware the Wrath of Noro

2008-05-09T21:25:00.005+02:00

As I type I should be on a plane to New York, but I am still in San Francisco where I bring you the tale of my narrow escape from the clutches of “Noro”....

Wednesday, I returned to my hotel room after dinner with coworkers and spent the rest of the night wondering if and why I had been singled out for punishment. Was it the quarter-pounder cheeseburger at lunch? The giant chocolate cookie that followed after? The pot stickers, breaded calamari, chicken satay, pad thai, beef curry, shrimp something-or-another, the Thai iced tea and the sticky rice pudding at dinner?

Yes, charge me with gluttony, but the penalty—only two hours of sleep and the rest of the night shackled to the sink AND the toilet bowl—was a bit much. I spent my waking hours penitent, loudly renouncing all forms of food and drink, which was an easy enough task since the thought of anything edible, the sight of food on television, turned my stomach.

Thursday, bolstered by four doses of Pepto Bismol that earlier I had paid a hotel bellman to help me buy at a pharmacy, I crawled out of bed mid-afternoon and dragged what was left of me to the conference, where I arrived to find that more than half the writing staff had called out sick. Ah, my treacherous gut may not be at fault after all.... I half-heartedly tapped away at my keyboard for about an hour before crawling into a conference shuttle bus back to the hotel to continue my involuntary no-food-barely-any-liquid diet.

Friday, vindication arrived via email in the morning—a notice from the San Francisco Department of Health. While I may have indeed consumed more than my mouth/stomach could handle that Wednesday evening, the culprit responsible for my gastrointestinal misery was a Norovirus outbreak at the conference. Read about it here.

Though I was feeling 50% less miserable today, the only way I was prepared to get on a plane was with a gallon of the pink stuff, a pack of adult diapers, multiple changes of underwear, and an aisle seat a feet away from a toilet. I may have barely had a thing to eat in over 24 hours but my body was still going full-speed with cleaning house.

So I called the powers that be—hotel, airline, my boss—and extended my stay in SanFran by one more day.

The upside from all of this—I'm probably two or three pounds lighter.
The downside—I am very, very hungry but too scared to eat....

Who's That Girl? (Part 2)

2008-05-07T16:29:00.005+02:00

My publicity blitz continues.

Yesterday at the conference, I taped a video interview with one of our team's engineers. The topic? Tech stuff that I doubt this blog's readers will be interested in. A good experience. Though I was nervous about it I had done my research, and I think the end result looked, sounded pretty natural. The finished product won't be ready for another week or so.

But that's not the video I want to focus on.

I've spent a good chunk of my time at the conference in the writers' room. They're a funny and unpretentious bunch. Which is why when someone requested a dance partner for the “Electric Slide” I volunteered without a second thought.

The hazards of a camera phone and this thing called YouTube....

Watch here....

Who's That Girl?

2008-05-06T23:00:00.004+02:00

BlackGirl is an unexpected public figure at this year's company's conference.

Sunday afternoon, I dropped by the convention center to get my registration materials. Halfway across the pavillion floor I stopped dead in my tracks.

What the...?!

There, on the exterior wall of the makeshift conference bookstore, was an image of yours truly.

When..., where..., who..., how...?

Last year's conference.
Checking my email at a computer terminal.
Beats me.
With a damn good camera because I didn't see 'em take the picture.

Getting over my initial shock I started to laugh. Would anyone else notice?

Silly question. Fast forward to Monday.

“Did you see yourself on the wall?!”
“You're famous.”
“You're the conference model.”
“Hey, you're the (product name) girl!”
“Are you getting an agent? Hahaha.”

BlackGirlinPrague in San Francisco

2008-05-04T16:25:00.008+02:00

There's been a change of venue. For most of May I'll be blogging from America. That's right—I'm home! Well, almost....

I'm currently in San Francisco where I landed last Tuesday for a work conference that's starting tomorrow. I spent the first days at my company's headquarters outside of the city meeting and greeting coworkers who I normally interact with over email.

And naturally, the jet lag kicked my ass all week. Every night I am knocked out by 8pm.

Is it different to be back on American soil? At the airport, I had custom officers, after noting that I lived in Czech Republic, say to me, “Welcome back home”.

Do you imagine that the grouches at Ruzyne Airport will ever say to anyone returning to Prague, “Thanks for coming back”?

When I made the same trip last year, the first few days walking around San Francisco left me disoriented and irritated. After almost eight months in Prague getting used to not understanding what was going around me—becoming in a way mute and deaf and beginning to like it—getting those senses back without much warning and comprehending everything felt like an assault. I hated it. I wanted to return to my bubble. I missed Prague.

This year seems different. Very little angst about returning. Maybe because I'm giving myself little doses of America—a tinnny amount of TV; a minimal glance at the newspapers; leisurely wandering the aisles of Whole Foods; taking in a serene open-air spring concert; one slow and yummy breakfast of French toast, eggs, hash browns, sausage, bacon, orange juice; and mostly sleeping or cocooned in my very comfortable hotel room. I'm basically avoiding noise, rapid movement, and limiting the amount of time I spend around people.

Prague has turned me into a turtle.

Set Your TiVo – It's Kemi's Food Network Debut!

2008-04-18T11:08:00.010+02:00

Kemi, my youngest sister, the soon-to-be doctor, has what I think are two odd extracurricular hobbies—hunting for sweepstakes and giveaways, and trying to get herself on television.

She enters online contests just about every day, knows about auditions for extras, and is forever trying to nominate sections of our house—basement, kitchen, bathroom, you name it—for home makeover shows. I marvel at where she finds the time and energy since the last I heard attending medical school is supposed to sap you of both.

The funny thing is that it works. She's notoriously lucky at winning.

A few years back she won a L'Oreal (I believe) sweepstakes and scored a free trip to Los Angeles. Fancy hotel, limo service, day at a salon, shopping spree and dinner at some fancy restaurant, all included. She entered our little brother into some random sports essay competition—which SHE pretty much WROTE—and wouldn't you believe it, little bro won a free cruise to the Caribbean!

Then there was the spot she landed on a segment for a Japanese morning show. Japan, y'all! She appeared as an extra in a story about the Japanese craze for fitness videos. And sure enough, there she was grinning her way through dance moves for “Hip Hop Abs”.

And now her latest and probably biggest coup to date—commanding an entire episode of the Food Network's “Rescue Chef”.

“Danny Boome brings a med student's meal back to life with a heart-friendly menu of baked citrus salmon, roast vegetable cous cous, watercress salad with citrus vinaigrette and a fresh fruit & lemon.“

(Check out the episode guide for recipes Kemi and Chef Danny will be making.)

The lowdown on Boome? “Funny, flirty and loves telling dirty jokes.”

So if you're a fan of the Food Network, Rescue Chef, or just plain curious, tune in or set your TiVo for Saturday, April 19, 12pm ET/PT.

Kemi herself will not be on hand to watch her debut. She's currently vacationing in Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic. I think she paid for that trip....

Her next target? A spot on Law & Order.

Let's Get Physical, Political...

2008-04-15T23:40:00.007+02:00

Can a gym membership be considered a political statement?

Last week, a manager in my office decided to auction off a spare six-month all-access membership to a tony fitness chain here in Prague. The proceeds of the bid would be donated to a team of expat filmmakers making a “Support Obama” ad campaign that they wanted to enter into competition.

The ad setup: People on a bus humming to the Gypsy Kings' Volare and slowly building into the song. But instead of singing the chorus: “Vooo-lare”, the riders substitute: “Ooo-bama”. Uhh? Hey, it's not my idea.... (The filmmakers were looking for extras and had sent the script around. As appealing as 30 seconds of fame sounded, Obama doesn't pay my salary and I had to work on the day of the shoot.)

One thing I don't do much of is talk politics, which these days is hard to avoid given the momentous nature of the race taking place back home. Everyone wants to know: Who are you rooting for? Hillary? Obama?

I'd bid at a “Support Giuliani” auction if it meant getting a good deal. (Gasp!) What can I say? I want to work out. Summer's around the corner and my gym membership expired two weeks ago.

One year at this fancy fitness chain (it has three branches) will set you back 30,000kc; I won the half-year access for 3750kc. Now seriously, how could anyone let politics stand in the way of such a sweet bargain?

I'd like to think my strategic bidding tactics—flattering and then threatening my competition (I know where you sit...!)—played a factor, but I only had two rivals. Plus, Czechs are even more thrifty than I am, and the fellas I work with? Well, if you saw them you'd understand....

I went by the main gym today to pick up my pass. Definitely swanky. It's going to be hard to return to my blue-collar roots once the membership expires. But one thing's certain: I'll be fit enough by November to sprint to the Embassy to cast my vote for the best candidate.

Current Mode: Hibernate

2008-04-12T22:20:00.012+02:00

Dear Friends, Fellow Bloggers, and Readers,

I figured that I better return to blogging or risk people thinking I was some nutty black chick-blogger forever mourning one dead mouse.

It's been ages. You'd think I have plenty of stories to tell, but the boring truth is I've been busy with work. For a good while in March I was operating in “New York Stress Mode” and convinced that I was on track for a burnout similar to last August's. Eventually, I had to tell myself to get realistic about priorities even if it meant turning down extra assignments and slowing things down at work. I've stayed out of trouble though—no purchase of pepper spray yet.

Here are quick updates:

* My No-Dessert Lent was a bust. My need for sucrose, it turns out, trumped scoring points with the Lord, and I caved about two weeks before the finish line. I confirmed my spot in hell with an Orange Confit recipe from the New York Times. (Watch the Minimalist video here.) It's rather funny though. You would think to break Lent that I'd hop a tram to Passion Chocolat and gorge myself on French patisserie or just make a five-minute Tesco run for a bland tort, but no, I choose to wait an additional 16 hours for damnation.

* I have two incredibly smart sisters. Wande got accepted into a superb MBA program and received full scholarship to boot, while Kemi nabbed a residency spot in Emergency Medicine. I'm super thrilled for the both of them—and for me. One sister supplies me with the prescription narcs to sell for a cushy side income, while the other gives me investment advice to grow my profits. Sweet.

* I met one of my readers in person late February. Hello BlackCaeser! He's an American working half time in London and the other half in America, and was visiting Prague. We met up at Cafe Louvre and chatted over drinks for about an hour. I suspect that we deemed each other “safe” (Ha!) because we reconnected two evenings later for Czech food and beer in my neighborhood. It was cool to meet him, and now I've got someone to grab a pint with next time I'm in London. (Camille, are you still visiting?)

* After last year's break-up with Pch, I walked around in a rage-filled haze. For every five or six agonizing scenarios that I dreamt up for him—getting run over by a tram; going broke and becoming a hobo; wasting away from an incurable disease; getting framed for murder or drowning in a five-star hotel pool—there was always a tiny what-if: What if he came back? Then one day he called. And was I ranting and raving like a wronged woman? No.... Afterwards, I hung up and ranted and raved—at me.

* I am being courted via SMS by a new suitor in Nigeria. I have no idea who this man is, but he insists that I am the one for him and has been sending me inspirational text messages since March. “....God will glorify, magnify, purify, beautify, sanctify you....” I suspect that my aunt is the driving force behind this new electronic romance—she of the “You need a man to complete you” school of thought—but she denies it. The genesis of this courtship though deserves a full post of its own. Stay tuned.

* Finally I took my first trip this year, but not to any place new—Amsterdam. (I've got some pictures coming soon to Flickr.) I visited my friend Neesha last weekend; she was a fellow expat in Prague for a few months before calling it quits last Spring and heading back to the Netherlands. This was my second trip to Amsterdam, and with a local as my guide I certainly ate better than on the first trip. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Women in Prague are being deprived of certain inalienable rights—Great Shopping and Attractive Men! I lusted after shoes and boys equally in Amsterdam.

* I'll be States-side in May! Spending about ten days in San Francisco for work, and two weeks vacation in New York. Eagerly counting down the days.

And these y'all are some of what I have to share from the last six weeks.

Cau!

Koko, We Hardly Knew Ye

2008-02-19T08:13:00.001+01:00

I regret to inform you that Koko, the baby mouse found in my office in January, passed away awhile ago.

After a few days in the care of my coworker Troy who had adopted her, Koko suddenly stopped eating, became weak and then died. From comparing Koko with pictures of other baby mice, he suspects that she was still nursing from her mother when she was found in our hallway, and thus was too young to have been weaned.

Koko loved chocolates.

There was a brief ceremony and she was buried in a park.

Wish List – Pepper Spray (oka Unleashing My Inner Dirty Harriet)

2008-02-18T11:29:00.008+01:00

Okay, so I'm thinking of starting this mini-series: "Wish List" of things I'd like to have and why.

First up, pepper spray—for the next drunken punk who works up the nerve to call me a "nigger bitch".

I was heading to the tram at Narodni alone last Friday after spending time with friends at Joe's Cafe. A group of four young men came out of a side street suddenly. They were making a racket, clearly drunk.

One jumped out to my right: "Yoooo, wassup?..." In that way wanna-bes and fools do, attempting familiarity yet only achieving condescension or irritation.

I told him to buzz off.

"Yeah, blah, blah, blah, nigger bitch...."

"Fuck You." I spat back, unruffled, and kept on walking.

Alright, any black person thinking of coming to Prague and reading this—don't get scared. Come. Prague is a safe city. I've never had any major or scary situation here. And many people will tell you the same. But like anywhere else when some folks get drunk or get high and are in packs they can get brave and stupid. And if you're a woman alone they think it's okay to “play”.

The best thing is to just avoid them. If you can't, ignore them, which I should have done after his "wassup", in hindsight. He could have gotten aggressive after my second rebuke. Then again, there's the school of thought that Czech men scare easy.

And I've tested that assumption before.

During one of the “dark spells” that besieged me late last year, I was heading to the metro on a crowded #6 tram. I was standing. At the metro stop, the man sitting in front of me got up to exit the car. He wasn't polite about it—jostling me and others in the process. I was in a foul mood that day, right? So I pushed him with my bag. He nudged back.

Did I mention that my foul mood was brought on by the recent end of my relationship with Pch?

I turned, balled up my fist and punched the man in the back.

He staggered and turned around with a stunned look on his face.

I stared back and did not flinch, as in: Motherf—er, if you even think of taking a step towards me I will knock you down flat with my laptop....

"Blah, blah, blah...!" He yelled in Czech, walking off the tram.

"Tivole!" I called after him, startling the old women nearby.

(Tivole, by the way, is this all-inclusive Czech cuss word: f—k you, screw you, bastard, a—hole, damn it, shit, son-of-a-bitch, etc.)

Recounting the story to people, I have been called brave AND crazy in the same breath. What if the man had tried to hit me back?

So yours truly will get to work controlling her temper and her tongue, and practice the art of walking away—and aiming her mace, just in case.

LoveSugarBuster

2008-02-17T20:57:00.013+01:00

The fatigue that I touched on in the last two posts turned out to be the work of a viral infection (and something else that is yet to be determined) that kept me out of commission for two weeks. My latest blogging relapse was not intentional—I just had no energy to write. But thanks to medication I am making my way back to 100%.

I'll keep this back-to-blogging post short and sweet.

Talking about sweets—I gave up dessert for Lent. Fakt jo?!!! Yeah. No cakes, no candy, no cookies, no pastries, nada. I am suf-fer-ing—which is kinda fitting for Lent, no?

My sweet tooth is well-known among friends. “Let's meet for coffee or tea” is just code for my sugar-fix; I usually skip the drinks. As a challenge, I decided that this year dessert would be it for Lent.... (Last year, I gave up meat.) It's been harder than I thought. I have a habit of ending just about every meal with something sweet; now I've resorted to chewing raisins. Raisins! Fruits are so looking and tasting good these days.

30 more week-days to go. (Yeah, Sundays don't count as part of Lent.)

For the week of Valentine's, my plan had been to post a few thoughts (probably all sarcastic) in dishonor of l'amour. My immune system had other ideas, of course.

(Valentine's Day at Radost FX)

Still, "Little Miss Ambivalent About Romance that She Would Kick Cupid Even if He Looks Like a Baby", which would be me, received tokens of affection last week. I met up with namesake at a hospoda near me last Sunday for some comfort Czech food. Across from us, a table of five men throwing glances; in particular, a good-looking one maintaining steady and frequent eye contact. It's a common thing in eateries here for street-florists to wander in and try to sell roses. One came in, walked from table to table. A few minutes later, a waiter stopped at our table and set a vase with a single yellow rose in front of me: “From the gentleman....”

Slightly less dramatic. Thursday, I got a Rocher chocolate, which I couldn't eat because of Lent but kept anyways. The gift-er and I had gone on two dates late last year; but he annoyed the heck out of me at the second meeting—and I told him bluntly that he f—ked up.... Kinda nice of him to give me a treat months later.

On Beauty at Bombay

2008-02-03T18:22:00.001+01:00

Despite a tiring week, Friday night found me at Bombay with three girlfriends. Bombay is a bar/restaurant in Old Town that attracts a largely international tourist crowd.

It has a reputation as a meat market, and as is the case with a lot of venues in Prague the happiest shoppers are men. Between my girlfriends, we derisively call it the “Midget Bar”.

The atmosphere is almost always upbeat, which was perfect for me during our visit. I had so little energy that all I could do was people-watch and engage in some bar-stool philosophy....

A beautiful, tall girl chatting with an equally good-looking, tall man. Their respective group of short friends stand around with plastered smiles on their faces trying to figure out what to do with themselves.

Conclusion: Beauty attracts beauty; sometimes the rest of us are just bystanders.

A group of women two tables away from us. They have a “refreshed” look about them that hints to a familiarity with scalpels. They dance, drink and laugh, but they're mostly alone. Men steer clear of their table.

Conclusion: Plastic surgery can do wonders, but as a woman when you get to a certain age men in clubs are just not that into you.

One of my girls wants weight-lifting tips. A trainer is a good first step for a beginner, I tell her; weights can do wonders for the body even though she doesn't look like she needs much much. She protests. No, no, no, I need it. Pointing to her triceps—a classic problem area for many. I say, “If it's possible for you to look hotter than you already do....” Men have been throwing glances her way as she grooves in our tiny corner of the club.... "You're a very sexy woman." She covers her mouth. She looks stunned and touched: “People don't really say that about me....”

Conclusion: Everyone could use a bit of affirmation....and not just about beauty.

Got Cream? Make a Pudding

2008-02-02T17:22:00.001+01:00

I am, yet again, playing host to some nascent bug.

(The finicky nature of my immune system, by the way, is something of a family lore. “Oh boy, are you sick again?!” was the chorus back in New York whenever I wandered into the kitchen on a weekday morning and didn't look ready to go to work.... As it so happened, I usually was.)

The original plan for today was to invite “namesake” over in the evening for some jollof rice and a movie, but that's been postponed. I don't want to risk infecting her or suddenly getting tired before she arrives.

So it's a sedentary Saturday for me. I'm catching up on emails, blog browsing, and using up the last bit of Smetana (Czech cream) in my fridge to make Baked Rice Pudding.

When I'm sick or on the verge of it, I hardly want to eat real food. I crave simplicity (and a nap). And this pudding recipe from my Home Food cookbook is about as simple as they come. The effort level required is zilch. And even better, I can catch a snooze while it bakes.

You need very basic ingredients: rice, cream, milk, sugar.

1/ Divide a quarter cup of short- or medium-grain rice into four greased ramekins. (I usually fudge measurements and add more rice. Tip: Add more liquid if using brown rice.)

2/ Mix together one-and-two-thirds cups of milk (low-fat is okay....) and three-quarter cup of cream (g'bye to that “low fat”....) Add a tablespoon or two of sugar and a dash of vanilla extract. (Sometimes I don't have much cream available, so I play around with the ratio of the liquids.)

3/ Evenly divide the liquid into the ramekins. Dot the top of the bowls with grated nutmeg and one (divided) bayleaf.

4/ Bake in 300F oven for an hour or more until the liquid has been absorbed (you'll hear a crackling noise) and a brown skin has formed on the top of the bowls. (Maybe it's my oven, but it usually takes about 90 minutes to get mine done, hence the nap.....)

5/ Eat hot with or without cream. Then take another nap.

These Genes are Made for Singing, Dancing & Sports?

2008-01-30T23:12:00.001+01:00

Of the list of stereotypes that a black person sometimes has to contend with there are three that have no equal. That:

1) We can carry a tune.
2) We have rhythm.
3) We are athletic.

I'll let you know that on many many an occasion in my life I have comfortably and irrefutably shattered all three myths, number (1) especially.

Thanks to the mental crumbs left over from the heydays of political correctness and the hours we now spend trapped in diversity-slash-sensitivity training, in America we know better than to give voice to thoughts like these (and similar ones about other groups). Mostly. Every year we always get the occasional fool tactless enough to be caught on camera or quoted in print saying something along the above lines or worse. The usual media and community fallout ensues; someone is fired or suspended; an apology is issued; and additional hours of sensitivity training are arranged.

Anyhoos, I consider those above three classics because they travel so well.

If you're a black expat reading this from a location where you're the only one of your kind for blocks, here's a question for ya: How many times have you found yourself lazily shimmying to a bit of music—or maybe busting a let's-be-honest wack move you wouldn't dare try at home—only to be told that you dance well?

With barely eight lessons to my credit, I had a Salsa-dancing acquaintance ask me last Fall if I wanted to train to dance with his troupe. I still shake my head in wonder: how much potential did he really see in my moves to think I was worthy of this um, honor? And how much could be attributed to the fact that I was a “dark girl”? (His words.)

It's pretty funny here that sometimes they have a naivete about saying such things aloud. And even in print.

A few days ago, I came across a link to an article about a Czech-African girl who recently won an international figure skating competition. And then the following line that made me laugh aloud:

“The student of economics at a university in Ostrava has never been to Africa, but her coach says her powerful jumps must have something to do with the genes.“

Gee golly. How about giving credit to the countless hours—heck, years!—she must have spent honing those jumps, conditioning her leg muscles to propel her several inches into the air?

The irony is that article set out to highlight efforts to counter xenophobic perception of what it means to be Czech, that it encompasses more than one skin tone. Knock down one stereotype to prop up another in its place.

On a different note, the article includes a link to a second piece about young Czechs' positive opinions of Africans. Encouraging to know as always, but I wish it had gone into more detail.

A Sweet Way to Buy Akon Tickets

2008-01-27T21:20:00.001+01:00

Akon's coming to Prague in February. Last week, Cinthia, Iulia and I agreed that we wanted to attend the concert. The plan was to buy tickets Saturday, yesterday. First, we would meet at the newly purchased Vinohrady apartment of Cinthia & her boyfriend Pietro; get a quick tour and then bounce to the center to get tickets. But some days are made for meandering.... Here's a mini pictorial.

I show up at Cinthia's at 2:30. Right on schedule. Lovely apartment on a quiet street. I'm not the biggest fan of Vinohrady—too expaty—but I'm feeling their digs. Man of the house, Pietro, has gone for a walk. I get a tour of the flat. There are two empty apartments for sale in the building, but my bank account is currently in no shape for such an investment.

Where's Iulia?

She calls: "Lost in the back streets of Vinohrady...."

While we wait, English jasmine tea served with Alfajor, Argentinian pastries that Cinthia bought during her December trip back home. The enamel tea cup takes me back to my boarding school days. Except this one is miles prettier than anything I ever used back then.

But enamel cups turn hot drinks into scalding hot drinks. Ouch.

Alfajors are chewy cookies layered with caramel, jelly, or fruit filling. Some are then glazed with chocolate (left). I prefer the bare ones (right). But you couldn't tell this from my impartial chomping of both versions as the afternoon moves on.

Still waiting for Iulia.

The way to my heart is through my sweet tooth. Belgian chocolates.

Iulia turns up. Another round of tea. When are we going to get Akon tickets?

No time soon apparently.... The conversation is varied and pleasant, and the treats keep coming. Akon will have to wait.

Pietro returns from his stroll. From the kitchen, he calls: "Ladies, care for sandwiches?" He prepares a spread with parma ham, cheese, olive oil and warm ciabatta bread. It's de-lish.

I whisper to Cinthia: "Where can I find one like him?"

Stuffed and high on sugar we finally get on track—three hours later. Off to the center.

Tickets are purchased for February 22. I'm psyched. I think I care less about Akon performing than the fact that this will be my first concert in the Czech Republic. After this, I suppose I could be more choosy. On a different topic or genre of entertainment, I ask the box office cashier about operas in Prague—if the subtitles are in English or Czech. English, she says. Tosca, here I come!

Iulia's feeling peckish—she heads off to KFC. A Romanian girl feenin' for fried wings? Don't ask why but there's just something very funny about it.... She meets me and Cinthia ten minutes later at Coffee & Cigars.

One thing I like about C&C besides their desserts? Catching up on hip-hop videos! They always have MTV Base playing on the flat screens. The line-up while there: Soulja Boy, Mary J, Kelly Rowland, Wyclef, Chamillionaire....

Cinthia and Iulia order coffee with ice cream AND whipped cream AND chocolate syrup. We've graduated to drinking dessert.

Surprise! I order water.

No dessert? What's the matter with me? Maybe I'm coming down with a fever....

Iulia's wings, by the way, are cooling in a plastic bag on the chair.

Iulia orders dessert. Again. Two things about Iulia. She's like a stick. And she's the first person I've met here who seems to have a sweet tooth that surpasses mine. The previous night, I watched her plow through two servings of chocolate cake.

Cinthia and I try to figure out where on her body the food disappears to....

A pleasant (and high calorie) five hours. Concert review coming up in late February.

Babies or Dogs Need Not Apply

2008-01-25T17:13:00.001+01:00

A friend had a recent pregnancy scare and a revelation: “I knew without a doubt that I would want to keep it, that I could make it work.”

“Oh crap!” would be more along my line of thinking. Consider my own version of a scare:

Yesterday, a coworker—no one I knew—sent out an email about golden retriever puppies available for adoption. The litter was more than his family could handle, he wrote, and the pups would be put down if no one stepped up to claim them.

With the exception of reptiles and amphibians (and a few odd ball primates & mammals), baby-anythings are almost always fetching. And these pups were gorgeous. I'd always imagined a dog in my life (though a retriever would not necessarily be my first choice), and here I was faced with the sudden possibility.

But I didn't leap at the chance. Instead I started to make a mental list of challenges. Housing it in a studio apartment, daily (multiple) walks, house & litter training, diet (I don't even know what a decent pet food brand is), health insurance, finding an English-speaking vet (or otherwise really brushing up on my Czech!), who to watch it when I wanted to travel (which would be often), what would happen if I was to relocate to another country (could I start all over again with a pet?), etc.

And even this mini howler: Would it be better to address it in English or Czech? Yes, yours truly mused about raising a bilingual dog. What was next? How to get it into an Ivy League obedience school? Summer camps? Study abroad programs?

Most of my thoughts I voiced out loud in my office. My coworker piped up with one that was too-close-for-comfort: “You know, a dog is like a baby, when you have one you MAKE the time.”

What's this? Knots in my stomach? I was actually starting to feel sick.

Oh dear heavens, could I do this? Should I do this?

From another coworker: “Having a dog is a great experience; it's work, but you won't regret it.” Why did that line sound familiar? And why was I suspicious of it?....

When I mentioned concerns about adopting a puppy with an upcoming trip in May to America he offered to dog-sit. That was just one trip taken care of. What about others?

From the photo, the puppies beckoned: “We're soooo cute! How could you not want one of us?....”

Anyhoos, all this angst because of an email that 15 minutes later was revealed to be a hoax. The puppies didn't exist. (A story that I won't go into except that the employee who sent the email is a reputed a-hole....)

Oh, the relief, and the renewed confirmation.

That I balked at the changes and choices I would have to make to “make it work” meant I wasn't ready—not for a dog or for anything whose survival and upkeep depended on me being present 110%.

At least not for now.

Grammar-wise, Conversation-foolish

2008-01-22T23:20:00.001+01:00

My Czech instructor, Ondrej, recently published his first textbook.

I got an autographed copy: “Sve vyborne studentce ....” (To my excellent student....)

I told him false flattery would not get me to learn his language any quicker.

Yesterday, I went to my district's Finance Department to pick up my Danovy Domicil, and much to my disgust I could only say three words: Dobry Den, Prosim and Nerozumim Cesky.... Hello, Please and I don't understand.

Call it a watershed moment, but I officially became a disgruntled Czech language learner.

Silvia and I had talked about languages over brunch Sunday. (She's learning Spanish.) Specifically about that moment—somewhere between beginner and pre/intermediate—when you just can't seem to make any headway. The hump.

So while standing at the bus stop after receiving my DD, I thought about that conversation and summed up my problem. Ondrej was right in a sense—in my early days of Czech lessons, I caught up with and even surpassed older students. With minimal effort.

Sure, Czech is a complicated language, but I have been a lazy student. My hump. I barely put in two hours a week of study. And the result is that almost a year later I'm all grammar but no [talk] action. The same scenario that plagued my attempts to learn French back in New York.

If I put out the bare minimum, then "Dobry Den, Prosim and Nerozumim" will remain the extent of my repertoire a year from now. I could just make my peace with it and continue as I do—Prague is amazingly easy to navigate in English. But when you know you can do better you should at least try, no?

Daily drills, here I come. I'll report back on my progress three months from now.

Brunch at the Globe

2008-01-20T19:44:00.001+01:00

I have pictures of the Globe's French toast!

Last weekend, I went for brunch and had been too hungry to take a picture. No less hungry but camera ready, I returned today with Silvia. (A weekend of parties calls for Sunday brunch, don't you think?)

The pressure was on the Globe to deliver again. Why? Though from Slovakia, Silvia knows a thing or three about the American style brunch—she lived in New York for a spell, worked as a waitress and loves breakfast food Greek-diner style. (As I do.) Plus, her last sighting of French toast was in 2006.

She ordered the toast; me, eggs benedict on a bagel.

The toasts were a bit on the dry side, according to Silvia, prompting her to douse the slices with maple syrup. Maybe a pat of butter would have helped? My eggs benedict could have used a tastier hollandiase sauce, I think; but the hash browns were savory and needed no assistance from the ketchup that I routinely like to smother them with.

Decent meals, I would say. We might be heading back again soon—we both couldn't help eyeing the stack of pancakes topped with blueberries that ended up at the table next to us....

(A little bit of politics with brunch? The Globe has a bookstore section, but is this advertising or campaigning?)

BlackGirl 3.1—The Day After

2008-01-19T19:12:00.002+01:00

Yesterday, I celebrated another birthday in Prague!

Friends joined me and fellow January babe Rinna (January 22) for Thai food at Orange Moon, and to boogie on the dance floor at Joe's Cafe. (Check out Flickr Set: January 18.)

Generally, I'm not one to make a big fuss of birthdays—last year, for example, it was a day of self-pampering; the year before that, traveling with fellow birthday gal Tola. But occasionally I catch the party bug. This year, for example. I wanted to fete my 31st season in a slightly bigger manner than I'd done in a while—friends, food, music and lotsa alcohol!

But last night's fun was not just an obligatory affair to mark a day in the life. I felt celebratory in a big picture way....

A friend remarked that I had a glow about me. Was there someone new in the picture?

No man. Maybe a bit of glitter in my blush?!

Explained simply: after paying my dues on the other side of the fence, I recently took stock of things and concluded that my life is good—I'm healthy, as is my family, I have good friends, an active social life, the job's going well, I'm living in Europe as I always wanted and thriving, not just surviving, and very much looking forward to the year ahead. If these aren't reasons to be thankful and in an overall good mood, then I don't know what else is....

Cau!

Koko

2008-01-17T11:06:00.001+01:00

Even with Disney-Pixar's Golden Globe winning Ratatouille in their corner—not to mention the fact that one of their own is the face of the company—household rodents get no respect.

For plenty of good reason—they are nastydirtyfilthythings.

Then Koko showed up at my job this week and had me thinking that perhaps an exception wouldn't be so bad.

The story:

My coworkers found her/it/him? in the corridor Monday evening ardently nibbling away at a piece of chocolate.The presence of a baby mouse could have been a worthy mystery, after all our offices are still fairly new; but no, curious minds wondered: Where'd the chocolate come from?....

Koko, legend now has it, barely budged from said chocolate in the middle of a well-lit hallway or even as my coworkers poked her and then took pictures up close with camera phones.

Then the dilemma: What to do about Koko? Toss her into the trash? Leave her to the mercy of the dour-looking housekeeping crew? (They would put a quick end to her, no doubt.)

She was clearly an innocent—with a sweet tooth. And if one put aside standard prejudices, a rather cute looking thing who could do little about the fact that she landed in this world a lowly mouse....

Well, Koko was adopted that night by one of my coworkers, and like a proud papa he has taken these spectacular snapshots of Koko in her new digs.

Overheard in Prague #2

2008-01-15T23:09:00.001+01:00

...on the #9 tram on the way home from work.

A man with an English accent (but with a little something extra in his speech pattern that suggests he's not originally Anglo....) talking rather loudly into his cell phone to a certain Mr. XYZ:

Hello, Mr. XYZ.... Tomorrow at 4pm.... Holesovice....
Okay, good, perfect....
So, how did it go Monday night?
So, how did it go Monday night?
How did it go Monday night?
Monday night, how did it go?

Bad cell phone reception? I wonder.

How did it go Monday night with the limo?
How did it go Monday night with the limo?
How did it go Monday night with the limo and Shirley?
How did it go with the limo and Shirley?
How did it go with Shirley?

I exaggerate not.

Buddy, obviously, Mr. XYZ is either hard of hearing or not in a position to answer the question, perhaps because there's a limo and a woman named “Shirley” involved.... By the way, are you Shirley's pimp?

The Best Week Ever—So Far, of 2008

2008-01-14T22:54:00.001+01:00

Some weeks just have “disaster” written all over them the moment you wake up. You might as well just stay in bed and not move till the following Monday. This is not meant to be one of those weeks! I'm so sure that I'm not even waiting till Friday to count the ways. But here's a start...

Knowing fully well that I have a 10am meeting Monday, I yak away on Skype Sunday evening till after 2am. Dumb, dumb, dumb, I know, but I am so sure that my alarm will kick in at 8:00.

Have I mentioned that I wear earplugs to sleep?

I wake up at 9:08.

The mad scramble for clean shirt, toothbrush, boots, blush, notebook, pen, wallet, IDs, and a tangerine—peeled from the night before, thank goodness! Out the door at 9:27 and catching the 9:30 tram. And what luck, I make it just in the nick of time.

A pleasant hour later, meeting done, I walk out onto the cobblestones of Old Town. A few souls in the streets, the morning fog is just beginning to clear, a comfortable chill and the smell of baking bread in the air—breathtaking. It's my perfect little European moment. Even down to me popping into Bakeshop Praha for a nicely flaky yet doughy croissant.

Of course, there is nothing chic about the way I tear into the pastry once I step out of the cafe. I am starved! Still I feel guilty enough about letting my bad American manners disrupt my pretty mental picture that I only take three bites and bag the rest....

At the Metro, a battalion (really) of police and transit ticket inspectors waiting at the transfer point at Muzeum. Lucky lucky me, I didn't forget my pass during my earlier mad dash. 500Kc fine averted.

At work, I sign my new contract and officially become a full-time employee! Stock options, here I come!

An after-work meeting with a Czech subject who claims to speak a “little English”, but “little” might as well be “none”. I have the foresight to invite my friend Silvia along and she helps to translate. (She speaks Slovak which is almost like comparing American and British English—I think....) Another catastrophe averted. We have a light dinner and a nice chat at Cafe Louvre afterwards.

I get home home and marvel at the ways today could have gone awry, yet didn't. The universe must be in my corner this week, and then I wonder, why shouldn't it be?

CauCau!

Flat Tax, Flat Wallet

2008-01-11T20:23:00.002+01:00

Money has been on my mind this entire week—making more of it, spending less of it and casting bad juju on anyone trying to take it from me.

Blame it on the Czech Republic's new flat income tax rate that goes into effect this month. Some say it's 15%. Others have mentioned 19%. Meanwhile my HR rep sent me a document outlining a three-year step-down plan: 21-20-19, with the 19% rate taking effect in 2010.

No matter. The big news is that folks in the upper reaches of the old tax rates have been celebrating. Many are eagerly awaiting their first “tax relief-era” paychecks at the end of this month.

I should add myself to the list, but I hesitate. Why? Because when it comes to government and “free money” aka tax relief two things are bound to happen:

a) Getting that money won't come so easy

b) The boost in your paycheck will be matched by a boost in the price of everything else

Scenario A

Turns out getting the flat tax rate isn't an automatic process. If you're a member of the invasive species known as Expatriatus Vulgaris you'll need a Danovy Domicil, a special document from your local finance office, a place where everything is in Czech, and so is everyone there. (Dante's Inferno, here we come.) To get this DD, you need a host of documents and you have to pay a 100kc. Look at that: to get free money you have to pay money. You might get the DD that day or in a week or maybe never. Depends on the whim of the finance office in the district you live in. If you get the DD, rejoice but only for 11 months, because you'll to do it again next year and any year you want that "relief". (If you don't get the DD, you have to wait until the end of the year to claim the money you lost out on.)

Scenario B

I went to Tesco one evening late last year and walked out wondering if the local chickens had gone on strike. A crate of 30 eggs that I normally bought at 54kc had shot up to almost 80kc. Squawk! Other price increases, not as drastic, began showing up in often-purchased products—yogurt, from 9kc to 11kc; milk, from 15kc to 17kc; salad mix, from 29kc to 32kc. My 50kc soup and garlic bread combo from Kava, now 55kc. What was up?

Last Sunday, at dinner with Darcie, she explained: her Czech friends told her that businesses had gradually started to up prices in anticipation of the boost to consumers' cash flow. Fact or fiction? As a shopper, it's hard to argue against the former. Movie tickets, once 159kc are now 169kc. A crazier leap than the price of eggs? Monthly metro passes, formerly 460kc, now 550kc.

While we high-salary expats may grumble at the various spikes in the price of daily living, I wonder how Czechs, many of whom make less than we do, will deal. I know little about the tax relief to say if it has loopholes or exceptions for low wages. If not, there might be a different political party running the Czech government after the next elections.

In closing, I refrain from rejoicing because:

a) My local finance office has yet to issue my Danovy Domicil. If I don't receive it before Friday I'll have to wait till February to see what happens to my paycheck.

b) And whatever I imagine the increase in my paycheck will be, I should deduct 50% to get an approximate of what my real “extra money” is.

Three Sightings in Prague

2008-01-06T16:46:00.001+01:00

Snow. The first of the year. And a good amount of it too. I woke up at dawn to the sound of a neighbor shoveling the sidewalk. But by the time I headed out in the afternoon, there were few pristine tableaus left to capture.

(Children tobogganing down Petrin Hill)

French toast! At the Globe Cafe. (Sorry, no picture—I was starving.)

I'm a huge fan of the New York style brunch—pancakes, sausages, French toast, maple syrup, eggs benedict, hash browns, omelettes, mimosas, Bloody Marys, the works.... Alas, Prague is not big on brunch. A few places try, but the two essentials—pancakes and French toast—are usually missing. Until I turned up at the Globe—an expat-owned bookstore slash cafe—today for brunch with Iulia.

I've been to the Globe a few times but never for brunch. Word in the expat grapevine was that in the past brunch there wasn't much to write home about. But things have improved under new management. The cafe has spruced up its looks and its menu/kitchen. The new Globe takes brunch seriously it seems—during the set hours the kitchen only handles brunch meals and you can't order anything but. Fruit drinks are freshly squeezed and you can have a "brunch cocktail" too. I ordered French toast sprinkled with almond slivers, bacon and scrambled eggs. Verdict? Tastes like the real thing. The bread though, could have been thicker.... Will be returning to sample other fare.

Ethan Hawke? Well, I didn't see him.... Heading towards Narodni Divadlo tram stop after brunch, we ran into Darcie, her friend Kevan and his girlfriend. Kevan was pretty sure he had just spotted the actor walking up Narodni about five minutes before. If so, where could he be headed? We all wondered. Cafe Louvre? Could we chase him down? Too desperate, and probably dangerous with the snow. Maybe accidentally drop in for tea at Louvre....

Why We Stay in Prague

2008-01-05T21:46:00.001+01:00

As another new year starts in Prague, I'm more comfortable with the reality of me staying here for a while—as in two years or longer.

There are many days when I can't imagine returning to the States soon or at all. I love New York City; I appreciate the efficacy with which the American system works; but what I'm glad to be away from is the extreme.... Not sure exactly what to call it. “Mentality” seems too vague. Let me put it this way: of people and things back home I can't help but think: “You folks are in need of a serious chill pill....”

The topic of extended residency in Prague comes up quite a bit among expats; in asking we want to know if others feel similarly about loving, tolerating or loathing life here. (And maybe in a roundabout way it lets you know who'll be a fixture in your phonebook....) I'm definitely in the first camp.

There was a brief discussion thread on the online expat forum a few days ago. A woman asked for help in making the decision about whether to return to the States or stay in Prague. Several folks responded. The consensus was: list the positives and the negatives and go from there.

From the look of it her positives outweighed the negatives—she didn't write any. I agreed with a lot of her points. And I think many people do. (***The flat tax thing though I think she has wrong; that's on goods which is quite high.... Now, a flat 19% income tax rate I welcome whole heartedly!)

Less stressful, a beautiful city, great transit system, low cost of food, five weeks vacation, centrally located—these are some of the factors that also keep me here. Not to mention that personally I haven't felt this calm in years.

Still, in one regard I wish Prague would be like Paris, the city I originally intended to jump ship to—ban smoking in public places. Then life would be near-perfect....

Perfect would be me back to making my American salary.

***Turns out she did mean a flat 19% income tax rate and was correct.... (1/6/08)

Statsny Novy Rok

2008-01-01T20:24:00.001+01:00

(Iulia, BlackGirl & Yuriko @ Legii Bridge)

(Fellow New Year's Eve revelers @ Legii. Waiting for...)

(...Fireworks!!!)

(Awesome night shot of Prague Castle thanks to Yuriko's steady hand....)

(Fireworks at Charles Bridge)

(Praguists & tourists getting their New Year's Eve on @ Wenceslas Square)