Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Sharpe gets married
EDI-FRA-PRG, walk outside to catch the bus into town, turn around to look for a bus ticket vending machine. As I walked over to the ticket machine, I forgot to take my suit-bag with me, just my main bag. Consequently, some scum-of-the-earth taxi driver is now wearing my tailored cashmere suit, and two of my favourite shirts. I hope the arms are too long, and the trousers too tight for him. Some time was spent in frustration running between left luggage departments, in the vain hope that someone has handed it in, rather than lifted it, before I got on the 119 and headed into town.
The person sitting next to me on the metro looked local (Nikola), so I asked for a suggestion on where to get a cheap suit. Got a good description on how to get to some store, felt more cheery, and left the metro to change lines. I took one step onto the first escalator I could see, and looked up to about 5 stories worth of travel - it had to be heading for the surface, and it was too late to turn. Only one thing for it, belt it to the top of the stairs, and run back down again. Finally at the top, and a little out of breathe, I bore the look of the tourist, who stationary body obstructs the gangway of every irritable city commuter, who clutches a map and turns to the sky for directions. And then Nikola appears, panting and wheezing,
after chasing me up the escalator to tell me I've gone the wrong way. Feeling ashamed of her fellow Czechs for stealing my suit; she felt that an extra effort was needed to reprieve the people of her country from the many scorns that I was doubtlessly bestowing upon them. Eventually, she led me all the way to the shop, then lunch, and a walk around the city. Depart company. One of the most pleasantly innocent encounters I have had with a random person, and something that is rare beyond the realms of travel.
Feeling good, and head to the Café Slavia to wait for the German, after quick snappy-happy photo tour of Prague. Café Slavia - a delightful artsy modern café served a cup of melted chocolate with a healthy dose of Stroh-style rum. Fabulous. Drink beer, meet Hasilik, drink beer. We thenwalked down the road to discover a picture of the Czech Prime Minister
Then beer, meet Rit, beer, and jump on the train to Valleske. The Czech transport infrastructure is superb. The trams are frequent and quiet, the metro is quick and clean, and the trains run on time. Which means we pulled into Valleske at 1am, jumped into a cab and emerged at Hotel Eroplan, Rosnov. The final destination, some 32 hours in the waiting. Collapse in bed. Woken up by Probst an hour later, who appeared with stories concerning a drive from Vienna to Rosnov, via Zagreb. It appears that his wife had a Bridge game she couldn't postpone.
The next morning we all head downstairs, hungry for value for money from the buffet breakfast. Back to the room, Hasilik in chords, Rit in Boss, and me in my shiny, newly procured synthetic attire. Perhaps my memory of Rit had softened over the years, as I was overwhelmed once more by his keenness towards being IN. Boss suit, shirt, belt, and everything still paid for by daddy. He always scares the hell out of me, because he really does represent a part of me that is still so reliant upon my father, that I am compelled to reject for no other reason than the psychological disposition of a father figure and self determination. All equating to that basest of all emotions: pride. Rit's dependence is unchecked.
Finally meet James outside the mayor's office, looked suitably pomp for his wedding. With a dramatic weight loss since Singapore, Probst's analysis was "a smug, middle-aged driver of a Mondeo". I couldn't disagree. Hana and James have both given up smoking. My compliments. And then into the town hall for a civil service. Hana walks in, looking beautiful, and delightfully on time. Probst can't stop himself, and offers me a 10 euro per minute spread on the service lasting 29 minutes. I accept, going short, without money. I won.
Head back to the hotel and wait for the bride and groom to undertake a traditional sweeping of broken crockery. I wasn't told what this was supposed to represent, but I did take a certain degree of pleasure in watching James crouching with brush and pan, as people booted the fragments of smashed plate from across the patio.
A massive lunch, and some mingling. Aussie bloke opposite us was astounded to hear that Probst had already retired age 26. It's not really gambling when you're making money. Or so I'm told. I was astounded to hear that he had left Oz for the first time to come to this wedding. Some folk dancing, chillout, then more food. And beer. And absinthe. And that disgusting plum stuff which could not be avoided. Then a healthy jug of whisky to wash it all down.
I remember some folk dancing, the oh-so-intrinsically wrong birdie song, lots of banter, Sam attempting to humiliate James with stories from the past. Of course, I thought long and hard about humiliating stories, and was unable think of many not involving narcotics, deviant behaviour, or anything else that a mother-in-law need not hear. And then when the music started to suck, and Sam's attempt to jack in his iPod failed, we headed over the road to the local outpost of drunken mayhem. A Czech bar. Probst decided it was too much hassle to pay for drinks, so he decided that he and I would simply buy the bar for the rest of the night. Some haggling with the bar manager, and in a decadent display of Western capitalist wealth, the DJ announced
that James Sharpe was getting married, and all drinks were free. At which point, the foreigners catapulted their way to becoming popular in Rosnov, and Rit had trouble beating nubile sorts away from him - some were even female.
Jam our way through the night, with a congo line or two, then hit the sack at 5am after chilling in Probst's room for a while drinking champers. Rit not to be seen.
Wake up at 7am with every intention of leaving early. Rit still not to be seen. Probst unable to wake up. Eventually discovered Rit, poured 2 pints of water on him, dragged him back to the bathroom to wash, and lay down for some pillow talk with Albert; discussed the previous nights shenanigans, slowly becoming envious of his lifestyle. Unemployed, qualified, professionally inexperienced. Yet patiently waiting for the next thing, age 29. It made me remember that there is so much more to life that getting a job at 16, exporting databases, counting cash, and getting drunk.
Realised that Rit had fallen asleep in the toilet for over an hour, and gave up trying to get the early train. Concocted a revised escape plan, involving a drive to some town beginning O. Said our sad goodbyes, jumped into Probst's panzerkampf, with and I drove to that town beginning with O. Then train, PRG-FRA-EDI. Bed.
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