Don’t cry for me Czechoslovakia
For the first time in my traveling career, I broke down in tears—tears of fear and desperation. And even with this ultimate gesture, the man behind the desk couldn’t be persuaded to give me a room. Like Mary and Joseph before me, all I wanted was shelter.
“But there are men outside with machine guns. It’s 2am…and it’s pouring down rain,” I whimpered. “I can’t go back outside.”
As I mentioned in the previous post, I have shown up in foreign countries before without proper instructions…because, well…with all the excitement of a new destination, I don’t think about specifics. I just go.
Czech train
It was the summer of 1986. I was 21 years old and living in Germany. When my friend, Karla, wrote that she was in (the former) Czechoslovakia taking language classes, I replied that I was on my way. I took a night train to Stuttgart to secure a visa and then disappeared behind the Iron Curtain.
At the border, stone-faced soldiers examined my documents and German Shepards sniffed my belongings. I held my own during the mini-interrogation, but crossing into the forbidden East took hours. When we pulled into Prague it was after midnight and the train station was abandoned, except for soldiers standing alongside the tracks.
Prague
My plan was to find Karla with the return address on her letter. It was a masterful plan, however, when I went to pull the letter out, it wasn’t there. I frantically searched my bag, only to remember that the letter was still on my desk…in Germany. Common sense dictated that I look for a hotel near the station and deal with my problem in the morning. So, in the pouring rain (my umbrella also still in Germany), I walked outside and began looking for a place to stay. Hotel after hotel claimed they were full. I was soaked and scared, walking past soldiers poised with machine guns.
That’s when I had my first travel-related breakdown. Inside a hotel lobby, I begged the clerk (in German) for help. He finally relented, saying well, yes he did have a room, but it was a suite. When I whined that I didn’t have enough money, he lowered the price and asked for my passport.
“Why didn’t you say you were American?” he asked. “I thought you were German. Everyone probably thought you were German. We don’t like Germans.”
Ah, yes, remnants of the war.
Medieval street, Prague
Without the letter I pondered how I was going to find Karla. All I remembered was that she was attending a university named after a man. Robert? Peter? Paul? I inquired at the hotel the next morning, “Can you tell me where John University is?” It didn’t exist.
I wandered the streets until I found the tourist office and explained my predicament to a young woman there. I asked about Karl University, cleverly remembering Karl Marx. No, didn’t exist. Pavel? “No,” the woman laughed. “It must be Charles University.” Yes, Charles! After a few phone calls she located the only group of Americans at the university. I followed her directions and walked to the grand hotel where they were staying. Karla was in the lobby, surprised to see me—my letter, announcing my visit, hadn’t yet arrived.
My stroke of luck came at that exact moment–the moment I was telling Karla and the Czech man standing beside her about my unwelcoming welcome. The man was there, with the group, finalizing the details of their weeklong tour of his country. He insisted I join them as a guest of the Czech government. He wanted to show me the true hospitality of his country…and he did. Along with Karla, he showed me the best hotels, the best restaurants, the racetrack, the co-operative farms, the picturesque villages and plenty of plum brandy and vodka. I discovered the stores void of merchandise and the long lines for food on my own.
Popular Czech music
Now, back in Peru, knowing I have good fortune in these situations, I stepped outside the small airport, away from the tourist groups meeting up with drivers. I would stand there for twenty minutes and if no one came to me, I would accept the worst-case scenario—take a taxi to Cuzco and enjoy my two weeks in Peru.
There was no need to cry. I now possessed something I didn’t have in 1986–credit cards.
