Clinging to My Sanity: Trains, stations and celebrations

I left Budapest on a 5:25 AM train from Keleti East station—mercifully (and not accidentally) a five-minute walk from my hotel, scheduled to get in to Prague’s main train station just after noon. In spite of the relaxing Seycheni baths, I didn’t sleep well; I was concerned that my alarm wouldn’t go off, that I’d oversleep and miss the train, so I woke up every couple of hours until I finally got up around 4am. I tried to sleep on the train, but there were a lot of stops along the way—a lot of coming in and out. It was fascinating, particularly in consideration of how much had changed since I last took a train to Prague (that time, from Vienna). Well dressed Hungarians, then Slovaks, then Czechs, came in and out, often with stylish city gear, or just as often with camping equipment on their backs. The countryside through all three countries was attractive, clean, markedly middle-class looking. The ride was long and mostly sleepless, but scenic. The sunlight precluded me from capturing the very charming villages along the way, and the mountains and rivers also went by too fast for me to get a clear image.

I had some nuts and some pieces of fruit--oh, and also a macrobiotic snack that L. had kindly given me for the road--to tide me over until I got to the city.

The train got into Prague’s main station at 12:18 on the dot. From there, I would—after disembarking and taking out some cash in korona—take a train or metro to a lesser train station, from which I could take a commuter-rail type train to the converted mill where Nina lived and where the wedding would be held. I could also apparently and more straightforwardly take a tram to the end of its line and walk 20 minutes, but I had all my stuff with me. Which is not a lot of stuff. If I’ve learned anything about traveling, it’s that you never know how much, how often you’ll be lugging everything you have, so never pack more than you can comfortably lug. Nonetheless, I had enough stuff on me to opt for the train. Nina had sent out a map, with directions/instructions for both options. She had arranged for local friends to meet out-of-towners at the metro platform within the train station, and perhaps also outside the train station, around 3pm. They would lead wedding guests to platform 3A—apparently not its own platform, but one at the ‘south’ side of platform 3. Harry Potter fans will appreciate the analogy to platform 9 ¾. The 3pm train would get wedding guests to the mill just after 3:30, in time to get situated for the ceremony at 4pm, but I had to get there earlier; I had to clean up and change. I had done my due diligence in reading the directions and attempting to google-map the area beforehand, but my due diligence was no match for the utter lack of signage, English-speaking, and overall clarity at the smaller station. When I told this story to my coworker on the way to our meeting, he said, “it was in Prague, right?" Implying, "how confusing could it be?" A fitting analogy came to mind: imagine you’re an out-of-towner in DC—you don’t speak English—and you’ve arrived in Union Station, but you need to make your way to a wedding at the Arboretum. That in and of itself made it plain, but I added, “also, you’ve been advised not to hail cabs from the street. If you must take a cab, arrange for them by phone. Only your phone doesn’t work. So you get from Union Station to that shady bus station on North Capital, and the first step on your mission is to find platform 9 ¾.” Also, you're low on sleep and food, those two key elements of perspective and sound judgment and decision making.

I got off the train from Prague main and looked for platform 3A. I even asked about it, pointing to it on the instruction sheet Nina had sent. People either didn't know where it was, or explained in Czech. Not that I expected them to explain in English, but they might have pointed or otherwise visually indicated it. I left the platform area and asked around in the underground lobby area. A lady at a kiosk said that one couldn't get to that neighborhood by train; best take a bus. I came outside and saw a bus with that neighborhood listed on it, so I jumped on board (same transfer ticket). Only after the bus took me far out of town did I realize I had to turn around. Near the end of the line, I saw a tram stop across from the bus stop, so I got off and took the steamy tram back to the train station. In the main vestibule, I saw a schedule that showed trains leaving from 3A--so I knew it did indeed exist--and deduced the destination of the train I should take. I went up to what I figured was platform 3--the platforms were not indicated, anywhere--and saw that destination listed, so I figured the train would come on either track. I wasn't sure which was south, but I would see it. These trains came every half-hour, and I'd just missed one. So I waited, and half an hour later, realized the train had come and gone without coming anywhere near where I was standing. It was late; it was time to call Nina.

I went back to the vestibule, found a kiosk, asked for a SIM card. The woman at the kiosk couldn't understand me. A man in the store asked what languages I spoke, and was able to translate from and to my Russian. I put the SIM card into my phone; it did not work. I went over to the pay phone and dropped in some coins, dialed both numbers. Neither worked (I was doing it incorrectly, but I had no idea what I was doing wrong. It had been a while since I'd used a pay phone in any country). It was past 2pm; I'd f*ed around for almost two hours, and I was running out of time. I would risk it and take a cab from the street; I'd point the driver to the address on the crumpled instruction sheet. Only in the process of messing with the phones, I'd lost the instruction sheet. Which meant I not only lost the phone numbers and the address, but the directions from the train stop to the mill.

I had a meltdown. But even in the midst of my meltdown, I took time to appreciate how fortunate I was to that neither my mother, nor F., was in my company, as initially planned. Some people are helpful, calming, practical; others are counterproductive, blaming, or both.

I pulled myself together and decided that my only hope was to catch other wedding guests transiting through this station--which everyone without a car would be doing. That meant that I'd have to clean up then and there. I paid the WC attendant, who was rapt in some very loud Czech TV--perhaps a soap opera or old movie, which sounded in the background as I took a birdbath in the sink, changed into my dress in a stall, and came back out to the mirror to do my hair and lipstick. I'd left off the eye makeup lest I was not done crying. I emerged from the WC looking even more out of place than before, but not bad, given my state of sleeplessness, foodlessness, and meltdown. I went to get another ticket--my hour and a half had expired on the previous one--and nearly had another meltdown as the woman in front of me took her very sweet time putting every single coin she had in the machine. She finally moved, I finally got my ticket. I thought I'd go down to the metro platform, since that was the least ambiguous meeting point for the wedding guests, but it was too chaotic down there, so for my sanity, I took a chance and went back up to platform 3.

I took a deep breath. I walked toward the end of the platform, where I saw, approached a well-dressed couple who Did Not Look Czech. I asked whether they were, by chance, heading to Nina and Jameson's wedding. The gentlemen shook his head. My heart sank. The lady said, "we are. We're Jameson's parents." I tried, but could not forestall, another meltdown (tears of joy, this time). Her husband just couldn't hear me, thought I'd said something in Czech, and shook his head to indicate that he didn't understand. I cried, laughed, apologized for the meltdown, explained my situation. They were kind, understanding, welcoming. It would be okay. I would make it to the wedding.

I couldn't appreciate this at the time, but it was to my advantage that I hadn't made it to the correct platform on my own. The reason I didn't see the train coming was because 3A was literally at the end of platform 3; the train pulled in, and pulled out back in the same direction it had come from. It didn't pass the main platforms. Not only that, but some of the trains were older models, without those buttons you hit to let the conductor know to stop at your stop. You had to tell the conductor--or in our case, show them the name of the stop. Jameson's parents knew this because their son had told them once he knew they were at the station and that they'd get an older train. We got on the train--a whole half-hour before most of the guests would get on theirs--and to the stop easily, and I followed J.'s parents to a narrow path in the woods. That path may have been drawn, indicated on the instruction sheet, but I never for the life of me would have recognized it. But I followed them down the path, to a beautiful, open space, and eventually saw the mill. There was a yard, with plots

past which there were chairs set up for the ceremony. I saw Nina, and then Nina's mother. Hugs all around. They were so worried about me! What happened? I told them about my hours at the station, about being rescued by J.'s parents. It was so good to see them, to be there. Nina led me into the house and then said the most magical words of all: "A., there's hummus and felafel in the kitchen." I'd forgotten how hungry I was. Being there--amid family, essentially--and having food, I was whole again.

If you do a word search on "Nina" in this blog, you'll get a refresher on who she is, what she means to me. When people asked how long I'd known Nina, the only thing I could say was that as long as I'd been aware that there were people in the world outside my immediate family, I knew Nina. We grew up together. We referred to ourselves as cousins, because it seemed a more apt description of our relationship. At picture time after the wedding, she called me over for the family part, reiterating that I was, essentially, family. It wasn't entirely inaccurate; remember my mother's first husband (who is not my father)--the one who wouldn't get off the couch? He's Nina's mother's cousin. Nina's father and my mother have known each other since they were teenagers. I could go on, but you get the point. But I wasn't the only one, by far, who felt that Nina was family. After all, Friday was the wedding ceremony, followed by a reception; these events were "family-only," with a bigger celebration to follow the next day. And yet, Nina's guest list for Friday adhered to the non-biological definition of family. As other guests flowed in, were asked how they knew Nina, you heard a lot of "she's like a sister to me." One woman said it best: "everyone needs a Nina." At the celebration the following day, J.'s mother made a lovely speech, in which she talked about how when she was carrying J., she thought, not knowing he would be a boy, that it might be nice to have a girl, as she already had a boy. Of course, when he was born, she was happy to have the boy, but when he met Nina, she knew that it really all worked out: the boy had brought her the girl. One of the readings that N. and J. chose for their ceremony was, unbeknownst to them, also read at J.'s parents' wedding. It was, is worth repeating: "The Prophet" on Marriage Kahlil Gibran

Then Almira spoke again and said, And what of Marriage, master?

And he answered saying:

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.

Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another, but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but each one of you be alone.

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

The vows were lovely,

and the ceremony also included a singalong to the Pixies' "La La Love You", guided by Nina's niece.

. Afterward, in perfect weather, we celebrated with a champagne toast,

dinner,

and cake.

In addition to the veggie fare shown above, they served food freshly grilled in the brick oven in the yard.

*** The wedding, reception were a blast. I met my roommates for the next few days, shared a cab with them back to the apartment. They warned me that the front door to the building--to which we'd been sent a magnetic circle key--was persnickety, and that they'd panicked the first day because they'd had trouble getting in, but they figured it out. The apartment was nice, but more importantly, was right in the heart of Prague. The next morning, I rolled out of bed and right into Old Town Square, by way of Franz Kafka plaza. It was so authentic that--this may also have been the influence of the $1 boxed wine--when I spied a cockroach in the bathroom, I hesitated for a minute before killing it. I really did think, "what if it's him??"

I (re)explored Prague on my own the next day and met up with my roommates mid-afternoon to get ready for the celebration. I liked them a lot, and, as close-knit as the three of them were, they welcomed me without pause. As we dressed for the wedding, I asked whether either of the ladies had brought a flat-iron. I felt the need to explain--the absurdity hitting me even as I spoke--that I'd long resisted getting a flat-iron, considering it a form of selling out to The Man, but that I came to see how it really was a quick fix for the mess that my hair could be. Yup, there I was, inkless government employee, justifying my embrace of the flat-iron to a tattoo-covered bar owner. Who embraced it long before I did, but, alas, had not brought one.

We cleaned up and came downstairs to meet up with a couple of their (and Nina's) friends also going to the celebration. We made our way to the metro--and not the nearest one--as my heel got caught in every other gap in the cobblestone. Jocelyn loaned me her flip-flops, which she'd stuck in her purse for the way back. The celebration was metro to tram to a walk down the hill. It hit us all the second that we got off the tram that this would be the scavenger hunt wedding. None of the week's activities would be found straightforwardly. We eventually figured out which way to turn once we got off the tram, and even found a series of sign-posts that said "wedding." Without each and every one of them, we would have doubted that we were in the right place.

We arrived at the celebration, in the beautiful terrace of a restaurant overlooking the valley.

There was food, music, dancing,

and even a belly dancer

. The wedding favors were sparklers and temporary tattoos with the wedding theme.

Mine hasn't come off yet, but I like to think that it helped me mesh with the comprehensively inked crowd. There was cake--one little girl was particularly anxious for it to be cut, and promptly snagged herself a piece the size of her head.

Nina's Uncle Leo approached me and started telling me how glad he was to finally meet me, having heard so much about me. I didn't tell him he'd told me the same thing the day before, at the wedding. Then, he started telling me that the most acrimonious argument he'd ever had in his life, was with my mother (surprise, surprise). At that point, I did tell him that he'd told me that the day before. No, he said, he didn't. I told him what it was about. Was I that drunk, he asked? Uh-huh, I shrugged. Throughout both celebrations, Nina had to keep checking on "her Russians." You'd think they'd hold their liquor better by now, but there was so much flowing--I didn't know a place could keep tapping out so much alcohol--that her vigilance was warranted. I looked at Nina's niece and nephews and felt quite old all of the sudden. Here they were, with Nina and her friend, Sasha,

and I'd diapered all of their asses! I said as much.

Nina: She diapered all of your asses! Except Sasha's.

Sasha: There's still time.

They all turned out to be very good kids, which did not surprise me at all, but I hadn't seen them in ages, in spite of having spent quite a bit of time with them when they were kids. Later, in Kutna Hora, Maria (the niece who led the singalong) and I would talk about Jonathan Safran Foer's books, all of which she's read (I've read one and keep meaning to read "Eating Animals," which she highly recommended). She told me about Russian Girl Problems--good lord, those people know my mother! Check out this one and let me know if it rings a bell from any recent blog posts. Where was this $hit when I was growing up? It would have helped me feel more normal. She also introduced me to the concept of White People Who Want to Be Japanese--she had a cool acronym for it--and started going off on "White" People Who Want to be Russian. I did not know this was a thing--I do know about plenty of Americans who think they're European--but she had examples. I babysat this kid, I tell you.

All the kids, big and small, were having a blast with the sparklers, and later the adults joined in. One eventually lit one within a paper lantern, which, naturally, caught on fire, but it was under control. I couldn't believe how much alcohol flowed in that place that night, which is probably not atypical. It just kept flowing.

It was 1 AM when we left the celebration to return to the apartment. I joined Stephen and Maria on the balcony for a nightcap (of very good boxed white wine, which we finished off). I really enjoyed getting to know them--and Jocelyn, as well, who had turned in as soon as we got in. Maria and I talked about food culture, about our respective upbringings around food--mine by parents who lived through the blockade of Leningrad, hers by a father whose family survived the Depression by eating their horse. Earlier that night--actually, probably the night of the ceremony--J. was telling me about how he gets Nina, gets her family, because he'd already lived in a Slavic country for years before he'd met her. The weird is that much more normal to him. And when that weird includes talking about the skin care benefits of urine, that says a lot.

The next morning, I--apparently, the organized one--woke up at 10:30 and reminded Maria, on the other coach in the same room, that Doug and Caitlin were meeting us outside in half an hour to head to brunch. She woke up, rallied the others, and we all got ready (but postponed the meeting time). It was a nice walk to the general vicinity of the brunch spot--what does it say that the last time I'd walked down Wenceslas Plaza, it was covered in "Ray of Light" posters--but don't forget, it was scavenger hunt wedding week, and we had to hunt for the actual place. Nina had drawn it as just outside the metro exit, but there were multiple exits to that metro, and Radost FX was not just across any of them. She helpfully indicated that it was diagonally across from KFC, but there are KFCs all over Prague--including one adjacent to our building, whose wifi I attempted, at times successfully, to leach off of from the lobby--so it was hardly a unique landmark. Jocelyn joked about how she needed a KFC app, if that's what everything would be oriented around. It reminded me of directions in Nicaragua, which, lacking addresses, were literally indicated by a phrase like, "two blocks from the chicken place." We eventually found it--we'd overshot it on the way over--but we were ever glad to be there. They had vegan brunch options! I think the whole thing may have actually been vegetarian.

I wondered aloud whether it was too early to have a mimosa; Maria replied that I was asking the wrong crowd: they promptly ordered Bloody Marys.

After brunch, the group--an eclectic mix of Russians, mostly bearing visible evidence of their liquid lunch, and hipsters--left for the castle. I'd spent plenty of time at the castle, though I said I'd see if I could find them after stopping into the apartment. I hit the train station on the way, just to get a sense of where it was and how to get there, since one of the day trips later in the week would leave from there. I remember it being a bit hard to find from last time--we almost missed our train, in spite of having walked to and from it many times. That was mostly a function of the windy, confusing streets outside Old Town Square, near which we stayed last time as well.

I got back to the apartment, but couldn't get in. Passers-by saw me holding up the magnetic key and trying to open the door. I kept trying, to no avail. Finally, ten minutes later, the door buzzed and I was able to open it. I thought it was just me, and Stephen did say he had trouble the first time he tried it. I didn't give it much thought; I was able to get in the rest of the day, with not too much of a delay. But the next day--after my roommates had left town--I was once again stuck outside. Mercifully, another occupant of the building--a young woman who worked in the lawyer's office on the second floor and who'd seen me in the building the day before and so knew I was legit--came by. She couldn't get in either, but she called her office, and someone came down. She was told--and she translated for me--that the landlord knew that the receptor was broken and had called to have it fixed. They didn't know when. People had been propping the front door open, but others had been shutting it as they left. I'd spent the morning and early afternoon walking around--this is how I'd spent every morning and early afternoon before meeting up for whatever event--and on this especially hot day, was happy to chill in the apartment until it was time to go to Nina's dad's birthday dinner on the river. There, I'd ask her to call the apartment people and figure out what the deal was.

By dinner time, the weather was perfect, and the small island in the river where the restaurant was to be found was the exception to the scavenger hunt wedding week situation. Which was just as well, because I didn't need more than one logistical nightmare in a day. Nina dialed the apartment people for me, who called the landlord and called me back, and said that they'd make sure the door was propped continuously until the problem was fixed the next morning.

After dinner, we took some rowboats and paddleboats--I was in a rowboat with Nina's mom, her brother, and J.'s brother--and rowed around the river. It was beautiful.