The blue kocarek

Caroline’s special symbol at school, the one that tells her where to hang up her jacket and unpack her playground clothes, and where her toothbrush cup should sit, is a blue baby carriage. Caroline memorized this straight away and came home chanting “modrý kočarek” under her breath on the first day of school. She’s carriage obsessed anyway, and even though it isn’t my favorite accessory, I vowed to find one for her.

Doll baby carriages in Prague, if you haven’t priced them lately, cost an astronomical sum. The cheapest I've found is $50, and Sparky’s offers several over $100. I’m now searching the Vietnamese markets, hoping to find a gem buried under all the almost Barbies and I’ve warned my business partner that on our next trip abroad I’ll be springing into toy stores in hot pursuit.

Why the sudden fervor, you might well ask. You see, when Caroline first realized she had to go back to school every single day, she developed this act full of sobs and clinging fingers, to be presented at the classroom door each morning. She did this for three days, adding drama daily. Friday morning came. She picked up her backpack, I velcroed her shoes shut. Then I asked her to try being brave, to see how that played out. If it worked as well as I thought, five days of the same show would surely warrant a present. She thought about this, nodded and whispered into my ear - "a blue kočarek?"

A deal was made. The crying stopped. Even though she can’t count days beyond tomorrow, she still remembers the doll carriage. I found this design at a Flickr site* illustrating matchbox lids from the 40s and 50s. By the weekend, Caroline may have a real set of wheels to push around; for now she's got a carriage printed and posted above the bench where we put her shoes on each day, on the way to school yet again. The matchbox says, "everyone saves with PKO." I quite agree.

* Check out the Flickr site for more matchboxes, they are fabulous and mostly from our neck of the woods. My hat's off to the designer, Jane McDevitt, who found these and posted them to the web. She has an excellent eye.

Havel's choice

In case you missed it, the NYT posted a short article today letting the world know that Vaclav Havel has finally decided on the theater for the premier of his latest play, Odchazeni, or “Departing.” After much hoohah in the local press, he chose Vinohradska Divadlo. 100 years old this year, the building is one of the most beautiful performance halls in Prague and within strolling distance of our house. Here it is this weekend. Its winged seraphim seem to positively revel in the sun. (As did we.)

The Sartorial Challenges of Školka

School and Caroline have now survived each other for eight days. During that time, Caroline has switched from waking up at 9 (or later) to 7:15 without a blink. She hasn’t walloped anyone, she shares fine, she likes the food and her Czech is up to snuff. Because she suffers from foreign parents, however, she comes home with notes every day about something new we have neglected to send with her.

On the first day of school, she wore a dress. It was cute, but not fancy - perfect for playing in. That afternoon she met me at the door with a strange pair of sweats and a shirt I needed to wash. Apparently the dress wouldn’t do for the playground so she’d had to change and borrow some clothes. Oh, and would I please remember to send a toothbrush tomorrow?

The next day, we packed her up with a toothbrush and cup, and dressed her in a tee with jeans and a sweater. She came home, once more, with someone else’s clothing and a message explaining that she needed separate clothes for class and for the playground; the jeans didn’t exclude her from changing. Oh, and the sweater was nice, but could we add a jacket?

And thus it went, all week. On Friday I sent Caroline to school in jeans, an undershirt, long tee, sweater, and jacket. She carried a bag with sweats, old tee, and an old jacket. She wore velcro-closing shoes, not white, and for good measure, she had some kleenex zipped into a coat pocket. Waiting for her at school were a toothbrush, cup, and a pair of slippers. I snapped a picture of the complete Czech kindergartener as she went out the door, and patted myself on the back.

She came home with a message that perhaps the coat was a bit too hot, could we consider something a bit lighter? Oh, and please send a photo to school on Monday, she was the only kid in her class without one.

Mushroom time

When I called up one of our friends the other day, her husband answered and said, "She's scrubbing mushrooms, Julia, call back in 10!" It must have been a good weekend for mushrooms because the next day our babysitter arrived with a basketful - Boletus edulis if you'd like the Latin name, hřib in Czech, porcini in American mushroom parlance. We admired our lot and then Will diced it up and made soup.

I somehow doubt that there are stores in the States advertising their fall wares decked with fungus, but in central Europe the mushroom - in all shapes and sizes - is a definite decoration choice. And after all, why not? There is something tactile and satisfying about a mushroom. Perhaps you as window shopper conjure up its earthy nutty smell, and remember early mornings out on the hunt, shuffling through fallen autumnal leaves, collecting your free bounty from the forest. You consider the store keeper, and decide she too understands the beauty of a mushroom and if you share this understanding, you might also share the same taste in skirts, or bonbons, or whatever she is selling.

At least this is how I imagine it goes. You can window shop right here and see what you think.

Rainy weekend work

A fingerpainting, print making weekend

The weather continues in its persistent winterish way. We're all hoping that we'll see the sun again and warm weather before next spring, but in the meantime Caroline and I are working on remembering what we do at home on those long gray weekend days.

This Saturday I pulled out finger paints and a cookie tin and C happily painted for an entire five minutes all in red until she could bear the goo no longer and had to wash her hands. Thinking blue wouldn't be as gooey, she switched colors and, five minutes later, ran to wash her hands.

Then I had a minor brain storm and we abandoned tetchy finger work and became printers, making mono prints using the paint and the cookie tin. A cookie tin is a perfect printing plate - you just paint the tin with colors, draw designs in the paint, and then carefully smooth paper over design before peeling the paper away to find your print. Much less messy than fingerpainting and more magically instantaneous. C loved it and we printed until we ran out of paper.

Day in Dinan

While in Brittany, we spent one day in Dinan. A medieval town famous for its timbered houses and the ramparts you can use to hike around the city, it also hosts a pair of competing musicians who have staked out their personal stages. In the center, an accordion and hurdy gurdy player moved from one likely spot to another all day. Near the ramparts, we hung out with a hand organ/singer/actor as he entertained the girls with song after song and persuaded us to sing along too. His props kept them entertained and they enjoyed feeding his cap, well positioned on the street for donations.

I like this picture because it shows off our singer, the old houses and the curious outfits that some of the locals like to wear. The guy on the left had just popped off a motorcycle, but he looks like he is heading for a sword convention, don't you think?

Coast guard house in Brittany

It wasn't all rain and clouds in France. Whenever the sun came out we were on the beach, or hiking along the coast around Val Andre. Here, we're on top of a cliff overlooking the sea, in front of an old coast guard house that still stands as a memorial to the guard.

Parisian pigeons

Walking down the Seine, across from Notre Dame, we ran into pigeons flocking. Flying in uneasy bunches they'd take off, settle down, then take off again. Ellen's camera packed away, she asked for the shot. I took ten and this is my favorite.

The coast of Brittany

 

Just back from a holiday in France. We spent two weekends in Paris and the week on the coast of Brittany. As might be expected in northern France, the food was fantastic, the weather slightly less so. But despite the sun's poor showing we had a wonderful time especially splashing in the sea and hiking along the seashore. More photos to follow.

The new year started today

The first Monday in September feels like the beginning of a new year. People are back from vacation, children start school, businesses answer phone calls again and, right on cue, the weather has snapped from sunny to cold.

We were in Paris yesterday, on the way back from Brittany. At our patisserie, adopted because the owner knows Caroline by name, the locals were out in force, greeting one another with kisses and exclamations in honor of the end of the holiday season. August was over - Parisians were ready to take back their streets from the tourists and the silly season. The church across from our hotel had a regular circulation of families in their Sunday best, girls in navy cardigans, mothers in sensible skirts, fathers with smoothed hair and tennis tan lines. In the middle of rue Mouffetard, right where a playground meets the market, retired hippies sang and passed out song sheets. Couples with long grey hair and flowing skirts and shirts danced polkas to accordion music, the next younger generation, dressed still for church, watched sedately while their parents frolicked in the square and their children swung through the playground.

We’d walked by stores and restaurants closed for the month, promising to wake again on Tuesday, September the 4th, and I thought about their owners, wondering if they were part of all of this celebration and settling in; who might be who in the great crowds of people enjoying the day. We sang some of the songs, danced none of the dances and drank coffee on a playground bench while Caroline practiced her one French expression - “Regardez moi!”

On the boulevards the chestnut leaves have already started to fall, and when the weekly rollerblading parade swept down St. Germain in the late afternoon, the skaters swept the leaves in front of them. We watched the skaters pass, Caroline waved once more, and then we walked down the Saint-Michel metro stairs to an RER train and the airport. We were ready to be home too.

Prague is not as adamant as Paris is about its right to take the entire month of August off, and so September first is not as big a date here, but even Prague had a more than usual bustle about it today. Outside the schools on our block, parents waited for their children to finish their half day, students whistled as friends appeared, Caroline whirled in her new dress and posed for pictures before walking into her first day of school, summarily dismissing me with a “bye mommy” and a languid wave.

I hung out for an hour anyway, sitting in a chair for toddlers, the only barefooted person in the room*, trying desperately to decode the whispers of the other mothers and at the same time assure them that although, and uniquely, Caroline had arrived at school with a team (Will, Marie and myself) we really weren’t that unusual. I picked her up again at 12:30 and the director told us she’d been a hodne holcicka, a good girl.

Tired out from being good, Caroline started to cry as soon she saw me, and I carried her home, sobbing on my shoulder. She told me that she didn’t have a flower for me and it had broken her heart. The flower turned out to be a finger painting, all in red. Marie found one for Caroline to take home. Consoled by strawberries, hot cocoa, and a card of flowery swirls, Caroline fell asleep as soon as we pulled up the covers at nap time.

* Avoid sandals at Czech pre-school events - you'll have to take off your shoes to enter the classroom. If you must wear sandals, bring slippers. At least half the mothers brought their own.

Happy Birthday Ellen!

 

A new chapter

Caroline and I are reading her first chapter book - Charlotte’s Web, a present from my brother. She wonders where the pictures are, but every night asks for more. We begin by skimming through what we've already read, looking at pictures and talking about what happened yesterday, the day before. Then we start reading the next chapter. Sometimes, while I’m reading, she’ll sit down beside her children in their bed on the floor and pat them, making sure they are happy and falling asleep. (The children are small stuffed animals, the bed a shoe box. They are wrapped in a cloth diaper.) Usually by the end of the first chapter she is ready to jump on the bed and on me to bounce out her energy. After a few jumps I grab her and we start reading again.

I’ve worked on the voices and she listens carefully when I get to Wilbur or Charlotte. I don’t have a good Templeton voice - Paul Lynde’s voice echoes but I can’t get its whiney tones right. Uncle Homer's voice is my favorite and I dig out all the gravel I can when I read his lines. E.B. White is a writer who knew how to edit. Every word is placed right and I read them all. It is a pleasure to do so.

Tonight when we finish our two chapters she roots through her bookcase for two more books - picture books from when she was a baby, Pat the Bunny and Just a Snowy Day. She reads them to me, and shows me each picture. She asks for five more minutes to read, so we kiss and I pull up her covers and say goodnight.

Biking in Southern Bohemia

Heaven yesterday was a bike trip near Třebon. The day was perfect for a ride - chilly in the morning, warming up as we peddled along roads dappled by sun and patched pavement. Our rental bikes clanked and our map’s too many details confused us, but once we were oriented (to our bikes, our location amongst paths and ponds) we rode happily all morning, arriving back in Třebon for a late lunch before heading home to Prague.

I liked being on the road, on a bike. The world was close again. I brushed against goldenrod, purple asters, avoided stinging nettle, reached for apples hanging low from trees. With one step I could be off the saddle and taking a picture. I took a lot of pictures.

Time compresses on a bike and spaces expand. We saw more on wheels than we ever could hiking: steeplechase horses in paddocks with fences taller than they; hay bricked into high bales drying in the sun; small villages, smaller farms, ponds stretching to the horizon. I rode hands free down a road from South Carolina - the scent of pine needles and marsh made me homesick, the cool weather and lack of mosquitos brought me back, happy, to the Czech Republic.

I liked the challenge of figuring out the way, of picking the paths most under trees, least along busy roads. The map gave me patience when we climbed hills, knowing how much longer I’d have to ride (or push) until I could coast. It made me brave too. I would like to go back and bike without plotting ahead - bringing out the map only when I need to. I’d like to expore all the paths we passed. We rode mostly on roads and paved cart tracks, but our last six kilometers took us along a rocky path where I learned how to break on downhills without fishtailing.

We rented our bikes from Hotel Zlatá Hvězda, on the main square in Třebon. It's an official Cyclist Welcome hotel in the Czech Republic, for good reason. They lent us a lock, a child seat and helmet for Caroline, no extra charge. When we took our bikes back at lunch, their cellarful of bikes was empty, so I was glad we rented early. I bought along my VKU tourist map of the area (1:50 000) and most of the time it told us where we were. The maps posted on kiosks along the bike paths helped even more.

We rode from Třebon along the Svět and Opatovicky rybníky (ponds). We rode 154 to Branna, then took a cart path to Domanín, and another road to Spolí. From Spolí we took the red trail off road and up again to Svět rybník, before cutting over to 155 for a smooth ride back to Třebon. That’s the official version. We probably rode another 5 kilometers of test roads before we figured out our way. Caroline was patient with us the entire morning, and we fed her cookies and leaves at regular intervals (the cookies to eat, the leaves to study - she likes leaves).

This was my first bike ride in the Czech Republic. I prepped for it by rereading my favorite biker blog Grant's Prague bike blog and googling “bike rental Czech Republic.” When English keywords turned up only defunct or Prague-based bike rental firms, I switched to Czech. “Kol pujcovna” got me a lot further. I found out that you can rent bikes from České dráhy (Czech Railway), and that many towns in southern Bohemia have at least a few bike rental companies. I called Třebon’s sports and cultural department and wrote down phone numbers for four. Eventually, our hotel rented us our bikes. It was easy. I want to go back next weekend.
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Oh, and try the carp if you get to Třebon. It's a lot better than it sounds if you read Rick Steve's post on his trip through town last week ;-). Thanks for pointing out that post Dad!

Czech language at the A2 level

A few days ago, our babysitter greeted me with the morning's news - foreigners wanting to get a long term residency permit were going to have to pass a language exam! She was aflutter with the news and I suggested that she'd have to add bureaucratic jargon to our day-to-day conversations, since that is what the stories said foreigners would be tested on. She thought that as Americans with conversational Czech, we'd have no problems passing the exam. Having been denied my visa last time I applied based on missing page numbers in the statement my health insurer mailed over, I doubted this leniency and started reading up on the subject.

The proposal seems to still be in discussion, but the tests would be based on Czech at the A2 level. The government has agreed that the tests would be free; lessons, not. A little digging found a book in pdf form called "Čeština jako cizí jazyk, Úroven A2" or "Czech as a Foreign Language, Grade A2" It is downloadable from the Ministry of Education and is a guideline for the European Union on how Czech at the A2 level is understood, taught and assessed. For anyone interested in taking the test, I hope this helps.

I scanned through the guide tonight and can assure you it covers grocery shopping and visiting embassies. Unfortunately, it lacks a discussion about the colloquialisms that truly make getting around the country an easier experience. I feel a bit sorry for the studious foreigners armed with their A2 lessons trying to understand the slang used by their fellow citizens (in stores, taxis, restaurants and even governmental agencies). But, in the end, we learn from our language failures and experiences and that may be what the people recommending the exam want foreigners settling in to be encouraged to go out and get.