Czech Republic, 2011

I got to the Munich bus station just in time to see my intended bus roll away without me on it. Unscathed yet again by my own personal failure to wake up early enough (such is my life), I found another bus bound for Prague for 45 minutes later.

My hostel in Prague won a few awards for being energy efficient and green; they had various signs of this everywhere, including in our 5-shower large bathroom attached to our 20-person bunk bedded room, which had motion-detection lights. I must have been too short for the showers because every 2 minutes, the entire bathroom would go pitch black, and I would have to jump up and down to get the lights to turn back on. Jumping up and down in a shower stall, clad with water and soap, can be detrimental to one’s safety; not that I would know (I know).

I again was graced by the opportunity to participate on a free walking tour of Prague put on by my hostel, which of course was plagued by near-freezing temperatures all day. We started at the Old Town Square in Prague, passed by the astronomical clock and multiple memorials to Sigmund Freud and walked through Prague’s Jewish quarter. We briefly walked through St. Wenceslaus Square, which was disheartening to me as I wanted to stay and take multiple photos, being a proud and loving alumna of St. Wenceslaus elementary school. Our morning tour ended, and I decided to find Prasky Hrad, Prague’s Castle district, on my own in the afternoon. Armed with a trusty map yet again, I found my way to a set of staircases long enough to make up for a week’s worth of cardio and finally made it to the entrance of Prague Castle. I wandered around as I usually do, loosely following what seems to be the flow of the crowd, and as I escaped a tunnel I noticed a group of tourists in front of me looking straight up in awe. I could see them before I could see whatever was causing their amazement. I walked a few more steps, and it was then that I had one of those awe-inspiring, knock you down MOMENTS of my trip.

Usually when I travel, there’s an unexpected moment where I see or experience something great for the first time that completely takes my breath away unexpectedly for a moment. It’s one of those completely soulful, out-of-body moments where you’re left thoughtless for whatever reason. The first time I can recall this moment was when I first saw the Pantheon in Rome in 2003, when our tour group was leisurely walking through some side alley, not expecting to round the corner and see an astounding, centuries-old building towering a few feet above us. I had this moment in Paris in 2007 when I rounded a corner in the Louvre, face stuffed in a French map, and looked up only to realize I had stumbled into the room that housed La Jaconde, the Mona Lisa.  I had another moment in Spain in 2003 when I hopped off a bus at 2 am, barely awake, to the sound and sight of thousands of people in Pamplona dressed in white and red, dancing for San Fermin, awaiting the running of the bulls in a few hours at daybreak. I felt exactly like Ernest Hemingway in that moment. In Prague, this moment happened to me when I stumbled onto St. Vitus Cathedral, though I’m not totally sure why. But it took my breath away and left me speechless as per usual.

This was my last full day of vacationing. The next day I would travel from Prague back to a small town in Poland to begin a long series of flights home. Being my last real day, I spent some time lying around this part of the castle, writing in my handy travel journal and taking in the atmosphere. I left the Prasky Hrad in search of the Church of Our Lady Victorious, where I had promised my mom I would see the infamous Infant of Prague statue with the golden hands. Being that Czech was almost as hard to understand as Hungarian, I couldn’t for the life of me find the church. I gave up when it became too dark outside for my liking, since the castle district I was in was less than well-lit and became less populated as night fell. I was semi-heartbroken that I didn’t do the one thing my mom had asked me to do, especially amongst the anxiety I was putting her through.

I returned to St. Wenceslaus Square that night alone to take pictures, eat something off a street cart, and do some souvenir shopping. That day was coincidentally the anniversary of the Velvet Revolution in Bohemia, which commemorated the day that left Communism behind for good. Thus, St. Wenceslaus Square was a more than lively place to be that night. I got my pictures, shopping and street food all completed and said my official goodbye to Prague before returning to my hostel for bed. Still heartbroken over missing the Infant of Prague, I became defiant later that night and decided I would wake up at 4 AM to revive my search for the cathedral and the infant before boarding a train to Poland at 8 AM.

I did wake up on time the next morning, and began to panic at the thought of leaving my beloved continent. I started to take silly pictures of myself randomly at various stops along my hunt for the Church of Our Lady Victorious and began to feel sad not knowing the next time I would grace my favorite plot of land and history. Nonetheless, I found the church and saw the babe with the golden hands, which did end up being completely worth the effort. I bought my mom a souvenir to prove my success, and I made it to my train on time. I drudgingly boarded it to go back to gloomy, freaky, Cold War-esque Poland.