After only hearing English in movies, Prague, or on the phone for
months, tourists from all over England, Canada, and America have flocked
to Cesky Krumlov and seem to be everywhere I go, at least on Thursdays.
As refreshing as it is to hear my mother tongue so often now, there are
moments it becomes overwhelming, the way it does in Prague if I haven't
been for a visit in a while. However, once these feelings subside, I
find myself enchanted by the conversations people have when they are
under the impression no-one can understand them. From sex lives, to
bodily functions, to the most fantastically dysfunctional relationship
stories ever, I have quietly enjoyed the gossip of strangers almost as
much as the changing weather.
As much as these strange glimpses into the lives of others amuse me, my
favorite things to eavesdrop on are the awe-inspired waxing poetics on
the beauty of Krumlov. Hearing the gasps, the exclamations of wonder, and
the rants on the perfection of this little town nestled in Southern
Bohemia takes me back to my own first impressions. Every week I am
treated to a reminder of my earliest moments of exploring the nooks and
crannies, half expecting to somehow, just through the sheer magical
quality of the town, be transported back to Renaissance Krumlov and find
myself face to face with a Rozenberk.
Today seems to be even more spectacular, due to the juxtaposition of the
lush green of spring against the greying sky. Both set each other off
in a way that makes them even more powerful and beautiful. It is really
noticeable once leaving the town, heading back to Budejovice. The
hills, rolling like waves, are freckled with trees and colorful houses,
breaking up the almost neon vibrancy of the fields. I am sure it is
always like this, the ocean of grass, trees, and oddly colorful birdlike
houses, but maybe I really noticed it for the first time because of the
quiet drabness of the sky, illuminating the landscape. Or maybe it is
because the attention-grabbing yellow mustard flowers are gone and have
been replaced by subtler, delicate purple ones, which only seem to bring
out the green of the grass, the grey of the shy, and the pastel-color of the
houses even more.
So as much as I get annoyed while trying to haul ass across town to get
to my next lesson, waylaid by tourists milling like cattle, standing in
my way as they search for the perfect photo opt, I am, in my way,
grateful for reminding me to take off the months of loneliness and
cynicism and really look at the beauty which surrounds me daily.... at
least on Thursdays.