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Tourist Season

Published on 13th December 2018

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been replaced by subtler delicate purple ones, which only seem to bring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-colored

houses.

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.



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