Taking Chances

I don't feel any different. Not really, anyway. Sure I've learned a few things about this crazy German language and I finally know how to navigate public transit in what used to feel like a neverending concrete jungle, but really I feel like just about the same old LD that I was when we waved goodbye to all our folks at home last June. I hadn't expected this to be the case--I expected some colossal change in what makes me me so that I would return to Michigan a shiny new gal. But, now that Reggie and I have constructed a life in HH (from scratch) I have learned that though our super cool new European experiences will challenge us, teach us, and enhance our lives, who we are will remain. This means that it doesn't take a superhero to take on a challenge like surviving a move across the ocean, or shark-diving, or fighting world hunger--it just takes a person eager and willing to take a risk.

I fully realize that the risks I have taken are nothing compared to the likes of some, so I push myself to keep pushing on and taking more chances.  Opting to take the teaching position at my beloved Seedlings was a risk. It would mean a completely new teaching experience (of inexplicably intimidating little tikes) and it wasn't Tomek. There were lots of ifs. But, within minutes of meeting the founders of my now second Hamburg home I knew that given the chance I would love working with them. Both are strong, admirably capable, and incredibly compassionate women who were willing to take a risk to start what has now become a thriving school. And they took a chance on me--with zero preschool teaching experience it must have been my relentless enthusiasm that caught their attention. The whys make no difference now; we've finished the first part of the first year of Seedlings and I've loved every minute of it.

So have these guys.



These cuties make up one of our two classes.





Oh yeah, we totally built that.



with Rachael and Grit

Realizing that who I am isn't going to change depending upon my geographic location made something else quite clear: the ambitious world-travelers that I have met and ooh-ed and ahh-ed over are just regular folks living out their dreams. I predicted I would leave the only spot I had ever called home and come back some strong, powerful force. Now I realize that there's no such thing as an elite class of folks capable of being world-traveling go-getters--there's only people willing to take a chance. That notion is as refreshing as finding a Hamburg restaurant that will serve you ice water without giving you a funny look first.

Even if they are just regular people willing to take a big risk, having Rachael and Grit, and Seedlings, of course, in my life is a big reason why I am enjoying my time in HH as much as I am. They have welcomed me into their lovely school with open arms and have given me a chance to teach, making me realize more and more everyday that the memories I'll take home with me will come more from the relationships I make than from the places I'll see. I can't think of a more poignant reminder to take a pause on worrying about the must-see list and to simply slow down and enjoy instead.

Inside Prague's St. Vitus Cathedral

A naïve path carries me through the Castle Courtyard. I barely notice the lights go out; the tunnel that was once in the distance is covering me now. All feet have stopped and all chins are pointing up. All eyes are instantly drawn up by the unannounced appearance of a gracefully massive gothic construction, and higher still to peaks nearly touching the top of the sky. I blink.


A Honey, I Shrunk the Kids complex sweeps over me. Just as quickly I am inside the fanny-packed parish, my eyes darting about without any effort. I have not yet been able to control my breathing. I make the choice not to mind.

“Oh, wow.”

“Oh…WOW.”

The high altar catches me first and stops me like a brick wall would. I can hear the rustling of the contents of the tombs and relics buried below my feet and I can feel the parishioners celebrating the Czech spirit. I can feel 750 years worth of celebration. My altar pictures are coming out blurry. All pictures I’ve ever seen of this place have a lack of crispness. I understand why now, I understand that this cannot be captured by a soul-less device. I have been standing here for ten minutes now and I have yet to make sense of it.

Now I’m in front of the Art Nouveau windows. They had waved me over and I can see why— they have nearly as much to offer as the altar. There is a story in the art on these windows that tells of the fathers of Slavic-style Christianity. I have read about it over and over, first as a teenager and again last night, but all of it escapes me now. I forget about remembering and painlessly allow the art to be a joy to behold.

My eyes are on the ceiling now. Stained glass decorations pull me in and hold me tightly. A strong, conscious effort is all that saves me from spending the rest of my visit eye-locked there. I glance back at the sites I have seen and study them carefully so as not to forget. My heartbeat and breathing entwine themselves into a meditation and I forget briefly where I am and where I am going.

Heavy steps to the door. And then I’m out.

The One and Only Prague

When I was in high school I surprised myself and won a writing competition, earning myself the title of "Teen Correspondent" for the Oakland Press. Look out! I was in my glory and so was my dad. With all the help he gave me with the articles I submitted he may as well have had his name right alongside mine. He was too busy collecting stacks of the Oakland Press to mind helping me with each and every article I submitted. The first article we co-wrote was about the ten-day school trip I had taken to Italy. That was the first taste I had of travel-writing. The travel bug first laid it's jaws on me in Italy, and the writing bug followed right along behind it. At 17-years old I hadn't done much traveling other than to Italy and rather than making up my next big story I grudgingly opted to write about something I actually knew about. So, the next Dean & Dean article recounted my life as a member of a blended family. As an emotional teenager just learning to cope with the early loss of my mom, writing the article at that time made perfect sense. Even though my support system was impenetrable, my mother's passing had, in part, defined me until then.
For years I attempted to write my confusion away. I filled countless journals, often times with letters to my mom. I told her about me and asked her about her. There were so many things I wondered about her; aside from knowing that her parents had moved from Czechoslovakia to Ohio to work in the paper mills, I knew very little about her. So, I held onto what I knew. I treasured the fact that her parents were from a country other than the US and as I kid as enthused about the world outside of Waterford, Michigan as I was I thought Czechoslovakia must be the coolest place on the planet. I bragged to everyone that would listen. I knew I would get there someday. I had to. I already had my tour mapped out.

Living in Germany has countless perks. Not only have I been fortunate enough to have the unbelievably incredible opportunity to travel my new continent, but I have the opportunity to do it with Reggie. While all of our trips have been eye-opening, beautiful, and just plain fun, having the chance to finally make it to my mother's country touched me deeper than any other place will.

The beauty of Prague strikes you like a sudden explosion. This stunning city supplies all the beauty that you expect it to, a challenge many cities are simply unable to meet. Prague produces the take-your-breath-away, knock-your-socks-off, and whoa moments that are not present in many destinations. For all the things you hope for, Prague delivers.

The Charles Bridge is one of Prague's defining landmarks, probably because it's foundation was laid in 1357 (That's right, the US is a spring chicken compared to Europe). Strolling along this handsome bridge is one of the best way to spend 500-yards. It is tastefully adorned with bronze Baroque statues, anxious vendors, and gobs of gawkers.

The illuminated structure looming over the city is Prague Castle. "I don't care how we get there, we just have to get THERE," was one of many thoughts I had when I first laid eyes on this fairytale formation.  

 Just across The Charles Bridge is Little Quarter, a charming neighborhood hiding underneath the castle. In Little Quarter Reggie and I visited the Lennon Wall. While Prague, once ruled by Communism, was in essence tortured by the ideas of Lenin, John Lennon's suggestions of peace offered hope to the Czech people. Immediately following the death of Lennon a wall was covered with grafitti-art in honor of the love the Czech people have for him. The wall is considered a place that offered peace to locals craving freedom from the Communism that was their everyday.

Past Little Quarter is Castle Quarter. On our way we stopped at Strahov Monastery for even more pretty, pretty views of the city.

Strahov has REALLY big doors.

Even though every stop we made was worthwhile, it was impossible not to be anxious about getting to the gorgeous cathedral and castle off to the left poking their heads up and waving me over.

As enticing as Prague Castle is, it is quite easy to get distracted along the way:

Loreta Church

 

LOOK! There she is!

Prague Castle is the biggest intact castle on earth and Czech leaders have ruled from there for more than a thousand years. It sits at the head of the Castle Square table like a no-nonsense king. In medieval times Castle Square housed the king, the most important noblemen, and the archbishop. It turns out this was quite the place to be back in the day.

Prague Castle

Prague Castle refers to a complex of structures including two churches and a palace. Inside the castle entrance is a massive courtyard which includes a tunnel that leads directly to this sweet thing:

The brilliantly beautiful spires of St. Vitus Cathedral can be seen from just about anywhere in the city. This 760-year old masterpiece contains the tombs and relics of the most important local saints and kings, as well as the ability to supply an awe-inspiring experience.



A lovely 14th century mosaic depiction of the Last Judgment.



Whoa, right?

 

This gentleman can guard the castle...

And Reggie can guard the view...

Like so many attractive cities in Europe Prague supplies visitors with a moving Jewish Memorial quarter. Prague's Jewish Quarter houses seven memorial sites scattered over a few blocks. Reggie and I both find Jewish memorial sites incredibly interesting and very moving and enjoyed our time here.

Pinkas Synagogue, a 400-year old site of Jewish worship is a poignant tribute to victims of Nazi force. The synagogue's walls are covered with the names of the Czech Jews that were sent to concentration camps. All 77,297 names are handwritten. Adding to the sadness of viewing this memorial is the reading of each of the names over speakers throughout the site.

The names of the concentration camps associated with the deaths of the Czech people included in this memorial are listed here.

 

As you exit Pinkas you enter Old Jewish Cemetery, one of the most surprisingly wistful scenes I have come across. Here there are 12,000 reminiscent tombstones as close together as physics would allow. From 1439-1787 Prague Jews were only allowed to be buried in this small space, making it necessary to pile tombs on top of each other.

Maisel Synagogue was built in the 16th century as a private place of worship for the Maisel family. Like many memorials photos are not allowed, but I can assure you that Mr. Maisel had a heck of a collection of Jewish history treasures.

The Old-New Synagogue has been the most important place of worship in the Jewish Quarter for more than 700 years. It's rugged and roughed up, an appearance that suggests it has stood the test of time repeatedly.



A cute walk from the Jewish Quarter is Prague's Old Town. While some might skip the history lesson delivered by the Jewish Quarter, no visitors skip Old Town. There are many, many reasons why this is so:

Old Town Hall



With celestial symbols, hands, and moving disks this super neat astrological clock keeps multiple versions of time. I am amazed at the complexity of it now and marvel at the geniuses that created it 500 years ago. At the top of the hour the clock strikes and a massive crowd always forms to witness it.





Old Town Square has been a market square since the 11th-century. Lucky for us it just so happened that the Christmas Markets were in full effect on our Prague weekend. That beauty of a beast behind the markets is the lovely Tyn Church, a 500-year old Catholic church.




It's a tough call, but I think she looks even prettier all lit up at night.



Reggie + scrumptious handmade potato chips = true happiness.

Those awesomely tasty chips weren't the only good eats we enjoyed. We made our way to several great eateries in between the must-sees.

Cafe Louvre, named after the museum, opened in 1902 and has belonged to the first rank of Prague cafes since then. Cafe Louvre is very proud of the fact that Einstein and Kafka frequented their marble-clad establishment upon stays in the city.

Even the vegetarian is good here. Score.

The restaurants said to be traditional Czech restaurants have a medieval flare, like this one which was tucked away deep down a dark, windy, and damp staircase:

The original Budweiser recipe came from Prague a looooong time ago. It's still darn good.

While moving memorials and endless eating options make Prague a stellar destination, it is it's incomparable eye-appeal that make this place so perfect.

Touring the country of my mother's family with Reggie was as lovely as I had imagined it would be. It just felt right. Having the chance to write about it all, well that feels--perfect.