I just got back from Prague. Like Prague in the Czech Republic. A 12 hour journey via plane. Yes, plane. If you know me, you know this is a problem. A big one. Don’t ask me why, but about 12 years ago I became fearful of flying. Terrified. Have to take prescription medication AND fermented grapes in order to get from point A to point B. If I time it just right I will fall into my seat and not wake up until I land. This works well for a three to four-hour flight. Not a 12 hour journey.
It didn’t time right. Or work quite right.
But I made it there, and more importantly there wasn’t anyone in white coats and a body vest waiting for me when we landed. Score!
Prague was…fabulous. Beautiful architecture. Amazing history. And our hotel was wonderful.
But what the heck is wrong with people? I don’t think we had good service anywhere. Not one place-short of our hotel. Really? It is not an American thing, everyone was equally treated like crap. In restaurants we received a ‘what do you want look’ and then once orders were placed the only other two times we saw anyone was when the food was delivered and then when we had to beg someone for a check. No smiles. Ever. Bummer.
I saw an Opera. I had never seen an Opera before. I don’t think I will again. Fell asleep. Guess it’s not my cup of tea. Though the theater was gorgeous and hello…I was watching an Opera in PRAGUE. Sheesh. That alone rocks.
My favorite was our trip to a concentration camp. Heartbreaking. I can’t even describe what we saw and the experiences that occurred within those crumbling brick walls. I am not kidding when I tell you that the other day when both my little ones were crying and making me want to simultaneously pull my hair out and knock them out, I stopped and thought about the women in that camp. The experiences that they had, what they didn’t have, how they must have felt…and I immediately felt like I was back-handed into submission. Into gratefulness.
My husband decided to have his feet eaten. By fish. In a tank. Gross, gross, gross.
Here is my advice if going to Prague, or most places in Europe; don’t wear heels (cobblestone streets don’t jive with heels), and carry little sticks of deodorant samples to hand out because the body odor was horrific. Come on people…can’t you smell yourself??
So, now that I have griped about this once in a lifetime experience, let me tell you that I am humbled that I was walking on streets that were in a different part of the GLOBE from my home. That I traveled over the Atlantic ocean. ME. To a foreign country. And despite terrible tummy issues (Prague is not very gluten/dairy free friendly), I had quiet, alone time with my husband. AMAZING. My gratitude is also overwhelming to my mother in law who helped make it all happen.
I am truly blessed.
And am glad most American’s wear deodorant.