Arriving in Policka

You remember when I said that Paris and London are really not that much different from big cities in the states, there’s just a change in perspective? Well that’s not the case anymore. Policka, a tiny little town 3 ½ hours outside of Prague, is nothing like what I am familiar with.
This morning I woke up at 5.45 in Paris, wrapped up some food for breakfast, packed up my last few things, and headed out to the bus stop a few blocks away, realizing that together, me and my backpack form an independent self contained ecosystem. I took the bus to a metro line, which took me to a shuttle which dropped me off in front of the Orly airport. Finding my flight was no problem. I bought a yogurt which I ended up eating in line for security, I got on my plane, and passed out before we left the tarmac. I woke up as we were preparing for landing and begged the flight could go on for another half hour at least, knowing that I didn’t have much of a plan of what to do after getting off the plane. Speaking “un peu” of a language, I found, is very different than speaking none. But I managed to follow the signs, exchange my euros for Czech crowns, pick up my bag and get onto a shuttle, which very conveniently dropped me right in front of a metro station. I was reassured looking around me to see that nobody else had any idea what was going on either. I took a metro line, transferred to a different one, and then came up out of the station knowing that I had to get on a bus that would, after 3 ½ hours, end up in Policka. But with busses, taxis, and shuttles everywhere, and zero information booths and apparently no one who spoke English, it was a little harder to find than I expected. After 45 minutes of aimless wandering, ridiculous heat, and a 30 pound weight on my back, a jolly old Czech fellow was obliged to point me in the direction of the bus station (which was of course very nearby and obvious), where I bought a ticket and a sandwich and collapsed into a plastic chair for two hours. When I got onto the bus is when I started to look around and notice how different everything was. The bus, first of all, was packed. It was a 3 ½ hour bus ride, and people were packed into every tiny airplane seat and the aisle was filled with people standing. I was just happy to be able to sit down.
The man next to me was going through some serious stress. I don’t know what the deal was but it looked like he was going to blow a gasket and let loose his problems with the world onto the whole bus, starting with me. I would reach down to get a book from my bag and he would heave a massive sigh and look at me like “This is exactly the kind of bullshit Im so sick of with you people”. Across the isle was a lady who seemed to store all of her body fat in her forearms and fingers. Also she had the most incredible, bleached she-man mullet Ive ever seen. Next to her was a tall, skinny teenage boy with big hair who, every time I glanced over, could be seen with a new food item in his hand. He went through a foot long sandwiches, a liter of some in descript green soda, a bag of orange gummy things, and a power bar in about half an hour.
Something about the women here are really different. From what I’ve seen, kids are viewed as pests that must be dealt with in the swiftest way possible, young women are gorgeous until they hit maybe their thirties, at which point they become incredibly wrinkled and aged looking. Realizing this, they try desperately to look young by cutting their hair in ways that are incomprehensible to western eyes, bleaching it blond, and then throwing in a smudge of bright purple or red here and there. My favorite hairstyle so far was sported by a 50 something year old woman and looked like her hair had gone entirely white and the red smear was positioned so it looked like she had been laying with her head resting in a pool of blood. I am not someone who judges people based on “hairstyles” but this has got to say something about the culture. What it does say, I havent figured out yet. For the entire several hour bus ride, very few people actually relaxed, read a book, listened to music, or gazed out of the window like I would expect to see on a long car ride through beautiful lush countryside. Instead, everyone craned their heads to see up the aisle or in between the seats, watching the road in front of them, like it was their teenage son learning to drive and they all had to actively participate to ensure our safe and expedient arrival at our destination. I can’t blame them too much though. The driver clearly did not know how to drive a manual but was faced with the task anyway. He noticeable improved as the drive went on.
So this went on for a few hours. I read some David Sedaris, listened to some music, and dozed off a few times. Then we got to Policka. I got off the train, and realized I had no idea where I was, no grasp on the local language, and all of my knowledge of my accommodations rested with my friend Martin, who was somewhere in the town but we hadn’t actually talked about a way to meet up. So I choked down a slowly rising lump in my throat, and finding that nobody spoke English or expressed the least desire to help me, I began to wander. Eventually I wandered into the middle of town where the skateboard race Martin is competing in was taking place but it looked like everything was winding down and, to my dismay, he was not one of the lingering few. With no plan in my mind, a pounding headache, and very little cognitive activity, I continued my wandering until, peering under the dimly lit terrace of a restaurant, I made out a gangly teenager and some curly blond hair, and I prayed it was Martin. He stood up and walked over to me, looking as relieved as I was. He showed me the room, I ditched my bag, grabbed my wallet and went back to dinner with him and his Czech skateboarding buddies, realizing I had seen maybe 3 other women since I got off the bus.
Dinner was delicious, the company was great, and the skateboarding scene is a lot like the skiing scene so I love it and can understand their dude talk. And my favorite part is that nobody here seems to be worried about anything or have “real” lives. They just talk about skateboarding, beer, and how much to tip the cute waitress. I think this place is going to work for me