Cesky Krumlov - a lesson in solitude

I’m writing this from the bus on the way to Cesky Krumlov. Let me just say that I was excited about going to Cesky Krumlov, but now, facing 3 more hours of what is, after 20 minutes, already an immensely painful bus ride, I can’t say I’m nearly as enthused.

First of all, I have a smelly old Czech man already passed out next to me. That, I could probably live with. What I can’t live with, however, is his shameless encroachment into my seat space. I’m admittedly anal about abiding by the “stay on your own f***ing side” rule of public transport. In this case, Sr. Funk has a full 4-5 inches between himself and the window. Mind you, these are 4-5 inches I would sorely need, even if all my own space weren’t occupied by his wild spread-eagle sitting/slumping posture. You may be wondering why he’d be sitting like this. Or, you may just be assuming that his cock is thicker than a one-pound can of Folgers crystals. Assuming the former, between his legs sits a doo-doo stained, white cloth sack full of no doubt: smelly things, and stained things.

Half the reason I’m writing this right now, in fact, is I am hoping that a lapful of laptopo will provide some visible evidence (other than what I thought was an obvious 8 inch height advantage) that I could REALLY USE THIS SPACE.

His leg is a full 5 inches past the double-seat median, and the more he slouches, the more his legs spread open and his elbows flay. At this point, 70% of my port side is being touched by something dirty.

I know what you’re thinking: shift into the aisle a bit. No dice, cowboy. There is another smelly Czech man, this one in his 40s, standing in the aisle (because apparently, that’s how Czech busses roll). Worst part? His ass-side = my side. And here I thought I was lucky to have bought my ticket in advance, thinking that a seat assignment was actually an advantage. Sandwich me between two funkmasters, and the advantage is effectively nullified.

Oh, hey. Old man slouch-all-the-way-down-to-my-cock just woke up. Sweet. I’m A) hoping he can (and will) read the English off my computer screen, and B) hoping he’ll SIT UP AND GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN. Nope. He’s asleep again. I’m not kidding. That’s how long it took. I almost envy him. Well, clearly I envy him, in only the simplest of ways (he IS the Jones’ right now). I definitely don’t envy his leather-colored cuticles, or his stained everything-he’s-wearing/carrying.

Lets talk about his speckled spectacles. Yes, the lenses are in fact dotted with some unknown tar-colored substance. If he were a bit younger, I’d ask if they were the goggles he used to win the Belmont.

Oh shit. This was great. He just woke up, looked at my monitor for a minute, tried to continue reading the book he’s trying to read (he’s been on page 143 for nearly half an hour), and passed back out. And here I thought I was the hungover weary traveler on 3 hours of sleep and no food. I can only assume this guy got started at about 4pm yesterday with some Becherovka on ice at his crib till his friends got back from the gastro-entomologist, then powered through a barley and hops dinner at the beer garden, when his friends wisely flaked off. He continued on, wailing on B’52 shots at Chateau till around 3am, when he made the strong call to hit up Studio 54 till about 2 hours ago. Now he’s crashing hard after the coke binge he went on with those models from Prague VII.

I’ll add more later. My wrist is seriously killing me from contorting it to type in these cramped conditions. And frankly, this guy isn’t worth a crippling case of carpel-tunnel.

Wrote all that on the bus. The update is that he eventually backed the fuck off, but only after spending about three minutes reading what was on my screen (I had the view set to 200%). Looks like our boy knows some English. Good for me.

Ok, so Cesky Krumlov is the old capital of the Czech Republic. There’s a wicked castle, which just so happened to be right outside of my hotel room window. Other than that, here’s a quick recap of my weekend in CK:

-I spoke no more than 200 words for the entirety of three whole days. This town has nothing but couples and families with kids running amok. Not my scene.

-There is absolutely NO nightlife at all. I was in bed every night by 11pm like a good boy.

-There is, however, a beautiful stretch of the Vltava that snakes around the castle and several others further upstream.

-In case any of you were wondering how it felt to row a canoe (alone!!) for 20 kilometers, I can assure you that it’s about 12 kilometers past fun. It’s kind of like when you go home to visit your parents for a week, and the first three days are a good time. Then day 4 rolls around, and you begin giving thought to diving on a rusty spike in the backyard. By day 6, you’re drinking bleach and tonics with breakfast and taking note of where all the prescription meds are located. Moral of the story: I almost drowned myself in the river Vltava. On purpose.

-I imagine if you had a partner to row with, much like bringing a friend to visit your parents, it probably tempers the experience a bit. But you’d still rather shopping for objects to self-inflict blunt force trauma.

You’ll all want to check out the picture captions from The People of Cesky Krumlov. I’ll try to make it a blog entry, but it may be difficult. I’ll see.