I Will Live with Empty Pockets

I've probably mentioned before that I own a bowl and a plate. One of each. No more, no less. I am only one person and I rarely have visitors. When I do, I offer them their preferred dish and take the remaining one. I try to live off of as little as I can. I may be truly settled here, nearing the end of my first year, but I like to feel like should I need to, I could pack my life into two suitcases again and leave behind whatever doesn't fit. I like to think that nothing in my world is irreplaceable. But when it comes to clothes, I'm rather picky. I don't shop a lot; I don't own a lot. I don't feel the need to get new things all the time. I've been sleeping in the same shirts since first year of college. When my old Saucony's were finally put out to pasture this spring, after six years of love, I wanted the same ones to replace them. For the things that wear out, I try to stick with classics in hopes that the company will just continue to make the same. This generally works with tank tops and shoes, but for other things, it's harder. Short of buying all of my clothes from Lands End or L. L. Bean, shops where time seems to stand still, I would have a problem if I replaced my worn-out clothing with identical pieces seven years later.
A few weeks ago, I came home on a Saturday morning to realize that I had lost my jacket sometime on Friday night. This jacket was not classic. It was from Target a few years ago and certainly would not be something I could find again. I was devastated. So much for my simple living, not forming attachments with objects. I really freakin' liked that jacket. Luckily, my jacket was found unharmed at a friend's flat. But I was really careful when I got dressed the next Friday. Nothing irreplaceable, nothing irreplaceable! repeated in my head. I put on a tank top which I felt fairly certain I wouldn't lose as I had no intention of taking it off. Next came a waffle shirt. This particular waffle shirt has a paint stain from when I was painting a pair of shoes when I was fourteen. That makes it about ten years old. Oh wait, it was actually a hand-me-down from my older sister. I have no strong feelings for this shirt, it just seems to stick around because of its practical nature. Waffles are replaceable. I then went to choose a scarf. At first, I assumed that the scarf I just spent a week knitting was a bad idea. But then it came to me: If I make it, it is incredibly replaceable. While the yarn might not always be the same, if I found the pattern once, I can probably find it again. If I make everything, I can always replace anything that is lost or worn out. So, for everything for which this is practical, this is the plan. Make everything myself. If it doesn't fit in a suitcase at some point, the pattern will always be out there somewhere. Nothing irreplaceable, nothing irreplaceable!

Brno Pride

(Photo from Queer Czech)

This past weekend, my bruised ego and I took a road trip in a car full of Czech lesbians to Pride in Brno. Brno is the CR's second city--think Philly to Prague's NYC. We have all asked why Brno and not Prague. The best answer I got was that people in Brno are bolder. The experience was nothing like I had imagined it.

In high school, I went to Pride in Manhattan (Oh hey, Mom, not sure you knew that but if you ever wondered why your darling daughter had a certain affinity for The City on Sundays in June--that's why) and rejoiced in all the glittery, queen-y splendor of it all. In college, NoHo pride was all about babies and puppies, but I will never forget the Smithie brigade of "Baby-Dykes-on-Bikes" which used a greener kind of bike than the old school Dykes-on-Bikes. Finally, last year, I partook in the incredibly suburban Long Island pride which was a mix of the two, plus a lot of late '90's Oakleys. But Brno Pride was something else entirely.

There were a few hundred people in the square where the march started and ended. We listened to speakers and milled around to appropriately kitschy music. To enter, we had to go through a police blockade and have our bags checked. Pride itself was fairly typical--if lacking in drag queens (and gay boys in general--this is the first queer community outside of NoHo I've ever experienced in which dykes rule). It was the response that I had never expected. I've tried to read articles about Pride but running them through Google Translate only makes them barely comprehensible. The numbers, though, seem pretty solid. There were about 600 people at Pride and 150 protestors. That's 25% of our number. Pretty significant. They had the standard "gay men are gross" and "gays are bad for families" non-sensical posters and cheers. But they also had eggs, cherry bombs, and manure. Overhead, the whole time, was a helicopter observing the scene. The police force was incredible. It even included an anti-conflict team that essentially went up to the protestors and tried to talk them out of protesting. How very polite. The most important fact, however, is that no one was hurt. It seems silly to write about this experience in light of what happened at San Francisco Pride this weekend, but it's still a significant experience for me.

When I read last week that violence was expected, I was totally dismissive. But to see those angry, militant protestors, I was shocked. My main thought was: here? This is my safe-haven. After being told that it was okay to kiss a girl in public, I have had no fear of queer PDA. I've held hands with girlfriends in Prague as well as Kolín. I've never looked over my shoulder going to or from a gay bar. I've snogged like a teenager on those tiresome metro escalators (what else are they for, really?) and I've never had a second glance from passersby. So, if no one minds my PDA, why are they all up in my Pride?

Get ready for my complete outsider's point of view on this. The best reason I've come up with is that this is one of those sex-is-different-from-lifestyle situations. As Nicole said, it was cool to have all the gay sex you wanted in England until Oscar Wilde tried to make an identity out of it. So no one minds if I kiss girls, but when I am proud and want to talk about it, we have a problem. This seems to go along with the ban on gay adoption as well. Sex: fine. Lifestyle: 'nother story.

In the end, it wasn't all that bad. Again, no one was hurt, and we were able to pretty much laugh it off as a group. We literally laughed in the faces of individual protestors who made their way into the crowd. As a group, we were unstoppable. And then I went to the train. As I walked there alone and got stared at for my rainbow face paint, I for the first time in this country, wondered if I should be walking alone. But I blew it off and no one actually said anything.

When I got to the platform, a group of teenage boys shouted at me from another train, "Hey, lesbian!" Me? I thought. But I'm... But I'm someone who usually benefits from assumed hetero-privilege. I don't look queer so how dare you taunt me? For the first time, I thought about how I should have washed the face paint off. I should have washed off my identity! Who is this new person in my body? I have long hair and own five times as many dresses as pairs of shorts. How I have changed in five years! What would the mohawked, hairy-legged babydyke think of this new person? To even think for a second of washing off my face paint so that I could go back to passing, it's horrendous! Has this been what it's really like all along? Have I just been casually ignoring homophobia because it's not directed at me? To think that I was complaining the night before to another lesbian about how I am not respected by the queer community because I don't look queer enough, and here I was, trying to pass. Full of rage, for these boys and what they made me realize about myself, I went down the platform and stood next to some queer-looking dykes. I'm not about to change the way I look to be more gay, but maybe proximity will help. Proximity or solidarity? I thought. Eye contact. Solidarity. And ain't that what it's all about?

Singing into the Void

I've explained before that part of the draw for Czech trains for me is the ability to open the window and stick out one's head. This weekend, I was sitting in a compartment with the door and the window open, as it was quite warm. I was feeling sick (preschool germs have finally knocked me down, missed two days of work this week for the first time in months) and just trying to make it through the train ride. I was sitting near the door of the compartment when I noticed a boy in his mid-teens standing at the open window in the hall. He had his headphones on and was nodding his head along. Suddenly, he stuck his head out the window and sang along with everything he had inside of him. I can't imagine how cathartic it must have been--to be surrounded by people on a full train but able to sing as loud as you want to, answered only by the rushing air around your head.

I wanted to follow suit but instead sat and thought about all the songs that have been so poignant to me lately. Which one would I sing out of the window of a moving train?

I think that I've decided upon "Open Road" by Kris Delmhorst.

"I will climb onto that train

Find a seat that's got no view.

I will take what I need with me

I will not take what I don't.

I will say that I will be back here but I know that I won't.

I will live with empty pockets,

I will live with empty sleeves,

I will know that there is nothing in this world I cannot leave.

I will tell my friends I love them

I will hope that they know

I need nobody beside me on this open road."

Sometimes, it gets draining making up answers to questions like, "When are you coming back to the States?" or "What are you doing after this?" These are questions I don't want to answer. I don't have answers for them. I make up plans to talk about so that I can answer these questions, but I'm not passionate about my answers. I am passionate about what I am doing right now. And my friends may be getting married, having kids, and buying houses. But I am content to live with my empty pockets, with my head out the window of a train.

Sometimes I think Sittin' On Trains...

I just counted the stack of tickets on my table and I have at least forty train tickets. This does not count round-trip tickets, tickets that didn't end up on my table, international train tickets, or metro/tram tickets. This means that I have ridden the train well over forty times in three months. So, I spend a lot of my time doing this.

About 2/3 of the trains I have taken are exactly like this. Big, red seats in compartments. The outside is green. There tends to be graffiti. But I love them. I love compartments in all their Hogwarts-Express-esque glory. Sometimes, there is even a woman who comes around with a snack cart.

A lot of the time, I get my own compartment. But if I don't, it's just as well. I find that trains make me fairly outgoing. Since they are also often home to young English and American kids backpacking across Europe, I also tend to find people to talk to on trains. "I can't help but notice you're speaking English," is our code for "Please talk to me!" Also, I tend to find a lot of nuns on the train. Why do I love sharing a compartment with nuns so much? I've become an old hat at watching the train as it gets to the platform to see which car is most likely to have an empty compartment or a compartment with a nun. I love the walk up-and-down the car to find the best compartment.

I love the views I get from the train. While I agree with William Pene du Bois that there is no better way to see the world than in a hot air balloon, trains are much more practical. I remember riding all the way from Penn Station to Plattsburgh this spring and how I saw parts of New York that I had never seen before (and also witnessed firsthand the epic failure that is American infrastructure). But I'm enjoying my train travel here as a way to see more of the Czech Republic.

Usually, I am just riding to and from Prague. But, I have now also taken the train to Dresden in Germany and twice to Bratislava in Slovakia. The latter destination provided me with a much bigger picture of the Czech Republic. There are mountains and fields and everything in between!

I also love that in Europe, trains are also so practical. You see freight trains carrying automobiles, milk trains, and best of all--post trains. I was waiting for my 1AM train to Bratislava and I saw a post train pass me in the snow. I imagined the train full of cards and presents going to brighten spirits all around the country on Christmas and suddenly, waiting wasn't so bad.

I also got to experience the first snow (October 15th!) on a train to Prague. I grant you that we did not have accumulation until last week, it was still beautiful!

One of the best parts of the train to and from Prague? As long as you get the usual one, you can stick your head out the window!

There is no better feeling in the world than sticking your head out of a train window!

Though, you have to be careful, there are poles that come mighty close to your face.



Not all of the trains I've ridden have been the big red bench compartment trains. Some of them are a bit swankier--particularly the longer rides. Sometimes, you can catch a train that is coming from a longer journey and get a nice seat for the 50 minute ride to Prague. This was my train home from Bratislava. It originated in Budapest and would take you to Berlin via Bratislava and Prague. It's insane to me that you can go that many places on one train. They're wonderful, wonderful things.

Note the light, temperature, and Muzak controls! Classy! Though, sometimes I end up in a train without compartments and have to ride in a big room with everyone. Not my favorite. I've also ended up on a commuter train that was like I imagine a 19th century LIRR train to be like... in not a good way.

On my way home from Bratislava, I got to see the snow all over the countryside! Unfortunately, nice train meant no sticking my head out the window.

But I could on this one. This was my ride to Bratislava the first time (3 trains, 7 hours... never again). I got to watch the sunrise through the snowfall on this train. That was, I admit, pretty amazing.

I was looking at apps the other day and there are a frightening number of mac apps for syncing your model trains. I thought Goodness gracious! Who cares about trains that much!?
As it turns out, I do, but I would prefer to be on one, not play with it. Don't even get me started on the glory of my Kilometres Book! 2000 km for 1 crown a kilometer. It is glorious.

An Adventure

Last Saturday, I went on an adventure with my friend Eva to Dresden, Germany. It was my first time in Germany and, as always, I expected entering a new country to be like going to another world. I think, though, that once you have lived in Asia, anything in Europe is all kind of the same. As we crossed the border on the train, we noticed the different frames of the houses and decided we must be in Germany. Aside from using Euros and speaking German, it was not too different from the Czech Republic.


Which is to say, it's beautiful and charming--and alive with Christmas spirit. Like in Prague, there are Christmas markets everywhere--selling handmade goods, Christmas treats, and warm drinks. Though, as you can see, there's also a fair amount of kitsch.


We walked through the markets and explored Dresden--and somehow ended up in this neighborhood. I'm not sure what this market was, but it was closed for the weekend. The neighborhood was the kind of place with "retro" photo booths and ridiculous second-hand shops. It would have been heaven to a 15-year-old Colleen, but, I agreed with Eva that when it got dark, we should probably leave.


So we went back to the markets and got mulled wine to warm up. I couldn't catch it in photos, but it was lightly snowing all day. I, again, wanted to use Jess' statement that we live in a magical, magical world. How could I ever leave a place where you can buy mulled wine on the street and drink it wherever you like?

Or a place where you can go on a Ferris wheel at Christmas time! At the end of one market, there was a large Ferris wheel from which you could see the skyline of Dresden. After a few glasses of mulled wine, we were ready to go up.

It was a breath-taking view! The whole city was lit up and twinkling in the snow!

Before we headed back to the train, we got some chocolate-covered apples (no caramel, alas!) and scoured the big market for star-shaped lamps, which we did eventually find. All and all, it was a perfect Christmas adventure.

Tomorrow (hopefully), I am headed to Bratislava, for one of the many trips necessary to secure my visa. So, Germany is officially added to my list of "countries visited" and soon Slovakia will follow suit!