Getting Used to Prague

I’ve gotten used to the hammering outside my bedroom window, and the screeching buzz of a saw blade, as they rehab the building across the street.

I’m used to breakfast of bread and cheese and Jogabella yogurt and orange drink – wearily used to it. I just added hot chocolate to my breakfast diet, not so much because I enjoy it (it’s not very good) but because I needed a little variety. I may even succumb to cereal by the end of my stay here even though I hate cereal and I hate milk (and the milk here is room temperature and most likely from a box and smells funny), but I can only handle so much monotony. I’m used to strange flavors of yogurt – like banana and kiwi and green grape and hazelnut. Green grape was a very bad idea, but kiwi is quite delicious. Hazelnut is actually Nutella flavor, I think, and it’s amazing.

Speaking of Nutella, I’m getting used to seeing that everywhere. It’s really popular here – every corner store has it, usually in more than one size jar. Peanut butter, not so much. I had some sent from home, which has been an absolute life saver. Apparently you can find peanut butter here, but it requires some dedicated searching.

I’m used to sleeping in a tiny room with a tiny bed. I actually sleep really well. If I hadn’t gotten here early enough to have my own room, I would be used to sleeping next to a stranger by now. I’m used to sharing an apartment that is smaller than my old one bedroom with two other people who I didn’t know three weeks ago.

I’ve gotten used to every roof having scalloped red tiles. And the world looking like a goddamn fairytale all the time, with castles and architecture straight out of art history books and huge rambling parks everywhere.

I’m used to having a bidet in my bathroom. And used to never having enough toilet paper because they expect us to use the bidet to clean our butts off.

I’m used to being surrounded by the same 10 people all the time. I need time away from the group to keep some sort of a grip on my sanity, but I miss them when I’m away for very long.

I’m used to breathtaking runs – to discovering something new every time I leave the hotel in running shoes. Not in a way that it’s second nature or taken for granted, but in a way that I expect it, crave it, need it. Need it like I used to need cigarettes, and find it more satisfying that a Marlboro Red ever was even on its best day.

I’m almost used to not having a phone. Although I still feel a little naked without it. I keep my keys in that pocket now, where my phone used to live, and that helps a lot. I still see beautiful or hilarious things and have the urge to text my sister or my best friend, but my arm has stopped flinching to reach for my phone. I miss the calendar and the calculator in my phone. I’m realizing how bad I’ve become at math now that I don’t have a calculator at my fingertips at all times. But I don’t miss talking on the phone. At all. I’m completely used to that not being part of my life.

Most surprisingly, I’m also used to writing to top 40 pop dance hits blasting through my headphones. I’m using my Chicago roommate’s laptop while I’m here. She has vastly different taste in music than me, but I need something to drown out the construction noise and my Prague roommates when I’m trying to work. So I write to Lady Gaga, Akon, Beyoncé, T-Pain, Britney Spears, Kanye West, and Rihanna. Of course, this requires chair-dancing while I write. It’s a part of my new writing process. I find that the typing motion actually works in quite well as a dance move and helps propel the writing forward.

I’m used to giving a friendly smile to people I pass on the street and getting no response, because Czech people are very to themselves. They don’t smile and they don’t say hello; definitely not in passing, and often not in forced interactions.

I’m used to beer being cheaper than soda or water. There is no such thing as free water at restaurants here. So, if you’re thirsty, just get a beer. I’m used to every meal at every restaurant being drowned in grease and/or deep fried. As a vegetarian, I am used to my options being less than creative variations on fried cheese on a bun or fried cheese in a salad.

I’m used to not being able to read labels. I’m used to not being distracted or annoyed by other people’s conversations because I can’t understand them. I’m used to being quiet because I can’t communicate other than to say “please” and “thank you” and “English?” and “yes” and “no.”

I’m used to the hilarity of poor English and bad translations. I find myself laughing pretty constantly here, which is delightful. I think I could get used to this.