Actually, part of it's true. As I wrote in my last post, I love all things modern, convenient, and techie. Also, I'm pretty much phobic about germs, dirt, and the like, so in my sometimes crazy mind, modern equals CLEAN. . . usually. . . (except for a few hotels near Disneyland or Mission Beach or . . . ).
My less-than-stellar opinion of Prague, in all honesty, had more to do with both the crappy workshop experience I had as well as the very negative personal memories the sounds and smells brought back. Neither of those is a story for this blog, but suffice to say that they had a more detrimental affect on me than even the robbery did, and poor Praha (Prague) suffers in my mind because of them.
What I liked about Prague, was its ancient charm. Towers, red-tile roofs, spires, cobblestone streets, plazas. I loved leaning out of the window of our flat and watching the sun set over the river and the sound of the 600-year old astronomical clock as it rang hourly. The most enjoyable days I had there were the ones Mike and I spent walking through the streets of different parts of town, particularly the Havelske Trziste (the old market), Old Town Square, the Jewish Ghetto and Vysherad. I didn't like Wenceslas Square because it was home to McDonald's, KFC, and almost any specialty clothing store I could find in Fashion Show Mall here in Las Vegas.
What confuses me about myself (at times) is the very fact that the two worlds – the very old and the very modern – tug at me. I was never particularly interested in history while in school. To tell the truth, I hated it and saw no use to memorizing dates and events and dates and names and all. I did, however, enjoy reading historical fiction and non-fiction. I think I learned more about the history of places by reading the stories rather than the data. Moreover, I loved transporting myself to Paris or Alaska, to an Indian pueblo or London, to New York City or Amsterdam simply by opening a book. I remember daydreaming of being in those places, in those books, in the middle of the history.
The daydreams, I think, draw me to those wonderfully old places today. I can sit on a bench or in a cafe or by the window and imagine being in a different era. I like to see the people that walked the streets ages ago. I wonder how much of their DNA is still in the dust that swirls around us and how much of our own DNA we leave behind. Sometimes I think that maybe I lived in Europe in another life. (Yep. I do believe in reincarnation.) Perhaps I'm just looking for the part of me that I left behind.
Next time: "In an old house in Paris, covered with vines. . . ."