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why is it so cold?
Jun. 4th, 2001 01:24 pmIt is cold. Very cold. And grey. Hello, June? Supposedly it is snowing in the mountains in Moravia. Which happens to be where I'm going this weekend. Eek.
Yesterday was nice. I got up at 6:30 and went out, to find some churches and learn the Mass times. Walking around when no one else is out and the streets are empty is pleasant. Prague was golden and wet and clear, all mine. I walked for hours, since I decided to catch the 11:30 at Tiens. I bought a jean jacket in a Czech version of the Gap, and some Skvorecky in Anagram. Gave my last ten crowns to the beautiful altar girl at Tiens.
Mass was in Czech, and I could pick up words and phrases. Most of the time, I was lost. Well, except for the Euchrist, but just because I know what should be said there. Singing in Czech is even more fun than singing in English, especially when the cantor is this adolescent altar boy with a silver voice.
I was entranced by everything, the incense, the voices, the wooden pews. I watched the priest baptize and confirm three people, Joseph, Karen and Irena. When the priest sat still in his chair, with his hands on his knees, the heavy red robe and his head slightly tilted, he looked like a statue and a bit like the Pope.
Walking, I see a lot of young nuns. Today I saw a boy in a long white cassock walking past Malovanka in the rain.
There is something humorous in smoking pot in a dormitory that probably onced housed many good little Communist students. We were awfully giggly last night, and I kept expecting to the ghost who opens and closes the bedroom door. The place just screams 1970s Soviet, right down to the protruding pipes in the bathroom and the poorly laid floors. I like it in a weird way, despite the more obvious discomforts. At least the pillows are comfy.
Leigh is off with the handsome Swiss man, and maybe she'll come back married. I still can't believe she brought him back to the dorm. Sure the bed is firm, and it's Soviet kitsch but not exactly romantic.. Poor Molly had to sleep in our room Saturday night.
If the wind would stop blowing, I would be fine.
Yesterday was nice. I got up at 6:30 and went out, to find some churches and learn the Mass times. Walking around when no one else is out and the streets are empty is pleasant. Prague was golden and wet and clear, all mine. I walked for hours, since I decided to catch the 11:30 at Tiens. I bought a jean jacket in a Czech version of the Gap, and some Skvorecky in Anagram. Gave my last ten crowns to the beautiful altar girl at Tiens.
Mass was in Czech, and I could pick up words and phrases. Most of the time, I was lost. Well, except for the Euchrist, but just because I know what should be said there. Singing in Czech is even more fun than singing in English, especially when the cantor is this adolescent altar boy with a silver voice.
I was entranced by everything, the incense, the voices, the wooden pews. I watched the priest baptize and confirm three people, Joseph, Karen and Irena. When the priest sat still in his chair, with his hands on his knees, the heavy red robe and his head slightly tilted, he looked like a statue and a bit like the Pope.
Walking, I see a lot of young nuns. Today I saw a boy in a long white cassock walking past Malovanka in the rain.
There is something humorous in smoking pot in a dormitory that probably onced housed many good little Communist students. We were awfully giggly last night, and I kept expecting to the ghost who opens and closes the bedroom door. The place just screams 1970s Soviet, right down to the protruding pipes in the bathroom and the poorly laid floors. I like it in a weird way, despite the more obvious discomforts. At least the pillows are comfy.
Leigh is off with the handsome Swiss man, and maybe she'll come back married. I still can't believe she brought him back to the dorm. Sure the bed is firm, and it's Soviet kitsch but not exactly romantic.. Poor Molly had to sleep in our room Saturday night.
If the wind would stop blowing, I would be fine.