Weekend at Sam's

---Due to the limitations of technology access around here and my time, this was mostly written on Tuesday, but is just getting finished on Friday.----

I mentioned Sam, the other Seattlite at school. Last weekend he'd invited me to a BBQ at the flat his wife owns north of town. However, the other couple who was supposed to be there didn't show because one of them had wrenched their neck and all the other school people had decided not to attend. I had leapt at the chance to spend any time I could with people who spoke English and I didn't have to see 5 days/week already. Anyway, Sam pulled up in a little white Škoda (imagine an '80's Chevy hatchback or a VW Rabbit) with a half keg of beer in the back as I was leaving the house to do some shopping. He told me the above details and said that he was thinking they were gonna move the party to her family's cabin in the country, Did I still wanna come? My response was Hell, yes! Satisfied with my response he drove off and I hurried to get my errands done. (I got two good t-shirts at Tesco, the UK-exported Kmart clone, for 38 krowns Czech!)

Caught the bus out to Sam's house. Transportation here is so easy to cheap out on. You're honor bound to buy a ticket and get it punched as you board the tram or bus, but many people have passes that don't get punched and you can get some tickets that you punch on your first leg and transfer to your second. Or you can just pretend you have one of these things. I was good and bought a pass from the bus driver. Also so freakin' cool, that you can buy your pass from the bus driver without exact change OR get it from a machine OR buy it a the little cigarette/magazine stands that are everywhere. After a very humid and hot half hour I got off the bus.

The flat is in a subdevelopment a few minutes north of town. Nice seeming, well planned without looking too manufactured, lots of whitewash and red-tile roofs. The flat was pleasant, but a bit small, even by Euro standards, I think: a single main room with a reasonable sized balcony, a bedroom, and a bathroom (seperated toilet as per Euro standards). However, it had nice fixtures and very tasteful furnishings. Sam's wife, Marketa, is a very nice woman. Speaks good English, said she spent a couple years in Seattle nannying and another in Manchester studying. She and Sam met at the ?Crown? & Dragon in Fremont. Right now he's teaching and she's working for an asset management firm while they're waiting for her US papers to come through.
We grabbed the now cold keg and piled into the Škoda. We left from Kuřim and headed further north thru Hradčany and to a little town called Drahonin. Couldn't of taken more than half an hour. There are no mountains here, but they got things that we'd call decent sized foot hills. There's lots of open yellow fields with grasses, wheat, and sometimes corn that turn into green forests as they slope up into hills. The transition from Brno to rural surroundings, even with the mid-step of Kuřim, is drastic. The towns along the way are mostly little buildings huddled next to the road. Drahonin is truly a village, a bunch of houses, a soccer field, a church, a few other things. Very cozy. We were ten minutes outside of town, it felt like driving through a hilly version of Ebey's Prarie with no water to be seen. We finally pull into some trees on the far side of the last field. We then walk down a steep bank to the cabin.

It's very traditional and rustic. There's cool looking wrought iron on the door with a funny shaped, dark colored pad lock to keep anyone from breaking in. It's all blond wood with a little shine to it, maybe 2o feet on a side. We go in and unlock all the shutters and and swinging, slatted door covers, letting light in. There's a balcony in the back. There are trees to the right and left with a sharp plunge into a little valley down below where I can see a small, glinting patch of water. The trees around Drahonin, unlike the leafy ones I saw on the drive up, are skinny pines that shed their bark as they get tall to reveal red skin like a madronna tree has. There are also a number of white barked, yellow leafed aspen trees scattered throughout.

The inside of the cabin is far more spacious than it seemed likely. It's traditional, so it has no power, an outhouse, a fireplace, and the only running water is what they collect in tank off the roof (currently empty). Everything is still blond wood. There's a large living room, taking up the back half of the first floor. There are all sorts of pelts and skulls used in the decor, but there are some cool artifacts like a cavalry saber and some folky looking knicknacks scattered about. The interior walls are slats, angled sort of like a fence. You can't see through them from straight on, but you can if you move to the side. I guess that allows better circulation and more even heating when you have to heat the place by a central fire. There are two bedrooms pushed under the eaves on either end of the top floor, with a central room and a bed/couch in the middle. The stairs between floors are about five inches wide and go seven feet up for six feet of length.

We happily fired up the hibbachi and do some shrimp and chicken on the grill. Very, very good, especially with light Czech rye bread and fresh vegetable for the chicken. The tap for the keg is a two foot tall metal tube that hooks over with a faucet on top, not the usual pump and tube affair you get at home. There's a Schraeder valve at the base where you attach a bike pump. We just had a little hand pump, but Sam and I both liked the idea of having a stand up one, so you could really get things cooking and look silly at the same time.

Some friends of theirs came over, Ivana and Rudolph and their three boys, the eldest of whom was about 12. Ivana spoke some English and understood almost everything. Rudolph had nada but Czech and the boys had a few words between them. It was really pleasant to just hang out and eat. The boys were crazy the way happy young men are and thought it preposterous and funny when Sam and I tried to speak Czech with them. He's been here a year and I don't think he speaks much more than I do, which is close to zilch. But they were good sports and it was lots of fun. They took off after a while, ridding on this contraption that was a cross between a rusty WWII motorycle and a 3 wheel ATV.

We soon headed into town after them. However, Sam convinced me to try absinthe first. This is one of the few countries in the world where the 'real stuff' (made with wormwood) is still legal. I had roughly two shots and it set me spinning. Fun, but not what you need on a too hot, beery evening. (I know this blog makes me sound like an absolute lush, but so far I've normally only have experiences worth writing to you about while drinking.) We went into town where there was a band playing and lots of people. There was this crazy old fart named 'Mickey' who speaks English like I speak Spanish (functional, but reeeaaal funny to listen to.) The town drunk was a very worn looking character with gray hair and deep lines on its face (I have no idea which gender to use for this individual), who was soon sleeping on the table near me. A live band was playing, nothing but Czech music, but still pretty good to dance to. Ivana, Rudolph, and the boys were there. Sam and I agree that they were probably the most fun part of the evening, just being themselves and trying to grok the foreigners. I eventually wore myself out and fell asleep next to the town drunk. Sam wasn't falling asleep, but I understand he also was in quite a state by then. Somebody took pity on us and poured us into the backseat of their car and drove us back up the hill.

The next day dawned bright, but much cooler due to some strong winds that blew all day. We were very thankful. Got the hibatchi going again and did up some sausages. I wasn't great, but Sam was in lousy shape. Marketa either has a stronger constitution than either of us or is just more sensible for not drinking the absinthe the night before. After some food and a lie down for Sam we took a walk down to the river.

The wheat is just about a foot high and starting to bow over because it's so ripe, everything is a little parched. Once we got into the trees it was like being in the eastern foot hills of the Cascades. They even have stinging nettles here. Turns out the hills are mostly rock with a little dirt on top. They get really steep, really quick. We're talking about 2oo-500 feet over a quarter of a mile depending on where you stand. So we got down near the river and there were a bunch of kids who'd just rolled out blankets and slept under the stars the night before. We walked by them following some blazes that had been stenciled onto the trees at about chest level. There was a cliff with a bit of a trail in it. By cliff I mean a 60 foot drop off with a narrow little ledge and an occasional rope to hang on to. At the bottom there was some sort of memorial to an ancient duke with a portrait and a wreath of flowers around a beer bottle near a huge fire pit. Random highschooler graffiti looks about the same here as it does at home. The river was narrow, about 30 feet wide, and shallow. Sam and Marketa said they'd never seen it so low. We walked back up a tributary to stay in the shade and cool off some more. Eventually we turned around and headed back to the cabin, locked up, and returned to civilization.