Kiss and Fly is a travel column updated semi-regularly by an adventurous would-be writer and teacher Megan Pyai trekking across the world and living abroad. The title comes from the idea of being dropped of at an airport like you would a train station; traveling to the other side of the world as casually as if commuting to work into the city.


A Czech Breakfast
by Megan Pyai
Issue 15 | April 3, 2006

So the past couple of issues have been about drinking and bars and I didn’t want to give the impression that drinking was I did in Prague. I do drink a bit more than I used to back home, but it’s the culture to do that here; it’s usually about the same price as soda or bottled water. I’ve also been recounting bits and pieces of the weekend, some of which invariably takes place at a bar and seems to always be an interesting experience.

So instead of the usual fare I will describe one of my favorite things about Prague; my breakfasts. I know I should save money and make my breakfasts again like I did the first week, but it’s hard to stop a habit I’ve become to fond of. Every morning I set off early for school and stop by the little bakery by the Metro station. I go in and order one chlebicek, and a Coca Cola Light. A chlebicek is a Czech... thing... that people will serve at parties as snacks or hors de oevroues. It consists of a slice of break cut diagonally from a white roll, covered with a sort of relish made from mild mustard/mayo and little bits of potato (I think). On top o one half, or at least my favorite variation has this, is half a hard boiled egg covering a little bit more mayo. On the other side is a little slice of ham, half a slice of pickle, a little red pepper sliver and a piece of green leaf decoration not more than the size of half a quarter.

It has protein, starch and flavor, all important things I value in a breakfast. The women who work there might be getting to know me, but they still always ask how many I want. One woman toay reached back to open the drink case door behind the cash register before I asked for my usual beverage. I drink one soda a day; I know it’s a lot of caffeine but I enjoy it. It’s a ritual and really helps on days I have trouble getting myself out of bed. Since school doesn’t start until 10, though, I can usually get a good night’s sleep in anyway. Were I to stay up until 4 or if school started at 8 circumstances might be different, but as it is I usually feel rested with only a small case of the yawns in the morning.

Are there any questions my dear readers have at Prague, the Czech Republic or what I’m doing here? I don’t mind answering questions; I have a whole long list of topics I still need to write about but I don’t mind digressing. I have a bunch of fun ones coming up, including some which are reminiscent of Megan-things that I have a habit of doing, for example a 2.5 hour hunt for a Klimt painting a la the Quest For Funnel Cake. But yes, I’m open for suggestions.

Kiss and Fly is a travel column updated semi-regularly by an adventurous would-be writer and teacher Megan Pyai trekking across the world and living abroad. The title comes from the idea of being dropped of at an airport like you would a train station; traveling to the other side of the world as casually as if commuting to work into the city.


The Jazz Cave
by Megan Pyai
Issue 14 | April 3, 2006

Friday night I went to a Jazz bar with Rob, a guy from the course. We were meeting Liz and Tania there as well, but they were coming from a movie and would be a little late. We navigated through bits of Old Town and finally came to an unpreposing wooden door with a sign drawn in sharpie magic marker outside. We walked across an inside room I’m guessing was used for something else at one point, and then down a large number of steps. As we descended, the walls changed from concrete to jutting out pieces of stone, unsanded and looking as if they were the remains of a ruined wall taken out by bombs in the second World War.

The cover was 200 Kc ($8) and we found our way into a little room that looked more like a cave than a music venue. The walls were brick but mostly stone, little outcroppings carved away to make room to mount lights hung from hooks. A three piece band, piano, bass and drums, were up on stage. The room was small with wooden chairs and small tables pushed close together and a ring of single chairs along the wall.

It was modern jazz so I didn’t really get the part about the bass player rubbing the back of his instrument to make whale noises, but the pianist was phenomenal. His hands danced across the ivory keys of the Bohemia brand baby grand, his face leaning closer to the keys as if to smell them. The pianist actually looked like a nerd; he had glasses and shaggy hair and I wondered if would smile goofishly and say in Czech that he had heard musicians got the chicks but that he had realized a little too late it was the rock bands that got all the fans.

While at the Jazz club I had two glasses of white wine, Mullin Thurgoeh or something, and a cigar. Not, I have asthma so smoking was never something I wanted to take up, and I don’t think I am even going to. The point of a cigar is not to inhale but to simply taste it in your mouth. There are dozens of reasons why this is unhealthy as well, but for that one night I just didn’t care. I was in a jazz bar listening to chill music drinking wine, in Prague, and it seemed to it. It was a MonteCristo white, but Rob, who gave it to m, actually called it something else whose initials were MC. He called it mild and asked how I liked the taste. I couldn’t tell how it tasted, but it made the wine more tangy.

I stopped smoking the cigar after a bit, growing tired of it. I would finish it off later at another bar with the help of maybe four different friends, each person taking a few puffs of it in a way only young 20-somethings can do when they are in a European city and living what they think is the adventurous high life.

Kiss and Fly is a travel column updated semi-regularly by an adventurous would-be writer and teacher Megan Pyai trekking across the world and living abroad. The title comes from the idea of being dropped of at an airport like you would a train station; traveling to the other side of the world as casually as if commuting to work into the city.


The Villa Party
by Megan Pyai
Issue 13 | April 3, 2006

This Villa is the affectionate name of the house where 10 of the current TEFL students live. The other Megan (spelled Meghan) spent a year and a half in Spain and is fluent in Spanish. Upon finding black beans in a natural food store she concocting this hair-brained idea of having a Villa Party - where every floor of the villa would be a party with a different theme. Theirs owuld be a Mexican Fiesta.

I sketched a drawing of the villa, made invitations, and away we were with the plans. TEFL has 4 apartments; two on the 1st floor, the entire 2nd floor, and one on the 3rd floor. The 3rd floor, Meghan’s apartment – sorry, flat – had the majority of the party. There were 3 batches of sangria over the course of the night (See the previous issue for the recipe) plus rice and beans, homemade salsa and chips, and lots and lots of quesadillas. The men of the flat spent the entire time cooking. Most of the TEFL program came out as did Voita, Tomash (See future issue on Czech boys) and my roommie Kerry’s friend’s ex, Max. (Random connection; they’d never met before, but when you go to a city where you know of someone, you get in touch with them.)

It was a rocking party with broken glass and champagne and lots and lots of sangria and wine. As one of the first people there, I got to take part in the dressing up fun. Te boys put on flannel shirts buttoned att he top and slicked back their hair with pomade. They either hiked up their pants or pulled them down, and strutted about talking with a Latin accent. Meghan and I put our hair up in high high ponytails and wore big hoop earrings. I put on heels and wrapped a scarf around my hips, rolling up my jeans. We were so cheap-Mexican-ghetto it was perfect.

Unfortunately Meghan’s apartment is right next to where the owner lives and he told us to be quiet. So we moved the party down to the second floor where I live. We had planned to play beer pong, acquiring ping pongs, plastic cups and beer. We didn’t even last one game; we were al drunk and terrible aims. But a bunch of people got in on it before we called it quits and drank what was left in the cups.

More people showed up. The party likely never got over 20, but te whole time people were chatting and having a great time. The vibe was excited and energetic, supplied by my laptop and the 1st floor boys’ CD of Latin dance music. One of friends here, Bill, is a great dancer so we did some swing moves to the music. It was fun and free and a great way to finish off a stressful week of school.

Kiss and Fly is a travel column updated semi-regularly by an adventurous would-be writer and teacher Megan Pyai trekking across the world and living abroad. The title comes from the idea of being dropped of at an airport like you would a train station; traveling to the other side of the world as casually as if commuting to work into the city.


The Neighborhood Spanish Bar
by Megan Pyai
Issue 12 | April 3, 2006

One night last week I was blindfolded and led onto the Metro and then the tram, taken to a secret location for an initiation into a private collection of people. A private collection of people who know of the Spanish Bar. Okay, so I wasn’t actually blindfolded. But the directions were confusing the actual existence of it is shrouded in mystery.

This is one of Voita’s favorite bars where he goes to listen to music, read and drink white wine by himself. He recently showed it to two of my roommates who became obsessed with it for the sangria and tapas. Hey were not allowed to go if he wasn’t there. Eventually he rescinded that rule, but they were certainly not allowed to bring other people. I was allowed to go this one night because Voita was there, and I myself truly got to experience the wonder of the Neighborhood Spanish Bar.

I don’t know what the actual name is, but it doesn’t matter. The walls are a rich wine red and Spanish icons and advert flyers litter the walls with tasteful toreadors and flamenco clothing. Soft Spanish music plays in the background, and the air is slightly cloudy with the dim light and haze of cigarette smoke you find everywhere in Prague.

Sitting in the bar you can almost imagine being in Spain. Except for the fact that the waitresses are all in dreadlocks and speak hardly any English. Basic words for alcohol get across well, especially “sangria” and “large.” Tapas are ordered from a small deli case by the side of the bar an they are eventually brought to you in little clay bowls with less small forks than there are people and no napkins. It is the kind of place you go to discuss religion and philosophy, and the most recent book you read. It is the kind of place you go to get a drink or a bite to eat with a friend after a long day teaching or studying at class. It is the kind of place you go on a date because of the ambiance and dark romantic corners.

The food itself is a blend of Spanish and Czech. The cheese is far too oily but the tortillas Espana look good and solid. The white wine is good but the crowning drink at the Neighborhood Spanish Bar is the sangria. Served by the pitcher it is filled with more juice than wine, more fruit than ice cubes. A wooden spoon helps you avoid any of the aforementioned fruit or ice, and ads to the rustic appeal. My appetite for sangria sparked, I had it again Saturday night at the Villa Party (see next issue). I’m including the recipe below:

One 3 liter box of red wine
One bottle of Bacardi 151
One bottle of sprite
Four or so lemons
Three or so oranges
Four or so limes


Chop the fruit up and let soak in the wine-rum-sprite mixture for at least 20 minutes. Serve.

Kiss and Fly is a travel column updated semi-regularly by an adventurous would-be writer and teacher Megan Pyai trekking across the world and living abroad. The title comes from the idea of being dropped of at an airport like you would a train station; traveling to the other side of the world as casually as if commuting to work into the city.


Takashis'
by Megan Pyai
Issue 11 | April 2, 2006

Like any good tourist in Prague I went to the Communisn Museum. After I and the group of 7 finished at the museum, we went to eat along the water. The restaurant we ended up eating at was on the way to one that Havel, the former president of the Czech Republic after the fall of Communism, used to eat at. This one had a crazy American southwest theme and the most delectable menu. I ate spicy ostrich which was amazing. Other menu items included chicken with bacon on the outside and mozzarella and basil on the inside, chicken tikka marsala sandwiches, and tortillas Espana.

Once we finished eating we took a stroll through Prague on the way to the FebioFilm festival - a national film festival touring the popular cities of the Czech Republic. We had bought tickets to se the Japanese film Takeshi’s. It looked like it had potential; a famous actor, Takeshi, and a shy convenience store worker look a like and their lives start to blend together so you can’t tell if they were the same person the whole time. Could be really cool, right?

It was horrendous. First off the switches in person were random and elements of each others lives blended in together in non-cohesive or interesting ways. People died. Repeatedly. There was blood and cross-dressers in bad cabaret shows with modern dance and black men on bicycles wearing lights on their heads. At one point the main character tries to be a taxi driver and carries 4 people in his taxi navigating around a street strewn with dead bikers until he drives off a cliff. Only it was a dream. Maybe. In the end he died, along with hundreds of other people in the movie, some of whom died many times. Because even when people died they would still come back to life.

Perhaps one of the most irritating people in the entire movie was this woman who hated Takeshi. She made life difficult for both the actor and the convenience clerk. There were a few highlights. One of them was a gay and effeminate stylist for the production company Takeshi worked for asking Takeshi out. Takeshi told him he wasn’t his type; he should look more business like, with a suit and that sort of thing. Later in the movie the same guy shows up at the convenience store with a huge bouquet of flowers for the guy there, who is very confused. It’s so cute though; the asking out, the Japanese way of showing “like” and attraction.

Overall this movie wasn’t worth seeing. But I’m glad I did go because I can say I went to the FebioFilm festival in Prague, saw a foreign film, and was able to look down my nose at it. I’ll sound very erudite, and really, what else matters?

Kiss and Fly is a travel column updated semi-regularly by an adventurous would-be writer and teacher Megan Pyai trekking across the world and living abroad. The title comes from the idea of being dropped of at an airport like you would a train station; traveling to the other side of the world as casually as if commuting to work into the city.


The Gentle Rains of Prague
by Megan Pyai
Issue 10 | April 2, 2006

I’ve been here two weeks and for the past week it has rained almost every day I’ve been here. Not constantly, of course. The day can start warm and sunny and without a moments notice heavy clouds will roll over the sun, the wind will pick up and soon rain is falling. Most of Prague’s rain is gentle, but sometimes when the drops get bigger it falls a little harder. The just as quickly as it came the rain will decide to be somewhere else and leave, the streets drying quickly in the warming European sun.

This would not be a problem were it not that Prague is flooding. The Latva (?) Is a wide river than runs through the heart and kidneys of Prague and all the rainfall here and upriver is causing it to glut and rise dramatically.

Prague never used to have a problem with flooding until about 10 years ago when the river rose. Huge steel mechanisms pulled in place by the entire Prague police and working force were created to control the river only times of great need. Giant steel doors were built into every metro station to shut them down in the case the subways filled with water from the river. Despite the drought in New Jersey right now, Prague has more water than it can handle. The city is debating closing down parts of the Metro as we speak and there’s a chance I won’t be able to get into the city without using aboveground transportation.

Yesterday while walking across part of the river we saw five police officers looking at the rising water. It looked like a debriefing meeting where they were discussing their options, what was to be done, or how to keep the public from falling in. Several street signs could be seen poking their tops above water in a comical attempt at still being seen above the water surface.

Hopefully the rains will stop soon, weather will return to a predictable pattern, and the river will lower back to a respectable height. Until then I always keep an umbrella in my purse.

Kiss and Fly is a travel column updated semi-regularly by an adventurous would-be writer and teacher Megan Pyai trekking across the world and living abroad. The title comes from the idea of being dropped of at an airport like you would a train station; traveling to the other side of the world as casually as if commuting to work into the city.


Dancing on Prom Night
by Megan Pyai
Issue 9 | April 2, 2006

The first Sunday we were all in Prague the program sent us on a tour with a 19 year old highschooler named Voita to go over the Metro system, the neighborhood and show us Prague Castle. Voita had never given a tour of Prague Castle before, and actually had very little experience navigating the windy streets himself. Not a great informational guide, but he knows where all the best bars in Prague are. (More on Voita and his bars in later issues.) Rumor has it the previous tour guide, Jose, was canned because it was found out during the last session that he was an actor... in pornography.

Voita proceeded to take most of the program out to some of these bars in the area. I left relatively early on having not slept in over 35 hours, but they kept partying for a while afterwards. One of my roommates hooked up with Voita that night, and they have been an item ever since. Voita has been invaluable in giving directions, translating for us, sometimes even over the phone, and being a general cool person in Prague to know. So when his school held his Matriculation Ball, we were all invited. My roommate felt obligated to go, but I jumped at the opportunity. All we were told was that it was a non-traditional prom.

By non-traditional, it was maybe even more traditional than the ones back in the states. The ball was to celebrate the end of written exams for the seniors at his school. Seniors invited their parents and all their friends; they wore yellow sashes and at the actual event were outnumbered at last 4 to 1. Voita was his class’s public speaker and even though we missed it, he spoke in front of everyone and was, we hear, very funny.

The event was held in what can only be called a ballroom. Think a Moulin Rouge huge auditorium. Three levels above the dancing the floors wrapped around so everyone was looking down at the hardwood dance floor where a 30-piece band played traditional ballroom dance music, followed by a DJ who spun rap, pop and Grease. On each floor there was a bar in the corner, and I’m told the snacks were delicious.

I was so desirous to dance I got one of Voita’s German friends, Claudia, to make one of her friends dance with me. I can’t remember his name, but he led me first in a waltz and then a polka. All the men in Europe learn to dance like this, and my dancing lessons in college were more than adequate to prepare me for dancing here. A partner who knows what he is doing is an incredible asset and really determines whether or not it occurs at all.

The rest of the night wasn’t that fun, but other highlights included chatting with his attractive, if older, Philosophy teacher about Marcus Aurelius and going to a chill multi-level bar that just happened to have a strip club in it.

Kiss and Fly is a travel column updated semi-regularly by an adventurous would-be writer and teacher Megan Pyai trekking across the world and living abroad. The title comes from the idea of being dropped of at an airport like you would a train station; traveling to the other side of the world as casually as if commuting to work into the city.


Navigating the Underground
by Megan Pyai
Issue 8 | April 2, 2006

It has been some time since I have written, but I promise to catch up with everything. One thing I did though that has become invaluable to me is learning the underground system known as Prague’s Metro. This tool has been instrumental in my safety and sanity in the city.

To ride the Metro you require a ticket. This can be used for not only the metro but also the rest of the public transportation system here; busses and trams. One general ticket allows you to ride any of these for 60 to 90 minutes (depending on the time and day of week). You can buy the tickets in bulk if you like, and when you get on your first tram or descend into the subways you get your ticket time stamped. My first time on a tram on the first day I was here we were all checked by a plain clothes official, likely canvassing for stupid tourists. I haven’t been checked since.

Now, if you use the system more than a few times a day like I sometimes can, then it can get costly to keep buying tickets. Therefore you have the option of getting a monthly pass, pronounced in Czech, cue-tea-el beak men-ish-ly. The process for acquiring one of these is intricate and is only navigated with help from someone wise in the ways of the procedure. First you need to get your photo taken at TESCO, the European version of WalMart. Four small photos can be obtained for 120 crowns. Luckily the photographer is excellent and unlike most US photo ID institutions, almost everyone leaves with a great photo.

Once you have this you make your way to the Mustek stop on the yellow and green Metro lines. Open weekdays and Saturday there is a little window amidst the chaos of the 39 crown stores (similar to our dollar stores), bars and casino spaces where you must put forth your application. The next problem is that the application you must fill out is completely in Czech. By chance the girl I went with, Rachel, had already picked one up before when she had attempted it the first time (we’ll get back to this) and had used it the previous night in a conversation with a Czech man when we were at a bar. He spoke almost no English and us even less Czech, but in our attempts to break the language barrier we used that application to find words we could translat. So we knew roughly where our name was supposed to go (but not if the surname or first name was first) and that the eight boxes were for our birthdays. Beyond that we tried in vain to figure it out with the help of the woman behind the counter. The woman behind the counter spoke no English at all. But we must have filled out the applications to her satisfaction and she took them and started to process us.

Also required to obtain a monthly pass is your passport. Rachel had forgotten hers the first time she went, which was why I was lucky enough to have her company on my own quest to obtain one. We passed over our TESCO pictures and passports, and waited with bated breath to see if we were found sufficient. Another 480 crowns later we left with proof that the city had welcomed us, at least for the next month.

(Author’s Note: 3 month passes are also available).

*about 10 more recent ones coming soon!*

Kiss and Fly is a travel column updated semi-regularly by an adventurous would-be writer and teacher Megan Pyai trekking across the world and living abroad. The title comes from the idea of being dropped of at an airport like you would a train station; traveling to the other side of the world as casually as if commuting to work into the city.


Letters From Home
by Megan Pyai
Issue 7 | March 21, 2006

In the second day of class, in the morning, I saw a bouquet of flowers walk by into the program office. A few minutes later they reemerged in the arms of a concerned woman who wanted to make sure they didn’t droop before their recipient got them. Their recipient, fortunately, was me. As you can see from the picture, they were five gorgeous orange flowers of a daisy variety, from my parents. It was perfect; orange being my favorite color since my love for ING DIRECT overpowered my girlie adoration of the color pink. It was a wonderful nostalgic moment as I recalled the other times when my mom had sent me flowers, most notably the first night I spent in Christchurch, New Zealand, and when I was sick right before my birthday a few weeks ago.

Today was also the first day I was able to get onto my E-mail. I wasn’t able to connect my laptop yet in order to upload these articles, but I was able to finally receive mail from home. There were surprisingly few E-mails. I had received a few from my mom letting me know she was tracking my plan all night as I flew over to Prague, and one from my best friend Claire asking me to give her the scoop on the possibly British bloke roommate with the cute accent I would initially dislike but eventually grow fond of enough to have a relationship with. In actuality I have three female roommates, though there are a few British boys in the group with the most delectable accents.

What I didn’t get which I was expecting was an E-mail from a particular boy I left back home. Because I knew I was going to Prague when I became involved with him, we decided to not be too serious, although it might have ended up that way in the end. He even spent all morning with me and my family the day before I left for the airplane to got o Prague. He told me he would E-mail me whenever he thought of me, and initially had promised I would be receiving a lot of E-mail. Thus to find none waiting for me in my inbox was a little surprising.

Twice today I had time and the opportunity to scribble off notes to my mom letting her know the nitty gritty of daily life here in Prague. No one really knows how things work in a foreign country. It wasn’t until college when I really grasped how people even lived in other cities; I had grown up my entire life in one spot and I didn’t realize everything a person needed they would have their own of (re: their own post office, their own ACME, etc.). I guess that’s part of the goal of this travel column; to detail the nitty gritty of daily life as an expat.