Recently, I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic for my youth. This has manifested itself as a sudden desire to read the autobiographies of various stars of the Britpop era: Louise Wener’s Different for Girls (charming and very funny) and Luke Haines’s Bad Vibes (quite funny but also quite nasty).

I found myself trying to explain the whole Britpop phenomenon to a somewhat mystified Czechman.

“Well, there was Oasis, who were from Manchester, then there was Blur – ”

“Yes, Blur. What’s their most famous song? That one that goes WOO-HOO?”

“Song 2? No! Of course not!” As far as I’m concerned, this kind of musical ignorance is on a par with Czechman’s belief that Jim Morrison was black. “It’s Parklife! Or maybe Girls and Boys…”

I get straight onto Youtube and begin filling in the gaps in Czechman’s knowledge of English popular culture. We spend a good couple of hours showing each other the music videos of the tunes we used to like back in the nineties. Czechman regales me with lots of rock bands with big hair. Despite being subjected to this Dad-Rock-fest, I thoroughly recommend this sort of evening in of cultural exchange to any other Anglo-Czech couples out there – and if you happen to be the English one, you know that your tunes are bound to be the best.

Sorry Czech readers, but you know it’s true.

Czechman and I don’t just spend nights in messing around on Youtube. We’ve also been known to watch the odd old TV series or film.

Again, there’s been something of a nostalgic theme to our viewing choices of late.

Back in Czechman’s youth, there weren’t many foreign programmes which met with the Communist seal of approval, but one British cop show made it onto Czechoslovak TV screens: The Professionals.

Czechman was, of course, a fan of that bad boy pair of crime fighters who bend the rules to get the job done, Bodie and Doyle. I’d never seen it before so we decided to watch the first four episodes together: here’s a taster for those of you who also missed out:

Czechman and I are also rather fond of more recent British TV offerings. BBC spy drama Spooks is something of a mutual favourite. One episode in an early series revolves around the shenanigans of some rather nasty Serbians. It’s then that we spot him.

“Hey, isn’t that bloke actually Czech?”

Yes, I’m right. I’ve successfully spotted a certain Karel Roden, who is playing an Serbian arms dealer. If memory serves me, he also pops up in one of the Bourne films as a Russian baddie. How very versatile.

I love it when I see a Czech actor in an American film or come across a Czech-related reference in a novel or short story or song.  Somewhere in the vast novel Middlesex there’s a one-line mention of a Czech friend of the protagonist. She’s never referred to again, but for as far as I’m concerned, it was still a pleasure to meet her. Then there’s the unfortunate Czech gangster who is particularly proud of his nation’s sausages and comes to a nasty end in an early episode of The Sopranos. Nothing else springs to mind right now but hopefully you see what I mean.

I’m always thrilled when I come across these little Czech references. For me, coming across a mention of Czechland in an unexpected context is pleasing, surprising and a tiny bit exciting. Do other Czechophiles out there who feel the same? What Czech cultural references have you stumbled across elsewhere? Do share them in the comments section!

Am I Serbian, Russian or Czech? Depends what it says in the script…

A Czech lady getting what she deserves this Easter

Following last year’s rather unsuccessful attempt to introduce Czech Easter traditions to England (remember my beranek baking disaster?), I decided to spend Easter in Bohemia – and who better to celebrate with than The Village People?

So, as the lovely Village People have been somewhat absent from the blog of late, I thought I’d regale you all with the highlight of my long weekend with them: the Big Easter Stick Ritual.

One of the first quaint Easter customers which foreigners are a little taken aback by – especially if they happen to be women – is this whole business of being beaten on the behind with a big stick first thing on Easter morning. No, this is not an April Fools Day joke, I’m afraid, but a bone fide Czech Cultural Difference (or CCD for short).

This morning I was chased around by Czechman’s dad who delighted in whacking me on the behind with the big Easter stick which apparently ‘shouldn’t hurt really because of the ribbons tied to the end’. Yeah, right. I always squeal my head off when being chased around – God only knows why as it’s not as if I don’t know what’s coming – but I become so distressed it becomes almost impossible to locate the painted egg I’m supposed to give to my torturer to make the pain – sorry, ‘fun’- stop.

I’ve heard a rumour that women are allowed to throw cold water over their menfolk as part of this bizarre business, but it’s something I’ve never dared to try.

Who was responsible for the creation of the Czechmanovi’s Easter weapons of mass destruction this year? That’s right, Czechman’s mum.

At this point I’m tempted to say feminism never happened in this country. However, as Czechman rightly points out, in our household, feminism means that he has to do the man’s work (i.e anything with tools) and the women’s work too (anything involving cleaning). At least I like to cook, even if I’m not so keen on the clearing up.

Anyway, Girl In Czechland would like to wish you all a very Happy Easter and a fertile 2013! Roll on Spring – I can’t be the only one who’s sick of the snow…

Cobblestones.  Clocks on every lamppost. Trams.  Thick snow or strong sunshine. The Castle is really a cathedral. Spires. Gruff-faced folk demand the right change. Ankle-snapping dogs – never on a lead. Crazy coloured panelaks the size of Lego bricks. Endless escalator rides underground. The Vltava (sounds like vulva). General Žižka sits astride his horse surveying Bohemia with one good eye. Soot-covered saints on Charles Bridge. Segways. Smoky pubs. A tea room in the sky. Secondhand shops full of English fashions. A giant red metronome swings where Stalin once stood. The devil’s in the detail – but so is the delight.

Those were my ninety nine words about Prague.

They were inspired by the regular column in Czech national newspaper, Hospodářské Noviny.

Ever since I wrote my first blog post featuring a man being surprised by a sausage, I’ve made it my mission to see Prague from a sideways perspective.

However, writing about this super famous tourist hotspot of a city means negotiating a cliché ridden minefield.

How to describe the Golden City without gilding the lily?

Now you’ve read my attempt at capturing Czechland’s capital in just ninety-nine words, I’d like to read yours. Leave your own verbal picture postcard in the comments section: entries in English or Czech most welcome. I might even rustle up a special prize for my favourite.

I may poke fun at being called spoilt and western by Czechman but I’m still impressed by the many ways in which Czechs see through the fakery of modern life. Here are some of them.

Jak se řekne ‘The Property Ladder’?

Of course buying your own flat/house/cowshed to live in is better than chucking money away on rent – if you can afford it of course. What Czechs have so far avoided doing is getting sucked into the whole concept of ‘The Property Ladder’.

Look, we’ve made it onto the property ladder!

As a young twenty something in England, you have it drilled into you by the grown-ups that you should save up as much cash as possible for a deposit on a shoebox flat somewhere so that you can ‘get on the property ladder.’ The implication is, if you don’t get your foot on the first rung a.s.a.p, you’ll never get to climb up to the top of the pile and own a flash pad that Victoria Beckham/The Duchess of Cambridge/Karel Gott might be envious of.

Because the idea is, in the UK at least, that once you’ve bought your first home (with the bank’s money no doubt) that you won’t stay in it for long. Oh no. Once your income increases the idea is that you take one step up the property ladder and buy somewhere with more bedrooms/a garden/in a nicer area.

In Czechland, however, if you’re fortunate enough to become your own landlord, the expectation is that you’ll stay in that home until the day you die. Which may go some way to explaining why Czechman insisted we look at so many flats before signing on the dotted line. Anyway, this might sound a boring and unambitious way to live – until you remember that it was artificially inflated housing prices (in the US admittedly) that caused the current worldwide economic downturn. You don’t catch many Czechs saddling themselves with a ridiculously huge mortgage to keep up with the Joneses or the Novaks.

Stupid cupid: Czechs say no to fake anniversaries

You’ll be aware no doubt that February 14^th is Valentines Day. While it would be nice if Czechman at least attempted to do something romantic on this date, I do secretly admire his reasons for not doing so. He rather convincingly argues that it’s all just commercial nonsense imposed on the Czechs after the Revolution as another way to tap into the post-Communist emerging market.

Back in England, we’re suckers. These days on Mother’s Day we’re not expected to splash out on presents and cards but Kindles and I-Pads too. And then there’s Father’s Day to think about too. Google confirms a Grandparents Day also exists. Don’t get me wrong: our nearest and dearest deserve recognition for all the support they’ve given us over the years but creating these artificial anniversaries just seems like a cynical way for the capitalist machine to rinse more cash out of us.

Czechs wouldn’t fall for this nonsense. I do hope that I get a kiss under the blossom from Czechman on May 1^st though: that will only cost him his dignity.

Hands off our Becherovka: Booze = national identity

Drink Becherovka! Or not…

I’m probably going to get into trouble with this last one but hey, sometimes it’s fun to court controversy.

I don’t really like Becherovka. Yes, I know that this particular form of alcohol is as much a part of Czech national identity as that world famous beer, Pilsner. It’s been explained to me that it’s made from a secret family recipe and that it can cure every kind of ailment from a tickly cough to an itchy leg. Still, the way the Czechs hang onto it is perhaps another sign that they refuse to compromise their national identity, in the same way that a recent advertising campaign for Irish whiskey associates a rejection of all that’s dishonest in the modern world with the authenticity of their tipple.

Death to Dishonesty – drink Becherovka! Would it work? If it’s good enough for the Irish…

Another English lady fails to get to grips with the slopes…

So I survived. Just.

Like a Hollywood epic, the much anticipated and long dreaded ski trip had plenty of ups and downs or to be more precise, tears, tantrums, a turning point – and finally, triumph.

DAY 1: Tiny Towels

We arrive at the pension. It has the tiniest towels I’ve ever seen. There’s no complimentary soap. Before anyone accuses me of being spoilt and western, Czechman notices these two facts first.

DAY 2: My Debut

As predicted, things do not go well. Unflattering comparisons are made to Bridget Jones’ performance en piste in that cinematic masterpiece, Bridget Jones 2.

I fall over.  A lot – and lack the upper body strength to get up again unaided. There’s nothing more ungainly than watching a grown woman floundering around in the snow like a carp out of water – with skis and attached.

Unfortunately my sufferings do not end once I get off the slopes. I realize while putting on my normal footwear that I have twisted my ankle. I’m told that this is impossible to do this in ski boots. Once Czechman realizes that my self-diagnosis is correct, I’m accused of injuring myself on purpose to avoid further humiliation – sorry skiing. I hobble back to the pension, squealing with pain every five steps, in somewhat low spirits.

DAY 3: Sports Injury

Czechman goes off to The Big Slope which has one of those proper ski lifts that you actually sit down in. I’d love to have a go on one but you’re only allowed on if you’re wearing skis, which thanks to my sports injury – the first one of my entire life – I won’t be doing any time soon.

I manage a bit of swimming in the pool at the pension then hang out in the jacuzzi or ‘whirlpool’ as they say in Czechlish. Whirling on your own proves to be a bit boring. I go back to our room and attempt to do the crossword at the back of Žena a život. There’s one clue I can definitely complete with some confidence.

Kočka (anglický), three letters…

No animals were harmed in the taking of this photograph

CAT!!!

I may not be able to ski but I am a Czech speaking genius. Sort of.

DAY 4: Defeat?

Ankle not swollen but still painful. Being in the mountains surrounded by skiers and snowboarders in a hotel run by two international ski champions with ski trophies lining the bar makes me feel like a bit of a prat.

I consider heading back to Prague and leaving Czechman to piste it up alone.

Perhaps I would have done but

a)    I discovered a café with the best hot chocolate in the world

b)    I couldn’t manage to read the bus timetable properly without adult (i.e Czechman’s) assistance.

DAY 5: The Turning Point

Using a potent combination of bribery (hot chocolate, fruit dumplings) and emotional blackmail (“but isn’t it nice when partners have a shared interest?” Umm, yes, but does it have to involve the risk of physical injury?) Czechman persuades me to get back on those skis.

Getting to the top of the kiddie slope is by no means easy. I have to place a rapidly moving pole with a disc attached to the end between my legs and hang on for dear life. I manage to do so successfully and even remember to release it in time so I don’t end up on the ground.

I also master the snow plough or gliding wedge: that’s the technical term for pointing my skis towards each other to make a big V shape. I can even stop by means of an oblouček to the right. I still fall over sometimes but progress has been made.

There were moments when you might even have said I was enjoying myself. Don’t tell Czechman though or he’ll drag me back to the mountains faster than you can say waterproof insulated trousers …

Bridget Jones demonstrates the snow plough. Sort of.

I don’t wish to be melodramatic. But.

This may be the last ever post from Ms Girlova.

I’m going to the mountains for a week, supposedly to complete my mission to achieve total Czech integration – by learning to ski.

I fear this is an experience I might not survive. You see while I may be highly competent in many areas of my life (she says modestly), I’m not a sporty person. There’s the legendary family story of when I requested ballet lessons as a six year old but was informed by my parents that this would be a waste of money, as I apparently ‘moved like a fairy elephant’.

Anyway, I fear that as an adult I remain too clumsy and fond of remaining upright to master winter sports of any kind. Feel the fear and do it anyway? No thanks.

Czechman will not accept this. Using a potent combination of bribery and heavy emotional blackmail , he has forced me to go to ski school. He is determined to make a skier out of me. I’m afraid I’m going to be more Eddie the Eagle Edwards than graceful queen of the slopes.

This weekend I went sales shopping at Novy Smichov. one of Prague’s main shopping malls. While hunting through the rails in search of bargains would normally be a source of delight, on this occasion I can only describe it as a chore. Why?

I was obliged to spend 1200kc (about £40) on an item of clothing with all the stylistic flair of two padded bin liners. In other words, ski trousers.

“But 1200kc isn’t that bad!” exclaimed Czechman when I objected. “And they were reduced.”

At this point I found it necessary to point out that when I was last in England, I spent that amount in Primark – a sort of poor man’s H&M – and came out with a sack full of stuff.

1200kc for one hideously ugly item of clothing does seem rather a lot – even if it is practical. And let’s not even talk about the ski goggles. At least I might be able to wear them to a fancy dress party on my return. Assuming I do return that is.

Anyway, I’ve decided to end this post with a clip of the aforementioned Eddie the Eagle Edwards – the greatest ever British ski jumper – in action.

Being the best ski jumper in a country where there are no real mountains means of course that he’s not actually very good. Apparently he used to train for the Olympics by leaping off his garden shed. Anyway, he managed to become a national hero though because he tries very hard even though it’s blatantly obvious that he’s rubbish. The Brits do love an underdog.

Perhaps I should adopt an Eddie the Eagle style attitude to the ski experience. I have no plans to attempt to ski off any ramps into mid-air as I fear that I really would break my neck.

Anyway, here’s Eddie doing his stuff. I don’t understand the commentary but the accompanying soundtrack from the Beatles says it all:

The little dots in the water? Wild winter swimmers. These Czechs! So tough!

On my return to Prague following my Christmas break, I was greeted not by snow but by grey skies. While I wouldn’t want temperatures to dip to the Siberian lows of last winter (one of the coldest on record), Prague does look pretty in the snow. Until it begins to melt and the pavements are full of brown slush – not so picture postcard perfect.

Anyway, last Sunday Czechman suggested an afternoon stroll on Charles Bridge. Given that

a) Czechman is not much of a romantic

b) Karluv most is a tourist hotspot rife with pickpockets, tourists milling at a snail’s pace and stalls selling souvenirs

I was a little suspicious as to his reasons for paying the landmark a visit.

It turns out that Czechman had invited me along to witness one of his friends going for a dip in the river. Yes, you read that correctly: despite the chilly weather conditions, a whole gang of Czechs decided to hop on a boat, strip down to their trunks (or bikinis – yes, there were a few ladies participating) and then swim their way across a fair breadth of the Vltava back to the shore.

Just thinking about it makes me shiver.

I was of course ready with my camera to record this event for posterity – and for your amusement. Here you can see a couple of brave Czech chaps and chapesses gingerly making their descent into the icy water:

Here you see the swimmers battling the current and heading for shore where hot punch and soup await them:

Ever wondered what messing about in the river on a chilly day might do to your skin? Check out these photos of the participants once they were back on dry land. They look like human klobasa (that’s the name of the fat Czech sausage by the way). Czech out (see what I did there?) the sign – it confirms the water was only 5 degrees:

It’s always nice to see a man in swimming trunks and a tiara.

And they say the English are eccentric.

Finally, a picture postcard shot of the Castle from the bank beside the bridge. Notice how the trend for leaving locks on the fence as a romantic souvenir has spread from Prague’s Little Venice to this side of the river:

I know I’ve been neglecting my blogger duties somewhat of late, but they’ll be more wit and whimsy to follow soon, I promise. Stay tuned…

Prague Christmas Market 2012, Wenceslas Square

Apparently 21st December 2012 – in other words, today – is supposed to be the end of the world. It might seem that the apocalypse is nigh if you’re trailing around the shops trying to get your last minute Christmas shopping done.

For most of us the festive season means trying to find gifts for our nearest and dearest that they’ll really cherish for years to come.

Like socks.

For the city of Prague, December means the appearence of collections of wooden huts at the tourist hotspots like Wenceslas Square. These would be log cabins don’t signal a sudden invasion of lumberjacks (remember the Monty Python song?) but the arrival of the Christmas Markets.

Christmas market on Wenceslas Square 2012

I don’t like to be overly critical. But here’s the thing. The only good thing on sale on these stalls is svarak aka mulled (hot) wine.

Sausage stall selling mulled (hot) wine on Wenceslas Square

The rest of the merchandise on offer is pretty much identical to that sold in the gift shops only a few paces away.

Do yourself and your wallet a favour. Step away from the tourist trail and pay a visit to Holesovice instead.

Pražska tržnice is a huge market only one tram stop from Vltavska. It specialises in selling cheap mass produced goods mostly imported from China but the key difference from the cutesy stalls in Central Prague is that it isn’t pretending to be something that it isn’t.  Although there are some tourists to be found wandering around, this market is for locals. Come here to do a spot of shopping and you’re going to see a refreshingly different side of Prague.

Why not delight your child by buying them a brightly coloured plastic donkey?

What about something a little more practical? The snow might have stopped for the moment but it’s only a matter of time before the conditions turn arctic again. How about a furry hat to keep the cold at bay?

Men are always so difficult to buy for. Forget about the festive boxer shorts. What about a knuckleduster?

I’m particularly proud of the present I picked up for Czechman’s Dad just yesterday (not from any market but a proper shop):

Yes, it’s a battery operated singing carp: the perfect adornment for any Czech family’s cottage. It has a repetoire of two tunes: Don’t Worry, Be Happy (advice many Czechs could benefit from following) and Take Me To The River.

Hilarious stuff.  I’m sorry I won’t get to see the look on Czechman’s Dad’s face when he opens it. Will it be a look of horror or delight?

Back to those Christmas markets. Yes, they are a bit touristy and trashy but there is some fun to be had there. Just look at this Wenceslas Square Santa’s attempt to give the ladies a special surprise this Christmas. The picture’s a bit blurry but I think you get the idea:

I can’t finish this without sharing the news that I’ve recently been awarded a Silver Expat Blogs award in the Czech Republic category. A big thank you to all of you who left positive comments in support of my entry. Coming second means I did get my arse kicked by an American but hey, you can’t have everything…

Anyway, I’m off to finish packing for my flight to England. A Merry Christmas to you all dear readers: enjoy yourselves whether you dine on carp or turkey! Here’s a festive Czech tune to wrap your presents to:

Some of you will know that there have been some exciting developments recently chez Girl in Czechland (was it Orwell who said never use a French word where an Anglo-Saxon one will do?)

I was recently interviewed by Czech magazine cilichilli: check out (pun intended) Ms Girlova attempting to protect her secret identity with wig and sunglasses. I might publish bits of it in English here if Google Translate doesn’t suffice for my readers.

Back to that not-so secret identity. Recently, a co-operation with a national British newspaper (yes, that’s definitely Czechish) led me to step out from my Girl In Czechland persona. I decided to share a link to said article featuring my name and picture on Facebook and Twitter.

Czechman was unimpressed. Unimpressed is an understatement of epic proportions. He’s very cross indeed.

Anyway, I apparently have two options.

Option 1: Continue to write as Girl In Czechland but without making any further explicit reference to who I am in the offline world.

Option 2. Put my real name on the blog as part of the About page. This means a) having to stop writing about anything Czechman or Village People related b) sinking in Czechman’s estimation as I become just another online attention seeker c) losing a certain kudos.

I haven’t entirely made up my mind yet but for this post, as you’ll see, in my last couple of posts I’ve stuck with Option 1.

Even discussing this feels a bit silly and navel-gazing – what really matters surely is whether what’s written here is worth reading or not rather than whose name is or isn’t attached to it – but it is something I have to decide. I’m interested to hear what you all think.

Ooh, yes and more shameless self-promotion if I may. I’ve been nominated for an Expats Blog Award. To win, I need my loyal readers to pop over there and leave a short positive comment. Reading some of the ones there so far has really made my day so a big thank you to you all in advance.  The winners will be decided on Sunday 16th December so do cast your vote soon.

Recently I was fortunate enough to be whisked away for a romantic weekend by Czechman to a top-secret location in the Jizera mountains.

We even stayed in a hotel with a wellness as we say in Czechlish: I believe the correct term is spa. All very spoilt and western (in a modest way of course) which means I loved it.

Anyway, I got to go in a whirlpool – sorry jacuzzi – and to try out a Finnish sauna and of course, to do a lot of walking in the nature – I mean, the countryside.

Do we actually say ‘in the nature’ in English? Sounds wrong but I can no longer tell with certainty.

Whether it was in the nature, countryside or mountains, a good deal of exercise was required to burn off the calories incurred by indulging ourselves at the zabijacka or pig killing. No porcines were dispatched with in front of us, but on Saturday evening every imaginable bit of the poor unfortunate squealer was served up for dinner at a kind of feast.

There was goulash, black and white sausages, strange savoury mashed up bits of inside you serve on bread, tlačenka (bits of meat suspended in fat) and that personal favorite of mine, prdelačka - aka arse soup. Making our way through a sample of that was a workout in itself.

Anyway, while on our mountainside wanderings, we came across the ski lift I have obligingly included in the photo above. Those huge red metal pulleys look odd without the snow; they seem marooned with no purpose. Which brings me to my first point.

5 Reasons I’m Looking Forward to Winter in Czechland This Year

1. Learning to ski.

Maybe.  I’ve done a spot of cross-country skiing but I’ve never even attempted downhill. Remember my fear of falling over in icy conditions in Prague? I’m afraid that any attempt to master skiing as an adult will inevitably involve a lot of ending up on my backside – or even breaking my neck. Czechman is keen for me to embrace this leisure activity. I’m less enthusiastic. He’s trying to bribe me with wellness hotels and švarak (mulled wine). I’m currently resisting but may give in simply because I’m sure my efforts would make an excellent blog post.

2. Drinking svařák on Old Town Square

I don’t care if it’s touristy or tacky. I’m partial to a bit of mulled wine on Old Town Square while admiring the enormous Christmas tree. It’s guaranteed to get me in the festive mood – but do watch out for rogue Segways.

3. Eating/making vánoční cukroví aka Christmas Biscuits

The English have mince pies; the Czechs have vánoční cukroví aka Christmas biscuits. They come in all shapes and sizes: there’s the wasps’ nests (tastier than they sound), vanilla crescents (vanilkové rohlíčky), bears’ paws (medvedi tlapicvky), mini-gingerbread thingys (perníčky), coconut balls (apparently the easiest to prepare): the list really is endless.

According to that great cultural authority Ona Dnes, it’s already a bit late to be preparing vánoční cukroví. Apparently, if I want to be in the running for Czech Super Wife of the Year 2012, I ought to have started baking about a week ago.

Oops.  Don’t tell Czechman’s mum.

4. Snow

I am looking forward to the snow.

Let me get this straight. I’m not looking forward to traipsing around outside in the horrible grey slush which will invade Prague once the snow has come and then begun to melt. I’m not looking forward to gingerly traversing pavements in hiking boots while trying to avoid patches of black ice. Nor am I looking forward to dodging killer icicles as the thaw sets in.

I am looking forward to being ensconced in a cosy cafe/restaurant/my living room drinking something warm (tea, mulled wine) while watching the snow fall from the window. It’s pretty and soothing  just as long as you don’t actually have to go anywhere in it.

5. Carp for Christmas Dinner

 Actually, this last one is a lie.

I’ve done Czech Christmas. I don’t object to it in principle. It’s just for me, a bit of fried fish and potato salad isn’t really all that festive. Sorry.

My sister is preparing for a long weekend in Czechland as we speak to explore the Christmas markets. Expect some kind of   amusing post all about the joys of trdelnik – shock news! it’s not actually Czech! – and the array of tourist tat on sale in those oh so cute little wooden huts very soon.

Oh, and they’ll be a few words about my (not-so) secret identity too…