Space of Privacy

We have less than 14 weeks left in Prague, and I'm starting to feel anxious about all that I have yet to see. Not long ago I realized that though I've been to Malostranské náměstí (Little Quarter square) more times than I can count, I'd still not visited St. Nicholas, the high Baroque church which is the anchor of the Little Quarter. It's the dominant feature in the blog's front page picture these days, the copper dome and bell tower boasting a soft green patina.

I headed to Malá Strana two weeks ago intending to tour the church. But first I ducked into the bell tower. The entrance fee included access to a wraparound balcony, with yet another wonderful view of Prague, as well as an exhibition which revealed how the tower was used for observation purposes by the communist secret police.

Up the stairs ... because touring Europe is nothing if not a lot of stair climbing.

From the wraparound balcony ~

East view, down Bridge Street, heading right for Charles Bridge.

Malostranské náměstí (Little Quarter Square), where Nerudova street begins (or ends, depending on your perspective), site of lots of beautiful architecture and, of course, Starbucks.

Southern view down Karmelitská street.

Even got an up close and personal serenade of one of the top-of-the-hour trumpet ditties.

Back inside, I went up to the watch tower.

The office used by the secret police was at the very top of the tower, above the clock.

Prior to coming to Prague, I had only the most superficial understanding of communism and what life was like in eastern bloc countries between WWII and 1989. I heard stories of the many citizens who defected or died trying. Communism was vilified in the West, but I really couldn't have told you what the ideology behind it was and why we were against it.

Did my education let me down? Or am I really slow? Probably a little of both. I know this much -- visiting landmarks that played a role in this history and talking with friends who lived through it has done more for helping me get my head around what people experienced here, and in East Germany, Poland, the USSR, etc., than any history book or class.

I recently finished Slavenka Drakulić's memoir How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed. Drakulić is a journalist from Croatia, and her book is a collection of essays that chronicles the effect communism had on various aspects of everyday life, especially for women.

One essay, entitled "Our Little Stasi" explores the notion of privacy and personal space, something she and her countrymen didn't have. After the overthrow of the communist leadership in 1989-90, an initiative from the newly elected president led to a small but significant change in behavior at the post office.

In November 1990, we citizens of the new democratic republic of Croatia received postcards with an unusual explanation from the central management of the Croatian Post Office and Telecommunications . …(it said that) from now on, when waiting in a post office, one must stand behind a yellow line on the floor. This yellow line will indicate a so-called 'space of privacy,' so that every citizen from now on will be able to do his or her business alone at the window, without someone constantly peeking over their shoulder. (Drakulić)

Prior to that,  Drakulić wrote, no one could expect to conduct personal business without an audience. She described a typical scene at the pre-1989 post office, where people went not only to send and receive correspondence, but also to pay bills and rent.

Behind me people are sighing. I don't only hear it, I can feel it on my neck because a fat man behind me keeps snorting. Even though I don't glance at it, I can see his hand with a money order for 450 dinars for his rent. Although I can't imagine what could interest me less at this moment, I almost automatically make a quick calculation: it has to be at least a two-room apartment, in a new building, because rents are cheaper in the old ones. Then I stop, ashamed of myself. The only reason I don't feel like a spy is that he too can 'spy' on me: he can see that I'm paying a 350-dinar installment for some books, and that my telephone bill is enormous, 1,300 dinars. Perhaps right now he's wondering how I can afford such a huge bill, when my profession obviously has something to do with books, and we all very well know one can't live on any kind of intellectual work. In fact he really can learn a lot about my own and everyone else's lives just by waiting in a post office, bank, or any other institution that involves standing in line. (Drakulić)

The institution of a discrete zone led to an awakening in the public psyche. 

All of a sudden, private space became important, even fashionable in a country where for forty-five years, if not longer, nobody had even thought in these terms, and it was perfectly normal not only to have to wait in line pressed rightly together, but to peer at each other's documents, accounts, letters, and bills quite shamelessly. Considering that privacy was a bad word, such peering was even safe. Asking for the right to privacy meant you had something to hide. And hiding something meant it was forbidden. If it was forbidden, it must have been against the state. Finally, if it was against the state, you must have been an enemy. (Drakulić)

I climbed to the top of St. Nicholas' church bell tower to this watch post of Státní bezpečnost (communist secret police or State Security), called StB for short. There I found a modest little office with a desk and a television, walls papered with newspaper clippings from football matches in the 1980s. 

While anyone could have been an informer, it appears that only men were expected to staff this post.

From this vantage point StB could monitor activity in Malá Strana and down to Charles Bridge, as well as south on Karmelitská and north up toward the castle.

A beautiful, bright view with a dark history.

StB, the exhibit read, "created an atmosphere of fear and repression. From the start of the 1960s up until the last days in 1989, it primarily focused on surveillance of the population. Among other things this included wiretapping and monitoring designated people." The black and white pictures throughout this post are from the bell tower exhibit and represent a small example of surveillance photos taken by StB.

Regarding the 'space of privacy' postcards, Drakulić wrote, "It (made) you aware that you (had) a right to such a thing. It also (made) you ask yourself, how come you forgot that privacy is normal?"

It seems that in a society in which secret police are scampering around taking photos on the sly like these above, an expectation of privacy would quickly pack its bags.

I never did get to the church as I was so wrapped up in the bell tower view and exhibit. Another day ...

PLAY!

Mánes Exhibition Hall, which straddles the Vltava river between its east bank and Žofin Island, hosted the interactive experience PLAY from November through February.

It was organized by Czech artist Petr Nikl, who worked with more than 40 other artists in creating this eclectic romp for all ages. The boys and I visited PLAY twice with some school friends. Karl joined us the second time after we raved about our experience.

"Ground-level periscope, Petr Nikl"

Visitors were welcome to build, draw, spin, explore, make music, ...

The wall displays -- where kids drew pictures, wrote their names, and strung up objects -- evolved considerably during the five weeks between our two visits.

It was fantastic. Two floors of interactive stations that engaged imagination, fantasy, and four of the five senses. (And, lest the taste buds feel neglected, there was a palačinky (crêpes) bar available as well.) A few exhibit stations had clearly required technical know-how to assemble, but so much of it was simply groups of found items made available for children (and grownups) to do with what they would.

Plastic ties and cardboard rolls

Pegboards and dowels

Pipes and mallets

Percussion and noise were a big part of the experience. Kids reveled in being able to do whatever they wanted with what they found.

Our friend Elliot loved running in the plastic bottle maze.

In January, Šestka, the monthly periodical of Prague 6 (our neighborhood) published an interview with Nikl that Karl translated for me.

The exhibit at Mánes invites visitors in to play and in part only comes into being under their hands. Can it be enjoyed at all by a person who doesn't have fantasy?

I start from the conviction that there doesn't exist a person without imagination. Just like I don't know a person who doesn't have dreams. In my opinion, it's just that there's a difference between the ability to be aware of it and utilizing one's own fantasy.(Nikl)

(Toys and play objects) should be the inspiration of imagination and self-discovery. (Nikl)

For me, playfulness isn't relaxation but a source of discovery. A development of creativity. It broadens my horizon. (Nikl)

Turn the crank and watch the movie!

"How does this work?"

(This what he saw.)

To play with the existence of infinite possibilities. To be open to everything without preconceptions. (Nikl)

Garrett and I spent a good 45 minutes designing and building his fortress.

The first floor, where I took most of my pictures, was a big open space. Downstairs featured a series of rooms with different levels of lighting, lots of shadow play, kaleidoscope-type objects spinning on walls, even vibration stations.

Garrett mesmerized by the water dome.

Random objects float, spin and cast shadows in a display that included illuminated domes and a water canal with a current in a dimly lit room.

It had a dreamy, ethereal effect.

Upstairs -- along with all the collections of building/music-making/playing materials -- there was a ball tube roulette table (that's the best description I can conjure), the roving eyeball with remote control, and a cannon that shot smoke rings.

Ben takes the helm of PLAY's roving eyeball to get an aerial view of the hall.

The eyeball was cool. And a little creepy.

Ben and Owen play with the smoke cannon.

Owen, Garrett and Ben check out the ball tube roulette table.

These pictures and videos only skim the surface of our experience at PLAY. The four of us spent a full three hours there on a Friday at the end of a busy week (and, of course, the boys still thought we were being unreasonable to leave at 7pm).

All of us were enthralled in our way. The simplicity of it all was the most impressive aspect to me, that these everyday objects in sufficient numbers could unlock such creativity and fantasy play. I often am dismayed at the early push to consumerism that is so influential in the boys' world. It was a delight to see them engaged and inspired by styrofoam shapes, suction cups, and shadows.

And I've started hoarding recycling materials to play with over spring break.

Found Conversation No. 2

by Karl

As you can read here, the family recently enjoyed a birthday celebration which included a chance to ride Segways around a park on Prague’s Kampa Island. It was a little bit nerve-wracking watching the kids zoom around, as an innate sense of caution is not usually the dominant trait in eight-year-old boys. Or in six-year-old boys, for that matter — early on, Garrett clipped the base of a tree with his left wheel and went tumbling forward off the contraption. Garrett was uninjured, the Segway just needed to be reset, and off he rode to another adventure.

In addition to hurting themselves, there was always the possibility that the boys would clip a person, rather than a tree, as they weaved in and out among the moving obstacles that kept strolling through the park on a sunny afternoon. And along came a perfect target for such a collision, an elderly woman making her way gingerly along the path, with the help of a pair of crutches. They weren’t the kind that tuck under your arms like when you have a broken leg. These were more like extended canes, with a grip-type handle, and above that a cradle for the forearm, for better stability. In Prague you often see an older person with a single crutch of this type. This woman used two.

Kate and I were talking with an English couple whose son was another birthday guest. The woman paused as she went past, then turned and said something to Kate, who happened to be nearest her, and I came over to interpret. I made some apologetic remark about how I hoped the kids wouldn’t crash into anyone.

“Oh no," she said, "it’s marvelous to see them moving about like that. Ever since I’ve had to use these crutches, I’ve been fascinated by anything that moves perfectly.”

She and I talked a little more, then one of the kids took a tumble (it turned out he was fine). "Oh, that's OK," said the woman. "When my kids were young they played ice hockey and one time a kid went down and hit his head on the ice. The coach came over. 'How many fingers am I holding up? … Three, good. Does your head hurt? Only a little? Fine. Do you feel like you're going to throw up? No? Good. Take five minutes on the bench, then back in the game.' I came over and looked in the boy's eyes to see if the pupils were the same size — if they're not, that can indicate bleeding inside the head and you have to get it taken care of right away. The coach asked me what I was doing and I explained. 'Oh,' he said, 'I'll add that to my list of things to check.'"

We got talking about languages and learning Russian, and she said she'd gone to a high school right nearby in Malá strana that had "expanded Russian education." In the communist period all schools taught Russian, so all Czechs ended up with some familiarity with the language. A few designated schools spent considerably more time on it, and students coming out of those places could actually use the language.

"They say that every idiotic thing in life is good for something," the woman explained. Then she told me a story of 1968.

By way of background, the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia was perhaps the most … loyal of the communist parties in Soviet-dominated Eastern Europe. By "loyal" of course I mean that it spent the most time trying to figure out what Moscow was likely to want it to do, even before Moscow expressed its will, perhaps even before Moscow knew its own will. This had some comic effects, as when the party decided to build the world's largest statue of Stalin.

It took them so long to work it out, that it didn't go up until 1955 — two years after the dictator's death, and only one year before Khrushchev would deliver his "secret speech" in which he "revealed" many of Stalin's crimes. Lots of people knew about the crimes already, but once the leader of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union laid them out in a speech, it was OK to talk about them. And it was also somewhat embarrassing to have just put up the world's largest statue of a man who was now officially considered problematic. In 1962 they finally got around to dynamiting the thing.

The local party's slavish devotion to Moscow's line had less humorous consequences as well, resulting in conditions that were arguably more repressive here than in other Soviet satellites. All of that started to change in 1967, both with rehabilitation of people convicted in Stalinist show-trials in the early 1950s, and with writers starting to argue openly that literature should be independent of Party doctrine.

In late 1967 and early 1968 things started moving within the Party as well, with Alexander Dubček replacing a more conventional leader and starting to work out a reform program. Over the following months this developed into the famous "Prague Spring," an effort to create what Dubček called "socialism with a human face" (which itself is a pretty damning statement about what socialism was like up to that point). There were economic components, trying to make the economy more innovative and moving away from Soviet-style emphasis on heavy industry. But there were also political aspects, with ever-greater press freedom and discussions of multi-party elections.

Dubček and the Czechoslovak leadership repeatedly assured their allies in the Warsaw Pact of their continued support of the alliance and their unwavering devotion to socialism, but the course of developments over the spring and into the summer revealed the inherent contradictions in their position. On the one hand they promised socialism and fealty to the Soviet Union; on the other, they were letting people say more and more what they wanted to say, and people were saying they wanted free elections sooner rather than later, and people were saying that socialism actually had a lot of problems — how could you possibly have a truly free press and free elections and still guarantee that the country would remain socialist and would stay in the Warsaw Pact?

Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev drew the obvious conclusion, wholeheartedly supported by the leaders of the other satellites, who didn't want their own populations getting any dangerous ideas about elections, free speech, and the like. On the night of August 20-21, 200,000 Warsaw Pact troops invaded Czechoslovakia and set the country on a path back to pro-Soviet orthodoxy, a period that came to be known as "normalization."

There have certainly been deadlier invasions — for instance, the one that put down the Hungarian revolution of 1956. Dubček called for people not to resist, and as far as using violence, they generally listened, though people tried confusion tactics like switching street signs, or taking them down, and Soviet tanks in the streets of Prague were covered with people urging the soldiers inside to go home. Still, it was an invasion, there were tanks and foreign soldiers everywhere, and some people did die.

Back to the woman at Kampa. She was in Čáslav, a town about an hour east of Prague, and needed to get back to the capital. There were tanks on all the roads and people weren't supposed to travel without permission. A young man in Čáslav was having liver trouble and needed to be taken to Prague for treatment, and the woman saw her opportunity.

"Being 32 and foolish, I figured they wouldn't shoot at an ambulance, so I went along for the ride."

But along the way they were stopped by two Soviet soldiers from Kirghizstan. The woman got out of the ambulance and tried explaining that they were taking this sick man to Prague and they had to get there "or it's amen for him," but their Russian wasn't very good and she wasn't making herself understood. Then an officer came out of the woods and started shouting at her, what the hell did they think they were doing, driving along like this? She explained about the man with the liver condition. The officer opened the back of the ambulance and saw the man's gray-yellow skin and smelled the particular, offensive smell of the sweat that comes off of people with liver problems, so he knew she wasn't making it up about the illness.

Eventually another officer came over and shouted at her some more, but finally agreed to accommodate her. He called over a soldier who had a board on his back, which served as a writing surface. One of the officers wrote out papers allowing the ambulance to continue to Prague, and even gave it an official stamp. The woman took the papers and went to get back in the ambulance.

"The driver said, 'You might want to think about whether to sit in front or in back.'"

"'What do you mean?' I asked, and then I smelled it."

"'Well, actually,’ he said, ‘it probably won't matter — I've already shit my pants.' When we got to the hospital in Prague, the staff asked how we'd managed to get through, and the driver pointed to me. The doctor asked if I was crazy, but I was just a foolish 32 year old, and I thought they wouldn’t shoot at an ambulance."

And she spoke good Russian. Every idiotic thing in life is good for something.

Vašek

Remember Vašek?

Vašek Vacek has been our Czech guardian angel, a self-appointed guide with a mission to soften our landing and enrich our experience in Prague.

Karl met Vašek (pronounced “VAH-shehk”) through Milan Vlach. When Karl came to Prague in January 2010 to secure the details of his contract, Milan was traveling out of the country. He asked Vašek, his friend and colleague, to be a local contact for the visitor and to look after him.

Boy did he.

Vašek treated Karl to dinner, arranged concert tickets, met him for lunch, and then chauffeured Karl to the airport at 4:30am to catch his flight home.

[As an addedum to the question, "How did Karl land this gig?" -- Vašek was in fact an unknown link in the chain that got us here in the first place. As far as Karl knew back in October 2009, Milan Vlach had put him directly in touch with Josef Seják (as described in this post). In fact, Milan had talked to his old friend Vašek, who in turn was the connection to Seják. Vašek is a chemist who has been involved in various projects, including the research team Seják put together for the book on ecosystem function in the Czech Republic.]

It was Vašek who helped us land our apartment. He looked at four places for us, noting apartments' size, pros and cons of neighborhoods, upkeep of flats and their buildings, age of appliances, proximity to public transportation (from a perspective of both convenience as well as noise).

And then he'd write us with extensive reviews. Some examples of his notes:

A preview, with concerns about an apartment's location ~

Please arrange the viewing for me on Monday. In advance, (looking at the address) I'm a little afraid that it's on a low floor and very active street (and from the point of view of emissions from the tunnel, probably one of the worst locations in Prague -- that intersection is always packed) ...

A review ~

It's beautiful, as in a palace -- but paradoxically it's just that nobility that is the issue. The flooring is 100-year-old parquet (too precious floor) from very rare (no longer obtainable) oak (Pannonian Oak) and the care regime is therefore very strict. It would mean slavery for you two and the boys.

And in response to Karl's effusive gratitude to him for all of this legwork, he wrote ~

Of course, I'm wonderful. But you and Kate are wonderful to a much greater extent – and I am thrilled with your energy and vitality!

Keep in mind, I hadn't met him at this point.

Vašek's emails virtually buzzed with life on the screen. His enthusiasm for everything was refreshing and infectious.

All this, and before we'd even arrived in Prague.

Vašek greeted us at Ruzyně Airport in August, loaded us into his odd-looking but spacious car, and drove us to our apartment after a brief stop at the castle square to drink in our first view of the city. Single-handedly he hauled two of our 22-kilo/50-pound bags up to the fifth floor flat in one journey.

He refused to let me carry anything, declaring “women are not meant for manual labor but are to inspire us to greatness.” (This really is how he talks.) After our 19-hour journey, I was happy to kick Betty Friedan to the curb and ascend the stairs bag-free.

As soon as our family and luggage were secure in the apartment, Vašek took off for Billa. He returned 30 minutes later with an enormous box of supplies and niceties: meat, vegetables, fruit, eggs, milk, flowers, beer, ice cream, bread, cheese, müsli, cream, wine, toilet paper, tissues, and even more. It was a stunning array of provisions and treats to ease our transition.

But wait, there's more! After he unpacked the box and stored the food, Vašek inspected our apartment. Did we have everything we needed? We thought so. But upon reviewing the bedding supply, he recoiled.

“No! This won't do!” Again, he was off.

He returned another 40 minutes later, this time arms overflowing with duvet covers, sheets, pillowcases, and a couple of pillows. He'd bought (Lord knows where at that hour) fitted sheets to go on the boys' beds. And he'd borrowed all the rest from his ex-wife.

“Jiřina lives nearby and is very much looking forward to hosting you for dinner soon!” he noted.

(It's a small country. Best to keep the peace with old acquaintances, no matter the relationship.)

Vašek is a force of nature. He's affable, energetic, and cheerful. And we are lucky he took us under his wing. He and Madeleine, his partner of 25 years, were our first friends here, our only friends for much of the fall actually. But if you're only going to have a couple of friends, these are the ones to have.

Karl and I have been out with them for meals and concerts. We've had them at our apartment for dinner. They've indulged the boys with attention. And we've spent time at their country home, Bída.

When we had cake for Garrett's birthday (the night before the actual event), they had to send their regrets. They were returning too late from Bída. Vašek, however, showed up the next evening, Garrett's actual birthday, with hugs for the boys as well as a recorder, a kid-sized guitar, and a remote-controlled backhoe toy.

In those first few weeks, as we plumbed the depths of Vašek's hospitality (he took me shopping at IKEA, brought us extra furniture for our apartment, supplied us with four bikes -- two for adults, two for children -- extras that he had on hand), I wondered: is this how everyone is here? are all Czechs so warm and welcoming and vivacious? Before the answer to that became clear (um … no), we connected with Edita, a harpsichordist friend of Karl's from his days in Plzeň. She met Vašek when Karl visited in January last year, and, as a musician, she landed on Vašek's list of potential concert-goers. Vašek buys Edita's CDs, praises her musical talent to the heavens, and texts whenever he and Madeleine are attending concerts he thinks she might enjoy, too.

“Vašek?” Edita said, with a smile. “He is an amazing creature.”

We have to agree.

Now, where are my plimsolls?

Garrett is reading!

He likes it, too. Everyday he brings home a stage one book from school which he's to read to us. We don't have to ask him -- he's excited about this new skill. And proud of himself (as he should be!).

Riverside School is based on the British National Curriculum, and it's been interesting to note how it contrasts (from our limited parental experience with) the American system. There are obvious superficial differences. Garrett's class is "Year 1" rather than Kindergarten. Ben's in Year 3 -- next year he'll be in 3rd grade.

The depth of our exposure to the house system mostly came from Harry Potter, in which Hogwarts was divided in four houses (Harry, Ron and Hermione in Gryffindor, Draco Malfoy in Slytherin, etc.). But that's standard fare for British schools. It derives from a time when children were in boarding schools and they were grouped, kind of like teams, by the houses in which they lived.

Riverside's houses are named for famous Czechs: Komenský, Hus, and Karel. In each year (grade), roughly a third of the students throughout the primary school are assigned to each house. The houses compete for points through academics, sports, and social behavior. Ben and Garrett are together in Komenský, thank goodness. They'll either both win or both lose at the end of the year.

Curriculum-wise, the biggest difference we've seen is what is emphasized in Year 1. As I mentioned, Garrett brings home reading books each night. He also has weekly spelling tests. There seems to be a little more emphasis on reading and a little less emphasis on writing. But then my perspective may be skewed. Ben entered kindergarten reading chapter books, so there was never an issue of him learning to read in school. But each morning (in both kindergarten and 1st grade), Ben had to write in his journal using the teacher's prompt for the class. Correct spelling was secondary to getting the kids to just write in their books. Ben didn't have spelling tests until part way into 1st grade. Garrett, on the other hand, doesn't have a daily writing expectation.

None of this is a concern for us. It's just interesting to note.

What's been fun is the British English. I confess to being a bit of an Anglophile. Riverside uses the Oxford Reading Tree books, stories loaded with British-isms about "Mum" and "chips" and people "having a go."

Obviously it's not just the books Garrett brings home, but in much of the interaction. The boys have noticed that some things are spelled the same, but pronounced differently. Brits say "Magellan" with a hard "g" instead of a soft one (which makes it sound a lot like a Saturday morning cartoon gorilla of my youth). Some things are pronounced the same but spelled differently (American: ton, British: tonne).

That may not be quite the same pronunciation, but pretty close.

And then there are the words that are spelled the same, pronounced the same, but mean something different. From the world of potatoes, "crisps" are chips and "chips" are fries. "Biscuits" are cookies, and a "torch" is a flashlight. A "jumper" is a sweater.

Got a scratch? The school nurse will clean it and apply a "plaster" (Band-aid). A British "tick" is a good thing -- a check, denoting an accomplished task. An American "tick"? Not so much. (Yes, I know there are British ticks, too.)

Some differences in usage are subtle enough that it's hard to put your finger on them. This "bit," that "bit," lots of "quite."

"Mom, Igor wasn't in school again today because he's ill!"

I'm pretty sure that if we were in Oneonta, Igor would be "sick," not ill.

Mathematics is shortened to maths (rather than math). Garrett brings home his "spellings" book (rather than spelling).

Ben's class is swimming this term for PE (physical education –- which is always called “PE,” never “gym”), and so he's instructed to bring his "swimming costume" each Tuesday. (We get a chuckle out of that, musing about the different costumes we might send. Perhaps the astronaut outfit? After all, John Glenn used a swimming pool for zero gravity training.)

It's all been very sweet. But the day I hear one of the boys announce:

Crikey, what a brilliant day with my blokes! I'm knackered. Mum, be a love and fix me a cuppa.

I'll be booking an early flight home.