The Riches of Bída

I'm way behind on posts that have been distilling in my head. My writing energy is diverted these days by a creative nonfiction writing class I'm taking online. I'll try to chip away at some of the building blog backlog.

Back in early January, we received a generous invitation from our friends Vašek and Madeleine to spend a night out at their country house, which is called Bída, in the Czech Moravian highlands. Bída was named long before Vašek and Madeleine bought it and began renovating it 20 years ago. Depending upon its use, "bída" means misery, poverty, squallor, or woe. Put that in your brochure, eh?

Vašek and Madeleine don't own a lot of land out in the country -- maybe an acre, which includes a farmhouse, some outbuildings and a large garden -- but their property is in the middle of the open fields of surrounding dairy farms. The property is off the electrical grid. They have a well and a regular toilet connected to pipes, but no running water. Everything has to be brought in. Buckets are kept next to the commode, and the water is used "as necessary" for flushing. Which reminded me of the sign in the bathroom at my Aunt Katherine and Uncle Roy's lake house, where I visited as a child:

In this land of fun and sun,
we never flush for number one.

We should get one of those for Vašek and Madeleine. In Czech, of course.

Most weekends over the last 20 years, Vašek and Madeleine have left what they've viewed as the drudgery of Prague -- coal dust and smoke, noise, reminders of modern-day worklife, and people, including all the tourists -- to escape to the simpler life of Bída. Back in the fall we'd asked them what they did at the cottage.

"Oh, there's lots of work to be done!" Vašek said. "Something always needs to be repaired, the roof has to be made ready for winter. We have to cover all the rhododendrons so they don't become dinner for the deer, the windmill is broken -- that needs to be fixed, ..."

"...first we have to light the fires to warm up the place. At this time of year you can see your breath inside the house," Madeleine went on. "Then I get out the yeast and flour and start the bread dough. I make about 12 to 15 loaves while we're there. Once they're underway and rising, I harvest and prune in the garden. I put up a lot of fruits and vegetables. We have lunch, then we're back out ..." 

It sounded exhausting. But every weekend, off they'd go. Eagerly, happily.

*   *   *

A two-hour train ride brought us to Havlíčkův Brod by mid-morning, where Vašek met us at the train station. After a little tour of the area, we parked about a half-kilometer from the cottage. No plows go to their house in the winter. We had to make the short hike up the hill, pulling our duffel bag on a small sled.

Garrett wanted to pull the sled ...

until he saw where we were headed.

Then he let Karl help him.

(BTW, did you notice that Ben is not wearing any gloves? He seems to be hiking his arms up into his sleeves here. That's because he left his gloves in Vašek's car. Which was better than having left them on the train, the scenario we feared later when we first realized he didn't have his gloves. This is a recurring theme this year. Gloves left on trams, in cars, at church. Just yesterday we retrieved the gloves Ben left at school on Friday ... and then he left them in the back of our friends' van. Oh well, at least it wasn't the city bus.) 

The "cottage" is an old farmhouse that Vašek and Madeleine have renovated room by room. It has slept up to 25 folks comfortably. There are plenty of beds. And Madeleine has crafted and hung privacy curtains (à la It Happened One Night) for the beds tucked into corners and gables of common rooms. There's still only one toilet, though.

We arrived to find Madeleine busy in the deliciously warm and aromatic kitchen. She's standing in front of the new stove and oven they put in last summer. As with the rest of the house, they did much of this work by themselves. They might hire some men to help out, but one of them is always part of the labor.

Bread doughs already rising, Madeleine was working on lunch, including dessert: apple strudel!

Madeleine and Vašek showed us our bedroom before we got a tour of the farmhouse. Here's where we slept.

Snuggy duvets, wool blankets, and fuzzy bathrobes helped cozy up the space. Plus, we were directly above the heat of the kitchen.

The boys were eager to get out and play in the snow, so we deposited the duffel bag while Vašek found cross-country skis and boots for Karl, Ben and me.

Ben was able to fudge his way into the smallest boots they had if we double-socked him. I borrowed Madeleine's gear.

Garrett tried the skiing, but ultimately he was happier to let others do the heavy lifting. Ben, on the other hand, loved the cross-country skiing! He was eager to get out on the skis every opportunity he had. 

Lunchtime came, and it was time to head back inside.

Madeleine prepared svíčková, traditional Czech comfort food of marinated beef tenderloin in a purée of carrots, parsnips, celeriac root and onion, served with bread dumplings and a garnish of cranberry sauce and whipped cream. Yum.

It was delicious, even the boys said so.

That's one tangible benefit of the boys' time at the Czech school. Eating a bag lunch from home was not an option. If they wanted lunch, they ate whatever the cafeteria was serving. So Ben and Garrett learned all about many traditional Czech meals, including svíčková, which was one of their favorites. To sit down with a dish they wouldn't have normally chosen among kids eating the same meal with gusto opened up the boys' minds and palettes to lots of new foods.

Here's something that didn't take a lot of convincing to try.

The apple strudel!

Can almost still smell it.

With lunch behind us, Madeleine and Karl set their minds on the next meal, swapping bread-making tips and twisting some rolls for dinner. Madeleine popped these into the outdoor bread oven in the afternoon.

Back to the snow! Ben wanted to check out the view from the sled.

And then I got the best aerobic workout I've had since we arrived in Europe, pulling Garrett back up the hill to the house. 

That felt good! So did this ...

two snuggly boys in a snow squall.

We arrived back at the house just as the bread finished baking.

Garrett and Ben settled down to relax after the snow play.

But the next morning, Ben was eager to get back out on skis again.

We were delighted that he was so taken with cross-country skiing! (When we left Bída, he requested to ski back to the car rather than walk.)

There was a lot of moisture in the air, so the hoar frost was everywhere.

I hate to rely on a cliché, but it really was a winter wonderland.

My hair and Karl's hat got some frosty highlights.

Our time at Bída was over too quickly. But before we left, I poked around the cold cellar to check out the stash. As you might have noticed, squalls can descend quickly, and Vašek and Madeleine have to be prepared to hunker down for awhile in case they get snowed in.

It's safe to assume they have provisions to last several weeks. Apples, pears, root vegetables, wine, beer, medovina (mead),

dried goods: legumes, flour, salt, sugar, other baking necessities (double-bagged and encased in screens to deter mice), 

canned goods, some store-bought, but much of this was canned and put up by Madeleine.

I'd say they were set.

Vašek and Madeleine have created a wonderful retreat for themselves, their family, and friends. We were honored to be invited out to Bída. And after spending a couple of days there, we understand the draw. Especially since they didn't put us to work on the windmill.

The Hardest Thing

What's been the hardest part about our year abroad?

Visa application?
Okay, that was a nuisance, but ultimately it all worked out. And I got to visit friends at home for a long weekend.

Finding a school setting that worked for the boys?
Definitely stressful. But now, from the All's Good side of things, it was worth it. I'm glad the boys had the experience of going to zakladní škola Tusarova, even if it wasn't easy. As a friend noted, adversity isn't a bad thing for kids. It stretches them and opens their eyes a bit. Shows them they won't always be coddled. And though they'll likely never be fluent in Czech, at least not based on this year, they did get three months' immersion in the language and in the culture of the Czech school. Having said that, both Ben and Garrett show us all the time that they're still learning words and phrases and understanding so much more than when we arrived. Most important, they're enjoying school and that helps them enjoy this year.

Dealing with "rude" locals?
As I mentioned, I wouldn't call Czechs rude -- I'll leave that to the Czechs, thank you -- but surly? Surely. You just have to maintain a sense of humor about it. Like when the bus driver yelled at me and the mother of Ben's friend because our three boys were, well, talking exuberantly (please read "just this side of yelling"), as 8- and 6-year-old boys do, on a public bus.

Visa issues, finding the right school, dealing with locals? Those things just represent different aspects of moving and adjusting to a new culture. They're the yeast of a good story. And the longer the wait, the rougher the class, the more surly the natives, ... the more memorable the story, right?

But this is it -- while our heads and bodies are firmly planted right here in Prague, our hearts are often elsewhere. It's easy to name the hardest thing about this year: being so far away from people we love going through challenging times.


Dad

Ben and Grandpa tickle the ivories, December 2003

Grandpa and Garrett by the Pooh bear flag, which is always flying at Mom and Dad's when grandchildren are in residence, October 2005.

Dad and Mom have a house on the intercoastal waterway in South Carolina. From their floor-to-ceiling windows they watch great blue herons and egrets, barges and shrimp boats, kayakers and the occasional alligator, who has perhaps chased something out into the salt water. Maybe kayakers.

Almost three years ago, Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. The disease's progression has been slow but steady. Obviously there are memory lapses, repeated questions and stories. But all in all, they're managing beautifully. Helps that Mom's so patient, and she has her own support network to lean on.

Mom and Dad live in their own house, but it's part of an assisted living facility, kind of the low-maintenance end of it. My brothers and I, in dealing with the shock that comes with confronting a parent's mortality, have been very fortunate to not have to worry about the care Dad was receiving, nor about arrangements for the day when Dad will need full-time help. Their community, like many assisted living facilities, has a nursing home and an Alzheimer's floor. Mom and Dad have visited friends who've ended up on the floor. During one of their visits, Dad looked around the wing with new eyes.

"I'll probably end up here at some point," he said with a casual acceptance. "Nice place."

Both Dad and Mom have exhibited unbelievable grace in dealing with this diagnosis. As they first got used to the news, Dad chose to share it only with the family and close friends. But soon he started telling more and more folks. And now, he just sees it as something that's part of his world these days.

Dad's condition was my one niggling concern as we planned our year abroad. How far would the disease progress during our time away? Would he remember us when we returned? What memories of him would the boys retain?

Enter Skype. Video-calling has been our big ally in keeping in touch this year. I Skype with Mom and Dad a couple times a month, sometimes more. And with them at their dining table and me in my living room by the window, it just seems like we're sitting down to breakfast together, across a table rather than an ocean.

As far as noticeable progress of the disease? It's hard to say. Dad always knows who we are, although the names might not come immediately. But then he's never been great with names. No one knows that better than then-First Lady Hillary Clinton, whom Dad called "Valerie" twice (TWICE!) when he was telling her about the Volunteers in Medicine, the organization he founded. (Just try to make it through that video of Dad and the clinic without tearing up, I dare you.) Years ago Dad groused to a colleague that he had better recall with people's phone numbers than their names.

"Well, then," his friend retorted, "shout out the number and see if they're clever enough to respond!" So when Karl wonders if Dad refers to him these days as "good buddy" a bit more often than he used to, well ... I'm not so sure.

Last Tuesday Dad celebrated his 86th birthday by going out swing dancing with Mom.


Marti

Garrett shows Marti how the space shuttle fits on the back of a tow truck, January 2008.

 

Four weeks before we left for Prague, Marti, our dear friend and neighbor, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Marti and her husband, Stan, live across the street from us. To say we socialize with them a lot is an understatement.

Marti and Stan are more like extended family, a set of surrogate grandparents for the boys. Garrett frequently would go over to hang out and make cookies with Marti. And, perhaps to show that she was every bit as much fun as Stan (who once fed the boys ice cream for breakfast after a sleepover), Marti bought an electronic, disc-shooting robot for Ben and Garrett to play with at their place. We have keys to each others' houses. Karl and I call their kitchen the auxiliary pantry, and they feel free to call upon us for a missing ingredient. We do something with them most weekends we're in Oneonta, even if it's just pooling resources to grill in their backyard, watching the latest Netflix disc, or playing Scrabble.

I feel Marti's situation keenly this year. When we're home, we're right across the street from her. All this time, I could have been popping in to hang out, watch a movie, make a pot of tea for us to share. And don't think I'm being altruistic in imagining these scenarios. There's a huge selfish side to this in that I simply would love to hang out with Marti just for my own benefit. I love her like a sister, and I hate not being there right now.


Joe

Four weeks ago, Karl's brother Joe was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia. He went into a hospital in Chicago to begin treatment two days later. He had four weeks of chemo to knock out the cancer cells, and now Karl's sister Mara is in Chicago to start the process for stem cell harvesting. (How awesome is it that Mara is a match? Very awesome.)

If you've been reading this blog, you may have noticed some comments along the way from Joe, including his note that my profile of Karl was alarmingly familiar to him. If anyone is interested in reading a funny blog with a "wry, what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it attitude," look no further than Joe's Blasts. Sure it's about cancer, but that's beside the point. Joe brings the funny. Here, here, and here are our favorite posts, funny-wise. But the best post so far is that everything seems to be going as well as hoped for in his treatment.

Dad, Marti, and Joe all kindly gave their consent to being referenced in this blog post, which I appreciate deeply. We spend a lot of time thinking and talking about folks we love, particularly these three nowadays. We are so grateful to be in Prague. But this aspect of being away from family and friends-who-are-like-family when they are ill is the worst. It's the hardest thing.

Vitamin WF

... and, no, the "T" is not missing ...

A couple of weeks ago we had lunch with Czech friends of ours who now live in Oneonta. Jirka and Lucka emigrated to the States in 1992, but they return to Prague each year at the holidays.

At one point, Jirka leaned in toward me and said, in a low voice, "I want your impressions, Kate. Let me hear some stories -- aren't the people rude? It's okay, you can tell me."

Jirka's not the only Czech we've met who's gone abroad and come back with this impression. Pavlina, another friend, lived in Canada for a year with her husband, Ewan, a Canadian. She finds Czechs cold, was amazed at North Americans' friendliness and openness, how people there said "thank you" to a bus driver when exiting a city bus.

I don't know that I find Czechs to be rude. Many whom I know personally certainly aren't. But then again, I wasn't expecting a lot of warmth from the man, or woman, on the street. I guess I was prepped well.

Karl lived in Plzeň from 1991-2, and prior to that he spent time in Russia as a student. His Russian "father," Sasha, once introduced him to friends at a sauna, saying, "On nash chelovt'ek." "He's our person." Karl's interpretation was that Sasha was saying "he's one of us," that is, like Russians, given to philosophizing with a dark outlook, not expecting things to be mostly sunshine, projecting a wry, what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it demeanor.
Karl tends to have an attitude that's simpatico with Czechs as well. He does not walk down the street with a big grin and a ready "Hi, howya doin'?" He's not particularly effusive (understatement? feel free to comment). I don't know how Czech this is, but he tends to let things roll off of his back. He does not get caught up in others' drama. (Which is maddening when I'm striving to swoop him up in mine.) If I were annoyed with him and giving him the cold shoulder, he would likely require a heads-up. Because it would be a long time before he would pick up on that himself.

Attn: Karl
From: Kate
Re: Mood-o-meter calibration
When I slam doors, make huffy sounds from my corner of the couch, and don't speak to you during the course of an evening, I am upset. Please apply hugs and chocolate.

I'll have to test that out some time. But I digress.

Whether it's due to Slavs' nature or political history or the weather, Prague is not a warm fuzzy town. Which is not a surprise. But just because I haven't expected a lot of warm fuzzies in Prague doesn't mean I haven't missed them. And five and a half months into our time here, in the middle of winter at latitude 50° 05'N, I'm starting to see that this city suffers from a warm fuzzy deficiency. And I'm starting to, too.

Head to Head with Haggis

Rabbie Burns

Saturday night Karl and I got all dolled up to attend Burns Night sponsored by Riverside, the boys' school. Burns Night, a celebration of the Scottish poet Robert Burns, takes place on or near his birthday, January 25. Not surprisingly, Burns Suppers occur mostly in Scotland, but are presented by Scots clubs and Scottish expats all over the world.

I had the impression that Scots had a big presence at Riverside, but it turns out there are only about six native highlanders on staff. I think my inflated perspective stems from the fact that this small group includes Ben's teacher, Miss Logan, and the principal, Mr. Chisholm.

The Riverside Burns Night was conceived eight years ago when the Scottish contingent concocted the idea at Christmas dinner. Likely over whiskey. The PTA took the idea and ran with it. Five weeks later a few dozen staff, faculty, and parents sat down to poetry and haggis. Burns Night has become the social event of the Riverside School calendar, and this year 140 of us turned out with touch of tartan.

And me without my kilt.

We loved seeing so many Scots dressed in full regalia. 

Here's Mr. Chisholm, the school principal, modeling his outfit. He even shared what he had in his sporran -- cell phone, keys, and the money from the evening's raffle tickets. Basically, it's a fancy man purse.

Burns Nights follow a standard program.

A Welcoming Speech

The Immortal Memory
Mr. Haig (Year 2 teacher) gave a short speech on Burns, outlining his greatness and relevance today.

The Selkirk Grace

Some hae meat and canna eat,
and some wad eat that want it,
but we hae meat and we can eat,
and sae the Lord be thankit.

Toast to the Haggis
All guests stood to welcome the haggis procession, consisting of the piper and the chef carrying the delicacy. Below is a still from the video I took of the haggis being paraded around while the piper played "Scotland the Brave." (You might want to check that out, it's kind of fun.)

After the procession, an honored guest read "Address to a Haggis." You can find a translation (in standard English) for the poem plus a little cultural context on haggis here. Or, if you'd prefer the Czech translation, go here. (And who knew we would have so many haggis opportunities in Prague?)

Address to a Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut ye up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit!' hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckess as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Tho' bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit.

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whistle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware,
That jaups in luggies;
But if ye wish her gratfu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis! 

Mr. Clarke (religious ed teacher) waits for the appropriate moment to slice into the casing.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut ye up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich! 

 Ah! There it is!

I love the look on the chef's face, who may be in over his head here. DHL brought the haggis in from Scotland, so the most this guy did was warm it up. He's pretty obviously Czech, and (to our eyes) pretty obviously repulsed. "Gushing entrails," "warm-reekin' rich" indeed!

After the address, we were invited to partake of the banquet. Our table, at the top of the hall near the band, was called upon to start the queue. The next thing I knew, I was the first in line for haggis.

The menu included regular haggis (above), vegetarian haggis (are you kidding me? what could that possibly be!? the entrails of a soybean with oats?), beef stew (should ye be feeling unsure of the haggis), neeps (mashed turnips), tatties (mashed potatoes) and a whiskey cream sauce (which is on my plate between the neeps and the haggis). Everyone got his or her own wee dram of Johnnie Walker Black Label whiskey.

The verdict? Karl and I agreed: the haggis was fine, tasty actually! It was like meatloaf with steel-cut oats and some unusual herbs and spices. Once we put the whole entrails idea out of our heads, we were good to go. The only thing we didn't like was the neeps. But then we've never been big neep fans.

Selection of Poems and Songs
Following dinner, several duos and groups performed songs.

 

Included in this group are Mr. Coats (you can probably figure out who he is), the Information and Computer Technology teacher and leader of Ben's computer club, and Miss Logan (3rd from the right), Ben's teacher.

Toast to the Lassies
An address to the ladies in the audience -- but not really. Kind of a silly monologue detailing a man's idea of a woman's foibles.

Reply and Toast to the Laddies
Ditto above. Just reverse genders.

Auld Lang Syne
We're going to have to assume the crowd linked arms and belted out "Auld Lang Syne" at the evening's end (had forgotten Burns wrote that!), because we didn't make it that far. We left just after 11 as the tables were being pushed back for some dancing. I wish we could have stayed, but I was fighting the beginnings of a cold, and we already heard they were planning to go until 3 or 4am. And I Just Can't Do That Anymore. Unfortunately.

We were sort of on the fence about attending Burns Night, particularly the one of us lacking a Scotch-Irish background. But we had a delightful evening -- lively music, great company, strong whiskey (okay, not such a fan), and haggis! Wasn't expecting to be a convert. But there it is.

Should you find yourself invited to a Burns Night, let not the poetry of Monty Python, such as below, dissuade you.

Horace

Much to his Mum and Dad's dismay
Horace ate himself one day.
He didn't stop to say his grace,
He just sat down and ate his face.
"We can't have this his Dad declared,
"If that lad's ate, he should be shared."
But even as he spoke they saw
Horace eating more and more:
First his legs and then his thighs,
His arms, his nose, his hair, his eyes...
"Stop him someone!" Mother cried
"Those eyeballs would be better fried!"
But all too late, for they were gone,
And he had started on his dong...
"Oh! foolish child!" the father mourns
"You could have deep-fried that with prawns,
Some parsley and some tartar sauce..."
But H. was on his second course:
His liver and his lights and lung,
His ears, his neck, his chin, his tongue;
"To think I raised him from the cot
And now he's going to scoff the lot!"
His Mother cried: "What shall we do?
What's left won't even make a stew..."
And as she wept, her son was seen
To eat his head, his heart, his spleen.
And there he lay: a boy no more,
Just a stomach, on the floor...
None the less, since it was his
They ate it – that's what haggis is.

Haggis. Just needs a better PR rep.

Do dheagh shlàinte! (Your good health!)

Billa dnes to nejlepší pro mě!

"Billa has the best for me today!"

Six blocks northwest-ish of our apartment is Billa, our grocery store of choice. Karl and I find ourselves there at least once or twice a week. Each. It's not just that our food planning is lax and inefficient. (Although that's true for sure.) Our refrigerator is smaller than the average American fridge. And we also have to haul everything home in backpacks and hand totes. And then there are the 103 stairs up to the apartment. Oy.

Back in the fall, I posted pictures and prices on Facebook but have been meaning to do it here, too. Here's what I brought home recently after a big shopping expedition (not an oh-shoot-we're-out-of-pasta-and-toilet-paper emergency run).

Currency exchange today: 17.9 czk (Czech Republic Korunas) = $1 US. (Which, btw, is a lot worse than it was a month ago. Nice timing on the trip, A.)

jablko (apples) 34.30 CZK or $1.92 US

pomeranč (oranges) 24.90 CZK or $1.40 US

hrušky (pears) 16.70czk or $0.94

okurka (cucumber) 16.90 CZK or $0.95 US

200g máslo (butter) 24.90 CZK = $1.40 US

300g sýr Eidam (Edam cheese) 44.90 CZK or $2.52 US

kefír (kefir -- drinkable yogurt) 14.90 CZK or $0.84 US

polotučné mléko (reduced fat milk, 1.5%) 4 @ 12.90 CZK/liter = 51.60 CZK or $2.90 US

The Billa housebrand is "Clever." We have lots of Clever products in our apartment -- matches, cheese, toilet paper, milk. So very Clever. 

Bagueta (baguettes) 3 x 12.90 CZK = 63.60 CZK or $2.17 US

slané pečivo (crackers, or literally "salted baked goods") 4 x 15.90 CZK = 63.60 or $3.57 US

omáčka (sauce) 44.90 CZK or $2.52 US

těstoviny (pasta) 25.90 CZK or $1.45 US

banánové plátky (banana chips) 8.90 CZK or $0.50 US

  párky (hot dogs) 19.90 CZK or $1.12 US

losos uzený (smoked salmon) 29.90 CZK or $1.68 US

 salám vysočina (vysočina-style salami) 14.90 CZK or $0.84 US

 džus (juice) 2 Hello @ 19.90 CZK/liter = 39.80 + 1 Clever @ 11.90 = 51.70 CZK or $2.90 US

0.3 liter Pepsi Light (Diet Pepsi!) 19.90 CZK or $1.12 US

But here's where we get our real steals ... pivo!

pivo (beer) 2 Krušovice @ 10.90 CZK = 21.80 US + 1 Kozel @ 12.90 = 34.70 CZK or $1.95 US

There is also a 3 CZK deposit on each of the beer bottles. 

na zuby (toothbrush, literally "for teeth") 12.90 CZK or $0.72 US

I neglected to get the javor sirup (maple syrup) to sit down for its portrait, but that was our splurgy item at 149.90 CZK or $8.41 US.  You can see it on the left-hand side of the picture below. Behind the apples.

Total bill = 764 czk or $42.84 US

That's all for that shopping spree. Let me know if you'd like a price check on anything specific!