Settled in at the Pub - Autumn 1994
By October 1994, I had settled nicely into a cozy life in Příbram. I had already taken a long bus ride to England in September to visit a friend. Remind me never again to take a 22-hour bus ride when the bus's only toilet is broken. While it was nice to at least say I'd passed through London, I didn't really have time to see much there. A week later, and after doing the lengthy bus ride in reverse (this time it was closer to 24 hours because we got held up in Calais where the snooty French immigration officials refused to let a man on the bus from Cameroon through without a transit visa), I was back in Příbram ready to begin my first classes.
Stan, the school director, got me set up in a large, fully retro-furnished apartment in a quiet residential neighborhood in Příbram. The landlady, Mrs. Kohutová and her giant, scruffy black mutt named Chantal, lived right below me, and it was rent-free for me. The house was built during the First Republic (early Czechoslovakia in the 1920s-1930s) and all the furniture dated to the communist era. I nicknamed the guest room, next to my bedroom, The Commrade Room, because I imagined it was the type of room Lenin would have been most comfortable staying in, what with the stark, realist sculptures on the desk and the glass-fronted bookcase and awkward "chandelier" (if it could be called that) hanging from the ceiling. My room seemed the cheerier of the two, and I had a great view of Svatá Hora (Holy Mountain), a monastery at the top of a hill overlooking Příbram.
My bedroom in Příbram
View of Svatá Hora from my bedroom window
I was teaching between three and five classes per day, five days a week. My students ranged in age between 13 and 53, or thereabouts. By this time, I largely stopped writing in the journal I'd brought with me to Prague simply because I could not keep up with the day-to-day happenings. (Back then, I didn't have the system for writing regularly that I do now.) My classes were mostly in the afternoons and evenings, so I spent my mornings preparing for the lessons. Some days, a lot happened that I could have (and should have!) written about. Other days were fairly mundane. That's life, isn't it? But it wasn't long until I started to get to know some of my students. Of course, what better way to get to know people and relax than to go to the pub!
My acquaintance with a man I shall call Pivo (beer) Brother A began in October 1994. His buddy and co-worker, who sat next to him in the same Friday afternoon class, was Pivo Brother B. The Pivo Brothers taught me almost everything I know about beer. But Pivo Brother A was the "pub leader", and he usually suggested and arranged the pub dates. They were about my age, although Pivo Brother A was a few years older. I will never forget that one Friday afternoon in class when Pivo Brother A broke the ice. Up till that point, the class had been very polite, diligent, and quiet. But that all changed when Pivo Brother A raised his hand. I called on him, assuming he had a question about verb tenses.
"Yes?"
"Mister Chris. We have a proposition. Let us go to the pub with you for just one beer."
Of course, the term "just one beer" is a bit of a misnomer; one in the Czech Republic does not go to the pub to drink "just one beer". So the following Friday afternoon, with Stan's blessings, our Friday the group met at a small pub in the center called U Havlinů, not far from the school. We met at the pub at precisely 3 pm., the time our lesson should have started. Soon, the other groups I taught arrived, and believe me, we did not stop at "just one beer"! While I certainly didn't expect the whole affair to end after one beer, I also didn't anticipate finishing at eleven pm., after eight pints of beer! Not wishing to be ill from the effects of too much beer, I decided it was wise to eat something with the beer. Most pubs serve little more than soup, bread, or even just potato chips or pretzels, so unless you start the pub crawl at a restaurant, you won't get a proper meal. At one or two pub meetings, the Pivo Brothers ran to the nearest shops--the bakery for some bread, and maso a uzeniny for salami or cold cuts--and returned, their arms ladened with bread rolls, ham, salami, and mustard. At our table, we constructed basic sandwiches which we had with the beer. "Czech sandwiches!" Pivo Brother A exclaimed.
We stayed basically until the pub closed and kicked us out.
At U Havlinů with a number of my students. Pivo Brother A is at the far right, showing "Czech sandwiches".
I rolled out of the pub with the other "survivors"--those who didn't have to go home and report to their wives or husbands before a certain hour--down the street to the Silver Club where we played billiards and staved off our hangovers as best we could with shots of Fernet Stock or Becherovka, the Czech equivalents of Jägermeister. The bitter liquor had a surprisingly wonderful, soothing effect on me, and the next morning I was not hungover.
The second noteworthy pub adventure came a few days before Christmas. I was due to go to stay with a friend in Germany for the holidays, and the night before my departure was really not the best time to pull a late nighter in the pub. However, I did not want to miss a pub adventure with my students and be labeled as an outcast! (The Pivo Brothers would tease me if I chickened out on a pub date or didn't drink more than two beers.) It was cold and there was a dusting of snow on the ground.
We started in a restaurant (so I could eat!), drank one or two beers, then moved on to U Havlinů. As with the first pub meeting, students came and went, as their schedules permitted. Virtually all of my students of legal drinking age came by, even if only for a short time. Even the teenagers came for a soda or a cup of tea. At first, our table was small. But as more and more people showed up, we pushed together more tables to accommodate everyone. At the height of the evening, before the "early birds" had to report home, there must have been about twenty of us, gathered around the tables and quaffing beer. I believe the "survivors" ended up at the Silver Club again for more billiards and Becherovka. Merry Christmas hugs and kisses followed, each time one of the women had to leave, and for the men, it was fierce handshakes and bear hugs. I don't think I've ever kissed that many women at once--or ever. It was truly a Christmas celebration, and I was grateful for the warmth and camaraderie of these students and the people of Příbram.
The next morning, feeling very woozy, I packed my bags, took the Cup Tour bus one hour to Prague, and in the afternoon, caught a train for Germany, which got me to my destination in the far west of the country by midnight. I couldn't wait to get back to the Czech Republic after the New Year and party more at the pub.