Once upon a time, Karel Capek, a well known Czech writer and poet wrote a few nice books about travel to various countries. So why couldn't I follow in his footsteps?
The French connection
My son Jiri who lives in Colorado in the USA, arrived in Mochov late May to spend a few weeks with us and a few weeks in Nice, France where he planned to participate in the Ironman France triathlon on June 22nd 2008. This was to be his third such race, successfully completing two previous events, 2006 IM Brasil in Florianopolis, Brasil and 2007 IM New Zealand in Taupo, NZ.
We left Mochov in the evening on June 14th. We drove through Germany, Austria, Italy and Monaco, to arrive in Nice the next day in the afternoon. The drive was grueling but I was to be rewarded by a couple of weeks full of sun and invigorating taste of salt air along the beaches of famous Cote d'Azur.
Shortly after our arrival I found out that the famous beaches are not full of gentle, soft sand as I was anticipating, but instead covered with goose egg sized hard pebbles. Such surface, while pleasant to look at, doesn't seem to offer much support for walking and I found myself wobbling frequently.
Matters got much worse in the water. While I could somewhat walk on those dry rocks on the beach, as soon as I entered the beautiful waves of the milky jade colored warm waters, the slimy pebbles turned into a highly slippery surface severely undermining my attempts at any kind of stability. From the beach the waves appeared calming and gentle but somehow their attitude drastically changed when they realized that they had an old man in their watery talons.
Instead of gently rocking me on their surface and whispering lullabies into my eager ears, they mercilessly dragged me under and threw me on those slippery rocks. My excursion into the seemingly friendly waters ended very quickly and I was quite glad I escaped the raging waters with Jiri's help and only minor bruises and cuts to my knees. This wasn't probably the scene Ernest Hemingway had on his mind when he wrote The Old Man And The Sea but as far as I was concerned, I had enough and chose not to enter the deceitful slippery slopes of Poseidon's kingdom again.
We spent one day visiting Marineland in nearby Antibes and watched the dolphin and killer whale (orca) shows as well as admiring various sea creatures. It was a rare opportunity to see something unusual, something out of the ordinary, something quite different.
The Race
took place on Sunday the 22nd. The race consists of 3800 meters swim, 180 km bicycle and is finished by a marathon (42 km) run. Participants have total of 17 hours to finish all three disciplines in order to complete the race.
The race itself is a grueling testament to human persistence, a tribute to what a determined individual is able to accomplish both physically as well as mentally. There are many who hope to qualify for the World Championship held every year in Kona Hawaii, few will realize such hopes. From the 2600 at the start line, several hundred will not finish. Dreams are squashed, bodies get injured, egos get hurt. Most have trained vigorously for months to endure this crazy race, it just wasn't enough for some.
The race started at 6 o'clock in the morning, 2600 aspiring Ironmen and Ironwomen hurled their bodies into boiling waters of milky azure waters.
After the swim they swiftly got on their bikes in the quest to be the first to conquer the peaks of the nearby mountains.
As if riding up to the elevation of 1120 meters in the mountains wasn't enough, those who finished now proceed running along the beach. The day was hot and humid but at least there were no hills to climb anymore.
We joined Jiri at the finish line, from the right: Ondra's wife Tereza, Ondra (my grandson) with his daughter Anette, Jiri and I. Anette, the queen of showbiz, gracefully motioned to the crowds cheering our group prompting a loud storm of an applause.
Jiri finished in under 13 hours of grueling race, sweaty, delirious and exhausted, but he made it and he definitely deserves a cold beer now.
The race was over. Next day we drove the curvy, mountainous up and down bike course in the car. It took us 4 hours to drive those 180 km, Jiri rode it in 6 on his bicycle. This is the highest elevation point of the course
and somewhere far down there is a pebbled beach in Nice where it all started and ended as well
We spent one of the remaining days visiting Monaco, admiring the beautiful park in Monte Carlo as well as the architecture laboriously sculpted into the steep mountains of the city. And of course the casino.
So what happened next?
Well, we came back home from France taking the same scenic route we came in on. Before Jiri went back home to Colorado he set up a Mini Mac computer on my desk, so I, in this stage of my life, started learning how to use the devil's instrument. Unfortunately the thing really doesn't want to cooperate with me much, frequently hides away my laboriously typed email messages and makes me think unholy thoughts of bashing it with a brick once in a while. However, Mirek (my older son) helps me with it and he also saved all the photos from France on it together with lovely music so I can view them anytime I want to.
The other advantage of the computer is that now I have a set of English language CDs recorded on it and for the first time in my life I can learn English not only by written word but also by the sounds of the correct pronunciation. Unfortunately my memory doesn't serve me as well as it used to so I have a hard time retaining my daily studies by the time the sun sets beyond the horizon.
Jiri also suggested for me to get a passport and visa to the USA as he set a plan in motion to get me to go to Westminster where he lives (suburban of Denver, Colorado) for a few months.
I am off to Colorado
He got me airline tickets for a flight to Denver through London and on the 12th of November 2008, myself, my passport and my visa were on our way to Denver. I was corresponding with my friends from all over the world for years using English. I can read and write reasonably well, however the spoken word remains a problem since I had very few chances to actually talk English in all those years.
Jiri booked seats at the tail of the plane so I was in the vicinity of local restrooms. The other benefits of such location were empty seats surrounding mine as well as the plane kitchen frequented by lovely stewardesses. I immediately notified them with my weak English that I really understand very little of whatever they'll be telling me and that I am on my way to see my son in Denver. So just in case they'll be bringing some food or drink, they may as well just serve whatever they deem appropriate for an old man who doesn't know any better anyway. I was quite impressed that they actually understood. They took quite an interest in me and expressed their affection for an old man by showering me with gifts of food and beer. In return I let them guess my age and while I know they were being nice and guessed intentionally low of 65, they were still taken by surprise when I revealed my real age of 84. Which was, overall, quite uplifting. Not to mention the food and beer.
The lesson I have learned yet one more time in my life was that having a lazy mouth is indeed a tragedy. I have used this same approach in my subsequent travels and was always rewarded with comfort of a company of beautiful women bearing food and beer. Still, towards the end of this flight they cut me off and started serving coffee, probably concerned about my well being and perhaps worried a little that they could get me drunk and get me lost at the London Heathrow airport.
The biggest trouble awaited me in London. We had to board a bus to be transferred to a different terminal. It didn't take very long before I knew I really needed to go to the restroom. We got out of the bus and we were supposed to board an escalator to go to an upper floor. Next to the escalator was a uniformed black officer assuring that nobody strays from the prescribed path. I was in a real need by now and luckily I saw the pretty stick figure of a man on a sign indicating there is a restroom there, unfortunately it was in the forbidden corridor, exactly where we were not supposed to go and the officer was there to assure that it will not happen. So I explained my trouble to him and he was quite understanding and lifted the barrier tape and let me go where I needed to go. He even recommended that I can take the elevator next to the restroom to go to the upper floor where I can catch up with the others.
With my passport as well as my boarding pass, with great relief I visited the restroom. I did what I needed to do, left the restroom, gave the officer "thumbs up" thanking him for his understanding and took the elevator to the upper floor. I proceeded to the security check line where a lovely, smiling female employee in a well fitting uniform asked me for my passport and a boarding pass. That's when I realized with horror that I am not holding neither one of those in my hand anymore. I left both at the restroom. So I ran back to the escalator only to realize that I can't go down because the escalator moves in one way only and that's up. So I ran to the elevator only to realize that it wouldn't go down either for security reasons.
What do I do now? I am at the London airport, I have no documents and I am unable to say anything comprehensible. I couldn't think and I was shaking like a leaf in the wind. The lovely female employee came to me and started calming me down, telling me that there is nothing to worry about, I am not the first old forgetful man from Czech Republic to misplace his documents. She called the security to help me out. He tried to tell me something, again, probably to calm me down a bit but I couldn't understand half of what he said. All of a sudden I just picked up his question "Did you loose them by the gate or on the first floor?". I immediately translated his English into German and as I answered in German "Ja, es war bei dem Tor?", I thought for myself "stupid, you're talking in German, what are you doing?". I gathered all my strength and explained that it probably happened downstairs where the nice security guard let me use the restroom. So he told me to stay where I am at. It didn't take long for the lovely women to show up with my documents in her hand. I was so excited I wanted to give her a kiss but then I realized she probably wasn't as enthusiastic about it as I was so I gave her a pen bearing a name of some Czech company and thanked her from the bottom of my heart. She was quite happy she could help and took me to my gate.
So I got seated at the tail of the plane again, this time heading from London to Denver. Surrounded by empty seats I did my conversational magic on the stewardesses again and it worked again. Once again I was surrounded by lovely women, food and beer. One of them, Diana, even filled out my customs form for me.
When we landed in Denver, Diana took me into a "Disabled and old folk" line without waiting and before I knew it we were exiting through a "Diplomats Only" exit. I told her "Diana, you know I am an old musician and next time I'll play the song 'Diana', I'll always remember you". I gave her a shiny 20 Czech Crown coin and she was so excited she kissed me on a cheek. That was quite a reward for an old man! I was just cutting through the airport like a hot knife through butter and I got cocky about it. Unfortunately I didn't know that I have to pickup my luggage and apparently I have to go through yet another security gate. So I loaded my luggage on a cart and made my way to the exit where a uniformed employee collected some paperwork that I obviously didn't have anymore because I already gave it up. So the uniform refused to let me exit, telling me something I didn't understand, pointing somewhere where I didn't want to go. In return I argued that I have already been through the security or some such. And the line behind me started forming, preventing anyone else from getting the hell out of there. A lady immediately behind me noted my Czech passport and asked me in German what the deal was. So I explained in German that I already went through the control point. And she proceeded to explain such to the official, using her elevated voice. They finally agreed that my luggage still needs to go through customs or some such, she explained to me what's going on, the customs people finally agreed that I am probably OK and the unpleasant official finally just waved his hand for me to proceed, probably thinking "Just get the hell out of here". And before I knew it, I was being hugged by Jirka and my daughter in law, Nancy, who were waiting on the other side of the glass door.
I had prepared a speech of what to tell them but I don't even remember what was I saying, tears in my eyes. I just remember that we laughed when I managed to switch the numbers in my age and said something depicting a 48 years old grandfather.
Living in Westminster
I enjoyed staying with them, they were taking a good care of me, cooking healthy meals. And mainly, Jiri and I were taking long walks along the numerous local bike paths.
Three times a week we got up at 5 o'clock in the morning and drove about 30 km to Boulder to swim with Jiri's swim club. They don't think of 30 km as a long drive. Most of my aches and illnesses started to disappear with such a diet and exercise regime, my blood sugar went to normal, I lost about 6 kg and my ankle swellings were gone. My forgetfulness returned to normal, appropriate level for my age and I was in a good mood. The weather in Denver is really nice, which is quite interesting considering the 1600 meter above the sea altitude. The beautiful Rocky Mountains to the west of Denver usually stop most of the precipitation moving across the country. Even this time of the year the sunshine is quite strong and it dries up the plethora of highways, roads and streets, houses and lawns laid out in a chessboard pattern collectively referred to a the Greater Denver Metro area.
There is a method of numbering streets and houses and once familiar with the method, one can determine the location withing the city simply by looking at the house and street number. It is an enormous city with all the suburban satellites surrounding large chunks of "open land" - a land left to itself, undeveloped, left as a natural refuge for birds, fish and other animals. There are a lot of water reservoirs hosting thousands of Canadian geese and other water birds. On one of our walks we ran into a fox who just looked at us and walked away on the concrete bike path.
We also met a couple of coyotes who instilled fear in hearts of people walking their small dogs who (the dogs) could easily become a welcomed mid-day coyote snack.
One can also encounter a skunk who would likely defend itself with its very punishing, unpleasant and eye irritating horrible stink. Squirrels run up and down the trees as well as houses and dare to come very close to people in winter while politely begging for a peanut. Not to mention the local prairie dogs (a ground mammal) who are the necessary food supply to foxes and coyotes as well as various birds of prey.
I liked the Denver area very much. One day we toured a local Coors brewery while testing several of their 16 types of beer creations. Another day we went to Denver Mint, one of two places in the country (the other one is in Pennsylvania) that supplies US coins for general circulation. We visited various museums, movie theaters, exhibitions and of course numerous ethnic restaurants. I gained priceless culinary experiences tasting the Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese, Thai, Indian, Mexican as well as continental American foods with their appropriate beer counterparts where available. I also learned how to make guacamole - likely a Mexican recipe for a tasty avocado snack. Unfortunately I didn't master the art of learning how to east with Chinese sticks, however, it was OK to use a fork on such occasions.
Everyone I met here was very nice, polite and very patient with respect to the quality of my English. One day we met a Russian Orthodox prophet who didn't miss the chance to invite us for a church gathering. We politely declined, noting that we really don't need a middleman while we talk to our God. Just like the man condemned to be executed replied to the priest: "No offense father but in a few minutes I'll have the opportunity to talk to God in person".
I don't know why these prophets bother other people. On my trip here, one of these heavily bearded prophets attempted to convince me to get baptized and forced on me some brochures which depicted the horrible sufferings we'll encounter after our natural death. At first he tried with English even worse than mine and when he discovered I speak Czech, he even tried with a horribly bastardized Czech language. What have I done to deserve this? I have been baptized 84 years ago.
On Friday December 5th, Jiri and Nancy pointed out the weather forecast on TV. I see it's supposed to be sunny and 27 degrees Celsius. That must have been some mistake, did they mean Fahrenheit? Then they name some foreign sounding cities and places, so I am guessing it's a forecast in Japan or some other place in Asia. "No you missed", they said, "it's Maui, Hawaii and get ready, we're flying out on Monday". Oh my God. I have never guessed that I will ever see the tropical paradise hidden in the middle of Pacific Ocean. I couldn't believe that now, in my advanced age, I'll have the opportunity to see it for a whole 10 days. "Yes indeed, we're going", they continued, "we'll take a bus to the airport so we don't have to park there, our neighbor will drive us to the bus station".
On the way to paradise
Of course it wouldn't be right if I everything went smooth at the Denver International Airport on Monday morning. I know I had the boarding pass while going through the security gate, put it in the plastic bucket with my shoes. By the time I put my shoes back on, the plastic bucket is gone and my boarding pass with it. Again. Looking for it in vain, I turned to Jiri, who turned to a nice lady with a computer and before I knew it a replacement boarding pass with my name on it is coming out of the computer. Thank you!
We flew from Denver to Salt Lake City which happens to be this particular airline hub as well as the capital of the State of Utah, a state known in its past for polygamy as well as a center of Mormon culture and religion. We continued from Salt Lake City to Los Angeles and couldn't help but notice a group of bearded men well dressed in the same, black, very conservative suits. Perhaps Mormon missionaries. I hope they don't have anything to do with Jehova Witnesses (I have been assured they don't) as I strongly dislike their (Jehova Witnesses) infrequent visits to our house. While of a mild and peaceful nature, I choose to be mean and chase them away due to their crazy religion of rather letting their children die instead of allowing such a simple thing as a blood transfusion.
This time I impressed the flight stewardesses to the point of them bringing me a gift of 3 bags of nuts and 3 packages of crackers. I was hesitant to accepts that, noting I have no money to pay them for it but it was explained to me that this is simply an appreciation of the oldest as well as the farthest living passenger on this plane.
Boarding our plane in Los Angeles we had to go out on the tarmac and climb a stairway to the cabin. When I saw the gigantic jet engine I was walking next to, I fully realized how huge these planes are. Despite of its size it was still shaking once in a while when running into some weather related turbulences. At times it was so bad that I couldn't keep my coffee in my coffee cup. It felt like driving across a freshly plowed field. We were above Pacific Ocean hurling towards our destination at 800 - 900 kph but it didn't feel very pacific.
When we got to Kahului, Maui, Jiri rented a convertible (no roof) Chrysler. They said Maui water is the warmest and they also grow the best pineapples and sugar cane here. It was late in the evening when we were crossing the island to Lahaina, to settle in a room on 11th floor of hotel Mahana (two towers). We were right on the beach but I didn't realize until morning what an awesome view we had from our balcony.
The beach was covered with yellow, sometime even a bit reddish sand, the water was warm and didn't seem to threaten and old man. Considering my water excursions at Cote d'Azur, I was quite hesitant to tempt Mr. Poseidon again but the fear went away shortly and before I knew it I was bobbing up and down in the gentle warm waves. And soon I found myself looking for large waves that would give me more of a lift.
We frequently watched schools of dolphin, they appeared to be in good and playful mood, jumping out of the water, showing off. We met a local man who told us this usually happens when there is a shark nearby so the dolphins are showing off their skills. Apparently a dolphin can ram a shark with its nose and seriously injure or even kill the shark. And apparently the sharks know it. Once in a while we had the privilege to see a humpback whale's tail slapping the water. They come down here for the winter. Whales are gruesomely hunted in Japan as well as other island nations and perhaps they know they're pretty safe here in Hawaii.
I don't know what the roads are like at the other Hawaiian islands but here on Maui they are very good. The terrain is quite difficult to navigate as the island is really a combination of two extinct volcanoes composing a silhouette of a woman's head and torso.
Of course the solidified lava that poured out of the old volcanoes created numerous wrinkly valleys so all the roads paved through these valleys are all twisty and curvy. There isn't a stretch of a straight road there. At times there wasn't enough space to build both lanes of the road so the builders created these one way strips of road with an enlarged 'wait' area so the cars can wait for oncoming traffic to pass through. There are quite a few places that instill fear in driver's heart when he gets to take a quick peek at several hundred meters deep drop offs down to a ravine. Road to Hana is especially known for being quite difficult to navigate, full of curves.
Although the road from Kahului to Hana is only about 85 km, it takes at least two and half hours to navigate it. A lucky traveler who successfully navigated the road to Hana can buy a t-shirt there stating "I survived the road to Hana". The sand in Hana is black, a reminder of the volcanic activity that created it.
It is another 130 km on the south side of the island from Hana back to Lahaina and it took us over four hours to make it through. We stopped in Ulupalakua where we tasted various wines from local historic winery that used to supply the luscious liquids to the Hawaiian kings court. The king's visits here are documented by numerous photographs displayed throughout the winery. I even managed to fool a luscious storekeeper into thinking that I am some kind of a wine expert. Long time ago I watched various wine connoisseurs in Valtice, Moravia, tasting wine, examining its color, sniffing for hints of spices and fruits and slowly rolling the colorful liquids on their tongues, making all kinds of ecstatic faces as their nostrils and mouth absorbed the taste. Unfortunately, while I am quite capable of mimicking the experts, I wouldn't recognize a prize winning beverage from a cheap strawberry wine. Nonetheless, we bought a bottle or two of the ones we liked the best.
It was still early in the day so we headed north back to Kahului and doing a figure eight, we took a road along the north shore, along the head of the woman, back to Lahaina. This road was even worse than road to Hana. Numerous twists and turns yielded views of steep, several hundred meters deep drops to various valleys or all the way to the beaches, lined with never ending silvery cover of raging surf. Enter at your own risk and apparently the car rental company is well aware of this road, thus prohibiting any use of their cars there. Obviously we didn't understand the contract very well. It was mind boggling that anyone could even build a road here. Occasionally we also saw surfers taking advantage of the huge waves, hundreds of meters deep down below us.
We spent one day on an ocean cruise to yet another extinct volcano that created the half moon shaped natural reserve at the island of Molokini. The waters at Molokini are very calm as they are shielded from the open ocean by half submerged volcanic walls or rock. We started in the morning at the port of Maalaea where we met an older gentleman who obviously spent a great part of his life at the sea. We introduced ourselves, it turned out that he was indeed a 78 years old sailor. When we boarded the boat, he stood there and greeted the visitors and he didn't forget to introduce me as (yet one more time) the oldest and from farthest away visitor. I don't know whether he was the captain but he was definitely an important part of the cruise.
The boat took us to Molokini and I wasn't horribly comfortable putting on a neoprene suit, fitting my feet into diving fins and testing whether my snorkel and mask will indeed fit my face.
Then I saw the slide used by children to slip right into the beautiful clear waters the boat was anchored in and I started to regret my decision to even try to join them. Then I saw the kids smiling and even the old sailor looking at me with admiration in his eyes. I gathered all of my courage and walk down the stairs all the way to the edge of the water.
Jirka helped me put on my mask and I immersed myself in the kingdom of Poseidon yet one more time. This time I was equipped with fins, floating neoprene vest and goggles. I saw all these beautiful fish swimming around, coral reefs growing at the bottom about 15 meters below as I was slowly floating away from the boat. "This is so beautiful", I thought, it was like floating in a large aquarium. Jirka was diving all the way down below me while keeping one of his eyes on me most of the time. Suddenly I realized that my mask is leaking water and I will surely drown before I make it back to the boat.
The panic set in and I started swimming feverishly towards the boat. Jiri right behind me. I saw my safe haven, I saw the anchor line and I want to get a hold of it. My God, it's still at least 2 meters below the surface. One of the lifeguards saw me fighting for my life, swimming towards the boat instead of just turning on my back and clearing the water from my mask and putting it back. She tried to rescue me but by that time I already reached the anchor line and worked my way towards the boat. And that was the end of my watery adventures, at least for the remainder of this day.
Nancy took over the neoprene suit and I decided to pay attention to the goods laid out on tables for us to consume.
Most people except a few bitter old men, me included, enjoyed the sunshine, warm waters and the aquarium they were floating in. When sufficiently soaked up with memories to be never forgotten, they got back in the boat, we lifted the anchor and the boat set course to a next island for yet another underwater expedition.
About half way there the wind picked up, the waves got suddenly larger and started toying with the big boat like with a matchbox. The captain got on the speaker system and informed us that the weather has changed quickly than anticipated, thus we'll head back to Maui to a calm bay well known for its turtles and colorful fish. He turned the boat abruptly, cautioning travelers to hold on. Of course I wasn't listening. The boat bucked like a bronco and down on my knees I went. My knee severely scraped, it started bleeding a little, all of my joints felt like they got broken. Jirka tried to hold me and lift me up but I decided it would be wise for me to remain sitting on the floor for the rest of the bumpy trip. Eventually the captain navigated out of the rough waters, the waves calmed down, we arrived at the bay of turtles and the visitors embarked on watching more underwater creatures of the sea.
One day we went to visit the Banyan tree. By the criterion of how much area a tree can cover, this is the largest tree in the United States. It's over 130 years old and covers almost an acre of land.
Yet another day we went for an excursion to taste local specialties. I liked a fruity alcoholic beverage on the snorkel boat expedition so I had to verify whether it tasted that good even on dry land.
The flowers that we nurture in flower pots at home grow wild in forests here. Some of them even need to be controlled because their overgrowth suffocates other plants. Many of the tropical forests are beyond reach of a normal human being.
The weather was good for the most part, we had to hide in shade to prevent sunburn. We got rained on one day but it was a warm, tropical rain, actually a welcome relief from the heat. We still walked on the beach like we did about every day.
It was almost Christmas so I wrote my Christmas card greeting on the beach (in Czech, of course)
Every fairy tail has to end and this one wasn't an exception. One evening we loaded the car and drove back to the airport in Kahului. The overnight flight was rather cold compared to the paradise we lived in for past few days. We were glad to see the lights of Los Angeles metropolis in the morning. The flight back home was rather uneventful, the plane from Los Angeles took off over the ocean, like if it was headed back to Hawaii. It wasn't the case, it just happens to be easier to gain some altitude before trying to fly over the mountains to the east of LA. We arrived at Denver International and took the bus back home, being delayed only by a long train blocking our path at a crossing.
And then we were left just cherishing our memories
Back home in Westminster we continued our visits to various places, Jirka took me to see the company he used to work for. He was introducing me to his former coworkers and I kept repeating "Pleased to meet you", "Nice to see you", etc. It appeared that people were also pleased to meet me, they listened to my stories told with less than perfect English with interest and paid attention to my views of the world. Even when I wasn't always able to convey them very coherently.
My yellowish hat I bought years ago in former East Germany seemed to be a favorably noted fashion item, people even asked where did I get it.
Time flew by, it was almost mid January and it was time to return back home. Jirka secured my seat at the back of the plane and before I knew it, we were driving back to the airport. We were saying our good byes with tears in our eyes, I again wanted to say some thanks and couldn't communicate very coherently. I don't even remember whether I looked back, I couldn't see my way through my tears.
The homecoming
This time I was greeted by a male steward, I was the first passenger to board the plane. My usual speech turned to be very effective even when applied to a male. He was quite interested in Czech Republic so whenever he could, he'd come to visit me during the flight and we talked. He took me under his wing when we landed in London, waited for everyone else to clear the plane and then he tried to point me to the place I needed to go to. I was supposed to stay at Terminal 5, wait for about three and half hours for my plane to Prague and board at the same terminal. The flight to London started about an hour late in Denver but the pilot was able to make it up due to favorable winds. So I was still looking at over three hour wait.
The steward put me in care of an airline lady at the exit from the plane. Perhaps she didn't understand well what he meant to convey and she passed me on to another employee of curious looks. Impressively dressed, however, I didn't realized that while a nice suit can certainly improve the first impression, unfortunately it can also hide a moron. It appeared he was suppose to take care of physically disabled. And since there were none to be found at the moment, he focused his attention solely on me.
He showed up with a wheelchair and tried to stuff me into it, which I categorically refused to do, pointing out that I am quite healthy and still can walk. I further refused to accept his services and tried to get away from him. He, on the other side didn't pay any attention to my protests (did he even speak English?), and followed me around with his stupid wheelchair.
We met some officially looking, well dressed people with name tags and it appeared that my stalker started complaining about me. And they didn't disappoint. It appears that just like in Czech Republic, the higher position a person holds in a company, the less clue they have about their business and the information they may offer is not to be trusted. Not only they had no idea about the terminal layout, they didn't even know what or where Prague was. So they suggested for my escort to further follow me despite of me showing them my boarding pass to Prague with the words "Terminal 5" on it. So my escort proceeded to drag me as well as his wheelchair, we ended up in a long tunnel leading somewhere where I probably wasn't supposed to be.
We caught up with three other people, two strong men were trying to keep an obese Indian woman on her legs. They immediately confiscated my escort's wheelchair and stuffed the large women into into it, despite of the obvious fact that she must have exceeded the maximum allowed chair load capacity. All five of us now continued through the long, unfriendly violet lit tunnel until we reached an electric cart with a driver. The electric cart carried us further in the hall, once in a while we entered an elevator which took us up or down. We passed the airplane crew, the stewardesses and my steward recognized my yellow hat and chirped their pleasant "Bye, bye", to which I sadly replied "bye, bye".
Looking at my steward's facial expression of "what are you doing here?", I realized then that something is seriously wrong and I am definitely at the wrong place now. Perhaps the moron escort is taking me to a different terminal or even to the airport exit. I came to terms with my unfortunate position and decided that since I still have plenty of time, at least I'll look around the airport.
Of course we came to the airport exit. This was totally wrong and I refused to play this game anymore. I am not about to go through yet another security screening. I went through it in Denver, I landed at terminal 5, I am supposed to leave from terminal 5 in three hours. I refuse to take my shoes off yet one more time. In the meantime I get entertained by the stupid escort's attempts to get the obese woman on her feet so she can clear the security gate. It's just not working, not even all three of them could get her out of the wheelchair they previously stuffed her into.
I wasn't the only one amused by their efforts, the people waiting in line were entertained by it as well. Finally, the security personnel is giving up and is lifting the barrier so they could push the wheelchair through the gate, with the woman in it. At that moment of this grotesque happiness at the gate, one of the smiling, pleasant security women waves at me to also proceed. As I stepped through the gate, all of the security alarms went off.
The smile froze on the pleasant lady's face. "Terrorist!". The male guard is already holding me in his arms, squeezing my legs, arms and any other extremity he can find. Anyone who will ever see a terrorist has probably a few moments to reflect on such a rare sight and now all the people in my vicinity can really savor the moment and take a really good look what a terrorist looks like. The guard is crushing an 80 year old fart in a yellow hat. Another guard with a low hanging gun is ready to terminate him at a slightest hint of any suspicious movement. You all people out there, you see what's happening? That's why he was protesting, that's why he didn't want to go through the security control. You see!? He's got shoes!, He's got a coat!, He even has a yellow hat!
Take it all off old man, off with the shoes, put the coat into the plastic bucket and for crying out loud, take of that stupid hat! The old man terrorist even offers his watch and reaches for his keys to his home far away. But he does so in vain, his keys are in a drawer in a house in the vicinity of Denver Colorado, where he put them upon his arrival as things of little use at the time.
The security check continues, the guard comes in with a beeping sweeper stick, looking at the old man with suspicious eyes. That's when he realizes that the alarms were triggered by the obese woman sitting in wheelchair which doesn't seem to have been manufactured from plastic but of solid steel instead.
So the old man is let go, gathering his belongings and cussing in a language he's pretty sure that nobody around him understands. "You stupid morons, yeah I triggered this because I have an iron health you idiots". So, what to do next? I could walk through the last of the security gates, enter the streets of London and enrich the ranks of local homeless and perhaps apply for an asylum. Or perhaps I could start looking for work here, despite the fact that I have been retired back home for twenty years. No way, you're not going to drag me out of the airport.
So I found the British Airways kiosk with a kind lady and I told her about my troubles of past half hour. She was very apologetic on behalf of the airline and warned me that indeed, should I leave the vestibule, I would have to go through yet another security screening, which is not what I intended to do. She looked at my documents and verified that I do need to be on Terminal 5, gate 21, which happens to be just one floor above where we were at the moment.
In return I confessed that my watch is still showing Denver time and I have no clue how to convert Denver time to the local time. I couldn't even set my watch, my hand were still shaking as a result of the unpleasant security gate experience. So she kindly set my watch and suggested to browse the local stores or watch the planes taking off and landing. Before I got on an escalator leading up to the floor I needed to be on, I made sure there is another one going down, so I don't get stuck somewhere else where I don't need to be like on the way to Denver.
Everything worked the way it was supposed to from there on. I landed in Prague in the evening of January 15th 2009. Cruised through the customs, nobody even paid any attention to me. We landed on time, therefore foiling the plans of my son and my granddaughter who were informed by Jiri that the plane will be an hour late. Ooops. Luckily, Jiri's childhood friend living in Prague (for whom I had some motorcycle clothing articles he bought through Jiri) happened to swing by and arranged for my delivery to my relatives at some place in Prague. Everything went smooth and I got home all right.
I was greeted by bad weather I forgot existed while I was visiting Denver and Maui. It took me over a week to adjust to the time difference of eight hours. Yes, Hawaii was Hawaii.
After a few days I sent email thanking British Airways for the care and help of their employees. I chose to not write anything about the encounter with the moron escort on my way back. He may not have been a BA employee anyway. In a few minutes I got email reply in several languages expressing thanks for appreciating their work.
The Epiloque
While visiting the Denver mint, I was surprised how many dollars, quarter dollars, half dollars and other coins are pressed to satisfy the needs of coin collectors. They are sold in sets of fifty coins, one per each state of the Union as well as commemorative anniversaries coin sets. I had several Czech coins with me on my journey and I was surprised how much people appreciated my occasional 'gift of a Czech coin' there. It appears that the Czech Republic must have a hint of an exotic foreign country since the first dollar (tolar) was pressed by the order of Marie-Therese (the only female ruler in Habsburg dominion) in 18th century and the Americans domesticated the 'Tolar' for their own use.
If you happen to travel to the USA, take a few coins with you. It even made a local sheriff happy as a little child.
