Maybe I've already talked about this trip. I briefly tried to search for it. Then decided, even if I have, it might be interesting to see two versions of a story.
In 2006 I was living in Belgium, going to school in Louvain-la-Neuve. Among my friends was a guy from Czech and an American couple. We decided to drive from LLN to Czech. He had a car. One more Czech guy would go and a Slovak girl. Both guys were named Stepan, so I, maybe we, called them Stepan and Stepan Deux.
According to Google Maps, this should have been an 8 hour trip. I think we made it 12. At some point, we were lost in Luxembourg. 8 hours seems so short. I wish I could drive to Prague in 8 hours right now.
So we get to Prague, to Stepan Deux's house. Apparently the folks had some cash. Uneventful night there and then Stepan, the Slovak chick, and I set out to Olomouc. It was snowing.
I had a hostel booked. I think I had some directions from the bus station.
At some point on the way there, Stepan got tired of driving. I hadn't driven in months, I'd never driven outside of the US, and it was snowing. We survived, and I dropped myself off under a bridge that Stepan promised was next to the station. Chinese fire drill and they're off. And I'm in Olomouc, in Saucony sneakers, and it's a blizzard.
I manage to make my way to the hostel. Seems nice enough. Hey, my shoes and socks...and feet, are already soaked, why not go for a wander.
The city was nearly deserted. There was at least 6 inches of snow on the ground and it was continuing to dump from the sky. I can't be sure what order all these things took place in, but there was a delightful coffee and pastry shop, an imposing restaurant that was warm and had delightful pork knuckle, and a lot with the heads of old Soviet statues. To be perfectly honest, without digging up photos from the trip, I can't be sure that last one was true. I mean, I know I read about it, but I can't be sure I actually made it to the lot to see the statues, or I'm just remembering what I imagined it would look like.
The real memory from this trip, aside from traipsing through what became a foot of snow in light weight sneakers, was visiting a church. I stepped inside and there was a gate across the sanctuary as you often find in these old churches. I was content to peer through the gate and just stand out of the snow for a bit.
An older, but not old, man suddenly appeared. He seemed pretty happy for there to be a guest. He spoke no English, but managed to get across that I could see better from upstairs. I'm a suspicious person, but I thought, why not. So I went up a very narrow stone staircase. I can't remember if I followed him, or went ahead. I feel like I went ahead of him, because I do remember starting to think this was a bad idea. But we made it upstairs to where the pipe organ was. And he sat down. And he played. For me. There was a blizzard outside, and I was inside this gorgeous church while a man played a song just for me.
It was surreal.
But the suspicion kicked in. I remember having thoughts like, "What if there are body parts stuffed in the pipes of the organ?" All sorts of Poe inspired thoughts swirled in my brain. I got the fear. There was no reason to have this fear, but I was in an ill-advised situation I suppose. I took a few pictures and made a quick farewell and nearly ran down the stairs. One of my greatest regrets in life is that I may have offended what was likely one of the purest souls I would ever encounter. I hope not.
