To Prague and back.

Sunday morning looking through the half opened blinds of my window that looks out to the many other faceless buildings that populate the student community here. So this isn't what it's supposed to be like, Europe's supposed to be filled with endless wonder, and instead I find myself living in what resembles a housing project from the eastern block; boring, drab, and depressing, but painted with bright colors to hopefully disguise it's utter lack of personality. My room is white, like the inside of an institution: sterile.

Tuebingen itself is a beauty of a town, wonderful weather, friendly people, a charming town center filled with winding ancient alleys, smiling shopkeepers, and cafes. Wednesday morning farmer's market outside the town hall, bustling and picturesque. People ride boats up and down the river every Sunday. Why Sundays? because everything except the restaurants and cafes is closed, you can't even buy groceries....just church and relaxation. And the ice cream, people are always eating ice cream on Sundays, and walking up and down the Neckerinsel, walking their dogs, or spending time with their kids or just enjoying the day because it's there.

I could spend a decent amount of time here, but I doubt I could ever spend my entire life here, there's something about this town that is too perfect, no arguments, little crime, no fear. Everyone seems to be happy in Tuebingen. Maybe it's the water.

So after three weeks of Language class, Doeners, and city tours, I decided it was about time I went somewhere else. Prague.

For the longest time, I have never found a place on this earth where I felt I could spend the rest of my life. Growing up in the suburbs and seeing how people there treated life bothered me, and I needed to find a place where a neat little domestic life wasn't the preferred method of existence.

Upon entering Prague for the first time, after having spent the entire night in a bus trying to catch some sleep, I was instantly entranced. There is something about that city that glows perpetually, a unique beauty intertwined with a heaping spoonful of darkness, something mildly evil. This city felt real, people lived here and died here and suffered here and defined themselves here. There was enough character in this city for everyone.

Hostel Elf was also a joy, bright and vibrant graffiti decorated the entire exterior, the staff was friendly and rather open minded, and the beds were more comfortable than the bed I have in Germany. It was nestled beside train tracks, and a train would pass us by every five minutes. Those who were sitting outside stopped their conversations while the train passed, everyone looked at each other, unwilling to strain his voice above the noise of the passing train. It was as if the train sought to regulate our thoughts. Most of the people there were open, and we'd share our experiences and stereotypes over real Budweiser beer (American Budweiser is called B here). Canadians, Finnish, Norwegian, Belgian, American, French, Brazilian, Bolivian, and countless other nationalities would sit out on the front porch and talk late into the night, stopping only when the trains would pass.

I would spend my days walking all over the city, trying to exercise my little bit of Czech on the most unsuspecting people. I went to the castle twice, perhaps the most beautiful in the world, because I felt like it, toured the torture museum, and went to a black light theater production of Faust. What surprised me is that the entire cast talked to each other during the entire production, barely audible over the music that blared, caught only by those like me who insisted on sitting in the first row. I wondered what it's like to be an actor in Prague, and how far up the achievement ladder the black light theater actually is. One thing is for sure, the female lead was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.

The turkey flavored chips were also pretty awesome.

Kutna Hora was also a treat. Small shops, beautiful churches, including one decorated entirely with human bones. No pictures allowed, but just google it.

Having Andy there was also a plus, there's nothing like being able to share a beautiful city with a close friend.

I also find it oddly fitting that Kurt Vonnegut Jr., my most favorite author, died while I was in Prague.

Being back here in Tuebingen only increases my Wanderlust. I want to get away from here again, because I don't want the lightness.