To hear real gypsy pop music from the rolled-down windows of a busted and rusted Škoda. To see people cramming into a pub for pivo at 10 a.m. on a Wednesday. To have banana/strawberry zmrzlina (yes, WTF?) with Lucie after lunch. To finally break out my Rizzo outfit from last summer (denim pencil skirt and red patent flats). To smell sweet and savory things from the open windows and doors of a creperie. This is just like home, where the glass garage windows of businesses on Broadway and 12th open up to let air and light in.
This isn't a rusted and busted Škoda, but it's the one I wish I were tooling around in. Behold the 1960 Felicia convertible:
Thank you Mom for the birthday camera!! Now I can stop using wiki pictures all the time. In a way, it's been very freeing to walk around and absorb the sights...now I know exactly what I want to take pictures of, like some particularly ornate doors on Ujezd and Nerudova. The German gravestones from the 1700s hidden in a park near my flat. The colorful Metro stop names underground. And the graffiti that reads, "Wu-Tang" and "Police Fuck Of," naturally.
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