Ch 37: Coming home.

         I had left my old country 25 years ago during the Cold War. We couldn’t travel on the other side of the Iron Curtain, so I escaped and became a refugee. When I had left, I was single, without any ties.  Now, 25 years later, I was returning as a married man with grown children, not knowing how I would fit in. At the same time I was lucky, I wasn’t returning to a strange country.  I had been in touch with my mother, exchanging letters all the time. She kept me up to date with my family and relatives; I knew who had gotten married, who had had another child, and who had passed away.  
         After the Velvet Revolution all “refugees” were given back their Czech citizenship so, at the Ruzyně airport in Prague I was returning as a Czech. I breezed through the immigration lines, just showing my new passport, while the Canadian Sue had to line up at the visitors’ gate. We were greeted with a big bouquet of flowers for Susan by my sister Zuzka and her husband Lád’a  (pronounced LAH-dia).  When I left, my sister was twelve years old. Now she was a married woman with three children but thanks to my mother we were not two strangers. 

          My home town Libochovice was one hour’s drive from Prague and as we drove there, I was watching the countryside and comparing it with my memories. The new, four lane freeway was teeming with traffic, including many heavy trucks belching black smoke. Many houses had scaffolding around them, getting fixed; others looked run down with peeling stucco.  
         Libochovice is a small town located in a scenic countryside, dominated by an old castle known as Hazmburk. The castle sitting on top of a mountain is visible from many miles. There is a poem about a native son who returns home after spending his life away and he starts to cry when he sees Hazmburk beckoning in the distance. I am not an emotional person but when I first saw Hazmburk, my eyes were full of tears.  

      Soon we were driving through the town; there was our street and then the house, looking tired, needing new stucco. It took me a few minutes to get used to my parents looking older but soon I was gossiping with my mother about the family. I toured the house and showed it to Sue. Not much has changed, my old bed was still in the spare bedroom. Sue was little confused by the Czech banter. “We just got here and you are already arguing, what is it about?” “What you mean arguing?”      “You are talking so loud, almost yelling at each other.”     “We are not yelling, maybe talking loud, we always talked like that.” Things were back to normal. 

       I wasn’t expecting any special treatment and I was not disappointed. My father had a large fenced garden, almost a field, where he spent most of his time growing potatoes, tomatoes and other vegetables, looking after beehives and grafting fruit trees. Tomorrow he was going to harvest potatoes and I was asked to pitch in. The whole family was conscripted to help with the harvest so Sue offered to cook supper. She was going to make roast chicken with the new potatoes we had just harvested. When we got home, the chicken was on the table, with plates, knives and forks neatly laid out. Sue was showing off her culinary skills and how she found anything in the disorganized kitchen of my mother was a mystery to me.  
       We were ready to dig in when Lád’a pushed away his plate. “What is this“? He asked me, looking at Sue.  „What do you mean what is this? “ „The potatoes, they are for pigs. I am not going to eat them”.   “For pigs??“    „Yes, they are not peeled. Only pigs eat potatoes with skin. “ I shook head in disbelief.  „But in Canada we never peel new potatoes“. Láda dug in his heels and repeated his arguments.  Sue looked puzzled trying to follow the argument between me and Láda. „What is going on? “  I tried to be diplomatic, explaining what Láda was complaining about. I could see that she was getting cross and was wondering how to translate „Fuck off “ into Czech. Fortunately my mother stepped in. „Pass me your plate Lád’a, I will peel your potatoes“, and an international incident was avoided.       
        With the potatoes harvested, my next “must do soon” item was to hike to Hazmburk Castle. From the top of the castle tower was a breathtaking view of the countryside. I was going to go with Sue but my mother wanted to go with us. Could my eighty-year-old mother manage this rather strenuous hike?  I was quite surprised. Not only she could keep up with us, she was a walking medical encyclopaedia, pointing out various plants and explaining their medical uses. 
         We were walking around the castle when mother stopped at one wall and started to look around. “I was about thirteen when me and my girlfriend skipped school and hiked here to Hazmburk. I carved my name somewhere here.” And then she pointed. “Look, there it is, KADINA, it was my nickname.”  I couldn’t believe it. There was the name “KADINA” still visible, after being scratched into the ancient wall some seventy five years ago.           
         Mother’s favorite form of transportation was her bicycle. Sometimes we would go biking together, with her riding in front of me. However it was a nightmare for me because she would ride close to the center of the street, completely oblivious to any traffic. “Go to the side of the road! Stay on the side! Watch out for that car!” I kept yelling at her but she either ignore me or would soon veer back to the middle of the street. Fortunately she was a well-known character in Libochovice and locals gave her wide berth.                             
        I spent the first week connecting with old friends, visiting relatives and checking old places where I used to hang out. Sue was getting extra attention and managed to communicate fairly well in spite of her limited Czech vocabulary. I soon started to slip into old habits and was surprised how much the Czech lifestyle differed to what I was accustomed to in Canada. My cousin took me to his weekly “session” with friends in their favourite pub. They debated mostly hockey and thanks to the Czech goalie Dominik Hašek knew more about hockey in Canada than I did. A jug of good Czech beer was dirt cheap, about a dime, and soon the debate turned to politics and cursing the government, just as I remembered doing many years ago, but this time they didn’t care if somebody was listening. Birthdays were celebrated in the town mayor´s garage with a band playing old songs. I was surprised that many songs, long forgotten, came back to me and I was able to join in the singing.

         Another cousin had an ultra-light airplane and he took me up flying around the countryside and Hazumburk. It was exciting even though I was first a little nervous flying in this simple, seemingly flimsy contraption, but after he let me use the controls and fly the plane I felt more confident.   For a visitor with dollars in their pocket everything looked incredibly cheap. A meal for two in a restaurant started at five dollars. In the supermarket were ten different brands of Czech beer and a selection of European wines and cheeses. Highways were full of cars ranging from the East German smoky Trabant with a plastic body that was a marvel of simplicity, to Czech Skodas and a sprinkling of Mercedes or BMWs bought by Czechs now working in Germany. For many drivers it was their first car and they were driving like maniacs.           

         The Velvet Revolution two years earlier had overturned the Communist government of Czechoslovakia and the country embraced the capitalism. Factories, mines, farms, whole industries were privatized through some dubious schemes and ordinary people could buy or were given shares in these enterprises. Everybody was dreaming of becoming rich quickly but not many managed that. Lád’a was a typical example. He worked in a large stone quarry and after privatization became a relatively well-off shareholder. His cousin opened a big clothing store and needing cash, talked Lád’a into selling his shares to invest the money in the store. Within two years the store was bankrupt and Lád’a’s fortune was gone.   
 By now I was getting itchy feet, it was time to go to the Tisá Mountain to see my old climbing buddies…. 

The ruins of Hazmburk Castle dominated Libochovice and the countryside

  

Our house looked tired and needed some stucco work.

                      My mother and her bicycle were inseparable. 

                      My cousin's brass band celebrating birthday 

     My cousin took me for a flight around Hazmburk in his ultra-light airplane

Mice like to chew Trabant plastic body and the joke was that the deluxe model came with a mouse trap

                                              My mother, renewing her inscription at Hazmburk 

                          Sue and my sister Zuzka touring Prague, the Capital of Czech Republic

When my son Michael and Genevieve were visiting my mother, she treated them with Czech herbal liquor Becherovka.