His badly bruised face couldn't take the shine off it. This was a once in a lifetime trip, this side of a counter-revolution. It wasn't '68. It was the train to Valladolid. This was the West in all of its finite glory. He didn't waste any time introducing himself. He had no time to lose.
- Hello. You speak English?
- Yeah sure, Stuart answered.
- My name is Pavel. From Prague. We did the formalities, informally and quickly.
- What happened to your face there Pavel? Walk into a wall?, quipped Stuart.
- No. I am attack in park. They stole me my wallet and passport.
- Shit man. How'll you get back to Czechoslovakia without any money or passport?
- This is ok. Because is not my real passport. I have two more. Money is my big problem. Last night I sleep in Retiro park. Some men try to steal from me again but I have nothing to give, This time I fight back better. I have army training. I am national conscript. I must go back to army soon. I give my sergeant some money. He will not tell my captain for 18 days. I have already seen Madrid, Paris, London, Amsterdam and Italy. I have phoney Eurorail ticket.
We put Pavel up that night. He rolled out his army sleeping bag on the floor. An Eastern European Siddartha; he sat bolt upright, legs crossed partaking of the hash we'd scored in the Gran Via and sharing our cerveza with the grim intense pleasure of the condemned man. We should have asked him about the system of repression, about the '68 uprising, the prospects for social change. Instead we sat bleary-eyed and transfixed. His energy was boundless. I don't remember a single thing he said about Czechoslovakia. He was so terse and dismissive. But get him on the subject of Rome or Paris, and he spoke like a man with only nine and half more days to go.
The next morning he was gone. Hours before we'd even stirred, he'd blitzkreiged Valladolid's tourist trail of 12th Century architecture, precious works of art, university buildings and churrerías - delicious sugary high-fat breakfast doughnut bars.. He left his address in Prague and a note: here is map to best churros in town. You must come to visit me one day when finish all this bullshit.
The churros Pavel recommended were the best we'd ever had.
- Hello. You speak English?
- Yeah sure, Stuart answered.
- My name is Pavel. From Prague. We did the formalities, informally and quickly.
- What happened to your face there Pavel? Walk into a wall?, quipped Stuart.
- No. I am attack in park. They stole me my wallet and passport.
- Shit man. How'll you get back to Czechoslovakia without any money or passport?
- This is ok. Because is not my real passport. I have two more. Money is my big problem. Last night I sleep in Retiro park. Some men try to steal from me again but I have nothing to give, This time I fight back better. I have army training. I am national conscript. I must go back to army soon. I give my sergeant some money. He will not tell my captain for 18 days. I have already seen Madrid, Paris, London, Amsterdam and Italy. I have phoney Eurorail ticket.
We put Pavel up that night. He rolled out his army sleeping bag on the floor. An Eastern European Siddartha; he sat bolt upright, legs crossed partaking of the hash we'd scored in the Gran Via and sharing our cerveza with the grim intense pleasure of the condemned man. We should have asked him about the system of repression, about the '68 uprising, the prospects for social change. Instead we sat bleary-eyed and transfixed. His energy was boundless. I don't remember a single thing he said about Czechoslovakia. He was so terse and dismissive. But get him on the subject of Rome or Paris, and he spoke like a man with only nine and half more days to go.
The next morning he was gone. Hours before we'd even stirred, he'd blitzkreiged Valladolid's tourist trail of 12th Century architecture, precious works of art, university buildings and churrerías - delicious sugary high-fat breakfast doughnut bars.. He left his address in Prague and a note: here is map to best churros in town. You must come to visit me one day when finish all this bullshit.
The churros Pavel recommended were the best we'd ever had.
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