A Hunger Artist/First Is The Worst

          Kafka once wrote a story called “A Hunger Artist.” The main character is a Czech man who goes days without eating. He becomes so good at fasting that he's actually able to turn this “talent” into a job. When I first read it, I thought Kafka had chosen to write about this man because he was an exceptional character. Upon further reflection, living this way seems pretty commonplace in Prague.

          OK, I may be exaggerating a little, but it's still different from anywhere I've ever been. This afternoon, for instance, after a long walking tour (and a longer powerpoint presentation), our program director told us that we were taking a break so we could get a short lunch at a place called Tesco. I was starving by this point. We headed over to the store, and it turned out to be a glorified gas station. They had bread, cheese, and fruit, in addition to a bunch of snacks and sodas. You've got to be kidding me. In America, even if we only have a few minutes, we will gorge ourselves. A Chipotle burrito? No problem. Three item combo from Panda Express? Sure, why not. I'm used to eating until I'm full and then some. Honestly, I've planned entire days around meals. But for Czechs, it's an afterthought. Who needs a sandwich when you can have an apple, right? I bought two pieces of bread and a water from the store. I fully expect to look like Christian Bale circa The Machinist when I get back home this summer.

          Later that night, after a more hearty dinner (goulash), my roommates and I decided to go out. We had bought phones earlier in the day, so we got in contact with a couple girls, and went to meet them at the bar. We went into the bar and walked downstairs, and we were greeted by about ten other students from our program. I walked up to a table of them. “Noah!” a girl said. “Drink this!” She handed me a tall glass of something that looked like shit. I took a sip, and found out that appearances weren't deceiving. It was disgusting. I tried handing it back to her. “No!” she said. “You have to chug it. It's an Irish Car Bomb.” It wasn't just any Irish Car Bomb, though. It was a completely curdled, extra large one. Who knew how long it had been sitting out? Eh, what the hell. I “chugged” the drink for about 45 seconds before finishing it. My first drink at a pub, and it might've been the worst drink I've ever had.

          Apparently some other people in our program were at a place called Irish Bar, so in hopes of finding a better Car Bomb, we set out to join them. It was only a block or two away. We came into the bar and there were at least ten more ISA people there. The owner moved all of us to the back of the pub, giving us license to be obnoxious, loud Americans. And we were.

          The Irish Bar was awesome. We talked and drank and had a great time. The owner was a hilarious woman who indulged us in being our stupid selves. She cheered along with the rest of us as people chugged their drinks. She did have rules (“Hey! Ain't nobody throwing up in my pub!”) and unfortunately, she closed at 2 AM. Overall, though, lots of fun. I know it probably won't stay this way, but there's something really cool about all of us sticking together. Cultural assimilation is worthwhile, but so is making friends with a bunch of kickass Americans. I don't think many study abroad groups are as close as ours, and we've only been here for two days.

          After that, we all went to a club. There weren't many people there, so we basically took the place over. And we definitely didn't have to worry about being too loud. As I'm sure everyone already knows, I'm an incredible dancer, and I got to show off some moves there. Or I jumped around like an idiot for a couple hours. One of the two.