Olomouc, Czech Republic (4/4)

I felt around in the murky darkness for the banister. My heart was thudding against my chest as I climbed some godforsaken tower of St. Michael’s Church.

It all started with the open door on the right side of the church. I had cautiously walked from the main basilica into a hallway of alter-like shrines. A low, arched doorway had lured me further into the depths of the church where I found a stone cross and a pool of ground water.

The successful excursion into the perfectly silent cellar had given me the courage to try the other open doorway. This doorway led up instead of down, and, unlike the cellar, this staircase had led me out of earshot of the door below. Was the door meant to be open? I had my doubts as I considered the pitch black section of steps I was on. Groping the banister, I continued my ascent anyway.

Before long, I saw light cascading down the stairs above me. I emerged from the long spiral staircase into an angular wooden room with a skeleton of thick wooden beams. The room was apparently an old bell tower. I snapped a picture of the view and rapidly descended the flight of steps while imagining a janitor closing and locking the door beneath me. Two men were standing at the entrance of the tower. I avoided their gazes, walked away, and smiled to myself. ‘Well, that was fun.’

My experience in Olomouc (OH-low-moats) was a blur of churches, baroque fountains and columns, and city walls:

Having toured for a week straight, Olomouc was a wonderful opportunity for me to kick back and relax. I spent an afternoon in the Poet’s Corner Hostel, which, I determined, was simply a pleasant place to be. I played a board game with a staff member and chatted with other travelers.

One night I followed two foreigners to Vertigo, a bar buried beneath Olomouc and filled with college students. The bar had curiously orange walls under a strange thatched ceiling. It was here that I met Filip, a local who was home for the weekend from his studies in Brno. His English was at the final stage: the point where only conversations with native speakers could really improve it. It is a level that I shall never know. Filip and I talked late into the night.

At one point a man resembling Rasputin sat down next to us and started speaking to me. He was the first foreigner that openly had issues with Americans. He didn’t hate me for being American (he tried to offer me marijuana), he simply had some issues he wanted to discuss. He began with education by asking me where Togo is. At this point I had two options. I could reply with the logical answer that being able to locate Togo on a map is hardly a measure of intelligence or of a good education for that matter. Instead of the serious debate, I opted for the humorous approach: “I don’t know, but I bet it’s someplace in Africa.” Filip chuckled. “That’s right,” said Rasputin, “But you don’t know where in Africa?” “Man, do you have any idea how many countries there are in Africa??” Filip laughed pretty hard at this; I don’t think he knew where Togo was, either. Rasputin’s criticism of the US was cut short by the last call for beer. I blew off most of what the drunken Rasputin had said, but maybe I shouldn’t have. He was obviously intelligent—he spoke English fluently, and, after all, he knew where Togo was. Filip and I agreed to meet the following night.

My plans to visit Kroměříž were foiled by misinformation about the bus schedule, so I spent another day in Olomouc admiring turn of the century houses, the astronomical clock overhauled by the communists, a Czech museum, and napping.

That night Filip felt obligated to show me every pub and club in Olomouc. My favorite was in a musty Romanesque cellar. See if you can spot something strange:

When an Easterly blue light invaded the black sky, I returned to the hostel for a few hours of morning sleep.

My four destinations made for an amazing spring break. I met people from Australia, England, Ireland, Slovakia, Norway, Japan, Hungary, Israel, Germany, Slovenia, and the Czech Republic. I learned that the most memorable moments are neither planned nor expected, and if I didn’t have the travel bug before, I do now.