Did you just call me Harry Potter and ask me to do a shot with you?!

Home again, and by home I mean the apartment I rented right before I went galavanting across Europe for two weeks, and spent one night in. It was amazing to me, stepping off the train last night, to smell the air and see the stars, to have the comforting sense of familiarity. This really is becoming my home and I think I forget that sometimes. Or, it has yet to sink in.

Recapitulation of the last few weeks: After Montpellier, Kendra and I took the TGV, first class, to the airport in Paris, noticed how tall people are outside of Creuse, met a Czech boy who gave us a crash course in the Czech language, and got on a plane headed to Prague. We arrived in the Czech Republic after spilling Heineken all over ourselves on the flight and I really wanted a stamp on my passport. I said "Ahoy, anglicky?" to the very large angry customs officer, who frowned at me and said "A little."

"Stamp? Passport? Please..."

"No stamp. It's Schengen."

"Please?"

"NO STAMP! Schengen."

"Dyoukyouyou." (Very poorly pronounced thank you).

Man. I really wanted a stamp. Defeated I returned to baggage claim to kind Kendra, and we exited, passing my new friend on the way out. If looks could kill, I'd have been dead that night. If wrinkles on the forehead from frowning were gold, that customs officer would be a kajillionaire.

We met Kendra's friend, Vanessa, and took a bus and metro ride back to her apartment off of Wenceslas Square. Immediately upon hearing the name of the square, I started singing "Good King Wenceslas," and Vanessa chimed in. Can you believe that Kendra has never heard that song before?

The apartment sits on a street scantily clad with red and pink flashing lights for "Cabarets," or sex clubs. There was never a dull moment outside their door, and across the street sits a Mexican restaurant. Bizarre.

Kendra and I explored Prague together, and as mentioned earlier, I got a Czech haircut. The man's name was Martin, and he was from Birmingham. Needless to say, my hair was not lost in translation, but the taxi ride to the salon cost more than the visit did. We got ripped off. Big time.

We were running late, so we walked up to a taxi driver and asked him to drive us to the address. We got in and there was no meter. I followed our route on a map and we went all over the freaking city to end up not far from where we had started. And then he charged us 900Kc. That is roughly 50 USD. The ride lasted 15 minutes. Dang. I wish I spoke Czech so I could have protested. I wish I had known that it was an unfair price. It was my first day and I was completely at the mercy of this man who saw a money-making opportunity and seized it. C'est la vie.

We "flaneured" all over the city, found a little restaurant serving potato dumplings and Pilsner. One of the coolest things about Prague is that patios are still open, even thought it is 35 degrees outside. We had fleece blankets and heaters and enjoyed our first Czech meal.

Beer is cheaper than water. Seriously. $2.00 will buy you a pint of Pilsner on tap, and $4.00 for a tiny bottle of water. The choice is clear.

The next day, we went to was is affectionately called, by the exchange students, the "Baby Tower," the former Communist TV station. It is so ugly that after the Velvet Revolution, they decided to beautify it. They commissioned an artist to install bronze statues of faceless naked babies crawling all over it. It is terrifying.

For Halloween, instead of dressing up as girl-crazy French men, we acted like grown-ups and went to the Czech Philharmonic. For $2.50 each, we enjoyed two blissful hours of live Strauss. Oddly enough, we walked out of the building singing a Veggie Tales song. Where did that come from?

Kendra and I headed out of Prague for the day on Saturday to go see the castle in Karlstejn. The walk from the train station was 2km and included a stop for "grog," hot water with rum and sugar, and gulash, not the midwestern version. Big bread dumplings circling a plate of hot tomato sauce and chunks of stewed beef with one sausage in the middle of the plate and a dollop of horseradish. These people do not skimp on the hearty food.

Finally arriving at the castle, we bought tickets from a boy version of Fabio, and waited for our tour. The "English" tour was given by a Czech girl who pronounced about half of it according to the phonetic rules of Slavic languages. We read the pamphlet.

Upon entering the Castle, there is a sign in Czech that is translated into English which reads: "Translated Prohibited." Of course it means, don't translate the guided tour that people pay for into another language so that people can pay you, but it was funny. The sign itself is translated.

It was this sign that bonded us to our new friends, Juliano and Marcello. The tour was boring, so we made fun of it like high schoolers on a field trip, and went out for drinks afterwards. We all took the train back to Prague together, and decided to meet later, to throw doughnuts at each other.

Let me explain: I read in a tour book that there exists a cafe in Prague were, for 2000Kc ($100), you can purchase both a massive bowl of day-old doughnuts and the right to throw them at the customers in the cafe. Inconceivable!

Fancy that, it used to be allowed, but they stopped the practice a while ago. Rumor has it, though, that the tradition is being resurrected next year. I know where I'll be next Thanksgiving.

We did try another Czech specialty while mourning the loss of our activity for the night: Dark Beer. It was glorious, dark dark dark, and delicious. I had two glasses.

Our flight back to Paris was changed to the next morning, so we headed back and were relieved when we heard French being spoken in the airport. We hung out in the Latin Quarter until our train, drank Champagne on the Seine and ate crepes. Vive la France!