The big, the bad and the Irish

I’m finally sitting down to write an email, and the internet cafe we chose (because it was the first one we saw and we were dying – and no exaggeration meant – to pee) is scorching hot. I feel as if I may have been beamed, Scotty-style, into a sauna, replete with American tourists and exceedingly dodgy orange and green paisley wallpaper. As an Irishwoman, perhaps I should be feeling at home. Instead, I am feeling disconcerted, and sweaty.

Incidentally, as an Irish person abroad (and in that capacity only) I have found myself becoming an entirely different person. When confronted with the ignorance of some (unnamed – ahem) nationalities, my patriotism (that I have joyfully just discovered) becomes enraged, and I find myself at quite a loss as to how to behave. Yesterday I asked some poor soul: “What are you looking at?!” in quite an aggressive fashion. I can’t pretend that it wasn’t beautiful – a beautiful moment for all to behold. More than once on this trip I have found myself barking at a hapless foreigner: “Ireland is not in the United Kingdom”; “I’m not British”; “What did you just say?!”; “Do you even know where the British Isles are?!” and so on. Needless to say I have made quite a small number of friends here. This doesn’t upset me half as much as the “British” slur did, which can only be a positive thing.

Transitions On-Line is increasingly seeming to me to be much akin to a tour operator, albeit not a very well-organised one. That said, had I taken the time to read up about them on their website I might either (a) have come to that conclusion previously or (b) have realised that they are so much more. I’m here to learn how to be a foreign correspondent but, in fact, what I have learned, I shall illustrate in a short list, below.

1. People who are from Turkmenistan, as can be heard on a Parisian tour bus, really, really love it, even though ballet and opera have been, until February, banned by law.
2. Czech people do not speak English, or, if they do, they have seen my unhappy face on its approach and have resolved not to speak it to me.
3. Nikon is a really excellent camera make, and, as an addendum to this point, natural light is definitely the best for photographing. Oh, and rain – not so easy to capture on film.
4. If you want to be a foreign correspondent, you should learn the following things: to drive a 4×4 on rough terrain; to speak Arabic / Spanish / Chinese; to dole out cigarettes to random officials at checkpoints; and to strap and unstrap a bulletproof vest in record time.
5. I don’t want to be a foreign correspondent any more.

I’m here, of course, to expand my journalistic skills and abilities, and I can’t say that the course has been an entire wash. Today was the first day that I thought to myself: “Yeah, I’d like to do this.” A few moments later I came to my senses, when a lecturer told us that he was once pulled from his vehicle in Beirut, forced to his knees, and a pistol was inserted in his mouth. Then the trigger was pulled. It was an elaborate joke. He laughed as he told us the story, but I nearly got sick; I can’t imagine that I would have knelt there and let that happen. My desire to keep myself alive would probably have killed me instantly. Oh, the vicious irony.

There is an interesting pack mentality to human beings in groups, I’ve found. The group, excluding myself and possibly three or four others, does everything en masse. Eating, sleeping, laughing… and I find it disconcerting. I’m just not made out for group play. Maybe it’s because I’m attention-seeking, and find it difficult to be in a group without being the leader. Instead, now, I am its outcast. I’m not unhappy with this; the girls I am with are really interesting, funny girls, and I’m happy to explore Prague, rather than sitting in the dorms drinking warm Czech beer. Probably better than warm Irish beer, but still.

The dorms. The Czech Republic is interesting to me because it’s the first former Soviet Union country I have ever been in; and despite the fact that I haven’t been in Russia itself, the country seems so Soviet. The architecture, the people, the landscape. The buildings in the dorm are as uniform as any I have seen; the rooms are identical in size and layout. In my room there is one bed, one bunk, one small table and one desk with two chairs. There is internet access, usually, but it has been temporarily disabled for repairs. The shower rail falls over at least daily, and both taps fall off at the slightest touch. They go back on again, but it can be difficult to deal with if the hot tap has been turned on and the tap has fallen beneath the flow.

And the people… I don’t know how I feel. I understand their pain at being expected to understand English when they have neither inclination nor desire to do so, but they seem less friendly than in any other country I have travelled. But they are only out of Communism 20 years; and there are signs that the country is rebelling, in a way, against its uniform past. There are neo-Nazi skinhead groups (not everywhere, but there); Roma children are segregated in secondary schools and Roma women sterilised in public hospitals; there are few signs of organised religion; there are no Arabs, no Indians and no black people, at least not that I have seen.

This is an odd experience. The map hasn’t imprinted itself on my brain quite yet, and I am permanently unaware of my location. Similarly, I have no idea how large or small Prague city is, or which direction is North, South, or even home (the dorms). I’m not unhappy here, but I am looking forward to coming home. To predictable, if glum, weather – and to the Irish people, who smile, laugh, and resent the British as much as I’ve realised that I do.