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Travellus InterruptusThe Prague Portion of the Worldwide Trip Gets Extended.
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We came on while sitting on the hill overlooking the main action at the party in Protivin. Me and Jorge's girlfriend, Alisa. For some reason, a girl named Moah - a daffy Swede who exhibited that sarcastic, caustic streak common to every girl from the region broadly defined as "Up there where all the girls are blonde and pretty and smart" - was giving us a hard time. Or at least I think she was. Maybe she was just making conversation. Truth be told, I couldn't follow a goddamn word she was saying. I recall mentioning my profession but being unable to produce my name. Then Bence from L.A. sauntered up the hill and onto our blanket, and everything went haywire. Sarcastic and caustic Swedish girls I can handle - I could love one under the right circumstances - but this fellow had no right crashing this scene of my movie. As soon as Moah told Bence that we were writers - god damn these loose lips! - he went to work. See, Bence is traveling with the American DJ who was slated to spin later that night and he's got all sorts of connections and guest lists ready for us. For instance, if we go to Budapest, Bence will hook us up. Provided, of course, that we have proper press credentials with us. Natch. Baby. Oh, how we laughed and laughed. The poor kid didn't know what hit him. Little did he know that both Alisa and I are hard-wired to hate and tear down such inappropriate and ridiculous pomposity. Toss in the fact that we were just beginning to go out of our minds on acid and, well, Bence didn't stand a chance. It wasn't his fault. He's an innocent. We were inadvertently following in big journalistic footprints: acid and acidic laughter in the faces of accidental idiots. Before this young, clear-eyed buck could beat my helpless, hallucinating brain into a pile of gray yogurt, we went dancing. I arrived in Prague three months ago with plans to leave in September. When I verbalized my rock-solid intentions to exit this feather bed of a city, more than one person replied, "I'll see it when I believe it." I was confused at the time, but now I see what they meant. This city is fucking quicksand. First and foremost, the friends. I've made several good friends much more quickly than I would've imagined. The type of friends who bring me to trance parties, stick acid down my throat and let me spin around like Corky on too much Ritalin. Good friends, you know? They've shown me around and made me one of their own. One has even promised me his sister's hand in marriage, provided I can tame the wild beast. I suspect she's as smart and sarcastic and caustic as a Swede, and will likely see right through my brand of coy insecurity. That, and I'm probably too old for an eighteen-year old American girl. Second, that field in Protivin. I danced for five hours straight, coughing from the cold without knowing it, my muscles cramping up painlessly, all the while trying to keep account of my bladder's and bowel's needs lest I inadvertently let slip something that shouldn't slip out while one is dancing in the middle of two hundred people. The acid took me to places even Castaneda would've found interesting and, as happens, the demons popped up right on schedule. Images of aborted fetuses. Razor blades. Bloody speculums inserted into sensitive places. You get the idea. Demons come from within, always, and so it is from within that they must be exorcised. When I emerged, the demons were gone. I felt peace for the first time in six months. I walked along a quiet country road for a few miles and asked the air what I was looking for. Did I really want to stay in Prague? Why not? From whence this urge to flee something good? I'm finally hitting my stride. Why, just two weeks ago, a beautiful girl chatted me up at Fraktal. She even asked for my number. That hasn't happened in...well, let's just say it hasn't happened in a long time. To hell with the arbitrary departure timeline. I'm staying for awhile. Six months, maybe nine. Through the god awful winter, through the dark days and darker nights. It's time enough to work my tits off for this newspaper and finish that novel and maybe even bang out that screenplay that's been waiting in the wings. Yeah, yeah: I know. I'm the Prague cliche in the making. I'll at least finish the novel, ok? I'll save the screenplay for that other quicksand city, Bangkok. So. See you around. In case you were wondering, this column has moved to the front of the book because I'm a resident now. Me and Bence, taking Eastern Europe by storm. And if anyone out there knows a fetching Britney Spears look-alike named Elizabeth who was talking to a caddishly handsome American at Fraktal three weeks ago, tell her to call me, willya? I've lost her number. -Jeff Koyen can be found watching life pass him by at jeff@pill.cz.  This content originally appeared in the alternative weekly The Prague Pill. Launched in December 2001 by Micah Jayne and Alexander Zaitchik, the paper ceased publication in June 2003.
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