One good deed deserves another...

...or, a broken leg--the gift that keeps on giving...

P. on the left

     When I landed in the hospital with a broken leg back in February, I was unable to use five of our pre-purchased opera tickets. We decided to give them to friends who might be interested in attending the opera in my place.

     Me out of the hospital a few weeks later and Road Buddy gets an email from P, who had used one of the opera tickets, asking if she and I would be interested in going to his “ashram” in the Prague suburbs, as a kind of thank you for the opera ticket, to eat sushi and meet his friends and fellow yoga enthusiasts. I found the prospect intriguing since I had studied yoga back in my university days in the 1960s and have practiced it, on and off, ever since. However, being on crutches with limited mobility I was a little reluctant and had R.B. ask P about stairs and distance from the station, etc. He said there were some stairs to get to the basement kitchen and it was about a “10-minute walk” from the station (20+ on crutches I discovered). I decided to go and told R.B. to respond with a joke: “Tell him that I broke my leg while doing yoga!” and to accept the invitation. He agreed to meet us at our apartment and show us the way.

     So, an ASHRAM in the Prague suburbs?

 ** Traditionally, an ashram (Sanskrit/Hindi: आश्रम) is a spiritual hermitage...today the term   ashram often denotes a locus of Indian cultural activity such as yoga, food, music study, etc. 

saying grace, meditating...

     It is in this secondary, more modern sense that the Prague suburban ashram we visited should be understood. It is lodged in an ordinary suburban house originally designed for three families and modified for use by the members who all practice yoga. The house is owned (on a mortgage) by a few of the members headed by P, and the others pay a modest rent for room and board. They share the large kitchen in the basement and live as a kind of large family. This is also a financially advantageous arrangement since salaries for younger people are not of the extravagantly generous variety in the Czech Republic and many young people, I learned, share houses and rooms to economize.

"the missionaries" and friends
and road buddy's hand

         This party was an opportunity to meet many new people. Three of them were Korean women who came as guests of P. Getting acquainted we decided to play a guessing game to determine precisely what these three ladies were doing in Prague. Yes and No Questions delving into the more obvious occupations yielded zero. They weren't associated with government, business, students or language teachers, nor did they practice yoga. Finally the idea of religion came into my mind and I asked if they were associated with a church. They admitted that they were. Eureka, “You're missionaries!”, I said. Yes, they were, and proceeded to try and convince me of the uniqueness of their church. It sounded like it was an offshoot of Christianity that wanted to restore the position of the female to the godhead (lot's of mention of the “Mother”). This is, of course, heresy to the patriarchal nature of Christianity--it probably gives the clerical hierarchy nightmares of the return of pre-monotheistic Astarte worship and temple prostitution. Oh, horrors! But they were perfectly charming and delightful proselytizers. I didn't have the heart to burst their bubble.

the man with two passports and friends

     I assumed that another young man who stands out in my mind was a Czech national. I was saying to P that I was surprised to find that everybody, who I assumed were Czechs, spoke English quite well and there were little handwritten signs about the kitchen like: “Please keep this area dry.” and “ Please clean up the stove when you finish cooking.” P said not all the members were Czech, some were foreigners, that English was their common language and then pointed to the young man across the table from me.

     It turned out that he had two passports and alternated them to get around the three-month limit tourist visa in Schengen countries. When I asked him why he had two passports—and what were they, by the way?—he told me the story. He held Argentinean and Israeli passports. His parents were Jewish Argentineans who emigrated to Israel when they were in their twenties. “So,” I said, “You're a sabra! Were you born on a kibbutz?” He said, “No, I was born in Jerusalem! “Oh, a city boy,” said I. “What are you doing here?” I asked. He said he liked to travel and had studied yoga in Romania and was now a teacher here in Prague. Where to next? Who knows?

     Thinking about that, it occurs to me that that could be the motto on my own coat of arms: “Where to next. Who knows?”

more friends

Photos courtesy of my friend Tomoko.

** Wikipedia

Conversation opener

     You meet the nicest people on crutches.

     I am not a particularly outgoing guy. I don't approach people in the streets or in bars to start conversations. It's not that I don't like interacting with people, I'm just not very good at small talk, which severely narrows your range of conversational possibilities.

     But, since I broke my leg and started using crutches, the fact of using them seems to attract the attention and interest of some people, especially people who are themselves handicapped and using artificial devices to get around.

Františku Hospital

     While I was still in hospital and walking around the corridors for rehabilitation and exercise I heard someone call “Hello, hello!” from one of the rooms. Aha, I thought, someone who speaks English! Being on an orthopedics ward where hardly anyone spoke English was motivation enough for me to follow the sound into the room. There were two guys, one of whom was the English speaker. Apparently it was the non-English speaker who wanted to know when I had had surgery since he had had a similar operation, but didn't seem to be making much progress with his rehab. I had noticed him the previous day looking woebegone and struggling with a walker while I was making one of my rather frequent peregrinations on my crutches in the corridor, a lot of which was motivated by sheer boredom. I told them that my operation had taken place four or five days earlier and they marveled that I was walking around so much already. I was taken aback since I didn't think I was doing anything to be marveled at, I was just doing what my physical therapist told me to do. Towards the end of my stay I dropped in on them again. They both looked rather depressed. The non-English speaking guy was still struggling with his walker. The other man looked anxiety ridden and explained that he was frightened over the prospect of having surgery on his ankle. I said that that was a tough call and told them that I was being discharged the next day and wished them luck.

Prague style "hot dog" and hot wine

     Another time road buddy and I were walking near the Old Town Square as I was now doing my rehab walking around the streets instead of pacing up and down a hospital corridor. I was about to get a “hot dog” at the kiosk when I almost bumped into a man using a walker. I grinned sheepishly and apologized nodding to my crutches and shrugged indicating that we were in the same boat. He was with his wife and another couple and we all started exchanging pleasantries: the weather's nice and isn't Prague a beautiful city? How long have you been here and where are you from, etc.? Turns out they were from Amsterdam in the Netherlands and spoke English with a charming accent but quite fluently. They were in Prague for only a few days and were surprised to hear that we were spending the winter and that I had actually just spent 12 days in hospital here in Prague. They said that Amsterdam, too, was a beautiful city and we had to admit that we had not visited that city...yet. They went on their way and road buddy and I shared a “hot dog” and hot wine.

my musician and fellow cripple

     Most recently, yesterday as a matter of fact, road buddy and I decided to go walking at the fair grounds and huge park situated in the Holešovice area a little north of the Old City center where we live. We boarded a handicapped-friendly tram in our neighborhood and headed for the park. While we were walking along a trail in the wooded park I noticed an older man who was struggling along, a little bent over and leaning heavily on two crutches. (When you're on crutches yourself you tend to be more aware of other people in similar circumstances.) I didn't think more about him as we sat near a children's playground watching the kids play, but I noticed him sitting on another bench a little distance off to my left, then get up and move on. I snapped of picture of him at that moment.

     As we were walking back towards the tram stop a man approached us from behind on a kind of golf cart and started addressing me in rapid fire Czech. I apologized and told him that I didn't speak Czech, whereupon he started speaking to us in English. He also marveled at my dexterity with the crutches and said that I was “lucky” to have only broken a leg. He wondered how old I was, and called me a “kid”. I asked him how old he was, but he claimed that his English wasn't good enough. So I told him that I was 71, then he admitted that he was 76. I said that that wasn't that much of a difference at our age. I told him, since he asked, that I was American. He wanted to know where I was from and I told him. He said that he knew Boston well and had played music there.  I exclaimed: "Oh, you are a musician!" But he demurred and corrected that he “was” a musician. He was obviously in more serious condition than I, I'm guessing probably diabetes related problems with his feet and legs. Anyway, we exchanged fare thee well and god speeds and we both continued on our separate ways, he in his cart and me on my crutches.

     These are conversations that would not have happened without my indispensable conversation openers, my constant companions, my spare legs.

    Here are a few random pix from the playground bench:

Sunday strollers

"This is how you do it."

"Yeah,  I come here all the time, that's why I'm so good at it."

a banana a day keeps the jim-jams away

absolute beauty

Progress? at Fukushima

Fukushima Nuclear Meltdown Update

Fukushima from another by-the-numbers angle

     For what it's worth and for those who are interested in the progress/lack of progress being made at the Fukushima Nuclear Power plant that was devastated by the killer tsunami on March 11, 2011, here is the latest update to appear in The Japan Times English language newspaper. The second link is by a non-Japanese writer in the Asia Times English language newspaper based in Hong Kong. Both articles leave little doubt about the ongoing seriousness of the Herculean task facing the decommissioning of this plant. 

More Prague on Crutches

     I know you're all craving (wink-wink) for news about the progress of my rehabilitation into the world of the no longer "pedally" challenged! [Pedally isn't really an adjective, I'm coining it. The Websters will be spinning in their graves, but maybe that's how language grows and changes.]

      Ya, right!!

      Though I may be a bit deluded in my previous assumption, I am so much into my own rehab experience and excited to see the progress that I just want to shout about it for all the world to hear...or at least the people who follow my adventures and mishaps on this blog.

      Accordingly, I've been going farther afield around Prague on my crutches under the watchful eye of road buddy. Speaking of road buddy, some have wondered why the odd appellation instead of using her name and photo. The reason is that she, unlike me, doesn't like her identity made public on the Internet—privacy issues in other words. Although she is a constant shadow figure in this blog, she remains road buddy both to me (in reality) and the blog readers (figuratively). Her choice, not mine!

      The weather has been sunny and enticing me onto the streets of Prague both for physical and psychological/emotional rehabilitation. So, with my new camera at the ready and road buddy escorting and watching over me (and taking pictures of my progress), off we would go.

      It's cloudy today; it's not so alluring and seductive to go outside. I'm confining my exercise to the flat and giving my body time to consolidate and intergrate the gains made the past few days of walking about the city.

      Here are a few more shots of Prague on Crutches.

Come walk with me...

...down cobblestone streets...

...towards Bethlehem Square...

... check out the hanging man...

...or hang out in Old Town Square...

...near the old Hussite Church...

...and have a "hot dog" at a stand up kiosk.

the "new" Prague, huge shopping mall and cells

succumbed to craving for junk good - Burger King

Franciscan Garden and Church

just a pretty picture of kids in the park on a sunny day in early pre-Spring

oops! dropped my ice cream cone

Prague on Crutches

doing rehab in our apartment

    On February 7 our two-month sojourn in Prague was brutally interrupted by a fall in which I fractured the femur in my left leg. I described the incident in earlier blog posts. I underwent surgery wherein a titanium pin and screws were inserted in my left femur and I was released from hospital after 12 days in which I started to relearn how to walk again with crutches and the encouragement of the physical therapist who pushed me just a little harder than I would probably have done myself.

apt. as rehab clinic

      When I was at my weakest low point I felt that I would need to go to a rehab clinic after discharge from the hospital, but both the surgeon and the therapist dissuaded me, saying that I could profit more from doing my own rehab and, as my therapist put it: “You can go to the opera.” That sounded better than lying around some rehab clinic whiling away the hours when not working with a therapist—probably only twice a day as I later heard from a friend here in Prague who had hip replacement surgery and spent some time in a rehab clinic last year.

at Rudolfinum for Baroque concert

      It has been almost a month since the day I broke my leg and two weeks since my discharge from hospital. Have been working at my exercises and walking practice at first only in the apartment, but soon began to go out walking in the streets and parks around town increasing the distances and length of time out as I felt my leg getting stronger and more flexible. Road buddy, who has been magnificent in handling this crisis, and I've been going out just for walks at times, out to restaurants, to the opera and concerts, taking the newer trams that are easy on and off for handicapped people like me.

taken at camera shop with the Lumix I bought

      My old point and shoot camera, which I have never been happy with because of the inadequate quality of the pictures, has been malfunctioning with the lens not opening and closing properly. So I bought a new Panasonic Lumix DMC-TZ30 that, so far, I am very happy with, especially the quality of the pictures I have taken with it. My camera is never very far from my pocket and, even though a little handicapped, I continue recording my impressions of Prague from the perspective of someone on crutches.

      Hey, maybe this could lead to a niche business, offering guided tours of Prague for handicapped people. :)

at farmers' market on banks of the Moldau River

children at the playground with sunny weather

Old Town on left with the many bridges spanning the Moldau

Frantisku Hospital on left with red roofs

Frantisku Hospital where my surgery was done

Hanavsky Pavilion - enticingly visible from my hospital room window

clean plates, an obviously delicious Chinese dinner

Charles Bridge and Prague Castle illuminated at night

Theater of the Estates - oldest opera house in Europe

intermission of Mozart's Don Giovanni

principal cast of Don Giovanni - Svatopluk Sem in title role

after Don Giovanni at McDonalds

Wenceslaus Square at night

pennywise, poundfoolish

Sonia Prina sings Cara sposa from Handel's Rinaldo

   Sometimes Scrooges don't know when to leave the counting house I fear.

        Since Prague is such a walkable city we had become accustomed to getting around town either on foot (mostly) or using the trams and the metro for a very reasonable monthly pass fee. Of course that was before I broke my leg. Old habits die hard, however, and unrealistic expectations about the rapidity of recovery from a broken leg cloud your judgement I reckon.

techie explaining the mysteries
of a smart phone

        I had been stuck in our apartment due to a string of bad weather days that left the streets treacherously slippery with ice and snow. Our son came down for the weekend from London in the midst of this. I had planned to go out for dinner, at least, since I couldn't possibly walk enough to see the sights, which he and road buddy would do together. But the conditions on the streets were too dangerous for me to go out at all and we all ended up doing take out here at the apartment. Something of a lost weekend for me, although it was good to spend some time with my son.

Rudofinum auditorium

        The streets and sidewalks were finally safe enough for me to try walking on them. I also wanted to try getting on a tram. There are different kinds and vintages of trams here in Prague. The newest ones are handicapped friendly in that they are low to the ground and an easy step up to the car. The older ones have three steep steps getting to the floor of the tram—very challenging for a recent broken leg. We were planning to go to a Baroque Ensemble concert at the Rudolfinum concert hall and took the tram for a practice run in the early afternoon. In the end I decided it would be better to go by taxi at night.

Sonia Prina singing an encore

        We called a taxi for 6:30 p.m. which picked us up at the front door and drove us to the Rudolfinum. The concert was excellent and the Italian alto soloist, Sonia Prina, was spectacular doing the agitata (agitated) style typical of Baroque composers such as Handel and Vivaldi. She sang a beautiful rendition of Cara sposa (Beloved wife) from Handel's Rinaldo. I found a recording of it on YouTube. [See link above]

        We had planned to take a taxi back to our apartment, but there was only one unmetered taxi which tend to cost two to three times as much as a metered one. I felt confident enough to try a tram, so we walked to the tram stop. There were no handicapped trams listed on the board and I was too impatient to wait for the next one so I stupidly decided to climb the three steps on an older car. Halfway up, the door that I was holding on to started to close and I lost my step and balance but managed to grab onto a pole for support, when a couple of very kind and concerned gentlemen helped me get back on my feet and to a seat, but I was rather shaken and still had to alight from the tram on the same high steps at our destination stop. I stood with with some trepidation and moved over to the door when the tram stopped. One of the same gentlemen, clearly concerned, helped me down the steps. People can still be good Samaritans it seems, although, if you go by the latest crop of Hollywood flicks since 911, the whole messed up world is in revenge mode. I guess it brings in big box office.  

Who are the clowns?

Vesti la jubba -- Luciano Pavarotti

Send in the Clowns -- Sarah Vaughn

CAUTION: This post may seem incoherent and confused. People of unsound mind should stop at this point and just listen to the songs. 

     Once in a while in this mad confusion we call our short time to preen and strut upon the stage of life, things seem to fit like the final piece of a difficult jigsaw puzzle. In a gestalten flash your life makes some sense as the final piece fits into place and the picture emerges. You are stripped to the core, without pretensions, and you must put your complete trust in someone else's hands. Your very life is in the hands and skills of other people, most especially the surgeon and the anesthetist.

      I consider myself an independent and self reliant person. I am said to be arrogant and aloof by friend and foe alike. The former understand that aloofness is a mask I wear to disguise a rather shy introverted fellow and they accept me as I am. The latter don't matter. It is easy to be self reliant and independent when your path runs smoothly (a phenomenon I call the 'Good Time Charlie' syndrome), but when, through accident, or carelessness, or taking things and people for granted your path is sundered as if it ran across the direct path of an earthquake, then you must drop the I-don't-need-anybody mask and accept unconditionally the help that you do, in fact, need to survive a crisis. Knowing this is both humbling and oddly liberating.

       Openly accepting and acknowledging your vulnerability has the obverse effect, contradictory as it may seem, of making you stronger since you are multiplying the number of people in your corner. It goes from the strength of one to the potential strength of an infinity of others, beginning with your partner and expanding out from there. You no longer have to be Atlas bearing the weight of the world on your own shoulders alone. This, I believe, is the most important lesson I learned from my recent brush with loss of mobility due to an accident in which I broke my leg in a city that isn't where I usually live and a language I don't speak. I had to trust in the goodwill and competence of other people and temporarily relinquish control of my own life to them. Having no choice I made the decision without hesitation.

So, what about the clowns?

       We all wear different masks in our interactions with the other (the not I). This is, up to a point, normal. We don't behave the same way in bed with a lover as we do in the barber's chair getting a haircut. Should we do so, our behavior would be considered inappropriate and we would be labeled as, perhaps, socially incompetent at the very least, insane in the worst case. So we learn early in life to wear masks. The consequence, in too many cases, is that we ourselves no longer are aware that we are wearing a mask and loose touch with the core of our own being. We no longer know who we really are. We are the clowns.

       The night after my release from the hospital for broken femur surgery, we were scheduled to go to the opera to see Mascagni's Cavaleria Rusticana and Leoncavallo's I Pagliacci. I was looking forward to it, but, during supper at our apartment I began feeling nervous and apprehensive about venturing out in public the day after my release from the refuge and safety of the hospital. My normal, pre-epiphany, stance would be to say nothing and wear the mask of I'm-fine-and-raring-to-go. I definitely wanted to go, but I didn't want to bear the burden of pretending, so I told road buddy the truth of what I was feeling. She simply gave me a nod and pat on the arm of sympathy and understanding and thus took some of the burden from me and I actually stopped worrying and felt more confident that I would be able to enjoy the performances. They were both excellent productions (with a slight edge in favor of Cavaleria); I was just enthralled by the acting and voice of the mezzo-soprano who sang the role of Santuzza in Cavaleria Rusticana. But it was I Pagliaccithat started the train (confusion) of thought that is ending in this post.

       I Pagliacci,(translates as The Comedians or The Clowns) and depicts how the stage and life blend into tragedy because of the necessity to wear the mask and put on the show. The main aria Vesti la jubba, (by Luciano Pavarotti linked above) entraps the man into wearing the mask rendering him unable to deal with a love triangle provokedby a jealous Iago type character.

      On a more happy ending note, I was also reminded of another allusion to the masking phenomenon. A Stephen Sondheim song that exemplifies and amplifies the missed and/or crossed signals that pass, out of reach, between, usually, people who belong together but don't realize it until some crisis or crises occur, and they realize that they have been the fools themselves. I refer to Send in the Clowns. One of my favorite versions is by Sarah Vaughn linked above.

Been away....

....haven't seen you in a while. How've you been? 

Straight rip off from a Dave Mason song, herewith acknowledged, because these particular lyrics fit just right. *

     Not to put too fine a point it, I was in hospital for almost two weeks with a broken leg--the horror of horrors for any traveler. I was just discharged this morning.

       I toppled over while doing one of my yoga exercises, balancing on one foot, hands in praying position. Lost my balance and missed the post that I use to grab in just such an event. Landed squarely on the femur near the angle where it connects to the ball and socket joint to the left hip--writhing in pain, shock and disbelief, my whole skeleton buzzing and vibrating. (I did the same thing, albeit not while doing yoga, half a lifetime ago and spent three months in hospital in traction; my arm was broken as well in that fall.)

       Spent an agonizing day first in denial: "I can move it so it can't be broken," trying to stand but impossible, crawling to the sofa to hoist myself off the floor. Trying to walk again to the bathroom with road buddy's help, but that proved excruciatingly difficult. Coming out of the bathroom, felt dizzy and faint, and slid down the wall back on the floor whimpering and whining out of control. Road buddy tried to help me stand up again but, couldn't be done. I literally dragged my butt with my hands about 30 ft. back to the sofa and managed to pull myself back up onto it.

       At that point there was no more denial possible, I knew it was broken and needed immediate medical attention. The next several hours were spent on the phone to our travel insurance company until, finally, we made them understand that I couldn't walk and needed an ambulance to take me to the emergency room. After interminable hours of waiting and anxiety a doctor finally arrived at our old apartment at about 8 p.m. and confirmed that the femur was fractured. She called an ambulance service and they soon arrived and carried me out to the ambulance barely dressed for the cold, planked me in the courtyard freezing and shivering and just about out of my head. Finally, they got me into the ambulance and to a hospital emergency room not too far from our apartment. I was interviewed, examined, x-rayed, set up to receive a drip infusion and scheduled for surgery the following morning to implant titanium rods and screws to reset the bone and allow me to begin rehabilitation the second day after the surgery.

      And that's why I've been away, in case anybody noticed.....

      Of course, I didn't have the presence of mind to bring my camera, which is breaking down anyway. I did do a little very rough sketch of my roommate the other day. This gentleman seems to have had some kind of hip surgery, but just lay in bed all day either dozing or staring at the boob toob that was on from morning to night. He was able to walk with crutches, I saw him do it, but seemed unmotivated if not, in fact, unable. Rehab is hard. You have to exercise and practice walking or the legs will lose muscle tone and begin to atrophy. I worked hard and made sufficient progress to be released today. We've moved to a new apartment with an elevator. Not as charming as our old convent digs, but practicality overruled esthetics this time. The new place is a loft, 1-bedroom, brighter than the old place.

* We Just Disagree
   Dave Mason

got negatively "evented"

     event n. - something that takes place, an occurrence 
     evented v. - something that happens to you (I'm making this up as I go along) 

     You can appreciate an uneventful flight: not too much extreme turbulence, no funny unexpected noises from the normal whining of the engines, no sudden bang or thud on takeoff, no smell of burning ozone coming from the cockpit, no sudden drops of several thousand feet or meters, etc. The absence of all these constitutes an uneventful flight.

     On the other hand, eventful trips are the ones you remember later on. But, there are events and there are events. One of the worst nightmares of a tripper is that your wallet will be lost, misplaced or stolen. So, I got "evented" the day before yesterday. I somehow dropped my wallet at the Tesco supermarket in Prague, where we are staying for a couple months.

     There's nothing to make your day, or evening, like losing your wallet and nothing like it to put you in a self-ass-kicking headspace. Not to mention the stress of taking care of the important details, like canceling your credit card, reporting the loss of certain ID cards to the police and embassy, having a replacement credit card sent to you in a country that is not your "home of record", etc. Thank God for Skype and it's ability (for a fee of course) to call land line and cell phones. Didn't cost a dime to call the US from Prague since the toll free 800 numbers work on Skype from anywhere you are on the planet. A series of calls to our credit card company and we had arranged to cancel the old card before it could be used fraudulently, get a new card and arrange to have it sent to and picked up by us at the Prague FedEx terminal, all without using up any of my cash credit. God bless the Internet and its myriad applications.

on the mend

    The worst is over and I was able to relax enough this evening to go out walking in Old Town and find a very good local restaurant a little off the beaten path. The place is in a converted brickwork-arched cellar, warm casual atmosphere, local customers and simple but delicious food. I knew I was in a good place by the matter of fact attitude of the man I raised two fingers to to indicate a table for two. That beautiful gentleman shrugged and pointed to a table for six already occupied by two--an inoffensive take it or leave it attitude. We took it and were delighted that we did. Here is the restaurant's address; if you're ever in Prague I highly recommend it.

U Knihovny means "at the Library" named for the proximity of an old Jesuit library.

                                    Restaurace U Knihovny
                                                             Veleslavinova 10,  Prague

table in center of picture was our table