In Hostinné
“I heard about you,” the woman who so kindly has been helping me with my family history in Hostinné says.
“Yesterday, you were on the train, standing up, taking pictures, having fun.” Where her tone was between approving and disapproving, I couldn’t quite decipher. It struck me as an odd statement, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Yeah, but how did you..?” “A townsperson stopped by and she told me about the American on the train.”
I had gotten so lost in Frontierland, that I forgot that this is still post-Communist Czech. Just because the Iron Curtain came down twenty years, the behaviors, the suspicions, haven’t entirely changed. They were too pervasive to change just because a wall came down: Everyone is expected to walk in lock-step, there are no swings of emotion from joy to outrage, grey is the color of the sunrise and sunset. Anything outside these norms is “watched,” or “reported on” by locals. And so had happened to me.
I had enjoyed myself trying to take pictures of cows in fields earlier in the day, opening windows and asking my fellow riders for advice about which fields around the bend may produce four-legged creatures. They seemed to enjoy the opportunity for conversation and interaction as well, rather than their normal ride, staring motionlessly, silently, outside the grey dirtied windows. It’s a ride they have been taking for decades, and many, especially the young, seem ready for a new route.
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Benjamin Thomas
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