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Historické fotografie kaple pod Nuselskými schody 3/3 - události 80. let

Přátelé Nuselských schodů vypátrali unikátní historické fotografie Kaple svaté Rodiny u Nuselských schodů. Ty vám nyní představuji s krátkým komentářem, a to na pokračování, ve třech sériích. V první sérii fotografií jsme se věnovali záznamům z 60. a 70. let. V druhé na pozdější fotografie zachycující využívání zřízeného parku a brigádu v rámci jeho údržby. Dnes se podíváme na společenské události u Nuselských schodů z 80. let.

5. Kaplička - historické foto 80. léta

Nedatovaná fotografie pochází zřejmě z 80. let 20. století. V kapličce se zřejmě odehrává náboženská slavnost, z kaple vycházejí tři náboženští hodnostáři (soudě podle bílých oděvů). V levé části stojí muž s fotopřístrojem, který událost dokumentuje.

Na fotografii si všímáme, že parčík před kapličkou je již ve zdevastovaném stavu. Lavička směrem k železnici je již poškozená. Pískoviště je nezřetelné, parková úprava a zeleň vzala za své. Ve svahu nad tunelem je stále ještě dvoupatrová budova. Je však zarostlá v mohutné vegetaci. Vzrostou vegetaci vidíme i na svahu před dokončenou budovou Železničního stavitelství.

6. Běh na Nuselských schodech

Poslední představená fotografie dokumentuje běh na Nuselských schodech. Datace je zatím neznámá, odhadujeme pozdní 80. léta. Na fotografii si všímáme, že dlažba chodníku je v zanedbaném stavu, chybějí dlažební kostky. Taktéž chybí železný plot, který odděloval chodník a park před kapličkou. Dlažba u kapličky je taktéž zanedbaná, nejspíše je zanesena naplavenou zeminou ze svahu nad kapličkou. Podle všeho byla kaple otevřená, protože u dveří stojí dvě děti, které nahlížejí dovnitř. Ke dveřím kaple též směřují další dospělí.

Toto je třetí díl naší série o kapli pod Nuselskými schody. Podívejte se na první díl série zde. Podívejte se na druhý díl série zde. 

Máte vlastní fotografie z okolí Nuselských schodů, historické nebo současné? Sdílejte je na facebooku Přátel Nuselských schodů.

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Historické fotografie kaple pod Nuselskými schody 2/3 - park

Přátelé Nuselských schodů vypátrali unikátní historické fotografie Kaple svaté Rodiny u Nuselských schodů. Ty vám nyní představuji s krátkým komentářem, a to na pokračování, ve třech sériích. V první sérii fotografií jsme se věnovali záznamům z 60. a 70. let. Nyní se podíváme na pozdější fotografie zachycující využívání zřízeného parku a brigádu v rámci jeho údržby.

3. Kaplička – historické foto 70. léta - po rekonstrukci 

Na fotografiích je vidět celkové provedení parkové úpravy po poslední větší rekonstrukci. Park je nově na západní straně od ulice a chodníku oddělen železným plotem, jižním směrem vede samostatná vstupní cesta.

Na druhé fotografii je též nezřetelně vidět pohled na horní část parkové úpravy nad kapličkou. Je vidět obrys lavičky. Domníváme se, že byla provedena parková úprava i v horní části nad kapličkou.

K datování fotografií může pomoci zachycení postupu výstavby budovy bývalého Železničního stavitelství v pozadí fotografie. Na první fotografii budova již stojí, ale v horním patře jsou osazena jen některá okna. Na druhé fotografii jsou v horním patře budovy již osazena všechna.

Zajímavostí je třetí fotografie, na které je patrné, že si děvčata hrají na schovávanou. Dívka na roku budovy zřejmě "pyká", opřena obličejem o kapličku. Druhá dívka v parku utíká (asi se běží schovat za kapličku) a třetí dívka vbíhá do dveří kapličky. Z toho usuzujeme, že kaplička byla volně otevřená a přístupná.

4. Kaplička – historické foto asi 80. léta – úklid

Další historické fotografie zachycují úklidovou brigádu v prostoru svahu před kapličkou. Na fotografích si všímáme, že od doby rekonstrukce parku stačila v přední části vyrůst mohutná náletová vegetace, kterou brigádníci likvidují do přistaveného kontejneru. Na ulici přibyla pouliční lampa, ale zároveň již není zřejmá vstupní cesta z jižní strany do parku před kapličkou. Domníváme se, že tato cesta byla zrušena a místo vstupu bylo doplněno plotem, právě někde v místě pouliční lampy. V pozadí fotografie je stále vidět dvoupatrová budova ve svahu nad tunelem. Budova Železničního stavitelství je již dokončena a před ní je již vzrostlá vegetace. Na fotografii jsou zachycena dobová vozidla Škoda 100 a Fiat/Zastava. Na druhé fotografii jsou zřejmé obrysy laviček v horní části parku nad kapličkou.

Pokračování (3. díl) najdete zde.

Podívejte se také na předchozí 1. díl zde.

Máte vlastní fotografie z okolí Nuselských schodů, historické nebo současné? Sdílejte je na facebooku Přátel Nuselských schodů.

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Historické fotografie kaple pod Nuselskými schody 1/3 - 60./70. léta

Přátelé Nuselských schodů vypátrali unikátní historické fotografie Kaple svaté Rodiny u Nuselských schodů. Ty vám nyní představuji s krátkým komentářem, a to na pokračování, ve třech sériích. V první sérii fotografií se věnujeme záznamům z 60. a 70. let.

1. Kaplička – historické foto 60./70. léta

Fotografie pochází ze 60.-70. let 20. století. V té době byl jižní prostor před kapličkou hojně zarostlý náletovou vegetací. Střecha kapličky byla ještě původní. Prostor vstupu do kapličky je svažitý bez terénní úpravy. V části vlevo od vstupu do kapličky je nezřetelně vidět nízká zídka, která částečně oddělovala horní prostor. Horní prostor je bez vegetace a je možné vidět dům, který stával be svahu nad železničním tunelem.

2. Kaplička – historické foto 70. léta – rekonstrukce

V 70. letech 20. století došlo k poslední velké rekonstrukci kapličky a jejího okolí. Na fotografii je vidět, že již proběhla výměna některých střešních tašek a že došlo k úplnému vymýcení dřevin z prostoru jižně od kapličky. V pozadí fotografie je vidět dvoupatrový dům, který stál ve svahu nad tunelem. Taktéž je vidět bujná vegetace ve svahu v pravé části od tunelu. Fotografie je z doby před zahájením výstavby budovy Železničního stavitelství.

3. Kaplička – historické foto 70. léta - po rekonstrukci

Rekonstrukce samotné kapličky je již dokončena a omítka září novotou. Na střeše jsou jasně vidět jednotlivé vyměněné tašky. Zbývají však ještě zemní a terénní úpravy v okolí kapličky. V prostoru před kapličkou vzniká parková úprava se čtyřmi lavičkami a pískovištěm. Upraven je také prostor vstupu do kapličky, který je vyrovnán a vydlážděn. Vstup do parku směrem od kapličky má terénní úpravu formou dvou širokých schodů. Na fotografii jsou taktéž znatelné nově vysazené stromy ve východní části směrem k železnici.

Toto je první díl naší série o kapli pod Nuselskými schody. Podívejte se na druhý díl série zde.

Máte vlastní fotografie z okolí Nuselských schodů, historické nebo současné? Sdílejte je na facebooku Přátel Nuselských schodů.

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Jak se dobře starat o polobotky

Zatímco na mnoho moudrých lidí se ostatní obracejí s žádostí o radu v oblasti práce a manželství, na mě se obracejí zpravidla v otázce péče o polobotky. Vnímám to jako velkou zodpovědnost, proto jsem se rozhodl sepsat stručný ilustrovaný návod, jak na to.

Na internetu existuje množství návodů. Některé jsou příliš komplikované a jiné zase neobsahují všechno. Tento návod je pragmatický. Je pro gentlemany, kteří nehodlají dělat kompromisy v oblasti ošacení, mají ale i jiné věci na práci.

V návodu rozeberu několik postupů a zásad, které jsem si osvojil během své tříleté praxe v obchodech T.M.Lewin a Barker Shoes, posbíral od svých přátel a kolegů a nakonec také doladil vlastní praxí. Tento návod se týká výhradně lesklých kožených polobotek. Pro údržbu lakovaných bot či semišových bot hledejte jinde.

Nuže… zřejmě jste si právě pořídil pěkné polobotky z luxusního gentlemanského obchodu. To poslední, co chcete, je, aby vaše investice (ano, pěkné polobotky jsou skutečně investicí do budoucnosti) přišla vniveč tím, že se o ně budete nedostatečně či nevhodně starat. Sešlé a zohýbané polobotky skutečně neoslní nikoho, ať už vás stály jakékoliv jmění. Tolik moralizování, pojďme na věc.

Napínáky zabrání deformování boty

V první řadě chcete své polobotky spárovat s párem kvalitních napínáků. Napínáky brání tomu, aby se rozehřátá a vlhká bota po odložení při schnutí deformovala a „zapamatovala“ si zlomy v ohybu.

Napínáky je nejlepší přímo vyzkoušet přímo na dané boty. Musí sedět takovým způsobem, aby pružina byla napnutá, ale zároveň aby šly do boty s rozumným úsilím vsunout. Příliš velké napínáky mohou vaše boty vytahat, malé neplní svou funkci. Až zjistíte, kde prodávají napínáky, které dobře sedí do vašich bot, není špatný nápad se zásobit.

Kvalitní napínáky jsou ze dřeva, ideálně cedrového, podobají se tvarem noze a mají nastavitelnou šířku. Cedrové napínáky navrch bránění deformaci také odvádějí vlhkost a botu příjemně provoní.

Adekvátní cena kvalitních cedrových napínáků se pohybuje mezi 800,- a 1500,- Kč. Obecně platí, že každé napínáky jsou lepší než žádné, ale skutečně není důvod na napínácích šetřit – pokud nevyhoříte, zůstanou vám napořád (a pokud vyhoříte, budete mít jiné starosti).

Krém botu vyživuje a dobarvuje, používá se jednou za čas

Pro údržbu polobotek používáme dva základní přípravky, které mají jiné funkce. Krém botu vyživuje a dobarvuje, vosk (leštěnka, polish) botu dobarvuje, impregnuje a dodává lesk. Věnujme se nyní první fázi péče o boty, která zahrnuje použití krému.

Botu otřeme vlhkým hadříkem a necháme uschnout. Poté hadříkem (nebo aplikačním kartáčkem) nanášíme tenký film krému na boty (říká se „oříšek“ krému na hadřík, nicméně správné množství lze definovat jen praxí). Botu necháme pár minut odpočinout, aby se krém mohl vsáknout, teprve poté rozleštíme.

Vždy vybíráme krém podobné barvy, přičemž není třeba, aby byla barva identická – bota si z barvy krému nechá jen n��dech. Kupujte si prosím jen kvalitní krémy, viz níže.

Krém používáme podle intenzity nošení bot v rozmezí 1-3 měsíců, jedná se o hlubší péči o botu, o její zdraví, nejen vzhled.

Vosk botu dobarvuje, impregnuje a dodává lesk, používá se vždy, když se chystáte do společnosti

Vosk má trochu jinou konzistenci, je tužší a vytváří mastnou vrstvičku na botě. Krouživým pohybem nabereme vosk na hadřík a opět naneseme na botu, tentokrát v tenčí vrstvě. Zvláštní péči věnujeme špičce boty. Fajnšmekři nakonec přidávají na hadřík s voskem kapku vody, údajně to podpoří lesk. Není třeba nechávat botu odležet, vosk je možné rozleštit ihned.

Nanášet vosk doporučuji zhruba jednou za dva týdny až měsíc (opět podle intenzity nošení), přičemž se hodí boty navoskovat před každou významnou společenskou příležitostí – gentleman nic neponechává náhodě.

I u vosku vždy vybíráme podobnou barvu, přičemž není třeba, aby byla barva identická – bota si z barvy vosku nechá jen nádech.

Péči dotáhneme do konce jedině kartáčem

Finálním krokem v péči o boty je rozleštění kartáčem z koňských žíní. Až po použití kartáče z bot zmizí trajektorie hadříku a lesk skutečně vystoupí.

Kožená podrážka je známka tradiční kvalitní polobotky

Lidi často zaskočí, že polobotky vyšší kvality mívají podrážku vyrobenou z vrstev kůže (někteří se mylně domnívají, že se jedná o dřevo). Ačkoliv kožená podrážka nemá žádnou zřejmou funkční přednost, je poměrně tvrdá na došlap a může klouzat (hlavně když je neochozená či mokrá – ať vás ani nenapadne dobíhat metro v nových botách!) jedná se o známku tradiční kvalitní polobotky.

Kožená podrážka překvapivě vydrží opravdu hodně, ačkoliv se z prvu rychle ošlape na některých místech, brzy se zafixuje a dále se opotřebovává pomalu. Není pravda, že se používá do interiéru – s koženou podrážkou můžete kamkoliv po městě (štěrkové cesty jí samozřejmě nesvědčí).

Kožená podrážka na polobotkách je známkou dobrého vkusu, v některých společenských kruzích je očekávána. Chůzi gentlemana dodává správný skluz a švih a má nezaměnitelný klapavý zvuk.

O koženou podrážku není třeba nijak specificky pečovat, pouze je dobré boty nechat důkladně vyschnout po namočení. Lepší výrobci nabízejí renovaci boty a výměnu podrážky po několika letech nošení u bot boty šitých rámovou konstrukcí. Je to služba za poplatek, zpravidla zahrnuje zaslání do továrny v zahraničí a není levná. Výměnu nicméně zvládne i lepší švec, například Schlein.

Stojí za to se vybavit

Péče o boty není úplně zadarmo, pokud ale chcete dostat ze svých drahých bot maximum, není na místě spořit právě zde.

Pro každou barvu bot doporučuji mít odpovídající krém i vosk. Zpravidla si vystačíte se světle hnědou (tan), tmavě hnědou (dark brown, ale je možné použít i odstín burgundy pro zajímavou patinu) a přirozeně černou. Pro méně obvyklé odstíny lze použít bezbarvý krém a vosk, nicméně sledujte, jestli nemá bota tendenci šisovat. Osobně doporučuji nakupovat krémy značky Saphir, které dávají vynikající péči za přijatelnou cenu. Dobrý krém se pohybuje v cenovém rozmezí 250 – 400 Kč. Vosky se dají pořídit už od 150 Kč, slušné prodává například Loake. Není špatný nápad pořídit si na prostředky necesér nebo si ve vetešnictví koupit krabičku či truhlu. Hadry na leštění a nanášení přípravků se sice také prodávají, právě tak dobře ale poslouží staré rozstříhané bavlněné tričko.

Mezi méně obvyklé prostředky patří renovátor, který slouží k hlubší péči o boty, ale neměl by se používat příliš často (max. jednou za půl roku nebo za rok – když se používá často, bota může blednout). Renovátor pomůže uvést opět do provozu polobotky, které jsou na hranici životnosti. Prodejci také nabízí odstraňovač skvrn, který slouží skutečně jen k tomu, je velmi agresivní.

Rekapitulace:

Mám čas a chci se o boty postarat: Botu otřeme vlhkým hadříkem a necháme uschnout. Naneseme tenkou vrstvu krému a necháme vsáknout. Rozleštíme. Naneseme vosk a rozleštíme hadříkem, poté kartáčem.

Nemám moc času a boty vypadají stále dobře: Botu otřeme vlhkým hadříkem a necháme uschnout, poté naneseme vosk a rozleštíme hadříkem, poté kartáčem.

Bože, ono už je tolik, musím běžet: Vždy polobotku před opuštěním domu alespoň rozleštěte suchým hadříkem!

Kéž vám vaše nové polobotky dodají radost z pohybu po městě a sebevědomí ve společnosti. Ať vám dobře slouží!

Líbil se vám článek? Chybí v něm něco důležitého? Je nepřesný nebo nejasný? Pište na simonfiala@seznam.cz

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What does it mean to be a Jew? A very personal account

Jewish identity is a complex thing. It is a particularly colourful form of identity as it connects many different locations and is associated with the culture of Israel as well as with many distinct cultures that flourish in the diasporas all over the world. Modern life, with its possibilities and demands, has further contributed to the proliferation of a myriad of Jewish identities. My story recounts the discovering of what it means to be Jewish from the position of an Eastern European-cum-citizen of the planet.

Since I was a kid I knew that my family had some sort of Jewish history. I knew from my grandmother’s narrating that she went to a concentration camp in Terezín and eventually to the annihilation camp in Auschwitz, where her mother and her sister died – because they were Jews. I recall her stories about the repressions of Jews in pre-war Czechoslovakia, where Jews were outlawed from using the public transport, forced to hand over their cars and bicycles as well as all pets, that they were forced to wear the yellow Star of David on their outerwear in a particularly humiliating fashion. To a certain point I considered my Jewish heritage to be simply a narration akin to how people often trace their roots flatteringly (and almost always mistakenly) to the medieval aristocracy in family trees. It made me interested in that particular part of history though, and so I did pay some attention to the Holocaust and the plight of Jews in Europe and the Middle East.

My grandmother was never a practicing Jew anyway. Not even her parents were, at least to my knowledge. She did recall celebrating Hanukkah (as well as Christmas) at her relatives’ when she was a child . She was, however, sent to a Catholic school where she was raised to Christianity (she gave up on her faith soon after as she – quite understandably – conceded that it is not a G-d worth worshipping that let the Holocaust happen). It is a question whether her parents sent her to a Catholic school because they genuinely didn’t want her to be educated in the Jewish way, or whether they could see the events leading to the World War II coming and they conceived it as a precautionary measure (ineffective as it was as the Nazis did not bother to ask whether one was a practicing Jew and used the official matrices instead). That question will probably remain unresolved.

Either way, I was raised in a 100% non-Jewish environment, atheist in fact, where Judaism was only occasionally invoked by my dad (who positively has no Jewish roots) as a matter of general knowledge of world affairs. Nor have I had a friend or a relative who would subscribe to Judaism or the Jewish tradition prior to going to do my Masters. I went to Israel once accompanying my grandma, but we ended up going with a travel agency that implicitly assumed that their clients were Christian and made it all about Jesus. I also nearly went to Israel for a study placement at IDC Herzliya, but I opted for South Korea in the last moment.

Since there is close to no visible Jewish life going on in Prague, I kept on perceiving the Jews in the Czech Republic history – something that is only alive in memorial stones, a touristy quarter in the city and occasional school trips to synagogues and museums. That is, until I was told that I can go to Israel on a trip for free. You hear me right: FOR FREE. At first I did not take it very seriously – it seemed unlikely that someone would treat me to a free trip to the Holy Land solely on the basis of my very remote and long forgotten association with the Jewish people. But I gave it a try and it worked.

Much was said about Taglit/Birthright (meaning “Discover” in Hebrew) elsewhere, so I don’t need to elaborate here. I will only say this: if there is a chance that you have Jewish roots, inquire. Because you may qualify for a trip worth USD 3000. JACKPOT. Taglit is a ten days long trip to the Holy Land jointly founded by some wealthy American benefactors and the Jewish state. In a group of young people, you will tour Israel and visit some of the holiest sites and some of the fun ones (such as the Dead Sea, for example). You will listen, observe, learn, discuss and practice. During your trip you will probably experience once-in-a-lifetime Shabbat in the Kotel (in Jerusalem, where the Wailing Wall is). I went with an international group, where Hungarians dominated. It surprised me to hear the Hungarians talk about their Jewish identity as something very important and relevant, even today; not only as a reminder of some tragic historical turn of events, but as something that they do, that they live, as something that defines them.

After Taglit I was eager to carry on exploring what turned out as a very interesting (and lucrative!) heritage. How disappointed I was when I found out how little is going on in Prague and how inaccessible that little is. I didn’t get engaged much until I went to Montréal for a study placement at McGill University.

When I arrived in Montreal, I saw Jewish life everywhere. I could see people wearing kippot (yarmulkes, the little hats) openly on campus. According to a (completely unverified) estimate, 10% of all McGill University students were Jews. There turned out to be three different Jewish student societies on McGill campus alone. My Buddy, Ariel, also happened to be Jewish. It occurred to me that this is a huge opportunity to carry on discovering as well as to find friends quickly (very important, as everyone who ever went on Erasmus knows). I started to go to both Chabad and Hillel and eventually I started visiting Ghetto Shul, a student led Jewish community, too. It was Chabad, however, where I felt most at home – maybe the fact that it was on the same street where I lived helped. I was stunned by the generosity and immense support that the Jewish communities provided, mostly free of charge, to their members. “Member” is actually a strong word, you didn’t actually have to file for any sort of membership to be invited. The door was being kept open to anyone who might have been interested to come in; Jewish organizations even actively promoted their services and events on campus and made sure that everyone knew that they were welcome.

This was the first time I came across most Jewish holidays, including the Shabbat, Rosh Ha-Shana, Sukkot (my favourite) and Hanukkah. For the first time in my life I also had the opportunity to observe people practicing Judaism in a serious fashion (or, well, at all). I loved to talk to them about their customs, their families’ values and their way(s) of life. I found it fascinating that in this modern world they grew up in New York or Toronto immersed in traditions thousands of years old. Oftentimes I felt completely out of place as I didn’t know how to act properly and I was getting into awkward situations when I unknowingly broke a religious rule or a social convention, usually both. Luckily, my heart-breaking story about my Jewish heritage being stolen from me by the historical turn of events (or was it?) bought me a green card, and I was excused for many of my faux-pas as well as some unorthodoxy and occasional lack of diligence. Soon I became very comfortable embedded in the cosmopolitan and classy Jewish strata of Montreal. At the end of my stay at least half of all my friends and acquaintances were Jewish (as well as my girlfriend at the time).

On Friday evenings fifty to one hundred young people, mostly McGill students, gathered at the Chabad house (which was really a restaurant and a temporary place as the actual Chabad house, an expensive property in the heart of the downtown campus, was under reconstruction at the time). Everybody was well dressed and in a festive mood. After the service, which consisted of short prayers, singing and dancing, the dinner tables filled with food and beverages. People sat around tables and engaged in courteous conversations, briefly interrupted by the speeches of the rabbi. It was a perfect place to get to know people, to just to start casually chatting to whoever caught your eye. Not to mention that each week a bunch of well-dressed young guys got to meet a bunch of prettied up young ladies – some level of coupling was guaranteed. The sociability of the place was electrifying.

Since I joined the Jewish life in Montreal, my calendar filled with events, miscellaneous social occasions and holidays. It gave me a solid structure that I could use for planning my time around. The Shabbat celebrations clearly separated weeks and weekends, preventing me from getting sucked head first into the mayhem of a semester on a Canadian campus, which almost inevitably leads to a burnout. I was realizing this even more acutely while observing my flatmates, who lacked dearly this sort of structure (sorry, folks, if you are reading this). I realized that it was primarily my engagement with the Jews that prevented me from succumbing to that too. Oh and I loved the holidays. During Sukkot, for example, multiple sukkas (sort of tents) sprang up in the neighbourhood and for each day of the festive week a good and diverse company in one of those was guaranteed. “So what are you doing on Shabbat?” became my most used small talk phrase when I met someone on campus.

Speaking of good company, it was actually good. Jews of Montreal, like Jews elsewhere, as I came to perceive, are very sophisticated and classy people, very often stemming from a privileged background. Jewish networks I got to experience consisted of interesting, beautiful, ambitious and sophisticated folks who organized charitable events, parties and get-togethers (potlucks) in some of the fancier houses and apartments in the downtown. I felt intrigued getting to know people during events and I was fascinated by their cosmopolitan lifestyle as well as nonchalant attitude. Furthermore, my young friends’ engagement with Judaism, figuring out what religion and tradition means to them, what their role with regard to it is, made them very self-conscious – philosophical, even, with regard to various dimensions of life. Their religiously invoked discipline – Judaism is all about self-awareness regarding what you eat, what you do and who you strive to be – mixed with their philosophical openness – the outcome of their grappling with the intrusive tradition – made them well predisposed to be able to define their goals and ambitions and pursue them systematically. It was very inspiring to be surrounded by such people.

Ultimately, it was the generosity of the Jewish communities that got me jacked. Every Shabbat I could look forward to be treated to an excellent dinner in good company. Every other day there would be free food at an event on campus. During the holidays I was invited to social events with no cover fee and free refreshments. When I got back to Prague and did my accounts I estimated that I received favours worth approximately CAD 700 from the Jewish societies. CAD 700 that I literally could not spare, having travelled on budget. And that does not even include favours and services that my Jewish friends treated me to. A friend of mine recalled a conversation with her mom, which – I think – neatly sums up the tribal affinity among Jews: “Mom, can a friend of mine sleep over at our place?” – “Absolutely not!” – “She’s Jewish!” – “Oh, in that case, sure!”.

In Montreal I discovered my Jewish heritage to be an invaluable asset, which provided me with food for thought (as well as with actual food!), structure and a safety net, access to resources, great friends and a substantial community. I was stunned by the openness and inclusiveness of the Jewish network I got to experience in Canada. This openness and liveliness contrasts somewhat with the seclusion and secrecy that characterises the remainders of Jewish life in Prague.

That said, I think it should be noted that whether in Prague or in Montreal I feel a substantial bond between me and other Jews, something that I find in short supply nowadays in contemporary metropolises in the era of “fluid” modernity, where it becomes increasingly difficult to find a rationale for creating lasting bonds beyond ones’ family, where friendship as well as romantic relationships are being as often “consumed” as lived. In the past two years of exploration I came to rethink my original conviction that Jewishness was something residual, an insignificant – although somehow interesting – facet of my identity. While I still do not know what exactly to do with my Jewish identity, I see it now as an unexpected inheritance, something to be held dear.

Acknowledgement: Many thanks to Esther Vinarov for writing tips and support!

[simonfiala]

Philosophical intermezzo: On how People's Climate March turned out to defeat hope

On September 21st, hundreds of thousands of people gathered in cities all over the world, most notably in New York, to participate in what was to become the biggest climate march to this date.

The main impetus behind the March – as explained in the film Disruption – was that despite scientific consensus on the gravity of climate change, established more than two decades ago, countries have not only failed to reduce their consumption of fossil fuels and limit the destruction of the environment caused by their use, but have in fact kept increasing their production and consumption levels year after year.

The People’s Climate March was hailed by its organizers as an overwhelming success. The number of people gathered – 311,000 in New York by some estimates – is astonishing. On the day of the March, New York bent under the weight of hundreds of thousands of people, whose demands ranged from divesting from fossil fuels, banning fracking, all the way to demanding environmental justice for people pushed to the margins by climate change.

To me, however, the march signified the defeat of hope. As I marched through the streets of downtown Manhattan, I was amazed by the scale of the protest, the creativity behind the protesters’ banners, and by the strength of their expression and determination to change the way our current global system operates. But I couldn’t help but think: “This is as big, as good, as powerful as it gets. But it is not enough.”

It all boils down to the existence of two modes of human interaction that have increasingly become distinct. In our immediate surroundings we meet people, we befriend them, we communicate our thoughts to them, and they communicate their thoughts back to us. We try to understand other people’s points of view, to harmonize them with our own, and eventually reach a consensus. On a larger scale this is the basis of the socio-political mode of interaction, within which we engage in deliberation in political arenas and formulate demands across the board.

The other mode of interaction could be called market-based. With this mode of interaction we do not try to understand other people’s standpoints. We merely read indicators they provide, as if reading aggregated symbols in economic markets. This establishes the environment for decision making, and then we act accordingly. Within this mode of interaction oftentimes we do not directly deal with the actors involved. Instead, we instead we interact with assemblages of humans and things.

While there may have been times where these two modes of interaction were barely distinguishable from each other, or at least kept in relative balance, today’s globalized world overwhelmingly relies on the market-based mode of interaction; the mode of signals, mediated messages and mechanical coordination as opposed to consensus-making.

This creates a strange situation. Upon realizing that the market-based mode of interaction has as a whole brought about consequences that directly threaten the world’s stability, the well-being of a large portion of the world’s population (especially those who do not have a voice as they are located on both the geographical and political periphery), and ultimately the conditions conducive to human life, we resort to socio-political interaction in order to keep the problem in check.

However, as it sadly manifested itself during the march, cooperation based on deliberation and mutual understanding – the social-political mode of cooperation – has its limits. While 311,000 people is an astonishing number in terms of social activism, it looks pale in comparison with the 1.6 million of people who coordinate themselves within the market-based mode of interaction on a daily basis on Manhattan alone (and indeed with the world’s population of stakeholders in the issue of climate change, which amounts to roughly seven billion).

This comparison brings out neatly the inadequacy of our tools in the face of this problem. We are trying to rearrange the world’s core political and economic processes by gathering in the streets, all the while contained by police barriers in order to disrupt the business-as-usual as little as possible. We are stopping environmental degradation by organizing cupcake sales on campuses. Maybe – at this point – our ability as humans, social and political beings, to coordinate ourselves in order to avoid the crash course is inadequate in confronting the self-propelling assemblages of humans and things coordinated through impersonal, indeed non-social, signals. At this point, within the current social organization of the world’s nations, nothing can be done.

Where does that leave us? It seems that things inevitably have to get worse before they get better. Unfortunately, because of the feedback loop embedded in the global warming, it can well be too late. But provided that at some point there will be enough incentives to act, a major reshuffle in the social and political structure of world order will be needed. The question is: how to bring our ability to act together in a political, deliberative way in balance with our burgeoning ability to coordinate ourselves on the market-as-environment basis?

One thing seems to be clear: contemporary capitalism is prohibiting us from taking decisive action on climate change. ‘Reforming capitalism,’ is a phrase that is now comfortably embedded in the leftist political discourse. It implies however, that the change must take place in the distant sphere of corporate buildings and capital markets, whereas in the sphere of democratic decision making, civil society and, ultimately, everyday life everything is supposed to remain the same. That cannot be the case. We should start working on accommodating the uncomfortable thought that change will have to go beyond disciplining capitalists and will, in fact, need to include a radical reform of how we understand democratic governance, including revision of the sacred idea of individual freedom. It seems that history hasn’t ended – as Fukuyama famously argued. It has only just begun.

[simonfiala]

Froshing through my frosh froshie-style

In the last post I promised I tell you something about frosh. So here we go. Basically, frosh is a multi-day event intended for freshers – that is newly admitted students. The stated objective of frosh is to introduce students to the environment and let them mingle and make friends. The real purpose is to erase their previous identities in a mighty initiation rite in order to reintegrate them as docile members of the university’s community.

As for the morphology of the word, people attend to frosh, they spend their time froshing and shall be henceforth called froshies. Their older counterparts are frosh leaders.

I had to decide whether to attend to frosh relatively early – I was afraid there would be no more spots available, so I hurried. Various froshes were available, including religious froshes (Jewish, Muslim and Christian), the outdoor frosh (tempting!) and the “rad frosh”, derived from the word radical and pertaining to the activist culture of Montreal (also tempting!). But I was told it’s the big froshes that matter. Those are organized by faculties (such as arts, engineering, management, sciences and so on). While other froshes pretend to have actual substance, faculty froshes are unabashedly about drinking, partying and clubbing. They also tend to be massive in volume, involving up to thousands of members each year (considering the cost of 100+ CAD for each froshie, their budgets equal to some small enterprises’). The choice was difficult but I knew that in order to be initiated properly, I had to go mainstream.

Arts frosh (yes, sociology falls under arts at McGill) with its Jurassic park theme was my mayhem of choice. Prior to the beginning of frosh, we received "the SWAG bag" containing items such as a dino hat, a frosh t-shirt (to be worn at all occasions through the whole 4 days long event – yuck!) and a beer mug. On Thursday the event began. All froshies amassed on a field on campus and were sorted into groups on random. Frosh leaders wielding group numbers welcomed incoming packs of disoriented freshers with a roar. Activities began – ice breakers were followed with some free time to enjoy inflatables and beer – two symbols of immaturity associated with the status of froshies. So much for that – it was time for pub crawl.

Now – what does it mean to be a froshie? First, deindividuation. Each froshie wears the same hat and the same t-shirt with their name written on it. Some people customize their t-shirts by cutting the sleeves and making it into a tank top for example, but the options are limited. Second, you have to be steaming. Each froshie is expected to be drunk to significant extent and wanting to party at all times. The effects of booze are boosted with team chants (Group two, better than you!), and each member is supposed to cheer enthusiastically when asked “are you READY?”. There is so many attendees that it is hardly expected to get to know somebody beyond his or her name (immediately forgotten despite being written somewhere on the t-shirt), country of origin (pretty much everybody at McGill is international, which makes people from Canada sound almost exotic). The last thing about you that people may wonder about is whether you live in Rez (residences) or off-campus, but that’s about it…

After the pub crawl and pre-drinks we arrived at club Olympia, a major clubbing venue in Montreal. It was a join event with management faculty so there was approximately 1500 attendees. The club roared with club music, and uniform streams of froshies were randomly flowing through its halls. Lots of people were dancing on the dance floor, unless they were making out at that moment of course (I still haven’t quite figured out the meaning of the often used term “hook-up”, but I am pretty sure that was happening a lot). The event began to deteriorate approximately at 1AM, leaving froshies dispersed around the city.

The next day was an important day indeed as it was when the boat cruise happens. At noon froshies assembled on campus in order to partake in scavenger hunt. Alas, due to exhaustion and extremely hot weather almost nobody participated. The actual activity began with pre-drinks, which took place on a rooftop of a random apartment building. Lots of alcohol involved. Then groups of froshies flooded the city again in order to make their way towards the old port. Assembled groups – at that point radicalized by frequent chanting and intense boozing – couldn’t wait to board. And when they did, the party began. Club music erupted from the speakers and soon the boat turned into a huge moving dance floor. The highlight of the whole frosh was followed by another party (what else, right?) in club Soda, another big MTL venue.

But at all times, we were told that the real thing is yet to come – the BEACH DAY (beach-day-every-day, beachdayeveryday (say whaaaat)). On Saturday morning people gathered at the foot of Mont Royal in order to be loaded into party buses. These took us out of town to a party spot at a lakeside. DJs were already present alongside with some of Montreal’s photographers and bloggers (because the whole city – apparently – was observing the massive party with awe). Young partygoers finally threw away their frosh t-shirts (at that time considerably rugged) and enthusiastically exposed their perfect figures. And headed straight for the dance floor, paying a visit at the bar first. After an afternoon filled with merry mingling there was another event on schedule – ehm… A party! Alas not much energy was left and many froshies found themselves lagging behind the ideal of a fanatic, relentless partygoer that a proper froshie is, so only little happened that night.

The final day – Sunday – turned out to be pretty casual. Contrary to the schedule, no events were taking place throughout the day. It was only in the evening when people gathered for pre-drinks (about 100+ people in a random dude’s apartment – something that tenants in Montreal seem to be getting away with pretty casually). Then groups began to move to the old port again in order to attend the closing event, the concert. That turned out to be club music again, as clubbing is apparently the only music-related activity that Montreal knows. Many froshies were aware at that point that it is the final opportunity to “hook up”, so much fun ensued.

When it was all over, everybody was apparently relieved. It was a big deal for everyone, not to mention me, trying to keep up with my 5 years younger on average counterparts (who understandably struggled with the idea that I actually have an academic degree already). Luckily, my SWAG accessories provided me with ample cover, and whoever asked me about my age forgot that information 30 second later along with my name. Somewhat subversively, I did enjoy this epic initiation rite that is indeed once-in-a-lifetime, only for me it came somewhat later.

[simonfiala]

Peripeties with pads

After my arrival to Montreal I had the luck to have a place to live. Anička and Slávek turned out to be considerably less lucky. On our way to Montreal, Anička – quite exhausted after 20 or so hours on the go opened her laptop in order to find a hotel for the next night. Blue light from the screen fused with just as cold bus lighting and underlined the worries and exhaustion that mirrored in her face – all remotely acceptable options seemed to be already taken, she had nowhere to go.

Slávek did sign a lease weeks ago and was looking forward to see his new pad located in a romantic alley road close to Berri UQAM. Unfortunately the place turned out to be not as good as he anticipated in at least two respects. First, the landlord – believed to be trustworthy as she is a piano teacher at McGill – forgot to mention that the whole house was skewed. That’s right – skewed! If you looked carefully, you could see that the doors, windows and floors themselves were anything but perpendicular. The consequence of that was that Slávek’s bed was tilted to an extent that his back hurt in the morning after a single night. Also, the place was squalid. There was a couple of guys living in the apartment already who apparently had no real sense for hygiene. So when Slávek arrived, he had no option but to begin to root out years old layers of dirt as the first thing in the morning. That was all the more distressing as Slávek expected to crash at a hotel-style bedroom with sheets and towels folded neatly at the bed’s feet. Instead he found a rather dirty mattress in the corner of the room. But the lease was signed – he had to suck it. While Slávek was reaching for his bucket in order to fight the squalor, Anička was still sleeping at hotel rooms.

As for me, I was enjoying my new pad with my two roommates Martin and Eric, albeit with some initial trouble pertaining to the lack of the internet (!!!) and insufficient amount of keys. In the first week Martin’s mom stayed to help us set up the flat. Unfortunately she didn’t speak any other language apart from Chinese, so purposeful communication was close to impossible. She did, however, put all she got into the refurbishment of our apartment. Day and night (!!!) she would drill holes, screw screws, hammer nails and perform endless ventures towards IKEA. Occasionally when I returned to my flat at night she would still sit on the floor, fixing things up. One week later Martin’s mom left us, realizing – apparently – that she has to let her son and his dubious roommates go on their own.

What will our apartment turn into is hard to say. So far we’ve been keeping it squeaky clean. But will that last? I undertook some housewarming measures in the meantime. I bought myself a plant and after some money counting I also bought one poster with Doctor Who theme to make my room feel homey. My flatmates also went to the poster sale, and – to my surprise – instead of one or two posters they brought at least eight (my favourite among those is a goofy mugshot of young Snoop Dogg wearing an oldschool suit). Now it looks like a gentlemen’s pad indeed!

Anička did find a place in the end. She was rescued by the university housing and moved into one of the residencies further down the street. Right now she is boldly undertaking the notoriously complicated journey to the remote temple of cheap household items, the IKEA. May she return unscathed.

[simonfiala]

The Gamble

Boy, that was one adventurous journey. Unsuspected, the yesterday’s adventure was actually rooted weeks ago, when we booked our tickets with British Airways. With a transfer of seemingly generous 90 minutes. In London. But let’s go back a little.

Two days prior to the departure I had a fever. No ordinary fever it was but the traveller’s fever. Bursts of activity took turns with prolonged periods of inertia, moments of brilliance occasionally breaking the dull state of mind. Mood swings as wild as they get. I knew this all too well, I just hoped it somehow wouldn’t happen this time. Not anymore, after so many opportunities to exercise.

Nevertheless, the morning of departure the trunk was packed. And it was troublingly big. The weight we have at home is notoriously unreliable, but it was giving me hints that the 23kg luggage allowance may turn out to be a problem. I took a couple of things out only to replace them with other things minutes later. Be that as it may, the time ran out. So I grabbed my luggage and began to make my way to the airport.

The luggage was unsurprisingly difficult to operate, but I made it to the airport to meet my companions, Slávek and Anička, in time. I measured my luggage and to my immense relief it had 23 kilos exactly. We went through the security and jumped on an unremarkable, small Airbus. Before that, the attendant told us that Slávek will have his seat upgraded in the following flight, but also that no seats were assigned to the rest of us. Leaving our silent questions unanswered, the attendant prompted us to continue to board. The plane took off and began to move us towards London. When it approximated Heathrow, the plane began to circle around, apparently queuing for a landing spot. While I was enjoying the terrific view of central London, Slávek began to suspect trouble. When it finally landed, we shuffled out slowly and began to look for the right way. Slávek noticed that it said on a signboard that the transfer from the terminal 3 to 5 takes about 90 minutes. WAIT – we had 90 minutes, not a minute more! We tried to move as fast as possible but soon we arrived at a gate where we had to wait for a shuffle bus. It filled up quickly so we had to wait for another one. 15 precious minutes gone. Than we rode it for another 20 minutes. Upon arrival, we began to make our way recklessly yet not very efficiently through the maze. To our horror, we arrived to a massive hall filled with people waiting to have their tickets checked. Hundreds of them wiggling ahead in tiny steps. That was 25 minutes before our gate was to close. We were beginning to realize that we’re not going to make it. Suddenly an attendant came out and asked the business class people to move to the fast track. I got an idea.

HERE! Our friend has a business class ticket and the rest of us should be upgraded too! The lady motioned towards the fast track. That was our only chance, so I made the gamble. We were standing in the queue for about ten minutes, making scenarios. It was all very clear at that moment. Either they do put us through, and there is a chance of making it, or they return us at the end of the queue and we’ve missed it. I hurdled to the other attendant and gave her my version of the story. She was not impressed. “Sorry, I won’t upgrade you”, she said. “There are no more vacancies. You’ll fly economy”. But she did put us through. We stormed through the next corridor frantically only to discover another security check. 10 minutes till the gate closes. We stripped our accessories wildly, torn open our hand luggage, jumped through the security frame, collected our stuff and sprinted to the gate. 10 minutes later we were sitting in a trans-Atlantic Boeing, moving slowly through lanes. That was a tight one.

8 hours later we approached Toronto. Thank god we weren’t in a hurry anymore, because the queue to immigration procedure took us at least 50 minutes. Than we collected all our luggage (miraculously undamaged) and carried on to a bus stop. We’re not pussies to take the express bus, obviously – we’d take the route the locals do. So first we jumped on a rickety old bus driven by a young lady, and then we rode the subway for another 50 minutes. Needless to say, by this time we were exhausted. Struggling with our heavy luggage (35 kilos of stuff each), we still did enjoy the presence of funny patrons, notable among whose was a black guy with gold teeth and loads of swag who decided to do push-ups next to Anička in an apparent effort to impress her.

That was not the end of your journey, however. We still had 6 hours bus ride from Toronto to Montreal ahead of us. We crashed in a bar in order to have a drink and then we went to queue for our Megabus. As customary, the queue was massive, and – like the subway – occupied exclusively by Blacks and Asians. I was bearing it favourably until that moment, but suddenly I had enough. I only wanted to lie down and sleep. Except for the lying down part it happened. We collapsed in our seats and - too tired to be disturbed by the discomfort of bright lights and bumpy roads - we embarked on the final part of our journey. So – four subway rides, four bus rides and two flights later, 26 hours after I left the front door – I arrived in Montreal. What a day.

[simonfiala]

Packing, 24 hours to go. Panic.

That time of the year has come when you try to squeeze major part of your life into a trunk. In past times sailors feared of the sirens more than anything else. The dread of the modern (budget) globetrotter is the luggage allowance. 23 kilos???!!!! You must be kidding me. Gooooodd!!

Will write a proper blog post about all that in the plane! Stay tuned. And see you on the other side.

[simonfiala]

Booked

BOOOM. The flight ticket is booked. Now I can lean back in my armchair and finally relax.

That means that I did get reasonable funding from my home university and I also did get approved by McGill - although they surely took their time. Checking the application status became part of my morning routine in the past couple of weeks. So there goes the next step! Oh- The flight ticket.

Oh I hate buying flight tickets. You know – I should be thrilled that I am about to fly somewhere… Instead I hate literally every facet of it.

To begin with, when you are going on an exchange, you know nothing about what it is going to be like. You’ll find out when you get there. What you have is a vague idea of the journey and a super vague idea of when exactly it is supposed to start and end. True – you have the academic calendar. But does the “end of exams” mean that you will be about to sit them by that time, or that you will be done by then for solid two weeks? Should you come prior to the actual beginning of the term and risk being desperately lonely for a couple of weeks in an alien city, or come exactly at that point risking that all the actual introductory and meet-and-greet stuff will be long gone? And then you sit there – in front of your browser – and you stare at the blank fields of the search window, realizing you’re not getting anywhere unless you know what to put there.

The fact that the tickets are absolutely impossible to reschedule (unless you want to pay about the same amount of money AGAIN) doesn’t help either. I mean, really? Is it like that the moment you click the “book” button a team of stonemasons begins to etch your itinerary into marble? Gee. So you know all too well that the click is a point of no return.

Oh and then there are the prices. The world of flight booking is vast and capricious. The actual price of the trip is something as virtual as an asset in Farmville (that used to be a thing, remember?). So it is absolutely common that you’re being offered two identical tickets, one moderately overpriced while the other costing about five times the amount of money anybody could ever choose to pay for it (while still being economy class, of course). Each server offers different prices than the other and certainly different prices than the actual airlines. And the prices change instantly, so if you don’t click fast enough the whole thing will reshuffle before you know it. And the absolutely worst part is that every time you finally decide on a remotely reasonable bargain (to be made with a goofy who-knows-whether-reliable server full of conditions and hidden terms of agreement), you are haunted by stories of EVERYBODY, who apparently just bought two discounted round trips to Fiji for 25 euros. So whatever you get, you immediately feel tricked, used and abused.

But hey, I did it. It’s over now. The adventure begins. Stay tuned.

[simonfiala]

It turns out I am going to Canada (!!!). It's another placement like the one I did with you guys in Warwick and you guys in Seoul. So I could say I established a routine - on year, one country to live in! Golly.

My university has surprisingly many international contracts. I reckon they get rated by how many people they send abroad or by how much money they spend on it. But the offices of international affairs don't really like to deal with strangers, so they basically sustain a community of traveling students - the ones that proved that they can leave and return in due time, not to spend all their scholarship money on booze and not to cause public outrages in their destinations. So once you get approved, you get to travel a lot. When they open a vacancy, you hand in identical documents to those you used the last time, you get asked pretty much the same questions at the interview... and with a bit of luck you get chosen (not to many people apply anyway, because they seldom find out that there is a vacancy in the first place). Then they point your destination on a map, throw money at you and wish you good luck. Fair enough!

So I got nominated for a placement at McGill University this time, a fancy school in Montreal. If nothing goes wrong, I will be going there for the autumn/winter term of 2014. Boom. When I returned from Seoul, I swore I will settle down. Two months later I was browsing exchange contracts on the university website. I guess just I got addicted to sipping champagne with cultured internationals at scandalously posh venues.

This is an opening post of my new blog (behold!). Here I will give you a glimpse of my adventures (by which I mean awkward mishaps mostly). I haven't decided yet whether to write in Czech or in English. I guess I'll see which makes more sense eventually. Please stay tuned!