Catching Out: Europe

Cooking in Max

Halfway:

If Berlin is a teen idol, then Prague is a decadent diva on permanent vacation in a pagan land. I'm certain that witches and warlocks convene their sacred rites in the surrounding dark forests and the inner chambers of blackened buildings in the city.

We arrived in the Czech republic in the alpine evening and passed many prostitutes posing as hitchhikers along the narrow highway. And as the last pink stains of the day dissolved into the nite sky, we prepared a roadside dinner by candlelight. About an hour further down the road, we exited the highway and drove tentatively past empty fields and thru a darkened town in search of a campsite. Eventually we creeped our way down a faltering dirt road and nestled the camper in a grove of trees.

The sky was littered with clustered stars and the black shadows around us seemed distinctly restless. I am rarely frightened by the nite sounds of nature, but these woods felt alive with the presence of all the neglected creatures that used to animate the hidden places of a forgotten Europe. I believe that fairies, sprites, goblins, trolls, and zombies have found refuge here from the electrified landscapes of modernity. I slept uneasily in their company, but now I wonder if maybe all they want is to be remembered.

In Prague the next day we walked down endless streets of proud aristocratic buildings. In comparison to Warsaw's vivid colors, Prague is muted and somber like the sad heart of weary diplomat. The sky is pierced by the sharp spires of cathedrals and the menacing towers that guard the city. In the middle of the main square the most imposing clock tower flaunts an elaborate calendar that marks the days by gears that track the progress of the earth and the sun. And the entire city wears a veil of cobwebs like a common superstition or a shared reluctance to embrace the promise of a bright future.

Leaving Prague we had a tense encounter with the Czech police because we had not purchased the required Autobahn Vignette. The police kept asserting, "We have a problem." But Mike and I replied, "There's no problem." We pretended that we didn't know about the vignette and said we would buy one immediately at the filling station where we were stopped. But the police wanted us to pay the 5000 Koruna fine (almost $200). They insisted, "We have a problem." And we reassured them, "We don't want a problem." The skit continued for a while until they finally relented - making the entire episode seem hilarious in retrospect.

The following afternoon at Kafe Kult (www.kafekult.de) in Munich, a dozen people sat on benches and watched CATCHING OUT projected onto a white sheet not much larger than a TV screen. But apparently size doesn't matter because this crowd definitely grasped the film. They were certainly the most responsive viewers, and they asked the most astute questions afterward. Among other things, we discussed the tradition of dissent in American patriotism and how criticism is incompatible with the German variety.

Anyway, I think Munich earned the award for Best Audience...Berlin won for the Smallest, and Warsaw was the Worst. Exactly halfway thru the tour, we headed back to Amsterdam where we traded the comfort of Max, the camper, for the madness of the motorbike.

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