This one hits a nerve, connecting the dots for my past and a country’s historical past, where the latter was one of the reasons I connected so strongly to the former.
In 2008, as part of my Pepperdine MBA program, we went to Prague and Brussels. (Use that “Search” button over there, I have a LOT of old photos from that trip on here if you’re interested.)
Forty years earlier, when I was twelve, the Russians had invaded what was then Czechoslovakia to put down a massive protest and revolution. There were pictures on the news of tanks rolling through Prague which made quite an impression on me. (1968 was quite the year in the US as well, between MLK’s assassination, Bobby Kennedy’s assasination, riots, the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, and finally, Apollo 8.)
I got into town a day early, my first time ever travelling someplace where the language was completely different and even the alphabet was different, where I was alone with no one who could translate for me. Granted, a fair number of folks spoke English. But it was uncharted territory for me. There was a significant feeling of introversion, a strong desire to just hole up in my hotel room and wait for the next day to go out, when I would have the rest of my group there along with our guides and translators.
I went out anyway.
I had done my planning in advance and knew (in principle) where the subways ran, where the hotel was located, where the big tourist sights were. I had cash, maps, resources. And god damn it, it was an ADVENTURE!!
There was a transit station right across the plaza from the hotel and I knew enough to get on going in the right direction toward the central city. I knew which exit got me off in the center of town, at the National Museum. In fifteen minutes I was coming up from the station to the steps outside the National Museum, which turned out to be exactly where I wanted to start wandering, even if I hadn’t realized it in advance.
This is the view from the steps of the National Museum at the top of Wenceslas Square, looking down the hill. Go down to the bottom and wander off to the left a dozen blocks and you’ll come to the Vltava River and the legendary Charles Bridge, with the Prague Castle and St. Vitus Cathedral on the top of the hill on the far bank. (Which is what I did that afternoon.)
I was stunned by this view. I knew it, remembered it from when I was twelve years old. I had seen pictures from this exact spot, looking down this hill, this street jam packed with protesters and students on the one hand, and Russian tanks and troops on the other. I don’t recall having seen that picture in decades before going there, probably close to that full forty years, but those images were seared into my brain from 1968.
It was an auspicious start to the trip, which turned out to be spectacular. Brussels was nice, the places we visited as part of our Pepperdine course work were fascinating, but Prague has remained one of the favorite places that I’ve ever visited.
Tonight, having picked this picture to share, I decided to go hunting for pictures from 1968. For whatever reason, I had never searched hard enough to find the pictures that I remembered. Until today.
Thousands of protesters are seen crowding at Wasceslas square in down town Prague, Czechoslovakia, August 1968, demonstrating against the Russian invasion. Some fighting is reported in the capital after the Soviet Union and four Warsaw Pact allies invaded the country August 20, 1968. (AP Photo)
What led me to this perfect spot to start my wandering tour of this foreign city when I forced myself to tell that cautious, scared, introverted voice to STFU? Blind luck? Karma? Kismet?
Whatever, now I have the other piece of the puzzle. And I still can’t wait to get back to Prague someday!
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 