Going Bohemian

Jiri’s switch from alcohol to green tea has certainly affected his sleeping, however with the money he saves from abstaining, he has been able to buy some fairly exotic teas. As it is strange for a man to brag about his tea collection, I was pretty curious as to what made his so great. This all led to Jiri inviting the five of us (Nell, Pat, Lindsey, Alex and I) over to his house in Ladvi for a tea party on Friday afternoon.
It has been a long time (never) since I’ve been invited anywhere for a tea party. I was not entirely sure about the etiquette of visiting a Czech house, let alone tea parties. As a result, I decided to take up any suggestion that Jiri had. Upon meeting him at the metro station, taking a bus a few stops, and walking to his neat little house on the edge of the city, Jiri offered the use of any one of his many pairs of slippers. Sticking to the plan, I accepted a warm plaid pair. The other’s politely declined and offered to take off their shoes, when Jiri assured us that the only reason to do so would be if, “you have shit on them.” Meaning dog shit.
This raises an important point about Prague, and most European cities for that matter. As so much of Prague is cobblestoned, and really the only green areas are a few flower boxes and the parks and squares that dot the city, there is a phenomenal amount of dog shit just lying on the sidewalks. There were times, especially in Florida, where cleaning up after Olive on a jog seemed like such a nuisance, especially since I would then have to jog carrying the waste of a 70 LB dog for three blocks before finding an available receptacle. Now that I’ve seen the alternative, I will gladly jog those three blocks with a bag full of, well, no need to be crude.
Anyways, back to the tea party. So, Jiri welcomed us into his home. His counter was full of vases that were packed with spent tealeaves. I figured it was just an odd decoration choice, but Jiri told me that he was saving them for compost. Our tour was limited the first floor (or the 0th floor here) which featured, among those things you find in most houses, a collection of drums, guitars, amps, and more than enough hats to go around. When he led us to a cozy sectional wrapped around a coffee table, I was sporting an Aussie bucket hat and Lindsey was in a beret.
Jiri brought teas out one pot at a time, insisting that we pour small glasses so that it didn’t get cold. I am sure there is a specific tea-tasting procedure: swirl, smell, swirl, taste, gurgle, whatever. There’s certain things you do when you taste wine, but my palette is not nearly sophisticated enough to distinguish much beyond “I like” and “I don’t like.” Tea was similar, however stacking them up side by side allowed for me to taste and smell the differences between early and late harvest Darjeeling. After Darjeeling and Oolong, we moved onto simple green tea. After nearly six or seven healthy pots of tea, a borderline-unhealthy over-caffination, Jiri invited us to play with his instruments. I strummed a few things on the guitar, and Jiri quickly joined in on his “Fun Box” (Jiri, if you read this, what is that thing really called?), which is shaped like a small stool that you, in fact, sit on and pound the sides of. This all led to a brief jam session between two people with too much tea in their system, wearing flannel slippers and hats.

As we left, the day still strangely bright, I was struck by how strange things can be here without my even noticing.