I’d met Hana, a Czech teacher of English, on the London–Prague coach last year. When she heard I was going to Hutĕ, she invited me to go and visit her in Moravský Krumlov, near Brno. Hutĕ is about halfway between Prague and Brno.
Vláda said he’d go and pick me up at the nearest big town, Pelhřimov, ten minutes’ drive away from Hutĕ, on the day of my return from Moravský Krumlov.
I decided, however, to take the Pelhřimov—Počátky bus, which stops at Ostrovec, and walk back to Hutĕ, only 1.3km away. (Ostrovec is the official name of this stop nearest to Hutĕ, but Vláda had nicknamed it The Blueberry Junction — see blog The unconventional passenger.) Apart from saving Vláda the time and effort, this is more ecological and economical. More fun too, as I like to try and find my own way around as much as possible, even though I cannot speak the language.
It was a hot August day, and the 3pm sun was beating down hard. I saw, as I got on the bus, that everyone was seated on the driver’s side (the sunny side), with the right-hand side (in the shade) all empty. I took the first seat in the shade, just behind the front door. This meant that I could see the road ahead clearly: for the views (which are wonderful everywhere you look), and for the sighting of The Blueberry Junction as we approached.
I soon discovered why my fellow passengers were all clustered on the other side. When the bus turned out of the bus terminus, my side was now in the sun and baking.
The driver was all too conscious of this foreigner in their midst, for I stand out for miles with my non-White looks. He was able to see me diagonally through his rear view mirror, and kept me within his sight as he drove on, looking up frequently, although he knew I was not getting off until Ostrovec, which was still 20 minutes away. I thought it was sweet of him to be so conscientious about looking after the poor ignorant foreigner who couldn’t speak a word of his language.
After another five minutes of roasting in the sun, I moved over when someone in the seat behind the driver got off. This was not registered by the driver as his eyes were on the road at the time.
The next time he looked in his rear view mirror, there was no Oriental face to greet him back in the reflection. The recollection of the look of panic in his eyes makes me laugh even now. Where had the Oriental passenger gone?!? He didn’t remember her getting off.
Refusing to believe his mirror, he turned his head round and looked across directly at the seat just behind the door. Empty. How did he manage to lose her??!! Panic.
Then he found her: sitting right behind him. The look of relief was another one to behold. I still remember it vividly, chuckling every time at the memory. Poor man.
He must’ve felt an even greater relief when we finally arrived at The Blueberry Junction and I got off — a burden off his hands (and eyes) at last. He could now drive without constantly checking in his rear view mirror to make sure he didn’t lose his foreign passenger again.
(Czech Republic, 2011)
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