I’ve contacted a few of the people from the Personals Ads but so far I haven’t found what I’m looking for. Some of them seem to want to meet new people solely so they can tell them how terribly busy their schedules are; I don’t want to be pencilled into someone’s diary for a week on Thursday between three pm and four-thirty. Others suggest getting together at lively gatherings such as the ‘Dynamic Business Women in Prague’ monthly event. As I can only honestly lay claim to being a woman and, of late, living in Prague, I decline those invitations too. Then of course there are the many youthful travellers who want to go clubbing with some cool new people or, worse still, meet for a latte and a game of squash. My coolness rating would soon be discovered to be closer to the lukewarm mark when I ask the DJ to play some Abba, and the only squash I’m familiar with has the words ‘Robinson’s’ and ‘orange’ associated with it. I’ve also come across a few of the out-and-out freaks who stalk the Personal Ads world but they deserve a story of their own.
The ex-pat life is a strange one. Disparate groups of people brought together without the usual defining social factors - a hotchpotch of individuals, usually with an overdeveloped sense of their own uniqueness. Each has a story to tell but so far I’ve only heard two distinct tales.
The first begins with ‘Europe is awsome’ and continues with a list of countries visited that far exceeds the number of years the teller has lived on the planet. This kind of encounter usually transforms me into a badly acted character from a comedy sketch:; “Eee, when I were your age, Europe ‘adn’t even been invented. We thought we were lucky if we got a charabanc trip up t’end of our road on a wet Sunday in July’.
The second story begins with “I’ve just bought…” (or a variation –“my husband has just bought….”) and continues with a list of assets that many small South American countries would be proud to possess. In most cases, Prague is just one of the many cities these people live and work. They are the ubiquitous ‘consultants’ though I’ve never discovered who actually consults them, or why. As I am the proud owner of a small suitcase of clothes and very little else, the conversation usually ends with the last item on their inventory.
But today I am meeting Sara, a woman a few years older than me, American and also newly arrived in Prague. We exchange a few emails before we meet. She has to work tomorrow, but could meet today, in an hour or so. I tell her, ‘yes’. I already love the spontaneity and anyway, my only other planned activity for the day was washing my hair. I tell her I’m happy to delay this pressing task if she doesn’t mind being seen with someone whose hair is almost falling into dreadlocks.
I dash out, taking the metro into the city centre to a café we both know. As I’m navigating towards our meeting point, it dawns on me that we haven’t discussed how we are going to recognise each other. We haven’t discussed much at all really, so there are no clues as to how she might look other than she is around my age. With slight apprehension I enter the small café.
Luckily someone arrives minutes before me and is being served at the counter so I can use the time waiting to be served to scan the room. There are only two people seated. One of them is a man by the window working on a laptop; he’s about thirty, African American, long hair. The other is a woman, and – joy of joys – is smoking a cigarette! It has to be Sara. I eye her surreptitiously while I’m waiting and she glances up but returns to the paper she’s reading. I’m confused. She looks up again and this time she smiles, eyebrows raised in a questioning arch. I give a cautious nod, get my coffee and move to her table.
“Hello, I’m Daryl” I say as she stands and we do the awkward dance of cross-cultural greeting. I sit down and light a cigarette. “I’m glad you smoke’ I begin, just as she says “you’re a woman!” We laugh.
Without further introductions, and still laughing, Sara lowers her voice and leans towards me in a conspiratorial fashion: "I had no idea who I was looking for, so when I saw him sitting by the window I thought ‘Daryl','dreadlocks' wow! it's him!’. More laughter as we discuss the merits of the stranger with the laptop.
We talk and smoke and drink more coffee. She is bubbling over with talk of the job she’s applying for, her experiences since she’s been in Prague, her life before she came here. I am equally effervescent, so happy to find someone who not only understands my accent, but really understands what I’m talking about. Hours are passing by and we agree that we should move on.
As we walk towards Mala Strana, I’m barely aware of where we are are, we are so engrossed in conversation. Sara has three children, just a little older than mine. Like me, she found herself single, kids gone and utterly bored with the life she had. We stop for a beer and continue talking and laughing. Like me, on a whim, she packed up and moved to Prague for no other reason than she could. She arrived a month after me, with a little money in the bank and the determination that she could get a job and have an adventure. We finish our beers and prepare to leave.It’s now evening – many hours have passed since we met. We agree to call it a day and meet up again. There is no question in my mind that we will, and soon. It’s a rare and special day; I’ve found a true friend.
