"we'll always have [Prague]"

I love hearing my mom tell me about her first time backpacking in Norway. I'm not sure how accurate my description is of it because it's become a family story told every few years and I've let my imagination conjure up the vague parts, similar to how a reader uses imagination to create his or hew of depiction of characters in a book.  Anyways, this is how I like to think the story goes:

My mom, Wendy, was a dexterous young lady with big glasses, blue eyes, and a warm, lovable heart. She may or may not have had some awful 80's bangs but I haven't decided if those came later or not. (Don't worry mom, your hair is great now). Her lively spirit may have been the only thing holding her tiny 5'1 frame up from under her 40 lb powder blue hiking backpack. While backpacking across Europe, she got the crazy idea to go find this tiny island in Norway where her grandfather (or some other obscure relative) came from. She hopped on this tiny rickety boat and arrived in Norway late at night. It was pouring down rain and she had nowhere to say. A hooded figure approaches her holding a lantern. He's a cute old fellow with white hair and fair skin. She reaches into her napsack (I don't entirely know what a "napsack" is but let's just pretend she had one) and pulls out a wrinkled map, trying to explain why she had shown up in the middle of nowhere on a night like this. As a last attempt to make some sense of the situation, she mutters the family name of her grandfather, "Melland". The man looks surprised and smirks. In broken english he says "you must come with me". They drive through the countryside in a small car. Wendy is lead into a quaint cabin, fed, and questioned. It's an awkward meal and Wendy begins to suspect something is up. Towards the end of the meal, a large burly Norwegian man with blonde hair comes through the door. He looks disoriented and stares at my mother. Then he says, as if it's a question, "this man you speak of was my grandfather too". 

Twenty years ago, when someone went abroad, it meant an entirely different thing for the traveler. He or she essentially lived a fairy tale life, embarking on one of those journeys of self discovery and returning home with the makings of a best selling memoir. There was mystery, romance, adventure, post cards sent home from paris, rome, and budapest, letters to friends and family exchanged over weeks, and really just an opportunity to live what I would call a saturated life.
I have always had the longing to have my own story, one like my mom's. To me, what she did was a real, honest to God, organic adventure. Unfortunately, I think it's much more difficult to achieve this. What's different? Well, the internet. I have facebook, I have email, I have my blog(s). I have skype so I can see people from back home on a daily basis if I ever really wanted to. I'm "abroad" but I can be home if I want to. I'm not trying to insult any of you technology lovers as obviously these advancements are perks, but I am getting close to freezing my facebook just so I can feel like I'm away.


Over lunch today, a few friends and I discussed how liberating it would be to just say toodles to the internet, post up in a cheap apartment in Prague for the summer and just not return home. Twenty years ago, people could do that. But then later today when I was looking through my pictures, I came across some I took of the lock gate. There is an old legend in Prague that says if you find true love in Prague, you have to find a lock, engrave your names in it, and throw it in the canal. Or, if you want it to be seen by the world, you lock it onto a gate.

When I first stumbled upon this little gem, I was reminded of the famous line in Casablanca: "We'll always have Paris". Only this time, I imagine a couple in love, scratching their initials into a heavy heart shaped locket and saying "we'll always have prague".  It really makes me happy that people are still living this kind of life. Seriously, falling in love in Prague? OBVIOUSLY there is no better place. Prague castle looks like it's straight from Cinderella, there are cobblestone streets lined with street lamps everywhere you look, and PDA is totally socially acceptable here (ahem, even on escalators I've noticed). The main point of this entire story is that people are still coming home with stories. Whether it be falling in love, making friends, finding yourself, finding life, discovering a long lost relative, etc, these stories can be told over and over again. 

So, maybe I can still keep my facebook after all :) Just because I have internet doesn't  mean I can't send postcards right?