Pulling at the Roots

As I have previously mentioned, my great-great grandfather was born in a small village in northern Bohemia.  Even before I left I was hoping to visit this village.  Unfortunately, the quest was proving a bit difficult for a variety of reasons.  First, the village is called Petrovice, which is a rather common name for a town in what is now the Czech Republic.  Secondly, the only familial connection we were in immediate touch with couldn’t quite remember where it was as their visit was well over ten years ago.  Further, the contact information for their guide was no longer viable.  In many ways I had sort of resigned myself to the sad fact that I might not get to visit this village.

As luck would have it, my grandmother was able to get in touch with a somewhat distant cousin on that side of the family who knew where it was and, it seemed, had some good contact info for a point person near the village.  These initial attempts at reaching this contact also proved unsuccessful, so I had resolved to visit on my own.  This cousin interceded once again just a few days before I was scheduled to leave Krakow for the Czech Republic with contact information for a good friend of my distant cousin/relative that still lived near this village.

Since I had heretofore been unable to reach someone that might facilitate my visit to this not often traveled portion of the Czech Republic, I had only planned to stay a night at most.  I figured this would give me a few hours to get a feel for the area and see the ancestral home without too much rushing around.

My contact spoke no English, but with the help of Google’s translator, he was able to roughly understand who I was and what I was hoping to do.  The fact that neither he nor my relative Josef spoke no English was not an issue.  So, with a bit of hopeful nervousness in my belly, I set out from Olomouc on my way to Bohemia.

The trip from Olomouc to my connecting train took about an hour and from there to Letohrad was another 20 minutes.  Upon disembarking, I immediately knew who was my relative.  Despite the improbable gap, something in Josef’s eye and cheek bones reminded me of my grandmother.  With a wide grin on his face he firmly shook my hand and I knew I was amongst family.

Josef’s neighbor Bretislav was also there as driver.  After a few exercises in miming and rapid talking in Czech, they ascertained that  I wasn’t hungry or thirsty so we set out for their nearby village, Vermerovice.  Here we stopped by a woman’s home so she could do some initial translation as Josef wished to know how long I would stay and what I’d like to do.  Further, she added, he also wanted to make sure that I knew that I was his guest while here and I must accept this.  I wasn’t quite sure what I was accepting, but agreed.

We went off to Josef’s modest home where he popped upon an unlabeled bottle of homemade sparkling wine made by a friend as best I could gather.  It was a fine, dry wine and while drinking a few glasses he showed me some pictures of his visit to America, tried as best he could without a translator to explain to me some different things about his home and his life.

As was previously mentioned by the friendly translator, Josef lives a simple, but happy life.  He is a farmer and loves animals.  He has no need for a phone or the internet.  His existence is based on his friends and his deep attachment to the land he farms.

After awhile, Bretislav took us over to Petrovice to see the Novak family home.  We were greeted by a smiling woman of some 80 odd years who lived in #7 Petrovice with her son and grandchildren.  They mostly talked amongst themselves, showed me pictures of other Novaks in America, tried to force feed me some sort of dessert item, and every once in awhile tried to ask me questions about my Novak lineage (I had created a small succession of births to somewhat handily illustrate this).

Following this conversation, her son took us over to Dolni Cermna, where Josef had arranged my accommodations for the evening.  We made our way up to the third floor of this seeming hostel.  I had a three bed room to myself that came equipped with a sink, but had shared bathroom facilities.  We dropped my bags and Josef, like a dotting mother, immediately commenced in putting the provided sheets on my bed.  After this, he started pulling beers, food, and flavored water out of a bag he’d been carrying around.  These were all for me in case I was hungry or thirsty.

From here we went across a short field towards a bar with a nice courtyard.  Josef ordered a beer for me, then took off somewhere on a friend’s bicycle.  Not sure where or why, but as I pondered this oddity, my beer was brought out to me by a girl of maybe 10 years, which was somewhat surprising.  After a few minutes, Josef reappeared, ordered himself a beer and sat down with me outside.  A second round was purchased and after its completion, we set off on foot to see the village.

Josef took me along to the church graveyard where his wife and some other Novak’s were buried.  Here he dutifully watered the flowers on these graves, marking crosses in the dirt after doing so.  Before leaving we met a friend, who seemed to be the church caretaker.  He let us inside to see the small, but well-appointed church that served the surrounding villages.  From the church we made our way down a hill and out towards a nice pond, working our way along it’s bank to a friend’s home.  This friend was a “big farmer,” while Josef himself was a “small farmer.”  He introduced me to his friends and their family, showing me their operation.

We then made our way back around towards the restaurant and bar in Dolni Cermna to have a some more beer.  Upon our arrival, Josef was beaming at the prospect of serving me some slivovice, a Moravian brandy.  I’m always willing to try something once so he went off to buy a shot of this hair-raiser.  Uncertain of the custom, I took a sip first and commented positively before shooting the rest.  It’s not really my thing, but it was pretty good.

People periodically trickled in and out of the establishment with Josef offering an “ahoj” –an informal hi that sounds like Ahoy–and introducing me to them.  At one point the child of one of his friends stopped in with her husband and he immediately got them over to the table because they spoke English and could translate for us.  They seemed close to my age and were in town visiting for the weekend (they live and work in Prague).  Eventually, the father/friend of Josef also appeared and we sat for an hour or so talking over drinks.  They departed later in the evening and were replaced by the earlier translator and her young son of 15, who also spoke some English and was also named Josef.  With them we had more drinks and dinner as well.  The hours ticked by pleasantly as the company, food, and drink were all quite lovely.

Sometime past 11PM, mother and son took off on bike back to Smermovice while Josef walked me back to my accommodation.  Wishing to make sure I was able to get in okay, he walked me to the third floor before saying goodbye and making his way back to Smermovice on foot.  Since it was several kilometers I felt quite bad about this, but everyone acted as if it was no big deal even that late at night.

The next morning around 8:30 Josef was knocking at my door, ready to take me to the train station with Bretislav.  He had more food and drink for me, as he was quite worried about me spending time in Prague.  According to my translator the previous night, “it is very expensive.  He also wants me to tell you not to take the taxis in Prague.  They charge too much money and are not nice people.”  He then reminded me of this in a broken mix of Czech and English the next morning at the station.  And, despite my protestations, he insisted on buying my ticket to Prague from Letohrad.

When the train arrived, he helped me board with my bags and shook my hand once more, that same smile on his face.

I’m still not quite sure what I think about this slice of Bohemia.  It was certainly enchanting and since I’m so prone to flights of fancy, I could envision myself there.  I saw myself in a cottage.  I saw myself with a bike, pedaling the few miles into nearby Letohrad for Czech language lessons.  I saw myself sitting peacefully with a mug of cheap beer, cheerfully uttering an “ahoj!” to those that passed by.  I saw work, I saw construction of a great novel.  These pastoral worlds of possibility flowed out from my hear in such easy succession, I believed in them.  I believed in their attainment.  I think I still might.  I left after this quick stopover promising a return soon–next summer perhaps.  Later I wondered if they believed me and whether I believed myself.  The connection I feel to the place is much greater than when I left America some weeks ago.  And this connection is in no small part due to the generous hospitality and warmth I felt as Josef’s guest.

As the train pulled out of the station, I could still see Josef standing there with that broad smile on his face.  I do hope to see it and the land of my fore bearers once more.