After five weeks in Czechia, I am about to depart. Not for “home” – because I begin to think of “home” as wherever I am at the moment – and I’ve certainly felt at home here with the Czechs.
Three times now I’ve encountered pianos in public places in Prague. One, a rather plain old upright in a sheltered passageway near the national theater, was being played by a rather scruffy young woman – pounding out ragtime.
When I speak to a Czech audience, I always begin by saying: “Omlo valm say – Nem lu veem Chesky.” I’m sorry, but I do not speak Czech. Then my mischievous interpreter always says, in perfect English, “He says he is sorry, but he doesn’t speak Czech.”