(Awe)SomeThing #03

Po pár mesiacoch hľadania som našla ideálneho hodinára v Prahe. Ticho a jemne rozprávajúci, až ho prehlušuje tikot hodín v jeho malej opravovni. Tak správne divný, držiaci očný kontakt skôr s mojimi pokazenými hodinkami, než so mnou. Vlastniaci skromnú predajňu v nenápadnom dvore, kam sa dostanete z rušnej pražskej ulice. A vždy sa mi niečo zaujímavé udeje, keď ta zamierim.

Môj nedávny výklad „Čo treba opraviť, čo treba vymeniť a iné problémy moderných časomier“ spolovice počul aj ďalší klient, ktorý sa mi prihovoril v momente, keď pán hodinár zamieril do skrytých častí opravárne aj s mojou trojicou (ne-)tikajúcich pacientov.

„Z které části Slovenska jste?“, opýtal sa ma azda najčastejšiu small-talkovú otázku. Po odpovedi, že z južného, väčšina ľudí decentne premostí k téme dovoleniek v Tatrách, k príbuzným na východe a k babičkám z Martina. Tento pán namiesto toho prepol rovno do takmerplynulej maďarčiny.

„Já jsem žil deset let v Maďarsku a vrátil jsem se do Prahy v devadesátém. A řeknu Vám, Maďaři, to jsou jiní lidé než my, Češi. I v jazyce je to jiné, víc vznětlivé a takové, explicitní. Jediné slovo, co mi v maďarštine chybělo, bylo stýská se mi. A je to i úplně odlišná mentalita, než naše česká. Maďar se na vás nedokáže hněvat dlouho. On si to s váma vyříká buď slovama, nebo pěstma před hospodou - ale pak je klid a jste znova kamarádi, nebo s váma skončil. To Češi, my v sobě živíme tu nenávist, tu negativitu dlouhodobě a silně. Ještě jsem nezažil, aby měl Maďar dlouho vztek na jiného, pár facek jsem ale dostal. Ale když se na mně zlobí manželka, to pak vždy trvá půl věčnosti!“

K slovu ma síce veľmi nepustil (kto raz dostane možnosť pokecať si s niekým po maďarsky v Prahe, sa tejto možnosti len tak ľahko nevzdá), no po odchode od hodinára som musela bojovať s hrčou v hrdle. Spomínala som si na blízkych z juhu a nedokázala som si spomenúť na prípad, kedy sa na mňa niekto hneval viac než pol okamihu. I keď som sa nikdy neidentifikovala s maďarskosťou, slovenskosťou a inými atribútmi, za ktoré človek nemôže, nedalo mi inak, než sa skrz tú hrču usmievať.

Asi toto je niečo ako „korene“ - či už je to ovplyvnené miestom, kde človek vyrastal, alebo skôr ľuďmi, s ktorými vyrastal a žil (prikláňam sa k tejto alternatíve). Človek vždy kamsi patrí, len si to často neuvedomuje.

(V budúcnosti však budem vedieť, na koho a na čo zvaliť prípadné divné správanie a zvláštne charakterové rysy. To nie je mnou, to je mojím regiónom!)

A hairdresser, a dentist and a watchmaker. If you find these three people in your new home, then you know you have found your place. (Well, sort of.)

Today, it`s not going to be about my hairdresser who made me enjoy brainstorming for the first time in my life (no, that would be too short... no, just put those scissors away... you want to try WHAT?!). It`s not going to be about Dimitrij, the dentist who steals your heart while fixing your teeth. 

The next words will be dedicated to my favorite watchmaker in Prague, hidden between many hipster cafés, busy streets where people collide with trams and ice-cream stands that absurdly make the best kind of icecream (točená) turn into the worst (melon-banana combination, yikes). Every time I go there, something unexpected happens to me.

Me at the watchmaker, speaking to him in Slovak: „Bla bla battery, bla bla new remienok“. (Yes, I often let things go cumulatively wrong instead of fixing smaller issues one by one.)

An older guy walks in and the watchmaker leaves the room to repair my watches based on my instructions. Despite the fact that that day I would have preferred awkward silence over small-talk, the man asks which part of Slovakia I am from. „The South“, I answer and expect to get some story about never being in the south, but maybe about vacations in the mountains or Grandparents from the eastern part of the country.

Instead, the man asks me if I spoke Hungarian and switches into almost-fluent Hungarian after my nod. After some nostalgia (he had lived in Hungary for ten years, then came back to Prague in 1990), he came to quite a politically incorrect (me gusta!) comparison between Czechs and Hungarians.

„Czechs, you know - they hate intensively, never stopping to dislike something or someone, feeding the anger while they are often consumed by it as time flies by. Hungarians - on the other hand - never hate for a long time. If they have a problem with you, they take you outside and solve it with fists or with a slap. Then they are either done with you forever, or your friend again. They... You are - how should I put it - more explosive. Just like the language. But I have never seen a Hungarian being angry for a long time. But I have a Czech wife and let me tell you, her anger lasts for ages!“

After I left the watchmaker`s, I could do nothing but fight the clump in my throat and remember my beloved ones from the south. Even though I have never identified myself as „Hungarian" or other -ian, there is much truth in his words when applied to people I have been influenced by. Not a single person has ever been angry, disappointed or expressed any long-term bad-ness to me for more than a few fragments of a moment.

Well, I guess this is what they call roots. When you expect them least, they show themselves to you and you can´t do anything but belong.

At least for a while.

Not sure how to illustrate this text, but here - let`s have some dried flowers instead of something topic-relevant! Random experience included: The only flowers not rotting away, but beautifully drying out, are the ones from the farmer`s market. #fLover