He knows the train path from Brno Mirek.
The train is fine.
He arrived in Prague as he had done many times before. The station. Guys. Steps. Noise. Amplion notification. Dorms. The metal sound of suitcases on the tile.
We met at the station. I'm waiting for him for the opera, and we're hugging. We're waiting for Karl
Then move to Ambassador.
That's where the whole gang first met. Here comes Rober.
It was easy for the rest of us. You see faces. Expression. Smile. A gesture. Who's standing? Who looks like you? Who's nervous? Who's the man. Who's holding back.
Mirek doesn't have it that way.
To him, those people were voices at first.
Foreign voices.
He can't see his face. He's not reading the baby. He doesn't make up a person's eyes, nose, smile, and hands in his pockets.
It's made up of sound.
Ozzy Osbourne would say,
Voices, voices.
A few beers. First jokes. First careful mapping of who's who.
Me.
Mirek.
Robert.
And Charles, whom we call Lego.
Lego because he's trading used parts of legos. Which is such an exact nickname, there's actually no need to explain it. Just Lego.
Lego's first flight.
Which is the ideal material for an expedition after a complete eclipse of the sun.
When someone flies first, it's obviously their friends' duty to take care of them.
And we took care of him.
Not good.
But thoroughly.
Metro. Bus.
Suddenly we're there. It's not a pub idea anymore. It's not "someday we can." We already have backpacks, passports, boarding passes, and a crew that looks like they know what they're doing.
We're going to the lounge.
Bloody Mary.
Three.
Maybe it was the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning. It's hard to say. Anyway, at that point, the expedition had gained its own rhythm.
Lego goes to the bathroom about three times before flight.
Of course, we calm him down.
We tell him what it looks like when the plane falls.
I'm telling Mirko and Leg a story about an emergency landing in Ramstein. That's exactly the kind of story you shouldn't tell the first time you fly.
So of course you do.
There are other air disasters. TV documents about accidents. Simulation. Turbulence. Oxygen masks. Everything to give a man peace.
After a while, I feel like the Air Catastrophe from CAN TV is a kindergarten compared to what's happening in our lounge.
Mirek's having fun.
Not much of a Lego.
And at one point, I'm thinking, I don't know who has a bigger handicap.
A Mirek who can't see.
Or a Lego who sees too much.
A plane is a special area. You're not there yet and you're not here anymore. You're locked in a metal pipe with people who look normal, even though you're all collectively pretending to fly a few miles above the ground is a common thing.
It's a little different for Mirek.
Someone asks him:
"You see that?"
And he says,
"I can't see."
And it's not embarrassing.
It's just a fact.
He can't see.
Yes, he does.
Engines. Stewardess footsteps. Seat belts. Air conditioning. Our bullshit. Lego's silence. Laughter. Nervous.
And maybe that's why he's better off than we are.
We look out the window and see what happens.
He's already inside the road.
The flight went smoothly.
No drama.
No Ramstein.
No oxygen masks.
No episode of air disasters.
Just start, clouds, time somewhere between Prague and Barcelona, and then land.
Smooth.
Hooray for the bird.
And suddenly we're in Spain.
Not an eclipse yet. Not in the mountains. Not in the totalitarianism belt.
But we're gone now.
That's the important moment of every trip.
When you leave behind a place to be reasonable.
And you have a place in front of you where it's only time to show what kind of person you really are.
We're getting out.
We're taking Uber.
And at that point, all we care about is that everyone has their own girlfriend.
Guitar.
Because what an expedition without guitars.
And what kind of a bunch of musicians would it be if she was dealing with sleeping bags, water, and carimans when she got to Barcelona?
That would be too sensible.
And so far, we've been anything but reasonable.
