The Ugly Americans

 

Over the years Mark and I traveled quite often. Probably thirty or forty trips around North America, and Europe. On most of those trips, at some point, I would swear that I would never travel with him again. My need to rest after a couple of hours of sightseeing conflicted with Mark's belief that when you go away, you must spend every single hour walking, riding, visiting museums, and going out in the evening to party. I don't think he ever grasped the fact that I was ten years older than he was. One trip that Mark liked to bring up in company often, was our visit to Prague. He usually got on the subject when the idea of finding your way around a strange city came up. Mark got lost in every single city we visited and I liked to tell those stories. So Mark got great pleasure in telling how Alan made a mistake finding our way to the night life in Prague.

We had got on the correct tram, but if you know me, you know that I always think I know where I'm going. As the tram snaked through the city I kept on assuring Mark that I knew exactly when we should get off. I had looked at the map and saw that we had to exit the big red tram just before it crossed the river. About two blocks before the river the tram stopped and most of the people got off. Mark suggested that maybe we should too. "No, not this stop. We get off at the river." I told him. As we approached the river bridge, I stood up and told Mark that our stop was coming up. I was a bit surprised when the train just kept going past the corner and across the river. We should have got off with all those other people. I pressed the call button over and over. The driver ignored me. Finally on the far side of the river, the tram stopped and the doors opened. Mark got off, and as I stepped off he began berating me. I tried to make an excuse, but Mark did not hear me because he was yelling. The few people around looked at us like we were nuts, all cursing and yelling in a foreign language. Oh, I didn't mention, at that time not very many Czechs spoke English. It was very rare to run into one who understood us. Anyway, we started on foot back across the bridge, Mark yelling, me yelling, and then it started raining. You'd think he was melting, the way Mark whined. At that point I swore I would never travel with him again. We did finally make it back across to the entertainment area we had been trying to get to. Not before fending off numerous prostitutes, but we got there. We had a couple of drinks in a bar where nobody spoke English, and then took a taxi back to our bed and breakfast. The next morning I got up all rested and ready for our tour of the castle where I got explosive diarrhea. But that's another story.