I'm walking with Ann and Jessie on a cold winter night in Prague in search of a Coke. Actually, they're buying something else - I'm the one with the soda crave. There's nary a soul in sight, and the silence is deafening. There's no sound to be heard - not even wind.
If there were fog, I'd rename this city Silent Hill.
Few cars pass by. The ones that do adhere to Sergio Leone's philosophy on violence: a sudden burst and then it's gone. Only the snow crunching under our feet can be heard. "Soft fireworks," Jessie calls it; if you pause to listen, you hear it. No time to here, though: the silence is dreadful - and the cold uninviting - and so we move about rather quickly.
We turn a corner and come upon a shop, only to find we're ten or twenty minutes too late: it's closed. Mind you, it's not even 11:30.
That's how it is in Prague. Government mandated quiet hours instruct residents to keep the noise level down between 10 PM and 6 AM. Fliers posted around our dorms remind us of this, specifically the fact that it's a law, and that if we're loud the neighbors will call the police. At first, you'd think that's wonderful.
I'm all for rocking out to loud music and being a typically loud Cuban, but I appreciate the wonders of silence or quietness. When walking out at night, though, it can turn a simple Coke purchase into a nightmare.
Last night, I drank no soda. We returned to the dorm empty-handed, our only comfort being the warmth. Of course, that's specifically in the rooms. Our hallways are not heated, so the minute you step out to visit a friend, you're surrounded by freezing air. It makes the trip worth it, once you enter a room and find the heat clinging to your body and making you all better.
New York is loud. There, to find a location where it is quiet is a marvel and it's a prized area. I prefer it that way, though. When you hear bustle around you, then life can be felt. It's that same feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when listening to a live band, that drummer getting her bass inside you. Living in Holešovice, you'd think you were the only one.
I like the sound of soft fireworks under my feet, but I love the sound of loud people more.
Arrgh, I disagree with you on the quiet issue. Give me a nice long bout of silence any time. I've been staying at a friend's house for a week and some and her place is so wonderfully quiet. When I returned to my place, the sounds of my family were so jarring to me. Conversations and tv blaring and the even more noise outside with stupid car alarms and folks talking on cells outside the home. Blah.
ReplyDeleteI think I need to move to Prague based on what you're writing so far.
Wonderful rhythm in this entry by the way. The use of "Soft fireworks" was well done.
I miss the noise of new york city already...you just made me all the more nostalgic :) Nicely written, love the imagery (presentation is everything), though I appreciate the thoughts behind the imagery even more. Sometimes it's only in the noisiest of places, surrounded by thousands of unknown faces that we seek out ourselves in desperation...put your ear to the snow and listen hard to those fireworks - the louder they get the closer we'll be to home.
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