When fascists cry...

I didn't think I was the blogging type till last night. I met my first fascist ever, yesterday, and he cried!! So, now I must blog. It makes sense, trust me.

At the moment I'm in Prague. I left Madrid almost two weeks ago now (after three long years!), and have been traveling a bit. We took the overnight train to Paris, which could have been lousy, but we had a private cabin with a shower! And from Paris we shipped out to meet Dan's family in the suburbs. Actually, it was more of a small town, but not far from the city.

We stayed for a week in the tower of a medieval farm. And, as always, the Mason family entertained. We ate and ate and ate some more, rubbed elbows with some very musical folks, drank lots of wine, played music with plastic spoons, went for a walk that we all thought might never end, played petanque and scrabble and had a generally good time relaxing. Unfortunately, the week was soon over and we returned to Paris on Bastille day.

We spent the weekend in Paris eating and drinking and socializing some more. We were, sucked in and it was over far too quickly. We hopped a flight to Prague and we've been walking the city since.

There are a few too many tourists, but it's charming all the same. We thought about leaving two days ago, but haven't managed to tear ourselves away. The people are nice, the food is good and if you can stay away from the main squares it's all pretty cheap.

Getting to the inspiration for this blog, we met up with a Czech friend of a friend of Dan's mom. It sounds complicated and it sort of was. We met him for lunch yesterday and chatted a bit awkwardly for two hours. He explained why he didn't like paying taxes that helped people other than himself (because he worked hard, of course) and why it was better to hire part-time employees for his business (because you could pay them much less and they didn't ask for vacation and other silly benefits) and why women should be paid less than men (if you know me you know that I am not a feminist, but even I was slightly offended) and that he actually liked Bush's foreign policy (he is the only foreigner I've ever met to think Bush is a jewel). We tried, gently, to persuade him that fascism was not the answer, but I don't think he was convinced.

In spite of our differences, he invited us to come to his house for an obviously impromptu barbecue (read on for an explanation). We said sure, we'd be happy to go, and then debated whether or not that was a good choice after leaving the bar. It had been a little awkward and we wondered if it might get worse.

We met him at the train station and just barely made the 25 minute train to his house. When we arrived we were greeted by his very pregnant girlfriend who looked like she was trying way too hard to be happy. Then she said she had to go into the city for a meeting and confusion set in. There was clearly major tension between Evil (that is his real name) and his girlfriend so when he left us with his other friend, David (a very nice musician), we figured the evening might not end up as planned. An hour or so later, when Evil returned, he informed us that he was having some serious problems and that it was a bad time for a barbecue. And, since he was crying, we decided not to complain.

We walked back to the train station with his friend and waited 45 minutes with the bugs for the train. (I had never seen so many gnats on a train!) Finally, after a painfully silent (and itchy) ride, and arriving in the center far to late to eat, we stopped at a late night supermarket and wandered home with food that just couldn't compare to the barbecued steak we'd hoped for.