You never know what will get you so worked up that the veins bulge out on your forehead. In one of my earlier posts, I wrote that the road to Krumlov was horrible (probably no matter what direction you come from). Today, I had the opportunity to reconfirm that impression. I traveled to Prague and back to pick up my daughter, who had been on an overnight trip with her preschool. It’s been years since I’ve ridden an intercity bus, so I thought I’d try it: The travel time was more or less the same as by car, plus I could read or sleep… The decision seemed clear. The day started out well: in the morning, a local told me how to get to the bus station. What a nice man, I thought to myself. I had no idea that this would be the last good thing today. The morning bus to Prague ended up running half an hour late, so where I originally had plenty of spare time I ended up worrying whether I’d make it in time to pick up my daughter or whether she’d already be in the loving care of social services. I made it by a few seconds. On the way back, the D1 was a nightmare – after a few kilometers, traffic was at a standstill, and we moved just a few hundred meters in two hours. I cursed everyone and everything. As I am writing, we’re not even in Budějovice, even though according to the schedule we should’ve been in Krumlov about 30 minutes ago. If you’ve ever traveled with a young child, you know what that’s like.

Unless something changes, I’m not traveling this way for another X years. For me, every place is interesting in part according to whether one can reasonably get there, and in this regard Český Krumlov will be off my list for years to come. I only have so many nerves and I certainly don’t feel like spending hours stuck in traffic in tropical heat trying to get somewhere when there is no alternative route.

In any case, one mildly amusing thing was that perhaps half the travelers on the bus (an ordinary intercity bus) were Asians who were probably heading to Krumlov as well. What a perfect mix of contradictory emotions: On the one hand, I’ve had quite enough of them over the past few days – see the diary entries by the other families. On the other hand, I feel a bit sorry for them: Where they really expecting THIS? Did anyone warn them that they were going to the Czech Republic – a place hopelessly stuck in the past? But most of them look friendly and accepting of their fate – how do they do it? How often have they stood in line for patience, and where can I get some, too? Or do their kindly looks mean that they pity us? They’re only visiting, but we have to deal with this all the time. Questions, questions.