Comin' back to Prague

They say the more things change, the more they stay the same. Wiktionary tells me that we get this phrase from the French proverb, "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose." But for me, we may as well get it from the Czech saying that means, "The more distant you feel from your homeland, the more you find yourself heating baked beans for breakfast at 2 p.m. and crunching on uncooked macaroni in the meantime."

C'est la vie, I suppose.

Fall break was a welcome respite from what I began to view as a pretty sullen, oppressive place. Gray, rainy and laden with a harsh collective that seems poised to shoot you if you wear gym shorts on the subway, Prague was no longer where I wanted to be, and it was hard not to feel like they didn't want me either.

But I'm back, away from the splendid kitsch of Venice and the absurd griminess of Athens. After my extensive trip, I had a chat with an NYU in Prague professor and found myself knocked down a peg or two.

I've obviously aired some complaints about the cultural differences between the Czech Republic and the U.S., insofar as I'd perceived them, anyway. Oh how I missed New York, where people don't dress up in (gasp) Canadian tuxedos, where many proudly rock the mullet, and where the wait staff treats you with warmth and compassion. But, of course, perspective is key.

"You could pass by someone dead on the street in New York City, and no one would do anything."

Er, well. Maybe.

This column is meant to chronicle the experiences of an NYU in Prague student, and therein lies the conceit. I've admittedly been a bit self-centered throughout these past couple of months. Come on, though: We're a pretty self-involved, individual-obsessed student body. That probably comes with the territory of going to school in Manhattan. But as the university exerts more and more effort to bolster a global image, I'm beginning to wonder, based on my experiences, if students are ready for what awaits them abroad.

It's a funny thing. I've done a lot of traveling, and so I scoffed when the study abroad orientation materials contained a huge chunk on culture shock. No matter how many Prague-centric papers I worked on for class or how many Czech locals I talked to, I couldn't help but resent the Czech Republic after a matter of weeks. I couldn't understand anything, and the people bewildered me with their completely different demeanors; I got angry. Damn, woman, don't you shush me when I'm paying you to serve me burcak! Things like that.

I began to idealize the image of home sweet home. A city where a homeless man could be spewing blood on a crumbling leper in the subway and no one would bat an eye.

Studying abroad is a trying experience. More than you might expect. You can't get much out of it by getting drunk off your ass with Americans, and you can't get much out of it by judging people for being different.

So there's one lesson learned, and lucky me: We've still got a month and some change left for more.

Damon Beres is a columnist.