The Hill

Alright. So by now, I've started the camp and these posts are just being put online automatically on random days at random times. They are a collection of random stories that I have written down as memories throughout my time here in Prague. I hope you enjoy them and as soon as I have internet in Vienna or Budapest, I'll be able to post again (or tell you about the first camp).

"The Hill"

Roztoky is a beautiful place to live. The town is quiet, the people are nice and the houses are beautiful. There is only one small--maybe large--problem. The Hill.

The Hill, as it is now called among us, is the worst thing about Roztoky. Every day, twice a day or more, we need to descend and ascend this monstrosity. It is on the way to the train station and is about a quarter mile long and when I say hill--I mean a steep, steep hill. It's bad enough in the mornings, when we're tired, and carrying our various backpacks, bags, and sometimes eggs and food, and we get to the hill and have to stop ourselves from falling down this hill. Each step we're holding ourselves back and trying to bend our knees to absorb the shock of our legs pattering down on the concrete.  But that's only the beginning. Imagine the evenings, when we're tired, and it's late at night and we've worked all day. The last thing we want to do after a nice relaxing 15 minute train ride, is to climb up the damn hill.

The Hill.

I can't even think about it without getting riled up. There have been the hot days, when there is no shade, and we're climbing up the hill just sweating and panting. And there's the nights we've gone out, coming home after a 4:41 AM train, after a night out, tired from dancing and drinking, and as the morning sun begins to brighten the day we have to climb the hill. And all we want to do is to go to bed and sleep the morning away.... Then there is Ekta. Who ascends the hill about as fast as a snail crosses the highway. In the morning after a night out, we wait for her to come up the hill or after a long day of work, we yell at her to hurry up as she trudges up the hill, one itsy bitsy step at a time. We can't even walk as slow as she does up the hill, because it hurts our legs too much to do so. We have nightmares about the hill. We have random moments during the day, when we're leaving the subway and see steps, and have flashbacks that remind us of the terrible hill. It's quite comical how often the hill is discussed every day, because it really is that bad. I guess you have to be here to know, but just keep in mind--the hill is a terrible thing and a tragedy that plagues us every day.

I will not miss the hill when I come home, nor will I ever miss it.