Fragments of Prague, or 3:32 p.m. in Munich

I had been in Munich for almost ten days. I had gone there to fulfill the mission of backpacking through Europe. Clearly, my inspiration came from the kind of adventure shown in the 2004 film EuroTrip.

A harsh winter was beginning on the old continent. The landscape had already shifted into shades of white and gray, which contrasted with the brutalist vision of Germany — yes, that vision one could see from the heights of a park in Munich, still covered with the Christmas decorations of 2008. And it was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

I had stopped in that old city as a kind of anchoring point. There was an old friend there, Gladston, naturally Brazilian, who had gone to Germany to study. I had known Gladston for many years, from other nights, other circles. He was a singular creature. At the time, he was roughly my age; I was in my brief early twenties.

But when I speak of this friend’s peculiarities, I would say he was a kind of fetishist. Perhaps I was the only one who knew that very eccentric side of him: his fetish centered on having a “master” to command his life.

He confessed these little secrets to me because, in one way or another, I had already discovered them. And although he carried that well-hidden side of his personality — the desire to have a master — he never truly abandoned the throne. That was why I considered him a fetishist: a rich person who wanted to play at being controlled, while never letting go of power or control.

Perhaps, on another occasion, I will tell more about Gladston. But let us stay with this fragment of the journey.

I saw little of my friend during those days. He was taking exams at the university. He left home at eight in the morning and usually showed his face only well after nine at night. That gave me more than enough time to explore Munich broadly, and to feel the full spirit of my own zeitgeist.

A great nostalgia had taken hold of me in Germany, and I owe all of it to the colors of the night and the lights. The white illumination over that Bauhaus brutalism caused in me a certain anguish — one I knew how to admire.

And so it went, for almost nine nights.

On the tenth day, I think I felt I needed a change of air. It was time for something more vibrant, more voluptuous. I needed to escape Germany.

It must have been close to three in the afternoon when I made the decision. My friend had three travel books on his shelf. Without hesitation, I walked over and literally performed the childish ritual of eeny, meeny, miny, moe over the volumes.

The chosen one was Prague.

Yes: that old woman of the Czech Republic.

Once again, I was satisfied with fate, which had been kind enough to move me by chance toward Eastern Europe.

I was going to have my EuroTrip.

I left a note for my friend, thanking him for the stay and announcing my departure. He would probably read it hours later. I took my backpack, put on my coat, and went to Munich’s central train station.

I bought my ticket to Prague and headed to the platform. I was in ecstasy as I walked through the station. There were so many beautiful trains — ICE trains, tech trains, all of them gleaming with that promise of departure.

Then I reached the point indicated on my ticket and waited there.

My surprise could not have been greater when, out of the mist, a train appeared that reminded me of the old steam train from my small town in Brazil.

But that did not diminish my excitement. It made the adventure even better.

I was alone. I carried no cell phone. Social media was only beginning to walk.

I was free.

~~To be continued.