Expectations

Pristine Views of Prague
"We are familiar with the notion that the reality of travel is not what we anticipate."

I've spent months planning Prague in my head. It wasn't until late December that I decided I should concretely plan for my trip, book a flight, make a packing list. Instead, I chose to imagine the feel of cobblestones on the soles of my feet. I could feel the light mist and morning sun as I imagined walking past pristine architecture on my way to class. I could smell sausage and could practically taste the denseness of a dumpling.
I've been here for three weeks now, and like in The Art of Travel "nothing was as I had imagined it." It's funny how small things like obnoxious tourists, belligerent waiters and rushing trams never appear in your dreams. Your mind glides seamlessly from perfect event to perfect event, never pausing to register the in-between moments where you are lost with fried cheese stuck to your chin and only a five crown coin in your pocket. It's funny how the guide book never explains that most stores close at 7 and the sun almost never shines. But in the often bleakness of the truth comes experience, and your brain slowly shifts to the in-between parts.
Every moment in Prague has been a new experience and good or bad, changes me somehow. My expectations may not be met all the time, but it is becoming easier for me to just let go. It is almost disappointing when a bill gets paid without a problem or I cross the street without a tram on my heels. It's exciting to wake up every day knowing that my routine has been shattered--it's strangely liberating to not remember my routine in the first place.
While my image of Prague may have been shined to perfection, the image I see now is one of truth. Prague has become my home, and I absorb with it its imperfections. I no longer frown at the spit stained sidewalks, or turn my head away angrily at a smoker who stands inches from my face. I have grown blissfully intent on eating goulash, and the desire for salsa has since faded from my taste buds. Prague has become my home, and I have since discarded the postcard picture of it I once held in my mind. The ragged snapshots I have now seem to suit it better, and they suit my ever changing perception of my life here.