Those Who Wander Are Not Always Lost

I was sitting in a hostel in Prague watching white fluffs of seedlings filter into the room through an open window while I listened to the wind slam all the doors shut. I had maps out and a list of places to go, some marked off from our class outings where we walked in the long gone steps of Kafka and enjoyed late nights looking up at the stars and searching for marks left by golems or alchemists. Off in the distance was Petrín hill which I had seen on every trip that landed us at the castle. A large metal structure, a miniature Eiffel tower. I packed my things and got on a tram, standing next to graffiti lined walls and watched the city pass. When everyone else was sitting I eyed a single seat off to the side and moved across the tram to sit. A man got up and grabbed my arm, keeping me from sitting and he sat down. I wondered if I went to sit in the seat he had just vacated if he would follow me and take that seat as well, in some demented form of musical chairs where I didn’t understand the language the rules were in. So I stood by the window, heart pounding listening for my stop. When it arrived I got off quickly, out into the rain. I looked around for the funicular that would take me up the hill all the way to the top. I searched for a way to the funicular, or a sign and found a path. It curved up the hill and I thought that the funicular was just a short walk up the hill. It began to rain more, and my legs began to burn, the path I was going up was surely the wrong one and seemed to never end. It was steep and I worried that it might be a path for cars that I hadn’t seen a sign for. I didn’t know which way to go when the path splintered and just kept heading back towards the city and up, always up towards the tower. I passed under a wall, unsure of what it was and concerned I was ending up on someone’s private property, not realizing it was the Hunger Wall. I saw beautiful views of the city in the openings in the trees and found myself at a restaurant, halfway up the hill right next to the tracks of the funicular. Relieved and rather exhausted I waited on the platform under the grey sky. The funicular arrived and took me the rest of the way up, to the top of the hill, to a rose garden within view of the Petrín tower. I breathed in the fresh air, the rain subsiding and wandered the garden, smelling the roses.