2009: The Cure For Second Hand Smoker's Cough (Czech Rep)

It was time to leave Prague. Much as I was enjoying myself, the smoke was getting to me.

February 2009 is the lowest of low seasons when it comes to tourism in Middle Europe. (I'm trying to get used to that - Middle Europe - don't even think about using the "E" word around here.) Winter is the low season anyway, but then this year there is also "The Crise," which has hit Europe really hard just like it has in the US. What kind of idiot travels during The Crise when they should be home saving their money? If they still have any money, that is... if the financiers haven't waved their magic wands and made it all disappear.

Well, there are a few of us, but only a few. One result is that there is a luxurious feeling of spaciousness that is rare to find when you're in one of the world's most beautiful capital cities. Hotels have plenty of rooms and few noisy neighbors; you can walk in the streets without bumping into people all the time (except in Paris, where they mow you down on purpose); at night it's so quiet you often hear the echo of your own footsteps following you home; restaurants have plenty of comfortable open tables.

So why is it that the smokers always want to sit next to me?

I sit down at one of 40 empty tables in the Municipal House Cafe one afternoon. There's only one other person in the entire place, and who comes in and sits at the very next table a few minutes later but a group of eight friends, half of whom order coffees while the others are just there to smoke.

The next night I'm eating dinner and end up with smokers on my right side and smokers on my left. Behind me is a window which, thank god, is inanimate and can't pick up bad habits. In front of me, a pleasant looking German family sits down - father, mother, two angelic little girls - they order ice cream and I think "oh good, even if they are smokers, no parent is going to blow smoke in those adorable girls' faces while they're eating their...."

Oops. Spoke too soon. Mom is furiously flicking at her lighter which seems to have run out of gas. Or maybe she's just too much of a spaz. Dad reaches over and does it for her - such a gentleman. He lights one for himself while he's at it. They seem like a nice family. They pay attention to their kids at least, which is a good thing, but every time they open their mouths to speak, streams of smoke come out, a steady flow of filmy white poison breaking only when it hits the face of the person at the other end of the conversation. I feel like I'm having a Sartre moment just watching it.

Worse, for me, they're smoking some kind of really strong smelling French cigarettes that finally put me over the edge. I pay my bill and leave without finishing. My hair stinks, my clothes stink, even my pillow stinks. It's time to move on to my next destination - a small Bohemian spa town called Trebon.

I've developed a deep, raspy smoker's cough. And just like a smoker in the process of quitting, my cough actually gets worse in the two or three days after leaving Prague. I think what happens is that your lungs try to protect themselves by forming a mucus barrier against the smoke; then, when you quit - or in my case when you enter a steady supply of clean air - all that mucus isn't needed any more. As your protective mucus shield begins to break up, all that mucus on the move tickles your throat and makes you cough.

Or maybe it's because there's something in the smoke that immobilizes the cilia that are supposed to be keeping your lungs clean, and the tickle in your throat is those poor little guys coming back to life and trying to sweep up.

Are you grossed out yet?

Arriving in Trebon

Anyway... nothing a week in a spa town can't cure. The local spa specialty is peat bog baths, and the local food specialty is fish. Starting in the 16th century, the local nobility began diverting water for a series of fish ponds. Today, the whole region is a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve with pristene landscapes and the purest tasting water you can imagine (which also results in a very good local brew). It also happens to be a walled city with even the remnants of the old moat still ringing the town, which is kind of cool.

Food in Trebon was delicious!

A climb up to the bell tower...

At the end of my stay in the Czech countryside, I finally got to take a train instead of a bus... one of those lovely middle-of-nowhere trains with hard seats and windows that open so you can stick your head out and feel the wind go by. Just what I wanted.

Up... up... up...

Next stop... Krakow.