(My own name for the city in which I went to college, based on the fact that the hostel I stayed in was in the middle of a reasonably steep brae.)
Spending a couple of hours with my sister over a lunch and a coffee was good. Ever since post-adolescence I was getting along with her all right, which can’t be said about her parents, and I suppose that the fact we were the only two in the family with interest in foreign languages played only a minor role. Even her children’s presence didn’t bother me, at least not nearly as much as such small kids (between six and ten) usually do.
It was good as well to have my rucksack again. Nonetheless, the fact that in the meantime somebody had stolen the bottle of malt whisky did piss me off. Not because of the money; it had been meant as a birthday gift for Rob. Moreover, the culprit added insult to injury by leaving the empty paper box inside the rucksack.
Rob himself was meanwhile unlucky too. He got into two road-accident-induced traffic jams before even getting from Budweis to the D1 motorway, and two more followed then. So after he had picked me up at the airport we returned by lesser roads. With the combined help of a petrol station assistant, a few phone calls to his father (a truck driver) and a GPS navigation device. Three or four hours later than initially expected. Still, we did have time for a couple more hours in his bar before going on to our respective flats.
(First published on Blogger in April ’12.)