The House Gnome

This little fellow came with the house. He was here when we took possession of the place on that bright sunny November morning in 2005. He has stood watch over the approach to the front door ever since. In winter he wears a hat of snow, in summer his paint fades and blisters still more. At times he has guarded more than that. Keys were left under his feet and the person who was to retrieve the key was told that “our little friend has the keys.” When I leave this house for the last time, I will leave it under his watchful eye. Like those ancient household Slavic gods (the Domovoy), you can't easily part a gnome from his house.

Wolves or not

A friend and I were laughing recently about our mutual friend, Hannah, who always denied that wolves could be in the Czech Republic. But then she always denied that anything bad could be from the country. Even if she had a flu it was because you had brought it from England.

Wolves had been hunted to extinction here in the 19^th century, indeed there is a memorial in the Sumava to the last one. The big bad wolf of the fairytales was banished to the forests of other countries. And yet, the memory of wolves lived on in folk memory. I felt it distinctly in the darkness of the forest I viewed from the window of that night-bound train in Easter 1990. I felt it as I lay in a bed piled high with duvets on those freezing nights of my first stay in the house. As I heard the pad of snow dropping from the broken roof I thought of wolf padding through the drifts at the rear of the house, the following day my imaginings were reinforced by fox prints enlarged by the melting of snow. Maybe that is why the first book I wrote here was called Mother of Wolves.

The big bad wolf is now officially back. He was first seen, caught on a trip-camera near Vyssi Brod barely twenty miles from here. Wild creatures do not respect lines on maps and once the physical barrier of the Iron Curtain had been removed it was only a matter of time before the wolves' wanderings brought them into the Sumava Forest and beyond. It seems only right that EU freedom of movement should extend to this beautiful animal, if not in future to Brits.

Sumava - The Sound of the Forest

I have been listening to a delightful radio programme on the BBC called Susurrations of Trees - susurration is the English word for the sound trees make. The programme does not just explore the sound made by different trees, but also the different words we have for those sounds - psithurism for example is the sound of the wind in the trees. Of course the Czechs also have a word for it, but they go one step further their largest forest is called the psithurism - The Sumava (pronounced shoomava). My home is on the edge of it; the little town where I catch the bus is called Horice na Sumava. 

The Sumava extends over the border with Germany, where it becomes the Bayerischer Wald ( the more mundane Bavarian Forest). This huge forest is the most extensive (over 54,000 hectares) in central Europe and has the nickname the Green Roof of Europe or sometimes the Green Lung of Europe. And I love it.

I have spoken in earlier posts of the importance of forests to the Czechs, that it has a role in the Czech mind that is equivalent to the sea to the British. Sometimes when I walk in the forest and a wind gets up I feel this connection strongly. The psithurism of the trees is so like the sound of waves that I could close my eyes and I think myself back on a British shore.

Dreaming Of Houses

I sometimes dream of houses; I did last night. Hannah used to take the Jungian line on house dreams that they are not about houses but about the dreamer, with the various floors representing the dreamer's different levels of consciousness. I just note that they tend to happen when I am busy organizing something about my Czech house, not that the house in my dreams is my Czech house.

When I was buying and reconstructing the house, I dreamed a lot about squeezing through a crack and finding new attics - huge and full of lovely beams. Later I dreamed I was going round and round a house, still squeezing through cracks but into hidden staircases and secret corridors.

Last night I had a different dream. I dreamed that I was sitting with Eliska, and we were talking about how lucky we were to have such nice lovely neighbours. I referred to the ones who had bought and done up the other half of my house. This is interesting as my real house is detached from the neighbours'. Maybe my dream talk was of the potential buyers of my house, who are keen to develop the barn which is attached to the house. I understand their enthusiasm, I too had big visions for the barn and ran out of money. It is one reason I was happy to accept their offer. We will see if their and my dreams come true.

Blogging

One wonderful thing about my life in this country has been this blog. I don't think I fully realized its importance to me until now. Writing the blog was my first step towards starting writing again. Hannah knew that and encouraged me.

Now as my stay in this country draws to a close, I have a wonderful record of my experiences, thoughts and feelings. My parents both enjoyed reading the blog. Much as they would have loved to they were too elderly to visit my Czech home, but the blog allowed them to share my adventures. And then of course there is you, dear reader. I thank you for all your support and feedback. I hope you enjoy the blog posts to come, because even when I leave the house, I will continue blogging about the Czech Republic. I have a list of blog-post topics I have yet to cover. The list of titles extends over several pages in my notebook! And of course I will be visiting Czecho regularly.

This blog is important in another way. I am working on a collection of poems about my love and experience of the Czech Republic. This is separate to the collection I will be publishing next year with Indigo Dreams. I have written approximately half the collection and am working on more poems. Without this blog triggering memories and feelings I doubt I could write the new material. Watch this space.

Remembering Hannah

I am in a strange state of mind. I have returned to finalize the house sale. Unless things get delayed, which they might, this is my last stay in my home. I am already saying goodbye to places I have loved for years, and not just places.

As I walked through the woods with Helena, and again when I went alone up to the woods above my house, I found myself thinking a lot about Hannah who introduced me to the Czech Republic and all things Czech. I owe this whole Czech adventure to Hannah. I realised as I walked with Helena, that the route was one that Hannah and I had followed on my first walk in a Czech forest several years before I bought my house. The same was true of the woods above my home, where Hannah gave me my first lesson in mushroom collecting. Over the brow of the hill the woods drop down to the road to Lake Olsina, where Hannah had her cottage.

Hannah's main home was in Cesky Krumlov. She moved three times in that town, so everywhere there are reminders of her. Although she died in April 2011, those memories never used to bother me. I always took comfort from them. But now I am glad the willows planted on the island she fought for have grown so large that they curtain the view of her last home, where my memories are most painful.

Selling my Czech home seems like letting her down. When she was dying she worried that the little colony of Brits that had grown up about her would break up. I told her: no offence but I didn't just buy the house because of her and wasn't planning to sell up after her death. She was relieved by this. It mattered a great deal to her that I bought the house as a place to write poetry. She loved my poetry and wanted to encourage it. The visit I made with her to Prague in 1990 was the inspiration behind my poem for voices Fool's Paradise.

I was chatting to her son the other day, who told that his mother would have been delighted that my poetry had suddenly blossomed and that at last I have a book of poetry accepted for publication next year with Indigo Dreams (more of that anon). I know too that Hannah would have understood the fact that I now need to be in UK to pursue my poetry dream. And yet...

Mosquitoes, midges and other biting insects

Olsina Lake

As I was lying in bed the other night I watched a battle taking place above my head. Mosquitoes that had escaped from the cellar when I was fixing the pump now bounced over the ceiling. Whenever I turned off the light, their whine came closer and closer as they homed in on my scent. I knew I was in danger of waking with itchy red bites. Fortunately the ceiling was being patrolled by a number of thin legged spiders and harvestmen and I watched as they pounced on passing mozzies, the predator become prey.

I remembered evenings at Hannah's cottage next to Lake Olsina. I loved Hannah's cottage. Its position was idyllic, with the lake encircled by the steep hills and deep forest of the Boletice. But you always pay for such divine pleasure and in Olsina you pay with blood. As evening drew on there would be so many mosquitoes rising from the lake that the sound was thunderous. There was another danger at the cottage, horseflies. I remember Hannah commenting on what a beautifully marked fly had landed on her trousers, only to yelp as the fly's sharp mouth parts bit through the thick fabric.

The forests have their own pesky insects, most dangerous of all being ticks. These small insects, barely visible as they wander on your clothes and skin, will swell up as they suck your blood and be buried head first in your skin. As they can carry Lyme disease and encephalitis, I always spray myself with DEET-based insect repellent. I do that in the UK as well, as disease-bearing ticks have spread there too. Another annoyance are the midges that rise in clouds and bite any exposed skin. And finally there is a small black insect, which looks like a spider but has wings. I have not been able to identify it, but it has a sharp bite and is often a problem when I am mushrooming. Any suggestions as to its identity are welcome.

Anyway back to my bedroom ceiling, although the spiders were doing a good job, the number of mozzies was too much for them, so I resorted to chemical controls – sliding a tablet into the plug-in mosquito killer. Turning off the light I settled down to an unbitten sleep.

Squatters in the Septic

The other day I was clearing moss from around the hatch to the septic tank. I lifted the metal hatch to ease some moss out to find that we have squatters in the septic tank. One – a large toad – was on the ledge where the hatch sits. Further down what I think was a frog could be seen with its head stuck into a hole where the pipe from the cellar pump sits. It was just like a small child playing hide and seek – “If I can't see you, you can't see me.” A movement in the water revealed two more frogs or toads. Goodness knows how many there are living in the tank, as the area of water revealed by the hatch makes up not a twelfth of the water surface and no doubt there were more in the depths.

I was surprised by our squatters, as I had always thought the water coming from the house with its mix of detergent and other chemicals would have caused them problems. But I suppose the majority of the water going in is pure spring water and the silt at the bottom must be feeding all sorts of worms and other food. That combined with the protection from predators and cold weather, probably makes the septic an amphibian des' res'. I put the hatch back carefully so as not crush the toad and let my squatters get on with it.

A Walk in the Woods with Helena

On Saturday I met my friend Helena in Cesky Krumlov and walked with her over Dubik hill along the old pilgrim's way through the forest to Kajov. It was a slow affair, as we stopped to admire nature and the scenery, and of course to look for mushrooms. I had thought that there would be lots of people with mushroom baskets, but no the woods were empty apart from a child with her mother and they had no basket.

Helena explained that September had been a fabulous month for mushrooms. The summer here has been very dry, indeed there had been a drought, so it wasn't until the rains came in September that the woods exploded with mushrooms. You apparently couldn't move for fungi. Last week there had been frosts – earlier than usual – and they had put paid to many mushrooms. We found the blackened remains throughout the forest.

“I know my Zoe will find mushrooms,” said Helena with an optimism I did not share.

The first edible mushrooms I came across were amethyst deceivers. Not great mushrooms but better than nothing, they went into the basket. I remember my friend Hannah showing me them, when first I learned to identify edible mushrooms. Without her guidance I would never had got up the courage to forage. My son and his girlfriend are going on a day's workshop about hunting mushrooms. I am delighted they have taken an interest, but a side of me wonders how much one can learn in a day. The only way to learn is to go repeatedly into the woods at different times of year with someone who knows what they are doing.

Up a path that branched off the main track through a plantation of fir trees we came across yellow-legged autumn chanterelles, hedgehog mushrooms and the normal chanterelles. All favourites of mine. Now as we walked along the track nearing Kajov we picked more chanterelles, and even some boletus which had been sheltered from the frosts by mosses. The basket wasn't full when we got to Kajov, but there certainly were enough mushrooms for at least two meals, plus some put down in the freezer.

Neighbouring Mushrooms

When I arrived back at the house a few days ago, I found my neighbour's lawn covered with shaggy ink cap mushrooms and others. I am told this also happened last year. “Shame she can't eat them,” said my other neighbour. Seeing my look of surprise, she said “You can't eat them, can you?”

“The white ones, yes,” I replied. “But you want to eat them young, before they start to turn to ink.”

It turns out that the owner of the mushroom-filled lawn was in Prague performing in a show. Nevertheless, that afternoon there were fewer mushrooms in the lawn.

Update on Selling the House

It has been a difficult year so far. Not long after I had returned from my short trip to check on the house, my mother died. It was quite sudden. On the saturday she went with my sister to a garden centre cafe and enjoyed a cup of coffee and a cake and by the following Saturday she had slipped away with her three daughters by her side. Although she had Alzheimers and was physically weak, we thought we had maybe a couple more years with her. We dreaded the time when she would forget who we were, but that time never came. It was as good a death as one could probably wish for. But nevertheless her death was a shock and I am still feeling it.

As the immediate reason why I had decided to sell our Czech home had been the need to care for Mum, and because I didn't feel able to make decisions at that time, I took the house off the market. Then a few weeks ago I got an email from my friend, saying there was someone who was seriously interested in buying the house and was I still interested in selling. The buyers were willing to pay near the estate agent's estimate. So what to do?

What these few years of having to be in the UK for mum have taught me is that unless I can commit spending some serious time in the house, the old building will start to deteriorate. So can I make such a commitment? The answer is probably no. I have started building a life in the UK – growing a garden, building friendships and committing time to writing and promoting my poetry. I don't want to give that up. Nor do I feel I can leave my husband for the long spells of time I used to. So for these reasons I think I may still sell the house.

From a purely financial point of view: with the pound down against the Czech Korun (because of Brexit) selling now means I should get more £s for my house. The converse is also the case, the cost of running the house is rising, just as our family income is going down.

So I have decided to say yes, I am interested in selling, but not so much that I am putting the house back on the market. I will put the matter “in the hands of the angels” as my friend Hannah used to say. 

Sooo Many Tourists

I have been wondering about blogging about the levels of tourism in Cesky Krumlov for some time now. You may think me a hypocrite for complaining about tourist numbers, having published a visitors guide to the town. But then I have always argued for sustainable tourism with visitors staying long enough to benefit the town, rather than the quick in/out visits we are getting now. 

The major change we have seen over the past few years has been the massive rise in Chinese tourists, so much so that the Czech press had nicknamed the town “Činský Krumlov”.  To put the issue into numbers - the town has 14,000 inhabitants but gets over a million visitors. 40% of those visitors are Chinese.  But until a few years ago Chinese visitors were rare. 

Most of these visitors come on day trips by bus from Prague, but when I say day trip their actual stay in the town is a lot shorter than that. The result is that the town is overburdened with tour groups who do not spend enough time here to actually make a positive impact on the local economy. The centre of the town has basically been surrendered to the tourists. Over the last fifteen years I have watched as shops serving locals have all been replaced by tourist shops, even my bank has vacated its site on the main square and moved out (it is going to be replaced by a hotel). Last year Katerina Seda, a conceptual artist-in-residence at the Egon Schiele Gallery, satirized the situation by hiring locals to live in the town centre. 

The Town Council has just announced that it will be charging bus companies 1500 czk  (60 Euro) for each bus visit to the  town with effect from June of this year. But 1500 czk is not a lot when divided between a coach load of tourists and I doubt will have any impact on visitor numbers.  But then it is hard to see what would. 

The Chinese love the romantic nature of the town, so much so that Chinese tech giant Huawei is constructing a full-size replica of Krumlov's castle at its Chinese headquarters in Dongguan, just outside Shenzhen. Yes you read that right - a full-sized replica! They have as much right to enjoy the town as any other nationality, and who can blame them, but how do we balance that with the adverse impact on the town?

Murder in the bedroom.

One of the problems with leaving my Czech house empty for months at a time is there are sometimes some nasty surprises when I get back. Once it was a blooming of dryrot fungus in the kitchen. This time it was the signs of a murder in the large bedroom.

While I was away my neighbour with my agreement showed a friend around the house, as the friend was looking for somewhere to buy in our part of South Bohemia. What my neighbour did not know was that you needed to make very sure the cellar door is closed because the local farm cats like to jump through the cellar window and get in to a nice warm house. There was a definite cat smell about the house when I arrived and paw prints on my furniture, but that wasn't the worst of it.

In the large bedroom the floor was covered with tufts of fur, and flecks and smears of blood. When I swept up the fur it was apparent that the creature that came to a grisly end there was not exactly a mouse, the hair was longer, had an orange tinge and there was a large pile of it. I still do not know what the victim was, but I do have a good idea about the identity of the murderer. I suspect that the creature that did the deed was a beech marten. I have seen them around occasionally. They are capable of taking quite large mammals: such as rabbits and squirrels. They will also take kittens, something my cat-loving friend was always worried about. It may well have been an immature cat which was followed and cornered in my bedroom. I will never know for sure. Whatever it was, I had the unwelcome job of clearing up.