Ivan lives in a castle with a big black dog named Mego he adopted in Seville. Together they trotted the Camino de Santiago and never parted since. He now dedicates his time to helping immigrants and baking friendship cakes. It is a slow and peaceful life.
The morning sun baked the grass and heated through the tall glass windows of his castle. We held up a cloth to the wind and let it flow down to the ground. Atop it we arranged the cake, eggs, bread with tomato and fruits. Together with Ivan's childhood friend he called "the Chinese man" we rested on the gorgeous Czech countryside. He told me of his travels with Mego as the dog chased down bees.
Most young people I met so far in my travels speak English to a level that surprised me. Ivan was no exception and that day we took a walk through Brno with his old English teacher, a man with a dress code from the 60s and wrinkles from many more years of meaningful adventures. He hitch hiked his way from California to Brno in the late 80s, armed with a Soviet journalist visa. Upon arrival he fell in love with the country and stayed, teaching English to the then Czechoslovakia.
He took us from beer to beer, pointing out curiosities on dilapidated mansions and ex-Soviet military bunkers turned into housings among the way. My very Spanish taste for wine broke down that night. The Czech Republic has the highest consumption of alcohol in Europe and beer after delicious beer, I understood why. While I still cannot pronounce their ř, my tounge has found the Czech inside me. I now need Czech beer in my life.
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