Finding Where I’m From

Cutting the city in twain, the Vltava River rushes through Prague. A Germanic word meaning “wild river,” it divides the city that has built up around it for centuries. The mighty Vltava has seen the city through hardship, turmoil, and jubilation, and remains as steadfast now as it did when the famed Charles Bridge construction began in 1357. Perhaps that’s why I’m drawn to the Vltava as a symbol of Czech resilience – the river represents the life that flows through me and is traced back to my ancestry. 

After all, z ničeho nebude nic — from nothing, nothing can come. 

Somewhere, probably lost to the annals of time, my story began here. Well, part of it, anyway. From as far back as I can remember, I’ve known my family traditions. Rooted in what was once the Kingdom of Bohemia, these Czech traditions followed my family back from the old country. My maternal grandmother’s family, the Trepes, is my connection to this place. 

Meandering the cobblestone streets of Prague, mindful not to trip as I’m prone to do, I wonder if my ancestors did the same. My unending fascination with the Astronomical Clock, often called a tourist trap, could be my ancestral blood reminding me that it is a part of this place. Its history is intrinsically tied to my own — travel blog writers’ opinions be damned. 

Genuflecting in one of the many churches scattered around the city, I am keenly aware of the numerous backgrounds represented here. Smatterings of languages from around the world clash as we marvel at the gilded ceilings, picturesque statues, and altars that have seen countless ceremonies in their time. We were all called here by something – someone, some unseen force that beckoned us to the Golden City. 

“Dobrý den — Good day!” I proclaim to a shopkeeper with less-than-stellar confidence. My Czech is embarrassingly sparse, as Duo the Owl likes to remind me. “You really should Czech your grammar lessons,” one of the pithy reminder emails chided. 

As with German, speaking even a little Czech makes me feel more connected to this place. Locals often speak it back to me, and I think that’s because this is one of the places where I look like I could belong. Because I do. 

Nestled behind Old Town Hall, you’ll find Park u Staroměstského Náměstí — a park with vendor stands and flocks of pigeons. If you’re lucky, you’ll uncover the koláče, or kolache stand. These Czech pastries are not hard to find here or elsewhere in the country, but I implore you to try them. Savory or sweet, these delectable little treats represent my deepest connection to this place. My Great Aunt Mary, my Grandmother Rita’s sister, whipped these up from an old family recipe for everyone throughout the year. 

Lemon, poppyseed, prune, and cheese kolaches feed the memories of my childhood holidays. Well, the non-prune ones, anyway. I cannot be converted. Square dough with a dollop of filling in the middle, they’d show up at my grandparents’ house in neat little rows. 

We still cherish this recipe, but it is incomplete without Great Aunt Mary. It is missing something — an ingredient she never wrote down or a measurement lost to the ages — yet I never turn down a kolache. Even if they taste nothing like hers, they make me feel like a little kid at Easter again, eagerly waiting at my grandparents' little white house in Mauston, Wisconsin. Now they have also transported me back here to the crowded streets of Prague, surrounded by throngs of tourists and hungry birds. Kolaches have become a new part of my story. 

For my mother, who made her first pilgrimage to Czechia with me last year, this place has also become a part of her story rather than just her ancestral past. We’ve seen the ancient city monuments and tasted the dishes of our people. We’ve seen Prague from the towering Old Town Hall and the countryside by train on our way to Brno. This heritage her mother instilled in us is now more than a familiar story. 

The Czech Republic, with faces that look like mine and cuisines that taste like home, is where I’m meant to return time and again. This trip gave us a new perspective on where we’ve come from and where we can go. As we made our way through Prague and then Brno, we explored places our ancestors undoubtedly encountered before, their histories weaving into ours. 

Upon arriving at our final destination, a quaint hotel in Brno, we were given the ultimate sign of belonging. As I spotted the hotel’s concierge, my heart skipped a beat. Tears immediately welled up in my eyes. This complete stranger could have been my grandmother’s twin. I have never seen someone who looks like my family before. That wouldn’t be the last time in Brno I’d spot someone that could have easily been family. 

While I will always wonder if my grandmother would have loved this place as much as I did, it was at that moment that I realized she was there all along. She had been there in every stranger’s glance, every bread dumpling, and every historic site we’d seen. All those who came from before her were here, too. I was merely their eyes.

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