To the Rhythm of Your Clock

by Mikayla Fuller (United States of America)

Making a local connection Czech Republic

Cross-legged, I sit alone on a cobblestone road by the Vltava River watching the water move subtly. I can’t help but notice the variety of pace surrounding me. Bicyclists rush past ambulatory roamers while the wind changes directions. A train crosses an old railway bridge atop swans drifting through the waterway. Lights flicker on in distant pastel buildings, giving light to the dimming night. As my eyes wander up to the full moon, I notice planes blinking among luminescent stars. There are so many things moving in this golden city of one hundred spires as seconds turn to minutes turn to hours. But the moon and I sit motionless, surrounded in a cage of serenity. Together we foster an awareness that things move and change in their own time, according to their nature. The thought of constant motion in time never left my mind as I continued to become accustomed to the cityscape of Prague; learning every metro stop and memorizing the music of the city through my cracked window. I had prepared myself for a culture shock before leaving my familiar environment, but this alien country was more comforting than I could have imagined. There is something so satisfying in your soul to look at beautiful pictures of foreign places for your entire life, and then finally be able to see them with your own eyes, almost as if the air itself is breathing the history of a million lives passing through that space. Inarguably, in the beating heart of Europe I found more than a hint of romance among the Gothic cathedrals with stained glass windows. Over my ten weeks living in the Czech Republic, I discovered unbroken rhythm. In my free time between work and class I walked the length of the city, explored every crevice, and soaked in the details of my surroundings; hearing the faint clatter of steps on cobblestone streets with small pebbles that filled in the cracks, noticing where the grass grew in the empty space, and how the pigeons felt comfortable against a soft gray texture. From the shadows I attempted to harmonize into this environment, keeping my foreign tongue quiet, my eyes attentive, and my demeanor reflective. Among the many breathtaking sights Prague offers, one of the most captivating is the Astronomical clock tower. When the medieval clock strikes the hour, twelve apostles begin their movement to chime the bell. Across the clock stands Death, a skeleton that strikes the time upon the hour while the other figurines immediately shake their heads in unison, signifying their unreadiness to “go.” Gazing at the world’s oldest fully functioning astronomical clock, it reinforced my thoughts; that time and motion are a prevailing work of art. On my last day in Prague, the promise of an afternoon rain couldn’t keep me from wandering, and as I made my way down an undiscovered path a voice called out to me from behind. “Je to krásná noc.” Turning around, my eyes locked with a stranger and I addressed him cautiously. “I’m sorry, I can’t speak Czech.” His eyes widened and he responded in English, “Well, you look Czech.” I told him how relieved I was to hear that, after attempting for ten weeks to blend into this culture and become one with a city I had only just began to grasp an understanding of. As our conversation progressed, we walked down the undiscovered path and I told him of how I came to call Prague home. He listened gently and told me about how Prague had always been home, but he dreamed of moving to the United States. For a brief moment our lives felt in rhythm. Two strangers moving as one. With no barriers between us, a foreigner among a native who’s clocks ticked in one accord. Similar to the figurines on the Astronomical clock tower, I wasn’t ready to go, but the sand in my hourglass had run out. A silhouette of me is still in Prague, sitting by the river studying movement and time, and I wonder if our paths ever crossed again, if we’d chime in the same way.