This might be a little late to the party, but perhaps you miss me and desperately want to stay in contact. What ever should you do? I present the unnecessarily exhaustive guide to ruining my semester abroad by sucking me back into your life in the States:

Use social networks. Obviously I like my social networks. It’s my major and such. You can expect to find me journaling through Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc., (Sorry, Google+!) so you can let me know that you too have visited that restaurant or riden that camel. While I can’t stay absorbed in Twitter and other instantaneous platforms like I can at home, I’ll do my best to notice anything directly addressed to me.

If you have an iPhone… Send me an iMessage! Just because I’m abroad doesn’t mean you have to use a new gizmo to contact me. Make sure you’ve added my email address(es) to your “Ben Zweig” contact entry and compose an iMessage. If you try using my Czech phone number, you might get charged when iOS can’t deliver a message to me and attempts to send an international SMS instead.

If you don’t have an iPhone… Text me through my Google Voice number. My phone will receive those texts over data so you won’t get charged for international texting and neither will I. If you don’t have the number, ask me. It begins with 860-271…

Video chat. Y’all know Skype. I’m on it. Ask me for the silly username. Or start a Facebook video chat or a Gmail video chat or a Google+ hangout or a FaceTime or a ChatRoulette or whatever else you use.

Call me if you must. If you really need to call me directly, first try my Google Voice number. I can answer calls if I’m sitting at my computer. Otherwise it will send to voicemail and I’ll return your call at some point. If you work in Wall Street and have access to unlimited international calling, bug me for my Czech number. Incoming calls are free.

That said, I am abroad. This is my time to be away from all that makes me comfortable. Incessant contact won’t help me make the most out of my time here. And who knows? It might even make me homesick. (The horror!)

And then there’s always quill writing. Always an option.

I really do love this city. And for the most part, I love the people that inhabit it. There isn’t much diversity here — save a few vietnamese store owners and  the pockets of tourists — but the Czech people are diverse on their own. Many are, like we’d been warned, quite reserved; notably, those using public transit sit neatly and raise eyebrows at small, informal conversation or sniffling of the nose. They’d never make a scene on the metro.

My assumption was that the Czechs would dislike Americans. I figured they would be bothered by groups of American teenagers taking over their pubs, drinking their beer and spoiling their quiet tram ride to work. But it’s really the opposite: they love Americans! They play our music in clubs, watch our movies with subtitles, (fail to) cook our food in trendy restaurants, laugh at (my) jokes and often reprint menus, signs, receipts and flyers in English. And when things aren’t spelled out in English, they play charades until it’s obvious. Try saying děkuji (thank you) or dobrý den (good day) and they’ll get all giddy at your attempt to speak Czech.

They can also be a little aggressive. I was headed down an escalator in the shady metro the other night when a burly gentleman in what I believed was a gang pointed to me and made the Uncle Sam “YOU!” gesture at me. I panicked. We’ve heard again and again that the Czechs are nasty pickpockets and occasional muggers, so I assumed the worst. I turned around, motioning for help from the group I was with, but it was too late; the escalator ride was ending. I tried walking around the man but he cut me off, then snapped some Czech at a few members of his gang, narrowed his eyes, and pulled a coin out of his pocket as if to say, “Your coins are mine.” I gulped. And then I heard him say the word “ticket.” Like, train ticket. Ticket to ride. The metro. You see, the Czech transit system is based on an honor system, much like those supermarket guns where you pay for your own items; I was being audited for a ticket. I apologized and showed him my pass. He laughed and said not to worry.

There is one place, however, where Czechs let their guard down: the club. I suppose they withhold so much emotion during the day that the minute they enter a noční podnik, they let their guard down and burst. Suddenly they’re silly and smiley! They sing along to American songs, idolizing us for our lyrical knowledge of Michael Jackson and Grease. They bust out goofy dance moves to attract other dancers. But they do it in such an unpretentious, friendly way that you can’t help but love the Czechs. They’re darn cute.

Why then, are they so reserved? Given that younger generations are so much more outgoing that their elders, it must come from the history of this country. Or as we like to call it in our orientation, the Czech “traumas.” They’ve had to endure socialism, communism, Soviet invasions, Nazi invasions, etc. Many remained complacent, many too afraid to speak out against oppressive rule. They have historically low self-esteem, forced time and again to change ideologies, eventually learning to chose formality and emptiness in favor of outgoing, impulsive behavior.

Heavy stuff.

Ahoj!

Well, I have arrived. The trip was exhausting; one nearly-empty AA flight to London, a 4-hour layover in Heathrow, a 2-hour flight to Prague, lots of idling and a long bus ride to the residence hall. I haven’t a clue how long the trip took in total, only that I arrived with enough energy to unpack one suitcase, play with the oven and soak in the neighborhood.

I am living in a former industrial area of Prague called Holešovice in a converted meat factory. The building (called Osadni) is further from the NYU campus than the other residential options, but its splendor is worth the distance. They’re really spoling us; we have thrice-weekly maid service, a dishwasher, an exhaustive supply of cleaning supplies, two fridges—one for produce and one for beverages—and essential linens, dishes, and cookware. The top floor houses a study lounge, TV lounge, terrace and laundry facilities.

Bright and early Wednesday morning, I found my way to dm-drogerie markt for some toiletry hunting. Never in my life have I spent so long differentiating conditioner (balzám… I hope) from shampoo (šampon), helplessly translating the packaging by lifting Czech labels from American brands, creating a “key” for the other items. These Czechs sure do love fruity scents; I am proud to announce that I constantly smell like peaches, kiwis and citrus.

The tram ride from Holešovice to the NYU center is a relaxing trip out of the industrial suburbs, along the beautiful Vltava river, across the bridge, and into the Old Town. The trams run like clockwork, avoiding city traffic by using dedicated wired tram lanes. Prague metros, trams and busses are full of pickpockets, so people tend to be quiet and vigilant during transport.

I am blown away by how inexpensive this city is. A half-liter (pivo) of their signature Pilsner Urquell beer is usually under $2 USD, if not cheaper. And it’s stronger. Huge plates of beef, potatoes, vegetables and fried cheese cost as little as $5 or $6 USD, and street food is even less expensive. Pub air smells of smoke, beer and freedom.

Don’t forget to stay in touch via Twitter and Tumblr.

With 6 days to go until my flight next Monday, I’ve entered the packing rush. That is, I am running around looking for ways to fit four months of myself into a 50-pound Travel Gear luggage (and a carry-on). Yeah, right.

Might I need furry socks? Sure! Cocktail umbrellas? Pancake molds? If I didn’t leave myself a week to sort through my belongings I’d have an entire checked bag of emergency kitchen gadgets. I’m having a hard enough time picturing my life without the Magic Bullet, let alone the rest of my crap.

But I made a promise to myself: let Fight Club‘s mantra “The things you own end up owning you” scare me into stripping down to the essentials. What do I really need to be me?

So that’s what I’ve been doing. And in the process of packing, I’ve donated so many old sweaters and suits to Goodwill that I’m expecting them to create a clothing line solely from my contributions. Who knew the walls of my closet were white?

For those of you who know me, remember that I am particularly bothered by the unknown: Will they have my contact solution in Europe? Do they sell Sharpie Pens? Are the knives sharp enough? Are the Sharpies sharp enough? Am I sharp enough?

But I am a big boy. And I like new things! I’m not going abroad so that I can have the comforts of home, the foods I grew up with or the pens I’m used to. I am traveling to Europe so that I can learn how to do everything differently.

But first I have to pack.