Getting old doesn't suck anymore

Refreshed and revived, out for a walk in the neighborhood. A good night's sleep had restored us enough that I could actually allow myself to be photographed, unashamed.

We dedicated our first full day in Prague to figuring out such everyday basics as buying tram passes, copying keys, correctly pronouncing Czech writing, and practicing how to say "Thank you" in Czech, every chance we got.  We got plenty of practice, as we asked for a lot of help.

We're also proud to say that, on our first day, we enthusiastically recycled some trash in our neighborhood streetside bins. These squat pods, which accept trash into sidewalk or streetside portholes, aren't especially attractive, but they're an earnest attempt to deal with the 661 pounds of refuse that each Praguer generates annually. Before recycling started in the 1990s, rubbish tended to pile up on the street and apparently still does on Sundays. 

Over the last decade or so, the Czech Republic has been ranked fifth in Europe in its recycling efforts. According to one ex-pat, who'd lived in Prague with his Czech wife for over 10 years and therefore ought to know, "If you want to be Czech, you have to dedicate 15 minutes a day to recycling." 

That says more about living with a Czech wife, I think, than with the rigors of recycling, which we haven't found that strenuous. We're eating most of our meals out, after all. And it's not that hard to carry out a bagful of containers and stick them in the right places.

Green bins are for colored glass, white for clear glass, blue for paper, yellow for plastiky, orange for cartons, and there's an "everything" bin labeled "Smesny Odpad," for which I devised the mnemonic "shmeshed-up odd pod"--not far removed from the exact translation, "Mixed Waste." 

I foolishly asked our Airbnb hostess when our neighborhood trash day was. Turns out that every day is trash day, everywhere, in Prague.

But our big goal for the day was obtaining public transport passes, by following Jakub's instructions to go to Mustek Station. Think The Amazing Race, just slower, because it's us.

On the border between the tourist-dense Old Town and Wenceslas Square, Mustek is a central underground hub thrumming with activity and transportation officialdom. Not knowing what to expect, we first fortified ourselves with lunch at a Wenceslas Square tourist trap whose food was nonetheless very good, if pricey. 

Baked roasted vegetables covered with bleu cheese. Even tourist traps can serve good food. It just costs more there.

There, we took the time to fully appreciate the serenity of our own, touristless Zizkov neighborhood. Here, in Wenceslas Square, was where the tourists were, on holiday in giddy and exhausted profusion. 

Gangs of Orientals with headscarves, parasols, and sensible shoes obediently followed their flagmen. It was mind-boggling how much humanity had come here.

Here, too, German footballers gathered in proud celebration, outrageously pleased that some stranger was taking their picture.

Intending to be as little like any of them as possible, we went underground in search of the keys to Prague public transport, which would free us to behave as if we were nonchalant locals. We would be so confident that we would fall asleep on the tram until we reached our stop! (Not hard to do, as it turns out. Our stop at Spojovaci is the end of the line for trams 1, 9, and 11. The ever-present intercom boots everyone off, in Czech and in English, at that point.)

In the bowels of Mustek Station is a combination information office and transportation museum, with a pair of glass windows where two pleasant officials wait to help whomever appears. We'd come prepared with our passports and additional passport-size photos to affix to our tram passes. One of the officials quickly waved us forward.

He asked our ages. When I confessed that I was 70 years old, he eyed me and asked if my birthday had already passed. Fully expecting to be told that I was far too old to be riding the metro and trams unassisted, I instead learned that I was entitled to ride for free. 

After having seen crippled seniors navigating our neighborhood on walkers and crutches, one even missing his nose, I'd leapt to the rash conclusion that old age truly sucked in the Czech Republic. Now, in this sanctum sanctorum of public transportation, I hollered "Yes!"--adding a fist pump for good measure. The elderly poor might have a rough go of things here, but at least they can ride the tram for free, with their dogs at that.

Bill, between 65 and 70, was also entitled to free transportation but needed a photo pass to prove it. The official provided it for him and smiled indulgently at the exultant Americans who left to ride the tram free all the way home.

Bill gets his official tram pass for free transportation in the Czech Republic.

At the Mustek Station transportation information center, you're free to buy souvenirs commemorating the joys of riding the metro and trams of Prague.

One corner of the Mustek Station information center is devoted to a simulated tram which two young men, probably stoned, were treating as a theme park ride, lurching back and forth, calling out, "Ding! Ding!" On the wall, an original pass-stamping mechanism from 1974.