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It was hard to picture something so grand growing in the wild. “There will be a tree lighting in a little bit, once the sun goes down.”
We strolled the market, taking in the picturesque stalls with red-and-white-striped canopies and festive decorations. Each vendor offered a variety of goods, from traditional Czech handicrafts like hand-painted ornaments, intricate glassware, and wooden toys to winter accessories like knitted hats and scarves. Artisans showcased their work, impervious to the falling snow as they carved wooden figures or blew glass.
We stopped in front of one stall, and I nearly fell in love with a small glass Bohemian Santa.
“I wish I’d left more room in my suitcase,” I said, eyeing the tiny details painted with such loving precision.
“Maybe they will mail it to you.”
The glass blower shot Ondrej a look and shook his head. “No shipping.”
I tried to hide my snicker at his sour expression.
“Next time,” I said with a smile.
“Are you hungry? Well, even if you aren’t, there is something you have to try. Come.”
Ondrej said.
“I could eat.”
He led me to a stall serving steaming hot coiled sugar-dusted pastries on a stick.
“Ahoj,” Ondrej said to the vendor behind the booth.
“Ahoj.”
Ondrej rattled off some words in Czech, presumably ordering two of the pastries.
He paid and handed a warm paper-wrapped delight to me.
“This istrdelník. A favorite holiday treat here in Prague,” Ondrej said.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a pastry,” I said as saliva pooled in my mouth.
Ondrejtsked. “That is no way to live.”
I closed my eyes and bit into the sweet, flaky dough. The sound that came out of my mouth bordered on inappropriate for children. Ondrej grinned.
“Tur-der—what was it called?” I said.
Ondrej laughed. “Trdelník.”
“Ter-terd-nuck.”
He burst into laughter and shook his head. “As much as I don’t want to hurt your feelings for trying—not even close.”
“I’ll stick to eating, I guess.”
“It’s not your fault. Czech is an impossible language. Gifted to only the few chosen ones.”
“No argument there.”
I tried to maintain a modicum of manners as I shoveled the sticky pastry into my mouth.
“So what’s Christmas like in LA?” Ondrej asked.
I half-laughed as I wiped the sugar from my mouth. “Warm. Sunny.”
