I came for the Ossuary. I had read about it in a pamphlet at my hosstel in Prague, and I decided to venture out. Well my boldness got the better of me and I found myself in a town that I didn’t know how to get out of. It was approaching sundown, and I was wandering through the town in and out of open shops looking for some sign of English, to no avail.

I honestly thought I was going to spend that night, at least, hungry and cold on the streets of a foreign city, as an ugly American.

By the grace of Jehova, a Brazilian guy I’d seen at my hostel comes walking down the stree towards me. I’ve never felt panic drain out of me so quickly. We spoke, and he lead me to the Ossuary. He had just come from there and was on his way to the train station.

That was another thing, the bus I’d rode in on, made no more trips to Kutna Hora, and the only way out was a train station somewhere else. When you’re lost ‘somewhere else’ might as well be in Russia, or figuratively ‘on the other side of town’ I didn’t know ANY sides of town. This young man was my one link to the rest of my former life.

I should have kissed him and bought him ten beers. It was lesson well learned. Be brave, get information, learn the language.