A penguin on an escalator

I seem to be old, or something. It really hurts to walk after only a few blocks. Alternating days of more and less activity doesn't seem to help. I can't figure out whether I'm doing more damage by persevering or whether I'm staving off worse. It does mean I braved the Czech Lekarna (pharmacy) and succeeded in buying paracetemol. It also means it takes me a good half-hour to walk a kilometer.

Frank makes fun of me, which I suppose is a good thing.

Anyway we walked across Karluv Most, which is a really really awesomely creepy place, and then took several vehicles -- tram, metro, and bus -- o the famous Kutna Hora where we saw piles and piles of skulls, and figurative designs and garlands made of skulls and bones but it's all right because monks did it, right? Not to offend my religious friends or anything, but all this and a painted statue of that guy being tortured to death with the thorns on his head . . . it's kind of gruesome, you know? Apparently some people think they're at the bottle pitch at the Boardwalk, because there were coins tossed into the eye sockets of some of the skulls.

The ride there takes about an hour. You go through all these impoverished-looking country towns, and past inscrutable billboards. Snow was on the ground, and it was cold enough to make my face regret it and to make my nose run.

Now Frank's making cornbread and chili to go with the salsa he made with the cilantro I brought from home.