Preparation for the Apocalypse

'If you have any questions, ask now but I speak only very basic English,' the guide concludes his rehearsed and evidently practiced tour through the bunker, which is also my hostel for the next few days. We stand in the single cell assigned to me. But well, what you see is what you get. What should one expect when booking accommodation in a Cold War bunker? Showers in the decontamination room, muckefuck for breakfast, military sleeping bags from the 70s. A portrait of party member Gustav Husak hangs on the wall. I google him; in the current Cold War, there is Wi-Fi in the bunker..
As a guest, you can visit the attached museum for free. The air raid shelter was built by the Nazis in the 1940s and later expanded and used by the military of Czechoslovakia. I stand alternatingly in front of signs with Czech warning notices about bunker life and boards with a Wehrmacht soldier with a Hitler mustache, who models proper bandaging techniques, among other things.
On the evening of my first day, I sit on one of many benches on the castle wall above the city, reading and occasionally listening to the conversations. Behind me is a loud group of Czechs, among them an American is giving a Ted Talk about charisma to his companion, all clear.. in front of me, a Brazilian is facetiming with his girlfriend while his guitar leans casually against his chair. But without saying a word, I probably reveal my nationality the most. The bartender, whom I addressed completely in English except for 'Dobre dan', responds after I pay with 'Thank you!' - either it was my accent or, more likely, my appearance that betrayed me as a German. The combination of a fanny pack AND a small daypack, baseball cap, sneakers with white socks - nothing screams 'function over style' as much as my outfit. I have to accept it and play my role as well as the script dictates: 'Here you go.' I reply smiling.
On my last day in Brno, I read again on my bench below the castle. Even on 2-day city trips, *the traveler* should seek habitual places! An older lady on the neighboring bench has placed her stylishly groomed Yorkshire Terrier on a pillow next to her and fulfills the rule that owners must always resemble their dogs in appearance. A hot air balloon flies over us and she tries to bring it to his attention like a mother to her toddler. As someone without a pet, I find it amusing. As if it cares. When she leaves, she puts the tiniest muzzle I have ever seen on the absolutely harmless-looking little barker. Regulations-compliant cuteness.
In the evening, I go to the open-air cinema. A German documentary about Gerhard Richter is playing. Being the organized person I am, I had emailed to find out that it is indeed the original version. But unfortunately, the recordings in the studio are too quiet and echoey and the responses of the painter are barely understandable. The audio tracks from the 60s original sounds are completely missing. The Czechs don't seem to mind; they have subtitles. What can you do. I enjoy the Mediterranean atmosphere, watching Richter paint abstractly while the crickets chirp and I remember how I once saw Everything Everywhere All At Once in a cinema in Krakow. There is a longer scene where the two protagonists communicate completely through subtitles as stones. The whole audience was laughing their heads off, only I still don’t know what the dialogue was actually about..
On departure day, I sit in the breakfast bunker and chat with a Slovenian who, unlike me, did not book a single room and tells me about her snoring roommate. However, she found the incessant snoring less annoying and more amusing, also because another guy in the room kept cursing about it. 'I had to watch out so I wouldn't laugh out loud,' she grins. I was allowed to finish my bunker training for the apocalypse under more refined conditions and board the bus to Budapest.