For the second consecutive weekend, we have a chance to get away from the hustle and bustle of the little town of Valašské Klobouky, Czechia, where we’ve been volunteering at a little school, and to rough it in a rural cabin. But whereas the first time entailed going on a lengthy hike (actually a couple of them on consecutive days) into the country with students and teachers, and staying the night in a cabin large enough for all of us, this time it’s just the two of us, in a much smaller cabin. And we’ll be staying not just one night, not just two, but three. Since some of the girls at the school are having a weekend birthday party sleepover, it seems like an opportune occasion to make such an escape.

This particular country hut belongs to Marketa, the director of our school, and she and her family live across the isolated road from it. She gives us a lift out there Friday afternoon after school, and tells us that it would be most convenient for her if she could wait to take us back until Monday morning when we all go back to work. So that gives us three nights of solitude with no Internet. Sounds like a bit of a challenge, but we’re confident that we’re up for it.

So Marketa drives us out there, several miles out of town, The two-story wooden cabin with an upstairs bedroom, though it appears quite new, is wearing its old-fashioned pants quite well. There’s a porch swing (sans porch), a pile of wood for the little stove that’s its source of heat, and an outdoor toilet. But there are also some contemporary touches like a sauna and two small pools — just holes in the dirt lined with large stones, and no concrete or fiberglass, that are clearly used for recreational purposes when the temperature doesn’t bite, because there is a water slide beside each one.

This looks like it’s going to make a cozy little hideout for a couple of days. Our biggest concern is having enough grub to hold out while we’re holed up. We did tote along some canned goods and a few other items, but there doesn’t seem to be any kind of store anywhere within many stone’s throws.

But not to worry, on Saturday morning Maketa brings us some eggs, potatoes, apples, and some home baked treats, along with some kindling and paper for igniting our source of heat. So we’re all set for at least the day, and don’t have to worry about doing any foraging. It’s typical of the generosity and concern for the welfare of others that we’ve witnessed in this community.

In the Czech Republic, or at least in this part of it, we’ve also noticed a trend of self-sufficient and even off-the-grid living. Lots of folks are raising their own vegetables, providing their own water, canning and preserving, baking, and otherwise being independent and pioneer-like. This stems in part, we’d guess, from the recent history of the country.

For about 40 years, the former Czechoslovakia was under an authoritarian regime, and some of the people we encounter remember what it was like (and accordingly, they are appalled by the recent turn of events in the U.S.). That seems to have made them rather distrustful of government in general — which is a healthy enough thing in appropriate doses. Trouble is, it sometimes leads to survivalist mentality and indulging in ant-vax and other wild conspiracy theories. In contrast to the egocentric isolationism of survivalism, however, the people around here are very community conscious, looking out for each other like good neighbors.

Thanks to that hospitality helping stock our larder for at least a day, we have no immediate need to go foraging for more grub. Which is just as well, because snow starts falling. It’s not a heavy snow at all — just heavy enough to give us a dazzling display out our wide windows as we lounge inside all nice and toasty. This is the first snow we’ve seen since we started our globetrotting life in November 2021. And this seems like an appropriate place for it. There’s no TV or Internet here, but who needs it when he have a show like this right from the comfort of our own living room.

The next morning, Sunday, Marketa comes by again to invite us to go to church with her. But we politely decline, saying jovially but truthfully, “been there, done that”. She also gives us the key to another church building that she somehow has access to, telling us it’s an interesting structure and we might want to check it out. And we would have, except we decide that we want to hike in the opposite direction, toward town, so that we might have a chance of catching some stray crumbs of wi-fi somewhere.

Our walk takes us through a wooded area, along some roads and paths that are rather muddy. This is a bit of a problem for Dennis, who still has not (yet) obtained footwear suitable for his finicky (and overly wide) feet. For now, he’s wearing sandals everywhere, and in cold or wet conditions, covering them with the galoshes he bought in Athens. But galoshes are not great for long walks. Marketa actually brought us some extra shoes that we might use outside; the ones for Kimberly work fine, and the ones for Dennis almost do — but not quite.

Our little forest hike gives us the chance to spot some wildlife, including deer, and takes us down to a village with a couple of intriguing structures, including a historic church. And glory be, there is a government building with a wi-fi signal dribbling out in fits and starts, just strong enough to snatch it for a few minutes by standing on tiptoe and flapping our arms like a chicken. Thus we manage to check our messages and learn that the world is not missing us; so we head back to our secluded unplugged refuge, discovering that there is a much shorter route back than the way we came.

Marketa has invited us to her house for coffee at 5:00 in the afternoon. Now we’re not really coffee drinkers, and we especially want to avoid caffeine so late in the day, but she has alternatives: herbal tea and Caro, a grain-derived coffee substitute (sold as Pero in the States). Plus, she has some homemade berry tarts. Count us in.

So it’s a very pleasant visit we have in her quaint, idyllic home with her teenage daughter and two teenage sons. And she charms us with some stories from her past — the time she went to Morocco during Ramadan (as did we), and how she went camping in Spain and bought a chicken to cook on the campfire, but then discovered that there were no campfires, so asked a man from Germany to use his RV for cooking, and he agreed.

And she talks about life under the communist regime, and how the one good holdover from that era is free healthcare, which Czechs enjoy even now. She was 16, she says, at the time of the revolution in Prague to overthrow communism, the “Velvet Revolution” with no bloodshed that resulted in the presidency of poet and playwright Vaclav Havel. We wish all revolutions could be velvet revolutions. And certainly that all presidents were poets. Literary madness is far more benevolent than political madness.

Our three nights in Marketa’s rustic cabin have given us more than just a retreat from the frenetic and vapid buzzing of virtual life; it has offered a window into the resilience, generosity, and quiet beauty of life in this corner of Czechia, as well as a glimpse into the country’s history and culture. Topped off with some fantastic homemade berry tarts.

Events occurred: 3/15-16/2025