We are all filled with a longing for the wild

We were taught to feel shame for such a desire. We grew our hair long and used it to hide our feelings. But the shadow of Wild Woman still lurks behind us during our days and in our nights. No matter where we are, the shadow that trots behind us is definitely four-footed.
*The Women Who Ran with the Wolves* • Clarissa Pinkola Estés

My heart beats for Prague

I lived in Prague. I don't mean after college, when I spent half a year there, but as a child born in Czechoslovakia. My parents met as university students at the Main Railway Station in Prague, and subsequently founded their family in Prague. We lived in a small apartment in Stodůlky until the collapse of the republic, and even though my mother gave birth to me at my grandmother's house in Slovakia, my sister was still born in Motol, Prague. Allegedly, I "spoke Czech" quite well, but mainly my sister and I dreamed of Prague from all the stories we kept asking our parents and grandparents.

We were in Prague together only once, for my sister's 15th birthday.

I miss the hundred towers. Somehow I dreamed too much in myself of the feeling that I would one day return to Prague for a longer period of my life. Prague has quite a different character to a person who does not view the city with the same sentiment as I do. Prague is associated to me with beautiful beginnings of new life stages. That's probably why Loro and I returned to Prague at least twice a year, we wanted to see and get to know all the mysterious streets and places.

We like to travel and wander, which the pandemic has denied us for a while, but one of the topics on our blog will be the places we visited.

Trained as a cook

Loro doesn't talk about it and few people know that the art of cooking is very close to him. While I studied Spanish at a bilingual high school, Loro trained as a cook. Even though he completed the mandatory internship, he never had greater ambitions as a chef, and for this reason, obtaining a Michelin star is not possible. For that, he likes to cook and bake, just like his father. Often, when he wants to tell me something that we experienced together, he starts with the sentence: "Do you remember when we ate (this and that)?". I don't remember what we ate there, but I remember the experience. Thanks to that, my teasing also arose, when Loro doesn't remember something, I say that we probably didn't eat anything at that place at that moment...

In order for both of us to remember our trips, we decided to also blog about the places where we ate well.

I always preferred to assemble cabinets with my father rather than help in the kitchen, so one of my aunts asked me once after I got married: "How come you only cook bagged soups when you don't know how to cook? The guy needs to be fed." Except my guy feeds himself. It's not that I've only been watering wifons for years, cooking sausages in a kettle and pouring tea with that water, but my husband also has picky tastes. While a vegetable salad with chicken is enough for me, he wouldn't even put tomatoes, mushrooms and broccoli in his mouth. Nevertheless, in recent years I have discovered a love for cooking and baking. Let me defend myself as I want, I am gradually becoming a housewife. That's why you can sometimes find some of our recipes here.

I wrote a book

Exactly 21 years ago, I started writing my first book. I was twelve years old and loved to fantasize about fairies and goblins and love that transcends distance, time, and death. I imagined that nature was full of magical creatures that we could glimpse if we merged with nature and waited quietly, unnoticed, in one place for hours. I liked to climb the ladder to the attic of our house, where I made a little hiding place, read by candlelight or make up stories about the things in the old chest that were there, until my grandmother found me and was angry that I would burn the house down. Even so, I secretly went there and dreamed.

My first book was called The Lost Medallion. The main character was the elf Churro. He lived with his grandfather in the trunk of a large tree, and one day a pack of wolves chased him and forced him to cross a border of thorn bushes beyond which he was forbidden to go. On the other side, he discovered blooming gardens and a fairy who was scooping water from a magic fountain into a jug. He learned that it is a well of life, thanks to which the fairies are immortal and can take care of nature, but it has started to dry up for them, and if this does not change, the fairies will gradually perish and all living things with them. Only a tiny stone with magical power, embedded in a locket, which was stolen and hidden by an evil wizard a long time ago, could save the fountain. To get the medallion, there was a long and dangerous road that my hero embarked on in the name of love.

I wrote the second book a few years later, after the death of my grandmother. It was called The Blind Guardian and described the story of the heroine Calacyria (Cala), the only descendant of the Angel of Death. She was raised in a clan of sorcerers, and from a very young age she had to fulfill her mission - to take the lives of immortal creatures who violated the laws of the community of several nations. She hated her mission, but the biggest problems arose after her escape.

My other shots remained a work in progress and unfinished. Everything needs its time to see the light of day or die in oblivion.

My photography from the fine art serie Mucha´s muses

Elf dog

During my school years, when there was more time to devote to scouting and hiking, I had a big dream to have a four-legged companion with me when I was wandering. It's easier for a girl to decide to go to an unknown country all by herself when there are paws at her side. The German shepherd was my number one choice until I saw the Czechoslovakian wolfdog for the first time on the Muránska plain.

In the heat of the scout game on Nižná Kľaková, I spotted a wolf being led by a lady on a leash. I couldn't believe my eyes. Until then, I had no idea that there was such a beautiful creature besides the wolf.

I came to her, full of questions. The dog felt the horses, there were a lot of people around him and he was stepping from paw to paw, he would like to break free from the leash and run somewhere in the forest. He looked scared, but majestic at the same time. He was too tall for a wolf, with long slender legs and almost silver fur that sparkled in the sunlight. In my imagination, I named him Elf Dog, he seemed so beautiful and mystical.

The lady told me that it was a Czechoslovakian wolfdog and I still remember that sentence, maybe I even have it written somewhere in an old scout notebook so that I never forget the name of this breed. On that day, my dream and desire was born, to have these wolf paws by my side when I am wandering.