Prague

Here is another conference story. This time it really is an international meeting and it takes place in a nuclear research center about 10 km from Prague. The participants are from Russia, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, East Germany, Bulgaria, Cuba and last but not least, from Poland - I from Swierk and two men from Wroclaw. The Cubans are terribly late; they finally arrive in an embassy limousine adorned with funny little flags; it turns out that one of them is a big director of the Cuban nuclear power plant, and the other is - a minister of education. I find it weird; this is a working conference after all, the participants here are to present the results of calculations carried out at their centers.

            The conference is chaired by a Russian (of course) whom I immediately dislike. He has steel grey eyes, and his face reveals no emotion: today's Putin. We all have to speak Russian (of course), with the exception of the Hungarians, who pretend not to understand this language - they brought a translator with them. Everyone in turn presents their results, which were obtained with the use of a Russian computer code adapted to the particular needs of the participating groups. The results differ slightly one from another which is acceptable as the input data are not the same. So far so good. Then comes the turn of the Poles from Wrocław; they did not use the Russian code for their calculations - they wrote their own code. "Putin" says their results are completely off and asks them to repeat the calculations. The Poles insist that their results are correct, unlike all the other results presented. "Putin" ends the session.

            During the break the Cubans, then the others as well, approach the Poles to compare the input data and the method of calculation. They all want to repeat their calculations using the Polish code. I'm amazed, and am proud of my countrymen. I'm proud that they did not bend to the will of the Russian chairman. The Cubans whisper that they're throwing a little party downstairs - will we come?

            When we meet I sense that the Russian chairman was not invited. The group is smaller. We spontaneously switch to  English - to the satisfaction of the Hungarians. The two Cubans, the minister and the director somehow got hold of a guitar, and while we drink the iconic Czech liqueur "Becherovka"which tastes of herbs, the Cubans play and sing beautifully in Spanish. I'm amused how reactor physics mixes well with "Guantanamera". Suddenly the door opens… it's "Putin". "I heard singing", he says faintly and tries to smile. He knows he is not welcome, especially since we deliberately keep talking in English. He joins the conversation - he does speak English. After a few drinks, he tells the Poles that there might be - I cannot believe my ears - an error in the Russian code. He is going to investigate it when he gets home.  I dislike him less now. 

            The next day the Cubans and the Russian are gone, and the rest of us walk around Prague. What a beautiful city! We pass Zlatá ulička, the Golden Lane - Franz Kafka lived here. In the afternoon we are almost caught up in a demonstration. (It's early fall 1989, the eve of the Velvet Revolution.) Young people, fleeing from the police, shout something. I grab somebody's arm: "Tell me what you shout!" - "Masaryk!" he/she says (Why "Masaryk"? - I wonder. Why not "Dubcek" or "Havel"? ). In the evening we go to a pub. It's not just any pub, it's the U Fleku. The U Fleku brewery is the only brewery in Central Europe which has been brewing beer for 500 straight years. The customers, men and women, sit at long wooden tables and benches. They drink beer in big pitchers and sing Czech folk songs. And oh! how they sing. Unlike my countrymen, the Czechs know all the lyrics, have beautiful, trained voices, and sing in key. I wish I could stop the time: "Then to the moment might I say, linger awhile. . .so fair thou art” (from Goethe's Faust).