As I was leaving my room in Prague's Kempinski Hotel, the door latched behind me at exactly the same instant as the door to the next room clicked shut. Dressed for my morning run in black tights and a solid aqua-coloured, short-sleeved Pearl Izumi running shirt, I said good morning to the man who had just emerged from the room next to mine and began down the hall.
"Excuse me," he said in lightly accented American English. I stopped to look back at the tall, brown-haired man who was turning his key in the lock.
"Yes?"
"You must lock your door with the key, it's not automatic," he reminded me.
"Oh, yeah." Turning, I dug the key from the tiny pocket inside the waistband of my tights and locked my door. "Thanks," I said and walked to the elevator.
"My pleasure," he responded, as he followed me into the small four-person lift.
He looked ridiculous. He wore an oversized, orange and white, long-sleeved T with Rabobank printed across both front and back. Funny, I pronounced it Rob-a-bank in my head. He also had on baggy, NBA style basketball shorts – orange and brown, but a different, not-even-close-to-matching shade of orange – and blue Adidas running shoes. My quick assessment: super-geek!
"Do you know where to go?" he asked in flawless English.
"Go?" I asked.
"On your run, do you have a direction?"
"Nope, first day, fighting jet lag. I was going to explore..."
"Follow me if you like; I'll take the most beautiful route I know. 5K ok?" he asked, grinning broadly.
"Sure," I agreed, grateful for any company, goofy looking or not.
Prague is often called the most beautiful city in the world, and this morning it was easy to understand why. The early morning sun was making the tops of the tallest buildings glow beautifully. There were red roofs atop white walls and gold highlights shimmering brightly. Many of the street lamps were still illuminated, adding to the early morning sparkle.
Together we jogged along the north edge of The Old Town Square to the Vitava River, where a left turn sent us upstream to the Charles Bridge before looping through other parts of the Old Town district back to the Hotel.
The streets were active with street cleaners, gardeners, marble polishers and delivery people. Curiously, many of them grinned broadly and waved at us.
His name was Ben and he spoke sparingly, just enough to point out the sights, but this he did breathing easily. Crossing the square, we saw the magnificent Astronomical Clock and then, along the river, the so-called "dancing building" or "Fred and Ginger" because the architecture resembles a dancing couple. He asked if I liked to dance. I responded with a nod and a yes. He then pointed out another building, saying it was the best discotheque in Prague, with four floors featuring different music styles on each one. In the 40 minutes it took us to do the loop that, along with comments on a few more buildings, is about all he said.
Even though he didn't say much, Ben was a good listener. He showed genuine interest in my new position with the Eastern European edition of a successful magazine for independent women. Only 24, I was fortunate to have landed a dream job like this just two years after graduating with my journalism degree.
Keeping up with his pace pushed me often to shortness of breath. I still somehow managed to go on about myself. I think it was because I couldn't bear the void of his silence.
Later, back in my room, I realized I didn't learn very much about Ben at all. Some journalist, I chided myself. All I could say for sure is he had nice shoulders, a nice smile and wore goofy looking clothes to run in.
After a quick shower, make-up and clothes, I determined that I had plenty of time to try the continental breakfast in the hotel. Ben was already in the dining room and gestured to me to join him. In blue jeans, ivory dress shirt and black blazer, he appeared considerably less geeky than he did in his running togs. The broad shoulders were still there but now it became evident he was quite lean; when he walked back to the buffet I could see he had narrow hips and no butt. From across the table his eyes were liquid cobalt. My reassessment: Handsome Viking.
Having missed my first chance to learn about this laconic man, I turned up my journalistic talents and conducted what amounted to an interview with a reluctant subject. It was like being on a chat room receiving only monosyllabic responses. However, I did learn that he was born in Massachusetts to an American father and a Danish mother, but grew up in Copenhagen from the age of two. He attended college and graduate school in the states and he was here as a guest lecturer at the University of New York in Prague for the coming spring semester. He had only arrived the week before and had already found an apartment he would move into the next week.
