Why Am I Still Alive? Pt. 1: Zombies in Czechoslovakia

(This post is part of a series of 50+ short stories from my adventures over the years. It will be eventually assembled into a book under the same title.)

It was late fall in the year 1991 and I was traveling around Europe by a mixture of trains (in Eastern Europe) and hitchhiking (in Western Europe) trying to hold off on activating my 3 week Eurail pass for as long as possible. On a rare long rest weekend I decided to take a trip to Prague to see the picturesque towers and castles and to take advantage of the exchange rate that would make my $12/day budget into a fortune. 

I was fortunate in that the first ride I picked up outside of Munich brought me inside the Czech border, whereupon I paid for a train ticket ($0.60?) to Prague, the capital. My time in Prague is its own story (see “15. Living with the Roma” below.) However, upon leaving, I repeated the pattern that had gotten me to that beautiful city and took a train to the border town nearest Munich, where I planned to hitchike the rest of the distance back to Munich and Inzell, where I was training and racing for the next few weeks. 

The train ride was uneventful and the train was mostly empty. The sun was setting in a clear, if cold, sky as we slowed to the final stop in Domažlice, Czechoslovakia - the last stop before the German border. My memory is a little fuzzy on how I anticipated getting the 15km from Domažlice to the German border. Regardless that concern quickly went by the wayside as one of the most bizarre events of my life subsequently unfolded over the next few minutes. 

First though, a brief time check and a history lesson. In the year 1991 Czechoslovakia was recently free of its Soviet oppression as recently as 1989 thanks to the “Velvet Revolution” - a relatively peaceful withdrawal from its communist overlords. However, one of the odd side effects of the crumbling of the Soviet-controlled factory cities was that entire towns were left with no means of production or income. If a city was, for example, organized around smelting, or making ball bearings and then the factories closed, well, then suddenly there was no work and nothing for the populace to do. The young people in these factory towns quickly abandoned but the older gentrified populace who knew only the singular skills of their trade were trapped. Stuck in towns essentially abandoned by the communist regime, they still received a minor stipend, and, as it turns out, boatloads of cheap vodka. Yes, to quell unrest in these abandoned locales, the Soviets intentionally, or inadvertently created entire cities of alcoholics with rates of alcoholism above 95% in some places. With nothing to do, almost nothing to buy but a few limited staples but nearly unlimited booze, these sad cities resorted to the only highly available commodity left that provided some relief from the tedium and sadness and spent their final days in a drunken stupor before their final gasping breaths. 

Of course, at the time I knew nothing of this, nor could I have anticipated that Domažlice was one of these abandoned factory towns. 

I stepped off the train at dusk and headed into town seeking a bite to eat and an inexpensive hotel or hostel for the night. With the black market exchange rate, I had been able to buy full meals for less than $0.50 and hotel nights for less than $2.00 even in Prague. I thought it would probably be even less here in this small city. 

I crossed the tracks and headed into the central plaza which was, oddly, filled with quite a large number of people walking around or idling on the park benches. Typically for the time and region, most were dressed in near-identical attire - long black coats, gray pants or dresses, white shirts, black hats. Everyone was over 50 that I could see.

I, naturally, was dressed quite colorfully in the winter garb given to us by the USA speedskating team. It was not uncommon for me, when entering a city in the Eastern bloc, to gather the attention of the inhabitants as a rare visitor - and sure enough, I found all eyes upon me. However, what happened next was unexpected and terrifying. 

Almost as one, every single human in that park that was able to walk (many were sprawled on the benches or sidewalks) began to walk towards me. There were mumbles and whispers and some odd keening sounds and some raised their arms to point at me. It was exactly like a zombie hord…

I froze for a minute, confused. Were they looking and pointing at me? If so, why? Quickly I ascertained that they indeed were and that furthermore, the murmurs and cries from the crowd converging in front of me had raised the interest of those behind me. 

Over 200 humans were suddenly moving directly towards me, shuffling in an odd way. Occasionally one would stop to retch, spewing vomit on the cold ground, A couple fell and curled into the fetal position. I can remember urging myself to wake up because, clearly, this was a nightmare and could not be happening. However, the pinch and slap I gave myself didn’t work and an instant later I was on the run, dodging the zombie bodies and grasping hands and voices. I sprinted towards the train station and the road behind it. Reaching the outer circle of the zombies I slowed for a minute and looked behind me… Sure enough, they were all still coming my way, mouths open, odd voices and sounds bouncing off the concrete and into my ears. 

I turned and in a full sprint ran, and ran, and ran. I ran for a mile, perhaps two down the highway. Finally, I stopped at an overlook to catch my breath. In the distance, I could see the lights of the German border crossing perhaps 9 or 10 miles away. The sun had set and it was getting dark and I was at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. I figured I would just walk to the border and try my luck on that side outside the world of the zombies. 

Just then, as luck would have it, a minivan pulled into the overlook parking lot and stopped. A man exited the vehicle and lit a cigarette. He gave a look and a nod. He seemed normal so I approached and tried him in English and broken German. “Gehst du nach Deutschland?” (Are you going to Germany?). He nodded and smiled and we began to banter a bit. I told him I needed a ride. He asked where I was going. I told him Munich. He paused and said that he could take me there - that it was a little different route than he had planned but yes, he could. I was amazed. I asked where he was from (Serbia) and told him I was from the USA. This pleased him and we shook hands. “Good country USA!”

Then things took a bit of an odd turn. It took several repetitions for him to clarify what he wanted me to do next, but essentially it was to walk 10 meters away and not look at the vehicle or him for the next 10 minutes. This seemed very fishy but I had no other alternatives so I did as he asked. Shortly after walking to the edge of the parking lot I could hear shuffling and grunting coming from behind me. He was busy doing something… but what I wondered. This went on for a while and eventually, he called out, “Fertig” (ready.)

I returned to the minivan and got in. We sped down and towards the border. 

Almost immediately I noticed my seat cushion was very lumpy and when I adjusted my seating position he pointed at me and the seat and shook his head, “best if you know nothing” he said in German. Suddenly it became clear - he was smuggling something, and now I was an unwilling accessory to the crime. I began to sweat. 

We entered the bright lights of the border crossing. Stern German guards came and asked for our passports which we both provided. They then asked what we had in the van. He said nothing - just empty boxes. I took a chance and looked behind me and sure enough the back of the van was full of boxes… cigarette boxes - a dozen large boxes with a Czech cigarette brand on them. 

They asked to open the rear doors and I was close to a panic. He jumped out and did so. Sure enough, all the boxes were empty. However, in my mind, I just knew they’d see all the lumpy seats and ask me to get out. Their disinterest surprised me and instead, they sent us on our way, my driver cackling and pounding on the steering wheel, “Geld Verdienen” (making money!). He stopped only a half mile from the border crossing and shamelessly began pulling all the cigarette packs that had been stuffed into all the seats, the engine compartment - any possible place within the nooks and crannies of the vehicle and began putting them back in the boxes. I decided to help to speed our progress and he was pleased with my help. “I buy for $0.10 a pack in Czech and sell in Germany for $1.50!” He was very pleased with himself. 

We quickly re-loaded the boxes and were on our way. He actually took me past Munich all the way to the exit to Inzell - where I was racing and training. He dropped me at about 2 am and I walked the 12 km back to my homestead in Inzell arriving at 5:30 am to the surprise of my roommates. And yes, I was back on the ice by 9 am for practice. 

(It took me several years and multiple tellings of this story before someone shared with me the insight about these abandoned Soviet factory towns and how they would pump in cheap vodka to paralyze the populace. They weren’t zombies, they were just drunk and curious. I suspect if I had stopped and stayed I would have been invited to local homes for some bad food and vodka shots - which, actually, has happened on more than one occasion since.)