Michael Kenney has been 
teaching English at Catholic gymnasium Varnsdorf since September 2021. With a Master’s in Education, a Bachelor’s in American Studies and minors in Entrepreneurship and Theology, two years of full-time teaching experience at a Catholic middle school in the U.S., and a life-long passion for sports, this general school with students from the age of 11 to 19 seemed to be the perfect fit. Many of the 6th and 8th graders whom Michael taught English and Theology in the U.S. came from immigrant backgrounds, but his only international travel experience was a week-long study trip to India. Setting off to Varnsdorf, a town of 15,000, located in North Bohemia, right on the border with Germany, was a grand transition. Today, Michael recalls the two specific images—one mental, one literal—that framed his perception of the Czech Republic and its culture. He shares that: “Over time, this pair of pictures has grown into a full album, as each day has handed me new images in the form of people, places, and experiences. I hope that, in sharing some of these snapshots with you, this blog can add some color and texture to your current image of the Czech Republic.”
Preconceptions
I sat in my metro-Detroit kitchen when I received my email assignment: I would be teaching at Biskupske Gymnazium Varnsdorf, a high-achievement school for middle and high school students in northern Bohemia.
My town, Varnsdorf, sounded like the name of a fifth Harry Potter house. It naturally evoked images of an enchanting village snuggled in the foothills of Europe, thatched-roofed homes puffing ribbons of chimney smoke, and Maria Von Trapp’s “The Hills Are Alive” echoing in the distance. The little information available online stoked the mystique surrounding Varnsdorf, while simultaneously solidifying my idealization of it.
My town, Varnsdorf, sounded like the name of a fifth Harry Potter house. It naturally evoked images of an enchanting village snuggled in the foothills of Europe, thatched-roofed homes puffing ribbons of chimney smoke, and Maria Von Trapp’s “The Hills Are Alive” echoing in the distance. The little information available online stoked the mystique surrounding Varnsdorf, while simultaneously solidifying my idealization of it.
I perused my school’s directory, trying to get a sense of my future colleagues. Of the 31 teachers pictured, about a third smiled, some grinned, and everyone else stared straight-faced into the camera, looking like suspects in a police lineup to me.
“What on earth?!” I thought to myself, confronting many of their blank stares with my own. My inferences grew increasingly desperate as I pondered their apparent lack of enthusiasm. Maybe the stony stares were a classroom management technique. (After all, what American teacher hasn’t heard the advice to avoid smiling before Christmas?) Maybe the photographer snapped the picture on “two” instead of “three.” Maybe they were all just exhausted and simultaneously trying to hide braces.
Whatever the reason, I couldn’t help but consider the starch contrast it held to the pomp and circumstance associated with American picture days. You remember: your coolest outfit, the fresh haircuts, the practice smiles before boarding the bus. And who can forget the theatrical laughter and the infectious self-deprecation that ensued when the prints were finally in our middle-school hands? (“Oh my gosh – I absolutely cannot show you mine.” “I look terrible!” “I’ll show you mine only if you show me yours.” “Did you see so-and-so’s?”)
Yet, scrolling through the directory, something told me that my new colleagues could not relate to that coming-of-age euphoria and the cringeworthy nostalgia left in its wake.
Three weeks later, scrunched and staring at the flight radar, I felt that visceral “this-is-actually-happening” pit begin wrangling in my stomach, about halfway over the Atlantic Ocean. I had vividly imagined everyone and everything unknown, while never giving much thought to the one person I would know in this foriegn setting: myself. Of course, I had a deliberate rationale for pursuing Fulbright, and specifically an ETA position in the Czech Republic. But, when it came to imagining myself living day-to-day, that part of my mental masterpiece remained blank. Whether I liked it or not, reality would start coloring in that blank as soon as my plane touched down.
Photo 3: Colleagues from the English department posing outside the school after the first week of class (left to right: Milan, Jana, myself, and Marek).
Experience
That wrangling pit didn’t rest as the windy route from the airport jostled me around the front seat of my mentor’s car. My mentor shared about Czech culture, his family, and the school’s enthusiasm towards me. Though I was interested, jet lag was hitting me hard. My head bobbed until a sight on the road shot me upright. Three people waited at a bus stop, one donning a University of Notre Dame sweatshirt. “That’s my college!” I exclaimed, staring intently at the name of my alma mater streaked in gold. A school I once called “home” in rural Indiana had found me in my new home, here in rural Europe. This familiar site put that wrangling knot to rest.
Photo 4: My friend Mike and I during a hike in Bohemian Switzerland this past September.
Photo 4: My friend Mike and I during a hike in Bohemian Switzerland this past September.
The coming days gave me time to explore my new neighborhood. It turns out that some aspects did align with my preconception. Many buildings had baroque and gothic edifices. A pub sat on every corner, with old men clinking pints at nearly every waking hour. People chopped wood in their backyards and pinned their laundry on clotheslines. The whole aura felt very European. Yet, other aspects of Varnsdorf reflected lingering devastation. Remnants of communism and war manifested themselves in factory ruins, dilapidated fences, weary apartment complexes, and explicit graffiti. Nevertheless, over the course of my time, corners of the town transformed through fresh coats of paint, brick-paver sidewalks, and home renovations. Guiding me through a construction site, one friend expressed his vision for the bed and breakfast he was creating. He pointed to a pile of lumber and said, “That’s where the live music will be,” and then pointed to another, saying, “That’s where I’ll put the bar.” His vision gave voice to the creativity and commitment that was fueling the town’s rebound. It excited me to return one day, peer out of his bed and breakfast window, see the town’s reclaimed prosperity, and give it a smile—or perhaps an endearing Czech grin instead.
Photo 5: Kvinta students, my colleagues, and I on our third day of our week-long ski course. It was my first time skiing and lots of fun.
As I began settling in, I kept wisdom from William Butler Yeats at the forefront of my mind, as he said: “There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven't yet met.” This mantra propelled me towards community involvement throughout the year. It led me to competitions across the region with my basketball team. It led to downhill skiing and mountain hiking with colleagues. It led to sightseeing and even hot-air balloon riding with students. It led to meals and carpools, chats and inside jokes that seemed ordinary at the moment, but when strung together over time, have fostered a sense of joy and belonging. Now, the Czech Republic brings to mind those friends, the places we visited, and the memories we created.
