In summer 1992, I, Bernadette, was an exchange student in Bratislava, in what was then Czechoslovakia. I had no ancestral connection to the region, hadn’t studied it at school, and didn’t know the language—but I was eager to see any part of Europe, and the American Field Service was offering a deep discount for anyone willing to enter a country that was in the process of splitting apart. Though I saw some of the Baroque architecture and artwork that drew me overseas, my most memorable experiences were of daily life in a place that had been heavily influenced by communism. My host family lived in a cement-block apartment, ate simple suppers at a neighborhood cafeteria, and wore the same clothes for several days in a row. Also, their home contained three shelves of yellowed paperbacks that had recently been moved to the parlor after having been kept for years in...
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