Having a ball,
wish you were here

After a week of stale-bun hot dogs,
scowling Lolitas with hairy underarms
and inadequate supplies of toilet paper,
our correspondent almost Czeched out.
But a last-minute conga line
salvaged international relations.

By MARY ELIZABETH WILLIAMS

Illustration by Trisha Krauss

Pilsen, Czech Republic --
Dancing to me has always been something of a freestyle event, one in which keeping the beat and remaining semi-vertical were the only criteria for success. To the Czechs, however, dances and dancing are a way of life. They're immersed in a genteel curriculum of formal dance lessons from early adolescence, and then, perhaps more amazingly, they actually practice what they've learned with some regularity. Driven indoors by a climate that's the barometric equivalent of a Kafka novel, the Czechs throw weekly balls at clubs and schools across the country all winter long. Promotional flyers promising venues for Waltz, Tango, Polka, and something known as Jive abound on the trams.

Next page: A farewell to underarms