The process of actually picking up my visa was astoundingly quick and easy. I handed the clerk my paperwork, sat and chatted with another American for a few minutes, then when my name was called, picked up my new visa.
I raced back to the bus station. I had just enough time to get back for my bus home if I didn’t stop to use the restroom. On the U-Bahn came the sixth assault: yet another group of unpleasant co-passengers whose language I was unfortunate enough to understand. This time it was a married couple, speaking Czech and arguing with their spoiled two-year-old son, who screamed whenever he didn’t get what he wanted immediately. I did my best to pretend I didn’t understand their bad parenting until I reached the transfer station and hurried to the next train.
Of course, they were going in the same direction. They entered the second train right behind me and the screaming continued. At least, I reached my station… and they followed me out. It dawned on me that they were headed for the same bus as I was. I prayed that I wouldn’t have to sit next to them.
To my amusement, it was exactly the same bus as I had taken down that morning, with the same service guy waiting to bring me “tea” (sugar water with lemon) and sell me water.
Of course, on the way back, the toilet wasn’t working. My hopes of sleeping all the way home were dashed when I realized it would be several hours before I would be able to relieve my uncomfortably full bladder.