By Zuzana Kepplova

Meeting a vegan in the early nineties in Central Europe was an event comparable to a solar eclipse. I had the honor to meet one in person while taking part in an organized trip to the Baltic Republics. Fellow trip takers were so stunned by the presence of a vegan on the bus that they would stand in line at the bus alley to talk to her. They would share their food with the vegan and watch her eat it. The nights spent camping by the Baltic Sea were cold and the vegan refused to eat cooked food. So, people would bring her cups of wine, warmed up with their own hands. The vegan was permanently drunk. And constantly cold. Everyone was ultra protective of her. She was so pale and pure that one glass of wine was enough to make her drunk. Like a hermaphrodite in ancient Rome, she was special.