The desire to find and know one’s roots is a basic human instinct, which is why I put a big red circle around Prague on my traveler’s map when I arrived for a semester abroad in northern Italy. I was going to embark on a journey to reclaim my Bohemian heritage in the Czech Republic’s capital and most historic city.

I never would have guessed that what I discovered would be something that I already should have known.

My grandparents were never able to tell me much about my heritage. No one in the family knows when the first Dufeks arrived in the United States, whether we still have relatives in the Czech Republic or what the ancient Dufeks did for a living.

Truth be told, I’m more of a mutt than a pure-bread Bohemian. I’m about 12 percent Bohemian and a mix of other Middle-European nationalities. I always felt unique telling people that Dufek was a Bohemian last name, mostly because no one ever knew what that meant. I didn’t really know either, to be honest.

Prague was my second stop on a three-city tour of central Europe. After a fun but draining stay in Munich and a train ride to Prague, I woke up my first morning in “The New Paris” with an empty stomach. Scanning a list of recommended restaurants in Prague, my finger stopped at a breakfast place called “Bohemian Bagel.” It described the restaurant as a tasty American breakfast joint.

Bohemian Bagel serves American breakfast? That can’t be right.

I mean Bohemia is my fatherland; I came to reawaken any Bohemian still in me. How could a restaurant with ‘Bohemian’ in the name serve an American-style breakfast? Regardless of the confusion, I decided out of curiosity to taste the place for myself.

I hadn’t had a good American breakfast during my six weeks in Italy. Italians like croissants, pastries and coffee for a morning meal, hardly a filling or nutritional breakfast.

At Bohemian Bagel, I ordered the Charles IV Breakfast Platter, complete with two pancakes with syrup and cinnamon, two scrambled eggs, two sausages, three strips of bacon and a mini bagel, which I then cleverly reconstructed into a breakfast sandwich — an “Egg McDufek.”

As I devoured the meal a smile spread across my face. I had been waiting for this meal for a month. In that moment, I was convinced it was the greatest food to ever enter my mouth. As I continued my destruction of Charles’ Platter, a question entered my mind. I’ve lived in America all my life and this breakfast feels like home, so how much Bohemian could really be left in me?

Regardless, I continued searching Prague for any Bohemian ties.

Dufek, I thought to myself. If I simply mention my surname, I’m sure Czechs would be delighted to share interesting stories of Dufeks that they know and love — maybe I would even meet one.

However, my thoughts weren’t completely idealistic. I had researched Prague inside and out. I was prepared to absorb a city with one of the most original histories in all of Europe.

Prague and the Czech Republic are different from most of Europe, because after two world wars and 45 years of Soviet control, their ancient buildings remain intact. The reason behind their preservation is that Czech people have always used thoughts before fists and fought oppression with words rather than bullets. Even their revolt against the Soviets, the Velvet Revolution, was nonviolent.

Their actions have kept Prague a gem in the heart of central Europe. It’s truly a remarkable sight. Each building in the city looks different from its neighbor. If you pick any random street in the old town district and walk down it, your irises will be ambushed by an astonishingly unique blend of pastel-colored architecture. Many different-sized buildings push together, some with spires rising up into the sky and others with gargoyles opening their wide, hungry mouths toward you. The only similarity between many of Prague’s well-preserved buildings is their trademark red-tiled roofs. If you can manage to turn your head down and away from the magnificent buildings, you will notice cobblestone streets below, each stone looking hand-laid and as if it has its own individual identity.

Tourists can enjoy a weekend in Prague simply by walking around the city and admiring it for what it truly is — a city that’s stood the test of time.

I loved the city and its vibes, but I struggled to find any meaningful connection to it. I thought maybe some historic sights would awaken an inkling of Bohemian belonging.

During the next three days, I went to the great Prague castle, built up on a hill overlooking the entire city. I saw the famous changing of the guard and wondered if any distant relatives of mine ever guarded the city or even died for it.

I walked over the Vltava River on the famous Charles Bridge, a marvelous quarter-mile-long structure that has stood strong since Emperor Charles IV himself ordered its construction in 1342. In the middle of the bridge I rubbed the engraving under the statue of St. John of Nepomuk. Legend has it that if you rub one of the two bronze spots on the engraving, any one wish you have will come true. I regret not wishing for a connection to my ancestors to be revealed to me.

I celebrated the ringing of the new hour at the towering Astronomical Clock. As the new hour comes, a statue of death tips his hourglass and the 12 apostles take turns bowing to the mob of spectators below. For the first time in my life I saw what the Bohemian clock looked like, but I couldn’t read it correctly and none of the Apostles appeared to resemble me.

I perused the eerie and dark Jewish Cemetery. With crooked tombstones toppling over one another on a cold and dark February day, it felt like the perfect setting for a horror film. My imagination, fed by too much American cinema, began to run wild and I envisioned the bodies of the dead rising up and walking Prague’s medieval streets.

I saw and appreciated the sights in Prague but I couldn’t find anything Czech that looked like me. I enjoyed Bohemian Bagel more than the traditional Bohemian lunch. My feet were blistered from the cobblestone streets and I never met one person with a name like Dufek. I wanted to feel a deep natural pull to the country, but there wasn’t one. I loved the city, but only as a tourist.

On my bus ride out of Prague I began to wonder if I had any connections. Was I really all American? Could I not find one single link? It was during this pity party that I remembered a Good Samaritan named Steven from the train ride in.

When our train crossed over from Germany into the Czech Republic I was giddy with anticipation. As soon as the drink cart came by I didn’t waste any time before getting my hands on a traditional Bohemian brew — a Pilsner Urquell. I guzzled it down and felt more at home already.

As our train rolled into the main station in Prague, Steven, a friendly 30-some-year-old Czech man, overheard us spouting off our travel guidebook knowledge. Because it was the city he was born and raised in, he offered a few helpful suggestions. When we got off the train we suddenly realized we had no clue how to find our hostel. Steven took it upon himself to guide us through the station and walk us five blocks down the street to a metro line where we could catch a tram to our hostel.

I was naturally drawn to the first Czech I had ever met. I started asking questions along the walk in an attempt to discover something about my origins. Steven told me that he had heard the name Dufek before, but didn’t think it was common. He also told me he was trying to open an American company in Prague and that he was a huge admirer of the United States.

When he dropped us off at the Metro line he gave a heartfelt 40-second farewell about how he dreamed of someday standing “with one foot back in the Czech and the other standing firm in the United States.”

Thinking back, this was as close as I felt to my Czech ancestors. Steven was a walking, talking recreation of what they once were and many Czechs still are — dream chasers. The goal of discovering my heritage seemed much less ambitious and romantic than Steven’s dream of discovering a better life in the United States, which is what the first Dufeks no doubt wanted when they became Americans.

My blistered feet and strictly American taste buds showed me my true colors are red, white and blue, but in the end, a Czech named Steven was able to give me a brief glimpse into what my family once was. And, as far as dreamers go, still is. Maybe there is a little Czech running through my veins after all.

Alex Dufek, a Green Bay, Wisc., junior in journalism, is one of 71 KU students studying in Paderno Del Grappa, Italy, this semester.

— — Edited by Liz Schubauer