Longest-Serving Bookseller Among 25,000 Czech Virus Victims

Bookseller Jaromir Vytopil, left, appoints the youngest schoolchildren to the order of readers at a library in Pelhrimov, Czech Republic, Thursday, Feb. 7, 2020.  (AP Photo/Miroslav Krsek)
Bookseller Jaromir Vytopil, left, appoints the youngest schoolchildren to the order of readers at a library in Pelhrimov, Czech Republic, Thursday, Feb. 7, 2020. (AP Photo/Miroslav Krsek)
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Longest-Serving Bookseller Among 25,000 Czech Virus Victims

Bookseller Jaromir Vytopil, left, appoints the youngest schoolchildren to the order of readers at a library in Pelhrimov, Czech Republic, Thursday, Feb. 7, 2020.  (AP Photo/Miroslav Krsek)
Bookseller Jaromir Vytopil, left, appoints the youngest schoolchildren to the order of readers at a library in Pelhrimov, Czech Republic, Thursday, Feb. 7, 2020. (AP Photo/Miroslav Krsek)

A year after the Czech Republic recorded its first death from the coronavirus, the central European nation paused to remember all the citizens who lost their lives in the pandemic. By the end of the day, the number had surpassed 25,000.

Bells tolled across the country at noon last Monday to mark the anniversary of when the pandemic's first Czech casualty, a 95-year-old man, died in a Prague hospital. On March 22, 2020 and for some days to come, the Czech Republic reported daily COVID-19 deaths in the single digits. Few imagined then that the nation of of 10.7 million eventually would have one of the world's highest per capita death tolls.

But it's not just grim statistics that have torn the fabric of Czech life. There's always a personal story behind each life lost. And the deaths of some people affected entire communities.

Jaromir Vytopil's was one of them. Without him, the town of Pelhrimov won’t be the same.

As the country's longest-serving bookseller, Vytopil had served the town's readers for almost six decades. They came to his eponymous shop to buy books, maps and music, or just to have a chat with him when they passed by. Books and customers literally were his life: He got into the trade at age 15, studied at a special school for booksellers and worked in six different towns before settling in Pelhrimov in 1963.

He died at the age of 83 on Nov. 9, another grim day during the month that until Saturday was the Czech Republic's deadliest of the pandemic, Marie Vytopilova, says both of them likely caught the virus in the bookstore.

“We didn’t expect that to happen,” she said of her husband's death. “He was still full of life.”

The Czech Republic was spared the worst of the pandemic in the spring only to see its health care system near collapse in the fall and again in January and March after the coalition government led by Prime Minister Andrej Babis repeatedly let down pandemic guards despite warnings by experts.

According to Johns Hopkins University, the Czech Republic has the world's second-highest mortality rate after the microstate of San Marino.

Activists painted thousands of white crosses on the cobblestones of Prague’s Old Town Square this week for all of the people who died. They blamed the government for an inadequate response to the pandemic. One of the crosses honored Vytopil.

As the news of Vytopil's death spread in November, people placed flowers and lit candles in front of the bookstore, turning it into an impromptu memorial. About 600 mourners expressed their sorrow on the store's Facebook page.

“A legend has gone, the only citizen everybody knew in Pelhrimov," resident Petr Kostka commented.

“People like him form the heart of the town,” Milan Pavlicek added.

Vytopil used to leave his family's home in a nearby village on his scooter at 7 a.m. On the way, he stopped to have a coffee and to read newspapers. Then, he was ready to greet his customers.

“What was shining from him was an appetite for life and an effort to give people what he knew well, and that was the books," Marie Vytopilova recalled. "He used to read a lot, really a lot, and over the course of the years, you accumulate knowledge.”

US poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who died last month at age 101, was among the bookseller's favorite authors along with Czech writers Josef Skvorecky and Bohumil Hrabal. But he praised the people who visited his store for their choices and if needed, offered recommendations.

“Many times, I laughed and called him a walking encyclopedia,” his wife said.

Vytopil’s mission as a bibliophile extended beyond his shop. He advised Pelhrimov’s public library on what titles to acquire, helped organize readings and book signings with authors, and once a year dressed up as a king to welcome children into the order of readers during a ceremony in which they received library cards, director Iva Rajdlova said.

“He was young at heart,” Rajdlova said. “He was interested in everything, and it was so nice to talk to him about anything, not just about books. He was interested in people and anything that was going on. Simply, he was a very good man.”

Promoting books and literacy, however, could be a dangerous pursuit during the communist era of Vytopil’s country. Private ownership of bookstores was prohibited. After the 1968 Soviet-led invasion of Czechoslovakia that crushed liberal reforms known as the Prague Spring, the hardline regime banned numerous authors and ordered bookstores to purge their works from store shelves.

“My dad hid all the banned books he could, so when we attended high school, we were reading his favorite, Skvorecky, and also (Milan) Kundera and other banned writers,” Vytopil’s son Jan said.

Martin Vana, who visited Vytopil’s bookstore for the first time in 1978, said he wasn't surprised by local reaction to his death. Vana, who works for the regional public radio station, approached Vytopil about 13 years ago to ask him to present new books on the air. For about 10 years, he had a popular show mixing the books and stories from his life.

“He was such a distinctive personality. We didn’t go to a bookstore, but instead we went to Vytopil’s," Vana said. "In the course of his years in business, his name became synonymous with bookseller."
After the 1989 anti-communist Velvet Revolution, Vytopil finally could open his own family bookstore, which he and his wife did on July 1, 1991.

“He did exactly what he liked and did it right, no matter what it was,” his wife said. “When we started, I remember his enthusiasm for the business. It was him who was carrying the weight of it.”
Despite his age, he didn’t plan to retire, according to son.

“The bookstore was all his life,” he said. “He used to say he only wanted to be carried out of it. That wish turned true, in a way.”

The family announced in January they were putting the bookstore up for sale because they realized they didn't want to run it “without our dad, husband and its soul" any more.
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Chinese Slimmers Trim Down at Weight-Loss Camps

Weight-loss camps have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis. Hector RETAMAL / AFP
Weight-loss camps have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis. Hector RETAMAL / AFP
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Chinese Slimmers Trim Down at Weight-Loss Camps

Weight-loss camps have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis. Hector RETAMAL / AFP
Weight-loss camps have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis. Hector RETAMAL / AFP

Yang Chi'ao takes her place next to gym equipment and waits to be called by an instructor at a weight-loss camp in China, where over half of adults are overweight.
Boasting strict daily exercise regimens, mandatory trips to the scale and rigid surveillance to guard against snacking, the facilities have popped up across China as it grapples with a growing obesity crisis, said AFP.
They have also sparked controversy -- last year an influencer died while attending a facility in northern China as part of efforts to shed more than 100 kilograms, local media said.
Yang, 23, quit her teaching job earlier this year and signed up for a weight-loss camp on the outskirts of southwestern megacity Chengdu, and since then has followed a rigorous regime of diet and exercise.
She was one of around 60 slimmers who turned out early to train, a large poster looming overhead extolling their goal: "Become thin! Become beautiful! Become refined!"
Among the activities at the Chengdu camp are long brisk walks -- with instructors keeping an eye on participants tempted to stop for snacks at roadside carts.
"There will definitely be people who secretly want to buy food," Yang told AFP, walking with a steady stride.
"I've had the idea but never succeeded because the coaches keep following me."
Yang said she had lost nearly 30 kilograms (66 pounds) since arriving in July at 114 kg.
And while some fellow participants struggled with the 10-kilometer hike, she said her "stamina has probably improved".
"I might have felt very tired a month or two earlier," she said.
Yang's parents pay around 3000 yuan ($421) a month for her stay at the camp, where she shares a room with three others.
She lives nearby but says that participants are not allowed to leave from Monday to Saturday -- unless under "special circumstances".
"No one sneaks out because there is surveillance everywhere, and if you get caught, you'll be punished," she said, with disciplinary measures including running for five kilometers or doing burpees.
Obesity challenge
The country has ranked obesity the sixth leading risk factor for death and disability and ramped up efforts to tackle the issue.
Beijing's National Health Commission has said that "the prevalence of overweight and obese people in China has continued to rise".
That has sparked a fitness craze -- exemplified by "YOLO", a film about an overweight woman who takes up boxing to regain her self-esteem, that topped China's box office during Lunar New Year this year.
Jia Ling, who directed the film and played the leading role, reportedly lost over 50 kilograms during filming, with her physical transformation going viral.
This upward trend may be linked to increased disposable income and higher spending on food, often high in calories and rich in oil, said Charles Poon, medical director at Raffles Hospital Beijing.
Additionally, many people are facing more demanding work environments.
"Jobs are getting more complicated... and so a lot of stress is involved," said Poon, adding that this could lead to hormonal imbalance and contribute to obesity.
In June, China launched a three-year campaign to address obesity, recommending actions such as reducing foods high in salt, sugar and fat in school canteens and encouraging employers to support staff fitness.
The country will also ensure that primary and middle school students engage in at least two hours of physical activities a day.
For camps like the one in Chengdu, experts warn of the risks.
Pan Wang, an associate professor in Chinese and Asian studies at the University of New South Wales in Australia, said the government should monitor and restrict workouts and diets which could be potentially dangerous.
"The beauty industry is booming... (and) the concept of 'thinness' has translated into a kind of social capital," Wang said.
"Businesses like weight-loss camps can profit from it."
'It takes time'
At another camp activity, music blared from speakers as participants threw punches and jabbed in a boxing routine, their faces dripping with sweat.
Trainer Chen Hang shouted instructions from a stage while demonstrating the moves.
"The reason they came to a weight loss training camp is because they can't control their diet outside... and they can't get themselves moving," Chen told AFP after the workout.
The number of people coming to the facility was "continuously increasing", he added.
Yang posts daily videos on Chinese social media apps Douyin and Xiaohongshu -- China's equivalent of TikTok and Instagram -- which she said helps keep her accountable.
"If I don't get up every day to shoot, I will have no content to post, and everyone will know I'm slacking off," said Yang, who plans to stay in the camp until at least the end of March next year.
One of her roommates, Zhao Yuyang, discovered her videos online and was inspired to join the camp.
The 30-year-old has lost more than five kilograms in the past month, but is in no rush to shed more weight.
"You can't become a fat man in one bite, so losing weight has to be done slowly," Zhao told AFP during an evening gym session.
"It takes time."