SkyEurope emailed B a few months ago: "Fly to Prague for €15, round trip," the email said. We talked about it on the phone and decided it would be great to see
Prague, if only for an evening and part of the next day.
We arrived in Prague late Thursday afternoon. There are a lot of ways to get from the airport into town, but one of the best and certainly the cheapest is to take public transportation. B had worked this all out via the Web, printing out the routes and the connection. For about $1.50, you can jump on a bus, connect to a subway, and in about 35 minutes you're in the middle of Prague.
As opposed to €30 for a cab ride, which would be only a bit faster.
By the way, the public transportation in Prague is quite good---on the bus, an electronic sign displayed the upcoming stops as well as the next three stops, and stops were announced in Czech and English. The subway is very fast. I can't see paying more than 20 times the price for a cab ride, can you?
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Unlike Vienna, Prague didn't suffer heavy bombing damage during the war and so retains most of its ancient buildings---also, for whatever reason, many of its cobblestone streets and sidewalks. We walked the cobblestones a few blocks from the subway to the offices of
Prague Holiday, with whom we'd arranged to rent an apartment for the night. If you read nothing else about our trip, remember this if you go to Prague:
the guys at Prague Holiday treat you right.The guy told us there was a minor problem with the apartment we'd rented---the hot water tank was malfunctioning. But: "That is really no problem. We have upgraded you for free to a better apartment, the same distance away. No problem." Then the guy answered all our questions about non-tourist trap places to eat, possible exhibits to see in town, etc., and drew the locations on a fold-out map for us. A very nice guy, very service oriented----as many in the former East Bloc are NOT, even to this day.
If you want to see the fully-equipped, fully furnished, two-story, top floor apartment we ended up getting for just €48 (!),
here are the pics and specs. (Cost would have been more, of course, but we got the free upgrade.)
We were only staying one night, but if you want to stay longer, an apartment is probably the best option, especially if you're traveling with friends who can share the cost. You can buy food at the local market and cook it in your apartment, saving $ on dining. If you meet some locals you want to invite over, you've got plenty of room for dinner, drinks, or whatever.
We found the place, unloaded our gear, then hit the streets.
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There weren't a lot of people out on a cold Thursday night. The streets meander and wind here and there, not in the north-south east-west grid we have in OKC, but more
organically, for lack of a better word. There was no auto traffic where we walked, off the main streets---zero. Which means the city has instituted some kind of strict restrictions: local traffic only, or pay a gigantic fee for a driving permit, or whatever. In any case, it's nice to walk around without having to dodge cars all the goddamned time.
We passed a particular night spot I wish I'd taken a picture of. It was a coffeehouse / bar with literally thousands of books lining shelves that reached almost to the ceilings. It looked like a library with a bar stuck in one corner, and tables scattered here and there. The view through the windows said a lot----here were the poets, the thinkers, the artists, the hipsters, the romantics. The shaggy bastards; the new Kafkas. Sipping tea or enjoying a glass of slivovice.
Prague shortly after the fall of Communism became a version of 1920s Paris. Young would-be Hemingways, Man Rays, Henry Millers, etc., many from America, flocked to the place. In those days you could get a huge mug of Pilsner for 25 cents, and rent an apartment with a view of the river for a few hundred dollars a month. Even now, with those days of inexpensive everything long gone, the place has yet to become completely gentrified and inordinately expensive. We enjoyed good meals, for instance, at a very reasonable price.
Which brings me to
U Vejvodů, where we ate dinner. The streets must have been so empty because everyone was in here. The place was jam-packed. You walk in through the bar section, where every square inch of wall space is covered with handwritten graffiti, through to the restaurant in the back. There were tourists there, sure, but the place looked to be filled at least halfway with locals.
The
menu was pretty extensive. B ended up with the "Knee of pork baked with dark beer, mustard, horse-radish" while I enjoyed the "Pork rib on Pilsner brewer way." We snacked on the excellent pretzels before the food arrived, and had a couple of beers each.
If you look at the menu you'll notice a bit of fractured English. For instance, in the Pasta section, they say "Pastries" instead.
The most curious offering was the "Texas beef MAXI steak (slices of grilled bacon, cowboy sauce)." Everything sounded delicious until I began wondering exactly
which nozzle the "cowboy sauce" spurted from---and the more I wondered about it, the more I wanted something else. "Cowboy sauce" sounds to me like something Bush and Cheney ask the White House chef to, uh, "prepare" for them. So I chose the pork rib.
If you want to work out the prices, figure about 18 Czech crowns to the dollar. You'll also notice that the serving size is noted with each offering, another curious holdover from the Commie days. And you might find
the history of the restaurant particularly interesting...
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After dinner, a stroll to the Vlatava River to the
Charles Bridge. The Wikipedia entry notes:
"During the night Charles Bridge is a quiet witness of medieval times. But during the day it changes its face into a very busy place. Painters, owners of kiosks and other traders compete for the attention of numerous tourists crossing the bridge." True. B was astonished that we had the bridge more or less to ourselves, relatively speaking, even at 11 PM. If you look at the photos in the entry, you'll see an example of how crowded the bridge is during the day, even on a very cold winter day.
Standing there, looking toward the
Old Town on the other side of the river, with its ancient fortifications, palaces, and churches, you could imagine yourself transported back in time. These views are the same views you'd see hundreds of years ago, with minor details added or subtracted.
We walked back through the cobblestone streets toward our apartment. On the way, we stopped into a little place called Jericho. Walking in, we were greeted by a couple of barking dogs. The owner calmed them down and we found a seat. Jericho is a tiny non-pretentious bar filled with locals. Imagine the Red Cup as a late-night spot, with just a bit more "edge" to it. Looked like we were the only tourists there. To our right, a table with a bearded artist type and a couple of thirty-ish women, speaking English. To our left, a table with a fat guy (I think it was a guy, though he had a female-pitched voice) with long hair discussing something of great import with his table mates. In one corner, a young woman and the middle-aged owner poring over a computer, checking something on the Web. The bartender was completely bald, and there were a few disheveled looking guys at the bar. Large posters on the wall, and music playing in the background. A place for discussion and a beer or a couple of shots of slivovice, which we enjoyed. Then out we went, the dogs barking at us again as a goodbye.
We wound our way through the quiet streets, found the apartment building, and climbed to the 4th floor. There, a problem: the lock wouldn't open! These locks have a deadbolt-like mechanism---you turn the key clockwise twice, retracting the deadbolt, and then a final quarter turn, where you feel a spring engage which retracts the plunger thing---but when we got to that part of the process, we couldn't feel the spring engage. We tried and tried and tried, but nothing. It was midnight, and we faced the prospect of spending the night in the hallway, the motion-activated lights turning on every time we moved in our sleep. IF we slept.
After a few minutes jiggling and working and trying to budge the door, B called Prague Holiday. By some miracle, the guy answered---midnight, remember? He told us to keep trying, meantime he'd call the owner. We kept trying. Nothing. Called the guy back. He said he'd send somebody.
I gave up and sat down, awaiting the arrival of some pissed-off Czech locksmith who, I had no doubt, would open the door with ease, making us look like fools. But B, persistent as always, kept turning the key this way and that and jiggling the lock and wiggling the key, etc. and then miraculously, the fucking door popped open! What the fuck! It took thirty minutes for a five second job, but she managed it. Ho.Ly. SHIT! My Viennese heroine. She never gave up.
Called the guy back, told him to cancel the locksmith or whoever, and went to sleep.
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The low point of our stay in Prague wasn't the problem with the lock. It was what I saw the next morning.
The apartment had cable TV which provided all sorts of weird channels, including a Cuban channel (!) Wanting to learn the results of the Iowa primary, I switched on the tube and found CNN. Stupid me, thinking they'd be discussing the primary results. Nope, there was something more important, something
really important---breaking news!
It seems
something was going on at Britney Spears' house! Oh, fuck---our most famous hillbilly millionaire whore was...what? Nobody knew, but the cops were there and a helicopter hovered over the place, its camera locked on the entrance.
Breaking news, motherfuckers! Britney Spears! The police had been called! Child custody battle with K-Fed! What might be happening?
Oh, the humanity!This goddamned stump-jumper and her slow-motion train wreck of a life: I wish she'd just take a bucketful of pills and get it the fuck over with, already. Put us out of your misery, Britney, once and for all. Jesus Christ...but that's the important stuff in our "society" these days. America is doomed, and I mean
doomed, if we think this celebrity shit matters one fucking iota. See you on the Other Side, fellow citizens. May the country that rises from the ashes have half a fucking brain in its head. This I pray to the gods of the National Enquirer and its second-rate imitator, CNN. Amen.
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We loaded our backpacks and headed out. I tried the key one more time just to see if the lock was still fucked up---it was. So we wouldn't look like complete morons, I guess. Turned the key in at the office, then started that day's adventure.
It was cold and humid this morning when we crossed the Charles Bridge. You really had to bundle up against the cold. And unlike the night before, the bridge was fairly packed, even at 9 AM on a January Friday morning. I tried to imagine what it must be like in the summer when the place is choking with
touristas, and decided I was glad I was seeing Prague in the winter.
This side of Prague, as I mentioned, contains its oldest and most spectacular buildings, these perched high in the hills. This side of the river is where you'll find
Prague Castle and
St. Vitus Cathedral.
Here's a view from this side of Prague. You can see the Charles Bridge on the far right of the picture---note the tall dark tower at the bridge entrance.
There's no way to see a city like Prague, or even a small fraction of its impressive sites, in a scant few hours. But we did want to see what we could see, and maybe investigate inside if possible.
St. Vitus Cathedral had a line that looked like it would take a good hour to clear, so we skipped that. We walked a bit further to another old church, thought we'd check it out, but were reluctant to pay the admission fee. B got to see a lot of these churches in the days when charging admission wasn't even thought of, and she's kind of reluctant except in cases where there's not much of a wait and the place is extraordinarily spectacular. I understand that maintaining these ancient structures costs a lot of money, but as I've said before, would it kill the fucking Vatican to sell off it's gigantic collection of art? With the proceeds they could set up a fund, the income from which would probably pay for the maintenance of their churches and cathedrals in perpetuity.
We walked down the hill and made our way across another bridge to the Jewish Quarter of Prague. As with other European cities, the Jewish population was decimated during WW II but synagogues remain, as well as the very impressive Jewish cemetery. We found a very friendly French family standing outside the wall of the cemetery, looking in through a tiny hole in a door at the ancient headstones within. B speaks French so they got into a conversation. The French guy said it costs €12 to take a tour of the cemetery, synagogue, etc. which is reasonable enough but for his family of five, too much to pay. Plus, there was a big line. So we peered through the hole in the wall and walked on.
It was pretty cold out, as I mentioned, so we found a place to sit and relax a while. Turned out to be a Hawaiian-themed bar called
Aloha Wave Lounge. (If you click the link, then click on the EN link at the top right.) We had a nice bowl of potato soup with mushrooms, which came with a slice of toast, quartered, with cheese melted on top. This for about $2 each.
Then we made our way to the famous
Prague Astronomical Clock. This mechanical masterwork dates from the 13th Century: "The Orloj is composed of three main components: the astronomical dial, representing the position of the Sun and Moon in the sky and displaying various astronomical details; "The Walk of the Apostles", a clockwork hourly show of figures of the Apostles and other moving sculptures; and a calendar dial with medallions representing the months."
But the cool thing is what happens at the top of each hour, when animated figures do a little dance. These figures represent "The four things that are despised," namely Death, Vanity, Greed, and (ahem) the Turks. We waited in a huge throng of fellow tourists for the little dance. I liked Death the best, pulling the rope that rang the bell. I dig skeletal figures.
Then to
Grande Cafe Orient for lunch. This is an impressively beautiful restaurant, done in the Cubist style that fell out of favor in the 20s but has regained something of a nostalgic following since. There's a nice terrace from which one can dine and look down on the square below, in nicer weather. But sadly, the service was pretty shitty, in my opinion--typical former East Bloc sullenness. I shouldn't have tipped the waiter a cent but fuck it, we were having a good time despite him.
Next time, my good man, I shall demand to speak to your manager if I am dissatisfied----you have been forewarned!There was just a bit more time to kill before we had to catch public transportation back to the airport, and here I saw something that impressed me perhaps most of all in Prague, though it had nothing to do with Prague and everything to do with America...
The
Langhans Gallery in Prague is a fairly prestigious photography gallery and it is hosting an exhibition by the Danish photographer
Jacob Holdt. I'd vaguely heard of Holdt's work but didn't connect his name with it...but I will say here and now Holdt is about 100 times the adventurer/wanderer I will ever be, and about 100 times the photographer I will ever be. Here's why:
(from Holdt's website)
Vagabond years Arriving in America with only $40 for a short visit, a young Dane, Jacob Holdt ended up staying over five years, hitchhiking more than 100,000 miles throughout the USA.
He sold blood plasma twice weekly to be able to buy film. He lived in more than 400 homes - from the poorest migrant workers to America's wealthiest families such as the Rockefellers. They not only gave him a hospitality and warmth, but their continuing friendship to this day.
He joined the Indian rebellion in Wounded Knee, followed criminals in the ghettos during muggings, sneaked inside to work in Southern slave camps and infiltrated secret Ku Klux Klan meetings as well as Republican presidential campaign headquarters.
Working with prisoners he saw two of his friends assassinated. By the time he returned to Denmark 12 of his friends had been murdered (in the years since so many of his friends have been murdered that he has completely lost count).
The (multi-media) show in Europe
Back in Denmark he put together the photos he had taken into a multimedia show named American Pictures. His show instantly became enormously popular and with the help of several black American friends, it was shown in 14 countries in 7 languages between 1976-82.
The profit was used for humanitarian aid in support of the struggle against apartheid by donating schools and farm machinery to the countries and liberation groups bordering South Africa.
The show in America
In 1982 the show moved to America, where Jacob Holdt has since presented it in more than 300 universities, city councils, churches, etc. The show has been updated constantly and one fourth of the pictures are now from the 90'es.
In his latest version from 1997 Holdt worked closely with leading educators, psychologists and workshop counselors throughout America and Europe in order to best incorporate universal themes of oppression.
As a result the show is now the ideal thought-provoking "warm up" for national and international conventions on peace, ethnic conflict, human rights, sociology etc."
I'm not going to go into detail as to what I saw in the exhibit. You can visit Holdt's website and see for yourself. I also suggest you watch the videos posted there.
Despite Holdt's experiences, despite what he saw, he claims to really love America.
I believe him.
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To the left, a photo of a statue of Franz Kafka.
This is a pic I got from Flickr; not my own photo.
In the very modern and impressive Czech airport, I saw this sign pasted on inside of the door of the men's room:
In case of need or imperfections, call (phone number.)I have plenty of my own imperfections, so I was tempted to call the number.
But then again, the 24 hours in Prague had been pretty much perfect, so I sat back with B and we waited for the flight home.
In Vienna, a late supper, I started work on this blog entry, B caught up on the news, and we each drank what wine we wanted to drink.
And that's a good life.
