Prague



THURSDAY, May 24, 1995

I've been in Prague for four hours now and I'm going nuts with excitement. The streets are flooded with tourists, cool shops with cheap prices, culture, and posters advertising concerts and theater. There's a buzz of prosperity and excitement. The city has its wings spread like a post communist butterfly. I found a hostel on the top floor of the train station, changed some money, and headed out into the streets like a clueless traveler. It was about 7:30 AM and most everything was closed. The streets began filling with commuters dressed for work and carrying briefcases. I hadn't had a haircut since my last week in Siena and it was time, but I'd put if off in Zurich hoping it'd be cheap here. I stumbled across a neighborhood hairdresser, open and with a two person wait at 8 AM. I got a wash, cut and blow dry for less than two dollars! I passed McDonald's and noticed that the Big Mac menu is about three dollars. Now these are prices. A Big Mac menu in Zurich will run you almost nine bucks! From the hairdresser, I quickly found the attractions. I crossed the Charles Bridge and walked past the crucifix with Hebrew writing mom had told me about. I still don't know the story behind it. Wow, I'm in travel mode again and with the benefit of a two week "vacation" to renew my energy (and bank account).

When mom visited Prague a few years ago, she and her friend met Alan Levy, the editor-in-chief of the local English-language paper, "The Prague Post." Unfortunately, he's out of town this weekend, but I bought his paper for the entertainment and restaurant listings. The political flavor of the paper is unlike any paper I've read before and certainly a long shot from the formal tone of the New York Times. The paper is lively and unafraid to publish opinions. The politics seem exciting because they're fresh, and I get a sense that things can really change quickly. Here's an interesting quote from the paper. Interpret it as you like:

Even though after a few days in America, one longs for good beer,

fragrant coffee and a woman's smile - something considered almost

improper there today because a woman would be demeaning

herself and accepting the "masculine" views of the world - still,

America is a fascinating country.

- Prime Minister Vaclav Klaus

My Taligent friends may remember the wooden snake I kept on top of my monitor. It was a gift from my mother from her trip to Prague. Well, I found the shop that sells them and I got a real kick out of this. There are lots of shops and vendors sporting Bohemian clothing. Behold, I am in Bohemia! I never realized until now that Bohemian means from Bohemia. Bohemia? I mean where the heck is that? It's another place like Transylvania (which I discovered is in Romania while reading Let's Go) that disappeared geographically into the communist block. Maybe I'm the only clueless one, but I don't think so. I feel like I should wander into the Bohemian countryside and take a look at the culture in some small towns to see what is really Bohemian. Perhaps I will, but there's so much to do here in the city.

Walking the streets of Prague, people are handing out leaflets left and right, each one advertising one of the dozens of concerts happening this weekend. It's incredible. I'm waiting now for my first concert to start in an ornate room of the National library with walls of gray marble, gold leaf and a reddish plaster. The pipe organ is made from the gray marble and gold work and silver pipes though it's a birch harpsichord that will be used for this performance. I get the remarkable feeling that this performance which includes Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons - The Summer," Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 4, and Dvorak's Serenade For String Orchestra, Op. 22 is really no big deal. I wish I was here with someone. What an evening - go to a concert at 4:30, to dinner at 6, then to another concert at 7:30, then maybe a quiet glass of white wine before bed - or maybe a late night of beer and dancing in the rock clubs.

After the third and final advertised piece, the conductor brought to our attention the Japanese ambassador in the balcony and played an extra Bach selection - presumably the ambassador's favorite. The music, the strings, the flute, and the bass of the cellos was soothing and made this tired night train survivor with a sore throat wish that he was in bed wrapped around a woman and on the verge of falling asleep. Prague is in my face with things to do, see, hear, and boy! I love it. If only I didn't need to sleep!

Now I'm at a pizzeria recommended by the "Prague Post." The pizza is good enough to compete in Naples. I'm buzzed on beer and ready to move onto my Mozart concert, then like it or not, it'll be in my best interest to hit the sack by 10. I'm exhausted and I'm coughing a little. Darn. Tomorrow night though, I'm gonna party. Holy cow! This place has real Italian cappuccino!!! When the owner came by my table, I heartily told him he had a great cappuccino - he said, "I know." I told him I spent three months in Italy and this was the first decent cappuccino I'd had out of the country. This made him very happy. We switched to speaking Italian. He smiled. He asked me where I'd been in Italy. I told him all around, all the big name cities north to south, Siena, around Tuscany. He asked what about the Dolomites? I told him sure, I'd been to Bolzano and Trento. He said he was from Trento. He was surprised that I'd been there. We were both happy. Pumped up on a good meal and great cappuccino, I left in super high spirits and strolled upon a bluegrass band jamming away - a fiddle, banjo and two guitars. I grooved and drummed on the bench for a while.

Photos of Prague

Heading away from the bluegrass, I couldn't resist asking the two girls who I'd noticed over my shoulder comparing the Berkeley Guide to Let's Go, "Who's winning the battle of the guidebooks, Berkeley or Harvard?

"Did you go to either of them?

"No."

"Oh good" they said, and I mimed wiping the sweat from my brow.

They said that both had their strengths and weaknesses. They were heading to Salzburg in twenty minutes. I told them a bit about it and asked them about Vienna. I got to tell the cappuccino story, only minutes old. The great excitement of a fresh telling. And now I'm awaiting more music. Still no organ for this one - harpsichord again - but this time I get vocals. This is a church far more ornate than the room in the library. The same gray marble abounds, but there is more gold, more statues, more crosses, more church like and the walls are off white instead of red. In the center of the altar piece is the madonna with a million gold pins stuck into her golden body holding little baby Jesus. Acupuncture?


FRIDAY, May 26, 1995.

After my second concert last night, I went back to the hostel for some rest like a good boy. On my way in, I noticed a swarm of noisy girls mulling in to drink, out to smoke, and blasting Nirvana from their room. Well, I dumped my stuff on my bed and found myself down the hall partying and drinking vodka with fifteen Swedish girls (yes, most of them were blonde, though frankly I prefer brunettes these days) who were curious about America. Before long I'd had two drinks and found myself walking clear across town to a bar near the Charles Bridge. We sat at an outdoor table overlooking the river. Over my shoulder I could see the bridge and beyond, the lighted spectacle of the castle. Before long I'd tired of the novelty and realized that I was dead tired. I hardly touched my beer, but that's OK because Anna, the night's designated party girl, was finishing everyone else's drinks. They taught me how to say "My name is Brad" in Swedish. Mit nom e Brad. Pretty hard.

I walked briskly back "home" alone to the irritatingly difficult to access youth hostel and fell promptly asleep. This morning I woke up to discover that the room was co-ed - well, one guy and his wife and then four other guys like me. A bit surprising. I talked with the couple about Krakow. Turns out that I missed an underground Cathedral carved into a salt mine! I'm out in the square now surrounded by colorful buildings - peach, teal, yellow, pink, stone, frescoes. I'm sitting on a bench, my feet are on the cobblestones, and I'm listening to live classical music from a youth orchestra playing on a little sheltered stage. The clock is dinging, which means that just beyond my sight is a crowd of people watching the little dancing characters on the Astronomical clock. Street vendors are out in force. There are a few too many tourists - but the weather is fabulous - hot sun, not a cloud in the big blue, slightly hazy sky.

Photos of Prague

Photos of Prague

Today I toured the sizeable Jewish quarter. Inside one of several synagogues they're painting the names of the approximately 78,000 Jews who perished at the hands of the Nazis from the area. They used to be engraved into the walls, but the communists plastered over it. They plastered over a monument to 78,000 murdered people. From the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam to the death camp in Auschwitz to the museum in Berlin to here (and more), being in Europe brings closer to home the atrocities of World War II and its aftermath. There was an exhibit on the thriving art and culture scene in the Prague Jewish ghetto in 1941. It's amazing, the triumph of theater, painting, drawing, teaching amongst the repression and horrid conditions. I hate the Nazis.

Outside one of the synagogues, I heard a big group speaking Italian and I couldn't help but talk with them a little. Just the basics - where are you from? and the like. Then they told me that my Italian was good - I told them that I'd studied the language in Siena and spent two weeks in Rome. They told me their son was going to the U.S. for the summer. I wished them luck and we said good-bye. It was really cool. I can't over-emphasize how minimal my Italian is. But I do speak minimal Italian. I love it.

Then I went on a walking tour of a whole new area - across the Charles Bridge and up the hill to the castle. It was utter fascination all over again. More. More. More color, gold, clocks, buildings, churches, shops, vendors and tourists. Now I'm in another little church waiting for my afternoon dose of pipe organ! Why not a little organ concert before the Opera? The sun is casting colors - oranges and purples from the stained glass onto the beige marble to the right of the altar. The altar piece is made largely of deep, impressive dark stained wood with marble columns, gold and statues. I love those deep soul shaking minor chords. The vocalist was better than the one yesterday, and her voice sounded sweet, reverberating along with the organ in the marvelous acoustical space.

I'm at the Opera now. My four dollar seat that I bought for twelve from a scalper is a miracle in this grand opera house with lots of gold work - even on the ceiling (which I've got a good look at from up here). I'm sitting dead center and the place isn't too big - it's a great seat, especially considering the show was sold out. Red velvet seats. Big red velvet curtain. Almost everyone is dressed, except for a few other people like me doing their best in jeans and a t-shirt. Intermission - I bought a soda for 60 cents. This seems ridiculously cheap considering I'd pay four dollars for a small Coke at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. Then again, the tickets are only four bucks. The opera (Tosca) is good, way better than Peter Grimes and it's great when the singers really belt it out and hit the big notes, but for the most part, I don't think I'm an opera lover.


SATURDAY, May 27, 1995.

I saw a poster advertising Pink Floyd's "The Wall" (the movie) next to a poster advertising Mozart's Requiem. I think that's so cool - a culture that knows good music is good - classical isn't made stodgy - it's treated like the pop music it was created as. This would blow Eileen's mind (my dad's wife.) She's a classical only type. She thinks all other music is noise.

Yesterday evening in the room at the hostel, I hung out with two guys from Santa Cruz, and we listened to a 51 year old military guy from Amsterdam tell us about all his travels in, and the history of, Europe. He spent two months last year stationed in Bosnia - he says that in his opinion the foreign intervention helps- he think things will get worse if everyone leaves. I hardly know the first thing about what's happening in the former Yugoslavia, but he was fascinating to listen to.

Just when I thought I might have hit a lull, I found a guy on the bridge singing, and strumming his guitar. He was accompanied by a woman on an African drum. I ended up sitting, an avid fan through his entire set admiring the talent and their two dogs. The set included "Blue Suede Shoes," "Tutti Frutti," "Hound Dog," "The Rain Has Gone," "Losing My Religion," "No Woman No Cry," "Everything's Gonna Be All right," "Revolution," (Tracy Chapman, not the Beatles) and his big original hit, "Surprise." Naturally, I bought his tape. After the set, I chatted with him a bit - an English guy 8 years in Prague. I told him I'd fax him comments on his tape. A girl from Tennessee, a rough built-for-the-road type, was in Prague on an exchange program and convinced the guy to let her sing with them in the next set.

I went for a little walk (so did the dogs) and caught a bit of the jazzy banjo band down the bridge. Then I came back for the second set - same songs mostly, but he added a "Stand By MeDDon't Know Much Biology" medley. He was working the crowd, which was great, into all the sing-alongs and I was singing and clapping and drumming on my knees along with everyone else as the sun broke through during "The Rain Has Gone." There was a great positive energy crowd buzz going. The girl from Tennessee really could sing and had soul and considering she had no rehearsal I was impressed. It was paradise like watching those guys in Central Park every Sunday afternoon during my summer at RGGreenberg.

The hour grew late and at 5:45, after a good two hours of sitting on the Charles bridge groovin' to the tunes, I galloped to catch my six o'clock show of Requiem. The show was packed and I got a standing spot with a heavily obscured view. The show was impressive and worthwhile but somehow with so many people, there was too much coughing and chair squeaking. Plus, I was too pumped up from my time on the bridge and I was getting excited about bolting out of there for dinner back at the Italian place. On the floor to my left was a woman with stunning eyes who reminded me of someone but I'm not sure who. Anyway, she knew the music intimately and to watch her mouthing the vocals and swaying her head and the anticipation of the big moments in her eyes was amazing. When it was over I jogged, ran, speed-walked like a madman across the bridge, though the square and then in a big confused circle back to the Italian place. I have no idea why I was in such a hurry, I was just so excited! Ah! Good pizza! Real cappuccino! Music everywhere! Heaven!

Photos of Prague

Photos of Prague

From the Italian place I headed to a rock club to hear a Stones cover band but they weren't there - the paper was wrong, and the place was dead so I went back to the Charles Bridge where I should have gone in the first place. It didn't take long to find a bluegrass group out with banjo, mandolin, two guitars, and a fiddle singing their goofy fun loving hearts out and learning new songs from each other as they played. Again, I was sitting at the front of the crowd, Indian style, shivering a bit in the surprisingly cool evening air, looking up at the lights on the castle, just soaking it all in. I was sitting there alone watching everyone drinking beer and smoking cigarettes, and I've been doing a lot of this watching people drinking beer and smoking cigarettes all my life. I was thinking to myself, "if I'm ever going to smoke a cigarette, I'm going to smoke it now," when I was accidentally kicked from behind. I reflexively spun around and a woman said she was sorry and I waved it off. I must have noticed Michelle out of the corner of my eye because something made me spin back around after the next song and made me start off a conversation the easiest, oldest way in the book, by asking her for a cigarette. Her friend even gave me beer to boot!

They were a group of four women from Australia and New Zealand. Michelle is living in London and working for ... the Union Bank of Switzerland! Yes, I've said I'd never even consider dating a woman that smokes. For now (I've gone temporarily insane), I take it back and have great fantasies about a weekend with her in London. I hope the photo of the five of us comes out . I didn't particularly like the cigarette although I didn't find it as completely repulsive as I expected. I'm not proud of it, and I certainly don't plan to start smoking, but I'm glad I did it. At least now I know.

We heard the concert out until the cops came by to say last song at about 11. All the while, we were chatting about our travels, this, that, and the other. Then we went to a bar for some more beers, more cigarettes and talk and I kept everyone laughing and we had a good time. Michelle and I traded bank extensions. I said I would and I will call. Around midnight, we all headed back to our accommodations. I had to get up at 6:30 AM this morning. What a spectacle I must have been - a four day unshaven, pseudo-crew cut, goatee-bearing American guy in Jean shorts, a maroon t-shirt, Bohemian necklace, hiking boots, smoking like an amateur and chatting it up with four women from down under. I'd pay $50 to see the video. Back at the hostel, I packed up, showered, set the alarm, read someone's USA Today, and was asleep at 1:30 AM, only to be awakened at 3:30 AM when the other five guys now in the room came home from the disco, turned on the light, and started talking. In time, I was up talking shit with them and then we mellowed and listened to a Dead tape in the dark until we were all asleep.

This morning I turned in my key and sheets, bought train food, and hopped on board at 7:20 AM. It's 6:09 PM now and still 40 minutes to go till Zurich. The second half of the trip was boring, but the first half I spent snoozing and dreaming about Michelle and thinking about how I'd had the time of my life in Prague.



Copyright 1997 by Bradley Edelman
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