by Charles "Czuch" Vadun
chuck_vadun@intuit.com
"Leavin' my home, leavin' my friends, runnin' when things get too crazy."
--Bob Seger
Things were definitely getting too crazy. I'd just turned 29. I didn't have a girlfriend or even any remote prospects. I was starting to have to use the term "dysfunctional" to describe my family. And I was spending most of my time at work in meetings that made me sad, angry, frustrated and considering a career change from marketing software in San Diego to tending bar in the Yukon or herding goats in the Himalayas.
Not that everything was crap. My friends offered support, insight ("You're much too stressed out and bitter to even think about getting into a relationship right now"--thanks, Jenny) and comfort. I'd also finished the first draft of my first novel, forty minutes before my self-imposed April 1 deadline.
So I figured maybe I should get away for a bit. Part escape, part celebration. I found myself checking out travel sites on the Web. Maybe a long weekend walking the streets of San Francisco or laying in the sun in Scottsdale, Arizona. Nah, been there, done that. How about something more exotic, out of the country but not too far? Vancouver, perhaps? No, still in the same time zone. Some sort of Grand Gesture was called for, so I revisited an idea I'd had last year:
A solo trip to Prague, Czech Republic.
I http'd over to a Wired Magazine article I'd read last year by Bruce Sterling, a favorite science fiction author of mine. He wrote about the people, places and things he'd encountered in Prague: literary types, beautiful women, historic sights, exceptional beer and much more. I was sold. I called Grace from Balboa Travel and by the middle of April I was booked for the end of May.
Once again, I received unanimous support from my good friends, several of whom attributed the decision to increased testicular fortitude ("You have 'nad!"--Greg; "I'd like to see the size of your balls!"--Stephanie). They offered many helpful suggestions, the most useful of which was Greg's: "You've got to have a plan." So I checked out various Web sites and bought the invaluable Eyewitness Travel Guide (the only brand of travel guide I will ever again purchase) for Prague. Over the weeks that followed I mapped out some strategies and even tried to learn a bit of the language.
However, I don't think the "bigness" of what I was about to do really hit me until the weekend before I left. So when Greg picked me up at 7:30 a.m. Wednesday, May 22 to drive me to the airport, I was filled with excitement, nervousness, anticipation and trepidation.
Wednesday
By 10:30 a.m., when my 9:20 flight to Atlanta still hadn't taken off due to a loose manhole cover on the runway at San Diego's Lindbergh Field, all my other feelings had been vanquished by pure annoyance. I'd re-read the first 100 pages of Neal Stephenson's "Snow Crash" before we got airborne. By the time we landed, I was looking at my cheap new digital Timex and wondering how I was going to get from the A terminal to the E terminal in three minutes to make my connection to Amsterdam. I gave it a shot, but no luck: my half-assed workout routine hadn't prepared me for a full-out sprint with a stuffed suitcase over my shoulder. Admitting defeat at the empty gate, I dragged my sweaty carcass up to the Delta counter and talked my way onto a Swissair flight to Zurich. I'd arrive in Prague eight hours late, but I figured that was better than missing an entire day.
I got lucky on the flight to Zurich: the two Islamic guys sitting next to me decided they couldn't abide the cigarette smoke coming from the row behind us, so they found other seats. I stretched out across the three seats and actually got some sleep.
Thursday
After we landed in Zurich, I hooked up with Stephanie, Beth and Drew, three early-20-somethings from Virginia. They were headed to Brussels to meet Beth and Drew's uncle. We sat in the main waiting area and chatted about our destinations for a while; when they had to check in at their gate, I asked if I could hang out with them until their flight left. Beth said, "Sure, we'll have someone to see us off!"
After they left, I ate a ridiculously-overpriced omelet in the airport restaurant and decided I'd better get serious about converting currency in my head before ordering food. Later, I talked to another American waiting for a flight to Chicago; Steve worked for Oracle in Germany, so we traded some thoughts on the software industry. Steve's flight got called and I spent most of the rest of my time in Zurich asleep on an airport bench.
Once on the flight to Prague, I perked up a little, feeding off the energy of a bunch of loud, crazy Germans on the plane. The 90-minute flight passed quickly, and soon I was riding out of the airport toward the heart of Prague, driven by a cabbie who seemed impressed that I knew at least two words of Czech: "dobry den" (good day).
A touch of rain was falling as we drove along the Vltava river and past historic Wenceslas Square to my hotel in the suburbs. I got to my room, threw down my stuff, called Mom, looked out the window at a rainbow and decided it was a sign. I headed for the Pankrac metro stop, 100 meters from the hotel. Ten minutes later I emerged from the subway at the feet of St. Wenceslas' horse, looking into the square that bears his name. I'd made it, I was really here!
"I've been hiding, what am I hiding from?"
--Bono, U2
I walked up and down the square, checking out the faces: tourists, hawkers, punks, locals, gypsies, even prostitutes. Check out this opening line: "You English?"
"American," I replied to a scary-looking woman with scraggy hair and most of her teeth.
"You like the sex, ah? I show you--"
"Ne, ne," I said, expanding my Czech vocabulary to include "I don't think so."
I continued exploring, though with a bit more of a cautious eye. I took a couple of side streets and bumped into a trio of Germans, who asked me how to get to Wenceslas Square. "You just walked out of it," I said, feeling like a local already. I asked the lone female in the trio if she was enjoying Prague so far. "No," she said with a sneer that could have cooled molten lava. Well, what can you do?
Finally I bought a Czech hot dog, which consisted of a love-curved wiener, a hamburger bun, a liter or so of ketchup and a fistful of chopped onions. I chomped the dog as evening approached, then rode the Metro back to the hotel and crashed.
The next day I awoke at 5 a.m. feeling great. Scary. So I looked through my Prague book and decided to take a walking tour from the Powder Tower to the Old Town Square, then across the Charles Bridge to Prague Castle.
Friday
On my way to the Charles Bridge, I heard some people speaking English and decided to introduce myself. That's how I met Grant and Kveta and their kids Nicholas and Michael, a family of Australians. We talked for a few minutes, then exchanged "nice meeting you"s as they lingered to window-shop. I was on a mission!
Once I got to the bridge, I stopped in my tracks. The view of the Vltava River and the city beyond its banks is so beautiful it made me want to cry. I took my time crossing the bridge, looking at the each of the statues of the saints that line it. It was still early, about 10 a.m., so the bridge wasn't yet crowded; merchants were just beginning to set up their booths.
I stopped on the bridge to gaze up at Prague Castle and Grant reappeared, saying, "Listen, mate, we're headed up to the Castle if you'd like to join us." I immediately accepted. On the way through the Little Quarter and up toward Prague Castle, I found out that Kveta is Czech; she and her family had left the country in '68, eventually settling in Australia. She and Grant had been back to Prague several times. What luck to find such friendly, knowledgeable folks, willing to let a solo American tag along for the day.
Nicholas asked Grant, "Is he coming with us, Daddy?" I kneeled down, smiled and said, "Yes, if that's all right with you." He smiled back and took my hand to lead me up the hill.
The tourists were out in force by the time we got to the Castle. The Cathedral was closed for "technical reasons," whatever that meant. So I had to settle for an exterior view. We walked down the Golden Lane, a row of small houses now occupied by shops, then paused to enjoy a view of the city.
We headed back down the hill, crossed the bridge again back to the Old Town, and began searching for a place to have lunch. Kveta showed me what to look for on a Czech menu in terms of food and price. We chose a place where I was able to get a chicken breast, some French fries and a beer for around four bucks American. Over lunch we discussed, among other topics, whether "Baywatch" portrays California accurately. I amused my new friends by telling them that I'd gone to college in the L.A. area, and because of that experience, I thought the show wasn't too far-fetched.
After lunch, we went back to the Old Town Square and watched the astronomical clock hit 2. I parted from Grant and Kveta with multiple thank-yous for an excellent introduction to the city. I sat by the Jan Hus Monument, constructed in honor of the Protestant reformer who was burned at the stake for his trouble. I spent some time watching people and noting how accurately my Eyewitness Travel Guide depicted the Square. Then I hoofed it up a side street, looking for more adventures, and walked past a young guy with long hair and a beard speaking English to a pair of girls. I introduced myself by saying he was the first American I'd met in Prague. He told me his name was Jeffrey and that he was surprised I hadn't met many more Americans already.
His friends had to go somewhere and he asked me, "My favorite pub, the Golden Tiger, opens at 3. Want to join me?" "You bet," I said, and off we went. The Golden Tiger was a non-touristy place; it became crowded with locals just minutes after it opened. There I was introduced to the Czech custom of having beer brought to you without you having to ask for it. In fact, I had to tell the waiters to stop after I started to get sloppy.
Jeffrey's a student at the Charles University in Prague, by way of GWU in D.C. He'd been in Prague for five months, spoke fairly decent Czech, and told me about his girlfriend, a Norwegian film student. I'd have offered to trade lives with him if I'd thought for a moment he'd have accepted. We made the traditional Czech toast: clink mugs, say "Na zdravi," bang the mug on the table and drink. I'd learned about this piece of etiquette by reading a Web site; you just gotta love the Net.
Some Czech locals joined our conversation and the topic shifted to politics and the upcoming elections. The consensus seemed to be that Prime Minister Klaus and President Havel deserved another four years to continue the work they'd begun. They asked me about the upcoming U.S. election; I told them Clinton would almost certainly win, which didn't seem to bother anyone much.
After three hours of drinking, Jeffrey had to go meet his girlfriend and I had to go take a nap. Before we parted, he told me about a dance club called Radost FX near the I.P. Pavlova metro stop. That night at about 9, I walked into the club, which was nearly empty, it being laughingly early by dance club standards, even in the States.
The two guys next to me were speaking English, so I asked them their names. Steve and Shane are two crazy Australian guys in their mid-20's from Sydney. Both of them are huge techno fans; Steve even played keyboards in a techno band. We talked about travel--they had just come from Berlin, which Shane hated--and clubs: these guys are heavily into dancing and drinking, not necessarily in that order. We spotted and laughed at a trio of Czech girls, who were so narcissistic they couldn't keep their eyes off the mirror behind the bar.
Later, after several more drinks, we encountered another Aussie, a woman from Melbourne. We all talked for a while, then she vanished and Steve, Shane and I jumped into the crowd on the dance floor--by now it was almost 1 and the club was starting to happen. After a while, though, the jet lag overcame me and I bailed.
Saturday
The next day, Saturday, I slept until 8 a.m. and felt like a slacker. I checked with the information desk and found a tour to Karlstejn Castle, one of the attractions I'd planned to see. The tour didn't leave until 11:20, so I ate breakfast and hung out in the lobby. There I met two women who were also on the Karlstejn tour: Keren and Yaffit from Tel Aviv. I thought they were sisters or schoolmates; only later did I find out Yaffit is Keren's mother!
The tour bus picked us up, stopped at the Hilton for more folks, and headed for Karlstejn. We passed a Communist-era "satellite city" of some of the most God-awful-looking apartment blocks I'd ever seen. Once past that, the countryside turned very picturesque, featuring the kind of green, rolling hills you don't see much of in San Diego. We passed through a couple pretty little villages before stopping at a restaurant, just short of the town and castle of Karlstejn.
I had lunch with Keren, Yaffit and Joanne, a Canadian who was traveling alone and had come to Prague for the Spring music festival. She was already dressed for the opera; in fact, Keren and Yaffit could have been, too. I was wearing my Levi jacket and Reebok hiking boots, which came in handy as we began the walk up to the castle in a light rain.
Keren shared my umbrella and asked me about where I worked and what I'd studied. She'd served her time in the military already, and was in charge of a good number of people, her mother had said. It was hard to picture a petite woman with beautiful, delicate features training with an M-16, but that was part of the point of my trip: to break out of the familiar ways of thinking that I'd established, and be open to and accepting of new and different ideas.
The outside of the castle was beautiful, better than the photos in the books, and so was the view of the town and the countryside. However, I was disappointed in the tour of the interior. Various "restorations" had rendered the castle empty and sterile; plus, it seemed that every time our guide pointed out an interesting piece of art, she proceeded to tell us it was a "fake," or copy, and that the original piece could be found at Prague Castle.
We walked back down the hill to the bus. Keren's nice black shoes and the bottoms of her neat black pant legs were soon covered in mud. We all dozed on the drive back. Keren, Yaffit and I had a cappuccino in the hotel coffee shop and made plans to have dinner in the Old Town. I showered and put on what would become my typical Prague evening wear: green blazer, t-shirt, jeans and black Converse All-Stars, accessorized with a camera and umbrella. No ugly American jokes, please.
We dined in a nice (and inexpensive) Italian restaurant I'd spotted the night before. The ladies asked for my opinions on the Israeli-Palestinian peace process. Not wanting to flaunt my ignorance of the finer points surrounding this issue, I stammered that I thought the peace process was certainly important and should certainly continue at a pace comfortable to all parties. How's that for making a stand? Anyway, it did the trick and got them talking. As you might expect, Keren wanted to see the process move faster, while Yaffit urged a little more caution. The Israeli elections were at the time just days away; the ladies said that the vote would be close, and as it turned out, they were correct. Yaffit was heartened when I told her I didn't think the American election would be tight at all: "I love Beel Cleenton," she said, "He has done so much for our country."
We also talked about relationships. Keren had broken up with her boyfriend recently; Yaffit was glad, thinking at over 30, he was too old for her. Keren and I agreed that age wasn't that important, but Yaffit frowned at the idea that I would consent to date a woman five years older than me. "It is no good, when the woman looks older than the man." She was dead serious, but didn't seem to mind when Keren and I shared a laugh.
The three of us rode the Metro back to the hotel and said good night. It wasn't that late, but I decided to crash anyway and get going earlier on Sunday.
Sunday
I got up around 6:30 and scored some breakfast at the hotel. I headed out wearing shorts but switched to jeans as it was cold--the coldest day yet. I took the Metro to Vysehrad station, intending to take my guidebook's walking tour of this old fortress. The first incongruous sight I saw was a tennis court nestled into a corner of the fortress walls. The old meets the new, I thought, and passed through the arched gate.
The views of the city from Vysehrad were incredible. Walking along the walls, I could beautiful old buildings, green hills and the brown waters of the Vltava. I turned a corner and spotted St. Vitus Cathedral, realizing for the first time how ubiquitous that structure is here. I kept on and saw some fascinating statuary, the St. Peter and St. Paul Church, which looks much older than it is, and the National Cemetery. The cemetery was creepy: lots of life-size crucifixes and weeping Marys. I looked around long enough to find the composer Dvorak's marker, then left, hoping to find more cheery surroundings.
I walked down the hill to the riverside and got on the tram to the Charles Bridge. Again I hoofed over the bridge and up to the Cathedral, only to be shut out again. Why? It was Sunday--they were having services! Well, duh, I thought to myself, and walked further up to the old monastery and into Petrin Park. It was turning out to be "view day"--the vantage points provided at certain clearings in the park were amazing. I sort of got lost in the park until I figured I could get to the Little Quarter if I just kept walking downhill. I asked a Czech woman to take my picture with a statue; this was the only time during the trip I had to use pantomime instead of spoken language. By 2 p.m. all the walking I'd done had caught up with me. I headed back to the hotel and crashed a while, got cleaned up and went back to the Old Town Square in the late afternoon.
Once there, I had some dinner and a beer at one of the sidewalk cafes. A little more pricey, but I figured I was paying for the entertainment of checking out all the tourists and locals walking by. This was some of the best people-watching yet. I was still pretty tired after dinner, and a little discouraged by not having met anyone during the day, so I started back through the Old Town to Wenceslas Square, figuring I'd call it a night if I didn't happen into anything exciting.
Luckily, I did. I heard some Aussie accents I recognized. I turned and there were Steve and Shane, chatting up some girls. "Hey, mate," they said and waved me over. The girls, it turned out, were going to dinner. Steve and Shane had already eaten, so the three of us decided to go drink while the girls ate, and meet them at 11. Steve and Shane had a place in mind, which turned out to be a quasi-American sports bar! "Aw, come on you guys, I can't do this, this is what I do at home." "Yeah, but not with us," came the reply. I agreed and we settled in for a few rounds.
The NBA playoff game wasn't going to be on for another couple of hours, so the bar was showing "Groundhog Day." Shane got into the movie and Steve and I talked music, sports and women. Big surprise, huh? Turned out we both dug a lot of the same '80s groups.
The Aussies were going to be on holiday for months; after Prague, they were off to Italy. They (as well as most everyone else I met) found it hard to believe I was only taking a week for vacation. I wished things were different and that I could have spent the summer tooling around Europe, but I figured, hey, you've gotta work with what vacation you have--would it have been better for me to not go at all?
We met the girls at 11 and went to a dance club. I grabbed a beer and took a look around and didn't really like what I saw. The place was full of kids. Now, yes, at 29 I tend to refer to everyone under 25 as a kid, but these were real kids--15-year-olds! I downed my beer and told Steve and Shane, "Guys, I'm out of here. Good luck with your ladies." They wished me well and I caught the last train back to the hotel.
Monday
I woke up a little early to confirm my trip to the concentration camp at Terezin, an hour or so north of Prague, then headed for the Old Town Square in a light rain to meet the bus. I've put down the details of my tour in another story, "A Visit to Terezin." Suffice to say here that it was certainly the most intense and historically interesting part of my entire trip.
On the tour I met two American women, Eileen and Jessica, and two Swiss-German guys, Martin and Yves. When we returned to Prague about 5:30, the guys and I made plans to meet at 7 for dinner, then meet the girls at 8 in the Old Town Square. The girls said they might try to get a train back to Germany that night, but if they couldn't they would join us.
Martin, Yves and I had dinner at one of the restaurants on the square. This was the only time a merchant really tried to screw me because I was a tourist. The waiter marked down twice as many beers as we'd actually had, included a couple of dubious "service charges"--and then reminded us to tip 10%! Martin and I weren't having this, though, and negotiated the bill closer to what it should have been.
Eileen and Jessica didn't turn up, so the three of us had a beer or two at U Fleku, a touristy beer hall and garden redeemed by its excellent microbrewed dark. Later we cabbed over to Radost FX. The dance club was completely deserted, so we hung out in the lounge, sitting on couches and admiring the hippy-dippy decor. Yves struck up a conversation with Nicole, a cute German woman with a funky shaved-on-the-sides 'do, and Martin waxed philosophical.
"I don't really enjoy places like this. It is too, how do you say, alternative?"
"So you consider yourself a conservative kind of guy?" I asked.
"Yes, yes. You know, Americans are, well, like, you and I talk today, but you forget me tomorrow, you see?"
"Hmmm," I replied. "That's interesting. Let me think about that." We hung out until about midnight, then I headed back. I'd figured out early on during the trip that hey, I'm not much of a nocturnal guy back home, why should I expect that to change here? And by getting up early each day and heading out to do and see things, I felt I was making good use of my time. So what if I hadn't stayed out until 3:30 in the morning yet? Well, that leads us to the next day.
Tuesday
I was up early again and determined to see the inside of St. Vitus Cathedral, figuring the third time would be a charm. My friend Ken told me about Cybeteria, Prague's Internet Cafe. I thought I'd check it out on my way to the Castle and try to send e-mail from there to everyone at home. But, as Ken might put it, what kind of coffee shop doesn't open until 2? Oh well, I thought, maybe this afternoon I'll cruise by again.
I took the Metro and tram as close as I could to the Castle, hoping to save some energy, but I still had to walk uphill a ways. Tourists were massing in the first courtyard to watch the changing of the guard. Since I couldn't see what was happening for the crowd anyway, I skirted the edge of the throng and made to the front door of the Cathedral. Success! It was open!
Once inside, I stood looking left and right, up and down. Still photos and TV shows don't really prepare you for the experience of actually standing in one of these places. My peerless Eyewitness Travel Guide pointed out the sights not to miss, and I dutifully gaped at them all, especially the ornate tombs of St. John Nepomuk and St. Wenceslas. These lavish works were contrasted by the simple, elegant crypt of King Charles IV, decorated with just a single cross on top and the inscription "Karel." I was loving this.
I took the 238 steps to the top of the Cathedral and saw the best views yet of the city. However, the freezing wind blew right through me and I left just before the onset of hypothermia. And by the way, 238 steps up and 238 steps down a stone spiral staircase doesn't sound like a lot until you've actually walked them: I left the Cathedral satisfied, but with fiercely burning quadriceps muscles.
My ticket to the Cathedral also provided me access to the Royal Palace and St. George's Convent. The former offered a photo exhibit on the life of Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin; the latter a permanent collection of art from the Middle Ages and Renaissance periods. I saw and enjoyed both. However, I blasphemed in St. George's by idly thinking: "How many madonna-and-child paintings can you see? Jesus Chr-" Oops!
"Aaaaal-i-son."
--Elvis Costello
I walked down the long stairway from the castle, intending to hit Cybeteria and plan my next move before meeting Martin and Yves at 7 p.m. At the foot of the stairs, I realized my stomach was as empty of nourishment as my short-term memory was full of art and history. So I stopped at one of Prague's many "Pizzeria" stands. I asked for a slice and the woman working there opened a refrigerator. Uh-oh, I thought. She produced a frozen slab of 'za and thrust it into the microwave. While my lunch was soaking up radiation, I turned and noticed an attractive woman behind me, with pale-blue eyes, bobbed blonde hair and a cool black leather jacket, trying to get to the counter. I stepped out of the way and said, "Hello," thinking, hell, if she's not an English speaker maybe she'll just smile.
"Hello," she said in perfect unaccented English. I asked her if she was American and she said yes, she was from New York City. She ordered a hot dog and I got her name: Allison. She's also 29, also in marketing communications, was also traveling alone, but was headed in the opposite direction as me, up toward the castle. I made a quick decision while I was eating my pizza (and dropping sizable chunks of pepperoni-like-substance onto my Reeboks, which amused Allison greatly): I'd ask her if she wanted company on the way up to castle, as I'd just been there and could show her some good sights. She accepted and I would soon realize this decision was the smartest I'd make the whole week in Prague.
We paused at the top of the hill and I showed her my fabulous Eyewitness Travel Guide. She was very much impressed, saying her map and guidebook were crap. Her assessment elevated my guidebook yet another few notches in my esteem. I took some photos of her outside the Cathedral; she asked some questions about the building which I could actually answer thanks to the guidebook. I tried to avoid slipping into Cliff Claven mode; I'm not sure if I was successful.
Inside the Cathedral, we marveled at the tombs and artwork and the splendor of the space itself. I remembered I'd been thinking on my first visit how cool it would have been to see the place with someone. Now I was getting my chance and everything was even better the second time around. We ran into Steve and Shane, too. I introduced everyone; we chatted and made plans to meet at 10 that night at Cafe Gulu Gulu in Bethlehem Square. Allison and I left them to walk upstairs to check out the view; afterward we sat in a pew and rested. Then we headed for Sternberg Palace to see the artwork there, sharing my umbrella in the light rain.
On the way there and once inside, we talked easily about careers, relationships, travel experiences and more, which was how it would be the entire time I spent with Allison: never a forced word of conversation or an uncomfortable silence.
We stopped at a cafe in the Little Quarter for a cappuccino. She told me how after vacation she would be starting her new job as marketing director for a new men's magazine. I told her about my job creating advertising for a software company. We traded marketing war stories and exchanged e-mail addresses. Very cool.
She was planning to see Mozart's "Requiem" at 7:30 at Bethlehem Chapel. I remembered my "appointment" with Martin and Yves and thought, well, maybe I could meet them, tell them to meet us at 10 as well, and go to the concert with her. I bounced this plan off Allison and she said it worked for her.
We found ourselves back in the Old Town Square, where a political rally was just ending. The crowd moved past us and I lost her for a moment; when I spotted her, she was glancing around for me with a look of concern on her face. I slid past some folks, said, "Almost lost you there," and picked up her hand. I'll never know if she was really worried about not finding me in the crowd, but it felt like she did and that rang a chord inside my chest.
Eventually we met up with Martin and Yves and told them the plan, inviting them to Mozart with us. Yves, who until then had been much less outgoing than Martin, piped up, "Naaahhh, I hate Mozart! Too much Mozart in school." We all laughed and Allison and I headed for the concert. Allison said, "Your friends seemed disappointed that you wouldn't be having dinner with them." I told her, "I think there's a code between guys that extends internationally. They saw I was with an attractive woman, so I'm sure they're more excited for me than disappointed for themselves."
It was great to sit and relax while we were waiting for the program to begin. She took out a piece of gum and I asked her for one; she said, "Well, it's Japanese; it's got caffeine and nicotine in it."
"Sounds perfect," I said. The music started; I rested my sore legs and let the sounds of the orchestra wash over me, reflecting on the thought that Prague was the first city to embrace Mozart, and gazing all around at the paintings chronicling the life of Jan Hus. A sublime moment.
Afterwards the two of us went to dinner. It was a nice place. We looked around and saw that most of the men were wearing ties, and we were still in our grungy tourist-wear. Part of the magic of Prague: no one gave us a second, let alone dirty, look. Allison drank wine and I had a Staropramen; we ordered beef dishes, which were excellent. The service was great, they took my Visa card, and best of all, the company and conversation were exceptional. We talked about surfing and snowboarding, her old job working for investment bankers and her new one at the magazine, her previous stop on this trip (Berlin), college, friends, family, life in New York City and San Diego, and more.
We walked outside and my Southern California roots started showing. It was freezing! I buttoned up my Levi's jacket over my t-shirt and shook like a leaf until we were safely inside Cafe Gulu Gulu. Steve and Shane were already there and not happy with the beer they'd been served. "Tastes like camel piss," Steve observed, "not that I'd know."
"Yeah, you would," Shane countered.
Allison insisted my drinks would be on her the rest of the night, since I'd bought dinner. I took her up on this immediately, ordering a cappuccino for warmth and a Radagast to see if it was as bad as the Aussies said. And it was: way too sweet. So I had one glass of beer that wasn't superb during my week in the Czech Republic. Considering how much I downed, that's not a bad average.
Martin and Yves met us, we stayed to finish the round and left for the James Joyce Pub, an Irish bar Martin had heard was good. I had a Bass, my only non-Czech beer of the trip. Allison commented on our waitress' exotic appearance; Shane just shrugged and Steve proceeded to rattle off "ten reasons why Shane doesn't like her." Shane agreed with all of them and we dubbed our Aussie friend "picky Shane."
Yves went to meet another friend, and the rest of us were off to "The Oldest Club in Prague," a cavernous disco that offered no cover charge, Pilsner Urquell and pounding techno music. The place was great: Allison kept her promise and soon I was fairly sloshed (as were she and the other guys). We tried to get picky Shane to dance on the platform with the topless go-go dancer, but he refused, citing a lack of endowment on the dancer's part.
We noticed someone was missing and discovered Martin on the dance floor, getting next to a pretty Czech girl. A song or two later, they were tongue-wrestling with great fervor. Martin came back to the group after a while, and we toasted his good fortune. A few beers came and went and we noticed Steve dancing with the same girl-and sure enough, he began kissing her too! I managed to get a photo of the three of them standing together, after which she wandered over to talk to Shane, who'd just come down from dancing solo on the platform. Not sure if he ever made the same connection with our Czech friend.
Allison and I finally decided to bail around 3:15. Said good-bye to the Aussies, who were off to Italy the next day, We decided to split a cab to our respective places, and as we were walking back into Wenceslas Square to find one, I said, "Hold my hand, Ally." And she did. Everyone in their lifetime should experience moments as perfect as this.
Wednesday
My alarm watch went off at 7:15. I staggered into the shower, got dressed and rode the Metro into town. Allison, Martin and I were to meet at 9 a.m., though Martin said, "If I'm not there at 9, I'll see you there at 6:30 p.m." I got to the Old Town Square at five to 9 and collapsed onto a bench. Our plan was to take a tour out of town to Konopiste, King Charles IV's hunting lodge outside the city.
It was twenty after before Allison showed up, and I kept checking my guidebook thinking, "What if she doesn't come? I should have a Plan B." But I couldn't concentrate and kept looking for her. Imagine my relief when I spotted her across the square, waving. "Sorry I'm late," she said; I told her I was just glad she made it.
"It's a perfect day," she said, and it was true: the clouds were gone and it was already warmer than it had ever been the day before. We tried to find a tour to Konopiste but didn't have any luck. Allison said, "Why don't we go on one of those boat rides down the river instead? That way we'll be outside, not sitting on a bus all day." I told her this sounded great and we booked a boat ride: two hours up and down the Vltava, lunch provided. We had coffee and orange juice at a cafe, then walked back through the Old Town and into the Jewish Quarter.
We had a while before the boat ride, so we saw the Jewish museum and cemetery. The museum featured artwork by the people imprisoned at the Terezin concentration camp. The displays ranged from portraits of fellow prisoners to slices-of-life from the camp. Some of the paintings and drawings were created by adults who'd been fine artists and graphics professionals before the war; others were by children. I'd seen a similar exhibition at the museum in Terezin, and this showing was just as moving. In contrast to the crowd at the museum, we had the cemetery pretty much to ourselves. I couldn't believe how old the tombstones looked and how close together they were.
It was only a couple of blocks from there to the river. We boarded the boat and got a table topside. The sun was shining; Allison lay back on the bench and dozed a little, waking up after we left the dock: "Hey, we're moving! Why didn't you say something?"
"You looked pretty comfortable," I said and she laughed. We ordered Cokes and kicked back, watching the city go by. When it was time for lunch, we eavesdropped on a tour guide who was giving details about the islands and buildings we were passing. I pointed out Vysehrad, where I'd seen incredible views on Sunday. How quickly time flies.
Speaking of which, the boat ride was over much too soon. Allison and I disembarked and walked up the ramp to the riverfront street. We came to a park and I told her, "You know, that grass looks really comfortable." We lay down side-by-side and soaked up the rays. Allison appeared to sleep like a rock; I dozed a little and would wake up every so often to some beautiful sights. To my left, Allison's face and past her, a magnificent concert hall; to my right, the river and across it, St. Vitus Cathedral and the district of Hradcany. Another one of those perfect moments.
About an hour-and-a-half later, we woke up for good and headed back to the Old Town to look for a present for my mom. I bought a pair of earrings for Mom and a pair for Allison from a street vendor in the square. We walked back through Wenceslas Square and to the National Museum, where we planned to meet before dinner.
I went back to the hotel, got cleaned up, and returned to the steps of the museum with a rose for Allison. I looked over the square, thinking, I'm here in Prague and I've got a date. Whatever happens when I get home, I'll always have this memory. Allison arrived looking stunning and appeared to dig the rose ("yellow for friendship," I told her). We headed off to meet Martin.
The three of us bought tickets for the "Black Theatre," a multimedia performance comprising theatre, music and puppetry, then went to get dinner. We drank Czech wine and ate more beef and compared adventures. The service was a little slow, and we had to hustle to get to the performance. That is, Martin hustled. Allison put her arm around me and we took our time, laughing as Martin got further and further ahead of us.
The performance was fascinating; lots of black light, New-Agey-style synthesized music, and beautiful costumes. The rows of seats were very close together, though, and I thought, well, it's good training for tomorrow's airplane ride. Tomorrow. That's right, I was leaving for home the next day, as was Martin; Allison had a couple more days and was heading to back to Berlin before going back to NYC.
We went back to U Fleku for a few dark ones and listened to the German-style music. Allison gave me her travel diary to write in. I wrote down all the things I could remember that we did together and added that I would remember her and our two days in Prague forever. "I can't read this now," she said. "It's O.K.," I told her, "Read it whenever you want." I wonder what she thought of it.
We got up to go and Allison said she was going back to crash. Martin hugged her good-bye and I did the same, telling her "I miss you already." She told me, "Don't worry, I may be in California this fall." At that moment autumn seemed a lifetime away. "You stay out with Martin and have a good time on your last night." We kissed goodbye, then she was in a cab and gone.
I stared at the pavement for a long moment, took a deep breath, looked up at Martin and said. "All right then, where to?"
"I don't want to come back down from this cloud."
--Gavin Rossdale, Bush
Martin said the girl he'd mauled the night before had told him she'd be back at the club tonight. So we went back to the Oldest Club and had a couple more beers. He spotted a girl that looked like her; we both looked at her for a few minutes before we decided it wasn't her. Too bad!
I brought up Martin's statement from a few nights back, that an American would talk to him tonight and forget about him tomorrow. "I'm not trying to change your opinion, you must have a reason for expressing it," I said, "but you should know that I won't forget about you."
"I realize that, now I know differently," he said. "What I said was just, how do you say, a cliché? I hope you are not angry with me for saying this." I assured him I wasn't and in the international language of good fellowship, bought him another drink.
At last I said goodbye to Martin and taxied back to hotel. All that was left of my trip to Prague was to leave.
The next morning I got up, packed, grabbed a quick bowl of that weird muesli cereal and consoled myself that even though I had to go home, at least I'd have Cap'n Crunch. Checked out of the hotel and snapped photos from the cab, wishing I'd taken more of my friends when I had the chance. I sat in the airport waiting area and listened to the Black Crowes on my Walkman.
On the flight to Amsterdam, I talked to a nice Czech-American woman named Eva who'd left Czechoslovakia in '68 and came back regularly to visit her mother. We discussed the elections: "People in Czech know everything there is to know about the candidates," she said. "And they talk and talk and talk. I told them, 'All you do is talk, why don't you actually do something instead?'" I laughed. She agreed that Klaus and Havel were worthy of re-election and was glad that the Communists weren't making as large gains in the Czech Republic as they were in other Eastern-bloc countries' free elections.
The flight from Amsterdam to Atlanta was uneventful. I couldn't sleep much, but from Atlanta to San Diego I couldn't stay awake. When I got to the gate, I expected only to see my friends Jenny and Michael; however, my other friends Greg, Monica, Mike and Ken and my mom were there too. A bunch of us hung out at my apartment while I told stories and ate pizza and potato chips.
Everyone likes to keep the euphoria of a good vacation going. From personal experience, it seldom lasts--suntans fade and memories retreat. This time I believe it will be different: I found a new independence of sorts in Prague. I discovered I could survive on my own, make and follow good plans and deviate from them when necessary, and most of all, learn something from and teach something to every person I meet. As I wrote in a postcard to Mom, "Prague has seen many changes. I am certain now that it has changed me as well."
All material copyright © 1996 Chuck Vadun except for the chapter titles and quoted song lyrics, which remain the property of the copyright owners. It's my hope that said owners won't sue me because a) I love the songs from which I quoted, and b) I'm not making any money from this story.
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Chuck Vadun
chuck_vadun@intuit.com