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| Prague Castle district (c) Alexandra Tran |
I wake up to overcast skies for my first proper tour of Prague. As has long been my custom, I’m booked on a pay-what-you-feel walking tour, this time of Prague's Castle district. On my way to the tram stop, I see a text from Isaak offering to show me around his historic neighbourhood and cook me lunch. And here am I thinking he was just being polite when he suggested swapping details. I reply that I’d be glad to meet up later in the week, politely proposing a more neutral eating spot than his flat. I’ll later get a missed call from him. There’s an almost 20 year age gap between Isaak and I. I wasn’t expecting - or rather I’d hoped - not to have a reason to point that out…
En route to the meeting place for the Prague Castle tour, I’m taken by the city’s size and topography. For some reason, I expected Prague to be shabby chic; lots of discoloured mediaeval or early modern stone buildings (of which there are some) and the streets a bit on the grubby side. Au contraire. I can see how it has earned its enchanting Bohemian reputation. Despite the grey, the city retains its beauty. In contrast to what I'd worried, it’s not the anti-climax to that which I felt visiting Florence.
Our tour guide is not an indigenous local but rather a boisterous, smokily-hoarse North American called Jeff, with a protean accent. If there’s one thing to mar the experience, it’s the presence of one too many obnoxious and loud US tourists, searching for an excuse to slag off communism or anything that falls outside their parochial frame of reference. The exception is Phoebe, a more demure Texan gal who approaches me when she realises that I’m a fellow solo-traveller. Amongst the group are a Belgian couple who keep to themselves, a husband and wife from Washington of which the woman is heavily pregnant (and talkative, see above) and another Brit, frequently showing PDA to her handsome and muscular South Asian significant other. The gestures seem more territorial than out of pure affection.
To his credit, Jeff has the verve to further enliven stories of Hussite rebellions, Habsburg family imperial takeovers, An English alchemist-turned-spy, defenestrations of Catholic clergy, the errant tendencies of the current occupant of the Castle's presidential suite, Petr Pavel and Nazi terror.
Reportedly the biggest palatial complex in the world (70,000 square metres), the Prague Castle grounds are resplendent, with equally majestic views of the city from the vantage point of the hilly terrain. (The group cheats by taking a tram up to our starting point). The tour also encompasses the Strahov beer-making monastery - still in operation. The sun holds out enough for us to catch the changing of the Castle guards. They must remain as po-faced as their British counterparts and all for not very impressive pay, we’re told.
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| (c) Mikhail Mamaev |
I disappear into a non-descript eating establishment nearby, for sustenance as well as shelter from the deluge. It’s all part of my whimsical adventure. I note that for the first time in the last nearly 10 years of birthday travels, my holiday is not blessed with consistently glorious weather. At that success rate, I should consider myself fortunate.
It’s back to my accommodation for some rest before re-emerging for dinner and another live show. I continue to follow Monika’s culinary recommendations. As I endeavour to eat less meat during the weekdays (for ecological reasons), I opt for one of the veggie options near to the gig venue.
On the tram into town, there’s a man - likely down-and-out - emitting such a rancid odour, something akin to rotten flesh, that he clears the carriage. I’ve come across enough hygiene-conscious rough-sleepers to know that this is not the norm. What’s to be done? He doesn’t seem to be in pain but the stench suggests something is awry.
The evening continues inauspiciously - albeit on a more trivial note - as I try, and fail, to locate the restaurant. I spend over an hour searching, to no avail. In all my walking around, I do stumble across the Jazz venue, AghaRTA. I’ve already bought a ticket for the show but still haven’t eaten. Annoyingly, and unlike most of its competitors, AghaRTA does not serve proper meals. The kindly barman tries to show me the directions to my restaurant of choice on his phone but it only leads to more confusion. I’m surely going to miss the start of the gig in any case. I settle on an Italian place next door to the Jazz club, with the barman’s warning in my ear that the places in the vicinity, The Old Town Square, are a ‘scam’. The food is nonetheless quality at an accessible price. I rush to catch what I can of the show, begrudgingly trying to make peace with the fact I won’t get my money’s worth if I’m to make it home before the last tram.
I arrive just before the band takes a ‘short’ break of half an hour. During this recess, I notice Phoebe slip in with a young woman whom I assume is her daughter. It’s the sole highpoint of the evening thus far. Phoebe offers me a seat closer to her but I decline. I want to make a discreet exit when the time comes.
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| Charles Bridge, Prague (c) Alireza Banijani |
The act that night is a Soul/Funk covers band. Their set features Aretha, Sade and lots of Stevie. The musicians - drummer, bassist and a dexterous pianist - are solid. The vocalist has a decent voice with a good range but is not a soul singer. Something in her delivery gives the performance a cruise-ship feel. Fortunately, the instrumentation and clever arrangements elevate the set overall. I even manage to enjoy myself. Well, as much as I can, watching the time so closely.
As I leave, I try one of the basic Czech phrases I’ve tried to memorise on the barman. He’s gracious enough to correct my dodgy pronunciation when I ask.
The following day marks the half-way point of my trip and is my birthday proper. I’ve signed up this time for a guided tour that includes Prague’s Old City, ‘New’ City (established in the 14th Century) and the Jewish Quarter. Unbeknownst to me on booking, it’s the same tour company as before. Both guides are Yanks who’ve settled in the Czech Republic. It’s an even bigger group than the previous day. Before we’re divided up, I ask one of the guides if there are any Czech locals who work for the company. Very few, she says. Not many Czech guides do the tours in English she explains, which I find surprising, given the high level of proficiency in the region.
Our group’s guide, Bev is - again - stereotypically loud and a little over-confident but she knows her stuff. We spend an extended moment in front of the astronomical clock, which Bev times perfectly for us to see the hourly one minute ‘show’. Bev explains that many tourists find it overrated, although she’s not amongst the clock’s detractors. Her in-depth knowledge of its mechanism says as much.
Bev also goes into some detail about the religious wranglings in the region, attributing the country’s currently predominant atheism and agnosticism to this troubled history. I imagine decades of communism has also played its part. Speaking of which, Bev incorporates a segment on Czechia’s Red history which I’d prefer she’d skip (I’d rather hear a local's perspective). That said, it’s not as Cold-War-ideological as it could have been. As we step into the Jewish quarter, a man with a strong North American accent wearing a kippur greets Bev enthusiastically, declaring her the ‘best guide in the business’. I recall seeing him in the neighbourhood the day before. Despite his glowing appraisal, Bev claims not to know who he is or what he does in the area, apart from asking people if they’re Jewish.
I happen to be wearing my keffiyeh. Whilst I know not all Zionists are Jewish and not all Jews are Zionists, have even seen some ‘Free Palestine’ paraphernalia dotted around the city and gave the thumbs-up to a UK tourist wearing a watermelon T-shirt, I’m not sure what to expect. Fortunately, I don’t receive any negative reactions.
The time spent in the Jewish Quarter is not as expansive as that of a similar tour I took in Budapest, contrary to my expectations. I’m a little underwhelmed.
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| (c) Grigorii Shcheglov |
Next stop is Café Louvre, one of Prague’s many plush Art Deco cafés that Monika suggested I check out. Founded in 1902, in its heyday it was frequented by the likes of Czech literary giant, Franz Kafka and Einstein. It also has a celebrated Jazz club attached. En route, I stop by a curious Book/LP/Art combo-store selling vinyl copies of classics by A Tribe Called Quest, Sade, Adele, Lauryn Hill and more recent names like Tyler the Creator amongst others.
Café Louvre is so popular that there’s a queue when I arrive. Considering its history and reputation, the waiting staff aren’t stuck up; cordial even. The diverse menu is also affordable. I keep it light with soup, warm goat’s cheese and honey salad and a classic Pavlova. (I allow some leeway for sweatmeats given the occasion.) I don’t regret any of my choices. Meanwhile, as with each passing year I continue to be touched and amazed by how many folk remember to send me birthday wishes.
After some rest at the accommodation, I’m back out for dinner and a show at the Jazz Republic club. The restaurant is once again a recommendation by Monika. It’s in the same part of the city, The Old Town Square/Jewish Quarter - in which I was lost the night before and where the tour passed that same morning.
En route, I notice a text from Isaak, asking about my plans.
Since I’m still quite full from lunchtime, I decide to switch up the order of my evening and do some Jazz first and end with dinner. I’m glad I had the presence of mind to reserve my ticket at Jazz Rep. The club has a free entry policy but it’s an intimate space and demand is high. Johnnies-come-lately are turned away at the gate.
Unfortunately, whilst doors open at 8pm, the show starts well over an hour later and I have dinner reservations at half-9pm. For the second night in a row, I’m destined to catch only snatches of a gig. Whilst I wait for show time, the venue steadily fills up with a crowd that is surprisingly diverse in age. There are far more Gen-Zeds in attendance than I’d have thought. There are also a lot of East Asians in the vicinity. I don’t assume they’re all tourists. I’ve learned during one of the tours that prior to the recent influx of Ukrainian refugees, the Vietnamese community was one of the most sizeable minority populations in the Czech Republic. The connection dates back to the friendlier relations between the countries during the communist era.
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| (image courtesy of Avantgarde Prague) |
I stay at Jazz Republic for one and a half songs before leaving for dinner reservation, albeit just in time for last orders.
Perhaps this is why service is so quick. My duck confit with red cabbage is delicious, falling off the bone. I’m attended to by an animated young man with a dry sense of humour called Markus. He earns every penny of the many tips I’m sure come his way. He’s so charming that he can get away with littering his customer banter with expletives. He tells me that the restaurant is unusual for such a touristic area in that it attracts a lot of locals. Always a reassuring sign for an eaterie.
Markus also warns me in very colourful language to avoid anywhere in the area claiming to sell the Hungarian desert, Chimney Cake. I wouldn’t have room for that tonight anyway. I do nevertheless have a hankering for ice cream which I’m able to satiate at a more reputable establishment. Not before first passing by Jazz Republic again to enjoy a little bit more of the show.
The Old Town Square is still teeming with activity. One thing that does dent the Prague charm is the surfeit of vomit, particularly at bus stops, at any given time of the day. It’s as if some tourists are thoroughly abusing the country’s beer-making tradition.
Soundtrack: Maravilhosa Bem (album) by Julia Mestre; Mutt by Leon Thomas; One Night in Prague by Benny Sings; On Time by Lecrae
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