P R A G U E
9 - 13 March 2006

Travel -- Thursday, 9 March 2006

I'm relaxing in a café in Prague after a long and hectic day, a cigar in one hand, a good Czech beer in the other and my long-suffering wife doodling in a Sudoku book at my side. Like most travel days, it's left me breathless and awed by how far away from home one can get in a relatively short time. Also typical of travel days, it began ungodly early.

Don't they make holidays that begin at, say, 10:30? Why can't you lie-in on your first morning off from work instead of having to jump up to the alarm and stumble over suitcases while fumbling for the light switch?

(To answer my own question, the reason is the three-hours-early rule for international travel. So, even though our flight wasn't until 11 o'clock, we were obliged to be at the airport by 8, which means catching the 7 o'clock train, which means leaving the house by 6:30, and so on. All so we can sit in a shopping mall for three hours watching as our flight creeps slowly up the departures board. I'm sure this rule was conceived by the airport retailers association. No one else benefits from having all these people milling around with no place to go and nothing to do for the better part of three hours.)

The first sight we see on any given holiday.

Our journey began, as all of ours do, on foot. Whether we are heading across the street or across the ocean, we always start out the same way--walking up the Bishopric toward the town centre. This lends a sense of adventure and possibility to even the most casual outing; when you step outside your door, you never really know where you are going to end up. On this day, we ended up in Prague; the day before, I ended up in Hampshire. As I said, you never know.

Our hotel is conveniently located on the cusp of the old city and a block away from Wenceslas Square and the major shopping district. Preliminary reconnaissance revealed we were just down the street from the Powder Tower, which, being nearly 200 feet in height, serves as a comforting homing beacon.

The Powder Tower. 

The Powder Tower was constructed in 1475--years before Columbus got the urge to visit China--and is so named because its purpose was to store gunpowder. It's an impressive structure, even by today's standards, and must have held a massive amount of explosives; I can only imagine what that did to local property values.

My initial impression of Prague is a manageable, friendly place of cobbled streets and impossibly old and beautiful architecture. This is the city centre I am talking about; greater Prague is a sprawling, traffic-snarled metropolis, much like any other European city I have visited, with the exception that the suburbs--possibly the most unattractive I have ever seen--still suffer from Communist construction programs. Row upon row of cheerless, squat, grey blocks of concrete blight the landscape everywhere you look. They are so soul-suckingly dreary that is it not hard to understand how living in one would make you want to wear stodgy, black garments and wrap a kerchief around your head.

Soviet Architecture.

But somehow the heart of the city survived the occupation and remains a showcase for medieval architecture--though now it is engaged in a new life-or-death struggle against the forces of capitalism. During our casual stroll we found ample opportunities to part with our money. If you're looking for unbelievably ugly amber jewelry at bargain prices, Prague is the place to be.

One of the many old buildings we saw.

And the prices in Prague are a bargain, though it takes some mental gymnastics to work that out. Czech Crowns (Kč) come 38.16 to the Pound so a horribly tacky necklace made of what looks like orangish billiard balls on a string with a 1,070 Kč price tag is a real steal when you figure that is just about £28. (NOTE: the Pound to Crown ratio changes hourly and, at one point, it stood at 40 Crowns to the Pound so we decided to use that figure for the remainder of the holiday as it was easier to do the math.)

One thing that did surprise me when making mental calculations as to the true value of merchandise was that I no longer think in terms of dollars. I never thought of an item as being worth X number of pounds, which makes it really worth so many dollars. I guess that was inevitable, but I'm still not sure how I feel about it.

Just to cap off the idea that we were in bargain-hunters heaven, we stopped for dinner at one of the many local restaurants. I had a starter and we ordered a nice bottle of Pinot Grigo. After our entrées, we ordered dessert and coffee. I also had a shot of the local beverage. All of this came to around £27 (or $44); it might easily have been twice that in Horsham.

Market stalls, cobbled streets and old buildings.

My introduction to the local moonshine is worth noting. When we ordered coffee, the waiter asked my wife if she wanted schnapps to go along with it. She declined but, as I like schnapps, I asked if I could have one. To my surprise, our heretofore obsequious waiter said, "No." Then he explained that schnapps is a lady's drink; men drink Slivovice.

I knew I was in trouble when he presented the clear liquid to me in a tall, thin shot glass that had apparently been stored in liquid oxygen, then waited expectantly for me to sample it. I took a sip and managed to smile at him. Even with its taste dulled by the extreme cold, Slivovice is what my wife calls a 'rough' drink. And when I say rough, I mean you would need a belt-sander and a blowtorch to blunt the sharp edges. The waiter, satisfied I was enjoying the local hospitality, disappeared into the kitchen, whereupon I dumped the remainder into the dregs of my wine glass and gulped my coffee to get the taste out of my mouth.

Slivovice, pronounced SLIV ah vitz; remember the name so you don't accidentally order it.

Prague at night.

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