Prague

I sit here eating Belgian chocolates, given to me by a guy we met in Prague. But that’s getting ahead of the story.

For starters, let’s give a bit of background. In July, my old high school friend Marissa and I purchased incredibly cheap tickets to London. At that time we had a bit of extra money and a yearning for Europe, where we studied abroad for a year (in Wales and Copenhagen, respectively). Marissa is my all-time favorite traveling companion: we’ve traveled together in Rome and Northern Wales. She indulges me in my constant need to structure our days; provides the know-it-how to do things I haven’t, such as take night trains; and exerts a calming influence when I get frustrated by difficult things, like reading maps in cities without a grid system.

We rounded things off with the inclusion of Marissa’s friend Michelle. With a bit of money left from her grandfather burning a hole in her pocket, she wanted to take a trip to Europe but was hesitant at traveling alone, having only been to Italy once on a school trip. With over 20 countries visited between the two of us, Marissa and I thought it grand for Michelle to come along, provided she didn’t mind going to Eastern Europe.

So: why Eastern Europe? (Or, as I keep calling it to my parents, Central Europe. After all, Prague is further west than Vienna.) For starters, it’s relatively cheap. Having just joined the European Union, it will be a few years before any of the 10 new member countries are allowed to use the Euro. Good news for us on our sinking dollar—and besides, they all have such pretty currency! Marissa and I also enjoy going to places slightly off the beaten track (just look at our study abroad locations). Prague and Budapest were no-brainers: fairly close to one another and recommended by masses of travelers and films such as Before Sunrise, pop star Mandy Moore’s Chasing Liberty, and the ultra-classy Eurotrip. But Ljubljana? I’d never heard of it before a friend recommended it as a great place to visit. Well, why not Ljubljana? Marissa had always wanted to go to the Balkans, and as Slovenia is the only former par t of Yugoslavia to be in the EU it seemed an excellent destination.

Fortunately we were able to secure time off work: me at the bookstore, Marissa at her factory job and Michelle from substitute teaching. We’re all in transition from college to grad school (Marissa is studying architecture in the fall), so while a trip might not have been the most financially wise decision, it was certainly one that took advantage of our flexibility. Besides, it’s nice to prove to myself that I can take a trip abroad once a year even on paltry wages. If I can, anyone can!

So there we have it:
3 girls.
6 countries.*
8 days.

LONDON - Round 1 (Tues. 8 Feb.)

The start and end of our trip, I was most worried prior to leaving about my reaction towards my former home. Having lived there for six months last year—and with regrets at not continuing to do so—I imagined myself wandering the streets with a lump in my throat, tears in my eyes, and my luggage conveniently absent from the picture.

Instead, we made the hour-long Tube ride into the city centre without incident—in fact, with great luck. Needing to switch lines, I suggested we do so at my old Tube station of South Kensington. And hey, since we were there, how about a walk around, see my old place? Marissa and Michelle obliged, and we towed our heavy bags along the High Street and by my old flat. Everything was sunny and glorious—the flowerboxes blooming, the BMWs, Mercedes and Smart Cars glinting. We spent most of our layover sitting in the sunshine in front of the Natural History Museum, admiring the still-verdant grass. Then it was off to GatwickAirport, just outside London, for our flight to Prague.

PRAGUE (Tues. 8—Thu. 10 Feb.)

Okay, I’ll admit it: I wasn’t planning on liking Prague. Everyone likes it. But not me—no, I’m the one who’s been to Newfoundland and Brazil, who doesn’t much care for New York City. I was almost determined to withhold judgment, certain I’d enjoy Budapest and Ljubljana much more.

But here’s the thing: I’d gotten Prague and Budapest switched around in my head. Having only seen the occasional postcard from jet-setting friends, I didn’t have enough to go on. No one does, really: how do you experience the vastness (or diminutiveness) of a city until you walk its streets? I’d pictured Prague as a grand metropolis, long wide tree-lined boulevards—almost an Eastern European Vienna or Paris. Not so. Prague is an ancient town built up into a city, its winding streets overlooked by medium-sized medieval buildings. Budapest, on the other hand, inherited the imperial legacy of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Its buildings are built, like Vienna, on a vast scale. Even its apartments are a grand five or six storeys high, forbidding were it not for their ornate decoration. In retrospect I feel like Goldilocks, having discovered cities instead of porridge bowls: Budapest was a too big; Ljubljana too small; Prague juuuust right.

The taxi ride into the city showed us nothing out of the ordinary from any slightly foreign town, until with a shock we saw the castle shining down from its clifftop perch. Imagine: the car speeding down a small incline, glimpses of illuminated churches and fortresses in the darkness, a cry of “Now it doesn’t feel like we’re in the U.S. anymore!” When we dropped our bags off and set out on a fruitless stroll for a cashpoint, my heart leapt in my throat. Just outside our hostel’s courtyard, looming above the dark, low roofs of several buildings, were two awe-inspiring church steeples, more ornate and pointy than anything I’d ever seen, gleaming in shades of blue and green. Writing it now makes my eyes prick it up. It’s indescribable, that buoyant feeling I get from seeing cities lit up at night. The skyline of Chicago does it, but the thrill of Europe is magnified by its history. This was the Church of Our Lady before Týn, founded in 1365.

Wednesday morning we set out through Old Town Square, dominated by the aforementioned church on one side and the famous Astronomical Clock in the Old Town Hall on the other. Winding our way along the Vltava River and through throngs of tourists near the Charles Bridge, we finally reached our destination with appetites well whetted.: One of Marissa’s unspoken ambitions is to visit as many sites as possible in her well-worn copy of 1,000 Places To See Before You Die, and she got to cross one more off her list with our visit to the smallest brewery in Prague, U Fleku (yoo fleck-oo). (Now, just 983 left…) Fortified with our first introduction to the Czechs’ finest beverage, we traded in Nové Mesto (New Town) for the Josefov (Jewish Quarter).

It’s amazing the amount of history one picks up by traveling. Not the WWII buffs that my dad and brother are, I wasn’t aware of one of the more disturbing aspects of the Final Solution. The Nazis gathered up the remnants of Jewry left behind, shipping it to the ancient Jewish ghetto in Prague for their future “Museum of a Vanished People.” In a twisted way, their vision came true: while not the zoo the Nazis intended, the Quarter still attracts curious tourists with no grasp of historical relevance, taking digital photos of their friends grinning in front of eroded Hebraic tombstones. The sadness of the Pinkas Synagogue—calligraphied with the names of 77,297 exterminated Czechoslovakian Jews—is mitigated by the sheer wealth of objects in the various museums. The vitality of a self-contained community, its rituals and dignity, affected one of my Jewish friends who visited it last year. “It’s not like other places,” she told me. “There’s less self-pity.” Contemporary Jews might be forgiven a drop of sadness, but the vibrancy of their heritage viewable in Prague can no doubt cause a great deal of pride. If only there weren’t more Jews in the Chicago suburbs alone than the whole of the Czech Republic.

Feeling satiated with enough history to last at least one evening, we hustled to the Astronomical Clock for a pub tour. For a low, low price we’d be treated to a traditional Czech dinner and a pint in three authentic Czech pubs. This evening turned out to be one of the great highlights of the trip. It was just us and two boys: Paul, the English guide, and Louis-Philippe, a fellow tourist from Belgium. An English teacher living in Prague for over a year, Paul had the wicked sense of humor typical of a Hugh Grant-type character, although thankfully without the stutter or floppy hair. He led us through intricate dark alleys, opening huge oaken doors and guiding us into cellars that became enormous smoky rooms filled with Czechs. (The best places, he explained, you walk by every day without knowing they’re there at all.) Ordering us dark beers and pilsners in flawless Czech, Paul taught us an important Czech phrase for imbibing alcohol, Na zdraví (naz DRAH-vee). I’d never seen a Belgian in action before, but as they practically grow up drinking beer I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Louis-Philippe downing his beer as if it were nice, normal, non-fizzy, non-mineral-y American water. (Poor Michelle never quite got the hang of drinking their bottled water.)

The five of us were having such a grand time that Paul invited us along after he got off duty (which basically meant he stopped offering tidbits of historical trivia and started telling side-splitting jokes). We met up with one of his group from the night prior, and I found myself speaking French in a Mexican bar with a Texan au pair living in Switzerland and a Belgian pilot. Only in Prague.

Early Thursday morning we met up with Louis-Philippe, already in Prague for a couple of days and traveling solo. He was the quintessential European gentleman all day: opening doors, carrying Michelle’s bags, pouring our water at dinner, never complaining when we went shopping. Of course, being surrounded by well-dressed, well-coiffed, well-mannered European men for eight days only made American men suffer by contrast. Sorry, boys.

Louis led the way up to the castle hill (that’s Pražský Hrad a Hradany to you), where we arrived in time to see the Changing of the Guard. The steep climb up the hill was worth the view—it’s not called the City of Spires for nothing. What impressed me most about Prague was how colorful it is. Usually I associate colorful buildings with seaside villages in Ireland or the North Atlantic coast, but everywhere we turned in Prague was a vivid yellow, a deep red accent, a pale green. The same with Budapest, although a bit more pastel. Utterly gorgeous, and made me curse for thinking black-and-white-film would be appropriate for the (what I thought would be) colorless winter.

A walk around the cathedral—you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all, although this one did have some spectacular windows—and lunch near the Senate building in the Mala Straná and it was time to cross the most famous bridge in Prague. The Charles Bridge, Louis informed us, takes over half an hour to cross in high summer due to the press of tourists. Luckily for us it was the off-season, and we were able to spend time at our leisure admiring the 30 Baroque statues that have lined it since the 1680s. Fact: the original Judith Bridge—and only crossing over the Vltava till 1741—was torn down in 1392, but it wasn’t until 5:31 a.m. on 9 July, 1357 that King Charles IV laid the foundation. Why?[2] Because the palindrome it forms, 135797531, was considered auspicious. Of course!

We finished off the day in style: loading up on gifts. I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t know Prague was famous for its crystal (I am, after all, the same person wondering why tiramisù would be on the menu in Rome), so was glad Michelle knew of this tradition. The fact that every other shop lining Staré Mesto (Old Town) and the Jewish Quarter displayed illuminated translucent wares also keyed me in. But did you know that Prague is apparently famous for its garnets as well? And that amber is a big seller? Bet you didn’t. Hah. Not to be outdone by Michelle’s extravagant purchases for her family of hand-etched Bohemian rose designs on enormous vases, bowls, and champagne flutes, I bought myself a t-shirt reading “Czech Me Out.” I will wear it with pride this summer as I bar-hop in Lincoln Park.

A tour around Wenceslas Square in a half-hearted attempt to see prostitutes[3] (which Paul had informed us were in abundance every eve) ended fruitlessly, although we did find the most posh McDonald’s ever, replete with flowers in glass cases and a waitstaff. With a few hours to spare, we had a memorable dinner where I was served an entire trout, complete with head, tail and fins. Then it was time to go to the Marquis de Sade, a famous bar[4], for a quick pint with Paul. We departed from the two boys with heavy hearts for the night train to Budapest.

One last drink for Marissa, Paul, Michelle, Louis-Philippe and me


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* Astute readers will have noticed that flying into/out of London and visiting the Czech Republic, Hungary and Slovenia yields a total of only four countries. Look at the map for clues.
[2] I’m sure astute readers will have already guessed. Apologies.
[3] But more for the shopping. No, really.
[4] Because it’s in Chasing Liberty! Go rent it! Even if it’s nothing like the real thing in the film. Bastards.