BlackNotBlack.com

Prague Spring and More Absinthe

I promised myself no more absinthe, since this was my second visit to Prague in this lifetime. This time around, I wished to explore the capital of the Bohemian kingdom a different way. Already saw the castle and the cathedrals and every beer cellar over 500 hundred years old. Good things, no doubt, but this time around I needed to feel something a bit more modern and day to day. So I only had one beer on the plane, and made it to the Charles Bridge from the airport via bus and metro, all by myself. Feeling like such a big boy, I went on to meet up with my Helsinki mate who'd extended the invitation, and started sharing time with some new characters.

Actually, the first night of the trip, I did see Stan the Man rip up the guitar at Glen's again. But that's what you do on a Monday night in Prague, and the cellar was packed with locals, travelers, expats, and tourists alike. I also haunted a few pubs and cellars I had before, and I did stroll across the Charles Bridge more than a few times. But this time I had local rabbit and moose paté, as well as the usual cabbage soup or goulash. Definitely did not shy away from drinking beer with lunch. This is Bohemia after all, and Staropramen and Pilsner Urquell remain great draws. They may not run as cheap as 50 cents a half liter anymore, but about 1 euro on average does not make me cry. But spring fever does make want to me cry—all the way to church to thank god, any god, for excellent work in the continuing evolution of gorgeous beer maidens.

So back to the topic at hand. On May Day, had moose paté, followed by farmer's dumplings, sauerkraut, with a bloody mary to start. As a recovering barman, I always appreciate the classics, and this lunch establishment delivered a good, balanced, breakfast of champions in a glass. I finished the paté, then we heard it. Boom. Yep, that was a smoke bomb, right outside the front door of the restaurant. I noted excellent timing on our part, since we had drinks on the table, some nutrition in our stomachs, and a round of beer on the way.

Then the tourists made themselves obvious by approaching the window to take pictures. But in my experience political rallies are often on the edge of becoming outright riots, so I'd learned to stay away from the windows. A girl who sat at the table with me and my friend said it must be the anarchists. Sure enough, the kids were running around the street without any order of procession, setting off another smoke bomb. With colorful hair, piercings, and discount tattoos everywhere, they were ready to make their statement.

And here came their cause du jour—the fucking neo-nazis had organized a march, complete with police escort. I knew this looked worse than reality. I hoped it looked worse than reality. Anarchists never deal with the law, and nazis need order like a toddler refusing to wean; therefore, it appeared the Czech state goons, er, officers, protected the skinheads and pushed away the street punks. This modern spin on Quadrophenia (or was that West Side Story?), capped off quickly. The actors had their motivation, yet knew nothing about getting out of character. The tourist table next to us took a picture of a punk urinating in the street between two cars.

We skipped dessert.

Willing to wait out the battle between dumb new order and even younger chaos, we sipped our beers and made prudent plans. We would stroll through parks along the River Ultava, then find a cool beer garden we hadn't seen before, sit down, drink beer, and observe. Enjoy Prague in spring. My friend figured he could call up some old friends to join us. Since they were all struggling artists, they were waking up in the early afternoon, and had no problem having one or two beers before work. They just needed time to gather up the courage to go outside. Our friend who brought us to lunch had to run off to work, and suggested we meet up later at the pub for the Liverpool/Chelsea match. Funny thing about Europe, no matter where you go, football goes on.

Sitting on a terrace of an old flour mill, we enjoyed feeling the Earth rotate in the universe. Some of the locals and expats told me how Prague is mainly an atheist society. Funny, I could understand maintaining a large community as generally secular, but I never heard anyone say this is all atheist. But I noticed the cathedrals and synagogues are concert halls more often, and people do not attend mass or temple in droves as in Mediterranean countries. Bohemia commanded a different kind of pilgrimage.

The beer maiden came to the table with another round, and I had to find a god again, any god, just to give a nod, a thumbs up, more acknowledgments for nice work. As I walk my path to hell, any hell, I like to try and make out the local graffiti and figure out how people express themselves. Prague is the film capital of Europe, due to the low costs of location shooting and extensive experience in theater, it seems. A local helped to translate a few things which seemed to be out of Robin Hood. The stuff in the bathroom seemed somewhat more political. Quite a great place to take one's time for political expression. As we moved on to the pub to catch the football, I reflected on the day. May Day in my hometown of Helsinki has a different vibe. Then again, many things have a different vibe when compared to a spring afternoon in Prague. The grass, the leaves, the flowers, and the aroma cannot compare to anything else.

Time for another beer, and we hit the pub, missing the kickoff by about ten minutes. Not a thing to worry about, since friends of friends I just met had a few chairs free. The beer came to the table at a casual pace, but on a busy night, I could never get upset over casual service. When in Bohemia, start drinking early. Everything works itself out after that. We chatted about football, travel, and another place we should check out after the match. Turns out they had some good graffiti, and the actors I had met before would end up there after their performance or rehearsal or whatever.

When we got to the next bar, it was late and I wondered if they would serve us. I forgot that we were in Prague—service continues until you pass out or turn asshole. I met some new best friends, and one told me this was a dangerous bar. I noticed everybody was friendly, and asked what made it dangerous. She smiled and said, "You'll find out."

Perhaps my reputation preceded me.

I found my way to the toilet, somehow took more pictures of graffiti with my phone. Back at the table, somebody suggested something strong for a toast, since this was an excellent spring night, followed by an excellent spring day, and this summer was going to be the best. The Czech girl I had just met reminded me, "Like I said, this is a dangerous bar."

Realizing what she meant, I said, “How about some absinthe?”

I made it back to my room that night, worked all three keys through all three locks perfectly, and woke up on a spring morning in Prague. Some clichés grow from true experience. Bohemian life, I dig it.

Labels: prague, travel, u maleho glena

posted by Gabacho Chingón @ 12:47 PM