Prague!

I present to you Prague (the first of several parts):

For travel in the Czech Republic (and maybe the rest of Europe, too) I highly recommend Student Agency buses. Comfortable seats, toilets, movies, free coffee or tea, and English speaking staff are included for less than 200 kc one way from Brno to Prague. They were also quite good when we went to Vienna.

[For geography please refer to the prior map.] Prague is eminently walkable and also quite touristified. There are no shortage of McDonald's, Marks & Spencer's, or any other truly international brand you'd care to name. We arrived in Florenc on the east side of the central city, coming in past Microsoft, HP, and Siemens signs by the highway. The first stretch of town you see walking in is not any more impressive. However, once you get past nam. Republiky things start to look better, older, more European. After a few minutes we arrived at the hostel, squirreled away on a side street just off Old Town Square (Staromestke nam.).

Tyn Hostel is pleasant enough, nightly rates about equal to Brno (which is something of a miracle), if a trifle frill-less. After depositing our belongings we set out in search of grub and a pub. From Old Town Square we stumbled about the tourist quarter to Wenceslas Square (Vaclavske namesti). This 10 minute walk was enough time for Garith to be offered three kinds of drugs by four different people. I dunno I guess he just has that vibe. That 10 minutes were enough to also convince one that a) it was rather cold, and b) that central Prague is for not naught but tourists. We guessed about 40% of the people we passed were speaking Czech and this figure declined throughout the weekend. Upon arrival to the square several of us made purchases from a fast food shack (despite those prices being double what we were used to) and we continued through the bustling mess towards the Charles Bridge. It's quiet at night and quite pretty, though you can't get a real idea of it in the dark. After a few half hearted snapshots we decided that we really didn't want to freeze for that much longer and went in search of beer.

Which proved harder than we thought. Not wanting to pay 50 kc for a small Pilsner (that's really highway robbery), we blundered back through the tourist section, past our hostel, and settled into a slightly strange place which was plastered with portraits of starlets from the Golden Age of cinema. However, they closed at 11, only enough time for one beer. Back into the night, past the sports pub playing Rolling Stones, around in circles, into the 'free entry' jazz club. Free entry to bar that is, and 60 kc beers. Definitively a chin-stroking “yazz” joint for expats with too much money. Back out to stand on the corner and debate options.

At which point I hear a bunch of people gabbling in the street and music, too. A couple of us wander over and hear a live band coming from a crowded cellar. The vibe is very much art gallery/hipster houseparty. Down six narrow and steep steps is a vintage clothing store about the size and shape of a small Quonset hut. Immediately to the left was a glass table with two girls in frilly '60's party dresses
pouring the last of a box of wine. Racks of clothing hung all the way down each side, but the middle was taken up with a milling mass of hip young people speaking in some British but mostly American accents. On the far side of the hip young thangs was a band, and such a band. We later learned they were called Duchess & the Kittens. The lead singer was a large girl with a real whiskey voice. Try to imagine Duffy Bishop and Dr. John having a lovechild. Then get that person seriously trashed and you might have an idea of what she sounded like. The band was an electric bass, a banjo, and a sax. They were doing tunes appropriate to the clothing. The name of the place turned out to be Laly, though I didn't really learn anymore than that.

Maria had decided she'd had enough and went to the hostel. I really wanted to stay, as did Cat. Joe, Garith, and Brian didn't see any fun in that, and Emma went with them to find a pub. As the vintage girls were out of wine Cat and I hurried to the non-stop (24 hour joint) next door and grabbed some liquid refreshment.

The feeling of the place was very comfortable, but deeply strange. I felt like I could have been at a house part in the U District. Most of the crowd looked young enough that they wouldn't be able to drink back home. As soon as I walked in I walked past a knot of fashionably coiffed guys, with attendant women, stridently trashing the band, while said band was playing. I was happy that they left quickly. There were also some oldsters in the crowd, grinning their heads off. And one couple who came dressed for a swing-revival. The band played lots of old standards, Motown kinda stuff, sometimes trading in an acoustic guitar and a steel lap guitar. The sax section magically multiplied. The highlight of the evening was Love Potion No. 9. Oddly enough the Duchess sounded a lot better after her third Jamieson. Go figure. Cat and I were digging it. About 1 am they called it quits, but just long enough to change up. It became Rev. Bob's Revival Hour. One of the sax players came to front and started a “Hallelujah!” schtick. Out of the crowd came a mutton-chopped ska-punk looking guy to take over on electric. Pretty soon there was lots of hollering and 'spiritual' music going. They were pretty good, but took themselves a little too seriously compared to how perverse the lyrics were. Cat and I called it a night here and went round the corner to the hostel.