Prague, Czech Republic

Prague, Czech Republic

It's been a whirlwind day, coming from Rome to the Ceska Republika, and I missed a blog post yesterday. So, this post will be a combined effort over the past two days.

To start, now we've got a journey, and it's starting to look a bit red. Prague is the first time I've been behind the Iron Curtain, and it feels legit. Already, they can sense I'm a capitalist pig. But first, some notes on airports and air travel.

You can tell a hell-of-a lot about people simply by how they travel and handle airports.

--Americans feverishly squawk to each other, vigorously pointing out signs, telling their kids "you better use the bathroom now, cause you don't know when you'll get another chance." For the American, it's "here I am, it's my day, where the fuck is my gate?"

--Asians, and particularly Koreans and Japanese, just don't get it. You show up to the baggage desk with 8 luxury shopping bags, luggage fit for a queen, and are somehow surprised when the clerk not only has to check your bags, but also has to charge you. Nice people, though. 

--Arabs = "Excuse me, you have randomly been selected for advanced screening. Please step this way."  

--The British will be pissed as hell if you in any way fuck with their desperately needed dose of sunshine provided by the Costa del Sol or French Riviera. 

--The Italians do things their way and at their speed--get used to it. 

I like airports, though. They are like sociological petri dishes. 

With respect to Prague, this city is intensely gorgeous, and immediately, the architecture sets the tone. The main square is a nearly impossible blend, with a gothic cathedral overlooking competing facades of rococo and baroque. The middle of the Old Town Square offers a feast for all sensory portals, with roasted pig permeating the air, trumpeters sounding off the hour, and pilsner lager whetting the pallet. 

Of note, I don't get as many looks here, and I think I blend in better. Nothing about me says Italian. Also, for the first time, I'm seeing German tourists, and it's about time. I've been waiting for another group to examine. All I can tell thus far is that they get down on mustard--big time. This guy next to me man-handled his sausage through his reservoir of dark mustard. Ever so often, he would offer a glance to his wife denoting his utter satisfaction. 

My feet are absolutely killing me and my shoes are falling apart faster than anticipated. Also, the walk to Prague Castle from the city center is a bitch, and that didn't help matters. I'm not sure how that situation is going to play out. But I'm a bit more concerned with the 30CZK beers down the street at the moment. That's about $1.80 for 20 oz. 

In addition, hostels are weird--not so much for the people patronizing them, but for the people that work at them. I call them the no-collar workforce, and feel like they're the fountainhead for whatever we know to be hipster in the States. Disease hunters always try to find the source. If you were to track the proliferation of infectious hipsterism, you might want to check the "brah" working the desk at any European hostel. 

READING: The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka

LISTENING: Nothing about this is Czech, but I was singing this crossing the Charles Bridge.