Thu, 11 Jan 2007
After a lazy week of nothing and a 3 days of a stomach bug that had me sapped of strength and concentration, I'm back. Laziness... I swear the french way of life is clandestinely trickling it's way into my viens. Work... eh I'll just go on strike. Why bother? What do you mean I don't get a month of vacation!? oh, right, Prague. That's a throw back... here it goes.
So I left Berlin for Prague on the 25th and arrived in the ass-biting cold early evening. Ass-biting might be an underexaggeration. That cold bit harder than a starved piranha. "Colder than the devil's asshole" as I once heard someone say in another frame of time and space (aka Boston last year).
Day one Lisa didn't have to work, so off we went on a day trip to nearby Kutna Hora. The main attraction at Kutna Hora is an ossuary. This here old cathedral is decorated in booooones. Not just one bone. Not just two bones, but boooones, many boooones. Evidently some righteous dude, as would say Bill and Ted, brought back some holy soil from some holy place way back before the plague and sprinkled over the cemetary in Kutna Hora while dressed in an astronaut suit. Suddenly, it was all the rage to be buried there. Let me die so I can bury myself in Kutna Hora so I can be with the 'in' crowd. Have you ever tried burying your dead self? Me either, but I hear from reputable sources that it's hard. So anyhow this cemetary, especially come the plague, started over flowing with bones. So what do we do? Hone our interior decorating skills of course! Use the extra bones to embellish the boring church. Martha Stewart would have been proud. The chandelier in particular was art.
We continued walking into town only to find that nearly everything, being the day after
Christmas, was closed. We had a horribly disappointing lunch that involved something
they claimed was chicken and garlic soup that was more watery than an ocean. After all this
displeasure we weren't even full and went for pizza.
That night we went to one of Lisa's favorite 'digs' Dwendai. Over wine, we talked with some regulars there who Lisa had become friend-ily acquainted with. A few rabbis and this one guy named Yuri who was nuts. Lisa tells a good story about him. He has lived in New York and Prague extensively and Lisa asked him which place he preferred. And he responded: "I go where my cooties are. Where are my cooties!?" He reminded me a whole lot of a guy I once spoke with on the phone at my ART job who said... "I was teaching kids about drugs, you know cocaine, crack, so I decided I had to try them all so I knew what I was talking about." The other interesting figure was Dr. Mark who Lisa met at a cafe and who happens to know her uncle. He told me a fantastic story about meeting the head of security of the Parisian opera houses at 3 in the morning at an Asian Traiteur (think premade food). The gentlemen invited them for a tour of the Garnier from the bottom where there is evidently a pond to the top where you can look out from the roof over the dappled early morning lights of Paris. Guess I gotta start frequenting traiteurs at 3AM more often, so I can meet Mr. Security and get myself a tour.
Next day we marched on down to the Prague Castle, our pants sticking to our legs with the
chill. First however we stopped at park where you can find the monuments from a world's fair held in Prague many moons ago. Evidently, they pulled a honey I shrunk the kids on Paris by miniturizing the Eiffel Tower and transporting it to their hilltop. Okay, they made some structural changes too, but I tell you, they stole the Eiffel Tower! I decided not to climb this tower as it popsicle-freezing temperatures and the tower was open air. We did, however, check out the nearby mirror gallery and 'maze'. Note to readers, when trying to make a mirror maze, don't line the bottom of your mirrors with a wooden strip... the maze is not maze-y enough when this is done.
Then off to the Prague castle which was neat, but far too touristy. Not only was entry quite expensive, but an audioguide explanation cost any extra 10 extra dollars. Not for a backpacker's budget. They did, however, have explanations inside the rooms. Nice eh? Yeah, if they weren't all in Czech.
We had traditional Czech food for lunch at a cafe with a surrealistic mural where ravens doubled as hairdos. I had pork and dumplings and sour cabbage. Food as heavy as a hammer, a lot of hammers in fact, but scrumptious as could be. I noticed that the Czech sure love their pork. You can have it in many forms - rump, neck, knuckle, etc. Better watch out Babe or some one's gonna take a bite of your hiney! They also like their dumplings. You may find them as dessert or diner, potato or bread. The dessert dumplings we ate (another day) were filled with jam and drizzeled with cottage cheese. Warm and gooey, it was oddly incredible.
While Lisa went to teach, I walked over the Charles bridge, replete with beggars and artists and sculptures. Kicking down the cobblestones, like Simon and Garfunkel, I stumbled across a tour of an astronomical tower and Baroque library. Sounded good to me, so touring I went. The guide was a wee short man of about five foot who had a curious manner about him. The entirety of the tour he waved his free hand about, up and down left and right. It seemed as though his hand was attached to a string managed by a drunk marionetter. In fact, the movement resembled that of crossing yourself or someone else. Maybe he would have made a better preacher. The clock he showed us was interesting, but the library was stunning. I think it fell out of beauty and the beast and landed in the tower. Two levels, a balcony with a scalloped edge, fresco-ed ceiling, Belle swirling around and singing...
Next day we visited the Jewish quarter. Upon deciding to spring the money for a tour, we were lucky enough to land ourselves our own personal guide. She was old, maybe hung out with T-Rex back in her day, but she gave a good tour.
The old Jewish cemetary was quite interesting. Half buried graves jutted out from the ground like teeth as other tombstones caved in on one another creating an effect similar to pile of broken glass. For many years, the Jews were enclosed in a ghetto and this was the only burial area they had in their small confines. Due to this lack of space, they began to bury in layers. The older the tombstone, the more it became covered by dirt until the most ancient of all markers barely breathed in the fresh air.
The Portugeuse synogogue was by far the most stunning, decorated with rich colors, painted with undulating designs, and graced with supple forms to caress the whole of the architecture.
Post the Holocaust, there is only one old synagogue that remains in use. All others like the Portugeuse one, are now museums.
That night we went to a bar themed Hell. "A Bar Themed Hell." Sounds like a good name for
a film noir movie. There, I took a flaming shot of liquor. Yes, it was on fire and I drank it. I am a beast! aaaarrrggg. Let's pretend you don't drink the thing with a straw.
The bartender spent to whole night juggling bottles and not it the clumsy sense. He'd roll them up and down his arms and throw glasses up in the air and catch them... wow he must have far too much free time to learn all this, but it was 'hella' cool haaaaa.
Then, we went dancing. A cute Czech kept eying me and his friend came over to say that he wanted to talk to me or something, but, you see, problem is they spoke no English and I no Czech. Actually, I have no idea what he said. Maybe he asked me if I happened to like bananas in my cereal. Anyhow, I had no idea what they hell they were saying and they had no idea what the hell I was saying and so that went nowhere just like the energizer bunny in reverse.
If we were playing Uno, the last day in Prague just got the 'skip' card.
Last morning, I rose at 3:30 AM to catch my flight back to Paris. Lisa, being the darling she
is, accompanied me on the tram to my bus to the airport. I arrived at the airport with
just enough time to spare. I hadn't really double checked the time on my ticket and had
had a half hour later than the actual departure in mind. Fortunately, I got on the plane sans incident. Remind me to be more prudent with timing for my next trip.
All in all, Prague is a beautiful city; it seems every builidng is sculpted or painted in some decadent way. Above many doorframes there are pictures of, say, a swan. This is because way back in the days of yore, they didn't number houses on the street. Instead, the used the last
name of the family or their coat of arms to demarcate the house. I live at Swan 115th Street, one might have said.
Back in Paris this week, I've noshed delicious falafel and Indian food, finally toured the Opera next to my house (so lush) and went to an exhibition of Disney at a museum.
I also went to the 'grands magasins' on the first day of the sales to see what all the hype was about. France only has sales twice per year. Constrast that with American when sales are more common that freckles on a melinen filled person. The 'soldes' weren't any great shakes in my opinion, but you had your crazy ravaging females scouring through racks and bins to find the best bargains. I can't say I saw two woman beating each other down over the 30% reduced Prada bag, but I would only have been slightly suprised.
Sorry for the lack of creativity present in the update. Dedicated listeners and sometimes responsers, thank you for tuning into Hannah Public Radio. Support for Hannah Public Radio comes from La Ville de Paris, The European Union, Brandeis listserv, and people like you. If you would like to support Hannah Public Radio please click respond.
Signing out,
Hannah
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