They say the "number one" thing to do in Prague is drink beer, and they're not wrong. At around 30 koruna per half-litre (less than a pound a pint), served traditionally in heavy glass mugs and with a unique, authentic flavour - coupled with the ambient historic surroundings one finds in most of the many hundreds of pubs in and around old-town Prague, it's easy to see why this ale-consuming reputation flourishes. Apparently the Czech's down more booze than in any other country in the world. So... When in Rome...
Guillaume and I each researched a selection of highly rated bars and breweries in and around the city. We plotted their locations onto a tatty guide map and embarked upon the most obvious route in order to quench our alco-thirst at as many as possible in one day. Otherwise known as a pub crawl.
First on the list was U Sedme Svabu, a medieval themed restaurant close to our hostel. Despite it being around midday when we arrived - clear blue skies and scorching sunshine - just the other side of the small wooden door, it felt like the middle of the night. Dark and a bit dingy, but with enormous strategically placed candles burning just enough light into the cave of a bar for you to see the glass in front of you. Knights armour stood eerily between long thick wood tables, against grey stone walls. It was brilliant! And here, it was just 27 koruna for a hefty jug of the local good stuff.
Another of our picks was a small brewery near Florenc - a few metro stops away. There, they had six of their own brews on tap and a further 200 varieties of bottled beers to ponder. It would have been rude not to sample at least two each of those on the pumps, so we blindly opted for a number two, a number three, a number five and a number six. (Wanting a number two doesn't mean anything immaturely hilarious in the Czech Republic.)
I don't pretend to be a beer conasuier, neither do I remember the names of what we tasted, but I do know number six was my favourite and it rather exotically began with a Z. A thick, cloudy, light brew with very subtle citrus-fruity undertones. So smooth that I need to inject additional o's in the word for emphasis; smooooooth.
We were both a bit wobbly by the time we ventured back to the metro station, where we unfortunately encountered a real Czech arse-hole. The "ticket inspector" resembled more of an action movie villain - built like Bruce Willis, but paler and with even less hair. He approached us seconds before the train pulled in, as he saw us examining the scribbles on our map. We showed our tickets, completely oblivious to the fact they had expired 23 minutes earlier. He told us of their invalidity as if we had been found guilty of murder. I laughed, assuming his scarily stern tone was some kind of Eastern European humour we didn't understand. His evil glare did not falter. I said, "Okay, sorry, we didn't know, we'll go buy another one." I turned to walk back up the stairs to the ticket machine but he stood like a brick wall in front of me - "You don't understand. This is an offence. You must pay the fine." We did ask him for ID and he did present it. The fine was 800 korunas each (about 25 pounds each, or 30 beers each.) After some arguments back and forth, including what I thought was a very valid one - that we had not yet boarded the train - and then his responding threat to call the police and me then repeatedly calling the man a wanker, we handed over the cash. With an enormous grin, he gave us two receipts. What a bastard. Kicking ourselves, we concluded we better soon purchase some sort of time telling device (it's one thing not to have a phone, but a watch might be nice) to avoid similar events occurring in future. Yes, I submit, it's a tragically important thing to always be aware of - the time.
Having got ourselves back towards the old-town we decided not to let this incident ruin our touristic binge. We forgot about it at U Vejvodu, another cheap ale-vending eatery full of character and charm. A multi-storey busy venue, decorated like a brewery, with brass pipes running through the rooms, barrels around the bar and suspended copper lids such as used for boiling hops.
Our crawl continued around the back streets of old-town to noisy beer gardens, to liberal smokey backpacker bars and inevitably to Absinthe Time, where we tried absinthe on fire and absinthe under some kind of ancient water-drip dispenser, both with lumps of sugar. All very psychedelic and green.
Needless to say our next day hangover wasn't easy. We did nothing but eat and sleep at the Little Town Budget Hotel, a very cheap hostel equa distance between the Charles Bridge and the Castle. The latter could be seen from our window. Other guests of this travellers haven were on average a decade younger than us. They listened to punk music at eight-in-the-morning, they gathered in groups in the courtyard to smoke and take selfies on their iPhones. An unignorable indicator of how this travelling lifestyle has evolved. These days we are all (myself included) victim to the addiction of constant contact with the people we already know.
Other highlights of our short five day visit to Prague included our climb up to the Castle grounds, where there are breathtaking views of the city below, with all its terracotta roof tops, aged architecture, dense dark green parkland and blackened gothic towers, churches and bridges hidden among an array of mighty spires. The Castle cathedral is dramatically massive with impressive intricacy, similar in style to the Charles Bridge, but less painfully full of tourists. The bridge, although stunning and sturdy - oozing history from its large and slippy underfoot cobbles - is so packed with tourists, entertainers, artists, market stalls and spiders, that one can't really enjoy a relaxed, miandering stroll across and believe they have stepped into the mystical fairytale that would otherwise undoubtedly unfold under quieter and more peaceful circumstances.
Yes, I did say spiders. Particularly between the heads and bodies of the many religious statues which line either side of the beautiful 14th Century structure. There are flies everywhere during the sweaty, humid summer evenings in Prague. Glance at any light and within its glow millions of winged insects of varying types and sizes lunge suicidally towards the brightness. There they face a most gruesome end, as hairy eight legged beasts entrap and eat them alive. Horrific. Quite the disgusting death-fest occurring on every window ledge, under every lamp post, smothering all historical monuments and decorating the scaffolding around maintenance and construction work - of which lots appears ongoing. I have never in my life seen so many spiders and wonder why their webs are not cleaned off all their aforementioned homes. A real infestation which lead to many yelps and squeals along the bridge. See the photo below as an example of the sheer volume of spider presence.
A spider-free zone is on the river, where we took a relaxed pedal boat ride to see the sights from below. It was just five pounds for the both of us to take the boat out for one hour. Others enjoying the serene scenery included merry stags and their minions - outrageous, topless young men by the dozen, drinking beer as they pedalled without direction and ambitiously leaping from boat to boat. Prague is a popular choice for bachelor parties. In addition to the low cost alcohol and volume of its vendors, there are a number of strip clubs and even a sex museum - offering a valuable pre-marital education no doubt.
There aren't many food options for vegetarians in Prague. It's a very carnivorous city. A once barbarian influence on the Czech culture lingers, and you could believe that many locals would select "some raw animals, whole" from restaurant menus, if such an option existed. I, however, was stuck with "speckled dumplings and sheep cheese." Sheep. Cheese. It was rich and sickly and I'm still recovering. (Although part of that may be owed to the accompanying yeasty liquid comestibles.)
Prague had an attractive, gothic atmosphere which unexpectedly feels rather romantic. Among the dark, mysterious clock towers and grey dual spires glistening occasionally with rusty gold, are an array of tall and endlessly terraced, rugged earthy and pastel coloured buildings catching the sun.
If I were to return, I'd go next time in winter - to enjoy the hearty soups, cozy interiors, and inevitably quieter streets.