Prague

Czech pop music is something else. Criminally underrated, I'd even hazard to say.

I'm sat in an Uber as of now, listening to the aforementioned tunes with my driver Vitaliy. I've just arrived at Prague Airport and its 2 degrees, but feels like -1 according to my phone. How a phone knows what the temperature... feels like... I'm not all too certain of. Anyway, I've had my first experience of the financial joys of Prague in the form of my uber fare. 500 czech koruna for a 30 minute transfer from the airport. Thats roughly 13 pounds, about the same as you might pay for a 3 minute post-glow lift up the cathedral hill in Lancaster. Needless to say, I'm optimistic about my goal of limiting my spending to 150 quid.

I set off for the airport 20 minutes late due to a certain Lola needing to be walked, and a certain Theo being unwilling to take her on this walk. As a result of this tardiness, along with the need to strip 3 kg from my cabin bag's weight, the stuffy, sweaty, hour long queue for security, and the search that security felt was necessary of my coat, my time in Manchester Airport was distinctly unpleasant.

“Hit rahdio- CITY!” chimes the radio. The flight, however, was generally alright. I managed to read the first half of a novel I've got to study for my Middle Eastern Literature course, and other than the occasional scream of the child in front of me, it was relatively peaceful. Of course, I'd had no time for food in the airport- in fact I actually ran through duty free- so I had to eat a very wet lasagne and some salt and vinegar Pringles on the plane. Not entirely ideal, but they filled a gap if nothing else. Damn, they've got James Arthur on now. The British Mac Miller, I've always said. I would've loved a Mac Miller cover of Impossible.

Six minutes left in the uber, very excited to see my long time travel buddy.

She greeted with a big hug, of course. We headed upstairs in a very stylish lift, and walked through a short hallway to her apartment. Its a studio, and set up gorgeously. Maybe 8 metres by 6, but obscenely high ceilings, except for the bathroom, which is almost its own room, a little box in the corner. The room is chinese themed, with 3 framed pictures on each wall of ancient Chinese art, and an ornamental wooden bed frame, the top resembling a bamboo fence of some sort, which Chris has lined with fairy lights. The rest of the room she has decorated herself. It's predictably sleek, simple and meticulously organised; a few tastefully scattered plants, a small, jagged pile of books, the occasional candle. Its modern, but for a heavily worn door, and necessarily charming.

Chris had a lot to say when I arrived. I suppose living by yourself, away from your friends for months, you're bound to have stuff to get off your chest. Anyway, I know her whole life story now, but she made me pancakes whilst she told me, so I'm not complaining. It was nice to catch up in any case. She has to be up at 8 tomorrow for online uni, so that should motivate me to work on my dissertation.

Around 2.05 am, we were sat eating pizza in the park, when a random guy cycled past us singing a drill song about trees.

Chris did not wake up for her lecture, but instead let her alarm go off every 5 minutes for well over 2 hours. It was a little like purgatory. We're up now though, and she's making us coffee while wishing me a good morning in Prague.

If you couldn't tell from the pizza in the park episode, we did not get an early night. We decided we were hungry at 2 and walked down the road looking for somewhere open. The streets were freezing, foggy, and yet entirely welcoming. Chris says the buildings all look the same because of communism, though I don't think its an especially bad thing because they're nothing if not impressive. Apparently the city is extremely safe, and I'm not inclined to believe otherwise; the aforementioned cyclist was the most threatening figure we saw all night.

In fact, thats a lie, the man that served us pizza in the sussy pizza shop was the most threatening man we saw all night. He had very beady eyes and thin face with curly hair. He spoke no English, which isn't out of the ordinary, but it meant we were convinced he was trying to scam us. The exchange rate is 1 pound to 25 Czech koruna, so when I withdrew 5000 koruna, I wasn't withdrawing 20 for the pizza, but 200- my entire budget. Evidently we were irreparably confused by the exchange rate, so when sussy pizza man charged us 140 koruna for 4 pieces of pizza, we were cautious, though in the end we realised that equated to 5.60, and we were just being prejudiced.

Chris is showering ready to go into town. Our dress code is fancy, and I don't plan to disappoint. She hasn't witnessed the nasty fits I've been throwing up as of late, so I'm excited to impress. I'll update with her reaction later.

THE PANTS, I LOVE THE PANTS, THEY'RE VINTAGE (vintage pronounced like vint- age). I LIKE THE FIT I LIKE THE FIT.

*The fit in question. Retrospectively it wasn’t all that- but for 20 year old Max this was seriously out-there.*

This was the desired reaction.

Walking into the centre. The buildings continue to astound me. They're so pretty, like a multicoloured Paris. We stopped at the mall so Chris could pay her phone bill and buy some new boots. Not much to say about it, its a mall.

*The best picture I managed to take of Prague’s architecture, apparently.*

We walked through the centre exactly as the astronomical clock struck 12. Its not tourist season now, and the streets feel very empty, but even so, a large crowd formed around the clock. The little saints poked their heads out of a little opening, and that was about it. Not exactly a spectacle. The size and scope of the clock, however, is. We didn't stick around for long, so I'm hoping to go back for a coffee nearby, no matter how overpriced it might be. Overpriced here is just normal.

I'm at Chris' now, but I'll pick up where I left off. We continued on through the winding-pathed Jewish quarter and across a bridge (not The Bridge, a bridge) to the base of a hill.

We got some pictures by said bridge and headed up the absurd number of steps to the top of said hill. The view was breathtaking, though that might have been the climb. The city- with its multiplicity of gothic spires protruding from colourful commie blocks- stretched out in front of us for miles. Its a cloudy day, but this only added to the charm, as a small gap tore through the canopy and rays of light pierced down towards the city.

At the top of the hill is a colossal metronome- for whatever reason- with a huge park expanding behind it. We occupied ourselves watching a black squirrel with huge fluffy ears jump between trees. Man that thing could move, and this induced the deeply insightful declaration from Chris, that the squirrel was in fact Squirrel Man *emphatic sing song voice*.

By this point, I was starving and in need of a bit of golden nectar, if you catch my drift (editor’s note: Christ, 19 year old me was a fucking loser). All the bars by the next bridge were closed, so we walked until we found another, which just so happened to be called Kafka Hummus, on account of it being next to the Kafka society building. I'm not sure why they went for hummus, but there we are.

*I went to the Franz Kafka society and everybody accused you of a crime but wouldn’t say what the crime was.*

Finally beer. A pair of yummy 2 pound pilsners. Devoured. Pint Two ordered, along with a Shakshuka, a dish I've had at Pokusevski’s in Heaton Moor. The waiter, a tall, cheeky, aryan looking Russian man, asked if I wanted it normal, or with the mega sausage. I think I may have blushed, but the answer was obvious.

Upon pint completion, we decided to head back and study until 6ish. Thats what I've been doing for the past 2 hours. I collated positive comments I'd had on essays for my letters of recommendation, and made a very significant start to my dissertation. I now have a hypothesis, research questions, a skeletal plan and a working title: 'What's it going to be then, eh?': Medical Correction and State Paternalism in Early 1960s Satirical Literature. Not bad eh?

I've finished now. Chris is making us some delightful-sounding steak sandwiches. A bit of stomach padding for the coming evening, I anticipate. Side note, we picked up some groceries on the way back, and I bought a blue bottle of Fanta labelled Shokata. Very scrummy; its lemon and elderflower flavoured, a perfect supplement to my sandwiich. But how could I forget the red ale? I also picked up an evil looking, sort of lemon shaped brown bottle of what was described as Red Ale 14. Having poured myself a glass at Chris', I can now confirm that the drink is as diabolical (complimentary) as it looked.

The sandwiches are filled with butter and thyme fried steak, garlic and thyme mayo, cheddar cheese and jam caramelised onions. They’re partnered with home cooked fries. Very excited.

They did not disappoint. Quite possibly the best thing I've ever tasted.

Afterwards, we got ready and headed down to the local, aptly named Local. It’s customary here to drink stood outside of the pub, so that's what we did. There's very little more satisfying than paying 2 pounds for a pint then drinking it from a big glass beer mug with a good friend. We stood there for maybe 3 hours just chatting. We'd intended to watch the Czech Republic play football at the pub, but when we arrived we decided we must have missed it and stayed outside. It was only when I went inside for a wee that I noticed the match had been on the whole time, and it was now in the 90th minute. The night was lovely anyway. We called the gang and chatted with Manos and Sandris a while, before two of Chris' friends walked by and joined us. I got on pretty well with them considering how I am, but as we walked past, Chris told me she didn't really like them anyway.

All I remember from that night is that Lucas, who is currently at uni, was listening to Brazilian music at 2 am and he couldn't understand why we found that to be weird.

We've just woken up and Chris is showering. I'm in need of something savoury and rich, some proper continental meat-feasting.

We walked to the centre again and tried a brunch place, but it was closed, so we found one right under the tower. It was here that I noticed what a weird mix of architecture there is in the square. Neoclassical to my left, with embossed pillars and Greek paintings; sinister gothic ahead, as black spires reach towards a flat grey sky; commie blocks flanking colourfully to the right.

There are protests going on today in the centre. Anti-vax, anti-putin and anti-lukashenko. We've been watching them as we sip coffees and cocktails.

I ordered a bohemian farmers spread, which consisted of 4 meats, 3 dumplings and some pickled cabbage, and Chris got a steak burger.

Chris wasn't too satisfied but mine was great. I'd happily trade modernity to be a bohemian farmer in the 1700s, Phoebe (editor’s note: lol) spreading out food for me after a day of tending to my crops. I also ordered a pint of delicious, cold ale.

*The bushy chinstrap was a misstep, I fear.*

The novelty of drinking a silly large beer by a silly large clock is unparalleled.

We plotted what to do for the rest of the day, and decided on the museum of art illusions, supposing that it would provide a lot of nonsensical antics and hijinks. Little else happened, other than Chris knocking my latte glass off the table whilst trying to show me relatable memes. My beer took longer than I anticipated to drink, and by the time I finished it around 4, it was going dark. The protests raged on, getting increasingly fierce and popular.

To kill the tension in the air, we went for chimney cakes, a kind of tubular churro, its interior lined with chocolate. Rather tasty, though Chris spilt half of hers down her jeans.

It was time for the museum now, so we headed in, paid the 8 euro entry and ascended the stairs. In summary, we were correct, the museum was very whimsical, and we got lots of silly photos to share with our pals.

*The Museum also had a shrink ray!!!!!! What didn’t those Soviet nutters think of?*

The scene that greeted us outside of the museum however, was decidedly less whimsical. It was like something out of a cult horror film: crowds of shouting families shuffling under orange lamp light as a man stirred their hatred in an unknown tongue, and bell chimes echoed from their black-tiled towers. Dark bodies set against light commie blocks set against an ominous cathedral set against a purple sky. The word nefarious has never been so apt to describe the taste in the air that evening.

Moving on. We got spaghetti ingredients on the way home and Chris got to work pretty much right away. I cracked open Harold Pinter’s ‘The Caretaker’ to make a further dent in my dissertation. The spag bol took an hour or so, though again it was worth the wait. Really filled a gap. Chris is napping now ready for tonight, and I'm updating this little number.

We hit the green devil absinthe bar first. Outside, the eyes of the eponym glow bright red in front of the stairs down to the entrance.

The door is closed, so we push it open and head in. The waiter asks for our passes (covid) and leads us to a staircase. All around us there are bizarre, deeply uncanny objects embedded into the walls. The staircase makes an unsettling noise as we walk down, and the lights turn on around us, illuminating yet more odd, unpleasant objects protruding from the walls. We sat and chose our drinks, then the waiter brought over a beautifully intricate water fountain to trickle water over sugar into the absinthe. At first, the liquid is clear, though, as the water drips in, it turns cloudy greenish-yellow. It’s as evil as anything I've laid eyes on. Chris wasn't a fan, but we both finished our glasses anyway. The water we drank from a skull-shaped flask probably helped.

Next we moved onto Chapeau Rouge, the red hat. It had an immensely cool atmosphere, nice music and cheap beer. A red hue lights up everyone and everything, and the people nearby engage in low chatter, sprinkled with belly laughs. The best kinds of conversation.

The bars were pretty empty since its a Wednesday night, so we decided to go to one more place before calling it a night: Dubliners Irish Bar. How odd that the best Irish bar I've ever been to was in Prague, of all places. Its almost like a parody of Irish bars, but so tasteful (and underground) that it’s excusable. I got a pint of Magners, though the rule that things taste worse the further you are from where they were made proved true; it was flat and weak.

Anyway, we're home now, chugging water and listening to music.

“Do you know pink pantheress?” I ask.

“Yeah it's like duh duh, duh duh (pink panther theme),” Chris responds.

Chris made the above statement the following morning as she cooked us eggs on toast. We got ready, ate and left for the park. Its not warm or sunny, but its bright and the sky is blue. Its very windy also. We head in the opposite direction to usual, and walked towards a large hill. A train track runs past it, elevated on a platform.

Stairs lead up the steep hill, all the way up to a plateau, where a colossal copper statue of a man on a horse sits on a marble bed.

There is a small concrete hideaway to our left, looking over the city behind.

We took pictures there before moving on to the horse plateau. The view from the plateau is awe inspiring. You can see a tall gothic church spire in the foreground, and the largest, bulkiest ex soviet radio tower in the back. The feeling you get looking up at the tower is beyond words. You suddenly understand how people suffered for so long under a dictatorship. The tower tells you that you're powerless, you cannot resist. It's Big Brother.

A windswept hillside in the heart of Prague. The sun shines down over a copper and marble testament to the nation. To my right, multicoloured walls and red rooves stretch away from me. Piercing this pastel sea, a grey-black-gold dominates the landscape, God's eye peering down at the non-believers. And yet, behind, a grey finger reaches up to the seat of heaven; a new God eclipses the old, the party becomes faith, his word transmitted through the radio.

That radio tower. Its like nothing I've ever seen before. It humbles you, its power you couldn't imagine. The space age incarnate.

That was a bit of prose poetry I wrote whilst looking at it.

Afterwards, we walked down the hill and ambled aimlessly around a more student dominated area of the city. The architecture is astounding, its a 3D city built around the uneven landscape, with bridges connecting two peaks over busy roads. I got a lot of pictures today.

I’m not sure if this quite demonstrates what I mean by a 3D city. The bridge in the top picture is the same one I’m peering over in the second picture; there are two entirely different levels, almost like a first and second floor- but outdoors.

The walking killed us off, and we needed to refuel. We rented electric scooters and scooted to the mall food-court, where we were greeted by the greatest sight I've ever laid eyes upon: 14 euro all you can eat sushi. I think we may have scared the staff and customers. In the sushi world, our visit to that place was the apocalypse, it was the great flood, 2012, y2k, 911, the black plague. Our visit was a cataclysmic event, and we were the two horsemen of the apocalypse. We ate over 70 plates of conveyor belt sushi and rolled home.

*War and Pestilence go to town on our sushi.*

Chris made me watch Greece's next top model whilst we battled a food coma. The coma induced psychosis led me to the realisation that Greek is simoleon and we are all in the sims.

Its my last day and I’m walking to get milk for pancakes in my PJs and a winter coat. I am now a fully immersed student in Prague.

Chris undercooked the pancakes because she was impatient. I can't say I was surprised, but I ate them anyway, so I wasn't entirely fussed. We had European Breakfast whilst she sketched the nearby railway bridge, then showered ready for one last outing.

I decided we ought to visit Charles Bridge since everyone makes a fuss of it and I'd not been yet. We took a different route today, so I got some nice new pictures, though we ended up back by Kafka hummus. All roads lead to Rome, they say. The Bridge is quite close by the centre, tucked away in a tight street crowded with tourists and vendors. On both ends there are Gothic viewing towers and all along the sides there are black and gold statues of Jesus and the Saints. I believe the bridge is medieval, one of the oldest left in the world. Older than the U.S in any case.

As we walked up and across the bridge, stopping occasionally for pictures, we appreciated the musical efforts of the bridge band, a collection of old jazz enthusiasts performing their various instruments and selling their album. Chris wanted to film them so I gave her some coins to make it seem less rude.

At the end of the bridge, Chris declared that she'd been no further than 100 metres ahead, but that she'd heard it was nice. We had 3 hours to kill before I needed to be home, so I decided we'd walk up to Prague Castle, the stunning structure I’d seen on the skyline all week, but been too lazy to walk to. It was a very steep hill, though we got some cool videos and passed by the oldest tavern in Prague, which has retained its medieval theme. I'll get back to that later though. We climbed the Jade-Palace-esque staircase up to a huge plateau on the hill. I'm still not certain whether its natural or whether it was landscaped for the purpose of making the castle's neighbourhood level. It's sheer expanse is impressive either way.

More impressive though, was the view from the top of the stairs over Prague. It doesn't beat the horse hill or the metronome, but its still a perfect view of a near perfect city. Starbucks has capitalised on this by opening a rooftop café at the top of the staircase. I think you'd be hard pressed to find a better Starbucks on the planet.

The castle is big, it’s solid and it’s heavily guarded. The outer walls are pastel stone, along with the many, many inner walls. The jewel in the crown of the castle though, is the ancient Gothic cathedral, which dwarfs all of the other walls, looking across the city from a point only beaten by the radio tower miles away.

It has multiple gorgeously ornate stained glass windows, and that's about it. Very pretty though.

We left, sat in the Starbucks without buying anything, then moved onto the medieval bar. Its dark, lit only by the occasional candle, and designed in a way that straddles the line between gimmicky and authentic. I got a beer and a baked Camembert, both of which were semi disappointing, while Chris got a hot wine, which she enjoyed so much she decided to make mulled wine once I got out of her hair.

When we decided it was time to go home, it had already turned pitch dark, and so the walk back was a little solemn. Chris very reluctantly talked about her feelings, and I tried to give what advice I could. However, given she's living alone in a city where they don't even speak her second language, I'd say she's doing better than most would.

At home, I finished packing, had my third post sushi shit of the day, and charged my phone. Chris and I didn’t say much to each other. Maybe we'd already said everything we needed to, or maybe we didn't feel the need to say what we already knew. Whichever it was, it doesn't really matter, we hugged and I got in my taxi to the airport.

I'll miss her in Lancaster. As always, roll on Prague 2.

Paris 2: Electric Boogaloo

San Sebastián