Day 11: Prague

Highlights:

 

• Kaficko - the first non-smoking cafe in Prague
• Learning what Tanka is
• The Franz Kafka museum - an existential space

 

I headed back to my (what I'm probably going to call) favourite spot in the entire world, and sat looking over the city for a while. It was dry, but cold, and my ears started to ache after a while, so I cut down into the Mala Strana before the castle.

 

I think I must have generic European colouring and features, because wherever I go, people seem to think I'm a native (France, Germany, Holland, Czech Republic, and when I'm tanned, Italy). Some Germans stopped me to see if I knew how to use the car park ticket machine. I didn't, but stuck around to give some moral support, and we all came away smiling when they successfully got a ticket. That's got to give me some good Karma.

 

There's a path which follows the river round into the Mala Strana, and I headed along it back to Cihelna street, where I'd been yesterday. My general rule to guiding myself around a city has so far been to turn off sharply to the side if I see a group of tourists ahead. Sometimes I end up down cul-de-sacs and have to pretend I meant to go down there, so start taking photos of front doors and pavements, before casually going back to the main road. But it's also just a good way of getting a feel for the city, and you usually stumble across something interesting. I did the same here, and veered off to the right down Misenska, where I found this brilliant coffee shop called Kaficko. It was half a level down from the street, so there were only windows on one end, but it felt very quaint, and was pretty quiet. Some small Italian and Czech groups came in while I was there, but it was relatively empty. They served about 15 different coffee beans, and grinded your choice in front of you. I took some Costa Rican and a slice of Honey Cake (really good), the lady brought it over to my table (table service seems to be a rule in most cafes and bars in Germany and Czech Republic, and you never really pay up front. It makes for a relaxed experience, especially in bars). The coffee was served with a chocolate and my Dad will be pleased to hear, a pot of HOT milk. I sat reading my book for a few hours, in no particular rush to leave. The book I'd bought by Haruki Murakami following 'Norwegian Wood' was 'Kafka on the Shore', and it felt quite appropriate when I arrived in Prague and discovered Kafka was a local. In the novel, the author mentions Haikus and Tankas. I had no idea what Tankas were, and having never used this function before, I flukishly scrolled over it with the curser on my Kindle, and the built-in dictionary told me that it was a five line poem, with the 1st, 3rd and 5th being five syllables long and the 2nd and 4th being seven. The whole thing should tell a complete story of sorts. So, like some sort of poncey artist, I sat and wrote a Haiku and a Tanka (I'm not poncey enough to put them on here). I reached a point in the novel where the characters actually start talking about Kafka, so I used that as a prompt to go to the Museum.

 

With my student card, it cost 120kc (4 pounds). The first part of the exhibition details his early life in Prague, and displays letters he sent to his father which express his dislike of him, and love of his mother (a bit of an Oedipus complex). It goes into a lot of detail about the route he took to school with his family cook, and there are numerous photos the block his family lived in from different angles...It sort of made sense later on why they explained his route in so much detail, as even as a kid, Kafka felt he lived his entire life in within too small an area in Prague. this part was quite interesting, because it explained the divisisons in Prague between the Jews, the German speakers and the Czech speakers. Kafka was a German speaking Jew, with a slight disconnection to his faith until he discovered Yiddish beliefs and art. So, his biography aside, the exhibition is actually called 'Kafka: An Existential Space', and throughout, there is an unusual, slightly unsettling Yiddish soundtrack, and a lot of video art. One showing words being cut into people's skin, before fading into tattoos. Another showing an artistic expression of his novel 'The Castle' in a room with angled mirrors. The layout of the museum was unusual as well, taking you through a sort of canvas swirl, and through rooms of files. It really was existential. The last room is the most gruesome, with I think an unnecessary model of the execution machine that Kafka describes in 'The Penal Colony'. I'm pretty sure the whole point is the detail in which he describes it, making a model unnecessary. I left the exhibition, thinking that the entire thing had been completely surreal. The only way I can describe it, is that I think my mind was actually boggling. I was boggled.

 

And then on exiting the museum, you walk straight into the courtyard and see a sculpture/fountain of two men peeing, with their hips and willies mechanically twisting from side to side into a pool shaped like the Czech Republic. Surreal.

 

I wandered in a daze down the street to an International and second hand book shop called Shakespeare and Sons. I wanted to buy some second hand Kafka or Gabriel Garcia Marquez (which I'd discovered when travelling in Nepal, and so thought it'd be cool to read some this time around). No luck, but I bought a copy of The Prague Post, hoping to see some of the Crepe Girl's articles.

Just further along from Charles Bridge there's a Grafitti area called Lennon's Wall. I hid behind a phonebox and eavesdropped a Segway Tour Guide, who explained that it had previously been maintained yearly by discontent students complaining about politics. It was whitewashed once a year for new art. There was a John Lennon painting which had apparently been done three days ago.

I was walking down Nebovidska, in the middle of all these buildings when I looked to the right and saw a huge Sady (park) again steeply rising up. I was all set to climb it when it started raining so I walked toward the River to head into the New Town (Nove Mesto). I was crossing the Legii Most (I think Most means bridge) when I saw a camera crew on a barge with a boom swinging up to an Island where there were some stone ruins, and two actors in period dress, and a huge dog. I stopped in the rain and zoomed in my camera trying to see if I was spying Brad Pitt in a new costume drama. I couldn't zoom close enough, so creepily went back over the bridge to get a closer shot. I couldn't really recognise them (the woman looked similar to Romola Garai and the guy like a skinny, younger version of Captain Hook from Robin William's film), and I'm pretty sure instead of 'Action' the Director yelled 'Ashtic!' so perhaps it was a Czech film.

 

So, I'd slightly overestimated how much clean underwear and socks I had remaining, and had had to two-time sock wear that day. There were washing facilities on site, but I was too late. So I just bought another week's supply. Bosh.

 

I walked through the Old Town (Stare Mesto) looking for a cafe which Kafka has used to drink at, though it appeared to be on the main Karlovy street which was horrifically touristy. I kept on walking. It was getting dark, and was pretty rainy, and I'd clocked up about 15km eating only a banana, apple and piece of honey cake so I stopped at the overpriced Pavillion in Letenske Sady on the way back for a pivo, and the only vegetarian meal on the menu, a cheese and boiled egg sandwich. I think it might have been the best meal I've ever had. I washed it down with some overpriced cold red wine and creme brulee, and then walked back to my Hostel to freshen up.

 

Then, because I was in Prague (which homes one of the biggest clubs in Europe - the five story Karlovy Lazne) and it was a Friday night, I went to bed at 8.30pm.

 

Some young Aussie girls arrived around 10pm, slightly drunk and in a completely chaotic swirl. Thinking they were going to be somewhat abrasive, I was sort of charmed by their slightly drunken, Tazmanian swearing and enthusiastic helpful advice to Nicola about the Bone Cathedral. Tazmanians are supposedly known as being a bit mental by the rest of Australia, and after hearing them using phrases like 'This Arvo' was reminded of Stingray from Neighbours (were they from Tazmania too?). The girls had got tattoos that afternoon; Eden had got this odd, creepy Humpty Dumpty tattoo that her friend had designed on the bag of her calf, and her friend had got a tattoo on her lower back. They'd gone out for drinks with the tattoo artist after. I liked them. Despite Eden admitting that she snored.

 

End of day 11.