We have been over here for eight weeks today, and this is our last day. I can download and print tomorrow's boarding passes at 7:00. I have to say I am feeling sad today, I just hate to leave. All the dreaming, the fun of planning, setting it up, emailing and problem solving, reading the history and then it is all over in a blink of an eye.
I am going to try to slow today down as much as possible, to stretch out the minutes.
Last night I took the Prague map and used a highlighter to mark all the streets we have walked, so the unexplored areas stick out. Today also I want to find a real good, people watching cafe, preferably by a church with bells and some trees, and get a newspaper.
Slow breakfast this morning, enjoying the great variety they have (one last smoked salmon, pesto, mushroom, parmesan and blue cheese omelet) sipping cappuccinos... the only annoyance are the two New York editors sitting directly behind me who just can't quit discussing their work (though they are on vacation) which, of course, makes it harder for me to not think about work.
There. Not thinking.
So we spend the next several hours slowly wandering, poking our heads into churches and museums we missed, going down side streets, listening to the street bands (the best was an Irish group), seeing art installations, until we ended up across the river and up the hill by the monastery. Huh. And here it is, 16:30 already and my BU is zero, and even more incredibly somehow my AU is also zero! It is obvious what to do. Soon there is a pork plate on the table, a large wheat beer in one hand. I learned my lesson in Munich: drink and eat while you can, because it only comes around once.
Side note: while eating the pork plate I picked up what looked like a pointy, skinny roll, about as thick as my thumb on the fat end. Turns out they are soft pretzels! So this is why we never did get those pretzels we were looking for in Germany. They all moved here!
So, right now at this very moment in time it is exactly 16:57. I am at Klášterní Pivovar Strahov, cool breeze across my back, people chattering away in so many languages, everyone smiling at their golden, copper or coffee-dark beers; the bells of the monastery just rang out their simple little song, I just had a swallow of the golden, cloudy, citrus tasting wheat beer and am chewing on Prague bacon as I write this.
And this is what I want to remember about Praha, and this trip.
Half hour later, I have just started beer #2, the IPA that was so surprising yesterday. Great with the pork.
I have time now to write down a true story. I don't know exactly what to think about it, even now as I write I am somewhat conflicted. Here it is:
Just off the castle end of the Charles Bridge is the Lennon Wall, a graffiti covered wall that helped spark the freedom movement when John Lennon was shot. The French embassy is there as well, so I grabbed a photo since we like France. Prague is loaded with embassies, we had just passed Japan (you could look in the windows) and some country I didn't recognize, then on the way up the street to the monastery we passed Italy and Romania. This is hardly unusual; in Istanbul, Athens, Tirana, Budapest and Vienna we have walked past scores of embassies, some with open doors, most you can see into the compound or building, some even spy in the windows. Sometimes if it is a nice building, or a country we like a lot, I will snap a photo.
Well, today we stumbled across the US embassy. Kind of makes you feel good, even proud, to see that American flag. Eight weeks away from home, hey! That’s my flag there! I am here in Prague, but that's my home!
Something odd: about two blocks down the street before the embassy, two policemen are doing a traffic stop. We have seen these before; it doesn't register until a car comes up, and while one policeman pulls the submachine gun out from behind his back and points it at the driver, the other is using a mirror to look under the car. They wave it through. That is when I notice the police ahead of us, across the street. And the guards at the door. And the foot patrols walking the intersections ahead of us. And the people suddenly stepping out of the shadows. The car is stopped and looked at again. Then the gates crack open and it enters the compound.
We are walking slowly now, I am not quite comprehending it all, but there is our flag, we are across from the gate, I am a US citizen and it is a nice looking building, so I pull up my camera, point it and...
"HEY! NO PHOTO!" and it is not only the gate guard staring at me. The people have stepped back out of the shadows, and a gun or three is pointed in my direction. I put the camera down, shrug and smile, and grab Gail's hand and speed up to get out of there.
I felt sick.
Even now, a beer and a half later, I am angry, confused, sick, sad?... “Land of the free and home of the brave,” what does it say when we, in a friendly country, are so paranoid that we literally close off a street, check every car, and don't let people photograph the symbol of our country?
All we are saying, is give peace a chance. John Lennon
What are we so afraid of? What have we, as a country, done to make people hate us so much (other than invading everyone in the name of peace)? You might say, “We need to protect our embassies because we are targets of terrorists.” Which is a valid point, but my question is, “Why us? Is it (like we like to believe) because we are a beacon of light and truth and freedom, or is it because we have done things to people and countries to deserve their wrath?
We pass a couple pleasant hours (other than the above which I still ponder) drinking, reading and people watching. The bell tolls 17:30 then 18:00, 18:30 before we pay up and head back across the river one last time.
Prague shines in the late afternoon light. The air today is so transparent, the thousand spires and domes each stand out in sharp relief, I can see to the edge of the city and beyond. Bells are ringing crisply, the city is saturated in color.
We avoid the US Embassy, and walk past the Swedish, Italian and Spanish ones instead. Just for kicks, I look in the windows, take photos, and stop and stare with a suspicious look on my face.
Nothing.
We return to our room, clean up, and walk next door to Chez Marcel for a French dinner. We sit at a bistro table on the sidewalk, decked in red and white checked tablecloth, the couples all around us speak in Czech. I have this delicious rabbit in mustard sauce with mashed potatoes, Gail has caesar salad with bacon and chicken. The red table wine is smooth, full bodied, perfect with the food; typically French. For dessert we have chocolate mousse because the waiter and waitress both recommend it and steer us away from the pie because, "the expert is gone today and the cook, she try but..."
It is excellent. The evening air is cool, couples and groups of people pass, the cafe lights are on, conversations and cigarette smoke waft past, the 1500 year old cathedral across the street, the same one we see from our room, stands silent. How many changes has it seen? We are not even an eye blink here.
The chocolate mousse is as promised, more than excellent, perfect in presentation and taste with a sprig of mint, raspberries and swirl of whipped cream. The waitress smiles.
A couple walk past, pulling their luggage. Luckies, they have just arrived.
All too soon we finish.
We walk over behind the cathedral to the Red Wheel where we ate three nights ago. They recognize us, and apologize because they are closed, but when I explain we just stopped by for one last shot of medicine (Becherovka) they pull us in; old friends now, we drink and talk.
I so love being here.
I hate to leave.
Only ten months till the next trip.