Prague Orloj: Astronomical clock in Old Town Square
Blacksmiths, near Prague castle
Climbing the stairs to Prague Castle, Photo by Jo
From back to front, left to right: Kelsey, Jenny, Me, Jess, Joanna, Beaver, Billy, Matt
(Kim, Jen and Katy seem to be missing...)
Prague Castle
Mural of tractors and tanks traveling the infinity symbol,
round and round and round...
~ ~ ~
Sunday, October 26th. 7 am. Santa Naria Novella train station, Florence. It's dark, cold, and smells like winter. My 3 roommates--Jo, Kelsey, and Kim--and 3 friends of ours--Billy, Matt and 'Beaves,' (a.k.a. Lindsay Beaver)--and I, frantically purchase tickets to Milano Centrale train station. We board and I put on my headphones and search through my iPod. I usually don't feel like sleeping while traveling because I am too excited and don't want to miss anything, but by now I have learned that it is better if I do--especially if the previous night's sleep was not particularly sound. I spend more than several minutes perusing my iPod, trying to find the right music to put me out, and I compromise and finally decide on something loud. Very loud. If I am going to sleep then it is going to be very exciting sleep. And it is.
I wake up and the train is barreling through a small, hilly town blanketed in thick fog. I see my friends handing tissues to an Asian woman who is hurriedly tending to something a few rows down. They tell me that her daughter puked and they claim they smell vomit, but I don't smell it. Back to bed. The loudness continues, and I decide it is a good idea to wrap my scarf around my head to block out the light and the smell of puke that might waft its way towards me.
We reach Milano Centrale and it is a large, open-air, semi-cylindrical shell of steel beams. It looks like what train stations are supposed to look like. Austere and antique-y. We venture to the restrooms, and as I am digging through my backpack for some tissues to take in with me (Italian restrooms often do not have toilet paper), I accidentally drop my flosser onto the dirty, greasy floor. I feel myself getting frustrated because, after much internal squabbling, I made the decision to bring the flosser because it is the responsible thing to do. I realize that this is a sign: the universe is telling me to chill out.
Matt tells us that, according to one of his teachers, we have to catch a shuttle to the airport, which is an hour away. We stand in a line for 20 minutes, and when we reach the window we are told that it was completely unnecessary: the shuttles are outside and tickets are bought from the bus drivers. Woops.
We find the shuttles and spend the next hour zooming through the giant city that is Milan. Many of the city streets are lined with trees dropping turning leaves, making Milan surprisingly lovely in the same way that a woman who dresses practically rather than stylishly is surprisingly lovely when she puts on earrings and a nice blouse for a special event. (A stretch? Maybe.)
We make it to the airport early enough that we spend a couple hours discussing inane topics because we are to anxious to converse about anything worthwhile. Then again, we probably touched upon something good at some point, somewhere in between the "I'm so excited" 's and the "I wonder how much a sausage costs" 's. We board the plane and Billy, Matt and I sit in the very front row, face to face with the flight attendants.
20 minutes into the flight, one of the flight attendants tells us that we are passing over the alps and the aerial view is spectacular. Yup, it's spectacular. I spend the next hour and a half trying to sleep, but I fail. I am about to land in the Czech Republic and begin the most exciting journey of my youth--so yeah, I had trouble sleeping.
We land and everyone switches into adventure mode. Where are we? How much is a trip to the restroom going to cost me? How do we get to the hostel? What day is it? Why does my _______(fill in the blank) hurt?
3:30 pm. After we purchase bus and metro tickets and exchange some euros into "crowns" (Czech Koruna)--an extremely irritating currency (1 euro is equal to about 25 crown)--we follow Jo to the Starbucks. All three of my roommates are devoted Starbucks fans--according to Kim, Beaves qualifies as a fiend--and there aren't any Starbucks in Italy. Needless to say, this is quite a special moment. They all get their white chocolate mocha fix and we head outside to wait for a bus into town.
It is pretty darn cold and the sky is a dome of gray slop. Nevertheless, we are happy and ready to see what Prague is made of. We find our bus and get on. There aren't many people riding yet so we sit down and get comfortable. Over the next half hour the bus fills up with locals: little boys wearing dirty soccer uniforms and carrying soccer balls, young couples dressed for an evening out, elderly people toting groceries...
We get off and hop on the metro. We get off the metro, ride the escalator up to street level, step onto the sidewalk into the very cool night air, ooh and ahh and get excited, and hear Jo calmly ask, "Where's my wallet?"
We spend the next two hours searching for Jo's golden wallet, which has money, credit and debit cards, and her green card in it (Jo is a citizen of Romania). Luckily she had her passport, which meant that, despite the fact that the reservation was under her name, we would be able to check into our hostel that night no matter what. The key moment came when a bus driver checked our tickets to see which bus we had validated them on. We waited at the bus stop for the route 119 we had ridden earlier: #6357.
We sit and wait, twiddling our thumbs, and finally we see it...on the other side of the 4-lane highway. Jo and Billy wait for a break in the traffic and reach the other side just as the bus begins to pull away. From our point of view they disappear behind the bus, and we can't keep from pounding our fists, yelling, and doubling over. The bus stops and we can't see what's happening. About 60 seconds later it pulls away and reveals Jo and Billy on the other side waving their arms in the air. The golden wallet is soaring above Jo's head. Amazing. Utterly amazing.
We begin again. We catch the metro, get off, ride the escalator up to street level, step onto the sidewalk into the cooler night air, ooh and ahh all over again and get really, really excited. That night the universe handed Jo a serious gift, and as for the rest of us--we received the gift of being able to believe in the power of optimism and friendship. Even though many of us have only known each other for two months at this point, one would never be able to guess this.
Obviously Jo felt guilty, angry with herself, and worried--she's human--yet not once did anyone give a second thought to doing whatever they could to help her--and I believe this is not because they wanted to help themselves by solving the problem. It was the best and worst way to begin our incredible, adolescent adventure, and as much as I hate to admit it--made it all the more exciting. That's the screenwriter's dilemma I suppose.
Surprisingly, we actually navigate our way--via bus--to Hostel Elf, which is tucked away on the edge of town...and is not near any major bus stop. On our way there I look down at the cement wall next to the sidewalk and see the word "crips" scrawled across it in black spray paint. I can't help but ask,
"So hey, guys, what does the word crips mean to you? You know...just a general question."
No answer. Everyone walks faster.
We check in and are thrilled with how cool Hostel Elf is. Every wall is either covered in skillful graffiti or some sort of wall-hanging or painting, or is painted a bright color--but usually all three. Our room, which we have all to ourselves because we are such a big group, is painted to look like we are inside of a paramecium. The walls are covered in giant white spheres, making it a semi-permeable membrane, obviously, which means that it can experience new things and gain wisdom and maturity in the process. In addition, curvy, white hair-like doodly-bops--or flagella--surround the upper part of the walls. These help the paramecium move around and eat other bacteria. Flagella are very important. If it did not have them, our paramecium would not be able to travel to new places and broaden its horizons. It should go without saying that our paramecium is extremely thankful for the privilege to travel. Ah yes, and in addition, we have a complimentary opened can of tuna outside our window.
We venture out in search of friends and food. 30 seconds later, while descending the stairs, we realize we have no idea where we are going. I go back inside to ask for directions. The two young guys at the desk inform me that I am not looking at a map of Prague. I'm not even looking at a map of city in the Czech Republic. Enough said. Problem solved, and we're on our way. Again, we venture out in search of friends and food. While riding the bus I notice some graffiti that says, "WE DON'T WANT CLEAN CITY." Well that's too bad...Prague's pretty darn clean--if you ignore the occasional "Crips" tag.
We had planned to meet our friends--a group of four girls (Jen, Jenny, Joanna, Jess and Katy)--two hours earlier, but because of the wallet fiasco, this did not happen, and because none of us wanted to pay roaming rates to call them, we are hoping that they aren't upset, frozen, or enjoying Prague without us. Surprisingly, they are exactly where we said we would meet them (at New Town Hall, an indiscriminate monument that we randomly picked out on a map days earlier) and they have met up with a friend of theirs, Ryan, who is studying in Prague. Awesome. It is always great to have a guide.
We are all so tired that we only make it a block before we cave and go into the first restaurant we see: Buffalo Bill's. I apologize to myself for how pathetic this is and succumb to the will of my stomach. All 12 of us hurry inside and spend two hours talking, eating, drinking surprisingly cheap Pilsner Urquell, and mentally and physically preparing ourselves for the greatest adventure of our young lives.
Afterwards, Ryan leads us to a club called Chapeau Rouge. Inside the bar, on the wood-paneled walls hang lots of black and white photographs, some old and some new, and Spiderman and seahorse balloons crowd the ceiling. In one corner there is a Shrek pinball machine that, surprisingly, is being fervently played by a guy in his mid- to upper 20's. Downstairs, we find a bar lit by red and blue bulbs, filled with fog from a fog machine and lots of hip club-goers. The walls are red and have eyes: strange silver hemispheres of all different sizes protrude from the walls, not unlike our paramecium's semi-permeable membrane back at the hostel.
Lights are flashing rhythmically and incessantly and a DJ is playing typical dance music, yet only a handful of gay men are dancing together in the center of the room. Everyone else is either awkwardly clutching a drink and merely staring into space, clutching a drink and engaged in what seems to be semi-interesting conversations, or clutching a drink and lip-locked with another on one of the couches next to the dance floor. We hang out for a while and move on...
Ryan takes us through the Old Town Square, where we catch our first glimpse of one of Prague's spectacular Gothic churches: the Church of Our Lady in front of Tyn (in Czech: Kostel Matky Bozi pred Tynem)--also simply called the Church of Tyn. Did I mention that Czech is impossible to speak? Well now you know. Here's a passage from Wikipedia. com (which is not really a reliable source, but it will do):
"The phonology of Czech may also be very difficult for speakers of other languages. For example, some words do not appear to have vowels: zmrzl (frozen solid), ztvrdl (hardened), scvrkl (shrunk), čtvrthrst (quarter-handful), blb (fool), vlk (wolf), or smrt (death). A popular example of this is the phrase "strč prst skrz krk" meaning "stick a finger through your throat" or "Smrž pln skvrn zvlhl z mlh." meaning "Morel full of spots dampened from fogs"."
To prove my point even further...Děkuji , "Thank you" (formal), is pronounced De-koo-yeh. Or at least as far as I remember I think that's right. Moving on...
It is surreal. It is lit more beautifully than any monument I have ever seen at night. It seems as if we can reach out and tip it over; like it is plywood. Originally a romanesque church, in the 14th century it was rebuilt as it is today, in the late Gothic style. It's towers are 80 meters high, which is equal to 262 feet...that's pretty darn tall. We start to think that we have been dooped and are actually at Disneyland..there's no way this is real.
As we are leaving the square, we pass a gargantuan circular monument of a man and a group of huddling people, which is called the Jan Hus Monument. Ryan, who is studying Czech, translates one of the inscriptions for us:
"Love each other and wish the truth to everyone."
The monument was built in memorial of the 500th anniversary of Jan Hus' death. Hus, 100 years before the Protestant Reformation began, was burned at the stake for heresy in 1415 because of his reformist ideas and criticism of church practices (such as selling indulgences). Hus had so many followers that, after excommunicating Hus is 1410, the Pope Gregory XII tried to prohibit--or "interdict"--the entire city of Prague in 1414 from supporting Hus. Nice try Greg, but no cigar. People throughout the whole Czech Kingdom were so upset about Hus' death a year later that they began a movement against the Roman Catholic Church called the Hussite Wars.
Even 500 years later in 1915, festivities were forbidden to celebrate the revealing of the monument, so the Czechs did what Czechs do best, and disobeyed. They covered the monument in flowers and celebrated who they believed to be one of the most important individuals in Czech history.
Another inscription on the monument reads:
"I believe, that the anger thunders will cease and that the government of your affairs will return to your hands, Czech folk."
We move on and Ryan continues his improvised tour of Prague as we make our way to our bus stop, which gets us so excited that we know we won't be able to go to sleep anytime soon. Nevertheless, we journey "home" to our paramecium and set up shop. I offer to take the pad on the floor because I know one thing about myself when it comes to traveling: I don't care if I'm comfortable--or rather, I don't notice if I'm not.
Monday. My REI travel alarm clock goes off sometime around 8 am. I get up, inform the others that it is indeed morning, and after no responses or movement whatsoever, I proceed to the shower. On the way, I see a tall, blonde-haired boy that looks incredibly familiar.
"Paul?"
The boy turns around and yes--it is Paul, one of Billy's roommates back in Florence. He looks--well, for lack of a better term--freaked out when he sees me. Hmm...small world. When I return from what might possibly be the most pleasant hostel shower in the world (during which I was able to erase the sound of Billy's arrythmic, squeaky snoring from my head), the others have managed to rouse themselves. Upstairs, we find tired-looking travelers, excited-looking travelers, and smug-looking travelers who give us not-so-friendly glances...and then we find free coffee. Above the two black dispensers are signs that say: 'Your coffee--I am here' and 'Your tea--I am here.' Czechs have a strange sense of humor.
While we lounge on giant, incredibly squishy, black leather couches, I figure out a plan for the day and get familiar with our map--our map of Prague that is. We meet our lady friends at their hostel soon after, which is for no obvious reason called Chile Hostel. We begin our usual wandering session with me attempting to act as navigator. I didn't exactly fail all the time...just often. Back in The States I was a pretty adequate navigator if I do say so myself, but in Europe--I am a total space case.
Back tat the Old Town Square we find a massive crowd gathering, waiting for the 1 o'clock striking of the Prague Astronomical Clock (or Prague Orloj), a medieval astronomical clock located on the south wall of the Old Town City Hall that dates back as far as 1410. It is one form of a mechanical astrolabe, and is essentially a "primitive planetarium displaying the current state of the universe" (once again, this is according to Wikipedia...I apologize).
It is comprised of three components: an astronomical dial (representing the position of the Sun and Moon), "The Walk of the Apostles" (hourly, figures of Apostles, as well as other figures, move), and a calendar dial. Legend has it that the original creator of the clock had hid eyes gouged out because he was planning to build a similar clock in another country. After this, he supposedly died while touching the clock, which then ceased working for a number of years afterwards.
While Billy, Matt, our group of lady friends and I all go in search of the famously cheap and tasty Czech wurst and kraut, my roommates visit the Starbucks, which is bursting with people. When we all meet up again, they are glowing and clutching big white cups of joy and we, toting tiny styrofoam cups of mulled wine. Yes it was the middle of the day, I know, I know, but it was a small cup, like I said, and it was dirt cheap--so shoot me.
After spending a whopping 50 crowns ($2.45) on the best wurst and kraut of my life, and a sinful 40 crowns ($1.96) on a nice, warm, tiny cup of mulled wine, we forge ahead. We cross the Charles River and stumble upon a sprawl of royal gardens. Inside we find the typical geometric hedging and fountains and turning trees and tourists galore, but there is one fundamental difference between these gardens and others we have seen: peacocks. And what's more, most people don't seem phased by the presence of the peacocks at all, who are just running--well, hanging out really--freely in the gardens. Meanwhile, we're freakin' out! We see a couple white ones, then we get distracted by some ducks in a fountain, and then we see three colored ones chilling out on the roof of a shed. And still the other tourists don't care. Can peacocks even fly? Is that a stupid question? Either we're stupid kids or everybody else is lame and missed out on a great day in the history of peacocks. I can see the headlines: INDEPENDENCE IS WON! THREE COURAGEOUS PEACOCKS FLY! CONSTITUTION TO BE DRAFTED SOON!
We leave the gardens and begin to climb up a large hill on the edge of the city center toward Prague Castle. On the way up we pass a small square with a maroon-colored cloth booth in it, like one you would find at a renaissance fair. We hear an obnoxious banging sound and are surprised to see a big, scruffy man with a pony tail banging on an anvil. We get closer and watch him as he puts a rod into a waist-high basin of open flames and uses his foot to depress an air pump below. The rod turns orange and then white, he returns to the anvil, positions a hammer in his hand, and begins to beat the crap out of the rod. The sound is startling and exciting, and his strength and focus is mesmerizing. We are captivated. I watch him do this over and over, and when I turn around I am alone. My group has disappeared. Now, this really isn't abnormal. I am always the one left behind. I like to take my time.
I buy a necklace from the other blacksmith in the booth, who is tall, has long blonde hair, is built like a gladiator, and is wearing traditional blacksmith garb: a potato sack tunic synched at the waist and baggy potato sack pantaloons. It is a small, inexpensive token to remind me of days past and days to come.
As usual, I find my group quickly, and we continue. We stop to take photos from a beautiful vantage point, from which we can see all of Prague's city center. It is a sea of green, oxidized copper church rooves and red terra cotta shingles. We reach an archway at the top that leads into a large square, and there it is in all its Gothic glory. Prague Castle. Stunning. We spend at least an hour oogling at it, inside and out, and then we decide to give our cold, tired little bodies a break.
On the way back to our hostels we see a giant metronome atop a hill far in the distance (apparently the man who invented the metronome was Czech) and pass through the Jewish quarter and a cemetery that had so little space that Jews had to buried in 12 layers. We do not go inside because some of us feel that it is disrespectful to enter a cemetery to merely snap photos and check something off the proverbial tourists' list. Others simply don't want to pay the 10 euro entrance fee.
As we are trying and failing to figure out the bus schedule at a crowded bus stop, two young Americans, one male and one female, approach us and offer their help. While we wait we strike up conversations and learn quite a bit about Prague. As it turns out, the guy happens to be going to the same stop we are, so he offers to lead us. He and I spend the entire ride discussing snowboarding--if that even counts as a discussion--and then it hits me: people are like places. Traveling is similar to being social and outgoing in that we experience the world and learn about ourselves at the same time. Being social while exploring is just as important as the exploring itself is.
Once we get off the bus he leads us up a busy street, takes a left, then a quick right...As we are walking he tells us that we should walk up the hill near the bus stop to see the tower. According to him it has giant black babies crawling up it. From what we can tell, it's just a regular ol' ugly radio tower. ...then a left, and then down some stairs, left again, and then a slight right, and there we are at Hostel Elf. We absolutely, positively, would have NEVER figured that out on our own.
On our way towards our room, we hear a voice that sounds like someone we know. Everyone keeps going, satisfied with merely saying "Hey, that guy sounds like Garrett," but I decide to stop and check. My god--it's Garrett, another one of Billy's roommates back in Florence. Hmm...small world.
We nap, attempt to do some yoga to loosen up (Billy nearly kills himself), and then we head out. I lead us up the hill to the tower where I have read that there is a great local bar/restaurant, figuring we could plant two trees with one seed--as I used to say when I was a wee lass (I was a total tree-hugger and didn't like the saying "kill two birds with one stone," and I requested that my mother do away with it and use my tree saying...yes, I absolutely realize how ridiculous that is).
The tower has giant black babies crawling up it. It is probably the most bizarre public building I have ever seen and ever will see. It is an incredibly tall, simple grey cylinder with a disc-shaped space near the top, and it is lit from beneath by pink and purple lights. The babies are crawling up the sides toward the disc, which most likely has an expensive restaurant inside. From the busy street below, where we got off of the bus, you cannot see the lights or the babies...but alas, they do exist.
It turns out the bar/restaurant only serves bar food, so we trek back down the hill. We stumble upon a "Music Cafe" whose menu looks tasty and affordable so all 10 of us green-light it and go inside. The walls are covered in framed posters, many of them signed (by Black Sabbath, Bowie, etcetera) and downstairs, where we are seated, some of the walls are artfully covered in black and white magazine clippings of Patti Smith, Robert Johnson, Eric Clapton, The Clash, Sonic Youth, The Doors, Nirvana... and there' even a juke box. After some locals put in some change and select a Doors song, a Marley song, and a Czech rock song, we all pitch in for some Queen, Michael Jackson, Bob Dylan, John Lennon and Velvet Underground songs. We listen to great music, eat our food, and wait for Billy to finish eating his 20 euro pig knee. It might have been repulsive, but you have to admit, any time someone consumes an entire pig knee in one sitting is a significant event.
Afterwards we make our way towards fun, wherever that may be, and on the way, I get locked in a glass ATM vestibule. After a two or three-minute freak out, during which I even try to slide my card to my friends through the crack between the doors so they can unlock it from the outside, I am freed. I advise anyone and everyone who ever goes through this painful ordeal to stop, find your center, and then proceed to push every button in sight with great perseverance.
We find a place called "U Sudu" that is comprised of 7 different bars linked together. We pass through the first, go down a steep stairwell into the second, then down some stairs into the third, then up and over and down some stairs into the fourth, and so on. The walls are low brick vaults and each bar is pretty small. We decide on #5. Number 6 was a bit too crazy: there was a DJ squished behind the short bar, a dog wandering around, and the bartender stuck Billy's 50 euro bill to his sweaty forehead and proceeded to pester Billy--yelling over the music and waving his arms--for a smaller bill. Number 5 was just right. Filled with locals and quiet enough that we could actually talk to each other.
After some good conversation and some time to observe the Czechs in action, we emerge from the labyrinthine bar into a light drizzle. Now feeling familiar with the buses, we simply hop on, hop off, and pass out at Hostel Elf. Matt manages to snore louder than Billy and Jo chucks a pillow at his face in the middle of the night, but I don't think it worked.
Tuesday. We rise early and check out of the hostel. Beaves adds to the insane amount of graffiti on the inside of the WC door:
"Now I don't have to go to Disneyland--I've been to Prague."
As we are checking out, I notice two paintings above the front desk: babies floating in a weird lava-like, graffiti-ish atmosphere. Babies? Again? We meet up with our lady friends and begin wandering session number two. First we see Frank Gehry's "Dancing House," which delights my roommates (who are Interior Design majors) and me as well. As we are walking away from it, a long procession of antique war jeeps passes by, being driven by older men in uniform. Some are riding with women in tan trench coats and fancy hats who wave to us and smile. We are surprised to find that today is one of Czech Republic's several Independence Days. Soon after, we come across a large festival with live music, and I am happy to really see the Czechs in action and enjoying themselves, despite the rain.
We stop by the Communist museum, where one of our lady friends buys a notepad with a bear toting a machine gun on it in the gift shop. We don't go inside because the tickets are too expensive, so we continue on to the Mucha exhibit. On the way I score a delicious hot dog for 17 crowns (83 US cents). We also pass a mural covering the entire side wall of a 3 or 4-story building. It is the infinity symbol (a figure 8) made to look like a paved road with yellow tractors and green tanks traveling around and around.
The Mucha exhibit is fantastic. I get left behind again, and after walking back and forth from one end of the exhibit to the other, looking for a familiar face (I mean come on, there were 10 of us), I realize that they probably just left. Correctamundo, as they say. They were all buzzing around in the gift shop.
Now in the museum mood, we cross the river in search of the Coffee and Kafka museums. It is so cold on the way there that I walk alone and do math in my head, adding up what I've spent and converting figures from Crowns to Euros, to warm myself up. The coffee museum is expensive and ridiculous (a tour of one small room inside of a coffee shop) so we merely buy coffee instead and gear ourselves up for the Kafka museum that is directly across the way.
Needless to say, it was an intense experience, but one that I think we were all very glad to have had. After, we are all exhausted, our brains are fried, and we have to catch a plane to Amsterdam in several hours, so we head back to Chile hostel to look up directions to our hostel in Amsterdam. One of our lady friends, Joanna, google searches it for us.
"Hey guys? Is your hostel Christian?"
"No. Why?"
"What's it called?
"Shelter City."
"So you're saying it's not this one? Shelter City Christian Hostel, red light district, Amsterdam?"
As we all moan and sigh and look to Billy, he blurts out,
"You guys told me to book a hostel for six people for the first two nights in Amsterdam and I did. I did not do research. You guys told me to book a hostel for six people--SO I DID."
Ironic, I know. A Christian Hostel in the Red Light District of Amsterdam.
We part ways with our lady friends, whom we will meet up with in Amsterdam the following evening. Later in the airport, we come across three white sculptures of babies crawling around, randomly placed on the ground in a high foot-traffic area near the international terminal--one of them is even in an inner tube. I don't know what the deal is, but I intend to find out what this obsession with babies is all about.
So...off to Amsterdam we go...
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