To your health, comrades. To your health.

Dateline: July 1st, 2022

It was five o’clock in the morning when the plan touched down in Dublin. I did not receive so much as a wink of sleep on the plane. How could I? We were flying so close to the north pole that even as one side of the window was as black as the far side of the moon, the other side of the plane let in constant sunlight. I kept my sanity by reading Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Admittedly, this drug-fueled dismal misadventure into the depths of the American Dream may not have been the best choice for the occasion. Then again, Dr. Thompson’s spot on analysis of how Timothy Leary destroyed what he had created, how downers definitely started with Nixon, and how the other such magnificent moments of Dr. Thompson’s lucid prognostications certainly captured some of the reasons for my own adventure.

I have lived in America for four decades. With the exception of a brief, one-hour excursion into Canada, I have never left the United States. For this and many other reasons, it was time for something new. When I looked the window of the plane and saw the brilliant beauty of Dublin Bay, I couldn’t help but let out more than a few tears.

I had to wait a few hours for my connecting flight into Prague. Some of the Dubliners went to the nearest foodstand to buy beer, whereas I opted for water.

I guess I wasn’t ready to go completely local yet. Besides, after reading anything from Hunter S. Thompson, I was wary about consuming any mind-altering substance of any kind after getting not a wink of sleep in the last 24 hours. As I staggered back to the seating area, bottle of water in hand, one of the flight attendants asked if I was okay.

“Oh, no worries, I’m fine,” I said as I plopped down on the nearest seat I could find. She looked a little less than reassured, but then I found a five-Euro cent piece on the floor. Hot dog! Things were looking up already! I pocket the coin and chugged my half-liter of water. Before I knew it, it was time to board my flight to Prague.

Shortly after liftoff, we crossed over the English channel. I thought the English and American bombers who made this flight in their prop-planes during the second world war, and thought of how terrifying it must have been for everyone involved. The land below looked so peaceful, so beautiful. Somewhere over Denmark, I lost sight of the land and saw only clouds. At this point, I finally succumbed to sleep, and the next thing I knew, I had landed at Vaclav Havel International Airport. Alleluia!

My heart stopped as I waited patiently for the man behind the counter to stamp my passport. Some say that Czech public officials are stern and serious, and this man was no exception. He examined each and every page of my unstamped passport. Then he looked at each every page again. And again.

After what seemed like an eternity, he stamped the page, looked me right in the eye. “Welcome to Prague!” He said, sternly.

“Děkuji,” I replied. With that, the man behind the counter smiled. “Prosím,”he said, smiling this time, and he waved me through the gate. I stepped through, and let out a mighty exhale.

Things were just one relief after another: I found my luggage without a problem. A quick phone call (thanks to the free airport wifi) secured my cab ride from the airport to my student housing in Holešovice, and another quick phone call to remind my bank, that yes, I am indeed in continental Europe. As I surveyed the land from the back seat of the cab, I felt reminders of San Francisco–a city literally built within mountains. However, my mind and body could do no more exploring after I reached my destination. I simply check in to my apartment, and mentally checked out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

It was evening when I awoke, and I decided that I was going to eat like a local. A short walk away from my apartment was a very nice little neighborhood restaurant. I stepped inside.

“Dobrý Den.” said the waitress.

“Dobrý Den.” I replied. “Mluvite Anglicky?” She shook her head, and called on her colleague. “Anglicky,” she said to him, and pointed to me. With that, the English speaking waiter handed me a menu and told me I could sit anywhere. I found a small, cozy table in the corner with a view facing towards the front window. I ordered a dark Czech beer and a plate of spinach gnocchi. After I handed the waiter the menu, I noticed that two teenage boys seated by the window were each drinking glasses of beer. Shortly thereafter, the boys’ father returned from the men’s room to join them.

Welcome to Prague.

A few minutes later, the waiter arrived with my pivo. People told me that Czech’s don’t pour out the foam that tops the bear, but rather, embrace it. They insist that all the nutrients from the beer can be found in the foam, and since they invented the drink, I’ll have to take their word for it. “Na zdraví!” I said to myself, and with that, consumed my first taste of authentic Czech beer.

The gnocchi arrived a few minutes later, and was absolutely excellent. It felt as delicious as the Christmas dinner’s your grandmother (or great-grandmother, depending on your age) used to make. I savored the flavor. To say this meal was merely good would be an understatement of epic proportions. Good? This was fantastic. At it was only 12 bucks!

I finished my meal, thanked the staff, and headed back to my apartment.

And with that, my first day in Prague had come to a close.