A Connecticut Yankee in King Wenceslas's Court

Dateline July 13th, 2022

This morning I woke up with a mission: to fix my broken telephoto camera lens. Someone at a camera shop in Holešovice told me that there was a repair shop in Prague 4 that might be able to fix it. Since my future residence is also in Prague 4, I decided that I would strike two birds with one stone.

My first stop at the camera shop in Prague 4 was interesting. This is a part of Prague that might look like Paris or Vienna. As usual, I fumbled through what little Czech I understood, before finally asking revealing myself to be a native English speaker. Since the shopowner’s English was vastly superior to my Czech, I was able to explain what I needed without any problem.

“It might take two months to fix,” said the shop-owner.

“No problem, I’m here for two years,” I replied. “Maybe more.”

The shop-owner chuckled at my reply. “Bye-bye,” he said.

“Have a good day,” I said, as I exited the door. No sooner than the words left my mouth than I realized that the standard Czech greeting for “hello,” “Dobrý Den,” quite literally means good day. As soon as that thought occurred to me, I was the one chuckling as walked the picturesque streets of this particular part of Prague 4.

Such beauty would not last forever. I needed to take a tram to a bus that would take me to my future student housing for the month of August. I boarded Tram 11, then after a few stops I transferred to bus 139. The diesel engine roared as it made its way to the far reaches of the Prague city limits. In a way, this was bold territory for me. After all, it was my first time outside the tram lines of the city of Prague.

The edge of Prague reminded me somewhat of my brief time when I lived at the edge of Austin’s city limits. In one direction, you can see the city skyline. Turn around, and you see wilderness . . . sort of. There’s some new development that is mostly apartment complexes and shopping mini-malls, and there is also a great expanse of public parks and undeveloped land. I got off the bus and took a photograph of what will be my new home for the month of August. Rest assured, this part of Prague will never be confused with Paris or Vienna. One look at this Soviet-style panel building, and you would think you were in Moscow or Warsaw. Well, I thought to myself, at least I’ll have an idea of what is what is like to live in the USSR.

I didn’t stay long. I quickly hopped back on bus 139 opposite the way I came–I wanted to go back to the center of Prague. I ate lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant, but I went with a choice safe my Anglo taste buds–Pad Thai. Once my calories were sufficiently replenished, I decided to take a walk through one of Prague’s many pristine parks: Havlíčkovy sady.

Bordered by one of Prague’s many manufactured canals to the south, and sandwiched between several intersecting tram lines, Havlíčkovy sady features step hills, luscious green trees, many fine renaissance-era style statues, and something else entirely: Soviet gun turrets.

I saw one such gun turret that had been graffiti-ed many times over by Czech dissents over the years. I thought of the historical significance of the land of which I was standing: The Nazis wanted it, the Soviets wanted it, and the Czech’s just wanted this little corner of the earth to call their own. I quickly posed for a selfie and flashed a peace sign. I wanted to show my reverence for President Havel and the rest of the Czech underground who defeated their imperial occupiers without dropping a single bomb or firing a single bullet. When I saw what I looked like, I couldn’t help but marvel about the man I am slowly turning into.

For as long as I can remember, I simply understood that my grandfather, John J. Donohue, Jr., was a World War II Veteran. The local VFW chapter was one of his many civic obligations, he marched with his fellow veterans at every Memorial Day Parade, and he was only 18 years old when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Yet it wasn’t until I was 26 years old that I finally asked the man, “what exactly did you do you in World War II?”

“Wellllll,” he said with his gruff Bronx accent, and then he proceeded to tell me everything. Bits and pieces were familiar to me, such as how he enlisted immediately after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, how he was assigned to the California coastal defense at Monterey, and how the U.S. military taught him to speak Italian before sending him off to France. Some things were very new. This particular story stood out:

“I was in the Signal Corps at the Battle of the Bulge. I was a Sargent. I was my job to relay the information from the men at the front lines to the officers at back. One thing that I’ll never forget was how bright the sky was that night. So bright! I couldn’t believe it. I had never seen the sky so bright at nighttime, not even during the day. There were explosions everywhere, happening constantly. It was brighter than fireworks on the Fourth of July. After that, I decided that I had no interest in fighting any war ever again, nor did I have any interest in anyone else fighting any war ever again.”

Let me tell you something: If I had a nickle for every time my grandmother called me “Johnny,” I’d be a very wealthy man right now. As I’ve gotten older, I understand what she meant. I see my hair graying slightly at the sides into a distinct salt-and-pepper look–the so-called “silver fox” look that John J. Donohue, Jr. took to his grave. I’m his living emissery, and whether I’m in Prague or Peru, I’ll promote the message of peace wherever I go.

I continued hiking up the hill, then wandered around Vinohrady to soak up some more sights of that unique neighborhood. I walked until me feet hurt, and by evening, it was late, hot, and I was tired. Where did I go to relax and unwind?

Of course, where else but the Letná Beer Garden. I saw the moon rise over the city of a thousand spires, felt the cool air as the temperature dropped, and read more about the doomed romance between Tomaš and Theresa. Their sad story seemed incongrous juxtaposed against the happy couples enjoying their night under the light of a full moon. I thought to myself, someday, perhaps soon, I will invite just the right person to enjoy the Letná Beer Garden with me, and all of it’s magnificent splendor.

Tomorrow is a new day . . .

Dateline: July 12th, 2022 (afternoon)

Now that I had seen a bird’s eye view of the Golden City, I decided it was time to scout out one of Prague’s most pristine neighborhoods from ground level–a neighborhood that was once royal lands, a neighborhood where beautiful buildings are punctuated with several pretty parks, a neighborhood with cosmopolitan restaurants that illustrate Prague’s increasingly international composition.

I am referring, of course, to Vinohrady. I emerged from the steps of the Metro Jiřího z Poděbrad located right in the heart of this historic district. As I did so, I was greeted with 360 degrees of greenery. This metro stop deposits you on the southwestern edge of one park, and just diagonal to you, right across the street, lies another park.

I crossed the main thoroughfare of the aptly name Vinohradská and set to explore the lovely, tree-lined paths amongst the gardens at Sady Svatopluka Čecha. As I did so, I saw something that reminiscent of another major city in which I used to live.

I saw a young man with a portable barber’s kit giving a haircut on the lawn of Sady Svatopluka Čecha. The young man, the barber, had a somewhat respectable operation going on: He had his traveling case of equipment mounted on a table, and his client was patiently seated on a folding chair. He had also staked a a sign into the lawn that read: “Pay for haircuts so you can help us travel.”

“Brooklyn!” I both gasped and exclaimed at the same time. Have you ever seen the Akira Kurosawa film Dursu Uzala? Remember the opening sequence when Captain Arsenyev finds all that is left of his deceased comrade? He sees what he came to find and simply gasps and exclaims, “Dersu!”

Yes, it was that sort of moment. Just as Captain Arsenyev knew what had become of the fate of his close friend, I knew that I would find Brooklyn Hipsiters in Vinohrady. I just knew it.

When the barber heard my gasp/exclamation (gaxclamation?) he paused his hair cutting regimen and turned towards me, as did his client. Oops! My cover was blown. I didn’t bother to take any pictures, I figured it was only a matter of time before a local police officer pulled the plug on this shanty little operation. The idealistic reporter that once resided within me wanted to ask the barber questions, but the veteran reporter who has lived and worked in New York City for ever eight years already knew the answers.

Any question I could ask would have been rhetorical in nature, such as:

Don’t you think it’s a little silly to write your sign in English when most people who read are Czech?

Don’t you need running water in a barbershop?

How many haircuts will you have to give just to recover the cost of your trans-Atlantic plane ticket?

Do you have any sort of business permit for this sort of activity?

As I said, all of these questions have obvious answers. Yes, it’s silly to advertise your business in English, even in expat-packed Vinohrady. Yes, you need running water to give a proper haircut. No, it is not possible to recoup the cost of a plan ticket from New York to Prague by giving haircuts to random-passersby in a public park.

Thus, Vinohrady is much like gentrified Brooklyn: beautiful buildings, pristine public parks, a short subway ride to a major city center, and a plethora of American 20-somethings living off their parent’s money to subsidize their little adventure.

I walked around several of Vinohrady’s fine parks before my hunger got the best of me. There were many fine restaurants of an international array throughout the neighborhood: French, Vietnamese, Mexican, and many others. However, one such local restaurant served simple Czech fare, and everything about that restaurant seemed to speak to me: Sit down, Kevin. Eat here. You will enjoy it. I promise. Sure enough, the local food did not disappoint. A simple plate of meat and potatoes mashed in with a fine vegetable like Nanna Petriček used to make for me was a perfect meal for the occasion.

After eating, I walked the streets a little longer, and headed home. It was hot, I was sweating, so I decided to cool off with another drink atop the city of Prague at the Letná Beer Garden.

Tomorrow is a new day!

Dateline, July 12, 2022

Rarely does a sequel outperform the original.

Then again, rarely does the sequel contain the sequence of events that was supposed to be filmed in the original.

Yes, my triumphant return to Petřín Park went fantastically well. I do the tram in the correct direction this time, and arrived at the park so early that I didn’t even have to wait in any lines when I arrived. Or to put it another way, the only person was me, because I arrived at the tram line on the base of Petřín Hill even before the visitor window was open for business!

I waited patiently in the lobby for five minutes, then purchased my ticket to the top. Yes, I knew I could make the hike, but I wanted to get to the top of the tower before it was flooded with tourists.

The purpose-built tram departed right on schedule at 9 am. There was only one other person who braved the early morning sunlight to ride to the top with me. The tram slowly but surely made its away atop the steep slope situated on the outskirts of Malá Strana. It was a short, sweet ride to the top, and when the tram came to a full a stop, I quickly exited and made like a bee to the main entrance of Petřin Tower.

“Dobry Den.”

“Dobry Den, mluvite Anglicky?” I was in a hurry. No need to attempt to fumble through whatever limited Czech I know, I just know I need a ticket asap!

“Of course,” he said.

“Oh, thank goodness, I said. “I have this ticket.”

“Yes,” he said, examining. “This is your tram ticket, and it’s only one-way, you will need to purchase another ticket if you want to ride down, and you still need to purchase another ticket if you want to walk to the top of the tower.”

“No problem,” I said, “how much is the ticket?”

“150 crowns.”

I reached for my wallet and fumbled through my various coins so that I was able to pay exact change.

“Here you go,” I said. “You speak very good English, by the way.

“Thank you,” said the man behind the counter, smiling so much that he blushed.

With that cheerful interaction, I was merrily on my way. I took photographs periodically as I climbed the 299 steps to the top. It was a sunny clear day, and I could see not only Prague but much of the surrounding Bohemian countryside as well.

As I walked up the steps, I thought of the history of the tower and its marvelous architecture. Constructed in 1891, it is a smaller scale model of its much more well known older sibling in Paris, the Eiffel Tower. Whereas the much larger Eiffel stands proudly at 300 meters tall, Petřín stands at 60 meters. However, since Petřín stands atop a hill, its observation deck is 378 meters above sea level, so those who visit Petřín Tower in Prague actually get a more majestic view!

And this view did not disappoint! The early morning light was just perfect. Before the the midday sun overwhelmed the optical senses, I could see the old city of Prague in its true colors, along with the vibrant green of Letná Park and the muddy blue of the Vltava River.

That wasn’t all I could see. I also looked straight down at the people 60 meters below me. As I did so, I marveled at how the literal and metaphorical height of humanity illustrated how small we humans really are.

While I was taking photographs, I spoke with the guide at the top of the tower. She was reticent to speak at first, insisting that she didn’t much English, but I kept persisting with what little Czech I knew. This must have boosted her confidence, because she understood right away that her English was better than my Czech. She shared stories of her time at Spartica, a giant coliseum that the USSR would fill with young athletes every five years to boast the superiority of Soviet-inspired athleticism. “It was a joke,” she said, with a nostalgic smile. “Just something for the kids. The real stadium is over there,” she said, pointing the other large, nearby stadium that has hosted numerous “decadent West” musical performances since the fall of the Iron Curtain.

I thanked the woman for sharing her stories with me and bade her farewell as I walked down the 299 steps to the base of the tower.

Next stop, Vinohrady!

Dateline: July 11th, 2022

It has now been ten days since my arrival in Prague. I am slowly but surely adjusting to a new country and a new culture.

Thoughts after 10 days: I am simply taken aback by the breathtaking beauty of this place. Although the language barrier is a tad overwhelming, I manage. I continue attempting to practice what little Czech I know whenever possible. This process of trial and error is mostly error, but the people I speak to adore me for trying.

Today I woke up at 8:30 am. At least one of my prayers from yesterday’s service must have been answered, because this was the first time I slept for eight consecutive hours since my jet-lagged arrival in Prague. I awoke energized and yet to start my day.

After a short morning neighborhood walk, I had a quick breakfast of bananas and herbal tea, showered, shaved, and was ready to start my day. I had initially intended to take the 12 train to Mala Strana, upon which I would beat the crowds and climb to the top of Petřin Tower. On the plus side, I hopped on the right tram. On the downside, it was moving in the wrong direction. Oops!

Fortunately, after only three stops, the tram had reached the end of its line. And since the people who run Prague’s public transit system understand that most Americans are generally clueless, there was even an automated announcement in English telling riders that this was the last stop and that we should please get off.

When I finally did arrive in Petřin Park, it was almost noon–far too late to avoid the peak crowds at Petřin Tower. Not one to worry, I set out to hike the grounds of the magnificent park instead. And oh my goodness, Petřin Park is quite beautiful. It is beautiful beyond words. It’s like a combination of Bear Mountain State Park, The New York Botanical Gardens, and something else altogether. Like many breathtakingly beautiful sights in the city of Prague, it must be seen to be believed.

On my way down from the top of Petřin Hill, I stumbled upon a secluded restaurant that was built literally on a ledge midway between the crest of the hill and the city streets near by the Vltava River basin. It was two o’clock now, and I was hungry, so I took in seat in the forest restaurant, ordered the aptly forest salad and a glass of forest gin. As simple is this sounded, this caused great confusion with the waiter.

“Gin?” He asked incredulously. “No, we don’t have gin.”

“It’s on the menu,” I said. “Forest Gin, you have it listed as today’s special.”

“No,” he said. “Is not possible. We don’t have gin, I don’t know what that is.”

Frustrated, I got up from my chair and walked over to the bright, bold-face letters on the sandwich board by the restuarant entrance. I spoke the words as I pointed to them: Forest Gin.

“Oh, gine.” said the waiter. “Yes, we have gine.“

“Sorry for the confusion,” I said. “In English, it’s pronounced “gin.”

“Yes, one “gine.”

“Fine, yes, one gine. I re-took my seat. I could tell that this man was not in any hurry for an English pronunciation lesson, and why would he? How many English-speaking tourists completely skip over this hidden gem of a restaurant deep within the woods of the park? Whatever, I thought to myself. There loss is my gain. I opened my book of Czech fairly tales while I waited for my order to arrive, and enjoyed the calm, peace and quiet of the restaurant almost entirely to myself.

After I finished my meal, I walked back down to street level and visited the nearby Czech Museum of Music. It’s small museum, but packed with some of the finest instruments ever crafted in Czechoslovakia. They also allow visited to play some of the instruments. I even got a chance to tinker around with a Moog synthesizer. Hot Dog!

Then I crossed over Most Legii (Legion Bridge) and admired the lovely views of the Vltava River below. Just south of the bridge lay an island, and on the island, one could rent paddleboats. In every direction, I could see legions of tourists enjoying their paddleboats on this beautiful summer’s day. Even though I had been hiking for hours, I was so excited that part of me wanted to just run down to the island and join a group of tourists. I wanted to say, “hey, need a paddle partner? Pick me!

But I waited. I knew the time would come soon enough when I could share a padlleboat ride with someone special. Good things come to those who wait . . .

Instead of making myself a spectacle, I headed back to the Joyce. Oddly enough, I did end up introducing myself to some tourists. I had just finished my meal and was about to leave when I overhead a man say that he lived in Soviet-occupied Romania. “I didn’t watch a Stars Wars movie until I was six years old,” he said. “The Russians wouldn’t let us watch any of them until 1987. And even then, the only one they let us see in the theaters was “The Empire Strikes Back.”

“Pardon me,” I said. But I just had to ask: What was your reaction when you found out that Darth Vader was Luke Skywalker’s father?

The Romanian looked at me and smiled. He paused for a moment, as if to emphasize that the answer to him was obvious. Then he spoke: “Dreams can come true. I hadn’t even seen the first movie, so much of that was lost on me. But everything else, just to see it, just to see what was on the other side. It was simply amazing.”

We spoke some more about classic films with one of the waitstaff whose shift had just ended. She asked me was from, and when I told her Wethersfield, her eyes dilated to the size of saucer plates. “Get outta here,” she said in amazement. “I’m from Manchester.”

It’s a small, small world . . .

All of spoke about various films, we laughed. We agreed that violence is the last refuge of an incompetent scoundrel, and as the sun set, we parted ways.

Tomorrow is a new day . . .

Dateline, July 10th, 2022

I wake up early. Maybe a little too early. I don my Sunday best (or at least the best of the clothes I was able to fit into my two suitcases upon my trip to Europe) and head out the door.

It’s a short tram ride from Holešovice to St. Clement Anglican Church, and that’s exactly where I’m headed. I board the tram, and as we cross over the Vltava River, I see a young man and a young woman engaged in the act of physical fornication on a bench in Lannova Park. Something tells me that I won’t see this people in Church today.

I step off the tram and am greeted by the sight of Beer Spa Beerland. Something tells me that I won’t see any of these patrons at the Sunday service either. It’s a short, one block walk from Beerland to the church. Once I arrive, I see that the sermon doesn’t start for another half hour. I take a short walk through the neighborhood, and it’s quiet. Most people are still sleeping off their night of Saturday debauchery. The weather is nice and cool, and the morning sun shines brightly from above.

Finally, it’s time. I walk into the church, and survey the surroundings. It’s a spartan interior, true to the reformist visions of the anti-Papist Protestants from centuries ago. There isn’t even a crucifix.

I sit down at a pew in the back, I turn the hymn book to the appropriate page. Once I see the words, I realize that this sermon is entirely in Czech. Oops! The English language sermon doesn’t start until 10:30. However, I hear the sounds of the organ pipes flood the church’s interior. I rise to start singing, then realize that everyone else is still seated, so I sit back down. Apparently, it’s the opposite procedure of how Americans sing their hymns. Czech’s sit while singing in Church, Americans stand.

We finish singing, and everyone else stands up, so I stand up. This process repeats itself. There’s a reading from the Old Testament, a hymn, the New Testament, a hymn, and then the Gospel. Then the sermon starts, and from what little Czech I do know, I understand this gist. I hear the words človek, zviřat, medvěd, and Ukraine. From his words and his body language, I understand the pastor is making a passioned plea for Peace in Ukraine. When the sermon is over, the congregation applauds, I applaud with them. We sing a final hymn, and shake hands with the pastor before exiting back into the rest of the world.

Now I have half an hour before the English sermon starts. I stop for an espresso and a chocolate-covered calorie bomb at a nearby pastry shop. It’s delicious. I sip my espresso slowly, and before I know it, half an hour has passed and it’s time to return to St. Clement’s. I take my same spot a pew in the rear of the church, sit down, and when the music starts, I’m ready to sing . . . Or at least I thought I was. This time, everybody stands, like we do in America. So I stand, open the hymn book, and realize that I don’t have an English hymn book. The woman seated next to me sees my predicament. And with a baby in one hand, she deftly spins around, takes an extra hymn book from one of the parishioners, opens it to the correct page, and hands it to me with a smile. Talk about a miracle!

The service continues much in the Episcopal tradition to which I am accustomed. We get down on our knees and prayer for everyone–even our enemies. We wish peace to our neighbors. We take communion. And when the service is over, we exit back to the rest of the world.

It’s almost noon when I walk out, and the sun’s heat is starting to become oppressive. I’m already sweating in my long-sleeved shirt and slacks, so I head back to my Holešovice flat to change into a t-shirt and shorts. I spend about an hour practicing Czech on duolingo, humbled by how little I could understand from the Czech sermon. Then I sleep for a few hours. Apparently, I’d awoken up so early in hopes to make it to the early morning sermon, that my body had rebelled against me by mid-day.

In the evening, it’s still hot. I read the news and see that Holešovice is quite literally the hottest neighborhood in Prague, according to data collected by the International Space Station. Source:

https://www.expats.cz/czech-news/article/this-prague-neighborhood-is-literally-the-hottest-in-the-city

My body can’t stand the heat, and my mind tells me to head back to Letná park, where cool breezes whip over the hills of western Prague, where trees will shield me from the summer sun, and I can enjoy a nice pivo or two amongst good company.

Tomorrow is a new day . . .

Dateline, July 9th, 2022

Well that’s something you don’t see every day. I could have said that about nearly everything I saw this Saturday afternoon. The day started innocently enough. My mind had finally adjusted to the nine-hour time difference. I woke up, made a small breakfast, practiced my Czech, and set out to see some new surroundings.

My first stop was the Globe Bookstore. Situated in Prague’s Nové Město midway between the Vltava River and Charles Square, the Globe has a nice selection of English language books in the front of the store and a nice restaurant in the back. The whole setting makes for a lovely combination. I purchased a children’s book of Czech fairy tales, then headed out to the courtyard where I ordered a Hemingway Mojito along with fresh fruit and avocado toast. One thing I was not accustomed to was the fact that the waitstaff in Czechia doesn’t hustle you out of the restaurant to open up the table for the next customer. They have enough tables and chairs for everybody, and everybody at the Globe can read at their own pace and leave when they please.

One common theme in the fairy tales I read was that in which a Bohemian protagonist heads westward to the sea in search of salvation. So I did the same, I headed west, (well, north by northwest to be precise) to the Charles River bridge. It was mid-day on a Saturday during peak tourist season, and it was so crowded I didn’t bother taking any photos. I just huddled along over the bridge, promising myself that I would return under more suitable circumstances.

However, once I crossed the bridge into Malá Strana, something very unusual caught my eye. A groom-to-be and his bachelor buds were celebrating in the oddest way possible–by posing for selfies with a massive snake! I stopped in my tracks out of sheer survival — like Indiana Jones, I’m terrified of snakes. Absolutely terrified of them. It took me a few seconds to determine that this snake was a) real and also b) not poisonous and therefor probably harmless. I snapped one quick photo for posterity, and as I did so, the groom saw me and smiled. “Hey,” he asked. “Would you like to get your picture taken with the snake?”

“Nope,” I said with a smile. “I’m terrified of snakes. Congratulations on the wedding.

I thought that would be the strangest thing I saw all day, but alas, I was mistaken. As I walked through the streets of Malá Strana, I stumbled upon a rather interesting statue designed by David Černý. “Interesting” might be redundant when paired with Czech artist Černý, because pretty much everything this guy does is pretty provocative. “Piss,” the title of exhibition, is no exception. Unveiled in 2004, Prague passersby can can get a good glimpse of two adult males urinating onto the Czech Republic. You can even rotate the pelvis’s (pelvi?) of the statues. Why? Why not, I guess.

I got a good glimpse of the statues, took my turn rotating them to control their urine stream, and thought to myself, “well, this will be the strangest thing I see all day.” Searching for peace and calm, I walked to a riverbank and sat under a shade tree to take umbrage from the oppressive summer heat. A little girl was giving bread to pigeons, couples sat in the summer sun, and I thought, finally, just a normal place to relax.

Just when I thought it was safe to sit near the water, a large river rat slithered to the service. “Oh my god!” I said to myself quietly. “That’s the largest river rat I’ve ever seen.”

Well, apparently, some of fellow Vltava River relaxers had seen this particular rodent many times. A young couple approached the water’s edge, and the rat, a more specifically, a nutria, emerged from the water. The man extended his hand, offering some food to the river rodent, and the nutria got up on his hind legs.

I could not believe these people were feeding a wild animal, but alas, the creature opened its mouth, revealing its sharp, orange teeth, and feasted on whatever tasty treats this couple was offering him. My jaw dropped. I snapped some quick photos, then searched “Vltava River Rat” to try and figure out what strange animal it was that I had just seen.

However, as I did so, rain clouds started to form, and rain started to fall. I realized I had been walking for hours, and I was starting to get hungry. I headed for the nearest tram back to my flat in Holešovice, ready to process all the strange things I had just seen, and ready for to rest up for my next adventure into the city of a thousand spires.

Tomorrow is a new day . . .

Dateline, July 8th, 2022, afternoon

File this under things that you will most likely never see in the United States of America.

After seeing such a thrilling synopsis of the Prague’s last century, I decided to take a look at some of that history in action. Specifically, I wanted to get a firsthand look at the Metronome, the avante-garde statue that Praguers erected on the very sport where a 51 foot-tall Josef Stalin once towered over the city.

Once I arrived, I was not disappointed with what I saw. More impressive than the rather large orange timepiece was the fact that everywhere within sight, local Prague people were having a very, very, good time. In fact, by American standards, it was jaw dropping.

I saw two woman sitting on a ledge uncork a bottle of wine and start sipping. Mind you, this ledge was atop a 90 foot precipice. I saw a dozen people drinking beer and sitting atop the actual ledge where the Stalin statue once stood. I saw skateboarders skating about without a care in the world.

Now, close your eyes and try imagining any of this happening in the so-called “most free country on earth.”

I soaked in the views from the cityscape. Not only does the Metronome offer breathtaking views of the Vltava River and the historic center of Prague, but there is also a beer garden (of course). So I decided to act local and enjoy another fine Prague Pivo whilst I sat atop the ledge and read passages from The Unbearable Lightness of Bearing. I read about the Soviet invasion during the Prague spring of 1968, and I pictured the Soviet airplanes that were flying overhead. I could easily imagine the disruption, the chaos, and the fear that resulted when weapons of war disrupted such a place of peace and passion.

With my curiosity over the Stalin monument and its subsequent removal sufficiently satiated, I walked down the winding walkway to Vltava River and crossed one of its many bridges into Nové Město. As I walked the winding streets, I stumbled upon a live music performance outside of one Prague’s many wine bars. A young man wearing Ray Bans and sporting a black look worthy of Johnny Cash sat outside the bar with an acoustic guitar in hand. He had an amplifier and speaker to provide just a little extra volume over the noise of the traffic. He was playing classic hits from the 1960s up to the present day. A small crowd of German tourists had gathered around him. The German tourists and I sang along to every song, and between songs, I asked the singer where he was from. He gave me a surprised look and responded:

“Right here in Prague.”

“Really? Your English is very good.”

“Why thank you,” he said with a smile, blushing a little bit behind his stylish sunglasses.

“Yes, really.” I added. “You speak better English than most Americans.”

With that, he chuckled and went into a stirring rendition of John Lennon’s “Stand by Me (yes, I know it was originally written and recorded by Ben E. King, but the singer sang this tune in the spirit of Lennon). As he did so, some of the German’s flashed peace signs and posted their selfie’s on social media.

The singer also had an egg-sized shaker if anyone in the audience wanted to play on percussion. It wasn’t long before I transitioned from the audience and onto the stage, helping out my newfound Czech comrade rhythm and backing vocals. We sang together until he’d reached his limit for the day, and the German tourists walked off into the evening, thanking both of us for our musical performance. I shook hands with many of them and walked away, feeling a sense of spiritual enlightenment I hadn’t felt in quite some time.

And yet that wasn’t even the end of my singing for the evening. I was hungry after a long day of walking up and down all over the peaks and plummets of Prague, so I decided to replenish myself at the nearest Irish pub. Fortunately, the James Joyce was only half a block away from the wine bar. No sooner than I sat down and ordered myself an Irish cider did I find myself singing along to classic Simpson’s compositions with some of the regulars. Just a few excerpts:

“See my vest, see my vest, made from real gorilla chest.”

“Like my loafers, former gophers, it was that or skin my chauffeurs, but a greyhound fur tuxedo would be best!”

“Monorail, monorail, monorail!”

And so it continued. I chatted with some Irish patrons about the best Simpsons writer of all time (Conan O’Brien, of course), about the idiosyncrasies of the English language, and simply allowed myself to relax in a restaurant without worrying about whether or not my Czech was passable.

One week into this great experiment, and things are progressing along nicely. Dear reader, you may ask yourself, do things get better for the author as time progresses?

Spoiler alert: Yes!

Dateline, July 8th, 2022

What a show!

That was the feeling I had when I walked away from the Národní Muzeum, or National Museum in Prague. A museum so magnificent that it’s architecture alone will mesmerize one’s mind. And the exhibits within stimulate the brain and stir the soul.

The museum is huge–so big that one could spend an entire day there. However, I only stayed long enough until my my mind’s appetite was sufficiently satiated. I didn’t want to experience cognitive overload and forget about some of the truly great things I saw this morning!

I circumnavigated the entire second floor of the main building, which covers the history of what present-day Czechia from it’s Slavic origins in the fifth century right up to the origin of Czechoslovakia’s independence in 1918. As you walk through the exhibits, you see everything, and the more you see the narrative of how this country was formed. Like a page-turning novel, there are many plot twists and tension builds. You see what others saw after the murderer of Duke Wenceslas, after the takeover of Czech lands by Austria-Hungary, and the massive buildup of industrial output and wealth inequality that precipitated World War I. As the exhibit reaches it’s close, there is a short film that briefly narrates Czechoslovakia’s involvement in that war–how they only fought because they wanted independence from Austria-Hungary (which, ironically, was exactly what the south Slavic people wanted as well). We also get a reminder that this was said to be the “war to end all wars,” and then the narrator ends not with a statement but with a question: “It was said that the 20th century would be better . . . was it?”

To find out, one has to walk over to the museum’s 20th century wing–yes, and entire wing dedicated to that one century. We see some of the same themes here that are also at the museum of communism, but we see more artifacts and a wider arrange of the art and culture from 20th century Czechoslovakia. Not only that, but there is also a magnificent movie display referred to as the “Time Elevator.” Perhaps it’s a shout out to Doctor Who fans? Anyhow, viewers sit in a large, 360 degree room, sit against the round wall, and look up to a 360 degree screen. The images and the sounds do a spectacular job of evoking the thoughts and feelings of the era. You feel the fear of the Nazi invasion, of the promise and pitfall of Prague spring, right up to the current controversies of modern-day Czech politics.

After the time elevator, you can see each and every decade laid out it in painstaking detail. Perhaps most shocking of all, the fact that the author is old enough to be a museum exhibit himself. I saw a room with a CRT computer monitor, CD-Rooms, VHS Tapes, and oh my god! It’s the 90s room!

On that note, I decided it was time to say farewell to the Národní Muzeum, but not goodbye. There is still so much left to explore, that I simply decided to save these exciting treats for another time.

With that, I stepped out of the museum and into Wenceslas Square to explore the rest of Prague, wondering what I would see and do next . . .

Dateline: July 7th, 2022

After my conversation with local Prague people yesterday, I decided that this morning I would investigate further into the insanity that was communist-occupied Czechoslovakia.

Located in Prague’s Republic Square, the museum of communism is a rather even handed approach to the socioeconimic ideology. The first exhibits are not dedicated to the 20th Soviet occupation but rather the the horrors of 19th century Austrian occupation that made communism such an appealing ideology in the first place.

16 hour work days, six days a week. Workers work nearly all day every day, and yet wages are not able to afford any sort of decent lifestyle. It was from this hellscape that Marx and Engels theorized a different system in which workers have direct control over their labor, and thus, control the flow of goods and services.

Ironically, pre-communist Czechoslovakia did a better job of this than the Soviet Union. In the aftermath of World War I, Czechoslovakia declared it’s indepedence from Austria and implented a series of social reforms to raise the standard of living for the masses. In 1948, Czechoslovakians enjoyed the 12th longest average life expectancy in the world. Hey, that may not be in the top 10, but for a landlocked country that had just been ravaged by two world wars, that’s pretty darn good.

Then came the Iron Curtain. In an ideological war between the Communist East and the Capitalist West, Czechoslovakia’s mixed economic model simply was not allowed to exist. Josef Stalin nationalized virtually all businesses, and ordered all Czechoslovakian politicians to pledge their allegiance to Moscow first, last, and always.

This meant drafting workers into industries that often made little to no sense. For example, thousands of workers were recruited to construct a giant electric fence to surround the entirety of Czechoslovakia. Massive nuclear power plants were constructed to provide electricity for the massive fence. All to prevent people from leaving–something that was definitely not a problem before Josef Stalin transformed Czechoslovakia into a Soviet vassal state.

Speaking of Stalin, the Museum of Communism has a very comprehensive breakdown of the massive statue that the man erected to himself. Constructed in 1955 after five years of hard labor, the massive monument stood over 50 feet tall. The statue’s architect, Otakar Švec, was so horrified at his own creation that he committed suicide shortly before the statue’s public unveiling. The public of Prague didn’t care much for the statue either, and over the course of several days in 1963, it was obliterated. It took several days at nearly one ton’s worth of explosives to finally blow the statue into smithereens.

Speaking of 1963, the Museum of Communism dedicates and entire wall the American Civil Rights movement and hippie subculture of the 1960s. Apparently, Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were even more popular in Prague than they were in the United States, and the museum credits their idealism with the spontaneity of the Prague spring: A belief in a kinder, gentler socioeconomic system that valued the human face over bullets, bombs, and endless work quotas.

Sadly, this was not to be. While the deaths of King and Kennedy in 1968 were a sucker-punch to the American psyche, Czechoslovakia had to contend with a Soviet invasion. The military apprehended political reformer Alexander Dubček, and instituted martial law. The tanks rolled in, Dubček conceded that his movement was lost, and order was restored.

Walking through this exhibits, with a plethora of original artifacts, film footage, and well-written descriptions, simply gives one chills. One thing that stuck out was that the sheer brutality of the Cold War cut both ways. Artists who didn’t sufficiently support the Communist regime in the 1950s lost their jobs . . . just as American writers and actors who insufficiently opposed communism were blacklisted. The Soviet Union constructed row after row of identical (some would say ugly) panel block houses, while Robert Moses constructed what are perhaps the ugliest public housing developments the world has ever seen. The Soviet military wrecked havoc on the people of Prague in 1968, while the Los Angeles Police department wrecked havoc on the African-American community of Watts in 1969.

One could walk away from this exhibit feeling very cynical–and yet one does not. In 1948, George Orwell wrote that total capitulation to the super-state is the absolute worse thing a person can do. So what is the alternative? Well, at the final exhibit of the museum of Communism, the alternative is spelled out in big, bold letters:

Truth and Love Will Always Prevail Over Lies and Hate

Yes, spoiler alert: This story has a happy ending. Led by Vaclav Havel, this resistance movement centered not around guns or bombs, but simply stating facts and expressing genuine affection for the human race. The man opined, time and again, that we cannot remain silent in the face of evil or violence; silence merely encourages them.

The final exhibit is a collection of film footage of the public protests at Wenceslas Square in the final days of the Soviet occupation. Too make a long story short: People spoke out, and when they did, they defeated the Soviet military without dropping a single bomb, or firing a single bullet.

I left the museum feeling both humbled and inspired. Humbled in that I had learned so much more about what I previously did not know. Humbled in the appalling number of similarities between the political censorship of McCarthyist America with Stalinist Russia, and humbled by the fact that I have nearly succumbed to total cynicism so many times in my life

And I left inspired. Inspired by the resilience of an entire nation of people who had lived under Nazi Germany and the USSR. Inspired by the words of Vaclav Havel. Most of all, I just inspired by the fact that Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy continue to inspire others all over the world.

Martin Luther King said that the moral arc of the universe is long, but bends towards justice. I thoughts of these words, while the big bold words of President Havel remained emblazoned in my mind: Truth and Love will always prevail over Lies and Hate.

Tomorrow is a new day . . .

Dateline July 6th, 2022

Today got off to a promising start. I was wondering the streets of Staré Město when I stumbled upon a store with hockey hats. Would I find headwear indicative of my native Hartford?

Well, sure enough, I was in luck. For the first time in over 25 years, I found a Hartford Whalers hat for sale (to be fair, the Whalers weren’t even selling the hats 25 years ago–my father and each received one for free before the team skipped town). I thanked the storeowner for stocking something that is just so aesthetically pleasing. I pointed to the space between the whale’s tale and the W.

“Do you know what this means?”

“Of course,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “It’s the H for Hartford. The Hartford Whalers.”

It seems the Whalers, like Velvet Underground, are more popular in Prague than they ever were in America. Go Figure!

The hat provided me great shelter from the summer sun, as well as a nice little nostalgia-trip and/or birth certificate for anyone asking me where I’m from. This would come in handy later that evening when I made my triumphant return to the Letna Beer Garden.

This time I was steeped in confidence. I recognized the woman bartender from yesterday and she recognized me. I went through all the verbal commands perfectly. After I had paid for my pivo, she replied with a friendly “diký.”

Hot dog! When a native Czech ditches formal děkuji to the informal diký, you know that you’re doing something right. It’s the subtle Czech way of saying that they consider you to be in close company.

I sat down at table, faster than you could say “Velvet Revolution,” I was joined about half a dozen middle-aged men. Initially, they spoke Czech. Startled, I just said my default panic response: “Mluvite Anglicky?”

“Yes,” said one of them. “Can we join you?”

“Of course,” I replied.

“Cheers, mate,” he said, as he and his friends sat down.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Prague born-and raised.

“Really? You’re English is so good you sound like a native speaker.”

“Thank you,” my new companion said, a bit taken aback by my praised. “I studied at the foreign language school. Where are you from?”

“America, between New York and Boston.”

With that simple seed, a great conversation sprouted. We talked about what Prague is like now, and what is like back when it was still part of Czechoslovakia. Another one of my new companions should me a photograph of the hideous monument that Josef Stalin dedicated to himself. “It was big, ugly, and terrifying,” he said.

“In other words, just like the man himself.” I commented.

“Exactly.”

“So what happened to the monument? Did you guys remove it after the Russians left.”

“Even better: we blew it up with dynamite.“

When I heard that, I couldn’t help but smile and laugh. We spoke some more about life in Prague, life in America, and life in general. On this particular evening, I felt like a character in one of Hemingway’s great novels of American expats in Europe. The beer was dark and the weather was hot and the sun was bright but we didn’t mind the hot air or the bright sun because trees of the garden shielded from the sunlight and the mountain breezes pushed the hot air out of the way and kept us nice and cool as we drank our beer and spoke of good times and good women.

When our conversation came to a close, my new pals from Prague implored me to see what their people had done to replace the Stalin monument.

I promised them I would investigate.

And tomorrow, that is exactly what I did.

To be continued . . .