A Large Czech Named George

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Enroute to the Heart of Bohemia with Child

There is something about watching people just wander across train tracks with their bags, children and dog in tow that makes you realise you are in a country where the concept of 'safety' is more in tune with Darwinsim then with 'potential litigation'. If you get hit by a lurching rusty train, then you probably deserve to die for the sake of the gene pool. Train traffic at Cesky Krumlov is relatively infrequent, missing, slow or any combination of the above.

"So what do we need to know about Prague?" Lisa asked Dan.
"Oh I love Prague!" and he proceeded to ramble on about the Czech Republic history before pausing. "Oh, I better not tell you too much or I will spoil it for George. You will love George, he's great. Lived in the Czech Republic all his life and he will quiz you about Czech history and when you can't answer him he'll go 'Ha! No one knows anything about Czech history!' Don't get offended he has something to say about every country, America, Australia, New Zealand.” I had somehow managed to conjure up an image of George to be a shrewd, cunning, somewhat balding, poker nosed little Czech man in a tweed jacket ready to point the finger if any of the Intrepid passenger made a comment, be it about Prague or otherwise.

We were given two tickets at the metro station, one adult and one child. The group stood and looked at the two tickets in their hands, waiting for some to ask what we were all thinking, ‘why do we have 2 tickets and what child?’ Turns out, the child is our backpack or trolley bag. In Margo’s case, her child is either a midget or double amputee.

The group stepped out of the highly efficient metro, (I say this because I couldn’t tell if it was inefficient as the clock does not tell you how many minutes to the next train but how many minutes you missed the previous train by) and into the searing Czech Republic heat. Thankfully the apartment was close by as the lack of shade could have resulted in a few collapses by sunstroke. If we were a bit lifeless from the early morning train journey our apartment view restored the enthusiasm that has bought us all here from different parts of the world. Unmistakably decked out in Ikea (and me without my alan key), Lisa and I had the best room with the uninterrupted view of Prague Castle. Daniel and Mark had a view of the kitchen. Or more to the point, their room was the kitchen.

Dan was housed 15 minutes powerwalk away from us in the Leaders’ Apartment in Josefov. Now, I know everyone was thinking ‘what kind of emergency could we make up that would require Dan to rush over at three am?’

Italian. We’re in Prague and we choose Italian. Well, better choice than the boys who went for a Hot Dog from an unhealthy looking cart outside the metro. I must say though, the stuffed rabbit on pumpkin ravioli dressed with something suspiciously like absinth around it was delectable . The sex on the beach wasn’t half bad either.

Sated we were ready to meet George. Dan put his caffeine driven long legs into overdrive and before we knew it he was a good ten metres ahead of us. Possibly chatting away to us, not realizing we were putting our stodgy filled legs and sunstroked bodies into our max speed of sluggish. We caught up at the ultra fast pedestrian traffic lights and only because the red man told him to stop. Apparently though, the man doesn’t stay green for very long. In fact not even Dan made it across in time before the little red man angrily flashed for us to stop. No geriatric would make it across here alive. Not that it mattered anyway, I soon found out that the cars (think) have right of way regardless of what colour the man may be.
“I don’t want to be late meeting George, that’s why I’m walking really fast,’ Dan explained some 5 metres ahead of us. I was tempted to echo back a ‘what was that?’ but I was concentrating on playing the not so fun version of follow the leader. The version in which you have to weave between meandering tourists, busy Czech locals and not get horribly disorientated or trip into the gutter.

We entered the Old Town Square by the Old Town Hall and right underneath the Old Astronomical Clock. The less than half meter of shade was occupied elbow to elbow while children and adults alike were running through the spray of a garden hose set up by a nearby cafe. It did help. Standing underneath an eave, out of the searing sun I noticed a huge crowd staring in our direction. Quite unnerving, like one person turning to face the opposite direction when in a lift unnerving.

The source of the crowd’s fascination (so much so they were risking sunstroke, dehydration and red blotchy skin) was the Astronomical Clock’s performance on the hour every hour. Produced by Mikulas of Kadan in collaboration with Jan Ondrejuv in 1410 the clock was built with the three independent dials of the sun, moon and stars. Starring in the performance (added in around the 17th century) is Death as the bell toller and the Twelve Apostle who appear in the windows during the hours of daylight only. Probably not worth standing in the searing heat for in my opinion although it is a magnificent looking clock. The stories behind the clock is more fascinating then the actual clock. The ruler of the time decided he loved the clock’s unique construct so much that he blinded its creator so that it would never be reproduced. In revenge for his lost sight, the creater threw himself into the inner workings of the clock in order to destroy it. It is such a Czech story, gruesome. I imagine that there is crusty bits of the fellow ticking around angrily as we stare. Legend are easily created, especially told by our tour leader. I am sure it is as ordinary as a blind guy wandering up the clock tower after a drunken night out on the rather abundant cheap Czech beer and falling into the complex network of clogs and tickers.

“There’s George!” Dan said with relief as the clock finished its chime for four. I looked around for my imaginary concoction of George. Not surprisingly, no such thing. George is a hulking huge man wearing a plain shorts and t-shirt ensemble with a fisherman’s hat. His voice was booming, not shrewd. He was knowledgeable, not cunning. He was friendly and not, well I didn’t think he was unfriendly.

George and Communism.

Prague is a mythical city and anyone who has visited it cannot deny it. So the story goes that a Slavic Princess of great beauty and wisdom (as opposed to those many legendary ugly, a few chips short of the packet type prophetic princesses) had a vision of a beautiful city. She stood at the cliffs overlooking the Vlatva and told her many out of work carpenters and builders to go build a threshold (prah in Czech) out in the hilly forested area. A few decades later Prague has a castle and a wonderful vibrant city at its threshold ruled by the Slavic Princess and Prince.

Perhaps she didn’t have the vision that one day her people and the city was unceremoniously handed over to the Soviets by the French and British. Would have been handy and possibly saved the forty-one years of tyranny. Although George saw the lighter side of communism. Trained as a computer technician he worked for a computer company which had no computers. So what did George do for six months without a computer to work on? He learnt how to play the guitar and was happily paid the wage of a computer technician. In fact communism benefited the George clan well, his father also had a job, as what I cannot remember. At the end of the day in communism everyone is equal. There is a work scheme for women, men, elderly and I am sure one for the kiddies as well. This in turn meant benefits for all, including a pension, dental work, health care and more importantly a secure predictable future. While this all sounded fantastic the reality is that the Czech Communist Regieme was a lot harder on the dissidents than any other Pols and Hungarians included. Many Czechs obliged with the rules so that their children would not be denied an education as was the threat at the time. George stood in the half meter of shade while we tried to focus in the heat telling us about his guitar playing days for a solid half hour before taking us through the alleys of Prague.

Feel free to walk down the many alleys of Prague. They are a far cry from the urine emitting brick corridors of London. Hidden behind plain painted cement are restaurants capturing rustic atmospheres or a bar lit dimly by light bulbs muted by a layer of dust. George tells us not to be frightened to walk down any Prague alleyways after all they all open up onto a main street or a courtyard. However be very wary about walking down Prague centre as there are pickpockets a plenty. For the men, be wary of the pretty young Czechs who with a flutter of the eyelashes could swindle you out of a few hundred dollars before you drain your half litre of beer.

George knows Prague inside out, if you want something for Czech prices George is your man. He took us to the upside down horse statue, the hanging man stature, where to get good wine and cheese, the ice-cream shop (Czech prices), camera shops for all the memory card emergencies we will inevitably experience and finally out onto banks of the Vlatva for some beautiful snaps of the St Charles Bridge and Prague Castle in the distance. Instead of breaking out into some historical tirade he pointed out all the cafes which have foreigner prices and the ‘hippest’ nightclub frequented by foreigners. I had tuned out to George by now, bless him but I was more interested in the trucks that were randomly spraying water into the air.
“It cools the air,” George explained wiping his sweaty brow. “It works for about five ten minutes. The coolest place in the city is the metro because it is far underground and they have good ventilation systems.” Well, good to know that a reprieve from the unrelenting sun means entering into the exciting world of the Czech metro system.

Cooling down with a half litre of beer (Czech prices) was the better option and George lumbered off to find a courtyard big enough to fill ten very parched gullets. George downed his half litre faster than I could even make a dent in the foam. I have yet to get used to the inch of foam so common in Europe. Apparently it is the sign of freshly pulled beer but seeing as the gigantic mug of beer cost roughly ninety pence, I was not one to fuss.

Back to Posture
George had enough of us or vice versa and at the end of two or more beers he kindly directed us to our obscured alley restaurant. Trust me when I say I would not be able to find it at the best of times let alone after one and a half litres of beer. The boys looked a little worse for wear after their beers. Well, Daniel appeared to be holding his own but Mark was looking decidedly grey. I guess I didn’t help matters when the topic came around to posture. Tall, thin with a slight out-toeing gait and perhaps a thoracic kyphosis forming with a touch of shoulder protraction is how my little Physio mind put him at. His constant cycling activity could explain his posture nicely.
“I don’t cycle,” he said defensively.
“Oh, umm, could be from all the sitting in front of the computer selling things on ebay,” I floundered.
“Well, I noticed your posture and I’m not a Physio,” Lisa admitted kindly trying to steer me out of trouble.
“Well you’re not my friend either!”
“Actually,” Caroline interrupted, “I have noticed that you are quite hunched.”
“You’re not my friend either!” he retorted with a point of his finger. “You’re not my friend, you’re not my friend and you’re not my friend!” he repeated firmly to all us girls. Daniel was laughing silently as he downed his next beer and the rest of our meals. He was an eating machine and the over consumption of beer wasn’t the cause. It was his natural young male genetic make-up.

“Are you girls interested in the Black Light Theatre?” Wendy asked brightly?
“What is that?”
“It’s a show that Daniel, our son that is, recommended we go and see. We saw adverts for it, thought we might go tomorrow night.”
“How much is it?” Lisa asked.
“We don’t know, we could always find out and buy the tickets if its in your budget and you can pay us back,” she offered.
“So how much are you willing to spend?” Keith boomed across the table at everyone.
Margo started the bidding at four fifty Czech crowns. Lisa and Dan went for the four hundred crowns while I ummed and ahhed at the three eighty mark, just to be difficult.
“Three hundred,” Caroline said. “I don’t know what it is about so I won’t commit any higher.” Mark looked too grey to even contemplate spending cash in advance for something he had not heard of either. In fact slumped in his chair which was not doing his posture any favours, he pulled out some Czech crowns and dropped them on the table.
“I think I better go back,” he said. Daniel nodded in agreement and the boys left.

“Who wants to go for a drink?” Dan asked brightly. No surprises that I agreed first and so we, including Lisa, Caroline and Margo ended up in a tiny bar towards Josfev with a pitcher of Sangria. True it wasn’t an entirely Czech drink, but it was a pitcher and there is something oddly appealing about drinking bad red wine mixed with some random spirit and chopped up bits of fruit in a dingy foreign bar. For all the love I have for being out in the middle of nowhere, there is a familiar cosy feeling of being in the company of friends, having a few drinks in the city and being able to walk back to your apartment. Even better when that city is Prague the heart of Bohemia and your guiding light back to your bed is the amber glow of Prague castle.

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Photos

Our View
From the window, I am not sure if I want to be anywhere else today but here.

Fairy Tale Towers
Somethings look like they fall right out of the pages of a Fairy Tale.

A building crowd
Waiting for us? Okay maybe its that clock thingy...

That clock
The Astronomical Clock pre-show.

Upsidedown Horse
There is a story but essentially its an upside down horse in the middle of a mall.

Hanging Man
It is just a hanging man... sculpture, not a real hanging man.

The Classic Prague
This is Prague, in the heart of summer with an overflowing bridge of tourists.

Lights of Charles Bridge
I really need to invest in a tripod...