Prague - Forecasting A Few Showers
Trip Start
Mar 03, 2005
1
46
235
Trip End
Ongoing
Prague,
Czech Republic
Friday, July 1, 2005
My hostel is out in the 'burbs. That provides a little nuisance value given it means catching the metro a few stations further. Given my lack of Czech vocabulary and drizzling rain, it makes finding the place a pain. It is a University dorm wing, that opens as a hostel during the summer months. I do have my own room, but the bathrooms are shared facilities.
I went looking for the loo, and was directed by a cleaning lady to the correct area. I couldn't find a symbol for either male or female, so it was a little confusing. Still I couldn't hear anyone around so I wandered inside, spotting the rows of toilet cubicles and rows of showers with almost fully transparent glass.
Back at reception, I asked if I was staying on the mens floor, with the ground floor for females, because I could only find one bathroom.
"Oh" said the girl behind the counter, "the bathrooms are mixed".
My mind immediately went to the scenario of the shower. I suddenly thought I had walked into the set of a European Porn film. Should I grow a moustache? Had I come to 'clean zee pool?'. I couldn't establish if it was this a good or bad thing, as my mind raced and I started looking at the positives and negatives.
Oh my god, Czech women are the most beautiful women in the world (thumbs up)
But most travellers staying in hostels aren't Czech (thumbs down)
But they are good looking (thumbs up)
And male (thumbs down)
With pretty girlfriends travelling with them (thumbs up)
Oh I need to go to the gym (thumbs down)
Well it is sure an interesting way of meeting people (thumbs up)
Oh. What if its a cold morning, if you know what I mean (thumbs down)
Hmmm, what is the expected protocol, do I look (thumbs up) or is it rude to look(thumbs down) or because this is Europe is it rude not to look (thumbs down) or actually is even looking twice kosher (thumbs up).....
I am one who is comfortable with the Ally McBeal toilet scenario, closed door policy of course, but the shower system, especially ones with see through screens, was a whole new ball game. I decided to put off the concept of being in a mock-Big Brother House for a few hours and wandered round Prague.
It really is an exceptionally beautiful city, with Gothic and Barouque architecture in abundance. Luckily not much was damaged in WWII, so it is all very much authentic. I wandered through Wenceslas Square, which is more of a wide street than Square, (It is the same Wenceslas from the Christmas Carol) and down to through the old town to the river. What an amazing city. It was only a quick walk to stretch the legs and work out my bearings. I called a couple of the 21 year old Australian girls from Berlin, who were in town, and organised to go out drinking with them again.
I headed back to the hostel for the inevitable. Towel over the shoulder, soap in hand, I wandered in.
Prague Hostel Shower Update Number 1: A pre-going out clean up. A non-event really as I was the only one around. Thus the only one to take a peek at was myself, and I've seen it all before. Cleansed and unscathed.
I met the girls at their Hostel, walking through the rain to get there. They introduced me to a number of other friendly folk, including an Australian from Wagga named Mick who looked and sounded like Steve Irwin. "Crikey, that's a big one" was his catchphrase as well, and I congratulated him for not choosing to stay at my hostel and use the line in the unisex communal showers.
It was a interesting evening of pool, pubs and industrial clubs. And a shot of Absinthe. For those unfamiliar with it, it is like drinking 100% proof Mouthwash. You can feel it burning through your body as it heads south. It was a cool night in Prague, yet my substantial forehead immediately started to bead with perspiration. What was I doing here?
The large group headed back for drinks at their far funkier hostel than mine. It included a bar where Budvar Beers (the original Budweisers) were $1 and were served late. A dangerous combination. Obviously I was the oldest. The youngest were three 18 year old British girls, who were a little drunk due to the Budvars and Absinthe. One claimed that she had only drunk beer for the first time yesterday. What was I doing here?
Another, I suspect had here eye on me. Actually both eyes. Smiling sweetly in my direction, leaning against me when chatting. A case of Mrs Robinson in reverse it seemed. ´Laugh about it shout about it when you´ve got to choose. Any way you look at it you lose....´ What was I doing here? Absolutely nothing folks. I waved them all goodbye as it was late and certainly time to go. If you have to debate with yourself as to whether or not you'll seem like a dirty old man, then there is no question - it is time to go home.
I headed home to the suburbs after 3.30am, thankfully in a taxi where the driver was honest and used the meter. And didn´t do the journey via Oslo.
Prague Hostel Shower Update Number 2: A post-going out clean up, due to hours of wafting cigarette smoke. A non-event really as I was the only one around. And as it was 4am and I had had a number of beverages, I didn't have the eyesight nor energy to even take a peek at myself. Cleansed and unscathed.
I rewarded myself with a good sleep-in after the night's entertainment. Of course, by the time I was awake, I needed a shower.....
Prague Hostel Shower Update Number 3: A morning wake up clean up. It started as a non-event, but then I heard the sound of voices, and the shrill scream of females who had obviously jumped into the water as quickly as possible, and it was still chilly. What I haven't mentioned is that the hooks for your towel and clothes are outside of the shower. Hence you have no choice but to open the door to get them, starkers. And the towels provided were somewhere between the size of hand towels and face washers. I am not exactly the widest person around, and it wouldn't make it completely round my waist. I dried, threw on my clothes and wandered past the two showers in use....
OK I peeked. But 90% of males would. And the other 10% are liars or gay. So I am neither gay nor a liar, but I did only peek once. And very quickly. Very very quickly. Good morning ladies.
Back in the corridor, I realised that the key to my room was still on the hook in the showers. I truly would look like a big perv, as I had to wander back in to retrieve it. Hello again ladies, whoops can I pass you your towel, you seem to be struggling to reach it.
There are many things to see in Prague, apart from the showers at my hostel, so I thought the best way to cover some ground and meet a few people was via an organised tour. I picked one that I didn't have to prebook a ticket for, so I could turn up, inspect the crowd, and if it was a collection of the blue rinse set, then I could sneak off without having paid a krown. Thankfully it was a youngish group, so I joined.
I am not always a big fan of tours. Sometimes the guides can bombard you with so much information that you feel like stabbing them with their bright yellow "follow me" umbrella. This one was relatively safe, but he did have a very Eastern European method of delivery - a combination of dry humour and school ma'am "quiet or you'll be in trouble", all in broken English. He poked fun at communists, Nazis, and Australians (due to our lack of 'architecture' quote unquote) and told others off for talking while he was.
Prague is incredible.
The Jewish Quarter Josefov with its amazing cemetery, Old Town Square with the Astronomical Clock and its bell-whacking skeleton and the Tyn Church which is straight out of Disneland, Charles Bridge and its statues, and the truly gigantic Prague Castle and its surrounds.
I met a few other tourists on the tour including Todd the 5'1" American with the beard that makes him look like a young Garden Knome, Yo the Ethipian American student, and Sophie who like me is of no fixed address, but who also always has to write 'Mt Eliza' as her address, as like me her parents live down on Melbourne's Mornington Peninsula, and like me neither of us have actually lived there. She said that I made her homesick because we both didn't live where we said we lived, but were both from Melbourne. I suspect it was more to do with a forthcoming working stint in London, starting the next day when she flew there on some dogdybob airline. It is nice to chat to another Melburnian.
They were a good bunch. They mentioned that their hostel was doing a pub crawl that night. I obliged on the invitation. Lay backs in from of a 16th century church? Why not.
Prague Hostel Shower Update Number 4: A post-tour pre-going out shower. A non-event really, just me. I must be staying with a bunch of dirty girls....
The pub crawl actually took 2 hours to leave their hostel, because they had such an excellently stocked bar there. Even 100 of us drifted down the streets of Prague towards venues. In an act of great chivalry, I waited while Soph another two girls ran to the ATM. In an act of great stupidity, I didn't see what number tram the other 96 people got on. I'd lost 96 people on a pub crawl and we hadn't actually left the starting point.
Thankfully one of the other girls suspected where the pub crawl may have headed. So we wandered into town. How hard can it be to find 96 people in a city of 1.5 million? My acts of chivalry continued as one of the other girls needed to pee and had no choice but to sneak down an alley. I was security. I am truly handy to have around.
Somehow, we located the crawlers. We were back on track and back in form.
The remainder of the night was a blur. Suddenly it was 4am and I was standing with Sophie and another girl named Tab, awaiting a tram, and others were eating doner kebab with garlic sauce. It was like a VB commercial. It seems that people the whole world around end up eating late night lamb sandwiches.
The next morning, only a few hours later actually, I was up early as I had to change hostels. It wasn't that I couldn't stand the boys and girls showers, it was because I couldn't get a room there any longer.
Prague Hostel Shower Update Number 5: The last hurrah morning shower. Just me and a Scottish bloke wandering in and laughing at the system, and laughing that of all the possibilities, I got to shower with a fat Scottish lad, and he got to shower with a lanky shaven head Australian. Cleansed and unscathed.
I checked into the new place, across town, also in the suburbs, and headed out for a slow days wandering. I spent more time around the old town and castle, at my pace rather than at semi-jogging tour guide pace.
In the evening I decided to join another tour - the 'Ghost Trail'. I thought it would be medieval stories, true tales of the bizarre, and a little on the spooky side. I was wrong. I've done some lame tours in my life as a traveller, and this one was the highest scorer on the Lame-o-meter. The stories appeared untrue, and it included two cases where to 'scare' us a guy with a rubber face mask and fake knife runs around the small group. It was more pathetic than petrifying. But the good thing was that the tour price included a free beer at a beautiful venue, the Marquis de Sard.
Some folks immediately left, so it was just me and 4 travelling females to sit and drink with. Sarah, Laura, Jeanelle (all from the US) and Danni (an Angolan/Portugese from London).
Some days are diamonds.
A rather nice group of girls, I managed to keep them entertained till rather late. The highlight was their interest in Chad the bartender, who was from the US. The general consensus from the females in the group (ie. everyone but me) was that he was "a bit of alright" and I was the key apparently to getting him to join us. So I assisted.
Chad joined us and brought a bottle of Absinthe with him. Not again I thought. We drank a shot of it, this time with the caramelized sugar chaser to lighten the burn. I think it didn't, as it still hurt to drink, and for manz minutes afterwards. Absinthe does not make the heart grow fonder of it.
Chad eventually left the table to keep working. The words he mentioned were "out of work, musical theatre, decided to come to Prague on a whim, got a job here at this bar". The word mentioned by the girls after he left was "gay". Personally I think they were being harsh, but who was I to argue. He was cramping my style anyway. (I am kidding - I have no style, I am just me)
For the third night in a row I slipped away into the late night. Sometimes I think I'm too old for this shit, and other times I think I'm too young not to do this shit. Conflicting emotions, but hard liquor will do that to you. I agreed to meet up with Danni the next day for some more touring as she was in Prague a few more days, and with Sarah and Laura in the south of the Czech Republic as there were heading away the next day, one day ahead of me.
I met up with Danni the next day, and we grabbed some lunch with friends of hers who were also in town, and then headed off around old Prague. She had not been to many of the spots I had seen on the tour from a few days before, so I showed her the sights, relaying the interesting stories that I could remember, and simply made up the rest.
Part of the afternoon was spent perusing the crowds for ET. For the uninitiated, ET is Eurotrash. It is the over the top clothing usually worn by Eastern European-Russian women, plus the occasional male. Eurotrash comes in two forms. It can be the bright orange solarium tan, overly-bleached hair, overly-coated heavy makeup, tight see through white pants, tiny G-string hanging over the top of the white pants and clearly visible underneath, tight technicolor top with plunging neckline and teetering high-heels of perhaps a leopard skin or floral. The other style of Eurotrash, is the more subtle. Usually it is for those who are shorter and don´t want the blonde locks. That can be your teetering high heels of a pump style, perhaps white with blue hearts, and a miniskirt dress, usually white with ruffles or puffy shoulder straps.
It is a sight to behold is ET, and kept us amused for most of the day.
We then went to a Musuem. It was a museum that you wouldn't go to on your own, except if you were wearing a trench coat. The Sex Machine Museum.
The Sex Machine Museum shows a collection of strange historical devices. Without going into details, I'd suggest that the Eveready Battery Company were truly the ones who revolutionised the world of the sex-aid, as I'd imagine it would be hard to use some of these machines with one hand also operating an egg-beater handle in a circular motion at the same time. The highlight to me was the Italian "Anti-Masterbation" device, that was placed over the wee-willy-winky of a male youth at night. If by chance he awoke somewhat aroused and decided to take matters into his own hands (so to speak), then all hell broke loose. The device was connected to electricity, which provided a joint effect. Firstly the young lad would get a tiny electric shock if there was some, um, action, and then secondly his parents would be awoken in the other room with a buzzer and light.
I think it was from where the word 'Tosser' was invented. Firstly it tossed you out of the bed with its electrical pulses through your bits. And secondly your parents tossed you out of the house for doing it in the first place.
The piercing display looked too excruciating. The latex and rubber display looked too confining. The glass dildo display looked too good for words. But the 1920's Spanish Porn film was simply too much. A man should never keep his singlet, socks, shoes and long boxer shorts on, when involved in such activities as he was, with two grossly overweight Spanish women who could do with some quality Lady Gillette products and some vouchers for Jenny Craig.
Danni and I did have to spend some time explaining a few of the items to each other, as in most cases, they were beyond description. Or she was simply enjoying how many other words I came up with for the male and female genitalia, without using their actual names.
The remaining highlight was when we met up later for dinner. I had steak. We both had white wine. That sounds boring, until you remember that I have not had steak for at least some months, and not had white wine for 4 months. Months. Meat eaters out there, can you imagine not having a steak for months? India wasn't the place to eat a 'City Meat' steak. I had waited until now. It as an emotional experience. I was a little teary. Or that could have been the wine.
Prague is a beautiful city at night, with great bars. We headed to a cocktail bar (or as the locals spell it, Coctails) for a final drink and listened to some live jazz, interspersed with bad 80s music videos on a big screen. A strange combination, but very entertaining.
I like Prague.
