Part 6: Billed as “The Largest night-club in central Europe”, Karlovy Lázně was an obvious end-point for the evening. U Vejvodů has been the ideal setup, but now I was stumbling through the darkened corridors of Prague’s old town towards it.
Prague’s back-streets sprang into life as the darkness fell. The lifeless shuttered windows opening out, revealing all manners of secretive but welcoming nightlife. Neon signs, exotic dancers, established drinking holes, vice, relaxation, fun. As if the shadow of night had lifted a heavy burden on eager souls. These parts felt less seedy and risky than the tourist trap of Wenceslas Square, more welcoming, but to me, these establishments were so small it felt like walking into a stranger’s home, so I resisted their charms and carried on towards the river’s edge.
The narrow paths finally widened out to a flag-stoned approach revealing Charles Bridge. To its left, a narrow corridor leading to Karlovy Lázně and home to, of all things, the Museum of Medieval Torture, hidden away down a stony staircase. We were now at another tourist hot-spot, with droves of bodies scampering over the busy road adjacent avoiding the heavy traffic.
This was a junction of cultures and time, one direction leading back to the winter’s tale of the Old Town Square, another up the paving-stoned hill to the history of Charles Bridge, and another, to the cold urban taboo of Národní. This melting point felt at once uneasy but also invigorating, as though I had arrived at the place to be, just at the right time. The corridor was also home to wall to wall souvenir shops, authentic-as-it-gets liquor and tobacco stores. Everything else you’d expect to find in such a tourist trap. But, like Národní, this was raw and uncompromising, another tantalising glimpse of the scarred, tattooed, true Prague. It wasn’t a place you felt comfortable hanging around in, more of a means to an end to avoid the traffic, which provided the suitably unsubtle background noise.
And as I emerged from the other side, here we were. Karlovy Lázně. A grand 15th century, multi-storied behemoth, proudly situated in the shadows of the Great Bridge. You could feel the carefree excitement of teenage youth in the air, revitalising my weary, ageing self. This courtyard was open, leafy and affluent. A lot more welcoming than the confines of the entrance tunnel, and as such there was really no hurry to get inside.
Whitley bay Ice-rink. That’s the impression you get from the entrance lobby. In stark contrast to the welcoming exterior you’re herded in like livestock by heavies in black Jackets, through an unforgiving steel turnstile to be processed in the ice-cube of the dark main foyer. This volume of human sorting only added to the excitement however, the pain before the pleasure, and within a flash I was in, and completely lost.
Karlovy Lázně consists of 5 levels. To kick things off in spectacular fashion, we had a stage area, with a fully costumed KISS tribute act in full swing. As this was “The Musical City”, they were note perfect of course, and, from what I knew of KISS at least, they definitely looked the part too. I stood and watched among the swelling crowds. To them it was probably a so-so, throwaway act, but it was rare to see such quality back home. I hung back to the appropriately ice-palace themed bar, where the gulf between the watered-down lager served in plastic glasses from back home and the quality beers served here seemed to reach the widest yet.
Daunting. That’s the only word to describe Karlovy Lázně. Just this ground floor would normally be enough, live music, light shows, DJ’s, dancing, numerous bars, and heaving crowds of revellers. But then I noticed snakes of bodies heading out through dark doorways, so I eagerly followed suit.
Here was the central faux-industrial stairwell, a venue in itself, the location of the toilets on every floor, and the scenes of transition between Karlovy Lázně’s wide range of Musical cultures. Rock, Metal, Dance, Pop, Indie, 70’s. It was all here, on some part of some floor, and these central passageways was where all the real interaction was taking place in a gloriously free melting pot of background and influence, safely hidden away from the prying eyes of conformity to a backdrop of metal caged, graffiti-ed chrome and muted bass, the pierced and the preened.
On every other level, a hidden extra, seated, quieter chill-out zones for coffee, chat, gossip, or just a brighter, more pastel-shaded break from the dark pounding of the main halls, like a modern company’s canteen. It’s here that I met a solitary character out-of-place, occupying his own space at the bar. He seemed eager to vent, a Donald Trump type in character and appearance, a ginger Yorkshire-man well above the average age of the youthful masses. He had his own story to tell to eager ears, answers perhaps?
What I received was un-validated affirmation of my own observations, Prague was certainly seedy in parts, but this man was pulling no punches, “They’re only after money”. He barked out, obviously influenced by personal experience and copious amounts of alcohol. He of course was generalizing on the whole of Prague’s female population, who I myself noticed were considerably above average aesthetically at least. In a twisted way I could sort of see where he was coming from. Here at least, we had fashion models walking in everyday life, embracing its sordid underbelly, making a living out of themselves.
But the man had deeper issues, maybe he’d married and built a home here, and was now on the receiving end of an expensive divorce? A wounded lion caught in the honey trap. All that was left of him was the bluster of an aged carpet company owner. I still absorbed his damaged angle into my own developing view of the city, while all around the contradiction of all we’d discussed : Just young people having fun.
Once inside the huge main dance-halls on each level. I was left rather flat, there was nothing interesting to commentate on here, it was down to business. No clash of culture, no dramas of the connecting passageways, just the focused music of your choice to listen and dance too, a DJ, one or two bars. Honestly? I had no discernible style to fit in with the crowds anyway, but that’s the really great thing about Karlovy Lázně. If I’d been heavily into dance music, i’m catered for, similarly rock/metal etc, I’d just stick to that floor and have a thoroughly enjoyable night, but me, I could float and take everything in, feeding off the energy of the place, absorbing the differing cultures like a sponge, people watch. One moment you’d be headbanging to your favourite Metallica song, and then through the magical Narnia’s cupboard of the corridors, be singing to ABBA in a completely different environment. I gladly accepted all that Karlovy Lázně had to offer.
A night in Karlovy Lázně flows in peaks and troughs like waves. Your energies can be spent on the dancefloors, you can relax, sweated out over a cold beer in the seated areas, you can chop and change genres, you can watch live music, whatever takes your fancy. It’s nothing like the culture the man at the bar was suggesting, it’s hedonistic, open, unprejudiced, loud, colourful, varied and exciting, with not a hint of the overbearing dark cloud of oppression you get in some areas. No-one is going to bother you or proposition you here, rather its you that needs to make the effort to become part of it as the masses are too pre-occupied in their own party.
As the night drew to a close, I was left outside on the courtyard again, my hard-won, lingering sweat comfortingly evaporating in the cool breeze. I craned my neck back to take in the full the scene from roof to ground, the windows still pulsating with life. To my right, a hot-dog hatch had conveniently popped up next to the subway to service the bored looking doormen and gladly accepted. I didn’t really want to move from that peaceful plain, hot-dog in hand, looking out over the rippling black neon-reflecting river to Charles Bridge and its glowing neighbouring buildings. I could feel a pride in the air, the pride of the Musical City displaying its assets in their full glory.
The crowds eventually started to spill out, breaking my daze and leaving me with just one truth. Karlovy Lázně lives up to the hype and then some.