Cosmopolitan and down to earth are the first impressions you get from Malá Strana. It welcomes you forward from Charles bridge under a grand stone archway, but I was curious; below and to the left of the elevated end of the bridge walkway was the familiar signage of a music store, the first I’d come across on my travels so far. Like an excitable teenager, I made a beeline for it down the stairs.
The Musical City was always the obvious title for this journey, but I hadn’t pieced together the separate musical observations until now. This was the place the Kiss Tribute band in Karlovy Lázně no doubt picked up their guitar strings. This was where a father bought his daughter her first violin. I’d always loved music shops, but this place was something more than a line of Gibson Les Pauls on a wall. It was a hub, a sanctuary, a school, a club. This was where it all began for those that made it onto the stages of Prague, and you could almost taste it.
I paused for a while to soak up my surroundings. It was as though I had tapped into the veins of the Musical City. I appreciated the pieces for sale with my comparably modest knowledge but more than that the interactions intrigued me. Skaters, Grunge, Rock, Metal, all accepted, all valid, and all would-be heroes in this melting pot of expression and artistry.
Back home this was a hobby for many, a second wage, a bit of fun. Here it was a way of life, like the Samurai of Japan.
I backtracked back up the stone stairs, this lower area was also home to many cafes with ample outdoor seating, no doubt hoping to catch the eye of the hordes spilling out of the Bridge exit. The archway echoes it’s opposite number across the river, but applies Malá Strana’s brand of the more subdued and the less showy.
At the time of writing, I must point out, I’m sat at my keyboard cupboard accompanied by a 660ml Bottle of Prague’s finest Staropramen, which is oiling the cogs of creativity quite acceptably!
The tourist strip of Mostecká winds upward towards Prague Castle. It’s tight and busy, buzzing with the familiar gasps of souvenir shop discoveries and the comforting smells of cafes and restaurants.
I took a left to uncover more, and as the crowds faded the crystal clear plucks of a piano hammer expertly caressing its strings stopped in my tracks. The solo instrument would’ve been enough, but as I looked up to the window, a shimmering female voice began to intertwine with the beautiful melody. I was too far away to observe, so I stood on the corner below to listen, to appreciate an amazing feat of musical theory, passion and performance. The Musical City had humbled me once again.
Tucked away among the back streets was Zanzi-bar. On my first visit to Prague, this was always the starting point, consisting of super-strength long-island ice teas no less. It was colourful, predictably African in nature, and absolutely fitting in with a recurring Prague theme of drinking and having fun.
The digs on my first visit had been a youth hostel close to an Embassy of some sort with a friend of mine. It wasn’t until the morning after our first heavy night that we realised it was mixed dormitories, which came as a shock, especially when you’re in your underpants and need to navigate yourself to the toilet in the early hours.
The youth hostel brought together people from all backgrounds, in an open, friendly and tolerant environment, even when we tested it by flicking light switches on and off at 4 am. Geordies. You can’t take us anywhere.
Just around the corner is the sort of thing you saw a lot in Prague. A hidden away, almost secret public-house. By day they were almost undetectable, but at night we stumbled across a doorway, one-time only, and completely by chance.
This was back to basics drinking and socialising. Rows of benches and a tiny bar in one corner with the simplest of options available. Of course, this was Prague, so the beer was fantastic, cheap, and free-flowing. Malá Strana it seemed, was a hub for young students, and we were only too keen to be involved in their care-free world, learning about the places to be, sharing stories and backgrounds, from learning English by playing Street Fighter II to discussions about Prague’s dark underbelly of vice and prostitution.
The super-efficient billing system was in full-force. Raise your hand for a beer (2 fingers for 2 beers), it’s delivered to your table and a mark is written on a piece of paper. You pay at the end. Minimum interruptions, maximum enjoyment. It was time to go, the marks (and gates) were toted up to reveal the paltriest of totals. Following double-take after double-take, we parted with our cash like we were robbing the place, on to the next bar?
Then our curiosity overcame us, as we headed back to the innocent-by-day-at-least Mostecká and straight into the first strip bar. It was instantly intimidating, populated by knife-scarred, threatening-looking mafia gorillas and tokenly-clothed prostitutes. Standing at the bar was a minefield, so we took up seats alongside the main dance floor, comforted somewhat by the less-threatening looking locals/tourists.
The show started as the alcohol-spin began to kick in. Behind the dance floor a passageway to ‘private’ rooms and above the entrance a price list scrolled across in red on black LEDs. The next thing I knew, my friend was dragged up onto the dance floor and tied up with a belt. After he violently reacted to the treatment we beat a hasty retreat to the astonishment of the audience as the doorman responded to the kerfuffle.
Back over the bridge, we happened across an, on the surface, similar establishment, crudely advertised with a women’s breasts in blue neon. But this time it was much more popular, open and somehow a lot less seedy, more family orientated even. ‘Normal’ people and couples populated the main bar, while below staged a nightclub-come-dancing-show in full hedonistic swing.
After the exhaustion of the heaving, sweating crowds downstairs. We took refuge in the cool main bar joined by an amiable couple only too eager to hear all about our adventures. In those brief few moments, our comedy double act hit its peak. We were absolutely on fire to the point where our cheeks cramped in pain.
I’ve said too much. Maybe the Staropramen wasn’t such a good idea after all?
Back out into the bustling night, we hazily but deliberately considered our options. It was onwards towards the only destination that mattered, Karlovy Lázně where my memory, mercifully, has finally failed me.
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