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Maybe there’s no such Prague at all. It’s just being born within me, within us…?
We get off at the Praha Florenc bus station. What a beautiful and intriguing name – I think, though I don’t know yet, that this is what Prague will be like today.
We pass the golden Masaryčka Building, designed by Zara Hadid on the site of the 1845 station. The building’s exterior golden louvers and vertical ribs pay homage to Prague, known as the golden city of a hundred spires and towers.
We sit down at the local EMA espresso bar, right across the street, at a large table with the others. This modern and spacious café, where you won’t find paper cups but ceramic mugs, gives us some fantastic vibes. After delicious coffee we decide to hop on a beige and red tram right away. Although there are also beige and blue ones. And Prague’s tram network is one of the longest in Europe.
But soon we’re on the metro and reaching Palmovka station in the Libeň district, where the famous Czech writer Bohumil Hrabal lived for years in a tenement house at Na Hrázi Street 24. Today, a mural by Tatiana Svatošová commemorates the writer’s live and the cats he cared for.
Na “Hrázi věčnosti” means “On the Wall of Eternity” as the writer himself called his tenement house. The building was demolished in the 1980s to accommodate the construction of the metro.
The Prague metro, consisting of three lines and free of turnstiles, cools us down, as it’s a whopping 38 degrees Celsius outside.
In a moment, we’ll see the enormous, glass, rotating head of Franz Kafka – another great Czech writer, gleaming in the sun. And while I personally don’t associate this ultra-modern sculpture with the somber mood of Kafka’s prose, it awakens in me a different vision not only of Prague but also of myself. Because only in Prague does a plane suddenly transform into a butterfly.
As we sit at dean & david on the ruined Národní Street, feasting on delicious salads with halloumi, avocado, and salmon, I receive a text from Svitlana, who had just landed in Prague. I wasn’t sure we’d meet, but I have very spontaneous friends. And so we walk to Charles Bridge together: me, my sister, my niece, and Svitlana.
We stop on the bridge right next to the Pieta to take one of the most recognizable photos in the world. The iconic photo of Depeche Mode on Charles Bridge was taken in 1988 by renowned photographer Anton Corvijan.
Charles Bridge, despite being crowded with tourists, remains the heart of Prague. And a photo with a friend against the Vltava River will be unforgettable.
Just beyond the bridge, the tourist bustle subsides somewhat, and the trees provide more shade. Finally, there’s the colorful and formless John Lennon Wall. And Justa is in Prague, too, and she’s with us. On the way, M. buys a navy blue marker, ordering it in Czech language, so we can sign. MalgoFlor—that’s my nickname.
Not far from this colorful wall, we find ourselves within easy reach of the peaceful Grounds L4 Café. Yellow tables and a chairs in the courtyard of a tenement building, under a tree and a streetlight. We order iced coffee and espresso tonic. My poetry book, “A Fraction of Eternity” fits the relaxed atmosphere. Let’s write a poem—suggest Justa. We’ll write poems, but at the monument to politicians who piss on Czech Republic shape.
Prague is orange, beige, or blue. It’s hard to capture, as it defies all definitions. Perhaps it depends on the mood, or the season? It’s nothing like what I’ve read in guidebooks. It’s how I feel, and it’s a meeting with my dear women.
We try the colorful and traditional dumplings. At Knedlinie, they even have gluten-free ones. They’re serve on small saucers, like from the cups. We especially enjoy the ones with ratatouille.
And so we take the subway again. Sightseeing via the subway is the way to go! Completely outside the city center, locals sit in a small pub or eat lime ice cream on the street. Quiet
And so we take the subway again. Sightseeing via the subway is the way to go! Completely outside the city center, locals sit in a small pub or eat lime ice cream on the street. Quiet Kozačka Street and a copper sun like something from mythology. And someone has painted a mustache on the blue mailbox.
Street and a copper sun like something from mythology. And someone has painted a mustache on the blue mailbox.
Just I can’t get enough – sings Depeche Mode. Franz Kafka’s head turns, catching light from the blue sky, from the white of the tiny clouds, from the eyes of the tourists gazing at it. We walk the streets, take a tram, another subway ride, take a photo of Freud hanging. The famous, independent bookstore Shakespeare a Synové appears before us.
There in the basement, you can sit in an armchair or on a sofa. Type on a vintage typewriter. And through the open window, gaze out at the river channel, where gondolas glide by. And we simply can’t get enough. When the sun sets and it’s time to head back, that thrill returns with us.
So, see you in Prague again!
