Prahallelujah

I wanted to try to come up with the corniest title I could using Praha and I think I have succeeded with this one. It was between that and Prahahahaha, but I feel Prahallelujah has a better ring to it.

Now to the adventure!

(Not really)

(There weren't any real adventures in Prague)

(Oh by the way Praha is Czech for Prague, I may use Praha, I may use Prague, We'll see what kind of mood I am in when I come to it, it may be both)

We arrived in Prague (American mood) during twilight. An easy rouge hung gingerly over the city (I'll take the Poet Laureate position any day now Congress). We were on the outskirts, though, as someone had made us get out one station too early (It was me!). Praha (Czech mood(it changes that quickly!)) public transportation was foreign to us at this point so we timidly shuffled up to a group of taxi drivers speaking with police men (a good (or more likely bad) sign). The largest one came over to us. His over bearing presence made us rock back on our haunches and hang our heads low like timid children asking for a cookie that they know they can't have (O it gets better). He gave us a head nod and a snort--an indication to start talking and make it quick, I presumed. 'How much,' I asked like a cowering cockatoo (what?! Damn this alliteration addiction (haha!)), 'to the Pyramida Hotel?' He looked us over (gave us the old one over, as they say), sized us up saw the backpacks (save one (thank you Dave)) and replied while looking down his nose to our quivering bodies (perhaps it was just me that was quivering or perhaps this is a gross exaggeration because I totally wasn't quivering), '400 crowns.' 'Ok,' I said quickly and hopped off the kerb (thank you 1950s American literature) and into the cab. For in that precious pause of his, both he and I had decided that whatever was said it would most likely be agreed on. He saw in me that the question was not so much a query but a plea for help, 'get us to the Pyramida hotel and we will pay you a set amount that you say before we get in your car.' The ride was silent as we each tried to convert 400 crowns into dollars in our heads. The fact that none of us knew the exact exchange rate made this rather difficult (indeed, and it would lend itself to the majority of our conversations that we had in Prague (American mood)). So we arrived, emptied out my wallet, said a stuttered goodbye and stepped into a real hotel.

I just realized something extremely monumental about the former story: we took a TAXI to a HOTEL. Who are we? What have we become? The first day of the trip I made a vow to only spend 20 Euros a day (possibly less). What is this then? A TAXI to a HOTEL. No wait, let me re-write that: a TAXI to a 4-STAR HOTEL. What is going on?

Ah, but there is a twist to this story.

(sort of)

My dad through his numerous connections (shoot, people honk their car horns and wave at him ALL the time) happened to know some wonderful folks in Praga (Spanish mood), who were gracious enough to offer us this wonderful, wonderful deal. 55 Euro a night for a three bed room in a 4-star hotel. O, and breakfast was included (booyah!). This was less than what we payed at almost all of our hostels.

And it was spectacular.

A room with a view, if you will allow me to be lame and cliche, is what you could call our arrangements. We drew back our curtains and we drew in our breaths (that's so corny it makes me want to puke (yes I did just read The Catcher in the Rye, nice catch (oh!)), but sometimes corniness=awesomeness (my vocabulary is off the charts tonight!)). From the eighth floor we could see the city twinkling magnificently. I looked quietly at this sparkling city, easily admiring it's beauty, when, of a sudden, I became hungry. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to digest it. I wanted to rub my belly in delight after satisfiably gorging on this magical city. So we went --we went to eat.

After taking the metro to a spot near the Charles Bridge, we walked gingerly on those amber-lit cobble stone streets looking--looking for a place to eat (please forgive my metaphorical indulgence and by now, I realize, ambiguity, but at this point we were actually hungry and we were really looking for a place to eat). We found a quaint restaurant that served authentic Czech cuisine (or so it said) and ventured in. It had a pleasant atmosphere with a piano player tinkling lightly and melodically on the keys (that inside joke is a rough one because only one of my readers could possibly have any idea of what it is in reference to (I'm banking on at least one laugh here), but really it was too hard to pass up) (P.S. it is not meant to coarse, it is only an inside joke). We ordered a litre of Pils each and sat smiling waiting for our meal. I had a modest chicken and rice affair, while Scott and Dave splurged on 750g of stomach destroying meat and veggies (in a thick cream sauce), but more on the stomach destroying later. For the moment we were satisfied and after swooning over the bill for a minute we left the restaurant to its 2 or 3 other customers.

The night had taken steady control over the city now and the streets were beginning to empty. We hopped on a tram that we assumed would go back by our hotel (they all must go there, right?) and sat back nervously satisfied. Why nervously satisfied, you ask? Because we never found a ticket vendor so we had no tickets for every ride thus putting me at an unease whenever a plain suited gentleman entered the tram by himself (for it was a 40 euro fine!), and we had no idea the routes of the trams, we merely hoped our whole way through the ride. On this particular ride hope turned to worry, which, in turn, turned to fear. Statements like, 'I think this looks right,' and, 'I remember that,' turned to, 'I think this might not go by our hotel,' and, 'Just one more stop and then we'll see,' which, in turn, turned to, 'Alright, yeah, we are definitely going the wrong way, and, 'We should get off.' So we got off. In the middle of a residential neighborhood, in the middle of the night, in God knows where. Should we pray? Instead of praying we just stood there. We waited for the next tram that would go in the opposite direction. We just stood there. What was more unsettling about being stranded, and the relative silence when cars were at an interlude, was the fact that the tram stop was literally right in the middle of a 4-lane highway. So as cars intermittently flew by we tried to look as cool and comfortable as we could--like we meant to be standing at this lone tram stop in the middle of this residential neighborhood in the middle of the night. Luckily the next tram came which we took back to our starting point and caught the correct tram to our hotel. It was an anti-climatic end (as most my stories seem to have, now that I think about it) to a rather exciting evening.

But now our beds were calling and we, like so many times before and to come, were exhausted. We slept easily in these comfy companions to our bodies (does that sound right?) and eagerly awaited the next day. It should be a good one.