Czech please!

Ah Prague... I love you.



Winding city streets, schnitzel, dumplings, and (very) cheap beer; what's not to enjoy? Ever since Julia first described it to me I've wanted to go. Ever since my father came home raving after (accidentally) watching the world cup in the main square, I've been intrigued. (If you knew how my Dad is about sports, you'd understand.) Ever since my grandfather taught me how to say, "Pojď sem a dej mi pusu" which is the one phrase he knew in Czech, I figured it was an important part of my heritage. (Don't ask me how he came to learn this phrase... I doubt very much it was so he might one day ask his granddaughter for a kiss on the cheek.)
Praha did not let me down.

As you may recall, I was stick fighting off something fierce and was on a bunch of drugs, but I wasn't going to let that stop me from seeing the astronomical clock, the Charles Bridge, and especially any beer gardens we might come across. (It was a good thing John brought cold medicine that wasn't in it's original packaging... I don't need some preachy label telling me I can't have alcohol with my drugs, I'm in Prague dammit! No label probably means it's OK to have a beer, or two, or three right?)

John's friend Frank from undergrad who is currently also living in Genevea, (working on the particle accelerator like everyone else) decided on a whim to come an stay with us in our lavish apartment. (OK, it took a bit of arm twisting, and I'm told TWO all-nighters on his part, but he made it alright?) In the morning there was much strolling, picture taking, and shopping, but once Frank got there, we made a bee-line for the beer gardens. I liked this. Our temporary "landlord" (also conveniently named Frank) suggested that we go to a pace that was just north of the old city on the other side of the bridge. It's a good thing he told us, because we never would have found this place on our own, and it was AWESOME.

A few half liters later (don't worry, I was conservative) we were drunk in the city and looking for schnitzel. We decided to walk a little further north and were chatting loudly about such and such, (OK, OK, I was the one chatting loudly.) when a man with a Czech accent turned around and said quite suddenly, "Where are you from?" That's it. There wasn't even an introduction. We didn't even know they were listening. We stopped short, and he said, "It's just that your accent is very familiar." I proudly answered, "New York!" He went on to say that he had a friend from NYC that was in an orchestra (The Prague Orchestra? I forget.) with whom he had spent two exciting weeks of travel. My accent reminded him of this.
This my friends, is probably the first time anyone, anywhere has thought of a New York accent as endearing.

Our new friend's name was Mark, and his friend's name was Aaron. (I am not sure if these names were 'Americanized' for our benefit, but perhaps if they read this they can tell us.) We asked them where we could get some dinner, and they brought us to a local place 'off the beaten path.' Because we were out of tourist town, they needed to do all of the ordering for us. I couldn't read any word besides schnitzel and pivo (beer) but in retrospect that was probably ok, because that was what I ordered anyways. Only John suffered from some (arguably) poor ordering choices, but it was not without ample warning from our Czech friends.


First John ordered what the Czechs kept referring to as "Pig tails." Mark and Aaron said that it was a ton of meat, and should be sharred between at least two people if someone were thinking of getting it. John ignored this suggestion because (he told me later) he usually cut the "number of servings" in half when purchasing food from safeway. Besides, he justified, European meals were small in general, and "pig tails?" those cute little curly things? How much meat could be on them anyway? Right. Can you see where this is going?
When the "pig tails" came out, I saw absolutely no resemblance to what one thinks of when they picture a pig's tail. Instead John had in front of him the fattiest slab of gray mystery meat I have ever seen, and (you guessed it) it was bigger than his head. Regretfully, I have no pictures of this. (I know, I have no idea what I was thinking.)

John said it was delicious, but suggested we get a defibrillator ready because he predicted he would suffer no less than three heart attacks by dessert. He probably ate a good 2/3 of it before asking Frank (the friend not the landlord) for some help. Even then full of schnitzel and dumplings, he was up for the challenge.

After dinner, we went to a local bar. It was here that John made is second ordering mistake. He noticed in addition to the beers, there was something he could order called "grog." Now I must admit that the name does sound like something a warrior Dwarf might order in Dungeons and Dragons, and therefor pretty bad ass (or BA-dass as my cousin Cory would say), but I also know better than to order something a local warns me he's never tried and can't quite describe. John was feeling a bit more adventurous, and so he ordered the grog. (Plus ten experience points for John!)

It turns out that grog is not something a dwarf would order, and actually you are probably much more likely to find an elf (or maybe a fairy?) ordering grog. It was a shot of something brandy-like mixed with hot water and sugar, and served in a glass identical to the one my mother used to use when she had other ladies over for tea and lady fingers. Also, by the by, perhaps youve already predicted this, grog is NOT delicious. I would much rather have my mother's tea and lady fingers.

Even though John has a really hard time leaving any sort of alcoholic beverage undrunk, (just wait until I tell you about the "Maximators" in a few more posts!) I think he was secretly happy when they (quite literally) turned the lights out on us after telling us 6 times (in Czech) that they were closing. (Our Czech guys failed to translate that one for us.) I hope he doesn't have bad dreams about the inch of undrinkable liquid sitting in the bottom of that lonely lady finger glass.

We walked back to our apartment (the boys may have staggered) and parted ways with the Czechs, but promised to meet them for lunch the next day. I went up stairs and promptly passed out from the effects of cold medicine and three (OK, four) beers, but learned the next day that poor John's Pig Tails and grog kept him up a while. Luckily, his stomach eventually won the fight and there was no porcelain praying, but I still wouldn't run out and order grog soaked pig tails any time soon.

By the way, Mark and Aaron, who are starting their own hostel business, said our apartment was a real steal! Yay for not being swindled!