High and low life on the night streets of Prague
Wasting My Youth in Prague part 10
By day, Prague is noisy, crowded with cars and tourists, the bustling, beautiful capital of the Czech Republic. By night, long after the tourists have retreated to the warm, soft, comfort-dispensing udder that is the hotel, Prague is very different place.
One night at 2 a.m. I sat on a bench in the heart of downtown Prague, just to see who would show up. Within 40 seconds I was the new best friend of a group of five Bulgarian prostitutes, who found me incredibly attractive.
They propositioned me at length in quasi-English, all the while trying to physically lift me off my bench and drag me to their den of respectable business dealings. Alas, I did not avail myself of their services (which, according to the literature, would likely involve going to their place and getting robbed), so they eventually moved on.
Their shadows had hardly left my bench when an overconfident, sunglasses at night-type dude appeared. I have no idea what he was selling. He didn’t speak English, and when I said I could not speak Czech, he spent several minutes trying to convince me that I speak German.
I tried my best to convince him I couldn’t—nein nein, je ne parle de deutch, schmetterling verboten, schmetterling verboten—but he wasn’t convinced. Finally he gave up and went off in search of more Germanic quarry.
And so on. In the two hours I sat there, I met all sorts of fascinating people—the friendly Dutch drunks were my favourite—all without moving an inch. At night, you don’t have to look for the interesting people. The interesting people come looking for you.
Who are the most unpleasant people on the night streets of Prague? Not the pimps, dealers or prostitutes—they are actually very friendly.
No, the worst folks I’ve seen are packs of drunk, rowdy youths from the UK. The utter vileness that oozes from the pores of the UK “lager lout” is truly something to behold. When they are out on the streets, they shout profanities, break bottles, harass the prostitutes and generally make the area around them uninhabitable.
Ugh. This makes me less enthusiastic to visit my ancestral homeland, the UK, where I presume there are more of these people.
As for night life, Prague is different from Vancouver in that it actually has a night life. Many clubs stay open until 5 or 7 a.m., and without the mirth-asphyxiating interference of pesky fire codes, most are crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with hedonistic youths. It is a strange feeling to walk out of a dimly-lit club into daylight, and feel the bright sun on your clubwear as you walk home to bed.
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It is hard to decide whether this town is more beautiful by day or by night. Personally, I prefer it at night.
When the curtain of darkness falls on Prague the lights come up, as the facades of hundreds of gorgeous old buildings are brightly illuminated by hidden spotlights. The cityscape becomes almost like theatre, and the show is the thousand years of history that passes before you as you walk the streets. On foggy nights the beams of the spotlights make the mist glow, and one feels transported to another world.
There are many nights when I walk out of a show or a concert and into the sparsely populated downtown streets. The cobblestones press back against my feet, the lit faces of the buildings rise around me into a clear, black sky. Groups of cheerful people walk past, speaking languages I can’t understand.
Every time I turn my head I see a dozen places I would like to go, but I know I won’t have the opportunity in the time that remains. So I keep walking. I had planned to take a metro or a tram home, but when I get to the station I decide to walk home instead, so I can spend more time under the Prague sky, breathing the cool night air.
I arrive at Charles Bridge and start my trek across the Vltava River. Dance music from a nearby club mingles with the soft swoosh of water flowing over one of the Vltava’s many dams. Couples kiss between the black statues on the edges of the bridge. A strange fellow in a jester’s costume plays a recorder. Above us on the west bank, the monolith of Hradcany Castle dominates the hillside, the sharp spires of St. Vitus’ Cathedral rising from its centre. It is a scene of almost painful beauty.
As I walk over the bridge towards the castle and my bed, I know this city has enchanted me. And I can’t help thinking about how much I don’t want this to end.
Next week: The end. •
Originally published in The Peak, July 23 2001.
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