piggish in Prague

by Abbie

I find myself back in Europe for the second time this year. Several of my destinations are in Eastern Europe, and I expect them to differ somewhat from the sun-soaked, wine-drenched coastlines I enjoyed in southern Spain and Portugal earlier this year. But as the seasons change and autumn creeps in, I am quite ready anyway for brisk mornings, hot drinks, hats, and scarves.

Prague is the launchpad.

For the moment, I am traveling with my parents, which necessitates a different kind of journeying. There will be no tragic Indian train journeys or questionable taxi rides with strange men. My parents are retired, and they want to enjoy seeing the world, not be tested by it. The upside for me is that we often eat and drink very well — this I do not mind.

After landing separately and rendezvousing at our fairly swank AirBnB, we oriented ourselves to the old city by stumbling around in a sleep-deprived haze, buying bananas and some things for breakfast.

We decided to spend the next day climbing up and down the hills of Malá Strana, “Lesser Town,” still shaking off jetlag.

On our uphill walk to the castle, which we conquered slowly, we found the Gingerbread Museum on a street called Nerudova, which is packed full of the most intricately decorated gingerbread cookies I have ever seen. We gaped at lace icing designs, lederhosen-laden gingerbread boys, and pigtailed gingerbread girls.

The thick, cake-like texture of a carefully chosen gingerbread character, shared between us, seemed to give us enough energy to get up the rest of the hill to the entrance to the Prazsky Hrad (Prague Castle) — which has a Starbucks (!) at the entrance. Sigh.

After enjoying the changing of the guard, the views from the bell tower, and a stroll through the castle grounds, we were dumped out back near the river, ready to retire early.

Highlights of the next day were the Astronomical Clock, at which we caught the somewhat anticlimactic 1 p.m. hourly “chime,” and Old Town Square, hosting tons of tour groups whose guides stuck their bright umbrellas up into the air like red spires in the City of a Hundred Spires. Some booths on one side of the square were selling beer and grog, and one was roasting a whole pig right there.

Still one of my favorite things about Europe is the obsession with dining al fresco. We tried some traditional Czech fare at a restaurant a few blocks off the square that got good reviews. I wasn’t overly impressed, but the goulash came in really tasty gravy, and it was pleasant to eat out on the sidewalk on the raised wooden platform, watching the street scene unfold.

After our late lunch, we crossed the Čechuv most (“most” means bridge) and climbed the stairs (yes, more stairs!) to Letna Park to see the huge Metronome, but sadly, it wasn’t ticking. The wandering continued as we tried to work up our appetites for dinner. The walk across the Charles Bridge is never uninteresting.

I was told I’m “batting 1,000” on restaurants. My choice for dinner was in line with such success. Restaurant R.M. Rilke is halfway between the Charles Bridge and the bridge just to the south of it, close to the river. The entrance takes you down a few steps from street level, and it’s appropriately cozy inside. The ceilings are curved, cave-like, and a bit low, but it’s not uncomfortable. The tables are old and don’t all match, some seating looks like old church pews, some tables have settees and matching upholstered chairs. Of course, portraits of Rainer Marie Rilke, the Bohemian poet, were scattered around on the walls, along with a photo of Pope John Paul II, other portraits, and pin-up girls from the 30s(ish).

It was a charming spot, and the waiter was friendly and patient. We all ordered salmon in different preparations — smoked and stuffed in chicken, grilled over veggies, and cubed over salad — and it was all very delicious.

I’d chosen a bar one block up for an after-dinner drink, and given how full we all were, it was nice to simply roll ourselves up the street and in the door.

Hemingway Bar seems like a little local gem. Though this place is on the map, literally and figuratively, it feels like some speakeasies I’ve been to in the states: a host seats you instead of there being open seating, and once every seat is taken, the bar is full, and you are turned away. No standing room here. (Though they do take reservations.) There are “rules” on the first page of the menu, which include “no vulgar language,” “don’t speak to other guests unless you know them; respect others’ privacy,” and “don’t buy drinks for other people unless you have asked the bartender first to find out if it’s okay.”

It was the first food and beverage establishment we tried that I think is actually frequented by locals on a regular basis. We saw people coming out with briefcases, suggesting they had come straight from work to have a drink, and the crowd was generally young professionals, maybe the hipsters of Prague.

The bar is advertised as offering “fine mixology and luxury spirits,” and the suspender-clad bartenders do take their drinks quite seriously. I ordered an English Mustard, a gin drink that came with a slice of bacon, and Dad ordered an Orange Mandarin, which came with a toasted marshmallow.

The next day, we took the funicular up to Petrin Hill, tried trdelnik, which is a spiraled pastry coated in cinnamon and sugar, then wandered through the Jewish Quarter, Josefov. Prague has definitely grown on me.

We had another fantastic dinner at Klub Architektu, a well-reviewed restaurant well deserving of its reputation.

The restaurant is underground, underneath Bethlehem Chapel, built in the 1390s as the first preacher’s temple in Europe, but which is now the ceremonious hall of the Czech Technical University after the institution assumed responsibility for it around 1990.

The space is cool.

Cavernous, dark, arch-roofed dining rooms with very low-hung and strangely modern orange-tinted lamps over each table, giving the whole place a bit of a spooky feel. The food was fantastic — pumpkin seems to be a very popular flavor to base dishes around here, and I am not complaining.

We are a family that requires chocolate on a regular basis, but rather than getting dessert at Klub Architektu, we headed to Choco Cafe, a relaxed space that serves chocolate in many forms, so as to have an opportunity to try one more Prague establishment before we had to leave the city.

My parents ordered a truly divine chocolate cake with mousse layers, and I got hot “drinking chocolate” with bananas and strawberries. This was sinful, people. Sin. Ful. It was almost too rich to finish the whole thing, but I persevered.

Stuffed to the brim, we appeared on time for a show at a jazz club called Agharta, which is just a block or two off of Old Town Square, and thus, disappointingly, caters to tourists.

The club, like the Klub, is underground. In another small cavernous space, the band was set up: piano, double bass, tenor sax, and drums — one of the better jazz combos, in my opinion. We had a table right up front and drank wine until our ears were full and we could hardly keep our eyes open.

On our last morning in Prague, I woke up at the crack of dawn to take some goodbye photos of Prague before we hopped our train to Vienna. The overcast, foggy conditions leant a very dreamlike atmosphere, and I wasn’t the only one taking advantage of it.