#9 - The great Prague beer heist

DEC 14 - 18: If I've learnt anything about hostels in the past month, it's this: the showers can be awesome, the beds comfy, the beers cheap, but hostels are nothing without the right people. In Prague, this was truer than ever. After the relaxing stay in Cesky Krumlov, I was keen to hit the cans and bust a few interpretive dance moves... luckily, I'd chosen Hostel Downtown to stay.

Prague's main square at night. The Christmas markets were in full swing. Shot from the Church Of Our Lady viiewing tower.

I checked in and within ten minutes of meeting my roommates, we were drafting plans to hit the clubs in town. So far, so good. Thankfully, I'd been crowbarred into a room with six other awesome Aussies and a poor Brazilian bloke (?) who probably didn't know what had hit him. The drinks were flowing and within 30 minutes I'd already gone halves in a bottle of Jack and worked out that one of my roommates, Kat, was friends with my cousin. Ridiculous. We sat around chatting and drinking and getting to know each other, which is one of my favourite things about hostel life. Sometimes, you get to hostels and absolutely nobody is in the mood to say hi, chat or head out, which I always found insane. Why else do the hostel thing? Thankfully, this group was easily the best since Zurich and even the Brazilian (?) guy got involved and sunk a few reds with us. It might sound strange, but as the c-word flowed freely in our room, I smiled. For the first time in three weeks, I felt like I was home. Sorry Mum! Soon enough, it was time to hit the chilly streets of Prague to see what this party town could offer.

Not much, as we soon found it. Our first destination was Roxy, which came with good reviews. For what seemed like forever, we wandered Prague in search of the place. It was only midnight, which is typically when Europeans start thinking about partying, but as we arrived the bouncers were not letting anyone in. Were we too ugly? Apparently not, because Roxy was closing at the ripe old time of 12am. Annoyed, we decided to head on towards Karlovy Lazne, that famous five-story club in Prague that is supposedly the place to be. Callen and Teale were in charge of direction, so it took us about 25 minutes to walk 800 metres. Finally, we arrived, paid our cover charge and were ready to rave...

Not quite. For one, only three stories of the famous 'five story club' were open to plebs like us, and two of them - an ice bar and an oldies dance floor - were completely empty. Our only option was the 'dance' floor, which at least showed some signs of life. We loaded up on pints of cheap and nasty beer and danced halfheartedly with about 30 other people. It was hardly going off, but fun all the same, and before long the fingers guns were getting a fine workout. We were on the second tier overlooking the main dance floor, which was slowly filling up. Out of beer and keen to spice things up, Kat thought it would be hilarious to reach down and steal some beers sitting on a shelf a floor below. Unfortunately, those beers were owned by what turned out to be two Russian mafia brutes. I know this because I had to stare at one in the eyes after he bounded up the stairs to avenge his beer. His arms were approximately thicker than my legs and he could have killed me in a single punch. I pled innocence and just in the nick of time, Kat stepped in, handed over the beer and played it off as a hilarious prank. Somehow, they bought it, though one of them had hellfire in his eyes as he was pulled away. Yes, my life was nearly cut short over a pint of rubbish $2.10AUD Czech beer. Thanks Kat! Meeeeemories.

Afterwards, we gave the oldies floor a go, which had one of those light-up dance floors. It was just us until a coked-up hipster came along and started busting moves, which prompted us to all get involved and execute some atrocious freestyle dance. The only evidence lies with Snapchat and in our memory, and that's where it belongs. That was enough excitement for one night, and after Kat wasted a few koruna on those nonsense oxygen therapy things, we trotted home. Sure, Prague's nightlife had so far disappointed, but I'd lived to screw up another day, we'd pissed off the Russians and it was only Wednesday night.

Prague's memorial to the victims of the holocaust. I was surprised at how heavily the city suffered under the Nazi regime.

On Thursday, we rose late and after some brekky, me and Kat headed off to explore Prague with our cameras. Linked by our connection back home in Melbourne, she and I hit it off straight away and I soon learned out paths to Europe shared a few similarities.  Like me, her solo adventure around Europe was a chance to escape and reset, meet new people and open her eyes to the world outside her own. After a tough couple of years, Kat had recently finished school and worked three jobs to afford her trip. It was all pretty impressive. She was also f**king funny, sharp as a whip, self-aware, thoughtful and enjoyed photography, and so proved the perfect companion for the day. We wandered around largely aimlessly while discussing our back stories and snapping away happily. Prague sure does have a lot to point a camera at.

Prague's main square and the astronomical clock, which sits on the side of the church on the left. Most of these landmarks were destroyed by the Nazis and had to be rebuilt following WWII.

Prague is an exceedingly beautiful city that is ever so slightly spoilt by a rampant tourism culture. Of all the cities I've visited in Europe, Prague probably has the most abundance of priceless architecture and history. It positively drips with it, but you have to dodge what feels like thousands of people to enjoy the major sights. Tourists mostly flock to the Charles Bridge, the iconic Prague Castle and the medieval astronomical clock in Prague’s main square. The iconic bridge, even in the dead of winter, was packed with buskers, homeless people, tour groups and tourists like us. I can only imagine the place in summer. It spoils the beauty of the spot - which offers brilliant views of the Old Town and the famous Prague castle - when you have to manoeuvre around mediocre caricature artists and dozens of blokes selling cheap keyrings.

So we walked on and checked out a few of the quieter areas, including the Lennon Wall. The wall became famed in the 80s as a protest against the communist regime that oversaw Czechslovakia at the time. It was a homage to John Lennon and his inspiring message of hope and peace, and a way for young people to express their frustration at being forced to live under a dictatorship. Despite attempts by the regime to stop the protest street art, each day people would scrawl messages of love and hope. When the regime finally fell in 1989, the wall stayed and became a popular tourist attraction. My favourite quote painted on the wall? “Please don’t feed the fears. Thank you.”

After a walk through Prague’s museum and park district, which featured some… interesting art installations, we headed back to the hostel after a stop at the best salad bar of my life. It was time to say goodbye to Kat, who was continuing on to Vienna. We hugged it out and with Teale in tow, she was gone. The churn of hostel life goes ever on. I’ve said it before, but it never really gets easier saying goodbye to good people.

On Friday, I took a free walking tour of Prague with our very own guide from the hostel. It was a good chance to get acquainted with the true history of the city. I'd never realised how big a part Prague played in WWII, nor the toll the city had worn under Nazi rule. In the final days of the war in May 1945, residents of Prague launched a rebellion against their Nazi oppressors in an attempt to fight off the Germans once and for all. The Nazis responded with a show of force which included bombing runs and tank assaults on some of the city’s major landmarks, including the famous astronomical clock first built in the 1500s. The Germans were ultimately repelled by the arrival of Soviet troops days later, but many of the city’s landmarks burned to the ground or lay in rubble. I was starting to get a grasp on just how close Hitler got to overthrowing Europe…

Our tour group checks out one of Prague's central parks.

I got back to the hostel and found I’d scored two new roommates, a Romanian lad named Onu and Josh, a medicine student from North Carolina. We had the meet and greet chat and quickly agreed to try out the free pub tour the hostel was putting on for Friday night. So that’s how it came to pass that a Romanian, an American and Aussie were in a dinky little bar in Prague. I don’t remember much about the night other than it involved downing absinthe shots at a criminally early hour of the night and meeting fellow Aussie's Alice and Zoe and a trio of Serbian brothers who became our unlikely friends (and protectors). We decided to give Karlovy Lazne another crack, and I finally saw why Prague’s night life is talked up. The place was absolutely pumping. We danced poorly, we drank heavily, we talked the Serbian brothers out of punching everyone, Josh lost his wallet, I lost my dignity on the dance floor and the Serbian brothers lost theirs in an underground brothel across the road from the club. I don’t remember what time we got home, but I do remember the absolutely amazing slice of margarita pizza I destroyed moments before crawling into bed. Goddamn you absinthe.

Saturday started… late. Our mission for the day was to find Josh’s wallet (the only thing we had a chance of recovering from the night before...) Nothing was open when we returned to the club, so we hiked up towards Prague Castle along with what seemed like half  the entire population of Europe. The castle is built on top of a hill overlooking Prague, and it's beautiful and majestic, save for the Starbucks Coffee shop embedded in its outer wall. The line to get inside was ridiculous bordering on insane, so we quickly foregoed that idea and wandered the quieter streets of Prague to get a better sense of the place away from the tackiness of the tourist traps. Prague is just a little too busy, a little too tacky, a little too much.

That night, my sights were firmly fixated on the party our hostel was hosting. For 10 euro, they were supplying a three-course meal and unlimited beer, followed by a pub crawl. Yes please. Josh was vowing not to get involved after the lost wallet incident, but within 10 minutes he was skolling cheap beer and trying (and failing) to beat me at beer pong. I was on fire from the start and seemed to get better as the night wore on and the beer loosened up the old throwing arm. We met awesome people – Kiwis, an Irish lass, a brute from Southampton, arrogant Lebanese blokes (who were surprisingly good at beer pong), and more Aussies than you could shake a pool cue at. After countless games of beer pong and a strike-rate that bordered on Bradman-esque, it was time to hit the streets of Prague.

As we waited to leave, I got talking to Olivia and Megan, two ripping American college students from Washington and Idaho respectively. They had been studying in San Sebastian in Spain and were enjoying a final fling through a bunch of European cities before they flew home for Christmas. After an initial stop at a dinky underground bar not far from the hostel, we moved on to a second bar which I was chuffed to find stocked Kingswood Cider, the first and only decent cider I’d tasted on mainland Europe. (I’m coming for you England). I got the girls onto it and we chatted and bonded over the differences between Australia and the U.S. I tried, and failed, to explain the concept of AFL to them, and they took the piss out of the way I said gridiron. Far too soon, the girls had to leave to prepare for an early bus in the morning and I said a warm goodbye to my two newest mates from the States. With that out of the way, it was time to dance and enjoy my final night in Prague.

I met up again with the Serbian trio and we followed the pub crawl group to an awesome little underground speakeasy somewhere deep beneath Prague. The drinks were cheap, the music was pumping and the dance floors were crowded with people under the influence of all kinds of fun and illicit substances. The next couple of hours were a blur, but I do remember jumping around like a madman with hundreds of other sweaty humans until about 4am when I rolled my ankle after seven too many Captain Morgan & Dry’s. Soundly defeated, I headed back to the hostel with our pub crawl host, who insisted on capping the night off with a couple of butterscotch shots and an existential conversation about love and hooking up with co-workers.

I woke up about 9am feeling a million bucks (maybe butterscotch is the secret), forced down breakfast and hauled ass to the bus stop for my train. Prague, you were special. Sure, I’d never take my Mum or girlfriend there, but if you’re keen to party, drinks lots, meet awesome, fun and carefree people and dance like a wanker, Prague is the place to go. Just don’t let Kat organise the next round.