Prague, Czech Republic

I said my goodbyes to the Yanks early as I checked out from the hostel. They were staying on for another day or so before continuing southwards into Austria, but I was keen to get a shift on northwards to the Czech Republic’s beautiful capital city.

I rediscovered the town’s crumbling  train station only after an erratic walk largely in the opposite direction from its location, but luckily I had accounted for such directional incompetence on my part and still had plenty of time to make the train onwards.

As we puttered back south via České Budějovice to join the mainline I saw the Czech countryside in daylight for the first time. It had dense forests similar to southern Germany, with the odd isolated hut complete with a neatly-stacked woodpile outside, which made for a beautiful landscape. Back at the home of Budweiser Budvar I transferred to my marginally faster national train for the three and a half journey up to Prague.

My impressions of the Czech Republic had been predominantly positive so far. The lightness on the old wallet was particularly well received. The economic gap between the European powerhouse of Germany and the Czech Republic was apparent, not least in the age of the cars on the road: there were old Skodas everywhere. The people, whilst not quite having the warmth of southern Germans, were nice enough, although I did notice that it seemed to be written into law that any woman over forty had to dye her hair purple. The extensive wearing of denim jackets and jeans also seemed to be mandated and apparently applied to everyone, regardless of age or gender.

I spent most of the journey up to Prague gently dribbling down my t-shirt in the Land of Nod. On arrival I transferred straight onto the  subway to the stop nearest the hostel I had picked out. Ten years ago, when I had first visited Prague, it was still considered to be a fairly cutting-edge destination. In that time tourism had exploded, thanks in part to cheap Sleazyjet flights to the capital, opening it up as a weekend break destination for the hordes of British terrorists tourists.

I had decided to hole up in Prague for a few days in order to get a good chunk of work done, and this shaped my choice of hostel. I had picked somewhere cheap with free wi-fi internet. It wasn’t the most sociable place, with pokey communal areas that were rarely inhabited, but it didn’t matter too much, as I was still able to meet people in my dorm, and that evening I went out for a beer or three with a Swedish chap and fellow IT geek whose name I have forgotten but who I will call Sven. Our chosen drinking hole was no normal Czech bar. It was none other than the Staropramen brewery in Prague, a comfortable stumbling distance from the hostel, which meant crisp, tasty Staropramen beer freshly brewed at 50p a pint. Musn’t grumble. The food there was less of a bargain, but was gorgeous.

Sven moved on from Prague the next day, and the dorm stayed relatively empty, which made it an ideal working location. With few disturbances, free wi-fi streaming BBC Radio 1 into my headphones, and propped up by plenty of pillows, I sat in my dormbed office for four obsessively productive days, writing two new websites in their entirety, venturing out only once a day to eat. It doesn’t make for the most interesting travelling time to write about, but it was time well spent which I hoped would help fund my future travels.

When you start to dream in programming code it’s fair to say you’re overcooking it, so on the last day I had planned in Prague I packed up my Bed Office, put my tourist hat back on and ventured out into the  Old Town to run the gauntlet with my fellow tourist scum. I was amazed at how many there were off-season.

Some of the sights of the old town rang faint bells from my visit nearly a decade ago, but the castle, a sprawling regal monster to which I headed next, didn’t rekindle any memories. I spent a long time taking in the  views over the city before following a slow-shuffling tour group into St. Vitus’ Cathedral inside the castle complex.

Within thirty seconds I was marching out the door, appalled. Inside, it had been packed with fellow tourists chatting and laughing at a level more suited to a pub than a church, with flash photography pinging off the statues every few seconds. Perhaps I was in an over-sensitive mood, but I felt it was entirely inappropriate for so many people to be behaving so raucously in such a venue. I may be a militant atheist, but that doesn’t mean I’ve had my manners surgically removed; in my opinion, a beautiful thousand year old building such as a cathedral deserves to be approached with a hushed awe, let alone considering the wishes of others inside who may be praying or somesuch.

Disgusted and irritated by the crowds of cattle, I aborted my walk around the castle and made my way down to the Old Quarter to get lost in its sidestreets – this time, on purpose. There were far fewer people about than up at the castle. I slowly worked my way to the river and crossed to the centre of one of the many wide-arched bridges that spanned the Vltava and slowly turned on the spot for an impressive 360-degree view of the capital. It was a delight: gorgeous, elegant buildings lined each side as well as more modern additions such as a controversial, er,  bendy building – done very well, considering.

Enjoying the vibe of a European capital, I decided to make my next destination the dynamic German city of Berlin two hundred miles to the north, my last stop in the Fatherland before a steady trek eastwards towards Mother Russia.