| “Prague never lets you go. That dear little mother has claws.” – Franz Kafka Travellers versus tourists. For years, I was the archetypal solo female traveller. You know the one: untethered by a relationship, small children, few responsibilities, flitting around the world, enjoying flings, living and collecting wild stories in a rigadoon of delight. So I’m in Prague, having a hard time pulling the camera out of my bag. Prague, the city of ‘One Hundred Spires’ – Europe magnified. I’ve sat through too many films, been so many places, seen a multitude of lovers holding hands on bridges, watched couples posing in front of beautiful buildings with open windows; scenes of lived experiences. But who can stand the weight of so many photographs, now so easily downloaded in multitudes, places and cities worn out from being seen too much. And really, who cares? Travel isn’t about pleasure as much as it is hard work. Travel is a choice. You go or you don’t. What am I doing here anyway? The prayerful plea of every traveler. Many hate flying and airports and taking off their shoes at security, but love and romanticize the getting there. Objects and events may bring things to mind, but in the end they remain no more than what they are in fact. They begin only when you experience them, and vanish when new ones follow. Maybe travelling, of forward motion, is a means of eavesdropping, driven by the hope that we might see or hear something we’ve never seen or heard before, of claiming a more you version of you. Maybe to be awakened from our slumber by the unexpected, to escape, if only for a short while, the deadening quality of routine. To unfurl a bit of rope. But there isn’t really much newness anywhere anymore, just other, worse and better, versions of every place where I’ve already been. But I have chosen this place and this time – and it simply enthrals me. It’s the kind of city you read about in fairy tales. Coffee to stay or Why can’t Canada get the sidewalk café right? Somehow Europeans were lucky enough to be born with some sort of café culture gene – a fluke of genetics, like Texans attracted like moths to high school football games on Friday nights. A sidewalk café does for a city what flowers do for a woman; they make her happy and attractive. It’s a state of mind, but the mood—the ambiance, is like a good French wine: it won’t travel. I have spent many an afternoon overstaying my welcome at beautiful European cafés. Sidewalk cafés, in my opinion, are the hallmark of civilized life – temples to caffeine, creativity and conversation. Housed under striped awnings, the air tinged a delicate shade of nicotine blue, sits small round tables with stained marble tops and worn wicker chairs. There is the distinctive clicking sound of waiters putting down saucers and glasses, a sound I would recognize anywhere. Instead of seats aligned in rows facing outward where sippers of coffee and aperitifs can watch the spectacle of the street, in North America, we install square steel tables under stout canvas roofs with drop down flaps, bulwarks of heaters looming over chilling patrons – a fate only the tortured writer himself could have imagined. For the flâneur, the poet or the metaphysician at his notebook, sidewalk cafés were created by men who thoroughly understood that sidewalks are not merely for walking. Promenaders take center stage, strolling and being seen, while onlookers perch on the periphery. They are perfect spots for observing human foibles. They were made for loneliness and curiosity, detachment and togetherness. And privacy. Sidewalk habitues are blessed with temporary deafness. One may not be able to avoid hearing what is said at the next table, but one is never consciously listening. On the terrace, each man is an island unto himself. It is an accepted rule that people may bump into you or stumble over your feet. No apologies are expected or given. And my favourite here? Café Louvre. Although not technically a sidewalk café as it’s on the first level, its design more typical of the Habsburg Empire at the turn of the 20th century, it was a favourite haunt of the upper echelons of Prague society where famous regulars included Franz Kafka and even Albert Einstein. So if Einstein was smart enough to go there… The speed of inspiration. Prague is walked. This is capital. It’s that vagabond state among walkers — we street haunters move aimlessly, and are hardly ever on a mission. We drift here and there, letting thoughts change with the passing view, with the travelers instinct of inhabiting the moment. To find something to admire, to ponder, to discover. To, as writer Robert Louis Stevenson put it, to “follow this way or that, as the freak takes you“. To look up to find the “Hanging woman and man with umbrella” sculptures. In fact, it is paramount in Prague – you will miss much of worth if you are not constantly looking up. |
 |
“The chief prevention against getting old is to remain astonished.” – Kevin Kelly I walk (everyday for tens of thousands of steps) with a touch of agreeable languor, a pleasure-seeking wastrel, even in this densely urban environment. I’m never wandering the streets alone. Not even at 6:00 in the morning do I have the streets to myself. And the only police presence I’ve seen was an officer sitting in her van thumbing her iPhone in the middle of a busy square in case a tourist wanted help finding a place that serves a good pork knuckle. You don’t need to saunter far to fall in earshot of a melody in Prague. Perambulating, I can hear strains of a Dvořák concerto coming from a high window, an opera singer practicing her scales, a child cellist struggling through a passage, street jazz buskers on one of the many bridges, then resting in the magnificent Baroque Klementinum Cathedral listening to Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” performed by the Bohemian Symphony Orchestra…daily musical sounds of Prague. And I didn’t miss an opportunity to hang out at the famous Reduta, where Bill Clinton twice rocked out on the saxophone gifted to him by the then-president Václav Hável. I meander on cobbled streets, along winding rivers and across ornate bridges connecting fairytale-esque architecture, through idyllic green spots of paradise, home to strutting peacocks. I walk over old territory with ghosts, past the smell of church wood, past a world of corridors, marble steps, great buildings, and past quirky, unique entirely unexpected irreverent sinister disturbingly amusing pieces of public art. And graffiti: here, an art form. |
 |
So…a girl goes out into the world to find…only she finds she’s the same person in Newfoundland, in Slovenia, in Prague, as she is back home, with all the same flaws, the same obnoxious behaviors, the same judgmental rapture. Now she just happens to have two pictures of herself standing in front of the Mucha Museum. That’s not as good of a story. It probably won’t make it to a movie script, get more Instagram followers, or a free plane ticket. But it’s more honest. |
 |
Staying at home can offer as many opportunities for growth and transformation and brain rewiring or any terms you’d like to use. If you’re the type of person who is more scared of staying home than wandering out there, then perhaps that’s what you should do. As such, this concludes the audio portion of your walking tour. I hope you enjoyed your time with me. Thank you, and please watch your step upon exiting. |
 |
To Prague with Love
September 16, 2023 by
Hi Karyn. So amusing to read your post here in the heart of Rocamadour in the Perigore region of s. France.
Well spoken!
For the first rime ever I’m not in awe and in love with France… the heat has evaporated my enthusiasm. But loving it all nevertheless.
Bon journey
Carollyne Coulson
Loved this email. I sometimes have trouble getting my travel mates to slow down and enjoy side walk cafés. Delana
Thanks.
Great memories for me also. E
Sounds wonderful! I really enjoyed reading this article!
Sent from Sheena’s iPhone 😎
Lovely.I can picture sitting outside watching the world go by for hours. We Canadians need to slow down and enjoy life. Laura
Hi Karen,
Really enjoyed your Prague story – I share your love and admiration for this city. Would totally go back there!
Hope you are doing well,
Sheila Fenwick
Thanks Karyn! Awesome, as always!!!
Kind regards,
Susan Hubele