story of a nomadic traveller | Mexican goodbye in Praha

7 | must reads

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Mexican goodbye in Praha

Soon I would travel south on a train towards Bohemia.

   The morning after a night spent boozing on too much Pilsner Urquell beer, in a cellar pub full of smoke that hosted men with bloated bellies. Several older men looked heavily pregnant. Their red cheeks reminded me of Santa Claus. In the Czech Republic, it’s Little Jesus who brings the children presents at Christmas, not Santa. They call him Ježíšek. Anyway, it seemed Czech men with no significant other chose to spend their time in windowless rooms full of beer taps and barrels. The room the Mexican and I drank in reminded me of middle England at first. The cliental was drunk men with little but time. My comparison to English pubs changed as the night grew long. Czechs became even more reticent after a few drinks, whereas Englishmen got more outspoken. It felt less aggressive in a Czech city pub, a mob mentality wasn’t as prevalent, people were more reserved. Which makes sense when you think about history in the context of communist occupation and conformity. Maybe in time a protest about their situation would present itself in a disorderly form. But when in the company of Czech drinkers, people existed peacefully, equally. A lack of booze fuelled emotion was welcome after years spent drinking in pubs and bars where anything could kick off at any moment—and often did.