Back to the Future in Prague

It was May of 1992. I was a jobless recent college grad with a couple of fraternity brothers, a backpack the size of a lunar astronaut’s, a Eurorail pass and a budget smaller than a bag of airline peanuts. My quest: cross the European continent in six weeks hitting a couple dozen cities in 10 countries from the East to West. Sleeping on trains, ship decks and in youth hostels, I gazed upon Red Square, drank in German beer halls, paraglided off a Swiss mountain, cringed at a Spanish bullfight, swam in the Mediterranean, beheld the Sistine Chapel and smiled back at the Mona Lisa. And I remember very little of it.

How could I? We averaged about 36 blurry hours per stop, led by guidebooks and fellow travelers’ recommendations, subsisting primarily on beer, Cokes, baguettes and whatever indigenous fare we could stomach and/or afford. And while these memories and experiences still enrich me, they are remote and difficult to access—like a college course that you aced back in the day but now you can’t even remember what it was called. I know I tasted many delectable moments on that backpacking journey but savored little. Sir Francis Bacon once remarked that “Travel, in the younger sort, is a part of education; in the elder, a part of the experience.” As a backpacker I got my education; now, at 35, I want to travel to be an experience.

One city that has beckoned back to me over these past 13 years is Prague. In my first trip across the pond, the Iron Curtain had just dropped, the Berlin Wall had just toppled and in Czechoslovakia, the Velvet Revolution had just exacted its change, revealing one of the most spectacular cities in the Western world: Prague, a city unmolested by WWII bombs and the villainous Nazis. Sprung up from the Vltava River in the 10^th Century, Prague has spawned layer upon layer of intact history spanning from the Romans to the Soviets. And in 1992 it was wide open. Few of the fellow backpackers we encountered in our journeys had known about this distant gem, but the secret would get out.

Recollections from that first visit are foggy at best: a bridge with statues, a weird old clock in the town square, a boring opera in a spectacular theater we saw for six bucks, tasty beer, and cheap digs—so cheap that we had little problem adhering to our $50 per day budget. Not much to cling to as far as memories. But these images stayed with me and I knew that one day I would have to return. Like a great novel with a Post-It note on top saying, “read this thoroughly when you have time,” Prague beckoned me back.

My wife and I arrived and because I was used to cramming the sights of a city like a college exam into a miniscule block of time, we ravenously attacked the city on our first morning, absorbing everything in our path. And then, we paused, realizing that we had time. We strolled, ambled and sauntered. We ate in quaint cafes. We lingered in shops. We read about flying buttresses, Kafka, Saints, and martyrs. It was blissful.

I returned to The Charles Bridge, a stone pedestrian bridge dates back to 1357 adorned with stunning statues of Saints that connects the Old Town with what is known as the Little Quarter. We paused at most of the 25 or so statues, reading about the Saints and their holy deeds. I vividly recall 13 years ago freely moving about the bridge, inhaling the breeze off of the river, the artisans’ wares and the musicians’ music. But on this trip, we could hardly move from all of the foot traffic. Prague is a secret no more.

We also returned to The Old Town Square which dates back to before 1100. When I had first set eyes on it in 1992, my brothers and I roamed the sprawling square and witnessed the chiming of the Old Town Hall Clock, a glockenspiel which rotates mechanical figures of the Apostles through small portals at the top of each hour. I recall the small quorum of tourists who causally gathered for the chiming 13 years ago—maybe a dozen people made each “show.” Today, we witnessed no less than 500 people scurry for each hourly performance.

13 years ago we hoofed up a gasping 225 stairs to the top of the 600-year-old Old Town Hall Tower. Today, we paid 3 bucks to ride to the top in a new elevator. 13 years ago we brown bagged Czech beers in the square, today we sat in a prime location café and soaked up the atmosphere. 13 years ago I subsisted on $50 a day. Today, our lunch was $50. Indeed, Prague has come full circle from bashful post-Soviet berg to a full-blown New York City-priced tourist haven.

There were also many things I had simply missed the first trip: the ancient Jewish Quarter which is one of the most storied neighborhoods still preserved in Europe, the Prague Castle district and U Fleku, a 500-year-old beer pub. How I missed that the first time, I have no idea.

Indeed, this trip to Prague was the experience I had missed my first time. But despite my advancement in maturity as well as station in life, I still felt nostalgia for the personal liberation I knew in the past. As I walked down the cobblestone streets of the Old Town on our last morning, I unexpectedly reconnected with that past.

He must have been 21 or 22, American, and just come in from somewhere overnight—Vienna, Brussels, or Budapest. His buddies looked just like he did. They were exhausted and probably would have traded everything in their backpacks for an Egg McMuffin and a cigarette. It was a sight I knew all too well but hadn’t personally been acquainted with in years: disoriented, sleep-deprived, bleary-eyed, puffy-faced, hair three-days unwashed, stubble protruding, clothes wrinkled and odor-wafting. And on top of it all, an expression that was pure and unmistakable—total freedom.

While I would never go back to that style of travel, I am so grateful I experienced it. Backpacking was a sampler platter for the dishes I want to someday order as full entrees. Prague is perhaps one of the greatest of the world’s dishes, and this time I know it’s indelibly marked in my memory.

Then and Now

Then: the Walkman, 4 cassette tapes, 80 total songs

Now: iPod 20G, 4892 songs

Then: Schlepping a backpack the size of a kayak

Now: Paying a bellman to haul my suitcase

Then: Searching for the American Express office to purchase traveler's checks

Now: ATM on every corner

Then: Calling home collect at $2.95 a minute

Now: tri-band cell phone at .99/minute

Then: Eagerly awaiting the newspaper for 2-day-old information on The Braves

Now: Pop into an internet café and get real-time scores

Then: Carrying, organizing and protecting 25 rolls of 35mm film