Praha - liminal city of Alchemists

What else did I see in Prague, Frances asked?  Truly, it was a whistle stop tour. We arrived late, very late, in a snowstorm, to our hotel in the Old Town Square which was gearing up for Easter with streamers in the trees.  A man stood chopping wood for one of the many open fires and that was the first indication that Prague is a city of the elements, an alembic.

It’s interesting, you know (or maybe you don't), that although the name Prague comes from the Slavic for ‘ford’, the city’s native name is Praha and its etymology suggests the word práh  - threshold.  So, a liminal place, then?  My kind of town. 

‘The Astronomical Clock is just around the corner,’ said Adrian.  And, with only a few minutes before the hour, we waited with the throng of tourists to watch the little figures come out and do their thing.

I wanted to go in hunt of alchemists, of golems and astrologers, of spells and sorcery. I yearned to see the Prague of Dee and Kelley, of Kepler and of Maharal Rabbi Loew.  Adrian, meanwhile, mused on defenestration and protectorates, Hussites and, of course, beer. 

But he dutifully took me to see the old Jewish Cemetery (100,000 burials, 12 layers of tombs) and pointed out the wall and window where the golem supposedly waited.  We walked over the Charles Bridge, climbed up to the castle, wandered up and down steps and into backways and byways. 

I’m not good at being a tourist. I don’t really go for ticking off museums and sights. I love just meandering around, stopping every so often to sit at some café or bar and watch a new city at work and play. And Praha is the perfect city for that…

Huge thanks to the Czech Tourist Board for their generous hospitality.  I love your city, I truly do…and I hope to return...I really do.  So much more to see. So much more to love. 

Yes, I take crap photographs.  Apologies. :-) 

A partial hand massage and a shared dressing gown

So Adrian won an award from the Czech Tourist Board, in thanks for his tireless and perfectly selfless tasting and promoting of Czech lager (well, that’s the way I see it).  ‘It’s a three night stay for two people,’ he said. ‘I thought it would be good to show you Prague.’

‘Hmm,’ I said. I had a fair idea of what “showing me Prague” would entail  - I could probably recite a list of all the apparently incredible bars along with their signature beers in my sleep.

‘No,’ he said, all hurt. ‘I wouldn’t just drag you round bars. I could show you…’ He paused. ‘Umm…the river!  I could show you the river.  And the castle. And there’s a great bridge.’  Hmm. But I’ve got a river and a bridge here…and a hillfort. But then again, everyone says Prague is lovely so...

Anyhow.  A few weeks later he appeared at my office door with a piece of paper and a puzzled look on his face.

‘What’s that?’  Suspecting a bill or a court summons.

‘Er, it’s confirmation of our trip.’  He did look very odd indeed. Perfectly perplexed.

‘Is everything alright?’

‘Er, yes.  It’s just…we’re not staying in Prague.  They’ve booked us into this place in Podebrady.  It’s…a spa hotel.’

Kerching!  I suppressed the little victory dance that was playing out in my head and snatched the letter.  And laughed my tits off.  Not only were they sending us to a spa, they were sending us for a ‘Wine Relaxation Stay’.  Given Adrian writes about beer and generally turns his exceedingly sensitive nose up at wine, there was a blissful irony to it.

I read on. 

Not only do we get a “welcome drink of 2dcl of delicious wine with you first dinner” (sic), we also get “grapes in the room on arrival.”  Followed by “1 x relaxation wine bath with wrap, 1 x classic partial Hand massage with grape oil, 1 x HydroJet (massage water bed)” (sic).  By now I was wheezing with amusement.

‘A partial hand massage?' I said. 'What the hell’s that?  Are they only going to massage part of our hands?’

‘Sounds like…’

‘No. Don’t go there.’

‘Fair enough.  I’m not having a wine bath though.  And I’m not too sure about the massage either.’

‘That's okay. I’ll have yours.  You can go out and find bars.’

His face brightened.

And then it dawned on me. This will be the first time I have ever been to a spa with someone. Ever.  I always go alone.  And then I thought again.  And breathed a deep sigh of relief that there’s no detoxing involved. 

“We wish you a nice stay and a lot of unforgettable memories!” trilled the letter, before adding: “A dressing gown is available during the stay.”

So, there you have it.  Adrian and I flying off to the Czech Republic tomorrow for a regime of wine and bathing.  A partial hand massage. And a shared dressing gown. Bottoms up! 

The List of Banned Words

The NY Times has a shorter list. 

So, I was sitting in Adrian’s office waiting to talk to BBC Hereford & Worcester about letter-writing.  Why wasn’t I in my own office? Cos I don’t have a phone in mine – well I do, but it doesn’t work – it sounds like someone sunk it in a bucket of water. So, even though he’d just come back from London, I turfed the poor guy out and was sitting there waiting for the radio people to call when I saw this piece of paper stuck to the side of his desk.  And laughed out loud cos it was something I’d sent him months back.  See, he does a lot of travel writing and usually asks me to cast an eye over it, to edit, before it gets sent off. 

And he’s wise to do that cos, IMO, every writer (no matter how good, no matter how brilliant even) should get edited.  And I’d told him that he got a bit clichéd from time to time and had sent him a list of banned words and phrases (which, to be fair, I’d cribbed from a travel editor of my own).  But it made me laugh, as it always does, cos really – you see these clunkers again and again. 

So, for any wannabe travel writers or bloggers out there – here you go…the ones to miss.

Banned words

A city of contrasts

Stylish accommodation

Chilling

Stunning

Nightmare

Dream

Footprints

Hubby

Kids

Brits

Whilst

Amidst

Winding cobbled streets  

Cobbled streets in general, not just the winding variety

Picturesque

Breathtaking

Chilled out

Chilling

Jaw dropping

Eyewatering

Romantic

Pampering

Blighty

18-30 Crowd

Airport hell

To-die-for

Summer’s lease

Delicacies

Vibrant

Vivid hotpotch of colours, smells and sounds

Teeming

Laid-back

Laid-back lifestyle

Tolkeinesque (as applied to any vaguely medieval defensive architecture)

Innate sense of rhythm

Choc-a-bloc

Azure

Crystal clear - as in water

The Bounty Ad

Sights-and-smells

Hearty

Rustic

Traditional

Authentic

En famille

No-frills

Under the stars

Al-fresco dining

Spa heaven

Traditional hearty cuisine

Whistlestop tour

Fed and watered

Magical Mystery Tour

Barefoot luxury

Luxury

Luxurious

Lux

Five-star luxury

Eco-friendly or anything friendly for that matter

Holistic

Back-to-nature

Time immemorial

Timeless

Time-warp

Yesteryear

Bygone age

Priceless treasures

Steamy

Subtropical (unless you actually mean subtropical, which invariably you do not)

Exuberant vegetation

Ooh-la-la!

Je ne sais quoi

Par excellence

Nothing but the sound of waves

Leaving the modern world behind

My own/your own/our own slice of paradise

Any reference to ‘attentive yet unobtrusive’ staff, butlers, waiters etc

Untrammelled

Family in-tow

Tranquility

Heaven

Paradise

Hell

Nestled

Nestling

As far as the eye can see

Powder white sand

Lapping waves

Dazzling

Quintessential

Rich and famous as in ‘attracting the rich and famous’

Ah, those cobbled streets...

And so I did the interview, resisting the urge to see how many of these I could drop into the conversation and then, as I put down the phone, my eyes fixed on a huge great paperweight thing in the shape of a celestial mountain. Ah yes. He’d been in London to attend the Czech Republic’s tourism awards and had won a gong.  ‘What’s the prize?’ I’d said, hoping he’d say a few grand.

‘A trip for two to Prague,’ he’d said. ‘I can show you the city.’

Ah yes, the picturesque winding cobbled streets.  The Tolkienesque architecture. The traditional hearty cuisine. The city of contrast with its priceless treasures.  Except...

‘You mean drink beer,’ I’d said.

‘No,’ he’d said. ‘Well, not just drink beer. There are…’

‘Bars?’

His brow had furrowed. 

‘Wouldn’t you rather take Keith?’ I’d said.  And watched the thought flicker over his forehead.

‘So,’ I said (back in the near past now, back in the office, just after the interview). ‘What happened about the trip? You've gone quiet on it. What’s the hotel like?’  Five-star luxury? Attentive yet unobtrusive staff, butlers, waiters etc.?

 His brow furrowed so hard it folded over.  ‘Ah yes, the hotel.’

‘Huh? Oh don’t tell me. It’s the beer hotel par excellence. Or right next to the best timewarp bar or something. Or there’s an obligatory quintessential brewery tour each day?’

‘Er, no,’ he said. ‘Actually, it’s not even in Prague.’ 

‘So where is it?’

‘About thirty miles out,’ he said and then added with a look of woebegone misery. ‘And, er…it’s a spa.’

Oh my! Spa heaven. Or rather, my pampering paradise; hubby's untrammelled nightmare.