Oh, Don't Think I Won't Throw Down Over A Margarita.

There once was a young woman who by some extraordinary means was launched into the mythical world of "Europa" and, though her camera was lost to the mist of the German postal service, had wonderful adventures which she would later post into a blog. This is her story.


The Excursion, Vol. 2: Kafka's House and The Evil Czech McDonalds




The train ride into Prague was among the more memorable, as our car which sat six people had no light and barely any room for our legs. We lodged our knees in a puzzle-like configuration, curled into our jackets and iPods and promptly fell asleep for two hours. When we woke up, with the picturesque countryside flying by our windows and the grass of Germany slowly fading into the hills of Prague, cookies and M&Ms were passed around and we ate like kings and then discussed lady business. This effectively kept everyone else out of our cabin (mission accomplished). When we finally got into the train station, our tour guide named Ladi met us and I compulsively made a few Aladdin jokes before I could stop myself (Can I call you "Al"? Or how about "Din"). The strong smell of wet dirt rose in the air and I briefly felt as though the beauty of our trip had ended with the cookies and M&Ms.


We made our way to the hotel, which was at the end of a dark alley, and into the restaurant where we ate the Czech version of hamburgers and harassed the single waitress serving our whole group for more and more ketchup. I shared a room with four other girls and upon opening the door to our room, we found that there was no shower but rather a bathtub with an extended showerhead and no curtain. I lovingly named it "the Pit." The next day we prepared ourselves for a four hour walking tour, and I had the Gilligan's Island theme song on a constant loop in my head for its entirety.

A Four Hour Tour. A FOUR HOUR TOUR.

Before I got to Prague, I had no expectations nor any idea what we would see; staying in the Bates Motel and bathing in The Pit were not giving me positive impressions of our location. I could not have been more wrong because Prague is a portrait of medieval majesty and it is all different kinds of into itself. Ladi (Come here, boy! Come here, Ladi!) took us around the old part of the city to King Wenceslaus's monument, across the Charles Bridge (a site of martyrdom), through the Jewish quarter, up to a monastery with a library that I proclaimed the inspiration for the best scene in "Beauty and the Beast", through the cathedral, and up to the gates of Parliament, aka A CASTLE. Exhausted from craning my neck and sighing impressed "ohhhs" every few minutes, I cherished the moments that we were able to find a low wall to sit on. At the castle, guards with uniforms suspiciously similar to that of the British stood watch at the entrance and exit. Chelsea and I prepared the following questions to gently whisper to them:

"What are we looking at?"
"How does my breath smell?"
"Staring contest...you win."
"What are you doing later?"
"When does your shift end?"


This went on for a good half an hour and yes, it was funny the entire time.

The Jewish quarter was fascinating, with a synagogue on every corner and the famous cemetery at its heart, but the icing on the cake stared us down before we even walked into it: Kafka's house. Being the only nerd who actually enjoyed "The Metamorphosis" and gets the joke in Spaceballs right before the transition into MegaMaid, I, as the kids would say, "totally lost my shit."* Sadly, I would have to wander the streets of Prague alone the next day in order to find the house again and buy what is quite possibly the best t-shirt ever.



We did a little shopping for the rest of the afternoon at a street market and went back to the hotel for a quick nap before heading out to dinner. We went to a traditional Czech restaurant and I drank X-33, the strongest beer in the world; its 12.6% alcohol content and heavy "digestive" texture made it the equivalent of drinking a bear tranquilizer with dinner and I started breathing deeply, wheezing, and growling into my stroganoff. We planned to go out to clubs that evening, but as I morphed steadily into a tamed North American Grizzly, the sweatpants came on and the makeup came off. I convinced Kristin to have a sprite with me a few hours later at the bar and we chatted in the hotel bar while the group of girls who were going out first invited us, then left, came back when the club was closed, sat in the lobby looking up more clubs, waited for one to open, and left again. We laughed over our sugary drinks, pleased with our plans for the night.

What is the Czech phrase for "Stop giving me cheeseballs" and "That's not my margarita"?

The next day, obligated to go to the eight thousandth museum of the trip, we went to a gallery where an American living in Prague showed us pieces of deeply political art including a large chair sitting on top of the river outside next to a line of bright yellow plastic penguins. Yeah, I just said that. We went shopping (I found Kafka)afterward and I met up with a few other girls where we all decided to suck it up and get McDonalds for the sake of time and convenience. Word of advice: if a Czech person asks you something benign, such as "Is that all?" or "For here or to go?" they actually mean "Oh, that is most decidedly NOT what you will be having" and "Here is your box of cheese balls that you didn't want nor ask for, and hey I charged you two extra Euro." When they wave their hands in your face when you protest the mountain of food that has suddenly been presented to you on a plastic tray and say "GO, BYE," however, they mean precisely that. I didn't eat dinner that night.

We spent our last night in Prague at the opera, where Chelsea and I scoped out the musicians when the confusing Italians screamed "Mi Amore!" one time too many. Afterward, we went to a bar with almost the entire group because we are idiots. Evidently I was assigned the role of "Bill Handler" upon arriving in Germany and had to total up the drinks and collect the money yet again. It should be noted that I am an English major for the sole purpose of avoiding math. When the waitress tried to charge us for an extra margarita that didn't exist (and later another one because she didn't know the difference between plus and minus on her calculator), Mama Bear kicked in and didn't back down. Finally, an acquaintance of Stephanie's stepped in and payed the difference and I was incensed over the principle of the matter. I took my time leaving the bar to go to another one and glare at the room over a dry martini, which by the way is DELICIOUS. We left the bar so that Andrew could get food poisoning in a bun on the street and waited for twenty minutes in the rain. Just then, a small and grotesque man circled us, apparently trying to find his way back to the clown troupe at the Cirque Du Soliel. on the bus, the alcohol said terribly inappropriate tings using my mouth (the nerve!) and we made many friends before finally reaching our hotel.

The next day, I showered in the Pit and packed for the airport. We bade farewell to Ladi and I bought a Toblerone that took me four days to finish. I've come to the conclusion that aside from the people in it, Prague was beautiful, fun, interesting, and among the more fascinating places I have ever been. I also learned to never say "For Here" at a Czech McDonalds.

Until next time, my friends.
Tschus!

*It is necessary to understand that--GREGOR SAMSA, WE NEED TO SEE YOUR PAPERS. That is all.