Prague: That Deserves A Beer!

Who would have thought that 2½ days would be the perfect amount of time to see Prague’s highlights, gorge ourselves on goulash, sausages, and knedliky (bread or potato dumplings), and try six different Czech beers? With more time, we could have lingered in some of the areas we liked the most, explored a few more, and perhaps traveled outside Prague to visit the Czech Republic’s smaller towns and castle-dotted countryside. But, as it turned out, Prague was the perfect city for a quick trip: its rich culture and stunning architectural landscape—made all the more accessible by an easy-to-master public transportation system and a walkable city center—offered immediate gratification.

My lovely travel companion ext212 and I hit the ground running when we arrived in Prague at 4pm on Saturday, and we covered quite a bit of the city before our departure at a cruel and unusual hour on Tuesday morning. Among them, my favorites were mostly food-and beer-related (which should come as no surprise): U Fleku, purportedly the oldest bar in Prague and a delightfully raucous stop on our first evening; Lvi Dvur, a cozy traditional Czech restaurant in Hradcany, around the corner from Prague Castle; and U Dvou Kocek (The Two Cats—in honor of the two fat roommates I left at home), a pub in Stare Mesto where we had the best sausage and goulash of our trip.

One unusual highlight was the National Marionette Theater’s rendition of Don Giovanni, which Mozart composed while in Prague. It took some convincing for Cia to agree to go, puppets being one of her weird phobias (my justification: they’re marionettes, which are not technically puppets), but even she conceded that it was a unique experience that was well worth the trip.

In all, Prague was a peek into old Europe and an absolute banquet of gorgeous photo ops. Travelers for whom mealtimes are the heart of any trip (like us) will find the stick-to-your-ribs fare and delicious beers to provide fuel for days of sightseeing—and a pleasant medium for winding down at any time of day. The final incentive to visit as soon as you can? The Czech Republic, a relatively new member of the EU, will be converting to the euro in the next few years, killing that wonderful 22Kc~ exchange rate (as of March 2006) and making it a much pricier place to visit.

Quick Tips:

A hint that will delight budget travelers: because of Prague’s excellent public transportation, budget hotels in outer neighborhoods are the best option. We stayed in the bare-bones Ibis hotel in Smichov, across the Vltava River from Old Town in southwest-central Prague. Smichov seemed to be an energetic, student-friendly area filled with chain stores, movie theaters, and sleek neon bars—not exactly the Prague we were seeking. As it turned out, however, the heart of Prague was a mere 10 to 15 minutes away by tram or subway. We favored the tram for its above-ground views. Pick up a map at the airport or your hotel’s front desk.

When dining out, don't be surprised to find an extra charge for the bread brought to your table prior to the meal. It's negligible (around or so), but it's standard. There is also usually a small service charge included (a 10% tip on top of that is plenty), and I've heard of entertainment charges appearing on people's bills as well. But before I scare you off, let me put it into perspective: not only does a typical meal for two people, with a pint of beer each and more food than you'll be able to finish, run about , but these extra charges might tack on to more, max. Doesn't seem worth getting all worked up about, does it?

One more tip, essential for New Yorkers or anyone else used to dining at all hours: Prague eats dinner early. We found out the hard way when we decided to eat dinner after the opera on a Sunday night (around 10pm). Alas, the only open restaurant was a shady piano bar near Wenceslas Square (not the most inviting locale after dark)—it did turn out to be one of our most memorable meals, but mostly for the stained carpet, dusty musical instruments adorning the walls, and solicitous Michael Bolton look-alike at the next table—not for the food, which hit the spot but just couldn't compete.

Best Way To Get Around:

I’ve already kind of covered this, but let me just say it again: public transportation! We never took a cab until our trip back to the airport at 4am—and we never needed to. We did walk a lot too, especially around Hradcany (where you’ll find the Prague Castle) and Stare Mesto (Old Town). Walking across the Charles Bridge at any time of day—but especially at sunset, when the city’s statues and spires are silhouetted against a colored sky—is something you shouldn’t leave Prague without doing. It was a little difficult keeping the street names straight—so many Ks and Vs and foreign (to me) accent marks that I started to navigate by length-of-street-name ("That’s not it—it’s not long enough"), constantly referencing my map. And we always found what we were looking for. Of course, I do fancy myself a good navigator, but Prague is, well, easy to navigate.

We had spent the morning in Stare Mesto, doing the obligatory rounds of the market, the Old Town Square and Astronomical Clock, and their tourist-friendly surrounds, with absolutely gorgeous weather on our side. How could it get any better? One word: goulash. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time—I just insisted on lunch here because I am one of those ridiculous cat people who can’t pass up a place called "The Two Cats" in Czech. And being a cat person served me well.

The interior is low on atmosphere, and we were disappointed at the lack of outdoor seating to soak up the fortuitous sunshine, but the food more than made up for it. We started with an order of brewery cheese and black pepper sausage to enjoy with our Pilsner Urquell (rumored to be especially good here) and Kozel. The brewery cheese was simply a semi-sharp, semi-hard cheese sprinkled with paprika and served alongside a slice of butter (which I found out by taking a big bite of butter, thinking it was cheese). I wasn't exactly sure how the butter figured in, but the cheese provided a nice flavor to accompany the sausage, which was exquisite. The slashes along the top had curled back and crisped during cooking, making the outer casing crunchy and delicious. It gave way to spicy, juicy meat that must be the reason sausage exists. I was starting to wonder if I should have just opted for a few more orders of that. Then the goulash arrived.

Tender beef falling apart in a rich dark-beer sauce, alongside a helping of hearty bacon knedliky, was exactly what I’d been craving. Though I didn’t taste it, Cia’s roast neck of pork with sauerkraut looked to be just as delicious. I polished off most of my plate and sipped at my beer, watching a man in the corner absent-mindedly pet his dog, sprawled across the bench beside him, as he ate and read the paper; an older American couple, decked out in brand-new sneakers and fanny packs, befriending a German couple of about their age at the next table; a group of Czech men gathering for lunch at a table in the next room; and other patrons making their way in, digging into some delicious Czech food and enjoying the lazy midday while the sun shone in through the windows.

What is it about Prague that makes such meals possible in the middle of the day—without that late-afternoon slump that plagues me after a big lunch at home? Maybe it’s all the walking; perhaps it was the beautiful weather; but most likely, it’s just that all this hearty, heavy, satisfying food is such a part of Czech culture. It’s what you’re supposed to eat in Prague, as much a part of the journey as everything you do before and afterward.

Score one for the cat people.

It took some convincing to get Cia to agree to see Don Giovanni, performed entirely by marionettes, in the world’s oldest marionette theater. Not only did the theater have that impressive statistic on its side, but marionettes are also a traditional art in the Czech Republic. Mozart composed Don Giovanni in Prague. And where else in the world could you see such a thing?

We stopped by the National Marionette Theater, at Zatecka 1 in Stare Mesto, on the way to Old Town Square in the morning. The woman working the ticket counter spoke in slow, lilting English, extolling the place of Don Giovanni in Czech history and explaining when we should get tickets, how long the show would last, and assuring us that the student discount was all right since we looked so young (I suppose looking like you’re 15 is an advantage sometimes). We thanked her, picked up a few brochures, and went about our day.

About 45 minutes before showtime, we returned to buy tickets—around $20 apiece—and climbed the stairs to the theater. The theater itself was quaint, seating 100 people maximum under a peaked wooden ceiling, along benches with long red cushions and no seat dividers. A single person sat at the back and operated the lights; just before curtain, he walked along the walls and closed the few tiny open windows.

The show began with an orchestra of paper dolls, the conductor moving his little arm up and down and the violinists sawing away at the opening number. Cute, but after a full 5 minutes, the limited range of motion had lost its novelty. Then, the stage lit up, and the first aria began, sung by a lavishly dressed marionette performed (what’s the word for puppeteering marionettes?) with a range of histrionic movements, on a stage decked out in an impressive 18th-century set. A range of characters was introduced, and scenes were full of classic puppet shenanigans—lots of slapping, hitting, and fatal falls. It was hilarious and weird, in the best possible way; I’m sure I’ll never see anything like it again.

One tip: sit closer to the stage. We sat at the back and were treated to the tops of all the puppeteers’ heads—and hands—throughout the entire show. Funny, but it took away from the atmosphere a bit. And make a run for the restroom before the show ends, with its light-and-smoke-filled spectacle of a finale. They close the restrooms right after the show ends.

In all, this is a not-to-be-missed experience in Prague. It’s a whimsical, totally unique look into Czech culture that provides a nice foil for all the history and architecture you’ll be treated to during your time there. Rumor has it the theater sometimes performs a show called Yellow Submarine, set entirely to Beatles music. Go to Don Giovanni anyway, for the pure absurdity and perhaps the most unusual Czech experience out there.

After a veritable Czech smorgasbord—pork, potato knedliky, sauerkraut, sausage, and a pint of Kozel each—at a restaurant near Wenceslas Square, we were revived from our jet-lagged stupor and ready for more beer. We’d both read about U Fleku in numerous places while researching our trip, and it looked to be nearby on our map. Anyone who has visited or lived in Prague will know that it did not actually qualify as "nearby:" we spent half an hour wandering through Nove Mesto (below Old Town), taking pictures of striking sights we couldn’t identify along the way and hoping that we were reading that street name correctly, before finally stumbling upon this, reportedly the oldest beer hall in Prague.

U Fleku isn’t much from the outside, set down a small street near the river, but it was clearly the place to be at 8pm on a Saturday. Cars were pulled up all along the front, and we could hear cheerful traditional music emanating from within. Upon entrance, we saw an array of rooms anchored by a central bar area, which seemed to be turning out trays of pints with impressive speed. We steered ourselves into the room at left, packed with people and two roving musicians—one on the accordion, the other on a tuba with which he continued to play the exact same bass line on top of every song for the rest of the evening.

The interior was instantly likable—leaded glass windows, a wood-accented ceiling, and iron chandeliers hanging over a series of long communal tables filled with a mix of locals and tourists of all ages. It took a few minutes to figure out the ordering system—flag down the waiter carrying a huge tray of beers, and he’ll slam down two of them while making two slashes on a slip of paper next to you. Finish those and repeat. The beer, brewed on-premises, was a dangerously delicious dark, and we enjoyed several pints with a rotating group of neighbors that included a young Austrian couple, a large group of older German couples, and a healthy dose of Czechs. One of the highlights was enjoying an extremely drunken group of tourists—perhaps on an organized tour—sitting behind us, shrieking with laughter, knocking chairs over, and intermittently making out (no kidding).

Before we left, we decided to try one of the shots of clear liquid that kept passing us on trays; the German group next to us explained that it was Becherovka, an herbal liquor originally formulated by—get this—a count, a doctor, and a pharmacist. The liquor had a strong cinnamon flavor and a pleasantly bitter aftertaste—a refreshing break from the pivo we’d been enjoying in large quantities all night. When we finally tallied up our bill—about $6 (or about 140Kz), if I remember correctly—we stumbled into the balmy Czech evening and managed to find our way to the Charles Bridge, whose crossing, of course, deserved another beer.