Dateline: Prague

In addition to being a beautiful city, Prague has an atmosphere about it that is so palpable you can taste it. And if you don’t believe me, consider the works of one who grew up there: Franz Kafka.

I hit the Kafka Museum while in Prague and really the only way to describe is “Kafkaesque.” You learn about the writer’s history, what shaped his singular view of the world, in a pretty straightforward manner that you would expect in a museum. But thrown in for good measure are several audiovisual displays — slide shows, videos and so forth — that either leave you scratching your head or giving you more insight to a mindset that I’m pretty sure most of us can’t quite get our heads around (not and stay sane, that is). It was actually pretty cool and I did come away feeling like I’d gained a bit more of an ability to understand Kafka, which is not something I could lay claim to beforehand.

But I think a lot of that might have had to do with my wanderings around the city. Prague’s cobblestone streets and twisty, turny alleys and soft nighttime lighting and prodigious religious statuary — just its aura — give it a vibe that here be dragons. Ghosts, if you will. The only place I’ve ever felt an aura like Prague’s is New Orleans, but there it’s a bit more sinister, more voodoo. In Prague it’s not necessarily sinister though the city’s history could make it seem so. Rather, it’s like a fog, a cloud of history and time — LONG time — that hangs over the city, in every dark corner and around every turn. It’s there; you feel it.

And if you were an impressionable young Jewish kid in a place with Prague’s history and some serious daddy issues thrown in for good measure, it’s not difficult to see how you might wind up penning some kinda-out-there literary works.

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Má Vlast

Prague Castle skyline at night

I’m listening to Smetana’s ode to his Czech homeland, Má Vlast, as I coast along the Vltava River on the train, half an hour out of Prague. It’s a gorgeous piece of music (thanks, H) and is a moving testament to this river and this beautiful country.

And it is a beautiful country. From the time I crossed the border last week, northbound from Munich, the Czech countryside was enticing in all its green. Yes, green. Rolling, forested hills interspersed with farmed valleys and pastures, all appeared to glisten, glowing as though it had just rained a few minutes ago and now the sun had come out and was reflected in a billion dew drops. Creeks and rivers in varying shades of silver through brown (complete with fly fishermen in a couple of spots) provided an accent on the emerald shades, and kestrels hovered over fields of past-their-prime sunflowers, pointing out the imminent autumn equinox just a few days away. Orchards of apple trees heavy with fruit reminded one of the good harvest that also loomed.

True, along many of the rivers defunct factories and barges sat idle and rusting, forlorn and calling to mind darker days from the past. But as quickly as the industry had appeared it was swallowed up again by the forest and the hills and the river, along with backyard gardens the exploded in the red of roses and other flowers. And around many bends, small solar-power farms shared ground with sheep pastures, pointing toward a much different future. It was an interesting juxtaposition: the white, fleecy animals carelessly munching away amid the black sheets of silicon set on racks a few feet above the ground.

And then the train pulled into Prague. I’m on record as saying Prague is the prettiest city I’ve ever seen and I’m not backing off that assertion. Gorgeous chapels and cathedrals, some extravagantly ornate while others are subdued in their simplicity, occupy pockets throughout the city. Statues and towers appear out of nowhere and even common apartment buildings sport intricate decoration from various periods throughout this city’s long history. If you’re a fan of architecture, you really need to see Prague. This city has it all and it’s all of amazing quality.

The cathedral at Prague Castle

Gargoyle on the cathedral at the Prague Castle

On top of all that — literally — is the famous Prague Castle. Perched on a hill overlooking the river, the castle is more like a small city all contained within ramparts than simply a castle. There are multiple churches, including a magnificent cathedral, massive structures housing Czech official business, and numerous other buildings housing everyday businesses and shops. And every last bit of construction within the castle walls is stunning in its quality, its painstaking detail, its scale and its sheer beauty. The Prague Castle is, figuratively and literally, the crown jewel of the city.

But there’s a whole other side of the city, too. I took a tour of the underground Prague, the remains of the old city going back to 1300 and even earlier. Apparently the current city has basically been built on top of the original city in an attempt to get the city above the flooding waters of the Vltava. As a result, many of the shops and bars and restaurants in the city look modern and nondescript from the outside — but then you get inside and descend to huge cellars that have been reclaimed and redone with the same sensibility that created the gorgeous old architecture elsewhere in town.

The Astronomical Clock in Prague’s city center.

Detail in the Astronomical Clock…looks like something from a Grateful Dead album cover

On the underground tour, you also learn of the rather morbid history of this area and how wonderful people have been to each other over the millennia. You hear of this saint, who was killed when he was six years old because he was Christian. And then you learn about that king who was murdered by his aunt, who also killed the queen and the queen’s kids. Then there’s guy who crafted the astronomical clock in the city center: it’s such a beautiful piece of exquisite craftsmanship that the powers that be burned out the guy’s eyes so he could never build another one. How’s that for an incentive plan?

And amid all this incredible inhumanity over eons there looms the shadow of the inhumanity that happened for most of the 20th century. Everywhere you go you can’t help but be haunted by the institutionalized oppression of the communist era: it leaps out at you precisely because it’s inconceivable that such a beautiful place with such an ornate look at every turn could have been beaten down by such a gray blandness. That such beauty survived such a relentless and lowest-common-denominator approach to life is a testament to an enduring spirit that the Czechs must have. Between Chamberlain’s betrayal in 1939 and the subsequent Nazi oppression, followed by 50 years of communist abuse, it’s a wonder that Prague is now considered “the new Paris.” But the Czechs are survivors; they have to be: being here in the middle of everything they’ve been run over countless times since humans have lived in Europe. And through it all they created (and preserved) what is the prettiest city I’ve ever seen.

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Ein Prosit

The Oktoberfest beer tent of my fave German brewer: Augustiner. Prost!

Right off the bat, let me restate something I’ve been saying for 22 years: Oktoberfest (or “Wiesn” as they call it locally) is the best party on the planet. Period. Imagine your own state fair — or for you friends in SoCal, the San Diego Fair — multiplied by a million. Yes, a million. (For Alaska friends, it’s the AK Fair times 10 billion.) Now you’re getting close to Oktoberfest in Munich.

The beer tents at Oktoberfest are not tents, they’re convention centers. I’m not kidding. And each Bavarian brewery has at least one on the grounds.

The festival also has the best thrill rides I’ve ever ridden, Disneyland included (sorry, Cher).

And there’s food everywhere, most of it oh-so-tasty but horrible for you, yet not on the level of the deep-fried Snickers bars you see at state fairs. And some of the food is completely legitimate health-wise and simply fantastic. I went for lunch one day just to make sure I could savor one of the oven-roasted half-chickens. Wunderbar! I don’t know what kind of spices they use but the result is a succulent feast. And I was ecstatic to learn that the Augustiner still makes its mushroom soup the way they did two decades ago: the soup is so thick you can stand your spoon up in the bowl. It’s a meal in itself and simply magnificent.

Finally there’s the people-watching. Oktoberfest isn’t really about the beer and food and the rides, it’s about the people. Everyone (including American tourists who really ought to know better) are decked out in lederhosen and dirndls, and the result is often humorous (in the case of the men in their lederhosen) and tantalizing (in the case of the women in their dirndls).

Especially the latter. They really ought to call Weisn the Push-Up-Bra-Fest. If I owned a lingerie company, I’d be over here in Bavaria throughout the summer pitching my product to every woman in southern Germany. Every single woman wants her cleavage — no matter how much or how little she might have — out there for all to see. I met author Jim Harrison at a signing once and we got to discussing a mutual friend at Sports Illustrated, about which he complained that the swimsuit issue was “all tits and not enough ass; it’s like the NASCAR of women.” Jim Harrison probably wouldn’t like Oktoberfest, but I sure did, and the dirndls do offer the redemption of being great for showing off women’s legs.

As for the thrill rides, the roller coaster features five full loops that get ever tighter, resulting in increased G forces and more fun per second. The view out over Munich from the highest point, right after the ride starts so you’re still going slowly, is beautiful. And there’s no eight-mile-long line like there is at every amusement park you’ve been to.

The flying swings (I don’t know what you call them: the ride where you’re in a swing that goes in a circle way up high) at Wiesn take you up to a height of 50 meters over the festival grounds, giving you another phenomenal view of the city (albeit at fairly high speed). And there were a couple of new rides that got riders inverted and twisted and topsy-turvy, though I didn’t bother to buy a seat; but just watching them was enough to make me giggle. How people can take such rides after drinking a bunch of Oktoberfest beer is beyond me. Tip: hit the rides during the day, before you hit the beer tents.

Ah, yes, those beer tents….

There are a few things you should know before you arrive in Munich looking to get stupid drunk while joyously singing “Ein Prosit” with your new German buddies.

For starters, Oktoberfest beer isn’t very good. It’s stronger than normal beer and has a higher alcohol content, but it doesn’t taste very good — even Germans will tell you that. It’s certainly not as good as the Bavarian breweries’ normal concoctions. However, it comes in those gigantic glasses that we Yanks call “steins,” so combine its strength with that kind of quantity and if you’re looking to get schnockered, Oktoberfest beer is your tool.

The problem is getting your hands on one. When I was here 22 years ago, I was playing for a local hockey team, a team that had a player whose father owned a small restaurant-bar in the area. As a result, we had a reserved table and a dedicated server — we partied like rock stars and I had the hangover for two days to prove it. And when I went on other days I was still in a group of locals who were known; we got great service.

If you’re on own it doesn’t matter how authentic your lederhosen is, you’re up a creek. Ask if a seat is free and you’ll get nothing but scowls from those already seated — even when a kindly beer server is asking on your behalf. You’ll wind up standing around the perimeter of the table area hoping to catch the eye of a beer server as she goes by. And if you’re a foreigner, you have a better chance of being invited to lead the band in song than you do of getting a seat at a table in one of the beer tents. The bottom line is: Parisians are a hell of a lot nicer than Muencheners, if you can believe it.

But there are solutions. Go during the day and you’ll have room, just don’t expect the raucous partying that goes on at night. And given the aforementioned strength of the Oktoberfest beer, you can write off your afternoon and evening if you stay for more than one beer.

Oktoberfest beer is a lubricant and its viscosity rivals anything Castrol puts into its high-performance race-car formula — and the evening scene in the beer tents is a Formula One race with Reifenstahlian overtones. It’s a miracle there aren’t any brawls during the fortnight of Oktoberfest, but if you combine the nonstop singalongs, the uniform dress and the “eins, zwei, g’suffa!” gestures, it’s not hard to envision how these people wound up in brown uniforms marching in goose-step formation. Thankfully Oktoberfest is all fun, but it’s easy to look at an Oktoberfest beer tent during the singing of “Ein Prosit” and understand how “a people” are not the same as a “group of persons.” But then the band starts into a new tune and the entire beer tent is screaming, “Take me home, country roads, to the place I belong, West Virginia!” in bad, imitation-Schwarzenegger accents and you’re back into homogenized-frat-party mode.

The bottom line is that Oktoberfest is a tremendously good time. And it’s completely family-safe (they even have deals on all the rides on Tuesday, which is known as “family day”). If you’re all about the beer tents and rockin’ out to cliche polka tunes, I highly recommending securing a reserved table, however you can do it, but I’d also allow time for the rides.

I’m glad I went back to Oktoberfest. Do I need to go again? No, I don’t need to…but I suspect I will. Someday. Prost!

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