Prague Weekender

Something hums in the background, a mechancal metronome, vibrating every other second. I grow restless when it stops, like it was a steady rhythm that mimics the way I roll my ankles. We are half way across Europe in Prauge city centre. The air is crisp, reminding me of skiing in Italy. Air we breathed all those January's ago. Monday was cobbled street exploring, finding what we thought was Old Town Sq (we laugh now), a cinnamon scented afternoon sipping strong coffee and making plans for the next few days. We booked massages, three each (Swedish, Coconut and Hot stone). It felt like forever until we had to think about work. 

Tuesday was proper exploring, finding the real Old Town, Charles Bridge, the Astronomical Clock, Prague Castle and tiny side streets that lead us back round to the Opera House. We had lunch in the square, two salads, mine rich in seafood and avocado, with homemade lemonade and red wine. The whole place smelt of smoked wood from the roast fires, sweet sugar of the spiral pastries and fresh open air. Jazz bands play from every corner of the city. In the evening, we drank coffee in a local bakery. We crossed streets wrapped in thick coats and gloves, to take window seats of the  hazy city with lattes in hand, amniotic behalf the frosted glass. After our massages, we headed (rushed out) in a cab to St Wenslas square for dinner and to watch the match. We found an Irish pub with a roaring fire, packed to the brim with people from all over. Pasta for me, Steak for Pete, we watched the game and I remember thinking in that moment how this is probably everything I ever wanted when I was a child. Blinking lights of a cold city outside, whilst I'm enjoying a meal and drinks with my man by a warm fire. A sign outside caught my eye, a flashing Open shop-light that reminded me of a time we drove through the streets of Italy late at night when I was a child. There was such romance in the danger of city life back then. 

Wednesday we saw St Wenslas sq by day, again what we thought was the square turned out to be a pitiful road leading to and from the national gallery. In reality, it was a thriving hub of shops, market stalls and cafes. We stopped for drinks in Starbucks and I couldn't help but think about the irony of flying out to an unknown city, across hundreds of miles, to sit in the same franchised four walls as home. A big pasta lunch back at the Palladium and we headed back to our hotel. Tonight will bring jazz on a river boat, with wine and dinner and views of the city. We should sleep soundly after getting a cab back to the hotel, ready for our hot stone massages and pre-flight coffees in Old Town square. 


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