a city at night

I am now convinced that the population of Prague is – at any given time – composed of 30% tourists, 5% tour guides, 25% ordinary people, 10% pickpockets, and 30% professional models. And they all smoke. I think I smoked a pack by association in the past two days alone.

Prague is a marvelous city – a city with history, with evolving culture. It is a city that feels broken in, stretched until its leather has become soft and comfortable – it is a city that feels forever lived in. The past glares at you from all angles – old town, the Jewish quarter, Charles Bridge, Prague castle – imposing statues and figurines watching in cold silence as you walk by, daring you to be as permanent as they; daring you to see the things they’ve seen.

But there is also the new and adapting Prague. The residential areas, the bleak concrete decorated with the flair of misguided (or misunderstood) youth, the parks and commercial centers – the Prague you won’t find on postcards. And there is a thriving underground music scene – still stuck, in many ways, in the 80s – but clawing its way out through punk and grunge, with a hint of indie come-what-may. It’s young, and refreshing – and not something you’ll find in every city.

Prague turns into a completely different place at night – the streets empty, the Italian tourists retreat somewhere to discuss the importance of fluffy black vests, slick hair, and oversized sunglasses on modern fashion. You stand in the middle of Wenceslas Square and it’s just you and the lights and the falling rain, and you close your eyes and let it all surge through you.

And then you hop on the last tram before the night lines kick in, and you sit in silence next to a woman with drooping eyelids, weighed down – not by sleep – but by an almost serene acceptance of things, a sense that here – Prague – is her home, and here she is content to be.