Change of pace

Prague is an odd concept. In its right hand, it holds dark clouds, bitter weather and a dark, morbid, solitude. In its left, it holds warm, cozy taverns, a glistening nightlife and a spinning whirlpool of culture. And so often when it snows, these two hands, cupped together form a snowball so thick and mysterious, one is left at an utter loss if hit by it.

So in a city where the clouds are as dark as the gothic castles under them, where do its citizens gather for warmth? As an inhabitant of this mysterious playground, I began to wonder this myself. Without knowing it, each day I began to dig just a little deeper into the plethora of rabbit holes here. And in turn, each day has included its own set of adventures - some positive, some negative; all perplexing.


It was Saturday morning, and the street clock showed a little bit after 8 am. Across the square, a crane moved sluggishly as it reached to pick up a cinderblock. An aged woman passed me, shopping bag in hand, a puzzled look in my direction.

I had just stepped out of a movie theater. From midnight, into the morning, a marathon of independent european films ran. And as students of this city, we, of course, ran with it.

A movie theater here is worthy of an aside.
As a visitor, you may forget about the popcorn scent that usually greets a moviegoer in the US. Instead that scent is replaced by a warm haze of cigarettes and the cool scent of beer. Black and white photos line the walls, and an eclectic mix of locals and foreigners populate the small tables, hands dancing in conversation.

So my verdict on European movies? Unfortunately, nothing to write home about. Those in search of French post-modernism, I wish you much luck in your quest. And should any discoveries occur, please do let me know. Thus far, however, my opinion is that the European movies I have seen have been simply a stale collage of recycled cliches from Hollywood. It is an opinion, however, that I hope will soon be proven wrong.

Not too long into the marathon, my gaze shifted from the movies onto the moviegoers. Each local place here has been a small theater for me, and this was certainly no exception. While the nature of entertainment will vary from place to place, one thing is for certain: as the night finds the city empy and cold, its belly - the endless network of caves and cellars - pulsates with life. Initially introduced into the old town by the Romans, cellars seemed to have become a cultural staple of nightlife. Each night, it seems, the worker ants of the city enter its endless tunnels and caverns, their tongues beating with conversation until the morning rays signal a return to their assigned roles.

Coming above ground, we are met with cautious and puzzled glances of passersby's. They wonder as to why we are beaming with life at the beginning of a new day. But of course, we dont tell them.

Naturally, this is no different from other cities in which the youth attempts to carve itself a home. But if you are in Prague, do stop by a cellar or two. In their uncirculated air, you will finally be able to breathe. And in their darkness, your eyes may even find the sparks so long ago muted by the sun. And at the second table from the wall, you may even spot my outline.

I'll be waiting.