First Impressions Of Prague

The airport was modern, large, spotlessly clean.  Much the same as modern airports anywhere, but this one had the added attraction of almost the whole of one wall and I forget which level, one huge plate of glass - or some substance equally transparent, facing the direction of incoming aircraft.  This is a feature the international air industry would do well to follow.  As good as a movie house, and at no cost.

The signs were not hard to follow, but one does wonder when the international community will devise a common set of nouns or symbols for the more significant features of public places - features such as Exit, Entrance, Baggage, Restaurant, and most of all, Toilets.  I was saved from entering the women's toilet only by a lady emerging as I was about to go in.  The meaningful look at the internationally obvious symbol for femininity on the wall adds the point that the positioning of such aids is also important!

I dis-remember the source of my next most important item of information but somewhere among my papers was the advice that I should take Bus No. 100.  The terminus was obvious and I had only to show the driver the street name and number of my destination that I had written in bold on a card - for him to nod briskly, dispassionately at a little self-service ticket dispensing machine.  I sat directly behind the driver secure in his little cubicle, close enough for me to engage his attention at some point to remind him of my destination.  A lady with two small children and what was probably her mother settled her three charges on the seat across the aisle from mine, and sat next to me.  Fair-skinned, dark-haired, black-eyed, thirty-ish her attention was altogether on her family.  This was unfortunate, as I was beginning to realize that regarding the matter of when to get off the bus I would require some advice, and the driver might not appreciate being approached whilst driving.

It was at this point, that I realised that I knew not a single word of whatever language it was the the Czech people spoke.  In the rush and flurry of our departure I had given no thought at all to the vital matter of a phrase book.  Before moving to England, I had treated with irritated unbelief the claims of other nations that the English in their imperial arrogance expected everyone else to learn their language, yet  here I was evidently guilty, though unintentionally so, of showing all the signs.

Apologetically, I asked the good lady whether she spoke English.  She smiled a warm, patient, sympathetic smile, glanced at the address on my card, and said she would tell me when we got there.  Not able even to express my thanks in her language, I had to say it in English, grinning my gratitude.  Now I could concentrate on looking out at the neat, clean outskirts of the city.  It was about twenty minutes journey through the ordered houses, shops, apartment blocks, generously lined with trees, before we slowed to enter the metropolis proper, where traffic intensified, but conducted itself still in a generously ordered manner.  I was beginning to wonder whether our bus proceeded straight to the city centre and how much of a performance it would be to find my way from there when my companion said something, smiled, pointed to a street sign, that amazingly, corresponded to the one written on my card.

Examining my card more closely, her smile widened as she gave me to understand that she, too, with her entourage, would be alighting at the same stop.  When we did, and came to the parting of our ways, the little group waved, smiling cheerfully, and I felt that I had lost good friends.

But my goal was close at hand, a neat house, moderately large, without pretensions, set back from the quiet street, comfortable in the shelter of a few tall trees and some shrubbery.  No sign indicated that it was a guest house and it was with some misgiving that I tapped the shining brass knocker.  There was no immediate response, but as I wondered whether to knock again or open he door, it was opened inwards by a man of middle age, casually attired in shorts and sandals, who regard me silently, his expression neutral.  I handed over Andrew's letter, with confirmation of booking and receipt of payment in advance.

He smiled and looked over my shoulder.  I explained that I had come alone, and he invited me inside.  The room was large, sparsely furnished with a sofa and several easy chairs arranged casually on both sides of two glass-topped tables.  The floor was bare, polished to a comfortable shine.  He showed me to my room apologized that he could not transfer me to a single room.  I was more than happy with the spaciousness and en-suite bathroom with shower.  I was a little surprised by the double bed, and wondered how much information Andrew had supplied in his booking, but as things had turned out there was no cause for embarrassment.

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Photo Credit

By guest blogger: Brian Murgatroyd