Prague Trip First Day

It came as a total surprise when Andy asked me, apropos of nothing that had gone before, if I would like to come with him to Prague. He said it as though it was a walk round the block, and I had to change quickly into mental low gear. Prague. I knew very little about it. Like Rome, Athens, Lisbon, Madrid, it was one of those centres of civilization festooned in my mind with all manner of fascinatingly complicate cultural, historical associations that I would some day try to find out more about, sort out their distinguishing threads, how they came to be important, what connected them, and why.

Prague had about it a ring of culture, possibly political intrigue, rather than military glory. Would I like to go to Prague? With the briskly, efficiently intelligent Andrew to deal with all the worrisome aspects of travel - money, documentation, accommodation, and so on - all those aspects which require an agile mind adept at adjusting to foreign circumstances. I could simply walk beside him, imbibing atmosphere, enjoying - perfect.

Everything was ready and waiting. A special offer, week-end flight, B&B included and already booked The airport at Luton never looked so exciting. One doesn't wish to show it, of course. No demonstrating to the general public that the heart is pounding, a song of glory straining to be free. A bit of the old sangfroid called upon not to look too eagerly expectant before these people, seasoned travelers all, judging by the calmness, bordering on apparent boredom, of their demeanour.

The ticket queue moved slowly. We spoke seriously of this and that. Came the moment for Andrew to hand over our passports for the businesslike thump of official approval clearly stamped, the professional smile from the lovely lady in airline uniform, and we would be on our way. But what was this? Why the hesitation, the raised eyebrow, the closer scrutiny of Andy's passport? The lady conferred with a colleague, both ridiculously young. Andy bent forward over the counter in response to something that a beautifully manicured finger was pointing to, on his passport. A Zimbabwe passport and a Schengen visa, but still not allowed in the Czech Republic.

A pause, a few words exchanged. One of my difficulties in dealing with folk behind a sheet of glass is that I cannot hear a word they say,but it was obvious that something was amiss. Andrew, having retrieved both our passports, turned to me, tight-lipped and frowning. There was a hitch. His passport, some vital part of it, did not meet with regulations. Nothing could be done about it. Reflective pause follows. Ah well. At my time of life one has had some experience in dealing with disappointment. Ah well. Pity, but there you are. Easy come, easy go; shall we have some coffee before going home?

But Andrew demurred. "You will have to go over on your own," he said. Shock, horror, negative expostulation. Andy had paid for the whole deal - return flights, accommodation, sundry extra items, and he knew for a fact it was all non-refundable. So at least if I went, it would not be a total loss. I would enjoy it, wouldn't I?

"Here Dad, here's a bit of spending money, have yourself a good time. Prague. Enjoy".

So it happened that I sat in the seat by the aisle, a lady of evidently middle age and indefinite provenance sat next to the window. I was ready to smile and tentatively open conversation if our eyes happened to meet, but she never even glanced my way. Andrew's empty seat yawned between us. The good lady might have thought I was staring at her fixedly for the whole journey. I was only trying to see what I could past her, out of the window.

It was a calm, uneventful flight. The landing was smooth, scarcely a bump when we became earth-bound again. I changed some of Andy's money into local currency and sallied out into the strong, warm sun of the capital of the Czech Republic. Praha.

Image: Prague on the Vivita River Photo Credit
Frommer's Prague Day by Day (Frommer's Day by Day - Pocket)
By Guest Blogger - Brian Murgatroyd