Weekend in Prague

Prague is the most pleasantly weird city I have yet visited in Europe. It’s hard to explain, but I felt very much in my element while I was there. It’s relaxed but energetic, marvelously old but youthful and spry, and certainly too much to see in one weekend, which is all I had.

I compare most places to Paris. Paris is a place that spits on you and demands thousands of dollars to see fabulous things, and then mugs you anyway. Prague reaches out a hand and offers its sights happily.

My favorite war to study is the Thirty Years’ War, with the Hundred Years’ War a close second. It all began in Prague when three Catholic agents of the king were pushed from a high window by angry Protestants. By either the grace of God or the huge pile of manure located just below which broke their fall like a Looney Toons bit, the three men survived. They later said that Mother Mary herself carried them to safety, all the way back to their king, who promptly kicked off the war that gave us everything from capitalism to the prosperity gospel.

This moment in history is called the Defenestration of Prague. I saw the window the men were pushed out of — and let me just say, if I had fallen from that height and survived, I would also believe that it was a God-ordained miracle. I was totally geeked, to be honest. I probably looked like a fool skipping and giggling under an unmarked window in a garden.

But my foolishness was exhuberant nonetheless. Never let other people’s concern for your sanity stop you from being yourself!

Friends, I must admit my sins to you now. I flew too close to the sun and was nearly burned. Something I enjoy doing when I travel solo is pretend to be French. I do this because I can and nobody is stopping me, and it is not illegal despite being probably at least a little bit immoral. I do it for fun, and I will not attempt to justify it further.

Anyway, I did this at a ticket booth for an alchemy museum (Prague has a really cool history of alchemy). But then the woman at the booth also led the tour, so I had to keep up pretending to barely understand English during an all-English tour with an American couple. One of them, the boyfriend, remembered his high school French, and in what I believe was an attempt to impress his lady, “translated” for me.

The tour ended at a really neat alchemical restaurant, and me and the couple ended up having lunch and drinks for two hours. I was sweating like a sinner in church, I tell you. I was dropping articles and mixing up verb tenses left and right trying to keep up the lie. The both of them, from what I could tell, were very taken with “Jeanne from Lyon.” (I couldn’t go by Allison, that name is as American as apple pie!) They asked me all about Macron and my opinions of American culture, and I would pretend to search for words, occasionally turning to the boyfriend for “help.”

I’ve always been a performer.

We finished paying and I thought I was home free. But I let something horrible slip. You see, when lying, it’s a good idea to sprinkle in the truth where you can. Makes it believable. So now with the check in hand, I mention that I’m moving to Maryland in the fall to teach.

“You’re moving to Maryland? We live in Baltimore! Let me get your number so we can show you around!”

Oh no.

I was had. I felt like that scene in Inglorious Basterds when the Allied spies are discovered by the Nazis. All I could do was give them my phone number, and it had to be a real one since the girlfriend texted me to make sure it worked.

So I’m not sure what to do now. I’m considering quitting that job in Maryland and moving to a remote fishing village in Iceland. Perhaps I should wear a fake beard? Start walking with a distinct limp? Advice is appreciated.

Bises,

Allison

P.S.: I also went on a super cool ghost tour, checked out some neat bridges, saw some torture devices, ate a lot of sausage, and visited the famed Jewish quarter. I purchased a little clay golem, and so far he is doing a good job of protecting me from harm.