Prague, Czech Republic

That’s one of the more popular t-shirt designs sold at the tourist shops along Old Town Square, along with the “Praha Drinking Team” tee I picked up. So you can see that the American frat boys are getting some quality wares on their trips to Prague, which has become as touristy (given its small size and favorable exchange rate) as some of Western Europe’s much larger capitals.

I’m happy to be off the Lonely Planet-toting backpacker track for a few days and enjoying some semblance of real life, complete with stove, local television and familiar faces. My host and former college roommate, Taylor, is now a walking encyclopedia of cheap bars, tram routes and unintentionally hilarious signs blatantly misusing the English language.

Half of Taylor’s balcony

Taylor lives in Prague’s Old Town, just a few blocks from St. Wenceslas Square, where many Czech cultural and political revolutions have occurred, most recently the installation of a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise. His penthouse apartment features a huge balcony where we grilled chewy, plastic-tasting Czech sausages last night. Downstairs there is a sex shop with a blow-up doll in the window and down the street there is a restaurant whose sign proudly proclaims it a “Typical Czech Restaurant.” Priceless. The views are breathtaking: the sun setting over the Prague castle, orange rays touching red rooftops as far as the eye can see. Our brisk walk through the city at night was great, although the overtouristed Stare Mesto seems to have devolved into a theme park for rabid Anglophiles. Supposedly the worst offenders are British bachelor parties, prowling old Praha for herna-bar gambling, booze, pot and callgirls.

St. Wenceslas Square, where revolutions begin

Last night we checked out one of the city’s triendier hangouts, the subterranean nightclub Nebe (”Heaven”). The place looks like a 75-foot-long chunk of subway tunnel, with religious artwork and dozens of mismatched chairs and couches lining one wall. The other side of the half-pipe sports a bright yellow bar, and in between were dozens of people dancing to music from the late 90s. A bunch of Czech guys were to our left, one wearing calf-high, white, green and orange leather boots. They seemed to be rocking out a little harder than we were. To our right were three Americans. One guy, clearly the coolest of the group, was wearing some regional flavor of the red “New Jersey State Wrestling Champs” t-shirt. A girl at the table was chain smoking but seemed to have no lighter.

Tomorrow I’m taking a daytrip to nearby Kutna Hora to check out a church full of hundreds of thousands of human bone arrangements. Beat that with a 400-year-old femur!