Being flighty when gales blow, calm in stillness. Just like Prague, Mater Urbium, a matron to scattered souls. And I mean those jigsawed as time went by—and even chewed through by it. That’s why it offers all these shelters and havens, all these caverns in reality where time has little to no power over you. Where Kafka metamorphosed into a coffee bug; where Einstein kept losing his way and keys while filling empty spaces; where Schiele got dumped and started sketching nudes; where Kokoschka, and Havel, and Toyen, and Kundera… And all of them, and none of them, in the end. All gone. Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.
This very café, Do větru, sits on Prague’s dizzying heights, as the Czech name suggests. Next to an old windmill, attached to the dorms of my second university. A student hangout where I’d work and, more often, write. I love writing in quirky cafés like this; barstools—what flagellant could even invent such uncomfortable seating?—are only a plus. Cabinet-of-curiosities-style furniture, with no two pieces matching, is a must, though. And, dare I call it that, a personality.
They are, in fact, among the perks that distinguish Prague from the rest of my country. Prague cafés—that’s a term that triggers country folks. Hanging out in coffeehouses, caring about what you drink, and perhaps even what you eat, requires a certain level of socioeconomic capital. Not necessarily wealth. Most regulars in these places are students who hardly ever have two pennies to rub together, at least by Prague standards. It’s more of a status thing, and perhaps a matter of priorities. Quality over quantity. Quite a strange concept for former Eastern-blocers, who still have a mental block of sorts. Or trauma, some would say.
Coffee as dark as my very soul, as roasted as I’ll eventually end up, coming from the most secular corners of the world. This time, Brasil Fazenda Olhos D'Água. A tad less roasted than I’d prefer, yet of low acidity, letting some cocoa and brandy notes sparkle on your tongue.
All my favorite dives have one thing in common. The holy trinity. Yet an unconventional one, as we perceive it in my homeland. Great coffee, pickled camembert-style cheese just in the right state of funk (the only tapas you can generally get anywhere in Czechia), and of course, the liquid gold. Good lager. This one is from Únětice, a microbrewery at the very edge of Prague.
Here’s to all the café layabouts of the world!
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No hermelin? Shame on you. Looks like they spruced it up, back to the old easy, soft seats since I was there last. I'm glad, it seems to suit it way more. What a nice little cupboard of oddities your write-up has been. :)
Hey, I'm just having it! Too late for the post, though :)
And yep, what a relief! The good ol' sofas are back. I assume they were just sent to Croatia for vacation or something like that.
Enjoy :)
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I've been engaging with them lately, these I resonate with, obviously :)
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Thanks :)
I would have loved to have a cup of coffee there, and I would feel like sitting in someone's cosy living room. So homey.