An American Rogue in Europe: Chapter Nine

Last Tango in Prague

Sunday was the day of the Marathon. Alex, Allie and Christine all left long before Richard, Ella and I awoke. We expected Allie to finish the race (based on her half-marathon pace) somewhere around 2pm. By 11am we were all up, dressed and ready for the day's excursion. We ambled through an American bookstore (filled strangely enough with Czech books), a used LP shop (filled with overpriced Beatles, Dylan and Bob Marley albums), picked up a little McDonald's (minus the absurdly peppery hamburger) and headed towards Old Town Square.

Alex was there at the finish line with beers for the three of us from our friendly KFC. That's one thing that still shakes me about Europe, you can get beer EVERYWHERE and wine almost everywhere. We had barely made it to the square by two, but it turned out our timing was perfect. Allie and Christine finished in less than a half hour with times just below and above five and half hours. That may sound like a lot, but you try running 26 and a half miles. If you finish AT ALL then we'll discuss good marathon times.

It has occurred to me as I write this that some of you may not know where the Marathon comes from. As general purveyor of knowledge and all around smart guy, I'll fill you in. Many moons ago, the Greek city states (Athens in particular) were warring with the Persian Empire. You might have seen a film about one of the battles called "300". Long before that battle the Greeks dealt a harsh blow to the Persians, defeating them at Marathon on Greece's east coast.

After seeing the battle was won (and probably having fought bravely himself) a Greek Hoppalite (foot soldier) ran all the way back to Athens to spread the good news. The trip was long (26 and one half miles) and he ran it at such a furious pace that upon reaching his destination and delivering the message, the Hoppalite fell dead, his heart had given out.

Now, all over the world, mentally deranged people like Allie do this for fun. Me, I like bowling.

After the girls finished their death race and got their medals for finishing, they were pretty hungry but more in need of a cold shower and a change of clothes. We headed to the Metro stop, but before we got there, Ella (who had expected to eat by now) was starving. She decided to stop off at KFC (the march of American culture continues) and I stayed behind with her. As if our rude waiters from the night before hadn't been enough, Ella was waited no at this KFC by a fairly anti-American Czech girl. As I've said before, I can understand getting fed up with tourists and I can completely see how you could get tired of speaking someone else's language in your country but doesn't it seem a little humorous that someone with those feelings would get a job in an American restaurant?

Ella and I got on the Metro and returned to the hostel. I've used subway systems before (particularly New York) but Prague was the first place I ever felt like I learned the system. By the end of our time in Czech, I could easily make my way across the city using the subway only, without even consulting the map. Paris and Rome both have subway systems but neither was as accessible or as useful as Prague.

Ella wanted to shower, Richard and I wanted to drink, and the rest just wanted to eat. Ella stayed behind at the hostel to clean up while everyone else went to our home away from home, Ublinu. Generally, a big meal and drinks in the early afternoon would be a bad idea (especially if you are, as we were, planning on site-seeing) but, we needed to wind the evening down early since the next day would be our roughest travel day.

After lunch, we hooked up with Ella and headed back into town. Alex wasn't finished showing our little party everything Prague had to offer and our time was running out. Prague has a tremendous history as a major European Jewish settlement. There we were strolling along through our amazingly beautiful city, snapping pictures left and right when suddenly the architecture changed. The Eastern European look gave way to a Middle Eastern flair. On our left was a graveyard, lined with the empty booths of vendors, on our right a synagogue flanked by a very large (and obviously old) mausoleum. Maybe these weren't sights as visually stunning as the Charles Bridge, but the emotional impact was significantly greater.

When Hitler was conquering Europe and remaking it in his image, an area like this might have been destroyed. It would have been, in fact, but for the hubris of the Nazis. They were so confident that they would be successful in their attempted extermination of the Jewish people that they chose (very specifically) to leave this part of Prague alone. These beautiful buildings, these ancient graves, would stand as a monument, a memorial to the Jewish people, proof that they ever existed and a testament to the efficiency of the Nazi forces. But the God of Abraham is still worshiped in this little corner of Prague, and Hitler, while not forgotten, is a distant memory.

Our next tour stop was a decidedly less grand one, but still beautiful in its own way. Shortly after the death of John Lennon a memorial was painted by a graffiti artist in the Old Town. Rather than be painted over or washed away, it has been added to over the years by fans from all over the world. We had seen it in photos but wanted to lay eyes on it ourselves.

The problem was, our map of Old Town was less than decipherable. We walked this way and that, circling the area the map said should have held the wall, but found nothing. The hour was getting late, and even if two of our party hadn't just run 26 and a half miles we would have all been tired, anticipating our early morning the next day. We finally called off the search, vowed to find Lennon's memorial on our next trip to Prague and headed home to pack for the next day's journey.