Russian Barman: A Confession

The barman was friendly. From Russia, he told me, though brought up in Prague by way of a couple of years in Dublin. He wanted to go back there; he had an Irish girlfriend. I mentioned it seemed somewhat empty tonight in Prague - all my YouTube research warned me about the nightmare of overcrowding caused by the tourist hordes in summertime. He observed that maybe this out of the way place I’d chosen on Újezd - away from the tourist cattle ‘must-see’ haunts in the Old Town - was always going to be a bit quiet on a Monday night.

He went on to overshare. Warming to his theme, he said that he used to work in busy Old Town places, techno clubs and that sort of thing. I asked him, why he’d switched jobs to this out of the way place? Well, he got caught selling drugs he replied with a smile whilst helping himself to another gratis refill of his beer.

Blur v Oasis: Dick Measuring

The guy on the bar stool to my right - Nathan, American I guess – heard my accent and started on a riff about music and Britpop. How he preferred Blur over Oasis and that Damon Albarn was a genius. But this was like a Gen Z teenager holding forth on the Beatles to someone who’d watched them play Get Back live on the rooftop. He clammed up when I bitch-slapped him with my observation that I’d seen Blur many times in the early 90’s as far back as their Modern Life is Rubbish Tour. Oh! Music snobs don’t like it when, in the dick measuring contest of their wankery, the guy next to them is sporting a ten-inch compared to their meagre six.

But he was nice enough and we talked about New York and Chicago and New Orleans and Brighton versus Brighton Beach. The sort of ‘anywhere & everywhere’ conversation one has internationally. Perish the thought you’re parochial. Me? I visit Belgium regularly and voted for Brexit. Life isn’t simple.

I pulled the old guy routine again when I said my last trip to New York was probably a quarter of a century ago and that I used to party in the Windows on the World. You know, that bar at the top of the World Trade Centre.

“Fuck man! There was a bar there?”

A Beer Too Far?

Mmm. This wasn’t my first set of beers tonight. But, prompted by my Russian friend who needed to make up for his larceny - I ordered one more. Too soon I made my excuses with some Pilsner still left in the glass. The shame. That’s, like, sacrilegious in my culture. But, with pissed bonhomie, I shook hands with Nathan, the barman and his newly arrived Irish girlfriend (also drinking for free). Back out into the Prague night.

Age. Longevity. Memory. There has to be a trade-off, doesn't there? You lose your looks; you lose your hair. You battle to stay thin. But inside - confused, commingled and somewhat capricious - we have memories, memories that make us human, that shyly reveal us as a bit player in a once popular drama that doesn’t run anymore beyond highlight reels or Youtube shorts.

The Girl by the Riverside Earlier

Before that bar, there were – of course - a few others. I’d started earlier, by the river, on the Lesser Town side. There was a joyful noise coming up from a bar in the Kampa region whilst crossing the Legion Bridge (Most Legií). People having fun. Live music. So, I went down to investigate and caught the last few songs of a local band playing outside the Jazz Dock watched by a large, enthusiastic Czech crowd. I only caught the last three songs. They were good. Sorta like The Cardigans (who they, granddad?).

Walking back to the bridge along the waterfront I was followed, and then led, by an attractive, single lady, thirty something who was on her own. I smiled. She smiled. She paused in her walk, I overtook her. I stopped, and she passed me slowly. Synchronicity is a good sign of attraction, I’ve found. Our paths collided when we reached the bridge.

She went left and I went right.

That’s okay: I needed a piss anyway.

What are the Signs and how to Miss Them

Another night. Before or after, not sure.

The woman at Stage Bar on Střelecký Ostrov island. A band was playing, so - as I was crossing anyway, I followed the noise and took the lift down from Legion Bridge (Most Legií). I stood at the back, watching the band, watching the crowd. The most gorgeous woman of indeterminate age, in a tight lime suit was next to me. She was getting into the music, arms in the air, swaying and constantly filling her glass from premixed cans stashed in her bag. She was beautiful; high cheek bones, prominent nose, curvaceous.

Readers, if I had to design, or wish for, a perfect woman, this was she. Alarmingly close, she wiggled, she lifted her jacket to show her ass, bent over on the table in front of me provocatively. She unbound her hair and shook it sensuously. I mean, all the signs! She did literally everything to entice me apart from drop down to her knees and fumble around in my trousers.

I, of course, faced with Yoda’s choice to do or not to do, chose nothing. I gave nothing, encouraged nothing. As she was putting on her show, I could see her stage whisper her friend seemingly asking, is he looking? I know this because the friend would obviously appraise me and the two would then giggle performatively. But I was frozen. Real life and real decisions. Not for me. Eventually the music stopped, as did her actions. Was I dreaming? Did I imagine a come-on? How would I, an observer but unobservant, even know?

I left as she pulled a bottle of prosecco out of her bag. If I was a certain type of guy, maybe I would have stuck around at this point, let nature and bubbles take their course and ride this tram to the next stop. But I’m not and I didn’t.

Night view of Charles Bridge statues over the Vltava River in Prague — “You looking at my bird?”

The Pimp on Charles Bridge?

Disgusted with myself, all the beer I’d been drinking and the carby meals I’d been eating, I walked back through Lesser Town slowly and made my way to Charles Bridge. I pinballed drunkenly from side to side, seemingly always against the flow. It’s what I do. Usual crowd. Couples strolling arm-in-arm before heading to their hotel for perfunctory holiday sex. Youngish girls high on life and a couple of cocktails being silly. Guys being loud, annoying and drunk. Amidst this, a gorgeous, oh so beautiful lady, curvaceous in that modern way, smiled at me and I smiled back. Then I noticed a mean-looking guy nearby in jeans with a short hair cut and jacket fully done up. He was slowly walking in front and then behind her.

I paused. The girls didn’t move much. The guy didn’t move much. I walked on and they kept pace with me. I stopped and they seemed to stop. Wherever I was and whatever pace I walked, the guy seemed to be not that far away and kind of looking at me. His gaze wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t even a case now of him being a pimp watching his charges. I felt like a mark and hunted.

And, like a paranoid little bitch who’d watched too many ‘scams in Prague’ or ‘Be careful in Prague’ videos on YouTube, I picked up my skirts and fled the bridge back to the safety of my hotel. No more beers tonight.

Paranoia and missed opportunities. Is anything real? What is the truth? Am I sinking into the abyss or just drunk? Drunk and alone in Prague.

But there’s always tomorrow. I’m going to a comedy club. I feel like a fucking clown anyway. Based on tonight (last night, whatever; recently) I should be on stage and share my dating tips. Mic drop.

That though, dear readers, is another, and my next, story (to be overshared, of course).

Quotidian Notes / Read On

1) This is part of my Prague Quintet series of articles about the Czech capital covering art, music, museums, beer, bar escapades, trams, You know, the full Goulash with bread dumplings. Read part 1 Prague Castle Guide - Is it worth it?

2) I’m liking this In Media Res style of writing. Keeps you guessing, no? Guessing whether I’m a wanker probably but a literary wanker at that. Literary discussion from a bar in Delft: F.Scott Fitzgerald - What a Bitch!

3) The comedy club night is a scorcher. You’ll love it! Just writing up my notes.

4) I went to Prague first week in September 2026. It was warm.

5) What about reading my Krakow Bar Stories or maybe some Antwerp bar stories?

Beer And Loathing: A Night in Prague Bars