Bohemian Cafe Sketch Prague
A Laptop Friendly Cafe in Prague
Bohemian bar scene - Cafe Na Boršově - merely steps from my hotel (Naprstkova 272/10, 11000 Prague 1). Everyone has a laptop. Dr Google and his bratty know-all brother Gemini, said Prague wasn’t into the laptop scene. Wrong! This cafe is laptop heaven. Everyone is tapping away. And Tim? Hell yeah, balls deep in this place. The vibe? Studenty with chandeliers.
Who’s here? Let’s review…
Many of the clientele are women. No, don’t get excited. Not much makeup is being used here. Certainly not as much as the blue / green hair dye. And straight fringes. Not many smiles in my direction. It gets in the way of all the earnest conversations over endless coffees. ‘Nuff said. There are exceptions though.
The guy on the next table is attempting to be the gayest guy in Prague. He’s been in training for years, the dapper moustache, the floppy trousers, the striped t-shirt, the exaggerated manner as his etiolated limbs flop ceaselessly across his ostentatious handbag. He’s exasperated and performatively so, thirty years out of date, seeing every person as his disapproving father. He’s also got the best table in the fucking room, the table in the corner with the fully open window to which he rebelliously sticks one leg through out into the street. No rules, man!
I take the table next to him and type as he crunches through the ice in his empty cocktail. I type. He splits an ice cube. Cur-runch! Type. Curr-runch!
Co-Working and Claude
Two girls opposite pilot Claude for some mysterious project. Odd, non-male-pleasing, haircuts meet skater-boi fashion as they high five over some agreement in their plot to take over the world. Or finalise their manifesto for trans rights access to women’s bathrooms at Charles University. Or perhaps their nascent plan to subvert received opinion by setting up The Donald Trump Appreciation Society of Prague. Going on instinct, I’d say the former.
A serious guy in a tight white T-shirt rocks a Mac by the steps to the bar. He keeps the keyboard an arm’s length away so he can flex for the benefit of the room. He types deliberately and drinks coffee. He has the look of a jock who’s watched a video on the manosphere and has ‘thoughts’. Either he’s writing the definitive guide to having sex with seven women in one week or his dissertation towards his BSc in Generative AI. Probably the latter. His confused look at his screen suggests he’s unfamiliar with deep thoughts. He probably thinks this attitude and his flexing makes him look cool. Sadly, it probably does. Twat.
The co-working team in the other corner sit around a large table each wearing headphones. Together but so alone. I’m sure when they converse they do it via some WhatsApp group chat. So much easier than talking across the table, eh? What is their project though? Looking at them I think either plans to create Czechia’s Revolut or a group project on why my mummy hates me.
The Trouble with Maria Lounge Act
Over in another corner, a heartbreakingly beautiful woman recites biblical passages and rituals to a nun in full Sound of Music gear. Looks like a novice type interview. It’s that sort of place. I’m not even surprised. Obviously, I won’t put the novice off her potential course in life, but, if she’d like to test out the sins of the flesh before she takes the pledge, well… I’m here and my hotel is only two doors away. I offer these services for free. What’s free these days?
Well, what’s free is the annoying French guy languidly getting up from his table and playing schmaltz on the grand piano like he’s swallowed half of Richard Clayderman’s playbook. Not the good half either. It’s all a bit doodley, sub The Piano meandering arpeggios. Luckily, no one pays him the slightest bit of attention - the attention he seeks anyway - and he slams the lid down in a huff and goes back to his red wine. Philistines.
He’s now furiously scribbling into his leather notebook with a Montblanc pen. Game knows game.
The girl. Alone. With a laptop. Heartbreakingly beautiful with tresses of long blonde hair. Mysterious, coy, reserved. But what does she write? Is it the mirror image of my own solipsistic tappings? Maybe, how she fantasises about the hot but slightly older mysterious English guy who fails to make eye contact with her but is unfailingly polite with the waiters? Possibly. One down tick though for the visible tattoo between her neck and bosom. This generation is lost. So very lost.
Ah, the 80s! Music
The music goes back on after the French interlude and it’s good. Bronski Beat plays. Smalltown Boy. I used to dance to this in the Crypt nightclub in Sussex University in the mid 80s. Fuck off granddad. Sade now. I watched her live at Live Aid, my Czech friends. Nathan from that bar on Újezd the other night would change the subject here. And I met Madonna. Sorry mate; I have baldness and memories and you have youth and callowness. I know, regretfully, which has better currency.
The attractive waitress brings me another beer and bends down to do so. I try (and fail) to avoid observing how her floppy top opens out to show her boobs. Luckily I’m not too lecherous - well being caught peeking is awful - and so turn away and smile innocently when she stands up. Not my style. I ask her, is it okay if I go outside to vape (I haven’t paid my bar bill yet) and she says those magical words - “It’s okay to vape inside”. Fuck! This is my new home and to drive this home the Cure comes on! This is my Prague BOHO bar! And it’s next door to my hotel. Ignoring the Thai massage parlour in between, of course.
Reflections
Another day, after a late afternoon spent listening to baroque music in a stunning Renaissance church, I return to the cafe to write up my thoughts. It’s my home-from-home in Prague. I walked to the bar with my laptop. Asked for a beer at the bar. Waiting, my musings on the foamy pour are distracted though when suddenly, from behind a curtain at the back of the room, came not one, not two, not ten but thirty oh so beautiful Czech ladies. What the fuck? But, thank you! What was going on behind that curtain?
They scattered around the place in fours and fives, their high pitched voices energised from whatever they were doing in private. Aperol was taking a serious beating. Me? I gathered my pilsner and held onto a table near the door observing. There’s an ornate wall length mirror on the other side of the room where I can stealthily scan the room from two perspectives. Next to me a youngish lady on her own dawdles through her cocktail seemingly bored. She orders something and a few minutes later the waitress - she knows me now and just brings beer when my glass looks empty - brought her an open sandwich.
Seizing the moment, I tried a line on the lady as she fiddled with her food. Asked her about her sandwich or something. Bold for me if slightly pathetic. Her response wasn’t fulsome nor encouraging of further conversation. Of course, I’d picked the only young Czech lady who doesn’t speak English.
Or did I?
Later. Back at the hotel. I’m looking at the surreptitious picture I took earlier of the room via the mirror at the other side of the room. It captures everyone in the bar, those in front, those at the side, me and her. In the picture, she’s looking at me intently, all alone, as I gaze at the mirror, phone in hand, laptop and beer laid before me. There’s a story there if I was clever enough to read it. She was too shy perhaps to engage? Possibly. It’s true I give off an unattainable Brad Pitt vibe. Must try and tone down the high-status sexual attractiveness. Make myself available to normal ladies.
Or did I fuck up again and miss the signs only to realise too late what was actually happening right next to me? Readers, here is the photo: you judge:
Mirror Image in Cafe Na Boršově
Don’t judge me too harshly.
Yeah. I fucked up didn’t I?
Bollocks.
Quotidian Notes / Further Reading
1) Food and drink. I ate here quite a lot of my time spent in Prague. The menu was more of your light bite variety which came with salad so made me feel slightly less piggy than the normal beef stew and dumpling fayre elsewhere. Pickled cheese was interesting! Beer. Yes, freshly poured Czech pilsner. I had many drafts of this.
2) Before I went to Prague I googled laptop friendly places and the results were pretty poor. Apparently, it’s not the done thing to sit in a cafe / bar in Prague and tap away on your laptop. So, imagine my surprise when right next door to me (skipping the Thai massage parlour) was this gem. It was lively, interesting and lots of work gets done here. It’s very close to Charles Bridge but in a side street so prices are reasonable and the staff, boho model types, very friendly. I definitely recommend this place.
3) Part of my Prague Quintet series detailing different aspects of Prague from a solo traveller point of view. Start with Prague Castle - Is it Worth it, and then follow the trail through Comedy Nights, Art Galleries and Baroque Music and my experience with a pimp on Charles Bridge (really Tim, you may be dramatising for cheap effect here).
4) There’s a certain voyeurism about taking mirror pictures is there not? No, no, no! It’s narcissism, my friend. The picture and the blog, ostensibly outward-looking is always, and forever, inward facing. I’m also beginning to realise it’s about missed connections.
