It took three trains to get from Munich to Prague. It didn’t have to, but we took the long route, both because it was cheaper and because local trains are just much more fun. The second train dropped us at a station called Bayerisch-Eisenstein; as we found out, that is the name of the southern half of the platform. The northern half is called Železná Ruda. The station spans the German-Czech border.

We stepped out of the bright green modern German train and walked to its Czech grandfather, standing solemnly some distance outside the station, looking almost too dignified and snobbish to share the platform with the toy-like German trains. This was a real train: think massive aluminium handles, imitated-wood interiors, faux-leather head rests, loudly banging doors and uniformed conductors with hefty purses pacing through the carriages selling and checking tickets.

I was so excited, I couldn’t sit down. I ran up and down the carriage like a little kid, trying all the doors, opening and closing the windows, and pulling all the handles I could find (except the red ones). I felt like the real adventure had begun. New trains, gliding quietly like spaceships, doors hissing open and shut, simply cannot deliver this kind of excitement.

We landed in Ljubo’s small rooftop apartment after a 20-minute walk from the train station through night-time Prague. The taxi drivers really outdid themselves this time: they asked for 11 (eleven!) times the proper price. When I protested, they suggested that we walk instead, which we promptly did.

We were Petra and Ljubo’s first CouchSurfing guests. They had joined the site just a week or so before I sent my request, and so much for the better: they are precisely the type of people for whom CouchSurfing was made — open-minded, loving, welcoming and with just the right touch of eccentricity. Some people are easy to figure out, some people are enigmas, and some people are both: you think you know the person well and then you find out that Petra has dancing lessons in Africa on her resume, and Ljubo is a war refugee from former Yugoslavia who had wheeled across Europe, getting as far as Scandinavia, before eventually settling in Prague. People have fascinating life stories, and we shared all of ours during the two evenings that we stayed with Ljubo, having beers and exchanging Soviet jokes. (A Russian enters the Czech Republic, and is asked questions at the border: “First name?” “Ivan”, “Last name?” “Kozlov”, “Occupation?” “No, just a visit”.) We even cooked some shakshuka. (For laughs, ask a Czech friend what that word connotes in Czech.)

We took Prague easy. Any other way would be impossible: Prague is the most touristic city I’ve ever been to, and the old city appears completely devoid of Czech people. They ceded the place to the tourists. The streets are lined with souvenir shops selling the exact same things — incredibly, dozens upon dozens of these shops have enough clientele to stay in business. The Lonely Planet lists example prices of certain items, and for the ubiquitous “Prague Drinking Team” t-shirt it specifies the following: “200Kc to 400Kc (plus any remaining shreds of personal dignity)”. Much personal dignity is shredded daily in Prague.

![](wpid798-DSC_4058.jpg" alt="" title=“wpid798-DSC_4058.jpg)

I find that Prague, in that way, is different from other popular cities, and in a sense, to completely avoid all that is to miss a defining feature of Prague, so we didn’t do that. But we did spend most of our time in parks and other less crowded places. We visited the zoo and the DOX modern art museum. We also had to keep in mind our original motivation for coming to Prague, and that is, to get married.

Our “marriage fixer”, Kamila, picked us up from the hostel for the first time to register in the local police department, and for the second time, for the marriage ceremony itself. The ceremony took place in a special office of the municipality dedicated to this purpose, some distance away from the city center. We didn’t know what to expect, of course — we thought it’d only be a formality, a signing of documents. We put on the fanciest attire available to the long-distance traveler in his backpack: a pair of worn-out jeans, a random t-shirt and hiking boots. Kamila assured us that it would be OK and that she had people dressed as elves before, who put on crowns instead of rings at the ceremony, so we should feel comfortable the way we are.

But it was, after all, a ceremony. As we got ready to enter the ceremony room itself, the Wedding March was played, and we came in and stood before the representative of the municipality who authorizes the marriages. She wore a big medal of the City of Prague on her neck and looked very noble. She read a speech about the importance of marriage, and then asked us (in Czech of course via a translator) whether we agree to accept each other as husband and wife. After our affirmative answers, she announced that by the law of the Czech Republic we were now declared as husband and wife. Hurray! There was even a glass of champagne served after that. The ceremony was very stately, and we both enjoyed getting married a second time in such a special manner for us. Perhaps one day my country will grant its citizens the dignity of being allowed to decide how they want to mark one of the most important events in their lives. I wish to live to see that day.

I find it funny, by the way, that in every culture there’s always a speech involved, by the person leading the ceremony, about the importance of marriage. Everything else might be different, but that is common. How is that? Maybe it’s one of the rare opportunities in which the young don’t mind listening for a little while to the advice of the older generation, since they are too preoccupied with themselves anyway?

We had set up beforehand with Petra and Ljubo to go out that evening to celebrate our marriage, and just to say good bye, so we met at 8 PM “under the tail”, as the locals say, that is, by the equestrian statue of St Vaclav. That was a memorable evening. There are two drinks that the Czech republic is known for: beer, and Absinth. A bottle of the latter is usually brought home by tourists coming back from Prague, purchased at the airport or in one of the tourist shops in the city center. It will be of almost fluorescent green color, similar to window polishing liquid, and probably equally difficult to drink. However, here comes a revelation: Absinth isn’t even supposed to be green! Now, thanks to whomever started that myth, it is easy to distinct between the tourist Absinth and the real one. Petra and Ljubo took us to an Absinth drinking place that caters to locals. After a tasting, we got a small bottle, and went to a park. It was warm, serene, and rather quiet, although most benches were occupied by parties of young people drinking and strumming guitars (already quite badly, but with the best intentions). It felt like a silent festival, a calm celebration of spring. We occupied one bench ourselves and emptied the bottle. Passers-by toasted us and each other. When it became late, we took the subway back, said goodbye to Petra and Ljubo, and went to sleep, preparing ourselves for the upcoming train ride to Istanbul.

April 4, 2011