Letter from Prague | All stories

Ownership is an eye opener in the Czech Republic. I refer here not to the general possessions and shackles that accumulate with time but to my ownership of a flat in a large house.

Ernesto “Che” Guevara is to many people a symbol of revolution. In fact his handsome, defiant face topped by a beret is said to be one of the most reproduced images in the world. The Argentinean Marxist famously took part in the Cuban revolution, and died trying to foment another uprising in Bolivia. What is perhaps less well known is his connection to a small town south of Prague.

I have always wanted to start a collection of something, but I inevitably lose interest after I have, say, fifty stamps or coins, and I remain not a collector but a mere hoarder. And so I am always amazed by the collections of others, and it’s funny how what people collect differ from country to country. In the United States it was often Coca-Cola paraphernalia or bottle caps. In a German house I came across a staggering assemblage of beer-related articles alongside a budding toy car collection. And here I have met more than one Czech obsessed

I wanted to go back to Afghanistan the minute I left it. No less because within twelve hours of doing so, I found I’d swapped all the gritty wonders of that country for the faux mystique of Dubai. Dubai has as much mystique as Disneyland, but a cloud of volcanic ash kept me captive there for three days. At least I had a chance to fill myself up with fish, before going back to Prague, and to consider everything I had seen and heard over the two weeks past.

Though the weather has been quite miserable lately, that doesn’t take away from the fact Prague is at its loveliest in May. And one of the loveliest spots in the city at this time of year is Petřín Hill on the left bank of the Vltava.

The beautiful land of great wine, mediocre beer, long vowels and good-hearted if slow people – that’s Moravia, the eastern part of the Czech Republic. The Czechs are so jealous of their older brothers that they fear any mention of their existence. Well, the time has come to claim what’s ours, or else.

The sun has brought out the flowers, the flip-flops, the ice-cream stands, the short shorts, people who shouldn’t wear short shorts wearing them regardless… and the dogs in Riegrovy Sady park, a five-minute walk from the radio station. I often go to the park after work or on the weekend, just to sit on a bench or lie on the grass and soak up some sunshine.

I recently came back from a visit to Prague’s Pankrác prison. Such were the preliminaries and security checks that it was harder to get in than out. My mobile phone was taken from me, my recording gear looked at suspiciously and passport scoured before the keys rattled and buzzer sounded. But it was all handshakes, smiles, and a brisk goodbye on the way out. Needless to say it is not the same story for most of those inmates in one of the country’s most famous prisons.

Czechs have been living in the state of permanent political campaigning ever since the fall of the government last March. Early elections were supposed to be held in October, but in the end we have had wait for the regular term next month. All this time, political parties have been coming up with new ideas, slogans and counter-slogans to catch people’s attention.

The decision of the Czech Republic to declare two full days of mourning to remember the victims of the air crash in Smolensk was no overreaction. The fates of the Czechs and the Poles, whose countries today share a common border of nearly 800 kilometres, are closely tied and always have been. The sense of loss that many Czechs felt at the news of the crash was deep and sincere.