Letter from Prague | All stories

This week the city hall of Ústí nad Labem opened a new atrium which it had reconstructed at considerable expense - more than thirty million crowns. It was back-slapping, smiles and congratulations all round as people gathered to view the new site, but the speeches and fanfare accompanying the event were somewhat dampened by the black looks some of the locals directed at members of the local administration. As far as they were concerned there was a fly in the ointment, because the bronze statue dominating the new atrium was more than familiar.

August 18 marked the 130th anniversary of birth of one of the most distinct figures of the old Austrian empire, Emperor Franz Joseph I. He ruled his peoples for nearly seven decades, and although Czechs today don’t seem to identify with this particular period in their history, the legacy of the ‘aged monarch’, as he was semi-officially referred to towards the end of his life, is still apparent in most of his former empire today.

Some people say that Czechs are unfriendly. Obviously, such people are simply not in the right place at the right time. Try any central Prague metro exit or the top of Wenceslaus Square for example, where I have been stopped by the friendliest Czechs imaginable every day for the last two months now, sometimes even several times a day, sometimes several times within five minutes. They want to talk to me about all kinds of things.

For a brief period after graduating from high school in Germany, I found myself confused as to what course to take in life, professionally. So I enrolled for a program of study in English Linguistics.

For a few months from late July until the nights draw in from September and force me to change my weekend timetable, I look out of the window with some suspicion when my Prague-bound train pulls up at Pilsen on Sunday evenings. The cause of my fear can usually be heard before it appears: returning football supporters after an away game in the West Bohemian city.

One of the high points of my week was getting soaked to the skin on a tram stop platform by a passing municipal truck sprinkling water to keep the dust down. With the temperature at around 35 degrees Celsius, the cool spray provided at least a brief relief from the mind-melting heat.

The start of the summer holidays has a profound effect on life in the Czech capital. Students go backpacking in the Middle East, families head for a seaside vacation in Croatia and children get dumped at their grandparents’ in the village. Prague dwellers evacuate the city in droves in favour of their country houses and holiday huts.

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