Letter from Prague | All stories

On the way down the hill from the Roman Catholic graveyard in the small town of Třešť in the Vysočina I was surprised by a short burst of music. It came from a rather inconspicuous loudspeaker on the roof of a terraced house.

When I first started dating my future wife around 12 years ago, one of the first challenges I faced as a ‘suitable’ potential partner was the roller blade test. A skate not on Prague's fairly flat Letná Plain (well okay, we did that too) but a suicidal slalom down a road in Stromovka Park.

Recently, at an old house down the country, I happened upon an interesting guidebook, or “bedeker”, as Czechs call such publications, in reference to the famous Baedeker guides that originated in the 19th century.

Although I enjoy living here in the Czech Republic with my wonderful Czech wife, it is a very sad fact that I am often reminded of that I also live amongst a nation that is not proud of their soldiers, a nation who would rather typecast their Armed Forces as mercenaries rather than heroes.

Pigeons are not my favourite creatures, but a liquidation demand from the neighbours was not to my liking. It sparked a month long pigeon purgatory to avoid the death calls until they young birds had a chance to fly away.

For years I have been going swimming in the pool at Hotel AXA, a to my mind rather bland functionalist building from 1932 that is currently undergoing major renovation. It is located more or less opposite the department store Bílá Labuť, which is of similar vintage and style, on Prague’s busy Na Poříčí street.

There is one certainty in my daily life in Prague and that is that I will encounter a dead pig on my plate if I am so inclined. The Czech Radio canteen can boast some variety, but serving up some dead pig in one form or another seems to be a sacred daily duty. Slice, sirloin, steak, chops, you name it, you can find it on the menu and on your plate.

In just five short days, I will return back to the United States after spending four months as a student in Prague. There are many reasons I chose to come here. Aside from having a Czech mother who spent her childhood years in Prague, I must admit that I also came for the cheap prices and bustling nightlife.

I always found it fitting that when you did a Google image search for my Czech-born stepfather, Boris Andršt, you ended up with page after page of pictures of garlic. Boris, who died in New York last week aged 85, was something of a hobbyhorse throughout his life. There was photography, gadget collecting, motorcycling, cooking, and, of course, growing vegetables.

All in all, the Czech Republic is pretty well journalist trained right now. Press conferences usually begin at a civilized time, the optimum being around 10 o’clock; you don’t really have to listen to what the people say if you don’t want to because they usually give out a summary bit of paper before or at the end, and questions are optional.