Česká Republika: Praha

Isn’t it great that this funny shaped continent at the fringe of the Eurasian landmass has started, after millennia of Christ inspired strife, to get its act together?

The European Union, if you didn’t already know – is one of the things that keeps me warm at night. Only two things bug me about it. Firstly its ludicrously high and market distorting subsidies to European farmers and secondly its equally high and environmentally criminal subsidies to airline operators. I have strong moral issues with both.

Yet I happily cast them aside last weekend and embraced cheap aviation fuel to take me and three fellow compatriots to a new member of the Brussels Club on the far side of Germany. The Czech Republic - thorn in the side of the Soviet Union and hotbed of revolution throughout the second half of the twentieth century and a young and dynamic nation eager to modernise and take its place as a rising star in central Europe. Or so the story goes. I’d read a lot about it and was keen see it first hand. Even the fact that my evening flight into the city made it appear like something closely resembling Mordor did not put me off.

Our first encounter with a genuine Czech was out hotel porter who kept giving us puzzled looks all the way up to our room before announcing with some sense of satisfaction and a giant grin of understanding “Ah! I see – Gay is OK”. Not a promising start. Perhaps central Europe is not quite ready for Britain’s peculiar strand of the metrosexual sub culture - yet I wasn’t willing to explain.

That night we took in several of the clubs and I was pleased to say I rediscovered my first year passion for the classical art form of techno. Central Europe is to techno what France must be too fine wine. These clubs did it and did it well. I hadn’t been touched like that for a long time. No matter what anyone says strobe lighting, lasers, dry ice and a repetitive drumbeat can induce some sort of semi-hypnotic state. Especially when combined with the ‘hazy’ underground air. The brilliant thing about European clubs I have found is that unlike British ones they are actually designed to be social. In Britain you all to often turn up to a large pit in the ground or warehouse and your supposed to just get on with it – with no possibility of making coherent chit chat without yelling directly into someone’s ear hole. Which, needless to say, is very difficult to pull off with any grace. Yet here clubs seemed to be designed with countless layers of small, moodily lit rooms connected to one another by twisty turny little avenues that lead on to yet more small bars and quiet social spaces in which to chill out and enjoy the company of those you bothered inviting out in the first place. This is what going out should be. The chance not only to humiliate yourself on the dance floor but also the ability to sit back and relax.

With just a two-hour turnaround period we were back out into the streets, trams and undergrounds of the city – which in true Soviet style are incredibly impressive. We found our way into Wenceslas Square, which has twice been witness to anti-communist rallies and once to the onslaught of Red Army tanks. A memorial to two Czech students who heroically burnt themselves to death in protest can be found here. I cannot help but think there may have been a better way to resist - but then who am I to judge. Yet it seems the Czech people have traded in their placards for postcards and the Square is now well and truly a tourist trap. It can also boast two McDonald’s restaurants and a KFC. Freedom really is finger lickin good (ha!).

My romantic notions of anti-soviet struggle aside I am sure if you asked your average Czech which system they prefer - grey tower blocks, grey food and grey pay checks – or flying around the capital in their very own taxi ripping off every gullible tourist they set eyes on – I doubt they would take long to decide.

And it is a rip off. If anyone says these new fancy EU nations are cheap. Don’t believe them. At least in the capital it’s not. And more than that – they really do hike the prices up the minute they hear your accent. On the second night we befriended a local who did the talking for us and got us into this great little club. After he had a brief chat with the bar staff we found ourselves paying only 90p per pint. Compared with the £3/4 we had been paying – this was surely some sort of magical injustice.

On our return to the hotel we discovered that the cities sex industry is thriving. One of our number suffered a particularly nasty incident with a small Chinese girl. Desperate for the sale she had clamped her arms around him in such a manner as to provoke fits of giggles from the rest of us. Until we realised she really did have no intention of ever letting go. Something of a tug of war match ensued over the possession of our shell-shocked comrade and we were able to retrieve him in more or less in one piece.

All in all I really need to return to this historic and complicated little capital city. We were there for too short a time to really come to any concrete judgements. To me it felt like a place I could happily spend a week or so just exploring and chilling out in while reading up on the history. They have so many monuments and buildings of importance but my knowledge of central and eastern European history is limited at best and I simply couldn’t appreciate the significance of what I was seeing.

On the plus side however many locals have found a superb market niche in selling off old Soviet crap that no Czech in their right mind would want at sky high prices to British tourists who have the mistaken notion that all things Soviet are cool. How quickly these people adapt.

I now own three Soviet stars and a genuine Soviet Navy hat. Yet it made me wonder what would happen if other nations started selling off memorabilia of their former oppressive occupiers. Swastika armband anyone? Iron Cross for the lady?

Defiantly a place that needs a second look.