Prague 2005: Day One - The Eye-Opener

Beer-count=quite a few, and rising

The story starts the year previous at the now infamous Cambridge stag-night for Carlos, which if the Duke, as best-man, had his way would have been in Prague. So when the Vickster popped the question on Feb 29th, the Duke started to form a plan...
The rather dubious sounding Prague Pissup were contacted and details were sorted. All this without the best-man (me - Pimpmaster Jazz) having to raise a finger. Can't be bad!

So the Bandito entourage gathered, bit by bit, at Stansted airport for a preliminary meeting to plan their drinking mission in eastern Europe. Woja and myself journeyed from Oxford, having very little sleep through the night as last-ditch sleep deprivation training, Ginger Rob journeyed up from darkest Devon with a head full of animals and a heart full of woe (or was it the other way round?) and after a coffee-fueled, card-playing wait they were joined by the rest of the Bandito crew, who arrived about five.
As soon as the check-in was seen to it was to breakfast; two pints of your finest Guinness mister barperson, with a croissant as soakage please. Yes, it had started.

The flight was pretty uneventful (hell, we were flown by Captain Smeg-something - it's bound to be cool!) and after successfully reclaiming baggage (I'm sure someone grabbed my bag and then returned it) we were greeted by a cheery (and apparently pervy) taxi-person who guided us to the Atos Hotel, cool place at which we had the entire top-floor. Only problem is that we weren't actually allowed into our rooms as they were being cleaned. It wasn't really a problem, as we decided to strategically retreat to a local bar for a beverage and to continue our weekend beer-consumption plan. It was here that we discovered the first true benefit of Prague - beer prices. One round, 16 beers, £7. As the nominated kitty-holder (ok, best-man duties were now kicking in) at this point I was a happy bunny.
Unfortunately the fine establishment didn't serve food, and as substantial as the breakfast was, it didn't really fill the hole created by no sleep. So, onto the next beer-servery, preferably one that also sells food. It was here that we discovered our new local. Good service, good food and a cool atmosphere - sold. The beers started flowing, the food arrived, the beers (and Pina Colada for Duke) arrived again only before another beer (and schnapps for Duke). Duke didn't like his schnapps, so this got passed around and ended up with the best-man. Shame.
Around this time we were due to meet our guide. Now call me a cynic, but with a name like 'Prague Pissup' I was expecting a lager-swilling twat who wanted to drag us to all the expensive tourist bars to get extra commission. So, after a quick call, Renée arrived in all her South African loveliness and I think I wasn't the only one who was taken aback. Initial impressions fortunately were reinforced through the weekend; very, very cool lass and I feel possibly even made the trip. Renée joined us for a beer (or several on our part) before sorting out a meet-point for the evening. All good.

After settling up (oh how I laughed!) we wondered into town to do a recce of tonights meet with the target. Being covert lager-louts this weekend we entered town as separate groups, to avoid suspicion. We negotiated the maze-like streets of central Prague and found the first target of the afternoon's mission - the bike shop! Unfortunately it was shut. So we carried on, checking out bar locations, fighting off dealers and getting munchy supplies. Whilst heading home the Barone received a call from the Duke - it was stag strike one. He was pissed and stranded in central Prague. We collected a rather confused Duke from outside Tesco and walked him back, where he promptly collapsed. He'd been having a drink watching the rugby, but decided it was pretty boring (fairplay) and went to stagger back, leaving some of the others to continue the watching and drinking. Only he wasn't too sure of where he was going, which proved his first amusing mistake of the weekend.

On return we went to our very IKEA-like top-floor to to get showered and don glad-rags. The Duke and I were roomies, and we were due to be sharing a double-bed. Now normally I would have no qualms about leaping into bed with his Gingerness, but as it was his weekend I opted to sleep in a spare single next-door, although I believe that the Duke was secretly disappointed by this. He was occupying most of the double at this point anyway with his face-down starfish impression.

6pm. The Banditos were ready to eat, rock and get merry. All with one important exception. Our pet starfish was still staring at the bottom of the bed. However this wasn't a problem as starfish respond well to the forces of nature, which in this case was four blokes dragging him off the bed. You would have thought we were trying to abduct him from the language that came forth - couldn't he see that it was being cruel to be kind? Still, he was roused and came on out to start the evenings festivities, which were to begin with food.

Just round the corner from our IKEA test-lab were a few bars and restaurants that looked promising. One looked incredibly bohemian... Make mental note. We continue another 100m though, being the intrepid explorers that we are, to a restaurant attached to a youth hostel on a small mid-river island. We were the only other party in there and feeling very posh in our new-found grandeur environment. This place was so cool it had a dancefloor next to the toilet. There was also an amusing pair of waiters that we were convinced were together and a six-foot blonde with legs that went ALL the way up. So it was good, and this was even before the food arrived. And when it did arrive it was incredibly good, so we all gave ourselves a pat on the back - even the Duke after not touching alcohol through the meal. Then the bill arrived and it was decided that it was, in fact, a fantastic place.

We headed up to our rendezvous with our South African Czech contact, fully aware of the mission ahead; the Duke must not be able to walk by the end of the evening. This was reinforced by a top-secret text from Bandito Rodan, keeping an eye on the operation from the UK.
We met Renée under the horse at 8pm, as arranged. The signal was given and we covertly moved off toward our first target - a sports bar, avoiding all the flyer touts. Hmm. Not convinced. We entered the bar to meet up with the rest of the stag contingent and the lovely Mikita (I hope that's how you spell it!), before moving straight off toward our actual intended first bar - something a little away from the tourist main square as, obviously, we weren't tourists. It was proving to be a very different town to the Prague we'd seen during the day; the bars were looking very different, there were touts everywhere locking onto us because, unfortunately (even with my new eastern-euro peroxide hair) we did look like tourists (I blame the Duke's cords, but that was OK - he'd lose them later) and that's not to mention the sheer amount the 'ladies of the night' offering themselves (I was propositioned by a 'more mature' lady in an ickle skirt offering me a 'massage'; tempting love, but no!). The amazing thing was though that they actually had a smile on their face! Sweetheart, go to London - you'll make a killing doing that. Or get arrested for looking too happy.

So, bar numero uno. A cheeky little number near the closed bike shop (which was still closed). We were straight through to the back of the bar, and the beers arrived shortly afterwards. I like this town. At this point Renée was seriously impressing us - very cool lass. So while waiting for the rest of the contingent to roll-in from the sports-bar, we got the drinking games underway. Drink While You Think was rolled-out first, and despite our best efforts, the Duke was not on the receiving end of any malicious think-drink playing. Bad skills. Still, he was nicely hammered and glad that he was dragged out of bed earlier, despite his poor drinking effort over dinner.
The rest of the beer-posse arrived and more beers were dutifully ordered. Hurrah! I got talking to the lovely Mikita only to discover she was coming over to the UK in two weeks on what seemed like a trip round Essex (and seeing her bloke in Devon). Romford, Ilford and Raleigh? Hmm. Lovely. Still, I gave her my number in case she got lost and stranded in Essex (as any good pimp would) and we continued our mission. Shortly after pint number ?, we decided it was time to head to bar number next. Now, this is where Renée and Mikita really, really started to shine. Exit bar left and follow guides. They lead us past the bike shop and into what looked like a small, very local bar that I wouldn't have even given a second glance. The kind of place that in northern France you'd pop into to buy a phonecard and tobacco. Even so, we dutifully followed our fine ladies into the bar, through the bar and took a sharp right which lead down some stairs. And that's when things changed. We descended down into a subterranean cavern full of - wait for it! - table-football tables! Whoohoo! There was some kickass tunes coming from somewhere too; it as looking good. We didn't stop there though - we were lead down some more stairs into the next room then hung a sharp right into ANOTHER room with a bar and reserved table (Renée - you are a star!) in - vodka Darkdogs all round please good barman! The place was a very cool maze, with at least one other bar hidden away down another passageway. And apparently there was another level underneath this one... Things were getting pretty drunken at this point, but the vibe was very, very good - smiles and laughter all round. The Duke's dad had his mates and their cigars, the Duke's colleagues were joining in with the revelry and the Bandito faithful were, well, being Bandito.

Continue to part two.

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