Prague 2005: Day Two - The Locals

Beer-count=unknown, but not as many as day one

Day two broke as only hangover days know how; far too early and very bright and sunny. Ouch! We had a hot date with breakfast before 10, and intended to make it. The Duke was repeating yesterdays performance in fish-world, but this time we couldn't be bothered to drag him along. After a good shake and a few kicks we left him in search of food.

We found the breakfast room in the basement and discovered that breakfast itself had already been raped and pillaged by some German guests (but I suppose they're used to doing that in eastern Europe. Oops! Did I just say that?) which actually wasn't a negative thing as it just meant all the cold meats were gone. Coffee and tea was consumed, but appetites were sadly lacklustre after such a positive start. Then the Duke arrived bouncing off the walls and everyone felt that little more hungover. He soon admitted that he felt like something the cat had bought home shortly before being regurgitated, and everyone felt a little better.

After a particularly sad breakfast performance we slinked back to our rooms to prepare our finely honed and battle-scarred physiques for the day. Renée had booked us an afternoon of karting just outside Prague and we needed to be on top form for the forthcoming battle. But before that more sleep was needed and there was a bakery round the corner that required raiding.

We all met up in the hotel lobby with a variety of baked goods and compared a few battle stories and unidentified drinking injuries before being picked up by our pervy taxi driver. Renée (who also admitted to feeling a little worse for wear!) was on board already and we swiftly headed out of town, alongside the huge river that winds through the incredibly sparse and desolate countryside that surrounds Prague. We arrived at the kart venue, alongside the Navy Police HQ and just past the large industrial unit, and were very pleased to see that there was a rather nice bar adjoining the race-track. And what a fine race-track it was too! Definitely a drivers course with nothing that really resembled a straight, a lot of hairpins cunningly linking into some 180° bends which were closely followed by nasty 90° kinks. Superb! Now, obviously, the way to tackle such a course is to keep the car flat and put down as much traction through the wheels as possible. This is quite dull though, and after a few laps the Bandito crew had the four-wheel drift down to a fine art, even if it did result in slower lap times. My first lap was described as "crap" by Renée, which, unfortunately, I can't deny. Eddie was using his finely honed Astra skills to whip the track into shape, the Duke and Barone were using their natural (lack of) weight advantage to the fullest, but the real surprise came from the Woj, who beat everyone by a highly substantial margin of point-something of a second. Credit to the long-haired one!

As there were 13 of us racing (one non-participant and one injury) we had to race in two separate heats as there were only 12 karts. This was until one of the Bandito affiliates (and Duke's colleague) managed to land a kart on his ankle. As it sounds, this was quite a painful experience and was initially assumed to be a very nasty sprain. However, looking on the bright-side, this meant that we could all get onto the track at once for a beer-fuelled (not too sure how the kart drink-drive laws work, but no-one got arrested so it must be ok) showdown. Every kart was occupied and the Duke got a head-start to provide a ginger beacon for everyone to chase. This appeared to work well for most, apart from Southern Monkey who managed to bin it on the first lap for possibly the slowest time of the afternoon. It must have been a polarity problem, having two redheads on the course at the same time... Woj ended up the eventual winner of the Catch The Ginge classic, but fine times were also recorded by Eddie, the Duke, Barone von Evilgoat and Johnny of sub-1 minute 20 laps.

After the race and podium photos we reported back to transport carrying our wounded to retreat and regroup. We needed food and beer in order to continue the day in the style we were becoming accustomed to. It also gave me a chance to have a brief chat with Renée where she let me into a little secret; her and Mikita were only paid to come out for four hours on the previous night, but stayed because they were having such a good time. Result!

On arrival back at our hotel, a small Bandito contingent decided that it had turned beer o'clock and remembering the rather funky bohemian bar round the corner, we headed off there. Woj at this point had persuaded Renée to join him for a beverage at an alternative venue - the dark dog of the Bandito contingent had struck again!

The Duke, Barone, Rob and myself headed round to the boho bar for some medicinal beer to be joined by Johnny and later the Woj. And what a fine bar it was too! Comfy sofas, very rickety everything, painted unplastered brick walls, cool photography and a strange bearded angel figure hanging through a hole in the ceiling, between the ground and first floor! Very cool. The beer was also nice and cheap, which is always a bonus.
We stayed in here for a few, tucked into a very cosy corner, discussing the last day and a half. Johnny vehemently defended himself over the 'extras', the Barone admitted he didn't want to go home as it was so damn chilled where we were (which I totally agreed with) and Woj got grilled over Renée, in a very chilled manner. The dicktionary definitions of 'spaff' and 'clack' were debated in depth and the 'angry dragon' was described in all its glory. Very, very chilled place with good, flowing beer. I was really beginning to like this town!

Still, all good things had to come to an end. We had a dinner date at eight and needed to get smartened up. Well, we sort-of needed to, but we wondered straight there because we were late. The pre-booked venue was a riverside restaurant/bar/club which sold a good line in steaks and pasta; pricier and not as good as the previous night, but certainly more than acceptable. Our walking wounded had vowed to come out whatever, and when he duly turned up with the aid of a taxi he still wasn't walking, and it was becoming apparent that it was more than just a sprain. Still, meal done we had the important decision to make with regard to our next port-of-call. We were without guides (Renée had to study for an exam on Monday) and low on cash, but still on a beer mission. We nominated the rather cavernous bar with cool vaulted ceiling attached to the restaurant as a suitable mission control, and retired there for a top-level discussion and to watch the cute dancer who's trouser-seat seemed to have been ravished by a family of moths.
Beers consumed, decision made and dancer well and truly gazed at, we headed back to cavern bar one from day one. Eddie guided us there, once again via the closed bike shop, and we entered the underground catacombs for more beer. Luckily for us MC Tramp was on the mic tonight, quite literally. An old dude, who the bar staff all appeared to know, was behind the bar muttering into a mic vaguely in tune with whatever was playing. He had fantastic dreads and was dressed very gangsta, and the whole thing was just plain bizarre. But very, very amusing! Woj and I retired to the table footie lounge for a few cheeky games before we left to go back to our second destination from the previous night.

We entered the strip joint and were greeted by the floor manager and got a grin off a few of the girls. Whoohoo! We again took residence around the stage and proceeded to get 2 for 1 beer. Again. Cheers Renée! Our not-so-walking wounded took position near the stage and a few of the older contingent joined us for a few cheeky bevvies as well.
The Bandito contingent, obviously entranced by the Duke's performance from the previous night, wasted no time in booking themselves a private dance. Once again the dancing was fantastic, especially two ladies that unfortunately never got any further than their undies. They didn't do private dances either. Bugger! They were handing out eye-contact and brushed past us, flicking us with their peacock tails as we got up to leave... Or was that just my wishful thinking? Either way, I left a happy man.

So, onto clubland. We knew of two that were worth visiting. We headed back down to the river, in search of tunes to strut our stuff too. Venue one beckoned, and we entered only to leave shortly after. Our high expectations were not met. Tunes were not up to scratch and the clientele was lacking the finesse we had come to expect. So on we journeyed to club number two which promised three floors of hip hop and cheesy action. We entered and were immediately a little disappointed, but it was Sunday night in all fairness and the beers got flowing and tunes requested. We were joined in there by various random French and Germans and not many locals, but we got the floor moving with Cypress Hill and De La Soul classics. The DJ didn't know of many of the finer hip hop acts around today, but did have a fine selection of cheese which we boogied to as they were hammered out at full whack; Kriss Kross, Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer? Bring it on!
The numbers were dropping dramatically and come 5am the Duke, Southern Monkey and I, the sole survivors, decided to call it a night - the Duke still had his trousers and I was feeling the burn of only having four hours sleep in two nights. But the DJ did us proud and the last track of the evening was an absolute classic; Bring The Noise by the Enemy. We couldn't just leave while this was playing. So we nailed our stamp on the night and showed the tourists a thing or two about drunken English dancing that they won't forget! Whether that's a good thing I'm not sure, but in my mind we were f*ckin' stylin'!

Alas, all good things must come to an end and they did at 5am on Valentine's day. IKEA-land beckoned and we had an earlyish flight to be on. But that's another story on day three of our exhaustive, but ultimately rewarding, mission.

Top