I apologise for the delay between
blogs. As you will learn, free-time has been scant at best in the last week. I
believe we last parted ways the morning after our first Drunken Money Pub Crawl
in Prague. (‘First’ being the operative word of that sentence…but we'll get to
that in due course). Right after posting my previous blog entry, Kaitlyn awoke.
'I'm trying to work out how I can get food without moving.' I offered to go and
get some for her, an offer she very quickly dismissed with, 'I am not letting
you wander around Czech streets on your own.' Continuing after a sight pause,
'But if you want to...'. After this, we spent a little bit of time
LOLing over our vague recollections of events from the night before. You’ve
already read essentially everything we remember from the night: Thor, Thor2,
Beer Pong, drinking, dancing, strip clubs. There are also other things which
you won’t (ever) be reading about…nor will you (ever) be seeing the
photographic evidence of. I’m a tease.
So Prague is stunning – bias aside.
And we have seen A LOT of it: monasteries, synagogues, cemeteries. But I am
pretty sure no one is reading this to learn about the specifics of each and
every stained-glass window we saw.
So…as I mentioned before, we may have
partaken in the Drunken Monkey Pub Crawl a second time. The story goes a little
something like this: I am Czech, therefore I like Absinth; I am human,
therefore I like slushies. When I see the two combined for an all-inclusive
price of $1.90, it would be sacrilegious to walk past without sampling. Where
this turned into a bad idea, was when the question was posed, 'You vant
strong?' Had I known then what I know now (that “strong” means adding five
shots of Absinth to a slushie already laced with copious amounts of Absinth), I
would have said 'no'. Isn’t hindsight a marvellous thing?
The following admission will do
serious damage to my reputation as a first-class drinker: I couldn’t finish it.
Honestly, it was so strong that the first sip caused my blood-alcohol level to
spike to a dangerous high. It was also so strong that it caused me to say yes
to Drunken Monkeying again. Long story short, whilst searching for a nice
little watering hole to base ourselves for the evening, we ran into Ash, one of
the guides from the pub crawl. When I say “ran into", it was more a case
of hearing her from right across the Old Town Square as she drunkenly accosted
people and “suggested” the tour to them. Given that we had such an amazing
night, we thought we would go over and say thanks. It’s a simple equation
really: Absinth slushie + half-price tickets + being described for all of
Prague to hear as ‘The Most F$@%ING AMAZING CHICKS I HAVE EVER MET’ = an easy
sell.
Upon our arrival, Kaitlyn and I were
literally the ONLY girls in the entire bar. This probably sounds like it would
have been an amazing thing – a testosterone smorgasbord from which we could
leisurely feast without interruption. In reality, it was more like being a slab
of beef in a meat market full of hungry men who have just decided to dispense
with their vegan-ways. Fortunately, not long after we sat down, we were
approached by an Irish contingent. Kaitlyn was pretty stoked about this because
one of her (numerous) fantasies is to recreate a scene from PS I Love You
with Gerard Butler. (I'm not clear on the specifics, but I am under the
impression it involves her, Butler, and a legal-only-in-Canberra
classification.) All in all, we were a lot better
behaved the second time around and, thus, I have few stories with which to
regale you. It turns out that Kailtyn and I share a mutual affection for twins
– me in that I want to have twins of my own one day (in the FAR away future),
and her in that she seems to gravitate towards them in bars, even if only by
accident. This time there were not one, but TWO sets of twins with whom we
socialised. Fortunately they were less exasperating than the Thors, and came
without the shadowing expertise of highly-skilled ninjas.
Apparently when people drink in
Prague, there is a certain section of the brain which is temporarily
obliterated. This is the part of the brain that registers one ever having seen
short people before. People who have partied with me in the past will be aware
that when people drink, they like to pick me up. Prague, however, has taken
this to a whole new level. Not one, not two, not three, but SIX different
people asked to have their photo taken with me that night. And not because of
my arresting beauty, or even because I had so-entertained them with my
razor-sharp wit that they wanted a happy snap by which to forever remember my
pleasurable company. No, these people all wanted photos with me because I am so
small. I felt like a circus freak, and not like the time they did a
circus-freak photo-shoot on America’s Next Top Model and they all looked
hot, but more like the
chubby-bearded-lady-with-stubby-deformed-hands-and-giant-cankles kind of circus
freak. The first request (which was made in good-nature) was kind of amusing,
by the third I was bored, and by the sixth I was slightly embarrassed. I
consoled myself by considering these men must have been insecure about their
size in some respect and, although I am small, at least I am in proportion.
*Wink wink*.
The only other thing worth noting
about the crawl was the final destination. In fact, one of the selling-points
for us was when Ash let slip the crawl was going to a rooftop Latin party in
the middle of the city. Whilst I consider Justin Bieber to be as Latin as I am
Inuit, I was willing to overlook this propaganda as the place was AMAZING! It
was literally on a rooftop, ten stories up in the middle of the Old Town. I
could practically touch the clock-face of the Town Hall and stroke the spires
around me. It was so amazing that I even danced to Bieber and Britney Spears in
a completely non-ironic way. Whatevs.
Apart from that, we spent our
remaining days being tourists, doing touristy things: bridges, castles,
churches, pubs, McDonaldses. I won’t bore you with those details. You’re
probably anticipating a salacious story involving TGIF’s given that it is in
the blog title. Honestly, it’s there primarily because I’ve exhausted my stock
of Prague-related happenings beginning with "T". We did go to TGIF’s
for dinner. And for us it is memorable not so much because it was amazing, but
because we both got about one eighth of the way through our meals and had to
leave because we thought we were going to be sick. It was weird and
disappointing because my fried mozzarella was amazing. Perhaps all our pub
crawling finally caught up with us.
On our final night, we decided to
walk across the Charles Bridge one last time. As we embarked on our twilight
stroll along the river, we saw a group of very attractive men up ahead, the
most attractive of which was dressed like Tarzan – and I’m talking full-on
leopard print outfit, carrying around a club (and, inexplicably, sporting a
ridiculous mullet wig). As we walked up close to them we could hear them
speaking French. I think Kaitlyn put it best, ‘Me Jane. Me like the French.’ We
passed them without incident, but a few minutes later they approached us.
Tarzan tapped one of us on the shoulder. ‘Excoose me gurls. I have a fevour to
ask yeww..’ The answer was always going to be yes. ‘I em from Belgium. We ahh
‘ere for me as I get married tomorrow.’ Sad faces. ‘I would like you please to
guess the size of my sex.’ Saywhat?!
‘What?’
‘My sex.’
He used his club to draw our
attention to his leopard-skin shielded crotch. ‘I would like you to tell me how
beeeg you tink it is.You can terch it if you like.’ He actually said that. As
good looking as this guy was, I had no desire whatsoever to terch his sex.
Especially as his friends were videoing the whole thing. I asked the obvious
question, ‘Do you think your future wife would like that very much?’
‘She vill never find out.’
Ummmm…you’re in the future now, Tarzan. You’re friends aren’t just filming
this, they’re probably streaming it online. ‘Even if this is the case, we’re
good. But thanks.’
‘You are viry….errr…aggressif. But
you are also viry smahll, so I am not vorried.’ I was struggling to see the
relevance of this statement, but he ploughed on. ‘Smahll tings, they are viry
nice, viry good.’
‘Thanks…’
At this point he turned his attention
to Kaitlyn, mistakenly thinking she might be up for some terching of his sex.
‘Vat about choo? You terch and tell me vat you tink.’
‘Ummm…no.’
‘Okay. You not terch, but you guess?’
A lot of awkward conversation ensued, where we both eventually relented in the
hopes of getting rid of him. Kaitlyn went first. ‘I dunno…fifteen.’ (BTW – we
are using the metric system here). Tarzan was pretty freaking happy at this
response and pointed theatrically at Kaitlyn, ‘Ahhhh! I like dis one.’ Then he
looked expectantly at me.‘Well you’re not going to like me then. I say ten.’ I
didn’t actually consider his sex, but instead tried to pick a number which was
enough to knock him off his pedestal of egotism, but not so much that he would
use his club to butcher me. ‘Ahhhh! But dis is still good!’ And it was in this
moment that I understood the references to my height. Turns out I was not the
only ‘smahll ting’ standing by the river.
No doubt the entire tête-à-tête can
be viewed on Facebook, Twitter, and various other social networking sites. That
is going to be a marriage for the ages.
And so Prague was complete. And
without another (blog-worthy) tantrum from Kaitlyn. However, I am considering
the creation of a third blog, this one entitled ‘Advice From an Objective
Foreigner’. Should this ever come to fruition, the first entry will be
regarding the Hotel Crematorium. Here, I will point out that "Hotel
Crematorium" is not an appealing name for a guesthouse. Especially when the
movie Hostel was filmed in your country.
Next stop, Kynšperk , to chillax with
my kinfolk.
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