By Jane C. Timm

Without a pause in his words, Tomas Vrba checked the time. Perhaps mentally calculating the necessary transit time to his next appointment—the funeral of an old friend—while continuing to explain how the Communist government had him working manual labor for the better part of a decade.

Vrba sat in the professor’s office of New York University in Prague where he now teaches students about Czech literature after decades fighting Communist rule, editing and distributing dissident materials—playing a significant role in the subject of his instruction.

With precision, intention, and careful planning, Vrba navigates his day. He seldom hesitates, pauses, or does anything without giving off a distinct impression of purpose, and it is with this same confidence and intention that Vrba says he publicly joined the anti-Communist movement in 1977.

At the time, Vrba worked for the government as a social worker with gypsy, or Roma, children, focusing on education.

“At that time, there was just one university graduate among [ten thousand surveyed Roma] and about three or four high school graduates,” he said.

The problem stems from the culture of the Roma people. “For traditional Roma tribes, education doesn’t represent a value. They have other values in life.”

That difference is misleading to outside human rights advocates, he added. “They blame the mother society, they blame the Czech Republic, but it is a traditional heritage.”

Vrba and his colleagues worked in schools and in homes to try and promote education and literacy as a goal. Some families were already trying to integrate – many owned and displayed books in their homes.

“The books were either Czech classics and we were suspecting that that could be just for showing it,” he said. “But if it was primitive or popular reading, we knew they are really reading it.”

The most effective outreach they did, however, was taking the Roma students outside of the classroom and bringing them outside the city to attend short vacation camps.

In 1976, Charter 77 began to circulate amongst Czechoslovakian dissidents. The charter was a document criticizing the government for poor human rights legislation and enforcement. More than 200 people from a spectrum of occupations and political parties signed the Charter, prompting several Western newspapers to publish it in 1977.

And when one of Vrba’s professors – the famous Czech philosopher Jan Patočka– became a spokesman of Charter 77, Vrva signed, too.

“For me, it didn’t represent a fraction of a second of decision making. It was for him. It was because of his authority, it was because hew as our beloved professor. He was really a moral authority.”

Vrba subsequently lost his job as a social worker because of his role as a signatory in Charter 77 and was forced to take work as a construction man. “It was quite hypocritical, if the working class was in fact ruling the country, but manual work was a punishment.”

He worked on a crew of five other intellectuals, all facing the same political persecution. On the same crew was another NYU in Prague professor, leading dissident Jan Urban

“We were digging the same trench,” he laughs. “I met there future professors of political science, history.”

But when Vrba speaks of the period, he describes himself articulately and carefully as an editor, publishing and promoting samizdat –dissident literature that was distributed by hand. Working for what he describes as the “logistics of resistance,” Vrba helped foreign journalists find their way into the country, facilitating their reporting and working behind the scenes against an intensely repressive regime control.

“I spoke English and French and my wife spoke Norwegian and Swedish, so a lot of Scandinavian journalists coming here started out in our place.”

Vrba describes his work as “discrete.” He helped journalists prepare for interviews and secured them interviews with Charter 77 members.

All the while, he was editing, publishing, and distributing books and periodicals amongst dissidents. Vrba said he was never questioned about his editorial work—something that still puzzles him to this day—but assumes that the secret police did still know it was occurring.

After seven years, Vrba finally got off the construction crew thanks to a high government demand for translators. Working as a technical translator, Vrba began writing the first Czech computer manuals despite having never seen a computer.

“Our life was full of absurdities, but also of strong friendships and it is sometimes we recall it with a certain nostalgia,” he said.

by Amanda Sakuma

My roommate is currently listed on the Czech Republic’s disease control database. However exhilarating it is to sleep 3.5 feet away from an international health threat, I have my doubts about my safety. Jane’s bout of salmonella (which she assures me is “mostly” not contagious) came after a lovely trip to the second largest city of the Czech Republic, Brno. The weekend excursion, funded by our university, was meant to introduce us to Czech culture outside of Prague. Instead, it made us wonder why there aren’t more vegetarians in the country.

The entrance to the restaurant of choice in Brno should have set off an alarm in my head that this wasn’t a traditional Czech joint. On the street, a robed man leaning on a large walking stick beckoned with dirty fingers for us to enter the medieval themed restaurant. I have no idea if the man’s job qualifications were “must have one front tooth missing” when he applied for the position or if his gapped smile was a mere coincidence, but it certainly made the atmosphere more convincing.

Once inside, bowls of lentils and industrial sized vats of ketchup and horseradish sauce welcomed us to the table. My starving comrades and I were most excited about what looked like a comparatively modest bowl of garlic mashed potatoes. While courage is commonly a revered trait, it often backfires when it comes to food­­­ — especially unidentifiable side dishes. After some misguided direction, Jane learned the hard way that it was actually a bowl of lard and/or butter filled with unidentifiable chunks. I tried not to look at the half masticated lump of lard on her plate and was almost relieved when she scooped up the former bite and plopped it back in its serving bowl.

When the priestly looking waiter brought out the tray of meat for our main course, the sparklers stabbed into the assorted carcasses caused a spectacle for the entire restaurant. The beefy man had the platter hoisted on his shoulder, yet he still strained under its weight. The fiery sparks aimed dangerously close to his eye were not the only occupational hazard – the shoulder dismount onto the table lacked the finesse commonly associated with serving a platter of explosives and food. While I doubt that sparklers were an everyday occurrence on most medieval dinning tables, the gilded sword stabbed through the meat maintained thematic authenticity.

Perhaps the sparklers were a strategic distraction to draw the attention away from the actual food. It wasn’t until after the flames died down that I realized there were at least six formerly live animals cooked and heaped on a monstrous plate. A roasted pig’s head kept a close eye on one unfortunately located girl. Two headless birds rested before another glazed eyed student — who happened to be a vegetarian, I might add. Only after ribs the size of my forearm, chicken cutlets, and strips of steak were devoured were we able to unearth the heap of pork that had been hiding under the layers of food. A large, pink, hot-dog like sausage wove itself through the platter like a snake. The only attempt toward vegetables was wilted cabbage circling the meat, serving as more of a garnish than an edible side dish.

After the unfortunate side dish incident, Jane had learned her lesson against trying new food and opted for lackluster looking chicken breast, coining it as the safest meat product for human consumption. Instead, as we later found out, her particular slice of poultry — just hers — came with an extra side of salmonella. (Joke’s on her.)

The platter contents equated the number of animals fit for a decent sized petting zoo yet each slice of meat lacked formidable taste to differentiate one from the next. Even those who treat consuming red meat as a profession were overwhelmed.

A group of drunken Czech women resembling American soccer moms were the sideline entertainment whenever the sight of the massive heap of food overwhelmed us. Every few minutes our attention would be drawn to a roll of shrieking laughter from their corner when one woman would misplace the seat of her chair. Yet every time that we would look back, the stack of protein would still be there, a seemingly larger pile than the time before.

As we reached the final leg of the meal, the meat platter before us looked like we had barely touched it. My usual clean your plate syndrome of eating everything in sight was not taken into account — there was no way that we could ever have finished it. While it was humorous that our school would agree to foot the bill for the three CZK 5,000 each unkosher meat platters to its students (Jews and vegetarians included), the experience was definitely the “something new” our university was shooting for.

Jane got a fever later that night. Since we’d ended the night punching a cork into the bottle of cheap wine to soften the traumatizing meal experience, we didn’t think much of her headache and chills the next day. But as her disoriented speech patterns and general lack of the ability to walk set in, we started to become a bit concerned. Salmonella wasn’t even on the  list of estimated causes, but after the doctor’s verdict came in nearly five days later, it wasn’t surprising. Sanitary cooking practices and obscene amounts of meat don’t always go hand in hand and they clearly didn’t come into play in Brno.

So, props to the university — the medieval-themed restaurant really opened our eyes to Czech culture. And food born illnesses.

Jane is now a vegetarian.

Ed.’s note: Amanda Sakuma and her salmonella-stricken roommate, Jane, are the editors of The Prague Wanderer.

By Nicole Torres

“Tapas are Not Appetizers.”

Our waiter kindly informed my friend of this after he had translated tapas into appetizers. It was our last night in Palma, the capital of Mallorca, a Spanish island between Spain and Italy. We should have figured out the translation by then, yet we sought out the highly recommended Bar Andaluz, a tapas bar specializing in Andalusian cuisine, still unsure of what tapas were to the Spanish. Andaluz had been a local favorite for 25 years, and the cozy atmosphere and the bustling staff gave the place the feel of a European diner: people dining solo at the counter, a newspaper out here and there, a soccer (excuse me, fútbol) game on TV, and enough drunken laughter to assume the entire neighborhood was present.

The menu was only available in Spanish, but our waiter put on his eyeglasses to help translate into very decent English. He reminded me of my grandfather— a small smile that crinkled his eyes and he gave recommendations that constantly affirmed the homemade quality and popularity of the dishes. He helped us decide on Spanish-style potato salad, stuffed mussels, chicken croquettes, grilled vegetables and fried calamari. Add some “muy bueno” house red wine to the list. And since these were just tapas, we had the idea that “We’ll start with that.”

The wine was brought out, tasted and agreed upon. Our waiter, Miguel, set the table and winked as he maneuvered a basket of sliced bread and (what looked like) plain mayonnaise from behind his back and onto the table. Oh, grandpa. The curious off-white, mayo-consistency substance had to be braved. It was delicious—“tarragon” or something, we were later told. While anxious for whatever would come our way, the comforting presence bread and dressing had a steadfast place on the table for the entire meal. “Bread goes with all,” our waiter told us and exchanged our basket of crumbs for one overflowing with fresh bread— literally, four or five slices fell out as it was set down. Uh oh.

The potato salad came out first, and as fiends for a good potato salad (we’re from the South), less than 30 seconds passed before bites were taken and our eyes widened to express how unbelievably good it was. Approved. The comfort of good potato salad on an island in Europe was enough to send us out raving about Andaluz. The plate wasn’t nearly finished before the stuffed mussels came. “Trust me,” Miguel said charmingly while he squeezed half a lemon over the dish. He knew how to take care of us. Not knowing what they were stuffed with, we scooped into the mussels with our tiny, three-pronged forks and went through the same routine of exaggerated eye expressions. “Stuffed… muss…so… damn… good,” we got out in between bites.

The chicken croquettes arrived before we were ready. My friend dabbed it in the supposed tarragon mayo, stuffed it in his mouth, rolled his eyes and said what he always says when something is that good, “I wish you ate meat right now.”

It turns out that a half-plate portion in Spanish is actually a full-sized portion in my food dictionary. In fact, everything Andaluz served us was considerably large-sized, especially since these dishes were all tapas. Miguel explained that tapas were typically a quarter portion of what a meal would be. That meant the plates on our table amounted to one full portion, which was split between two of us. And we were already getting full. No, we were already full. Our “we’ll start with that” mentality evaporated faster than our food came out. However, leaving food on the plate was not an option. Tapas are ordered to be finished. Miguel saw one mussel left on the serving dish, said, “It is only tapas!” and put the stuffed shell onto my plate. And then he set the calamari down.

The wine was just making us more full, so a cigarette break was our only option if we wanted to finish everything in front of us. With another wink from the happy old man— it was like he was cheering us on— the calamari, grilled vegetables and chicken were slowly cleared from their plates. The smile and a nod of approval from Miguel as he took the bare dishes made the stomach ache worth it.

“I can’t take anymore,” I said. And immediately after, Miguel filled two shot glasses with complementary Pacharán, a Spanish after-dinner, berry liqueur. I drank it. He refilled the shot glasses and brought out small pieces of pound cake. “Gratis,” he winked. I winced. We had to finish everything, they were gifts. Only our determined desire to make Miguel happy gave us the willpower to finish it all. I wanted to kiss my soon-to-be grandpa on the cheek. I was full, I was drunk and I did not want anymore.

This place wasn’t about fast or fancily prepared food. Andaluz served comfort food, home-made from the heart, with readily available ingredients- fresh seafood, fresh vegetables, and whatever kind of mayonnaise that was. Dinner lasted about two and a half hours, not including the time we sat there, dazed and too full to move. But tapas bars are about relaxing, enjoying yourself and company; they are important for the Spanish lifestyle, a pleasure-seeking one, ready for several good tastes at one time and a good atmosphere to meet up, catch up and get full.

The place, the grandfatherly waiter and the food were enough separately to make our visit memorable, but together they created more than a dinner experience, they made us feel at home and feel Spanish at the same time. We overdid it with the food, but how could we not with that kind of hospitality? “Muchas gracias Señor,” we thanked Miguel. If only I knew the Spanish word for grandfather. But at least we knew from experience that tapas were not appetizers.

by Clarke Bowling

As school picks back up again after a restful spring break and stress begins to set in again, perhaps your body will start to crave another week of relaxation. Well, with that not coming for another month or so, there’s one option here in Prague that could help ease those tight muscles.

Thai massage parlors here in Prague are, if nothing else, numerous. Maybe you have passed by them on your way to class with flippant skepticism, seeing their generic advertisements depicting luxurious massage techniques being performed as perhaps nothing more than a front for a more illicit operation. While the legitimacy of all of these establishments cannot be vouched for, here are two that I’ve found that are worth trying out:

In the weeks leading up to spring break, I gave two different Thai massage parlors a try. The first is found closer to Wenceslas Square at Na Můstku 1, Praha 1. Located on the second floor of an apartment building next to a gyro stand––no wonder you were skeptical!––the aptly titled Thai Massage Prague is a humbly decorated parlor. A thirty-minute full-body traditional Thai massage cost 360 CZK and a full-hour was priced at 600 CZK. I opted for the half-hour and was led into a large room partitioned by flimsy curtains. I had a friendly female masseuse who knew limited English and inquired only once at my comfort with the massage. After my massage, I was offered a complementary cup of tea in the waiting room.

My second encounter with a Thai massage parlor was at Nam Jai (15 Kaprova, Praha 1). My springy mattress and lumpy pillow had left my back and neck feeling about fifty years older than they are, thus I opted for this parlor’s cheapest offering: a thirty-minute back-and-head massage that set me back 500 CZK. Nam Jai has a much more extensive menu than Thai Massage Prague, however for those interested in the full traditional Thai massage, no half-hour option exists at Nam Jai: only sixty minutes for 950 CZK with ninety-minute and two-hour options also available at 1300 and 1600 CZK respectively. As for its location, this parlor is certainly closer to school, making it perfect for those between-class rubdowns, and straddles its massage suites between two well-appointed former apartments across the hall from one another. Their office was a bit larger in size and had an overall more professional atmosphere. At this parlor, I was assigned to a male masseuse who asked multiple times whether the massage was too painful and spoke quite decent English. Again, after the massage, I enjoyed a cup of tea in the main area in the parlor. Overall, although the massage was more expensive, it seemed worth it for the more professional atmosphere.

When choosing where you want to enjoy your Thai massage, it ultimately depends on whether professionalism comes before cost for you. While Nam Jai had a much more professional masseuse and was a much more exotic setting, Thai Massage Prague certainly got a fair share of knots undone at a much more soothing price point.

By Peter Crosta

Prague’s bar scene provides the perfect atmosphere to indulge in day drinking. The rooms are dark and moody, the music is delightfully outdated and the drinks are cheap. But there are a few things lacking—properly mixed drinks, fast service and free water. Luckily, Los Banditos heard our prayers. It isn’t your new home away from home, but drinks are strong and two-for-one at happy hour, which runs every weekday from 4:30 to 6:30.

When you walk into Los Banditos, you’ll immediately be struck by how different it is from the smoke-filled hospodas we’ve grown accustomed to in Prague. The décor is dedicated to the Mexican theme, but with a sense of humor. The walls are painted the same bright colors of Mexican slums. Day of the Dead murals adorn the ceiling, and a skeleton bandito stares at you from across the room, framed in a brightly lit window box. The decorations feel caricatured, but their tongue in cheek presentation made me suppress a squeal of delight as I found a seat.

The menus are entirely in English. The wait staff is scruffy but lovable, and usually speak with an accent from somewhere in the U.K. The place is nearly empty at 4:30 p.m. on a Wednesday, but if you come later in the week, it starts to fill up.

The drinks arrive quickly and are loaded with alcohol. Be sure to order a glass of water with your drink—not to avoid a hangover, but because it’s free. I thoroughly enjoyed my Cuba libre, which is just a rum and coke with lime, and for people who like the taste of absinthe, the Permanent Sunset won’t disappoint. A word of warning: drinks are not blended—your margaritas and Pina Coladas will be on the rocks.

Drinks range from 90 kc to 135 kc, or $4.75 to $7, so happy hour is easy on your wallet while it lasts, but be careful. If you’ve been there the full two hours, you will probably find yourself in a state where money has become no object.

While Los Banditos isn’t perfect, it’s a taste of home worth checking out, especially if you get out of class at 4:30 p.m.

By Yevgeniy Levich

The most breath taking and memorable view of my European excursions was standing on a cliff’s edge, several steps from guaranteed wet, jagged, rocky death with the Atlantic Ocean laid out in front of me. Don’t get me wrong, Dublin is a wonderful city to visit, but the best choice I made while there was getting out of town. Ireland’s real magic lies in its small villages and amazing natural views.

Things to do: If you like alcohol then definitely go on the Guinness and Jameson tours. Check out the Jameson first for two reasons. 1. Liquor before beer, and 2. The personalized tour of the Jameson brewing process will make the self guided tour through Guinness easier to understand. Also, volunteer for the tasting at the Jameson factory if you can. Volunteering gets you three extra free shots (always nice), and a lesson in the fine differences between scotch, bourbon and Irish whiskey.

There is also plenty of architecture around—Dublin Castle, St. Patrick’s Cathedral and Trinity College to name a few. Trinity College has the Book of Kells exhibition, which deals with ancient Irish culture and mythology.

Of course there’s also “The Spire,” or as my bartender put it “a big fooking needle,” in the center of Dublin. Commissioned to celebrate the millennium but only completed in 2003, it’s a pretty controversial and arguably pointless addition to the skyline but it makes navigation at night significantly easier.

Nightlife: Maybe we got lucky, but when we went out on a relatively slow Monday night we ran into the best bartenders ever. I spent four hours learning and debating history, culture, food, sports, music and places to see with two intriguing Irish guys while running up a significant tab.
Another standout for Irish bars is the music. It’s everywhere along the Temple Bar. Most bars have daily live acts and there is even a nightly “Musical Pub Crawl” that I didn’t go on, but go if you aren’t up to finding bars on your own or want a bigger group. The acts we saw were all pretty decent, playing traditional folk songs and covers of popular songs with an Irish flair.

Get Out!: It’s easy and cheap (no more than 5 € for a round trip) to discover wonderful off the beaten path sites by just riding the Dublin Area Rapid Transit (DART) to various small towns along the coast.
Personally my group got lost along the cliffs of the incredibly charming seaside town of Howth. Imagine finding strange dirt paths in between modern, expensive looking estates that lead to cliffs and hills with amazing views and sometimes mysterious ruins. They also have amazing, though pricey, seafood restaurants that use fresh fish caught from the bay, access by boat to Ireland’s Eye a picturesque but uninhabited island, and something you might not expect to see in Ireland, seals!
There are also daily bus trips to areas of interest further north including Newgrange, a giant monolithic temple that is older than Stonehenge, and the former seat of the Irish high kings, the Hill of Tara. It is said that from the hill, you can see 25 percent of the country on a clear day.

Costs: Getting to Dublin is relatively cheap–you can easily find tickets for under $90 via Ryanair. My hostel was about average in terms of room quality and only cost me 12 € a night. However, the cheap accommodations are balanced out by the relative priciness of going out. A pint can run you anywhere between 4.50 € and 6 €. The nice thing is that straight shots often costs as much as or even less than the beer.

This guy's pass didn't run out, but yours probably did!

…your metro pass probably ran out this weekend.

The ID portion of your now-defunct pass can be used to buy a month-long pass (550 kc) for the remainder of term. Alternately, you can buy single ride tickets in the machines (18 kc per ride) or try your luck riding for free (700 kc fine — if you get caught, that is.)

(photo by Jane Timm)

By Caitlin Shapiro

Bargaining isn’t for everyone, but if you can find it in yourself to haggle with the local Turkish merchants their faces will light up as soon as you cut their asking price in half. A very foreign idea to most of us, but haggling is a large part of Turkish culture, and an experience well worth your time.

How to get there: Fly Turkish Air ($272-400 round trip) and enjoy a free checked bag and a full meal on Turkey’s national airline.

IMPORTANT: You’ll need to purchase a Turkish visa after you land in Turkey, before you go through customs. Bring $20 from the country that issued your passport. (So, with a US passport make sure you have a crisp green Andrew Jackson in your wallet.)

Where to stay: I stayed at the Eurasia Hostel. The festering mold on the ceiling might have shaved a few years off my life, but with a three minute walk to the Hagia Sofia and a twenty minute walk to the Spice Market, you won’t be in your hostel long enough to realize the lurking death anyway. Plus, most rooms have a private bathroom.

Price: A private quad is roughly 60 per night ( 15 per person, per night); includes towels and breakfast.

(Editor’s note: We stayed in World Hostel. Short walk from nightlife and restaurant hubs Tasksim Square and Istiklal, it’s also a good bet. For large dormitory style beds it was 11 dollars a night, breakfast and towels, too.)

How to get around: Walk everywhere – the areas you’ll likely spend your time in are close together, but get a good map with street names. If you get lost, ask for help – everyone is always willing to help. But be careful, if you accept directions from someone passing by on the street, they may expect you to look at their rugs. This happened more than once.

What to do:

• Hagia Sophia, $13 entrance fee. This basilica turned mosque turned museum is one of Istanbul’s most famous sights.
• The Grand Bazaar is famous worldwide for its thousands of merchants that are bargaining fiends. Lots of clothes, shoes, wedding dresses, rugs, and souvenirs. There are a few food stands, but
• Take a ferry across the Bosporus River to the Asian side of Istanbul for a few lira. It wasn’t as clean or as exciting as the European side, but it’s well worth the trip – if just to say you had lunch on another continent.
• The Spice Market is two large indoor halls with more merchants and market stall. You can buy Turkish Delight, teas, candles, postcards, jewelry, caviar, and lamps.
• Visit the Blue Mosque. Beautiful, working Mosque. Visitors enter through a side door. Women should cover their shoulders and wear a scarf around their hair.

What to eat: Kebabs! You think you’ve had a kebab, until you taste a true Turkish Kebab. Go for the cheaper kebabs – they’re often better. Istanbul isn’t a big drinking city, but there’s a Turkish liqueur called Raki. It tastes a little like watered down black licorice. You’ll also be bombarded by apple tea, during your time in Istanbul, which is a good thing. Try Ayran, too, it’s a popular yogurt drink; I’d describe as yogurt meets ocean water.

Currency: Turkish Lira

Tip: It is custom to leave about 10% for a tip. If you pay with a credit card, ask beforehand to add a tip or leave it in cash. In most places you aren’t able to add the tip to the receipt after you pay by card.

Caitlyn Shapiro is a senior at Rochester Institute of Technology studying journalism.

By Nicole Torres

Sit on a brightly patterned cushion in the middle of the floor. Wait for Micha, a Czech college student, to bring out a tray of home-cooked and all-vegetarian meals, along with a few enormous cookies. Get a drink too—a printout coupon will bring the price of a half-liter Kozel 11º to 25 CZK. Watch a movie, play some board games, listen to a live jazz/alternative band. It sounds like anything is possible and everything is accessible.

Skeptical?
Don’t be.

This is U Kníra on a Monday night. U Kníra, translated to “the mustache,” is the pub just down the stairs from Sir Toby’s Hostel located at Dělnická 24, Praha 7, around the corner from the Osadni dorm. But it’s not really just a pub, it’s a gathering place for travelers to get cozy, eat meat-free home cookin’, gather round for group discussions, and catch free live music and films. One Monday night early in the semester, people in their late teens to people possibly in their early 30’s, filled up the hip underground level to see the eclectic jazz band, Fan Fán Tulipán. They started playing around 8 p.m., but most of the audience had been sitting around, enjoying their happy hour specials that started an hour and a half before.

The place really was cozy, if even a little too cozy. Arriving at 8:15 does not increase the chance of finding a comfortable cushion to watch the band play. If there’s an event at U Kníra, get there in plenty of time. All the cushions were taken, as well as the benches, the chairs and the tables against the back wall. But those who had to stand in front of the doorways did not seem to mind, and the large crowd served as a good audience. Feet tapped, heads nodded and a lot of laughter and applause went around.

Past the “theater” room, there was the bar/kitchen, where a menu displayed chips and homemade salsa, an egg and potato tortilla with bean soup, and Czech onion stuffing with mashed potatoes (which was only 50 CZK). No meat, no splurge, no problem. One group of NYU students from Osadni spilled in after another— they kept coming in, sitting down and recommending the amazing food U Kníra had to offer.

“Usually they only have one or two things on the menu, but they’re always so good, so you’re never disappointed,” said NYU junior, Samantha Fox. The food was amazing (particularly the stuffing and potatoes), and the wait was not bad either; Micha, a Jaurisova R.A., who works behind the counter, pointed to a rather large antique sofa just through the rusticated archway opposite of the bar. That was where to wait. She offered some board games to play also— they had everything from Monopoly to Apples to Apples to Scrabble.

Travelers from everywhere sat around the large table that could easily accommodate 10 people, perhaps more, and the artistic atmosphere and dim lights and gathered furniture brought everyone into friendly conversation.
U Kníra is a place to meet people and hear their stories, all while feeling like this is some hip friend’s hip apartment. Several students living in Osadni have already deemed themselves “regulars” to Sir Toby’s and U Kníra. “We come here almost everyday. Why wouldn’t we? We live right around the corner and the food is so good and so cheap,” said Kevin Tran, junior NYU film student living in Osadni.

Other regulars have also contributed to the inviting and friendly vibes that newcomers feel when visiting U Kníra for the first time. Matt, a 30-something year old Australian, had been living in Sir Toby’s for about three weeks hoping to find a job teaching English. “I feel like I know Prague pretty well, I go all over during the day, but I come down here almost every night,” Matt said, “I think U Kníra is one of the best artsy bars I’ve spent time in, I like meeting all the travelers and all the NYU kids, and everything is great about this place, the atmosphere, the people. Definitely the best vegetarian food in Prague.”

So get comfortable on an antique armchair. Try some inexpensive-but-ridiculously-good vegetarian cuisine. Play Pictionary with a couple that just got to Prague from Hong Kong. Break the circle of Kozel 11º bottles and have a glass of white wine. It may be crowded in front of the band, but the music makes up for the standing— dancing is allowed. And from the kitchen to the room with the big sofa and big table, it’s hard to go wrong. U Kníra should be top-of-the-list of pubs to visit in Prague, especially if great food, good tunes and interesting people make up a good night.

Taška – (noun)

Pronounced ta-sh-ka, meaning bag. (but when asking for a bag in a grocery store, don’t forget to use it in accusative form, Tašku.)

E.G. Tašku, prosím! (Bag, please!)