Křižíkova

This doesn't feel like Prague. Maybe it's the display of bongs in the shop window as I step out onto the small square. This feeling stays with me as I walk away. It could be the preponderance of Italian themed establishments. But none of it looks like Italy. Not even a little Italy.

A few doors down from these renovated places is an empty shell of a place. The floor boards have been ripped up to reveal the capacious cellar and pitch black tunnels underneath. Wouldn't that just be the perfect place to explore? But there are bars on the windows and no way in, so I peer inside one last time and continue.

It could be the light that lends the place this different character. I started this blog in autumn, so the days were shortening. My most recent trips have been mostly in darkness. Today, the remnants of a clear spring day linger above, suffusing the streets with crisp light. Friends have said to me that Prague makes more sense in the winter - and I certainly have that association. I guess we're all guilty of that Europe = cold generalisation. Then again I prefer Sydney in the winter too. I feel more secure under clouds.

At the corner of the first block there is quite a large cathedral. The entrance reminds me a little of Notre Dame with the three smooth arches and statues lining the top. Or is my memory playing tricks on me. I don't stay to ponder this for too long. I guy gives me a look as if to say, 'tourist'. I don't know the implications. It's enough to make me move on.

Around the corner there is a second hand store. In fact there are a few on this block. All most all second hand stores in the Czech Republic display the union jack, and most claim to stock English fashion. I was confused by this as first as I wasn't sure there existed any major English fashion labels. A student explained it to me that these stores buy the second hand clothes in Britain then sell them on here. So in fact it is second hand British clothing. Don't ask me what Czechs do with their old clothes? Stockpile them in their cottages perhaps.

There is also a second hand book store. It's in a courtyard in fact that's its name Antikvariát ve dvoře = Second hand book store in the Court Yard. It's near closing here. I go over to a stature of man on a bed, on which books are piled and take a picture.

I wonder if it's the boulevards which make this place feel so different. Prague isn't short of wide streets, but I do have a strong association with claustrophobia - yes, yes, too much Kafka. There's something about the place.

As is often the case when I do this, I buy something to eat. It's not that I'm a glutton, not much, it's just that the time coincides with dinner. I need a snack and so go to the bakery back at the station. One thing I've noticed is that most metro stops here have one.

I order two doughnuts but stop as I catch myself about to say "Dvakrát koblihy" (twice doughnuts) when the correct way should be "Dvakrát koblihu" (twice doughnut. I manage "dvakrát", stammer and the woman adds "kobliha" then stops speaking to me entirely. She doesn't even tell me the price. When I say goodbye she carries on speaking with the next customer. This is even rude by Prague standards.

It is around the second block that I realise I'm going in a clock-wise direction. There was no reason for this. There was no obstruction which forced me to do so. At the exit I could go either way. I mentally retrace my steps back to the metro and realise that I headed to my right. I only realise this because though I'm following the block I suddenly feel lost. For some reason, I'm sure I should cross the road, but apart from the rule that says I shouldn't, there's no logical need. As certain as I am that I must cross I continue. Once again retracing the journey in my head.

And I still can't work out why this place feels so different. Back at the square I spend sometime looking at the small goods shop. Partly it's from my love of salami. Partly,it's because the rows of salamis and the racks of wine are close to how I imagined Prague to be when in fact the small goods stores can sometimes appear quite surgical. Perhaps that's the source of the feeling - finding a place that has conformed more closely to my former expectations.

I'm startled away from the window by something large and black moving beside me. It's a man carrying a double bass on his back in a black case. He's dressed in black. He stopped for a moment to speak to someone but now waddles off like some great beetle.