"His strength returns."

After a while, cities start to look the same.

So apparently, this clock was so revered by the local government that they feared its maker would replicate his work in other cities. They decided the best course of action would be to gouge out his eyeballs to keep him from continuing his work elsewhere. In revenge, he asked if he could work on a piece of the clock. Using only his memory, he broke one of the clocks key components and the hands stood still for over a hundred years.

At least that's how I felt when we first toured Prague. Old churches, tall steeples, buildings older than my hometown. But then I realized--part of the reason I wasn't fascinated with Prague was because I wasn't getting to know Prague. I needed to know what she tasted like, what she sounded like.

So here's how I got to know Prague--and consequently how the buildings etched themselves in my memory as far more than the shapes and colors of another old european city:

Becca took us to this fantastic cafe, nestled behind a tobacco and cigar shop facade. Afternoon light from the portico in the rear lit the room where we sat. Speakers quietly played Big Band music from the 20's and the decor matched perfectly: old wooden tables and chairs with elaborate but faded upholstery, floorboards that creaked underfoot but gave a firm knock when the legs of our chairs shifted.

I drank a perfect Czech Weizen beer, sweet on its own and not needing any help from an orange or lemon. Emma sipped on a heavenly peach iced tea. The server let us finish our drinks slowly before asking if we'd like to try some of their pitas. I chose a sweet apple filling and Emma and Becca went for ham and cheese. We were tempted to stop there, but remembered that we didn't know when we'd get this opportunity again, and each ordered our first glass of Mead. Yup, we were sippin' like we were in Hrothgar--Becca chose an amaretto flavor, Emma a complex Monastic with herbal flavors, and myself something that I can no longer recall but tasting of sweet, succulent something. We sampled and each other's and each agreed that our first taste was our favorite.

The restaurant won Emma over at the sight of a candle.

That night we planned to visit the oldest brewhouse in Prague, but learned that the place was booked. We opted for Tapas (not exactly Eastern Europe, I realize), but discovered the owners were on vacation and the facilities closed. A small restaurant located in a renovated cellar next door looked appealing, but we wondered if it would be too fancy for us. We took the chance and upon our exit two hours later, knew that only Providence could have planned our visit so perfectly.

Not only does beer and Sprite exist, but it has its own glass. I expected more out of the Czech people--who drink more beer per capita than anyone else in the world.

I'm including this picture so that people can see another shot of Beautiful Becca and also so that they can hold me accountable as I work to amend my recently-adorned "hipster gut."

Wax candles dripped from one of the cellar windows. Malcom Reynolds was wiping down the bar as we entered and pointed to where we could sit down. I dined on the juicy pork tenderloin stuffed with red pepper and mozzerella. Becca opted for salmon and Emma for couscous with pineapple chicken. Again, maybe not exactly Eastern Europe--more like Paris in Eastern Europe--but still undubitably Prague. A feast to be remembered with one of our best friends.

Beautiful Becca with beautiful Emma.