It’s quite stuffy when I go back to Lazarská. Fortunately, the first tram to arrive is not the 3, which would have taken me back to the first place I visited, but the 24.
I get off at Svatoplukova. I see two pubs from the tram stop, but neither of them look very inviting – I know I’m supposed to be adventurous and discover new places, but I still trust my instincts. Čep & Pec it is then. I know it, I’ve been there twice, but that was literally years ago, and I feel it’s the right place for a muggy day like today.
Čep & Pec is a perfect example of the pub-café hybrid (or hospodo-kavárna, as they describe it in their website) that has become so common in Prague and the last decade and something. They are places where you can go with someone who doesn’t drink or doesn’t like typical pubs, without you having to sacrifice good beer, while they can have a solid cuppa. I also like them to go for a pint in the company of a book, as they generally more laid back than a hospoda and attract a wider range of customers. Like many of its kind, this one has large windows that let in a lot of light and provide a view to what’s happening outside (not much of one here, though) and a decoration that is lightweight without being sterile. The music today is spot on, too: classic indie and alt rock played at the right volume, loud enough to enjoy it if you want to pay attention to it, but I won’t get on the way of your doing whatever else you want to do – read, talk to someone, work, or observe while having a couple of piva, like me right now.
I order Brunclíkova 10°. Like most of the eight-beer line-up, this one is from Four Elements, the litající pivovar that runs the place. It’s brilliant! A textbook desítka with that little extra thing that makes it better than just technically proficient, and I know won’t bother with any of the rest (these impressions are from the second pint, I was so thirsty that the first one barely registered). Feeling a bit peckish, I order utopenec. It comes in a little jar, already sliced and it does a perfect job; the only disappointing thing is the bread, it doesn’t taste like from an artisanal baker, but closer to something bought at a supermarket. But it’s just a minor flaw, one the third desína makes up for.
It’s six on a Thursday evening and the place is quiet, but not dead. There are two štamgasty playing chess, others are talking among themselves and to the staff and an almost constant flow of people (many of them on “ahoj” terms with the staff) coming in to order a beer or another drink to have outside. I also realise that I’m the oldest person here by – twenty if not more years in average most likely – and it’s nice to see, actually.
I’m actually tempted to stay because this feels like another one of those pubs where you are not far from getting into a conversation with a random stranger. But I can’t. Duty calls and I have to go back to the tram stop.
The 24 again, opposite direction, which will take me to… Fuck me! Karlovo náměstí, back to the start.
In my 24 years in this city, I don’t think I’ve ever been to any pub, café, restaurant or bar around Karlák and I’m honestly not very familiar with the area. I start wandering, raking my brains trying to find a place, but it seems my feet have better memory, because they guide me to Krčma U Parašutistů, a pub named in honour of the paratroopers that took part in Operation Anthropoid, the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, who made their last stand in the Cathedral of Sts Cyril and Methodius across the street. It’s a classic hospoda through-and-through, decorated with pictures, memorabilia and other paraphernalia dedicated to the paratroopers.
I sit at one of the three tables in the empty taproom. A friendly waitress appears almost immediately to take my order – Pilsner Urquell and sulc, a typical Czech delicacy (an aspic, basically) I haven’t had in ages. The beer is very well done and the sulc is off the charts delicious (incidentally, the bread is better than at Čep & Pec). It’s only while I’m licking my fingers, after ordering ještě jednou, that it lands on me how dead this place is. Not just quiet, but really dead. The only other customers are a group of pensioners in the next room (now I’m almost 20 years younger than the average age, I reckon) and the odd tourist who comes in to order a drink to have at the tables outside, on Na Zderaze,
It’s baffling at first. There’s no reason why this pub shouldn’t be full of štamgasty laughing, arguing about politics, football, taking the piss out of each other, all while drinking copious amounts of pivo. It’s can’t be the price – 66 CZK for 0.5l of Pilsner Urquell is pretty good for today’s standards, especially in the centre – and the service is good, too; I’ve been to other classic pubs where you can feel nobody gives a fuck, but this one is not one of those.. Then I think back at Čep & Pec and realise what the problem might be. Nusle is still a neighbourhood where real people live, people who cross paths with each other, not only at the pub, but also in the park, the shops, the street, and some of them have chosen that place as their local. I don’t think many real people live in this part of Nové Město anymore, and for the students of the nearby ČVUT site U Parašutistů might be a boring pub full of old farts, with little to choose from for those who don’t want beer, and not somewhere fun or interesting to hang out. It’s frankly a bit sad, but it is the reality of old school pubs in the centre that haven’t become international celebrities and are away from the tourist beaten track.
On that gloomy note, I finish my beer, pay and head back to the tram stop, wondering where I’ll end up next.
Na Zdraví!
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