He arrived on time, after struggling to understand the public transportation and assuming he had greatly overpaid for twenty-six Crown map of Prague. We walked the city, both sleep deprived, as he had just returned from a bender in London and Ireland. Exchanging stories with my best friend on earth was fantastic. I had shenanigans to the east, he countered with canyon jumping in Switzerland, the biggest techno rave in Europe, and being limosined to a club opening in London where only "smart" people were allowed in (smart in dress rather than intelligence...fucking Brits).
We had lunch and a beer, handed to us by a waitress with reindeer antlers on her head, "Please Gentlemans," she told us and we laughed at her rudely. After a much needed nap at the hostel, we were ready for a Sam and Noah pub crawl. The goal: Ten bars and stay on your feet.
After the first two places, I introduced Samuel to the Labrynth. We sat at one of the bars with a younger crowd, a sixteen year old Czech kid asked us where we were from.
"America," answered Sam, making me realize that I always answer that question saying the United States, as not to offend Alberto, a fellow North American.
"Oh very nice. Good place," replied the Czech student. "I don't like here," he told us pointing to the floor.
"You don't like this bar, or you don't like the Czech Republic? asked Sam to clarify.
"Czech Republic," he answered, shaking his head.
"Why not?" I asked. He put his arms up and I knew that he did not possess the English words to explain. We settled for buying a round of beers and saying cheers together.
After the Labyrinth, we hit pubs four, five, and six for more cheap Pilsner and for Sam's introduction to Becherovka.
"It reminds me of Christmas. Is there cinnamon in there?"
"We can't rule it out."
We made our way through the Old Town Square, still enchanting at night, toward an Irish pub to work on our accents. Inside, the female Czech fifty somethings danced like they were playing imaginary pianos while their husbands watched them shake their backsides in tight pants. I spotted a gorgeous blonde sitting at the bar alone, and after six pubs worth of alcohol, I possessed just the amount of courage to talk to her.
I ordered two beers for Sam and I and then asked if she was from Prague.
"No, I am from Slovakia," she replied in perfect English.
"Oh cool, like near Bratislava or?" I assumed showing that I not only knew of her country, but also what the capital was would catapult me into her good graces.
"Oh you know Slovakia! Yes my family lives outside of Bratislava."
"So are you just in Prague for holidays?"
"Yeah I am here to visit my boyfriend. He works here." She indicated toward the tiny man spinning a cocktail bottle up in the air for a catch and pour move that every bartender in the history of showing off has performed. He had a receding hairline and a pronounced gut and could have easily been thirty years older than her. When my beers arrived I wished her well in an Irish accent and Sam and I moved on.
Bar eight was down a set of stairs. After a Pilsner and a much needed urinal visit, my clothes reeked of cigarettes, and I followed Sam outside. Across the street lay a brown awning with the words, "Jack Lives Here," in a font reminiscent of the famous whiskey brand.
"JACK!" yelled Sam and I stumbled after him.
Downstairs we found a couple of bars and a small dance floor. After a Jack Daniels and Coke, a red-faced middle-aged man approached the bar and stepped awkwardly between us to order a drink. When his whiskey on the rocks arrived, he did not move on, but began conversing with us in Czech. The fact that we did not understand his language did not deter him in he least, and I was immediately reminded of the Bosnian cyclist from the train ride to Budapest.
"Da prosím shish-No, fuck you." He laughed and clapped us each on the back, exposing a row of bright yellow teeth in the process. He wore a hooded sweatshirt and seemed to be the most casually dressed person in the place. After our drinks were finished, he ordered us each a whiskey on the rocks.
I took a sip and feared a vomit. After focusing intensely on other things, I managed to choke a couple of gulps down, and by the time I placed the half empty drink on the bar, another had arrived.
"My mother, Vancouver-No, fuck you." Another clap on the back and another new whiskey on the rocks. Sam and I now each had three unfinished drinks in front of us. The happy go lucky Czecker finished his beverages with lightning speed and continued buying rounds until the entire bar in front of us was a mess of glasses half full of amber liquid.
Buying drinks for us did not seem to satisfy him enough, as the opening rif to Smooth by Santana and Rob Thomas came on the speakers overhead, he handled a crumpled bill to Sam, who tried in vain to decline.
"No no, thank you, but you already bought us so many drinks."
"No fuck you." He pushed the bill and closed Sam's hand around it before emerging from his pocket with another. For some reason, Sam did not feel comfortable taking the money, and we began an awkward assembly line. Yellow Tooth would hand a crumbled bill to Sam to his right, who would pass it around the Czech whiskey champion's back to me on the other side, while continuing with conversation so that he was none the wiser. The crumpled bills would finish their journey in my coat pocket.
The walk home is a bit of a blur, but I remember successfully convincing Izor, who was out in the hostel kitchen so as not to disturb others with her incessant hacking cough, that Sam was from Ireland. She did not question his nationality despite the fact that I had told her multiple times the day before that my friend from Vermont would be coming.
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