JULY 17, 2009
HOTEL EUROPA

On Bastille Day, we played in Graz. Our hotel was clean and modern, yet not without charm. The lobby served excellent espresso, and our camp downed several. Even after midnight, as we were setting off to depart on our single-decked tour bus, we were greeted with the aroma of strong coffee mingling with the small gratis cakes scented with pumpkin seed oil. After imbibing the send-off fare we boarded. I sat for a while examining my Polaroid images, a favorite being a small translucent boy, more spirit than child. Later, happily situated in my bunk, I slept soundly until I was awoken by tremendous thunder and heavy rain pelting the curved roof of our bus. I got up and found my boots. We had arrived in Prague.

After checking in to the Radisson, which seemed quite comfortable and nicely appointed with a Nespresso 290 machine, I brave the rain and roam the area. I purchase a used detective style raincoat in a charity shop and stop at the once grand Hotel Europa. Curious as to its inner narrative I secretly book my own room for tomorrow, on my day off, just to sit and think. My base here is in the Grand Cafe, with its wood panels, marbled floor, and imposing oval balcony. The cafe is fairly empty, save for a few stragglers ducking the rain.

The coffee is very nice, served in a white porcelain Julius Meinl cup embossed with the silhouette of a young boy with a fez. I've also been brought a pitcher of hot water and a shot glass of cold, so I am really quite pleased. I decide to order pancakes with hot blueberries and honey. My waiter is young, agitated, and obviously dreaming of better things. Yet he is an excellent waiter and did not flinch, as in most cases, when I asked for the hot water.



I project my day off. Perhaps I will visit Kafka's grave or the tenth century church devoted to St. George. The small state Opera House is a jewel, but sadly is closed throughout July. There is the alternative, to go to the marionette theater and watch the puppet show production of Don Giovanni. There is also a plethora of churches offering afternoon concerts of Vivaldi, Bach, and Dvorak. Perhaps I will simply slip into my alternative room and read my current book of choice, which happens to be Mysteries by Knut Hansun. A suitably playful charade to be reading in a secret room. After making a few lists I have another coffee while waiting for the end of the rain. I could possibly sit all day with my espresso, hot water and shot glass. The small things.

(End of Part 1)
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