Looking for Where Kafka Slept

Today I caught the train from Wien to Praha. It was a beautiful, bucolic ride through the country. If we take the students on this train ride, I think they will enjoy it. There is a direct train from Wein- Miedling to Prague, which is quite convenient. It is a five hour trip.

The Prague train station is in stark contrast with the flavor of the town. It is steel and glass modernity with all the amenities one could want. I walked from the train station to the hostel. At 1:00 pm on a Saturday, the streets were empty. The tourists seem to come out at 3:00. By 3:00 one could not easily cross the Charles Bridge, and the royal mile was packed. They were having a "taste of Prague" in the old city square, so it was full of barbecue, sausages, and beer. The students would really enjoy this as a first exposure. It has a rich mix of modern and old and enough chatkies to choke a goat. It is different enough for them to awed by things they have only read about or seen in movies, and yet enough is familiar and accessible so as not to be overwhelming.


The Dlouha Travellers Hostel and Pension is typical of urban hostels: filthy, loud, and public. I am staying in one of the multiple gender dorms. The toilets don't work, so one must go down the hall to the swampy bathrooms that another hall shares. The young people have only one high volume with which to communicate. This youthful exuberance is something else our student would like. The location is excellent. If we took over an entire dorm, or rented all their apartments, then it would be good.


Today I did the old town Kafka tour and visited all the places he lived in the city. I believe a lot has changed in a hundred years, and few locations remain although the context remains. One can stand on the bridge where one of his characters commits suicide, and that is good and creepy. I'm reading the castle, and critics don't agree that the Prague castle is THE castle, but I can certainly imagine it.

It visible and impossible. I certainly see how Kafka felt hemmed in and futile in this town of so much change and not change. His writing has a depressingly contemporary feel to it.


There is a poignant piece of modern sculpture just off the old city square. It is several rows of red plush theatre seats facing a brick wall. I think we will take one of our promotional photos here. It is so Kafkaesque. What I wonder about right now, is what is the antidote to Kafka's world? Is it the rank hedonism that Prague gives itself to during high tourist season where it is all sausage, gift sets of Bekerovka, and crystal? Is it religion in the churches and synagogues that dot the old city? Dunno. Tomorrow I'll go t othe park and see if I find anything there.