It's my last post for the summer and I'm sure you are all going to miss them (all meaning probably my mom and maybe, just maybe, one friend).

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Did you know that the banks of the Vltava river, that little body of water that runs through Prague, is actually considered a nude beach? In fact, not only is it a paradise for nudists, most of the time this nudist population is composed of men who are probably around sixty but look to be around eighty and, more often than not, tote giant bellies that look as though they've inadvertently swallowed three watermelons (or have discovered some crazy mutant way to get pregnant with elephant babies). Ok, I must confess something to you. I am not being entirely serious. In fact, the above sentences have been infused with gracious amounts of sarcasm, cynicism, and good-humoured fun. What I am talking about is this:

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I met a guy in Prague today who does not actually exist. Well, I didn't actually meet him, but rather learned about him from a painter sitting on the steps of a theater named in the man's honor (the theatre does, in fact, exist). The painter called this man in endearing broken English, the "non-existing guy." The "person" I am talking about is a character named Jára Cimrman, and while he might not exist by the laws governed by the material universe, he does exist in the hearts, minds, and culture of the Czech people. This fictional man is the brainchild of Ladislav Smoljak and Zdenek Sverak, two Czech artists who on December 23, 1966 changed Czech pop culture forever with the debut of Cimrman on a radio program called "The Spider Non-Alcoholic Wine Bar." Cimrman is meant to personify all that is ironic, hilarious, and sad in Czech history and culture and has become a fabricated national hero. He was even awarded "The Greatest Czech in History" prize in 2005 by Czech Television, which was later revoked by said television company because they realized that the award should go to real people, pshh. The theater in his name resides in Prague's Zizkov district and is perhaps the single most frequented theatre in the country—in fact, tickets are not available online and people actually post ads to hire other people to stand in line for them at the ticket counter at 2am the morning before a show. Now that I've whet your appetite like a seductress tease, I must break the bad news—a foreigner could probably never understand the Cimrmanian humor, as it draws on deeply rooted cultural sensitivities. I can suggest, though, going to a show if you like sitting in a room where you feel like everyone is laughing at an inside joke and you're the only outsider. It can make you feel oddly special and only a tiny bit lame...

I visited the statue of Franz Kafka the other day. The man wrote 23 short stories, but only 3 novels. This got me thinking; "I wonder why he devoted such little time to writing." Then I started walking. And it came to me. This is why:

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It's my second day in Prague and I've already made several acquaintances—most of whom I'll never again see in my life. There's something about the Czechs that gives them the nerve to stop you cold in the street for a quick little chat, be it about cigarettes, watermelon, or the ludicrously slow nature of pedestrian light signals in this city. I love it. Especially because I don't speak a word of Czech and most of the people with whom I've shared these momentary, yet intimate, conversations with have not spoken a word of English; you can imagine the sight of our conversations. I've traveled far and wide throughout Europe, but never have I encountered such overt thirst for human interaction. The key to the story, however, is the fact that I am living on the outskirts of what most tourists think of when they visit "Prague." These conversations of body language and gestures have not occurred on the steps leading up to Prague Castle nor in the winding throngs of Americans on Charles Bridge, nor even along the banks of the Vltava. Prague is a tiny place, but many tourists tend to minimize the poor city to an even smaller diameter, staying close to the castle and venturing away from the Old Town only as far as the adjacent Josefov Jewish neighborhood. If one pushes just a few blocks further, just a few bridges more, one becomes privy to a whole different side of this newly famous tourist trap that quickly begins to feel less like a trap and more like a treasure. Sure, the glorious medieval architecture of the more popular neighborhoods is unbeatable, but if you're looking to escape the inevitably stifling crowds and kitschy souvenir shops, venture past the National Theater toward the railway bridge. The architecture might pale in comparison, but the experience of interacting with real Czechs who actually live in the city will ensure that you get a glimpse of the real Prague, the land of the Bohemians, and not the land of a thousand vacationers.