In an instant, I could leave everything packed up, take an apartment in Prague for 250 Euros a month, and write a book in the capital of Bohemia. Somehow, I can see myself bundled up in the wintertime, walking by the riverside on my way to an opera at the State Theatre. Or schmoozing at one of the week’s art openings, before chilling out with some artist types listening to some jazz just around the corner in a cave-like club.
And in springtime, I think I would find an inspirational book to read while lazing in the warm weather beside the ancient city walls. I’d ride my bicycle around town, cursing the cobblestone roads and tram tracks running everywhere. If the heat got to me, I’d pause at a hillside or riverside terrace, and sample a Kursovice Dark, or if they didn’t have that, perhaps an original Budweiser or Pilsner Urquell. In the company of friends, it would be a challenge to decide if we should debate the merits of Bulgarian or Romanian wine, or tackle such other challenges such as the merging of modern sculpture and architecture in the old city against the wishes of conservative preservationists, or rail on about how that Dutch sculptor and his cow project in 2004 made it all the more difficult for modern art. If the debate became too heavy and if the wind was light, we would grab a bottle of Bulgarian and a bottle of Romanian, rent a rowboat or paddleboat, and get wet.
In summer to pay for the expenses of living a bohemian lifestyle while I was working on the book, it might be possible to sit on the Charles bridge, flogging photos along with the 20 something other Prague photo vendors, or perhaps I would have to walk tourists around the city expounding on the cubist, gothic, art deco, or baroque architecture that can be found in abundance. If I felt like it.
On weekends when I wasn’t so busy finding the latest and greatest restaurant to review for the Prague Post, I would take a train to Berlin or Budapest or Vienna or Amsterdam or Paris or wherever just to get out of the Bohemian lifestyle for a change if it ever became weary, especially in the autumn. But I think I would miss it – that Bohemianism – and quickly return home to my walk-up apartment just down the street from the castle, just around the corner from my favorite restaurant, just up the block from my favorite bar, a short walk from the bridge to the old town and the new town, and less than a mile from my presenting gallery.
Ooo. Ah. Praha.