Into Bohemia
It was late September, I was crossing the Bavarian border into the Czech lands, found myself aboard what the German press dubbed “Höllenzug”, Hell’s Train. The name fits. For five endless hours, I was sitting on top of my luggage, packed into a swaying, airless carriage with no Wi-Fi, no toilet, and no place to sit. By the time we reached Prague, I stepped off with a frustrated body, but with a curious mind. I had no idea what would await me in the city except for a man.
The sun was melting behind the horizon as I walked over bridges stretched like stone ribbons above the Vltava River. I crossed through narrow streets laced with Art Nouveau facades, headphones on with Goo Goo Muck by The Cramps on loop, letting the beat sync with my steps. The red trams howled as they passed, swallowing the streets as they went. I watched every carving, every faded detail on the buildings as if reading a secret scripture. By the river, I finally stopped for a cold Pilsner. On sunny days here, it felt like the city was offering me a small, golden mercy.
The city was beautiful, achingly so. Aesthetic enough to feed the hungriest corners of my mind. But beauty alone wasn’t what made me fall for it. Prague holds a shadow within its elegance, a darker, grim side that just beneath the surface. And it’s intriguing, where wonder and dread dance together. I was able to love Prague from both sides.
After spending five months there, I was convinced that this city serves as a hub for chronic thinkers and hopeless romantics. I was both. Like a Kafka’s ghost, I was lost through its alleys carrying the ache of a love that began like a novel and ended in a quiet disappointment. I wasn’t just lost but slowly and painfully transforming to something else.
This is my goodbye note to Bohemia—where I fell deeply in love, cried, laughed, screamed, lost, and, in the end, found myself. Heartbroken into sharp pieces, as only a Bohemian crystal can.
