Czech Magic

I am a believer in getting lost.
Not in the way that I was told to do multiple times by aggressive New Yorkers upon my first visit to The Big Apple, but in the sense that veering away from the minute-to-minute itinerary can end more wonderfully than ever expected.
Although I’m a planner myself, it was after my millionth visit up Prague’s famous Petrin Hill that I realized some plans are just too textbook. You visit Prague, you go to the John Lennon wall, you listen to the omnipresent singer strum his guitar and sing Beatles hits, you begin to reminisce on the times you spent as a Beatles fan, you realize that there aren’t any since you were born in the 90s, you take your “candid” photo for Instagram that you’ll caption with some lyrics, and you move on. You walk the Charles bridge, you dodge the selfie sticks, you stop for a classic Trdelnik dessert because it seems like the Czech thing to do, you take a bite, you realize no one who is actually Czech eats that junk, and you move on. Then you go up Petrin Hill with your visiting friends, and you make the executive decision to make this the most magical experience of their lives.
So you move forth without a plan.
As we began our descent from the top of the hill, the sun dozing off slowly into the landscape below, we (literally) stepped off the beaten path to retrieve someone’s fallen keys. Then, just like a fairytale - or perhaps like Taken - a man approached us and offered to let us into his magical cave for just 100 crown - or $5 each. Not in a kidnapping mood, some of us politely declined, but I led our group into a small, black door covered by ivy and leaves. All we could see from the outside was what appeared to be an abandoned building of stone, hidden away in the middle of the forest. We walked in hesitantly and faced an instant assault on all senses. It smelled like the earth after rain, and the recessed lighting made apparent the thousands of screaming electric neon paintings. They were everywhere. Walls and walls filled with endless art of the most interesting things. Topless mermaids with tails of flashy emerald and pinks so bright they were borderline obscene. Distorted faces in fifty shades of yellow, maintaining eye contact with us as we stepped down the spiral staircase and into a larger room with even more strange art. We were offered free juice from a pitcher, which we accepted living on the prayer that it was not our time to die, and took more time scoping the incredible place.