When Sean, Alan and I were all in Rome a few years ago, enjoying what might actually have been the single best dining experience of our collective lives at Antica Roma, the restaurant’s owner/ cook / server, Paolo, told us that he had recently greatly enjoyed a tour of Prague, Vienna, and Budapest. We were sold on the idea (we are easily sold on travel). Seeing that it was so close and so easy, we had to add to the tour a brief pop through Romania, to visit Dracula's birthplace (obviously). (Let me forewarn you, in case you, like we, think that’s probably going to be the coolest part of the trip: It ends up not happening.) So, after all sorts of planning and a headache-inducing amount of online searching, here we are in Prague with Sean.

We all had painless flights here, I'm glad to say, though Sean's was more painless than ours, because he flew business class. Every flight was on time; the only real issue we encountered was the snottily entitled French people seated in front of us for the long flight from Chicago to Heathrow. Being snottily entitled French people, they immediately and completely reclined their seats, and then slept soundly, oblivious to the death glares we directed at the backs of their heads. I keep reminding myself that flying is very speedy and very safe, because really there is absolutely nothing else to recommend it. Someone needs to master teleportation technology very soon. (I have high hopes for this, except for the little glitch that I think it’s something altogether different: http://www.cnet.com/news/scientists-achieve-reliable-quantum-teleportation-for-the-first-time/). We do learn two new things on the flight, however: electronic cigarettes are forbidden on airplanes, and stiletto heels on life rafts. It occurs to me that if airlines started selling nicotine patches at the same mark-up rate as their $5 potato chips, they could make a fortune.

We have a couple of hours at Heathrow, which we use to find food and coffee. It turns out that what I in my bleary sleepiness took to be a picture of a strange man-moose hybrid is actually meant to be a photo of a man amidst departing planes. Photographic evidence is attached to prove that Alan is wrong about the man looking nothing like a moose. We dine near a 3,000 pound bear. Those are pounds sterling, not pounds and ounces, and the bear is at the airport Harrod's, patiently awaiting purchase. I spend a disproportionate amount of time considering this bear. First, at about 6 feet, it is far too big to take on an airplane; one would have to buy it a seat. Second, people do not generally come to airports in order to shop, although of course people do shop at airports, out of need or boredom. That is, any purchase aside from toothpaste and such is likely to be an impulse buy. If one could afford to impulse-buy a 3,000 pound bear, would one really be flying commercial? Sure, as if you have really coherent and sophisticated thoughts after flying all night.

The driver whom we booked in advance—excellent move, us—is waiting for us after the surprisingly speedy emergence of our luggage in Prague. He is very nice and gives us maps and tourist booklets. Check in at our hotel is easy, and again we are given a map, this time with information about the tram lines. As we board the elevator, I point out to Alan that all of this has gone so smoothly that surely there will be a disaster soon. The elevator, which has stopped and opened two floors below ours, promptly refuses to rise any further. "You had to say something, didn't you?" Alan asks. Eventually we realize that in order to make the elevator move, something has to cross the door of it. So Alan gets off and on, and up we go. Our room is smallish but nice, aside from the fact that our bed is really two twin beds pushed together. This happens to us a lot on vacation. Still, they suffice nicely for a long nap, after which we get up to try to find dinner. 

Alan has tracked down online a place with an "asparagus menu," and I'm all for that. Alas, we aren't able to find it until after we've already eaten elsewhere. Elsewhere is a nice little place, though. I have some reasonable food. Alan, however, has a massive platter of dead animals and salt, aka the "butcher's plate," which comes with pickled peppers and cucumbers; a bread bowl full of beef goulash topped with raw onions, and green beans with bacon--or, to be more accurate about the proportions, bacon with green beans. And a beer.  It is one of the most appalling meals I have ever seen. Alan is joyous. We agree that the Czechs must, as a culture, value neither kissing nor their arteries very highly. Service is friendly; alas, though we tried to learn to say "Thank you" in Czech, the phrase seems to contain some sounds that the Anglophone vocal apparatus is just unprepared to form. (The next day we will learn that Sean dared to suggest to his driver that Czech seemed not dissimilar to Russian. NO, he was sternly informed. Russian is much harsher. Just so you know, Czech is actually a lot like Russian.) Luckily, the waitress, who is also bartender and bus person, seems to get the point even in English.

We return to our hotel for the all-important purpose of sleeping some more. Sean's email informs us that he too has safely arrived, and we agree to meet in the lobby of his hotel the next day at noon.