We live for the weekends we will never remember

6 September 2011

The first weekend of September happened to be also the proper ending for my whole summer. I drank absinth, lost a book, woke up with two hundred euro in my wallet, without watches and that was just the beginning.


The first weekend of September happened to be also the proper ending for my whole summer. I drank Absinth, lost a book, woke up with two hundred euro in my wallet, without watches and that was just the beginning.

My former flatmate from Istanbul came to visit me to Prague. On Saturday evening he decided to travel around Europe for a week, because of the upcoming public holidays in Turkey, the next day he took off to Serbia and five days later he was waiting for me at Namesti Republiq.

The best plan is not to have a plan at all. The first night me and my friend were just sightseeing a little bit when we bumped into the season opening of the New scene of the National theatre in Prague, which held outside of the theatre as live dancing performance called Package. Out of nowhere we were in the middle of the crowd which was watching this incredible performance of young dancers, all suited up.

After such a cultural moment, just a few metres further we heard another live performance. It was a young guitarist playing and singing at one of the garden pubs near the Vltava river. We decided to stay for a while and listen to his covers of Oasis, Bryan Adams and so. After two beers my friend ordered for us shots of Absinth, the famous killer of all memories. But the true killer of all memories for that night was a bottle of Becherovka which we were secretly drinking afterwards. I may or may not have had then secretly passed my phone number to the young musician, I may have had sung Wild world on my friend’s camera (coming soon on YouTube), I may have had danced with my friend as the only couple on the stage in that pub garden and we may have had been kicked out because the waitress may have had discovered our little trick with Becherovka under the table.

My friend came to my room and woke me up at half past eight the next morning asking if I should have not been at work by this time. I should have. Damn it. I got up from the bed in something that seemed like really improvised pyjama. I could not find my watches anywhere and also there was a book missing from my bag. I have just fifteen pages left to finish it! My friend then discovered that he is also missing a book, his favourite one from some Turkish novelist. Unfortunately he told me that his novel is really hard to get and he may not will be able to buy it again. And then he got angry again because there has been no money in his wallet at all, we were robbed! Well, not exactly, after a while I found them in mine. I also found the watches hidden in a wardrobe together with a broken neckless. But there is still this mystery about our lost books. I would understand losing a wallet or mobile phone but a book with five hundred pages in library binding?

Later I found out that around 10 p.m. I have sent a text message with the name of the musician to someone in my contact list called “Lumír”. There is also some discussion going on how we managed to get home and when. Me and my friend thought it was about two in the morning but the next day my current flatmate assured us that we came back around half past ten in the evening, completely waisted. My goodness.

The other nights were not that wild. Next evening I found out written on one of the toilet doors in the Palladiums hopping centre the guitarist’s name together with really dirty picture. What are the odds, really. Anyway, that night we were just hitting some clubs with my Turkish friend and also with my colleague from work (interestingly weird guy). We met some guy from India, with really contagious laugh, living in Prague for two years, we danced to some songs from New Zealand and Africa (never heard of Latin percussion?) in Propaganda club (living tribute to the Czech socialism) and then my colleague, carrying a guitar with him whole night, was teaching me how to play F major barre chord at another club, place or wherever we were dancing at that time on some hoppy hippy songs together with some suprisingly good dancing teenagers.

Remarkable point of the third and the last night was watching video mapping on Prague’s Astronomical clock. The visual projection covered brief history of the Czech nation and the Clocks. I will add only one comment to this show: Once again I was proud to be Czech.

And the story is approaching its end. Me and my friend came back to the garden pub asking for our books, but without any success. The guitarist called me the next night just when my mobile phone was dead because of the battery and luckily my friend did not miss his flight, even though he must woke up at five in the morning to catch it.

The best nights may really be the ones we can not recollect.

P.S. The books are still wanted, so if anyone has any idea where they could be, please, let us know.


  1. Wilfred January 23, 2013

    Really liked what you had to say in your post, We live for the weekends we will never remember | Lost in thoughts, thanks for the good read!
    — Wilfred


  2. Ivy January 23, 2013

    Thank you Wilfred for such a nice comment!

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