Every once in a while you hear a story that is just so good, the pessimist gets the better of you, and you immediately think it is of apocryphal origin. But I trust the guy who told me this one, and he claimed it happened to him. So I believe it.
And it would be so nice if it were true….
I was in Prague at the beginning of February, pursuing a job opportunity, and had the chance to meet up with a friend there, a mathematician and engineer, Václav. He reminds me a bit of my old Classics professor/friend, Ceri Stephens: kind, engaging, intelligent, and loves his beer. Not quite the same age as Ceri, so perhaps in his 60’s. Václav and I had dinner on the outskirts of town near the castle that overlooks it, and walked back towards Prague around 23:00.
The Charles Bridge, Prague
We were just about to pass over the Charles Bridge, which, along with the Astronomical Clock in the Old Town Square, is one of Prague’s best-known landmarks. Suddenly he said, “Come here, I want to show you something.”
Just underneath, where the bridge meets the shore on the left bank is a very old pub and restaurant. At water level there is a small open stone terrace, that is only rarely used because the river has the habit of overrunning its banks. For the same reason, the foundations of the pub, which make up the wall of the terrace, are massive old stone things, rough-hewn in most places. Underneath some vines growing there, he pointed out a small metal door, maybe 12 inches square, with a lock on it. It was an obscure place, and Václav took a bit of time to find it.
“It doesn’t work anymore, the man has since died, but when it did, it was great…” explained Václav. In a tone somewhat wistful. His English is good, but not perfect, adding a bit to the charm.
“What was “it”?”, I asked.
“When I was in University here, my best friend’s father owned this very pub. If you ever did anything really good — helped his family during the bad times, did something really benevolent for Prague, won some championship or something, he gave you a key. You got to keep the key for life. It was very rare to get a key.”
“What did the key do?”
“It opened that little door. There was a tap there that distributed beer directly from his cellar. And there was always a clean glass. Any time you really wanted a beer, you could sneak down here, and have one, for free. You were on your honour never to abuse it: just one beer, not a night’s drinking, you couldn’t give any to anyone else. Just one beer, for yourself only, whenever you really wanted one.”
I asked him what he did to earn his key. He gently refused to tell me, and I realised I probably shouldn’t have asked. He is not the boastful type.
Then we turned away, and crossed the Charles Bridge, back into the old town.
Prague truly is a great place.