Budapest, Hungary
16 June 2003

SMETANA HALL The familiar notes emanated from the basses first, after a pause of silence - a rest written into the music. The conductor waved his hand and you felt rather than heard the first subtle low vibrations. The sound picks up strength: da da dum dee day da dum dee da da dum dee day dum dum - the notes familiar to almost everyone.

Cellos and woodwinds pick up the theme next, in classic imitative polyphony (I learned that in Music Appreciation 101 at Berkeley); but no-one needs a class to feel the buildup in the last act of Beethoven's 9th Symphony. The next time the violins join in then the brass section. They build and build for the next two minutes before the rousing conclusion.

After that triumphant introduction, another rest before the bass soloist begins with the exhortation to leave sadness behind and bring forth pleasant sounds:

O Freunde, nicht diese Töne! Sondern laßt uns angenehmere anstimmen, und freudenvollere.

I love Prague. No, let me say that again, I LOVE Prague. Friends on previous visits returned and raved about this city. It was with some trepidation I arrived at the main train station, more prone to disappointment in the winding down weeks of my two-year trip. Few things lived up to my expectations recently; another reminder NOT to HAVE expectations. Yeah right.

Prague turned out to be an exception. I took a room in an apartment right off of the main street, Wescesles Square, just five minutes from the entry to old town, Stare Mesto. I lived in the rented out room of an old gentlemen named Josef Radov. He works with a couple real estate agents I contacted through and Italian chap setting up a website for cheap accomodations in Eastern Europe; we met in Tallinn.

The first few days I wandered the old and new city under cobalt blue June skies, marvelling at the incredible architecture and the Baroque nature of the whole place. Every street brought new surprises just by looking up at the intricately carved facades or decorative gargoyles on the buildings. Windows, doors, frames, all bore the marks of craftsmanship not so much forgotten, but rather rendered impractical to repeat today given the time and cost of such work.

Prague castle sits on a hilltop and overlooks the city which winds up the lush green hillsides with red tiled roofs like an octopus spreading its arms. Green trees fill the areas in between with contrasting color and remind me how progress does not need to come at the expense of being close to nature. A string of picturesque bridges connects the two sides of the city spanning the Vltava River. Cobblestone streets, trolleycars, wide tree lined avenues, all round out the charm.

I finally must add...the women of Prague. Ooooh la la. This must be the results of some old Communist eugenics plot to corner the supermodel market since (without exaggeration) every woman walking the streets strikes me as tall, blond, perfect bronze skin and...well, a lingerie model's body. Another reason I extended my weeklong stay.

Unfortunately, one of the side effects of the booming economies in these cities is the transformation of these historic towns into literal tourist traps. In Prague and Tallinn, little trains like you see at Disney drove around the cobblestone streets, you half-expected to see Mickey and the Main Street Electrical Parade come by.

In all the Eastern European cities I visited, the old town centers proved to be the center of most of the tourist activity and sprouted many restaurants, sidewalk cafes and bar for visitors to sample.

Atmospheric mom and pop shops lining the regular streets outside the historic center give way to tacky souvernier shops, McDonalds, Nike and other global brand shops. In the nice areas of old town, one finds Max Mara and Hermes and Zegna boutiques - reminiscent of Rodeo or Madison Ave. In a way, these touches despoil the atmosphere.

Another downside is the package tourist mob that gets disgorged from huge air conditioned tour buses every five minutes. Polyester clad, souvrenier buying, videocam toting, blue haired retirees from Witchita and Manchester clog the streets. They stand like lemmings for twenty minutes at the astronomical clock tower waiting for the hour to strike, bringing forth a 15-second parade of religious figures from the clocks interior.

I squeeze by the tourists and find a nice expat and local bar, reminiscent of an upscale brewpub in Tribeca and parked it there for six of eight nights; becoming so friendly with the owner that I may buy the place in six months when he moves to Australia. Pricetag, a cool $100,000. Pocket change right? I mean, to own your own cool bar in Prague? Done.

This performance of Beethoven's Ninth is my third time; its something everyone must experience and capped a month of satisfying cultural performances in Eastern Europe. Starting in Tallinn, taking advantage of relatively cheap ticket prices for some superb venues, I took in Aida, Madame Butterfly, and the enchanting Tchaikovsky Ballet, Sleeping Beauty.

But something about Beethoven's Ninth compels me to see it live whenever possible, so I buy my most expensive ticket to date, to see it done in Prague, in style.