Promises

Lindsay and I were experiencing some major symptoms of FOMO this week with Mardi Gras impending in the homeland, so we did a little recon to discover how Prague celebrates our favorite time of year. Saturday was so cold and gloomy that we almost didn’t pull ourselves from our warm beds, but I’ll forever be so happy that we did. Carneval Praha rocked. my. world.

We greeted the morning with mimosas at Lindsay and Ryan’s house and moved on to the shindig. We knew we were getting close when we heard accordions and a little street band, and then we saw the costumes. Medieval gowns, egg carton hats, jesters, bears, horses, gorillas, straw men—you name it, there was a costume. The band played and everyone danced and sang, and surrounding pubs passed out shots and beer and doughnuts. This is what life’s all about—so much joy. 

Conspicuously present were legions of an older generation, just as blithe and merry as the rest of the revelers, if not more. We deduced that this is a form of triumphant rebellion: communism suppressed so many expressions of art, music and dance; this is their way of showing that it did not defeat them.

Our Czech friend Kryspin joined us on our adventure, and we were so glad to have his language interpretation when three masked men hopped aboard a stage set against the Malo strana skyline and began to shout. We were asked to join them in a solemn promise to put revelry first, with a minor caveat prohibiting us from storming the castle.

We joined the parade down centuries old cobblestone streets, pausing at intervals to accept a mug of beer or mulled wine, all the way down to the island adjacent to Charles Bridge. Snow began to fall as we partook in more singing and dancing, a pig roast, and the traditional “shooting of the bear.” We’re still not entirely certain what this means; from what we saw, the costumed bear we’d followed down the route was veiled in white and gently poked with a knife. A few hours later, we saw the bear smoking outside a fried potato kiosk—maybe that’s what caused his untimely demise.

Today again we experienced the season’s jubilation when we stumbled upon another pig roast. It was exceptionally cold, so the band was inside a pub and folks young and old were swinging to a band of jammin geriatrics. Unless you’ve witnessed it, there’s no way to convey the way this scene just warms the soul through and through. Our wee bit of homesickness assuaged, Lindsay and I and the rest of the group made our second solemn promise of the weekend—this time next year, you’ll find us in costumes celebrating the triumph of the human spirit in the best city in the world.