The Wall in Prague 2009

We were there last April. We don't want to wear out the welcome with too many or too frequent visitations.

The next instalment is on the way.

Truth is, you're just afraid I'll draft you guys into helping us move.

Nonsense. We would love to help...no, no, truly.

Saturday, 31 October – Part 3

During the interval, J went off for a toilet break and I stood near the seats stretching my legs and taking in the arena. Curiously, the stage hands began disassembling the now completed wall, stacking the “bricks” one either wing of the stage just out of sight and the long haired rhythm guitarist stood talking with the child performers. The wall was now back to its pre-show configuration and about five minutes after J returned, the lights dimmed again and everyone took their seats for the second half.

Again, confusingly, the accordion player and trumpeter slowly marched across the stage playing Outside the Wall. By this time I stopped wondering about the strange playlist and just settled in to enjoy the show. Our Czech “Pink” entered stage right after the first lines of Hey You while the wall was again built up, but this time at a much faster pace. By the time Is There Anybody Out There? had begun, the wall was nearly half complete with Pink now shirtless and crawling along the stage on hands and knees.

Pink sat in his hotel room chair again for Nobody Home and I think this was one of the songs Harry Waters played keyboards because “Pink” signalled to the cameraman in front to get his image on screen. This was not really possible as the reconstructed wall obscured any good view of Harry. Or was that the old, smooth guitarist? It was hard to tell. As I said, the view from the seats and the camera was not clear. Another disturbing sequence on the screen was the image of the Nazi flag that morphed into the Soviet hammer and sickle flag which then morphed into the stars and stripes. I gave J a bemused sidelong glance at this point with a disgruntled shake of the head. People just can’t resist having a pop at the old U.S of A.

After a respectful amount of applause the question at the start of Vera began and one would have expected some stock footage of the Dame herself but the screen only displayed pastoral, one presumes, Czech scenes while this song was performed. At the end and as a segue into the follow-up song, the two drummers began their into martial intro while a character in an orchestra conductor’s suit strode out with a music stand and baton to conduct the performers through Bring the Boys Back Home. The horn section came into it’s own on this one and the screen showed all manner of war scenes, past and present, fictional and real.

Of course, I was waiting for the next song to begin. What Floyd fan wouldn’t with these lesser, pieces now out of the way? If it had been a concert of The Final Cut, I would be anticipating Not Now John, but this time the baited breath was awaiting Comfortably Numb where another character joined Pink on stage dressed in a doctor’s smock and to sing those parts. The first solo was performed by the older lead guitarist who did an admirable job, but the second solo was done by the capped fellow in the back who was still visible at this point through the, as yet, unfinished wall. This was the highlight of the show and he did David and the song proud with near perfect reproduction of the album version. The crowd certainly loved it as this was given the longest and loudest applause of the whole evening. It wasn’t Pink Floyd but it was fabulous nonetheless.

After the ovation died down, the long-haired rhythm guitarist, with everyone else providing backing vocals, performed The Show Must Go On. The screen showed a stretch black Mercedes limousine arriving at some underground venue with the surrogate Pink clad in his SS-style uniform getting out and almost frog-marching through the underground corridors. The screen went black and the surrogate pink marched onto the stage to perform In the Flesh. Instead of using Bob Geldof’s strange index finger and thumb hammer gesture, our Pink used crossed fists while a Hammer flag fluttered on screen behind him. Hang on, was he pointing at me, or in my general direction when the line “and that one’s a coon” came along? WTF? Anyway, when he got to “if I had my way,” the surrogate pink on screen sat behind a machine gun and sprayed the audience with cinematic gunfire. Very off-putting.

Instantly, the performers went into Run Like Hell and this quick-fire song was proving most difficult for the Czech performers to keep up with the English lyrics, but they did well enough. Again, I believe this is another point where Harry Waters was on keyboards as it was an extended solo leading into the heavy drumbeats of Waiting for the Worms. My only criticism here was everyone was shouting “Trial! Trial! Trail!” instead of “Hammer! Hammer! Hammer!” Strange, but okay.

Stop! Again, perhaps, Harry was on piano, but by now there was little to be seen on the stage as the wall was all but complete. Through a few missing bricks we saw the black-shirted Pink making his way through Stop and appearing a few moments later in normal garb on our side of the wall. During this song, stage hands attached lines of tape to the outside of the wall, the purpose of which would become clear later. I thought it was a rope to help when they got to tearing it down. I would be proved wrong.

The character who portrayed the doctor earlier was now done up like a lawyer and singing the first part of The Trial and point an accusatory finger at our beleaguered Pink. The Czechs had difficulty saying “worm,” bless ‘em, because it came out sounding like “Varm”. J and I giggled at this. The schoolmaster was an Oriental guy and the same guy who had appeared on screen during the intro to Happiest Days of Our Lives earlier. Luckily, he didn’t bother trying to do it in a Scottish accent. The children returned to echo Pink’s “Crazy” interludes on this song – not, as mentioned in Part 2, on Comfortably Numb. “Babe” and “Mother” were each performed by one of the female backing vocalists with “Mother” dressed in 1940’s costume and “Babe” in a slinky little red number.

The lawyer from earlier was now dressed as a bewigged judge with a curious collar that could have been modified comic breasts made to resemble giant testicles below his chin. He delivered his expected condemnation of our hero and when the song was finished all disappeared from stage while still shouting, “Tear down the wall!”

The tapes ignited and burned along the length of the wall and over the sound of destruction and bomb explosions, the wall came tumbling down, falling off the front of stage and being overthrown by hand from behind where it hadn’t collapsed as planned.

Any proper fan would have expected to hear Outside the Wall now, but once the applause died down, the performers began singing The Tide is Turning. Curious, but okay, fine. We had already heard the former twice already, so a third time might have seemed repetitive. Scenes of people coming together and communing in peace were shown on the screen and candelabras were set burning on stage for that feel-good effect…I guess.

At the end, not many seemed to want to stand to applause so I rose and then everyone in my row followed to whistle, cheer and whoop our appreciation. It had been a good show. Our “Pink” introduced everyone and the biggest cheer went to the capped lead guitarist who played the second solo on Comfortably Numb. Harry got a pretty good reception as well. The crowd seemed to be expecting an encore, and they got one, but J and I had already exited and retrieved his coat. We were well outside the arena when the encore started and I could not tell what they were playing.

I was more excited by the two free posters of the event that J had collected on the way out. These were stacked nearly knee-high at the exit doors, so I expect everyone had a chance to get at least one. After a post-show cigarette, we boarded our Metro train home where most of the passengers were also from the show and who had their free posters in hand.

On our way back to our hotel, we stopped off at another Art Nouveau marvel, the Grand Hotel Europa, which has lost some of its original glory, but the creamy hot chocolates, amenable staff and indoor smoking in the Café Europa made up for it. We discovered that scenes from Mission: Impossible [Note to DT] were shot in the hotel as well. We would re-visit this spot several times for the rest of the trip; the whipped cream-topped hot chocolates - as well as the ability to smoke indoors - were that good.

To be continued…

Bravo! More! More!

Cheers, termy old bean. I only have Sunday's touring and Monday's departure to cover but it should be here soon.

Incidentally, and coincidentally, there's a rather good and long interview with Roger in December's Mojo magazine about the 30th anniversary of The Wall and his plans to stage a Broadway version of it. No mention of the concert in Prague and, fortunately, no inflammatory snipes at the other Floydians. The magazine has a bonus CD attached of The Wall, part I done by a varied group of most obscure artistes. I didn't recognise a single one.

Anyway, on with the essay finale...

Sunday, 1 November

Happy All Saint’s Day

We had a fairly return flight on Monday, so I arranged to stay at an airport hotel overnight to avoid having to rise before dawn and groggily make our way to the Airport. We packed our bags and went down to have our last Hotel Sovereign breakfast before checking out and leaving our bags to collect later. We ventured out along Wenceslas Square and stopped into the Café Europa for another indoor smoke and hot chocolate – I had it without whipped cream this time for variety – and then went searching for souvenirs. I had a t-shirt in mind: one of a particular design and colour. We had to search a few shops to find it; always in the right colour but the wrong size or vice versa, until at the fifth attempt, the very one was found. One lady actually advised me that I should look for a larger size, and I told her she was quickly doing herself out of a sale, the cheeky mare.

J wanted, for some strange reason, to find a crystal vinaigrette jug that was not too expensive, but unfortunately we failed. There were plenty to be found but they were either way too expensive or just plain ugly. That search was abandoned and we reasoned we would probably find on at a second hand shop back in London that would suit. In any case, it was time to retrieve our bags and check into the airport Ramada.

The trip to the airport via taxi was quick enough but the airport hotel was disappointing. First, the marketing blurb said it was right at the airport terminal, which was true enough, but the terminal in question was for VIPs such as celebrities, the political elite and the well-to-do with private jets and about two miles from the regular, commoner’s terminals. Our departure terminal would have to be reached by the hotel’s shuttle bus. The lobby was dark and deserted and the rooms didn’t even have coffee and tea-making facilities. Even Travelodge gives you a kettle and teas and coffees. Not an auspicious start; the airport may have been for VIPs but I couldn’t see them using this hotel; I suspect they would be chauffeur-driven to the terminal from their exclusive city hotels and would have been able to depart at more civilised hours in any case.

The final Formula 1 Grand Prix in Abu Dhabi also started, but since it was only available on German or Italian channels, and since I didn’t want to waste what little daylight remained of the day, we chose to take public transport back to the city for a last meander. The bus to the Metro terminus and the journey to the town centre only took 40 minutes in all and we alighted at the top of the Prague Castle (Hradčany) area. There is a funicular on the other side, but why climb up when gravity assists the stroll down? It felt very much colder up on that hill and in the open castle spaces and we took refuge first in the tourist gift shop, where J bought himself a 3D postcard. St Vitus’ Cathedral was a gothic wonder as was all the tiny shops along Golden Lane and the castle complex’s main attractions. Despite the bitter cold, it was an enchanting location, and the vertiginous walk down the hill to the Lesser Town was picture postcard beautiful with patchwork gardens on display below.

This descent brought us out near the Charles Bridge and by this time, dusk was shading everything a pale blue. After revisiting a familiar WC nearby, we crossed the bridge and found a very welcoming restaurant near the Old Town Square that served traditional Czech food. It seemed very touristy but by this stage hunger won the day. I had beef goulash and two kinds of dumplings – bread and crackling - and J had roast pork shoulder, white cabbage and potato dumplings. We both had the starter of tasty duck’s liver and cranberry sauce and colourful salad. Good old stodgy food to stick to the ribs and ward off the cold. An added bonus was that the non-smokers were being turned away as their tables were already full. They either had to come back later or piss off entirely. Result!

After dinner, we did a bit more strolling around the shops and attractions, and also fruitlessly searched for somewhere to get aspirin as my shoulder was playing up again – definitely affected by the cold. We made a final stop at Café Europa for another hot chocolate, this time with whipped cream toppings, and marvelled at the frenetic playing of the pianist rendering popular classics in his quirky style. The return journey to the airport hotel was just as brief and we settled in, watched strange foreign television and retired with fond memories of a glorious weekend in Prague as fodder for pleasant dreams.

We woke on Monday morning, had a standard hotel breakfast and checked out awaiting the hotel shuttle to take us to the airport. Discount airlines don’t tell you at check-in that seating is unassigned so when you board the plane, it’s like a mad dash for those seats nearest the exits. I can never play that headless chicken game of traveller one-upmanship so we found a free row and settled in with our pre-purchased sandwiches and prepared for the hour and a half flight back to London.

Got through immigration and customs which was hassle-free – one of the only benefits of the European Union – and after waiting ages for the shuttle to the car park, we arrived home relaxed and fairly unruffled. Our “London Veins” - the throbbing, angry temples got as a result of dealing with the beastly, selfish Londoners - didn’t reappeared for a couple of days after our return because our three days in Prague had had a most beneficial effect upon us. So much so, I am entertaining the idea of spending Christmas there. Of course, we probably won’t because it will be far too cold and equally expensive.

Prague is most definitely and highly recommended. I hear the beer is awesome as well.

Thank you for reading.

"Thank you for reading."

No, Byron...thank you for posting such a great narrative. I felt like I was there with you and J (three's a crowd?).

This thread is another reason you are the patriarch of the APFFN (sorry Eddy...)

That validates all my Prague fantasies.

When I visit Europe I plan to see London, Paris, Prague, my old home Neu Ulm Germany and finally on to Romania to knock back a few brews with Da_Floyd_Fan.

Well, stratters, let us know when your mini-Grand Tour is planned then we could possibly make it a foursome for Prague, at least. Maybe even a fivesome if terminalfrost attends.

terminalfrost (Brian?): no group of Floyd fans could ever be a crowd with you in it, mate.

Make it springtime, and I'll show up. Wife, kids, the full catastrophe - now, that's a crowd.

Then it's settled...party in Prague - Byron and J as our tourguides!

The taxi driver DID suggest Spring as a better (i.e., warmer) time of year to visit.