Hoooo.
One thing I've been looking for since I got here is a reason. Why did Franz Kafka come from here? Jan Svankmajer? Why is this the city that staged the Residents' "Freak Show"? The country that gave birth to Tom Stoppard?
There are a lot of sort-of answers, I'm finding, to do with a special synthesis of cultures: Czech, German, Jewish, Romanian. Tensions and borrowings between backgrounds. But those are only sort-of reasons. The best actual reason I've experienced was walking up a hill last night, just east of Wenceslaus Square. It had been dusk in the square, but as soon as I'd reached a slightly higher elevation, I realized the sunset had barely begun.
You probably already know this, but in film there's a special time of day they call the "magic hour." It's the time just before sunset when the light is filtered through the orizon's atmosphere. Lines becoe sharper, colors become more vivid, and it's universally the prettiest part of the day. Everywhere.
But walking u this hill, only a narrow field of sunlight shone between apartments. And it was only able to light up a few trees and buildings.
And I can't describe what they looked like. They were beyond vivid and beyond crisp. Everything that light touched was hypnotically present.
So real that nothing felt real. Like there was a new standard for reality and the bulk of the world just couldn't measure up.
This was a mostly reason.
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Can anybody guess what song I listened to four times on the way back to the hostel? (Hint: I need a friendly hand. And you need action. I've got an itch to scratch, you'll put up no resistance.)
P.S. Sorry, Mom.