Prague is known as the city for the mystic and bizarre, the strange and the inexplicable. Dubbed one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, its facades nevertheless hold a dark legacy. The city’s history is rich with changing reigns, floods and fires, invasion and war – and underneath that wait the numerous stories of ghosts, water sprites and mysterious scientists who could turn metal into gold. It’s no wonder that this complex city is home to so many strange attractions. I visited a few of Prague’s most bizarre museums, and can recommend the same to anyone who wants to get to know the city’s unique past better.
The bad times started with the announcement of a non-chronological timeline, and oh boy, they just did not stop coming. Some of my friends had already started complaining that the foremost purpose of Instagram had been lost a long time ago: meaning that at the beginning of time, when Instagram was new and shiny and ready to topple over the social monopoly of Facebook, it served as a platform for people to share what they were doing at the moment. The early days of Instagram were fueled by grainy shots of lunches and sunsets, enhanced (or more often not) by a variety of artsy filters. Then the influencers took over. The Instaphere started filling up with beautiful photography. Curated feeds, high resolution images and surreally beautiful landscapes had come to stay.
A few weeks ago, I asked on my Instagram stories (because those polls give me life) whether anyone would be interested in reading about living abroad as an expatriate in a more personal, diary-like style, and the majority of the people who answered said ‘yes’. (Wise choice – I would have probably sprung this series on you anyway.) This will be an approximately bi-monthly or monthly installment, depending how much time I can justify to put in writing posts instead of hoping that my thesis will write itself if I just keep opening up the Word documents diligently each day. (So far, no such luck.)
For now, gather around children, for these are my stories from Krakow, Poland.
I need to confess something. I am in love.
Not with a person or an idea of one; but with the road that lies at my feet. It whispers sweet secrets into my ears, keeping my eyes open at night, making my bones ache for another ground to lie on. Promises of grand adventures seduce me, and I leave the bed I have made with my lover. The road calls me, and I must go.
How would you feel about spending your holiday exploring something dark, twisted and macabre?