Brno - The raucous pub and the Bar that doesn't exist
Brno (say BURN-o … well, sort of), the second largest city in the Czech Republic, is a 90-minute bus ride from Bratislava. It’s located in Morava (Moravia), the eastern half of the country. Brno and Bratislava have more or less similar populations: 379,526 (in 2018) for Brno vs. 432,508 (in 2019) for Bratislava.
Being as close as it is to
Bratislava, Brno makes an attractive weekend getaway. Zuza and I made two
weekend stays there, and because some of the sights we saw overlapped, I’ll
combine both visits in the next few entries.
Piatok (Friday) 3. novembra, 2017 (excerpts from my journal The Pressburg Diaries, vol. XI and a travel notebook)
Our crash pad was
located in a 1930s-era block of flats. These are nifty, spacious homes built on quiet residential streets during the First Republic of
Czechoslovakia (1918-1938). The owner, a young guy heading out tomorrow for his
honeymoon in Iran, had renovated the flat by himself and left all the original
doors and window fittings. The door separating the living room from the entry
hall had a little round porthole window in it. It so reeked of the 1930s I was half expecting Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers to come waltzing out into the room We wasted no time getting unpacked, then sauntered into town in search of some much-needed dinner. I’m
a sucker for a good pub, and it wasn’t long before we got sucked into the
Stopkova Pub. Gravity will do that to you. We chose a Pilsner Urquell-branded pub on Česká Street in the old town
center. This place was hopping on a Friday night, and really raucous, too. I half
expected some drunken guys to come tumbling out into the street, wrapped up in a
brawl, except this place was more civilized than that. We were lucky to find a
free table, and we plunked ourselves down beside a group of four 40-something Czech guys, all of
whom were completely wasted. Let’s see… four guys times, let's say, 5 beers, so that means at least twenty beers had been served at that table prior to our arrival. I managed three
Pilsners on my own, plus some damn fine guláš
and knedlicky (dumplings). A lively group of Spanish university students was seated around another table nearby, and it was a
contest as to which group was the loudest. I think the four Czechs won. Zuza
and I conversed as best we could despite the noise around us. When we were
ready to leave, things were getting sloppy at the table next to us. One of the Czech guys
spilled his beer all over the table which required two staff members with an
army of towels to mop it up. Another of the guys was fortunate to rescue his phone before the beer washed over it. By now they were onto their ninth…? twelfth?? -- God, how should I know??? -- beers, plus they were doing shots of I don't know what.
I was curious how and when they would get home. Perhaps I should also have considered IF they would get home.
We left the Spaniards
and the Booze Brothers to fend for themselves while we marched on down the street
and over one or two blocks to the Bar Který Neexistuje, or The Bar That Doesn’t
Exist. That's what the sign said, but we saw it otherwise and I can say that it does exist. It’s rumoured to
be the best bar in all of the Czech Republic, if you believe the sort of stuff
you read in magazines or on the Internet. It had a very retro feel to it, like we'd stepped back in time. First, it was our Air B&B apartment and now this. This bar had all the hallmarks of the 1950s "Frank Sinatra" America
combined with a splash of the Czechoslovak First Republic. All the hipster
barmen and barwomen were dressed in period clothes and hairstyles, and lots of
old jazz, swing, and retro pop music was playing. The only way you could tell it was actually 2017 was by the bluish glows on people's faces as they stared at their cell phones and by the piercings and tattoos covering some of the bartenders. The collection of alcohol and spirits
behind the bar was most impressive. If the world was going to end tomorrow, this is the place I'd want to be. One barman was busy off to one side, mixing this
and concocting that, inventing new recipes and perfecting old ones. He
meticulously jotted everything down in a scruffy notebook as if he was taking notes for a chemistry exam. It was close to
eleven at night and the place was hopping. Neither Zuza nor I are much into
cocktails, but this place was simply amazing, and you feel compelled to try a
drink and be transported to another time and place. Zuza ordered a “Malinko
Elegance” consisting of raspberry plus fennel, “Lillet Blanc” (a French
aromatised wine-based aperitif), and
raspberry balsamic vinegar. When she'd put that one away, she then ordered an “Azory”,
which was lime plus smoked salt, basil syrup, jasmine tea liquor with a splash
of rum, and black sesame seeds on the rim of the glass. Meanwhile I had a
“Drink Brno”, made of Beefeater 24 gin plus cold brew coffee, salted caramel,
and champagne. It was so good, and since I couldn‘t decide which concoction I
wanted to try next—they were all so divine—I did the sensible thing and ordered
a second “Drink Brno”. The damage was reasonable, too: only 610 Czech crowns,
which is something like 24 euro.
The impressive liquor collection at Bar Který Neexistuje
Sobota (Saturday) 4.
novembra, 2017 (excerpts from my journal The
Pressburg Diaries, vol. XI and a travel notebook)
Headache! But nothing that a little Ibalgin couldn’t cure. I think the cocktails might have done that. But I was cured in time to head out for breakfast. The sun was out and it was mild. We walked to a place someone had recommended to Zuza, called the 4 Pokoj, or Four Rooms. After trying to squeeze into a tiny corner table, we migrated to the bar, and that was much better seating there, although there still wasn’t much elbow room. The service and the coffee were great but I wasn’t that thrilled with the food. I chose the #Brexit breakfast—your basic English breakfast. It was just OK. The sausage was good, as was the toast, albeit it dry. But the spinach and tomato “mixture” was odd and way overcooked. I don’t care for eggs, and the mushrooms were steamed rather than fried. And what about the beans? They were conspicuously absent. Don’t English breakfasts usually come with beans? I’ve definitely had better English breakfasts. I probably ought to have had the yogurt, fruit, and muesli that Zuza had. But I bet this place is better in the evening, and I’m sure they serve a mean cocktail, judging by the well-stocked bar they had.
After breakfast, we
hit the shops—stationery shops for me and cosmetic shops for Zuza, then together we raided the
Barvič & Novotný bookstore. Since the bookstore was founded in 1883, as the
sign says, I assume this is the original location. The building was at least
that old and featured a staircase to get to the second and third-floor books.
This is your classic bookstore, and it reminded me why I enjoy bookstores: they're so much fun to explore. We both
walked away with a couple of books each—mine were mostly study guides for Czech
language, which I expect might help me in learning Slovak. There’s not nearly
as much material available for learning Slovak. Zuza ended up with a cookbook or sorts.
Midday brought us back to our room for a rest and to drop off our loot before we headed back into town to see the enormous “Gothic Revival” Cathedral of St. Peter & Paul (Sv. Petra & Pavla). It sits on top of a hill overlooking the city, kind of keeping an eye on it, and it was a little tricky finding the path to reach it. It’s accessible from “behind”, meaning you start from the old town center rather than approaching it from the train station side, which looks sort of obvious. It was incredibly windy up at the cathedral. We poked around the cathedral for a bit. Zuza lit a candle in memory of her recently-departed father, then we headed down to a nearby restaurant for an early dinner. We chose a traditional Czech restaurant which looked as though it may have had its start in the 19th century. A group of English teachers from Ireland had gathered at a large table next to ours, discussing the pitfalls of teaching. They went on to describe how their Czech students, or Czechs in general, are Islamophobic. I tend to avoid hanging out with my fellow English teachers--some of them, anyway--because I can’t stand listening to them complain about the host nation. You can always move on if you don’t like the local culture. At last they paid up and left and Zuza and I were alone. It was a totally different atmosphere from the pub last night.
Cathedral of Sv. Petra & Pavla
Before long, we moved
on so Zuza could get home and get dressed for her tango event. I entertained
myself by watching a couple of DVDs the apartment owner had on hand: a Swedish drama with Czech subtitles, then a German one
about the former East Germany, and then something about Russian spies. It had been a good day, and this time no headache.
