The Meat Dungeon (and other cute Prague anecdotes)

Yesterday afternoon, we were treated to an NYU-sponsored bus-ride to a small village one harrowing hour away from Prague Centrum. Harrowing, because the road we spent most of our time on seemed to double as a goat path. After arriving in Detenice, we received an interesting tour of a medieval palace designed in the light-baroque, 1980's disco style. We donned very large slippers (to preserve the original flooring), and tripped up the staircase what only could be described as the Antler Hall. We were not to be alarmed by the sheer number of dead animals in our vicinity; these animals were killed "because they had a good life in the forest," an association I'm still not sure if I understand. Our guide, who apparently learned English by watching Billy Elliot on repeat, told us in her lilting Czech accent about the new owners, who so kindly purchased this house and opened it to tourists. Strangely seductive paintings of the couple hung in the portrait gallery. We walked through several rooms, each done in a different style, and tied together by strangely modern accessory choices. A set of beaded pillows, certainly from Tesco (Czech K-mart), the sheer curlicue curtains in electric blue...something didn't seem quite right. There were gorgeous original pieces, however, like the large ceramic stoves in the corner of each room, and the ivory and tortoiseshell jewelry box in the "silver" room. It makes you wonder why they really needed to accessorize in the first place. I mean, are we really supposed to believe that that's what it used to look like?
Despite the relative comfort of the palace, we were herded into a large red barn. Although the outside was quite cheery, the inside was dark, stone, and filled with bewildered looking Czechs being screamed at by bar wenches. Winding through the innards of this strange place, we arrived in the attic, which we found to be already occupied by the wax personages of yesteryear. Representing the many tasks of the medieval era (human butchery and prostitution being the most popular), the strangely melted figurines were meant to tell the story of the brewery's famous "beer of love".
You see, Arthur and his marauding pals came into Detenice and killed everyone, sparing only the lovely young maidens. Each night, they would force the fairest one to brew them the beer, cutting out her tongue so she couldn't share the secret recipe. The girls got uglier and older, until the day Arthur and his men were defeated by another invader. Then, somehow, the tongue-less maidens indicated what was in the beer (gesturing or some primitive sign language, perhaps?) and it's been brewed ever since. Except during Communism. And the 19th Century.
A quick stop to a surprisingly modern Chemistry Lab intended to show the process of quality inspection (some peace of mind for the tourists who would eventually drink the stuff), and we headed to the actual brewery. We were greeted by some large copper urns and the smell of fermented mold. Apparently beer is made by putting something in barrels and leaving it underground with a strange fresco above it. The fresco is essential.
Unlike Disneyworld, the tours in Prague lead not to a gift shop filled with overpriced Chinese exports, but to a torture chamber/dungeon where they also serve large platters of meat. Graced by a recently hung corpse and the skulls of his compatriots, we awaited the beer of love with anticipation and a twinge of nausea. We also enjoyed some manhandled salad and rye bread.
Abandoned by my vegetarian friends to the creperie down the street, I surveyed the locale. Besides the stakes adorned with dead things and the large cage hanging from the ceiling, the table situation read like a scene from "Mean Girls". Divided into cliques with gestation times of 9 days, the social boundaries were already drawn. And not into the bohemian, music political types who would be glued to the election results and would be going through Daily Show withdrawal. Not even the NYU political types who would know too much about the candidates and nothing about the issues. Instead, it seems that Prague is not as daunting as it once was for travelers; even the Europe-wary have found it easy to find the essentials (food, shelter, beer). While this has made studying abroad here simpler, it has a similar effect on the students in the program. Accessibility has dumbed down the visitors to Prague, leaving worldly types to feel ostracized from their former haven of Bohemia. I almost wish that no one spoke English here, or that the public transportation were a little more cryptic. The "lonely planet" has certainly shrunk in the past few years; travel does not require worldly intelligence or even common sense anymore.
Alas, back to the meat dungeon. After about an hour, the meal finally arrived. My table had be reduced from a healthy eleven people to a meager five over the course of the evening. Politely sipping our mediocre beers, we struggled to identify the fare set before us. We all instinctively reached for the corn on the cob, its yellow pearls of familiarity casting a jaundiced glow about the room. Next, the braver girls (read: hungrier) tried the ribs, source still unidentified. The moment of glory arrived when under a stack of shish kebabs, we found the only meat that we could all agree on-- ye olde chicken. Gorging ourselves, we ignored the other white meat (and all red meats), scavenging whatever pieces we could find. This process took about 15 minutes of the two hours left until the buses would arrive. After berry cake was served (no leavening and quite good), we sat around, adopting local custom by ordering more beer and just waiting around for something to happen.
And did it ever happen. Within an hour, a veritable rock band of ancient bagpipe and drum playing men arrived, accompanied by belly dancers and witches (groupies). Certainly decked out for the occasion in motorcycle leathers and waist-long hair, the merriment continued for about forty-five minutes. This performance was followed by a sword/torch fight, and possibly the crudest physical humor imaginable. Let's just say that lighting each other's nether regions on fire must have been a common practice in the middle ages. Alli also claims that one of them asked her to soothe the "fire in his loins", but he was speaking Czech, after all. A faux witch burning to keep us in line (and make fun of the Inquisition...ha ha ha), and we were off. The ride home was fraught with danger, but I think that most of the group was sleeping off their "beer of love" rather than watching for the headlights of oncoming traffic with their fingers crossed.

Na shledanou, and until next time,
Allie