by Roxane Hudon
Hi there, I’m from Montreal, but I live in Glasgow and this is a miniature, interpretive travel guide, like Lonely Planet for people who can’t read full sentences.
Berlin: Nazi airports turned into playgrounds for hippies roller blading, flying kites and tending to their basil plants. Sunshine, wide streets, ignoring the universal fact that if you have dreads, most people automatically assume you’re an asshole, street kebabs, U-bahn raves and meaningless art events where people stare into emptiness pretending to get “it,” but “it” is just a bunch of sponges floating in a plastic bin full of water. The unpretentious honesty of being “punk,” open mic nights in industrial, medieval bayou bars, all the languages merging and dividing because “wir sprechen nicht Deutsch,” everyone is cool, but everything is a refuge for the creative types who don’t know how, why or what they’re supposed to be doing, but hey, we are in Berlin and we are artists, right? But what is and what is not art? I don’t know, but don’t stand in the middle of the bike lane.
Prague: Czech it out, Czech in at the Czech Inn, but don’t ask the receptionist for directions to the “labyrinth bar,” because she will look at you grimly and respond with a dismissive “Prague is no good for nightlife, so don’t expect” and send you on your way to a jazz bar. Don’t stay at the hostel, don’t look at anyone in the eye. Do pretend to be sleeping until the half-naked Norwegian boy stops sitting on your bed and conversing casually with you as if this is normal. What is “Czech”? Absinthe? 1l of wine next to the Charles Bridge? People who look like Grimm’s characters? Beer? Casually smoking giant joints at the bar? Singing along to Bruce Springsteen’s songs about working class Americans? Is that “Czech”? Eating a sausage while sitting on the floor like a homeless person? Who knows, maybe a Czech person, you could ask one, or just offer a round of shots to the Czech bar staff and leave without paying. A cheesy five-story club for 18-year old travellers looking to fondle each other awaits you. Go straight to the Oldies floor, aim for out-of-your-league and don’t act normal with the attractive Argentinian. No, just scrawl your name on his hand and walk in the wrong direction to your hostel for about two hours. Let me know what “Czech” is if you find it. Whatever it is, it’s not very friendly.
Glasgow: To Be Continued…. (notmyvideo,stolenfromyoutube)