Jo's Bar And Garáž

What with the palm trees and the sombreros and other accoutrements of the Southwest and the vaguely Mayan-Incan-Aztec mural in your peripheral vision, you might believe, for one eensy-teensy moment that, despite the nice chilly weather, you are indeed no longer in Prague, but transported to Mexico or Texas or someplace like that.

But then you turn and take a really, really good look at what only seems to be that Hispano-American artpiece taking up one whole freaking wall of the place and you realize - holy cow! - are those three dwarves - um, well - engaged in an act of pleasuring in a carnal fashion the centermost dwarf? And how can that man and that woman possibly hold that position long enough to complete such an act? And what EXACTLYis that woman doing to that lizard?

And that’s when you realize that you are not hallucinating because you haven’t even taken that shot or three of absinthe yet and I don’t believe I have ever seen anything quite that graphic in a Mayan or an Incan or an Aztec temple, but if there were such images there, perhaps anthropologists would have to formulate whole new ideas about the decline and demise of these tribes.

And then you get distracted by the blue flame coming from the spoon above the glass and you just think, “What the hell … perhaps I am just a little naiive and anglo-saxonized after all.”

The first night we were in Praha, we dropped by this place and had a great time learning to drink absinthe. The bartender was great; all the patrons were very laid back and nice. Great first night in Praha.

Two nights later—different bartender, different waitresses, different atmosphere. We sat down inside. The waitress brought us menus, but gave us no service. We moved to a table outside. The surly bartender, delivering a drink to the table next to us, indicated to us we could not sit there. We went to another bar down the street. Walking back to our apartment, we passed by this bar and saw people sitting at the table where we were told we could not sit, drinking drinks they had obviously been served by the same surly waitstaff. If you can get the honey of a bartender we had on our first night (whose picture is above preparing absinthe), you’re in luck. Otherwise, give it a miss.