My Only Good Drinking Story
Absinthe and Ska in Prague
The stories are real, but the names of the people are not.
The first time I ever had absinthe was at a ska club in Prague.
I’m not one to brag about my exploits while drinking, but this may be the coolest sentence I get to use on a semi-regular basis.
I was studying for a semester in St. Petersburg, Russia, and we had a week-long fall break where we were free to do as we pleased. When my roommate, Bryce, said she had her heart set on visiting Prague, I very quickly offered to go with her. This was the kind of cool stuff I was supposed to be doing while I was studying abroad.
I knew nothing about the Czech Republic, other than at one time it was part of Czechoslovakia, and the only thing I knew about Prague was that part of the first Mission: Impossible movie took place there (the opening scene where Tom Cruise is set up for Jon Voight’s murder). But hey — what better way to learn about somewhere than to go there?
Bryce and I didn’t have much of a plan when we arrived. We stayed at a hostel within walking distance of the Old Town, and our first night there Bryce happened to find a Lonely Planet guide in the lobby. We took it up to the Letenske Sady, flipping through attractions and practicing some of the Czech phrases at the end of the book as the sun was setting. Even though we came up with a list of places to see, the main idea was just to see what we found.
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We spent the daytime wandering the city and getting lost trying to find David Cerny sculptures. In the evenings, we would have dinner at a restaurant that looked cool from the outside. We visited castles, Soviet monoliths, and a church with an arm hanging above the entrance. At one point we got lost and saw a drug deal going down under a bridge. Everything was so new and exciting, and I was totally there for it.
There’s quite a bit of absinthe in Prague. I never learned the story behind why, but during our wanderings Bryce and I saw plenty of liquor stores and bars filled with bright green bottles. At the time it was illegal in the United States, at least the stuff that had wormwood in it. Even though I had never had much interest in trying it, conditions were right for me to start feeling curious.
I don’t remember how we ended up in the bar that evening, but I like to think that the music brought us in from the street. Bryce had played trombone in a ska band and couldn’t believe we had come across a live ska band in Europe. It was a bonus that I had always thought Reel Big Fish was cool, so it was a no-brainer to go in and check them out.
We wandered into the basement of a building, and the club was much bigger than I was expecting. Like most music venues, it was one room with a stage in front and a bar in the back. As we passed the bar Bryce mentioned now might be the time to try absinthe. My only knowledge of it came from the Green Fairly in Moulin Rouge, and had it been a different situation the overly-cautious voice in my head might have said something. But I was already knee-deep in an adventure, so we ordered our shots and threw them back.
The black licorice flavor was medicinal and overwhelming. I grimaced and waited for the Green Fairy to appear. Nothing.
Once I figured out that single shot hadn’t completely altered my reality, I followed Bryce to the stage. The band was in full swing, and I expected to take my usual position left of center where I would stand with my hands in my pockets and subtlety bob my head to the music. That was how I had always done concerts. But Bryce wanted to dance, so we went front and center. I watched Bryce and the other Czech kids skank, but after a few moments that wasn’t feeling right. Maybe it was the absinthe, the power of live music, or a combination of both, but I was ready to dance.
I don’t know that I had ever danced like that before, or that I ever will again. Years of pent-up energy from going to indie shows where everyone was too cool to dance spilled out. I jumped and threw my hands up in the air, fueled by the energy of finally being out of Ohio and surrounded by people who didn’t grow up speaking English. With each spin, cheer, shake of my butt I was becoming the person I had been waiting to become. It felt so good.
Bryce described it as a 16-year-old dancing at a house party. I guess that’s what uninhibited joy looks like.
The next morning I woke up at our hostel, completely lucid and headache-free. On our morning tram ride into the city to get breakfast, Bryce gave me a blow-by-blow of just how stupid I had looked the night before. If she had been trying to embarrass me it didn’t work. Instead, I laughed along while I felt a flicker of last night’s joy in my chest. She may have handled her liquor way better than me, but there was no way she felt as good as I did.
