Sex! Drugs! Neogothic Stained Glass Windows!

I just had my first glass of real absinthe at Absinthe Time, a surprisingly empty tourist-targeted bar about a block from my hotel. I used my most rudimentary irrational heuristics to determine which brand to buy (not quite the most alcoholic at 68% abv, not quite the most Thujonous at 28 mg/l, not quite the most expensive), and settled on the Toulouse Lautrec. As you can see, the green fairy need not actually be green:

It tasted pretty much like anise schnapps, and I don't think it did anything that a strong glass of alcohol wouldn't do. I've read that you need two glasses to get the hallucinogenic effect, but my drinking philosophy has always been "drink until you feel good...and then stop." It made me a bore at college parties, but it's kept my headaches and idiotic behavior to a minimum. Still, please forgive any horrifically bad writing that follows.

I started today off at the Prague Castle, which is a whole little complex of buildings. The main cathedral took about 1000 years to complete, so parts are from the early middle ages, and parts are from the early 20th century. My favorite part was actually the 20th century stained glass windows:

There's not nearly enough stained glass made today. I'm sure that with modern tools we could make some incredibly intricate mosaics, but it's an out-of-fashion art. Won't somebody bring it back? Think of all the beauty there could be!

Anyway, after the unbelievably gorgeous cathedral, I went to a few less exciting parts of the castle (the palace, a lovely smaller church, a row of cute small houses) and finally wound up in the prison tower, where I saw implements of medieval torture.




OK, actually only the first is from the prison. The others are all from the Sex Machines Museum, where I spent about an hour this afternoon. I first heard about the museum from these British girls waiting with me and Natalie for the train from Ljubljana to Zagreb. When they told us about it, I vowed to go, but I had completely forgotten about the museum until I found myself standing in front of it today. Like the museum of erotica in Barcelona, the Sex Machines Museum had a copy of the two pornographic films commissioned by King Alfonso XIII of Spain (grandfather of Juan Carlos), because he loved these sorts of "pastimes for joyous rainy evenings." Apparently some of the actors are his personal friends. The movies are absolutely horrible, but that's not the point. The point is that they're PORNOGRAPHIC FILMS COMMISSIONED BY THE KING OF SPAIN.

The museum also included dildos used for, ahem, "gradual and extreme widening of the anal orifice," as the placard so nicely put it. Allow me and my guidebook (which is of normal paperback book size) to show you what they mean.

Yes, that thing has about the same dimensions as the upper half of my leg. If international criminals ever find out that this is possible, airport security is going to have a whole new beast to tame.

Also today: Kafka's house, the astronomical clock striking four pm, and two great meals. Tomorrow is my last full day in Europe. I'm sad that this crazy adventure is drawing to a close—I'm incredibly fortunate that I got to do this—but I'm also looking forward to spending some time at home with the fam and the friends. And I wouldn't turn down a good hamburger, either.