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After living six months in the center of Prague, a couple blocks from Karlovo namesti (Charles Square), I found myself needing to get closer to nature. Reasons were tenfold, the foremost being that my girlfriend and I needed better sleep than we were allowed downtown, due primarily to drunk tourists at 3:00am straining to reach the high notes of Beatles songs outside our windows.

An ad for a flat in Prague’s Devin/Divci Hrady neighborhood showed me a whole new side of the city: I could live in Prague without having to live in Prague. Nature was abundant, yet the area was only a 10-minute walk from one metro station (Radlicka), or a 7-minute ride on bus 231 from another (Andel), for a total of about 20 minutes to the center.

After moving in, exploration of the area uncovered a wealth of scenery, with hilltop cliffs offering high views of the Vltava River, Vysehrad (the first Prague castle), the Hlubocepy valley/village, and many unexplored-by-tourists districts south of Prague. Walkers, hikers, mountain bikers, and kite flyers frequent the forests, fields, and trails of a large nature reserve beyond the blue water tower (you can’t miss it). Na Cvicisti, translated loosely as “On the Training Grounds,” an outdoor pub (with occasional live music), nestled in the wooded hills’ southern slopes toward Hlubocepy, was one more unexpected reason I was glad to call this area “home.”

The northwest slopes of the neighborhood make up the area where Czech women built, about 1,000 years ago, the first Bohemian bastion of feminism known as Divci Hrady, or “Maidens’ Castles” (not to be confused with Divci Hrad, a preserved castle in another region of the country). Led by Vlasta, the women first trained themselves in warfare, and then came across the river from Vysehrad, built castles, and led attacks upon Czech men that included Ctirad, who was captured with mead, tortured, and killed. Eventually, the rebellious women were either killed or – perhaps a worse fate – forced into marriage. Most Czechs I’ve met, men and women alike, tend to laugh at feminism today, and I wonder if this outcome in Czech history is partly why.

I have not yet discovered any castle ruins, and no Czech I’ve spoken to about it seems to know if there are any (though my girlfriend did find a hidden Jewish cemetery), Regardless, the Devin/Divci Hrady neighborhood is worth a visit, especially for anyone who’s tired of tourists and wants to see Prague from southwestern heights, amid a nature reserve that, unfortunately, might be offered to land developers when the current zoning legislation expires in 2010. My advice? Come see it before it’s gone.

Photo: Multikev

Lurking in a particularly unpicturesque quarter of Noerrebro, rather like a rainbow fish in a heron’s gullet, Tjili Pop is a uniquely ramshackle little cafe you will fall in love with. Much in the same way you fell in love with your first remotely attractive primary school teacher.

It’s the kind of place you’ll casually refer to when you happen to be strolling around Noerrebro: ‘Oh yeah, I know this great little place just round here. You’ll love it. They have table football and they do great smoothies.’

Photo: Sepruda

Like the best Copenhagen cafes, Tjili Pop is defiantly uncategorisable. Neither out and out foodie nor exclusively boozy, it’s there for whatever you want I guess.

Which for most of the would-be bohos round here means hanging out in tight trousers and waistcoats doing nothing in particular.

Arch comments aside, it’s well worth a look. There’s live music on Wednesdays plus it’s open til 3 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays.

TJILI POP, Rantzausgade 28, Copenhagen

Photo: Cgreb

Last Sunday, I felt like having fish at one of the restaurants under the Galata Bridge and strolled down the cobble stoned Yuksek Kaldirim onto the Karaköy pier. It was a crisp and beautiful afternoon and the sun shone gleefully on the turquoise waters of the Golden Horn. I love to stand just before the foot of the bridge to listen to the clink and rustle of thousands of reels released from atop the bridge by the weekend fishers of Galata.

Photo: Birasuegi

Fishing on the Galata bridge seem to be a men only affair, so Galata fishers, unlike their counterparts in Emirgan or Istinye who park their station wagons by the water, set up a barbeque and play cards while their rods rest against a fold up chair, reaffirm their fraternity by jigging their bait in perfect harmony.

The customers of the Galata bridge fish restaurants stare at the curtain of plastic lines wondering when the band of fishermen will applaud and jeer another successful catch. So, I sat down over beer and grilled fish in Galatea Restaurant and joined the group of ’watchers’.

Just as I had taken my first bite, the waiter who served me and his friend, with a mischievous grin, jerked down one of the lines hanging from the bridge. The line bounced off his hands and got tangled in someone else’s line. Instantly, from upstairs a man yelled. Both waiters broke into a cheeky giggle and the restaurant staff and managers joined in the rumble.

Photo: Urbanlegend

It was interesting to witness the two waiters’ fascination with the sea and the fraternal awe shared by all the frequenters of the Galata bridge; these men of whom many have come to Istanbul from remote parts of Turkey, where they have grown up without ever hearing the seagulls sing in tune to the ferryboats baritone horn. Once there, the dark, mystical bosom of the Bosphorus that is the Golden Horn has lured these men to its banks and bridges.

As is true in many big countries, the Germans dub all foreign films. This often leads to hilarious discussions or guessing to discover which film hides behind a title such as Und sie wissen nicht was sie tun (Rebel Without a Cause)  Since my cradle stood in Amsterdam, I am not used to nor pleased with this phenomenon. But lacking sufficient time or snobbism to seek out the original, I recently saw Wilkommen bei den Sch’tis - the strikingly accurate translation of Bienvenue chez les Ch’tis. I went to see it in East Berlin’s former Cinema Palace: Kino International on Karl Marx Allee 33. To watch a movie here will undoubtedly satisfy your Eastern European inclinations.

After passing the entryway with its remarkable ceiling, the Honecker lounge located in the huge hall upstairs is definitely beyond imagination. With its large glass façade overlooking Karl Marx Allee, the dark parquet floor, the red furniture – the intrinsic beauty and memories of long-forgotten times make this place stunning. There is no need to see a movie, you can easily have just a drink.

However I came to see a movie, and after the advertising the blue velvet curtains closed dramatically only opening after the bell ringed. Suddenly a totally golden surface became visible recalling Barbie’s evening gown. This startled my darling M., who received his Jugendweihe (youth consecration) in this very hall and who explained to me that this was the original curtain.

Though I certainly was overwhelmed by Kino international, my favorite cinema remains High End on Oranienburger Str. 54-56 in Tacheles. Maybe it’s sheer laziness because I only have to cross the street and climb the stinky stairs, but I love relaxing in one of those wonderful big red sofas.

Go further: Watch movies on the waterfront in Paris...

Sometimes good things come out of bad things. Take the financial crisis – they have in my opinion had a positive effect on parts of the restaurant-industry here in Moscow. Recently I was so happy to find out that an expensive but dull Italian restaurant has reincarnated into a cheap and yummy soviet-style café! Amen, there is justice in this world!

The new venue is called Sovetskaya Cheburechnaya and it serves 3 kinds of cheburek, one of the most popular Soviet-style fastfood. Cheburek is a pie made of thin paste, stuffed with minced juicy mutton with herbs or potato or cheese and then deep-fried

There is a special culture of eating at Cheburechnaya. It is self-service, so you have to wait in a line together with a rather diverse and flamboyant clientel consisting of drunk old men (cheburek goes great with vodka), students, homeless ladies, policemen sipping cheap beer…you never know who will turn up! Then you give your order to a bleak cheerless cashier (always a middle-aged lady!) and you better do it fast and clearly.

Finally you get your tray (take beer or vodka to look typical for the place) and you can find a free table (always stand-up!). Use only your hands to eat cheburek and if you are not full you can always order another two at the cashier. Don’t be surprised if another cheerless lady will clean your table while you are eating with a stinky wipe.

The funniest thing about Sovetskaya Cheburechnaya is that they haven't changed the interior of the former Italian restorant! The bathroom looks weird-glamorous, walls are decorated with Venetian lamps and on the main wall there is a drawing of Grand Canal with gondolas!

To make this even more absurd they have added a zeppelin with a USSR logo to the Venetian sky. Worth to see!

SOVETSKAYA CHEBURECHNAYA, Krasina str. 27/1. Metro Belorysskaya, Mayakovskaya or Krasnopresnenskaya