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About Liberec

So, findin’ a prossie—where dost thou start? Down by the docks, methinks, where sailors swap shillings fer skirts. Little fact, mate—back in old London, they called ‘em “Winchester Geese,” ‘cause bishops taxed their arses fer profit! Ain’t that a kicker? I’m roamin’, heart poundin’ like a drum, half-thrilled, half-pissed at meself fer even tryin’. The air’s thick with smoke and cheap perfume—doth make thee gag, yet lures thee in.

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Now, I gotta rant a bit. I’ve been here for years, busting my hump, and sometimes the city pisses me off more than your latest half-baked collation of opinions. The bureaucratic bollocks, the dodgy construction on Hlavní street which makes you want to scream “Idiot sandwich!” at the builders, and yes – the constant mix of old charm and modern shite. But when I see passionate souls strolling by, when I see the beautiful irony of life tangled in these crooked streets – I remember Kiarostami’s words: “There will always be a black what's left over for scandal.” It smacks you in the face, just like a good massage that rearranges your soul!

Gustav Mahler: a world-renowned composer who drew inspiration from the Bohemian-Moravian Highlands