At the border, they took our passports into a little booth and came back with all of them except mine. Now I was getting nervous. Finally, after another fifteen minutes, a very sloppy guard came out with an even sloppier copy of Rowboat to Prague and said, 'My name's Dvorak. He is credited with creating a perception that Prague is filled with writers and intellectuals, much as Paris was in the 1920s. Future Hemingways and Fitzgeralds, Audens and Isherwoods, Boswells and Shirers will chronicle our course.
Some observers beg to differ.
They claim the artists have gone home, replaced by the investors and entrepreneurs who form the advance guard of a capitalist invasion. Not a lot is happening here now, and I think he is searching hard for things to write about. Each Monday, before the Post is sent off to a printer in Germany, Levy calls staff from around the office to show them his changes to their copy. Equally committed to his life as an expatriate, Levy has been known to seek out the odd patch of Americana. Just ask the members of a Prague square-dancing club who are joined every Tuesday night by a certain American editor.