Prague has a lively jazz scene, and I have been visiting the various jazz clubs before becoming a regular at a favorite one. Last weekend I went to Little Glen’s, an Irish style pub with a separate jazz area. This being the Old Town, all streets must must be winding and small, so that only native Prajaks (Czech for Praguean) know how to navigate them. This gives the locals much comic relief when watching tourists wander in circles, as well as providing a chance to practice their English when giving directions. Devious, these Czechs. I have since learned to follow the sound of music, as most pubs in this area provide evening music and an increase in volume usually signals that you are close to a square. A brief foray into uncharted streets eventually led me to the Malostranska Square, only a few meters from the door of Little Glen’s. This cozy pub boasts a main area upstairs, with solid, darkly stained tables, an impressive array of beers, and a lively crowd. I paused here, hesitating about joining this crowd, but then I heard the jazz drifting up the stairs. I ventured down a winding staircase, into a miniature bar area, with a few stools and a single barman. Further in was a low, round-ceiling room with a few tables and a small stage. Drums, double bass, keyboard, and a lovely trumpet soloist. A seat was available just inside the door, and having procured a Guinness, I leaned back to listen to the music. The soloist was excellent, and switched back and forth between several instruments depending on the song. He closed the set with a softly haunting melody, a beautiful farewell. Later, walking back across the Charles Bridge, I paused to listen to the soft roar of the Voltava River flowing under the bridge. A slight breeze was rising, and I could hear the shouts of weekenders in the distance. But there at the center of the bridge, I stood and watched. Listened. Remembered. And was thankful for this night of music.