Thursday July 14th 2011
In the summer of 2010, I went on my very own EuroTrip. Along with six old school friends (Joe, Katy, Tash, Anthony, Joe and Louis if you care), I set about fulfilling my middle class adolescent destiny by inter-railing across the continent. Over the course of two weeks we rode sixteen trains through nine countries, including five of the six visited in EuroTrip, as well as the one where it was all shot.
On the morning of August 14th 2010, we departed the overnight train from Budapest to Prague — a journey the duration of which I spent with my feet dangling off the end of a bed into a deluge of torrential Hungarian rain pouring in through the broken window. The weather was no better in the Czech capital, and as we plodded along the motorway at 8am in search of our hostel (the dubiously regal-sounding Sir Toby’s), we were treated to an unholy baptism of endless precipitation. Arriving at our destination, we found an inconspicuous building lodged in the middle of a blank, identikit European street. It turned out to be the best hostel we stayed in during the trip: cheap as fuck and complete with free breakfast, inexpensive beer and a complimentary barbeque that happened to be taking place the night we arrived. It might be the reason we didn’t do all that much sightseeing during our three-day stay.
When the clock struck midnight that same day I turned nineteen in what I hope, for the locals’ sake, is the worst club in Prague. I drunkenly asked the barman if I could have a free drink for my birthday and he look bemused. Eventually we all got bored of the place and ambled back to the comfort of Sir Toby’s.
The next morning, after I’d been presented with a Hey Prague! Czech Me Out! T-shirt by my fellow travellers, we set out for a day of birthday-based hi-jinx. We took a quick free sightseeing tour in the town centre before I insisted that we get straight to the heart of the matter and seek out some of the filming locations from EuroTrip. I’ll admit it might not have been the most cultural activity possible during our brief stay in an unfamiliar European city, but it was my birthday and I wanted to tread some of the same ground as Jacob Pitts, goddammit.
Finding little information about specific shooting locations online, I loaded up my reliable Twitter app and put out a request for any and all pertinent information. We were soon directed to all manner of spots around town, but upon arriving at them found it difficult to work out exactly which scenes, if any, had been shot there. There wasn’t a ‘Plage Nudiste’ or a ‘Fiesty Goat’ pub to be found, just some churches, a ‘Sex Museum’ and a statue of Franz Kafka.
We took a few photos on the off-chance that we could match them up to stills from the film later on, but sadly these efforts proved to be in vain. Maybe EuroTrip’s production design team did a better job than I’d previously imagined in transforming the Czech Republic’s capital city into those of its neighbouring European territories, rendering the actual locations themselves unrecognisable to even the most hardcore of the film’s fans. Or maybe I just need a more informed class of Twitter follower. Either way, the closest thing to a souvenir I managed to secure was a photo of my friend Anthony bending over seductively in Prague’s central train station, where Michelle Trachtenberg had so capably performed the manoeuvre six years earlier.