Early evenings are when the city most evoked the illusion of walking through the pages of a Milan Kundera novel, but although I looked everywhere for confirmation we were beyond the footprint of the old Iron Curtain, In Prague I failed roundly. I found instead a glimpse of the wry Czech sense of humor. The old statue of Lenin was cheerfully dynamited a decade ago: a 10 meter high stone structure where Lenin stood grimacing over the high banks of the Moldau, four proletariat behind him. The Czechs called the statue "waiting in line for meat," and laughed that Lenin was at the head of the line. But the Cold War is rapidly becoming the leitmotif of a generation whose time has passed, and the streets are full of mini-skirted consumers chatting on cellphones and drinking lattés...