The STRUNCENA DISPATCH is a diary in form of a column, in which Veronika Struncena, the owner of the diary, writes about her ventures in the world and the journeys she makes, the convos she has and the people she meets. She shares her stories with her reader, the world and her friends, who often come asking, wanting to know - what has Veronika done today?

The church, it's ghosts, and the author - that is Prague.

The greatness, the sweetness, its bitterness, and the music. Artists paint her, authors write of her; the grand capital of Austria exceeds her reputation as an ordinary seat of government, a fact rooted in her geopolitical and cultural prestige, classical musical heritage, and the palatial architecture closely tied to the city’s monarchal history. Immediately, from the first look at the structures - giant, majestic limestone buildings rich in golden highlights - we are met w

La Dotta, La Grassa, La Rossa, the three epithets of Bologna. “The Learned” is a reference to the university of Bologna, which glories in its title as the oldest university in Europe, and prides itself with the students which they once taught, some of which include the well-renowned Italian writers and poets Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio. “The Fat” directly refers to Bologna’s cuisine, regarding the city as the culinary capital of the Emilia-Romagna region, responsible fo

Over time it had become evident that in a city as vast as this one, one could not navigate through the concrete anthill that was New York City without a view from above—whether that meant standing on a dumpster, someone’s entryway steps, or on top of a traffic light. This city was all about the perspective, and much like any other day, its streets would spring to life. Overflown with taxis and buses yellow and red, the avenues waited as everything made its turn – cars, motorb

After the long, exhausting day, not too different from any other Wednesday, Guiseppe Voite came home from his work at the local butchery, just around the corner from the very street he happened to live on. It was late, and Mr. Voite was too tired to worry about the time, as tomorrow was another day at the butchery, another day of work. Worn out, he decided to head straight for the bathroom, grabbing bits of slightly soiled, visibly rumpled, and yet not dirty enough for a wash