Paris Brothels and Stolen Art: A Fragmented Journey

Wherein we follow Franz Kafka's whirlwind tour of Europe in 1911, his eyes darting from Parisian prostitutes to Swiss croupiers, capturing the weird, the mundane, and the profound in equal measure.

Imagine a gangly, neurotic 28-year-old Czech insurance clerk with a fondness for fruits, painting, and prostitutes, trundling along the streets of Paris, notebook in hand. Meet Franz Kafka on holiday.

In September 1911, in an effort to erase the memories of his first, unsuccessful trip to Paris, Kafka embarked on a grand European tour with his constant companion, Max Brod (who wrote his own diary entries on that same journey). The tour followed a trajectory of stops roughly along the Orient Express route—Prague, Munich, Zürich (Kafka repeatedly writes ‘Zürüch’), Lucerne, Milan, and Paris—interrupted by a brief cholera panic. Yet, this wasn’t just another trip. Compared to a typical travel guide, Kafka’s diary entries provided a more fascinating and chaotic account.

Kafka’s diary¹ reads like chaotic cinematography—a ragged newsreel spitting out jump-cut notes. His entries are fragmented, telegraphic, leaping from one observation to the next with the restless energy of a hyper-caffeinated …