I first came to Europe in the summer of 1998 and almost immediately I began to hear traveller’s tales of an eastern city where the beer was cheaper than water and the buildings as stunning as the women who strutted down the cobblestoned streets. For an eighteen year old it all sounded too good to be true. After being somewhat disappointed by globalised Western Europe, Prague was exactly what I was looking for.

To my surprise it was all there and a four day stay turned into two weeks. Sure the favourable exchange rate made it easier to stick around, but there was something about the city’s eclectic architectural façade and its haunting gothic skyline that made such a huge impression. For me this was the Europe I’d grown up with in fairytales. This was the Europe I’d fantasised about during history class.

At first it took some time to return - four nostalgic years to be exact - and things had changed a lot since the 1990s. By 2002 Prague had become one of Europe’s premier tourist destinations and there would be no more romantic daytime strolls over the Charles Bridge. During this particular sojourn I experienced my first taste of the harsh Prague winter, which certainly didn’t help my spirits when I was robbed. Basically things didn’t go so well this time around and even if I’d thrown a 100 dollar note over my shoulder into the Vltava River, I still wouldn’t have thought I’d ever come back.

Yet somehow I did return, just a year later. I was on a family holiday and hoping to impress my father by taking him to an exotic country that had been locked behind the Iron Curtain back when he’d travelled the world. Under the scorching June sun I soon rediscovered my passion for the fairytale surroundings and the amazing events that had unfolded there. It felt almost as if there was more history in the Old Town Square than in my entire country.

My first attempt at living in the ‘City of a Thousand Spires’ came in July 2005 when I embarked on a career as an English teacher- freelance writer. I lasted just six weeks, which was as much to do with my obsession with Italy as it was with the gloomy weather and the frequent scowls I received from many of Prague’s inhabitants.

However I’d learnt by this stage never to rule out a return and over the next few years the ‘what ifs’ got the better of me. Deep down I knew that one day I’d have to finally get it out of my system.

So in January 2008 I flew to Ruzyne airport without a return ticket. Within two weeks I had three different teaching jobs and once the spring sun had arrived I’d already made plenty of friends who’d opened the doors to new places not often seen by tourists. I couldn’t get enough of the huge beer gardens, where large groups of young people would sit around drinking copious amounts of Gambrinus without even a hint of violence, an almost unthinkable concept back home. By summer I had a Czech girlfriend and there were times when I seriously thought I’d never leave.

But things change. The following winter I endured the coldest day of my life five days in row, a depressing experience for someone more attuned to heatwaves well over forty degrees. I then learnt that culture shock doesn’t always greet you when you first step outside an airport, in fact sometimes it creeps up on you when you least expect it.

At the turn of the year I began to tire of being treated like a nuisance every time I walked into a restaurant, or like a criminal every time I handed over large bank note. I also eventually got fed up with the general sense of pessimism that seems to pervade Czech society. My views on the local customs also began to deteriorate somewhat every time I heard of another young female student in ‘love’ with either a married man or a guy nearly twice her age, all while I had male business students telling me that having ‘fun’ with teenage girls was all apart of married life in the Czech Republic. There are some things you just can’t adapt to.

But most of my frustrations came from the fact that deep down I was really starting to miss my home and the sea breeze. You can’t underestimate how difficult it is to grow up in a coastal city and then move to the centre of Europe, especially when a flight home costs about twice the average monthly wage.

However I’ve noticed that most expats in Prague seem to have a completely different problem, they just can’t leave the place. Yet somehow when I take the long journey back to the other side of the planet at the end of this month, I will have left five times. And for some strange reason I definitely wouldn’t rule out doing it again. There must be something in the water.