On the banks of the Vltava River, just steps from the hustle and bustle of central Prague, there's a place where time has paused for more than six decades.

Housed in a small, 1930s-style wooden house, the family-run Vltava Pub has stood on New Town's cobblestone Rašínovo embankment for 62 years, drawing generations of Czechs — from ordinary citizens right up to the country's first post-revolution president — with its hearty food, cold beer and homey atmosphere.

Havel, who once lived nearby, was a pub regular during the 1970s and '80s, meeting there with other dissidents who joined forces to draft the famous Charter 77 manifesto against the communist regime. The pub's wooden tables played host to many Charter 77 meetings through the years.

Havel remained loyal to the place even after the revolution.

"He used to come here with [his first wife] Olga. He liked our goulash and beer," said pub owner Jan Soukup, 79. "He came here to relax."

Havel's office denies the former president is fighting to save the pub solely because of its connection to the Charter 77 movement. "If the pub should leave, the prospective plans could change the character of the area completely," says Jakub Hladík, Havel's secretary.

Havel has written a letter to Bém but, for now, it appears to have had little effect. A company named Parking Praha successfully bid to redevelop the embankment recently, and Soukup worries steep rent hikes will soon follow.

Havel is currently on an extended visit to the United States and won't return until March.

Living history

A stone's throw from Prague's landmark Dancing House built by Frank Gehry, a set of stairs leads down to the river and to the Vltava Pub.

Inside, low ceilings, white lace curtains and wood-paneled walls — decorated with hunting trophies, fishing nets, and a photo of Havel — make for a cozy, kitsch, grandma's-living-room aesthetic. The building has been renovated only twice: once in 1991, after years of neglect under communist nationalization, and again in 2002, after major flooding.

"Even though we were devastated by the floods, they were more merciful to us than the bureaucracy has been," Soukup says as he tucks into a noon meal of goulash and dumplings served from the kitchen by his son René. His other son, Jan Jr., also works in the restaurant.

The elder Soukup riffles through a thick file of legal documents pertaining to the restaurant, some yellowed and dating back six decades. His father founded the restaurant in 1945, but lost it to nationalization three years later. He was briefly allowed to stay on as manager but was soon fired, and died in the 1960s before he could see the business back in family hands.

After the revolution in 1989, Soukup filed a restitution claim, which was granted in 1991. But the family's troubles were far from over.

Though Soukup owns the building, he must rent the land from City Hall. Though the family has tried repeatedly to buy the plot, or at least get a more secure lease, their bids have always been rejected, says Jan Matys, the family's lawyer. The current lease has no expiration date, but gives the city the right to kick out the restaurant with only three months' notice.

"The Soukup family has been trying for years and years to acquire the land," Matys says. "They've done everything." But the answer from the city was always no.

Changing hands

Until the end of last year, the Technical Administration of Communications (TSK), a city agency that manages telephone and transport infrastructure, operated the Rašínovo embankment. In December, a company named Parking Praha won a tender to take over its revitalization.

"There will be cafés and restaurants. It will be a recreation zone," says TSK spokesman Tomáš Mrázek.

However, Parking Praha is tainted by what one watchdog calls "the biggest corruption scandal in the city." According to Tomáš Kramár, of anti-corruption group Bez Korupce, Parking Praha is affiliated with development company Navatyp: "[They] are one and the same."

In 1999, Navatyp sold 10 ski-resort flats to top city officials for half price, Kramár said. In the year following, city contracts awarded to Navatyp tripled, to the tune of 15 million Kč.

Though police said they couldn't prove corruption, "It was really black and white [and] it showed how strong Navatyp's influence is in Prague," Kramár said.

For years, TSK has rewarded lucrative contracts to Parking Praha, said Petra Kolínská, city representative and former Bez Korrupce member, a fact she calls "suspicious."

Parking Praha Chairman Ladislav Kosler did not respond to The Prague Post's requests for comment.

Currently, the Soukup family pays only 23,000 Kč ($1,067) in rent per year, or 1,917 Kč per month. Shortly after the new tender was awarded, René Soukup met with Parking Praha representatives, who told him they plan to increase the rent to 50,000 Kč per month.

"There's no way this restaurant can make that kind of money," Matys says.

"It spells the end for us," Soukup says bluntly.

Mrázek also remains mum: "The possible rent increase is solely a matter between the leaseholder and the [land] administrator." However, the rent should be consistent with the area's central location, he adds.

The family says the restaurant deserves special rent protection.

The building, considered a prime example of Czechoslovak First Republic wooden architecture, was designated a protected cultural site in 1995.

"The [Culture] Ministry is supposed to protect a cultural monument," Matys says, and that protection is now their main hope.

Soukup is more bitter. "First, the communists dispossessed us of this property," he says. "Now it feels like I'm there again."

Naďa Černá contributed to this report.