Fast forward to next year. Havel sits on his veranda, sipping his morning coffee and, together with his wife, looking out to sea. Accompanied by a couple of dogs, perhaps, he will stroll along the steep streets of the Portuguese coastal town of Albufeira. Then he will go back to his house on a hill, which has served as his getaway in the Algarve since he bought it two years ago. From the very beginning of his political career, Havel has dreamed about returning to his writing. And that’s what will keep him busy in his study, a sort of intellectual exile, far from the prying eyes and sharp tongues of home.

At 65, Havel has found that the accumulated resentments against him are taking their toll. Once revered as the country’s liberator from communist thrall, he now ranks fourth in public-approval ratings, with only 51 percent of voters still voicing their support. As president, Havel has only very limited powers. But he has been at frequent odds with parliamentary leader Vaclav Klaus, currently the leading candidate to succeed him. While Klaus snipes at Havel from the right, Social Democratic Prime Minister Milos Zeman shares his open disdain of the once august denizen of the Castle. These leaders of the country’s two major political parties have little patience for the mustachioed little man who makes grandiose speeches about the human condition–while they carry on the gritty daily business of government.

There’s another reason that Havel has been demoted from near-cult status. He has turned out to be… only human. In 1996 his first wife, Olga, died, widely admired for her work with the disabled. Thousands of people lined up for hours to view her coffin. Within a year, Havel married Dagmar Veszkrnova, an actress 20 years younger than he. Havel’s liking for ladies was well known, but many Czechs were outraged. To this day the Czech press relishes publishing her naked photos from old movies and is full of gossip about her allegedly numerous lovers. When she tried to make a comeback on the stage, the attacks became so ferocious that the play was canceled even before rehearsals began. Havel’s reputation fell further when he became embroiled in a bitter dispute with his brother, Ivan, over the Lucerna Palace, a choice property in central Prague that was returned to the Havel family after being illegally seized by the communists after the war. The two–and their wives–publicly quarreled over their respective shares, hurling insults at each other.

Yet even all this doesn’t fully explain why Havel will probably be spending several months a year abroad. A heavy smoker, Havel in 1996 had part of his left lung removed for cancer. Since then, every time he has caught a cold the Castle has flipped into a panic. Doctors have urged him to take vacations several times a year. To them the warm, dry climate of the Algarve seems the perfect prescription. He can also count on peace and quiet there, and some degree of anonymity. His house in Albufeira is tucked away on a hill, offering breathtaking views of the beautiful coast.

Havel says he is “going to read, study, think and, hopefully, write.” He says his first project will be a mix of political memoirs and fiction. “It’s going to be somewhere in between Henry Kissinger and Charles Bukowski,” he told Czech journalists last year, referring to the American writer popular in the 1960s. While some Czech intellectuals snipe at Havel for trivializing their field–mixing philosophy and kitsch–his yet-to-be-written book is expected to become the literary event of the season. (We will see which season.) Certainly it will be a major political event, since Havel has indicated he will discuss what he wishes he had done differently as president. Perhaps among the questions he’ll probe is why he feels disappointed with politics–and why Czechs feel disappointed in him.