Prague, Czech Republic
Czech out the City of a Hundred Spires (Hehe!)
We arrived in Prague through a connection in Brussels. The thought crossed my mind whether we would ever regain the seven hours lost in transit, especially as we planned to travel eastward — and only eastward — until we went back home at the end of the year. (I have been brainwashed to believe that “lost time” is a sign of alien abduction, as per Mulder and Scully.)
I had gathered all the information needed to take a bus and metro from the airport to the hotel, but N. was whining about the long flight and multiple connections and being old, so we took a taxi instead to our hotel near the Strahov Monastery.
After a long nap, we walked around a nearby park with nice views of the old town and, without meaning to, ended up descending from the grounds of the monastery on the hill all the way to the Vltava River. Walking around the riverbank in the late afternoon sun, we admired the city and the Prague skyline. And manhole covers — this city has beautifully intricate manhole covers.
Our first dinner in town was at a small place with a set menu and friendly service — a Michelin star last year! — but by the time our meal was finished, it was close to midnight. Our first lesson about food in Prague: speedy service must be considered rude…
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We followed the recommendation of a local guide to an old ancient building with a courtyard garden that served great coffee and a good breakfast, including a semolina porridge that covered all fiber requirements of the day and then some (note to self: find a recipe at home).
So fortified, we headed out to the old town for our walking tour.
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Daniel our guide began in the Powder Tower, one of the few remnants of the old city walls, and took us visitors to Prague’s greatest hits:
— the beautiful Municipal House building that now serves as Prague’s City Hall.
— the House at the Black Madonna. I forget now the reason for the Madonna’s color; more significant was the building itself, important in the history of architectural Cubism. Although we didn’t venture inside, Daniel mentioned that all the decorative details in the building were cubes, including the desserts served in the building’s cafe.
— the Estates Theater and Charles University, both of which are listed in the tour description, but which at this writing moment I don’t remember anything about. Oh, wait! The guide said anyone who qualifies and can speak Czech (“Look how many consonants can I string together without vowels!”) is allowed to attend Charles University for free.
— the Astronomical Clock, which is more technically amazing than the corny and overrated puppet show of apostles that happens at the top of every hour.
— the Jewish Quarter and the depressing history of the Jews in Prague during World War II. We found several small brass plates on sidewalks in front of buildings that memorialized Jewish residents who were taken to concentration camps.
— the Franz Kafka statue by the Spanish Synagogue.
— the Charles Bridge and the statue of the saint with the five stars who was thrown in the river when he did not want to rat out some lady’s secret. Now tourists come and rub part of the panel, and legend says that as long as the they keep their wish a secret, it will come true. The thing that we tourists do…
— the John Lennon wall, covered in graffiti art. Against the spirit of graffiti artists, supposedly one needs permission to add to the wall. And yes, there’s a security camera keeping watch.
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At the Petrin Tower, N. pulled a trick that used to be our daughter’s speciality: he had to be convinced to walk up the steps instead of taking the elevator, and then when we were coming down, he kept waxing poetic about how it was a very easy climb and that he must surely be in great shape!
Views were great from up high, especially on this clear day.
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We had lunch — N. had Czech goulash for the first time — and headed like martyrs to the grounds of Prague Castle, to join the mobs there. We checked out:
— St. Vitus Cathedral: with the crowds of people entering the church, I had been afraid of N.’s taking pictures, which might disturb other people’s enjoyment of a religious setting. But I didn’t have to worry: construction crews were dismantling scaffolding and the sound of metal bars and planks echoed loudly through the interior. N. seemed particularly fascinated by the doors in the place — mostly of wood, intricately carved with multiple stories and messages.
— Basilica of St. George (of dragon fame): I’m still not sure why there is a story about a Christian saint slaying an imaginary creature. Weirdly, the chapel itself seemed one that even Martin Luther might have approved: it was a simple rectangle, without any side chapels or carvings or statues. The only things he might have object to were the frescoes painted all around, but then again, most of them were hidden behind new plaster used to repair cracks here and there. I assume they will hire new artists to re-touch the paintings.
— Old Royal Palace, which was a bit of disappointment, what with its very few open rooms and crown and scepter on display. The main room was a large ballroom with five chandeliers. Although a few more rooms were open to visitors, I couldn’t figure out why that was the case, since there was really nothing much to see. I even heard a guide mention to her tour group that the crown and scepter were replicas — nice word for “fake” — since the real ones were safely stored elsewhere.
— Golden Lane, which also required tickets for entrance, but that requirement was idiotic, since it was mostly a sample street of period homes which were now tourists shops.
The ticket allowed visitors two days to explore all these buildings, but N. and I were being efficient, so we finished them in one afternoon and decided the escape the hordes.
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The time difference from home still seems to be doing a number on us — I woke up late (although I made sure to make it to breakfast) while N. was up half the night and slept through the morning meal. Sometimes, it feels like we have to rush for events in the afternoon.
We took our first tram in the city, a modern behemoth, 3 cars long, drawing power from the electric lines above. Once we boarded, we found the card machine in the middle train. Riders pay for the trip, depending on the length of the ride — 30 minutes, 60 minutes or 90 minutes; there was also a button for extras like luggage. I know that locals used a transit app with monthly discounts, but we couldn’t see anyone swiping in or out in the machines (as they do in Korea). Are people simply trusted not to cheat? Amazing!
We had — we thought! — plenty of time to grab a quick bagel sandwich around the corner, since N. had not had breakfast and I already needed lunch. But we had forgotten how long it takes to actually get food in restaurants in this city. It took more than 30 minutes to get a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich for take away. Jeez!
We arrived by the Malostranska metro station and met our guide Vaclav who would guide us through significant historical locations related to World War II and Communism in Czech history. Things we learned:
— During the Nazi occupation in 1938, which started before WWII officially began with the invasion of Poland in 1939, Czech fighters escaped to Great Britain and joined forces to fight on the side of the Allies.
— the Old Jewish Quarter, now the wealthiest and trendiest neighborhood in Prague, includes several restored synagogues, along with those small memorial brass plaques.
— during the Communist occupation of the Czech Republic during the Cold War, young college students were active in movements of liberation.
— Vaclav Havel, the first democratically elected beloved Czech president, now has the city’s airport named after him.
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We taxied to a local Korean church, but upon getting out of the car, we couldn’t find any signs of where the church might be. We were in a more residential neighborhood, in front of what appeared to be a school building. No signs, but there were muffled noises of what sounded like hymn-singing. We walked to the side of the building that our maps app indicated was the entrance of the church. Nope. We walked to the front, and N. finally spotted a small banner with Korean letters.
When we entered, a Czech lady with bottle-thick glasses came out from behind a booth to indicate we should take the elevator to the 3rd floor. We found ourselves in a hallway with closed doors — this crowd was not making it easy to find salvation. To our left, the door muffled sounds of children’s voices, so N. headed to the sounds behind a door to the right.
We were in a large space that was obviously a dance studio — a big hint was the posters of dancers on the wall — filled today with foldable chairs in the usual pew formation. The two-man praise team was leading the singing in front of a banner of a cross and a projector, well, projecting the lyrics.
It was a fairly typical service for an immigrant congregation still in what appeared its first generation in a foreign land. Afterwards, the pastor came to greet us, but no one else approached. We left the church, feeling not much welcomed or enlightened about the Korean-Czech community in Prague.
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I mean, how much goulash can one really eat? We ordered Korean bbq in Prague: different cuts of meat, some small plates of banchan — mostly pickled radishes in different forms and colors — and lettuce for wrapping. N. did mention that, although we were eating at a Korean restaurant, he didn’t feel like he was eating Korean food for real. Ersatz.
We walked the ancient stairs up the Powder Gate Tower; the views were OK. Not sure why I was expecting that I would see something different from up high.
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We stood in line waiting to enter the Spanish Synagogue for a live concert. The lady in front of us had come from California; when we told her where we were from, she complimented me on my English (!).
The interior of the synagogue was beautifully ornate, designed in a moorish style, which involved lots of patterns in busy motifs. (If I remember the guide’s words correctly, it was the “Spanish Synagogue” because it was originally founded by those who fled Spain during the reign of Isabella when Jews were expelled.)
The concert by the Czech Collegium involved a string quintet and a soprano. They did make sure to cover familiar and popular crowd-pleasing pieces: the overture of Barber of Seville, Carmina Burana, Summertime, Hava Nagila.
During the concert, one thing hard to ignore: the lady next to N. was making constant noises that alternated between coughing and unwrapping candy. I was getting a kick from the fact that the bass player seemed to be sending laser looks to the audience and looking as if he really wanted us to enjoy the music. Afterwards, I was annoyed that the soprano sang an aria that was not listed in the program but which was familiar to me, so that now meant that it would take me ages to find exactly which one it was.
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We woke up very very late — still not used to the time zone here. Or the window in the room is so small that there’s not enough light to send messages to our bodies to wake up.
The plan today was to escape the crowds and find some quiet, which we did with a visit to the grounds of Vysehrad, an old ancient fortress on the other side of the Vltava River.
The complex was dotted by a few buildings, some of which doubled as bars or restaurants; it also included the Peter and Paul Basilica and an attached cemetery (One individual wanted engraved on his tombstone, of all things, that he was an “Endokrinologickeho”).
The authorities managing visitors to the cathedral — a beautiful, ornate structure with several smaller chapels running along the main church apse — seemed to be working very hard to raise money for the roof renovation. Donation requests with boxes for cash and QR codes were posted by (1) the ticket booth, (2) two side chapels, (3) the exit door to the main chapel, and (4) the wall to the main doors. Granted, the new roof was pretty unusual — it had a pretty mosaic pattern — but I did not necessarily want a piece of slate from the old roof, nor a set of earrings made from the same.
I did try to walk a labyrinth we found which was painted in the parking lot of a nursery school, but a few cars blocked the way, which was annoying.
We wandered the grounds here and there, took a break with a beer and a Hugo spritz, which along with the Aperol Spritz, seems popular in Prague.
In one of the benches next to the Basilica, I read for a bit while N. napped. In the late afternoon, people roamed around with ice creams, moms picked up their toddlers from the nursery school, people set their dogs loose for some exercise. Church bells rang every quarter hour.
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We had a traditional Czech dinner. We ordered svickova, which turned out to be a Czech version of galbijjim: veal with mushroom sauce. Separately we had to order a mixed salad, because, as the Czech tour guide mentioned, this country does not believe in vegetables (“Czech cuisine is 80% meat; 20% dumplings; 0% vegetables!” He seemed proud of those numbers.) When I asked how the veal was prepared, the server first motioned to his gluteous maximus to refer to the cut, and when I asked again how it was prepared, he said, “It’s cooked…” My response, “I hope so!”)
After lunch, we decided to walk back to the old town area, if only so that N. could take a few more pictures. Although our trail led us along the river and it was nice to see all the locals and tourists enjoying the beautiful weather, the only things to see along the path were restaurants, bars, and water taxi stops. The only other city curiosity were the two strips of smooth rock in an otherwise cobble stone path that was designed for bikers.
(I love to see what to us are design novelties. Another we have discovered in the Czech Republic is that plastic drink bottles have caps that do not detach all the way — about 10% of the twist cap stays attached to the bottle, which is quite ingenious, since it’s then impossible to lose a cap, and later it can be easily be recycled together with the bottle.)
It was about 7:45 pm by the time we arrived at the Old Town Bridge Tower. The Charles Bridge was still crowded, so I feared a line to ascend the viewpoint, but it appeared most of the people had other plans. We paid our Czech crowns and climbed the stone steps, which, N. noticed, were more evenly built — two steps and landing, two steps and landing.
The outside walkway provided a 360 degree view of the area, but the most beautiful side faced the Charles Bridge, with the Prague Castle and St. Vitus Cathedral to the right, and the Strahov Monestary to the left.
We saw quite a few visitors leave after the sun set behind the hills of the castle, but we knew the secret — the best colors show themselves in the golden hour after sunset. And so we stayed and saw those magical colors — gifts for our last night in Prague.
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