Prague: Bridges, Lights and Dancing Buildings

Touching this martyr on the Charles Bridge will bring you luck, supposedly

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    Imagine a city where all the buildings are lit up at night, Disneyland, perhaps (never been there...); Prague has that fairytale feel.  Fresh off the train, we make our way to our apartment, a block from the Charles Bridge, dragging our wheelies noisily over the cobblestones.  The street is dizzy with tourists, classic cars offering rides for lots of Krona, and souvenir shops.  This town is in the throes of a tourist boom, and no wonder:  it's inexpensive, beautiful and untouched; the old city hasn't changed for 500 years.

Golden Lane, Prague Castle

     Our apartment is on the 2nd floor of a building which belongs to our host's grandfather.  It boasts 15 foot ceilings, nothing is square and the Ikea furniture is lost in a living room sized for a more opulent, grander era. We love it, except for the noise from Mostecka, the street outside our window, at night; this town stays up late. We wander across the Charles Bridge in the evening, marvelling at the views of Prague castle on the hill overlooking the town, the busy waterfront scene.  Lights everywhere.

Karen's new coxing aids

     We spend our first day on "our" side of the river - Mala Strana - getting to the castle in time to see the changing of the guard, visiting St. Vitus's Cathedral and the Loreto, a former monastery.  The highlight, for us, is visiting Golden Lane, a picturesque area of tiny houses built into the spaces in the north wall of the castle.  Goldsmiths, among other castle servants, may have lived here.  Kafka lived here in # 27 for a while.  And among the arms, Karen finds a collection of instruments she's planning to use in coxing. 

     We wander through the local parks; lots of green on this side of the river.  And in the afternoon, the intrepid three take the funicular up to Petrin Hill and walk back down; I retreat to the apartment and a decent cuppa.  Tonight, the Barbs have goulash for dinner and we are officially done with Czech and German fare, except for pastries.  The iconic one here is Trdelnik (add a vowel; troodelnick), a worm of pastry wound around a circular metal thingie which rotates as it cooks, is covered with sugar and cinnamon and the interior slathered with chocolate or plum jam.  Cheap and yummy.

The Spanish Synagogue, Prague

    The next morning we venture across the bridge to Stare Mesto, the old town, and Josefov, the Jewish quarter.  The Maisel Synagogue has been turned into a memorial for the 180,000 Czech Jews who were the victims of the Holocaust.  Each name is written on a wall, organized by location and family.  Simple and beautiful, terrible and affecting, all at the same time.  Two of my children are Jewish (I know, not technically) on their father's father's side, and I couldn't help but look for their family's name, even though I knew of none in Czechoslovakia.  Then I felt horribly selfish.  I suppose I was trying to personalize the horror of that many people lost.  The adjacent cemetery, with its jumble of gravestones, reminded me that there was no one left, after the war, to tend family graves.

Frank Gehry's "Dancing Building"

     The Spanish Synagogue, in contrast, was built in 1868 on the site of the oldest Jewish house of prayer ("the Old Shul") in Prague. It was designed in a Moorish style with Islamic motifs and is very rich and beautiful.  We hit the Old Town Square just in time to witness Prague's iconic clock, in which the 12 apostles march across two "windows" every hour on the hour.  Scads of tourists.  Wenceslas Square, famous for being the location of the Velvet Revolution in 1989, is otherwise uninspiring, and we head back to the river where we walk by Frank Gehry's "Dancing Building," its waist nipped in to preserve the neighboring views.  Office space for rent inside; Gehry may be architecturally intrepid, but his tenants often don't think much of his buildings, my architect daughter tells me.

Notice I'm skipping the coffee and going straight for the pastry...

 


     Prague: the beer is cheap, the pastries never end, history is palpable, and the lights never go out; a tourist's dream.  We leave in the morning, spend the night in a "themhotel" in Regensberg (easier and less crazy than going back to Munich on the last night of Oktoberfest).  One room is a "Hatterei," and in the other Karen and JT sleep under the Pope - I kid you not.  In the morning we face the endless day: Munich airport, 10+ hours to Vancouver, a mind-numbing 3- hour layover, a quick buzz to Seattle, and we're home. That was the day before yesterday, I think.