Below: Our favourite spot in Prague, overlooking the gentle Vltava valley and the arched grace of its many bridges.
Bohemian Rhapsody
The poster girl of Eastern European tourism, Prague manages to be regal, ravishing and rhapsodic all at once. Time seems to stand still in this bejewelled and much beloved city. There seems hardly to be any room for the city's rich history amidst the droves of self-absorbed spire-seekers jostling in its streets. But it is nigh on impossible not to be self-absorbed in Prague. Looking from the castle ramparts at dusk towards the Old Town, often aglow in a golden haze - snow or no snow - the opening verses of Queen's immortal song spring to mind. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Below (top to bottom): the impressive spire-scape in the Old Town Square, boasting from left to right the Astronomical Clock Tower, the Church of St Nicholas and the Church of Our Lady before Tyn; the view from near the Astronomical Clock, where crowds gather like clockwork on the hour to witness the elaborate passage of time.
Like the rest of the song, the city is an eclectic admixture of human attempts both febrile and feeble to fashion the beautiful. And like the rest of the song, he who delves into the city's past finds a profound darkness barely concealed by the veil of nonchalant gaiety which some have come to associate with the term Bohemian. Although it has come a long way from its early days as a slaving station, Prague hardly stands aloof from the long civil war that is European history. The city even has a place in the violence hall of fame. Twice, Prague witnessed defenestrations (an act which usually involves throwing hapless subjects of popular wrath out of the window) which sparked long ruinous wars in the fourteenth and seventeenth centuries. The former was a vicious civil war that involved Czechs condemning (and burning) one another as heretics. The latter, known to posterity as Thirty Years' War, was Europe's most destructive conflict until the cataclysm of 1914.
Below: The Jan Hus Memorial near the northeastern corner of the Old Town Square, commemorating the fourteenth century reformer whose efforts led to civil war. Nearly two centuries before Martin Luther, Hus railed against the corruption of the Catholic Church and pushed for the use of, in place of unfamiliar high-flown Latin, the local vernacular in worship. Incidentally, the square also saw the dying agonies of Hussites and burnt at the stake.
It was as if the embers still smothered when we arrived at Florenc bus station. Smoke hugged every step of our twenty-minute walk to the apartment we booked. This was born of tobacco and not gunpowder, though we didn't know which was worse. It wasn't apparent to us before, but it seemed that every other person in Prague had a cigarette clasped by either lip or finger.
Our apartment Pragapart was run by a Georgian-Czech family whose heritage was given away by their large collection of Russian DVDs in the reception. It stood just two minutes' walk off Wenceslas Square, where the Old and the New Towns met. Today's Czech Republic was born at Wenceslas Square in November 1989, when what began ostensibly as a commemoration of International Students' Day gathered pace and led ten days later to the collapse of communism in then Czechoslovakia. Dubbed the Velvet Revolution because everybody kept their heads (literally and figuratively speaking), this and the Velvet Divorce which spelt the end of Europe's most unpronounceable state in 1993 (the state broke up into the Czech and Slovak Republics) were heralded for their anomalously peaceful resolutions. These in fact numbered as one of the few occasions when European discord wasn't settled by a decisive show of force.
Below: Wenceslas Square, where the Czech Republic we know today was born in 1989 and where the Old and New Towns met.
Our Winter's Tale
We sought as much as possible to avoid the throngs, which formed around the usual attractions - namely, the Astronomical Clock at the Old Town Square, the entrance to Prague Castle and Charles Bridge. Brief drizzles apart, the weather was quite delightful, and we wondered how it was still only January.
Below: Front and back views of St Vitus Cathedral in the castle complex, possibly the most photographed landmark in Prague where Bohemian monarchs (many of whom also occupied the throne of the Holy Roman Empire) were crowned and (some of them) buried.
Prague owes much of its beauty to its location in the winding wooded valley of the Vltava, a blue ribbon across a rolling sea of tiled roofs, stately domes and iron spires. The aforementioned attractions also proffered the most popular blockbuster views, where the desired panorama often unfolded above a tousled, polychrome bar of hats and hair - felt, velvet, polyester, matt, auburn and blonde. We decided on two other vantage points where the same views could be savoured without having to vie for elbow room. These we covered at either end of a long day's walk, and were situated on the hilly slopes of the Vltava's left bank where the castle also stands.
Below (top to bottom): A walk along the Vltava yields possibly the most famous view of the Prague Castle complex from across the Vltava; and also of Art Nouveau facades south of the Old Town.
The first was Strahov Monastery, a Premonstratensian (named after the order's place of origin and not any inherent predilection to preach) establishment which boosts two magnificent libraries. The monastery could be reached by following the famous Nerudova Street (which once linked the castle across Charles Bridge to the Old Town) uphill from the Mala Strana. We left the Nerudova as it turned north towards the castle. At that point the views began and the street became refreshingly quiet. Disappointingly, we could only admire the libraries' gilded splendour from behind a simple barricade. It had been a while since we were last in a silent library.
Above: Strahov Monastery, west of Prague Castle and an unheralded location from where marvellous views could be savoured of the Old Town.
Below: Eyes only were allowed to roam the beautiful libraries to which visitors to the Strahov often flock.
After the Strahov, we walked northeast through the castle grounds to Letensky profil - the second viewpoint and possibly my favourite spot in Prague. Set on a bluff at the edge of a out-of-the-way city park, Letensky profil offers arguably the best view of the city's bridges. Few tourists knew of or bothered to get there. Apart from a few dedicated photography enthusiasts, the only people we encountered were locals either walking their dogs or exercising. We got there just in time for dinner, which we had at the adjacent Letensky zamecek. There was no other alternative. Romantic views alone did not staunch Mary's pressing hunger.
Below (top to bottom): The perfect Prague evening involves first watching the sun go down from Letensky profil, a viewpoint north of the Old Town; and then enjoying dinner at the Letensky zamecek, the restaurant just behind.
Hints of home
Prague also marked six weeks away from home for us. We missed the warmth and regular daylight hours of Singapore's eternal summer, and thought sometimes about char kway teow and kway chap (especially at night when our rumbling stomachs complained about suppers taken too early). Yet it was still mostly manageable, and we had not then stepped yet into the Eastern Europe shunned by tourists and comfortable infrastructure. A visit to an Asian fastfood restaurant on our first evening in Prague changed all that.
Whilst the green curry we ordered wasn't all that fantastic, it provided the most immediate reminder of home we've had thus far. Henceforth, each picture on Facebook or Instagram taken in Singapore triggered little pangs of longing. It didn't help that these depicted the revelry of pre-Chinese New Year festivities - of tub after tub of pineapple tarts and bakkwa, lor hei-strewn tables and pun memes involving festive greetings and animals from the Chinese zodiac.
With Vienna and Budapest still to look forward to, the tipping point came much later. But where homesickness was concerned, it was evident that we crossed some sort of Rubicon when we arrived at the Danube.
I blame the Czech attempt at Thai green curry.
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