How Krumlov became Cesky

From Prague we took a three-hour shuttle to the handsome little city of Cesky Krumlov, described on many itineraries passing through the Czech Republic as a miniature Prague. It was evidence that even near the Austrian-Czech border, where Krumlov stood, Prague's shadow loomed large.

Below: Cesky Krumlov from the castle ramparts - Krumlov deriving from the German words for crooked meadow (you can see why here, though the meadow has long since been built up), and Cesky meaning Czech.

The Name of the Krumlov

Cesky Krumlov huddles round a particularly winding stretch of the Vltava River, many meandering miles upstream of Prague and a vital trade route linking the Danubian lands to the south and the rest of the Bohemian plateau to the north. In fact, the city derived its name from the shape of the river course in this neighbourhood - Krumlov is a Czech rendering of the original German words for crooked meadow. The Cesky that prefaces Krumlov means Czech, which seems fairly obvious given its geographical location. But the prefix was deliberate, and Krumlov by any other name would not have sounded as sweet to the fledgling interwar republic of Czechoslovakia.

Below: A fuller panorama from the hillier left bank of the old town. The town on both banks has been enclosed neatly by the river Vltava into opposing bulb-shaped peninsulas, its layout resembling the ancient yin-yang diagram with castle dominating one bank and church the other.

Much of the way since our journey began in Tallinn took us through areas which previously saw significant German settlement. Krumlov was no exception. Readers who recall their secondary school history lessons may find the German name for the Krumlov region very familiar - Sudetenland, that crescent-shaped slice of Czechoslovakia trothed to Hitler, Chamberlain's hecatomb to secure peace for our time.

During the post-imperial free-for-all at the end of the First World War, the Czechoslovak army forcibly incorporated the region into the republic after its German-speaking majority had opted to join Austria. The city's renaming served nominally to cement its claim to the territory. A generation later, following the upheaval of yet another European conflagration, the Germans in these parts were, like in Gdansk and Wroclaw, driven out of their ancestral homes at the end of the Second World War. Whether or not the expulsion and the inevitable extrajudiciary killings which accompanied it were justifiable is still a matter of controversy even today.

Below: Two of the many restaurants that litter the old town. Many of these buildings were once owned by Krumlov's German residents, expelled en masse after the Second World War.

The Yin and the Yang of Krumlov

While there is no shortage of accommodation options within Krumlov, many choose to visit on a very long day trip from Prague, to which Krumlov is often, inescapably, compared. Yet while Prague's impressive array of sights can appear to first-time visitors to be hard to swallow, Krumlov's are positively digestible and easily coverable in a dedicated half-day's worth of exploration.

Below: It's quite impossible to get lost in Krumlov's charming pocket-sized warren of cobblestone streets, with the three towers which dominate its skyline providing ample navigational assistance. Right below, on the flight of steps leading to the castle gate from the Latran quarter are those belonging to the churches of St Vitus (left) and St Jost (right). The bottommost picture shows the candy cane that is the Castle Tower.

There is a certain monadic harmony to Krumlov's urban geography too. The old town consists of two opposing bulb-shaped promontories, separated by the river, which interlock almost perfectly. Represented cartographically, the layout resembles almost uncannily the circular black and white yin-yang diagram.

Like Prague, the hillier left bank is topped by the sprawling castle complex. The castle's hulking profile is mirrored on the right bank by St Vitus Church, all the more prominent for the flatter topography which prevails there. This diametric arrangement is full of symbolism, redolent of the dualistic partitioning of the rest of the Western world into Heavenly and Earthly Kingdoms.

Below: Krumlov's city upon a hill, crowned by St Vitus Church.

Viewfinders

Such is Krumlov's iconic beauty that we spent much of our time there scouting out its best vantage points. There are several of note, each presenting a different facet. Many consider the castle walls to offer the best views, which captured nicely the old town nestling snugly against the bend of the Vltava.

There are a few ways to get to the castle gate from the old town on the right bank, all of which involve walking uphill and passing through the quarter called Latran at the base of the castle. The complex is a potpourri of different architectural styles, which reflect the several changes in ownership it underwent since its establishment in the thirteenth century. The most crowded spots are on its westernmost ramparts just after the distinctive three-tiered bridge, where the loop in the Vltava is most visible. Bring a selfie stick, a very tall tripod or a drone if you'd like a photograph with the feature.

Below (top to bottom): The three-tiered bridge connecting both ends of the castle, as seen from the right bank; the castle complex viewed from the bottom, looking like a huge pile of bones; even in the drizzle, breathing space on the castle ramparts was at a premium.

But the castle viewpoints, while undoubtedly excellent, only present half of the old town. If you'd like a panorama of old town's main landmarks, head south to Nad Schody street. The most agreeable spot is at its western end, right before a rusty gate (private property) and in front of a three-storeyed brick building which had seen better days. Being an unheralded spot (it's simply an ordinary street with unusually good views), we hadn't needed to jostle for views. Krumlov from Nad Schody looked like what it would have done in the Communist era - quiet, quaint and decidedly dilapidated if you look at the immediate environs.

Below: The other Krumlov, as seen from nad Schody street south of the old town. Both the castle and the old town are visible, though not the river, and we only had a cat for company.

Pronouncing judgement on which viewpoint was the best is like wading into the interminable quagmire that is the power struggle between church and state in medieval Europe. We enjoyed both, and not for the last time, rued only the rain.