PRAGUE MAY 2000 day 1

Text by Pink Oboe, pictures from Prague Information Service.

Our chums Paul and Joan are noted for their subtlety. When they decided that they wanted to see Prague they sent us a guidebook for a present. On previous trips to Paris and Venice, I had acted as guide so they assumed that I might have to do some homework before I could serve in that role for Prague, never having been there. They were not wrong as I knew little of the place: Prague, capital of the Czech Republic; home of Good King Wenceslas who once looked out; a place where people were defenestrated. That was about it.

I was expecting a lot longer flight than the hour and a half that it took. We circled over a river that I assume was the Vltava, Prague's river and that which inspired Smetana to write his beautiful melodic piece of that name. We could see ox bow lakes but no sign of the city that we had come to visit. Our holiday had been booked rather later than normal and had cost a good deal more than I had anticipated. The reason for this was that we were travelling at half term and that the hotel we had chosen was slap bang in the middle of town.

With the price came a pick up at the airport so, bags miraculously recovered from the delights of our British Airways flight, we hovered around the National Car Rental booth as instructed. There was no one manning this which may have been the reason it was chosen as we were soon approached by our driver and led away to a minibus. Luggage and bodies loaded we were off, weaving from lane to lane as the mood took the driver. Both our experiences of Czech driving, at the beginning and end of the holiday, gave us a lasting impression of the fatalism that must be endemic in the Czech psyche. Two signs made us laugh. The first was an enigmatic one at the airport that announced non-stop parking. A clever trick if you can manage it. The other was written on a tourist bus as we approached the centre of Prague: Sad Tourist it said but it was fortunately not prophetic.

The airport is out to the west of the city and we approached the centre past some impressive buildings high on one of the hills beside the Vltava river. Modern Prague is made up of a series of five ancient towns: the part in which we were staying was the Stare Mesto or Old Town. We eventually swung across a bridge over the Vltava and back upon ourselves to bump over some impressive sleeping policemen along Ribena Street. Well, not quite, but Czech is a most confusing language with successions of consonants that defy pronunciation so we had to guess how many words were pronounced. Fortunately nearly every Czech we met spoke perfect English, even down to the newspaper seller from whom I bought postcards. He addressed me in English before I had said a word. My Union Flag tattooed on my forehead obviously gave me away.

Our hotel was the Maximilian, an unfortunate Austrian emperor who ended his days up against a wall in Mexico, but a pleasant hotel. As we signed in, I noticed that the walk in price of a double room was about £110 a night which made me feel somewhat happier about the £550 each we had paid for the four nights and the flights. The room had that airless feel of unused rooms but the windows were soon flung open against the express instructions of the management: they wanted us to use the air conditioning but it was both noisy and inefficient. In late May, early June, the natural air temperature in Prague is low 20s so we had no need of air conditioning anyway. Across the red roofs was the onion bulb of a church whose cracked bell would tell us the time through the coming nights. A blackbird sang his lovely territorial song despite there being little identifiable as garden in our central well and his singing was a constant companion while we were in our room.

Loins girded we ventured out, guidebook in hand but with the slight problem of not having the slightest idea where we were. I knew from the approach that the river was not far away so led the team, Paul and Joan, Rosemary and myself, down towards it. Immediately we found a beautiful house painted all over with swirls and pictures and with four busts in niches. This landmark, referred to as Benny, Pete and co from the incomprehensible Czech names under the busts, became one of our means of finding our way back to the hotel. Soon we were on a major road that approached a bridge with a most impressive metronomic piece of sculpture swinging back and forth high on the hill behind it. This looked all the world like an anti-aircraft gun to my warlike and jaundiced mind. We seemed to be in the Jewish quarter as the area abounded in Synagogues. The Jews of Prague were rounded up by the Nazis in the Second World War and some 70,000 were despatched to concentration camps and killed. Fewer than three thousand remain now.

Near the bridge with the Metronome dominating it, we came across an advert for a Jazz cruise. I am not really into Jazz except for some aspects of Stan Getz and Joao Gilberto but was happy to go along as the prospect of an evening cruise along the Vltava appealed. We booked for the Wednesday night.

We decided that we would follow the river so strolled along by its side enjoying the sunshine. Soon we came to an impressive building covered in flags. Again, as I could not identify where we were, there was little chance of finding out what we were standing outside. In fact it was the Rudolfinum, named after a more enlightened Austro-Hungarian ruler than most, Rudolf II, and the home of the Czech Philharmonia. The Czechs seem to combine music and government on occasions and the building had housed the Czech Parliament between the wars. Outside was a statue of Jan Palach, a Czech student from the Charles University who set fire to himself as a protest against the Warsaw Pact invasion of 1968 that brought an end to the Prague Spring of Alexander Dubcek.

Onward and we soon came to a high castle tower at one end of an ancient bridge. At last, something my limited knowledge of Prague could identify, the Charles Bridge. Charles IV, a Holy Roman Emperor, a daft title if there ever was as they had more to do with Germany than Rome and most were far from Holy, had built the bridge after its predecessor had been washed away. For some structural reason, the architect included eggs in the concrete used to cement the stones together and one account mentions sugar too: obviously he had been watching too many cookery programmes. Charles was a more enlightened ruler than most of the other Holy Roman Joes and had viewed Prague as a major centre in the early 1340s, endowing Charles University at a time only Oxford and the Sorbonne were major European centres of learning and gilding many of the buildings giving Prague the epithet of the Golden City.

Charles Bridge is now pedestrian only and is famous for strolling over, a place for seeing and being seen. We went back many times to view the city from its parapets and to watch the constant performance of street theatre and displays of its artists. As I progressed onto the bridge, I lost the nurks somewhere behind me as I concentrated on catching some of the atmosphere on the camcorder. A gentleman was playing a zither-like instrument and the music, the bustling scene and historical backdrop made a pleasing composition. I was summoned back by Rosemary to say that we were climbing the tower at the east side of the bridge the better to view the scene. Round and round we went up a spiral staircase with a peculiar interval in the steps presumably designed to make progress difficult if you were attacking. After about twenty steps or so we came out into an antechamber where money was removed from us, 30 crowns or so, with nearly 60 crowns to the pound. Very little was very expensive in Prague as we were pleased to discover as time went by. The gentleman in charge spoke perfect English and dispensed the tickets with the warning that they were closing in about a quarter of an hour so look sharp.

Up and up and round and round, until we eventually appeared on the ledge of a leaded roof with magnificent views of the surrounding city. The walkers on the bridge made long shadows and the low angle sunlight lit the foliage of a tree by the side of the river with almost Autumnal colour. After viewing the city from a number of different angles, we found our way back to the stairs and met a man with an enormous key coming to shoo the punters down so we descended.

We continued on our progress across the bridge. Rosemary found some watercolours that she rather admired but it did not seem a suitable time to lay out large sums so I suggested that we leave it until a little later. This was a mistake as the artist disappeared and was not on the bridge again for any of the revisits we made. Czech artists on the bridge produced the usual tourist pot boilers but also had some pieces of real art that obviously satisfied some inner need.

At the far side I was beginning to feel in need of sustenance or at least of a beer. Prague is supposed to be the home of beer drinking (the Czechs drink more per capita than even the Belgians) and we had not sampled any yet: a terrible omission. We were about to dive down a side street when Joan pointed out another lovely Czech sign in the window of a shop: garden inside. Another clever trick!

The place we had found had some completely unpronounceable name "U snedeneho kramu": its advertising postcard now finds a place in the journal. However, it obviously sold beer and also had a fixed price menu involving Goulash and roast duck and dumplings for the splendid sum of 200 crowns or something under four pounds. We decided to indulge. A young Czech lady invited us to sit down and took our order. I had some of the local Pilsner, Pilsner Urquaat, that cost all of 40 Crowns for a half litre. The young lady was adorned with a very short mini skirt which she had the legs to display to advantage. I saw several Czech young ladies with rather splendid legs over the holiday. The current style seemed to be an extremely short mini skirt which was additionally slit almost to the waist. I only hope it catches on here.

There had been a run on the Goulash the young lady announced and would we mind having two onion soups instead? This was fine by us and each couple had half and half and swapped at half time. The duck was very good indeed with plenty of meat and done almost to the level of crispy duck so that all the fat had been allowed to disappear in the cooking. The dumplings were a little solid. The Czechs go for their dumplings in a big way and make them out of potato as well as from flour. The ones on the plate had the consistency of Italian polenta which is not my favourite accompaniment to Italian food. Polenta is often like a lead weight that lingers in the stomach for several hours after the meal. The sweet was an interesting concoction of pancake, fruit compote and chocolate which does not sound as though it would go but did.

On the tray near us was a bottle of Slivovice, something I had long wanted to try. Nothing particularly amazing there except that this said it was kosher Slivovice. There was a good deal of discussion about how Slivovice could be kosher or even non-kosher. Which particular Jewish law was transgressed or could be transgressed by the preparation of brandy from plums for God's sake?

Suitably replete, we ventured out and staggered back towards the bridge. I spotted a supermarket and determined to buy some bottled water, always a good idea when in foreign parts as the supply in the mini-bar always costs an arm and a leg. In the little supermarket I spotted a liquor store so investigated and decided to try some Slivovice, kosher or non-kosher. I saw the same brand and invested the splendid sum of £4 to buy half a litre. For good measure, I bought half a litre of lemon vodka for just over a pound. I could now see why the guidebook mentioned that Prague was a good place for a dipsomaniac. Hic.

The light over the Charles bridge was splendid with the evening sun lighting the clouds with pinks and reds and suffusing the whole scene with additional magic. We tottered back along winding streets heading for what I thought at the time was the main square in Prague, Wenceslas Square. We eventually came out into a large square by the simple expedient of following the general throng, always a good trick for a self-employed guide. There was the astrological clock which is one of only two items in my Wonders of the World book for Czechoslovakia and a very imposing cleared space surrounded by film set houses, churches and towers. In fact, still not relating our position to the map meant that I had mistaken the Old Town Square for Wenceslas Square. It was getting dark, we were tired and we still had to find our way back. We struck out in the general direction of the hotel and it was Rosemary who recognised when we crossed our earlier path. We found our way back to Benny and Pete and finally to the hotel. Paul and Joan had a nightcap of Slivovice with us and then it was time for bed.

day 1 - day 2 - day 3 - days 4&5