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There is something lovely in the air of Prague, and it's not the drains. There's a romantic, anything is possible, wonderful feeling of lightness. Of course, it helped that we were there in Spring, and that we ran the Prague half-marathon, so there were a few endorphins bubbling around as well. Nonetheless, Prague was magnificent, beautiful, and one of the best mini-breaks we've had.
We arrived late on Friday night, after a more than usually frantic week at work, from the start
everything seemed to go our way - trains and tubes and planes were all there when we arrived, and soon we were rattling through Prague on a beaten up suburban bus to our hotel - even here when it seemed we were being conned it all turned out well - the hotel was all full, regretfully, management's fault, apologies, etc, etc, we were driven to another of their hotels, closer to the city centre. It turned out the place was gorgeous, was at the foot of the Charles bridge, with views to the castle and St Nicholas church, in a loft suite, but best of all, it was close to where the run started ...
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We woke Saturday a little nervous - with little training we didn't really know what to expect. Breakfast was a buffet with one of the grumpiest people I have ever met - she harrumphed at every attempt at personableness and stalked in and out. We decided to cram in some sightseeing before the run, so we strolled over Charles bridge, a gently curving platform over the river Vltava with tremendous medieval gatehouses at either end, and sculptures of religious figures, particularly saints martyred in Prague and nearby. We were there early, and had the bridge almost to ourselves, only locals out for a quick constitutional to share it with, and the views of Prague on either bank and stretching up the hill to the castle on the west were superb. We then wandered to old town square, home of the astronomical clock, twin towered church of our lady before tyn, and an Easter market. At the centre of the square is a massive and moving monument to Jan Hus. We wandered through the market and then strolled to the art nouveau city hall, decorated by many Czech artists who did not normally speak to each other, but agreed to collaborate on patriotic grounds and produced a sublime structure in which every surface, every medium has been decorated in intricate art nouveau style.
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We then headed home, changed and prepared for the race, lots of water and bananas. It was now that the true fortuitousness of our hotel was made apparent, we dressed lighter than we would have had to with a long journey, and then discovered thousands of tourist swarming
over the Charles bridge and we forced our way through to get to the starting line. We made it in good time and stretched as 'eye of the tiger' and other motivational songs blared. The race gun was fired by none other than the President of the Republic, Vaclav Klaus. As we
streamed past the start line, walking, running, walking, Smetana's 'My Country' blasted from the speakers - it was the most moving, and patriotic (in a good way) race start I've ever experienced.
The run itself was exhilarating, past beautiful buildings and over lovely bridges we all streamed, and as we ran, the weather improved from threatening rain to sunny with a few puffy clouds, perfect temperature as we headed north and doubled back through the old town, past many music stands where Czech bands played to the runners - we realised our pace quickened each time, as we ran to the Czech metal and rock bands along the way. People cheered and waved us on, and we felt on top of the world as the sun shone, the beauty of Prague overwhelmed us and we got closer to the finish line. High points were running over cobbled old streets through the old town, through an easter market with the smell of cinnamon and potato rolls, past beautiful
buildings from medieval to 20th century, which all showed a sensibility for harmonious blending of the past with the new, and going out of the tourist strips to parts of Prague we never would have seen, suburbs and ordinary streets, the Staropramen brewery. Finally we were finished, and as we filed past the finish line, a girl shook my hand and put a finisher medal over my neck, strangely humbling and exhilarating, and then we were eating and drinking until our stomachs
hurt, and trying to stretch out the soreness (and in my case cramps!).
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We were on such a high afterwards, we practically danced home, and freshly showered headed out to see the Mucha exhibition. We discovered that we had both loved his work from almost childhood, and the museum was a delight, small and intimate and detailing his life, his time in Paris and the USA and return home, his crowning achievement of synthesising the Slavic narrative into a unified whole. It was wonderful but by the end we were exhausted and footsore, coming down from the high of the run. So we headed for a pub, and got our electrolyte fix the only way you can in the Czech republic - with beer. Much beer, or Pivo, which I am reliably informed is the same in all Slavic languages, which I think shows an admirable set of priorities for the language group. We drank and ate stodgy dough-like bread, boiled like bagels and whiter than any white bread, stew and deep fried onion rings with a sea of what looked like mustard and indeed turned out to be mustard.
Then, full, happy and a little drunk, we wandered to the little St Nicholas, on the old town square, for the apogee - the baroque musical recital in a baroque church. The soloist was a little dwarf like smiling man who nevertheless retained an iron grip on his little orchestra, and plunged with fiendish glee and panache into Handel, Bach, Vivaldi and Mozart's 'Prague' Symphony, beautiful and lyrical evocation of the city. As they played, most on baroque instruments, we looked up into the muted darkness of the dome, filled with baroque illustrations of the fall of man, god's mercy, and other wonders. As we sat on the pews I reflected on this divine music, in a divine setting, the way the Czechs seemed to have effortlessly produced beauty at every turn, but I suppose that the labour and perhaps pain and heartache are hidden from us by history, until only the brightness of their achievements remain. After the concert finished we hadn't had enough of the night so searched for a bar, finding a Cuban one that had fantastic music but standing room only, we took pity on our aching legs and kept searching. Just as we had given up, near our hotel, we found a cosy, bohemian wine bar, full of locals talking animatedly. We took the last two seats, right up at the bar, and discussed Czech wines with the knowledgeable woman behind the bar. She was keen for us to try distinct wines of her country, and we sampled and chatted and enjoyed the magical Prague night.
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Sunday was a little greyer, and my victory for the day was achieving the impossible, getting our tetchy lady at the breakfast room to make us omelettes fresh. With a good all you can eat buffet behind us, we trekked up the hill towards the church of which the lonleyplanet noted 'if you only see one baroque church in Prague, make it this one'. And wow, St Nicholas' church didn't disappoint - every surface seemed to be decorated, a riot of green and pink marble, gold, sombre paintings and more gold statuary. We were allowed to climb the stairs and look down on it all from the gallery.
Then we continued our trek upwards to the castle. The immense complex broods above Prague from a spur, and inside is a warren of beautiful but stark courtyards, the massive bulk of St Vitus' cathedral, and a rather lovely if a little long display of the history of the castle, from prehistoric to the modern day in a dazzling array of exhibits. Hilarious for us were the detailed and useful labels next to every exhibit - the three young women at the ticket booth had engaged in vicious upselling to the poor befuddled Irish pensioners before us, basically directing them to pay more for the audioguides because there was no english explanations throughout the castle. The exhibit was superb, but, as I mentioned, a little long, which perhaps accounted for them offering, at the exit, a quick recap of all the major parts of the exhibition in one summary!
We also managed to take in the changing of the guard. When we got there, it seemed thousands of tourist hemmed in the guards. One guard, charged with keeping them back from the sacred spaces on which the incoming guards would tramp, impressed us with his cool, polite, calm but very insistent moving of tourists from in front of the lines. Given the tourists behaved like a ravening pack of rabble turned out to see the Christians fed to the lions, his grace under pressure was remarkable. By the end of the ordeal, I wanted to shake him by the hand for remaining human and calm in those circumstances. The changing of the guard was impressive as they marched towards the gates, exactly as I imagined they had done for centuries, come to relieve their fellows. By turns sombre and jolly the trumpets played as they clashed arms, saluted, formed, marched and eventually changed. It was almost worth being kneed in the back by a million Spanish grandmothers who wanted to use my head as a tripod (I'm not joking), or who had no compunction in delivering a discreet kidney blow to get me out of the way.
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We then decided, perversely, to wait in the queue to get into St Vitus. We managed to eat most of our lunch in that queue. True, the cathedral was stunning, with stained glass completed in the 20th century by the likes of Mucha, beautiful and clear and startlingly bold in colour, and the
room in which I think St Vitus' remains are stored was a wonder, precious stones patterning the walls and medieval frescoes above them, the bones stored in a cathedral shaped coffin.
Then we were out, down the hill, legs still a little sore on the hundreds of steps, and finally to another pub for more beer, garlic soup and a strange salad. We headed out for the airport, on the same old suburban bus, rattling past suburbs that reminded me inexplicably of Helsinki, and then green and rocky spurs, and wooded hillsides, to the airport. The flight and arrival, despite them cancelling our entire tube line, flew by, and we arrived home a little breathless but happy, still smiling from the magic of the city of Prague.
Photos of our babymoon, through the Glass house mountains and the Blackall range, and finally to Noosa. What a wonderful holiday for the 2.5 of us!
I am sitting in the residences of the University of Onati, Spain. The University dates back to medieval times, and is believed to have been the first one on the Iberian peninsula. The University building is stunning, and the residential complex no less so. It's a beautiful space to sit and reflect. Onati is cradled between sharp hills, so wherever you walk there are views up to the peaks. There is much still of the medieval and renaissance periods around this part of the town.
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There is something lovely in the air of Prague, and it's not the drains. There's a romantic, anything is possible, wonderful feeling of lightness. Of course, it helped that we were there in Spring, and that we ran the Prague half-marathon, so there were a few endorphins bubbling around as well. Nonetheless, Prague was magnificent, beautiful, and one of the best mini-breaks we've had. .JPG)
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