Prague

Out of the train station before 7 AM, I looked right, then left, unsure of my direction. From the map I had printed off in Budapest, it appeared as if my hotel in Prague was south of the train station. My directionally-challenged mind, however, struggled to find north. The morning air, crisp and pleasant, pleased my still sleepy mind since the Tylenol PM remained ever so slightly active in my system. I pulled out the plums, ubiquitious throughout Budapest at stands and shops everywhere, wiped the moisture off onto my jacket, then bite into the soft fruit. The plum's skin broke easily and the tart meat spread as my teeth tore into it, pulling the fruit in half with one quick motion. I chewed the fruit as I made my way to the left of the station, figuring that was south. A few pedestrians passed me, or me them, as I wandered south on Wilsonova (which, luckily for me, turned into Mezibranska and then into Sokolska). At the midpoint between the train station and my hotel, I found the famous St. Wenceslas Square. A stunning museum stood opposite the square, and on the side where I walked, a spectacular monument shot into the sky - a giant horesman in the air. 7 AM on a Sunday morning, a universally quiet time, provided me a rare opportunity (I learned this later) to enjoy this area almost alone. The sun had barely risen, only a few souls wandered about (perhaps from the night prior?), and the noise of the city barely begain to speak. Peaceful perfection.

Honestly, I felt as if I were cheating on a lover, my appreciation for Budapest still so strong. The pull of Prague's old town grabbed me forcefully, it's buildings and architecture so profoundly beautiful. To remain focused on finding my hotel proved difficult, my eyes kept stealing glances to the right, intoxicated by the sights. Resolved, I moved quickly south, excited that the course to the new hotel appeared so easy. Ten minutes later, after walking from one side of the street to the other via odd pedestrian walkways that ended with metal rails compeling me to cross, walk a little more, and then re-cross at the next block, I found Hotel Staint George, exactly where is appeared on my map. Miracles happen.

Inside the hotel, I did not have much hope for an early check-in, but inquired nonetheless. The extremely handsome Czech boy at the desk greeted me as his replacement, a more stern looking woman, was taking over from his night shift. After a minute or two, they found my reservation and informed me that the room was ready. Perfect. I found my way to floor 4, and room 403. I dropped my bag, took off my belt, and softly placed my body onto the little-itty-bitty twin bed. A glace around the room proved quick - the standard single room no more or less than the pictures from the internet, quality similar to a Ramada or Best Western type hotel in the states. This bed would do for now, my tired mind reasoned, but would have to be upgraded later. I crashed for another two hours and found consciousness again around 9 AM, still early for a Sunday.

Had I not know instinctively from my walk earlier that morning, I certainly would have figured out where to be by following the swarms of tourists heading toward Wenceslas Square. By now, the time reached nearly 11 AM, and the tourists thrived, gathering in masses and scurrying like ants in every direction. Immediately, I understood what the travel brochures meant when they spoke of Europe during the summer tourist high season. I could not believe the amount of people milling about this place. Nothing in Budapest prepared me for this. Yes, Prague would be a different experience. I shoved my map back into my pocket and simply followed the masses, like a sheep heading to slaughter I thought, then laughed at myself. So much for rugged individualism and finding my own course here. I probably could not have broken from the mass had I wanted to, the crowds so intense and the streets of old town so narrow. The pack broke when it arrived in Old Town Square, room now to disperse and set a new course alone perhaps? I could not ignore the Astronomical Clock as I entered the square because it had just begun to sing - small doors mid-way up the tower opened and animated characters moved from inside to out while music played for the tourists. I grabbed my camera and caught the last few seconds of this routine before the clock turned 11 AM and the show ended. I suppose this display occurs every hour, but I did not want to wait around for round two. The second sight on the tourist list appeared to be the Charles Bridge. Again, ample signs and gangs of tourists lead the way.

It took me about an hour to make this assessment: The Czechs have certainly mastered the art of marketing their city to tourists. The old world charm, sophistication, and architectural elegance communicate ambiance while the shops, bars, and restaurants cement the overall sensual mood. A few too many junky tourist shops sour the overall feeling for me, but hey, capitalism, regardless of it's many positives, is not pretty. The crowds delivered me to Charles Bridge, the famous gateway over the Vltava River (Moldan, in English I think). From here, across the river on the hill, sat the Prague Castle - Glorious. Ambitious. Stately. Stunning. Breath-taking. Again, the pull from the other side of the bridge nearly betrayed the beauty of the bridge itself. I wanted to appreciate the movement from point A to point B, so I forced myself to focus on each step, so that I could take in every detail across the water. A kid, dressed in a Knight's costume greeted me at the mouth of the bridge. I could tell he thought his job was as silly as I did and we shared a laugh. Other tourists took pictures with him. A make-shift band, playing for money, had established a spot on the brige, filling the air with the elegance of classical music. Small boats and ferries made their way down the river. Lovers took pictures from the bridge. Artists peddled their crafts. Still, I looked up, to both sides of the river now. A Thousand years of history before me, many men had traveled these steps, looked at both sides of this old town, and I hope, appreciated it's beauty. Romanesque, Gothic, Baroque, Neo-Classical, Art Nouveau - so many styles of buildings peppered the city scape. The overwhelming diversity, yet simpathetic brillance of styles, paralyzed me. All I could do was look, appreciate, and smile.

On the castle side of the river, some government agency must have passed an ordinance that all roofs must be topped with terra cotta tiles. The sea of orange, almost blinding, started at the shore and rose to nearly castle-level at the top. Speaking of the top, the Prague Castle and St Vitus Catherdral absolutely dominate the panorama of the city. Countless paintings and pictures have captured, or have attempted to catch, its elegance. Considering Czech history, the fact that these monuments still stand certainly seems remarkable and a testiment to her people.

I grabbed a two dollar beer and walked the streets on the castle side, again necessarily following the tourist packs. I could see the path to the castle went right, so instead I opted to venture left, away from the sheep. A quiet street provided me the opportunity to check out some Antik Shops (just like it sounds). I tried on handful of art-deco men's rings, just for giggles. I stopped buying these things years ago because I never end up wearing them once I return from my trips. However, I still enjoy the process of trying them on, wondering whose hands (and what life) they had once belonged to during another place and time in history. Many of these rings were beautifully crafted and contained monograms in the stones. They were very personal and I felt honored to wear them.

Outside the stores, the sun warmed me and lured me higher to the castle. I made my way up the hill. At the top, I found my prize. The view of the castle and the cathederal, though amazing, were easier to grasp from below. Magnificent nonetheless, I walked around, snapping photos and people-watching. Below me, the sea of terra cotta roofs moved with the rambling hillside, and this vantage point offered a different, equally beautiful, view of the topography. Across the river, the old town architecture dazzled once again. My eyes scanned the panorama, stopping at each interesting building to fully appreciate the structure and tone. Just as a sculpture or painting, the artists who created these masterpieces certainly had a piont of view and a story to tell. Discovering each of these things can be joyfully fulfilling. Lost in my own space, I barely noticed a young couple watching me watch the city. They spoke Enlglish and said something about me being alone. Sometimes I forget that mine in not a course for the faint at heart. I think it saddened her that I was by myself in Prague. Part of me wanted to tell her that sometimes people who are with other people are more alone (distant, paralyzed, unsure, afraid) than those of us who are content in our own skin. But, I let her be her, then went on my way.