Sunday morning in Prague, I awoke not to the sound of churchbells, but to the sight of half the bathroom ceiling on the floor. Luckily, having stumbled into bed in the wee hours, I stumbled out of it at noon, at which point the hotel had an extra room available with all of its ceilings intact. Reassured that I would not have insulation in my toothpaste the following morning, we happily headed off to brunch at the same vegetarian restaurant from last night. I'd seen by chance that they served a brunch buffet on the first Sunday of every month, and having so enjoyed last night's meal, we were all too happy to revel in the coincidence with a big plate of vegetarian goodness. I've never had Thai green curry alongside baked beans, Mediterranean spreads, and spinach quesadilla, but it is a combination I will gladly encounter again.
 |
| It's not called "food porn" for nothing. |
I also decided to be adventurous and try another exotic drink - a Middle Eastern concoction called
sahleb, "
a milky drink from the tubers of the Orchis mascula plant, popular in the Middle East for its aphrodisiac effects." I can't speak for the last bit, but it sure was tasty with cinnamon and walnuts - like warm, thick yogurt, only mildly sweet instead of tart.
I might have made a reservation for our last night in Prague. Maybe. (Don't look at me like that - I have a third bizarre plant drink to try!)
Then it was off across the Vltava River from Old Town to New Town, and then to Prague Castle, home to many treacherous cobblestones and narrow staircases. Instead of walking along the famous Charles Bridge, Gothic postcard star extraordinaire, we opted to take its less famous northern cousin, and thus get a picture of it in all its glory. I rather fancy that the arches look like the trails of skipping stones, bouncing across the surface of the river.
Also across the river in Malá Strana is the world-famous Kafka Museum. Oh, you haven't heard of it? That's because it's unfinished, buried under the footnotes of dozens of literary scholars. I am afraid to go in, lest I find myself stuck in an attic with a bunch of lawyers.
 |
| What they don't tell you is that the hot air balloon ride never ends. |
The climb to the top was refreshing, with a nice view of the city below - but not nearly as the view I'd get later from the top of Petrín Hill. The buildings in the castle's vicinity confirmed my impression of Prague: it's as though someone shrank Vienna down to a children's toy set, decorated it with gingerbread house trim, shook out all of the normal inhabitants, and filled it with tourists, souvenir shops, and fraudulent currency exchange stations. Perhaps we can call the kitsch authentic to Prague because it's Slavic.
Austria's fingerprints are all over Prague - behold a building devoted to Maria Theresia, mama dearest of the motherland. She did many a good turn for the city, like letting its Jewish populace remove the enormous ruff collars they had been forced to wear. The empress is also responsible for the enormous sculpture of the Titans duking it out in the courtyard. Symbolism, perhaps?
Easily my favorite building was St Vitus Cathedral, which featured some of the most stunning stained glass I have ever seen. The enormous, vaulted ceilings have fantastic acoustics, as I learned when a visiting choir group started up an impromptu a capella session. There ain't nothing like a Latin liturgy at two in the afternoon.
 |
| The view to the altar. |
Alphonse Mucha, of Art Nouveau fame, designed this window depicting the Slavic saints in the 1930s. Incredibly, the glass itself is painted and not stained at all - maybe that's why the colors are unbelievable. Who would have known that genius with posters would translate to genius with glass?
 |
| I also liked this secret door, concealed behind Gothic stalactites. |
Unfortunately, every building of any interest that wasn't a cathedral cost far too much money to enter, so we contented ourselves with a stroll through the remaining courtyards and sidestreets. Tucked behind the Castle, in his sister's house on Golden Lane, Kafka took his tea with a side of biscuits and enormous bugs. Alas, the street was closed for construction - another area in which Prague takes after Vienna, in its constant restoration - but K. cropped up elsewhere.
 |
| Who doesn't want a Kafka Fun Explosive, at a Good Price? |
These beauties awaited us in the Royal Gardens, even though I have no idea what they were doing there.
 |
| Work it, baby! |
The next four hours are a blur of gardens and trees and hiking up all the way up Petrin Hill. Some highlights, working down: a pair of nuns strolling merrily along; the onion domed Church of St Lawrence; an overgrown garden lining the thirteenth-century Hunger Wall; a picturesque stairway before it turns tortuous; an ornate bench in the midst of roses; a pond with a seal fountain; Aja's brothers tussling on the lawn.
The Hill is also home to the Church of St Michael, an old Orthodox Church that was moved here from the Ukraine Valley. It's smaller than it looks, but it's made all of wood - even the nails holding it together.
We returned, exhausted, to the streets of Malá Strana and the welcome Vietnamese respite of Mály Buddha, Czech for "Little Buddha." The restaurant doubled as a gallery for Asian trinkets and tea paraphernalia, so the table next to us was stacked high with ceramic teapots molded into the ample-girthed likeness of Siddhartha himself.
I tried ginseng wine for the first time, and it's vile. I thought I'd like it, since I've enjoyed both plum and lychee wine, but I should have known better since ginseng isn't actually a fruit. But the squid was good! It's buried underneath all those delicious leaves of cilantro and slices of red pepper.
By the time we finished with dinner, it was late enough that we could walk across Charles Bridge without getting trampled underfoot. I tried in vain to find the passage underneath the bridge to the café where the former president of the Czech Republic served the former president of the United States a beer, but alas, was flummoxed. Another night!
