Prague in July was perfect. I’d read tourist books before I left home that said it was roasting hot in July, but for us it was fabulous, especially with a good dose of their amazing Cream ‘n Dream gelato.
Now this perfection wasn’t my first impression of Prague at all. Rather it was fright, panic, and regret for ever coming to this foreign place. These emotions stemmed from hopping off at the wrong train station with no English-speaking person in sight, a useless non-Czech-zoned cell phone, a heavy suitcase, and a pram with a 1 year-old who might wake at any minute. My sister Havilah and her friend Anessa would hopefully be waiting for me at the correct train station, 2 hours late, and hopefully the landlady with the key would still be at the flat we were renting. Sorry that’s a jumble, but it might give you a bit an idea of what I was going through. I’m sure there must be some grey hair just below the surface of my brown.
Through God’s providence (and He sure spared a huge dose for me), all of us met up and slept in the flat rather than on the street that first night.
From here on we almost blissfully enjoyed this beautiful city with red roofs and spires–almost blissfully because it would have been a bit more blissful had there been more decisiveness amongst us three girls. I thought that my job was simply to suggest things to do, and the girls would give opinions, but in fact nobody had opinions and everyone was happy doing anything–or so they said. So I had to be the tour guide, a role that doesn’t suit me very well. What if I was going too fast, too slow, being too boring, only seeing what I wanted to see? But we managed to eke out a fair bit of sightseeing those first couple days, made easier by the fact that Prague is the perfect city for aimless wandering, with gorgeous architecture on every street corner.
So our first few days were spent touring free stuff, walking about, and–surprise, surprise–shopping. We traversed the pickpocketing capital of Europe, the Charles IV Bridge, unscathed, took Soren swimming in the freezing cold Vlatava river, saw the astronomical clock chime the hour, listened to numerous street musicians, and ran into a few of the girls’ friends from their mission trip the previous week.
On Wednesday night Brad came. I’ve never been happier to see my travel-savvy man. I told him my decision-making woes and he took on the decision-making from here on—though my sister vetoed him on a few occasions (which I shall leave unmentioned). When Brad came we did some serious sight-seeing. We toured the Castle Quarter on the first day, which was quite a climb, but offered fabulous views of the city. The stained glass of St Vitus’ Cathedral grabbed me with its impressive variety and vibrancy; my favorite was a window designed by Alfons Mucha, which looked like a bright watercolor–his art has really grown on me since our trip.
The next day was spent visiting the Jewish Quarter. This was more significant for Brad (being half Jewish) than for me—though Brad always tells me that with my Polish background and two Jewish names, I must have some sort of Jewish connection as well.
Our tour started at the Pinkas Synagogue, which stands solemnly empty except for the names of some 80,000 Bohemian and Moravian Jews who died in the Holocaust. I shuffled into this empty place with the other tourists trying though distracted to pay some respect to these people who died. Soren wiggled in my arms distracting me more. I walked up to one of the walls, trying to recall famous Jewish names, maybe I would spot one I knew, I moved from room to room wanting to connect with these people. The endlessness of the lists haunted me as we moved on out into the Old Jewish Cemetery just outside.
The cemetery looked more like a holding place for gravestones than a graveyard. Over 12,000 gravestones (marking nearly 100,000 graves) were crammed into the tiny space, so close together that they looked almost piled on top of one another. Many were toppled by tree roots, while others were embedded in trees that had grown up around them. The most striking thing, though, was that this was probably the only graveyard I’ve visited that had no Christian graves in it–it gave me kind of a chill when Brad mentioned this to me.
My closing remarks on Prague: the beer is as cheap as it’s reputation—and good (if you trust my taste-buds). The pickpockets must not be quite as numerous as they say. It’s a great place to admire French architecture. People may try and sell you drugs—even if you are on a romantic walk with your husband. And, it has two train stations, make sure you don’t just hop off at the first one you see.
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