Prague Potpourri

I untie the crackled gold cover of the leather travel journal I bought in Florence, and I think about how much memory and detail time erases. Europe seems ages ago. But then, I will hear the name of a place that used to be foreign, and a mental double take will remind me that it has become familiar. I have been there, once long ago. Little things keep surprising me. Being able to type an @ without a scavenger hunt on the keyboard, toilet paper that is square again, hearing strangers speaking Spanish; I guess these things mean home.


Things my journal says I loved about the Czech Republic:

Despite being mostly incapable of remembering anything other than the words, 'Speak English?, beer, and please,' I love that I understand the pronunciation. One of the things I found overwhelming in Vienna was being surrounded by so much textual information but being unequipped to pronounce it, much less read it. Here, I might have no idea what I'm saying, but I'm probably saying it right enough.
I loved finally having an exchange rate in my favor, with the Kc being about 20 to the dollar.
I experienced what I think was my first and only thunderstorm in Europe on our way to dinner the first night.

The guidebook asserted that once you get a taste of the local cuisine, you will wonder why and how you've never had it. It is delicious. For people who love meat and potatoes sneakily dressed in shockingly rich and intricate flavors. For people who aren't afraid to literally take a stab at a pork knee or neck. The only thing I disliked was a street-vendor prepackaged sandwich I bought against my better judgment, based on a photo that bore no resemblance to the product I received. I had to disassemble it and eat the exterior of the bread and napkin off the chicken inside, which was covered in gobs of some sauce so vividly orange it could probably be used as a homing beacon.

While most of the places we had visited in Europe thus far felt old, Prague felt like a timeline. Or, perhaps more accurately, a time knot. Over five hundred years worth of architectural movements cozily intermingle, leaving one to wonder whether the streets of Prague started out like a gap-toothed baby's gums, with buildings popping up over time to fill in empty spaces. Adjacent architecture ranges from Medieval to Gothic to Art Deco to Art Nouveau to Cubist (the only city with Cubist architecture) to Soviet to Modern to Contemporary. The Municipal House, a resplendent example of Art Nouveau built in 1911, is right next to the Powder Gate, which leads into Old Town, was built in 1475, and across the street from these two structures is a building built in the Soviet era.

My favorite place in all of Prague --  as I say this so many other candidates come to mind; perhaps the calling it the most serene place I experienced would be more accurate -- was Vyšehrad. We took a short, steep, green and wooded walk (with bits of rust) up to and through the walls of this hilltop fortress above the Vltava River. I could have spent all day overlooking the city, far from the hustle and bustle and rustle of life and tourists, but after a picnic brunch we kept exploring. Through ancient gates and a cemetery of the average and famous together in death, we arrived at the Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul. What a surprise. Inside the imposing time-blackened Neo-Gothic church, the walls were covered in Art Nouveau depictions of saints. Before I lapse into rhapsodic art history mumbo jumbo I will move on, but know that for me it was art history magic.

We all took some time apart one afternoon to tend to our diverse interests, and I went to the only museum I saw in the Czech Republic: the Alfons Mucha Museum. I have always loved his art, and here in what at first seemed like a distressingly small (but ended up being a deceptively deep) space, I found much to keep loving. Original drawings, unfinished drafts pulled from the lithography stone, photographs taken in his studio, a childhood painting, medals, even a New York Times article about his visit to the United States. In fact, because the museum was not so so large, I was able to savor everything, read every description, and feel neither rushed nor overwhelmed.

Despite the fact that Prague was fascinating, it left me a little unsatisfied. Looking back there was much to admire and appreciate and much to see that I didn't have time for, those things you add to the 'Next time in Europe' list. I'm not sure what was lacking, or whether anything really was lacking at all. Maybe it was the promise of Berlin just around the corner, the destination I had chosen; the one place I had been itching to get to all along.