A Chilling Prague-nosis
The final destination of our Central European voyage would be newly named Czechia. With the recent change frowned upon by almost everyone outside of government, in a similar manner to North Macedonia, we would continue to use its former ‘Republic’ branding when having drinks and conversing with civil servants, politicians, or the local fuzz. Thankfully, this wasn’t put to the test as we crossed yet another seamless Schengen border, this time with Slovakia, and we were soon entrenched in rural farmland. The landlocked country is dissected in almost two equal halves between the western Bohemia region, where the capital lies, and the eastern Moravia. Proud of their distinct cultures, we decided to spend a little time in each, with our first stop being the modest Moravian city of Olomouc.
On our first stroll around her dramatically Baroque centre, we were able to prove the Czech maxim that the quickest way to establish what side of the country you are on – if maps, GPS, and any sense of direction are absent – is to observe what alcoholic beverage the locals are drinking: beer for Bohemians, wine for Moravians. While the quantity of warm wine being consumed was greatly exaggerated as a result of another Christmas market in full swing, we saw just enough plonk being guzzled to work out our exact coordinates, a very useful geolocation strategy indeed.
Frosty Olomouc, Czechia’s sixth largest city, was once an ecclesiastical metropolis although nowadays, with the nation one of the three most secular in the world, Saint Wenceslas Cathedral and the UNESCO-listed Holy Trinity Column are mere attractions for the likes of us. Her central city hall also comprises one of the few heliocentric, or sun-centred, astronomical clocks in the world that dates back to 1419 although it has undergone several reconstructions since then. So pleased were the commissioners with their completed clock that they blinded the astronomer who engineered it for fear they would build another in a different city, or so the local legend goes. I doubt the same fate befell the designer of Olomouc Winter Wonderland given its utterly depressing appearance, unless the deed was done before they started working on it. That would explain it.
The further we crawled into the country’s interior, the more frigid the climate became and by the time we reached the small town of Svitavy, we were sliding around like a steaming Torvill and Dean. As were the boy racers, handbrake turning their Saxos in the car park within inches of Vishnu and incurring the terrifying wrath of our angry gazes. Despite her modest size, the town housed several microbreweries, a sure sign we were approaching Bohemia, with our favourite, Na Kopečku, dispensing their homebrew at a cost that J. D. Wetherspoon couldn’t compete with. Taking advantage of this over breakfast before a full day of teaching may not have been our sagest idea although it certainly eased our concerns about getting snowed in or, more pressingly, being rammed by vaping adolescents.
The town itself afforded a picture-perfect festive scene with the historic centre blanketed in a layer of snow and the warmly lit bars and restaurants filled with Christmas-jumper-wearing locals huddled around roaring fires. It also appeared that Svitavy facilitated a prominent arts scene judging by the number of paintings, murals, and random pieces of modern art that adorned most of the town’s buildings. A more wholesome Czech settlement one couldn’t possibly imagine. Given that our parking spot, with electricity included, was also complimentary of the council, as well as being located extremely close to the brewery, the desire to forego our British passports and start new lives there was strong. However, the draw of one final location was too strong to be ignored.
The road to Prague was anything but straightforward with motorway closures, diversions, snow drifts, and wandering deer ensuring that speed-chess-like concentration was required even after entering our chosen campsite on the outskirts of the capital. A slanting field-cum-ice-rink was to be our home for the following few days that, unsurprisingly given the conditions, we had all to ourselves. With endless flurries adding layer upon layer of white powder on top of the van, and with water pipes frozen soon after, we grew ever so slightly apprehensive that our earlier desire to remain in Czechia indefinitely would be made on our behalf. However, now that we were stuck, what else had we to do but to don our salopettes, dust off our crampons, and catch the next tram into the frigid mixer.
J
