Czech Mate
With Vishnu under several metres of snow somewhere on the outskirts of Prague, we decided to save our great escape for another day and make the most of our time in the glacial Czech capital. After bidding au revoir to the campsite’s ostentation of bemused peacocks we caught a convenient tram to the city’s most iconic structure: Karlův most. Better known as Charles Bridge, the medieval erection is approaching almost seven hundred years of continual use although now primarily by curious tourists as opposed to local Praguers. The balustrade is lined with thirty baroque statues with each venerating an important Christian figure or scene although, due to despicable vandals, they’re no longer original versions, not that that interested the colony of industrious beavers building their own bridges in the Vltava river below.
The gothic crossing still provides the main link between the capital’s Old Town and Prague Castle, which was to be our next stop. Serving as the official residence and workplace of the president, as well as housing the Bohemian Crown Jewels, the imposing citadel is also the largest ancient castle in the world, occupying over seventy thousand square metres. As we reached the foot of the incline towards her great gates, we realised that gaining entry would be a rather difficult task given the number of flailing sightseers ungraciously sliding their way back down the hill. We made a valiant attempt ourselves although, after reaching a patch of black ice slipperier than a politician at a COVID enquiry, we agreed to save face, and my own crown jewels, returning to the city centre in an extremely careful manner.
Prague’s Old Town Square is resplendent by day and a death trap by night. Specifically, when a Christmas market is in town as the entire city, all one million of them it would appear, turns out wanting to experience festive hell on earth for themselves. I must admit that my pleasure for these merry markets has diminished with each visit and given that this was approximately our three thousandth of the trip, patience was running thinner than usual. With ice-covered cobbles, sardine-like squashing, and glühwein-lubricated masses all in a single square, one slight slip may have been my last. After, rather conveniently, being thrust towards the astronomical clock for a quick snap or two, we got out of dodge.
Fortunately, Prague’s side streets were slightly serener than its centre and we were able to tour some of their other main attractions including the Powder Tower (Prašná Brána) and Municipal Hall (Obecní Dům) in relative peace. As the snow continued to fall atop the flying exterior buttresses and the soaring, dark spires synonymous with the Gothic style, we were rather in awe of our ethereal and increasingly frosty surroundings. Architecture of its kind that, in my humble opinion (meaning that of my guidebook), has no European equal, perhaps with the exceptions of Paris and Bruges.
Also without equal is the James Joyce Irish Pub as we got in our final pints of our extensive voyage, beginning as we did to chew the cud over our previous three months in the centre of the continent. From historic windmills in the Netherlands, to mountain-top weather stations in Switzerland, to beer baths in Budapest, we had been privy to some of Europe’s finest sights and experiences without feeling that we’d even touched the sides. The wealth of attractions in this part of the world, without being especially secret or exclusive, will always remain worth a trip or ten, especially when the frigid elements add an atmospheric sprinkling to proceedings. Speaking of which…
As we arose in our freezer-cum-van on what we hoped would be our final morning we had a monumental shovelling job ahead. With icicles attached to Vishnu that wouldn’t have looked out of place attached to an Inuit igloo and about a foot of snow in our field, we set to work carving a path to the exit and the relative safety of a gritted highway. With the assistance of the campsite’s two snow shovels, as well as the unquestionable encouragement of their two peacocks, we managed to slip and slide our bedraggled vehicle to the gate, success! All that remained was driving the fifteen hundred kilometres through a generational snowstorm home. Let’s hope our next destination is ever so slightly warmer…
J
