5/17 Friday
The walk into Prague’s old town
district takes about 30 minutes, not bad at all, especially on such a beautiful
spring day. The city is really lovely. The buildings are all about seven
stories, painted various shades of pastel: green, blue, pink and yellow. They
are covered with lavish ornamentations of statues, mosaics, painted images,
elaborate windowsills, lacey ironwork, balconettes. It's difficult to walk
along the cobblestones while we're gaping up at the buildings. We pass through
the main plaza to visit the Charles Bridge, centerpiece of the city. The views
around us are like a living postcard with puffy clouds in a pale blue sky over
the red tile roofs and church spires, the Vltava river flows slowly enough for
tourists to enjoy their paddle boats below us. The bridge is a corridor of
musicians and caricature artists, and most of them are very talented. We enjoy
a couple of bands as we walk along. On the other side, we stop at a cozy bistro
for a latte, watching the tourists pass. The shops sell Bohemian crystal, Czech
art glass, chandeliers and cut glass vases and goblets, amber, in ropes of
beads the size of dates and apricots, and beautiful garnet jewelry. Less
appealing is the Thai Massage, available everywhere and advertised by Shrek for some reason, with the
ever-disgusting flesh-eating fish pedicure.
As we cross back over the bridge, we
see a little doorway to the tower, so we climb in and up the stone spiral
staircase. At the top, there's a short video presentation of the bridge
history, then more stairs to a walkway around the top. We have the views to
ourselves for a bit, looking out at the crowds below.
As we head out of the city center,
the plaza is filling up with evening crowds. I have to say, the buskers are
pretty lame. There are a couple of 'statue' guys, spray-painted clothes,
standing on a box, then a man in what look like brown pajamas with a dime-store
feather headdress doing an 'Indian' war dance. Please. There's a fire-eater
with a mohawk and kilt working the crowd with banter, banter, banter, no
fire-eating to be seen.
Twice, so far, we’ve seen a nice
young lady, twenty-something, toting a little carry-case on one arm that houses
a precious little white angora bunny. Chic. Take them everywhere.
We walk back to our neighborhood for
dinner at a little brewpub. The Victor. There are big copper vats and heavy log
tables, very charming. Bob wants to try the schnitzel – to share. I order
dumplings as a side and the waiter gives me SUCH A LOOK. Schnitzel with
DUMPLINGS, translation: bleck, icky, icky. Rolls his eyes. Okay, okay, whatever
you say. He gives us roasted potatoes, and everything is right with the world
once more.
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