Prague: Day Four, Part Three - National Holiday

New World Street, Novy Svet

       But the quietness of Novy Svet leads to the tourists of the square in front of Prague Castle, complete with guards standing firmly at attention.  I take the wide staircase down to the river and cross to the Rudolfinum.  But today I stop and buy boat tickets for a trip on the river.  The person selling them is speaking with a man who turns out to be a guide visiting from Cuba, so we talk a few minutes when he learns that I’ve traveled there.  He asks me the same questions I was asked there:  what I’ve seen, whether I liked it and how I was treated.  He seems pleased when I tell him I was treated warmly and would go back in a heartbeat.
       As I have an hour before the boat trip, I decide to take the long way and go see the Jewish backwards clock, which I somehow missed on my trip through the Jewish Quarter the first day.  I manage to find it, niched just below a regular clock for those of us who don’t know our numbers in Hebrew or read right to left.  As I walk, I hear various different languages.  One of them is German.  There’s something strange and maybe even a little bit wrong with German tour groups in the Jewish quarter; I wonder what they’re being told.
       (There’s also something strange about the option, tempting though it is, to eat moules (mussels) or Vietnamese bo-bun in Prague, even if it’s only to compare how they’re prepared here.  During my visit, I choose to stick to local specialties:  goulash, trout with dill, “dumplings” in beef broth.)

Even with the Jewish Quarter detour, I’m still early for the boat’s departure.  So I sit down next to a couple who are speaking English.  They introduce themselves as Jim and Monica from Scotland, and we chat away happily about Prague and all the other places we have traveled.

     When the boat finally does arrive, we head to the upper deck, ultimately sharing a table with Elizabeth - just arrived from a marathon in Berlin - and Matt.  Shortly we head upriver, under the Charles Bridge - which looks totally different from down here - and past canoeists from the white water party.  And that white water is what causes a back-up, because we need to wait our turn in the locks that will eventually raise us - plus three other boats and a myriad of canoes - up 2½ meters, a small but indomitable obstacle to navigation on the Vltava.
       The boat trip takes a leisurely two hours, and carries us upstream past all that I've seen this week:  past the swans, past Prague Castle and St. Vitus Cathedral, past the Rudolfinum, past Kampa Island and its millrace, past Café Slavia and the National Theater, past the Dancing House and the Havel home, all the way to Vysehrad.  It's a totally different perception of the "castle on the heights" than the one Christopher and I had from the ramparts above, and I can see what a formidable challenge taking these bluffs would have been to an intrepid invader.
        After our boat returns to its moorings, to see a little more of the city, I head back to the hotel along the riverbank, then cut south past St. Agnes Convent, one of tomorrow’s goals.

Vysehrad Castle

There’s just time for a quick shower and hair washing before dinner downstairs in the café:  risotto again because it was so delicious the first time.
       Then it’s off around the corner to Municipal House.  When I bought the ticket yesterday, I was told to arrive at 7:30 if I wanted to take some photos of the interior before the concert starts.  And the reason I want to do that is that this is the house that Mucha built.  Or rather decorated.  The interior of this Art Nouveau building’s Smetana Hall was a canvas for the leading artists of the time, and chiefly Mucha.

       I was lucky enough to get a seat in the first row of the second orchestra section:  far enough away from the stage to get an overall view of the musicians but without any heads in front of me to have to peer around.  Next to me is a couple from Utah who are coming to Paris after Prague.  Far to my right is someone who turns out to be Chinese and insists on fiddling with his iPad almost all throughout the 90-minute concert.  Luckily the house lights weren’t totally down, so it wasn’t disgustingly distracting, but I told him at the end that he really shouldn’t do that.  To which he said he’d asked permission from the staff... which would surprise me greatly.  Why you would bother to come to a live concert and do that instead of just staying at home and listening to the radio while you fiddled around on-line... I’m sure I can’t tell you.  But I just couldn’t stop myself from giving him my two cents worth.
       Tonight’s orchestra is called Prague Music.  It’s made up of ten musicians:  five violinists plus the Master Violinist - whom I choose to call Fast Fingers because he tends to rush on his solos (does he have a pressing gig later?) - ably accompanied by a striking blonde on viola, a cellist (also blonde, with a marvelously resonant cello), and a man on bass...  plus a woman on clavichord (or is it a harpsichord?) for the second piece only.

        The program begins with Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons”, apparently a staple of any concert in Prague this week.  That’s followed by Pachelbel’s “Canon in D”, then “Hungarian Dance #5" by Brahms, and finally “Gypsy Airs op. 20" by Saresate.  The last piece is the only one I didn’t know already, but all are performed with great skill and emotion.  For an encore, they choose a pizzicato polka which I believe is by Strauss.  It’s a lot of excellent music for only 32 Czech krone, which translates to about one dollar U.S.  A whole lot of cultural bang for your buck.

Prague: Day Four, Part Two - National Holiday

Once on the left bank of the Vltava, in Mala Strana, I stop off at yet another church.  This one’s resolutely Baroque:  the Church of St. Nicholas.  Evidently Czech churches were taken over by the Communist government, and only recently returned to the church.  That leaves a dilemma:  how to find the money to do all the restoration work needed.  That might explain why many of the churches charge an entrance fee.  Inside massive scaffolding hides the altar from the nave, and the immense painting on the dome can be seen only by climbing the sixty steps to the gallery.
       After the church, I get back on track to The Loreto, and Nerudova Street seems the most direct route.  Many of its houses have some kind of decoration over the door.  At Number 12, it’s U Tri Houslicek (the 3 violins), where violin makers once lived and plied their trade.  Nearby is a Medusa with gilded hair over a hostel door.  Further up is an ornate Virgin and Child painting amid an equally ornate stucco-and-gilt decor.   Cafés and restaurants - such as the Rilke Restaurant, complete with his photo - alternate with shops.  One of them specializes in objects in wood, and I end up with amazingly-crafted jewelry for Christmas gifts:  earrings and bracelets in wood, plus a necklace in multi-colored amber, also a product of the Czech Republic.

On the way up to The Loreto - my ultimate destination and farthest point for today - I manage to get lost, subjugated by the view out over Petrin Park and its acres of trees already tinged with the autumnal colors to come.  Peeking out on the summit is the park’s own version of the Eiffel Tower - or at least the top of it - which is actually an observation tower.   Somewhere in my musing about Nature, I’ve strayed from my straight route.  And when I ask how to get to The Loreto, the general reply is a version of my grandfather’s old saying, “You can’t get there from here”.  Ultimately it involves a huge detour.
       The Loreto is a pilgrimage site based on the legend that the house where Archangel Gabriel announced to Mary the future birth of Jesus was transported here (and elsewhere in Bohemia and Moravia) from Nazareth in the 13th century to save it from the Infidels.  This replica was later enclosed by cloisters to provide shelter to the pilgrims, and even later a Baroque facade.  The muted colors of the chapel vie with all the gold trim, and the Treasury upstairs gives an idea of the past wealth of the Roman Catholic Church in this part of Eastern Europe:  gold, silver, pearls and precious gems.
       (A wink and a nudge:  there’s a sign outside The Loreto that says “No Wedding Pictures”.  They take their legends seriously here.)

The return route from The Loreto passes through a time warp.  And that time warp is Novy Svet.  Its low houses are like something borrowed from the countryside, totally unlike anything else I’ve seen in Prague.  And although there are some parked cars, there is literally no traffic, except pedestrians.  It reminds me of Rue St. Rustique, once the only street in the village of Montmartre.  Under a begonia-ed window is stacked row upon row of wood for the winter stove or fireplace.