Every breath you take (Prague, Czechia, part 1)

Generally a good sleep follows a transit day, dear reader. Perhaps this is related to the intensity of not knowing where I am going and the related stress. More likely it is the energy sapping bag drag across cobblestones. I may have mentioned in passing that my love of cobblestones has diminished to non-existent.

Our apartment is a haven from the frenetic party pace of Prague and our hosts have provided several pages of information from places of interest to restaurants, cafés and bars. On our first full day, we decided to begin with breakfast at a recommended café. It was all of three minutes walk away and located in what is incorrectly called the Prague Bermuda Triangle. It had five sides not three, but Prague Bermuda Pentagon doesn't quite have the same ring to it.

The Prague Bermuda Triangle.

Let's talk croissants. The Czechs know how to make them. They also know how to destroy them. Plain croissants are in the minority. 'Value added' croissants are everywhere: covered in slivered almonds, pistachios, dusted with icing sugar, injected with jam, chocolate, whatever. I'm certain the French would not approve. Nor do I.

On our first foray, the coffee was ok and the pastries were passable. My pain au chocolat or chocolate croissant as it was called, was way too chocolate heavy. No really. I couldn't finish it. From there, we walked back toward the main shopping precinct away from the old town. Billa, a supermarket, was our target, we needed to replenish supplies. This is always a challenge, unfamiliar brands, a foreign language, wine companies we've never heard of previously.

Challenge accepted. Amongst today's winners were Bohemia crinkle cut chips (crisps if you prefer) and the wine we purchased. The also rans? The baguettes, they were glorified bread rolls; and the cheese, it turned out to be a fairly tasteless Eidam.

The walk back home seemed to take far less time than yesterday's excursion from the station and we were stowing our supplies minutes later. Knowing where we were actually going allowed us to take in more of our surroundings. The old town, like that of Stockholm, is a series of cobblestoned streets that wind in any direction. Some are extremely narrow and lined with historic buildings that seem to lean in on you. Then you turn a corner and find yourself in a plaza or square with larger, grander buildings and a church. Or synagogue. Very religious people the Czechs. Or they were.

Most of the main thoroughfares of the old town were populated with restaurants, cafés, bars, souvenir shops and mini markets. There was the usual assortment of designer stores and it wasn't possible to walk more than 20 m without passing a store selling Trdelník.

Trdelník is Czechia's response to Hungarian chimney cake. With a spin of course. It is sold everywhere as "traditional", once again implying it was first made in Czechia. I sense the pilsener debate all over again. The big difference between chimney cake (which is to die for) and Trdelník is what goes inside the 'chimney'. I did not see one shop sell Trdelník unfilled, as it should be. It was used like an ice cream cone and was filled with all manner of things. Most often cream based. Over the top? Absolutely. I doubt the Hungarians would approve. Again, I do not.

The Tourist Information Centre that so successfully eluded us in Berlin, was easily located on the other side of the main square near the Astronomical Clock. Jayne had a chat with one of the staff who provided a map and some very clear instructions about how to structure our visit. I'll say instructions, although it sounded more like an order.

The original Jewish Town Hall.

The Old Synagogue

We would spend the afternoon in the old town in the Jewish Quarter. This was also not far from our apartment. The tickets purchased turned out to be a lot more expensive because of a nifty little hidden cost.  The price of entry was clearly advertised. As was the fact that they had audio guides to enhance the experience. The catch? The audio guides also cost, half as much as the admission price. This was noted nowhere and I didn't discover it until the charge appeared on my Apple watch. Gotcha.

The ticket admitted us to a number of sites around the precinct: four synagogues, the watch house, a ceremonial hall and the cemetery. None of the synagogues even approached the over-the-top opulence of the Great Synagogue in Pest, Hungary. They all incorporated a historical element to their displays, narrating the story of the Prague Jewish community through the centuries. 

Note the wall showing how much the ground was built up.

The cemetery was a chaotic arrangement of tombstones, contained within a walled enclosure, into which thousands of graves have been crammed almost on top of each other. In fact they are on top of each other. Jewish law forbids the removal of remains after burial. The cemetery site was quickly filled. The solution? Add more soil on top of the existing ground and you double the size of the cemetery.

The inscriptions on the headstones have long since eroded but it remains a tranquil, protected space in the midst of the tourist hurleyburley, just on the other side of the wall. A sleepy black cat was also clearly enjoying the peace, languidly draped across one site in sunshine. 

Do not disturb.

When I say 'tranquil,' that in part is because we assiduously tried to avoid the large tour groups that were roaming everywhere.  The trick was to get in front of them and then keep moving so they couldn't catch up and envelope us. 

The Kafka statue.

Of all the synagogues we visited that day the Spanish Synagogue was my favourite. Inside was beautifully decorated. A tad busy for sure, but in comparison to the glitzy, kitsch of guilding everything to show who had the most gold, it was understated elegance. It was never explained why the Spanish needed their own synagogue.

The Spanish Synagogue.

The Spanish Synagogue had a statue of Kafka in the entry area. Kafka's presence is very strong throughout the Jewish Quarter despite the fact that he did not practice the religion. There is a Christian church immediately next door to the Spanish Synagogue. It faces away from the synagogue and Kafka's statue, but just to make a point there is a statue of a crucified Jesus in the side garden. It stares disapprovingly at the synagogue and all who enter. 

And that of course brings us to today's title, Every Breath You Take by The Police from 1983. Wow, that makes me feel old. No cap.

I'll be watching you.

The final comment on the Jewish Quarter I will leave to one of their signs. Much like the instruction/order from tourist Information, something was lost in translation on this sign. I'm sure it's not meant to be read the way I did, but I wasn't risking a journey with no return. Although, really, that's life.

That was enough religiosity for me for the day. We headed home to enjoy the tranquility of our courtyard garden and a glass of French chardonnay. The highlight of the day, dear reader? I purchased a Prague T-shirt with the combined motifs of a bicycle and beer. So very Prague.

Until next time.