Thnks fr th Mmrs (Prague, Czechia to Vienna, Austria)

For our last full day in Prague, dear reader, we decided to stay local and have an easy day. It's always nice to relax the day before a transit day. They always end up being so stressful despite the best laid plans. However, let's not anticipate tragedies that may not befall us. 😉

During our sojourn here, the spires of the Church of Our Lady for Týn have been our beacon to guide us home. The turrets rise above the skyline of the old town. They are the archetypal image for every castle in every fairytale ever written. And yet, when you enter the main square, the church is nowhere to be seen. The front of the building has been consumed by restaurants. There is also an outlet for the same eatery towards the back of the church. It has been so camouflaged by other buildings, it almost doesn't exist. At ground level anyway.

The spires that direct me home.

Our apartment is on a lane that runs directly into one of the walls of the Church of Our Lady for Týn and I never registered that it was there. This, despite the fact that I had used the spires to guide me home. Given the proximity of the church and it was our starting point for the day, we had a slow morning. Nothing really kicks off in Prague until 10am anyway.

Up the laneway we wandered and through the archway into the ticket office. The tickets on sale were for a concert being held in the church later in the week. We were surprised that entry to the Church of Our Lady for Týn was free. The Catholics could certainly learn a thing or two from the Jews, given the cost of visiting their synagogues and the Jewish Quarter.

The hidden entrance.

From the ticket office, we emerged into a small courtyard that housed the entry arch of the church. In we walked to discover that all photography was forbidden. Why? So you would buy the postcard photos of the interior. I would have been happier paying for entry and taking my own shots. And, dear reader, there were photos worth taking. It was over the top as you would expect a fairy tale castle/church to be.

Looking skyward.

When we reached the statue of the Infant of Prague, I was desolate. A replica statue had been a prized possession of my grandmother and it was passed onto my mother who similarly venerated this icon. The one must have shot and I couldn't take it. The 'no photography' rule is one I adhere to strictly. Even if the reasons are spurious and an attempt at money-grabbing. There were, however, rule breakers in the church. Security had no chance of catching them because he was too engrossed in his mobile screen.

We exited onto the square through the seating area of the two restaurants. Any wonder we hadn't suspected it was there. Our next visit was across the square to St Nicholas. It too is used for concerts. The church itself is small but, it's a church so it still has the wow, gold, over the top factor. I'll let the pictures do the talking.

The chandelier. I don't know why a church needs one, but ...

The chandelier in perspective.

St Nicholas, a Hussite church, was nowhere near the same the level as Our Lady for Týn, but there were many more people in the smaller space. Perhaps a reflection of its obvious existence on the square? Or the fact that you could take photos and entry was free? Anyway, more pictures.

The relatively unadorned pulpit.

The organ. Nice spot. Looks like heaven. Apparently.

It was nearing 11am and Jayne was keen to torture me by making me stand with the thronging crowd to watch the astronomical clock. We threaded our way through the crowd and found a suitable position where I could see the clock, but still had some personal space. Momentarily. A tour guide then came and stood next to me and waved his flag at his sheep. As they flocked in, I walked out. We could come back later to witness the obligatory clock spectacle.

It was too early to eat so we went home for an hour or so to blog and research Vienna, our next destination. Happily, the sun was still shining as we emerged back into the square for lunch. The cloud and drizzle that has haunted us for days stayed away. We scored the same table we had had the other day, an excellent spot to watch the passing parade of buck's and hen's parties as well as enjoy the afternoon sunshine.

Mellowed by lunch and the sunshine, Jayne walked me back across the square to watch the astronomical clock do its thing. The crowd gathered as expected, a smaller crowd because it was Friday and late and most of the tour groups would be heading back to wherever they came from. Came the hour. The skeleton on the clock hit a hammer on the bell, chiming o'clock. Apparently a door opened higher up, cuckoo style and some apostles popped out. Way too much excitement for me. The assembled masses clapped respectfully and we all went our separate ways. 

To use a Shakespeare quote, "Buzz, buzz".

The guide book described this tourist trap experience as underwhelming. I'm not sure that it is accurate. Perhaps, non-existent would be more accurate. What a waste of time.

It was back home again to begin packing, well, not so much packing, as getting organised for packing. We had been in proximity to the party strip all week and hadn't really ventured out at night. So as we waited and watched, the sun set. I grabbed the camera and out we went. No commentary, photos below.

Not sure the astronomical clock tower looks ok.

Purple lights? Who knows?

Lady for Týn

A longer shot of the astronomical clock tower.

Some obelisk. I forget.

Transit day from Prague to Vienna dawned and we were up early to be on the road before 9am. In a move akin to reading the instruction manual, we followed our host's initial instructions on how to get to the apartment. In reverse, obviously. It was a much easier path to tread than the one we carved out for ourselves. Local knowledge wins. Who'd have thought it?

As is our organisational practice on transit days, we arrived waaaay too early. So early in fact, we did not have a platform allocated. We hadn't had breakfast so we searched for a café where you sit down and eat. People like to do that. In an area where everyone is waiting for someone or something, people like to do that, a lot, for a long time. Vacant tables can be as scarce as a female nomination for a safe Liberal seat. 

We found one at Pauls and duly dropped our bags and packs and settled in to coffee and pastries. They're not the best, as I have noted previously, but in transit, beggars can't be choosers. It was nice to sit down after a 30 minute bag-drag session. Hmmm, sounds like a post Mardi Gras event in Sydney.

A platform was finally allocated and off we went. We'd been on the platform a few minutes when another traveller arrived and asked us if this was where the train to Vienna left from. "We hope so," we replied. Then followed a discussion about where to stand and how do you know etc. Here's a top tip, dear reader: Where possible download the travel company app. It is full of good information.

There are some weird things happening in Czechia.

The train arrived close to time. We scrambled on board to find on old German couple in our pre-booked seats. After a brief exchange which I'm sure involved him telling his wife, "I told you," they in turn moved the woman in front of them. The domino effect. The small bags were stowed above and the big bag in a space two rows behind us.

And that was it. Thnks fr th mmrs Prague, Fall Out Boy style from 2007. Not totally relevant apart from the title, but a great clip. Also, they should buy a few vowels.

Off we went towards Vienna with everyone in the carriage facing the wrong direction. There are no guarantees when travelling by train in Europe. So be warned, if facing the opposite direction to travel causes motion sickness, you will need to carry medication.

We were comfortably settling into our journey when the carriage attendant arrived and demanded we move our large bag. The space we, and others, had used was not for storage. There was, in fact, no storage for bags except over head. Here we go again. Time to hoist the 22kg bag in the air. All I needed was another few inches in height. Thankfully the nice man across the aisle, the one with some serious neck and face tattoos, helped me get it into position. The guy behind me sat and watched his wife stow their lighter, but still large bag. Jayne usually adopts the Daniel approach and helps by staying about of the way, at times such as these.

This was another one of those shared trains. It was Austrian based which meant no internet or electronic signage until Austria. I do not understand. They can co-operate sufficiently for a train to travel through countries, but the 'owning' country is the only one to supply internet.

The trip was largely uneventful and we were on time as we approached the outskirts of Vienna. People even started moving and getting bags organised. Then we slowed to a halt but the announcement was difficult to understand; the gist of it was we had "sustained some damage". We knew not what or how. We knew not how long we would be there. We sat. We waited. We moved slowly forward. We stopped again.

Anyway, that continued for a while until we eventually arrived at Vienna hbf. Interestingly, the signage in the carriage still showed the train to be on time.

We had received explicit detailed instructions from our Vienna host. Where to catch the 13A bus, where to buy tickets and where to alight. The lovely man who sold me the tickets enquired as to my age. If I was over 65, I was entitled to a discount. Ouch.

The bus arrived, we piled on with everyone else and secured seats. Despite the bus being driven by a real person, he acted like a driverless metro train. At one stop when he considered we'd been there long enough, he closed the doors and drove away. There was a family of four trying to negotiate their exit who ended up going one stop further than they wanted because they could not alight in time. Ok then, Note to self: do not dawdle.

Our unassuming home.

Our desired stop achieved and the correct direction to walk determined, we arrived at our door 5 minutes later. Frederica was there to meet us and showed us through the flat. It was really lovely, well appointed with an excellent outlook. There was also a welcome gift of sparkling wine (Trocken) and chocolates. What a delightful welcome to a beautiful apartment in a very trendy area.

The view from the bedroom balcony.

We ventured out for some supplies but that was pretty much it for the day. Wine on the balcony off the bedroom. It overlooked a park. Very relaxing. Time was spent there checking out the serenity. And a woodpecker. A great spotted woodpecker to be exact. That was exciting, I'd never seen a real woodpecker in the wild.

Woody doing his thing.

With the excitement over for the day, we walked all of two minutes to the recommended pizza place, Momo, across the road. Pizza with genuine, imported Italian ingredients. Goood pizza. Still served uncut. I swear one day I'll fold the entire piece in half and start eating.

Until next time.

Castles in the Air (Prague, Czechia, part 3)

As we basked in possibly the best weather we've had since we left home, it was important to make the most of it, dear reader. No lying in and wasting a day do nothing but sitting in the garden, eating cheese and drinking wine. No. That can wait for Paris.

Wedding photo day near the bridge entrance.

We were away early again, heading up the hill to the Prague Castle or Pražský Hrad, if you prefer. Before we commence the climb to the castle in the air, the historic Charles Bridge had to be crossed. Ah yes, the link to today's title, one from the master storyteller of the USA, Don McLean's 1972 Castles in the Air.

The Charles Bridge gate.

The Charles Bridge, like Powdergate is, or was, a gate into the old city. The bridge itself has now become a part of a pilgrimage. There are particular statues and reliefs of significance on the bridge, hence the differing states of repair. 

We are the unloved.

Some are blackened and decayed by the air we breathe in modern life. Others are bright and shining due to constant touching and rubbing. For reasons of decorum, my editor has removed my metaphorical comparison.

Well polished.

It was still relatively early for Prague but the bridge was coming to life. The hawkers were setting up their stands. We had plenty of room to move and wandered from side to side to admire the view as we zig zagged our way to other side of the Vltava River, eyeing the ever-approaching climb to be completed before we reached the castle.

A serene morning on the Vltava

The other side of the river was flat for a short distance before the cobblestoned climb commenced. As was expected, the route was well sign posted, until it wasn't. I didn't consider that to be troubling, just look up for the castle and walk towards it. We paused half way and Jayne's eyes surveyed the steepening path before us. Happily, we zigged again and approached the lower entrance. Past the busker who only commenced his routine when he thought you were within hearing distance, to the view from the almost top.

The gate on the other side.

Around the corner we zagged, past the guards in their little boxes. It was positive to see that they take eye health seriously in Czechia and both were wearing sunglasses. I approached the next guard, removing my backpack to pass through the metal detector. He just waved me through, "You are OK," he said. We know I'm not, dear reader, but it was nice to have a vote of confidence.

Tickets purchased, tour groups avoided as much as possible, we moved to the Cathedral of St Vitus. As you would expect it has a massive soaring edifice in typical style. The buildings are so close together it is not easy to photograph.

A looming presence.

In we go to discover the usual level of extravagant opulence. The stained glass windows were beautiful and those facing the east were throwing reflected light onto the interior walls. It was almost a religious experience.

Doesn't quite capture it.

The pulpit was, once again, next level. No comment.

Stairway to heaven?

I don't even know what this is. Impressive.

The rose window above the entrance and exit was equally spectacular.

Yeah, yeah, I've seen a few. We even had one at Campbelltown.

From levels of grandeur only seen in churches, we walked across the courtyard to the singularly unimpressive old palace. If my palace looked like that, I would want a new one too. While it provided a window into the past, that window was rather small and narrow.

Little kids' school excursion. Cute.

The most interesting part of the old palace was the defenestration room. Isn't that a lovely, quaint expression? 'Fenestra' is Latin for window, so if you were de-fenestred you were essentially removed from the room via the open window. Cute. I wanted to employ the same tactic with the over-sized tour group that arrived and sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Apparently the windows can no longer be opened. Yes, I tried.

The not-so-grand hall.

Onward to the room of shields. It was also a place to drink wine. Hmm, things were looking up. Sadly, no win. There were a few books. They used to store the municipal records here back in the day. Then there was a fire. You know what happened. All records on site were destroyed. Interestingly someone had taken a significant number of books home for some obscure reason. They weren't destroyed. So, what was in the books? Municipal records: debts, disputes, rulings, ownership records. Obviously someone had to something to gain from the saved books, as they did to benefit from those burned. That would make an interesting Venn diagram.

Like, it's just sooo European.

From the mundanity of the palace to the Basilica of St George. Can anyone explain to me why there is a need to have a Cathedral and a Basilica within spitting distance of each other? One almost abuts the other. Ok, it lacks the grandeur of the Cathedral, but in its day, it had some pretty tidy frescos on the roof. Ceiling art is a big thing over here. Maybe it's a trend that needs resurrection. I think I'll contact The Block when I get home. It would be sure to boost their ratings and they're always looking for a new and pointless angle to sell shit to people who don't need it.

Basilica? Absolutely. St George colours and all.

Next stop was the Golden Lane where, most unfortunately, we collided with many tour groups. Some of these groups were 50+ people. I'm sure it's nice for whoever rakes in the tourist dollars but it seriously negates the experience of others. 

Ceiling frescos.

The Golden Lane is a series of houses dating back to the 16th century, originally built for castle guards but then given over to goldsmiths and other tradies - hence the name. They are small and cramped and conjoined. 

I heard Kafka lived next door.

As such they have been converted into a museum, of sorts. The staircase to access the displays is narrow and extremely steep. It's not a good place to meet someone coming the other way. Yes, dear reader, it would have been a simple process to have a single, separate entrance and exit point, but they didn't. It was exasperating and this is the shoulder season. 

He's excited to go to war.

Nightmares are made of what this disorganised debacle would look like in the peak season. The blue house on the golden lane is of particular note, having been the home of the sister of Franz Kafka, who sponged off her for 2 years while he tried to reach literary perfection.

Implements of torture Kafka's sister should have used.

The views over to the old town were good, if a bit hazy. I, quite out of character as I'm sure you would agree, had had enough of people pushing, shoving and jostling and decreed it was time for coffee.

As it transpired later, there were cafés at every turn. We walked into the first one we saw which just happened to have the most beautiful vista back over the valley towards the old town. Winner. Table secured, we ordered our coffee and a toasty. The waiter returned with our coffee and two metal washers. The washers were for access to the toilet. paying customers only you know - there was a turnstile and everything.

After enough peace and tranquility and passive cigarette smoke, it was time to continue our exploration. We made our way back toward where we came in, to see if the gardens rated the effort required to access them. In short, no. Although there was an excellent crab apple tree in flower in the inner courtyard.

It was here we discovered growing crowds on the other side of the glass doors. We were in the inner courtyard and the doors looked through a guarded ante-chamber into the aptly named Courtyard 1. You can sense the excitement I know. It was changing of the guard time. As you may have surmised, dear reader, Jayne loves a changing of the guard. I am as indifferent to this, as much as I am into Liberal politicians. Maybe that is a slight understatement. 

Anyway, we assumed our position, at the glass doors, one courtyard away. Interestingly, we drew a crowd despite the action occurring, for most of those now crowding around us, out of their view. One man stood well behind the growing throng and held his oversized smartphone in the air and filmed everything. Let's think about this. Filming through two sets of glass doors about 4 metres apart. Sure. That'll work.

A freshly changed guard.

At the conclusion of the guard changing ceremony, the attendant soldiers came marching into the anteroom. Right up close and personal to us on the other side of the glass door. Someone was excited (it wasn't me). Once the final soldier was in the other door, it was closed. Parade over, they all walked off to the other room. Of course the Austrian soldiers had their special march style. I am convinced there is some sort of covert discussion between armies about how each is able to differentiate their marching style. From memory, Heller commented on this in Catch 22. (Note to self: re-read Catch 22).

I knew we had a big day, but this post is way longer than I anticipated. Sorry. Unless you're enjoying it, in which case, you're welcome.

The Loreta Convent was a little further up the hill but the incline wasn't as noticeable as it was, on the initial climb from the river. We slowed our pace as we left the rabid tour groups behind and walked, on cobblestones, to the summit to look across to the Černín Palace, now home to the ministry of Czech Foreign Affairs, and down to the Loreta Convent.

The Loreta Convent.

Down the hill, into the entrance area, tickets and audio guide purchased, in we went. In the interior quadrangle was a small, simple church. On the inside. The exterior was covered in carved reliefs of the life of Mary.

An understated sacred house.

The verandah area around the courtyard contained several altars with specific dedications. Most carried reliquaries. No? Ok. A reliquary is an item that stores a religious relic, like a piece of the cross of Christ (like that exists) or a piece of bone from a saint, or the teeth or breasts of a martyr. Ok, breasts is a step too far, but stay with me. This place had a really weird bent to it.

Placed in between the altars were prayer cloisters, dedicated to individual saints for the nuns to venerate and petition (Jayne wrote that bit, I had no idea). Interspersed between these sainty things were open air confessionals. I'm not sure if this was because this order of nuns was so sinful or they just loved the outdoor life. Hoping the former.

Ooh, I have been naughty.

From the verandah, we moved to the Santa Casa (Sacred House). It is a Marian pilgrimage site but doesn't have the grandeur of a church because a male isn't in residence. The Church of the Nativity, is all of 10 metres away. Male designed, male operated, it has all the opulence and extravagance that is not required of a church within  a couple of hundred metres of a Cathedral and a Basilica.

External corridor.

The startlingly features of this church are a couple saints' skeletons with wax face masks (think Madame Tussaud's). Nearby are their statues with cherubs floating above, depicting their path to martyrdom. On one side is an evil crew holding forceps and a tooth. The other has an equally evil looking cherub holding a plate of breasts. Now haven't we all ... no, yes, you're right, inappropriate.

Totally appropriate.

The 'waxed' martyr.

The cherub with a plate of breasts.

Time to head up stairs to the treasury. That should be safe.

Basically the top floor held the treasury of really expensive stuff they previously used in the church. The jewel in the crown was the 'Sun of Prague'. It was a monstrance. Nope? Google it if you don't know. It held pride of place in the treasury and contained no less than 6,222 diamonds. I'm sure God thought that was necessary and she was very thankful. Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

The photo doesn't do it justice.

Walking further around the corridor, things got really weird. There was a series of artworks that depicted various representations of the crucifixion, each one more gruesome than the last. This ended in a curtained doorway into a darkened area. On your right, as you walked in, was a jar that looked like it contained blood. The sign above said to sniff it, but not remove the lid. Yeah, nah.

Through the curtains into the darkened area we gingerly stepped. It was like a ghost house at a country fair. In the corner was a coffin. That was enough for me. No. I didn't open it. My brain was attempting to reconcile what I was seeing in a religious institution. And no, this is not the time to discuss cannibalism and the body and blood ... perhaps we should mention the bearded girl who was sainted after she was crucified by her father for going against his marriage arrangements?

Oh, alright, but you insisted. She was given away in marriage and wanted to devote herself to the church (as if). That night she went to bed and awoke the next morning with a beard. No juvenile jokes please.  As a result, her father had her crucified. Time to go.

Thee view as we descended towards life as we knew it.

As we departed the scene, we were serenaded by the Loreta carillon bells that ring out on the hour every day.  We headed back towards the Charles Bridge, down the steep incline we had scaled that morning, eschewing the monastic library. It is apparently worthy of a visit but is no longer open to the public because the breath of visitors is playing havoc with the ancient books. 

The view upriver on our way home.

The bridge by this time, was a seething mass of humanity, much like the castle area. We traversed it as quickly as possible to make it back into our local hood to enjoy a well-earned beer, accompanied by a stint of people watching. I may have had 1 litre beer, but that was less than 100ml of beer for every kilometre traversed. Hydration people, you know it's important.

It was good.

We saw many interesting spectacles that afternoon. A mother and daughter using 'scissors, paper, rock' to decide which café they would choose. A young man, his name could have been Daniel, being filmed doing backflips. A 30th birthday birthday celebration, complete with golden tiara and sash. To cap the day off, an ambulance arrived at the Starbucks across the square. I believe an ambulance, no, a hearse, should arrive at Starbucks every time they serve a coffee - because they have just murdered it. Not sure whether the ambulance was attending the death of coffee or assisting someone who was reacting to the fact that they thought they were drinking coffee. Amusing nonetheless.

Following the afternoon's entertainment, we returned to the apartment and the courtyard garden. We dined at home.

Until next time.