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.

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.