Prague

18 September 2007

Prague is pretty no doubt, even drop dead gorgeous. It is one of the few European capitals that has been well-preserved, free of wartime destruction. The squares are lively and the architecture breathtaking, encompassing elegant Romanesque and grand Baroque to opulent Rococo and radical Art Nouveau. I was invigorated by the colors that surrounded me – different shades of greens, yellows, blues…. where else can one get away with having a pink house? Prague is awash with color.

On my first day, I ambled along the main town square, Starometske Namesti, which is as picturesque a square as it gets, with the Gothic Tyn church dominating the east side, the Baroque St. Mikulas in the north and the historic astronomical clock, attracting hordes of tourists for its top-of-the-hour show, in a south corner. The Jan Hus monument in the middle of the square was unfortunately cloaked for renovation. My attention was drawn to one side of the square, by St. Mikulas’, where a small crowd was gathering, listening to a pair of violins, from whence the sweetest notes flowed… Mozart… Vivaldi….Dvorak… In a split second, my whole being was uplifted by the experience, leaving me with goose bumps and glassy eyes, totally lost in the sea of colors and melodies of this magnificent and vibrant square…

As much as there is color all around, Prague also offers opportunities to dream in black & white and sepia.

In one of my walks, I ended up in a turn-of-the century cafe in the Mala Strana district frequented by locals. I picked a corner table and amid the unfamiliar chatter of Czech conversations, a trace of cigarette smoke, and the earthy quivery voice of Billie Holiday, I savored my double espresso in a scene of black and white and shades of gray…

I tried to capture in black & white the quiet streets of Josefov, the centuries-old former Jewish ghetto, and home to half a dozen archaic synagogues and a medieval cemetery. On the white walls of one synagogue, written in black were names of Jews that inhabited the ghetto in the 1930s and 40s, the vast majority of whom were gassed in concentration camps. These days, Josefov is far from being a ghetto, but the darkness of decades past still permeates and the sadness can be almost palpable at times.

Taking advice from fellow travelers, I woke up early Sunday morning, before sunrise, and walked from my pensione (hotel) to the Karluv Most (Charles Bridge) before tourists and vendors overwhelmed the scene. At 7 on a Sunday morning, it was quiet and still, the silence only broken by the chirping of birds and the whispers of the handful of people who woke up with the same purpose: to capture in photographs this beguiling, historic (circa 1300s) bridge adorned with twenty four statues along its vehicle-free course. The Prazsky Hrad (Prague Castle) stood in the hilltop beyond.

With the sun’s first rays of light, I had a heyday taking pictures in sepia… and then in subdued colors as the greenish tinge of the dome of the St. Francis of Assisi church provided contrast to the monochromaticity.

As the day progressed, once-hidden colors now were radiant in the noonday sun, and even made more vibrant by the music that flourished in the city. Classical music, Spanish guitar, and the Eastern Europeans’ penchant for cheesy 60s and 70s American pop music added colorful layers to my Prague experience. As I walked along the old streets of Stare Mesto (Old Town), the Bee Gees’ Staying Alive, blaring from a parked car, made me strut just a little bit; and while I tried their world-famous beer Pilsner Urquell in an underground bar in a medieval building, Michael Jackson’s Beat It transformed what was initially just a quick detour into an incongruous, almost Kafkaesque, moment.

In one given night, there are probably dozens of classical concerts in Prague. My curiosity led me to the Klementinum, the former Jesuit quarters, where I enjoyed a classical organ, violin and soprano concert in the beautiful Chapel of Mirrors. From allegro to adagio, Bach to Beethoven, the brusque sound of the massive classical organ, the mellow timbre of the violin and the crystal clear voice of the soprano engulfed me with the beauty of classical music…

I have visited many European cities and arguably there are some as beautiful as Prague. But there was something about Prague that made it extraordinary, something I could not put my finger on and remained elusive to me for days. Then, at that concert at the Chapel of Mirrors, aided by the lyrical caress of the violin, it dawned on me that it is not just its beauty that makes Prague special, it is also its music. I half-expected its beauty and color, but I was caught off-guard by its melody.