Prague Stories

This day started out in the city of Kromeriz, and for me, it started out the worst way – hung-over. I drank too much at the wine tasting in the Archbishop’s cellar the night before, so I woke up late in the morning and missed breakfast with the group, then had to navigate my way to another hotel to catch up with everyone. I was in no condition for navigating, or walking. But I did make it, thankfully, and we were off. Good graces led me to a drug store on the way to the Chateau Gallery and I was able to get some water and painkillers and vitamin C, at least. I yawned my way through the collection of Baroque and Renaissance paintings on display at the Archbishop’s castle and I tried my best to appreciate it. I’m personally not a huge fan of Baroque or Renaissance art, but I found an interest in the paintings of Greek mythology scenes. There was one, in particular, that was of special interest to everyone, including myself. It was actually the prized piece of the Liechtenstein collection, from my understanding. It’s by an artist named, Titian, and it depicts a scene from the story of Marsyas, the satyr who challenged Apollo to a musical contest. The story goes that Marsyas found a pipe instrument called the aulos lying on the ground after Athena, it’s maker, had tossed it aside. He became an expert player, so he challenged Apollo to a contest of musical skill under the terms that the looser would be subjected to whatever punishment the winner chose to inflict. Marsyas assumed that this would be something of a sexual nature, but he was wrong. The Muses judged the contest and Marsyas, of course, lost. He was flayed alive for his hubris in challenging a god. The painting shows Marsyas hanging from a tree and being skinned, surrounded by the Muses and King Midas (who received donkey ears for judging Marsyas the better player) and several others, including, some say, Titian himself – a self portrait. It’s not only an interesting scene and story, but the style of the artist in comparison to all the others was intriguing. I believe he’s Italian.
From the gallery, we went to see the castle gardens. Another UNESCO monument site because it has been maintained as it was originally planned way back in the eighteenth century. We didn’t get to stay long, which was disappointing because it was the first time I’d ever seen a real hedge maze. It was beautiful. I can’t imagine how a garden of that scale would have been kept up so many years ago.
Holesov was our next stop, where we visited a synagogue and a Jewish cemetery. The cemetery was closed. A short drive away was the Museum of folk achitecture in Roznov, where we stopped for lunch/dinner. I think everyone was a little worn out by that time, so then we went to Stramberk and settled for the night in a cozy hotel. We got to watch the sunset from the top of the hill in the town where the tower sits and then went for a beer at an outdoor concert. The locals were gettin’ down. It was fun to see them partying. What an eventful and exhausting day.

So here I am at one thirty in the morning on day three of our big excursion, sleep deprived and physically depleted, yet somehow mustering the mental energy to record everything that I’ve absorbed in this very long, hot day. It was a big day. First day of class, first real dive into the background and foreground of the city, and first day of the settling feeling that comes after the chaos and excitement of a new arrival wears down. Don’t be mislead, I’m still thrilled to be here in Prague. But the glimmer of the idea of the city that I had before I came here has started to peel away to reveal something totally unfathomable. I don’t really know how to pin it just yet, but Prague is defying my expectations. In pure aesthetics, it offers more than I could have imagined. We took a walking tour this afternoon and visited all the major tourist attractions in the city center. Parks, Cathedrals, landmarks, the Castle, the bustling, crowded metropolitan areas – all layered with rich history and flavor. Everything was overwhelming. I’ve never been in a place where so much man made beauty exists in such a condensed radius. There are centuries of intricate artistry all collaged together here that make up some kind of fancy, European, cultural goulash. (Sorry readers, but it really is indescribable. I’m trying my best with the goulash analogy.) I’m so in awe of it all that I feel like I’m jumping the gun in trying to write about it. I will say this though – I was moved to tears when we stopped in front of John Lennon’s graffiti wall. I love John Lennon – as a philosopher, as a prophet, as an artist, as an exemplary human being. I’ve recently been roasting John Lennon in my mind a lot because he gives me hope when I feel a little hopeless over the direction my homeland seems to be headed in lately. And on this tour today, our guide divulged some interesting trivia about American political relations with the Czech Republic. Apparently, Barbara Bush has Czech ancestry traceable back to the seventh century, and because of this lineage, the Czechs have supported our troops in the Middle East since 911. In the coming weeks, the US will officially discuss the possibility of stationing missiles here, in Prague, with the Czech government. This really struck me. In a city that survived the calamity of both World Wars, and the occupation of the Soviet Communist regime for decades, the thought of having yet another potentially disastrous inhabitation must be irksome, to say the least. I’m practically livid inside, and I’m not even Czech. This was brewing in my mind when we reached John Lennon’s memorial today. I’m always drawn to graffiti anyway, so I walked straight toward it to snap some pictures, and then the tour guide started to tell the story behind the wall. I didn’t know it existed until today. When John Lennon was shot, the students in Prague painted the mural in his honor, as a tribute. This was during the tumultuous occupation period, and the oppressive government painted over the mural because it represented anti-communist sentiments. Then, in the 1990s, a group of students gathered together to re-paint the mural, and it stands now as a symbol of freedom. All of the hands that have touched this wall – all of the names and images spray painted and scribbled on it – all of the people who have stood in front of it, like I did today, crying over the loss of such a man and the impact of his message – all of this lingers in the air and reaches straight for the spirit. In times like these, when the ancient woes of war have crept back into the present historical moment, the power of the symbolism is beyond belief. Maybe not for everyone, but definitely for me. Can’t you just imagine?