The Jerusalem synagogue in Prague is quite astonishing, nothing at all like I imagined a synagogue to be. I was drawn to its elaborate and colourful exterior with its Islamic arches before I realised it was a synagogue. It was named the Jubilee Synagogue to celebrate fifty years of the reign of Franz Joseph in 1906. Moorish Revival meets Art Nouveau in a whirl of pattern and colour that somehow ends up being peaceful.
Then there was the Old New Synagogue, Europe's oldest active synagogue, completed in 1270. It looked more like I expected a synagogue to look, although I didn't go inside.
Nearby was the building that once housed the Ceremonial Hall and mortuary of the Old Jewish Cemetery.
The final building is a ring-in. The only reason I can see for the naming of the restaurant (Resturace u Stary Synagogy) in this lovely Art Nouveau building is that it is on a site that used to be in the old Jewish quarter, which was demolished and rebuilt between 1893 and 1913.
When two hop-on buses went past with no one willing to hop off to make space for me, I headed down the cobblestoned road towards the river, trying to see my fill and not trip over multitudes of other people doing the same, and then passing through the tower, onto Charles Bridge. A sculpted dog was peering into a barred cell containing human figures looking less than happy, maybe even dismembered. Noble statues of saints loomed against the blue sky, a less noble one against the less-blue river; and a multitude of stalls sold paintings, photos, jewellery, and caricatures-while-you-wait (not something my vanity was willing to submit to.)
After an early morning laze and gaze in the old town, I hopped on the bus and crossed the river. I made a brief foray into St Nicholas Church, resplendent with ceiling paintings, gold and marble and a startlingly simple statue. Nearby was a column to celebrate the end of the bubonic plague in the early eighteenth century, a reminder of the particular precariousness of life for our ancestors.
But my real Prague pleasures are the streetscapes, pleasure doubled when combined with lunch. Unfortunately, it was too hot for my pork-knee preference, and I wasn't quite up for chicken absinthe, so I settled for a salad, looking up the hill past elegant facades to spires and a vast mosaic roof. After I'd eaten with relish, I went down three steep, worn flights of stairs – left, left and left again – holding on to a rickety bannister, looking for the loo, and found, as well, a suit of armour bizarrely lit, a painted chest, and an old wooden wheel.
When I asked a friend who’d lived in Prague what to see and what to do, she said: “Prague’s old town square very fine to walk in early in the morning before the crowds of tourists fill every space, but while people are setting up and building their frame for the day.” Having been daunted by Sunday lunchtime melee, I acted on her advice on Monday morning, and spent a very pleasant time sitting on benches with serpent legs, moving out of the way of the woman attentively watering the flower bed around the statue, watching the passing parade and making occasional forays to explore the alleyways and search for coffee. There was so much to inhale: windows, facades with their decorations (golden, painted, and moulded), doors, spires, statues, colonnades and men at work.
Somehow I managed solitude at the front of the boat attached to my hop-on-hop-off ticket, probably because of the blazing heat. Eventually even I, sad ferry addict that I am, retreated inside, and found the windows made a pleasant frame for the never-ending beauties of Prague.
I took Janek's advice. He told me just to pop up out of the metro station and wander. Wherever I wandered would be wonderful. He was wonderfully right. Music and drunken voices poured out of a club where Saturday night's party was still raging. Even early on Sunday morning tour groups were about, marked by clusters around a raised hand carrying flag or an umbrella or something sickeningly cute, all looking earnest and harried.
But Prague overwhelms these distractions. I have no idea how I can possibly represent it. Everywhere I look there is something beautiful. The only time I've felt so overwhelmed by the demands of ever-changing beauty was in Wadi Rum. I have joined countless people, famous and not, who are charmed by this lovely city. I have spent a lot of time, as I do in the bush at home amongst the spotted gums, just sitting and gazing around. Do I post four hundred photos? If not, how do I select? Prague loves the camera.
What I see in Wenceslas Square is facades – moulded, gilded, turreted, domed, painted, spired, iron-worked, dormer-or-bay-windowed: each one different, with its own special charm.
In the course of my first day wanderings, I came down an alley and there was a jewel of a building. I didn't realise I had stumbled on one of the finest Art Nouveau buildings in Europe, but I settled down to eat breakfast on the footpath outside its cafe, where I could keep looking up and replenishing my delight in the richness of its embellishments.
Postscript:
My friend Elizabeth is a beader extraordinaire. One of her latest pieces is this. It would have been ideal to wear as I dined at the Obecni Dum. Other splendid beadings can be seen on her beading Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/BeadyEyesAustralia?ref=ts&fref=ts
I chose an apartment a bit out of the centre this time. I was attracted by the idea of a garden, and thought I'd be fit enough for a walk to the station, and seasoned enough to deal with train tickets. I didn't bargain on temperatures over 30.
Janek picked me up at the station as promised and I felt instantly at home when he was concerned about whether his car would start. Despite the fact that his young nephew was anxious to go flying, he found me a bankomat and spent a lot of time telling me where to go and how to get there. When he introduced me to the cherry tree in the back yard, I realised that I had never in fact seen cherries on a tree.
The walk to the station took me a bit longer than the 20 minutes advertised, but then most people probably don't stop to take photos. I was accompanied by birdsong, the thwack of tennis balls, and at one point the sound of water running under the road. It couldn't be more different from my Vienna neighbourhood.
Dedicated to Coleta from 5W, who showed me a Vienna grand rather than grandiose.
It's strange how my Vienna lexicon has changed overnight: one day I was describing it negatively as ostentatious, grandiose, showy, extravagant, lordly, imperious. The next I had a different array of synonyms: magnificent, imposing, impressive, awe-inspiring, splendid, superb, striking, monumental, majestic, glorious. How could this be? Maybe the weather had something to do with it, and the fact that in Coleta's hands I was no longer lost and fumbling to find the sights. It also helped that I'd done a quick circuit on the bus. I hope this doesn't mean I always need to repeat an experience to have it. Not enough life left!
I met Coleta downstairs, after breakfast in the Naschmarkt. We walked through the market again (aha! So that's the way downtown!) and continued walking along the Ringstraße, past the magnificence of the Rathaus, the Burgtheatre, the statue in thanks for the end of the plague, St Stephens cathedral, looking very different today, and then down past the church built to celebrate 60 years of Franz Joseph's reign to a very tall beer overlooking the Danube and the other side of the river where buildings can scrape the sky: this can't happen in the centre of the city. On the way we passed through magnificent rose gardens, down classy arcades and into sunny squares. Coleta works at the Burgtheatre, so we went in for a quick look at its splendour.
Not only did I see the Vienna in front of my eyes. I saw the decorations at Christmas, different in each street: the ice rink in front of the town hall, and the ice path through the park: the continuous stream of festivals (we were part of the crowd filmed at the cooking of an eggless egg at the Vegan festival, and passed through the setting up of the Brazil festival): the Aida coffee shops in Abu Dhabi, because a wife of Arab wealth liked them so much in Vienna: I saw the theatre crowds dressed up to match the grandeur of the Burgtheatre: I saw a few bombs falling and creating gaps, now filled by the architecture of the 1950s: I saw the Russians leaving after ten years.
And I encountered Sisi, wife of the Emperor Franz Joseph, and almost a brand in Austria. She was mentioned by everyone I spoke to. Coleta's 21 year old niece is a big fan. At Christmas, movies about her life are screened on television as a ritual. I didn't get around to visiting her summer residence.
We stopped for streusel in the rose garden and a very tall beer overlooking the Danube.
Secession building, built as an architectural manifesto
Otto Wagner pavilion
Undaunting decorations
Roof trees
Modern ceiling decorations
ID please!
Coleta in the rose garden
Me in the rose garden
Rose garden
Austrian parliament building
The grandeur of the Burgtheatre
Coleta in her workplace
Thanks for the end of the plague
Church built to celebrate the golden jubilee of Emperor Franz Joseph
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