Bricks and mortar, Praha style.

Accepting that there were real limits on my time in Prague, I forced my culinary passion to take a back seat, and allowed my feet to take over. No blisters this time, but my, what a wonderful city in which to have a good wander. Merely keep your attention directed away from the predictable tourist claptrap, and it becomes a dream of a city, with buildings for every taste, a living and breathing Architecture 101.

Here's a bit of a grab-bag of impressions of my stay. I didn't necessarily include the most famous landmarks, but you can easily find those in any decent guidebook online or off. These were just some of what I experienced and enjoyed, and I hope you'll also enjoy browsing through them.

Understatement at the State Opera.

This stairway, between two buildings, was considered so narrow that someone (with both a sense of humor and an awareness of average tourists' waistlines) had pedestrian stoplights installed.

A coffeehouse as Edward Hopper would imagine it, complete with 1950s feel and slightly greenish lighting.

You can see the effort made to restore this building facade to its former glory. The city has gone from its Communist-era soot-black coating to a virtual rainbow of colors.

Such distinct styles for each...

I strongly recommend stopping at the Municipal House (above) for a coffee--they come in triangular shaped cups. As unexciting as its name sounds, it is a real Art Nouveau gem, inside and out, down to the smallest detail. You can go have a peek downstairs also, where there is a gorgeous bar. The tilework in the hallways is jaw-dropping. If you find out ahead of time, you can join the building tour, which is apparently also quite interesting. Avoid the "concerts" however, as they're disappointingly low-grade, featuring just a barebones "orchestra"--meaning four or five instruments--meant to draw in a bit of extra money only, and failing at that. Pity, as the space is quite nice.

In addition to the remarkable Astrological Clock and its many moving parts (above), another uniquely Prague feature is the presence of the so-called Cubist architecture. In the architectural order of things, Cubism came about in the early 20th century, and it preceded Art Nouveau, which in turn was followed by Art Deco, roughly speaking. While there is some argument about what Cubist architecture really consists of, you can just avoid all the fuss and check out some of the buildings for yourself.

A good start is the House of the Black Madonna, originally built as a department store. While looking at the building's exterior, you may be underwhelmed by its Cubism, expecting something a little more garishly Picasso-esque. In fact, the city insisted that the building blend in a bit with its Baroque neighbors. Go to the small Museum Shop for some beautiful examples of Cubist theory in craft (furniture and porcelain), but don't miss the cafe upstairs, which is claimed to be the only remaining Cubist interior in the world.There is also the 1996 Frank Gehry "deconstructivist" structure, nicknamed the Fred and Ginger building (above). It was designed to leave the city view of the existing buildings unimpeded. I love the ingenuity and energy it exudes. What do you think?

So-called modern work can sometimes be a bit of a mixed bag, in Prague as elsewhere. In front of the Kafka museum, which is helpfully indicated by two enormous capital Ks, there are two full-size statues with continuously swiveling body sections (see photo below). Even the penises go up and down--while urinating continuously into a pool the shape of the Czech Republic. Hmm. A wry bit of anti-nationalist comment--or had the sculptor drunk too much Czech beer? Given the time constraints, it was impossible for me to see everything; I entirely missed the Jewish quarter, with its old cemetery, pictured below. There's enough in Prague for a return visit, in the off-season...

Please note that the photos of the Astrological Clock, the Gehry "Fred and Ginger" building, and the old Jewish Cemetery were taken by the talented Paolo Rosa.

Update:
There is an interesting New York Times article about the Prague Golem and its resurgence in today's times of worry.

Prague Spring.

I would love to write about food right now, really I would. What I know of Czech food, however, is pretty much limited to what I've found online. Based on this past weekend, I have the strong impression that in Prague, the authentic Czech dining experience has generally been either "Disneyfied"--i.e. become a low-grade, relatively standardized copy of the real thing--or co-opted by showier "international" cuisine.

I'll settle for writing a bit about beer in Prague. I am absolutely not an expert, but I do enjoy dark beers, and there were certainly enough to choose from, even in the land of golden-hued pilsners. Like everywhere else, the draughts are superior, and the ideal would be to head to the off-the-beaten-path, poorly advertised beer halls and gardens. True beer nirvana, and still inexpensive to boot. As I was in Prague briefly and with a group, we didn't have the latitude for too much impromptu adventuring, but we made out well enough... My personal favorite was a draught brewed on the spot in a former monastery-turned restaurant, called the Strahov Brewery, on Strahovske nadvori 301, in the Prague Castle District. The location itself is a pleasant respite from the bustle in the center further below. Founded in 1140 by King Vladislav II, the monastery has a wide-open, spare feeling to it, which helps mitigate the reality that the restaurant's location and its prices, which are a touch higher, mean that it caters more to tourists. The first mention of the brewery dates back to the turn of the 13th century. The brewery was completely overhauled first in 1628, and again in the last few years. And the beer I had was, well, just plain delicious. The waiter called it a dark beer, but it looked more like a dark amber to me, which is a beer drinker isn't at all the same thing (see above). It was full-flavored and so refreshing yet low enough in alcohol that having it with lunch entailed no later regrets.

Apparently a real treat--even for locals--is the brief annual appearance of the sought-after Strahov Christmas beer, feted at a Christmas Mass held December 4th on premises (also featuring a choir and orchestra, natch). The "limited-edition" brew is described as a darkish Doppelbock that is well worth the trouble. If you are around in that period, reserve yourself a spot, and bring on the holiday cheer!

Or how's about a Bud? Yes, a Budweiser, but not the kind you think (see the logo above). After a lengthy and bitter dispute with Annheiser-Busch, Budweiser/Budvar (made in Budweis since 1785) is now marketed in the US as Czechvar, while the US namesake is now usually known outside of the US as Bud. This widely-available beer (third largest producer in Czech) puts the American one in the shade. Which isn't that hard to do, I'll admit. I also enjoyed a bottled version of Krusovice (see above), but was underwhelmed by the bottled version of the Czech number two, called Staropramen. I'm also convinced that Pilsner Urquell, the internationally most well-known Czech beer, really doesn't taste as good as it used to. I did some czech-ing around (...) and they recently "improved" their brewing processes, switching to a more modern approach. Sigh. It isn't the only thing to have changed.

Nice stop at the airport, but skip the soggy sandwiches.

In fact, a whole lot has changed in Prague since the turning-point that was the spring of 1968. I was able to visit the city with Prague "veterans" who have repeatedly visited over the past few decades, and they remain surprised by the rate of change.

Yes, vintage Skodas are still around; for a decadent tourist tour, that is.

Much of this change is due to tourism and the ready currency it brings. To give you a little sense of the scale of tourism, some 1.2 million people call Prague home; last year alone, some 4 million tourists came. Tourists (like me) are inescapable in any season but come in suffocatingly large numbers during summer, by all accounts. Behind this is also the 66% increase in low-cost air travel seats in just the past four years. This degree of mass tourism means, at least for me, that you have to make a concerted effort to ignore the omnipresent ground floor trinket shops (Genuine Pashmina Shawl 10 euros, or Bohemian Nesting Dolls ad nauseum, anyone?) and generally low-standard food establishments. Concentrate your attention on the gorgeous variety of buildings, clustered dizzyingly close together--there are pristine examples of Art Nouveau, Baroque, Renaissance, Gothic and Cubist theory, among others. But I have to sort out my photos first before going on; the architecture of such a city deserves an entry of its own.

Packing my bag.

Recovered from the smack-down that was stomach flu, I am out madly pruning and tidying the lavender, roses, and the Russian sage (Perovskia) that rivals and outlasts the lavender's blues. Another favorite in my garden is the elegantly swaying white bee-blossom (Gaura) tucked in between the shrubs. I'd show you photos, but all you'd see are clipped bits, with just the delicate promise of buds. I can assure you that for much of spring and summer the scent is intoxicating in parts of the garden, and I will do my best to show you some of this in the growing season.

I'm one in a line of care-takers of this old home, and that's quite clear in the garden, where primroses and all kinds of bulbs continue to pop up unexpectedly. I nurture the hydrangeas and the old, old roses that someone else planted and loved. The roses are an unknown variety with densely packed, unfashionably grandma-pink petals, a thick, thick scent that grabs you and does not let go, and a complete thicket of horrendous, differently-sized thorns; despite this quite forbidding armature, I won't let them go either.

The raspberries are trimmed and ready, but I had to cut back a bit of the exuberant gooseberry and black currant growth so you could walk by and get to the strawberries. They didn't make it through this winter so well, and it might be time for a little re-stocking. Just snipping the few black currant boughs released a pervasive and dark scent, seductive harbinger of the fruit to come. The grape vines are still sleeping.

No tomatoes this time. As much as I adore them, I am older and wiser in this one small regard (since last year). They seem to be a canine version of catnip for Dakar. I'm just not elegant when I howl about yet more lost tomatoes. (Insert visual here of silver dog slinking around corner.) So I will be buying tomatoes at the market, green ones, orange ones, pink ones and black, and placing them well out of dog reach. The children will find them in the kitchen, as children tend to do. They will look at me with dimpled, enquiring smiles and bite into them like apples. Just a few more weeks of waiting.

Oh the gardener's list of things to do, the definition of hope. All this is suddenly frenzied, because I lost focus and time being horizontal, and I'll soon be tucking the kids under each arm and taking the TGV to Paris. The day after tomorrow in fact. Thrilled as it is with the idea of rail travel, the small ones are also very happy to be spending time with Max's Parisian godmother and her similarly-aged brood.

I will be continuing onward for a family reunion in Prague; now there's a change from the garden. Never yet been, but am hope-hope-hoping for good weather, so as to be able to share what I see with you. Maybe we will feel spring there as well. If not, there's always the beer. And family. And kynute knedliky (raised fruit dumplings). Just maybe not in that order.

A Charles Rennie Mackintosh watercolour, found at Lark.