Prague: Cold City, Warm Soul

by Kristen Kosnac | 2009

It had stopped snowing the morning my travel group and I set out from Hotel Olympia, a Grecian style hotel located in downtown Prague. Despite the twenty-something degree temperature and the bleak grey sky, it seemed as though there was some kind of radiance about the city; as we waited outside for the tour bus to arrive, the hotel's guests bantered amongst one another. Their excitement was contagious, and by the time the bus arrived I was filled with anticipation as to what it was about Prague that lured people in spite of its frigidity.

Our tour guide was a short, jolly woman named Vanya. There was an air of nationalism in her tone as she proclaimed proudly that Prague was the only city that Hitler had taken special care not to destroy. As the bus headed up the steep, winding road toward the castle, Vanya rattled off several other facts about the city.

When we finally reached the castle at the top of the hill, I was able to see firsthand why Prague had been deemed "the city of a hundred spires"; looking out over the city, I saw a sea of baroque style buildings that were reminiscent of the Roman Catholic Church's influence in Prague during the 16 and 17th centuries. The castle itself encompassed almost every architectural style that existed in Prague: the Gothic St. Vitus Cathedral, the Romanesque Basilica of St. George, and a huge collection of Bohemian baroque art.

Upon exiting the castle, which with all of its various cultural representations seemed like a city in itself, we found ourselves at the foot of Charles bridge, an artist-laden stone structure that stretches over the Vlatava river. The sound of jazz music drifted through the air as we crossed the bridge toward Old Town Square, past painters and merchants selling jewelry and bohemian crystal. I became so entranced by all of this that I barely noticed the bitter cold wind that blew off of the river below.

As we walked through the cobblestone street on the other side of the bridge toward Old Town Square, I noticed a throng gathered in front of one of the towers; this, Vanya explained, was the renowned Astronomical Clock. Unable to contain our curiosity, my colleagues and I joined the crowd. When the clock struck 3 p.m. exactly, a bell sounded and a figurine of a rooster appeared in a little window and circled the bell tower three times, making a feeble crowing noise before retreating back into the window. A murmur ran through the crowd, along with a few giggles.

The smell of burning wood wafted through the bus' partially opened window on the ride back to the hotel. Gazing out the window at the gingerbread-like facades of the homes lining the street, I felt a combination of serenity and exhaustion. I had only been in Prague for about twenty four hours, but I already had a sense of what it was about the city that could melt the heart of someone even as cold as Hitler.

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