Christmas morning comes, and the house creaks gradually into life. It never fails to impress me how teenagers can sleep for 12 hours and still be silent until after their first feeding. I’m sure when I was 18, I was up at six every day, even if I hadn’t gone to bed until after midnight. I only once remember waking up at ten one morning, as fresh as a model in a senna pod advert, and thinking I’d missed half the day. However, as much as the teen wants to lie in, today is Christmas Day, and we have two appointments booked.
There are to be no presents this Christmas because the whole trip is our present to each other and ourselves. Having said that, Neil paid for the Venice gondola as a gift, and I’ve done the same with our first appointment today. But that’s not going to happen unless we get on the road, so after breakfast of eggs on toast, coffee for the caffeine junkies and tea for me and H (I brought a zip-lock bag of proper tea donated to the expedition by Colette), we set off into zero degrees to find the nearest stop for tram #22.
I should mention that H and I had been to Prague in 2023, and for the next few days, H was mainly in charge of routes and ascents because he had been there before. This is how we knew to search out the ticket machine on the tram, so as to avoid fines. Not that there was any sign of anyone checking. The trams were already busy at nine in the morning, mainly with eager tourists like us and people heading to work. One of the reasons for choosing Prague for Christmas Day was that everything is open. Shops, sights, restaurants, concert halls; nothing, it seems, sleeps, so there is always something to do.
In our case, it was a tram across the river pointing out places we’d been to on our previous visit (Petrin Tower, Observatory, Museum of Music, an Irish pub…), and getting off just below the climb to the castle. There’s a walk up a few hundred steps to reach the top, but hey, we know about steps, especially those of us without transport, so that was no problem. All the same, by the time I reached the top, I was dripping with sweat despite the freezing weather.
There was much ‘Remember this?’ and ‘When I came here in 1783…’ and so on, as all of us had been to the city before, and having been more recently than the others, H and I knew the modern score. A quick glance at the changing of the guard at the Presidential Palace (only the quick change, not the full-drag version), and on to the security barriers now in place at the entrance to the castle grounds.
This is another sad reflection of first-world affluence. Security guards at heritage sites, human traffic restrictions, queues, extra payments to enter cities because we’re gradually eating away at our own world from its resources to things we’ve built from them, and everyone’s an Instagram influencer. I’m sure a large percentage of tourists only visit places to be seen to have been there and to show off the fact on their ‘socials.’
‘What did you think of Prague?’
‘It got me 2k more views.’
‘Yes, but the culture?’
‘Hmm? The what now?’
[Inserts a range of emojis from ‘meh’ to ‘vomit’ and moves on.]
We took a look at St Vitus Cathedral from the outside, and the others went up the tower.
I wasn’t part of the summit party. I tried, but the irrational fear of falling from a great height, plus a little claustrophobia on the two-way, narrow tower stairs, sent me back to the courtyard. There, I sat like Bernie Sanders, wrapped in my overcoat, hat and gloves, minding my own while they scaled the heights.
After that, onwards through the grounds to the Lobkowicz Palace just as it opened, for an hour admiring the private collection of art, china, music memorabilia, including some original scores by the greats, and other interesting cultural things… Such as?
Well, there was a fascinating display of Botulinum toxin housed in an alarming number of lips and trout pouts. Overcome Asian girls photographing every single exhibit to death, people posing by the piano (oops), and a few appreciatives cooing over the Canalettos.
And onwards to take our front row seats in the music room for a lunchtime concert. These happen all the time in Prague, it seems. You can’t help but stumble across members of the Czech National Symphony Orchestra or the Dvořák Symphony Orchestra popping into a baroque concert hall to dash off a few numbers before heading off to their next venue. In this case, we had a wonderful hour of flute, piano and the viola, which was played by a lady called Dagmar Mašková, a member and Deputy Section Leader of the Prague Philharmonia, who would turn up again in our near future. They usually play the old faves, the ones everyone knows such as, ‘That thing by Mozart, and the lovely bit from Orpheus in His Underwear. Oh, and that one… you know, it goes like…. We used to call it Old Father Thames, but not the music hall song version…’ (‘Moldau’ by Smetana.’ The bit you’ll recognise starts at 1.08 on this YouTube version.)
I’ve found that always included in their programmes is something slightly more obscure. In this case, it was a Pavane by Ravel I’d never before heard arranged for a trio. Gorgeous. The last time, with H, when we attended a similar concert in the same place, it was a piece by Jan Jiří Benda (not a made-up name) that struck me. Look up his violin sonata and, particularly, the Grave. Here’s a YouTube link. Goosebumps.
(Hint: It’s not us in the front row.)
Side note: Back in 1995 or ’96, Kiwi Bernie and I had visited Prague on our drive around Europe. We pulled up at an accommodation agency on the outskirts, secured a room for two nights at a cost of £6.00, and found it at the end of a tram line. We also found it used to be a borstal or similar, because the bedroom (cell) door was nine inches of iron and steel with a grille protecting a 14 x 5 room containing nothing but two single beds, and the showers were a shared and heavily tiled chamber reminiscent of an army barracks or British boarding school. On the plus side, our £6.00 included breakfast in a room heavy with doilies, fancy china, and psychedelic wallpaper. The lady of the house, aka, the warden, would not let us leave until we had finished six courses of traditional Czech fare. Waddling off, we took the tram into town, visited one traditional market not made for tourists because that was all there was, and later, believe it or not, had a three-course very late lunch (with wine), before stumbling upon a concert performance of Mozart’s Requiem in the Church of Our Lady in front of Týn. Accommodation aside, we spent the equivalent of £10.00 between us that day. How times have changed since the years immediately following the Velvet Revolution.
Moving on. After the concert, we toddled off down the hill to find Harry’s wet beaver.
Now, this takes a little explaining, but to cut a long-haired beaver short, they’re not beavers, they’re a variation thereof, a big water rat, a coypu creature also called a Nutella… No, that’s not right, a Hygena, no, that was a kitchen… Nutria, that’s it. It sounds like another treatment for constipation, but is, in fact, an animal. Three years ago, we came across them, and at dinner that night, the teen, then only 15, announced to the restaurant that he’d seen his first beaver, and it was wet.
The less said, the longer the gag runs for, and it’s still running three years later.
On Christmas Day, the Charles Bridge was less crowded than it had been on Easter Day (during our last visit), and we did the obligatory sightseeing, took the photos, and did the marvelling as we crossed, and again, were grateful for the weather. Cold, yes, but bright blue sky, no wind, rain, hail, frogs, plagues or snow. (That would come later).
We took a wander among the old buildings and streets, did some posing in various locations, and came across a man selling tickets to concerts at the Klementinum. This is “Prague’s second-largest building complex after Prague Castle and houses the most beautiful library in the world.” The concert was for the following afternoon, and if we came at 17.00, we would hear the ensemble performing with the organ. If we came at 19.00, it would be an ensemble and a piano. Well, we’d done that, and although we’d been admiring them, H had never heard a pipe organ in action, and although the tickets for the best seats were €56.00 each (gone are the days of £10.00 for the day), I thought, ‘It’s Christmas,’ and, probably thanks to a recent beer or two in an Irish pub, set about jovially haggling with the chap. Between me and a total stranger beside us who joined the routine, we got the price down to more of an ‘It’s only money’ level, and secured us gallery seats for the next afternoon. More on that tomorrow.
For today, we are still wandering the streets towards our next destination. Night has come early, the shopfronts are warmly glittering, the smell of chimney cake and sugar are in the air, and the sounds of all languages and occasional Christmas music roll between the awe-inspiring architecture. Harry, of course, is in awe of the cars, until there we are, by the river at the second appointment. This is another of those ‘must do’ attractions in Prague, not least of all because it involves food.
Here we go again, but this time, for H’s grandma, who I know is reading this and who might not have seen this video before. Back in 2023, H and I did a similar trip up and down part of the river at night, only on a larger boat than we took this time. I was enamoured of the horseradish sauce, though I found it a little hot. I suggested that the next time I took some, I only took what my grandmother used to refer to as ‘a suspicion.’ A soupçon.
The scene unfolds…
Sorry about the blurred bits. My eyes were watering.
Meanwhile, back to the present day (the day on which you give presents, get it?). Never mind. Christmas Day ended with a dinner on a boat, with sightseeing from up top for those who were brave enough, laughter, chatter, and a bracing walk home.
The Gallery
This one’s a mix of my photos and some from the others, but I can’t remember which is whose, or whose is which, but they should give you an idea.
