Boxing Day was almost a day off. We finally did that thing we always say we’re going to do at Christmas, and that’s to go for a long walk. We used to haul ourselves away from excess on one day over the festive season and waddle and burp our way up a hillside, but we’ve not done it for years. Not until the Feast of Stephen, when all we had planned was the concert in the late afternoon, and, according to the spreadsheet we had “Tour guide Harry…” for the day, and a list of places to see, most of which we had seen yesterday.
Tour Guide Harry was quite happy to lounge in bed and drink coffee, but we finally got our various acts together and headed out into the cold for a decent walk. We’d been averaging eight to ten miles a day simply walking from one place to another, from one hotel to another, or the length of a train looking for the WC, and we were to add a fair few more miles that day.
From Wenceslas Square down to the river and across in the startlingly clear and icy morning. Calm river, water birds, a demonstration on the riverbank, incredible architecture, along one side of the river, over again and into the Jewish Quarter via the Rudolfinum concert hall and the commemorative statue to liberty. Then, back towards the centre of the Old Town to take another sideways glance at the Christmas market, which was about 90% food, so not much good if you were looking for local arts and crafts. Of course, we were visiting these places at the busiest time of the winter season, so you can’t complain about crowds, and I’ve already said, it was slightly quieter than when we’d been at Easter. Even so, it was good to get off the main roads now and then and take a look at what lay behind. For example, we saw the famous hanging-out man, which is David Černý’s Statue of Sigmund Freud. Beyond giving you that info, I can be of no help.
We also went to see a statue that wasn’t there. This had happened before, when H and I went to find Mládí, the famous statue of Youth at Prague Castle. It used to be there beside the Toy Museum, and it was famous because the bronze had weathered to a natural, almost-black colour, apart from the young man’s tackle, which was dazzlingly shiny thanks to the hands of hundreds of people who’d grabbed his nuts for luck. (Thiers and his, I imagine.) When Neil and I were there in 2015, I remember a queue of giggling Asian girls and a couple of burly lorry driver types waiting their turn. When H and I went to see him last time, he had gone. Same this time. He had been removed in 2016 as part of renovation work and never returned. He’s in the city art depository now, no doubt recounting his tales of grappling girls and dubious lorry drivers to Don Giovanni.
Why Don Giovanni? Because he’s missing too. We walked to the Estate’s theatre, where H and I had seen ‘The Magic Flute’ back in 2023, and where there had been a sculpture depicting Don Giovanni (which was first performed at that theatre on the 29th of October 1787). Now, that too has gone. I mean, what next? No Irish pubs?
What is it with Irish pubs and European cities? We found a few in other places too. Not complaining, because Czech beer is Czech beer no matter where you have it, and the menus were great. I was just wondering.
We ended up in one or two that Boxing Day as we went a-wandering looking for missing works of art. Jenine and Harry went to a beer museum while we had lunch and did some more wandering as the sun started to set, met up with the others to look at the place H and I stayed last time, to see the Cat Café from outside (yes, it caters for stray cats and cat lovers), and to make our way to the concert.
Guess who was in the ensemble? Dagmar, again on the viola. The day before, we’d heard her solo Paganini’s Caprice number 24 in A minor (that’s The South Bank Show tune) which, in parts, looks like this:
Now, she was helping the others along with O Come All Ye Faithful, but once the carols were done, they launched into many other classical pieces, we had a mezzo sing for us, and we had the titular organist play for us. The net says about him: The titular organist of the St. Salvator Church in Prague’s Klementinum complex is Robert Hugo, a noted specialist in historical organs and Baroque music who has held this role since the 1990s, frequently performing at concerts held in the Klementinum’s famous Mirror Chapel. So, there you go.
I think, that night, he was in rather a hurry to be somewhere else, for after helping out with a couple of early numbers, he dashed of Bach’s Toccata and Fuge in D minor, and had practically shut up the organ and collected his papers while still holding the final pedal D. That done, he was off – but it was a wonderful concert, and wonderful to see H’s face when the organ began – and it was only a chapel instrument, I reminded him. Imagine what the cathedral ones sound like. Hopefully, one day, he’ll hear one in full throat, feel the air vibrate throughout a cathedral, and appreciate the power of mechanics and music in harmony.
Before that, though, food. We headed to the Wet Beaver for dinner. That was the restaurant where we’d drawn looks three years ago by discussing the river rats, aka, wet beavers, and H wanted to return there. It was just around from where we stayed before, and the food was good. Mind you, by then, I was reduced to pea soup and some slices of cheese as I’d already had Irish bangers and mash. Still, it was another memorable dinner followed by a slow walk back to the mansion apartment ahead of packing for the next day’s journey. This one promised to be a right old adventure, and it was certainly that, as you will find out tomorrow.
Meanwhile, as Tony Heart used to say, here’s the gallery.
