Week Eighteen

Up early and out: we're not really sure what there is to see in Bratislava: "Bratislava" and "Slovakia" kind of conjure up images of grey industrial communism, and what we've seen so far (with the exception of IKEA in the outskirts) hasn't done anything to dispel that thought. We find the nearest tram stop (for our third and final free tram ride) and buy cigarettes while we wait: King Size doesn't seem to have reached Slovakia yet, and we end up with two stubby packs of stubby cigarettes - Milena is unimpressed. Not to worry - the tram takes us right to the station, where we drop our bags in an old-style combination locker. Locker in Slovak appears to be "Skrinky", which amuses me - there's a sign on the way in which reads "Uschovne Skrinky".
Tourist Information at the station is closed, so we'll have to rely on the Lonely Planet map (I wish their pages ripped out more easily). Back down the ice-covered road towards the centre - in Bratislava, incidentally, they have a great technique of chipping out a clear path along the middle of the pavement: it isn't always straight, but it does mean you always have somewhere to walk without slipping. Our way in takes us slightly east past Slobody square, ringed by massive concrete buildings and containing the occasional monolithic sculpture: that, coupled with the Slavin War Memorial tends to confirm our impression that there'll be nothing here to see except grey.
Just as we're thinking that, of course, we pass the Archbishop's Palace on the right (an uninspired but encouraging Habsburgian-baroque 17-something biulding). A little further on, our road opens onto the large Hodzovo namestie (namestie = nam = square), fronted by the white neo-classical Grassalkovich Palace - dunno who's living there now, but they apparently deserve an armed guard. The other sides of the square are pretty nondescript (except for a billboard advertising a cure for impotence), but just down the hill is the Holy Trinity Church. The front seems merely okay, but inside it bulges out into a large open oval shape and the walls are covered in murals/frescoes: it's magnificent, and every visitor to Bratislava should make sure to pop in.

The little square that the church overlooks (Hurbanovo nam) pretty much marks the start of the cobbled and pedestrianised Old Town. The obvious way in is through Michael Tower to Michael Street (passing Michael Cafe, Bookshop and Shopping Centre on the way). The white Michael Tower guards the old north gate, and you pass through the arch underneath. Further down the street (Michalska) are huge University buildings, former palaces which date from when Bratislava was the capital of Hungary (all through the Turkish occupation of Budapest). Our original intention was to hit the Cathedral and Castle from here, but since I've run out of film we strike east into the heart of the Old Town first, coming out at the large Tesco before working our way back in again.

At the heart of the Old Town is a double square - Hlavne nam and Primacialne nam, which are (mostly) separated by the renaissance Town Hall. You can walk through the inner courtyard of the Town Hall (which has womderful arches) from one nam to the other. Other noteworthy features of the two squares include the (pink) Primate's Palace (presumably the Catholic Primate, rather than the chimpanzee) in Primacialne nam (Primate's square?) and the statue of Roland in the middle of Hlavne nam. Milena thinks the little statue is far too small both for its podium and for the square, but that may just be a result of communist-era conditioning: it looks fine to me.

We leave the rest of the Old Town for later and instead strike west as per our original plan, passing under an archway in the university buildings and climbing up past the old Clarissine convent (it has a 5-sided tower) to St. Martin's Cathedral, which turns out to be closed for lunch. It also turns out to be next to a huge dual-carriageway which has been driven through this half of the Old Town. Local information leaflets are very bitter on the subjects both of this road (a lot of the Old Town was apparently demolished to make way for it) and its attendant bridge - the Novy Most (New Bridge). Me? I quite like the whacko communist bridge and its backdrop of concrete blocks - this is probably the kind of thing I came to Slovakia to see. There's a hill on the opposite side of the road - the very last (or first, depending on your viewpoint) bump in the sprawling Carpathian range, on which is Bratislava Castle. The outer walls are quite good, as are the views from them, but the castle itself is a disappointing 1950s rebuild of the last real castle here (there have been several, including the Roman frontier station - the Danube here was the northern limit of the Empire). The small 1970s-library-like Parliament building just beyond the castle doesn't deserve a look . . .

We head back into the Old Town to find somewhere for a coffee and perhaps something to eat - the centre seems mostly made up of designer shops, overpriced tourist cafes, luxury import boutiques, (like Budapest) lots of boarded-up or plastic-covered fountains, and a number of strange and humorous street sculptures. We eventually find a reasonably-priced old-style self-service place but a.) it's non-smoking, and b.) we can't figure out any of the items on the wall-menu. Instead we pick a funny little cafe attached to a casino, next to a little room of arcade machines. After eating, we check out the nearby Slovak National Monument which is small, disappointing and sexist - it appears to be a noblewoman (or nun) and a peasant woman, being watched over/protected by a stocky guy with a sword.

To wrap up the Old Town, we first take a wander north of Hlavne nam and into the Franciscan Church and cloister (Milena talks nicely with some men who're working on the door - otherwise it was closed): like the outside, the inside is a curious part-Gothic part-Baroque mix. It's set amid an area of large but essentially dull and block-like palaces. To the south of Hlavne nam, towards the Danube, is a much larger and newer square - Hviezdoslavovo nam (seriously) - with the imposing neo-classical National Theatre at one end. Opposite the theatre is a mini-ice-rink for kids (presumably seasonal). More significantly (except for the kids) from here down to the river is the yellow Reduta Palace, now a concert hall: a solid neo-baroque affair, it was one of the last constructions (1914) of the Habsburg era before their empire was dismantled (by us). Thinking of Britain at the same time, it makes you realise what a completely different world they were in - socially, technologically and geographically.

The walk along the river is pretty uninteresting, especially after Budapest: the only building of note is the National Gallery. They've taken a 3-sided palace (open to the river) and built a large concrete-and-glass fourth side - Milena hates it; I probably agree, but I suppose you'd really have to see it from the far bank to appreciate the design. By the time we get back to the Cathedral, it's open after lunch (in fact it's almost ready to close for the evening), but the inside is disappointing, and wasn't worth the wait.
Conversely to the Cathedral our last stop in Bratislava is a surprising high point, and I wish we'd done it during daylight hours: it's the Slovak Radio Building. It's hard to do it justice, but it's all that was best in communist concrete - imaginative but simple, and somehow rather grand at the same time. From the outside, it looks like a gravity-defying upside-down pyramid in concrete and metal and glass. We went inside to see if we could figure out how it didn't collapse, and met a large and very friendly security guard. You could tell he was just so happy and proud that we were impressed with his building - he ushered us into the security control room and showed us a schematic and explained what happened where (he also turned out to be married to a Romanianm so he enthused about Romanian women to me - I know). The building turns out to be hollow and supported from the inside by a double-sheathed (to allow some give) central block, which rises two floors higher than the shell. So the whole building is like a satellite dish with central antenna, pointing straight up at the sky.

We have several hours to kill (Bratislava-Prague is only 5.5 hours, not even a proper overnight), so we send some emails and read through tourist leaflets before returning to the station. As evidence that they haven't really got the hang of the tourist-thing, the main Bratislava leaflet shows what they consider the main sights - these include the little statue of Roland (fair enough). But the only photo they apparently had was from below and from behind - the net result is that the cover is pretty much dominated by a photo of Roland's butt.

It's looking quite tight for money-for-food, but then our tickets turn out to be inexplicably cheaper than we were quoted yesterday so we splurge on hot-dogs, etc., in the station. In the non-smoking station, by the way: there seems to be nowhere in the sttion where you can light up, except a small (and cold) balcony outside the waiting room. Somewhat bizarrely, we discover this no-smoking regime also extends to the platforms (!), even though they're really outdoors.
We also discover that the Slovak police patrol the platform of the Prague train, checking passports (and, in Milena's case, insisting that cigarettes be extinguished): presumably this is to reduce the claims, or incidents, of the Czechs claiming that Slovakia lets undesirables in.
Last thoughts about Slovakia? It's the first country this trip where I haven't heard Dido's Hunter. It's also where the people have been most friendly and most helpful. Bratislava gets 4/10.
Passport control happens on the almost empty train, as soon as we set off. The chap is perfunctory and quick until he sees Milena's passport: then he takes a seat and takes out a wad of documents. It turns out that he just has to give her a separate docket with her details on it and his ID-number, to say that he's vetted her. There's a little stop just outside Bratislava, presumably so that anyone he hasn't vetted can be evicted, and then we're off to Prague!

And so into Prague and the Czech Rep (#20, hoorah!), at a punctual 05.30 in the morning. We change some money, buy some proper-length cigarettes, are approached by two people offering accommodation, check for free tourist maps and leaflets, buy 3-day mooltipasses and put our rucksacks into lockers. After all that it's almost two hours before we leave the fairly vast station, on foot, for the nearby Juniorhotel. En route, we find a cheap little supermarket opposite the station, complete with a tiny and cheap cafe section: they have both instant soups and instant noodles. For accommodation, we're looking to spend 200-250 koruna each per night, but Juniorhotel have spiralled up to 420 per person since Lonely Planet listed them (just price-hiking as far as we can tell, since both inflation and the exchange rate fluctuation have been negligible since then). We return to the station and head for the Strahov Dormitory Complex: ten tower blocks of accommodation and one of offices/admin: Lonely Planet says that some of the blocks function as year-round hostels. It's out in the suburbs, past the end of one of the three metro lines (radial, like Budapest, but the junctions are in a triangle rather than at a single station), and then a few bus-stops on.
We check every block, but they are all full of students - most tell us that they were empty last week, before term started: bloody students. One tells us that they also own a hostel nearby with doubles for 700. We set off in that direction, but it turns out to be really remote and we give up before we get there. We check out a nearby Pension, in case Pensions are cheap, but it comes in at over 1,000 each in a double room. There are plenty of accommodation options in Prague (unlike Esztergom) so we still have lots to check, but it's all taking effort and time - it's now after 09.00, so we've been in Prague for 3.5 very cold hours. Bizarrely, at 09.00 the bus service drops from every 10 minutes to every half an hour: consulting the timetable at the bus stop reveals that rush hour is from about 06.30 to 09.00 which means that in the Czech Rep. (or at least Prague) everyone gets up insanely early.

Our next attempt is back near the metro station - the woman there tells us that they do have rooms (at less than 200 each!), but the booking is done from Strahov - this is another place primarily used by students. We convince a passing student to let us use his phonecard, but the woman at Strahov tells us no - they don't have any places. Fuck. We return to the metro station and have a KFC, which turns out to be pretty small and overpriced. By now we've taken a real dislike to dull, mean, cold and unfriendly Prague, even though all we've seen is out here in the suburbs and around the station.
We raise our price-bracket to 250-300 koruna and head for the closest (apparently) in that range, changing to a tram at Malostranska metro station, just below the castle and at the very north of Mala Strana ("Little District"). Hostel Sokol is in the middle of Mala Strana, and the tram takes us there in three stops - the journey is all along narrow cobbled streets flanked by churches and palaces and twisty little roads leading off. I'm well-impressed - it's like a flat baroque version of Edinburgh's Old Town, and it isn't even the main tourist area: at one point, the tram even goes under a narrow little arch. The hostel is round the back of the Finnish Embassy (you're not supposed to go through the Embassy - the way is normally locked - but we did the first time) and is upstairs from a sports hall/gymnasium. They're 300 ($9) for a night in a dorm (330 in a double) - we take two beds on the basis that it's now afternoon and we're tired and pissed off: we'll look for something cheaper later. Already resident are Darren (an American who's just killing time here in Prague) and Billy (from Mauritius, who loves the snow): both seem to be spending all their time indoors at the hostel because of the extreme cold, rather than going out.

Not us.

Prague has several districts to explore - the Castle on the hill; Hradcany (the Castle district); Mala Strana (between the Castle hill and the Vltava); the Old Town and Jewish Quarter (on the east bank); the New Town (south of the Old Town); and Vysehrad (on a steep rock to the south of the New Town). Geographically, the layout is very like Budapest - the Castle is on what I'm already thinking of as the Buda side: the flat Old and New Towns are on the Pest Side. In this schema, Malostranska metro station is exactly where Batthyany metro station was. Main differences - the Vltava bends abruptly east to the north of the Castle, so the Old Town is bounded on both the north and west by the river; and the Castle hill is roughly perpendicular to the river in Prague, rather than roughly parallel as in Budapest. We pick the smallest area which we think we can see in an afternoon, which is the Castle.

We retrace the tram route to Malostranska metro station, or rather we don't - we take a random route back in the right direction, and end up passing through wonderful little streets and courtyards filled with baroque and neoclassical buildings and churches, the identities of which we haven't a clue about. From Malostranska we fail to find a tram to take us up the hill to the Castle, and instead climb up the steps to the rear (presumably) gate. The route is lined with the usual tourist stalls selling little pictures, film, handicrafts and mass-produced souvenirs. We enter by the Black Tower (which isn't black): quick summary - the Castle runs east-west, getting wider at the west end. A lane runs all the way from the east gate, splits around the cathedral, and ends in the "third courtyard" from which passages lead west to the "second" and then the open "first" courtyard/main entrance. Passages also lead from the second courtyard to little gardens at the northwest, and a third entrance/exit across Powder Bridge.

As we enter, Lobkowicz Palace is on the left (now a history museum - I must find out more about the Lobkowicz family some time: I keep meaning to). Opposite, on the right, is the old Burgrave's Palace (now a museum of toys): both palaces are baroque blocks and fairly dull, so we press on up the hill. Off to the right we detour to "Golden Lane", a line of multi-coloured miniature houses tucked against the outer wall. Originally housing the knights who defended this part of the castle, the lane was later used to house artists, artisans and alchemists receiving royal patronage. Now it's become a major tourist trap, even in January: no. 22 is a Kafka shop, making great play on the fact that this was his house - it's only later that we discover he was only here a few months.

Further up the hill (west) is the old (1142) St. George's Basilica, an impressive church which it's difficult to get a good look at because it's in the middle of such a densely built-up area. When we visited, one of the steeples was undergoing some work and the entire top section had been removed, giving the Basilica a distinctly odd look. The attached convent (also ancient and late medieval) is now part of the Czech National Gallery (which seems to occupy at least a dozen buildings across Prague).

More obvious than the convent/gallery, as we rounded the front of St. George's, is the fucking enormous Gothic Cathedral (named after St. Vitus, inventor of the famous dance) which they've built in the middle of the Castle. It's all in black (like the Tolbooth, or Kolner Dom), which adds to the effect because the rest of Prague and the castle are pastel-painted baroque. It's Milena's first big Gothic cathedral in the flesh, as it were, and I think her Orthodox sensibilities are more terrified/offended than impressed. Me? I love it - 'Now that, that is a cathedral.' It actually turns out that the twin-towered front is neo-Gothic (1880 - 1929), but they matched it well with the genuine Gothic back (1344 - 1420). Between these phases of construction, the main door was a wonderful tower on the south side with a neat gilt panel half-way up. This tower is Gothic at the bottom, but non-matching styles further up (it was finished later), which makes you glad they didn't build the front of the Cathedral until Gothic was back in fashion.

Inside is the usual collection of dead people - old kings, saints and so on: notably St. Vaclav himself (?Wenceslas? in English - don't ask why: possibly because it scans better), Charles IV and mad Rudolf II. Other features are a Mucha stained-glass window (Mucha was Czech, it transpires), and a huge rose window.

Facing the cathedral across the third courtyard (which has a monolith - a WWI memorial, I think - and a list of names on a wall - people shot by the Germans here in WWII, I think) are the Royal Palaces, old and new. The new now functions as the President's official residence, though I believe these days Vaclav Havel actually spends most of his time in hospital. On the north side of the cathedral is the old Bishop's Palace. After that it's out through the second and first courtyards, which are fairly bland Habsburgian baroque/neo-classical and have little of note except the gift shop and the protruding Holy Rood chapel. By the time we head through the front gate (flanked by two not-very-immobile guards), it's too dark for photos of the large square facing the castle - we'll have to come back and do that later.
At the end of the square we take steps down to the left and then head down the long straight Nerudova (expensive gift shops, expensive cafes and restaurants, and the Italian and Romanian embassies) back to Malostranske nam - the main square of Mala Strana. From there, it's an easy trip up to Malostranska metro station and back to the railway station to collect our rucksacks.

At the hostel, Milla lies down for a quick nap - after a couple of hours she's still asleep, so I go out on the hunt for other hostels (and to do some brief internet stuff). The ones I find are no cheaper than where we are, except one behind the Florenc bus station - it keeps really awkward hours though, and I don't like the area.
Milla's still asleep when I get back (about midnight), so I shower and write a bit and then crash out myself.

Our second day in Prague - Praha. I wake before Milla (seriously), but feel obliged to wake her up when she passes 12 hours of solid slumber. We have a quick breakfast and then head out, crossing to the long Kampa Island (just behind the hostel) and walking north to where it meets the famous Karluv most (Charles Bridge, 1357) - it's a nice enough medieval stone bridge, with statues every few metres.

It's a weekday in January, and it's early morning, so the crowds of tourists which all the guidebooks warn of are largely absent. Frankly, I can't see what all the fuss is about - in any list of the world's bridges, Karluv most would only get half-way up: nothing really special. The statue half-way across (the statues are much later than the bridge) has a panel depicting (later Saint) John of Nepomuk being thrown off this bridge on the orders of Vaclav IV. You're supposed to touch the little mid-air figure of John for luck, and it's bright and shiny compared with the otherwise black and dirty scene. Oddly, on another panel, there's an equally shiny dog which you're obviously also supposed to touch for something - possibly if you want a puppy for Christmas. Milena touches it for Tina . . . On the east bank, the building right on the water (the Vltava) is the Smetana Museum, and straight ahead is tourist central - even at this hour. Karlova, which runs from the bridge to the Old Town square, is beginning to fill with tourists (and it's lined with tourist shops). We head north instead.

Across the street from the end of the bridge is the Klementinum, a vast complex of buildings and courtyards which was once the Jesuit College (the Jesuits, the Pope's SS troops, were big here after the Counter-Reformation - making sure there wasn't a Counter-Counter-Reformation) and is now the National Library. It also contains a number of function rooms and we note a concert of baroque and early classical music this evening in the Chapel of Mirrors. We emerge from the Klementinum (Kepler did some work here, incidentally) opposite the grand Town Hall (radnice), then head further north and hit the Jewish Quarter (Josefov) at the Pinkasova Synagogue. Part of the old Jewish Cemetery complex, its interior walls are apparently covered with the names of almost 80,000 Czech Jews who died during the Holocaust. I say “apparently” because the synagogues and various other buildings in the quarter comprise a large Jewish Museum (ironically founded by the Nazis) - the entrance price was over 700 korunas each, comfortably the most expensive “attraction” in Prague. Having an overwhelming interest neither in Jewish history nor architecture, we give the experience and expense a miss: the outsides of the buildings will suffice for us.

We cut back to the river at nam Jana Palacha, named after Jan Palach, the guy who burned himself to death in Vaclavske nam in 1969 to protest the Soviet intervention - there's a small memorial to him. Next we take refuge in the Rudolfinum Concert Hall (apparently not named after mad Rudolf II) and browse upcoming performances while we warm up: outside is bitterly cold - about -12, probably the coldest of the trip so far. Going around the cemetery, we pass the museum of Decorative Arts (which looks as if it was built over part of the cemetery) and emerge at the Klausen Synagogue. Just inland is the most famous of Prague's synagogues, the Staronova (literally “OldNew”, dating from 1270). For those who are interested, this is where the Golem is supposedly imprisoned. It's a pretty unimpressive building, as is the old Jewish Town Hall behind it.

Circling back by the Pinkasova Synagogue, we run into our Mexican friend from Budapest (well-wrapped): he wants to know what a “synagogue” is - apparently they don't have Jews in Mexico. We exchange pleasantries and then leave him: two blocks south, we finally emerge at the tourist heart of Prague - the Old Town Square (Staromestske nam). What can I say? It's magnificent - it's Prague in miniature: an odd mix of grand and cosy buildings with peculiar little historical details, and it's extremely photogenic. I'll wax enthusiastic on the subject of Prague later, no doubt - for now, the square:

First off, it isn't square: I mean, most squares aren't but this one used to be much more so than it is now. During WWII the Germans destroyed half of the Old Town Hall, which made up one side (west) of the square - as far as I can tell they did it from spite. They actually did Prague a big favour, because the square is now notably larger and more attractive: the corner tower of the Old Town Hall used to be the SW corner of the square, whereas now it juts dramatically out into the square. Also, the lovely St. Nicholas church is now part of the square, rather than being tucked away down a side-street.

Apart from the Old Town Hall and St. Nicholas church (well worth looking inside for the creamy, curved marble finish), major features include the looming black gothic twin towers of the Tyn Church, which is set slightly back from the square: it is only open for daily Mass, but pretty dull inside - it contains Tycho Brahe's tomb - presumably he was here with Kepler and the alchemists Edward Kelly and John Dee, under the patronage of Rudolf II. There's also the unremarkable Goltz-Kinsky Palace, just to the left of the Tyn Church, and the modern statue to Jan Hus in the NE corner. Jan Hus kicked off the whole Hussite (God's Warriors) movement here, by preaching in Czech, and just missed out on starting the Reformation - he was something of a local hero, which the Jesuits later tried to counter by fostering a cult of St. John of Nepomuk. Interestingly, it was the Hussite belief in communal property (sort of early anarchism) that created the modern connotations of “Bohemian”.

The famous astrological clock on the Old Town Hall chimes the hour - by the time we get there, we've missed the little action figures. We wander out, looking at St. Jakuba Church (closed for lunch) and just meandering: we eventually return to the clock just too late for the next hour: Milena sees more of the procession than I do (I was too busy trying to get to a better viewpoint). We head south from the square into one of the districts dominated by Charles University, checking out the unimpressive Carolinum building and the Starovske Theatre, where Mozart premiered Don Giovanni (only a few years after the theatre opened). We detour out through the old Powder Gate (presumably where they kept the gunpowder) and up past the abutting Municipal Hall - a curious neo-Baroque/Art Nouveau building which Milena thinks is ugly. Built in 1912, it's an interesting contrast to the Reduta Palace in Bratislava. Next stop, after the interesting gardened nam Republiky, is the Kotva shopping centre (where we pick up some good provisions), and then we visit St. Jakuba (James) church: gothic on the outside and baroque on the inside, it was worth coming back to.

We strike north to the disappointing St. Agnes Convent (nothing to see really) on the Vltava, and then back south again. A stop on the way is the Travellers' Hostel - a little cheaper than where we are at the moment, rather smelly, and with bunk-beds rather than singles. We think about it, but we're already planning to move out of the dorm in the Hostel Sokol and into the double room instead: of more interest is the fact that the Travellers' Hostel also has a branch in Cesky Krumlov, which is on our visiting list - we take a leaflet. On the way south, we pass the Spanish Synagogue - we'd seen the signs in the Jewish Quarter but had missed the building - it's a nice, semi-Arabic, orange-and-white affair and is newer than the other synagogues. Next we stop at a British pub for a Lagavulin and a cider (neither of which Milena cares for). Finally we go back to the Klementinum: the tickets to this evenings' concert are quite expensive, but simply walking away shaking our heads gets us a discount of 100 korunas each. The recital (Mozart, Bach, Handel and Vivaldi) is merely average, but the venue's quite nice. The "mirrors" are quite small, but on the ceiling there's a quite obvious eye-in-pyramid in the decor: damned Masonic Habsburg Catholics . . .

Afterwards we go on a hunt for laundrettes (we find the best option in the Black Rose shopping centre at the north end of Vaclavske nam), and then head away from the centre to find something affordable to eat. One interesting find during our search is O'Che's - an Irish-Cuban pub with the British-Pub feel: there's a Cuban flag and a Scottish flag, and lots of Guevara slogans - Milena finds the whole place a bit sacreligious. We end up in a little diner eating chicken lasagne and pizza until late, and then head back to the hostel.
The evening's main observation during our wandering, is that whichever metro stop you pop up at in Prague, there's something worth seeing - some impressive church, or theatre, or art gallery. It's as if the entire city, even quite far out from the centre, is designed as some kind of architectural showpiece. It's very impressive, sufficiently so that I'm beginning to think that if the Czech Rep ever gets into the EU then they should move the capital to Prague: it's more central and is much more impressive than anything Belgium has to offer, and it would impress the hell out of non-Europeans.
Also, they have lots of large, magnificent buildings just lying around empty.

A day for Prague's New Town - actually, an afternoon for Prague's New Town; a morning for laundry. I set out early, hang around the laundrette for a couple of hours updating my notebook, and get back to the hostel as Milla's hair is drying. In theory, we're only staying another night (ambitiously hoping to do the rest of Prague today and tomorrow), so as a treat we move upstairs in the hostel to the one double room (an extra 30 koruna each). It's tucked away in the attic, with severely sloping ceilings and some furniture - all for us (as long as we don't knock ourselves out on the roof - Milla hit her head on a similar roof in Esztergom).

We move our stuff (Milena unpacks a bit, to make us feel more at home) and then set out. Just south of the hostel (two blocks) is the most Legii (Legion's Bridge), which takes us directly over the Vltava into the New Town (Nove Mesto) as opposed to the Karluv most yesterday, which took us into the Old Town (Stare Mesto). Immediately on the other side of the bridge is the National Theatre, facing the river (s too few buildings in Prague do), with a golden semi-dome on top. There are some dull concrete extensions hidden inland further along Narodni. Narodni, as I discovered during this morning's trip, is a road which continues inland past Tesco all the way to the north end of Vaclavske nam.

We head north along the river, towards Karluv most. Since Prague is effectively a major road junction, the main buildings all face inwards to the roads and squares (unlike Budapest or Stockholm, where a lot face the water). The result is that the riverfront is actually quite boring, compared with the rest of the city. Apart from a dull theatre and a few hotels, there's not much to see except a surreally out-of-place neo-Gothic monument (like the Scott Monument in Edinburgh, but much smaller). We strike inland and spend an hour wandering the streets south and east of Karlova, before stopping at a little supermarket for doughnuts and other provisions.

After that late lunch, eaten in a little concrete square and partially shared with pigeons, we hit Vaclavske nam. Vaclavske nam (Wenceslas square - I still don't know how Vaclav [the "c" is "s"] became Wenceslas). It's about 500m long, fairly narrow, and is flanked by depressingly alike buildings - there's a lot of expensive boutiques, but also too many cheapo chains (the ubiquitous McDonalds). Halfway along, the square is neatly bisected (the result of 1700s town planning, like the other big New Town square - Charles square) by two roads - Vodickna and Jindfisska. At that junction we find a bookshop and buy a yellow guide book - Lonely Planet has been fairly crap on Prague, possibly because they have a separate volume on the city and are trying to force people to buy it. We take a brief detour along Jindfisska and stop at the Post Office to buy more postcards and stamps. Inside is magnificent, for a Post Office, with painted walls and a huge covered courtyard. Despite the "no cameras" signs, I take a photo anyway. I think it's my first photo of a Post Office since Dublin, and is almost certainly my first interior photo of one.

Further up Jindfisska is the Juniorhotel, our first attempt at finding accommodation in Prague: there's an imposing, but unidentified, Gothic tower just before it. We return to Vaclavske nam and continue our walk up it (it is up, since it rises slightly at the south-east end). Right at the end, dominating the whole length of the square, is the massive National Museum, fronted by a statue for St. Vaclav himself. When we were there, there was a little group of protesters singing pseudo-punk, anti-Western revolutionary songs with a small audience. The onlooking, and armed, police seemed more bored than alarmed by the proceedings - this is the spot where demonstrators kicked off both the Prague Spring and the Velvet Revolution (probably different demonstrators), and where Jan Palach burned himself to death (definitely not involved in the second Velvet Revolution demonstrations, then).

The National Museum came under fire from Soviet forces in 1968, when they mistook it (quite naturally) for the Czech Parliament building ("big building at the end of the main square" were presumably the instructions they received): there are bullet marks on the front. The ironically communist concrete monstrosity just to the left (and therefore thankfully out of sight from most of the square) was the actual Czech Parliament building. Since 1989, the Czechs have since reinstated the old Parliament building in Mala Strana. Even more ironically, the concrete building now houses the headquarters of Radio Free Europe - and no, I have no idea why they're still broadcasting. Continuing the line of large buildings to the left is the more Pragueian (?) neoclassical State Opera House; finally is the main train station.

We leave the area, cutting south and west across Vaclavske nam towards the second of the New Town's big squares - Karlovo nam, which is parkland in the middle rather than being paved. The first building of note is the New Town Hall (that's the Town Hall of the New Town, rather than a replacement/upgrade of the Old Town Hall). A rather dull little building, it's overwhelmed by the magnificnet pink palatial building to its right (taking up the other 75% of the north end of the square - none of our maps of books even want to tell us what this building is. It was from the New Town Hall that the First Defenestration of Prague took place - they have a history of chucking people out of windows (hence "First"), and this time it started the Hussite Wars. The "Second", incidentally, was from the Royal Palace in the castle, and kicked off the Thirty Years War.
Further down the square is St. Ignatius, yet another Jesuit church and ex-college, but by now it's getting pretty dark - we abandon our touring for the day. With half of the New Town, Vysehrad, Hradcany and Mala Strana still to see, it's beginning to look like we'll be spending at least two more days in Prague, rather than the one we originally planned for. There's just too damned much to see in the this city: it makes you wonder what the other great cities of Mittel Europa would have looked like if they hadn't suffered so much from post-1700 to WWII continental wars. Also, Prague is quite bewildering because of its lack of a single centre: the various towns each had their own centres (and town halls), and over the centuries these have gradually amalgamated into a vast City Centre (like Stoke-on-Trent, except interesting). And all of it is excellent, and all of it is old, and all of it is extremely photogenic - the centre is almost like the archetype of a central European city - it's Mirenburg and Tanelorn, but not Viriconium. It's dangerously close to what, for example, Disney might come up with if it was designing a fairy-tale city.

Our plans for the rest of the evening are pretty minimal: I get some films developed during the day and, having spotted a large supermarket near to the photo shop, we head for that. It's closing as we arrive, though, and we end up using an underground supermarket hidden in the Mustek metro station. After that, it's back to the hostel and our double room for something to eat and then, and I almost knock myself out on the ceiling, to bed.

Up fairly early - today's plan is to see the rest of the New Town and the old citadel of Vysehrad: we'll leave Hradcany and Mala Strana (ie. the west bank of the Vltava) until tomorrow. Today we walk back down to the Legion's Bridge, cross to the east side, and this time head south. There's a big island (Slovansky) just off the shore (apparently you can rent boats from here during summer), with a dull art gallery linking the shore to the island. Just behind the gallery is a water tower, in the middle of the river (yes, I thought it was odd), with a quite noticeable lean.

We continue south to the next bridge (Jiraskuv most), and pause to admire the "Fred and Ginger" building on the corner (a wonderfully straqnge modern building - I'm pretty sure that's not its official name), before striking inland along Resslova. Resslova will take us back to halfway up Karlovo nam, where we stopped yesterday, but we pause en route at the Church of Cyril and Methodius. An Orthodox church (rare in Prague, where the Catholic-Protestant turmoil didn't leave much room for anyone else), it's now mostly noted as the refuge of Heydrich's assassins in WWII. They committed suicide here after a prolonged battle with the SS - the crypt contains a museum on the subject. Our interest is less secular, however, and Milena persuades the near-blind and mostly deaf attendant to unlock the main church and let us in. There are the stubs of other candles, so there are obviously some orthodox believers in Prauge - but not enough to keep the church open through the day.

We emerge in Karlovo nam opposite the Jesuit church of St. Ignatius, and walk down to the south end: there's a house where Edward Kelly tried to turn lead into gold - a little ironically, this former centre of alchemy and mysticism now appears to be a hospital of some sort. Down the hill from that corner of the square is a the lovely baroque church of St. John on the Rock (it's on a rock) and opposite, the Emmaus monastery. An unremarkable and dull monastery, it has a bizarre church - at least, the church is quite banal but it has a modernist, concrete communist twin-spire. It's not often you see communist construction design applied to churches - something of a political statement, this one, since the original spire was destroyed by American bombers during WWII. Apparently they mistook Prague for Dresden - at least they got the right continent, I suppose.

Milla plays with a cocker spaniel in a park while I search for a good photo - she finds communist architecture both dull and familiar. After that we rest in a neat little bar/café drinking coffee and fruit juice on a sofa, while planning our next move. We head out to Prague's other castle, Vysehrad, just two or three blocks south of where we are. A little walled citadel, on a rock overlooking the Vltava, there's not much evidence of traditional castle-style buildings here. The walls are fairly extensive and impressive, and it has two main gates - one brick, in a stretch of stone walls; the other stone, in a stretch of brick walls.

Within the walls is mostly park now, except for the church of Sts. Peter and Paul (the bells play a medley by Czech composers), and its attached Slavin cemetary. We spend an hour looking through the densely-packed plots for famous people - this is the prime address for dead people in the Czech Rep. We find Dvorak and Smetana and Kubelik, and Mucha, and Capek. We also find, on leaving, a plan outside with all the famous names (which would have reduced our time there to about ten minues). Next to the cemetery is an open area with four monolithic statues of eight (two each) mythological figures from the Czech Rep's past - they look quite communist, as statues go, but ideologically I feel they must be new. The most recognisable duo are Premysl (peasant and founder of the first Czech royal family) and Libuse (daughter of Krok, son of Cech). Libuse had a vision from here of the future city of Prague - apparently.

At the outer walls of Vysehrad here, the views both up and down the Vltava are magnificent - this is helped by the fact that the sun comes out. Yes, for the first time during this trip (and the first time in 2002, I think), the clouds part and the sun beams down from a blue sky. It's only when this happens that I realise the predominant feature of my Eastern Europe winter so far hasn't been the temperature (damn cold though it's been), but the colour: everything's been grey for about a month. We have a snowball fight, and then leave Vysehrad by the west (inland) gate, pausing to look at St. Martin's Rotunda. There are three surviving rotunda in Prague, and they're about the oldest buildings: almost all of Prauge is new - by "new", I mean post-1600. The older buildings were pretty much destroyed during the Hussite Wars, the Reformation, the Counter-Reformation and the Habsburg upgrade. The result is a fairly uniform baroque/rococo look to the city, with some later neo-Classical and neo-Renaissance buildings: the older Gothic stuff stands out as unusual.

After a brief delay to remove one of Milla's lenses (it's been giving her problems today), we strike north back into the New Town. The street Ke Karlovu takes us north, with the magnificently domed church of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary at the bottom (what did she assume? that's what I want to know). Unfortunately it is closed (the roof inside is apparently excellent), and the sun's on completely the wrong side for photos of the outside. Further up the road is the nice Vila Amerika (though a bit pink), which now houses a Dvorak museum - the wierdo custodian has a little office in one of the outbuildings. As soon as we step inside the grounds, he rushes out and opens the main building for us - it's quite expensive and would take a while to go round (also it looks fairly dull), so we decide to give it a miss. From guilt feelings, we buy a postcard instead.

After that, we trek east to have another look at a Franciscan Church/Church of St. Francis, which we'd earlier spotted at nam Miru metro station. All the roads radiating out from the square are named after countries (Anglicka, Belgicka and so on), and the streets which cross them are named after capitals (Londynska, Berehradska). We take Rumunska in, pausing only for Milla to nip in and out of a couple of shops looking for reasonably-priced baguette sandwiches. After that, we catch a tram (9 - one of our favourites) back to the hostel: in our absence, the hostel has filled with young and loud children (tautology?) - we do our best to ignore them. We've left enough time to see the Warhol exhibition at one of the infinite branches of the National Gallery. Milla is tired, though, and crashes out.
I go out for a wander later, looking for provisions, but all the supermarkets are closed (damned early-morning, no-evening Czechs) so I do some internet stuff instead before retiring to bed.

Up early for our last day in Prague - the children (who turn out to be mini-gymnasts, and mostly girls) from the night before are also up early: in common with many other Czechs, they seem to have a mental block against flushing public toilets (in restaurants, bars, museums, etc.: you often get a nasty surprise). Apparently learning from our experience in Prague, I try to phone ahead and book tonight's accommodation while Milena gets ready - the Fates are against us, however, and no-one answers at either of the two Cesky Krumlov hostels for which I have numbers. We dump our rucksacks in the kitchen and set off directly back to the Castle entrance for a photo. We nip back into the Castle briefly (Milla wants a photo at the Kafka house), and by the time we emerge again tour groups are beginning to manifest from somewhere (it's Saturday).

There are a few impressive buildings in the (triangular) square outside the Castle (Hradcanske nam), notably the new Archbishop's Palace - much larger than the one inside the Castle - and the Schwarzenberg Castle, now a military museum: the facades are covered in sgraffito, which was very popular in their South Bohemian power base. There's yet another branch of the National Gallery in the Sternbersky Palace, tucked behind the Archbishop's Palace, but it isn't even open at the time we pass.

We cut north-west around the edge of the Hradcany district, along the dull Novy Svet street, and emerge in the Loretanske nam, named after the Loreta Convent along one side. The convent apparently houses a large collection of gold and other wealth (good ol' Catholic church), which isn't all that surprising when we see the entry price. The outside's very nice, though: gothic/baroque in white and gold. Far larger - in fact stupidly large, like Esztergom Cathedral - is the other building in the square: the dull Cerninsky Palace. Housing a government department now, it also saw a "defenestration" in about 1950. Boringly baroque, it's all fake columns and regular, rectangular windows.

We explore Loretanska, the road back to the Castle (weaving around another two tour groups - good grief) befor eheading uphill and west to the Strahov Monastery: it's a fairly uninteresting collection of white churches and courtyards. Most noteworthy are the main church, which seems curiously orthodox, and the Miniature Museum: yes, tucked away in one corner of one courtyard is Prague's answer to Szentendre's (closed) MicroArt Gallery - I instantly cough up the entrance fee, but Milla prefers to stand at the desk and look at their jewellery. The exhibits are all created by one guy and range from tiny reproductions of great Masterworks (dull), through tiny implements hung on the legs of small insects (eg. a key and lock), to the truly extraordinary - a sculpture of a camel train, trekking across the eye of a needle; or the Lord's Prayer written on one side of a human hair. With the naked eye, the pieces are impossible to make out, so each is provided with its own microscope.

We have the option of pressing on up the hill - as well as the back of the Strahov Dormitory Complex (which we saw most of on our first day), there are parts of the old city walls, the funicular railway, and what we heard described as a "replica" of the Eifeel Tower - the Petrin Tower. The Petrin Tower is actually much more like the Blackpool Tower: ie. made of metal girders, but a quite different shape to the one in Paris. We opt to give all these exciting tourist attractions a miss and head directly back down Nerudova to Mala Strana's main square - Malostranske nam.
The square is effectively two squares, divided by the large and very baroque St. Nicholas Church (nice inside, but expensive to get in: we peer through the windows). The upper square has a large, though late, Plague Cross, the large but boring Liechtenstein Palace, and no trams. The lower square has plenty of trams, the old Mala Strana Town Hall, a couple of jewellers (jewellery shops are becoming a big part of Milla's day), and some cafés (we stop for coffee). Between the two squares there's another neat palatial building on one side - this time in green - but none of our guide books/maps/leaflets wants to tell us what it is.

Tucked away in the North-East corner of the square, virtually hidden, is the church of St. Tomas - a perfect little baroque church, it's like St. Nicholas in miniature (they practised here). Continuing north a little, we detour briefly up towards the Castle to see the dull and white Parliament building and the sily and white British Embassy (it has crenelaltions and a statue of Churchill). Next up is the seriously huge Wallenstein Palace (Valdstejnsky Palac): in the early 1600s General Wallenstein made a bid to take over the Habsburg Empire, and he seems to have built this palace on the assumption that he would succeed. It now houses the Senate (who clearly got a much better deal than the nearby Parliament). For no money at all (our favourite price), you can wander through some of the restored rooms - some staggering and staggeringly expensive stuff: all gold and mirrors and velvet.

The north road along the side of the palace seems to take forever (though affording good views up the side of the Castle Hill), and (after a brief stop for hot-dogs and chips) eventually takes us back to our favourite metro stop - Malostranske - at the very northern tip of Mala Strana. We walk back south towards Karluv most, staying close to the river: just south of the metro stop we reach a tiny stretch of natural riverbacnk (everywhere else in Prague, the riverbank is walled or buildings). Not only natural riverbank, it transpires, but ducks and swans - it's obviously something of a local/tourist destination, since the swans are up out of the water, waddling round inspecting new arrivals to see if they're carrying any food. Milena makes friends with some of the swans while I take photos of them and their photogenic backdrop.

We get back to Karluv most, following the river, and discover it's heaving with both tourists and (presumably local) stallholders. It's the middle of the day, and the day is Saturday, so it shouldn't surprise us - but it is a disappointment and gives a tiny hint (like the tour groups at the Castle) of what Prague looks like during the summer. Apparently, during the tourist season, Karluv most gets packed - that's "packed" like the inside of a tram or metro, rather than "packed" like in a shopping centre. Passing beyond the bridge, it gets much quieter and more civilised again.
Slightly inland is the "Lennon Wall" where, apparently, there's been a graffiti portrait of John Lennon since he was shot, despite the communists painting over it at regular intervals. Nowadays it's a bit crumbling, but still covered in slogans (in Czech and English) and all the traditional hippy graffiti (also, John's been joined recently by George). Just round the corner is the Maltese Embassy - the first I've seen (the Hospitallers seem to have been pretty strong in Prague). The plaque by the door reads "Ambassade de l'Order Souverain et Militaire de Malta", which is a little chilling to me - I still think of them as something of a secret order, last inheritors of the Templars, the Rosicrucians, and all the other whacko late-medieval groups.
Backing onto the embassy is the imposing Church of Our Lady Below the Chain, with lots of locked gates and Maltese Crosses in evidence - from this church the old bridgekeepers operated, and they were presumably Hospitallers. Walking back towards the hostel, we nip into one more church (Our Lady Victorious, this one, which again seems very iconic, non-Christian and positively martial to me) - again there are little Maltese Crosses all over. There's also a little wax doll of Jesus in a corner - it's apparently really old and has been known to grant wishes/miracles: I can't see a wick, but it wouldn't make a good candle anyway - they've covered it in little clothes and gold. Even more bizarrely, and surreally, there's a nun hoovering around the altar. Every time she passes the actual altar, she stops and crosses herself - it's very strange, and separately captivates both myself and Milena.

Back at the hostel we collect our rucksacks - the little gymnasts are practicing downstairs: I stop for a brief look, on the offchance that Lavinia Milosovici is there coaching, but hey - if I didn't see her in Romania, I'm unlikely to catch sight of her in the Czech Rep. Then it's onto a tram and back to the main station for a train south: the tickets down to Cesky Krumlov come in at 224 koruna each, which is a lot more than I'd been expecting and than I'd been led to believe. Another nasty surprise at the station is that our little supermarket (the one we found on our first day) is long-closed. Opening hours are pretty strange here - a lot of places are open to mid-afternoon on Sundays, but pretty much everything is closed by midday on Saturdays. The practical upshot to this is that we have virtually no supplies for this eening or tomorrow (God knows what'll be open in Cesky Krumlov on Sunday). We pick up the minimum requirements in the hugely over-priced station mini-market, and stock up on cigarettes from a kiosk. Our search for an open supermarket, incidentally, takes us to the top floor of the station, which is kind of Art Nouveau and quite different from the rest.

So, as we get on our train south, how do I summarise Prague? Well - it's mostly baroque; it's all palaces and concert halls and imposing churches and buildings of indiscernable function; every little square and backstreet would be a tourist attraction anywhere else; and it's certainly the most beautiful city I've seen - ever. Downsides? Well, the riverfront is disappointingly dull; the whole city seems somehow artificial and Disneyesque; and then there are the tourists - boy, it must be pretty close to Hell in summer. I was going to give Prague 9/10, but the tourist thing makes it a lot less appealing - like Edinburgh, it gets one point deducted and ends up at 8/10.

Three hours after leaving Prague, we change trains in Ceske Budejovice onto a funny little two-carriage large-tram train with no engine: there's a real mix of trains in the Czech Rep - the only thing they have in common is that they're all old (I think they've picked up all the old rejects from the rest of Eastern Europe, and not even bothered repainting them). This one is particularly bad, and must come from a particularly pathetic Eastern European state - it's just a metal box with no heating. The conductor is a big Russian-style woman who tries to be friendly (Milla asks her which stop is Cesky Krumlov), but whose face just wasn't designed for smiling. She booms "Cesky Krumlov" when we stop there, and the train pretty much empties (ie. ten people get out) - clearly a major destination.
The station's on a hill overlooking the town, but there's a little (icy) path which shortcuts much of the road. We picked up a couple of hostel leaflets in Prague and first up on our list is Hostel 99, pretty much built into one of the old town gates. It looks okay, and one of its most appealing points is that it rents out ice-skates: the woman at reception warns us that they're pretty old and not worth it. It would cost 250 koruna each per night (£5), so we pass on to the Travellers' Hostel closer to the centre of town. The door opens onto a large bar, mostly empty: it's 250 as well, but includes breakfast. We decide to search further. The receptionist suggests we try Hostel Ryba - "Ryba, like the fish". Wondering what kind of fish a "Ryba" is, we check out a place over the road instead (it has a double room for 500, ie. the same price): inside is all wonderfully winding stairs and passages, but the receptionist there (Jana) tells us it's full ("I have a large group of Americans staying"). A couple of Pensions are disappointing, or closed, and Hostel Ryba ("Ryba" turns out to be Czech for fish, by the way) seems abandoned in a very Marie Celeste way.

We return to the Travellers' Hostel, since it at least has people there, and end up in a dorm off the main bar (we'll have to walk through the bar to use the toilets or showers!). As we're checking in, all the lights go out - not just in the hostel, but all across Cesky Krumlov - oh God, what kind of middle-of-nowhere village have we come to? The receptionist (Blanka, which may just be a nickname since she's blonde) issues each room with little candles - she assures us that this is really unusual (which doesn't explain why she's got all these candles). She also has an injured Labrador, which we later discover is called Oskar - he had an accident with a motorbike and broke his upper left fore-paw.
Milla's not feeling well (she's hardly eaten all day), and we're not on the best of terms at the moment (don't ask), so she goes to bed as the lights come on again. Then they go off again, and then come on again. We try to make a cup-a-soup for her, but the electricity goes off one more time and blows our element (which has been our best friend until now). I try to rewire it, but don't trust my own handiwork - thankfully the electricity's back for good and I boil a kettle instead: Milla has her cup-a-soup, and a large bag of crisps (overpriced, from the bar).
Revived, we hit the bar for a vodka and a Becherovka (a spirit from Karlovy Vary), which is the most similar thing to Unicum which I've ever tasted - ie. revolting. In fact, it would have been the most revolting drink I've ever tasted, except for last week's Unicum. Suitably fortified, or half-poisoned, we go to bed.

We retired fairly early, and the noise from the bar was pretty muffled - also, we had the room to ourselves - so we slept well and got up in time for a fine buffet breakfast. Served in the bar, it was pretty crowded - people appeared from nowhere, which surprised us: last night we'd only met Marnie (from Dublin) and her co-traveller from England, staying in the dorm next door.
We idle through the morning and then head out to explore Cesky Krumlov - continuing from the brief sun of Prague yesterday, the sky is clear blue here and the sun is trying to melt at least some of the ice and snow. With no idea of where we're going, we follow directions to a local supermarket (potraviny) which is open until 3.00pm (ie. later on Sunday than on Saturday) and stock up on reasonably-priced provisions. "Provisions", by the way, include a white Magnum - yes, Walls is here as well.

Cesky Krumlov is built around a pretty ferocious backwards "S" in the Vltava - the lower loop almost joins itself: the old town (1400-1750, pretty much) is largely built on the two hilly loops and the facing shores. The hostel is in the lower loop Inner Town (Vnitrni Mesto), one street back from the central square - namesti Svornisti: the upper loop only has one real street (Latran) off which are the monastery, brewery and castle. The entire old town (further out it turns into concrete blocks) is only about 500m x 500m, so there's not a huge amount to see. We go north, leaving the Inner Town by one of its three bridges, and come out facing the hugely impressive viaduct which linkes the castle/chateau with the theatree/gardens - covered renaissance passages are stacked on top of the arches.
Under(neath) the arches, we turn right and walk along the north side of the castle, eventually climbing up to the main entrance - a stone bridge over a sharp pit, beside the castle's distinctive painted tower. The pit houses a small family of bears - one of them is pacing round and round, looking particularly miserable in the dirty ice, as local children attempt to hit it with snowballs.

Many of the castle rooms are open to guided tours during the summer, but even at this time of year you can walk through the series of inner courtyards, across the viaduct and along the outside of the extensive walled gardens. Milla conceives plans both to free the bears from their pit, and to break into the gardens (locked during winter), as we gradually work our way down the hill into the back of Cesky Krumlov.

Across another bridge (with nearby statue of St. John of Nepomuk - he's becoming like an old friend: we recognise him because he carriesss a large crucifix across his body and wears a silly square hat) into the Inner Town brings us out close to the hostel (everything in Cesky Krumlov is pretty close to everything else): this time we push up to the main square. Lined by renaissance and baroque buildings, many with colonnaded passages, it has the inevitable plague cross in the middle: the most significant building is the gothic town hall on the north side. It's white, with crenellations, and also houses the police station, the Infocentrum and the torture museum. Like most of the rest of Cesky Krumlov, the square is cobbled rather than paved or tarmacced.

The gothic St. Vitus church, white and black with a narrow octagonal tower, is built north of the main square on the highest point of the Inner Town and pretty much dominates this part of the skyline. We go inside for a look, and are followed around (even outside in the carpark) by a curious unsmiling and overcoated man. Possibly the church has employed the local mafia or secret police to stop people from throwing snowballs at the windows. The inside of the church is nothing special.

Further up the same street are the large and expensive Hotel Ruze (its carpark has good views of the river and castle) and an old Jesuit building which is now a regional museum (closed until March). We return to the hostel by a series of jewellery shops (Milla's on a quest), eat in during the evening, do a little internet in Domino (virtually next door), and then retire again.
Blanka has moved us to an upstairs room on our own, which is much better.