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 Walking over Charles Bridge at midnight recently, it wasn't difficult
to see why Prague is considered one of the most beautiful cities in the
world, a "Venice with steps". On Hradcany, the hill above the city, the
pale walls of Prague Castle and the intricate spires of St Vitus
Cathedral soared in the moonlight; the copper domes of churches dotted
the ancient skyline along the river Vltava; art-nouveau lamps gave the
mosaic pavements a golden glow; and from cobbled streets, buildings
rose from across the centuries: medieval stone turrets, Italianate
sgraffito'd walls, gilded baroque mansions, quaint macaroon-hued
cottages.
But then, the City of a Hundred Spires (which, rather confusingly, is
said to have more than 500) is one of the few European capitals to have
escaped the ravages of natural disasters and war. It has been a seat of
European power for centuries: first capital of the Holy Roman Empire
and the Habsburg empire, then of the Czechoslovak Republic and, now,
the Czech Republic – hence the pomp and glory of its architecture.
Since the republic joined the European Union in 2004, its principal
city has gained a number of similarly grand 21st-century palaces:
five-star hotels, of which it already has 36.
Luxurious hotels are not reason enough to go to any city, but the
prospect of a pampering escape does raise Prague's appeal –
particularly after one has walked the city, taking in the great sights:
the astronomical clock; the gold-and-cake-icing interiors of St
Nicholas Cathedral and the soaring spaces of St Vitus Cathedral; the
lavish treasury of the Loreto; and ornate baroque libraries with their
collections of old globes at Strahov monastery. Having done all that,
it's good to know there are suitably regal interiors into which to
retreat – and collapse.
There are occasions, too, when one really does need to escape. For six
months, Prague's main attractions are thronging with millions of
tourists (more than four million in 2009), buying souvenirs, following
guides' umbrellas, lurching out of old-fashioned beer halls.
Thankfully, they are not everywhere. Quiet times can be had if you
avoid the Eastern Old and New Town areas, where the crowds gather.
Explore instead the Jewish quarter, with its ancient, sunken little
synagogue and movingly crowded cemetery, its Bond Street-style
boutiques and fashionable restaurants. Alternatively, stroll through
the Little Quarter, with its churches, rustically appealing coffee
shops and fine local restaurants such as U Modre Kachnicky.
Oddly, in a city in which there has been so much political repression
(by Germans, then Russians, then Czech Communists), there is an
infectiously light, romantic air about the place. Brides in mounds of
fluff and ethereal veils parade the streets, stopping to be
photographed beside national monuments. The sound of violins pours from
windows. Churches all over the city host orchestral concerts, organ
recitals, Smetana evenings. And then there are the bells: donging all
over the place, at all hours.
The only reason I was even vaguely tempted to leave was because I was
travelling home by train: the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express. It chugs
from Prague just three times a year, its passengers treated to
cocktails and fine meals, then cosseted in elegant cabins between crisp
sheets, as pretty Czech countryside, then Frankfurt and Paris, go by.
I've never returned from a city break so relaxed and so replete, with
culture and cakes: for me, a sign of very good times.
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