Pumpkin time

They came from around the neighbourhood bearing their pumpkins ...

(some with more efficient means of transport) ...

... lanterns showing the way

to our annual pumpkin-carving event.

These kids are pros: no instructions, no health and safety warnings required; they rolled up their sleeves and got to work, taking up their knives like seasoned surgeons with scalpels ...

... no squeamishness or avoiding the messy parts ...

though some preferred the floor

and for one or two it was all just too much

And while their parents got down to the more relaxed business of a glass of hot mulled wine on a crisp autumn evening ...

the carvers were ready to proudly display their achievements ...

And it was time for ghoulish snacks in the kitchen ...

And all that's left ...

is to wish you ...

a very ...

(and on a different note, don't miss this darkly funny (Belgian Waffle's trademark) picture of Halloween in Brussels over here)

Of violins, lobsters and vintage cars

Prague houses were once known (and located by the postman) by a quaint system of allegorical symbols - many with alchemical significance. The Mala Strana quarter, and in particular Nerudova  street, where we stayed (at the Castle Steps), has the highest concentration of these original signs above the doorways ...

'House of the three fiddles', said to be haunted by a demented, screeching trio on moonlit nights

 

So it's possible to say here, "I live in the house of the golden urn" or "... the house of crazy hair guy"

'House of the two suns' was the birth place of Czech poet Jan Neruda, for whom the street is named.

It took until 1770 for Empress Maria Theresa to stamp her elegantly-shod foot and bring some Habsburg order from Vienna to Prague, by insisting on house numbers ...

A green lobster? What were they smoking when they thought this one up?

Perhaps none of this is as confusing as the case of our Serbian taxi driver, who claimed he'd lived in the same house all his life, but in four different countries! I think this is possible, though I can only get three for sure - Yugoslavia to Serbia-Montenegro to Serbia - but maybe his house was in an area of shifting borders (Bosnia & Herzogovina?) Balkan history makes my head spin a little.

I was not surprised to notice that every third car in Prague was a Skoda, but even to someone like me, to whom cars hold very little interest, it was pretty obvious that vintage cars are quite the thing here. You can hire one of these jaunty buggies above along with a driver who will be your tour guide for the city, while you snuggle up in the back under one of those fleecy blankets and spare your feet the walking. (No, we did it the hard way, pounding the cobble stones on foot, can't think why now).

These lovely old cars were everywhere. I'd want to be dressed like the lady in pink, though, to look just right.

 I don't know the make of these cute old cars below, but a lovely sight one morning was a convoy of these putzing their way down the steep cobbled streets, part of a rally of some kind ...

... Petr looked pleased as punch to be off on this outing, while Miriam handled the wheel with a look of determination ...

... and Milan took both hands off the wheel to give me a double thumbs-up, while Martina frowned at the map (clearly it's the women who are required to be level-headed in this game) ...

Now, if I could've only persuaded the owner of this lovely vintage Skoda sports model to part with it, I'd be driving home across Europe right now, getting to grips with all the name-changing states ...

Bohemian days

Prague is … 


Many a Wenceslas ...

… two in particular seem omnipresent in this city… Good King Wenceslas of the Christmas carol – actually Duke, not King, of Bohemia in the 10th century -(notwithstanding his goodness he was assassinated by his somewhat less pious brother Boleslav, but scored the last laugh when he was made the patron saint of Bohemia)…

St Wenceslas gets on his high horse in Wenceslas Square

The name in Czech is actually Vaclav, still a common first name for males, as in Vaclav Havel (below), playwright and activist in the Prague Spring of 1968 and two decades later the ‘Velvet Revolution’ which led him to become president of then-Czechoslavakia. (Shouldn’t there be a law that political leaders must be artists, musicians or writers by profession?)

(Photo credit: commons.wikimedia.org)

... and Charles IV (also born Vaclav!), Czech-born Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia, who made Prague the capital of the Holy Roman Empire, and who was responsible for so much of the city we saw last week – Charles bridge, Charles University (the oldest in central Europe),  Prague castle and St Vitus cathedral. 

 Music …

Prague and music are virtually synonymous – this is the country of Dvorak, and Smetana, (Mahler was born here too) and the city loved by Mozart, who famously proclaimed when he felt scorned by Vienna, “Meine Prager verstehen mich”, feeling this so strongly that he conducted the world premiere himself of Don Giovanni in 1787 in the Estates Theatre below ...

 

It seemed that on every street corner and outside every church (there are tons!) there were announcements or people handing out flyers for live concerts … 

(crystal chandeliered entrance to church in readiness for a concert)

… not to mention folk music everywhere in the streets 

(musicians in Old Town Square)

(and on Charles Bridge)

and the touching (on this anniversary of his death) Lennon Wall, a 30 year old tribute from Czech Beatles lovers ...

  
Angels and Saints … 

These are everywhere you look in Prague, and perhaps they've been much needed in the course of this country’s turbulent history

 

 

St John of Nepomuk, one of 30 statues lining the Charles Bridge, was a priest thrown into the river here on the orders of the King (yet another Wenceslas) in 1393 for refusing to reveal the secrets of the Queen's confessions to him.

 Rub the brass plaque at the base of his statue - the one that depicts him being tossed into the river - while making a wish, and it will come true ... but whatever you do, don't touch the plaque next to it, of the queen's shiny dog, because that will guarantee you bad luck!

 A heritage of writers ...

Besides Havel and Milan Kundera (The Unbearable Lightness of Being, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting) who the Czechs have an ambivalent relationship with since his defection to France, Prague’s famous son is Kafka, who was born in Old Town Square and lived in this tiny house in the diminutive Golden Lane underneath the castle. Read about his relationship with Prague here.

All About Food ...

It seemed that literally every second doorway in Prague led one to food. You are spoiled for choice with stylish restaurants ...

 the uber trendy Pravda brasserie

 The lovely Cukrkavalimonada (I challenge you to get your tongue around that one - it means sugar, coffee, lemonade) where we met friends for lunch and loved it so much we went back for breakfast the next morning. Thank you Corey of Tongue in Cheek for this recommendation! 


... cosy cafes ... 
 

  

... and an incredible profusion of street food - traditional Czech fare, that thankfully the arrival of disgusting MacDonalds and KFC has not succeeded in ousting ...

grilled traditional sausages in Old Town Square - these were so good

the biggest frying pan I've ever seen, with potato dumplings in the making

Trdelník is a traditional Slovakian sweet pastry, made from rolled dough which is wrapped around the long poles you see here, then grilled over hot coals and topped with a mix of cinnamon, ground walnuts and sugar. They are light as a feather and absolutely delicious - a little bit reminiscent of the 'farturas' I loved in Portugal as a child (though those are fried), which is perhaps why I scoffed quite so many of these.


Bad for the neck ...

Maybe Bohemian crystal is your thing, or Czech garnet jewellery, or antiques, but whatever's in your suitcase,  one thing you will definitely bring back from Prague is a crick in your neck ...

 And a final image ...

Bella & the Bezzies: with school mates at Lennon Wall