the cold that had been
stalking me since the plane trip caught me. Exhausted as I was, I got almost no
sleep. But there was a city to see, likely my only chance, and only two days to
see it, so I dragged myself out of bed (lots of eyedrops, lots of cold water)
and to the little market, for fruit, yogurt, some bread. An Indian couple had
spent the night in the flat’s other bedroom, as Marushka had alerted me; I
glimpsed only the wife, briefly, and said good morning. In just a few blocks of
weaving through a neighborhood of mainly old apartment buildings, I continued
to be amazed at the gorgeous—often dilapidated, now, or painted over, boarded
up, otherwise neglected (in contrast to my own little street, where they were
all in good repair), but once works of art—facades of buildings along the way.
After a makeshift breakfast I spent a little time cramming a refresher on “what
to see” into my head and bleary eyes, carefully stashed the map portions of the
guidebooks into my purse, and heaved myself (locking four doors behind me yet
again) out into Prague.
My first goal was
Wenceslas Square (Václavské náměstí), for all the
history that has unfolded there just in my own lifetime, let alone its place in
Czech history generally and in daily life in Prague. Assuming if I kept heading
in that direction (north and east, for me) I couldn’t miss it, I walked and
walked. After a while—a while of constant fascination with the Prague tram
cars, with bakeries and restaurants, shops and the architecture, the sensory
overload of curiosity and interest assailing me on every side, while trying not
to get (too) lost or run over by some vehicle while gawking (it was a
Saturday morning, which helped in that regard), I saw what appeared to be one
of the covered shopping passageways and ducked into it to have a look.
By
sheer serendipity, it turned out to be the very one I’d read about, the Lucerna,
actually linked to others of these old arcades in an extended labyrinth. It
became part of my mantra-lament, “I wish I had more time.” The passage is
ornate, fascinating, and I could stay only a very short while—but at least I
got to see one of David Czerny’s best-known strange sculptures, “Horse,” which
pokes fun at the famous St. Wenceslas statue in Wenceslas Square. And
simultaneously (because they were standing right under the hanging statue) to
hear a traditional Czech band, in costume, playing for Saturday morning
shoppers.
Back
out in the cool late morning, it wasn’t much longer before suddenly, I was
there, emerging from the side street into the square. It is not, of course, a
“square” in any geometrical sense, being a long stretch of cobblestone between
busy streets. The sidewalks were crowded with shoppers and tourists. I made my
way gradually to the upper end, where the square culminates in the actual
Wenceslas statue and, across a busy street, the National Museum. In the seated
comfort of Afterward, I can learn of the museum’s long history and significance
to Czech identity, let alone damage done to the physical building (not its
collections; they’d been moved) by World War II bombs, Soviet troops in 1968,
the construction of the Prague Metro, and not least by those aforementioned
“busy streets,” the North-South Highway. At the time, I was just aware of the
imposing old building, having to wait to cross from the square to it, and then,
having climbed the steps to get a better view back at all of Wenceslas Square,
of the fact that the museum is closed. Both signs at the entrance and a
handbill a woman thrust at me announced that it is about to undergo long,
extensive renovations. Its collections have been temporarily moved across the
highway to one side, to a very modern building that once housed Voice of
America headquarters.
