And then

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.