Category: Blanca

Monday, May 18, 2020 | Written by Blanca

*Disclaimer: This story takes place in February before the travel restrictions and shelter in place mandates.*

This post picks up after my first full day in the glorious city of Budapest (featured in My (AirBnB) in Budapest), most of which I spent on the Buda side, west of the Danube.  The next morning, armed with an itinerary that involved seeing more of Pest, I once again set off on foot for some more adventuring.  My first destination was Hősök tere, or Heroes’ Square, which is a large, open-air square in Pest most notably boasting the Millenium Monument, a cluster of statues honoring the Seven chieftains of the Magyars and major Hungarian leaders.  To get there, I walked down the grand Andrássy Avenue.  Earlier, my Airbnb host, George, had mentioned that Andrássy Avenue is very much like the Champs-Elysees in Paris.  I had scoffed a little at the time, but after having traversed both famed avenues, I realize I should’ve never doubted George’s words (and, as I write this, I’m noticing that George was right about practically everything).  Andrássy Avenue is an equally grand and striking boulevard, flanked with shopping centers, dining establishments, and, closer to Heroes’ Square, a smattering of neo-Renaissance mansions and townhouses.  Some of these, I realized, were actually foreign embassies, which made the street seem even more stately and dignified.  Bathed in rays of sunshine and peeking from behind leaves just beginning to sprout from the tree branches, the elegant exteriors seemed to take on a golden glow.  If George Ezra, another George whose word about Budapest is always to be trusted, had actually had a beautiful house in Budapest, I imagined it would be in the area along Andrássy Avenue.

On either side of the Millennium Monument in the center of Heroes’ Square is a neoclassical building with grand columned porticos and ornately adorned pediments.  Both are actually prominent art museums (yay!), with the Museum of Fine Arts on the left and the contemporary Hall of Art on the right.  I absolutely wanted to go into both, but having spent most of the day at the Hungarian National Gallery the day before, I resignedly decided to diversify my activities and stroll around the Budapest City Park instead.  The Városliget, or City Park, was by no means a downgrade, though.  Located in it, just behind the Millennium Monument, was Vajdahunyad Castle, an eclectic architectural feat whose variety of styles made it rather whimsical and inviting.  Entering the castle gates, I was surprised to find a church and a rather Austrian Baroque-looking building, which I learned was the Magyar Mezőgazdasági Múzeum, or the Hungarian Agricultural Museum.  My visit in the latter didn’t last long, but from the ticketing area, I could see vaulted ceilings and many more sets of deer antlers than I’d ever seen in one place—and I live in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania.  Europe’s largest agricultural museum certainly doesn’t disappoint, even from the lobby.

Across the street from the Vajdahunyad Castle was the Széchenyi Thermal Bath, the largest of Budapest’s well-known thermal baths.  Though I didn’t enter the spa (something about being in the same bath as a large crowd of tourists while a new virus was going around didn’t really sit well with me), I’ve heard from many who also visited Budapest that any of the baths are worth checking out.

All this walking was resulting in me being pretty hungry in Hungary.  Leaving the City Park, I once again embarked on the long but pleasant walk down Andrássy Avenue toward Budapest’s Jewish Quarter.  Though once a ghetto during World War II, nowadays the neighborhood is heralded for its celebration of Jewish culture, and rightfully so.  Filled with lively ruin bars and vivid murals on the sides of buildings, the Jewish quarter was spirited, welcoming, and full of life—and some of the best food in Budapest.  I stopped at Mazel Tov, an airy cultural space filled with warm lights and greenery, for their famed Mediterranean dishes, where I happened to have the best falafel of my life with hummus, sumac eggplant salad, and a delicious pistachio raspberry cake (who knew that pistachios and raspberries go so well together?).

The next day—my final full day in Budapest—was spent doing what is perhaps my favorite city activity: walking around and simply looking at everything.  The architecture, urban planning, pedestrians, and even the way local residents drive paint a very telling picture of what a particular place is like, and Budapest was no different.  There’s also something humbling but rather gratifying about standing on the very stones where the bygone regimes of Ottoman Turks and Austrian Habsburgs once ruled, passing present-day residents who were hurrying off to work or carrying home bags of groceries, and realizing that I would have been just as insignificant before as I was now.  Knowing that you’re so small in comparison to everything else around you is perfect for shedding any inhibitions and endeavoring to see anything and everything you want to see (and also a good reminder that traveling alone can be extremely dangerous without thorough planning and caution—don’t skimp on measures like mapping out your routes and sharing your location with those you trust).

I paid the St. Stephen’s Basilica a quick visit, doing a precursory Wikipedia read and finding that, for a period of time, it was forbidden for any buildings in Budapest to be constructed taller than the basilica.  With a stature of 96 meters, St. Stephen’s Basilica is as tall as the Hungarian Parliament Building and tied for the tallest in Budapest.  Speaking of Budapest’s salient parliament house, that was my next stop.  After admiring the building from afar the night before, I didn’t think it could be any more beautiful up close.  As I am with most things, I was wrong.  The meticulous detail of the exterior stonework is positively sublime, and I wondered if the inside was just as splendid.  Unfortunately, while entry is free before 8AM, I happened to be there in the early afternoon, which was really quite heartbreaking.

Since the sun was making a rare appearance, I paused and spent some time along the east bank of the Danube River, parallel to the parliament building.  I’d always assumed that Strauss’ The Blue Danube Waltz was simply named so because “blue” emphasizes the tranquility of the waltz, but sitting on a bench and looking over to Buda while the wind mercilessly whipped me in the face, I realized that the Danube is actually quite literally the bluest river I have ever seen.  So much for being deep and profound.  As you can see, traveling is full of learning opportunities, no matter how obscure.

I spent the rest of the day forging a meandering path around Pest, passing bustling shopping areas, ducking into quiet cathedrals, and venturing onto less-traveled streets.  Doing so was perhaps my favorite part of my entire visit, and along the way, I came to realize that much of the beauty I’d seen depicted about Budapest in photos and film is quite true.  Take, for instance, that 1987 image of a woman perusing a fresh produce marketplace in Budapest (which has recently been recreated), carrying her nonchalant baby in the same bag as a curiously large leek, which paints grocery shopping in Budapest as a serene, leisurely activity: after stopping at a grocery store for some huge strawberries and delicious blood oranges, I can confirm that grocery shopping in Budapest is indeed remarkably almost idyllic.  Then again, maybe that was just the strawberries talking.  And after stepping into the lobbies of the New York Café and Párisi Udvar Hotel, both of which sport ornate ceilings, opulent décor, and warm lighting that radiates soft, glowing light, the stunning visuals of Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel seem less fantastic and more like a pretty accurate depiction.  While many cities are often viewed through rose-colored glasses, with Budapest, you can toss tinted shades; the city and its ambiance are already rosy enough.

Friday, May 15th, 2020 | Written by Blanca

*Disclaimer: This story takes place in February before the travel restrictions and shelter in place mandates.*

George Ezra’s 2014 smash hit single “Budapest,” off his first studio album Wanted on Voyage, begins with the lines, 

“My house in Budapest

My hidden treasure chest.”

Ezra then goes on to detail the finery and treasures of his purported residence in Budapest before proclaiming that, believe it or not, he would leave the beauty of his home and the hard work put into acquiring it all behind in order to be with the object of his affection.  Listening to this song in 2014, I’d simply thought that Ezra had put a lot of time into curating home décor and buying the many “acres of a land” on which it all sat, but that these were insignificant compared to the feelings he held for the person for whom “Budapest” is meant.  Clearly, I was formally more naïve.  After traveling to Budapest for 3 days toward the end of GT-Lorraine’s spring break in February, I now realize that the song was in fact an ardent declaration of love to someone for whom the magnitude of Ezra’s feeling transcended even his love for Budapest, unequivocally one of the most marvelous cities in the world, much less his prime piece of real estate located there.  When my three days were up, I even seriously contemplated just how bad it would be if I didn’t leave (very bad, I concluded), and I had been staying in a single room of an Airbnb which was rather lackluster compared to the estate George Ezra describes.  The person for whom “Budapest” was written must’ve been a pretty extraordinary (an understatement, if you’ve also seen Budapest) individual to have warranted a song of its nature.

While George Ezra certainly writes catchy tunes, I jest; “Budapest” was not why I traveled to the capital of Hungary.  I’d simply wanted to see the city for myself, and had wanted to for a number of years, so after a brief stint in Prague, I took a 6-hour train into Hungary.  I arrived at Budapest Nyugati station, located on the Pest side of Budapest (I’ll elaborate more on this in a bit), as the skies began to darken. 

Fun fact!  Nyugati was built by the Eiffel Company, the same firm behind the eponymous Eiffel Tower. 

Although I later learned that the interior of the station, even its strangely baroque McDonald’s, were as grand as its exterior, I regrettably didn’t loiter for long.  I had promised to meet my Airbnb host in front of the rental at 5PM, which was fast approaching; besides, after hearing a bit of Hungarian over the train intercom upon arrival and realizing it made no sense to me whatsoever—unlike the languages of countries in western Europe, those of eastern Europe have zero cognate words in English—I decided it was probably best for me to find my way before the sun dipped below the horizon entirely.

Sure enough, I found György (or George, as he introduced himself upon learning I spoke English), my Airbnb host, on the hour.  Despite managing hundreds of properties and living 40 minutes away, he took the time to acclimate me to the Airbnb before sitting me down in the kitchen and showing me a map of Budapest aksing, “Had I ever been to Budapest before?”  I replied that I hadn’t, but I’d heard much about it and was excited to see as much as I could of what already seemed to be a beautiful city.  George seemed unimpressed by my lack of planning, (which I tried explaining that I’d intended to do that night) and gave me a much needed rundown of all things Budapest.  He told me that Budapest is the amalgamation of formerly separate cities divided by the Danube River: Buda on the west, and Pest on the east.  We were located in Pest, he told me, but I could easily get to the magnificent Buda Castle on the Buda side by crossing the Danube on the Széchenyi Chain Bridge, a sight that I ought not to miss.  Castle Hill is extremely steep, so travelers can reach the Castle via funicular railway, although he found it to be unreasonably expensive; after giving me a once-over, George determined that in my young age, I’d probably enjoy the scenic hike up the hill anyway (spoiler: I did).  Other attractions that George thought I should see were the Hungarian State Opera House, which I regrettably was unable to visit, St. Stephen’s Basilica, and the Heroes Square.  If I had some more time, I could also visit the Royal Palace of Gödöllő in Pest county, which was the Hungarian residence of Empress Elisabeth of Austria.  Elisabeth loved Budapest so much, George told me proudly, that she spent half the year at Gödöllő.  It’s clear that Hungarians adore her just as much, because they affectionately refer to her by her nickname, Sisi.

After answering my concerns about riding the Budapest Metro, which I would be using in a few days’ time when I headed back to Metz—George informed me that the Budapest Metro was the among the oldest of functioning electric underground railways, second only to the London Underground, and also a breeze to use—George and I parted ways: he to his home, and I to a local coffee shop called Mon Chéri.  Unlike most other non-nightlife establishments of continental Europe, which tend to close earlier in the evening, I was pleasantly surprised to find that coffee shops in Budapest stayed open much later, many until 11PM.  While studying isn’t the most glamorous activity for a first night in Budapest, Physics 2 homework waits for no one, not even those who finally have a few precious days in a city they’ve yearned to visit for ages.  A slice of tiramisu and a vanilla latte certainly helped to soften the blow.

The next morning, I set off, Google Maps in hand, for the Buda side of Budapest.  Weaving through elegantly baroque avenues, I arrived at the banks of the Danube and crossed the Chain Bridge.

Stately Buda Castle perches atop the rather steep Castle Hill, but the sweeping views of the Danube, the Hungarian Parliament Building, and the rest of the city make the trek well worth it.  Set on a site that was once home to Habsburgs, Ottomans, and Hungarian nobility alike, nowadays Buda Castle houses Magyar Nemzeti Galéria, or the Hungarian National Gallery, which shows off the works of Hungarian artists from the Middle Ages to contemporary times.  To the surprise of absolutely nobody, I spent a handful of hours inside, wandering the U-shaped palace, marveling at its painting-adorned walls and its massive (and seriously impressive) collection of medieval wood altars.  I found the National Gallery to be a particularly meaningful visit, because while many great Hungarian artists studied and worked in Paris and elsewhere in the west, the exhibited works weren’t copies of Italian Renaissance or French Impressionist styles as one might expect.  Many seemed to me to be particularly somber and/or subtly distorted, as if they represented the struggles and unrest Hungary experienced throughout the centuries.  Then again, my eye is also extremely untrained.  Maybe Hungarian painters just liked to use the same kind of paint or something, but in any event, I came to realize that all the works in the museum shared an unobtrusive but decidedly Hungarian style.  

At the time of my visit, the National Gallery was also showing a temporary exhibit on the life and works of Hungarian Jewish painter István Farkas, and while making my way through the chronologically-ordered gallery, I realized how his artwork reflected the progression of his life, of the hardships he faced as a Hungarian Jew.  Farkas was a victim of the Holocaust, so it was hard to find optimism or beauty in any of the pieces upon reaching the end of the exhibit, but I immensely appreciated the level of curation that must have went into it.  Through Farkas’ art, I understood the history of the diaspora in Hungary in a way that a history book probably couldn’t teach me (and indeed more than any of the history books, though few, I’ve ever read).  Budapest is home to the largest synagogue in Europe and to a lively Jewish quarter, so the history of the Hungarian Jewish people is intertwined with the history of Hungary, and as a foreigner to Budapest and to the country as a whole, and as with any of my travels, I always appreciate the moments where I can more deeply understand the background of the particular place I am visiting.

The sun was beginning to dip by the time I departed Buda Castle.  Luckily, my next destination was only a few cobblestone streets away.  The neo-Romanesque Fisherman’s Bastion is an eye-catching landmark in itself, and it offered a gorgeous panorama of the sunset.  I often find that my expectations of tourist attractions are too high, but my opinion of the Fisherman’s Bastion was (and still is) completely the opposite.  The landmark reminded me almost of a fairytale sand castle, except the bastion’s towers were very real and quite permanent.  But, like Cinderella rushing down the palace steps at the stroke of midnight, the setting sun meant that I soon needed to descend Castle Hill to return to my Airbnb.

Before crossing the Chain Bridge back to Pest, however, I stopped at the banks of the Danube to gaze at the Hungarian Parliament Building.  GT-Lorraine students might recognize the Hungarian Parliament Building as the edifice that graces the front of the Eurail pass cover—I personally recognize it as the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen—but no pictures could possibly do the striking neo-Gothic exterior justice.  I tried anyway, snapping a few photos before putting my phone away and watching the exterior light up, left to right, as the sky faded from pink to purple to blue.

Wednesday, February 26, 2020 | Written by Blanca

The saying is, “All good things come in pairs,” and blog posts about Prague are no exception to this rule!  This week, I’m revisiting Prague—figuratively and literally, as I’m currently writing this while reclining on the bed of my Airbnb in the heart of downtown Prague, the second (and penultimate) destination of my spring break itinerary.  I’m actually back in Prague on a solo trip for the next two days, and I couldn’t be more excited to see the city even more thoroughly and closely, but first I wanted to recap the second half of my visit last week.

The end of last week’s blog post saw us retracing our steps down Nerudova Street and back across to the Charles Bridge on Friday evening, after which we stopped for a traditional Czech dinner (or maybe quasi-traditional? consensus is lacking) of pork knuckle and returned to our Airbnb for some much-needed rest.  The next morning, I headed out bright and early before the rest of my travel group, determined to hit all the spots on my map of must-see places in Prague. First up was the Jerusalem Synagogue, sometimes also referred to as the Jubilee Synagogue, a vibrant Art-Nouveau-meets-Moorish synagogue known for its richly patterned exterior and elaborately painted interior (unfortunately I wouldn’t be able to see the latter, as it was Saturday).  My walk to the synagogue took me through the Old Town, which on that chilly morning seemed as if it hadn’t yet awoken from its slumber. Surprisingly, though, that seemed to make it all the more enchanting, as if I was sharing an early morning stroll with the buildings themselves.  

Upon arriving at the synagogue, I was in for another surprise, this time a less pleasant one: half of the synagogue was covered in scaffolding for repairs.  Building repairs seem not to be an isolated incident around this time of year, as a week later I encountered the same thing in London with the Big Ben, the entirety of which, save for its clock face, was obstructed by scaffolding.  Although slightly dismayed, I must admit that the dancing patterns of the Jerusalem Synagogue were still brilliantly striking even when only half exposed.

My first destination satisfied, I was soon on my way to the next, which was admittedly less of a single location and more of a network of streets that surrounded the Old Town Square.  Abandoning my trusty Google Maps in favor of serendipitous exploration, I wandered the tucked-away streets and cobbled lanes, taking note of the buildings lining the street as they shifted from exhibiting motifs of Historicism and Baroque styles to becoming increasingly Medieval closer to the Old Town Square.

A little while later, I was rejoined by my traveling companions at Paneria Paul Kaprova, the café in which I’d met up with Livia the day before, where we had a light brunch and planned out our itinerary for the rest of the day.  As we had much to see, we were soon off, crossing the Vltava (this time on a bridge that was significantly less crowded than the Charles Bridge) into Prague’s Malá Strana, or the Lesser Town.  

Despite its diminutive name, the Lesser Town is no less interesting and full of character than anywhere else in Prague.  To illustrate this point, the first place we stopped was the Vojan Gardens (Vojanovy Sady), which we entered through an unsuspecting and rather missable set of plain wooden doors.  We initially weren’t looking to enter the garden, but afterwards were grateful to have done so as it turned out to be a hidden gem, with a long, bench-lined central walkway and a pond with ducks snoozing nearby.  I’m a huge fan of any feathered friend, so I was pleased to find that the ducks were in the company of pigeons (a familiar sight in Prague) and peacocks (a not-so-familiar sight in Prague), preening their feathers in the morning sun.  On a side note, I was initially rather concerned for the peacocks’ wellbeing, since I’d only ever seen peacocks before in Orlando, Florida, the climate of which is starkly different from the harsh, Eastern European setting of Prague, but they seemed not to mind.  In any event, the presence of peacocks contributed to the serene, enchanting air of the garden, and I could only imagine how much more idyllic it would be in the spring and summer months with the grass greener, flowers blooming, and the foliage on the blossom trees and willows much fuller.  A quick Google search informed us that the secluded park originated as a monastery garden, and although it is the oldest partially preserved garden in Prague, the same tranquility seems to have remained.

The next stop after the Vojan Gardens was the John Lennon Wall, upon which I could read years upon years of scrawled messages—love notes, pleas for peace, and uplifting thoughts on humanity and the world.  Deciding to leave my mark in Prague, however small, I added my name to the layers of writing, a tiny script that occupied three square inches of real estate. Given how small I felt compared to the sprawling city of Prague, this seemed especially fitting.

Our walks took us back up Nerudova Street, which during the day seemed even more steep than we’d remembered, and through the Prague Castle gates.  During the day, we had an even clearer view of the city below, but deciding that we wanted an even more expansive aerial view, we continued hiking uphill to Petřín Hill.  Amidst secluded rose gardens (which I’d imagine would have been magical during the summer) and the Štefánik Observatory, our view framed by tree branches (which, again, probably would’ve made the scene all the more picturesque during the greener summer months), we surveyed almost the entirety of Prague 1 and some of Prague 2.  Descending Petřín Hill, we traversed winding paths, many of which were impressively cobbled, and stepped alongside streams of water, which made their way down the steep hill much more gracefully than we did.

With all this walking, we’d begun to work up an appetite, so the next order of business was to get a bite to eat.  As we strolled through the neighborhoods of Malá Strana toward Café Savoy, a restaurant about which we’d heard plenty of positive recommendations, I began to see why the area is called the Baroque Heart of Prague. 

And to my delight, peppered among the ornate facades of Baroque architecture were streets lined entirely with pastel buildings reminiscent of the Italianate Renaissance style that you might see in SoHo, Manhattan, albeit a bit less cast-iron and industrial and more stately and classically baroque.  SoHo is one of my favorite neighborhoods in Manhattan because of this architectural style, so walking among buildings of a similar style, but which were distinctly unique in their own right, meant that I was absolutely entranced. If I hadn’t been in love with Prague already, I suspect this would’ve been the tipping point.

We found ourselves at the entrance of Café Savoy a few minutes later (and much too soon, in my opinion, as I was having the time of my life obsessively looking at buildings).  The term “café” might be a bit misleading, as just like the outside of the restaurant, the interior of Café Savoy was what can only be described as positively swanky. It wasn’t hard to see why the lavish, jazz-lounge-meets-art-deco-bar-meets-First-Czechoslovakian-Republic eatery was completely packed, and their food certainly met the same standard.  I personally ordered a plate of eggs benedict (can you ever go wrong with eggs benedict?), and after chowing down, we were off on our way again.

Our next stop was the Dancing House, an architectural collaboration between Frank Gehry and Croatian-Czech architect Vlado Milunić.  A deconstructivist building that looks as if it’s dancing, hence its name, the Dancing House certainly stood out among its Baroque neighbors along the Vltava River.  Nonetheless, it was a fascinating building, and if you’re into contemporary and modern architecture, this is definitely a building to add to your list of places to see.

The final destination of the night was Vyšehrad, a 10th-century fort on the East bank of the Vltava in Prague 2.  Recommended to us by both Livia and our server in the restaurant in which we had breakfast the day before, the fort proved to be one of the highlights of my trip.  Though the sun had long begun to set, we strolled through a charming village at the top of the (once again very steep) hill on which Vyšehrad is situated, which was abuzz with light and activity.  The gothic Basilica of St. Peter and St. Paul, which could be seen during our travels for miles around due to its stark, dark spires and prominent location on top of a hill, had unfortunately closed to the public half an hour before our arrival, but no matter, as Vyšehrad proved to be the perfect way to end a weekend in Prague.  

The sun dipped behind the hills, its dwindling golden light painting the cotton candy sky a swirl of purple and magenta and blue.  As a layer of calm came upon the houses that blanketed the hills, warm glowing lights emitting intermittently from the far-away windows, I watched the twinkling of headlights wind around the banks of the Vltava and thought, for the umpteenth time that weekend, that Prague just might have been the most enchanting city I’d ever visited.

Friday, February 21, 2020 | Written by Blanca

This past Friday was Valentine’s Day, and I was lucky enough to spend the weekend with the most beautiful one of all.  Who might that be, you ask? Only Prague (or Praha, as it’s called in Czech), the capital of the Czech Republic, the City of a Hundred Spires, the apple of my eye and the object of my heart’s affections.

With some (extremely sparse and poorly planned) plans to visit Geneva and Interlaken for the weekend falling through a few days before, my Switzerland travel group disbanded, each member choosing a different location to visit for the weekend.  I joined to form a 4-person travel group to Prague, a spontaneous, last-minute decision that I’m really grateful I made. In an activity-packed two days, the first of which was spent primarily in the municipal district of Prague 1, I was able to experience a bit of the endless beauty and culture Prague has to offer.

We left on Thursday evening, and following a near disaster involving a series of canceled train stops, we found ourselves on an overnight bus to Prague, our final mode of transportation of the night.  After arriving at the train station at 6AM, we miraculously found a hotel restaurant open at 6:30AM (finding businesses that open early is a near impossible feat, as I’ve realized, in Europe), refueled, and scouted out our Airbnb.  A quick 2-hour nap later, I was out the door again, off to the Old Town Square to meet a friend from high school, Livia. Liv is studying abroad in Prague at Charles University this semester, and after badgering her for suggestions for my trip, we decided to grab a quick Friday lunch at a cafe before she left for Slovakia for the weekend.

Prague is full of so many world-renowned wonders (hello, Prague Castle!) and hidden treasures alike, but catching up with Liv was one of the highlights of my weekend.  In a city so large (to illustrate this point, I walked fifteen miles on our second day there and was still yearning to see more) and so full of people, we occupied our own corner of the Paneria Paul café; this was made all the more intimate by the fact that those who surrounded us each had their own separate lives and stories.  Tucked away from the bustle of it all, we swapped college housing horror stories and snippets of all that we’d been up to since we saw each other last over a slice of Milka cake.

After sending Livia off, I met up with the rest of my GTL travel crew, awakened from their snoozing at last, in the Old Town Square.  From there, we embarked on a series of tourist traps: doughnut ice cream cones (which, according to a disgruntled Liv, aren’t remotely Czech, and one should opt to visit a cukrárna instead if craving something sweet), the Prague Astronomical Clock (in my opinion underwhelming), and a traversal across the packed Charles Bridge.  I’ll admit that while the lattermost, lined with baroque statues, is less of a tourist trap and more of an attraction, it’s certainly hard to navigate at almost all times of day due to the sheer amount of people who flock to cross it.

Having journeyed across the river, we made our way further in the direction of the stately Prague Castle, making sure to watch our step as we went.  Perhaps the most notable part of visiting Prague, aside from the diverse yet distinctive architecture and rich history, was the sheer amount of cobblestone.  Now, much of Europe’s streets are cobbled, but Prague beats them all in terms of variety and expanse. In which other city can you find miles and miles of stone-paved roads with sidewalks, also cobblestone, comprising even more precise cuts of stone (some marble!) that are more intricately placed than the actual streets themselves?

We arrived in Prague’s Lesser Town with ankles intact, having managed not to stumble over the bumpy stone roads, and made a quick stop at the St. Nicholas Church.  While I personally didn’t enter, choosing instead to seek a much-needed caffeine pick-me-up, two of my traveling companions did pay the admission fee and view the church.  Upon exiting, they raved about the gilded Prague Baroque interiors, which are supposedly the most prime example of the architectural style.

Onward again!  Our itinerary next led us up charming, winding Nerudova Street, the steepness of which provided a perfect opportunity to stop to peek into shops and take an embarrassing number of photos along the way.  Legs burning, we finally reached the entrance to the Prague Castle, providing a perfect outlook over the entirety of the Prague 1 Municipality as the sun set.

When the golden glow of the sun finally ebbed away, we took to the streets once more and retraced our steps.  The downhill march along Nerudova Street was significantly less taxing on the knees than the uphill trek, and as we made our way back over the Vltava River on the Charles Bridge, which was a bit more tranquil after nightfall, we were able to see the medieval heart of the city as it lit up in the night.