Week of Chaos pt.3: Tuesday

My head is still a little bit muzzy. You know how your muscles feel after a lot of exercise – not necessarily sore, but achey and tired? Well, that’s how my head feels post-flight, with a side helping of slight headache.

We managed to get out of the house a little before noon and went for a wander to the river and investigate the scary statues we had seen last night. Sadly they were far less creepy in daylight, although we managed to confirm my conviction that they were a Political thing – the statues are part of a memorial dedicated to the victims of Communism. After that we meandered towards the Castle, encountering a number of interesting water features (they may have been for handwashing, drinking... there was no way to be sure) on the way and toying with the idea of getting a funny funicular train up to the top of the hill.

There’s an unusual Christian fetishism at work in the city. We found a church dedicated to the Infant Jesus, a statue which was brought here about 350 years ago (I think) and has become like a religious barbie doll, dressed by nuns every morning. The church he lives in features a museum upstairs, filled with outfits which have been sent from aound the globe and lit like a fabric museum. On the stairs there are numerous images of the more garish sets of clothing which the statue has worn, and the church itself has a large shrine to contain him. The colour scheme is a dramatic black and gold (the whole city is covered in gold, it’s remarkable at first but eventually becomes, like the stupendous collection of architectural styles, a bit fatiguing on the Wonder), and there is one very noteworthy thing which made me happy: behind the altar – bedecked in black and gold statuary, etc. – is a large painting. This may sound unremarkable, but if you think about churches you will remember that the centrepiece is usually a giant, brutal crucifix, hanging above the altar where it cannot be missed. Here, there is a small crucifix to the side of the altar, no more than person-high, and otherwise you could almost forget that this is a shrine to a religion which glories in the torture and death of its God. It gave me hope.

The Castle in Prague is conceptually not dissimilar to Edinburgh Castle; both are a strange mishmash of buildings atop a hill, rather than a large fortress. Beyond that there are few similarities. Here there are countless examples of what look like Government buildings, mixed in with a GIANT cathedral which makes St Giles look like a cheap pretender to the title and a bewildering array of structures dating from all over the past few centuries, arranged to a-maze any invaders it would seem.

I’m concerned by the Illuminati’s unquestioned presence here. I first noticed an eye in a pyramid in the church of the Infant Jesus, and after that I spotter them everywhere – on a stained glass window in the cathedral, atop an obelisk in a square, gilded onto the tops of buildings... am I missing something here?

Getting out of the Castle is a challenge in itself; there is no clear route down, ust a lot of paths which might, if you’re lucky, do more than peter out into a dead end or No Entry sign. When we found ourselves somewhere recognisable there was a rousing cheer, even if it was a little weary. By the time we got to the bottom of the hill there was about enough mustered energy between us to get back to the apartment where we ate and napped.

Later in the evening we went for a wander again, nighttime being far easier on the constitution in warm weather. I found the wacky building I had seen on Kevin's photostream but had left the camera behind deliberately, to allow us to see some of the city at a normal pace. Of course this meant that we had to go the same way on Wednesday night so that I could take photos of things I had seen...

We ended up sitting outside a cafe/bar on the west side of the river. Helen had beer (which she drank slowly, like the English and Czechs do; if I could drink the stuff these days I'd have shown them what enjoying beer means...) while Ollie and I had girly soft drinks. Which were far more expensive than the beer, of course. Usually one gets a half litre (equivalent to a pint) of beer for about £1.25 to $1.40, while a 200ml coke will cost more like £2.00. Dammit!

While sitting about, the others had noticed something lying on the pavement a little way off and were discussing what it might be. When a streetcleaning machine came past and sucked the object up they realised it had, in fact, been a dead rat. Lovely. Two in 24 hours.