Food and Drink
Food is great if you go for hearty, meaty stews with rich gravy. There are many varieties of dumpling to accompany such manly fare all of them bland in taste, highly calorific and scoring high on the glycemic index (none of the ones I tried matched up to my Mother’s creations which would make one ignore the waistline expanding quality of what is basically flour and water). Czech wine is splendid and not expensive; don’t go off-piste and venture into other countries – you’ll find it costly. Beer, in this land that invented Pilsner, is intensely good and if you go for it you will gain the respect of serving staff who, in my limited experience, have seen far too many foreign visitors who do not want hearty, meaty stews and don’t like beer. I like to get a cheery welcome when I enter a restaurant but did not get this in Prague – but I did get a cheery goodbye on leaving, having left a monetary reward in appreciation of the food and beer so helping create a cheery welcome for the next over-dressed Brit that ventures in.
Travel guide books always mention the abundance of street food in Prague and so there is but … but. But there are also warnings as to the possible results of eating those gorgeously, mouthwateringly, grilled pork sausages that almost every other stall is offering. I watched a small boy of my acquaintance who made up one quarter of my party demand one such succulent sausage and having bought it scoffed it with relish. Five hours later, his Mother later told me, expulsion took place. Beware!
The mystery of the unuseable toilet.
This object was observed on the long, steep haul up to the castle and cathedral.
Mystified? I was. Toileta means toilet. The paradox is the absence of an ‘ole. A toilet without an ‘ole is about as much use as a chocolate teapot. The various stains on and around it suggest that folk may well have used it, how shall we put it? – as a target but you don’t put a big block of stone in a nice little alcove just for people to pee on or at. It was only when I had the photo I took of it (with your interest in mind, as ever, dear readers) on the computer screen and enlarged that I saw on the top righthand corner the words Jan Stursa. Google tells me that this man was a popular Czech sculptor who was born in 1880 and died by his own hand in 1926. On this mysterious block of stone there was once a bronze statue of a woman who after bathing was arranging her hair, who was … completing her toileta – the word ‘toilet’ is used, as it is in English, to mean the business of bathing and generally tidying up and beautifying oneself afterwards. The piece survived the Second World War but at some time in the early 2000s it disappeared. Someone had posted the belief that the statue probably rested in a museum somewhere but I, having had my illusions shattered so many times by the appalling behaviour of my fellow creatures, think that it was probably nicked by the sort of scum that in England that are currently swiping all the copper wire that they can get their hands on.
So the toilet block was not the work of a latterday Banksy, just the remnants of a bit of vandalism.
Beggars
There don’t appear to be many beggars in Prague; far fewer than one sees in London, for example, but those that beg do so in a most peculiar way. They literally prostrate themselves so that their faces cannot be seen. They remain motionless in this position. A small container is placed in front of them for whatever coins may be dropped. I cannot explain why they do this. Is it because begging is illegal and they do not want to be identified? Is it a matter of dignity? They do possess a strange kind of dignity by adopting what is traditionally a posture of complete surrender. Here are two beggars, seen miles away from each other and on different days. Make of this what you will (and be assured that they were more than adequately rewarded for enabling me to capture this strange occupation – although I did not interrupt them by asking for permission).
Many visitors visit Prague’s Old Town, often to see the Astronomical Clock which has all kinds of quaint and cute features that are augmented by the presence of a trumpeter who, after the clock has struck the hour, appears in the tower above and plays a short run of notes to the delight of the folk who have gathered to experience the event and respond to this by waving and cheering.
If this entertainment does not occupy you fully then turn and look around the Old Town Square and you will see, painted on the front of a building, an advertisement for exhibitions by Salvador Dali and the Czech, Alfons Mucha. When you’ve done your waving and cheering go to that building and buy a ticket to the Mucha exhibition. You can do the same for the Dali exhibition but I didn’t and therefore cannot comment – although I’m sure it would be fun. I have always had a bit of a thing about the other artist whose name I never knew how to pronounce. I asked at the ticket desk and was told you say it ‘Mooka’. All civilised people have seen some aspect of the work of Mucha and probably have admired it perhaps without knowing the name of its creator – nothing to be ashamed of in that – or, like me, don’t like to say the name in case it is not pronounced correctly (a bit like the drink ‘Noilly Prat’ – Oh come on, admit that you hesitate before ordering that). This is a poster designed by Mucha: you’ll recognise the style, the art nouveau-ishness of it.
How about that? The exhibition runs to seven rooms and shows every facet of this decorative artist’s work: he illustrated books, he made covers for magazines, he created fonts, designed stamps and banknotes and he designed the most amazing posters. His most famous poster was for Sarah Bernhardt in a play called Gismonda.
I’ll say no more. If you can’t see the exhibition then go to Google and search for his name; in a few seconds you’ll find enough to convince you that this was a man of great and unique genius.
In 1939 the Germans effectively took over most of what was then Czechoslovakia.
Mucha was interrogated by the Gestapo, thrown into prison where he died of pneumonia within a few days. To think that the cause of all that horror and ultimately responsible for the death of this aged man (he was 79 then) was that foul spawn of Satan that actually thought of himself as an artist on the basis of a few lousy watercolours done in his youth.
The National Museum of Prague
This is situated at the North end of Wenceslas Square and is raised so that it looks down upon the Square and those on the Square must look up at it. It dominates. It is a ‘must see’. All the tourist guides tell you it is a ‘must see’. Actually it is a ‘can’t see’ because when you have climbed all those damned steps to present yourself at what must be the entrance you see a notice telling you that it is closed for repair work until 2015. You know, Franz Kafka was a native of Prague.
A strange poster in the airport
Just one of those confusions that arise when translation is attempted by those working from a basic dictionary. I found it amusing and hope you do too.
Returning to the subject of food.
I left this picture to the end because I know you will enjoy a picture of me about to be humbled by the challenge of Czech cuisine. The dish before me is a local favourite called ‘Pig’s Knee’. That is what it is, the knee of a pig. It was obviously part of a large pig. It has been smoked and boiled, or possibly the other way around. It contains a vast amount of wonderfully flavoured ham. The bones necessary to the function of a knee remain and it is the task of the consumer to fillet away the huge masses of flesh and … consume them. I managed about one third. I was on the point of asking for a doggy bag but it was pointed out that within just a few hours I would be passing through Security at the airport and how would I explain this? With this image before you go thou to the Christmas festivities and enjoy.
In Memoriam of One but not the other
Since first posting this piece we have learned of the death of the Czech Republic's President, Vaclav Havel and also that person who was, nominally at least, Dictator of North Korea. My condolences to the people of the Czech Republic. My (qualified) congratulations to the people of North Korea and my hopes that life will one day get better.
Now, dear readers, you must all go and have a jolly old Christmas!
No comments:
Post a Comment