Storming the Castle (Part 1)

“In life, you will need: curiosity, kindness, stamina, and a willingness to look stupid.” ~Anonymous post from Steallikeaartist.com

Friday, Feb. 15, 2013
Despite setting an alarm to get me up at 9am, I snoozed it and got up closer to 10:00. I’d had another restless night of waking and sleeping without really getting any solid REM. When I finally wrestled my way out of bed, I got dressed and ready to set out for the day.
Before I left, I double checked the books and maps to make sure I knew where I was going. I jotted down some notes in my note book to make sure I could get around alright. I needed to take Tram 9 from the dorms back across the bridge to the neighborhood I’d been lost in a few night ago. At that same station, I’d be able to catch Tram 22 which should take me all the way to the castle. When I was done at the castle, I’d walk down the road that the tram ran along to St. Nicholas Church. After seeing the church, I would continue down the road towards the Charles Bridge. About a block before the entry to the Bridge, I’d be able to turn off into a side street where I should wrap around to find the John Lennon Memorial Wall. Afterwards, I could cross the bridge, take a hard right and walk up two blocks to catch the 9 back to the dorm

Tearing my bulleted notes out of my notebook and folding them into my pocket, I put on my jacket and prepared to leave. I decided I would also take my map of the tram system, just in case I did get lost at some point.

I had never done anything like this. Normally when I wanted to go see or do something—be it hiking in the mountains or even going to check out a club at school—I dragged at least one other person with me. If I couldn’t find someone to tag along, I just wouldn’t go. Setting out across a foreign city, where I didn’t speak the language, and I didn’t know the routes, was totally out of character for me.

And that made me excited.

Today was certainly the coldest day since I arrived in Prague.  The wind was just a bit biting and the air clung to my skin with a bit more humidity than I am used to from back home. I caught the 9 into town. After a few stops, an elderly woman boarded. In keeping with the local tradition of giving up your seat to an elder, I stood up and she came to take my seat saying, “diky” (which means “Thank you.”)

In just around 20 minutes, we crossed the bridge and I found myself at the same spot in which I had been lost two or three nights ago. The station looked much friendlier than it had in the dark. As I waited for a 22 tram, I noticed two things. First, there was a monument at the very top of a hill off to my right. A long stair case—probably a mile long—led up to it, and I decided I wanted to climb the stairs and see what it was before I went home. Second, I noticed that while the other people waiting for the 22 were not speaking English, they also weren’t speaking Czech.

One group of girls was speaking some sort of Asian-Pacific language. There was a family speaking a language that I would guess was from the Scandinavian area. There was some French as well and I think one group may even have been speaking Spanish. This meant one thing to me: I was surrounded by tourists.

This proved to be true when I boarded the train. In fact, there were significantly more tourists on this side of town than there had been anywhere else in the city. Looking out the window I watched them stumble on the cobblestone roads and clumsily open up their maps mid-step to reorient themselves.

The ride up to the Castle—which is situated at the top of the tallest visible hill in Prague—was a steep and winding one. The tram took switchback after switchback and at times seemed to be pitched almost 45* from one side to the other.  When we leveled off, I stood and started moving to the door (it had been my observation that the locals crowed the door prior to their stops.) When the train stopped, not only did no one else move to the door, but there was no Castle anywhere. I decided not to get off and went back to my seat. Now I didn’t look like a local or a tourist, I just looked like an idiot.

At the next stop however, everyone got off. I followed the crowd stepping from the cozy tram back out into the frigid air of the station. The castle wasn’t immediately visible and sure enough the maps came tumbling out of tourists’ pockets. I noticed there was a small group of a few families that crossed the road and seemed confident in where they were going. They looked very serious and straight-faced as they walked. Locals! Without hesitation, I naturally fell in following them. Sure enough, just a few meters down from the station, the castle burst into view, its steeples and spires rising high above the withered trees.

I have to admit that prior to today, I did not know the difference between a “Castle” and a “Palace.” In fact, I didn’t know there was a difference. I learned today that that a “Palace” is a place where the royal family will live, while a “Castle” is the enclosure and fortification around that Palace and all of the significant buildings in the immediate area. In this way, a Castle is more like a business hub or small city while a Palace is merely a fancy home.

Walking up to the gate of the Castle, there were two guards on either side of the gate. Tourists lined up to take pictures both of and with them. They were clearly “on duty” (playing a role that was both for entertainment and for ceremony.) It amazed me how the groups of tourists—many of whom had accents that matched my own—would crowd around or stand right next to the guards to get goofy group photos.

I snapped a number of shots as I walked to the gates. I did not however disturb the guards to take their picture. I may be a stupid American but I am not a disrespectful one. Entering through the gate, there was a long archway that was dimly lit. As I passed through, I was immediately breath taken by the main courtyard. There was a huge, sculpted fountain in the center. On one end of the yard was (what I believe used to be) an old library. Along the roof of the old library were statues of St. Peter and St. Paul. All along the walls were windows each with their own marvelously carved archway. Just across from the large fountain was a small well.

In one corner of the courtyard was a window that said, “Informance.” I guessed that that was the best place to buy tickets. According to my book, there was both a “Long Ticket” and a “Short Ticket.” Both were good for two days, however the Long Ticket bought the user access into all of the public buildings in the Castle while the short ticket gave the user access into the few most famous buildings.

The line for the tickets was long and people spoke a variety of languages. I did notice however that all of the transactions at the counter were occurring in English (thankfully!) One person ahead of me asked for a student discount.

“You must have proof of being a student in EU,” the woman said.

Luck was on my side again. When I got up to the window, I asked for a Long Stay Student Ticket and produced my new school ID for the University. I was officially an EU student! The perk of this was great. My admission wound up being about $8 USD. I had the option of joining a tour for an addition 35 Koruna, but the tour was only an hour and was broken out by nationality. I wanted to experience the history and culture of Prague Castle; the last thing I wanted to do was share that experience with Americans. Looking back on it, I am glad I made this choice. I have no idea how you could see even a fraction of that Castle in an hour.

I opted instead to pay 1 Koruna for a map. Following the map, I cut out through the right side of the courtyard into one of the gardens. There was an Elementary school tour group in the garden when I got there, and since most everything but the evergreens was dormant for winter, I didn’t spend much time there.

I did however notice a man taking a picture of a woman in front of some of the trees with part of the Castle in the background. I wanted some pictures of me in the Castle, but I also didn’t want to lose my camera. At the same time, if I’d learned anything in the past week, it was that I had to trust people in order to make this trip worthwhile. Against my better judgment, I approached the man.

“Excuse me,” I said, approaching him.

He turned, “Yes?” His accent was French.

Gesturing my camera towards him, I said softly, “Could you take my picture up there too?”

“Yes,” he agreed and smiled. The French were quickly becoming my favorite group of people.

I handed him my camera and, turning my back to him, walked up the garden steps to where I’d seen the girl standing. For each second my back was to him, I was aware of the fact he could disappear with my camera. But when I reached the top and turned around, he was there, ready and posed to take the shot.

Also featured in the gardens were the remains of The Church of The Virgin Mary. Constructed in 600 AD, it was the first church in Prague. Only a few fragments of pillars remained, but the age and significance of them astounded me.

I passed through the main courtyard and into what was called the “Third Courtyard.” It was also the largest courtyard and the site of both the palace and St. Vitus Cathedral. I was absolutely breath taken by the site of the cathedral. It was the towering building I had been admiring in all of my photographs from the Charles Bridge. I stood off to the side of the courtyard by a trashcan and tried to take a few photos.

Again, I wanted a picture with it, but was hesitant to ask. As a family passed me, I went ahead to beg the favor. I figured with kids in tow, they weren’t likely to make a run for it with my little PowerShot Digital. Besides, everyone here was a tourist.

“Excuse me,” I said. They kept walking. “Or not,” I muttered under my breath. I looked around for another person I thought may be of assistance. I noticed the son of the family tug on the father’s sleve and they both looked at me.

“Perdon?” the father said, again in a French accent, and walked back towards me.

“Could you take my photo?” I asked. I tried to speak softly and slowly and not like the loud Americans you hear shouting through their tours.

He nodded and I handed him my camera. He snapped a shot of me.

“This way too?” he asked rotating the camera.

“That would be great,” I said and nodded. He took a few more. “Thank you,” I said as he handed it back to me.

Finally, I got to go into the Cathedral. As I stepped in through the wooden door, there was a woman in the small welcome room reminding everyone to remove their hats. I did so and tucked my beanie into my jacket sleeve. I was suddenly aware of the fact that I could see my breath even inside the church.

Stepping out of the welcome area and into the Cathedral was a moment of absolute awe. All around me the views were stunning. To say it puts the National Cathedral in DC to shame is an understatement. Words can’t do it justice. Pictures don’t do it justice. I immediately wondered how I’d lived my life without seeing this before.

To go beyond the entry way required a ticket and I was so thankful I had one. The man standing guard scanned it and let me in through the turnstile.

The stained glass windows were rainbows of colors that I’d never seen. There were ruby murals and teal landscapes. Blues, and purples, and greens, and yellows in shades I’d never known had existed.  Each of the shrines lining the walls was decorated with gold while a thriving stained glass masterpiece glowed above each of them. On the sculpted pillars, arches, and buttresses there were wooden carvings, crosses, and crucifixes. Paintings depicting the birth, life, and crucifixion of Christ were scattered around. Looking at my pictures and trying to describe it only makes me want to go back again.

About midway up, we were able to approach the altar. Another French couple took a photo of me in front of it and then I returned the favor. While we couldn’t find the exact word for “blurry” we took several shots of each other until each was satisfied with their final product.

That was when I noticed the organ high above on the ceiling. It looked the gates of heaven swinging open and must have been several stories tall. After snapping photos in every direction, I continued around taking in each shrine, each cross, and each crest. I found the confessional which was carved out of wood. A wooden panel with a hole separated the priest from the parishioner and a gentle purple curtain could be pulled closed for privacy.

There were chandeliers, candles, and these massive stars carved from ruby red glass and lined with gold. There were sculptures of lions and silver statues of knights. The floors were made entirely of red granite and the ceilings were painted and etched in the most intricate designs.

As I was about halfway through the Cathedral I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of homesickness. It wasn’t that I wanted to go home, but rather, it was I wished everyone back home could see this. I knew that I’d never be able to describe it and I was so sorry that they couldn’t be experiencing it for themselves. I would tell you that if you see nothing else in Prague—if you only ever spend 30 minutes in the city in your life—you must see that Cathedral at some point. It should be on every man, woman, and child’s bucket list.

After leaving the Cathedral, I felt emotionally drained. I had never seen anything so beautiful and so moving in my life. I’d been in there for over an hour and it was now past noon. My stomach was starting to growl, but I wanted to see more.  I rounded the side of the cathedral, and following the map, found the Powder Tower.

The Powder Tower was one of three towers in the Castle. It housed the central intelligence and arsenal for the guards. Inside the building was a steep staircase with a low hanging roof. In the top room—which felt something like Rapunzel’s chamber after the lengthy climb up—a woman scanned my ticket. This room had been converted into a small museum displaying the different levels and types of guards that had worked in the castle. Over the years, as various threats ranging from Roman soldiers to Nazi invaders had threatened the castle, the training and type of guard had changed and evolved. Their uniforms and their weapons had been upgraded and downgraded depending on the threat and the era.

The exhibition continued up another winding set of stairs. Some of the signs were in English, but again, most were in Czech. When I’d finished reading what I could and looked at everything nearly a dozen times, I descended back down to the main level.

As I passed one window in the stairwell, I paused. I looked out over Prague. I wondered briefly, what it must have been like to have guarded this castle. To have seen it attacked by Nazis and inhabited by Communists. I imagined what it would have been like to have seen Hungarian armies on horseback riding into town or entourages of roman kings being escorted through the gates.

At the main level of the exhibit, I thanked the woman who was taking tickets. “Diky,” I said. I must have mispronounced it because she looked confused. “Diky,” I said again. “That’s thank you, right?” I said. She walked over to a door and yelled into it. Suddenly an armed guard came out.

This had certainly gone differently than I’d expected.

“Anglisky?” she asked him. I knew that word meant “English.”

He moved his hand to indicate more-or-less. “What do you need?” he asked.

“I was trying to say ‘Thank you,’” I explained.

He looked confused.

“Thank you?” I said. “Is it is ‘diky.’”

“Diky!” he said and nodded. “Is thank you.” He then repeated it a little slower so I could get the pronunciation right.

“Diky,” I said to the woman and she smiled and laughed. Then she nodded and laughed with the guard and I descended down the stairs.