Looking down on history

As mentioned, there are brass plaques that dot many European cities to denote the former residences of deported Jews. As travelers we sometimes only see a city at eye level, we do not pay attention what is below our feet or just above the ground level. I find this interesting because walking down many streets, our eyes are drawn to the ground floors of many buildings. I would suggest that this is no accident, advertisements bombard the eyes on the ground level. Yet, a quick glance just a few degrees up or down reveals another world completely. 

At Náměsti Republiky, a square quite near Prague’s Old Town Square, there is a combination of sites and experiences that leave one with a sense of irony. The most prominent feature of the square is the Obecni dum, perhaps one of the most beautiful buildings in the world. In front of the Obecni dum, looking to the left in the photograph below, there is a complex of buildings adjacent to one another. These three buildings I find very interesting because of the diversity of utility and prominence. On the ground in front of the small building to the extreme right is a small brass plaque that reads: “A stone house from the end of the 13th century originally stood on this corner.” It is unclear to me why every year I am in Prague I walk over to make sure the plaque is still there. Perhaps I secret wish that during the intervening year someone has posted more information about it: When was it torn down? Why was it torn down? What else is known about the house? What did it look like?

At the extreme left of the picture is the other side of time spectrum (sort of). The large pink building is the Palladium Shopping Center with over 200 shops. It is a modern and upscale mall that is actually pleasant to walk through. Although it looks thoroughly modern in all respects inside, the building is actually a refurbished 18th century army barracks. Among those who were stationed there was Josef Kajetantyl, the man who wrote the song that would become the Czech national anthem (“Where is My Home?”).

Situated between the Mall and the small building, recessed just enough with a small gate and wall in front, that it is hardly noticeable, is the Kostel sv. Josefa (Church of St. Joseph). My guess is that to the incurious pedestrian this small church remains unnoticed. Although some of the beggars that usually loiter in front might draw attention to it, they make the church more intimidating to visit. The interior of the church reveals a small baroque gem: plain white walls, with fixtures made of dark woods. There are several paintings, including Stations of the Cross and a large triptych over the main altar. The wood and the lesser altars are trimmed in gold. The floor is made of what looks like terrazzo with inlaid tiles for decorations.

The juxtaposition of modern and antique buildings, the sacred and the profane, and wealthy shoppers and tourists walking passed the downtrodden beggars of Prague is fascinating. This, in many ways, captures the spirit of Prague. I suspect this is not why most people come to Prague, but the differences keep me coming back.