Kino Mĕstské Divadlo (Pelhřimov, Czech Republic)

 

Looking through some of the postcards I have collected of theaters over the years, this cinema in Pelhřimov seems very remote and far away. I have never visited this small city, and I am not sure I will. But the theater, which still stands and is now known as the Lubomír Lipský Theater (Divadlo Lubomíra Lipského), looks like many of the buildings in Prague. The postcard is dated 1959, during the Communist era, just prior to Prague Spring, which brought a flourishing of Czech Cinema that I love so much. Thinking about what people in central Czechoslovakia may have been watching, what the experience of attending a cinema during that era was like, is nearly unfathomable to me.

Location: Solní 1814, 393 01 Pelhřimov, Czechia

Lennon Wall

For fans of Beatles music, especially that of John Lennon, the Lennon Wall in Prague is a source of inspiration and community. During the communist period, it was a blank wall across a small square from the French Embassy. After his assassination in 1980, the residents of Prague turned the wall into a makeshift memorial for John Lennon. It honored his life, music and ideas with graffiti that depicted his image and lyrics. Oftentimes, people would write messages about their hopes for peace, tranquility and fulfillment. The music of the Beatles was officially banned in Czechoslovakia. The authorities would whitewash the wall in an attempt to keep a lid on a celebration of Western music and ideas, only to have residents to reestablish the memorial again.

The Lennon Wall in May 2016

Since the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe in 1989, the wall has remained largely unmolested by the government. It has become a gathering place that attracts more and more tourists and travelers each year. The wall has featured images of the Beatles, references to lyrics, but more importantly implores peace, love and internationalism. People leave messages, identify where they are from and celebrate their love of music. It is not uncommon to fund musicians encouraging visitors to sing alone. Because there are new messages and images every day, the wall is constantly changing.

I have been visiting the wall for several years. The increase in the number of people has meant that the Lennon Wall is no longer a secret shared among a few people. Once, I could bring a dozen students to the wall and we would constitute a majority of people. It is sad to see that more nationalist images have begun to crop up. Two large Czech flags adorned the wall this year. Nevertheless, there remains a feeling of goodwill and comradeship. It is common for people to join in song and greet one another while visiting.

I was talking to a student who was in the military, standing at the edge of the square watching the visitors. He was clearly moved by the experience of being at the wall and interacting with others. He noted that it was nice to see people speaking different languages, from different parts of the world, singing together rather than trying to kill each other. I am willing to bet that John Lennon would have been happy. 

“Made you look”

"In memory of  fallen heroes who fought for a free and
democratic Czechoslovak Republic"

I was walking into the Praha Masarykovo nádraží train station, a regional train station near Náměstí Republiky in Prague, when I stopped to photograph the war memorial inside. Although near many of the historical sites of the city, very few tourists enter the station because it only serves regional destinations. A grandmother, mother and girl of about twelve were walking behind me into the station. Given the light and the angles, it was a difficult monument to photograph. The young girl looked to see what I was studying and photographing. She soon became transfixed and stared at the monument, reading the text that I could not understand and would have to translate later. Her mother, who walked ahead not paying in attention to memorial, realized that she was not there and called after her. The girl looked at her mother, but did not budge. The mother soon came back to retrieve her. But before she would go the girl pointed and asked questions in a low voice. I moved on; but I knew photographing a little noticed monument had spark an interest of a girl in Prague.

Betlémské Kapel

The interior of the chapel

Bethlehem Chapel (Prague) was founded in 1391 and is an important building in both Czech and Protestant history. The charter of the chapel stipulated that sermons were to be delivered in Czech, rather than Latin, a major departure from church practices of the day. The building was also important because it could contain the largest meeting space of anywhere in the city, up to 3000 people. Despite the size, the building was never considered a church.

Perhaps, however, the more historically important aspect of the chapel was the appointment of Jan Hus as preacher in 1402. Largely unknown outside of Bohemia, his sermons and writings were of great renown, even drawing Queen Sophia, the wife of King Wenceslas IV, to hear him. He preached on the evils of too much money, citing the tenth chapter of Matthew, Hus worried that the church would be captured by earthly riches and would refrain from preaching the Word of God. As such, Hus was also a critic of the practice of selling indulgences, which drew the ire of the king and Church. In 1412 he was forced to flee Prague. He was arrested and burned at the stake on 6 July 1415, the anniversary of which is now the Czech national day. Hus is seen as the precursor to the Protestant Reformation that would occur a century later and Martin Luther cited him as his predecessor.

The illustration of Jan Hus in flames

The interior of the chapel, austere and sparse like many early Protestant churches, evokes a serenity not found on the busy streets of Prague. Reproductions of medieval paintings on the walls tell the story of Hus and his followers. Today the chapel is a part of, and maintained by, the Czech Technical University in Prague. It hosts formal graduations of students and each 6 July an ecumenical meeting on the anniversary of Hus’s execution. Stepping into the chapel is almost stepping back in time. There are very few distractions and almost no tourists; only fellow travelers. 

Žižkov Television Tower

The tower from Jiřího z Proděbad Square

It may be one of the oddest attractions in Prague, but I enjoyed my visit. Built between 1985 and 1992, the Žižkov Television Tower was one of the last major architectural undertakings of the Czechoslovak communist government. Because of the modern, socialist-inspired architectural that intruded on the traditional landscape of Prague, some residents thought it represented the Communist Party leader, Miloš Jakeš, giving the city the finger. The advent of cable and satellite television robbed the structure of its original use.

The view

Interior

Located well outside the center of the city, at the Jiřího z Proděbad metro station, the modern tower is a place where the traveler can take in a panoramic view of the city. I understand that this attraction could be quite hokey, and the tower does, almost inexplicably, have an exhibition that was originally installed in 2000 that has babies crawling on the tower. Yet, the interior is understated, peaceful and tasteful. Despite there being a snack bar on the observation level, there is almost a Zen feel (especially when there are a limited number of people visiting). It offers a beautiful view of Praha 3 and the center of the old city in the distance. From the vantage of nearly 100 meters up, there is a much better of the valley of the Vlata. The walk to and from the tower, which takes one through the residential neighborhoods, allows a realistic view of living in Prague.

Babies crawling on the tower

A bizarre encounter

I was walking down a side street in Prague at 8am, on Friday morning. My goal was to drop off a little laundry before the weekend and have it ready about lunch time. An unmarked lorry pulled up beside me and the driver leaned over, and asked in Czech, either, “Do you have a drink?” or “Do you want a drink?” He pretended to have a cup in his hand and make a drinking gesture. I said no, he smiled, waved and drove off. As he drove away I wondered how he came to the conclusion that I might be interested in such a proposition. Was it that I was carrying a canvas bag full of dirty laundry? Or, was it the fact that I was out and about at eight in the morning? 

Czeching Out – Part 2

Despite my previous post, Prague remains a fascinating city. The small alleys that have interesting buildings and small shops lure me to getting lost in a labyrinth of winding streets and architectural designs. It feeds my sense of exploration. Wandering into an antique shop, knowing full well that I will not be buying anything, is a great way to spend fifteen minutes. A good antique or curiosity shop is like a brief lesson in cultural history. These small streets create a sense of space that is exotic; small churches, well off the tourist path, are every bit worthy of explorations as their more famous counterparts.

The somewhat bizarre statue that hangs in front of
Kino Lucerna

Prague evokes another era. It is difficult to stop taking pictures (see more photos here). Yet, every picture is disappointing because it never captures the essence of the city. Prague has a mystique to it that is hard to describe and pinpoint. Leigh Fermor was similarly enchanted by the city as well. On his final night in Prague, the young traveler sat on a roof and watched the lights of the city go out one by one as the night wore on. The city and its lights were beautiful; they still are. He ends the chapter about Prague by writing, somewhat melancholic, that it was the last time he saw the city (at least when he was writing the chapter). Faced with the prospect that I might not return to Prague is a depressing thought. No matter the trouble with overwhelming numbers of tourists, the charms of the city still capture the hearts of many travelers. Or else, why would they come? 

Czeching Out - Part 1

Buster Poindexter sings a great song, “Nueva York,” in which he laments the decline of old New York, with its seamy underbelly and raunchiness. It was that New York which attracted many and gave others endless fascination. He mourns the loss of classic bars and institutions that had character and were filled with interesting people in favor of a tourist destination that is wholesome and not interesting. The gentrification of New York is creating a city that is all too familiar to other places in the United States. Buster concludes, “They’ll turn this town into a mall, and I don’t know what to think.”

Tourists on Old Town Square waiting for the clock to strike five

In many ways I feel the same about Prague. I have been coming to the city for fifteen years. It was always a city that had beautiful architecture, but then many buildings were crumbling, the taxis were unscrupulous, and in metros and at train stations one had to be on constant guard for pickpockets. The city was edgy, but fun. Today, the city is a tourist mecca. Street performers vie for attention away, diverting one’s attention from historical sites. Pedestrians choke sidewalks, making walking around the city very difficult. Hordes of tourists follow an arranged set of paths that go by dozens of tourist shops and overpriced eateries. The beautiful city is barely notice because of all the distractions.

Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy that Prague is doing well. Having a safer city, fairer taxis and reducing the number of pickpockets is a great thing. Yet, some of the things that gave the city its edginess (and some of its mystique) have disappeared. Praha 1 (the center of Prague), where most of the high profile tourist sites are located, is increasingly soulless tourist attractions and distractions. Much like David Johansen’s alter ego, I don’t know what to think.

Some thoughts on Leigh Fermor’s A Time For Gifts

One of the great travel writers of the twentieth century, Patric Leigh Fermor provides an elegant and intoxicating view of Europe during the 1930s. In December 1933, just months after Hitler became chancellor of Germany, the 18-year old Leigh Fermor sets out to walk across Europe from Holland to Istanbul. Forty years later he revisits his journals, the treasured mementos of any traveler, and begins to construct a planned three-volume remembrance of that fateful journey. A Time for Gifts is the first of those three volumes and it takes us to a world lost because of time, war and practice. Each time I picked up the book, a respite in my busy schedule, I found that a smile crept across my face.

Rather than an interesting time-capsule approach to the subject, Leigh Fermor relies on his journals and memories, he contextualizes what he thought, saw and experienced. The book does so without the heavy foreshadowing one might expect. Obviously, the reader knows what is coming. Yet, there are no overburdening allusions to the tragedies or events that are about to come;  we know that bad things are going to happen to some of the people he encounters and we are free to speculate without the author telling us what happened. 

In an introductory letter to his friend Xan Fielding, Leigh Fermor sets the context for his journey. He notes, writing decades later, that the impulses and desires of youth works to keep us unfocused and in trouble. Leigh Fermor gives perspectives and can better explain some of his actions. His tendency to engage in social activities, his attention to connections with women, and the temptation of constant parties, all conspire to allow his talents to go to waste. He decides to take a radical step, to break out of a life set to be wasted.

One of the primary interests of the author in A Time for Gifts is an earlier history of Europe that most of us are aware of today. While not specifically mentioned, the gathering clouds of the First World War casts long shadows over the book. Leigh Fermor concentrates on the bloodletting that surrounded the Thirty Years’ War, but conveniently neglects the more recent devastation that was World War I. Perhaps it is all too fresh and raw. The continent convulsed during the war and the monuments, even a hundred years later, are ubiquitous; every small town has a monument or cairn commemorating those who fell during the Great War. Since the journey takes place in the interwar years, his trip, the countries he visits and the politics of the time are all shaped by the aftermath of the First World War and the impending gloom of the coming Second World War.

Nevertheless, from the perspective of the reader, there is a sense of uneasiness and concern about the fate of the people the author meets on his journey. Toward the end of one chapter I had a sense of foreboding about Baron Pips that he did not survive the war (as he was Jewish). But by the final paragraph of the chapter, we are relieved to find that Pips survives and thrives. The book does an excellent job of building tension and creating empathy for the people he meets. But the story does highlight what is lost: six million Jews, as well as several million others, die. Sure, Baron Pips is unique, but who is not?

At one point the young Briton is confronted, chastise and ridiculed by a supporter of Hitler in a beer hall; however, many other people come to his defense. It is an example of how fanatic supporters often hold individuals accountable for the actions of their group or government. It is also an example of how some people internalize the messages of their leaders or governments, while others overcome their cognitive dissonance to come to his aid. Leigh Fermor finds a tremendous amount of kindness throughout his trip. In another example, in Heidelberg, after he is taken in by an elderly couple during the middle of a snowstorm. He quite rightly asks if a German traveler would be treated the same in England. It is a question that haunts many of the students who travel to Europe with me.

The simple gift of a five-year old daughter of a German innkeeper in Bingen early on Christmas morning was very touching. I was sympathetic to his inability to think of a gift with which to reciprocate. Leigh Fermor’s description of beautiful faces of the innkeeper’s daughters, aged 5 to 15, led me to immediately consider what will happen to these young girls ten years down the road. Germany will is be pummeled by Allied planes; deprivation and devastation will be widespread. I am sure it was on Leigh Fermor’s mind as he edited his notes years later. What happened to that sweet five-year old, who would have been about seventeen, when the war ended? Her sweet and kind gesture was unlikely saved her from the deprivations suffered a dozen years later. 

Other encounters offer interesting travel insights and observations. Leigh Fermor ruminates on the importance of eggs. There one point in which he describes the delight in carefully removing the egg from the shell with a spoon and having it with buttered bread. Another incident has him riding in the back of a lorry with a fifteen-year old girl who gives him a birthday gift of a dozen eggs. For those of us who are drawn to travel by foot, Leigh Fermor offers quotable passages to explain our passion to others. When he is tempted to take a ride to go further down the Danube, he reminds himself that “all horsepower corrupts.” I have often noted that to walk provides an opportunity to observe. Walking at three miles an hour, as opposed to traveling by auto at sixty-plus or by train at 120-mph, allows for a study rather than a glance. If you see something of interest, walking affords the chance to study rather than a fleeting glimpse. Leigh Fermor concurs noting that while walking it is impossible to be out of touch.

A Time for Gifts is a difficult book to describe, yet at the end of the day it is a book about the joys of travel, walking and meeting people. I smiled knowingly when Leigh Fermor writes that he would wander the city and kept repeating to himself, “I’m in Vienna.” There are so many times when I have found myself in exotic or remote locations and have had to remind myself to take time to remember where I am – to enjoy the experience or to embrace my travel achievement. Leigh Fermor offers sage advice and valuable insight. He is a polymath who is both steeped in literature and enjoys a Laurel and Hardy film at the same time. For those of us who are interested in travel, history and thinking, A Time for Gifts is essential reading.

Patric Leigh Fermor, A Time for Gifts: On Foot to Constantinople: From the Hook of Holland to the Middle Danube (New York Review Books, 2005; originally published, London: J. Murray, 1977).

Prague’s Main Railway Station

Fanta's Cafe 

Many people pass through Praha Hlavní Nádraží (Praha hl.n.) without ever knowing, or seeing, the grandeur of the building – and the repairs that need to be accomplished. Originally opened in 1871 and named the Franz Josef Station, the train station today is a bustling hub that as a modern feel; however, the main concourse built in the 1970s is built beneath an architectural gem. Last year Radio Prague did a feature story discussion the renovations and plans for the Fanta’s Café. The renovations look to be complete; however, the exterior of the building is not often seen by pedestrians is in desperate need of work. Fanta’s Café was originally completed in the first decade of the twentieth century. The art nouveau space has been beautifully restored and the stained glass windows is reminiscent of a Mucha painting.

Reliefs on the exterior of the building 

One can see that the exterior of the building was once exquisite as well. Yet time and neglect has seriously damaged the building. Without know the architectural significance or the fact that the main railway station is underneath, you might expect that the building was derelict and slated for demolition. The statues and reliefs on the exterior of the building, created by Ladislav Šaloun, who also created the famous Jan Hus statue on Old Town Square, are crumbling and in disrepair.

Outside: the state of the building

The first time I came to Prague it was through the central train station. I do not remember a lot of specifics, except in my mind the station was clearly influenced by the communist era. It was dark and drab. There were dire warnings to travelers about unauthorized taxis and swindlers who preyed on unsuspecting tourists. Today, the central station is much more in line with other European train stations. It is much lighter and has all the requisite newsstands and shops. But the real gem, like those of Grand Central Station and Thirtieth Street Station, is hidden for the curious to find. 

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.