A First Trip to Berlin & Prague

A First Trip to Berlin and Prague

Kenneth Alan Collins

September 2010

Steeples and towers, Dresden in late afternoon from the Elbe River

After many years of discussion and trying to figure out when would be the right time to visit Berlin, one of the great capitols of Europe, we finally decided to just do it.  Prague is another city I’ve always wanted to see, and David, who had been there twice before, wanted to show it to me;  (over and above that, I wanted to see it anyway on my account), so we devoted the entire month of September to these two relatively nearby cities, with briefer stops at Leipzig and Dresden, which are between the two.

We both had held off on Berlin for a variety of reasons.  When the Wall fell and Germany was reunited, we knew there would be a period of chaos, uncertainty, and rebuilding, and the idea was to wait until the dust settled (so to speak).  It took a long time, and major reconstruction is still not finished, but the initial frenzy of rebuilding and renovation seems to be more or less finished (though there are still many projects in progress).  There was a deeper hesitation on our parts, mine in particular.  Berlin, for so long, was the nerve center of the Third Reich, and the associations for me were very troubling.  Compounding this was the kind of tomb much of it had been, for so long, under the Communist dictatorship following World War II.

Measured against these concerns was a great deal of information that Berlin was a young, vibrant, exciting city, a city totally re-creating itself and nothing like the stodgy, traditional city of our stereotype.  Not only was it a young city, but also a city of great ethnic diversity.  There has been a great deal of exciting new architecture, cultural life has been flourishing, and neighborhoods, particularly in the former east sector, are waking up with an influx of twenty-something’s from western Germany looking for cheap housing. 

Prague is a city that David had fallen in love with and considered one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, if not the most beautiful, and not to be missed.  I had long had it on my list, so a sensible trip seemed to be to acquaint myself with these two major cities in one trip.  Berlin and Prague in many ways seem like polar opposites, but each was exciting and stimulating in its own way.  Here follows some observations about both, considered separately.

Berlin

Unlike any other large European city I’ve ever been in, Berlin does not offer the classic European experience of little alleys and ancient buildings, all charmingly assembled.  It reminded me, in many ways, of New York City – diverse buildings, streets, and squares, a jumbled mix of 19th and 20th century (and now a few from the 21st), with a diverse, population.  Much of Berlin reflects post-war construction, strengthening the similarity to New York, with its wealth of unexceptional recent buildings.  Berlin has the vitality, beat, and craziness of New York, rather than, as in other great European cities, focusing on a wonderful ancient heritage.

To be sure, it always had some buildings (e.g., churches) that go back to the Middle Ages, but much of Berlin’s ancient heritage was obliterated in the bombings of World War II and the Battle of Berlin in the last days of the war.  The toll of damage is really difficult for an American to appreciate, since we suffered virtually no destruction on our own soil.  Part of any exploration of Berlin – whether reading about it in a guidebook or on signs and plaques posted throughout the city - matter-of-factly mentions the destruction during the Second World War.  And with rare exception, Berlin did not rebuild itself by rebuilding its oldest streets to look like they did before the War, a path chosen by a number of other European cities (e.g., Warsaw).

If anything, much of Manhattan seems to have an older mix of structures than one finds in much of Berlin.  Twentieth-century Berlin never felt like an old, old city, and certainly, with the destruction of its physical infrastructure, this has become especially true.

Another similarity is that Berlin, like New York, is very big and covers a large geographical area that simply cannot be walked.  We relied heavily on public transportation, particularly the U-bahn and S-bahn subway systems, but also buses and streetcars.

The city has a substantial population of immigrants, particularly Turks who came as guest workers decades ago and stayed to become German citizens.  Thus the city has a certain cosmopolitan air, and one sees a great number of ethnic restaurants everywhere – Indian, Vietnamese, Persian, etc.  The city looks youthful - casual dress is seen everywhere, including at the great concert halls

Berlin, unlike most European cities, never seemed overrun by tourists.  In fact, we were usually unaware of vast numbers of tourists in our midst, and one rarely saw that sight that so characterizes other great tourist meccas:  rows of idling tour buses putting out sickening diesel fumes and disgorging masses of people, name tags hanging around their necks, being obediently led around by guides speaking a variety of languages and lifting brightly colored umbrellas above their heads.  (We did have that kind of experience in Prague!)  One of the pleasures of Berlin, not too different from New York, was the feeling we were in a real place with locals, and not a Disneyland populated mainly by out-of-towners.

The painful, catastrophic history of the 20th Century seems distilled in Berlin, first impacted by the defeat in World War I, then the Nazi era, and finally the Soviet Empire.  Berlin is the perfect place to get a very visible history lesson on this terrible century.  And I must say, a great effort has been made to present that history honestly and without prevarication.  Encounters with that history are virtually unavoidable.  Signs, outdoor exhibits, monuments, and specialized museums can be found throughout the city.

I was particularly curious how the period of the Third Reich would be presented. I can now say that the directness, clarity, and refusal to mince words were very impressive.  I knew much of the story, so in many ways, my greatest interest was in how Germany presented itself to its citizens and to the rest of the world, and I had almost no quibbles.  The terrible events of the Nazi era – Kristallnacht and the mad frenzy of brutality and destruction that engulfed the entire country, the deportation and murder of Jews and other “inferior” peoples, were all handled unflinchingly.  No euphemisms for “murder” were ever used, and the word “crimes” appeared frequently.  I sometimes wonder if we in the U.S.A. have done as honest a job dealing with our history of slavery, Native American extermination, and racial terror as Germany has done with its own more recent terrible past.

Monument in front of the Old Jewish Cemetery, Mitte, commemorating the deportation of Jews from this neighborhood

The Holocaust Monument (the formal name, in German, is Monument to the Murdered Jews of Europe) occupies an entire city block close by to the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag, the very center of official terror.  Underground to the monument is a “documentation center” that provides a basic introduction to Germany’s descent into barbarism.  In another part of the city, on a block now leveled and cleaned up where many of the buildings from which the Third Reich ruled (the buildings were mostly destroyed during the war) is an excellent outdoor (permanent) exhibit, running parallel to a one block remnant of The Wall.  The exhibit is titled Topopraphie des Terrors (Topography of Terror).  It provides a moving history, in photomontage, of the nightmarish descent into unimaginable cruelty in Berlin from the 1920’s through 1945, and it was reassuring to see how busy it was, on a Monday afternoon, and the high percentage of what looked like high school age students, who were there on their own, and not as part of school groups.  On the leveled block, there was one building, a strikingly modern, aluminum-clad structure that was the documentation counterpart to the exhibit, where many of the original documents were on display or otherwise available to researchers.

Holocaust Memorial, with the Dome of the Reichstag and the Brandenburg Gate (with flag) in the background

In Wannsee, on the outskirts of the city, there was an interesting juxtaposition, on the same street along the lake, of the Max Liebermann Villa and the House of the Wannsee Conference.  Max Liebermann was the foremost painter of Berlin, a celebrated member of Berlin society and elected president of the Berlin Academy of Arts in the late 1920’s, who sadly saw a meteoric reversal of his reputation and fortunes following the Nazi ascension.  He and his wife had built the villa on the lake as their dream escape from urban life and as a place for him to paint in solitude.  He painted there and tended the beautiful garden, but saw his world vanish beginning in 1933.  One could say he was fortunate to die (though almost friendless) in 1935, but his wife lived on and in the early 1940’s, the villa was finally taken from her.  When the Gestapo came to deport her to “the East” she committed suicide before she could be taken away. The villa has now re-opened and is dedicated to Max Liebermann’s life and work.  It is a lovely place, bringing back memories of a happier time.

Max Liebermann Villa in Wannsee - Terrace and Garden

The House of the Wannsee Conference, just down the street, was a splendid private villa that was used for the infamous Wannsee Conference of January 1942, when high Nazi officials worked out the plans, with corresponding responsibilities, of different government departments for the “Final Solution of the Jewish Problem.”  The villa is now devoted to the history of that conference and its consequences for Europe.  After going through it, and then walking the paths of the beautiful grounds – and even perhaps sitting down to have coffee and pastry at the recently opened café at one end of the grounds – is a jarring experience.  (Like all museums, monuments, and centers devoted to the story of the Third Reich and the Holocaust, entrance is without charge.)

I subsequently read a piece in the New York Review of Books (November 11, 2010, by Anne Appelbaum) that addresses a very, very complicated (and troubling) aspect of remembering such a terrible history, and I would like to quote at some length from it, as it is quite relevant to acknowledging a troubling past.  It is a review of several books on the “Bloodlands” – the eastern European region between western Poland and western Russia (also including the Baltic States, Belarus, and Ukraine) where the horrors of World War II were the worst, a part of Europe whose history during the war is relatively ignored in the West.  To quote,

Finally, the arguments of [the book] also complicate the modern notion of memory – memory, that is, as opposed to history.  It is true, for example, that the modern German state “remembers” the Holocaust – in official documents, in public debates, in monuments, in school textbooks – and is often rightly lauded for doing so.  But how comprehensive is this memory?  How many Germans “remember” the deaths of three million Soviet POWs?  How many know or care that the secret treaty signed between Hitler and Stalin not only condemned the inhabitants of western Poland to deportation, hunger, and often death in slave labor camps, but also condemned the inhabitants of eastern Poland to deportation, hunger, and often death in Soviet exile? … Yet modern Germany’s very real sense of guilt about the Holocaust does not often extend to Soviet soldiers or even Poles.

If we remember the twentieth century for what it actually was, and not for what we imagine it to have been, the misuse of history for national political purposes also becomes more difficult.  The modern Russian state often talks about the “twenty million Soviet dead” during World War II as a way of emphasizing its victimhood and martyrdom.  But even if we accept that suspiciously large round number, it is still important to acknowledge that the majority of those were not Russians, did not live in modern Russia, and did not necessarily die because of German aggression.  It is also important to acknowledge that Soviet citizens were just as likely to die during the war years because of decisions made by Stalin, or because of the interaction between Stalin and Hitler, as they were from the commands of Hitler alone.

I find it both fascinating and greatly troubling to realize that “certainties” such as the Holocaust are, in effect, what our minds choose to make of it – we in the U.S. take it as a certain horror, one of the most terrible events in humankind’s story, but we have made it important.  How we view it – memory – and what “really” happened, history, can be very far apart.  Virtually all individuals who experienced it directly are now gone – how will future generations, with no living experience of it, see it?   A visit to a city like Berlin can bring on such thoughts.

As if that were not already quite a bit, there is also the impact of the Communist years.  At various places, there are outdoor exhibits about the Wall, the story of escapes, life in the east sector, the collapse of the DDR, the architecture of the great Socialist Realism boulevard, Karl-Marx-Allee (originally Stalinallee).  These are extremely informative.  (Fortunately, at all the above-mentioned exhibits, as well as virtually all museums, signs were always in German and English).  The longest remaining section of The Wall, approximately 1,300 feet long, is along the Spree River in a district not often visited by tourists.  This section of the Wall is now known as the East Side Gallery (yes, in English).  Artists from around the world were invited to paint murals along the wall (hence the name) and many of them are both of high quality and moving in their expression of the meaning of freedom and revulsion towards oppression.

Murals on the East Side Gallery (longest extant portion of the Berlin Wall)

In Berlin there is extensive commemoration of the final period leading up to the fall of the DDR or Deutsche Demokratische Republik, that is the East German Communist regime.  This is even more obvious in Dresden and especially Leipzig, as these two cites were extremely important centers of mass protest against the regime – in fact, Leipzig is considered the city that led the way – and we were in Leipzig shortly before the annual celebration, on October 9, of the mass protests and street demonstrations that led to the fall of The Wall one month later, on November 9, 1989 (ironically, the anniversary of Kristallnacht 51 years before).  In Leipzig, the celebration is known as Leipziger Freiheit  (Leipzig Freedom Days) and in Dresden, Wege in die Freiheit (FreedomTrail).  In following the story of this experience – through photomontages and texts outdoors at key locations – one has a very vivid sense of the power of a people’s yearning for freedom from oppression, control, constrictions, hypocrisy, deceit, and lies.  It allowed this American, at least, to relive our own Revolution through the far more recent experience of these Germans yearning to live their lives their own way and without constant fear.  It was very thrilling to realize that a people united can still remain a powerful force.

Signs / Photo Exhibits in Dresden (left) and Leipzig (right) relating to the fall of The Wall and the end of the East German government

But back to Berlin.  Surprisingly moving was the now off-the-beaten track Red Army Memorial to the Battle of Berlin, the last great battle that ended World War II in Europe, fought in the streets of Berlin with unimaginable loss of life for soldiers and especially civilians.  Though this Memorial in Treptower Park was built by the Communists, of course, and is in the Socialist style, with its share of propaganda elements, it is nevertheless a powerful tribute to the soldiers who died.  As war memorials go, it is very fine, and I found it a far finer tribute, in terms of architecture and landscaping, than the banal World War II and FDR monuments on the Mall in Washington, D.C. (One could, without exaggeration, call our own such monuments American versions of Socialist Realism!)  Most war memorials are, in a sense, propagandistic; nevertheless I certainly found the Red Army Memorial of exceptionally high quality.  It covers an enormous amount of acreage, is peaceful and little visited these days, but when Germany reunited in 1990, a bilateral agreement was signed between it and Russia obligating each to maintain war memorials and cemeteries on the other’s territories.

Red Army Memorial - The Battle of Berlin (World War II), Treptower Park, Berlin

On a far less troubling note, one of the glories of Berlin is its museums, of which there are an amazing 170, including some of the greatest galleries anywhere.  A case in point, the Gemäldegalerie (or Painting Gallery).  It must be one of the finest museums of European old masters anywhere.  David and I spent an entire day there, from almost the opening hour until closing at 6:00 p.m.  We were absolutely stunned by the quality of the holdings of the greatest names in “Old Master” European art, from early Italian Renaissance and early Flemish, to the apex of Dutch painting in the 17th century.  If there were just one great van Eyck or Rogier van der Wyden, one great Rembrandt or Dürer or Titian, one would feel fortunate indeed.  But to have so many of the very greatest painters in spades was a treat beyond imagining.  To add to the pleasure, the museum was almost empty.  Compared to the hordes in the Louvre or the Uffizi, to be almost alone in the various rooms with these great works is a rare privilege.  Although we were in many marvelous museums, the other really great collection for us was the Neue Nationalgalerie, the last masterpiece by Mies van der Rohe, who was driven out of Germany in the late 1930’s, to settle in Chicago, but who was invited back to design this museum, to house the great art of the first half of the 20th century.  The survey of 20th century masterpieces is superb.  Adding to the impression it gives is that many of the paintings originally in the collection were confiscated by the Nazis as “degenerate art” and exhibited for ridicule at the infamous 1937 “Degenerate Art” exhibit in Munich.  Then they were sold off on the international auction market, and if no buyer was found, destroyed (approximately 5,000 paintings were so destroyed).  What the museum has done, selectively, is to put up a black-and-white photograph, same size as the original, on the wall where some of the most important work would have hung.  An explanation is provided of the fate of each such work after its confiscation.  Fortunately, most of the very greatest works wound up somewhere (either in another museum, a private collection, or repurchased by the Neue Nationalgalerie).

Detail:  Ishtar Gate, Pergamon Museum

There are a number of other museums housed in new buildings of architectural distinction, two noteworthy ones being Daniel Liebeskind’s Jewish Museum, and not too far from it, the Berlin Gallery, dedicated to modern and contemporary art with a strong Berlin connection.  Another variant is buildings recycled into museums, a good example being the old Hamburg Railroad Station, which is now the museum of modern art.

Berlin is a wonderful place to see some of the great “functionalist” architecture of the 20’s, much of it (but not all) connected with the Bauhaus.  Some of the most interesting efforts are outside the central core, like some of the housing estates that were designed to provide affordable residences for the working class.  They still exist, and we went to one, called, with all seriousness, Uncle Tom’s Estate (Siedlung Onkel-Tom).  Clearly the Germans, with the best of intention, never picked up on the utter irony of such a name, at least by this American’s interpretation of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.  (The estate runs along Onkel-Tom Strasse, and can be reached on the U-bahn by exiting at the station called Onkel-Toms Hütte!

U-bahn (Metro) Station Sign: Uncle Tom's Cabin                         Functionalist 1920's architecture, Uncle Tom's Estate

The greatest architect associated with Berlin is Karl Friedrich Schinkel, who worked in the first half of the 19th century, and was most notable for the absolute perfection of his neo-classicial designs.  The balance and peaceful symmetry of such buildings as Altes Museum, the Konzerthaus, and the Neue Wache on Unter den Linden can be immediately felt – a sense of calm and quiet descends over one.  You begin to realize, when you are in the presence of such a master, that buildings so seemingly simple in design take great genius to achieve.

Konzerthaus, designed by Karl Friedrich Schinkel, Gendarmenmarkt

Yet another aspect of Berlin that made an impression are the remaining great palaces of Berlin built by the Prussian kings.  Most beautiful, partly because they are set in exquisite parks, are Charlottenburg in the western part of the city, and Potsdam, about 15 miles from Berlin, which contains numerous wonderful palaces and other buildings in the Schlosspark (Palace Park), including Sans Souci, constructed by Frederick the Great.  These were all significantly damaged during World War II, but great effort went into their restoration (as was the case of the great palaces we saw outside St. Petersburg, which the Germans wantonly destroyed and which were rebuilt through unremittingly tedious effort to restore them to their former glory).

Main facade, Charlottenburg Palace, with the equestrian statue of The Great Elector, Friedrich Wilhelm, in foreground

Berlin, presents a very pleasing paradox:  a city that represents the very essence of a very troubled 20th century, and yet, somehow, seems able to move forward into a new era and break away from old, destructive behaviors.  It is young, lively, diverse, and creative, but all those elements are able to encompass a remembrance of what a different, and in many ways, terrible place it was for much of the world.  Somehow it has been able to make a truly fresh start, all the while acknowledging its awful past, yet not being overwhelmed by it.

Inevitably I am struck by numerous aspects of being in a European country that I cannot help comparing to the U.S.  There is always the amazement that everyone under a certain age is fluent in English, frequently hardly even accented and quite colloquial.  I believe it is mentally stimulating and broadening to be able to think in another language (or languages).  With Americans feeling no need to even be aware of other languages, I believe we lose a very important source of personal and national enrichment.  I also believe it helps to soften a certain self-centeredness that easily overtakes the citizens of a superpower.

Throughout the cities of Germany we visited, bicycle use is widespread.  Not just kids but even middle-aged and older professionals go about their business by bike.  Most through streets have designated areas for cars, pedestrians, and bicycles.  The portions of what we would call the sidewalk is divided into two bands, made of different paving materials, to clearly separate the bike path from the pedestrian path.  It efficiently and effectively keeps all modes moving safely.  And imagine how good it is to reduce the carbon footprint and keep people healthy!

Sidewalk (Leipzig) with different paving materials indicating area for bicycles (left) and pedestrians (right)

In fact, we almost never saw grossly obese people, and rarely those who were overweight – except when we crossed paths with the occasional American tourist.  This discrepancy really becomes apparent quickly.

Public transportation works so well, not just because it covers whole cities, but because schedules are frequent and costs reasonable.  Perhaps most pleasurable, compared to the U.S., is that you are not slowed down by having to insert a ticket into anything.  Metro stations are wide open, and you just walk in to your platform.  You hop on a bus, and there is no slowdown for a line of people to insert their ticket-card into a machine.  Instead, there are infrequent, random checks of whether riders have a valid ticket -- and if not, they get a very stiff fine on the spot.  The impact of this trusting approach cannot be overestimated in making public transport practical, convenient, efficient, and most of all, almost pleasurable.  I often think that in the U.S., where we are so committed to everything being privatized and irresponsibly wasteful, whatever public services we offer are intentionally made unpleasant, so that we feel that if we have to resort to the public sphere we are amongst life’s failures.

Another interesting difference:  Europeans don’t need to have everything spelled out for them to manage.  Signs and directions are often discrete, yet people get their business done.  We have to have big signs always shouting at us – we’re afraid that without them, we will be helpless and lost.  So we become dependent on everything being very explicit and broken into elementary pieces.  I always have to readjust my approach to realize that in Europe, everything tends to be understated, but after a while, I enjoy being able to function without the constant hand-holding.  Related to this is that we live in an absurdly litigious society, so everything is spelled out for us, as if we are two-year old children, to forestall negligence lawsuits.

I never forget, for a moment, when in a place like Berlin, that a seemingly highly sophisticated, civilized society can descend into unimaginable barbarism.  When you are in Berlin, with lovely squares, charming people enjoying themselves at outdoor cafes, with museums that vie with any city for the finest creative efforts of the human race, and then realize that just 70 years ago it was a society capable of the most terrible collective behavior, you come to appreciate that it can happen anywhere and anyplace.  I have never believed that there is some hidden German gene that predisposes them to Nazi criminality.  The lesson I have to take with me is that if it could happen in that society, it could happen in any society, including our own.  I found myself often walking a kind of mental tightrope, balancing the sense of human achievement at its finest and barbarism at its worst.  I simply have to balance two very discordant notions – I find no way to merge them.  These reflections have particular power for me right now as our own society has become so polarized, with the wildest and most extreme charges flying about and where people different from oneself are demonized.

Leipzig & Dresden

We made relatively short stops in Leipzig and Dresden on our way from Berlin to Prague, as these cities lie directly between the two major capitals.  Both cities were of course part of East Germany, but while Leipzig suffered relatively little during World War II in terms of physical destruction, the old part of Dresden was almost completely destroyed in the firebombing on the night of February 13, 1945.

 It is still not clear to me what was the purpose of the bombing was, which in addition to causing immense civilian casualties, destroyed a city that one could argue was the inheritance of all humanity, even if its citizens at the time did not deserve it.  We had thought that the Alt Stadt (Old Town) had been entirely rebuilt, but in fact, that is not the case.  Certain important buildings and churches have been restored (down to the soot-blackened stones) but much of the city has the banal look of a middle-sized American city.

 Leipzig has the feel of a delightful city with few tourists whose residents feel very comfortable with it.  It has a great music tradition, what with the St. Thomas Church where Johann Sebastian Bach was music director for 25 years, and houses where Schumann and Mendelssohn lived and composed and where many other great musicians, such as Liszt and Wagner, frequently visited.  It also has the great Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra.  The historic core is a pleasing mix of medieval through Art Nouveau buildings.  Since the 1970’s Leipzig has become the major center of cutting edge art and many famous German artists have come out of its schools.  An old cotton mill complex in a working class neighborhood has now become Die Spinnerei – a complex of contemporary galleries and studios that is open to visitors.  A new Museum of Fine Art is architecturally striking.  And well-maintained parks and comfortable neighborhoods radiate beyond the ring that circles the historic core.

 In Dresden, one gets a hint of what a gorgeous Baroque city this must have been, spread along the banks of the Elbe River.  There is just enough left, here and there, reconstructed, to give a small idea of what it must once have been.  It has the beautiful Semper Opera House, as well as the royal buildings that now house of a wealth of museums, including a Painting Gallery that is very close to being the equal of the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin.  The Green Vault contains some of the greatest craft wonders of the Renaissance, collected by Emperors and Kings.  But along with this there is the new Synagogue, completed in 2002, and designated the finest building, architecturally crezted in Europe that year.  It was built on the site of the old main Synagogue, designed by Semper (who was most famous for Dresden’s great opera house), that Synagogue having been burned down on Kristallnacht.  Even Dresden does not rest on its past – along with the striking new Synagogue, there is Neustadt, the new part of Dresden across the Elbe, parts of which are lively with art galleries, cafes and bars filled with young people.

New Synagogue, near the banks of the Elbe River, Dresden

Prague

It is hard to imagine how two such different major cities can be such a short distance apart (approximately 200 miles) as Berlin and Prague.

Berlin is big, diverse, and a center of creativity.  It looks recent, and its old buildings rarely are earlier than the start of the 19th century.  Prague feels classically European, with beautifully preserved neighborhoods, a castle high on a hill, and a grand river, the Vlatava, flowing through the middle of it. (The Spree, which bisects Berlin, is far narrower, and hardly feels like a river in the sense that the Thames, Seine, or Vltava do).  Contemporary creativity is not one of the thoughts that comes immediately to mind.  Prague – at least the inner districts – has a well-preserved urban fabric, with not just beautiful buildings but a streetscape uniformly pleasing.  There was very little destruction during World War II, compared to most cities, and its remaining heritage covers a much longer time and historical span than what is found in Berlin.  You can turn down almost any narrow lane and make lovely discoveries – a small fountain built into a wall, a charming street light, an elaborately decorated façade, a magnificent distant view pleasingly framed.  Having the Castle rise above the city – beautifully lit at night – always gives one a perfect orientation.  It is a city of pleasant and seemingly endless surprises, however much you wander and just take a chance.

Berlin was the heart of an aggressive power, and through much of the last century, Prague was,the recipient of that aggression.  It paid dearly for its proximity to Germany and then the Soviet Union.  Much of Prague’s glory stems from the fact that during the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance it was the seat of the Holy Roman Empire.

Unlike Berlin, which hardly seemed to be on the tourist map, the main areas of Prague were crowded with tourists, tour buses, umbrella-raising guides, etc.  Japanese tourists were particularly evident.  After our German stops, the hordes in Prague made us feel we were in Paris or Florence at the very peak of tourist season. The Castle, Mala Strana (Little Quarter), the Jewish Quarter, Charles Bridge, and Stare Mesto (Old Town) were usually packed.  And while these were all places we had to see (and wanted to), we explored many other less visited parts of these well-known neighborhoods, as well as some less well-known districts, without crowds.

Two things were particularly pleasing.  Prague is filled with exquisite gardens – many private but open for visits (with the purchase of a ticket) -- and large parks that are beautifully landscaped and maintained.  The other unique element is the sidewalk paving.  Many, many sidewalks are paved with marble cubes – black and white – to create elaborate patterns that can be mesmerizing.  It was one of the pleasures of walking around the city that one would keep discovering new and very intriguing designs.

Sidewalk pattern, black and white marble blocks

Prince's Gardens, Mala Strana, below the Castle

Whereas Berlin is huge and requires the use of public transportation, given our Prague hotel’s location in the heart of Mala Strana, we virtually never had to use public transportation, but walked everywhere.

In building styles, most memorable, perhaps, is the wealth of magnificent Art Nouveau and Secessionist structures.  Many have been restored, inside and out, to their former glory, and they are truly magnificent.  The Czech lands were fortunate in having a rich heritage of artists – visual and literary.  We knew of a few, but discovered many more, and marveled at how endowed such a small country has been with great cultural figures.

Interior, Café Imperial in Egyptian Art Nouveau style

Facade, Czech Legion Bank - a superb example of Rondo-Cubist architecture, unique to Prague

Facade, Hotel Central, a superb example of Czech Secessionist design

I was also charmed by the beautiful designs and reliefs on buildings that identified them before the use of house numbering became routine in the late 1700’s.  These have been preserved, and are an ever-present delight as one walks the streets, passing the Sign of the Green Lobster, or the House of the Three Violins, and I was clicking my camera merrily away to capture examples.

House of the Three Violins, Mala Strana (Little Quarter)

There are some wonderful museums in Prague, and a place like the Convent of St. Agnes, now the National Gallery’s branch for Bohemian and Moravian Art of the Middle Ages, was a superb experience, because there we became aware of a rich heritage of magnificent medieval art that we had no knowledge of.  We’ve had this experience in recent years (Canada is one such example) – of discovering whole schools of art of the highest quality by artists we knew nothing about.  One of the finest experiences was reserved for a dark, rainy day, when we went outside the central part of Prague to the Trades Fair Building, now the National Gallery’s branch for 20th century art, to discover a wealth of great modern Czech artists, along with a fabulous collection of Picasso, Matisse, Braque, and other international names.  We wound up spending an entire day there, from opening time at 10:00 a.m. to closing time at 6:00 p.m., marveling at the treasures in a museum few visitors would ever know about.  There are whole art forms that Czechs seem to have excelled at, such as glass, with which we had excellent opportunities to get better acquainted.

Medieval Czech sculpture and painting - Convent of St. Agnes

Czech food is heavy, it must be said, and not terribly memorable.  Czech wines – on the rare occasion when we tried them – were coarse.  We pretty much stuck with beer, which is a Czech glory.  But café society was always an integral part of Prague life, and seems lively once again.  Music, too, is plentiful, and we got to hear two operas, one in each of the great opera theaters, the National, a masterpiece of Czech 19th century nationalist style, and the Estates Theater, a rococo gem where Mozart’s Don Giovanni premiered.  (It should be mentioned that there are many other wonderful periods of building design, such as "sgraffiti" as seen on numerous palaces and royal buildings.)

Sgraffito design on Schwarzenberg Palace, Castle Square (Hradčany / Castle Hill)

One realization that comes upon me on trips to Central Europe especially, and this trip to Germany and the Czech Republic was no exception, was the terrible loss to the life of these countries and their cities as a result of the destruction of Jewish life and society.  By the 19th century and into the 1930’s, Jewish contributions to culture and customs were major elements in defining the life of these cities, and it was all suddenly ripped to shreds.  This is over and above the tragedies of so many lives snuffed out.  We spent an entire day in what is called the Jewish Quarter, since one can purchase a comprehensive ticket to visit all the main sites – former synagogues that are now museums, the Old Jewish Cemetery, and more.  You realize how rich and integral that life was, and how it amounts now to little more than museum exhibits of a vanished world.  It is an incalculable loss, and at a point on all these trips, it overwhelms me.  As much as I truly loved discovering Prague for the first time, there is that inescapable awareness that so many lives were shattered so abruptly in a world that became far worse than anyone’s most terrible nightmares could have envisioned.

While it took us a long time to make it to this part of Europe, we were not disappointed.  The richness of art and architecture, the experience of history with its many upheavals is front and center here, and we came away feeling that we had a much deeper sense of the world we were born into.  Gaining this perspective will not only enrich us but bring a greater understanding to how we might deal with the national and international issues we face today.  Beyond that, just getting away and experiencing different cultures and societies is plain fun and we had a wonderfully good time.