Second day in Prague. I wake up feeling refreshed and invigorated.
After breakfast we meet outside. We start off for Prague Castle to see Plecnik’s gardens, but first we stop off at the Lennon Wall. It is a section of wall along a tree-covered walkway near the Charles Bridge that is a symbol of the anti-totalitarian sentiments shared by Czechs during the Velvet Revolution. The wall garnered attention and became the center of much controversy in the 80s when people covered it in graffiti. Police would repeatedly try to whitewash over the graffiti, but people continued to paint and write on it. Apparently at some point the police gave up (maybe when the other wall fell?) because today it is adorned with portraits of John, Beatles lyrics, and sentiments from pilgrims around the world. Someone takes a blue Sharpie and writes “VIENNA STUDIO 05”, and one by one, we all sign our names around it. Naomi pulls out a paint marker and transforms a swastika into a person dancing. We move on in good spirits.
The walk up the stairs to Prague Castle is long, but worth it. I make it a point not to turn around until I reach the top. When I do, the view is stunning. We move quickly to the entrance to the gardens, where Tate briefly notes that this is an incredibly important work of landscape architecture, then sets us loose. I immediately start shooting with my film camera, then I sketch a large urn in the center of the first garden, wondering how in the world it was brought up here before the age of sky cranes and trucks, as a bird bellows in the distance. Tate comes up to me and tells me to keep moving. “There are something like 700 of these,” he says. “Remember ten and come back. Draw a map.” I get a little discouraged.
I spend the rest of my time in the gardens simply absorbing, shooting every now and then, drawing when I can. Plecnik treats his space with the greatest care, and I sort of float from belvedere to fountain to path. He creates so many opportunities for people to look and enjoy. I see tour group after tour group cruise through the garden with haste and directness. Plecnik’s gardens are no place for haste nor directness.
I come down from the gardens and eat lunch. In the middle of the afternoon, I meet up with some of the guys from the group and Tate to experience a different side of Czech culture. We walk downtown to a pub called The Yellow Tiger. The atmosphere is pure Czech—there are no tourists here. Drew sits in the seat of a famous Czech writer, Hravel. It is an incredible experience. As soon as we sit down, a man comes by with beers for all and puts a mark on a piece of paper for every beer ordered. And they keep coming. No sooner do we get below a certain point in the glass than the man comes by with another. To signal that you are done, you put your coaster on top of your glass. Looking over my shoulder, I see a man behind the bar whose sole responsibility is to pour the beer. There is only one kind, and it is delicious. We leave the Yellow Tiger hours later with much conviviality.
On the walk home, Tate tells his son Graham to drop mints on a couple paddleboating under the Charles bridge. The couple is not happy, but we are.
After breakfast we meet outside. We start off for Prague Castle to see Plecnik’s gardens, but first we stop off at the Lennon Wall. It is a section of wall along a tree-covered walkway near the Charles Bridge that is a symbol of the anti-totalitarian sentiments shared by Czechs during the Velvet Revolution. The wall garnered attention and became the center of much controversy in the 80s when people covered it in graffiti. Police would repeatedly try to whitewash over the graffiti, but people continued to paint and write on it. Apparently at some point the police gave up (maybe when the other wall fell?) because today it is adorned with portraits of John, Beatles lyrics, and sentiments from pilgrims around the world. Someone takes a blue Sharpie and writes “VIENNA STUDIO 05”, and one by one, we all sign our names around it. Naomi pulls out a paint marker and transforms a swastika into a person dancing. We move on in good spirits.
The walk up the stairs to Prague Castle is long, but worth it. I make it a point not to turn around until I reach the top. When I do, the view is stunning. We move quickly to the entrance to the gardens, where Tate briefly notes that this is an incredibly important work of landscape architecture, then sets us loose. I immediately start shooting with my film camera, then I sketch a large urn in the center of the first garden, wondering how in the world it was brought up here before the age of sky cranes and trucks, as a bird bellows in the distance. Tate comes up to me and tells me to keep moving. “There are something like 700 of these,” he says. “Remember ten and come back. Draw a map.” I get a little discouraged.
I spend the rest of my time in the gardens simply absorbing, shooting every now and then, drawing when I can. Plecnik treats his space with the greatest care, and I sort of float from belvedere to fountain to path. He creates so many opportunities for people to look and enjoy. I see tour group after tour group cruise through the garden with haste and directness. Plecnik’s gardens are no place for haste nor directness.
I come down from the gardens and eat lunch. In the middle of the afternoon, I meet up with some of the guys from the group and Tate to experience a different side of Czech culture. We walk downtown to a pub called The Yellow Tiger. The atmosphere is pure Czech—there are no tourists here. Drew sits in the seat of a famous Czech writer, Hravel. It is an incredible experience. As soon as we sit down, a man comes by with beers for all and puts a mark on a piece of paper for every beer ordered. And they keep coming. No sooner do we get below a certain point in the glass than the man comes by with another. To signal that you are done, you put your coaster on top of your glass. Looking over my shoulder, I see a man behind the bar whose sole responsibility is to pour the beer. There is only one kind, and it is delicious. We leave the Yellow Tiger hours later with much conviviality.
On the walk home, Tate tells his son Graham to drop mints on a couple paddleboating under the Charles bridge. The couple is not happy, but we are.
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