Hells Bells

Another eight hours of sleep later (like I said, I was exhausted), I cleaned up and headed out for a day of walking around Prague. First up was Prague Castle in Hradcany, an enormous medieval complex that is the dominant architectural feature of the city. On the way, I met Roger from Melbourne and we walked across the powder bridge into the castle’s massive, second courtyard. Roger bolted after I took a picture of him in front of St. Vitus’s Cathedral (turns out he just wanted to placate his mum by getting photographic evidence of his “visit”) and I entered into one of the most beautiful churches I’ve ever seen.

As most people know, I’m not exactly a “church person”, but this stunning example of Gothic architecture blew me away with its dramatic, arched high ceilings and enormous, jewel-toned stained glass windows. Of course, once I saw the tomb of St. John of Nepomuk (King Wenceslas IV threw him off the St. Charles bridge to his death in 1393), which is plated with two tons of silver, it became clear to me why the Reformation happened.

In an effort to get in some cardio, I climbed the 187 stairs in the bell tower and got a look at Sigismund, which weighs 33,330 pounds and is the largest bell in Bohemia. I took their word for it, headed back down and checked out the Toy Museum, which promised an exhibit of Barbies and over-delivered by adding life-sized figures of Darth Vader and Jar Jar Binks to the mix. On the way out of the castle grounds, I considered joining the Greek language tour group but decided against it and headed into town instead.

Two churches, one lunch, four Segway-powered Greeks, two scary puppet stores and one absinthe-themed ice cream parlor later, I prepared to cross the famous St. Charles Bridge when the skies opened up and it poured. I mean, really poured, as in a torrential rainfall. So instead of walking, I ran across the bridge, eventually making it into (name), Prague’s old town square after nearly mowing down a group of Greek yiayias who, alas, were not on Segways. I contemplated buying a box of beer and taking a seat in the square, much like groups of backpacking “youngsters” around me, but instead opted for a more adult, and bourgeois, indulgence, a 90-minute Thai massage at my hotel. By 9:30 p.m., I was loose, tired and ready for bed.