Restoration work continued on Lichtenstein Palace across the street with no break for the weekend. The craftsmen were working rapidly and occasionally noisily. (Since they were on a scaffold directly across from us, we could hear them more clearly than we could hear the tourists down in the street.) When we ventured out from the apartment that afternoon, we saw that they had made remarkable progress since Monday. Part of the scaffolding on the eastern side of the palace had been taken down sometime on Friday -- and the restored facade somehow looked both brand-new and three hundred years old. A beautiful job.

   Barb and I were still pretty pooped from our long Friday excursion to Kutna Hora, so we spent most of Saturday morning loafing around the apartment and recharging. And when we did go out in the afternoon, we just puttered around Mala Strana -- buying a few groceries, finding gifts for relatives and friends, and watching all the people going up to the Castle and back. I also found myself counting how many different languages I heard being spoken. There was a lot of English, German, and Czech, of course, but there was plenty of Russian, French, and (I think) Korean, too.

   After heading back to the apartment, unloading groceries, and taking a nap (this was a serious recharge day), we walked up Nerudova and had yet another great Mala Strana meal. (Months after returning home to Texas, I find that I still crave Czech goulash and dumplings. I could use some Krusovice beer, too.) Then we strolled around previously unexplored parts of Mala Strana and down to Kampa Island. We lingered on Kampa for a while, admiring the lights across the river in Old Town, before resigning ourselves to the fact that we had to go back to the apartment and do laundry.

   Our apartment had no washer-and-dryer of its own, but our landlord had given us a key to an adjacent set of rooms that included a small one-washer, one-dryer laundry. And although we didn't have much to wash, we wound up being stuck there for four or five hours . . . since both the washer and dryer had apparently been designed to do their jobs as slowly as possible. I suspect that the same engineers who worked on Soviet-era Skodas had a hand in designing these particular machines as well.

   We finally got to bed about 2:00 AM. So it was a good thing that we'd loafed so much earlier in the day.

   Still, I remember thinking at the time that if our long, grueling laundry session turned out to be the low point of our trip (and it was), that wasn't so bad.

   After all, laundry's no fun anywhere.

   Some of the things I learned on October 22: Saturday on Nerudova Street in Prague is much like Saturday on 6th Street in Austin.//Building restoration in Prague isn't just for show. These guys are serious.//The view across the Vltava from Kampa is stunning, especially at night.//I could probably live without Tex-Mex tacos and enchiladas if I had to . . . but only if Czech goulash and dumplings were available to fill the gap.

                   #

   Sunday, October 23. We'd had big, ambitious plans for Sunday, but our late-night laundry session turned our Sunday morning into a repeat of Saturday morning. We slept in, then loafed for a while after that. Even the 8:00 AM start of palace-restoration work on the scaffold across the street couldn't blast us out of bed. (This is why it's called a vacation.)

   The weather was gorgeous, so we opened every window in the apartment to let in the breeze. And at noon, something else came in with it: The sound of church bells ringing, seemingly from everywhere in the city. They were close; they were distant; they were in the air in our lungs.

   The bells probably rang for only a few minutes, but as I write this, I can still hear them.

   They invigorated us, so we left the apartment and hiked up Petrin Hill. Our plan had been to take the funicular railway to the top -- but when we reached the station, we discovered that the railway was closed for repairs. So we hiked. (Heck, it was good for us. Despite the copious quantities of goulash, dumplings, and beer we consumed during our time in Prague, Barb and I both lost weight from all the walking.)

   Petrin is a great place to go just to see the citizens of Prague living their lives. There was a playground with twenty or thirty kids running around hollering; there were dogs running up and down the grassy slope chasing each other while their owners watched the clouds; there were young lovers stealing kisses on winding paths; and there was an ample-bellied statue of writer Jan Neruda about halfway up the hill, completely unmarred by the graffiti that one might expect.

   At the top of the hill is Petrin Tower, a small-scale (one-fifth size? one-quarter?) wood-and-steel replica of the Eiffel Tower that was built soon after the original. Barb and I were already huffing and puffing after the climb up the hill, so we didn't go all the way to the top of the tower. But the first observation platform was plenty high for a panoramic view in every direction. It was a great way to take in the architecture and scope of Prague as a whole -- the old, the new, the Communist, and everything in-between and since.

   While we were up on the tower, a cool front came blowing through, bringing clouds with it. Things got chilly up there fast, so we climbed back down and walked alongside Charles IV's Hunger Wall. The Hunger Wall, like the Charles Bridge, was one of the 14th-century king's many public works projects. Unlike the bridge, however, the Hunger Wall apparently served no real purpose beyond providing paying work for poor people. And they were paid in food . . . so it's called the "Hunger Wall" (or, in some references, the "Hungry Wall").

   We followed Strahovska past the monastery to Uvoz, then headed back down Uvoz to Nerudova and home. A light rain began to fall just before we made it to Nerudova 4, but we got only a little wet . . . and once we were up in the apartment, we looked out the window and saw a hot-air balloon flying over the city through the rain.

   Rather than go out for a restaurant dinner, we decided to have a picnic supper there in the apartment with the groceries we'd purchased the day before. Then, later in the evening (after the rain stopped), we went next door to the pub U Kocoura ("At the Tomcat") at Nerudova 2. Like most Czech pubs, U Kocoura serves two or three varieties of beer, but all are from just one brewery . . . in this case, the Budvar brewery. Barb had a glass of dark beer, and I had three glasses of traditional Czech golden pilsner. It may have been the best-tasting beer I've ever had. We supplemented the beer with some of U Kocoura's tasty pub food (boiled potatoes and fried cheese), and soon became quite happy with the way our day had gone.

   I hadn't realized how much of an effect a liter and a half of Budvar was having on me . . . until we stood up to leave. It was a good thing our apartment was right next door.

   We slept well that night.

   Some of the things I learned on October 23: At noon on Sundays, church bells ring throughout Prague.//Nobody messes with Jan Neruda.//Petrin Park is for dogs and lovers.//Charles IV was the FDR of his age.//Boiled potatoes, fried cheese, and Budvar are a feast for the senses. Or the senseless. (Well, it starts out as one, then leads to the other.)

                   #

   Monday, October 24.  I glanced out our east window this morning and was greeted by a tabby cat on a window ledge at Nerudova 2, high above the street.  We exchanged dobry dens . . . 

   After admiring the craftsmanship of a gentleman repairing the sidewalk cobblestones outside our building, Barb and I walked to the new Town Hall in Marianske Namesti to fill out a city archive search request. It was a bit confusing since the forms were in Czech (of course) and because there was some city-bureaucracy red tape involved. (Get the form in one office and fill it out there . . . but then take the completed form to a completely different office to turn it in, and hope you've found the right place.) But the ladies behind the various counters were kind and helpful, and we successfully used our a-few-words-of-English-here, a-few-words-of-Czech-there communication method to get the job done.

   The search request we submitted was for any city birth record for my great-grandfather Frank Koci, who (according to his death certificate and other family documents) was born in Prague on April 4, 1862. Birth records from that period are often Catholic church records by parish . . . and since (as far as we know) the Kocis were non-Catholic, we knew there was a good chance that there wouldn't be anything in the archive. Still, since we could provide not only a to-the-day birth date but also the names of both parents (including the mother's maiden name), we hoped there would be something.

   Unfortunately, when we received a reply several weeks after returning home to Texas, we learned that the search struck out. The letter from the archivist was written in Czech, and at first glance I thought it might be good news . . . but when I sat down and did a more careful translation, it became clear that there are no Prague birth records for a Frantisek Koci born on April 4, 1862. So that was disappointing, and it leaves open the question of whether the Kocis really lived in Prague, or if they lived in an outlying village and just said "Prague" whenever anyone in America asked where they were from. (This strikes me as entirely reasonable. After all, when I'm asked where I live, I almost always say "Austin" . . . because if I said "Manchaca," almost no one would know just where I'm talking about.)

   The city archivist who wrote the search-result letter suggested that we try the Czech National Archives. And we will . . . but regardless of how that second search turns out, we know for sure that the Kocis spoke Czech when they came to America in 1865, and that they said both Frank Jr. (1862) and Frank Sr. (1832) were born in Prague. So I'm sure they came from somewhere around there.

   After turning in the archive request, we headed up to the docks close by Cechuv Most and took a one-hour boat tour on the Vltava. The weather was perfect, and the tour was terrific. It was a great way to see parts of the city we wouldn't have seen otherwise, and also to get a different perspective on those parts of the city we'd been exploring on foot. The Castle dominated the western skyline throughout the tour.

   A month later, we would discover that Barb's brother Mark and his wife Carmel were in Prague that same day and were touring the Castle while we were on the river. Mark and Carmel live in Ireland, and Mark's business takes him all over Europe -- so it wasn't all that bizarre that he'd wind up in Prague at some point or other. It was bizarre, though, that he would wind up in Prague and that Carmel would accompany him there on a day that fell smack in the middle of my and Barb's visit . . . and that neither they nor we would know that the others were there. It was a real missed opportunity. Had we known, we could've all gone to U Kocoura (or just about anyplace else) and had a jolly Budvar-flavored time. We've since promised that we'll always be sure to let each other know when we're heading someplace several hundred or a few thousand miles from home. Just in case.

   After the river tour, we explored Josefov, the old Jewish Quarter. Josefov is currently an upper-crust commercial district with lots of shopping, theaters, and hotels . . . but in centuries past it was the Jewish ghetto, a city-within-a-city whose population was largely separate from the rest of Prague. Not much remains from those days, but what does remain constitutes a difficult but essential history lesson.

   Pinkas Synagogue, in particular, was simultaneously uplifting and draining. Its downstairs walls are covered with thousands of handwritten names -- the names of Czech Jews who were killed by the Nazis. And while we were there, the upstairs gallery contained an exhibit of drawings created by children who were imprisoned in the Terezin concentration camp. The names of most of the young artists are known because their devoted art teacher, a fellow prisoner, catalogued and saved their work . . . so beside each drawing was a note about the artist and whether he or she was known to have survived the war. Some did. But many did not.

   Their teacher did not.

   We had also hoped to tour the Old-New Synagogue, the 13th-century building that is the oldest continuously operating synagogue in Europe . . . and whose attic is the legendary resting place of the Prague Golem. But for some reason the Old-New Synagogue's doors were locked early that evening.

   So we'll make it a point to go inside when we visit Prague again. (And we will.)

   Some of the things I learned on October 24: Just because someone works in a bureaucracy doesn't mean she isn't kind and helpful.//A river tour is a relaxing and surprisingly informative means of getting a good overview of Prague . . . and it's even better when they serve Pilsner Urquell on the boat.//Always tell everyone in your family and all of your friends when you're going on an extended trip to a distant location. Some of them might actually wind up there too.//By all means, go to Prague for fun, for food, for beer. It's a city that loves life, and you should revel in it. But while you're there, take an hour to go see the names inside Pinkas Synagogue, too. And never forget.

                   #

   Tuesday, October 25. Barb and I made breakfast at the apartment, then took the Metro to Republic Square so I could spoil myself. . . . I'm not big on souvenirs, but I am big on musical instruments, especially guitars and drums -- and ever since I had window-shopped the guitars in a small music store around the corner from the Municipal House on Thursday the 20th, I couldn't stop thinking about a little 1/8-size cedar-top classical that had been hanging there. Buying a full-size guitar with the expectation of getting it safely from Prague to Austin would have been a huge gamble, but I figured that I could keep the 1/8-size with me as carry-on luggage.

   So Barb, being the incredibly indulgent spouse she is, agreed to spend part of our Tuesday morning on an excursion to see if the guitar was still there. It was . . . and although I played a few others as well, the little cedar-top was the one I bought. It's a Strunal, made in the Czech town of Luby near the German border. So now I have a genuine Czech souvenir that also has an actual use that matters to me. Not that I use it particularly well; unfortunately, I'm a pretty lousy guitarist. In fact, the neighbors at Nerudova 2 closed their windows when I practiced a little after returning to the apartment. So I took the hint and stopped.

   But as I had hoped, it was no problem getting the guitar home as carry-on luggage. It's a nice little instrument -- but man, those frets are sure close together.

   We spent most of the rest of the day up at the Castle since we still felt we had barely scratched the surface of the place on our previous visits. We took a lot more photos this time, and we climbed the St. Vitus bell tower -- which provides views of the city that may even surpass the views from Petrin Tower. Not to mention dizzying perspectives on the cathedral's buttresses and on the Castle courtyard below.

   Another highlight was finding the upstairs Castle rooms where, in 1618, Bohemian Protestant nobles chucked a couple of Catholic Hapsburg governors out the windows. In retrospect, this has to be seen as one of those acts that seemed like a good idea at the time, but turned out to be a disaster. For one thing, the governors, although they fell about fifty feet, landed in a pile of horse manure and survived. And for another thing, the event triggered the Thirty Years' War.

   The eventually victorious Hapsburgs erected two obelisks on the spots where the chucked governors supposedly landed, and we saw those too. (The horse manure was removed before the obelisks were put in place, since that might have cast doubt on the Hapsburg claim that the governors survived because they had been caught by angels.)

   We walked through the Garden on the Ramparts to the eastern end of the Castle, then headed down the Old Castle Steps, which aren't quite as steep or picturesque as the New Castle Steps on Thunovska. But unlike the New Castle Steps, the Old Castle Steps have enough room for souvenir stands and buskers like those on the Charles Bridge.

   Our Tuesday-night supper was our most traditional-style Czech meal yet. A few days earlier, Barb had spotted a restaurant called "Vsebaracnicka Rychta" tucked away in a little passageway between Nerudova and Vlasska, not far from the U.S. Embassy. We had decided that we had to eat there before the end of our visit -- and when we did, we were truly glad. The place had large communal tables and a mostly local clientele; for example, the three ladies at the table next to ours seemed to be neighborhood office workers (U.S. Embassy employees, perhaps) rehashing the events of their day. (At least, that was what my minimal understanding of Czech led me to believe. And I didn't mean to eavesdrop . . . but they were right beside us, and they had a lot to talk about.) The food was incredible. I had the "Farmer's Plate," with big helpings of stick-to-your-ribs Czech cabbage, dumplings, beef, and pork, and Barb had an almond-encrusted chicken breast that was too big to finish. It was a bargain, too: Including two rounds of Svijansky beer and a tip, the entire bill came to 627 Kc (about twenty-six dollars).

   Speaking of the U.S. Embassy, that reminds me:

   On an earlier walk through the neighborhood, we started to take some photos of the Embassy because it's located in the large, lovely Schoborn Palace. But a Czech security guard approached and told us that photos weren't allowed. Neither was loitering. So we put our cameras away and moved on without complaint. After all, the guy was only doing his job.

   Then, as we left, we saw two more guards stop a car on the street, look inside, and then walk slowly around the vehicle, examining the undercarriage with a mirror on a long handle.

   I understood why such measures were being taken. So I wasn't angry or offended.

   But I was saddened.

   Of all the embassies we saw while in Prague -- the French, the Italian, the Romanian, the Maltese, the Portuguese, the Belgian, the Indian, the Japanese, and the British -- there was only one embassy where we couldn't take a picture while walking by.

   Our own.

   Some of the things I learned on October 25: The Czech instrument manufacturer Strunal is best known for its student violins and cellos. But they make a pretty good guitar, too.//There are 287 steps in the spiraling stone staircase of St. Vitus Cathedral's bell tower. And by the time you reach the top, you'll feel 'em all.//If you're going to throw someone out a window, and you really mean it, be sure you throw him out a window with nothing soft below it.//Svijanksy, like Pilsner Urquell, Budvar, Krusovice, and Ferdinand, is a great Czech beer.//There sure are a lot of incredible cooks in Mala Strana.

                  #

   Wednesday, October 26. Our last full day in Prague began with a final visit to our Bulgarian friend at the Internet café up the street from our apartment. Then we bought souvenirs for nieces and nephews at various shops along upper Nerudova, dropped them off at the apartment, and went for a long walk through Hradcany -- all the way up Uvoz to Keplerova, then north past Kepler High School and east on Jeleni to U Prasneho Mostu. There we turned south toward the Castle, passing the old Riding School on our right, and then turned left into the Royal Gardens. The weather was great (again), and we took our time walking eastward through the Gardens . . . past the Royal Ball Court to the Summer Palace (the Belvedere), then beyond through Chotek Park and across Chotkova into vast, green Letna Park.

   We wound up at the giant Metronome on the bluff overlooking the Vltava. The Metronome (which sometimes works, and sometimes doesn't -- today was a non-working day) sits atop the huge concrete-and-stone platform that once served as the base of the world's largest statue of Josef Stalin. After Stalin's place in Communist history was rewritten in the early 1960s, the statue was demolished . . . but its base remained, and Praguers have been arguing about what to do with it ever since. The giant Metronome went up in 1991, but it probably won't be there much longer. It may, in fact, be replaced by a city aquarium -- although as of October 2005, that was still a matter of some debate.

   The real solution, it seems to me, is self-evident: If the Metronome goes away, just replace it with a skateboard-equipment shop and refreshment stand. After all, the youth of Prague have already figured out what to do with the broad concrete surfaces that were left over after Stalin went away. When Barb and I visited the place, there were teenage skateboarders everywhere, leaping, spinning, wiping out, and generally thrashing all over what was originally built as a monument to oppression and conformity. So I say, let them keep it. Skate on.

   After enjoying the skateboarding show, Barb and I went down the bluff, crossed Cechuv Most into Josefov, and had a long, leisurely lunch at U Modreho Orla ("The Blue Eagle") in Old Town. It was delicious, and we had the additional treat of hearing the proprietor sing along with a popular Czech song on the radio.

   We closed out the afternoon with some more wandering around both Old Town and New Town, then came back through Old Town Square to Parizska so we could see another black-light show at the Image Theater. We had enjoyed "Black Box" so much at the end of our first full day in Prague that we decided another Image show would be the perfect way to end our last full day there, too. The show tonight was "Cabinet," which was wackier and funnier than "Black Box" -- but just as amazing. You'd swear the actors were literally floating through the air.

   And you know, I don't have any proof that they weren't.

   After the show, Barb and I took one last walk across Karluv Most and had one last Budvar at U Kocoura. Then we went up to the apartment, packed our bags, and spent one last night sleeping above the cobblestones of Nerudova.

   Some of the things I learned on October 26: The Royal Gardens are quiet and peaceful even when there are a lot of people there.//Sooner or later, old dictators are run over by the wheels of youth.//That girl in the white leotard really was flying.//Despite all the other tourists he's no doubt had to serve in the meantime, the bartender at U Kocoura will still remember you three days after your first visit. Tip him well.

                  ###

   Thursday, October 27/Friday, October 28. Barb and I were up before sunrise on Thursday, met our pre-arranged taxi downstairs at 6:25 AM, and were at Ruzyne Airport in less than half an hour (after the world's fastest and scariest cobblestone-defying cab ride).

   And once you're at the airport . . . well, once you're at the airport, the vacation's over. The rest of the day was spent in the drudgery and red tape of getting home. But we made it (obviously), and we were in our own bed by 11:00 PM Austin time.

   Still, we wouldn't feel completely home again until the next day, when we picked up our dogs from Onion Creek Kennels and collected our elderly cat from Manchaca Village Veterinary Clinic. Then all was well, and we spent the rest of Friday the 28th getting over jet lag, reacclimating our lungs to the various pollens of Central Texas, and playing with the dogs.

   Oh: And marveling at where we had just been.

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   But even so . . . realizing that this is where we belong.

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