Czeching Out

My eyes are stinging with tiredness but now is as bad a time to write as any. New Year's Eve was truly wonderful. We went to a restaurant we'd spied earlier, and had a delicious four course dinner including pizza underneath a gorgeous vaulted ceiling, chatting non-stop to the Hungarians at the table next to us and the stammering Germans opposite, and later to the enthusiastic Greeks at the table even further away. At 23:47 we rushed out into the Old Town Square, determined to see the Astrological Clock chime us in to the new decade, but there was no way we could muscle through the packed crowd, so we celebrated midnight opposite the Christmas tree, as thousands of impromptu fireworks were set off all around us, with scant regard for health or, indeed, safety. Nick got through his hatred of NYE by pretending he was reporting back for a local BBC News channel, asking everyone who would make eye contact with us where they were from, and what their hopes were for 2010.

After the big moment had quietened down somewhat, we returned to the restaurant for a final drink, and a lovely waitress chatted to us for ages and then revealed herself as the place's owner, saying we didn't have to pay for any of the extra drinks we'd had. Result. We gave her a fat tip. Then we wandered, headily, through the streets and over the Charles Bridge, photographing things and reveling in the fact that although everyone was undoubtedly drunk, no one was being aggressive, unfriendly or anti-socially loud. It was lovely.

This morning started a little slowly and we missed the hotel breakfast so had a snack from the Christmas market, me feeling optimistic that the Nutella and crepe that surrounded my banana did not detract from its 'one of my five a day' status. Then we wandered over to the Jewish Quarter. Now, I know as well as you do that it is impossible and deeply stupid to generalise about an entire race, so I won't, but I will say that the Jewish section of Prague is the most badly organised and stressful area in the city by a country mile. Everything is numbered, but the numbers don't correlate to the buildings on the map they give you, and the numbers on the map don't correlate with the numbers on your ticket. Then there are long rooms full of displays of things, but you have no idea what the things are/mean, because the panel of information explaining their significance is behind the door through which everyone is walking. The Holocaust was, undeniably, absolutely horrific. The things those people went through, whether they survived or died, are beyond my powers of imagination - or, perhaps, I just don't want to have to think about them. And I totally buy the whole 'lest we forget' argument - we should be reminded, regularly, of the horrific elements of humanity's past, sometimes shockingly recent, so that we don't let such atrocities happen again, if possible. But, that said, it does seem to me that Judaism's PR is almost entirely negative. If it were me, I would focus on the Sho'ah, sure, but I would also talk about the wonderful things about my faith that make me proud. I'd like to hear a bit more about the positives. Maybe that's just me. The cemetery, the synagogues and the exhibitions were interesting, once we worked out what was going on, but the tourists were disrespectful and the highlight was probably the tiny menorah that Nick bought on a stall outside.

After the Jewish Quarter, we walked back over Charles Bridge and had yet another deep fried lunch before heading up to St. Nicholas' church, where we arrived at 15:48 and the last admission was at 15:45, so we grumpily went on to The Church of Our Lady Victorious, just down the road, where Nick had read about this little statue of Christ that was donated by a Spanish woman ages ago, and is thought to have magical powers and is one of the most sacred icons in Catholicism. We'd started calling it the Waxy Jesus, because it is made of wax. And so we went to see the Waxy Jesus, and sweet Mary mother of God, if it wasn't the most gloriously kitsch thing in the history of the world. There's this tiny, alabaster-pale doll, perched high on a wall, surrounded by ornate metalwork, wearing an elaborate white gown, and in front of it are people praying. Real people. And upstairs, in the museum, are glass cases full of all the Waxy Jesus' other outfits. For there are many. All donated by other countries. Gorgeous ruffled cuffs and collars on a gown sent from Columbia, a beautiful embroidered cape from Shanghai, a deep red get-up from Vietnam and a case full of white, lace undergarments to protect Waxy from damage, accompanied by a photo of three nuns helping him into a new costume. He changes every feast day. It was fantastic but simultaneously deeply worrying. Nick can't stop thinking about him.

Then we went back to St. Nicholas' church and bought tickets to a 5pm concert, and sat quietly in the back pew while a good flautist and a semi-good soprano and an excellent organist played a selection of hits old and new, and I admired the trompe d'oeuil ceiling and snoozed, and a woman sat down next to us and knocked my antique Czech metal paint pot onto the floor, and then we left fifteen minutes early because we had to go back to the river to see the wonderful New Year's Day fireworks, which were great, and then we thawed in a bar and I had a heated conversation about wine with an argumentative Frenchman who, it seemed, deliberately misunderstood my point. And then it was time for the JAZZBOAT, and we were sharing a table with a very cute couple, early-twenties, she was from Holland, he was from Hungary, they hadn't seen each other since early October and god they were so happy, it was quite moving. The jazz was good, the boat travelled, I kid you not, about half a mile before we stopped at a lock for ages, and then went on a little bit and turned around almost immediately, stopped at the lock again for ages, went back to our starting point and a fraction beyond and then turned round and docked, but it was fun anyway. And now I'm at Prague airport, having started writing this last night and then passing out. I loved Prague. The people were very friendly, the architecture was stunning, the history was fascinating and had a good spread of interesting incidents through the ages, the tourists were nice, the items for sale were excellent, especially in the area of miniature things - I am most excited about my tiny matches and my tiny glass snail - and the food was, while perhaps not the healthiest, definitely delicious. The ratio of couples to non-couples was approx. 93:1, so if you are feeling particularly sore about your unwed status I might suggest avoiding it, but other than that I have no complaints. That said, I've just seen a photo of Vegas on my computer and I slightly wish I was in the States, and I am so excited about getting back to my flat that I might weep. London, I'm coming home.