Golden Well

Prague, Day 1, Arrival

March 31, 2016 by Virginia Parker 1 Comment

My trip to the airport included an impromptu tour of Atlanta, initiated by a combination of rush hour 5pm traffic and President Obama being in town. In a quest for short cuts, Robert drove us down side streets from Buckhead to the Bluff.

Air France was fab with their usual chic, efficient, ironic service. The NOLA socialite next to me moved to join her husband and Papillion dog, Mignon, and I had the row to myself. The seat flattened out. I lay my head down, hoping to rest my eyes, and didn’t wake up until they turned up the lights and were wheeling breakfast down the aisle. Merci!

Landed in Paris and in less than two hours boarded the plane to Prague. I snorted when I saw the only difference between business class and coach on that flight was three rows and a curtain, but then the plane prepared to take off and only four people were in that section. I had my three seats across row to myself. They served chilled shrimp and hot olive bread. The thing I thought was an odd turnip turned out to have wee tentacles, so I guess it was a squid of some kind. Gack. The tiny pastries made up for it.Landed in Prague much more alert and comfortable than I’d had any expectation to be. My driver was waiting with my name on a card. We walked to where was parked outside and across the street from the airport, but conveniently in front of bank with an ATM, so I grabbed the opportunity to withdraw some Czech cash.

Traffic was heavy and the cordial driver explained the president of China was in town, much to the citizenry’s dismay. Havel was pro-Tibet; their new Prez is sucking up to the Chinese. People are wrapping themselves in Tibetan flags in protest. Don;t get me started on politics, I begged the driver, I’ve had more than enough of that at home. Obligingly, the talk turned to architecture.

The hotel staff were waiting for me with an umbrella though it was barely misting. My luggage was taken to my room while I was warmly welcomed. They were more than pleasant. They acted like I was an elderly relative who might include them in my will. They had art recommendations and offered me some exquisite praline truffles that were bliss on the tongue.

There are only 19 rooms. It’s reminiscent of the Orfila in Madrid, only even more lush. The walls feature art by a local painter of city scenes, which here means medieval, renaissance, and 18 c architecture.

I bounded out to find milk and another ATM – successful, though it took a few minutes of coaxing to get my phone to behave. And I saw this little bridge between two houses, my first taste of Praha charm.

My room is a velvet and gilt and Oriental rug jewel box. Glorious views. Absolutely silent.

The bathroom features heated floors and a Japanese toilet that lights up, has a heated seat, and electronic controls to raise and lower the lid, The demo by the staff made me go off into fits of giggles. After a hot bath in a deep tub, I stayed awake until 1:30 am Prague time, then slept with the windows open.

Prague, Day 2, Thursday

April 1, 2016 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Late start at 8, staggering from the upheaval in hours and, it must be said, my own foolishness. After nearly falling asleep the night before at 7, I decided to stay up until 10, and then kept myself awake until after 1:30 to finish the book I was reading.

Opened the window and made a sound tape of a Prague morning. Zipped up the stairs to Terasa U Zlaté studnē – the top floor restaurant with lush views and a lavish buffet. My breakfast was porridge made with cream, cinnamon sugar (my request) and ripe fruit, beautifully arranged. Shortly after I arrived the room filled up with older couples, lady foursomes, a family trio, and scowling, no nonsense businessmen. I chose a table in the farthest corner by the window and had a wonderful view of the lively April weather rolling in and out over the domes and spires of Prague. I spellchecked my blog entry and ate my gorgeous breakfast, while slugging back a double shot cappuccino.

I scampered down the hill, following Google to the Agnes Monastery and soon discovered that indeed, this city is made for walking. I crossed the Vltava River and saw the Charles Bridge across the way, packed out with a shuffling horde of tourists. I may continue to admire the bridge from afar, or get up very early to walk across it. Dawn, perhaps.

The convent art was mainly variations on the Madonna, with a few saints and disciples thrown in. Interesting for the individual artist’s interpretation of the maternal virgin:

I bought a six-palace pass. I forgot to ask for my senior discount. Dang.

By now my daughter Robin had landed and we were Whatsapp-ing. We decided to meet for lunch at Lokal. I wandered towards it, stopping in an optical shop – more tempting frames from Barcelona and Paris.

I took a card – I’ll be back. For a while I sat on a bench and sketched a statue of a winsome woman in a swirling gown holding a cornucopia on the street corner. I arrived at Lokal and sat across from this imposing fellow.

I wolfed down my sausage appetizers; three large hotdogs with mustard, rye bread and whipped cream and horseradish sauce in a gravy boat. A gracious plenty for lunch, along with a tart lemon and sparkling water drink. Robin arrived and told me the saga of her journey ( her plane was delayed, two hours sitting on the runway in Paris. Ma pauvre petite). She tucked into her own order of sausages and chicken.

Afterwards she went exploring, and I limped back to the hotel, happy as two clams. After a bit of a rest, I rallied for the 6pm oboe concert at the St Nicholas church. As urged by the fine print on the ticket we were early to claim our seats, but the church was nearly empty. The interior of the church was a visual feast.

Robin spotted a woman with a chicken by her side above the altar. The presence of a hen was puzzling, but it made a change from the plethora of putti fluttering around. The sacred decor more than enough to hold my interest, and the oboe solo was spectacular with phenomenal acoustics. Alas, more than half of the program was lugubrious and morose organ music. I was disappointed in the amount of oboe, plus the church was freezing – we could see our breaths. The evening’s concert was titled Oboe Encounters, Robin pointed out, not Basking in Oboes. I wrapped my scarf around my shoulders, pulled on my mittens and shivered. By the time the organeer played the opening notes of the closing piece, Handel’s Alleluia chorus, we were praising God we could leave and warm our numbed extremities.

More gorgeous doors on the way back, a photo op we could not resist.

Up to the room, did a bit of downloading iPhone photos via cable since the way the iCloud is doing it is slow, spotty and baffling. Robin conked out at 9 and I listened to Ludovico and wrote up today’s adventure. Tomorrow, my tour with Nina in the morning.

Prague, Day 10

April 11, 2016 by Virginia Parker 1 Comment

Friday was my first day solo, and I fell into my accustomed trip rhythm. Slow start. Nice breakfast upstairs with the stellar view over the roof tops of Prague. Joined at my table by Simon, the suave and genial fellow who runs the front desk. We talked about the Slav Epic and he told me which painting had Mucha’s own granddaughter in it.

Coronation_Serbian_Tsar — The Slav Epic: Coronation of Servian Tsar – 6th painting

Hint: she’s considerably more visible and important in the canvas than the Tsar.

P1130327 — The girl with flowers in her hair.

I showed him Robin’s side by side comparison of the Olsen Twin and the Adam figure fleeing the horsemen. Epic hilarity.

We talked about the artistry of the restaurant Field at some length. I know it’s his job to make guests feel welcome, but it didn’t feel forced or awkward, just companionable and relaxed.

Walked across the very pleasant not-the-Charles Bridge to look in at the optical shop again, Decided against a purchase. Nothing caught my eye. Heh. Ate lunch at the Vietnemese Banh Mi Ba eat in/take out place that was part of Robin’s tasting tour. Delicious.

12 variations on the Banh Mi (menu in words and pictures) and a soup special. They should open these up back home, like all the taqueria places. Four bars to eat at, high stools, tiny front counter to order and pay, the various element of the sandwiches prepared and waiting to be assembled, excellent bread, one guy putting the sandwiches together and one server. Perfect to pop up in Atlanta. Can’t think why it hasn’t. The equivalent of Willy’s, only yummier.

Followed the trail Robin made for me via text links to Google maps. Started with the place she found good tee shirts and bought another one. They made the sale because they were cheerfully willing to take the shirts out of the box and plastic wrap and let me try them on over my clothes. A good thing I did. A Men’s L came to my thighs, a Womens 2XL just barely fit around me. Um, WTF? Onward, this time part of the turbulent stream of tourists crossing the Charles Bridge. Found the place of scarves and the hilarious fountain of two men peeing on the nation. That’s when I realize that I am going to miss the Czech’s irreverent sense of humor more than the charm, history, culture, and food. Given my love of Prague ham, that’s saying a lot.

From there, to the serene beauty of a nearby park where Robin had seen a flock of peacocks. No exotic birds today, but I had the pleasure of near solitude, the sound of the wind soughing through the boughs of trees laden with spring blossoms. Pale petals littered the bright green spring grass. Read for a bit, in the peace and quiet. Walked slowly up the hill at the end of a lovely day in Prague.

My laundry was brought to my room, jeans on hangers, teeshirts neatly folded. Simon appeared and me offered a pair of prints of watercolors scenes of Prague. He felt with my interest in art this would be fitting souvenir of my stay at the Golden Well. Alas, they were too large to fit in my suitcase. Seriously, I travel light, y’all. I regretfully declined. Later I was told they checked at the post office, the fee to ship them was only ten dollars so they were sending them to my home on the hotel’s dime. Spoiled. Spoiled rotten.

I am nervous about the bill, they are so freaking nice to me. I did the math so I know what charges to to expect. Better than reasonable, unless they are going to spring something out of the woodwork. The room was prepaid, so it’s VAT tax, breakfasts, postage, laundry, and the car to and from the airport.*

Caught up with my writing this blog, planned my final day – pack and finally visit the Schwartzenberg palace museum, maybe have lunch at the Lobkowicz.

*Our numbers matched. They are just that fabulous. They proceeded to straighten out my airport check-in online, wake me up with coffee at 5:30 (no charge), generally being awesome. I left with regret, grateful for the pleasure of my experience. Honestly, stay here if you ever get the opportunity. You can thank me later.

Sbohem Prague, Привет! St Petersburg, Day 1

April 14, 2016 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

(Goodbye Prague, hello St Petersburg)

Woke up at 4:30, got up, and got going. Here’s a farewell to Prague photo.

Life imitates art, art imitates everything

Made a mug of tea – nothing quite like having that option anytime night or day. I am glad I made a point of it for all my hotels. Also, first time I brought my own mug and I am glad I did. An Innkeeper’s idea of a cup suitable for tea is insufficient for my needs. At 5:30 the night clerk brought a single cup of coffee and a tiny flask of steamed milk, and carried my bags down absolutely silently. Out to the pre-arranged car, off to the airport in zero traffic. I was dropped off not precisely curbside, but close enough to see the doors. Don’t know if this is a taxi thing or a security deal. I imagine cveryone is testy after Brussels.

The gate wasn’t open yet so I read for awhile, pinching myself periodically. I still can’t quite believe I am going to Russia. When security does open for business I set off alarms, but they swipe my hands with a square of material, analyze the result, and wave me through. I am the second person on board and the only person in business class. There were rattling sounds when the plane takes off, and a shuddering sensation. Like the parts were just a little bit loose. I read my two hour flight away.

We landed in St. Petersburg and I saw two other planes as we taxied in. There was a birch tree grove next to the runway. It reminded me of Duluth. I was expecting something bigger and much busier. Walked to customs through bare and industrial corridors. No photography allowed signs appeared at intervals (a SLR camera in a red circle with a slash across it, which seemed quaint. They haven’t gotten around to making iPhone cameras forbidden icons, I guess).

My customs guy looked about 23, with a bad hair cut and a uniform that was too big in the shoulders for him. He did a lot of frowning at my passport, running it over scanners, typing in information, and comparing it to my face multiple times. Like something might have changed from the first time. He seemed weary and much too young to be locked in this box. I soberly waited for his signal, thanked him, and practically skipped to baggage claim.

My driver, a rangy, mustachioed, white haired gent with a long stride, was holding a sign with my name. I literally had to run to keep up with him. Plenty cordial though, with a bit of English. A native St Peterburgian. He drove like NASCAR though a landscape that looked like the seamier neighborhoods of Chicago or down market Detroit. Rusting, crumbling, gray, grim, monolithic blocks of industrial architecture. Oh no, I thought, this doesn’t look anything like the pictures. Cars had a ubiquitous layer of streaky gray, a filthy, end of winter crust of grime and salt. I started looking for a Pets Or Meat sign in cyrillic. I told myself we just didn’t happen to drive through the attractive part, but it’s got to be here somewhere, right? The fact my hotel was apparently in this district gave me pause, but once we reached a canal the streets began to change, the concrete blocks of building fell away, and large houses appeared with architectural interest and charm.

I recognized my hotel entry from the time I spent gazing hopefully at the online photos and videos. My driver heaved my luggage onto the curb and sped away. I rang the two bells, hoping one worked. The door opened and I stepped into my refuge for the next three weeks.

The young people who run the front of the house are polite and cheerful and patient and friendly and helpful. Their English is excellent. There was a bit of a traffic jam at the desk; guests both coming and going. I was seated by glass wall looking into the courtyard garden. They took my passport briefly, then my money – the entire stay is paid for upon arrival. Their numbers exactly matched the ones in my notebook – having print outs of my email paper trail has come in handy, so I confidently coughed up my credit card.

Escorted up to my room via stairs that are broad and deep and old wood and marble. I’m on the top floor at the end of a corridor that’s all windows down one side. None of the doors have numbers or other identifying marks. My room is cream and white, with pickled beams overhead and light, knotty wood floor. It feels even more spacious that it looks online. Usually it’s the other way around. Must be 12 foot ceilings. Two enormous windows overlook the courtyard and have white sheers and roman blinds.

Took a stroll around my new ‘hood, saw this in a window and it exactly matched my mood.

I absolutely insist on enjoying my life.

My room is awash in light. One window is set at a slant in the roof, over one side of my bed. Lying there, I can see the blue dome painted with gold stars of Troitsky Church. Right now it’s dark-thirty and silent, profoundly quiet. It bodes well.