But this is beside the point.
The point is that, much to my pleasure, the entire town is simply lovely, with cobblestone streets winding gently downhill:
Church steeples etching a line towards the horizon:
And curious shop signs that would undoubtedly be the source of public uproar if they hung over a storefront here in the States:
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| Whatever this man is putting in his mouth, he's been putting it there since 1917... |
So we're on the train, almost ready to leave the station, when one of the great characters of our trip plopped down on the seat across from us – Salami Man. To understand Salami Man, one must conjure up the most banal stereotype of the post-Cold War Worker and cross it with the most rudimentary image of the Noble Slavic Peasantry, which dominated aspects of Western music and art at the turn of the 20th Century. Tired, worn lines crossed the man's face and he sat slightly hunched over, almost as if he were embarrassed by his tall lanky frame.
Over the next half hour, Salami Man proceeded to eat his breakfast right in front of us, starting with a small crusty roll that he ate with his mouth stuffed about two inches into the bag, presumably to prevent crumbs from flying everywhere. Next, he pulled a hunk of fragrant salami from his duffel bag and a pocket knife from his faded denim jeans. Piece by piece, he carved off slices of the salami, much as I saw people do in my youth back in Appalachia. My yin, on the other hand, had probably never seen such a display and sat with her scarf pulled up over her nose (her sense of smell has been bloodhound-like recently) trying not only to keep the smells at bay, but also to stifle her amusement. Salami Man's movement were precise and methodical, a case study in how one should eat cured pork with a knife at 8 o'clock in the morning. Finally, once he had his fill of salami, the man pulled a small red tomato from the paper bag that had held the bread. He looked at it for a moment, appreciating its crimson color with a degree of mindfulness that would make the most practiced Buddhist monk green with envy, before biting into it like an apple. It occurred to me as he wiped the last bit of juice from his chin that he had basically eaten a salami sandwich, just broken down into its constituent parts.
We saw these types of characters are throughout central Europe, and even encountered another one – 10 a.m. in the Morning Beer Man – on our next train. I supppose it was actually no more or less than one encounters in his or her hometown on a daily basis, but something about being on vacation, especially on vacation in a foreign country, makes these encounters stand out more and take on a tenor of adventure. Plus, as we were to learn over the rest of our time in the Czech Republic, it is not at all uncommon to see people having a beer before noon. Not just alcoholics or people still up from the night before or homeless people, but perfectly normal, law-abiding citizens who stop for a half liter can of beer before work. Regardless, we soon found ourselves arriving in Kutna Hora:
And making our way to the ossuary, aka the "Bone Church":
Now, for the record, let me state that there has never been a place more perfectly suited for Instagram than this one:
See what
I mean?
The place itself isn't all that large, but you can do a lot with the remains of 40,000 people. Everything from chandeliers:
To a coat of arms:
To a nice, simple pile of skulls and femurs that really ties together a room:
My favorite part was that of a raven plucking at an eye socket, which a guide said was fashioned to commemorate a victory over the Turks back in the 16th Century:
Here's a re-creation:
After all these bones, my yin and I were ready for something more upbeat so we walked down the street to the Church of the Assumption of Our Lady, which is the oldest church in central Europe and dates back to the 13th Century:
Needless to say, the building didn't look like this 800 years ago, and one of the things of which I kept being reminded throughout our journey was that buildings are living, breathing entities, prone to destruction and reconstruction every 100 years or so. The most recent rehabilitation to Our Lady was less than a decade ago, so the building was in impeccable condition. Also, much to my surprise, there were more skulls, which were found in 2003 during the reconstruction:
Which went rather well with the Baby Jesus:
That was held by Mary on the altar:
Another thing I quickly learned was that the prefect symmetry of baroque architecture really does a nice job of showing you how uneven the camera is during virtually every shot. Nonetheless I did my best to capture the amazing lines of the main worship space:
As well as the graceful curves of the ceiling:
My yin, on the other hand, was most impressed with the organ and for the rest of the trip it was the first thing she looked for whenever we entered a cathedral:
She even seemed a little guilty about it, but luckily there was a confession booth where she could repent:
Our next stop was St. Barbara's Cathedral:
Which, like Denzel Washington, looks just as impressive in profile as it does from the front:
St. Barbara is the patron saint of miners, and Kutna Hora's wealth – the wealth that afforded it all these stupendous churches – is derived from the fact that huge deposits of silver were found here in Middle Ages, and the city literally minted money for hundreds of year.
Inside the cathedral were tremendous stained glass windows, which unfortunately didn't photograph well, and numerous altars tucked away in the knaves. My favorite was this one depicting the Last Supper:
St. Barbara's also had the best pews of any church we saw in central Europe, the ends of which had ornate wood carvings depicting cherubs:
Demons:
And a pagan figure known as the "Green Man" who is found in churches all over Europe and evokes the cyclical power of nature:
After all this, my yin and I were rather beat and walked up the hill to the main road to catch the 5 o'clock bus back to the train station. Much to our surprise, the 5 o'clock bus was actually a 12 passenger van crammed full with 15 people, including a trio of giggling teenage girls. Over the course of the next ten minutes, crouched in the corner behind the back seat, I quickly learned that although there may be significant differences between our culture and that of the Czech Republic, the hyper, awkward giddiness of adolescence remains the same.
My yin and I made it back into Prague around six, stopped by our hotel to shower, and then trudged back into the city for a lackluster dinner at a closing vegetarian cafeteria. This proved to be one of the biggest obstacles of the trip because Czech cuisine (or more broadly, central European cuisine) is not known for its vegetarian fare. Furthermore, it seems that at least 55-65% of Czechs smoke, and we encountered only a handful on non-smoking restaurants the entire time we were in Prague.
Luckily, our desert choice was one of them, and we closed out the night with a nice cup of hot chocolate, which is not the same as hot chocolate here in the States. Rather, it is a block of 73% chocolate melted into a cup:
Not a bad way to close out the night...
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