Prague 2

Czech phrase of the day: pristi stanice = "next station".

Pip and mum and I set out this morning for the Muzeum metro station. Mum wasn't actually coming with us - she was there as "backup" while I bought two 75 minute tickets for Pip and I. The plan was that Pip and I would go to Prague zoo while mum and dad went off and explored more of Prague.

We got our tickets, said goodbye to mum, and descended the escalator to the "linka C" platform. We footled about a bit trying to find the machine to validate our tickets, and eventually figured out it was back the way we'd come. No big deal, though, and we caught a train within 5 minutes or so. Every European country we've been in thus far puts home's public transport to quite hilarious shame. The idea of buying one ticket for multiple forms of transport seemed almost novel to me at first.

We got off the train at Nadrazi Holesovice, and boarded bus 112. At this point I got the route name confused with our destination, and we got off at the second stop instead of the sixth, in the middle of Prague-flavoured nowhere. Whoops. Pip said quite calmly that she wasn't bothered, because she'd been expecting me to get lost. Harsh, but fair.



Another bus came along quite soon, though, and this time we caught it to the end of the line. Mission half-accomplished...

Into the zoo we went. Wikipedia had told me that Prague zoo is rated the 7th best in the world (it's on a wiki, therefore it must be true!). First stop for us were the ring-tailed lemurs, which have been Pip's favourite animals since she was little (she had a teddy-lemur, not a teddy-bear, y'see). They're beautiful, sleek little animals, and their enclosure was quite amazing - it's on an island that you reach by going through a double-door airlock sort of thing (so that lemurs can't slip out the door with you by accident). At one end of the island there's a square greenhouse-looking thing which is the animal's sleeping quarters. At the top of that, though, there's a little cat-flap attached to a ladder, that lets the lemurs come outdoors to frolic around on their island. There are trees linked by ladders, all with park benches underneath so that visitors can sit and watch. There are no fences between lemurs and people. If a lemur felt so-inclined, it could come and cuddle you. Being winter (and feeding time), the lemurs had more sense than to be roaming around outside in the cold, but I still think their island is a cool idea.



We went to see the penguins as well, one of which decided to entertain us by swimming at lightning speed around the water tank in its enclosure - so close that I got splashed each time it porpoised for air. Awkward though penguins are on land, their shape makes sudden and wonderful sense when you see them swim.

There were a lot of other high points, as well. I'd never seen garials before - Indian crocodiles, almost extinct in the wild. The squirrel monkeys were my favourite animals of the day - they were in an octagonal hut with glass sides, and it was feeding time for them as well. They were rocketing around their enclosure, springing off the windows in front of our eyes with both feet, and stealing each other's broccoli. One launched itself for what it thought was a branch, seized another's tail, and they both fell out of their tree.



We saw gorillas, flamingos, big cats (there were only two inches of glass and air between us and a ton of tiger)... and we sang songs to the mountain goats, who were unmoved. Mountain goats are hard to impress.

We tried to see the red panda, but I remain firm in my belief that they don't exist - zookeepers just pretend they do so that visitors will always have a reason to come back and peer hopefully into the nocturnal gloom. The "twighlight" corridor had a semi-enclosed bat cave, and Pip and I flinched as little furry bodies went whizz-clicking past our ears.

There were even Przewalski's horses, with their thick noses and noble expressions; Prague zoo's main claim to fame is having bred the first Przewalski's horse in captivity. They went extinct in the wild, though some have now been re-introduced from zoos around the world. These ones were mostly staying indoors, save for the one who stood stock-still outside. Pip and I reckon he was probably working day-shift for the visitors.



We waved to the kangaroos and the emus on our way out. Czech visitors were taking each others' pictures with these weird and unfamiliar animals, with delight. Reminded me that everything is new and wonderful to /someone/ in the world. I rather liked the thought.

Pip and I made our way back after feeding all our remaining 2 Kraus coins to a ticket machine. We got back to our apartment by 4, and this time without making mistakes!



There was a pause of about an hour while everyone told stories of what we'd done throughout the day. Among other things, mum and dad had set out for a monastery in the old quarter, to see a beautiful old library that mum had seen a picture of, once, in an email. They had not only found the right monastery; they had even been taken on a tour of the library.

At 5, after all our recounting, mum and dad and I set out for the concert we'd booked the day before. Pip doesn't like classical music (especially if it has no words), so she stayed behind to do schoolwork. We retraced our steps from the previous afternoon, got a little lost, and finally made it to the Klementinum Baroque-era "mirror chapel". Part of mum and dad's day of wandering had included a guided tour of this place as well, so mum pointed out the old organ at the back that Mozart had once played, and the second organ at the front that replaced the altar under the communist regime. She also explained the ceiling paintings to me while we sat and waited for the performers to arrive. The panels are scenes from the Ave Maria, and some of them are quite entertaining in the careful way the visual has been constructed, so as not to subvert accepted theology of the time. For instance, one of the panels depicts the line "Hail Mary, full of grace". The painting shows the holy trinity shining "grace" onto Mary, who is then reflecting all her newfound shiny-ness into a mirror held up by cherub. The beam of light is reflected from there, out of the frame, to the rest of humanity. The elaborate zigzag is apparently carefully designed to show that Mary hasn't got her OWN grace to throw around - that would be an heretical suggestion - she's just "channeling" grace. Like moonlight is only reflected sunlight. The painter was being ve-e-ry cautious not to get things wrong.

Alas, no photos allowed. Do try to imagine it, though.

Anyhow, eventually the performers filed in. One of the particular drawcards of this concert had been the use of baroque instruments - and sure enough, the lead violinist was carrying a baroque violin with him. Boxier than modern-day instruments, and with a shorter bow. Our eyes boggled when a man walked in with what looked like a lute-cross-giraffe - the neck was about a metre long, and there were two fingerboards. When he played, he only used the shorter strings - the longer strings were "sympathetic" ones, that just buzz along with the others to create extra sound. The rest of the orchestra contained handful of secondary violinists, two violas, and two double-bass players.

First of all they played the Corelli Christmas concerto, and very well. I don't know the piece awfully well, but it's lovely. The next piece, however, was the reason we'd decided upon this particular concert in favour of the others we'd been offered on the streets. They were going to play the entirety of Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

I know the Four Seasons is probably the most hackneyed of classical pieces ever.
I don't care.
I still love it to bits. It was the first piece of classical music I ever really sat up and took notice of, and I've never since met a Vivaldi piece I didn't enjoy. The best recording I've come across is by the Tasmanian Chamber Orchestra, and I have listened to that so many times that now I can actually compare performances - something I can't do with any other classical piece, because I just don't have any theoretical understanding of most music. I was thrilled to bits by the idea of hearing my favourite piece performed live in Prague!

I wasn't disappointed, either. The first movement of Spring was wonderful - the lead violinist had a jaunty little grin on his face the whole time, and sent his solos whirring among the high notes. The part I think of that movement that I have always thought of as "birdsong" sounded like a whole forest full of little birds teasing each other, and the part had been split up among all the violinists so that there were echoes, and calls-and-repeats. I realised there was something strange about one of the bass instruments being played - I had assumed it was a double bass, but something about the way it sounded was more like a horn than a stringed instrument. I don't know what the physical difference was, though.

Summer and Autumn were taken rather too quickly - the lead violinist was good, but overambitious. If he'd slowed it down a little he wouldn't have dropped notes accidentally, and the sound wouldn't have been quite so blurry. It would have made a difference for the poor accompaniment, too. Still - I was impressed by the fact that he'd tinkered with the arrangement. He added trills and curlicues in places they usually don't go... and he took some of the original "frilly" bits out. Sometimes to dubious effect, sometimes to brilliant effect.

Winter made up for the wobbly bits of the middle two sections. The Largo was different to any other performance I'd heard of it, before - something had been added to the arrangement so that the lute was playing notes not in the original (I think)... and the effect was that the movement had a happy, wistful feeling to it... not the slightly mournful feel I'm used to. Finally the whole piece was over, and everyone applauded very enthusiastically (including me!). True to Prague's "special extra for you!" personality, the orchestra played us a quick Bach piece right at the end before we left, by way of a "merry Christmas". I was elated.

We left the pink and green marble of the little chapel, and made our way back to our apartment in the dark. The Christmas markets were still bustling, and we bought greasy schnitzel-on-a-bun for a makeshift dinner. Back at "home", I read my latest book ("Iron Council") for a few hours before sleep.

I. Really. Like. Prague.