What is it about Prague?

Since my return I’ve been pondering just why Prague has so captured my heart and my imagination during my two relatively short visits. It doesn’t have for me the special religious and spiritual attraction of Assisi, though I have found worshipping at Saint Clement’s deeply satisfying.  Neither does it have the profound personal significance of Oxford, where I studied and grew up and fell in love.

Yet Prague shares many of the characteristics which make both Oxford and Assisi so unforgettable. It is ancient and historic and quite extraordinarily beautiful. Its most significant buildings have somehow survived the ravages of time, natural disaster and human conflict and neglect and today, skilfully preserved or restored, they provide a memorable illustration of a thousand years of architectural innovation and genius.

St George's Basilica - C12th Romanesque

Tiny side-street church in the New Town

The Old-New Synagogue - C12th Gothic

Modernist house on the Baba Model Housing Estate 1932

Like Assisi and Oxford, Prague has an importance which stretches far beyond national boundaries, as is shown by the visitors from every part of the world who throng its historic streets.  However, unlike them Prague is a capital city, the seat of government for a nation now making its way in the modern world after the isolation and stagnation of almost half a century of communist rule.

Government building, Prague Castle

Embassy in the Little Quarter

Though its beauty and sense of history are a big part of what fascinates me about Prague, another factor is that it is a city on a human scale. Despite being far larger than Assisi or even Oxford, its historic centre still lends itself to being explored comfortably and pleasurably on foot and alone. It divides very neatly into four main areas – the Old Town, the New Town, the Jewish Quarter and, across the Charles Bridge, the Little Quarter (Mala Strana) and Prague Castle. Each of these has its own distinct personality and a plethora of sites to visit and admire.



Old Town Square



Crowded gravestones in the old Jewish Cemetery

Architecture and trees in the New Town

The ubiquitous tram

In addition, if you want to venture beyond the main tourist haunts, Prague makes it easy by being the proud possessor of an extremely efficient and cheap integrated public transport system. Even a country bumpkin like me had no difficulty whatever in hopping on and off the very regular and frequent trams, buses and metro trains to get to wherever I wanted to go. With their aid and armed with comfortable shoes and a good city guide and map, the whole of Prague is your easily opened oyster.

But Prague is more than simply its historic buildings, however beautiful and numerous they are. It is also a wonderfully green city, full of tree-lined streets and squares, and with a wide variety of lovely parks and public gardens, large and small. This makes it surprisingly easy to move from bustling, crowded streets to find oneself almost or even totally alone in a green space or a tiny, winding lane.

Kampa Park, Little Quarter

The village in the city

C14th Michle Madonna - St Agnes Convent

And when you are tired of discovering the streets and buildings or strolling through the parks, you can explore the superb art-galleries and museums, or go to one of the many concerts which are such a feature of Prague life, or simply sit with a coffee or some great (and cheap) Czech beer and watch the world go by.

Anyone who reads my blog is likely to have spotted that I am a country girl at heart.  I have visited a fair number of cities and lived in a couple for short periods when I was young, but I could never imagine myself actually living happily in a city until I visited Prague. If any city could change this country mouse into a town mouse, it would be Prague. I don’t think it will happen, but it’s interesting to realise that the little nugget of potential is there. 



Watch this space

After an interestingly rollercoaster landing at Heathrow yesterday, thanks to the strong and gusty wind, I’m back on home ground with my mind absolutely buzzing with new impressions and happy memories. Just give me time to unpack, do the washing and download the new photos and I’ll try to make sense of it all and begin to share it with you.  Until then a few more images of this wonderful city of Prague.

Our Lady of Tyn

Kampa Island - the Venice of Prague

Prague Castle in autumn mist

Have cassock, will travel

When I was first ordained deacon twenty-three years ago, I would never have guessed how life was going to open up before me. I was still working full-time as a librarian back then and my work as an unpaid curate had to be fitted into the gaps. Fast forward almost nine years to my longed-for and long-worked-for ordination to the priesthood in January 1997 and my life was about to take another unexpected turn.

Within a fortnight of that unforgettable day, I had been asked to consider, and had accepted, the offer of voluntary redundancy and early retirement from my post as Area Librarian. Six months later I was officiating at DD’s wedding as a lady of leisure, but that happy state of affairs wasn’t destined to last very long. First I was asked to take on a diocesan responsibility (part-time and unpaid) and a couple of years later, after my first cancer diagnosis and treatment, I finally went into full-time parish ministry and became a vicar.

Six very happy years and two parish posts later, my second encounter with cancer led to my second attempt at retirement and this one finally succeeded. DH and I came back to our house in the hills of Mid-Wales and gradually settled into our unusual roving retirement. However, this doesn’t mean that I have hung up my cassock completely and when asked I still enjoy filling in when local clergy are on holiday. What I could never have anticipated was that being asked to provide cover when a priest needs a holiday might involve me too in packing a suitcase and flying off to foreign climes.

Saint Clement's Church

But that is exactly what has happened, thanks to my former rector and colleague in my final post being appointed as Anglican Chaplain to the English-speaking congregation based at Saint Clement's Church in Prague. His name is Ricky Yates and he writes a very interesting and informative blog about Prague itself and his life and experiences as chaplain there.  He and his wife also like to go on holiday from time to time, and last autumn I was lucky enough to be asked to act as his locum chaplain for two wonderful weeks. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting his amazingly international (and interdenominational) congregation and almost wore my shoes out exploring Prague on foot in my spare time.

Before I came home last year, we arranged that I would return this autumn for another stint as locum chaplain, which is why, next Thursday, I will be flying to Prague, this time for three Sundays. As you can imagine, I’m looking forward to it enormously. Since we got back from Normandy last week, I’ve been busy unpacking and getting the house sorted out.  On top of this I’ve also been up to my eyes in preparation for the work I will be doing as chaplain, hence the continuing absence of new posts for those of you who faithfully pop in to see whether I’ve got round to updating my blog. J

Sadly, I won’t be able to blog properly from Prague, or at least not with photos, but I can promise you more than a glimpse of this most beautiful of cities once I’m safely back in Wales. Saint Francis and Assisi haven’t been forgotten either and will have their turn, now that the beguilingly long, light evenings of summer are only a memory and autumn is truly here.

Prague riverbank

Saint Vitus' Cathedral

Vltava River

Summer’s end

Before supper this evening DH and I were sitting at our somewhat shabby garden table on the grass in front of the house, enjoying a drink and the slightly hazy sunshine. The grass (or rather the mixture of grass, clover and plantain, which normally passes for a lawn in our part of Normandy) was newly-mown after my exertions earlier in the afternoon, and we were enjoying its scent and the sound of the birds. A lovely summer’s evening after the damp and even thundery evenings we have had recently and one of the last we have to enjoy before our return to the UK next week.

Yet it doesn’t really seem like summer any more. I know it’s still August, but somehow it feels as though autumn has come early this year, just as spring did. The grass around the cherry trees is already patterned with early-fallen leaves and the espaliered pear tree on the front wall of the house is laden with more and bigger pears than we have ever seen on it. Granted they are rock-hard and only edible after long simmering, but they are so large that they are starting to fall already, as are the apples, both eating and cider. Just like the grape harvest further south, the apple harvest is early this year and it is a bumper one. Suddenly autumn tasks are invading the last days of summer.

As I was making the soup for supper, I looked out of our north-west-facing kitchen window and realised that the sun was setting behind the apple tree to the left, rather than over the field ahead, a sure sign of the days drawing in. So summer is ending and what a varied summer it has been.  

A summer of a lot more rain and a lot less sun than we would have wished, yet the result is a bigger crop of fruit than I can ever remember seeing.  A summer of visitors, whose visits, luckily for them, coincided with the best of our weather.  A summer of quiet, rainy days at home with just the two of us, interspersed with strenuous bursts of activity in the garden when the weather allowed.

A summer of catching up with friends whom we only see here, of weekly meetings of the local craft group, where I’ve done a lot of chatting and even a fair amount of knitting. A summer of watching our litter of feral kittens grow and become more adventurous and self-reliant and gradually a little less wary of us. A summer in Normandy, like and yet unlike the ones which have preceded it.

And now, like the swallows, we are preparing to depart, though in our case we’ll be heading north, not south. Tomorrow, before the rain returns later in the week, we’ll be picking apples to take home with us, apples which will see us through the winter. Then will come the packing and the goodbyes and the tugging up of the little roots which we always manage to put down during each of our summers here. This time next week we will be back in Wales, sorry to leave Normandy, yet glad to be home again for a while, before setting off on the next episode in our peripatetic retirement. 

Gosh – August already!

Help, where has July gone? Life has been so busy lately, what with gardening (between the downpours) visitors, our local fête communale last weekend (for which the sun shone!!) and now having Grandson#3 to stay for a week all by himself for the first time, that time for blogging, or even just reading my favourite blogs, is practically non-existent. So while he is happily chortling at Wallace and Gromit with DH, here is a quick sign of life from the Transit household and a promise to catch up with you all as soon as time permits.

For the cat-lovers out there I’m happy to be able to report that all four kittens are well and growing rapidly, though we very rarely see them all together and sometimes don’t see any of them for days. We were extremely surprised and relieved when the tortoiseshell kitten reappeared after so long. She has turned into a real beauty, with striking, black-rimmed eyes reminiscent of a silent film star at her most sultry (eat your heart out, Theda Bara…) but, like her siblings, is still ready to turn tail and hide if we come too near.

For art-lovers I have other news, and that is that we now have two lovely small watercolour paintings of our French house and the kittens’ woodshed, thanks to my next-to-youngest sister, who came with her husband on a visit over the fête weekend. On their last afternoon she sat out in the garden with her paints to capture her vision of them, which I’d like to share with you. So, until next time, here is our small corner of Normandy as seen through the eye of an artist.  If you look carefully, you may even see the kittens. J