Hidden Gardens of Prague's Mala Strana

Behind every front cover, there’s an inside, a story to be told, long and wordy and often quite boring. Yawn. Who wants to read books anymore anyway when we’ve got Avengers movies and Game of Thrones? The idea though extends to buildings too, where there’s a front, there’s a back. Depending on the country, the front side is usually the nicely held up representation of what’s inside. People want to say, “Look, whoever lives here lives well, lives nice, lives proper.” So they spend all of their money making up a beautiful façade, but then run out of money for the interior. Maybe they’ll get to it later.

Then again, I’ve been in countries where they don’t give a single haypenny worth’s of care about the façade, and they only care about the interior. Sometimes just the façade of the interior. There are so many metaphors that can fly around this that one should consider a fly swatter. Just watch your heads folks.

entering a "hidden garden"

All that to say, over the weekend there was an interestingly themed “festival” of sorts. Most people know the much more famous sister festival of this one called “Open House Prague”, when all these old Baroque beauties open their doors and let you look up their skirts (indeed, most cities have some sort of variation on the theme). On this not-quite-the-same weekend was Malostransky dvorky, the festival that you shouldn’t confused with Prague Dvorak Festival, which comes from the same roots. That is, Dvorak comes from the word for courtyard. Or porter, actually. A porter was the guy who tends the courtyard and answers the front door and tells the residents if they have a guest. You see, back in the day before the doorbell and cell phone were invented, each apartment complex had their own non-composing dvorak to act as the doorbell. “Hello, I’m here for Svarak,” you might say. Then it was his job to look you over, make sure you were a decent fellow, and then yell up the courtyard, “Svarak!” Then a random neighbor would yell, “Shut up! Everyone wants svarak these days!” True story.

"The svarak comes from up there?!"

So the festival this last weekend saw many buildings in one of the oldest quarters of the city, Mala Strana, open their courtyards to the public. Usually there was some sort of bizarre art display, like one with a bunch of bricks playing sounds from busy places. Another was pretty straight forward, with large paintings for sale.

She's checking on the Internet to see if art makes sense there

art for sale... or not... I don't know...

I went through about half of the courtyards. Some were small and unimpressive, maybe in bad condition even. Others were in a cute rustic condition, where I could imagine happily spending hours drinking coffee and writing, while gazing off into the dark recesses hidden by the thick hanging ivy. The last courtyard I saw was a real masterpiece, one perfect for endless garden parties. The place had their own miniature baroque garden with a fountain, and half a dozen busts and sculptures.

many places featured galleries of sorts

and more galleries

I could imagine a garden party here

fanny packs are in

Vrtba Garden

All of these courtyards really left me for an appetite for more gardens. On my way out, I passed the completely hidden but for a small sign “Vrtbovska zahrada” leading into yet another courtyard. I shrugged and decided to go on in. My day of courtyard wandering had been fully established. But I really wasn’t prepared for what came.

the entry garden house ceiling of Vrtba

cool party house

The entry into the garden was in the courtyard. I went in, and there they were charging 69 crowns, or three dollars. That seemed a lot to me. I mean, that’s like two beers in Prague! So expensive! But really, it’s not that much, so I paid the money and went in. That little pretend baroque courtyard I saw was just a teaser for this. The Vrtbovska zahrada (or Vrtba Garden, in English) was the real deal.

the first terrace

Fantastic gardens were all the rage back in the 1700s, so every nobleman who was anyone had to build a bigger and better one than the next. This gardening boom included the massive gardens just underneath the castle, along with Wallenstein (which I’ll get to next) and Vrtba.

looking down on the first terrace

Vrtba is a Baroque terraced garden built on a closed off area of Petrin Hill, on a spot where you don’t even realize you’re on Petrin Hill. It was created by the Count of Vrtba, Jan Josef, to go along with his newly renovated palace. The palace isn’t accessible today, though the garden was renovated in the 90s and the garden house (along with its large Greek murals) were cleaned up and opened in 1998.

a window from the palace

You enter from the bottom of the four terraces, first to a large courtyard with trimmed hedges and a bird cage. The bird cage is there to give it the real nice touch of creating a constant bird song, as though you’re in the nature or somewhere apart from the city.

one of many statues on the second and third terraces

The second terrace has more hedgework, another little garden house, and a hidden little area with a fountain. The third terrace is mostly open grass with a veranda walk complete with statues that seem to be in some sort of constant despair. Then the final terrace is really just a viewing deck, with a view of the Castle and the rest of Prague. Before I thought the Clementinum was the best viewing place in Prague, but this one might even be better for the crown, mainly just for the pristine surroundings and birdsong.

a couple enjoying the view

a couple not noticing the view

Valdstejnsky Zahrada

Now after this Baroque masterpiece, I wanted to quickly revisit a garden that had long been one of my favorites in Prague to see if it still stood up. I walked out of the Vrtba Garden and to the other side of Mala Strana, where I met my wife and we took a stroll to Wallenstein (pronounced Vallen-schtein and in Czech spelled Valdstejnsky with a very similar pronunciation though somehow dropping a syllable and gaining a d). We entered through the Senate courtyard (the Senate building is the Wallenstein Palace), but you can also gain entry from next to the Malostranske metro exit or there’s another gate along Letenska street.

entering Wallenstein Garden

The Wallenstein Palace originally served as the palace for Albrecht Wenzel Eusebius von Wallenstein, Imperial Count Palatinate Generalissimo of the Holy Roman Empire, who provided the Empire with an army that could field up to about 100,000 men at a given time and probably annoyed very many porters in the day with a name and title like that. He served during the Thirty Years War under the Emperor Ferdinand II, and was responsible for stopping the Swedish Protestant armies by defeating and killing their king, Gustavus Adolphus. But the Emperor began to fear that Wallenstein was getting a little too strong, so he dismissed him. During this time, Albrecht thought about maybe joining the Protestants due to his enormous insult by the Emperor, but was assassinated by the Irish general, Walter Devereux, by the Emperor’s orders/permission, foreseeing how much the general was insulted. Now that's insult to injury, my friends.

Devereux assassinating Wallenstein

The palace was built in 1623 but the resident only got to live there for one year before he got offed in 1634, as he was off campaigning most of that time. Over 20 houses were razed to make room for the palace and its grounds. It stayed in the Wallenstein family until the Communists took over Czechoslovakia, and then like most of the grand palaces from the feudal days, it was nationalized. Some turned into museums, others to book depositories, and like this one, some turned into government offices. Wallenstein Palace is now the home of the Senate of the Czech Republic.

not a bad spot for speeches and press conferences

Albrecht had done a lot of traveling in Italy and fell in love with that country, so wanted as many Italian elements as possible, which included the Baroque palace, its murals and columned veranda, a riding school, a grotto, and a massive Baroque garden. He wanted the castle to be even prettier than the Imperial Castle on the hill overhead, which was, in hindsight, probably a bad decision. Hindsight is of course, 20/20, at least as long as you're alive to use that vision.

plenty of peacocks roaming around

The gardens have dozens of statues, a strange “grotto”, with the concrete designed to look like natural stone and includes dozens of little hidden statues in the little caverns of the stones. Then there’s also a massive pond, a fountain, and inexplicably, a half-dozen peacocks just roaming around. It’s free entry but closed during the winter.

who doesn't love a fake grotto?

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#malastrana #nature #museums #festivals #parks #Prague

The Beercentration Camp of the Prague Beer Festival

“I’m not sure I like this element,” my friend Tom said, chomping into his gigantic, onion-covered sausage, grease dripping down his chin and onto his napkin. “They’re fellow British people. I know these people. Something bad is going to happen.” He took another sip of his beer to wash the onion-sausage mix down.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean, look at these people,” he nodded towards those people. “They’re a bad element. I’m not really comfortable here.”

“Maybe after a few more beers,” I said.

“No, it will be even worse.”

We were at the Prague Beer Festival, sitting outside at a picnic table, soaking up the sun while sipping on the suds. “I think I know what you mean, actually,” I said. I looked at the crowd again. Mostly they were fat, shirtless Englishmen, their own fingers as big as the sausages Tom was eating. They were talking loudly, shouting across the tent, they looked like they belonged more at a football game than anywhere else.

probably the best place to eat there

I remember the Prague Beer Festival being better than this last year. It felt more organized. This time, we came to the gate and they gave us a card. On the card the different vendors would write down the price of the beer or food that you had ordered, and then you had to pay the sum upon leaving the festival. “What if you lose this card?”

“Then you’ve got to pay 5001 crowns,” the clerk said. That’s something like 200 dollars.

“I just don’t like it,” Tom went on in between bites of his sausage. “And not only this element, but also this card, this sword of Damocles hanging over my head.”

“Just don’t lose the card,” I said. “Then you’ll owe nothing more than what you ordered. The thing is, it’s the same policy at Czech restaurants, isn’t it? They write down your order on a piece of paper, and then you have to pay for it.”

“I didn’t know there was a penalty for losing it though,” he said.

“Well, now you do. And I guess you won’t manage that sword of Damocles either,” I said.

The beers were good, if not expensive. There were some 120 beers offered on tap throughout the tents. There was one stand that served only IPAs, all sorts of IPAs including a fruit IPA. I don’t think I’ve ever had a fruit IPA. My favorite was the Chotmouc Lezak, a very thick and heady beer.

The festival is in general a great opportunity to buy all the Czech beers you wouldn’t otherwise be able to try in regular restaurants. But my friend was right, it did seem to attract many British hooligan types.

“For being one of the most xenophobic countries in the EU,” I said, “I mean, for essentially pulling out of the EU because of your fear of foreigners, the UK pumps out the most degenerate lot of tourists I’ve ever set my eyes on. I’ve never had a problem with a Muslim tourist, but man, these British tourists rove around the city, vomit, shout, and get into fights all the time. Do they act this way back home?”

Tom shrugged.

I guess they did. What a sad lot. Is this what technology and civilization does to a people? Is it boredom? Comfort? There should be a study on it. Maybe I’ll write a doctoral proposal to Oxford and see if they’ll accept my candidacy.

the beercentration camp

Back to the festival. It was a strange setup too, a real beercentration camp. You enter into the tent complex, which is like a big O of tents, with only the center of the circle open to the air. That meant the air tended to be stale, it sits around and heats up. It was clearly so they could easily control entry and exit from the festival, but it didn’t make for the most comfortable or attractive setup. Just white tarp everywhere, and wooden tables. And the tents weren’t big enough to give you the open Oktoberfest feel, they were only each enough room for maybe 8 picnic tables each.

It’s only a few dollars to get in though, and you can try a wide variety of beers, and the food vendors are fantastic. Your ticket is good for the entire festival, which is almost the duration of the month. That means I’ll most definitely go back anyway, regardless of the element.

But well, after a few beers, we went off to the nearby Letna Park beergarden for some of the typical, still tasty cheap stuff.

enjoying the view

beer, fresh air, and a view, much better

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#Prague #festivals #rantsandraves

The Curious Japanese Garden South of Prague

The huge gold fish swam in the pond before us. It was teeming with them, the fish climbing over each other to get a breath of air, or to get out of the water, or who knows what they were after.

“If the fish jump up the little waterfall,” my friend said, “And through the gate, then they’ll become huge dragons." She was translating for us. Explaining the myth of the pond was an old Czech lady, the owner of the house slash Japanese garden.

"Do the fish know that?" I asked.

My friend didn’t really understand my question, but she translated it anyway.

“No,” the lady replied, also feeling my question was a bit strange.

“Then how would they know to jump up the waterfall? Why would they ever try it? I think if I were one of those fish, I’d appreciate that knowledge, even if it’s quite impossible to jump up the waterfall. At least there’s something to live for,” I said to myself.

the goldfish pond and the magic gate the left

It was a beautiful place, a weird place. My friend lived out in the village of Olesko, just south of Prague. Olesko is a beautiful village that follows a ridge overlooking the Vltava river. The village is mostly just big summer houses for Praguers, scattered through a thick forest. The summer house is an important thing throughout European culture, a way to get out and get a breath of fresh air, away from the crowded city.

the view from a beer drinking ridge

Just down the dirt road from her forest home was a Japanese Garden. Some time ago, two quite rich Czechs moved there, built a mansion, and developed a healthy obsession with bonsai. The obsession would turn into a full blown Japanese garden, which became something of their retirement job, where they’d take care of the garden and then charge entry for tourists, and give them a tour of what a traditional garden in Japan might look like (I say might as I have no idea if it’s accurate, our Japanese friend who was with us said it was at least).

When we got there, there was some confusion. We were waiting outside the fence in the road. Our friend pressed on the buzzer and had a short talk. Nothing really came from it. She had called them earlier and told them we were coming, and now we were told to wait in the road. Some people came out so we walked in and waited inside, out of the dust, and feeling with a little bit more meaning and purpose. There was a very long driveway, lined with little bonsai trees on either side. There were two large houses, and to the left a Japanese style gate through which I supposed was the garden. There were a lot of people milling around, and clearly this was some sort of strangely popular thing for Czechs to do on the weekend.

the entrance of the gate

Then an angry old man approached us. This was starting to play out like a Japanese manga. “What are you doing here? Why are you here?” he was growling.

Our Czech friend replied, “We made a reservation, so we’re waiting for the tour.”

After the brief interview, I asked, “Do you know that guy?”

“Yeah, he’s our neighbor,” she said. “I told him we were coming, that we were here to take the tour. I don’t know what his problem is.”

It certainly didn’t seem like he knew her. I guess that's what bonsai does to someone.

Then a friendly old lady came up to us, all smiles and cheer. She started us on our tour, starting first at the Japanese gate. They close it every night because evil spirits would come in otherwise. Then upon entry through the gate, we had to follow the stone path going clockwise. Something again about evil spirits. The big dog that accompanied her didn’t seem to care much about evil spirits though, as he trotted around and plopped down wherever he had pleased.

no evil spirits be gettin into there!

one of many statues that adorned the garden

We came to an upper pond, which had a small stream run off from it that went to a waterfall and then down to the lower pond full of goldfish. Down there were a few shelves along the house wall, with some random but expensive looking souvenirs from Japan.

the upper pond

souvenirs and more souvenirs

When the tour was over, I was left a bit weirded out. I mean, the gardening was probably not that much more spectacular than many of the private yards that I’ve seen back in the States at richer homes, but I couldn’t imagine those people giving tours of their landscaping to people for a couple of dollars.

leading a tour

Was it worth a few dollars? I guess so. That’s all it cost. And it seems they’re at least paying for the upkeep of the garden with all the tours they were giving. Just very strange. One day I’m going to turn a room of my house into a magnet museum, so I can charge people entry to see all my magnets from all over the world. The Japanese garden is on Vltavksa 371 in Brezova-Olesko. Call Vaclav Wiesner at 602 315 658 or email him at tanukiwiesner@gmail.com. They're also on Facebook. Reservations required and they don't speak English.

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#Prague #parks #nature #museums