Kolín and Kutná Hora

I was the last of the forty students to enter the Kolín’s cathedral. I had been preoccupied with taking a photo of the surrounding area. I switched lenses as the small Czech woman closed the door behind me.

To the left of the group was a man taking pictures like there was no tomorrow. The woman hobbled over to him and sternly said something in Czech. The two of them exited the monastery. My lens cap was removed before the door had finished closing. Aware of the possibility of security cameras, I still used a great deal of discretion: I shot from my hip and prayed that the photos would turn out. I saw the woman’s shadow appear on the door and a rush of adrenaline carried me back to the rest of the group. I gave a fellow photographer the ‘SHE’S COMING!’ look and slowed, in step with the rest of the group.

The realization that she had just escorted a photo-taker out of the cathedral finally hit me. I envisioned a Godfather-like scene: the woman watching the man delete his photos. It was absurd, but just to be safe, I ejected my memory card and slipped it into my pocket.

The cathedral was gorgeous. Its defining feature was its stained glass. During World War II, American bombers had decimated a nearby Nazi ore refinery, shattering the cathedral’s windows as an unfortunate consequence. I wonder what the Czechs thought of this… Would they feel a swell of anger at more outsiders bombing their beautiful country? Or would have been overjoyed at the annihilation of a factory supplying their wicked occupiers? I guessed that it was the latter, and my attention returned to the cathedral.

The windows had been replaced with those created by modern artists. Several of the windows faded from deep blue to red to yellow, casting a sweep of color over the columns and pews.

Kolín’s ancient Jewish Cemetery was moderately interesting. I wished I were able to read the ancient Hebrew inscriptions. Aching to be able to read was not a new sensation.

The highlight of Kutná Hora was the sinister Sedlec Ossuary. The Ossuary was a smallish building constructed to house the remains of the dead during the plague. The Sedlec Ossuary is the most gruesome building I will ever see. I descended the steps to find myself face-to-face with an enormous chandelier, made completely of human bones. Strands of skulls garnished the walls like macabre popcorn strings on a Christmas tree.

Four colossal mountains of organized bones sat in each corner of the Ossuary. There were literally thousands of skeletons.

One gate bore a bone-made crest of the sponsoring family, complete with a bird skeleton pecking at a Turk’s eye socket.

I leaned over one skull and noticed a cobweb stretching to the candle-holder in front of its chipped teeth.

The ossuary carried a message…

“What you are, we were. What we are, you will become.”