Charles Bridge

It had been a long morning in intensive Czech 101. The class had been antsy, and I concluded that none of the students had ever held fulltime, eight-hours-per-day jobs. To escape everything and enjoy the weather, I began walking in the direction of Charles Bridge via Old Town. This puts me in the category of “introvert,” I suppose—relaxing by myself instead of relaxing with others.

It was a warm day out by my newfound standards of hot and cold: the closer it gets to freezing, the warmer it is. Once the temperature is above 20°F, it’s classified as “warm.”

I overshot the bridge and landed myself someplace in Vyšehrad. I followed the sun to the river and walked along the boardwalk back towards my original destination. The buildings on the other side of the street morphed from drab housing into beautiful housing into shops. When they turned to shops I knew I was headed for a tourist trap.

Most shops in Prague target the locals. Signs and ads are generally in Czech and the goods themselves are items anyone might buy. These shops had a distinctly different flavor. The signs were in English, and postcard racks guarded the doors.

I reached into my pocket and flipped my mp3 player to “Secret Garden.” Celtic music with a mystical quality flooded my eardrums as I finally approached the bridge. The music washed away the multitudes of tourists and peddlers. All that remained were me and the timeless bridge.


The 14th century bridge spanned the Vltava before Columbus was even born. And I could tell. It was steadfast, like a piece of the landscape. Its walls were bordered by life-sized statues of great saints. Each statue had a presence. I had no insight into the lives of the carved figures, but I could feel that their lives had been much more remarkable than my own.

Near the end of the bridge I passed an easel of black and white photographs* and a beggar sprawled on the cobblestone with his hands cupped. He seemed to be praying to passersby… ‘you, too, can be as great as these saints.’ I walked past him to the tram stop wondering what the saints would have done had they been in my place. It is something I continue to think about.

*Will be referred to in a future blog entry