Doorways, Alleys, Windows...

When I think of "doorways, alleys, windows" in Chicago (or Vancouver, or New York), the kinds of things that pop into my head aren't usually beautiful. Doorways, alleys, and windows in these cities are to my mind usually interesting, sometimes dirty, occasionally upsetting. The most fascinating doors, alleys, and windows seem to hint at the seamy netherworld lurking behind or among glitzy exteriors and expensive storefronts. In Vancouver's downtown area, grotesque wealth and grotesque poverty go head-to-head daily, with dolled-up suburbanite pre-teens and beaten-down panhandlers carving out bits of the same space on Granville Street. Doorways in Chicago have double-doors, windows are barred or boarded up, alleys are to be avoided.

Prague, of course, has its very own seedy side, which I will write about at some point, but the city centre (the Old Town, New Town, Lesser Side and Castle Hill) is pristine, (uncomfortably?) sanitized --- and absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. It is all polished up for the tourist crowds, and the only locals who hang out there seem to be those of 1) the well-heeled variety, or 2) the variety that is becoming well-heeled through the sale of any number of knick-knacks and must-have souvenirs (boomerangs emblazoned with "Praha," "My dad went to Prague and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt" t shirts, Jaromir Jagr hockey jerseys for the Canadians...). One sees the occasional person begging, but they all mysteriously disappear when the police come through. Garbage is non-existent, save for the occasional Starbucks Venti-size paper cup with plastic lid resting on a window ledge or perched precariously in a saint's hand on Charles Bridge.

The absence of anything but the tidy and photogenic --- and the Caucasian --- is somewhat disconcerting, especially in a region which is known for its problematic relationship underprivileged minorities such as the Roma. But, that is a topic for another post.

The absence of anything but the tidy and photogenic, disconcerting though it may be, makes for magical views --- down alleys, through doorways, through windows. If Vancouver's alleys offer a reminder of present-day challenges, Prague's give us a glimpse into a beautiful past. Of course, this past probably never existed. I have been reading descriptions of 17th-century Prague, for instance, and they refer to one church by the riverbank as St John by the rubbish heap. Travelers from England and Germany would often comment on the stench of Prague; one writer said it was no wonder the Turks didn't attack Prague -- they didn't want it, because it stunk so bad.

Anyway, this post is actually about some of the windows, alleys, and doorways that make Old Prague so beautiful today.

This is what the Emperor would see from Wladislaw Hall in Prague Castle...The view has changed gradually over the centuries, but not appreciably since the 19th century. Oh, except now there are cars. And trams. And a subway that careens away under the city.





This is what a guard, shivering in the cold on Castle Hill somewhere outside Wladislaw Hall (while the Emperor was all toasty inside), would see.









This is what Mozart, tickled by the affection Prague's inhabitants had for Don Giovanni, saw when he walked out of the front door of his apartment building and turned right.






This is the first thing you see when you enter the Old Town - the Jesuit Church of the Holy Saviour (S Salvator).










Also in the Old Town, this is an alley next to the Church of Mary Tyn - the centre of the Hussite religion until its supression in the 17th century.










Sometimes, there are stairways that just seem to lead to nowhere.











Sometimes, advertising gets the better of even the loveliest of doorways, such as this one, leading into a Franciscan monastery in the New Town.










And, my personal favourite, one of the more monumental of the many monumental sculptures lining Charles Bridge. I'm not quite sure which saint this sculpture honours, but the scene down below is fantastic. On the left, there's a well-fed Exotic Other (probably Turkish, perhaps Persian), leaning comfortably on a prison-like edifice (barred windows, Prague-style, I suppose). On the right-hand side there's a very curious dog peering in at the tormented sinners inside. I suppose both the dog and the Turk/Persian were originally supposed to be symbols of ferocious things guarding the prison, but the sculptor seems to have carved them with affection. They seem much more appealing than the saints, who seem to be an awfully pious lot. Wait, shouldn't the Turk as an Evil Heathen be inside the prison as well? I'm confused.

I'm beginning to think the sculptor had a Cocomutt...