There is a deathly dearth of Sephoras that people don’t warn you about. It’s like the opposite of a plague but twice as ugly. On the tram from my Airbnb to the Old Town Square, while I am diligently reading each tram stop in true Rain Man fashion, I see the familiar white and black stripes and gasp. This is the same reaction other people might people have when they see the Charles Bridge or the Castle or whatever. The Sephora was a good omen, because almost immediately afterwards, I found the trdelnik:
Oh boy. This is something new: a warm thin doughnut dough rolled in cinnamon and filled with soft serve ice cream. You cold also fill it with strudel filling and whipped cream or any combination of many things. Though this resulted in endless crumbs (still finding them) and a sticky everything, good god it was worth it.Eating it was like living art.
After I plowed that down and went into a sugar coma, I found the bus tour. Yes! This bus had A/C (sort of)!
We saw some sights and stopped at some points to take ho hum pictures like this one.
We drove by the Dancing Building, which is modeled after Fred and Ginger. Guess which is whom.
We also passed the church of my favorite saint, Mr. Ignatius.
It was around this point that our tour guide let on that the president of the Czech republic has a reputation for speaking publicly while intoxicated and that there is a fun internet game that provides a quote and the player must decide whether it originated with the Czech president or our Mr. Trump. Everyone laughed and then opened a vein and then threw themselves off the Charles Bridge.
I did a bit of walking around and a lot of city streets. A lot of buildings are adorned by fancy molding or sculptures or busts or reliefs like this craziness:
I don’t know why. I came across a street market and bought a cheap fan for the impending death by heatwave scheduled to start tomorrow.
I walked across a bridge and took pictures and took pictures for other people, after which I was sure to leave before they were able to figure out that I could see nothing through anyone’s display screen and hoped for the best like a true artist.
Across the bridge and through the park I found the John Lennon Memorial Wall. It has even more graffiti than the East Side Gallery of the Berlin Wall, but this one didn’t seem as disrespectful. Maybe because there was a barefoot musician taking requests with his guitar. Can you imagine how many times he must have to sing certain songs? I requested something by The Who, but I was informed I’d have to provide my own lyrics. Serves me right probably.
I learned this pose from FL.
From the JL wall I made my way to the Charles Bridge, a pedestrian-only tourist magnet. There are many statues along the bridge, and it is apparently customary to take a picture of every. single. one. I have to say by this time my hands were tired and decided on two statues.
This first one is probably a giant saint holding killed Jesus’ freshly dead body, still attached to the crucifix. This wins for weirdest Jesus of the day. Where was this giant when the deaths were going down? Fe fi fo gtfo, boom, Jesus saved. The bible is so crazy this way.
Notice the lighter areas on the two lower panels. People kept coming up and petting these areas, which may explain their color–I don’t know and I’m afraid to Google it. I petted the dog on the left as it seemed more… seemly.
The other statue on the bridge that made the cut is this almost autobiographical piece.
Friends: Please hang out with us! You are so fun and smart and hilarious! Don’t leave yet! We love you the best! Please!
Me: Sorry I have three books, and I have to get my beard waxed, bai. (Not a joke, AL).
If you thought there were to be no more pictures of statues, you were mistaken, because this crazy thing is the first thing you see when you get off the bridge.
I feel like he’s inviting me to reenact with him that pivotal chalice scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
One good thing about Prague that I didn’t know is that if bridges and skylines and sculptures don’t do it for you, you can always just make your own fun.
The return walk to the tram was a bit meandering after I realized the stop I used this morning does not have a stop for the reverse direction, so I lingered to observe the sun and river while trying to forget that taking a taxi in Prague isn’t usually the best alternative to trams.
And of course I ran into this gentleman.
Alien? Demon? Doppelganger?
Don’t judge. This is what happens when I don’t have regular access to a Sephora.
I am reading Daisy Miller and Princesses Behaving Badly by Linda Rodriguez McRobbie.
paralyzedbynotcaring 