May Flowers on Vysenske Kopce

I had been meaning to visit the Vysenske (Vyšenské) Kopce Nature Reserve, to be found just to the north of Cesky Krumlov below the Klet Mountain for several years. I had even bought a book about it in the Information Centre. But it wasn't until yesterday that I actually made it. And how I kicked myself about missing out on this lovely oasis for all those months.


I took the little train to Cesky Krumlov, then I walked up the road that leads to Vysny, and at the crossroads I followed the signs to the Headquarters of the Blansky Les Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, outside of which was a large board about the reserve and the signposted walk that takes you through it. The couple of hours that followed were ones of sheer delight. The sun shone, the views were fantastic and the may flowers were out in profusion.


The Nature Reserve encloses a number of very different habitats - conditioned partly by the fact that it sits on a change in the geology and so has plants suited to limestone, granite, and loam in a relatively small area. The walk takes you through all these areas and has information boards at key points to help you identify what you are seeing. For the wildflower lover, such as yours truly, there is even an area at the beginning with the flowers in a bed labelled to show you what to look for.


So what flowers did I find? Well too many to detail here - the anemone at the top of this post is rare in the Czech Republic and is not seen in the UK and yet in the reserve you can see crowds of them waving their white heads on tall stems in the grassland and at the wood's edge. The spring pea also is not to be found in England and has as you can see the most vibrant colours. There were bushes covered with blossom - bird cherry, wild privet, hawthorn and the wild berberis (shown above) - and which so hummed and vibrated with bees collecting nectar that they sounded like small electric substations. There was so much more to see and hear.

I shall return to Vysenske Kopce in the summer and blog again about the summer flowers. Suffice it to say that if you visit Cesky Krumlov, do make the trip here and enjoy this area's natural treasures as well as its historical ones.

For more Czech flowers in May visit my next post

And for August flowers

Sunset at Lake Lipno

This evening I dragged my sisters away from supper to chase the sunset at Lake Lipno. Lipno sunsets are one of my great pleasures in the Czech Republic – they are always in some way different but have yet to disappoint.

There are two spots where I watch the sunset and I took my sisters to enjoy the view from both. The first is near the ferry dock at Horni Plana, which is where this photo was taken. The second is from the headland near Cerna v Posumavi where you can view of the lake in both directions – there are information boards which tell you about the views.

The lake at first burned with the setting sun's rays, then turned a darker orange and red, then to steel and finally a deep slate grey. A silence fell on the water. The shadows lengthened and deepened until all became dark, the fishermen packed up their rods, and we returned to the car and went home. The light show was over.

Some Czech animals and a present.

The other evening my sisters and I were barbequing some sausages over an open fire in the warm May evening air, when we realised we were being scrutinised. From the dandelions in the orchard a small farm cat was watching us and the sausages. The little cat was a lovely combination of white, ginger and black with only its head to be seen above the leaves. My sister made the usual cat attraction noises but nothing happened. We therefore ignored it, and slowly it came nearer drawn by the smell. Eventually its confidence raised it was rubbing its head against the table legs and even tried to jump up on my lap. My Czech friend arrived and being a cat owner and lover was soon making a fuss of the little one, including feeding it some leftover sausage pieces, which were pounced on and devoured – better than the cat's usual fare to to be sure.

In the morning at breakfast we discovered there was a present lying for us on the patio – a slow worm neatly bitten in two. The orchard is full of wildlife, a reason for the presence of a hunting cat in the first place. The ground is pockmarked with the holes of voles and mice, and the grass is also the haunt of their hunters – cats, grass snakes and adders. The orchard backs on to farmland and a wooded hillside and as I have said in a previous post it is visited by deer, here to scrump the fruit. Another animal in these parts is the beech marten which I have yet to see alive – I have seen several as roadkill – and which I look forward to meeting, although I am told they are a menace as they will chew through cables. The slow worm is another hunter in the grass and hibernates in the wood piles and heaps of grass cuttings. But this one thanks to our furry friend will hunt no more.

Czech Folk Dance

The sisters and I decided to go to Ceske Budejovice yesterday. The main purpose of the visit was to look for presents for my nieces, brother-in-law and parents, and as I have said in a previous post I prefer Ceske Budejovice for shopping to its more touristy neighbour Cesky Krumlov. Another purpose was to share with my sisters some of the architectural discoveries I have made in Budejovice. This is a town that bears exploration, it can offer everything from medieval to art deco and nearly everything in between - more perhaps of that in another blog.


Towards the end of our visit I took my guests to the Church of the Sacrifice of Our Lady. Outside on the square all was activity - market stalls were being erected, people scurried around with boxes of craft goods for sale. In front of the church a large stage was in the process of rising, whilst in front of it men were setting up trestle tables and benches. Interested to see what was going on, we sat down at a table of the pizzeria on the Square and watched, whilst very slowly eating our lunch and drinking several drinks. After a short while the square started to fill with children dressed in traditional dress, doting mothers taking snapshots and dance teachers also in costume. It was becoming apparent that we had stumbled into a folk dance festival.


More and more dancers arrived. Some were adult teams, and as would be the case with any British morris side they set about buying beers from the Budwar tent. There were men in black, with black boots and ornately worked leather belts and older women in their thick gathered skirts. Musicians arrived with a range of traditional instruments, some beautifully carved. Eventually after much faffing around with the sound system and the children becoming bored and disappearing off, the dance teachers gathered their teams and processed in to the square. A master of ceremonies announced the first troupe from his clipboard - a group of small children sidled on to the stage - and the festival began in earnest.

I was interested to see the different dance forms - most of which seemed pretty tame to me after my interest in the pagan roots of English morris (for more on this do visit the Independent's excellent article on the subject ) But equally this was not the rather embarrassing folkdance that I learnt at school - the guy with the Mohican haircut showed no self consciousness - there was a degree of national pride in it. There seemed to be several influences at play in the dance and music. One I assumed to be a more lyrical Czech one, and another more in the German Austrian oompah style, (it even had calf slapping.) But then what was this? Here was something I recognised - a hobby horse was working its way through the crowds. This was part of the English tradition or is it that Celtic tradition that both the Czechs and Brits lay claim to?

We spent most of the afternoon watching the dance and browsing the craft stalls for unusual presents. We seemed to be the only foreigners there - this festival was for the locals and not sited where tourists would find it. The benches were full of beer-drinking Czechs clapping enthusiastically, children ran around in the sunshine and proud grandparents beamed.

Sisters

My two sisters are staying with me in my Czech home. For one of them this is her first time in the Czech Republic, indeed her first time on continental Europe. When asked by my Czech friend what she thought of Cesky Krumlov her comment was typical; "Mmmm, well, it's different. It's not like a holiday in England."

Indeed it is different - she is constantly commenting on the driving (including when I am negotiating a winding road with Czech logging lorries bearing down on me). She comments on the food, which she is gamely trying and liking some of it (such as honey cake) and pulling wonderful faces at others (pickled fish did not go down well). She comments on the houses and the Czech approach to architecture - they have windows like cuckoo clocks apparently. It is very interesting to see this country through the eyes of someone whose world has been so limited.

My other sister has been here twice before, each time with her family. So this time she has taken advantage of their absence to go on walks in the country. I love this, I love exploring the countryside with someone who like me is prone to stopping abruptly when she sees an unusual flower or a great view. At such a point all three of us will produce our cameras and take photos of what excites us. These photos have several uses - I can use them to identify the flower from my book of European flowers back at the house, the sisters have something to show their families and I have some photos to use in this blog some time. In fact I feel a series of posts about Czech flora and fauna coming on. Also coming is more on my sisters' visit.

Mystery car

I came across the old car mouldering in a timber yard on the edge of Horni Plana. It looked so neglected, so forlorn and yet you could see that it once had been a fine car. I showed this photo to my husband - who as a boy had swallowed the Observer Book of Automobiles whole and usually can still tell the make of car from a distance. At first he thought it was a Citroen, but then thought better and suggested it was a 1930's Tatra.

I appeal to anyone who knows to let us know one way or another. But, as this is a blog about the Czech Republic, the former Czechoslovakia and all things Czech, I shall assume it is a Tatra - as it allows me to blog about this fascinating car manufacturer. Its story is in some ways a mirror of the history of the Czech people. In the first part of the last century the Czechs were at the forefront of design and engineering. The Tatra is the world's third oldest car manufacturer and its car design and engineering were ahead of their time. The T77 launched in 1934 was the first production aerodynamic car with its dorsal rear fin and rear-mounted engine. It was to be very influential - Ferdinand Porsche used some of its design features in the more famous Volkswagen Beetle.

As with the wider history of the Czech Republic, this flowering of innovation came to an end under the German occupation. Whilst German officers enjoyed the car's speed, the company's
activity was restricted and its designs plundered in favour of German car companies. After the war the company was nationalised under the communists. Even under the communists the Czech company still managed to produce some fine cars; these were not for the proletariat but for the senior officials and Party elite. More recently the company has abandoned car production and focused exclusively on lorries. Despite all the problems of its past, Tatra has survived and is being rebuilt - rather like the country that spawned it.

Czechness

I am in England. And it is wonderful here, but I feel the Czech Republic beginning to creep into my thoughts. Perhaps it is because I know I will going back on Tuesday and I am getting ready. But I doubt it. I rather think of Czecho as ringworm. It gets under my skin and keeps spreading, just like the alien in that Doctor Who episode which I watched from behind my parent's sofa. If that sounds unfair (and it is) of all the similes I could use for Czecho I think a fungus is most appropriate.

How does it get under my skin? Well I get the urge to read fairy stories and poetry and I dream about the house. I get the urge to walk in woods, to sniff the air and smell pine resin, leaf loam and that mushroomy smell. And so yesterday I went up into the woods and walked. In the morning I was British enjoying the May sunshine and the sea of bluebells, in late afternoon I returned together with basket. This I filled with St George's mushrooms, which were nearly as abundant as the bluebells and seemed to like the same conditions. Now, in Czecho I doubt I would ever go out in mushroom season (which is after all most of the year) without a basket and mushroom knife. I will be back to get my fix of Czechness very soon.

Tourist Information

In a previous blog I recommended that visitors to Cesky Krumlov avoid the Unios Information Centre in the castle and go instead to the town information centre on the Town Square. As regular readers of this blog will be aware I am concerned about the visitor management and the development of sustainable tourism in this lovely town and I would be loathe to suggest that the Town Square Information Centre is doing a brilliant job, it isn't.

My much loved and much missed Aunt Zoe used to run the tourist information centre in the small Cotswold town where we all lived. She like all her team were volunteers, who gave freely of their time to share with visitors the joys of the place and location. They were committed to promoting the town and supporting the local economy. The small information centre was packed with rack upon rack of leaflets about where to stay, where to eat, what to visit and do. A tourist visiting the centre would walk out of it with the itinerary for their visit (be it for a weekend or a fortnight) filled. The team behind the desk were knowledgeable about the area and were generally able to answer any question, and if on the rare occasion they couldn't they would get on the phone and find the answer.

Contrast this minor British tourist information centre with the ones you find here in the Czech Republic. You are hard pressed to find more than a couple of leaflets of relevance in the Cesky Krumlov Town Information Centre and the staff are often unable to help. My aunt knew that the way to sell her local town was not just to promote what was there, but what was nearby, thus encouraging the visitor to stay in the town for several nights rather than the one and use the town as a base to explore the wider Cotswolds. This lesson appears not have been learnt in Cesky Krumlov. Where are the leaflets on the Sumava National Park, on Ceske Budejovice and other nearby towns? Surely this is the way to encourage longer stays in the town to show that it is a perfect base for a longer holiday. It is as if the staff are afraid that the visitor will be tempted to leave rather than stay longer. Aunt Zoe would have soon put them right.

Olsina

When I was first looking for a place to buy, I looked at a derelict cottage on the edge of the lake at Olsina. The two storey ruin is still there, getting more and more derelict by the day. It turns out that the cottage is just in the militarised zone and so, as I suspected at the time, is very difficult to buy, even for a Czech. But the cottage's position is delightful – the lake laps the beach a few yards from the house and the natural amphitheatre of hills is reflected in the mirror of water. The place is so peaceful, there is no noise but the rustle of leaves and the occasional train passing. You can travel by train there, getting off at Hodnov.

The lake like so many around here is not a natural one. It is a result of the Czech love of carp flesh. Built in the 15^th Century to provide fish for the Zlata Koruna monastery, the lake then passed into the possession of the Rozmberk family. Every two years the lake is emptied of water in order to harvest the fish. The lake covers some 133 hectares and is accessible only at its south eastern end. Here you will find an interesting example of a large Renaissance house built to accommodate the man charged with looking after the lake. The building is in a sorry state with a large crack in one wall, but there are signs that at long last this may be about to be remedied. A fellow Brit has bought a smaller house closeby. For more on her experiences and efforts to restore the house visit http://krumlovbrit.blogspot.com.

Walking in The Czech Republic

I love walking - not serious yomping, but leisurely strolls with frequent stops to admire the view and diversions from the path to look at flowers and pick mushrooms. The Czech Republic is a brilliant country for walkers and the area around Cesky Krumlov and in the Sumava National Park is particularly good.

The main footpaths are well waymarked - with signposts in the towns and colour-coded signs painted on trees and gates along the paths themselves. These signs consist of a coloured bar against a white background. These colours for the walks are reflected on the walking maps you can buy in the tourist information shops and bookshops for about £3. It is therefore very easy to find your way.

I have already talked about one of my favourite spring time walks in this blog. But I have many others. And over the next few months I propose to blog occasionally about others. I will start with my nearest walk. Running through our village is a red route which runs up through the woods, where I pick my mushrooms, and then down to the lake at Olsina. In so doing the walker enters the restricted military zone of Boletice, which is only accessible at weekends. One of the joys of Boletice is that, like army reserves in the UK, its status has allowed nature to flourish. The villages one walks through tend to be pretty dire, the old houses run-down and the newer the usual army issue, but the forests and lakes are unspoilt by the incursions of tourists and new cabins.

I will talk about Olsina in my next blog, as it easily deserves a post all of its own. So let us pass by without comment and follow the walk as it rises again over the hills to Hodnov - another of those villages where there is a need for investment to restore the old buildings. Then it passes across forested hills and, if you are lucky, past masses of blue lupins and down in to Horni Plana. At various points along the way you will get views across Lake Lipno and over the Sumava and in the opposite direction back to the Klet Mountain. Once in Horni Plana you can have a well-earned pint or two and then take the little train back home.

Compare and Contrast

In my last post I was responding to my Czech friend's comments about the British and finished noting the anger I felt when a civil servant tried to fob me off. It struck me that my reaction - "Who does he think he is?" was a very British one. And I wanted to explore it further.

My historical heroine Queen Elizabeth I issued an edict along the lines that a slave arriving on English soil "upon breathing English air" was immediately freed from slavery. Now, whilst acknowledging that this didn't apply to the black slaves, it is an important concept for understanding the English (and later the British) - "Britons never never never shall be slaves," sings the Proms audience. Few if any leaders of this country have understood the national psyche nor played it as well as Elizabeth. Elizabeth's edict reflects a long established belief among her people.

Her Armada speech also appeals to this belief: "Let tyrants fear; I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my subjects."

She is contrasting not only herself with the tyrant Philip of Spain, but also her free subjects with his. Her comment on her relationship with her people - they are her main source of strength and her safety - is revealing. For what would happen if the people withdrew their loyalty and good will? Only 40 years after her death England was to find out, when a civil war broke out that tested whether the King was answerable to his people in the form of Parliament. After a terrible and bloody war (recent research suggests a higher percentage of the population died in the Civil War than in either of the last century's World Wars), King Charles was tried and found guilty of high treason. The first few lines of the charge against the King read

"That the said Charles Stuart, being admitted King of England, and therein trusted with a limited power to govern by and according to the laws of the land, and not otherwise; and by his trust, oath, and office, being obliged to use the power committed to him for the good and benefit of the people, and for the preservation of their rights and liberties; yet, nevertheless, out of a wicked design to erect and uphold in himself an unlimited and tyrannical power to rule according to his will, and to overthrow the rights and liberties of the people."

As my old history teacher would say, let us compare and contrast with what is happening over the water in the Czech Republic (then Bohemia) at much the same time. There the Estates (made up of Protestant Bohemian nobility) had also taken on the power of their Hapsburg monarch Ferdinand II. But the outcome had been very different. At the Battle of White Mountain the army of the Estates was routed by the forces of the king. Thus began the period which the Czechs have called doba temna - time of darkness. The battle was a disaster for the semi independent nation.

Ferdinand set about forcibly converting the country back to Catholicism assisted by the shock troops of the counter reformation, the Jesuits. The persecutions and land seizures that followed the defeat resulted in the emigration of some 150,000 cultural and social leaders of the Czech nation including 85 noble families, as well as burgers, leading scholars and ministers. If you visit the Old Town Square in Prague you can see crosses for the 27 leaders of the rebellion who were executed in the year following the battle. Perhaps worst of all the Czechs lost their sovereignty - prior to the battle the monarch was elected by the estates, now for a period of 300 years the Czechs would be ruled through inheritance by a Hapsburg.

What contrasting fortunes! The Czechs always had one major disadvantage - they were at the centre of Europe. Their action was unlikely to be without international consequences. Their revolt was against a king with other kingdoms, able to call on armies from across the continent. As the Thirty Years War rolled on, it rolled over the Czech lands time and time again. England, protected by the sea and on the edge of the Europe, was able to have its civil war to itself. And prior to that when England was threatened by the powerful Hapsburg family - by Philip II and his armadas - the English were saved by storms in the Channel. Thus the destinies of nations are set.

Follow up on Centre of Europe 1 (and Effortless Superiority)

Following on from my post on the Czech's pride at being at the centre of Europe, I got an email from a Czech friend: “I am so chuffed to read this. You are right, we DO desperately care. Perhaps we have a chip on our shoulder, missing the British 'effortless superiority'. Well, I suppose we always had to defend our place against (or whilst) being absorbed into imperial blocks. But I am glad you brought it to attention. As a Brit would say, you are a brick, old girl.” Such a comment merits a number of responses, well at least two.

Let us start with British effortless superiority. This is not the first time my friend has talked about this British attribute. I have to say I have never been entirely sure about it, but clearly it has some validity. Of course there is all that stuff about the Empire, and the effortless superiority that the imperialists had beaten into them at boarding school. But I don't think that is what my friend is talking about; she talks about it as if it is current, and as if it is broader than the privileged few. I certainly don't think I feel superior to anyone, unless this attribute is so inbuilt I am unaware of it.

However there was at least one occasion when my Czech friend saw it in me and commented on it. About fifteen years ago my friend was tasked by a Czech magazine to write an article on the proposed transfer of Hong Kong to China. She complained to me that she was having problems getting enough information and comment for the piece. “Why don't you ring the Foreign Office?” I suggested. Oh she couldn't possibly do that! “Why not?” I said, “I can't possibly.” “Oh, all right I'll do it, tell me what you want to know.” And so I found myself interviewing a civil servant about Hong Kong. He very rapidly started to annoy me, trying to avoid my questions, whilst talking down to me. I, in response, firmly made it clear that he was going to answer my questions. By the end of the phone call I had got the information I wanted and he was offering to send me more.

I put the phone down and looked up at my friend. Her look was one of shock - “How could you do that?” “What?” “Talk to a civil servant like that?” “He was coming it, I just put him in his place. Anyway, who does he think he is?” “But a civil servant...” “Exactly a public servant, I pay his wages, he's there to serve us. Besides he probably went to the same university as me, I learned all the same tricks as him.” It was at this point that I first heard my friend refer to effortless superiority.

Okay, so let us analyse the actors in this little scene. First there is my Czech friend, who despite living most of her adult life in the UK and being highly intelligent and articulate was still sufficiently Czech that she had problems with dealing with authority. My observation as a community development professional is that power dynamics are set in childhood and my friend grew up at a time when “Father” Stalin stared down from every Czech schoolroom wall. Then there is our civil servant friend, whose attempt at effortless superiority failed so dismally, indeed only provoked me. Presumably it normally worked for him. And finally there is yours sincerely. Was it, as I suggested, my three years at Oxford? Not entirely. Certainly it gave me some of the tools for the job, allowed me to counter his blocking tactics, but looking back what I most remember is being annoyed. "Who did he think was? " I suspect that was the more British reaction. Maybe it only becomes effortless superiority when combined with a certain type of British education.

Centre of Europe 2

One of the things that strikes me here in South Bohemia is how differently one feels about going abroad. Here it is about 30 minutes' drive to Austria and Germany. Local people go shopping in Linz and the Austrians return the favour. This must make all sorts of differences to how one feels about one's own and other countries. Here we sit in the middle of Europe as I said, joined on every side to larger and often more powerful countries. It makes the perfect base to explore Europe from, but in order to do that one has to go through someone else's country, and that country will be another European country.

How very different to being British. It is not surprising that the Brits cannot see why the Czechs are so obsessed with being central Europeans and so commit the gaff I referred to in my previous post. We Brits are definitely not at the centre of Europe and are proudly geographically and mentally independent of the continent. Indeed our attitude towards Europe is extremely ambiguous at best. How different is our attitude to our border – in the UK if we want to go abroad we must cross the sea. When I stand on a British beach looking out, I am always aware that the world's doorstep lies lapping at my feet. Our boundary extends to every continent in the world; we need no permission to cross our neighbour's land first. The Czechs are obsessed with the embrace of the mysterious forest, a place of tales, fears and treasures, the Brits by the the expansive sea, dangerous, full of beauty and endless opportunity.

Centre of Europe

One of the biggest faux-pas a Brit can make in the Czech Republic is to talk about the country being in Eastern Europe. This offends on at least three levels. Firstly it is a legacy of the Cold War and puts the Czechs in a bracket with the Russians, Bulgarians and other countries – company that the Czechs would rather not be in and indeed forget. Secondly it is geographically wrong – a look at the atlas reveals, as the Czechs never cease to tell you, that Prague is west of Vienna. Thirdly it offends against a deep-felt notion of themselves and born of history – that their little country is at the heart of Europe. In 1583 this was even politically true when the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II (shown above) moved his court to Prague.

But more importantly it was culturally and intellectually true for centuries, until the bringing down of the Iron Curtain forced Czecho into the Eastern Bloc. Under Rudolf Prague was at the centre of philisophical thought and art. Since then the Czechs have been part of some of the major movements in art (a visit to the Czech National Gallery in Prague revealed to our surprise the early development of cubism here) and music - Mozart loved the city and felt that the citizens understood his work whilst it was rejected in Vienna. And this cultural heritage matters to the generally cultured and well-educated Czechs in a way that it wouldn't to the British, something I love about them.

Iva Bittova

Back at the turn of the year I blogged about local musicians Kvinterna. So I reckon it is about time I talked about another favourite musician of mine – Iva Bittova. She is an artist that I came across on the world music website Calabash Music. I downloaded an album and was hooked.

Bittova is an artist whose every album I religiously buy. I have yet to be disappointed or bored - the great thing about this wonderful Czech artist is that each album she produces is different and totally unlike anything else you have may have heard from anyone else. Her music is fusion music at its most varied, bringing together the Movavian folk music of her childhood, jazz, the avant-garde, nursery rhymes and classical. Whilst she does get extraordinary sounds from both her voice and violin, Iva Bittova also can be melodic and sublime.

Nowhere is this more evident than in her moving and heartstopping performance in Godar's Mater – a suite on the subject of motherhood for female voice, choir and baroque string orchestra. I bought Mater shortly before Christmas 2006 and played it obsessively for a week, and with each play I found myself crying during the Stabat Mater.

Snow Melt

The Vltava River on its way through Cesky Krumlov is high with meltwater from the mountains. The river is a mass of brown gushing water lapping right up to the doorsteps of the riverside houses and restaurants. The owners hold their breath fearing more snow in the Sumava or a sudden thaw. The grass where the Two Marys and Laibon restaurants put out their tables is covered and the islands opposite submerged.

How different the scene is to that in the summer when the river is full of canoes and rafts, as I described in my previous post More on Water and the Czechs, when the water is so shallow that people walk right out to the middle. No one would venture out on to the river now for a leisurely trip downstream.

Ex-pat blog

My parents aren't internet savvie and would never read this blog if it required them to go online. This is a shame because it looks as though their age and heath will prevent them from ever visiting my Czech home and seeing through their own eyes this lovely country. And so at Christmas I printed out the blog, bound it and gave it to them as a present. Every month they get an update with the latest posts. They have really enjoyed these vicarious journeys to the Czech Republic. And the readership does not stop there, the blog has been lent to various friends.

The feedback so far has been universally positive, not that my parents' friends would criticise I'm sure. One comment that has been made several times – is how much the love I have for this place and the Czechs comes through the blog. I'm glad, that was to some extent my intention. Not that love is blind, I certainly can see the flaws in my second homeland but I hope that even in this I do not judge too harshly.

I really have problems with those travel books and blogs, which treat the locals as something to laugh at or which find fault. I see it sometimes in fellow British ex-pats or visitors, complaining that you can't get marmite in the shops or criticising Czech customer service, making generalisations about things of which they have only limited experience or understanding. We are guests here in another people's country and should behave as such. It betrays a superiority based on ignorance and insularity, which I fear the British are very good at. But I do not doubt that I too am guilty of this on occasion, as I fumble my way towards an understanding of the Czechs (and perhaps of my own nation). I therefore ask those Czechs who read this blog to forgive me when I get it wrong. I rely on your ability to laugh at yourselves, a characteristic which our two nations share.

The Czechs and ..... Slippers

In the hallway of every Czech house, or in the case of many flats outside on the landing, you will find a line of empty shoes and slippers. The same is true of our Czech home. In the Czech Republic you remove your outdoor shoes on arrival and put on a pair of slippers. This is not just the case in your home, but also, and perhaps more importantly, in houses in which you are a guest.

This custom is a practical one, preventing the trailing of mud and dust from the street (to say nothing of the by-product of those little dogs the Czechs are so fond of) into the house and the subsequent damage of the lovely softwood floors that you will find in many Czech houses. In some cases your host will wave their hand to indicate that taking off your shoes is not necessary, but it is only polite to offer. In order to facilitate this custom the Czech home will have a selection of slippers in various sizes to proffer to visitors and family.

Personally I find it a lovely custom and one I adopt in England. It is not just the practicality that appeals but of feeling at home and welcome that I like. The custom of wearing slippers indoors sometimes extends to environments other than the home, something that seems to be taking informality too far. I am told that a rule had to be passed prohibiting slipper-wearing by MPs during sessions of the Czech Parliament (or maybe the Czechs are just pulling my leg)!

Klet - The Magic Mountain

I am convinced the Klet moves, that it floats silently over the landscape of the South Bohemia while no one is looking. It doesn't seem to matter where you go round here, whether you walk into the woods above our house, or drive home from Ceske Budejovice suddenly it is there, usually in a direction you didn't expect. The Klet sits watching over us all. Is it surprising therefore that the Czechs have long regarded it as a magical place?

And there is something else about – it is never the same. No matter how often you look at it, it shows another face. Today its peak was completely hidden in fine cloud with only the mast at appearing above the white. On summer days after a storm the trees breathe wisps of mist from its slopes, it is as if the ghosts of the forest are floating just above the trees. The autumn sun catches the different colours of its many trees, picking out a group and then moving on.

One winter before we bought the house, I came to visit with my friend here. It was my first Czech winter and a hard one. On our last day before we returned to Prague, we took a taxi up to the observatory at the top of the mountain. From there we walked down in the snow. I did not have proper boots and so we improvised with a couple of plastic bags - I must have looked an idiot to the man on his walking skis who passed us. The air was clear and bright, and caught in your throat. It was beginning to thaw and occasionally a pine tree would deposit a load of snow down the back of your neck. We laughed and shook it off. At the edge of the forest we ate a sandwich and drank tea from a flask, and made our way past the ex-army base into town. From there we took a taxi to the station and from thence we rode off to the city. At the beginning of our journey the little train crawled around the mountain's dark green flanks, past pine trees bent double with snow. And thus ended my first meeting with the magic mountain.

Mys

We are currently enduring an invasion of mice. Not grey housemice like the ones I am familiar with in England, but their larger brown country cousins. Our house sits next to a orchard with long grass in the summer, which backs on to countryside. Now the rich pickings have disappeared and the field mice have moved home. These wee beasties are brazen little beggars, with the ability to scale vertical obstacles and get everywhere. The pantry of course has been the scene of their forays – almost every packet has been gnawed, not enough to empty the contents but just enough to necessitate their disposal. The box of cleaning stuff has been raided for nesting materials – they are particularly fond of washing up sponges which they tear to shreds. The decorative candles on the windowsills have been stripped of their wicks. I found a hoard of pasta tubes inside one of my old shoes. To cap it all I came to bed the other night to find that there were droppings on my nice white duvet and the mice had even been under the covers.

My friend says “Get a cat, or allow the neighbours' one in”. But whilst the local cats are good mousers, they are not housetrained and I have had problems before. And so in desperation I went to the ironmongers and bought some mousetraps. Not knowing the Czech for mousetrap, this was achieved with some high-quality miming on my part - I must have looked a sight squeaking whilst making a simultaneous chopping movement, but it worked. The traps set, we caught two in a night. Looking at the beautiful little things with their large ears and warm brown fur, I feel like a murdering cur. But then I remind myself that it is one thing to share a little of my food with these lovely creatures, quite another to share my bed and my heart hardens.

Sun and snow

Yesterday we walked to Horice Na Sumave to catch the bus into Cesky Krumlov. Although there was snow on the ground the sun was bright and warm, throwing long shadows over the fields and picking diamonds of ice in the snow. Passing over the hill we descended into Horice, the fields to our left were virtually clear of snow. Then rising from the grass a lark flew upwards towards the blue in starts of song. We listened enchanted , our hearts rising with the small bird.

When we arrived at the bus stop the sun had disappeared, across the fields towards us sped a snow cloud. Suddenly all was white and grey. Driving snow forced us to drop our heads and then to give up the fight. We turned our heads away and crouched to avoid the stinging whiteness. The bus came and for a while outran the snow. Arriving in Cesky Krumlov the ground was bare of snow and it looked as though we had escaped, but then the relentless blizzard caught up with us and all was white again.

Last night reflecting on it, it seemed to me that this was how things were in the world. One minute we are ascending into endless blue, the next everything is a stinging white fog, in which all landmarks, both familiar and on the horizon, are lost to us. All we can do when the snow descends is to hunker down, like some small animal, until the sky clears again.

Tomorrow the weather forecast is that the Spring will return again.

Dressing up as Angels

As I told you in my blog on the anti-radar exhibition (below) there was a short comic sketch for which a local man dressed up as an angel. In my blog on the St Nicolas' Day celebrations I told how all over the Czech Republic people dress up as angels and devils. This desire by Czech men to dress up as angels is an interesting national trait. British men like to dress up as women, as the Czechs have discovered from the numerous British stag nights that hit Prague. I have even queued behind a British man in a miniskirt on a cold January day at Prague airport. In both the Czech and British case there is clearly something about putting on frilly frocks that appeals, but the point is not to be feminine (for the British male) or asexual (for the Czech) but to remain masculine within the assumed guise. The best ones are those where the voice stays low, the chin remains unshaved. My friend and I were speculating what the difference between the preferred mode of male fancy dress meant about the psyche of our different countries, but in the end we decided it was better if we did not look too deeply.

Against the Radar

On Good Friday my husband and I attended the launch of an exhibition by local artists (both amateur and professional) against the plans to create American radar bases on Czech soil. The works were very varied in their approach, even if their message of no radar was consistent. The small exhibition space was full of supporters who clapped the anti-radar speeches, a short musical performance and a comedy sketch. This latter consisted of an “angel” in conversation with a Czech Everyman and proffering all sorts of American goodies – coke instead of Czech beer, hamburgers drenched in tomato sauce, a photo of a smiling President Bush and the radar. At the end of the event the caimpaigners queued up symbolically smash a clay model of the proposed radar, including some of the children who had watched, stomped and danced to the entertainment.

I was much reminded of those CND demonstrations of my twenties - the humour, the camaraderie, the belief that one had to do something. We believed then we could stop the arrival of the cruise missiles on British soil, and even if we couldn't that at least we should try. Of course we failed, but I wish the Czechs well. The Americans argue that the radar will protect the Czechs and the rest of us, but from what? The recent noises coming from the Kremlin leave no doubt how provocative Moscow finds the proposals. And anyone standing back and looking at the situation objectively can see why. Thank God, we have lain aside the politics and rhetoric of the Cold War, so why would the Czechs wish to poke the wounded Russian bear, having been so long prone under his paw?

These protestors have been dismissed and ridiculed by the Czech government and the Americans. But one thing strikes me - regardless of where one stands on the issue, surely this protest movement is a sign that this country is a democracy in which speech and thought is free. Such things should be cherished, they are what we all should fight for.

Czech weather

It is nearly Easter and it is snowing. Over the last few days the snow has fallen at night only to melt during the day, but yesterday the snow stayed in our village in the foothills of the Sumava Mountains. In Cesky Krumlov the snow melted, but here a couple of hundred metres higher there has been no such relief - the snow is six inches deep and rising. The other thing that is to be noted is the wind, which drives the snow nearly horizontally at times. A wind is a rare thing in this landlocked country and is frankly one thing I miss from the UK. In Britain there is nearly always a wind blowing off the Atlantic, bringing a succession of weathers and affording the British the one thing they can comfortably talk about to strangers.

Czech weather used to be reliable – cold in winter with snow and warm in summer. Now that seems to have changed somewhat. Less snow, more rain (even in summer) and on occasion as today a wind. In the old days the Czech winter came from Siberia, now it comes from the west, indeed from the UK and the Atlantic. Is this a sign of global warming or a meteorological reflection of the new political situation? Time will tell. At least by the time the weather gets here from the UK the gaps between the isobars have widened and the intensity of the wind has lifted somewhat.

Debating Builders

I recently invited some Brits, who have just bought a typical Czech farmhouse in a village a few miles away, to tea. It seemed only right that we Brits should support each other in our excursions into Czech property purchase. Anyway, they were full of tales about Czech builders and their plans for their new enormous home. I sat and listened to their excitement and enthusiasm and remembered what I had felt two years ago when I had started.

One thing they commented on was an incident at the house of another friend, where a crack had appeared in a wall following a ditch being excavated to protect the house walls from penetrating damp. They were taken aback by the Czech builders' response, which was to stand around in heated conversation, with much waving of arms and scratching of heads. "It was obvious what was wrong and needed to be done," my fellow Brit commented. "Instead there was this argument."

I smiled to myself. I have seen these Czech "arguments" many times and like my British friend had at first misread them. Czechs are far more expressive and animated than us and they love to argue. It doesn't matter that the answer is obvious. It doesn't matter that they probably actually agree with each other. The crack in the wall, the twisting beam or the water in the cellar, all are opportunities for a good old Czech debate

My first winter in the house 5

Towards the end of my first stay in our Czech home the weather changed dramatically. The temperatures rose and the packed snow, which had held the house in a grip of icy iron, began suddenly to melt. As I sat in the house I would hear the occasional thump as a sheet of snow, like a chunk of a small glacier, slid off the roof and crashed down. But it was not thawing evenly, where the low winter sunlight did not reach it (as was the case at the back of the house) the snow remained as thick as ever.

I decided to check what was happening to the roof. In the barn the forces of the uneven thaw was causing real problems - the front slope of the roof was now free of snow, the back was weighed down and under the uneven pressure some roof timbers were gaping. It looked as though the situation had been made worse by the previous owners, who clearly had raided the barn for timbers and so some key uprights were missing. Worried I returned to the house and went up in to the loft. Here there was another problem, cack-handed guttering meant that the melting snow was flowing into the brickwork of the side wall. At this point my friendly local carpenter turned up and I in faltering German explained the problems. For the gutter he constructed a Heath-Robinson solution of old corrugated iron, which though hardly an architectural feature did the job. He also pointed out that the water had rotted a major supporting roof beam. In the stable he just said "Kaput!"

I had been planning to spend a couple of years camping in the house, saving up the money and getting to know the place, before I did any major work. The hard winter of 2005-2006 put paid to such well-laid plans. The old house needed work doing and she needed it doing as soon as possible. Like the old lady I imagined her to be, she was banging her stick on the floor and demanding my attention. But at the same time she was a charmer - despite everything that was wrong, in the five days I stayed there my love had deepened for the old place.

But my time in the house was up. I packed everything in to bags and put them in the attic. Then I sat drinking my last mug of tea, watching the dying sunlight reflected on the farmhouse across the valley and waiting my lift back to Cesky Krumlov and somewhere which had hot water and a toilet.

My first winter in the house 4

On my first morning in the house I put my nose out from under the two duvets on my bed. The woodstove had long since gone out and I discovered my blanket had even frozen to the wall. I reminded myself that the next time I stayed in the house we would have central heating. I got up quickly, lit the stove and climbed back into bed for thirty minutes until things warmed up a bit. Then I put the kettle on and made some porridge (very British and very good for cold Czech mornings).

My next five days revolved around the needs of the stove and not allowing it to go out. This meant that I could only leave the house for a maximum of a couple of hours - enough to walk through the snow to the nearby town of Horice Na Sumave but not a lot further. It also meant regular trips to the stable to chop wood and bring it in. I now realised why Czech houses in the winter are surrounded by walls of chopped logs. I also realised how rubbish I was at chopping it and I hoped none of my neighbours saw me. My day was determined by the length of daylight, for although I had electricity the night sent the temperatures plummeting and after a while it made more sense to go to bed. In other words I no longer had control of my time - the pace of my day slowed and I found it, despite everything, relaxing. This is how it would have been in some previous age.

Occasionally my day would be disturbed by visitors. The local carpenter came over regularly to chop wood for me, to plane the door down so it fitted more snugly and to measure up the windows, which he was to repaint and repair for me (although not necessarily in that order). He would ski over from Horice, carrying his tools.

I also had visits from a Czech lady, whom my puppeteer friend had introduced me to, who was helping me with translation and negotiating with Czech lawyers and civil servants. She was shocked by the conditions I was living in: "I admire you - you are brave." She could have added "mad", and I could see it in her face as she looked around the room.

On one day she drove me into Cesky Krumlov to sort some house insurance and to return the landtax form. This latter was a good example of Czech disorder in matters bureaucratic. In all sorting the landtax must have taken several hours of speaking to different officers, only for us to go back to having to do what we were told to do in the first place. Ironically after all that, the landtax (the Czech equivalent of the community charge) amounted to less than £10 a year and probably cost more than that to collect. One Czech I know commented when asked what killed communism - "It strangled itself". Here was why. Afterwards the lady took me to a restaurant near the castle carpark, where she made sure I had a large hot meal. Then she drove me back to then house and my routine.

My first winter in the house 3

On the first day in the house I was delivered by my friend together with a few bags of basic belongings. Most of these were her hand-me-downs - an old duvet, sheets, and cooking pots - and some of those in turn had been given to her by her mother when she returned to Czecho. And I was extremely grateful for them. There had been more snow over night and I had to clear my way through the snow in the yard. The door was frozen shut and I had to use all my weight to open it.

My first job was, as it was to be on every day of my stay, to set the fire going in the stove. I then put the kettle on for a proper English mug of tea. Whilst it brewed I used some of my friend's old tea-towels to block the drafts in the faulty double-glazed windows. Having drunk up I went into the bathroom to discover a large hole where the bath had once been. The local carpenter had set about preparing for the fitting of a stopcock. This was a bit of a shock as I hadn't agreed to it, but he had adopted me and there was no arguing about it, even if I could speak Czech it would have been rude and the Czechs take such things very personally. Upstairs he had even been whitewashing one of the bedrooms!

I went outside to the stable to bring in some more wood for the stove. It was glorious - in the orchard the top layer of snow had melted yesterday, only to be frozen again overnight into bright diamond crystals which flashed in the sunshine. Across the snow I could see the trails of the wild and domestic animals who shared the garden with me - deer, the local cats and others I did not recognise.

And so I pottered about for the rest of the day setting up home in the one room that was warm. I was happy, despite the cold, despite the absence of water in the bathroom, I was at last at home in my Czech house.

My first winter in the house 2

My plans for staying in the house were delayed by the exploding pipe in the bathroom. It was obvious that the house was only just beginning to thaw out and so I spent a week driving up to the house from Cesky Krumlov. There I lit the stove in the downstairs front room, and met a succession of plumbers and electricians who came to measure up the house for new electrics, plumbing and the central heating which was now so obviously necessary. The other task I set myself was to measure the footprint of the house and stables so that I could fill in the horrendous multi-page form to register for landtax. This was harder than one might think - the snow was piled up to my waist and even higher at the back and sides of the barn and so I had to dig a path through with an old shovel. This took me several days.

When the daylight began to fail each day, I drove home to my friend's house in Cesky Krumlov. Finally I was confident enough that I could get one room (the large front one downstairs) warm enough to be bearable. That last evening before my first full day in my Czech house as I drove home I came upon an adult male deer in the centre of the village. He was standing stock still in front of the village crucifix. It looked almost as if the cross was between his antlers. I was reminded of the legend of St Hubertus, patron saint of hunters and therefore so appropriate for the Czechs. Of course the Christian legend of the saintly hunter coming upon the divine stag has its antecedents in the Celtic legends of the horned god of the underworld. In the halflight on that magical evening the lord of the forest turned slowly and departed into the darkness and I carried on.

My first winter in the house 1

As I said in my last post Czech winters have a special place in my heart. One reason for this is the fact that the first time I ever stayed in our newly purchased Czech home was in the terrible winter of a couple of years ago. All over central Europe roofs were collapsing under the weight of impacted snow. We had bought the house a few weeks before the winter had begun, when we had sat in shirt sleeves in the warm late autumn sunshine. By early February the landscape had changed utterly - the snow was several feet deep in the yard and the house was completely frozen.

We hadn't had time to do anything to the house to make it winterproof and certainly not for one of the worst winters in living memory. The family who sold it to us had assured us that they hadn't had any problems with frozen pipes, and we poor suckers believed them. When asked where the stopcock was, they had taken us out of the yard and up the hill for several hundred metres to the farm above our house. There was the stopcock - but unfortunately for us it was also the stopcock for the water supply to the farm and half the village, so there was no question of cutting off the water to the house.

Now in February with the temperature about minus 15 I arrived for my first stay in our new home. We had arranged that a lady from the nearby town go to the house each day for the week before, light the woodstoves and start the process of warming the place up in time for my arrival. I arrived at my puppeteer friend's house in Cesky Krumlov in the evening. As we sat down to a mug of tea, I noticed something was up. "How are things?" I asked.

"Well since you ask, the toilet exploded this morning!" My friend went on to explain that the poor woman had arrived at the house and stoked up the stove, when the pipe leading to the toilet exploded spraying a fountain of ice cold water into the bathroom. She had run into the village and the neighbours had run to her aid - one, a retired plumber, had spent an hour fighting the torrent and getting soaked. My friend had been dreading my reaction. I just started to laugh.

"Why are you laughing? It's not funny, the poor man will probably get pneumonia." I explained that I was very sorry for the man (I would get him a bottle of rum by way of thanks) and for the poor woman. I felt sorry too for my friend who had clearly been worrying about my reaction all day. But I deserved what had happened, for believing the family in the first place - wishful thinking in the face of what was obvious. The old house was getting her own back on us. Although the Czechs don't think of their houses as female, to my mind ours obviously was - an cantankerous elderly aunt who you ignored at your peril: "You think you can disappear off to England and leave me here unloved and uncared for, I'll show you," she was saying.

My friend, relieved, pointed out that there was now no water in the bathroom and so no toilet. That combined with the problems of heating - the house had barely got above freezing meant surely that I would not be staying in the house this time. No, I still wanted to, it was important to me. It would be "an awfully big adventure" I told her. She laughed, "How very British of you. Your neighbours will think you are mad."

Smoke

The other night I was walking down the street and was struck by the scent of woodsmoke on the frosted air. It doesn’t matter where in the world I am, I just have to smell woodsmoke and I am in the Czech Republic and in particular in Cesky Krumlov’s narrow renaissance streets on a Winter night. Somehow scent is the most powerful of the senses for triggering memories. I only have to smell new-mown grass to be taken back to the playing field of my secondary school, and the smell of earl grey tea transports me to my college rooms at Oxford. Woodsmoke on a winter night takes me to my second visit to Krumlov.

It was January and a very hard winter. I stayed with my friend in Prague, where the Vlatava river was part covered with ice so thick we walked on it. She suggested we take the train down to Cesky Krumlov, where she had a small house, and stay a few nights. I had already visited the town in the previous summer and loved it and so accepted the invitation eagerly. My previous visit had not prepared me for the impact of Cesky Krumlov in winter. Gone were the tourists, I was virtually the only non-Czech there. The town lay blanketed in snow. In the wind-less streets the smoke from the wood-fired stoves hung and diffused the light from the street lamps. It was totally magical and I was hooked.

The Plague Column

The many tourists that throng the Town Square in Cesky Krumlov often ignore the large column set to one side and surrounded by statues. They may sit on its steps and take photos of each other, some may even photograph the column, but most have no idea what it is and what it commemorates.

It is a plague column set up to remember a plague epidemic that hit the town in the early 1680's. At the top of the column stands the Virgin Mary and around it there are saints who traditionally offer protection against the plague. This was not the first time the town had devastated by the plague, the town had also experienced the terrible impact of the bubonic plague in 1585.

It reminds me of an early introduction to Czech culture I had back in 1982 before I met my Czech puppeteer friend. I picked up a book of poetry in a second-hand shop and started to read. It was Ewald Osers' translation of Jaroslav Seifert's book The Plague Column. I was enchanted and bought the book. At the time it was not officially published in communist Czechoslovakia and was only available in covert samizdat versions. The poem is a personal journey by an old man through Prague. What I love about it is the way it moves from the present to the past, from the general to the personal. The plague of the title is not simply the bubonic kind, but a comment on the political plague that Seifert's beloved country was enduring at the time. But this is far from a political commentary, but a personal love poem to that most beautiful of cities.

Seifert received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1985, he died a year later. He did not live to see the crowds filling Wenceslas Square first call for and then celebrate the end of the pestilence that was communism.

Seifert was a brave man and a true poet. The last lines of The Plague Column read:

But I make no excuse
I believe that seeking beautiful words
is better
than killing and murdering.

Bringing Masopust to Oxford

In my British life I am a founding member of the Cowley Road Carnival, which has grown into Oxfordshire's largest community event, and am still very much involved. The Cowley Road Carnival is a multi-cultural event, celebrating the diverse communities that call East Oxford home. A year ago I successfully put together a grant application to the Heritage Lottery Fund to fund an exploration of the different Carnival traditions to be found among the communities in Oxford. So it could only made sense given the rising numbers of Czechs in Oxford for me to try and get a project going that introduced the Czech version of Carnival into the Cowley Road event.

Of course I am biased, Czecho is my other home. But it is more than that - I am fascinated by both the differences and similarities of my two countries and masopust/carnival is such a good example of it. As you can see from the video - there is so much that is familiar about masopust - the rag costumes are similar to those of some morris sides and mummers' troupes, the straw man who is sacrificed to ensure the arrival of spring, the hobby horse character (horses are always a potent symbol of fertility and wealth among the Celts - the ancestors we Brits share with the Czechs) and others. Of course the tradition of processing around the local houses asking for alcohol donations in return for a song/dance and good luck is common all over the world. But there are touches which are not common - such as the large hats covered with roses symbolising the days of the year and Christ's wounds.

There is an opinion prevalent in Britain that negates our ancient traditions as the laughable indulgence of beer-sodden bearded saddos. But people who make snide comments about morris dancers waving hankies and wearing bells wouldn't dream of mocking traditional Indian dance with its bells etc. With carnival there is an opinion in Britain that believes that only the Caribbean tradition is the true one, never mind that Carnival traditions are so deep rooted here that they predate Christianity. Perhaps by looking at another related country's carnival tradition we can come to see our own with better understanding and maybe even value them.

I will blog again to tell you how I get on with the project. Oh and if anyone out there is interested in providing some sponsorship (the Lottery money only covers 60% of our costs) to help bring some Masopust from the Czech Republic to Oxford, do get in touch with zoe@eastoxford.com

Phew - how to tell a Brit in Czecho

I still have not got used to the level of heating in Czech homes and shops. You would have thought the Czechs would be less aware of the cold than us Brits with our mild winter climate, but not a bit of it. You walk into a shop from the cold outside wrapped up in a coat and are hit by a wall of heat. I soon find myself going red and sweating. Even in flats and homes, where you can shed your outer garments, the heating can still be unbearable. This is not a problem where you can turn down the heat, but a friend of mine has a Prague flat in a block with centralised heating controls and as a result even when there is deep snow outside she has windows open. Conversely I have noticed my Czech friends often keep their coats on when visiting our house.

This is not confined to homes. Try a journey in a train compartment shared with a bunch of Czechs - the window will stay firmly closed, the heating on full blast. Or look about you when you walk around a Czech town. A few days ago I went for a short walk. The weather was cold but not overly so, so I wore a fleece but no hat or gloves and was if anything too warm. All the Czechs I passed were mufflered, coated and hatted. As my granny would say, "These Czechs are nesh!"

So how do you tell Brits in Czecho? Inside they are the ones opening the windows, turning down the heating and if they can't do that politely going red and sweaty in the corner. Outside they are the ones not wearing thick coats and hats.

Stifter's Trail

On Sunday I decided to walk the Aldebert Stifter trail around the hills that circle Horni Plana. I had been meaning to do it for years, and never got round to it. The walk is only about 4.5 kilometres long and although there is a bit of a climb to get out of the town it is relatively easy going after that. It is a lovely walk and has some spectacular views.

Stifter is known as the poet of the Sumava and was born in the town. The path first takes you through the Stifter Park to a monument to the poet, from where the copper and bronze figure can look across Lake Lipno to the Sumava, crowned by Plechy the highest mountain in Czech Sumava. The trail then takes you around a natural amphitheatre with spectacular views including, if weather conditions allow, views of the Alps that form a blue shadow rising behind the darker green of the Sumava (as is in this photo). You pass Stifter's spruce and then further on Stifter's beech or rather you don't as in both cases all that remains are the stumps! And then descend in to the town again.

A Taste of Honey

A few days ago my friend and I spent a pleasant evening consuming a bottle of medovina. Medovina is honey wine - med being the Czech word for honey (a medved is a bear by the way). The golden liquid slips down beautifully, warming the heart and the stomach. It feels like you are drinking the warm sun of summer - which in a way you are.

In the summer a car journey through the Sumava will take you past houses fronted by roadside stalls, where you can buy jars of honey, medovina and other bee products. Sumava honey is particularly lovely - you can taste the forest in it or the flowers of the Alpine hay meadows. There are other Czech uses for honey - there is medovnik (the honey cake) which is a favourite of mine and my friend even told me that a local wisewoman cured her bad shoulder using a honey massage.

But at the end of a long hard day nothing can beat medovina and good company. Unlike some other alcoholic beverages medovnik does not depress, instead it mellows. You can almost feel the bees buzzing gently in your stomach.

Czech Winter Sunshine

I adore the Czechs' bright winter sunshine – this time of year the light can be quite golden, playing off the grass deadened and yellowed by snow. The red and yellow stems of dogwood almost seem on fire against the dark green of the firs. The white bones of the silver birch trunks are picked out by the sunlight, everything speaks of the life beneath the skin. It doesn't matter to me that there is little snow this January, although that brings its own joys and combined with the winter sun is quite wonderful.

The Czechs are complaining that the weather is wrong – not enough snow to ski, not warm enough for spring, a few clouds in the sky so not a perfect blue. They should try England's endless grey, the oppressive threat of rain, the cough and splutter of winter fog, they would never complain about this Czech winter again.

Reading

When I was a child I read, I read as a hungry man consumes bread. My parents have photos of me asleep, the book open in my hand, the reading light still on. I read without judgement, without caring for what others thought – good, bad, indifferent I read every book in our town's small library. Somewhere in my teens I stopped. I said I did not have time to lose myself any more, but in truth I no longer had the child's ability to let go and sink into that other world. It was only in Czecho that I really began to read again.

I started reading the latest book in the airport, then on the plane, on the train when watching my fellow travellers became boring and now it is done. Tomorrow I will start another book. But this one I recommend to you – it is The Visible World by Mark Slouka. The book is very suited to Czechophiles. It's about a boy growing up in America to Czech parents, and his slow and painful journey in to their past, which takes him to Prague, the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich and the dark stains that surround it. But the story is really about love and loss of love, about how the child looks for the parent, of the truth and compromises we make to survive. It is beautifully written, full of poetry.

Lake Lipno under ice

When I woke up the fog had cleared from the village, though it lay like a cotton duvet in the folds of the hills. It was cold and frosty, but the sun was already up and things were warming.

After lunch I drove over to Lake Lipno – the deep blue lake of the summer had turned polished steel. Slight white ridges running parallel to the shore looked like small waves but as I grew closer it was obvious that ice covered the lake's surface as far as the eye could see. Snow still lay compacted on the ground and the heights of the Sumava mountains were white. Gone were the windsurfers and catamarans of the summer (see my previous post Wot no sea). I had no business there and wanted to get on, but was glad I had come when I did, they are forecasting a thaw.

Home again - train journey

I left a wet Glouestershire bracing itself for more floods and caught the plane to Prague. The plane set down in a foggy Czech Republic and I proceeded across town to catch the train to Ceske Budejovice. As I have said before, I like the journey down to South Bohemia - it is part of my submersion back into the Czech. The compartment was already half full when I came in and settled down on the leatherette seating.

I rang my friend and told her which train I had caught and asked her to sort a taxi to meet me the other end. My travelling companions watched and listened, recognising that I was speaking in English and went back to their conversation secure in the thought that I was not eavesdropping. I wasn't really, just catching the occasional word or phrase, sometimes enough to understand. And of course I was able to watch them, again they paid no attention to me as if my visual interpretation was somehow also alien and so I was unable to read their faces and actions.

On one side sat a couple facing each other by the window. She was in her late fifties unless the lines on her animated face were prematurely the gift of too many cigarettes. The one thing that contradicted the years was her long and thick brown hair which fell about her shoulders and of which she was clearly proud, as her subconscious stroking and sorting betrayed. All the time she chattered to her male companion, leaning forward in her seat in a conspiratorial way, whilst he sat back in his, giving the occasional monosyllabic response. They were friends I thought, but not too close and he less close than she. I was right - she got out at different stop.

Opposite me was a young man, who reminded me of one of those daddy long-legs you get in the bath. He was all long arms and legs which he crunched up in a suit large enough to fit his height but too wide to fit his frame. His face was almost the face of a boy - it was as if the hormones had spent all their energy telling his limbs to grow, and they had run out of puff when it came to his childish chin. Each wished me goodbye "Nasdar" as they got out of the train, the daddy longlegs saying it in English.

At the station the taxi was waiting and I was sped off along the foggy road to Cesky Krumlov. The fog was pressing in but my taxidriver insisted on overtaking any car that was driving cautiously. As we passed Lidl just outside Krumlov I found myself smiling and despite the driving a sense of wellbeing was creeping over me, growing as we sped on, I was coming home.

Irony of Ironies

I return to the Czech Republic tomorrow and my friend emailed me on Friday to warn me that the weather was changing there. The snow was melting, so no skiing. The ice on the lakes likewise so no skating. She and her partner, along with the rest of the population of the Republic had been enjoying both. Now the weather had turned remarkably spring-like, just in time for my return. Although not a skater or a skiier I had been looking forward to the lovely cold bright days of the Czech winter.

The irony was that the email arrived the very day I had taken three hours making a one-hour journey (from Oxford to Winchcombe). The reason for my long journey was a blizzard that swept in from the west, first there was torrential rain causing floods and then as the day turned night it turned to snow. I was caught by surprise - the slippery roads impassable I ended up in a ditch. When I finally got in I emailed my friend back, that maybe I was not so keen on snow after all!

Of stones and crop circles

I return to the Czech Republic in a week's time, but already my thoughts bend that way. Today being a bright crisp Winter's day, my husband and I made the trip to Avebury. The sun was low even in the middle of the day and the stones cast long shadows over the winter grass.

Like Cesky Krumlov, Avebury set in its unique prehistoric environment is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Even in the Winter the place has its visitors and yet it still has tremendous power - a power that demands wonder. The scale of the place is remarkable - the ditch and rampart that ring the site are quite enormous, despite the wear of time and browsing sheep. I took this photo of a mother and child in the ditch to show this and then I saw the shadow of a standing stone beside them.

All my Czech friends would love this place. They have bought the whole "new age" thing hook, line and sinker. They talk of ley lines, crystals, standing stones, and crop circles - Avebury would blow their minds.

I am often overwhelmed by the stunning landscape around Krumlov and the way in Krumlov one can feel the past as though it is walking alongside you. And in so doing I forget that this country too is just as powerful in its gentle rolling way.