Beachcombing on the Vltava

By way of making amends for not blogging for a week, here is the second post in 24 hours.

On arriving back in Cesky Krumlov I went for a favourite walk of mine along the banks of the Vltava River through the town. Already preparations are underway for the so-called improvements to the river – barriers have been put up ready to exclude people from the worksites, large concrete pavements are being laid to carry the heavy machinery. Then of course there are the sad stumps of the trees which had shaded and softened the walk in happier times.

I decided that I would take the opportunity to beachcomb one more time. Along the river there are small beaches covered with all sorts of treasures. In a matter of 15 minutes I had collected shards of pottery (some of it old), pieces of old tile, slag from some metal working and granite pebbles. In this medieval town you can find your own piece of history and put it in your pocket. The supplies are constantly renewed, as the river rises and falls with the seasons. On the riverbed, I gather, there are more treasures – people who have dived near the castle say there are cannonballs in there and larger rubble. Of course all this will be destroyed with the “improvements”. Have they done an archaeological survey? I doubt it.

Driving to the Czech Republic

I apologize for not blogging recently. This is because I have been travelling. At long last I had decided to make the journey from Britain to my Czech home by car. Regular readers of this blog will know that I usually travel by plane and train. It always seemed an awful long way to come by car, especially on my own, and I never had the time to spend doing the journey in a leisurely fashion. But this time I decided to change that – there were four large boxes of books to bring over, pictures, embroideries and puppets, some clothes I had stockpiled in England and various foodstuffs impossible to get in the Czech Republic. I could hardly fit them all into the car.

I took the ferry to Dunkerque and from thence drove across Belgium to stop overnight in Aachen or Aix La Chapelle. This was a town I had visited as a teenager and then I had studied the architecture of its cathedral at university. I arrived in time to visit the Dom (shown here) – Charlemagne's great masterpiece, the first domed building north of the Alps and decorated by fabulous mosaics. In the morning I rose early and took to the streets before the town stirred. This enabled me to explore the town, medieval mingled with Art Deco and I found myself taking photographs of decorations that took my fancy on the shops, banks, the Rathaus, and even the railway station which looked like it had been decorated by someone who was stoned. I then returned to the hotel for breakfast and my departure.

I crossed Germany. This is a country which I know very little, but from the autobahn my appetite for it was whetted. I was passing through some wonderful landscapes - there was the hilly area along the Rhine with ruined castles perched on their peaks, the forests of Bavaria, twice I crossed the Donau (Danube), until I came to my second overnight's stop at Regensburg. Regensburg is another UNESCO World Heritage Site, a medieval and Renaissance city in near perfect condition. I had planned to spend a good half day there exploring, but realised there would not be enough time to do it justice and secondly that I wanted to do so in the company of my husband. So, as Regensburg is only 2.5 hrs from our Czech home I decided it would wait for either a long daytrip or an overnight stay.

In the morning I set off again – along the autobahn into the Bohmerwald National Park (the German part of the Sumava) and then turned off towards the Czech border. This last leg of my journey was the most beautiful of all. Many of the forest trees were in blossom, everything looked newly washed. The weather was warm, but in some of the dips winter snow still lay where the sun had not got to them. The landscape became familiar – I was nearing home, following the northern shore of Lake Lipno and then the few miles north to Horice. I pulled up at the gate – I was home. Would I do it again? Possibly, but with someone with whom to share the journey.

The Czech Roma

Recent news has been very depressing. There was a march by 500 far-right demonstrators through the predominantly Roma (gypsy) area of Prirov early this month, followed by others in other towns. Then a Roma family had their house firebombed, both mother and father were badly burnt but the worst injuries were incurred by their daughter of 22 months who has 80% wounds.

These incidents reveal a dark side to the country that I love. The racism against the Roma minority (they make up less than 3% of the population) is widespread. It came as a great shock to hear middle-class educated Czechs talk about the Roma in a way that would be unacceptable among similar people in multi-cultural Britain. Indeed the comments and anti-Roma jokes were similar to those that I heard in my youth in the 1970s Britain and even then were considered dodgy. Then there is the presence of the far-right, something I realised when a local proudly showed me a fascist tattoo on his arm. It is the acceptance of racism at all levels of society that allows such attitudes to thrive.

Amnesty International has just released a report on the plight of European Roma and highlighted the educational discrimination against Roma children, who despite it being unconstitutional are sometimes sent to special schools for children with mental difficulties. This really goes to the heart of the problem. While Roma children are segregated and educationally deprived, then there is little hope of improving the situation .

The well in the cellar

Our house has three cellars, two are on the ground floor at the back built into the hillside on which the house sits. The other cellar is underneath the house and it is probably older than the house itself. When first we bought the house, we couldn't get into it. The former owners had treated it as a rubbish tip and the steps were covered with piles of empty beer bottles and other detritus. We paid a couple of guys to remove the rubbish to see what was down there. What a job! What we found was a low rectangular room with a concrete floor, granite walls and barrel ceiling.

The next job was to remove the concrete floor - underneath it was a floor made of granite cobbles and a spring, which soon started flowing into the cellar. The concrete had blocked the spring, but the water had had to go somewhere and so had risen up our walls to create rising damp problems in the ground floor walls. A pool formed in the cellar, it was an improvement but not an answer, particularly as it soon became a breeding pond for mosquitoes. On the upside this attracted bats – I opened the door one day and nearly got a bat in the face. So we had our builders dig a well and fix up a pump to keep the well from overflowing. The granite cobbles were relaid and everything was looking good.

Or it did until we had this year's cold winter, which froze the water in the pipe as it fed into the septic tank. The spring flaw and several kettles of hot water and the water can flow again but the pump still isn't pumping . Oh well! Why does that not surprise me?

We have had the water tested and it is pure spring water. So now we are rethinking what we do with our personalised spring water. Our water currently comes from a spring at the farm above the house. We have no control over it and a few months ago the farmer decided to turn off the supply (to us and the rest of the village) for four days. When it came back on, it blasted the pipe supplying our central heating boiler off the wall and flooded the ground floor cellars. So now we are looking at creating tanks in the basement, which may not replace the farm water but would provide a useful backup. I will keep you informed of progress.

We have had the house for over three years. When I started on its restoration, I thought I would be finished by now. Now I just don't believe that day will ever come. I read Salamander's posts on the Krumlov ExPats blogsite about her latest purchase (she has two properties on the go at the same time) and I am in awe.

Planting an Aronia

On Easter Monday I planted an aronia plant in the garden. In the UK aronia is barely known as a garden plant. If it is known, it is known as a shrub which has lovely white spring flowers, bright autumn foliage and decorative black berries. In the Czech Republic you will find aronia bushes in many gardens and it is grown less for its appearance as for the benefits of its edible berries.

Aronia is a plant native to the Eastern and Northern forests of America. Its therapeutic qualities were valued by the Native Americans, but its use went into decline and the berries were primarily used for dying fabrics. Meanwhile behind the Iron Curtain Aronia was being presented as a super berry, created through the scientific advances of socialism. Now we Brits are discovering aronia's qualities. Marks and Spencers announced last year that it was going to be stocking aronia berries and at the same time launched something of an awareness campaign in the British press. The coverage also indicated that one reason for M&S's decision was demand from Britain's growing Polish community.

So why am I planting it? Well, it is relatively easy to grow, although it likes acid to neutral soil, and is small enough to grow in a medium sized garden. Any plant in my garden has to earn its place visually, ideally (as with aronia) in a number of seasons. But perhaps most importantly the more I read about the medical benefits, the more I realise its potential value. It has the highest level of antioxidants of any fruit, as well as anti-inflammatories and chemicals that help cardiovascular problems. Oh and the Native Americans believed that aronia is an aphrodisiac! All I need now is to keep the pigeons off the berries.

What to buy when visiting the Czech Republic

I just had to show you these - they are some oven gloves I bought in the little supermarket opposite Cesky Krumlov castle. They are just so Czech! For starters they are dressed in national costume, but it is more the quirky humour that strikes me as Czech.

Visitors to the Czech Republic and Cesky Krumlov so often go home with standard tourist gifts - painted Easter eggs (very appropriate today), wooden toys, amber jewelry, puppets, Bohemian glass. All are good things to buy to take home with you. But if you want something different as a memento of your trip, do check out the shops for the locals. In local supermarkets or haberdashers you might find something like this. In ironmongers you might find mushroom knives or scoops for forest berries. In florists you might find straw wreaths decorated with mushrooms, or squirrels made of straw. And the great thing about these type of presents is that you can be certain as you board the plane home you will be the only person with those gifts and that they are genuinely Czech.

Does UNESCO know?

The big question is does UNESCO know about what is happening in Cesky Krumlov.

For those of you who have not been following my posts about the destruction which is happening in the name of flood reduction. Here is a brief summary of what has happened so far:

• 21 mature trees have been cut down from the banks of the River Vltava and the island just downstream of the Lazebnicky Bridge.
• The island itself (a natural feature which can be seen in historic pictures of Krumlov) is under threat of removal.
• The natural banks will be replaced with concrete ones under the proposed "flood prevention" measures.
• The river weir at the foot of the castle will be replaced by a modern metal one.

All the above will have a major impact on the historic aesthetic of the town, particularly as the river falls considerably in the summer from its winter levels which will mean that the concrete will be particularly visible at the time when the town is most full of visitors.

The local community has reacted with horror.

• A recent open letter to the Town Council collected over 800 signatures in a matter of a fortnight and the number continues to rise.
• All the residents in Parkan Street, the street the Town Council claims to be protecting have all expressed their unhappiness.
• Proper consultation clearly has not taken place - no one knew about the proposals until the bulldozers arrived.
  

So where does UNESCO stand on this? Were they consulted? They should have been and it seems impossible to believe that they agreed the changes. The townsfolk could do with their help.

For my previous posts on the subject visit:

Ducks Fight Back 17th March
Flood Control and Willows 30th March

On a previous campaign:

UNESCO or No 22nd May 2007
The Alchemist's House 24th May 2007
News from UNESCO 7th September 2007

Bohemian Baroque

The Victoria and Albert Museum in London has a big exhibition on Baroque opening on Saturday, which gives me an excuse to blog about the Bohemian Baroque.

In my post about the Ales Gallery I wrote of my love of Bohemian Gothic religious art; I am afraid this does not extend to Bohemian Baroque. I think it must be my English background that makes me so ill at ease with the baroque style of religious decoration. Czech churches are sometimes full of it and give me the creeps - those tortured or ecstatic saints looking upwards with elaborate hand gestures, those doves of the Holy Spirit like gilded guided missiles. In fact all together too much gold, marble, wealth and power. It's the in-your-face Counter-Reformation intolerance that the Catholic Baroque symbolises, that gets to me. For that matter I am not very keen on English church baroque either.

Now, I love a good carved medieval pieta or Last Judgement wallpainting, but then they are part of my English upbringing, something that would surprise many Czechs. On my first visit to the Czech Republic I was taken to a church service in Prague. “You probably won't like it, being a protestant,” I was told. Actually there was nothing in the service that I had not seen in Anglican church services – in fact there were if anything less “bells and smells” than in the High Anglican church in which I then had an office and where you had to open all the windows to get rid of the clouds of incense after the service. I was struck by how similar the Anglican Book of Common Prayer was to the Czech Catholic service I was listening to. Indeed my host would have been shocked to hear that on Sundays all over England “protestants” were giving witness in the Credo to a belief “in the one catholic church”.

But that is the point I think – the Anglican Church is catholic (with a small c), it is designed to be open and tolerant to all sorts of beliefs. When I tried to explain that the English Church was designed as a compromise to allow Catholics and Protestants to worship together, my Czech hosts laughed. It was another example in their eyes, I fear, of a lack of principle on the part of the English. I beg to differ. Looking at the religious fundamentalism of those Baroque churches and the Counter Reformation, it seems to me that pragmatic tolerance is actually a principle worth standing up for, now as much as ever.

Flood Control and Willows

The Town Council is arguing that the way to control floods in Cesky Krumlov is to cut down the willows and to remove the natural banks on which they stand with concrete walls. There are several arguments against their plans - a) the aesthetic one, most of the time the river is low and the concrete will look awful, especially in this UNESCO heritage site, b) the heritage one, they are destroying an island which has been around for centuries, c) wildlife - the island is home to nesting birds and even occasionally plays host to otters. But I for one am not convinced that what they are proposing is the best way to control flooding either.

The key thing to note is that flooding is not common in Cesky Krumlov - in fact they are planning for a 100 year flood event. How can such a rare event justify such vandalism? Now as it happens flooding is common in Gloucestershire (my English home), indeed it is pretty common in Britain fullstop. In the UK we have rather moved away from constantly resorting to concrete walls, preferring to "focus on ways that work with nature, not against it" (in the words of the UK Government). Part of that strategy is the use of willows and other riverside trees to bind the river banks. There has been some fascinating approaches which create riverwalls from living woven willow (example shown above).

Equally important is to address the cause of the flooding rather than the flood. Locally the general view is that the last big flood was caused by someone opening the sluices on Lake Lipno and releasing a huge amount of water into the River Vltava, which swept down and flooded the towns, such as Cesky Krumlov, along its banks. The simple answer would then appear to be, don't open the sluice gates like that!

For an account of the open meeting of the Krumlov Town Council, visit http://krumlovbrit.blogspot.com/2009/03/protest-update.html.

If you want to help the protest you can do two things - 1/email the Town Hall (addressed to the Mayor, Ing. Luboš Jedlička) c/o Bozena.Kaliskova@mu.ckrumlov.cz adding your name in support of the petition of March 2009 that asks for the retaining of the small island under Lazebnicky bridge
2/ write to UNESCO and ask whether they are aware of this situation, the citizens' protests, and the extent of damage the projected works may cause. The name and contact details are:wh-info@unesco.org

More on Town Planning & Cesky Krumlov

As I mentioned in my previous blog, we have seen a sad decline in community shops and other usage in Cesky Krumlov. One such loss is that of the ironmongers which sat on Latran among the hotels and hostels. The doorway was always framed with spades, metal buckets and other 'mongery. When you went in you were faced with an assortment of tools and kitchenware. You could buy individual screws and hooks in all sizes and designs, metal brushes, scythes for the orchard, coal skuttles, clothes airers, a pronged tool to gather forest berries, things familiar and things whose purpose was a mystery to me. The shop had that very special smell that took me back to the ironmongers that I had visited with my father in my childhood, of polish and firelighters. The owner spoke not a word of English and very little German and so I communicated by pointing, miming and when all else failed drawing the object of my purchase. Then one day it was gone and the town is the lesser for it.

Another shop that has disappeared is the old hunting shop a few doors down from the ironmongers. The window was always full of the green huntsman jackets, hats, knives of various types, and shotglasses decorated with painted hunting scenes. I would go there to buy mushroom knives, such as the one shown here with a useful brush at one end for removing the dirt from one's finds. Now I cannot find anywhere that sells them in Cesky Krumlov, and, given the ease with which one can lose knives when mushrooming, I miss it. Now the shop sells trendy snow and skateboarding clothes.

Town Planning and Cesky Krumlov

The ongoing saga of the ducks and the island has reminded me that I have been meaning to blog about town planning in Cesky Krumlov. Regular readers of this blog will know of my concerns about the commercial exploitation of the town at the expense of its heritage and community - if you haven't do check out my post on the Alchemist's house and UNESCO or Not.

Some of you may even know that I work in community development and planning. I am fascinated by the way towns work both practically and spiritually. In my profession I am amazed by how little is taught to town planners on how to study the historical geography of place. Towns do not simply appear, they evolve, they respond to the dynamics of their community and the physical geography of the landscape. The town gains a memory, a grain in the wood, and planners play with that at their peril.

If you look at Cesky Krumlov you will be struck by a number of things. Firstly there is the oxbowing river with two bends so acute that they nearly touch and create an island. This river brings trade and money, its control means power. And so on one side there is the castle built on to a cliff, the second largest in the Czech Republic, its owners richer than the Holy Roman Emperor himself. And spilling down the hill from the river are houses and shops, in the foothills of the castle so to speak, serving the castle.


Across the river there is another force in play – the New Town with its many elaborate merchant houses focusing on the town square. Just as the Castle had its tower as a prominent statement of power, so in the New Town the tower and spire of St Vitus church speak of the power of the church. A dialogue is taking place between earthly and heavenly powers (of castle and church). While around their feet the process of trade and transaction gives the town its life blood.

Water forms boundaries – the river a natural moat and highway. Water also is at the centre of things, as both in the castle's courtyard and in the new town square there are wells and fountains. And under all is the granite rock that forms the cliff on which the castle sits and the building stone for church, castle and merchant home alike. But look close and you will see that the granite cliffs are riddled with holes, where mines have been dug to extract graphite and where water springs from the rocks.

Modern Krumlov is moving away from the old dynamics. The community life that was the life blood of the town is being forced out, evicted by commercial pressures, to the outskirts of the town and in its place come hotels, shops and restaurants catering exclusively for the tourists. Schools, banks and foodshops are being displaced. I understand that some Japanese tourists have been under the mistaken belief that the frontages of the town's buildings are folded away for winter. If this carries on, they might as well might be. But it is even more profound than that – Cesky Krumlov is a place of great power. It has an ability to knock people sideways in a way only a few special places do. I believe that is because of the forces at work in its geography. These forces are more than playthings for people to abuse for self gain. In circumstances such as this I have faith that this extraordinary town will get its own way and it will gather around it and within it people who will ensure that it does.

Which brings me back to the current campaign about the destruction of the island. Both of the photos I have chosen to illustrate the historical dynamics were taken when there were trees on the island. The trees have been lost but there appears to be some hope. In the light of public anger about the issue, the Town Council is holding a special meeting to discuss a compromise. For the latest visit http://krumlovbrit.blogspot.com/ So let us hope that the power of community action is beginning to be felt in Cesky Krumlov.

Ducks Fight Back in Cesky Krumlov

The people of Cesky Krumlov watched in horror as 21 trees were chopped down on the island in the middle of Vltava River, which has for so long formed a green backdrop to photographs of the ancient centre of the town. The reason given for this savagery has been "some flood prevention" works, but how this justifies the destruction of mature trees (mostly willows) whose roots bind together the soil and resisted the flood of 2002 is hard to see. Local sentiment sees a more sinister and mercenary motive - ie there's money to be made somehow. How did this get through planning without anyone realising what was proposed? Answer: the planning application had not mentioned the trees' destruction. Very quickly a petition was gathered with hundreds of signatures, but it was too late to save the trees, but could it save the island?

In addition to the trees the island was also something of a nature reserve with a colony of wild ducks, which were often the subject of tourist photos, and also the home of grey wagtails. Now the island is churned earth, which will be eroded away by the next winter flood. But overnight the ducks started to fight back. A metre high duck appeared together with a placard saying "Ducks against diggers." and "Don't take our island away." With mutant ducks on the case in this country with a taste for the surreal 'the powers that be' should quaking (or should that be quacking) in their boots.

For more on this story do visit http://krumlovbrit.blogspot.com/ and for a historic pictures of the island visit http://www.vizeck.cz/

Latest on the Central Heating

I hope those of you who read my blog regularly will know that I hate those whinging ex-pat blogs that are too frequent. They make you want to ask, "If you dislike the country and its people so much why did you move here?" I also dislike those ex-pat blogs, which seem to think it necessary to justify their move by attacking their motherland. So it is with caution and regret that I have decided to blog about the painful experience I have had with dealing with Czech contractors, but I think it is only fair on anyone else who is starting out on the path of restoring a house here.

Following on my post on the central heating a month or so ago, my electrician eventually turned up. He managed to botch together a solution to the hot water problem (he needed to bring a new switch so for a while the existing switch had to be held together with a piece of paper). In so doing he broke the seal that electricity supplier had put on the electric meter setting. Of course he says all the problems are electricity supplier's fault, but because he broke the seal we can't prove it! As for the central heating, well he couldn't help me there, I had to get the central heating company in. As the electrician had been the project manager for all the first stage of work – including the central heating – this should have surprised me, but after three years here it didn't.

The date arranged for the visit of the central heating engineer came and went, another no-show. Then on the Wednesday, miracle of miracles, both the heating engineer and electrician turned up together. It turns out that the central heating is to the wrong spec and could never heat the house in these conditions. Add to that the clock in the electric box is faulty, with the result that such heating as there is isn't charging properly. It has taken three years of complaining about the heating and sky-high bills to get this far, but at least (I hope) the problems have been identified and we might just have agreed the steps towards getting them fixed, perhaps not completely but enough.

So what have I learnt (the hard way) about employing Czech builders?
1 Well for starters they will tell you what they think you want to hear (see my post on When Yes Means No) rather than the truth.
2 If you don't ask for something, the Czech craftsmen won't do it for you and they won't suggest it either. No matter that they are the experts, you are still meant to know. No matter too that it is a task so obvious one would think it unnecessary to ask, it won't to get done – eg if you ask them to fit a sink, ensure they also fit a waste pipe!
3 Czech tradesmen never seem to finish anything properly, and certainly don't do the necessary checks when they finish (see my August post about the dryrot in the kitchen).
4 Get everything in writing.
5 Even when you employ someone as a project manager – don't assume they will take responsibility if things go wrong.
6 Ensure that the builders include the cost of cleaning up after the job otherwise you will be left with piles of rubble.
7 Get a Brit to do it (only joking, well maybe not).

Have I just been unlucky and am making unfair generalisations? Conversations with other ex-pats and indeed with Czechs confirm that I am not alone in my experience. Is it just another example of the Czech attitude to work that I spoke about it in a previous post? Probably and if so there's no hope for us. Not that I am for one moment suggesting that one does not have bad experiences in England, just that they seem almost the norm here. Ah well, I just have to remind myself how much I love the house and the countryside around it.

A Different Palette

On my flight back from England after Christmas I was sat next to a retired couple who were visiting the Czech Republic for the first time. As the plane began its descent into Prague Airport, the wife commented to her husband as she looked down at the countryside below “It's so brown!” This gave me pause for thought, I looked past her out of the window and noticed that yes it was brown, unlike the England we had left which was despite the winter still green. I had forgotten that this was so. The Czech winter with its cold and snow means that the grass in the pastures withers and turns a straw colour. With the exception of the dark green of the firs, the Czech landscape is many shades of brown. Of course everything is very different when the country is covered with snow - a dazzling white in the sunshine which contrasts so strongly with the other colours that they appear black or dark grey. On such days you would do well to wear sunglasses.


Both these sets of winter colours are followed by the sudden explosion of Czech springtime, often over a few days, when the world turns a wonderful green. On one of my early visits I spent a happy couple of hours in Petrin Park overlooking Prague, picking wild flowers for my sick friend.

Czech Spring is such a contrast the English one, where everything is more muted – a gradual changing with Spring edging in to the landscape over a period of months. I am currently in England where Spring is gently springing. Snowdrops, which appear in January, have been succeeded by primroses, and then by yellow catkins. Yesterday I drove to Ross on Wye and on the verges the first of the wild daffodils were opening – in a week or so one of Gloucestershire's great natural displays will happen as the woods and fields around Dymock are filled with Wordsworthian hosts. That of course is followed in April by that most British of scenes - the bluebell woods where the flowers shimmer in huge oceans. The Czech Republic has nothing to compare with the English Spring flowers, unless it is the purple buttercups of which I have written in the past.

But then the Czech Republic has other treasures. The painting medium most suited to an English landscape, no matter the season, is watercolour, with green, grey and white being the dominant colours in the palette, with the occasional blue. Oil and pastel are more suited to the Czech, the colours more intense and more contrasting – the sun and sky closer to those of the Mediterranean. Except perhaps at the turn of Winter, when washes of brown are called for.

Masopust in Cesky Krumlov

Last Tuesday, being Shrove Tuesday, Cesky Krumlov celebrated Masopust (the Czech carnival). The procession had the traditional Masopust elements that I saw in Horice Na Sumave of the tancmeisitri, the Masopust character, as well as some people in costumes of straw, a master of ceremonies, and some people with fur hats.


What was particularly lovely were the two little masopusters, whose presence suggested that the Masopust tradition has a future.


In addition there were people in masks and costumes from the more Italian Carnivale tradition, including one in a white pierrot costume who also seemed to be part of Masopust.


As happens at the Cowley Road Carnival in Oxford (which I have been involved in over the years) the local schools had been active and there were lots of children dressed in home-made masks and costumes.

Finally there were some strange street theatre elements. This time I was able to take some photos which I share with you here – a better way of giving you the feel of the event rather than through my inadequate words.


For the tale of how Masopust came to England view my post on the subject.

Posts on other Czech customs include Easter

Thaw Continued & Czech Driving Machismo

The thaw had the effect of melting the top layer of compacted snow on the roads leading to our village which then rucked up into tracks, below the snow was now ice. I therefore watched in awe as a number of Czech drivers attempted to drive up the hill to the village. It was essential to get enough speed up to keep the momentum going to the top but not too much that you lost control. Some made it, others made it half way and slid back and one drove his car into the pile of snow on the side and abandoned it.

But the prize for Czech driving machismo and bloody-mindedness had to go to the driver of the car who decided to drive to Horice Na Sumave via the little road. This road rises sharply as it goes out of the village and on this stretch is shaded by two lines of trees making the thawing influence of the sun intermittent. It is very narrow, only the width of one car. Add to this at the bottom of the hill as you exit the village there is a 90 degree turn, which means that you cannot get any momentum before you start on the hill. The final point to make is that this road only goes to Horice, which can be reached from our village via a better and easier road which goes downhill, and so any attempt to climb this hill was totally unnecssary.

But one Czech driver thought better. I watched him (I presume it was a him) make several attempts on the hill, the first time he got a third of the way before sliding backwards, the second halfway. He then disappeared for a while. Aha I thought he has realised the errors of his ways and is going the sensible route. Not a bit of it. There he was reversing (yes reversing) up the hill, again he made several attempts, but he did make it eventually. The very idea of attempting driving up that lane in those conditions was enough to make me shudder, but doing it while looking over one's shoulder hardly bears thinking about. Those mad Czech drivers!

Thaw?

I was enjoying a cup of tea with my friend Salamander on Tuesday when there was a thump as a large lump of snow slid off her roof and fell past the window of her study and on to the street below. The thaw appears to be arriving and Czechs should either avoid walking under the house eaves or keep an eye skywards. Some Czech buildings have spikes set in the tiles presumably to break up the snow and prevent these avalanches. But mine and hers do not.

Here in our village we are higher than Cesky Krumlov where she lives and so the thaw has been slower in coming. But on Thursday night it did, the first sign of it was a loud metal crack which woke me with a start. This was followed by more, heralded by a rumble as a slab of snow (a foot deep) slid down the roof. The metal gutter would take the strain for a while until the weight of snow overwhelmed it and with a crack similar to that of a rifle it deposited the snow onto the ground below. I was sleeping in the backroom where the gutter is very close to the window, so you can imagine the sound. This happened intermittently through the night, usually when I had just got back to sleep.

In the morning I went in to the yard, on the yard-side of the house half a roof's worth of snow had come down (see above). After much work the yard steps had been clear of snow the previous evening, alas no longer they were piled high. This year has been particularly bad, as it has not stopped snowing for days on end and the snow is very thick. Not as thick however as my first winter here when it was at least twice as deep and caused real problems, in particular breaking my old roof timbers. I remember a huge slab coming off the roof of the house opposite and my neighbours having to dig themselves out of their front door. Well, it was my turn this Winter. Shortly after taking the photo above, the rest came down with a terrible crump and the roof now looked like the photo below. If I had thought the snow in the yard deep before, it was literally doubly so now . Now that I no longer needed to worry about more avalanches I set about clearing the steps of at least two to three feet of snow plus a path to the gate. I had been thinking of going into Cesky Krumlov that morning, as I was leaving for England early the following morning but the snow put paid to that, instead I was up to my knees in snow.

Masopust in Horice Na Sumave

Masopust (the Czech version of Carnival) is celebrated at this time of year in certain parts of Moravia and Southern Bohemia. Fortunately for me it is still going strong here in Horice Na Sumave. It happened on Saturday. Unfortunately it was the worst possible weather for it. Instead of the usual Czech winter of one day of snow followed by bright sunshine, we have had almost continuous snow for days. The roads leading to our village have become slicker and slicker and were particularly bad on Saturday – in fact I watched as the wheels on the tractor pulling the snow plough spun on the ice outside our house. What was I saying in my post of a week or so ago about how the Czechs are not as good at dealing with snow as we Brits are led to believe?

For Masopust a group of Masopusters wander from house to house and village to village. Outside each house a group of tancmeisitri (dance masters) in black suits wearing tall hats covered with tissue flowers (to symbolise Christ's wounds apparently) and carrying fake guns or pikes (often with a piece of bacon and bread on it) dance in a circle. In addition there is the Masopust character – a young man elected for the post – who wears a coat of brightly coloured rag strips and carries a flail for thrashing wheat. Then there are a number of other comic characters – one looked as though he might have been a bear. Having danced and thus blessed the house with prosperity the householder gives them shots of slivovice or some other fiercely alcoholic beverage. I gather that the occasion is also used as a means to raise money, for say the local volunteer fire brigade, and that the householder may be “arrested” until a fine is paid.

On Saturday I looked for their arrival from my window, thinking I would see the procession come along one of the two roads into the village. But I missed them, perhaps because in the terrible weather they came by car. Instead I simply heard some music and there they were dancing outside my neighbours' house (a very short dance it was too). I grabbed my camera, put on my coat and boots and went outside. They were nowhere to be seen. I walked the short distance to the cross and still there was nothing to be seen. However in the few minutes it took me to walk there, I realised why the dance had been so short – the ice was lethal and I nearly lost my footing several times and I hadn't had several shots of slivovice! I abandoned my idea of walking to Horice na Sumave to see the end of Masopust. So I am sorry, but as I do not have any photos, you will have to make do with this one from last year's photos on the town's website.

Carnival is of course linked with the Catholic Church traditions in Southern and Central Europe, but I couldn't help thinking that Masopust comes from a much older tradition, which it betrays in several ways. Firstly the festival is clearly one which brings good fortune and fertility – hence the flail, the bacon and bread and the blessing on the house. Secondly there is the role of Masopust himself. In Horice the final act of Masopust happens in the local hall of culture in the evening. Here everyone gets well and truly ratted and dance into the early hours, but not before Masopust is ceremonially executed and a mock funeral takes place. Here if ever there was one is an example of a legacy of the pagan Celtic sacrifice of a god-king to secure the fertility of the land for the next season.

Which all brings me to my final observation. One thing that strikes me strongly about Masopust is its similarities to British Morris dancing and mumming. The coat of rags is identical to those of the border morris sides as is the habit of blacking up. Of course there is also the fertility ritual element in both. I gather from a recent exhibition at The Museum of South Bohemia in Ceske Budejovice that an element of Masopust, which took place in the then German-speaking towns of this part of South Bohemia, was a form of sword dancing. The book of the exhibition suggests that this was a peasant imitation of lordly sword dances, but that may be wrong. Sword-dancing (or rather dancing with long pieces of metal) is part of the Morris tradition. These are usually eventually woven into a star or sun configuration and the dance ends with this being held aloft. However I remember very clearly in my childhood seeing another version of this in which the configuration was around one dancer's neck, the swords were then withdrawn and the dancer fell down.

Tracks in the Snow

I have often talked in this blog about my encounters with Czech wildlife, but it is only when one sees the many tracks in the snow that one realises just how much there is and how close one is to it. When I was a little girl there was a children's tv programme called (I think) Town Boy, Country Boy and featured the incomparable and much-missed Jack Hargreaves (the old guy on How!) In it a town boy is taught about the countryside by Jack. Like that boy I was fascinated by nature and wildlife and longed to be able to track animals. Now here is my chance.

From my hazy memories I think this scene above is where a deer ascended the railway embankment to cross the track to the fields beyond.


And this is from a rabbit.

And the one below shows where a buzzard swooped down on its prey, it hopped around a few times before taking off. You can see the marks of its wing feathers in the snow.


I have bought myself a book of animal tracks so that I can read the signs better – it is in England and I will bring it back when next I visit.

Krtek the Mole

Tuesday is my son's 21st birthday. As well as a present of much-needed money (he is at university, need I say more) we are giving him a dvd of cartoons featuring the Mole (Krtek) – a character created by Czech animator Zdeněk Miler. The little mole first appeared in 1957 in a film called How the Mole Got His Trousers and Miler went on to create some fifty more short cartoons about his little black hero. Krtek remains an important part of Czech childhood, as is demonstrated by the fact that Moles in all shapes and sizes can be bought in toyshops the length and breadth of the Czech Republic. One suspects the toys are bought by and for adults as well - my son discovered him when he was no longer a child, but then anyone can appreciate the character and the animation.

I don't think the Mole ever made it to British television - I don't understand why the BBC didn't snap him up. It is a shame because he is old enough to have been part of my childhood as well as my son's. There are lots of Krtek cartoons on Youtube, here's one of my favourites.

Czech work/life balance

In my last post I talked about how a number of my Czech friends are unwilling to consider jobs which require a commute. Indeed when I suggest looking for a better paid job in Ceske Budejovice, less than 30 minutes away from Cesky Krumlov, they look at me askance. What a waste of time they are thinking. The British have the longest average commute in Europe, Londoners spend approximately one month (225 hours) a year commuting. Put like that I am increasingly with the Czechs on this issue.

This attitude is I think part of a wider more relaxed Czech attitude to work and a healthier approach to the work/life balance. Whilst I have met a few Czechs who are driven and devote to their work, I just get the impression that for most Czechs work is not as central to their lives as it is for the Brits. Instead the focus is on the family and the country cottage. They may not be willing to commute for half an hour to get to work, but they will happily pile into their car and drive for hours to and from the cottage every weekend. Whilst there they busy themselves - chopping wood, doing DIY and digging the garden -so that they are exhausted come Monday and so they return to work for a rest.

This can be very frustrating when you are trying to get something done. As a general rule I do not contact Czech offices on Mondays (the workers will be talking about what they did over the weekend) nor on Fridays as they will be getting ready to go. And Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays aren't much better! Not for the Czechs that Anglo Saxon Protestant work ethic they are altogether more Mediterranean in their outlook. Whilst it does make me frustrated at times, I also envy them it and hope that a bit of it rubs off on me over time.

Some thoughts on snow

At the moment the British media are full of stories about the disruption caused by the exceptional snowfalls that have beset the UK over the last week. Commentators ask why the British transport system can grind to a virtual halt when other countries cope happily with much more snow. It is, they argue, the fault of government (central and local) to be adequately prepared, a decline in standards among the Brits - slackers who use the excuse of a few inches of snow to bunk off work, health and safety phobia gone mad, what ever happened to the bulldog spirit, blah, blah, blah.

My other country, the Czech Republic, copes with winter snows that last for several months most years. This gives me something of an insight into the situation. It is not true that all the roads here are kept clear of snow, as this photo near my villages shows, far from it - many of the rural roads are neither cleared, gritted nor salted. Such snow clearance as does take place is done by our local farmer, for good commercial reasons. And my observation is that is true of many minor roads in the Czech Republic, you can spot the road used by forestry logging lorries or leading to a factory as they are clear.

Czech cars are obliged by law to have winter tyres fitted every year, which help with driving on snow, but not so much on ice. Whether such a measure would be appropriate in a country such as the UK, which has heavy snow once every 28 years, is questionable. My old creative writing teacher always had snow chains on her tyres in the Winter, but then she lived down a narrow Cotswold lane on a 1-in-4 hill.

On driving in the snow in the UK after driving in the Czech Republic it is pretty obvious to me what the main problem is - namely that British drivers just do not know how to drive in these conditions. They drive too fast or too slow, the latter being as dangerous as the first when attempting to get up a winding steep hill in the Cotswolds. But is it surprising that this is the case? How can they gain such knowledge/experience unless they are sent to the Czech Republic for a few months? That said, a few weeks ago I was standing at the Spicak bus station in Cesky Krumlov when I saw Czech boyracer do a spectacular but unplanned 180-degree spin on the main road - I and the rest of the bus queue gave him a jeering round of applause.

One other thought about why the British have had so many problems this last week - a major cause is I think the British attitude to commuting. When I was a little girl we had the winter of 1963 - a far worse winter than this one. I can still remember it, although I was only four. For weeks my home town was cut off - it is surrounded on three sides by hills. The snow was so deep I have heard tales of people walking to the local papermill on the tops of the hedges. The school stayed open - even though the children's toilets were outside loos, which required the snow being cleared every morning and the ice broken in the toilet bowls (ah yes I remember them well!). But the difference was the teachers would have lived in the town, now they could not afford it. The majority of the population worked in the papermill and other local businesses, now people commute to Cheltenham, Oxford and Birmingham. I believe it is this reliance on being able to travel long distances that has made this year's "snow event" as the Met Office calls it so catastrophic.

I have observed Czechs do not share this willingness to travel for hours just to get to work. Friends in Cesky Krumlov will not consider a job in Ceske Budejovice only 20 minutes away. Is this because of the Czech Winter? I think not, but rather an attitude to work and the work/life balance which thinks an hour's commute even for a better job too much of a sacrifice.

Rococo Treasures at Kvitkuv Dvur

Recently my husband and I were honoured with an invitation to look round the large courtyard farm of Kvitkuv Dvur on the hill behind Cesky Krumlov Castle. This is no ordinary courtyard farm - it was owned by the Schwarzenbergs, the Lords of the castle and provided produce for the Castle's heaving dining tables. At one point in the fashion of the time the chatelaine Marie Theresa Schwarzenberg decided to turn the farm into a place where she, like Marie Antoinette could play at farming. As a result Kvitkuv Dvur has hidden treasures.

We entered one of the main rooms and the owner opened the shutters one by one. With each shutter we gasped at what we saw revealed: a room with walls and ceiling covered with the finest rococo frescos. The frescos showed a series of scenes of the rural idyll – milking, the farmyard, a shepherdess, goat-herding, a man whittling, another gathering eggs (or doves) from a dovecote, and others.


On the ceiling the painting continues seamlessly with faux-balustrades from which people look down and a sky full of clouds and birds. This isn't the only visual joke the painter Jakub Prokys plays with us: at one point a card player is shown at full height (see photo). There is a lovely lightness of touch and humour in the paintings as well as a huge level of detail.


The tragedy of this wonderful place is that it is in desperate need of restoration. The owner is a doctor, who despite huge dedication and having putting every penny he had (and some he hadn't) into doing up the building, is struggling to meet the demands of his inheritance. As he put it “When the communists came they took it away from my family, then it was in good condition, now the state has given it back ruined, and I must meet the costs”. Such grants as are available are never given in their totality, but instead as a percentage for which he has to find the rest. Furthermore the grants are not given for the building in its entirety - so you can get a grant for the ceiling, but have to get a separate one for the roof, even though the latter directly impacts on the second.


I am sure this is a circumstance that is being repeated all over the Czech Republic. Our host is now under huge pressure to pay back the loans he took to start the restoration. He could sell up to a commercial operation which wants to turn the farm and surrounding land into an up-market golf course, but to do so feels like a betrayal of his forebears. He has a vision of area in front of the farm being the new site of the rotating theatre, which UNESCO is demanding is removed from the Castle Gardens, and the farm buildings forming the supporting buildings. But time is running out for him.

Dobry Den

One thing you will notice as soon as you arrive in small town Czech Republic is the fact that everyone says hello to you when you meet them. You are walking down the road and meet someone coming in the opposite direction - “Dobry den” you both say with a nod and a smile, even though you have never met before. As you walk into a shop the shop assistant will greet you and you should reply in kind. As you leave she will say “Na shledanou” and again you reply in kind.

This is not just a custom for the older members of the population. It always surprises me when I pass a group of hooded youths, to hear the largest of them greet me with a Dobry Den. This includes our local gypsies, who, whilst having bought into the fashion and air of the Bronx wholesale, have not bought into the “You looking at me?” demeanour, no - “Dobry den” they go.

Skating on the Swimming Pond

I have blogged about the wonders of the Czech swimming ponds in the past – these man-made ponds where the villagers spend the hot summer days swimming or rafting. In winter they have another function. Last winter they drained the pond in order to clean it out and so I had been under the impression that this might be an annual occurrence. Not so.

As my husband and I walked past the pond on the other day, we watched a family putting on their skates and taking to the ice. They sat on the small jetty from, which in the summer people had jumped into the water, and did up their laces. The smallest child was first on the ice, ice-hockey stick in hand. The Czechs are internationally renowned for their ice hockey teams, but this young one has a lot to learn. The first thing he needs to learn is how to stay upright for more than a minute and once having fallen over how to get up again. Here is a photo of him, looking rather good, although the more perceptive amongst you will have noticed that he has missed the puck. He fell over when he tried to turn round to get it. Shortly afterwards he was joined by his big brother, who gathered up the puck and leaving the little one standing sped across the ice.

These long Czech winters in which the temperature seldom gets above zero combined with the many frozen ponds mean that children like our young friend are soon expert skaters and dreaming of joining the Czech ice-hockey team. I of course being English will never get past the stage of spending most of my time sprawled on the ice.

No Hot Water

My water heater isn't working and nor (properly) is my central heating. With the winter temperatures consistently well below zero, this is a disaster. The radiators are just about lukewarm, which at least means that the chill is taken off all the rooms and the water in the pipes does not freeze, but it is far from satisfactory. Fortunately we do have our wonderful wood-burning stove (see previous post), with which we are able to heat our main living room.

When we bought the house we took a load of professional advice on the best heating system for it – given there would be times when we would not be there and when we would want to temper the house to just above freezing. This seemed to preclude the exclusive use of the woodburning stoves, as these require topping up. The heating system we got was meant to be the best – with four large tanks installed in the back basement room in which water, that had been heated at times when the electricity rate was lowest, could be stored before being pumped to the radiators. The control system was again meant to be brilliant, with thermostatic controls, a digital timer with a multitude of programmes to choose from, and even the facility to be controlled remotely by phone – the idea being we can ring from England and it would come on in advance of our arrival. The remote control option didn't work from the beginning – the receiver was set in a wall with poor telephone reception. Within a year of use the digital timer had broken and had to be replaced, and now the bit that tells the boiler to come on and by how much seems not to be working. Added to that bills far in excess of what we had been led to expect – we are now told that a switch has been installed wrongly and so not only have been heating the water when the electric is at its most expensive but the surges in the current are what have been breaking the equipment – and you can see why I am close to suggesting we get rid of the lot.

Then when we got back from England just before the New Year the water heater failed to heat. Aaarghh!!! Of course all the Czechs were taking extended Christmas and New Year holidays and so it was not until the 12th that I was able to arrange for the electrician to turn up. I waited for him in vain, he had decided to go down the pub instead. I hate to say it, but I have come to recognise this as being par for the course here in the Czech Republic. The only consolation was I was so angry I managed to chop all the logs in the barn. Previously I had struggled in vain to split them, now imagining them to be someone's head I did the lot!

Czech Train Journey

In previous posts I have talked about my pleasure at taking train journeys in the Czech Republic. But here is a post about another such journey and a fellow passenger.

Czech trains (well certainly the ones that run from Ceske Budejovice to Prague) tend to be somewhat old compared to British ones. This is no bad thing, as I rather feel that the Pendolino's aren't as good as the old trains - not enough luggage space and smelly loos. The Czech ones still have compartments, which caused my delighted two nieces to say it was a Harry Potter train, even if their journey began on a very unmagical platform in Budejovice. It is the nature of compartments is that you have a different relationship with your fellow passengers. This can be good and bad. If you are unlucky you will have difficulty escaping them without obviously moving away and so offending. For example recently I spent a three-hour journey in the confines of an overheated compartment with a woman with a bad cold, who didn't appear to know how to use a handkerchief. My fellow passengers and I looked on in horror, but said nothing - the Brits aren't the only ones to have a problem with challenging anti-social behaviour. In some cases your fellow travellers can be a joy, such as an elderly American doctor I met who, when her husband died, had set up a medical centre in Odessa much to the dismay of her children. If your fellow travellers are Czech, then the language barrier need not prevent your enjoyment - you can study Czech behaviour close up, you may find yourself answering questions about the UK or even sharing one of the picnics the Czechs usually bring on a journey (there are no buffet cars on our train).

But to my recent journey: I had settled into a compartment when an elderly man looked through the door at me and the empty compartment and asked if it was okay to join me. I waved at the empty seats and said "Ano, prosim". As a point of note, this is normal practice on Czech trains. To ask, without knowing Czech, it is sufficient to look in, catch the eyes of the other passengers, look round the compartment and say "Prosim?" The old man shuffled unsteadily to his seat, took off his coat, put it and his walking stick on a hook and loaded his luggage on to the rack. He sat down next to the window and opposite me, closed his eyes and went to sleep. This allowed me to study my travelling companion, he was a tall man, with grey hair receding at the temples, his hands were large and covered with liver spots, his grey jumper was hand-knitted but clean, his coat a good quality one. My first impressions of the usual poor Czech pensioner had been perhaps mistaken. I was now struck by what a remarkable bone structure he had, his face did not look Czech to my eyes, in fact he reminded me of a British aristocrat. He had been incredibly handsome when young and still looked pretty impressive.

After a nap he woke up and started to look out of the window. His gaze was an intense one and he was clearly thinking, my presence was not just ignored but didn't seem to register with him. After a while he opened his leather briefcase and took out three tattered notebooks held together by a rubberband and removed one which still had blank pages. He started to write and despite a shaking hand his writing was firm and clear. Ever so often he would stop, look out of the window with his steel-grey eyes, think about what to write next and then return to his notebook. He filled two pages and altered only one word. He was writing poetry!

At Prague he put away the book, put on his coat and shakily started to leave. As is customary he wished me "Na shledanou" and I returned it. I very much regretted not being able to speak to him properly, but then I wonder whether he would have written so openly in front of me if he hadn't noticed the English language novel I had been reading.

Czech House Pixies

The other day I was carrying some rubbish out to the bin, when I slipped on an icy step and fell badly. Fortunately I had my walking boots on which protected my ankle against serious damage, but I am limping and yesterday spent the day resting my leg. This is the third time I have hurt my leg here as regular readers of my blog will know. My friend commented that the house must have a malicious spirit which is tripping me up, not a particularly powerful one, a pixie perhaps. This response may seem strange to my British readers but to a Czech it is a perfectly natural one. The Czechs may be according to surveys the most atheist nation in Europe, but when it comes to pixies, water sprites and fairies they are believers. Let me give you some examples:

A fellow Krumlov Brit was restoring a ruined small cottage as a holiday home when a series of unexplained accidents took place, nothing serious things falling over and the like. The builder looked at him and suggested that they put a saucer of milk for the fairies under the threshold to appease them. My friend Salamander had a cleaner who was constantly talking about the house gnomes, who were playing tricks on her. You know the ones – they are the ones that magic up balls of old hair and fluff and leave them under your bed, that hide your nail scissors in the last place you would look, and turn the milk sour when the shop has just closed. We Brits have forgotten them, but we once had them too. What can I say? Other than Puck is alive and well and living somewhere near Cesky Krumlov.

It strikes me that my house pixie has a clear purpose in what he is doing. He is not trying to force me from the house, not at all. My injuries are just enough to ensure that I cannot walk very from it. Tomorrow I will be leaving my lovely Czech home and taking the early train to Prague, I don't think he wants me to go.

Diamonds in the Snow

Yesterday I went for a walk with my friend Salamander. We took the path up to the woods above my house, the weather was perfect – sun, snow, a clear blue sky, a deep blue I have never seen in England. We are having extremely low temperatures at present -20 degrees last night. It is as they say too cold to snow, the water vapour stays in the air and forms snow-like crystals over everything. On Saturday morning you could even see the ice hanging in the air where the sunlight shafted down, minute crystals would flash in shimmering clouds, a glimpse of the spirits of the Czech winter working their magic. Now we reaped the benefit of their work, we walked through ankle-deep virgin snow, broken only by occasional animal tracks. On the snow's surface flowers of ice crystal bloomed and shone in the sunlight. The branches of the dark firs at the forest edge were picked out by white.


We walked through woods, now bereft of the birdsong which had accompanied my mushrooming forays in the summer and autumn, the only sound being the crunch of the snow and occasional branch crack. Ducking under an electric fence we followed the edge of the forest down a steep slope – in the distance the Klet was bathed in sun, but with a scarf of low cloud around its shoulders. Crossing a frozen stream we regained the path and returned to the house and warm mugs of tea.

As dusk fell Salamander departed and I settled down with a book whilst the woodstove chugged in the corner. Then the phone rang – it was Salamander. “If you can, take a look at the moon.” I walked into the yard at the end of the orchard the moon full hung just above the old apple trees – large and orange. The light was so bright, the orchard was lit up as if in daylight. This morning I left the house at 8am to walk to Horice na Sumave to catch the bus into town. The sun was rising and the sky was coloured. As I walked I watched the sun turn the white snow yellow and the ice on the trees a peach colour. My house stood glowing in the light on the other side of the village. And just to finish off the enchantment across the fields as bold as brass ran my fox. I had not seen him since my return from England at New Year. He looked across the field at me, sniffed the morning air and darted into the cover of the woods. The dawn sun had turned his coat a dark auburn. By the time I got to Horice the world was white again.

Czech winter

Over the last week the area around our home has been transformed. We have had snow followed by a cold several degrees below freezing. As a consequence we have a wonderful winter landscape of bright white together with beautiful blue skies. It has been so cold and still that the water vapour has been unable to form into snow. Instead it crystallises on the branches and the plants and is nothing so like those magnetised iron filings one played with as a child, only white of course. On the ground through a process of slight thaw and then severe freeze the surface of the snow is covered by white feathers of ice, which catch the sunlight and dazzle like diamonds. There is such a magic in these Czech winter days, that it makes your heart leap with joy.

PS I don't usually put up large images on this blog, but have made an exception this time - click the photo to see enlarged version, a view towards Horice na Sumave from the hill above our Czech home.

Following the Star

Today is Twelfth Night or Three Kings Eve in the Czech Republic. There will be a ceremony in Cesky Krumlov Town Square to mark the end of the Christmas celebrations, when children will dress up as the kings, sing and collect money for the Catholic Charity. On Friday afternoon we caught a taster of the ceremony when we came across three (rather young) kings standing on the wooden bridge at Latran holding a cardboard star on a stick and a collection box. The star reminded me of the shooting star which is the emblem of the Cowley Road Carnival back in Oxford, which I was involved in setting up.

Later that evening we were walking up the hill from Horice Na Sumave towards our home. The sky above our heads formed a huge starlit dome. The moon was in its crescent form and a planet shone brightly a little way from its tip. Suddenly across the sky, almost parallel with the horizon but arcing slightly down came a meteor. I have spoken before of the displays of falling stars we get sometimes on our night walks to our Czech home, but this was different. This must have been extremely close, as it was a large ball of light rather than a faint speck, and instead of falling straight, it sped like a jet fighter from north to south. The other amazing thing about it was the long tail of light that trailed behind it. I saw Halley's comet when it came close a few years ago and which it has been suggested was the star of Bethlehem, but this was more spectacular. Had I been a magi, I would have followed it, but I would have needed something faster than a camel to do so. It certainly unnerved me, I have never seen anything like it and its size and low downward projection meant that for a while I listened for an explosion when the thing hit earth, but none came. My Czech esoteric friends would see it as a portent of some forthcoming event. They are all saying that 2012 will be see end of the world, for a few minutes I thought they might have got it wrong by a couple of years.

New Year 2009

In my blogs for previous years I told you about the New Year celebrations in Cesky Krumlov, this year we saw the new year in in our little village. The Krumlov New Year is a big event with the sky above the town erupting with fireworks, drunken celebrations in the Town Square and a concert. Our expectations of this year were omuch lower, a simple quiet affair. Not a bit of it.

Our village sits at the end of a valley circling the middle tier of a natural amphitheatre. Our Czech home is near the end of the semicircle of village buildings and sited above most. Thus from the windows of our main rooms we get a view across most of the village to another farm perched on the slopes opposite, plus a view down the valley to the hills above Horice na Sumave. The house faces south east, which means we get some spectacular sunrises and then full morning sun, in the evening the view is no less lovely with the opposite farm glowing in the pink light of sunset. I remember clearly my first morning in the house, when the snow may have been four foot deep in the yard but the low winter sun fairly blasted into the room in the morning.

At midnight the villagers set off fireworks and whilst not as abundant as the Cesky Krumlov ones, they were many and loud. For over half an hour rockets ascended into a night sky unpolluted by Krumlov's many lights. The villagers seemed to be taking it in turns to light the touchpaper. Standing at the window of our darkened room I watched the glow as a householder in the centre of the village lit rocket after rocket. It must have cost him a fortune to put on such a show. At about 12.30 I saw an unfamilar light appear, first one and then two glowing spheres. They were small paper hot air balloons, which set free drifted up into the freezing night air. I watched their ascent to many feet about the village until the flames were extinguished and unseen they fell. Of all the displays these balloons were the most magical.