prague

Before Utah, there was Prague; drizzly, confectionery Prague. It had been there, beckoning, since I was a teenager and first fell in love with anything and everything Art Nouveau (although absinthe and I have never been, nor will we ever be, acquainted). In my mind, it was a city of shops selling the work of Czech artisans housed in gorgeous, finely-wrought old buildings. And it was, kind of. My friend Jen warned me shortly before we left that it was more like Disneyland, really, existing only for tourists. The preparation did me good. I could enjoy the architectural eye candy and ignore the tourist traps at street level, having known what was coming. We walked right by the obvious restaurants and shops and instead found little gems--Michelin quality at American chain prices--and looked a bit harder for the authentic local experiences. I think we found them.

The moment that will stay with me from Prague was during an architectural tour that Violette and I took of the Municipal House, an incredible collaboration of local artists and architects created to affirm the Czech right to independence while part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It is a stunning building, one of the most beautiful in the world, and there my daughter stood, in the Alphonse Mucha room, first sketching and then photographing the details that caught her imagination, while our fellow tourists watched her in fascination. Magic. If you asked my children, however, they would tell you that in Prague they saw rock candy being made, and that may be all. True, too.

What we will hopefully forget is that Violette most likely had had a fever for a day or two before we realized that we had been dragging a sick child around a foreign city. We will also try to forget that the rest of us had similar fevers by the flight home. If we were going to get sick, at least we had beautiful, long-lasting impressions of Prague to keep us company.