One night I barreled through Zˇizˇkov, a working-class neighborhood suddenly chic, bound for a trendy cocktail bar I’d heard about. But as I turned a corner, sharp, loud laughter burst from behind a door. I stopped. Heard it again. Turned the knob and poked my head in. It was a tiny wine bar. A bunch of men, who’d apparently stopped home for their slippers, sipped small, frothy glasses of new wine, called burcˇák, as the barkeep filled their empty plastic soda bottles with dark red and wheaty yellow liquids from spigots. A round woman in a Minnie Pearl hat and tulle earrings patted the seat next to her, and I joined in. They peppered me with questions and competed to teach me tongue twisters. After too much burcˇák and too small a bill (Czech hospitality), I realized I would have found my Prague much sooner if I hadn’t looked so hard.
On my last evening, Satu and I walked across the Charles Bridge, its statues reaching out to me as I passed, each of them moving, breathing, seeming to shift just a little from the last time I looked, giving the city a kinetic energy, and the sense that it is somehow as alive as you are, with a being all its own. I remembered what Kafka said about Prague: “This old crone has claws.” But Prague doesn’t need claws. Paris is a city of light and romance, an extrovert that smothers you with kisses, but Prague beckons softly, confident in the draw of its mournful martyrdom. It is weighty, oppressed—and it knows you will be back.
The Details
Staying There
Live like the bourgeoisie at the all-apartment The Iron Gate (011-420-2-25-77-77-77; www.irongate.cz; from $244), a 14th-century building where cherubs cavort on original frescoed ceilings just steps from Old Town Square.
Step into a Sarah Bernhardt performance in the spectacularly restored Art Nouveau café and restaurant at Hotel Parˇízˇ (011-420-2-22-19-56-66; hotel-pariz.cz; from $390), on the Old Town’s edge, but forgo the hotel’s lackluster rooms and dismal service for the nearby K + K Hotel Central (011-420-2-25-02-20-00; www.kkhotels.com; from $350), a refurbished turn-of-the-20th-century cabaret house where Belle Epoque meets boutique chic in brass curlicues offset by ultramodern furnishings.
It does not get cooler than the Hotel Josef (011-420-2-21-70-09-01; hoteljosef.com; from $267), all sans-serif urbanity near the town’s center, from the glass, glass, more glass, and chrome of its guest rooms to the Milan-clad clientele perpetually sipping espresso in the lobby’s square-backed chairs.
Hotel Adria (011-420-2-21-08-11-11; www.adria.cz; from $234) offers clean, tourist-class functionality smack amid the hype and hustle of Wenceslas Square.
The butter-yellow blandness of Prague’s Four Seasons Hotel (800-332-3442; fourseasons.com/prague; from $380) is outweighed by its superlative views of the Castle and the Italian-influenced cuisine of its restaurant, Allegro.
Only a short walk away, hardwood floors, simple florals, and garretlike rooms give U Zlaté Studne (011-420-2-57-01-12-13; www.zlatastudna.cz; from $177) a French country feel beneath the Castle’s hulking ramparts.
Eating There
Prague has always been rich with culinary choice: red or white cabbage, potato or bread dumplings, roasted or fried pork. Today, samosas and sushi broaden the range, but hearty Czech comfort food is still the city’s forte.
Tender, full-bodied haluˇsky—Slovak gnocchi—bathed in sheep’s milk cheese star at Posezení U Cˇiriny (Navrátilova 6; 2-22-23-17-09), and the crispy, garlic-laced potato pancakes stuffed with pork are worth the years that indulging in them will take off your life.
Wild boar and haunch of venison conjure a medieval feast at U Modré Kachnicˇky (Nebovidská 6; 2-57-32-03-08), but desserts triumph.
Zahrada V Operˇe (Legerova 75; 2-24-23-96-85) updates classics like pheasant with contemporary flair: Think wasabi potatoes. Save room for the roasted bananas dolloped with tangy mascarpone.
Iranian caviar and an abundance of truffles make Kampa Park (Na Kampeˇ 8b; 2-96-82-61-02) Prague’s special-occasion restaurant.
Kolkovna (V Kolkovneˇ 8; 2-24-81-97-01) significantly elevates the pub experience (i.e., the bathrooms are clean) but still delivers the goods: free-flowing pilsner, steaming goulash, darkly fragrant goose, and, yes, fried cheese.
Once a hangout for Kafka, Dvorˇák, and Havel (not together), Café Slavia (Národní at Smetanovo Nabr.; 2-24-21-84-93) offers mere mortals passable food with spectacular Castle views and the deep scent of history.
The 1902-vintage Café Louvre (Národní Trˇída 20; 2-24-93-09-49) captures central Europe in its high ceilings and cosmopolitan clientele reading the newspapers over soft-boiled eggs.
Václav IV was said to toss pubkeepers into the Vltava for serving short measures, and Pivní Galerie (U Pru˚honu 9; 2-20-87-06-13) takes Czech beer at least that seriously, offering 180 handcrafted regional brews for sale and prearranged tastings. Sample Rulandské Bílé, Frankovka, and other vastly improved Czech wines at any wine bar and many of the city’s newly sprung bottle shops.
Being There
Once you overload on the Old Town’s twisting alleys, the Jewish Quarter’s mournful memorials, the Castle’s battlements, and the ever-changing views, head for Prague’s cultural diversions.
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