What a city. What a soul. I dreamt about visiting Prague for ages, since I was 18. Not because of its beautiful stone bridge called Charles Bridge or majestic Castle. Its architecture covering all epochs fascinates me indeed, but it was not the only reason.
I fall in love with Prague long before I visited it. And it is clearly Franz Kafka‘s fault. His novels made me imagine about this city. I imagined of a grotesque city, where the sun never shines. I imagined its residents hiding behind their umbrellas while they walk in the dark narrow streets. I imagined people who regard every being with suspicion and try to define the danger from the sound of the foot steps behind them while they across the stone bridge in a rainy evening. I dreamt of long never-ending corridors in the buildings of Prague. I dreamt of people who tried to reach the castle but never did.
I imagined of people whose imagination is as quirky as Kafka’s. Did I find what I imagined of? Yes… apart of the darkness and rain (luckily the weather was lovely). For me it was a dream coming true walking down the streets where Kafka once walked along.
I’ve seen Kafka’s birthplace in Old Town Square and the New Jewish Cemetery where he rests in peace. I couldn’t visit his grave tough as the cemetery was closed. Because of restoration works I couldn’t see the house number 22 in the Golden Lane, where he wrote many novels and stories. I couldn’t go to the Kafka Museum or to the Old-New Synagogue, where his bar mitzvah was held, just because of wrong days or wrong hours I stood in front of those buildings. Well, based on this chain of odd “coincidences” I’d say my Prague visit was pretty much kafkaesque after all 🙂
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