Khiva
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Why on Earth am I here?
Stepping off the train in Český Krumlov, far away from anywhere familiar, the answer’s far from clear.
Must be a sign
Not the answer to the ultimate question, but to the query posed by any traveller arriving somewhere new, unknown, and out-of-the-way.
Cute, suburban and remote, Český Krumlov station is surrounded by soul-sapping panelák and rodinné domky architecture. In England, we disparagingly refer to these as council blocks and Barratt homes. But in Czechia, the genres have been raised to a higher art - products of Czechia’s complex political past.
The panelák embody the aesthetic of the necessary: brutalist concrete monuments to the communist ideal (or not so ideal, as it turned out). Built to a formula and a price point, they have all the appeal of an Excel spreadsheet brought to life. With perhaps the odd brightly coloured panel proffering humanity, life and hope. Ironically, whilst built to exemplify socialist values of equality, functionality and mutuality, these cellblocks offer precisely no social value. Instead, they are utilitarian boxes for the efficient storage of human beings, rather than homes for enhancing people’s lives.
Which brings us to the rodinné domky: starter homes encapsulating the optimism of the Velvet Revolution. From 1989, they mushroomed all over Czech suburbs, fed by the euphoria of freedom, individuality and fresh hope. Unfortunately, just like forced mushrooms, they offer a distinct absence of distinctiveness and lack flavour of any kind. The sudden and deliberate break from the past means their architectural style is deprived of everything, except anonymity.
But enough of the downbeat detour.
The Český ennui is short-lived. Ten minutes walk down the hill, a stunning vista opens up, and it’s immediately obvious why I’m here. Squeezed onto a meander of the Vltava sits a picture-perfect town, presided over by a fairy-tale castle.
Český Krumlov isn’t actually where the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang did his worst, but it could be. The optics are scarily perfect. Small town atmosphere, cobblestone lanes, no cars, grandma style gingerbread houses, hostelries that have sold Pilsner for centuries. All crammed onto an almost complete oxbow and overseen by the imposing, too-ornate-to-be-real castle. What’s you’re picturing in your mind’s eye right now is exactly what you get. (Minus the scary child abduction).
Bohemian Silhouetto
In a curious parallel, the concept of ‘What You See Is What You Get’ drove its own velvet revolution in computer software design in 1993, at the same time as Czechia’s ’Velvet Divorce’ from Slovakia was going through. WYSIWYG (pronounced "Whizzy Wig") has since become the intuitive, taken-for-granted principle behind all computer interfaces we use nowadays, including those used to produce this piece.
Picture postcard perfect
In principle, all this makes ČK the most picture-postcard-perfect town in Czechia. Certainly, the experience of wandering its streets feels more than a little ‘Truman Show’. I have absolutely no complaints, other than having no complaints. In all the time I was there I saw not one single piece of graffiti, litter, mundanity or for that matter, modern architecture.
Apart, of course, from the inevitable influence of tourism.
200km south in Austria, the almost painfully quaint lakeside town of Hallstatt, fed up with the influx of a million annual visitors, sought to ban them altogether. Despite receiving twice that number, Český manages, by and large, to keep its head, and its character. Albeit, there are one or two out-of-character peculiarities, like the traditional building now incongruously housing an escape room, several burgher houses hosting burger bars, and the Museum of Torture, surely the high spot of any family visit?!
The rest is film-set-tastic. Medieval and Gothic vibes, wonky red tiled rooves, a maze of cobbly traffic-free lanes, imposing churches, rows of tall merchant houses, working mills, and a perfect town square. Český’s flawless preservation belies the political rollercoaster it has survived.
The too-good-to-be-true quality is perfectly represented by the ornate stonework of the burgher houses. It’s actually not stonework at all, but trompe l’oeil painting and sgraffito. A traditional con – sorry, technique - repeated across Bohemia. It seems those canny merchants wanted to show off their lavish wealth, without lavishing it on stone masons. The effect certainly contributes to the feeling of strolling through a contradiction.
This trompe l’oeil trickery is deployed to great effect in Český Krumlov Castle itself. True to the deception theme, the town’s joker card sits on a huge bluff over the river, engulfing the ridge, and eclipsing the town below. It’s particularly dramatic at night, with emphatic floodlighting leaving little doubt who’s boss here.
This is Bohemia’s second-largest castle, behind Prague, so, naturally, it pulls no punches.
Trompe l'oeil trickery
A central passageway climbs gradually through its towers and courtyards, offering glimpses of the town below from passing balconies. Until it reaches one of the Castle’s most showy features, the Cloak Bridge. Giant arches span the castle moat like an aqueduct, supporting three stories of enclosed passageways. The Cloak had two functions: To protect the west side of the castle and to discreetly shield the royals from view as they proceeded to the castle grounds beyond. The views alone are worth the walk, but the feeling of decadence tops everything.
Towering
If you’re partial to a spot of trompe l’oeil, you should check out the Masquerade Hall. This Rococo confection is a temple to the superficiality of wealth and power. It boasts the high art of high-status aristos enjoying full-Monty masquerading, captured in "Commedia del Arte" style on the flamboyantly painted walls.
From the Masquerade Hall, the upper Cloak Bridge passageway gave direct private access to the Royal Box in the Castle’s most flamboyant feature, its Baroque theatre. Talk about making an entrance.
This royal theatre is more impressive than Versailles’. It doesn’t just have copious twiddly bits, but working 18th century machinery for changing scenery, playing music and even creating thunderstorms.
Just as you think things couldn’t get any more extravagant, you arrive at one final piece of theatrics, the formal gardens.
High up above the postage-stamp-sized town, with expansive views of the landscape beyond, the gardens flaunt, flounce and unfold in majestic perfection. It’s a cliché to say they take your breath away, but I did stand there gasping for a minute or two. Maybe it was the climb?
This may well be Bohemia at its best. but, If I say the food is also thoroughly Bohemian, note the capital ‘B’. It’s about as conventional and traditional to the region as it gets. If your idea of food heaven involves knuckle, dumplings, goulash, pickled cabbage, wurst and worse, ČK should fatten you up nicely. However, if your tastes are a little more bohemian (small ‘b’), it’s somewhat slim pickings.
My ass was saved (literally) by discovering My Saigon, with a pretty authentic pan-Asian offering, and Nonna Gina serving possibly the best pizza I’ve sliced outside Italy.
If not the food, possibly the most bohemian thing about Český Krumlov is the boating. An essentially pleasant paddle following the current as the Vltava meanders around the town, spiced up by a couple of exhilarating water chutes and the creativity applied to the craft and costumes available to rent. The 13th century costumes and floating beer bars deserve particular commendation, but really, anything goes.
This is Bohemia Central, after all.
Cesky colours
Shiele left a shadow on Cesky
OK, I’m telling a little porky here. The food may not exactly be Egon Ronay, but the most defiantly bohemian thing about Český Krumlov is Egon Shiele.
Born in Austria, the tearaway artist was drawn to ČK as his mother's birthplace. ČK in turn, however, wasn't drawn to Egon Schiele. His morals, antics and proclivities were decidedly too racy for this quiet little place. After a year in which he drew some notable works, but also lured most of the town's young women to his studio as models, he was ‘encouraged’ to leave.
Nowadays, of course, ČK makes as much as it can of its racy luminary. There’s a decent Egon Schiele gallery (although, for the mother lode, make the pilgrimage to Vienna). And of course, the obligatory Schiele tea towels and fridge magnets. I've often mused on what struggling artists would make of the suggestion that their work would one day grace a million tote bags.
For many visitors, Český Krumlov is a day-trip destination, taking in the castle, the not-so-rapids, then something substantial and stewed for lunch. Personally, that'd all make me queasy. For me, the joy, as ever, is in slowly appreciating the cobbles, the meanders, turning a corner to find you’re back where you began, or indeed totally lost, watching the sun slowly settle on the rooftops, knowing you’ll be around to soak it all up again tomorrow.
A quick note about the gateway, Prague. It's aforementioned castle is the largest ancient castle complex in the world, a small town in its own right, and definitely more than a quick visit.
Something about passing through Prague in under 12 hours made me feel distinctly Jason Bourne. Probably the combination of its Eastern Bloc vibes, an early morning departure from the central railway station and foreign Tannoy announcements. I felt like buying a pay-as-you-go phone, to place an untraceable call to my agent.
Prague hangs on to that socialist edge, with its mixture of grandeur and grit, Baroque facades and concrete monstrosities. But at the same time, it's developing all the trappings of a contemporary city; urban chic styling, extortionately priced coffee, places to hang out. I managed two epic meals, but passed on the Pilsner bathing experience.
Progressive Prague
Experiencing the timewarp separating progressive Prague and cutesy Český is one of the great rewards of travel.
Do overcome you child-catcher phobia and pay ČK a visit.
A Few Links and Practicalities
(Just sharing the love. I absolutely don’t get paid for these.)
Český Krumlov is about 90 minutes from Prague by train. There are also minibuses (including to Vienna too).
Krumlovsky Mlyn
www.krumlovskymlyn.cz/en/ubytovani
Yes, you really can rent one of these apartments. And I did.
You'd better be into wood though.
CK Shuttle minibus
www.ckshuttle.cz/transfers/#cesky-krumlov-transfer
Alma Prague
www.almaprague.cz/en/restaurant
I loved this Prague restaurant and it loved me back. Modern, but not uptight.
U Kalendů
Modern bistro mixed with traditional Czech cuisine and bakery in Prague's 'New Town' (not actually that new). Very popular with a young crowd. Don’t miss and do book.
Don’t miss;
Tourists leaving, town thinning out and the sun gently setting over the rooftops
The main parts of the castle are free to access, but worth paying to tour some of the more baroque bits
There's nothing quite like slowly drifting past CK on the river
