A Czech Country Christmas – A Short Storya Czech Country Christmas

We woke to a blizzard. The red rooftops of Prague were covered in an extra couple of inches of snow, but on the ground there was a far less romantic layer of cold, slippery slush. With Faye’s still-precarious state we weren’t even going to walk across the road, opting for a short taxi ride to Praha hlavní nádraží – Prague main train station – instead.

We could have opted for a Metro ride then a bus to Litoměřice, which would take the best part of two hours. I opted for the train – the journey would take roughly the same time – as we had 20 minutes to get a ticket and get on the train.

“That’s too much of a rush!” complained Faye.

“And it’s less time for you to have to wait around,” I replied.

There was no lift to the platform, so after helping her up around 40 stairs, we boarded the regional train to Mlada Boleslav. We were to change at Všetaty, a railway junction a few miles east of the lovely town of Mělník, an hour’s journey away.

The Czech Republic is small, but short journeys can be long with so many slow branch lines like this one. We parked at a signal, watching a family of deer scamper across the snowy field next to us. The spectacle was wonderful, but we had a connection to make in Všetaty.

Eventually we moved on, our carriage chugging into the station as if it was about to give its last breath. Everyone piled out onto the platform. We had 30 seconds to board the connecting train to Litoměřice. The melee moved in the direction of what we assumed was another platform. I joined them, also assuming that the train crew wouldn’t necessarily have the common sense to wait for a struggling passenger recovering from pneumonia. Faye struggled some way behind me. I promised her I wouldn’t let the train leave without her.

That was one I was able to keep – all that rushing, and there was no train. The temperature had fallen to -9˚C, there was no word on when the train was due, so I urged Faye to step inside the waiting room. There was a ticket office – closed. A coffee machine! With a taped ‘Mimo Provoz’ (‘Out of Order’ sign on it. A couple of metal benches. I may as well have ushered her inside a fridge.  

After 25 minutes our train finally arrived, shambling its way through the snow. Eventually I spotted the River Elbe – we were close. We pulled into our destination, Litoměřice Město (Litoměřice Town) station. After alighting, we made our way through the underpass and up to the main hall of the station. “I’ll just run outside and find us a taxi. We are not walking to the hotel, even if it is only 500 metres.”

Famous last words. Quarter of an hour later, my son ran outside to speak to me, clearly in distress. “Mama needs the taxi. She’s freezing.”

“I know. I’m waiting here – this is where the taxis go from. There hasn’t been one. I’ll speak to someone.”

Nobody at the station had a clue. Our phone battery was down to 12%, and that wasn’t going to last in this frigid temperature.  One kind lady overheard us and offered to help, putting her fully charged phone to work. After a few minutes, she had a lead.

“There are taxis in Litoměřice,” she began.

“But…?”

“Because it’s quiet here, they work where it’s busier in the daytime. One is in Lovosice, the other in Usti.”

“So there are two taxis in Litoměřice….?”

“Yes, and one is coming. In about 15 minutes.”

I checked with Faye. She was OK to hold on, but bitterly cold. It didn’t matter how well wrapped up she was, the cold air on her lungs was a huge problem.

Our friend and I stood outside the station like birdwatchers at the crack of dawn, determined not to let the rare sighting of a taxi slip away. And so we didn’t. We deluged the bemused Dallas Taxi driver who had driven six miles to pick up a 500-metre fare. A few minutes later we trudged across the car park and up the stairs into the hotel lobby.

After the formalities of checking in, we took the lift to the top floor, where Room 10 awaited us. We had the garret suite, two rooms with high ceilings and, best of all, warm radiators perfect for thawing out a recovering – we hoped – pneumonia patient.

Litoměřice was quiet.  Eerily so at first. We were a five-minute walk from the town’s main  square, but I hardly saw a soul on my first walk around the town. The shops were open – so were a few cafes – but the persistent snow must have kept everyone indoors.

My first glimpse of the town square – Mirové náměstí – quickly raised my spirits.  It’s surrounded by handsome Renaissance and Baroque townhouses. The walls of some of the older, 16^th-century houses were decorated with sgraffito, a common feature in many Czech towns.

Some had brick patterns etched into the walls, and one – Dům U Černého Orla, the House of the Black Eagle – is adorned with figures carrying large bunches of grapes and then indulging in the resulting wine.

The most striking building on the square – and the town – is the Church of All Saints. It has a remarkable black tented roof, with a white tower and black spire with pinnacles. I haven’t seen anything quite like it outside the Czech Republic, and the one famous church I’ve seen with a similar roof is the Cathedral of St Barbara in Kutna Hora, in the east of Bohemia.

I took a walk through a snowy side street off the main square, emerging next to a statue of Karel Hynek Macha, one of the most famous Czech Romantic poets. He died in Litoměřice in 1836, at the age of 25.  He had moved there to settle down with his fiancée, write and study law, but died of unknown causes after helping put out a fire.

But there was no mention of Litoměřice. At that time the town was still known by its German name, Leitmeritz. When he visited, the  Habsburgs had ruled Bohemia for an astonishing 280 years – it would be another 18 years before the Czechs and Slovaks to the east would gain their first taste of independence since 1620.

Litoměřice – Leitmeritz – was also part of the Sudetenland. This largely German-speaking region of Czechoslovakia was coveted by Adolf Hitler, who wanted to incorporate it into his Reich, along with other German speakers.   The region was a large  C-shaped gouge out of the newly-formed country, taking between 10 and 30 miles of the country along the German border. It also included the likes of České Budějovice (also known as Budweis) and Český Krumlov (Böhmisch Krumau) in Southern Bohemia, far to the south of Prague.

In the 18^th century, the Habsburgs built one of the Empire’s main fortifications, the garrison town of Theresienstadt, just across the Elbe from Litoměřice.  And this small town, just 2 ½ miles (4 km) from the centre of Litoměřice, draws far more international visitors than its larger, far more beautiful neighbour. This was because it was the location of the Theresienstadt Ghetto, also known as the Terezin Concentration Camp, one of the most notorious sites of the Nazi genocide of Europe’s Jews.

I had been putting off visiting Terezin concentration camp for a very long time.  I’ve always been fascinated by 20^th-century European history, but have always found visiting Holocaust sites extremely hard going. Everyone should.

For me the hardest part is learning details of lives lost, especially children, but anyone. I’m filled with overwhelming sadness at these many stories, but also anger at modern demagogues who peddle the same ‘unsayable’ racist garbage that Hitler did. These people will never learn, and it seems many more across the continent are just as ignorant. The Holocaust started with racism and scapegoating, and places like Terezin are a reminder how these things can end up.

Terezin was a transit camp for Jews (many from Prague) who had been forced from their homes, and were ultimately going to be sent to the Nazi death camps in Poland. Over 88,000 people died there – from a result of malnutrition, starvation, disease, brutal work conditions and executions.

Under the constant threat of deportation and death, cultural life somehow flourished in the Theresienstadt Ghetto. The Nazis cynically exploited this in propaganda films made to convince the outside world that they were treating Jews well there. They also took the International Red Cross on a tour there in 1944 for the same purpose, at the same time they were murdering thousands of Hungarian Jews every day in Auschwitz.

The snow had stopped falling the evening before I visited Terezin, and by the time I arrived there the temperature had plummeted. Everything had frozen, so it was down to -7˚C in the pale, weak morning sun.

It was probably best that I visited Terezin in such grim conditions. It took me about six hours to visit all of the main Terezin sites that are open.  My article on visiting Terezin Concentration Camp tells the full story,

Staying in the Garret was definitely helping Faye, and we both felt that moving on would be detrimental to her.

The Manager happened to be in the Hotel at breakfast, and I asked her about staying on. We initially arranged a further ten days, with one night in two different rooms as The Garret had already been booked some time ago. She also said that she wasn’t sure whether she’d be closing the Hotel after this date.

So we had ten days. I walked back up the stairs to the Garret, just so I could stop at the staircase window to gaze at the spires and pinnacles of the town. We would have another ten days here, no rush to move on. Faye could continue with her recovery. And we could savour this gem of a place for a good while yet.

Day 5 – Shopping

Sooner or later I would have to leave the cosy old town to get some supplies from one of the supermarkets. You don’t tend to find many of these in a Czech staré mesto (old town), so it meant a traipse through the slush into the suburbs, or across the Elbe to the Albert hypermarket on the Terezin side.

The snow had started to fall steadily, so I opted for the shorter walk to the Lidl supermarket a mile from The Garret. This is the one part of Litoměřice where the Communists had left their mark – in block after block of panelak apartments. They’re every bit as much a part of the Czech urban landscape as the exquisite old town and the Renaissance sgraffito houses.

By the time I began my journey back, I was trudging headlong into another blizzard.  Not that I minded a soaking from the Snow Gods who, as far as I was concerned, could carry on as long as they wanted. It made this gorgeous, quiet little town all the more magical.

But we did want to see more of the surrounding area. So one glorious frosty sunny morning I caught the bus up the hill to the Chateau at Ploskovice, 4 or 5 miles from Litoměřice. As we climbed higher, I could see more and more of the stunning landscape of the České Středohoři, or Central Bohemian Uplands. Down at town level you could see one or two of the conical ancient volcanic hills. Up near the top of the hill I could see so many more of these hills. Again, I wondered: how is this gorgeous place so off the beaten track?

Ploskovice Castle – Zamek Ploskovice – was closed for the winter, like the majority of castles in the Czech Republic. However, its gardens were open, so I could get a good look at the palace. It’s one of the most opulent palaces in the country, and has also been used as a movie location many times. Some scenes from Milos Forman’s 1980s classic Amadeus were shot there, and more recently part of the Danish movie A Royal Affair was filmed there. 

The grounds of Ploskovice Castle are gorgeous. I spent an hour wandering around them, my only company a muster of peacocks fanning their tails in the bright winter sun. I’ve only seen images of the interior of the Castle and the adjacent grotto online. But it looks like you’d get a good dose of Baroque sensory overload if you ever manage to visit, something I’d love to do one day.

As Christmas was approaching, we also had to do some shopping at some point. We found a few gifts at the stalls at the town Christmas Market, but for the Little Man, I had to take a train ride to the Alza branch in Ústí and Labem, half an hour away along the Elbe.

I also fulfilled my promise to Our Little Man to take him to Ústí Zoo. There were around 20 fellow customers all day, but it was well worth the steep hike to the top of the hill to see the giraffes and zebras. There was also an interesting view of the panelak apartment blocks of the suburbs of Ústí, an incongruous sight next to the Elbe Sandstone Mountains beyond. 

December 23^rd was the last day of the Christmas Market. It was a sad day for us, as we didn’t want it to end, but we had enjoyed 18 days of magic while it was running.

The last day was a bit of a shambles. Some of the stallholders had packed up the night before, while others opened for the final day – only to pack up by around 2pm. It was hardly worth their while! Luckily the animals were still snug in their shelter, so Our Little Man was able to bid them a fond farewell.

We walked across the square to the Radniční sklípek (Town Hall Cellar) Restaurant.  I ducked my head low enough to walk below the low stone ceiling, and we made our war way down a few flights of stairs into the small, intimate dining room. There is a network of tunnels under Litoměřice, and this was the nearest we were going to get to them during the winter off-season.  A doorway at the end of the room leads further underground, but the zavřeno sign meant we weren’t going to be seeing any more of it.

We had come to our restaurant for our Christmas treat – some hearty hot Czech winter food. We went for our usual favourites – Faye loves svičková, beef sirloin with creamy sauce and dumplings, while I opt for my old standby, pečená kachna, roast duck with red cabbage and dumplings.

It also meant I’d get a night off cooking for the Garret, so we took a very slow walk through the back streets before heading to our top-floor retreat for the evening.

In the Czech Republic, as in much of Central Europe, Christmas is celebrated on December 24^th rather than the 25^th.  And virtually everything shuts down by midday on the 24^th – even the previously open-all-hours Chinese around the corner from the Garret. They were closed until January 2^nd, so we wouldn’t be seeing them again.

The only snag with Czech Christmas dinner is that there are no restaurants open to serve it. The staff are all eating it at home, so unless you’re invited to someone’s home, or have the know-how to make carp soup followed by fried carp, you’re out of luck. 

Our Little Man was hoping against hope that the Christmas Market would be re-opened. He insisted on walking to the square, and all the stalls were still standing, including the animals’ hut.  But one place was open in the arcaded walk around the square – the café attached to the Radniční sklípek restaurant.

They were only serving coffee and cakes, but that was all we needed. There were heaters next to the tables in the arcade, so we decided to brave it. Faye ordered větrník, a caramel choux cream bun we had discovered long ago in Prague, while Our Litle Man made short work of the last piece of chocolate cake in the shop.

He was now on his fifth Czech Christmas, and had cottoned on to some of the local traditions. He had realised that his presents weren’t coming from Santa Claus, but were bought from the Alza shop in Ústí and Labem. And that as he was in the Czech lands, why should he adhere to the tradition of opening them on the 25^th instead of a day earlier? Nothing like a bit of delayed gratification, we thought.

“OK, you can open half today and half tomorrow. But we will stick to the traditions. Santa will not be delivering the presents….”

“I know THAT!”

“Here, Baby Jesus delivers them instead.”

“No he doesn’t!”

“Here he’s called Ježišek.”

“He doesn’t come! It’s all made up!”

“Half today, half tomorrow. And you can have some Christmas bread for supper.”

And so we went back to our Garret for the night. He opened his new Jurassic World dinosaurs, and went to work on me to open the others. But I didn’t relent.

December 25^th. No chance whatsoever of a lie-in. Our Little Man was up at first light, urging me to get he rest of his presents from the top of the wardrobe. More terrifying dinosaurs, some of which roared if you so much as touched them.

I had offered Faye the option of a Christmas dinner, and she requested one of our old standbys, a spinach and garlic pasta feast with heaps of Parmesan and a healthy dash of black pepper.

For breakfast, I had stocked up on Vánočka, a popular slightly sweet bread. People tend to bake it around Christmas time, but you can find it in Czech supermarkets all year round. It’s addictive eaten plain, even better with butter. And – this might be Czech Culinary Sacrilege – we like to toast it very lightly as well before adding the butter.

I prepared our Christmas dinner before we headed out for our mid-afternoon stroll. The streets were even quieter than when we first arrived in Litoměřice.  But as we arrived in the main square, we could see that the café was open once again.  So we ordered coffee and cake for our Christmas afternoon treat, before a routine check to make sure the sheep and goat hadn’t sneaked back into their pen near the Christmas tree.

The café is halfway along a medieval arcade that runs most of the length of the square, and there are several more cafes and restaurants along here. We ordered a second round of coffees as we intended to wait for 5 o’clock, and a Christmas carol service in All Saints Church. After 25 days we would finally get to see inside it.

But first, a choir had gathered beneath the arches near the church, and they performed part of Jakub Jan Ryba’s Christmas Mass, one of the most popular Czech Christmas pieces. It’s something you’d hear in Christmas concerts in Prague and all around the country at this time of year. But rather than Bethlehem, the story is set in Bohemia.

It was wonderful to finally be able to see inside All Saints Church, the tent-roofed wonder on the corner of the main square. The concert wasn’t due to begin until 5.00 pm, but the doors were open half an hour before. So we took refuge inside, and Our Little Man and I went exploring.