The trams of Prague crawl like caterpillars through the winding laneways; antennae and headlights alive with retro kitsch. They are cheap (putting us back a mere AUD 0.70 for each trip) and convenient (stopping just around the corner of our hotel).
We jump off at the Western end of Charles Bridge. The towers of Karluv Most are open to the public, and after paying a nominal fee, we alight the rickety old stairs to the top.
The view is priceless. It stretches across an expanse of sunburnt rooftops, split in quarters by the river and it’s bridge. We are alone, save for a few feathered companions. A bell rings in the distance. We count the chimes to twelve o’clock, and watch the current of tourists wash down the bridge, mesmerised by the constant flow of bodies.
