![\"in](\"http:\/\/sugarpopblue.com.au\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/12\/caterpillar.jpg\" "\\"Caterpillar")
<\/a><\/p>\nWe jump off at the Western end of Charles Bridge. The towers of Karluv Most<\/em> are open to the public, and after paying a nominal fee, we alight the rickety old stairs to the top.<\/p>\n 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. <\/p>\n We discover ribbons of bread wrapped around hot skewers, roasting over an open grill; delicious doughnut cylinders I can’t wait to taste. <\/p>\n Hot, sweet, and satisfying, we wolf down the treat while we stroll across the bridge, taking in the various artists and merchants looking to tout their wares to unsuspecting tourists. A woman poses with her dog for a portrait, much to the amusement of a nearby spruiker. <\/p>\n An ex-pat looking the part bellows out a tune from his didgeridoo. A busker takes a rest next to his cello. Young couples profess their love by entwining padlocks onto the side of the bridge.<\/p>\n Psuedo-sailors hawk their river cruises. The strongest midget in the world hangs out with the locals.<\/p>\n Amongst all this, we discover that what we love most about Prague is it’s simplicity. The peaceful hum of everyday; the sound of wheels on cobblestones, the casual banter of Czech locals, music from a nearby cafe. Seemingly untouched by Western evils, the medieval city is free of modern pollution. There is no need for high security, prices are low (even tourist prices), there is a distinct lack of credit card facilities, and a significant absence of cars.<\/p>\n Wandering through the snaking streets of Old Prague, we happen upon Manufaktura<\/em>; a shop after my own, rustic, heart. Handmade toys, wooden spoons, and smelly bath accessories line the shelves of the store. He passes me a basket and lets me loose, much to my delight.<\/p>\n Light-hearted and happy with my purchases, we make our way back into the heart of the Old Town Square. Along the way we find a few more gems; an antique store filled with nick-knacks and old treasures, and a bookshop that smells like the library I’ve always wished to have in my very own home. Shopping in Prague is all too tempting. He drags me out of both shops before I can reach for my wallet – luckily. <\/p>\n One thing that has been on shopping list since we left home was a set of authentic Bohemian Crystal wine glasses – and where better to buy them than the center of Old Prague. We barter with an Egyptian shop owner, umming-and-ahing about the colour and flute style, and the number of glasses (considering the hefty price tag on each glass, we are reluctant to buy a full set of 6!). Finally, we agree to his negotiated cost of \u20ac180. Pointing at an elegant glass in blue, and indicating that we’d only like 2, he shakes his head at us. “No, only set of 6, one in each colour.” Uh oh. We look at each other nervously. “Come on, best price in Prague, \u20ac180 for set of 6. You no like?” Bargain! The nervous look turns to glee, as I happily fork 1\/6th of the price I was expecting! Shopping mission: successful.<\/p>\n The Old Jewish Cemetery is next on the list, but before that, lunch!<\/p>\n One needs to eat pork in Europe, especially the east. The Czech ham is spit roasted with spices, and sliced in slabs as thick as country loaf bread. Served with a solid dollop of mustard and home-made rye, it is quite the delicious, rustic feed. We hand our leftovers to a homeless chap. Looking back at him, we see him wipe his sleeve across his mouth, savouring the simple fare as much as we did.<\/p>\n <\/a>When we do eventually arrive at the cemetery, we are appalled. The grounds are a mess of tombstones; a gaping maw of rotting, crooked teeth. We walk the overgrown outer path in silence, stopping now and again to give respects to the fallen. Thousands of unmarked graves resonate below us, the ghostly silence sending chills through our core and electrifying the hairs on our arms. It is a miserable, grim experience – a haunting memory I will never forget. <\/p>\n If witnessing three centuries of the dead buried on top of each other wasn’t enough, the somber walk through the neighbouring synagogue would shake even the most steadfast of people. Wall upon wall of painted names form a memorial to 80,000 innocent Jewish men, women and children destroyed in the war. The splashes of red will stay with me always, as will the hollow stillness of those rooms.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a>
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\nDown below, we spy a local vendor attracting quite the crowd outside his shop. The smell of cinnamon wafts up from the traditional bakery, and we clamber back down, bellies suddenly awakened by the fragrance. <\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n