"It's human nature to stretch, to go, to see, to understand. Exploration is not a choice, really; it's an imperative." - Micheal Collins
I had bacon wrapped emmentaler cheese and one of their Czech Lion lagers. I don’t know how to describe that meal really. I think there was something else that came with it, but all I remember was bacon and cheese, and beer, and cheese wrapped in bacon. And bacon. And beer.
Continuing on to the east, you will be confronted with a beautiful red and cream facade, St. George’s Convent, which sits adjacent to St. George’s Basilica. And if you turn around (slowly - it helps the suspense build), your jaw will drop when you see the spectacular flying buttresses of St. Vitus. There is no sense in trying to articulate their beauty. I am no Mark Twain. Just go see them.
Walking uphill from the river, you pass through a short tunnel and return to daylight between walls perhaps 12 feet high, made of stones large and small that have seen centuries and generations come and go for multiples of our life spans. Vegetation grows over and on the walls, in some places covering the signs of age, and in all places beautifully complementing them.
I look at this as a lover of history, even more specifically the period from WWI - WWII, and I wonder what effect the absence of this event may have had on the first half of the 1900s.
It's a bit odd that the courtyards are lined with various feminine sphinx, something we’d typically associate with ancient Egypt or Sumer. I find it interesting how echoes of our distant past somehow still percolate into modernity. I also found it interesting, yet not surprising, that...
A good friend of mine told me it’s acceptable to drink at any time during the day as long as you’re outside. Well, we took advantage of the outdoor seating, and I drank a beer before 11.00 that day.
Lo! And Behold! There it was upon thine shelf, beckoning to me like a shadowy siren.
The homes have a certain aged look, but are built as sturdy as old farmhouses. Fairly tightly packed together, lined by a strip of canola along one side and backed by forested hills, eventually rolling into the Tatras, the village takes on a sort of enchanting mix between centuries-past agrarian and modern rural.