Český Krumlov – Take a Bow

He looked like Santa Claus and I remember him chopping wood in the yard with a cigarette between his bushy lips. I think he had a dog. This random memory of my only visit to Český Krumlov returns as my coach pulls into town. Disembarking, I follow in the footsteps of my younger self; a wet-behind-the-ears student, backpacking around Europe with my pal, John. We came to the continent looking for adventure and girls. We found mainly adventure.

Our plan was loose, at best. We would flip coins to determine our next destination, and Český was a place that was recommended to us. I say recommended, but what I mean is that we woke up one morning to find the words “Český Krumlov” scribbled in our dog-eared guide (I still have the very tome on a bookshelf at home).

The words were penned by a fellow traveller in a bar the night before. He had run out of superlatives to describe the place – either poor vocabulary or too many beers and claimed we had to see it for ourselves. The guide concurred, so we travelled to the town, took lodgings with Santa and went exploring.

Well, sort of. Lively bars and cheap pilsner stymied our attempts to imbibe anything remotely enriching; young and stupid, we squandered the cultural offerings of Český Krumlov for smoky pubs and shady clubs. But now I’m a few years older and I’m back, so let’s have another go at it. Dominated by the magnificent Český Krumlov Castle – the second largest citadel in the Czech Republic after Prague’s – this UNESCO listed old town is a medieval masterpiece; a glorious medley of terracotta roofs, baroque spires and rococo gables.

Built around the meandering Vltava River, Český Krumlov sits in a small valley surrounded on all sides by verdant hills, which painters use to find new perspectives on an old town.

A Baroque Illusion

On the subject of perspective, the first thing to bear in mind when you look at Český Krumlov is that it’s not a real town. Like the grandiose baroque architecture that it’s famous for, life here is not at all as it seems. “Český Krumlov is a tourist town,” says a castle guide, Tereza Hofbauerová. “People don’t live here anymore, they live outside, which is a shame.”

Ultimately, the town is somewhat of a victim of its own beauty; its popularity with tourists has pushed prices upward; residential properties have succumbed to hotels, shops and restaurants, catering to the busloads of tourists who arrive here throughout the year. Essentially, Český Krumlov is a theme park for adults and, like an excited kid at Six Flags, I race towards the main attraction – the castle. Protected by a deep moat, which is inhabited by two large bears, this citadel is a building of extraordinary beauty and a tour of its lavish interior is a journey through the centuries.

It is in this castle that I meet Tereza, who tells me that the building, constructed by Lord of Krumlov in the 13^th century, is haunted by a former resident. “They call her the white lady,” she says. “Her real name was Perchta von Roseburg and she was cursed by her dying husband when she refused to forgive him for treating her badly.”

We walk down corridors (no sign of Perchta) and pass through endless rooms, each festooned with art, antiques and mannequins, adorned with garments that are hundreds of years old.

Star of the Show

Eventually we arrive at the castle’s star attraction – the baroque theatre. Built in 1680 as a private cinema (and refurbished in 1765), it was in this gorgeous room that the castle’s last private owner, Adolph Schwarzenburg, received the Czechoslovakian president, Edvard Benes, to give financial aid for the defence of the country against Nazi Germany.

But we all know how that ended and when the Gestapo rolled into town, they seized the castle. After the war it was confiscated by the Czechoslovakian government, and has remained in their hands ever since. They’ve certainly taken care of it.  “This is the best preserved baroque theatre in the world,” explains Tereza, scanning the auditorium with genuine affection. “Only Drottningholm in Sweden can compare.”

Everything in this theatre is as it was 250 years ago; the frescos, costumes (all 600 of them), props, special effects machines and set pieces, which can be arranged to create 13 different scenes. Only the candles, which would have lit the auditorium in the old days, are gone – and that was to prevent the theatre from burning down like so many others did. I ask Tereza if there’s a play on anytime soon. “No. We have only a few shows a year,” she says, dashing my hopes.

For all the grandeur of the castle (and its sumptuous grounds), I find Český Krumlov’s modest attractions more charming; the cobbled backstreets, the riverside restaurants and quaint souvenir shops. Most impressive of all, though, is the Seidel Photography Museum, which occupies the former home of Český photographer, Josef Seidel.

Seidel was a master of his art and chronicled life in South Bohemia in the decades before WWII. His extraordinary images, a fraction of which are on display at the museum, provide portals into bygone eras, windows into long forgotten lives.

Ironically, Seidel’s antiquated equipment tells the story of how the world has changed since his departure. Walking around his dark room, looking at the obsolete gear, I mourn his lost art. I look down at the digital camera dangling from my neck – it feels terribly unromantic.

However, I’m soon cheered up by a visit to a nearby pub, where I make the pleasant discovery that here, in this old town where time stands still, even the beer prices seem adverse to change.

www.czechtourism.com/c/cesky-krumlov-castle-unesco/

www.travelsquire.com/czech-republic/stories/

 

The international dialing code for Czech Republic is 420.