By Sarah Redbird
I had heard rumors of Český Krumlov — the quiet, southern Bohemia UNESCO heritage site situated along the Vltava River, which cradles the State Castle or Chateau Complex. I had heard it was best showcased in the fall, when the foliage of the surrounding hills frame the medieval architecture of the town centre. I had also heard that the chill imposed by the icy nature of late-September Prague was well remedied there. Having been given reprieve from my sojourn as a student at the Prague University of Economics on the mid-fall long weekend, I ventured out of my temporary home in the Czech metropolis and headed south for the hills.
After traversing Hlavní Nádraží — the traveling epicenter of Central Europe — I departed with my $10 CDN round-trip train ticket on a comfortable and semi-crowded coach class car. To the right lay hallways with windows opening to chest height, perfect for resting your arms and breathing in the country air while stretching your legs on the five-hour journey. The traveling time was inconsequential as the poignancy of some adage played on repeat in my head: “it’s all in the journey, not the destination.” Opposite to the hallway were the individual seating cars, capacity eight. In perfect early-twenties-Eastern-European-brood height rested a picture window encouraging one to gaze at the countryside as the train dipped and rose in its wake. Cottages dotted the landscape and families flew by, tilling their small plots of land. The layout of the train was one that paid respect to the many incarnations of the traveler: dreamer, gazer, stroller, sleeper.
Once in Český Krumlov, I fumbled downhill towards town. As if to test my worthiness of this retreat, a wooded area with a menacingly steep and rickety staircase seemed to be the sole bypass into town. The downward climb was daunting, but the view piqued my curiosity. The centre of Český Krumlov sat in front of me like a medieval snow globe stuck in time.
The descent ended at a cobblestone bridge leading me under a tower and into the town. My boldness in not booking accommodations ahead of time was quickly rewarded when directly to my left I spotted Hostel 99. Its owners were absent and the atmosphere was relaxed. Travelers and vagabonds alike lazily filtered into view and brought us through the motions of checking in. I remain unclear of who was working and who was simply filling in. In any case, a sense of community was established. I paid $10 for one night and dropped my backpack in a six-bed loft where I could almost smell the animals of stables past. Almost.
The draw of Český Krumlov is the castle, and, being a traveler, I was drawn. There was a bridge to take you from the remainder of the town into the Chateau Complex. Wasting no time with spectacle, a bear living below the bridge drew gawkers climbing the brief ascent into the Complex, itself teeming with cafés, restaurants, stores, and an art gallery offering free admission.
After a few hours of touring, my belly full of local beer and my hands heavy with purchases of Dvořák CDs and postcards laden with the work of Holan, Kotík, and Holy, I headed back to the hostel to meet the other travelers with whom I would be spending the night.
I dined with Fred, a professional traveler from Norway, who made his home in the tower above my entry point and adjacent to the hostel. The potato pancakes and slow-roasted chicken we ate at the riverside restaurant forgave the slow service and hapless waitress. This dining location was Fred’s choice, after the underground candlelit restaurant on the other side of town appeared too crowded.
Later, we shared drinks at the Snake Bar with some travelers from Australia. “I just caught the bug,” one tells me in reference to a six-month journey that’s lead her from Asia to central Europe. A few beers, a shot of absinthe, and the caroling of various national anthems later, I headed back to the hostel. As we entered our room, an Englishman stirred in his bed and politely grumbled, “Do you know where I might find the loo?” Downstairs in the courtyard, a group of people resembling a United Nations meeting gathered by the fire. They had all begun their journeys in various locations, but found themselves in Český Krumlov as friends and storytellers. With the fire warming my face, I was reminded of a sentiment shared by my radical liberal Texan friend back in Prague, “Home is everywhere”. At that moment though, home was Český Krumlov.
