Final Word from Thursday, December 28, 2006
Russian-born writer Vladimir Nabokov told Alan Levy in 1971 that, although his mother lived for years in Prague, he never cared for the city. To him, it was "a bleak bridge across a bleak river, rain, and the wet gargoyles of some place of worship." Clearly, Nabokov had never crossed the bridge on a sunny, spring-like day in late Dec., when the trees were deciding whether to skip a season, when there was no sign of the mud he so detested, and when the "grimy old monuments" had been cleaned and restored. Praguers who stayed behind during this non-Nabokovian holiday week in Dec. and forwent the allure of snowless mountains and overcrowded beaches have enjoyed a real treat. Beautiful weather, navigable streets, a Golden Lane where even Czech is heard, half-empty King's Way cafés, and succulent prosciutto di Praga on Old Town Square. City life just doesn't get any better.[Czech Republic tourism tourists]