Our Point of View

Reflections On The Old Country

By Mark A. Jicha - November 2002

A trip back to my family’s ancestral homeland was a trip back in time, in more ways than one. My wife came up with airfare and we looked back toward the old country - the Czech Republic, a lively little democracy tucked in between Germany, Poland and Austria.

Settled back in the 5th Century by the Slavs and then civilized in 870 with the construction of the famed city castle, Prague can be called “the most beautiful city in Europe.” It has been a crossroads of commerce and culture for more than a millenia - in 1348 it was the third largest city in the world after Rome and Constantinople.

Many epochs later, when clans Jicha & Havlina made the trek across the big pond back in the early days of the 20th Century, the Austro-Hungarian empire was crumbling into chaos. Out of that long and curious juourney, my family became solidly American.

My folks grew up as immigrant kids in the hard streets of Cleveland. As the Great Depression paved way for the next Great War, they not only survived the strike-breaking steelmen but all returned from WW II with almost all body parts intact. In Ike’s great era after “the war,” we were raised in a secure Uncle Sam world but remained proud of our Czech heritage.

When Susan & I tried to prepare for our European adventure, I braced for a step back in time; what I could not foresee, however, was how far back we would travel.

Situated somewhere between the Middle Ages and Post Modern, Prague is a Gothic city which transformed itself during the Renaissance, and then added a distinctly Baroque flair in the 18the Century. The victory of democracy in 1989 marked the end of a 40- year Communist dictatorship, and Czechs were the first to grab freedom when the Iron Curtain fell.

In this supremely civilized country of great small cities, Prague stands like a living museum. The White House is a special place, but Prague Castle ain’t the Holiday Inn.

Confronted at every turn by 500-year-old cathedrals framed in cobblestone squares and spire roofs, Prague is alive with a fresh young energy that belies a democratic conscience and old world work ethic. Every evening could be dedicated to the Old Masters - Beethoven, Vivaldi, Bach, Dvorak, Brahams and all the rest remain alive in cozy concerts throughout town, each an architectural monument of serious proportions featuring fantastic classical performances.

The natives accept bastions of wide-eyed visitors who literally stagger through Old Town and Wenceslas Square, agog with sensory delights. Old world markets offer everything from smoked sausage and buttery gouda cheese to Beluga caviar and fresh-baked baguettes, and everything goes better with real Old World beer.

I scored serious points on the sobriety scales, but my wife assured me the potent local beers and fragrant native wines were very refreshing, indeed. The streets were filled with legions of young Slavic beauties roaming the city in heartbreak patrols day and night, and it was gratifying to be in such a beautiful setting surrounded by so many beautiful women, especially the one I love best of all.

After a few days of serious sight-seeing, I began to feel the past pull me back to yet another world, and I found part of me mortared into those ancient stone blocks that define the city.

That final Sunday we strolled by the Old Town Horologe, an astronomical clock built in the 15th Century and then “modernized” in the second half of the 16th Century. It had kept perfect time for the past century until flood water swamped the mechanism last summer. It was re-started six days later and welcomes every hour with an amazing display of mechanical statuary and complex time-keeping. We moved a few blocks closer to the Vltava River and ancient bridges lead west from the river toward great Prague Castle.

Just shy of the great gates that welcome pedestrians to cross the stately Vltava, there were the sounds of celebration in the most glorious Roman Catholic sense. We tenatively entered the cathedral, and were welcomed with embracing glances from the congregation and clerics. I dropped a couple of hundred Crowns into the collection plate and took a place in a pew. The choir, hidden in the atrium of the great church, sounded heavenly against the soaring marble columns and muralled ceilings, at least a hundred feet above.

There are all sorts of miracles in this world, and my personal epiphany in that sacred spot was something miraculous in its own right. You can’t go home again, but you can glimpse the shadows that streak your past. If you are lucky, you will travel that midnight journey with someone you love, in places built by those who treasure life.