What I remember most about Prague is it being an eerie, cold, hard-nosed type of place. Rainy, empty streets; old architecture mixed in with the industrial new, castles and accents and languages far from my understanding.
It’s one of those places I would never want to go through this life without seeing. Yet, as much as I yearn to go back, it’s not somewhere I want to overstay my welcome. Most places I go, I let myself sink in to the food, the atmosphere, the dialect, the people and things. In Prague, I felt like the culture sank its teeth into me.
At night, this place is even more magical – a dark, cloudy sky with a legitimate medieval castle looming ominously from its hilltop, surrounded by swirling bats and framed by lesser guard towers and a slow, spooky river.
I carry Prague with me everywhere I go. I think of it sometimes, dream of it often, and am a little heartbroken that no picture or story could ever do it justice.