Tonight, I decided to try and find Vitkov Park and the National Monument after class, without any guidance. It's not even on my map. So I took my chances getting off the metro at Krizikova, a stop I've never been to. After I got out, I started off in what I thought was the right direction, but I got distracted by a tunnel. Remembering my new rule, and considering it was a pedestrian and bike tunnel, I went for it. Sure, I realized I was probably abandoning my goal of reaching Vitkov, but why not? Prague was offering me a gift, so I took it.
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| Singing tunnel. |
As soon as I entered--NEW WORLD. It was practically unlit, just a few rings of faint illumination, and the walls themselves seemed to emit and reverberate this low, ominous rumbling tone. I felt like I was in a movie. It was so, so eerie. As I turned a corner, I discovered the source of the sound--a group of people singing like Tuvan throat-singers, and one man playing a didgeridoo, in the dark. Another man was filming them, and a young woman was recording sound. But seeing them didn't make the experience any less dreamlike or preternatural.
And on the other side? Vitkov.
Vitkov was an adventure. My mountain-goat instincts kicked in, and I was climbing the hill on unmarked paths like a rebel and a half. The revelation of the National Monument, from any direction, is staggering. A huge stone structure, blockish, forceful, and Communistic. A mausoleum. Then Zizka. The largest equestrian statue in Europe, depicting Jan Zizka, the one-eyed Czech war hero on top of a--let's not mince words--stallion. The whole atmosphere of the place is a mixture of oppressive and triumphant.
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| Jan Zizka. |
Behind Zizka is a door decorated with high bronze relief, scenes of combat. One square of the cycle caught my eye, as it contained another color than the expected oxidized green: a bright spot of orange. I got closer, and saw a monarch butterfly perched upon the head of a war horse. Things I live for.
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| Death and life. |
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