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December 24 is the first day of the three-day Christmas holiday, and the Czechs take this seriously as a holiday. There’s little, if any, last minute running around to buy Christmas presents or groceries, and any stores that are open at all close by early afternoon. The Christmas market at Náměstí Míru was virtually shut down before noon:

Some merchants weren’t even waiting ’til after Christmas to dismantle their booths:

Midday, there was a little more activity at the market near Václavské náměstí:

But by evening, after the 6:30 Mass at sv. Tomaš, even the big market at Staroměstské náměstí was pretty well shut down.

Staroměstské náměstí is the site, however, of the outdoor concert performance of Ryba’s Czech Christmas Mass (Rybova Mše Vánoční) at 9:15. Despite the (light) snow, it was well attended:

And, despite the weather, the singers were in excellent voice.

After the performance, the square emptied out pretty quickly:

Only a few of the booths selling food and drink remained open, though even they didn’t seem to be doing much business:

Coming home by way of Václavské náměstí, I took this picture of the market’s nativity scene:

It’s a little strange for an American brought up on arguments against public Nativity scenes as a violation of separation of Church and state to see so many nativity scenes as a matter of fact part of the decorations, especially in this largely atheistic country!

I came back from Milan to a web development job that promises to take enough time to interfere with teaching. It also promises to last long enough and pay well enough to make the decision whether or not to continue teaching a no-brainer. And so I have told Caledonian that I won’t be coming back after Christmas.

My students have been gratifyingly upset (or at least disappointed), even to the point of trying to make me feel guilty about abandoning them.

In Czech, St. Nicholas is sv. Mikuláš. He does not visit children on Christmas Eve*, but rather on the night of December 5, the eve of his feast. Unlike his English-speaking counterpart, sv. Mikuláš is still a bishop who wears his miter and chasuble and carries a bishop’s crook. He is also accompanied by a devil, who doles out coal or potatoes to bad children (or even threatens to carry them off in his sack), and by an angel, who gives sweets and toys to good children. After answering questions about his or her behavior the past year, the child is supposed to recite a poem or sing a song, I suppose to purchase forgiveness.

Mikuláš and his companions traditionally visit households with small children. There are also public celebrations at Staroměstské náměstí and Náměstí Míru.

These pictures were taken at the Náměstí Míru celebration:

Caledonian School was soliciting teachers to dress up one of the trio to visit classes for children; my schedule did not permit me to do so, however. One of my students observed, though, that dressing up as the devil is much more popular than dressing as the angel. Not (only) for the obvious reason, but because it’s hard to reconcile the angel’s filmy robes with the season!

*It’s the Infant Jesus (Ježíšek) who delivers presents on Christmas Eve, and don’t you forget it! Even the most vocal atheist in Prague seems to have no compunction about, or to perceive any contradiction in, identifying Ježíšek as the source of Christmas gifts.

On the tram this morning was a group of American students, four girls. I wasn’t paying much mind initially, but I soon realized that they were paying close attention to the display board that shows the upcoming stops. I finally asked one of them where they were going and was told "Krymská". I pointed out that they were headed in the wrong direction and needed to hop off an catch a tram going the opposite direction.

One of the students complimented me on my excellent English (!), before asking me where I was from. I admitted to being an American myself, living in Prague for just over a year, and was immediately pumped for advice on sights and food.

Turns out that they’re exchange students at a university in Rome. They have a 10-day holiday and are spending it travelling. They had just arrived from Germany, and will be in Prague 2 days before moving on to Budapest.

I certainly hope they found their hostel and manage to enjoy themselves!

Late summer is burčák season in the Czech Republic, and with burčák comes the vinobraní, the wine festivals. While Little Brother was here, there was one in Náměstí Míru and Havličkovy Sady, but they were badly overcrowded. So last weekend, I visited the one at Prague Castle:

Now, burčák is partially fermented young wine; while other nations sell new wine, under EU regulations, only Moravia can call it burčák, and it can be sold only from August 1 through November 30. Burčák is sweet and light and little fizzy and goes down very easily. I’m solemnly assured that there is no hangover like a burčák hangover. Lore has it that, because it is only partially fermented, it continues fermenting even after you’ve consumed it. But people swig it down like soda, some drinking it directly from the one-liter bottles in which it is sold for home consumption. Moravians will also tell you that "you can’t expect to be healthy unless you drink at least seven liters of the young wine each year".

While I had visited Prague Castle before (of course!), I had never actually visited the gardens. They are seriously lovely this time of year:

This vinobraní was a small one: only about a half dozen stalls selling burčák, a couple of food and (non-alcoholic) drink stands, and a couple of pottery stands:

One of the things that continues to amaze me here is the patience of Czechs when they have to stand in line. I never notice any fidgeting or restlessness or grumbling, even at the longest and most slowly moving of lines. I don’t know if it’s just a holdover from Communism or what, but if you want to buy burčák at a vinobraní, it’s definitely necessary:

Besides the stalls, there was also some live entertainment, provided by a group of students. Unfortunately, I was never able to get into a good position to see them, much less take any pictures. There’s only this one shot, as they were shutting down:

The cathedral of St. Vitus looms over the gardens: