The first stone of this bridge was purportedly laid by King Charles IV himself at precisely 5:31 am on July 9, 1357, which is a palindrome – 1357 9/7 5:31.
Charles IV was a big believer in numerology and thought to instill greater strength into the bridge.
The bridge is impressive and was, at one time, the only bridge across the river Vltava, linking the Prague Castle with the rest of the city.
As I enter the bridge, I look over the side into a small inlet off the river and am absorbed in thought about the two capsized canoes I see in the water?
I look around, but don’t see anyone, and I wonder what the story is here.
I consider all kinds of possible explanations for the capsized canoes, but don’t settle on any one of them.
There are thirty statues along the bridge, all built in the early 1700s, but I overhear a guide telling his English guests that they have all now been replaced with replicas.
I hang around within hearing distance of the guide and find him knowledgeable, although when a woman in his group asks him about the meaning of an inscription on one of the statues, he replies, “I don’t know; it’s something old.”
I chuckle to myself.
A minute later, I hear the guide say, “Looks like we’ve added someone new to the tour.”
I haven’t been looking at him all this time, but I’m guessing he’s referring to me, so when they wander off to their next story, I remain where I am, looking over the edge of the bridge along the Vltava.
Standing on Charles Bridge, looking upstream at the river islands, a strong cool breeze pushing back my long hair, I think there is nowhere else in the world I’d rather be in this moment.
The bridge is busy with tourists, but also with vendors, people selling caricature drawings, artists selling their prints, and a man selling cds of his music, which seems to consist of him making sounds on an inverted metal bowl, not the type of music I see myself enjoying with my morning coffee, unless the coffee is heavily laced with Riga Black Balsam liqueur.
The statues along the bridge are black from oxidization, although there are a few spots that are clean from the touches of thousands of people making wishes.
I decide this isn’t a bad idea, so I rub my hand on a patriarchal cross below a fallen Jesus and wish for something I’m not entirely sure I really want.
As I exit the bridge, I am still pondering the true desire of my wish.
