“How do you say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in Czech?” I ask the very young-looking barmaid in the pint-sized watering hole at the end of Blanická Street.  The answer is ‘prosím‘ and ‘děkuju‘, but it’s what she tells me next that catches my attention. 

Mariana tells me that she is Ukranian, not Czech, and has only been in Prague for 5 months as a refugee from Putin’s invasion of her homeland.  In our short conversation – long enough for me to sink my first Kozel – she strikes me as mature and philosophical about her situation.  She’s very grateful to the Czech authorities, who have provided her with accommodation and a job, but wants to return to Ukraine as soon as it’s safe.

Marianna is very complimentary about Prague too.  She is not alone.  6.8m annual visitors to Prague can’t be wrong.  Sadly, they’re all here at the same time as me. 

With a tour guide’s umbrella for antenna, scores of human millipedes expand and contract through the narrow lanes of the historic old town.  Prague Castle, Charles Bridge, the Jewish Quarter, all clearly must-sees, all overrun with tourists.

Only on the west side of the Vlatva River, below the castle, do I find quieter streets.  Strange, as to my eyes this is a far more appealing area.

Easy on the eye Prague certainly is – those 6.8m are, in fact, right – sufficiently so for me to wind up annoyed at myself for the amount of time I spend admiring the Czech capital through my phone’s viewfinder instead of my own lenses.     

It’s far from the insta-madding crowds that I find I can truly enjoy Prague.  A tip-off from a reliable Pragueophile (chapeau, Ali) sends me in the direction of Žižkov, only half a dozen blocks from the Vinohrady neighbourhood in which I’m staying.  Vinohrady itself is stylish, relatively tourist-free, and replete with decent bars and eateries full of middle-class Praguers.  Žižkov, however, is home to that boho holy trinity of immigrant communities, hipsters, and shady-looking characters.

Character it is not short of, nor drinking dens.  The elegance of Prague’s Old Town makes way for (I cringe at typing it) shabby chic.  Street art starts to appear. Camper van-sized bronze babies crawl ant-like up Žižkov Television Tower, which stands in stark contrast to the traditional skyline of the ‘City of Spires’. This is the kind of place I can while away a few hours, so I do.

Taking my place at a communal table outside of Le Caveau Kavárna, sipping on another pilsner and enjoying the view of the giant stone humbug that is the 1930s-built Kostel Nejsvětějšího Srdce Páně church, the soundtrack provided by a nearby sax-wielding busker reminds me that I’m due back in town for a very different concert.

Next to the Charles Bridge, the St Francis of Assisi Church is hosting an evening concert which promises pieces by Bach, Handel, Mozart, Dvorak, Schubert, and more.  It would be beneath me to raise a grin at such high-art being promoted by ‘Famous Organ Concerts’. 

The late-17^th century church is small but beautiful, splendidly lit against what is now a rainy evening.  I’d been able to choose my seat, now identified by a name card, when I bought my ticket earlier in the day – second row from front and in full view of that famous organ.

Organist Drahomira Matznerova, flautist Zofie Vokalkova, and mezzosoprano Barbora de Nunes-Cambraia appear on the balcony above their audience, and the hour that follows is heavenly. 

Audiences at London classical concerts rarely applaud between pieces, but the 30 or so of us that have assembled here do at every opportunity.  The appreciation is clearly reciprocated by the performers.  Flautist and mezzosoprano descend to ground-level for the finale of Ave Maria and Allelujah, standing just feet away from me. 

De Nunes-Cambraia is especially jaw-dropping – it takes me a moment to break from her spell and join my fellow audience members in applause at the end of the performance.  A validatory shake of my head before I join the standing ovation.   

Despite the crowds, Prague really is a stunning city, and that was a stunning coda to my visit.