By Rob Cameron, Stringer, Prague, 30 November 2004
It’s just so… beautiful. An autumn sun was setting over Prague’s medieval Old Town. Tourists shuffled across the 14th century Charles Bridge, just visible beyond a sea of red roofs. A hundred golden spires glinted in the twilight.
It’s a stunning view, guaranteed to work wonders with first-time visitors. It was certainly working with this one, a BBC friend in town for a long weekend. "Bit of a change from White City," I suggested. Her reply was unintelligible.
It’s easy to be complacent about Prague’s beauty, especially after 11 years here. The first six were spent teaching English. There followed jobs at the Czech News Agency and Radio Prague. Finally, to much rejoicing, I began stringing full time for the BBC.
The job provides extraordinary access to places whose doors would otherwise remain firmly closed.
For years I walked through the courtyards of Prague Castle, peering in at the corridors. Now I walk through the corridors, peering out at the courtyards.
Down a mine in Bohemia
For years I hurried past Cernin Palace, headquarters of the Czech foreign ministry. Now I’m free to push open the heavy oak doors and venture inside.
I’ve stood in Jan Masaryk’s apartment, kept exactly the way it was since the morning in 1948 when the minister’s lifeless body was found in the courtyard below. I’ve stood at Masaryk’s bathroom window, seeing just what he saw before he – or someone else – decided to end his life.
I’ve walked across a disused military airfield where thousands of Soviet planes landed in August 1968, bringing in the tanks and soldiers which would put down the Prague Spring.
I’ve been down a mine in west Bohemia which produced the silver that made the precursor to the dollar, and later produced the chunk of uranium ore used by Marie Curie to identify radium.
And all because I have a little card which says ‘Press – BBC’ on it. The little piece of laminated plastic is a daily reminder of my luck.
But I’m also lucky to work in a large, well-equipped BBC bureau with three studios, ENPS and an ISDN line. There’s even a coffee machine, which is usually more reliable than the ISDN line (although harder to operate).
Five million alien spaceships
And of course there are the staff of the BBC Czech service, who provide invaluable advice when writing a difficult story or simply trying to pronounce someone’s name. Occasionally, they even let me on to one of their programmes, a rare opportunity to practise my Czech in front of very large numbers of people.
The Czech service has built an unparalleled reputation in this country for the depth and quality of its news coverage, a reputation which is not, I fear, augmented by my attempts at the genitive plural.
However, no amount of technical support or comradely assistance can make up for the occasional drought in news stories, the one blot on the Czech landscape.
Prague is not dangerous or unstable. Riots or natural disasters are uncommon. Finding stories can sometimes be a challenge.
I’m grateful therefore to the many weird and wacky Czechs such as the royalist who wants to install Prince Charles on the Bohemian throne, the composer inspired by the song of the mushroom, the electrical engineer who talks to a fleet of five million alien spaceships, who make the quiet times bearable.
Without them, I would be broke. And very bored.
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