Construction of Český Krumlov began in the 13th Century, at around the time people in other places were doing other things. Situated at a ford in the Vltava river, it became an important spot along the trade routes of Bohemia. In 1302 the town and the castle belonged to the House or Rosenberg. In 1602, however, Emperor Rudolf II bought Krumlov and gave it to his son, Julius d’Austria, setting into motion quite a number of modern day jealousies, as most people don’t simply get gorgeous and important towns from their rich and powerful fathers. A bit later, Emperor Ferdinand II gave Krumlov to the House of Eggenberg; and, from 1719 to 1945, the prodigiously impressive and bear-enhanced castle belonged to the House of Schwartzenburg. In all honesty, however, I don’t know if the ursine security personnel stayed with the castle for the duration of its existence. Probably so, but as I’m no ursine historian, I’m not entirely sure, so take that bear-fact with a grain of salt. Though modern day Český Krumlov includes a lot more than the historical Old City/Old Town, it is the amazing, automobile-free center of Old Town that draws tourists from around the world. I stayed there—exclusively in the historical heart of the town—for an extended period of time, marked by windfall apples, dubiously-appropriated walnuts, delivered by a friend with mysteriously-dirty fingernails; the walnuts themselves were contained in a mysteriously dirty plastic bag. On more than a few Friday nights, I drank copious amounts of beer in an intimate trio of local bars, one of which belonged to a hostel I wasn’t staying at, but the manager of the hostel was/is a friend of mine. To this day, Blanka and I exchange “must-see” movie lists. Funny how they just keep growing Those beer nights stand out as much as making applesauce, eating walnuts, and watching fog/mist clot and contort as it breathed from the surface of the Vltava River in the early autumn months. On one particular beer-tinged Friday, I danced with a guy in a wheelchair, while many around me danced on tables (cleared of drinks.) The dancers, in what must be a venerable Czech tradition, were careful to remove their shoes before going into table-top boogie mode. On another such night, sans table dancing, I took on the role of impromptu tour guide to a quartet of Croatian visitors: from them I learned the meaning of the Croatian toast: piti-jesti-piti. Eat-drink-eat. I don’t know if it was an official toast, but according to those I’d spent that weekend with, it is something that captures the essence of fun when surrounded by Croatian company. One’s shot glass never goes empty, and there’s always something tasty to eat when you’re seated (and growing woozy) before a bottle of Jack Daniels that mysteriously empties itself into your shot glass. Even when you’re looking at it, you never see it emptying itself into your glass—and eventually into your stomach. I was alone when I snapped this photograph of Český Krumlov. I was amazed by the sight of the town’s iconic castle tower, looming on the other side of ramshackle backsides with not-yet-restored front-sides facing Latran Street. I loved the clouds, the tower itself, the feeling of the town, and the impending promise of apples, dubious walnuts, and the never-ending-bottle of Jack Daniels made magical by the utterance of Croatian toasts. I found this photo among photos I’d emailed to various friends and family members, and I liked it enough to fiddle with it, slightly, and post it here. And hopefully you’ve enjoyed seeing it. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re having a great week/end.