Czech Byways

By Rick Steves Modified: July 16, 2013 at 1:43 pm •  Published: July 16, 2013
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Wedged between Germany and Austria, the Czech Republic is one of the most comfortable and easy-to-explore countries of the former Warsaw Pact. And if you venture into towns and villages away from Prague, you’ll find undiscovered historic districts, authentic cuisine, and a simple joy of life.

Trebon, a well-preserved town south of Prague, is centered around an inviting Renaissance square. Its claim to fame is its nearby biosphere of artificial lakes that date back to the 14th century. Over the years, people have transformed what was a flooding marshland into a clever combination of lakes, oak-lined dikes, wild meadows, Baroque villages, peat bogs, and pine woods. Rather than unprofitable wet fields, the nobles wanted ponds that swarmed with fish--and today Trebon remains the fish-raising capital of the Czech Republic.

The city is all about fish--on the main square, the bank has a statue of a man holding a big fish over its door. Another statue honors the town’s 15th-century megalomaniac lake-builder Jakub Krcin (now considered a hero since his medieval lakes absorbed enough water to save Trebon from a 2002 flood that ravaged Prague).

When you come here, you have to eat fish. So I ordered all the appetizers on the menu of a local eatery tapas-style (a good trick when trying to eat your way through another culture): "soused" (must mean "pickled") herring, fried loach, “stuffed carp sailor fashion,” cod liver, pike caviar, and something my Czech friend and guide Honza translated as "fried carp sperm."

As we ate, I noticed that the writing on my beer glass said, “Bohemia Regent anno 1379.” It occurred to me that I was consuming exactly what people have been eating and drinking here for over 600 years: fish from the reservoir just outside the gate and the local brew.

Trebon is also renowned for its spa, where people come from near and far to soak in peaty water. Soaking in the black, smelly peat sludge is thought to cure aching joints and spines. Envisioning the elegance of Germany's Baden-Baden, I had to give it a whirl. Besides, I thought it would make good TV.

My attendant didn’t really understand why I had an entourage (local guide/translator, producer, and cameraman). She just treated me like some deaf-mute she was assigned to bathe and massage. She pointed to my room and mimed to take off everything. But I kept my military-green swimsuit on (afraid of a prankish combination of high-definition footage, my producer's sense of humor, and YouTube).

Camera work is slow. She was anxious. The peat muck only flows at the top of the hour. I climbed into my stainless-steel tub, she pulled a plug, and I quickly disappeared under a rising sea of dark-brown peat broth (like a gurgling sawdust soup).



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