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All papers, inks and mount-board materials are of conservation grade.
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The first time I went to Prague was in the autumn
of 1967, with a friend, on my old BSA motorbike
and sidecar, where the bike finally broke down due
to the very low octane of the local petrol. The
Velvet Revolution was clearly breaking out, but it
was cut short a year later when the Russian tanks
rolled in. I didn't visit again until after 1989 when
the Iron Curtain came down and Czechoslovakia
subsequently split into the Czech Republic and
Slovakia. Then two visits, one with my pal again
and our respective wives, and the other as the last
leg of a tour of Eastern Europe and Russia by an
English string orchestra, whose promotional film I
was shooting. In all these later visits, you could
sense that Prague was becoming a different place,
a beacon for tourists and drunken revellers and
Christmas markets and a whole new interest in
'western' commercialism. I don't blame them a bit,
after so many years of Soviet austerity, but
something was now missing - the mystery and
spookiness of the old Prague, which is lauded in all the history- and picture-books about the
city; it seemed it was being subsumed under a tide of rowdy youth and tourist traps. So
much so that the only time to get a good look at the Charles Bridge, on the 'Royal' route
across the city, is at dawn, before the crowds turn up and all the tacky nick-knack stalls
clutter up the Bridge.
The first time I went to Prague was in the autumn of 1967, with a friend, on my old BSA
motorbike and sidecar, where the bike finally broke down due to the very low octane of the
local petrol. The Velvet Revolution was clearly breaking out, but it was cut short a year later
when the Russian tanks rolled in. I didn't visit again until after 1989 when the Iron Curtain
came down and Czechoslovakia subsequently split into the Czech Republic and Slovakia. Then
two visits, one with my pal again and our respective wives, and the other as the last leg of a
tour of Eastern Europe and Russia by an English string orchestra, whose promotional film I
was shooting. In all these later visits, you could sense that Prague was becoming a different
place, a beacon for tourists and drunken revellers and Christmas markets and a whole new
interest in 'western' commercialism. I don't blame them a bit, after so many years of Soviet
austerity, but something was now missing - the mystery and spookiness of the old Prague,
which is lauded in all the history- and picture-books about the city; it seemed it was being
subsumed under a tide of rowdy youth and tourist traps. So much so that the only time to get
a good look at the Charles Bridge, on the 'Royal' route across the city, is at dawn, before the
crowds turn up and all the tacky nick-knack stalls clutter up the Bridge.
The first time I went to Prague was in the autumn of
1967, with a friend, on my old BSA motorbike and
sidecar, where the bike finally broke down due to the
very low octane of the local petrol. The Velvet
Revolution was clearly breaking out, but it was cut
short a year later when the Russian tanks rolled in. I
didn't visit again until after 1989 when the Iron
Curtain came down and Czechoslovakia subsequently
split into the Czech Republic and Slovakia. Then two
visits, one with my pal again and our respective wives,
and the other as the last leg of a tour of Eastern
Europe and Russia by an English string orchestra,
whose promotional film I was shooting. In all these
later visits, you could sense that Prague was becoming
a different place, a beacon for tourists and drunken
revellers and Christmas markets and a whole new
interest in 'western' commercialism. I don't blame
them a bit, after so many years of Soviet austerity, but
something was now missing - the mystery and
spookiness of the old Prague, which is lauded in all the
history- and picture-books about the city; it seemed it was being subsumed under a tide of
rowdy youth and tourist traps. So much so that the only time to get a good look at the Charles
Bridge, on the 'Royal' route across the city, is at dawn, before the crowds turn up and all the
tacky nick-knack stalls clutter up the Bridge.

Dawn on Charles Bridge

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For your own fine-art print of this picture:
The first time I went to Prague was in the autumn of 1967, with a friend, on my old BSA motorbike and sidecar, where the bike finally broke down due to the very low octane of the local petrol. The Velvet Revolution was clearly breaking out, but it was cut short a year later when the Russian tanks rolled in. I didn't visit again until after 1989 when the Iron Curtain came down and Czechoslovakia subsequently split into the Czech Republic and Slovakia. Then two visits, one with my pal again and our respective wives, and the other as the last leg of a tour of Eastern Europe and Russia by an English string orchestra, whose promotional film I was shooting. In all these later visits, you could sense that Prague was becoming a different place, a beacon for tourists and drunken revellers and Christmas markets and a whole new interest in 'western' commercialism. I don't blame them a bit, after so many years of Soviet austerity, but something was now missing - the mystery and spookiness of the old Prague, which is lauded in all the history- and picture-books about the city; it seemed it was being subsumed under a tide of rowdy youth and tourist traps. So much so that the only time to get a good look at the Charles Bridge, on the 'Royal' route across the city, is at dawn, before the crowds turn up and all the tacky nick-knack stalls clutter up the Bridge.           
Polished black frame with image floated inside the mount.
World gallery
Suffolk     Britain     World     B&W     Abstract
Suffolk     Britain     World    B&W     Abstract     Poetic Licence