I t’s difficult to imagine a more perfect festive scene. The snow, already half a foot deep, is falling softly in fat flakes. The town square’s Christmas market is twinkling with lights, children are shrieking happily as they careen around an ice rink, the air is thick with the smell of warm honey mead and sweet trdelnik pastry cooked over fire.
Large groups of friends and family are gathered together. I cannot hear a single English accent. We are in Premysl Otakar II Square, the historic centre of Ceske Budejovice, about 75 miles south of Prague in South Bohemia, having travelled for about three hours in increasingly nerve-inducing weather conditions as darkness set in.
But with the car safely parked outside the hotel and already blanketed in snow, it’s time for a celebratory restorative drink and some fun. This small-but-perfectly-formed Christmas market is well off the tourist trail. We meander happily around, picking up local delicacies and festive decorations to take home, fielding plenty of interested questions – and the odd raised eyebrow – about how far we’d travelled.
By the end of the evening, my shopping bag holds some locally-made klobasa sausage and a too-large chunk of cheese for the road, a pair of woollen socks, a large brass bell for which I’m sure I’ll find a use if I can get it home, a candle in the shape of a snowman, and a plush gnome with a bulbous nose and a Santa hat. It is the first night of our holiday and it is off to a suitably fest.
