Like many of the world’s great cities, Prague was built on the water. From its earliest history, the city was shaped by the Vltava, a beautiful and sometimes violent river. Less well-known than the Thames in London and the Seine in Paris, the Vltava is no less lovely and no less storied.

April 2017, single shot, additional exposures for highlights, focal length 116 mm, aperture f/8, shutter speed 30 seconds, ISO 64, tripod.




There’s a reason that many photographs of Prague feature the river; it’s a singularly beautiful river, and the ancient spires and walls of Prague, when reflected in its waters, make a breathtaking sight. The river divides the city in two and offers the most splendid views of the city, views lovely enough that Smetana, one of the country’s most acclaimed composers, wrote a symphony in praise of the river.

I thought I was charmed by the city when walking its cobblestone streets and its ancient alleys, but the most romantic views of the city, I found, were high above it, overlooking the grand river. The pastel-colored buildings and church spires that line the river’s banks are even lovelier when seen from above, their reflections glittering in the water.

For most of its history, the Vltava has been languorous and reassuringly low. But its beauty can conceal a devastating power. At several points in its history, the Vltava has flooded its banks, inundating parts of the city and weakening its iconic bridges. The most destructive of those floods occurred in 2002, damaging large parts of the city as well as the beloved Charles Bridge.

But on an evening in early spring, it was difficult to imagine that element of the Vltava’s character. It was not menacing; I could sense nothing of its sometimes violent past. Instead, it was graceful and placid, its waters bathed in the lavender light of early evening, reflecting the lights of the city I’d come to love in a short time. I framed the shot, hoping to capture even a bit of the beauty of that ancient city.

Each day that I spent in Prague revealed more of the city’s fairy tale landscape and its centuries-long history. My first view of the city was from the Charles Bridge and I was convinced it was the loveliest, most evocative view of Prague, but every subsequent day revealed new and equally enchanting vistas.

April 2017, single shot, additional exposures for highlights, focal length 60 mm, aperture f/11, shutter speed 25 seconds, ISO 64, tripod.




Prague is a city divided by the Vltava River, and the sinewy river is the central artery of the city, around which it has developed for the past millennium. Whether from the Charles Bridge or another of the city’s bridges, I quickly learned that the best way to see Prague was from the water, from the river that is its heart.

From the right bank of the Vltava, I found that I could set up my tripod and capture sweeping views of many of the city’s most beautiful sites. From the right bank, I could capture Prague Castle and St. Vitus Cathedral, soaring above the city. It’s believed to be the oldest castle in Europe, built in the ninth century. For many visitors, the spires of St. Vitus represent Prague Castle, but the castle in fact occupies a vast compound of government and religious buildings at the city’s zenith. The castle and its surrounding buildings are the most recognizable structures on the city’s skyline.

As I explored Prague, I found myself thinking about history and the passage of time. For more than a thousand years, a city has occupied the banks of the Vltava, a longer span of time than many countries have existed. In its long history, Prague has withstood invasions and oppressive regimes, and it remains one of the loveliest in Europe. Walking the streets of Prague is a lesson in the expanse of time, a reminder of the brief span of time we occupy.

Lost in my thoughts of time and history and completely enthralled by this beautiful city, I continued walking its ancient streets.

How did I find myself with my camera near Charles Bridge in Prague? The trip to Prague came at a turning point in my life. It was the first trip I made after giving up a stable, dependable job for a career in fine art photography. It was a change that I’d dreamed of for years and though I was confident in my abilities, it was nonetheless a time of uncertainty. I arrived in Prague not merely as a first-time visitor, but as someone who was taking a great leap from one life to another.

April 2017, single shot, additional exposures for highlights, focal length 70 mm, aperture f/8, shutter speed 30 seconds, ISO 250, tripod.




Because I made the trip to Prague at a time of both uncertainty and exhilaration in my life, my feelings about the city were stronger than they might otherwise be. The city quickly came to occupy a special place in my heart. As a travel photographer, I tend to form intense attachments to places, but Prague was different. I felt that I had leapt from the certainty of one life and landed in a place that felt strangely comforting and welcoming.

I took to walking the city’s streets at odd hours, appreciative of the relative silence. One of the most popular destinations in Europe, Prague is nearly always full of tourists, so I planned my excursions at dawn and late at night. Other than a few stragglers who’d made a full night of it, I had Prague’s streets largely to myself in the early morning hours. Beautiful at any hour, Prague is especially lovely in the blue light of early dawn.

In those first few days in Prague, I returned again and again to the Charles Bridge. So much of the city’s history and character seemed to be encapsulated in that one remarkable structure that I photographed it repeatedly, from multiple angles. It was impossible not be charmed by the bridge and its history.

There are places in the world in which the past is every bit as alive as the present. You walk among the streets of certain cities and feel the spirits of the place, the collective memory that hasn’t yet receded into the distant past. Prague is one of those places.

April 2017, single shot, additional exposures for highlights, focal length 70 mm, aperture f/8, shutter speed 1.3 seconds, ISO 64, tripod.

You can license this photo at my stock image website >>



For much of the twentieth century, Prague (as well as the rest of the Czech Republic) was off-limits to travelers from the West, sealed off behind the Iron Curtain. When the country’s Communist regime was peacefully overthrown in the 1990s, Westerners rediscovered the country, particularly Prague. They found a city as lovely as any in Europe, the Bohemian equal to Paris or London. And like me, they found a city steeped in its history, a city in which the past hums and vibrates just beneath the thin veneer of the present.

It’s a city that lends itself to this kind of imagining. For more than a millennium, Prague has occupied its spot on the lovely Vltava River. It’s a city of winding cobblestone alleys and soaring spires, a city that — for all its beauty — has born witness to some of the worst of humanity’s impulses.

So it’s easy to become consumed by Prague’s long, complicated history when walking its streets. And there is perhaps no other place in the city that encapsulates that history like the Charles Bridge, a striking work of architecture completed in 1390. The bridge itself is lovely, but it’s the monuments that adorn the bridge that get the most attention. The first was the crucifix at the eastern end, which was added in 1657. But the most famous of the bridge’s stone adornments is the statue of St. John of Nepomuk, who was thrown into the river on orders of King Wenceslas IV because he refused to divulge the queen’s confession. The statue was added by Jesuits in 1683, and over the years, other Catholic orders added their own saints, turning the bridge into a kind of museum of martyrdom.

Nowadays, the Charles Bridge is one of the city’s most popular attractions, and because it was pedestrianized after World War II, at any time of the day, tourists, street vendors, and pickpockets crowd its walls. If you want to see the bridge free of the crowds, you have to come at dawn.

And that’s what I did on a bitterly cold morning in April of 2017. I headed to the bridge just as the sun came up, when I knew it was likely to be empty. In the early hours of morning, with the tourists and hawkers still asleep, the bridge is a different place. It’s a place out of time, and as I walked the bridge, looking for the perfect shot, I could hear Prague’s saints and martyrs whispering from a not very distant place. In this ancient city where the past is always close at hand, they seem to want to tell their stories. You only have to stop and listen.