This Could Be Magic by Claire Gervat

Prague was laid out invitingly below us: a sea of red-tiled roofs punctuated by weird black spires and green domes stretching as far as the eye could see. It was enough to take your breath away -- if we’d had any left after the steep, slow climb up the cobbled Old Castle steps.

I certainly couldn’t complain about not getting any exercise, for leg power is by far the best way to soak up the sights in the (relatively) small historical centre. Apart from the one-way system -- more than capable of driving any motorist insane -- there are so many intriguing buildings to look at that you’d miss out if you went any faster. Guided walking tours are a popular choice; you get to all the main places of interest, and learn something (occasionally too much) along the way -- including how comfortable your shoes are.

Our tour had already taken us to some of Prague’s main sights. In the vast, beautiful Old Town Square, we’d seen the 'Disney castle' spires of the Church of Our Lady before Tyn and its gold statue of the Madonna and Child. It was easy to find the famous 16th-century Town Hall Clock from the crowd gathered round waiting for it to strike the hour, when a skeleton rings a small bell and figures of the apostles parade in the two windows above.

Other sights were less obvious: an Art Nouveau mural of Wenceslas -- not a king after all, but a saint; the plaque to show where Einstein once lived, although, according to our guide Helena, "He was professor here for one year only -- he could not stand us."

From there, the route to the castle led through winding cobbled streets to the river and another of Prague’s famous monuments, the Charles Bridge. Once crowded with horse-drawn carriages, it now bustles with visitors admiring the blackened statues of saints, browsing the jewellery and painting stalls, and taking in the view towards the castle. We slowly strolled our way across, too, stopping halfway to listen to a group of grey-bearded jazz musicians who grinned and nodded and clicked their fingers for joy at having such a venue.

We wound our way through narrow lanes lined with pretty, painted old houses, and -- with a bit of puffing and panting -- made it up to the castle. The first one was built here more than a thousand years ago, but the present buildings are 16th-century -- so don’t expect to see battlements and drawbridges. Instead, inside the walls are Renaissance palaces, St Vitus’s Cathedral with its newly restored Golden Portal gleaming in even the weakest sunshine, and the tiny timber cottages of Golden Lane, like something out of an Eastern European fairytale, where the castle servants used to live.

From here we headed down Nerudova Street, lined with more fabulous ancient buildings. Prague didn’t have street numbers until 1770, so many of the houses have signs instead. We looked for the White Swan, the Green Lobster and the Three Fiddles, before spotting an even more enticing sign that said "tearoom."

We almost fell into the U Zeleneho Caje, suddenly feeling we’d actually walked quite a long way. However, thanks to the restorative powers of tea -- not, to be honest, a particular Czech favourite -- and warm gingerbread, which is, we were soon ready to head off again. There was still plenty to explore, in particular the old Jewish Quarter with its haunting cemetery, all tumbledown gravestones and rooks circling overhead, cawing mournfully; and a holocaust memorial in an old synagogue, its interior walls completely covered with row after heartbreaking row of the hand-painted names of its Czech victims.

There’s more to Prague than history and architecture, though. Typically Czech are the beer cellars, where you can quench your thirst on delicious local brews, and kill your hunger for ever with vast helpings of sausages, pork knuckles and potatoes: fun but fattening.

Equally Czech, but kinder to your waistline if not your wallet, are the shops selling exquisite crystal and porcelain. In one, Regena, behind the Old Town Square, we watched a demonstration of glass-making, as we cooked gently in the heat from the furnace. Then we had a go at making our own rather less exquisite glassware, blowing down long tubes into molten glass until we nearly passed out. Not for the first time, Prague had completely taken our breath away.