The Astronomical Clock's Little Show

By Chris Lettner - Prague, Old Town Square, Oct. 4, 1.58 p.m. - Within 10 minutes a crowd has gathered in the nook of the square around the Old Town Hall tower. A group of Czech elementary school kids is having lunch break on the curb. They are facing hundreds of foreign tourists staring at Prague's Astronomical Clock. Everyone's here to see the show. Fingers are pointing.

There's no shade on the cobblestones, the sky is blue. Quite possibly it's the last summer day of the year. Still if it was raining it wouldn't look much different. People would wear outdoor jackets or plastic bag rain protection; now there are hot pants and big sunglasses. Most tourists don't have enough time to stay in when the weather is bad.

As it gets close to the stroke of the hour it's getting quiet. The tour guides shut up for a minute. The kids take a break from their break, get up and turn around.

Orloj – 'clock' as the Czechs simply call it – is the oldest Astronomical Clock in the world that is still working. Recently it celebrated its 600th birthday with a video mapping show. The countless videos of it on YouTube became a viral hit. Almost 1.4 million people have seen the most popular one. The Orloj is one of Prague's major tourist sights.

On the hour the clock comes to life. Earlier tour guide Filip, in a red polo, explained and reenacted for his audience what happens: The skeleton starts ringing its bell and nodding his head, “and this means, yes, you are all going to die.”

Next, the three other statues shake their heads. Then the two doors above the main dial open and the Walk of the Apostles starts. “Each of the 12 apostles comes and shows you his face.”
“Then the golden rooster let's out a majestic crow. And for hundreds of years this was it. And huge crowds of people were like ... seriously, this is it?”

Then, he explains, “the authorities decided to improve things.” Since then on top of the tower a trumpeter dressed in a medieval outfit comes on to play a fanfare. Filip makes a joke out of the show. He prepares his group for disappointment.

To many Prague appears more like a medieval theme park rather than a 21st-century capital. Zdeněk Tůma, the TOP 09 party candidate for mayor in Prague, during his campaign said, "Prague should be a modern city, not an outdoor museum.”

Despite of running for a newly formed party, Tůma came in first in the local elections last October. Mostly, though, Tůma got so many votes because he was seen as a candidate of change - change from the 20-year rule of the established parties seen as corrupt. Tůma never became major. The other parties ignored his and formed a coalition.

Really the trumpeter wasn't the idea of the authorities. The city outsourced the management of the Old Town Hall tower (and six other towers) in 2009. The private company ABL won the tender, being the only bidder. They put a trumpeter on the tower (and two other towers) to get more people to pay to walk up to the top.

It is 2 p.m. Death rings its bell. A roar goes through the crowd. More people than not raise their devices, watching what's happening, mediated through point-and-shoot and smartphone lenses, and 4-inch LCD screens.

No sense of disappointment. The crowd cheers. After a minute everything is over. The trumpeter comes on, plays for 28 seconds. People clap. He waves. The crowd waves back. The apostles only come out once a day and it's not at 2 but they are not missed.

A last tourist in Ray Bans points his iPad at the clock. This requires two hands and because he also has to juggle his phone, he is late. Within a minute the crowd has dissolved. Everyone moves on.

ABL will stick around and not everyone's happy with it. The company is the Czech Republic's biggest security agency. It protects buildings and people, except for now it also has the towers.

It later became known also for allegedly having spied on local politicians in Prague. Its owner, Vít Bárta, grey eminence of the Public Affairs party, recently stepped down as minister of transportation after being accused of bribery. In August parliament also voted to lift his immunity.

The costumes the trumpeters as well as town criers wear on the streets are meticulously researched, ABL claims. The lady selling tickets to the tower walks out in front of the door now that it is not that busy anymore, wearing what is best described as an orange-red flag with a whole for her head and Prague's emblem on the chest. If I want to talk to the trumpeter I first have to ask the manager, she says.

A waiter from Starbucks carries a plate of espressos across the square, handing them out to people for free. There are tourists everywhere but first he takes his time to find some pretty Czech girls. It's obviously not the worst part of his job.

Steps away from the Orloj the police have parked a van. Occasionally tourists ask the officer for the way. For this purpose there's a big map of the center on the side of the van. Beneath it there's a smaller print-out sporting MS Office clip-art. It reads, “Your thirsty dog can drink here.”

People take photos of each other in front of the clock. Towards 3 p.m. it will become more difficult again. Someone's always in the way. A bride and her spouse have to take it seriously and have particular problems finding sufficient space.

This is how Prague sparkles during sunset when you look at it from one of the hills.
Simon, another tour guide, yellow polo, different company, adds another twist to his story. “If you want to see real disappointment,” he says, “come here at nine.” There will still be a crowd. But the last show is at 8 p.m.