When I cross town from the school on Tavírna Street to the monastery, I generally try to avoid Široká, but walk down nearly all of Latrán. Many years ago, when we lost the watch repair shop, we also lost a small shop that specialized in glass engravings. The owner would do custom engravings of beer glasses, graduation plaques and so on. I often stopped in to chat with him on a stone bench in front of the house. The last time we talked, he said that he was closing shop, that the building was being renovated and that there wasn’t anyone in town anymore whom he might meet and chat with, that there were few people left, tourists everywhere, and that this new Krumlov wasn’t for him. So he left, the building has been beautifully and sensitively renovated, but it’s closed. The old engraver no longer sits on the bench with his pipe. It’s just another attraction that the tourists take pictures of. Now as I was walking down that street, I glanced over at the bench, at what do I see? A woman is sitting there, knitting a sweater or something. I hear the clicking of the needles. Across the street, there’s bedding being aired in the windows. Somebody clearly lives there. I immediately remembered the way is used to be and realized that this is the spirit that the city had lost.
Martin Busta