Whistle-stop tours tend to be so short, in my case barely two days, that I was left with only six hours spread over two days in which to discover the Islamic heritage of Prague. I would of course have had a better chance finding a needle in a haystack, for then at least you will find the needle once you run out of hay. As it is, the Muslims never made it this far into Central Europe, thus anything “Islamic” would be an addition made over the past couple of centuries.

My short trip exposed me to two faces of the Czech people. First, the common taxi drivers who, as well as being rude, have the tendency to charge three times the cost of the journey and to feign ignorance when you point out a sign at your hotel’s entrance clearly stating the cost of a journey from the hotel to the city. I suppose this is the same everywhere, so I could do little else than sigh with patience. This leaves me with the many other Czech people.

Admittedly, I didn’t really meet that many apart from Tom, whose (US) National Guard lanyard and his strong accent at first left me with the impression that he was an American college student on a summer job, only to discover that his accent, like mine, was acquired when attending American schools overseas.

Prague, unlike other major cities in this region, was spared major bombings in the Second World War. The minor damage that was inflicted was in the old town square where the old town hall, a pinkish colored building, was used as a document storage house by the Nazis. As they left, instead of removing their documents, they simply knocked the building down with a line of tanks from the square.

Perhaps one of the few good things Adolf Hitler did was to leave the Jewish “ghetto” intact, thus preserving some rather old synagogues to this day. Apparently his plan was to extinguish the world’s Jewish population and to leave Prague’s Jewish Quarter as an open air museum. Fortunately for humanity, his plan to exterminate an entire people failed.

Prague Castle is the largest ancient castle in the world and has a number of attractions. My advice would be to buy a ticket to walk down the Golden Lane. At the entrance there is a stairway that leads to the upper floors of the shops that constitute the old lane of traders. Lined today with various medieval coats of arms and weapons, the lane has a fun archery range at one end and a store
selling the oddest leather goods at the other. If you ever wanted to see what a complete skinned cow looks like, the one hanging on the wall outside the store comes very close, right down to the hoofs and the cow’s nose—quite cool in a gross sort of way.

Elsewhere in the city, among many other sights, is a piece of “art” that shows two men urinating in a fountain in the shape of the Czech republic. There is a sign with a telephone number to which you can send an SMS; the men will then urinate the letters of the SMS into the water. There is something about Czech humor and “art” that leaves a lot to be desired!

Golden Lane, the old mercantile area of Prague

After my haunting encounters with taxi drivers, our guide, Tom, showed me the pleasant side to the Czech people: What other than friendly hospitability could be expected in a city where nearly three fourths of its summer population comprises tourists?

There always seems to be a sense of purpose to life. Whatever it is that Allah Almighty decrees will be; of that there can be no doubt. This is a lesson of which I am reminded on such a regular basis that it makes me question why it is that I feel so ungrateful for the many blessings bestowed upon me.

I sat listening with the widest smile on my face and thoughts rushing through my mind: “My life is brilliant, my love is pure, I saw an angel, of that I’m sure.” So begin the lyrics of a James Blunt song I like. I found myself with two parallel streams of thought. The one appreciating the purity and beauty of the call to prayer, the second one contemplating life and all the experiences I have been blessed with: a chorus of appreciation.

As we stood up to pray, we lined up side by side and managed to complete the first row between us. Midway through the second rak`ah, after Surat Al-Fatihah and the commencement of the following surah, my phone rang: “You’ve got mail, baby, yeah” blared my ringtone with an Austin Powers voice. While I was fidgeting with my phone to disable its sound, the rest of the prayer was completed without further disturbance.

After finishing the prayer, I took to the back of the prayer hall to reply to the text message when a man walked up to me. Pointing to himself he glanced at my little toy, part phone, part PDA, trying to figure out why I was tapping the screen with a pen. The Czech Republic isn’t so far behind in terms of technology, though, as yet, such phones are not commonplace. Sadly, at that time of night I also didn’t have any of our translators with me, so we resorted to the age-old custom of sign language. Pointing to his chest he said “Czech Musliman.” Eager to reciprocate, I too show a wide smile and point to my chest saying “British Pakistani Muslim.” He is stumped and clearly has no understanding of what “British” or “Pakistani” means. I too am stumped, knowing that this conversation will go nowhere very fast, so we smile again at each other and go our separate ways.

Perhaps there was a reason why I was unable to find Prague Central Mosque on the previous occasion. Suffice it to say that when something is supposed to be hidden from us, no matter how hard we look, we will never see it, unless by the mercy of Allah. Similarly, when Allah Almighty wants us to see something, we simply will not be able to avoid it.

** Farrukh I. Younus holds a masters degree in international business management and works in the emerging telecom industry. He resides in Surrey, UK. His interests include travel, nouvelle cuisine, and chocolate. You can contact him at farrukh@ntlworld.com.

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