When I saw Prague for the first time, November 1989, it was so cold that even the cameras froze.
In spite of the cold there was a strangely warm and euphoric atmosphere in the city. Discussions of the political situation were full of hope. Wenceslas Square was glittering in the light of thousands of candles when Vaclav Havel flew over it in a helicopter. Prague was pregnant with the Velvet Revolution.
Twelve years later I was in Prague for the second time. In spite of many people the city seemed like a lifeless stage-setting. It was teeming with offers of fast food, shopping and entertainment. Placard columns were literally exploding with advertisements. Prague was pregnant with tourism. It was Summer and it felt spooky.