The taxi sped past nondescript buildings and wide expanses of green grass on either side of the highway from Ruzyne Airport to the City of Prague. N, my five year-old, and I spent much of the half hour feasting our eyes on the trees — they were turning color and the leaves gleamed a brilliant yellow in the early fall sunshine.

Then suddenly, as we followed the gentle curve of the road down a slope, we saw Prague on the other side of the two-way street beyond a low-lying stone wall. The view lasted thirty seconds before the trees and the stone wall rose to block the view entirely, but we'd caught a glimpse of what was in store.

The late afternoon sun lay shimmering on the blue expanse of the Vltava and lent a golden glow to the bright orange roofs. Steeples and spires and chimneys rose above, and neat little rectangular windows peeped from underneath the roofs.

The taxi drove on and soon Prague presented itself in all its splendor as we crossed one of the sixteen bridges across the Vltava to our hotel. We checked in, had an early dinner, and turned in to get over the jet lag that was catching up.

The next morning, fortified by a hearty breakfast and light jackets, N and I collected a walking map from the concierge, left V, my husband, to attend to work, and headed out toward Prague's Old Town Square. We walked about twenty paces out of the hotel and headed right back in. The cold air had quickly penetrated our poor defences.

Ten minutes and an additional layer of sweaters and caps later, we found ourselves passing a couple of modern office buildings and under the highway that skirted our hotel. Paved roads gave way to cobbled streets. A brisk ten-minute walk on Na Porici, a broad two-way street broken in the middle by tram tracks and lined by old buildings converted into stores and apartments led us to this,

As we approached, we saw young men and women handing out flyers. I took one of them and saw announcements for concerts. They were performances of pieces by Mozart, Beethoven, Dvorak, and Handel. I looked regretfully at the man who handed me the flyer, pointed to N, and shook my head, "Sorry, we can't go. We have our son with us." He said, "No problem, children are free."

What? I did a double take. A western classical music concert in a place like that and they not only allowed children, but for free? He nodded. So we took a few more flyers and happily continued on our walk to the Old Town Square promising ourselves that we would make time for one of those performances.