We start at the Malostranská fountain — and instead of climbing, we hop on the tram 22, the line that has carried locals up to the castle district for over a hundred years. Two stops, five minutes, and we step off at the gates of Prague Castle. Easy on the legs, perfect for anyone who'd rather save energy for the castle itself.

As we ride and walk to the castle entrance, I'll tell you why this exact hill (out of all the hills in the Vltava valley) was chosen for the castle in the 9th century, what made it defensible for a thousand years, and the small detail you'll see at the entrance that tells you a Czech president still lives just inside the walls today.

And there it is. The cathedral that took 600 years to finish.

Started in 1344 by Emperor Charles IV — the same emperor who built Charles Bridge — it wasn't completed until 1929. The largest Gothic cathedral in the Czech lands. The reason Prague is called "the city of a hundred spires" — they're almost all here, on this one building.

We walk around the cathedral so you see all four sides. The gargoyles aren't decorative — they have a real job, and you can still see the dark water stains where they did it for 600 years. The "Golden Gate" with its 14th-century mosaic, opened only on coronation day. The stained-glass window inside designed by Alfons Mucha — yes, the Mucha of the Art Nouveau posters — visible from outside when the afternoon light hits it just right.

We walk to the eastern ramparts of the castle — and Prague unfolds below.

The red-tile rooftops of Lesser Town. The Vltava sliding through the city. Charles Bridge stretching across the water. The Old Town spires on the other bank, and beyond them, the whole story of Bohemia.

This is the view kings woke up to. The view emperors ruled from. There's one specific spot here where the view is best — most tourists don't know it. I'll show you exactly where to stand for the photo you'll want to print.

We descend back down the hill — and Prague changes character completely. From the marble heights of the castle to the cobblestone intimacy of Lesser Town: Malá Strana. Czech writers, artists, and aristocrats lived in these lanes for 400 years. The streets where Kafka walked to school. The cafés where Czechs still gather in the same pubs their grandfathers did.

I'll point out the cafés tucked into 16th-century courtyards. The secret garden hidden behind one ordinary-looking gate (free to enter, almost no one knows about it). The pubs locals actually go to — not the tourist traps. And the small details on the house signs that tell you who lived there four centuries ago: a golden swan, a stone lion, a black eagle.

We arrive at the courtyard of the Franz Kafka Museum — one of the strangest, most atmospheric corners of Prague.

In front of you: David Černý's "Piss" — two bronze men relieving themselves into a pool shaped like the Czech Republic, hips moving, streams writing real Czech literary quotes (yes, you can text the fountain a sentence and it will write it for you). Czech humour at its most unforgettable.

We walk down to Kampa Island and into Prague Venice — a hidden canal called Čertovka where wooden water mills still turn and ancient houses lean over the water. The atmosphere shifts the moment you arrive. This is the Prague that still feels like the 17th century.

We end at the Lennon Wall — five minutes from here. A graffiti-covered wall that became a symbol of peace and freedom during the Communist era, when young Czechs risked arrest to paint Beatles lyrics on it. Today it's repainted weekly by visitors from around the world. Bring chalk or marker if you want to add your own message — it's a tradition.