Prague is the stuff of storybooks and fairytales. Whimsical spires and unassuming elegance conjure an aesthetic for fantasists and dreamers. Being here is like being in between the states of awake and sleeping, where consciousness is malleable and reality seems blurred around the edges. Time slows down while you stir in your bed, relishing the last few moments of bliss before anything is expected of you.

Where most country’s capitals are fast-paced and frenzied, Prague prefers to saunter. When most big cities smack you in the face with sensory stimulation, Prague caresses the newcomer calmly with a modest, hypnotic beauty. It allows you to digest your new surroundings on your own terms, gradually, in small waves of experience and fragments of perfectly imperfect architecture and colorful history.

On any given weekend, I walk two minutes from my flat, hop on a bus and an hour later I’m a tourist again, wrapped up in this magical city. For me it’s an ideal place to escape and recharge. Straddled by eighteen bridges, the Vltava River cuts through the center of the city and makes Prague inextricably connected to the element of water. To me, the proximity to water means a heightened sensitivity, an acceptance of change, the proclivity to purify and revitalize. And I feel it. You can breathe easier here; Prague isn’t the type of city that judges you. You are free to be whoever and frolic wherever and stay under the covers as long as you want.