Český Krumlov

We took a train from Prague to Český Krumlov and arrived mid-afternoon. After checking into our accommodation, we set off on our first wander through the village.

I’ll be honest — I’d never even heard of Český Krumlov before this trip. And yet, from the moment we arrived, I was overwhelmed by how authentically Czech it felt. Cobblestone lanes, red-roofed houses nestled into green hills, and a stillness that felt centuries old. There was something quietly magical about the place — like stepping into a forgotten storybook.

One of the first places we came across was a beautiful old church, standing just beside a tiny bakery. Our guide, Levi, told us the church is said to be haunted. I don’t remember every detail, but it involved a baker and his daughter, whose tombstones are set into the wall of the bakery. Legend says they were never properly commemorated until the tombstones were placed into the wall.

According to the tale, a young priest once spent the night inside. As darkness fell, dozens of ghostly figures began filing silently into the pews. He stood frozen, unable to move or speak, as the spirits approached.

When the villagers found him in the morning, he was still alive — but no longer young. His hair had turned grey, his face lined, his body aged by decades. It was as if time itself had bent around him, his youth drained by the dead.

Shaking off the chill of that story, we continued toward Český Krumlov Castle — the crown jewel of the town. Towering above the Vltava River, the castle has watched over the region since 1253, when it was founded by the powerful Vítkovci clan, later known as the Rosenbergs — one of the most influential Bohemian noble families.

One of the castle’s most striking features is its architectural diversity. Over centuries, different ruling dynasties left their mark — from Gothic towers and Renaissance courtyards to Baroque flourishes and Rococo interiors. After the Rosenbergs, the estate passed through several noble hands, eventually becoming part of the vast Habsburg holdings. In the 20th century, it was claimed by the Czech state and carefully restored into the national monument it is today. It’s the second-largest castle complex in the country, after Prague Castle — and absolutely soaked in history.

The Cloak Bridge (Plášťový most) — with its graceful arches — connects the castle to its gardens and stands as a marvel of medieval engineering. And then there’s the Castle Tower, painted in soft greens and pinks. We climbed the winding staircase to its summit and were rewarded with views so stunning they felt unreal — red rooftops unfurling beneath us, the Vltava looping through the town like a silver ribbon.

As we stood on the bridge, Levi had another tale to tell — one far darker.

During the reign of Emperor Rudolf II in the late 1500s, his illegitimate son, Don Julius, resided at Český Krumlov Castle. Don Julius became obsessively infatuated with a local girl named Markéta Pichlerová, the daughter of a barber-surgeon. He invited her to live with him at the castle, but instead of a life of privilege, she endured horrific abuse.

Don Julius’s paranoia and mental illness twisted into delusional jealousy. Convinced — without reason — that she had betrayed him, he became increasingly violent. When she became pregnant, Don Julius flew into a rage and threw her from a castle window.

Miraculously, she survived — saved, it’s said, by the piles of rubbish and debris that broke her fall. But the horror wasn’t over. When she recovered enough to walk again, he pretended to repent — and lured her back to the castle. There, he murdered her in a fit of madness, dismembering her body in an act of unspeakable brutality.

His own father, Emperor Rudolf, eventually had him locked inside the castle, where he died alone in 1609 at the age of 27. Some say it was by suicide, others by illness born of isolation and insanity.

The castle was beautiful. But in its shadows lingered centuries of cruelty, love, madness, and power.

After so much gloom, we lightened the day with a kayak trip down the Vltava — one of the most joyful memories of the whole trip. We paddled past weeping willows and under old bridges, laughing as the current pulled us through the heart of town.

That evening, we found a riverside vegetarian restaurant and sat out by the water for dinner, watching the light fade behind the hills. It was a great excuse to get all dressed up and take some photos together against such a beautiful back drop.

At dawn, I stole one last walk through the empty castle courtyards. Soft pink light crept over the rooftops. Bells chimed somewhere down in the old town. It was so peaceful.

Český Krumlov gave us sunshine, legends, and a brush with my own Czech roots. I left feeling as though I’d wandered through the margins of a gothic novel. A place where beauty and history coexist effortlessly. The town is full of contrasts: stillness and story, grandeur and simplicity, the weight of the past and the lightness of everyday life.

It’s not just the castle or the winding lanes that stayed with me — it’s the feeling that, for a short time, I stepped into a place that hasn’t forgotten where it came from. It was so authentically beautiful.