A ‘vrstevnice’ is a line on a map that connects two places of equal elevation, helping them to show the shape and height of the terrain. In other words, a contour line.
And the street is named because it’s located ‘on’ one.
So it probably won’t come as a surprise that Nad obcí II is too.
I don’t like harking back to Prague’s Nazi occupation, but I can’t help but be intrigued by the fact that, in that time, this street was apparently called ‘Ob der Trift 2’, as a ‘Trift’ is very much not an ‘obec’ – it’s a cattle track or pastureland.
This excites me more than it should – I’ve covered 1,055 streets so far (blimey), without coming across a single one built in the period from 1999 to 2006.
The first written mention of Krč that we know of is from the 1200s; there is also a document from 1620 in which Dolní Krč is referred to as Nová (= new) Krč (which confirms that ‘Krč’ is indeed feminine).
The monastery was dissolved in 1786, and Dolní Krč passed through private owners, the last ones being the descendants of Tomáš Welz, who had bought it in 1880.
By 1900, Dolní Krč had about 1,350 inhabitants. It became part of Greater Prague (along with Horní Krč) in 1922. They became One Single Krč in 1948.
The list of noteworthy buildings in Krč includes an awful lot of opportunities to say ‘but then it was demolished’: two brickworks, a chapel to St Gall (Havel), the Krč Brewery, and the original version of Krč Train Station.
A large part of Dolní Krč was destroyed in 1979 to make way for the south-eastern part of the Prague City Ring Road (Jižní spojka). The chapel was basically left to rot until a plan for its reconstruction was written up in 1989.
Nowadays, it serves the Czechoslovak Hussite Church.
An ‘obec’ is a ‘village’, a ‘parish’, or a ‘municipality’. The obec in question is (was) Lower Krč, or Dolní Krč, which we’ll discuss soon enough, because, yes, there’s a street named after it.
A ‘vinice’ is a vineyard or a vinery. There was once one round here (actually, there were probably several, and you can still imagine them when you walk around the area).
Hence the street being named after ‘the old vineyard’.
In the 1920s, Prague’s population was growing too quickly for new housing to keep up (as opposed to the 2020s, when new housing doesn’t seem like it would be able to keep up with the most basic task you can possibly think of).
While it’s in Prague 4, it’s not that near, and would have been even more ‘not that near’ before all our modern and modern-ish forms of transport came into being.
‘Dvůr’ can be translated as, among other things, ‘court’ or ‘farmstead’, and, given the village-but-not atmosphere of this part of Krč even now, I’m going to see this as the more likely reason for the name.
Location-based name time: ‘navrch’ is an adverb, meaning something is ‘on top’. Usually, an adverb derives from an adjective, but this seems to be the reverse – ‘navršní’ is the adjective, and the street is, yes, high up.
I quite like the fact that ‘navrch’ can also be translated as ‘to boot’ (Je hloupý a navrch drzý = He is stupid and cheeky to boot), but sadly this is not relevant to the street name.
Until 1935, Navršní was called Klostermannova, after Karel Klostermann (1848-1923), a German-Czech writer who wrote under the name ‘Faustin’. He’s still got a street named after him in Modřany.
I’m a little bit sceptical that the street was already named in 1920 – it’s not particularly usual for someone to have a street named after them during their lifetime, and my eyebrows have been similarly raised in other cases in the past.
‘Pruhy’ are ‘strips’, ‘bands’, or ‘lanes’. In this case, the street is named after the kind of strips that you will find in, or separating, individual fields.
A ‘planina’ is not too different from its English translation – it’s a plain – and this street is on one.
Na planině includes a secondary school, opened in 2009 – it’s named after Milada Horáková, and specialises in teaching modern history: https://www.gymh.cz/.
When Nová cesta was build in 1925, it was, quite literally, a New Road. It isn’t anymore (well, it *is* a road, credit where it’s due), but the name has stuck.
Those who think the name should have been updated might do well to remember that Prague’s New Town was founded in 1346.
Or that Newcastle’s New Castle was built in 1177 (go to Newcastle, by the way, it’s fab).
Or that Novi Sad (also recommended) was founded in 1694.
Descriptive street name time – ‘točitá’ means ‘spiral’, ‘winding’, or, if you’re trying to look a bit swish, ‘serpentine’.
If you want some vocab, a ‘točité schodiště’ is a ‘spiral staircase’.
And, given Communist Czechoslovakia’s propensity for cover versions, the more middle of the road, the better, how am I unable to find a Czech version of ‘The Long and Winding Road’ to end this post with? I mean, shouldn’t that not only exist but also be one of Karel’s all-time biggest hits? Humph.
Jaroslav Panuška was born in Hořovice, near Beroun, in 1872. By the age of ten, he had already painted his first watercolour. His family moved to Prague, and he attended secondary school in Smíchov.
In 1889, Panuška started studying painting at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague. After several breaks, he finished his studies in 1898; in the same year, he married Marie Suková, with whom he would have three sons and a daughter.
Panuška’s signature style can be well described as ‘spooky’ – here’s Vodník (The Water Monster) from 1896.
And here’s Návštěva mrtvého (Visiting the dead) from 1897.
After graduating, Panuška painted all across Bohemia, and visited the Balkans several times. Exhibitions dedicated entirely to his work took place in both Mladá Boleslav and Hradec Králové in 1910.
There was also a large exhibition of his works, concerning ‘vast antiquity’, in Prague in 1917.
Settling in Kochánov, near Světlá nad Sázavou, in 1926, the focus of his paintings from this point on became Lipnice Castle.
A member of the Union of Fine Artists from 1900, Panuška died in Kochánov in 1958, and is buried in Světlá cemetery. An oak tree in Kochánov that he was fond of painting is now named after him.
In 1890, Kovařovic became director of the Pivoda Singing School; in 1895, he was the bandleader of the Czechoslovak ethnographic exhibition in Prague.
From 1890 to 1900 he was a teacher and director of the Pivoda Singing School, and in the 1894/1895 season he was also the choirmaster of the Hlahol in Vinohrady.
Then, in 1900, he became head of opera at the National Theatre, holding that role until his death. Before 1900, he had also made several compositions of his own, but, afterwards, his focus was on conducting and editing.
Kovařovic died in 1920, and is buried at Olšany Cemetery.
While his compositions are not necessarily that well-known compared to those of his contemporaries, he did compose several dozen songs for choirs, as well as piano works, chamber compositions, ballets, incidental music for plays and several operas.
If you do know one of his compositions well, you may have been a scout or worked with the scouts – his Skautská hymna (1912) is still sung by scouts at marches and official events.
The earliest written mention that we know of is from 1358. The name means that it was once the property of someone called Valtin, a shorter version of ‘Valentin’.
In the 1600s, a German name – Walterschlag (‘-schlag’ being a clearing) was derived from it; (it’s often the other way round, but Valtínov was almost certainly founded by Czech-speakers.
There haven’t been a huge number of key events in Valtínov, but we do know that, by 1921, it was, once again, exclusively Czech in ethnicity, which is not always the case for places round here (you’d only have to drive south for about twenty minutes to cross the present-day border with Austria).
That journey would probably take you through Slavonice, a case in point (0.4% Czech-speaking in 1910; 14% Czech-speaking in 1930), and also an excuse for me to post some photos of my trip there two months ago.
Two mildly dissatisfying statements to kick this one off: Ke Krčské stráni was ‘probably’ built ‘sometime in the 1940s’, and seems to not get its own street sign.
It’s nice and green round here, so much so that two maple trees in the street were declared ‘significant’ in 2025.
And the trees around here certainly are: one was planted in 1985 by the American writer Kurt Vonnegut Jr., and the second was planted a year later by his countryman fellow author, John Updike. Why here?
Well, Ke Krčské stráni, now decidedly residential, was, from 1976 to 1986, the home of the Jazz Section of the Musicians’ Union. In 1985, they planted trees and bushes around here, hoping to form a green belt.
1985 was also the 40th anniversary of the founding of the United Nations, so the Jazz Section asked UN headquarters in New York if they could build something to commemorate that. Permission was granted, and a plaque was created (also celebrating the anniversary of the end of WW2).
Vonnegut happened to be visiting Prague at the time, and came here to plant his tree. Others would turn up, often in secret, in later years, to plant their own trees – including one Smíchov-born Madeleine Albright.
Here is a picture of Vonnegut visting the Jazz Section on Ke Krčské stráni (credit to Jiří Kučera; photo taken from the Jazz Section’s Facebook page).
This was all a bit too Western for 1985/6, so, in the latter year, the authorities got rid of the plaque and messed around with the greenery so that the problematic American jazz trees were unrecognisable.
The leaders of the Jazz Section were also thrown into prison, being released in January 1987, with a huge effect on the health of many of them.
It lies on the historical border between Bohemia and Moravia, meaning its inhabitants must spend an awful lot of time talking about how they are so different from each other.
The earliest written mention is from 1288, and the village was previously dominated by German speakers – Kunžak is derived from the German name, Königseck, which means ‘King’s District’.
It functioned as a market village, owned by the lords of Jindřichův Hradec; it suffered badly in the Thirty Years’ War, after which it wasn’t properly restored until the 1670s.
Then, in 1808, the village was almost entirely destroyed by a fire. It bounced back due to the industrial revolution, and, by 1880, it had 2,400 inhabitants (almost all Czech speakers). It’s got slightly fewer now (about 1,500).
Kunžak’s influence has made itself felt remarkably far away for a Czech village – it’s given its name to a small planet, number 11167 if we’re being precise, which was founded in 1998.
It was discovered by Czech astronomer Petr Pravec, who has discovered 350 of these objects, and even has an asteroid named after him.