Article: Lifestyles Magazine Prague: Chateau Mcely-THE ALCHEMY OF LIVING
it’s good to live like a 17th century aristocrat every now and then, the only sign of human habitation your chateau, your own private lawn and forest spreading to the horizon in oxygen-rich percentages of green and darker green. Your balcony hangs over it all like a 5-star gold deer stand.
At Chateau Mcely, in the middle of St. George Forest, you’ll pity the poor city apartment dwellers. At around EUR 150 for the cheapest room it’s an attainable fantasy, perfectly feasible if you want to impress that special someone or if you’ve ever entertained notions about starring in Sense and Sensibility.
A chateau is a stately residence in either France or the Continent imitating a castle. Mcely is a hotel, imitating a chateau, imitating a castle. Moreover, it is an award-winning hotel, a standout in an exclusive chain of “small” luxury hotels, only an hour’s drive northeast of Prague.
About the time you swing open the French windows to that walloping view, you’ll say “Methinks in yonder distance I doth hear the hounds bay,” or “Not in your riding breeches, please, darling,” or “Shall we take tea at five sharp with Napoleon’s harp or fashionably later with that Steinway?”
You’ll speak to your special someone, because in such a romantic getaway, you must have a special someone.
Corporate groups, honeymooners, and wedding party guests will toast and appreciate the Thurn-Taxis family, former owners of the manor. Guests will thank all nobility and their ilk as never before for being accidental environmentalists who created mini-biosphere reserves and national heritage sites without even trying to.
Indolence multiplies like flowers, your backyard is a game park reserve, the ritual of high tea is honored again… so many appetites to be satisfied at once. In such a place, at such a pace, it is easy to see how Lord Sandwich hit upon his snack idea. Why rush anything when you can stay at the tables and continue gambling, as it were?
It’s not easy being an aristocrat, though. So many decisions, so many worries. Your tasks for the day will be as real as any prince’s or duke’s.
Should we pop open the complimentary champagne now or wait to see if the moon rises? Should we have breakfast downstairs in that neoclassical hall or should we stay snuggled in our neoclassical room and king-sized bed, the poached eggs and glazed strawberries only the ring of a bell away? Mmmm… more decisions await in the forest, too. Should we take the shorter trail so that we can pick mushrooms and hand them to the chef in time so that he can incorporate them into a sauce to cover our viandes?
Or should we have the staff pack us a lunch so that we can go for a longer jaunt around the genuine lakes and through trees and herds of fallow deer, perhaps shooting a few on the way, and still be back in time for the samovar tea and cakes at 5-ish?
Or should we opt for the winding, non-violent path that Bedrich Smetana strolled down and venture to that other, far-off chateau so that our bodies will be sufficiently exhausted and sore, not to mention musically inspired, to appreciate the Thai masseuse and spas when we return?
Or should we just skip the hiking altogether (too plebian) and rise above it all in a hot-air balloon? Yes, it’s good to be an aristocrat every now and then. In your own chateau, servants at your service, the hounds in their kennels. Thus innovators like Lord Sandwich…
