Prague. Photo / Prague City Tourism
This September, Dan Brown publishes his first book in eight years, The Secret of Secrets, set partly in Prague. Tamara Hinson explores the city’s secrets and superstitions that inspired the author of The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons.
As I squeeze into an underground room deep beneath Prague’s historic town hall, it’s not hard to see why Dan Brown, the American author famous for his love of all things secret, subterranean and symbolic, chose to make the Czech Republic’s capital one of the key backdrops for The Secret of Secrets, the sixth instalment in his Robert Langdon series of books. The room I’m standing in was once part of a house built in the 1100s. The proximity of these houses to the river meant they were soon rendered uninhabitable, and when work on the new town started in the 1300s, these abandoned houses became basements, and many were simply forgotten.
In recent years, thousands of artefacts have been recovered, although some of the most fascinating items of home decor remain in place – like the chunk of bone my guide points to. A fragment of the bone, embedded into a stone wall, was taken for analysis, and scientists determined that it wasn’t human, but weren’t able to identify the source. The general consensus is that it was placed there as part of a pagan ritual connected to the belief that placing a piece of bone in a house’s foundations would ensure it stood the test of time.
Unanswered questions are part and parcel of a visit to this mysterious city – and don’t assume that a visit to its libraries – which Dan Brown has expressed his love of - will clear anything up. At the hilltop Strahov Monastery, where 250,000 books line the shelves, the most priceless tomes are stored in the Theological Hall, which dates back to the 1600s. This cavernous space is adorned with frescos painted by priest Siard Nosecký, and the books are so priceless that I’m not allowed to enter - visitors must peer into the room from behind a velvet rope. At the end I can make out a gilded cabinet for libri prohibiti (“forbidden books”), kept out of sight, under lock and key.
It’s not necessarily a library I’d want to explore in the dark; the central hallway is home to various weird and wonderful curiosities collected by Baron Karel Jan Eben and purchased by the Strahov Monastery’s monks in 1798. The creepiest items on display include wrinkled, taxidermied sea creatures (I’m no expert, but the stingray and the hammerhead shark look like botched jobs to me), displayed alongside collections of shells, fossils and gemstones.
The Strahov Monastery is one of many. Several have been turned into hotels. My base is the Augustine, a thirteenth-century monastery and now a Marriott Luxury Collection property, although it’s unlike any Marriott I’ve come across. Highlights include the frescoed Refectory Bar, where monks once dined, and the vaulted cellar bar, where I can sip beer made using the same recipe penned by the monastery’s monks in the 1200s.
Even Prague’s most popular landmarks have an air of mystery. Many visitors to Prague Castle – which is actually a vast complex – head to its cathedral and the palace, but I recommend veering to the right just after the main entrance. This is where you’ll find Golden Lane, a narrow, cobbled passageway. This was once where various castle employees lived and worked, and their former homes have been incredibly well preserved. One of the first dwellings I enter was once the home of the castle’s executioner, who apparently slept with the gruesome tools of his trade close to hand, while another belonged to the resident goldsmith; his small, cramped cottage was both a workplace and his home, and the birdcage hanging near his bed is a reminder of the hazards of his job – it once housed a bird which would chirp if fumes became dangerously high. The house next door was in use until the 1940s, when it was the home of castle psychic Matylda Průšová. Famous for her cloak made from ostrich feathers, her downfall came when she predicted that the Third Reich would collapse, prompting the Gestapo to arrest and kill her.
Walk around Prague and it’s impossible not to be blown away by how well this city has been preserved. Take the old town square’s astronomical clock, constructed in 1410. Comprising various dials representing the position of the sun and the moon, the clock is still in good working order – although perhaps it’s hardly surprising, given that local legend suggests that the entire city will suffer a dreadful fate if it’s neglected. Some of the remnants of the city’s past – and their rich symbolism, more specifically - are easier to miss. During a walking tour of the city, my guide points to a small, metal owl sculpture near the Platýz Palace. The owl is perched on a metal rail affixed to the exterior of a building which once housed the palace’s stables, and it’s the world’s oldest traffic light – 200 years ago, if the owl was rotated so that it faced downwards, it meant that the stables were full.
In recent years, various artists and architects have left their mark in more modern ways. Czech artist David Černý’s works can be found throughout the city centre, including outside the city hall, where you’ll find Head of Franz Kafka, a kinetic sculpture featuring 42 rotating panels. And beneath the glorious stained glass dome in the Lucerna Passage arcade, you’ll find Černý’s statue of King Wenceslas riding an upside-down, decidedly dead horse – thought to be a symbolic repost to controversial former Czech president Vaclav Klaus.
You’ll also find endless examples of brutalism, some of which are incorporated into Dan Brown’s newest book. In The Secret of Secrets, protagonist Robert Langdon’s preferred crash pad is the Fairmont Golden Prague. The building, designed by Karel Filsak in the 1970s, was controversial; its unapologetically geometric silhouette and vast expanses of concrete cladding were at odds with the historic architecture surrounding it. But in 2020, the hotel closed, and architect Marek Tichý embarked on a top-to-toe renovation – one which relied heavily on 1970s-inspired décor, including beautiful brown glass chandeliers and gilded light fixtures – to honour the hotel’s heyday, while making the most of this brutalist beauty’s best bits. It reopened in 2025, and I head to the rooftop restaurant, Zlatá Praha, where I can soak up gorgeous views from the floor-to-ceiling windows which run the entire length of the restaurant. I recommend the cured Arctic char with horseradish and cucumber, washed down with something local – the restaurant serves a range of fantastic Czech sparkling wines.
That night, I raise a toast to the city at the U Pinkasů brewery, where curiosity leads to me to venture beyond the main beer hall to discover what might just be one of my favourite secret spots in Prague – a narrow beer garden wedged between the rear of the brewery and the towering walls of Our Lady of the Snows church, built in the 1300s. I opt for a beer produced by the nearby historic Pilsner Urquell Brewery, famous for its reliance on local water and Žatecký hops. Sadly, that’s all I can tell you about its golden lagers, because only 10 brewmasters are said to know the exact recipe, which is apparently kept under lock and key. And that, I think you’ll agree, makes it the perfect beer for this marvellous, mysterious city of secrets.
The writer was a guest of the Augustine, a Luxury Collection Hotel, Prague.