"You probably believe that you will always live within a democracy," says Lada Ptacek, his index finger pushing at the bridge of his glasses. "I am here to tell you that you cannot assume this. Systems change. Regimes come. There is no guarantee of how it will be."

His English is studied as he tries to convey his truth to our group of American, Canadian and New Zealander cyclists.

At 42, he is living proof that regimes change. He was 22 when he was beaten for his part in the Czech Republic's 1989 Velvet Revolution. Communism died soon after.

My husband and I are in Prague. It has only been a few days since we left Lada, after a week-long bicycle tour through the pastoral southern states of the Czech Republic. Moravia and Bohemia were full of calm country roads, quiet cities and very little traffic.

I can still see Lada, standing in front of the rusty fence of the Iron Curtain, helping us imagine growing up within a barbed-wire border. His words, and those images of small towns, keep coming back to me as we try to navigate through the swirl of Prague.

Change is not a strong enough word for what has happened to this city in the 20 years since commercialism took over. The Charles Bridge, where army boots once marched, is now a throbbing mass of visitors and trinket stands. Puppets spill off kiosks and retail storefronts, a Prague art form that has flourished since the 18th century. T-shirt shops, Bohemian crystal shops -- including the world-famous Swarovski -- tempt tourists with their sparkles.

If capitalism is the new religion, our home for the next four nights at the uber-hip Buddha Bar Hotel would make a great church. Its brochure proclaims it is "not just another hotel. It's a lifestyle..."

Entering the hotel feels like stepping into my very own life-sized jewelry box of intense red velvets, Asian silk brocades and Warhol-inspired Buddhas. The delicate scent of incense is everywhere.

That night we dine in the Buddha Bar Restaurant. It is dark and glows with crimson crystal chandeliers. Selections of tiger shrimp in a heady mixture of coconut and basil, five-spice barbecued chicken and Chinese spoons filled with a tart and spicy tuna tartar are delivered, each paired with a glass of France's finest. The dinner is a crisp departure from the usual Czech fare of pork, potatoes and pivo (beer).

Prague Castle, representing a very different economic time and sensibility, looms over the city from its hill across the Vltava River. Below, the Little Quarter, a neighbourhood of baroque architecture, speaks of former riches.

Renaissance, Art Nouveau, cubist and neoclassical buildings jumble together throughout the city. Ugly, box-like towers are inserted here and there, a reminder of the aesthetic insensibilities of the communists.

In the Jewish quarter, synagogues and museums are testament to the death of so many Jews. Like the Buddha, the buildings remain as stoic witnesses to the waves of occupation, terrorism, dominations and democracies. Tourists rush about, shopping and dining and believing this is the way it is. But Lada and his fellow citizens keep a watchful eye. This is only how it is ... right now.

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