Točník Castle, perched atop Zámecký Hill, looms over the village that shares its name in the Beroun District of Central Bohemia. It’s a place where history and time have tangled themselves into a knot so tight that not even the fiercest storm could unravel it. The old fortress, now a ruin, has seen more than its fair share of kings, battles, and long-forgotten intrigues. It’s a relic of a bygone age, standing as stubborn as an old mule against the march of time. This castle was the brainchild of King Wenceslas IV, a man who had the curious habit of retreating to grand, fortified hideaways whenever life got too hot to handle. In the late 14th century, Wenceslas, with a king’s whimsy and a mason’s precision, decided to build Točník as a refuge. It was a place where he could get away from the grind of ruling, a place to indulge in the finer things in life—like hunting, feasting, and perhaps even a bit of navel-gazing. It wasn’t long before the castle became more than just a hideout; it became a symbol of his reign. But the winds of war came howling, as they always do, and Točník found itself under siege during the Hussite Wars in 1425. The castle stood firm, as castles ought to, and it passed through the hands of various noble families—the Kolovrats, the Gutštejns, and the Vartenberks—each adding their own touches to the place. They gave it a late Gothic flair here, a Renaissance flourish there, until it became a patchwork quilt of architectural styles. But like all things touched by human hands, Točník began to show signs of wear. The Thirty Years’ War did it no favors, and by the 17th century, the grand old fortress was little more than a heap of stones, abandoned and left to the elements. Yet, even as it crumbled, Točník retained a bit of its old majesty. The castle still boasted two palaces, one of which had once been home to the second-largest hall in all of Bohemia. Now, it’s just a memory of what it once was, but it’s a memory that stands tall, like an old soldier who refuses to sit down. Today, Točník is open to visitors, who come not just for the history, but for the peculiar sight of bears in the moat. Yes, you heard that right—Martin and Agáta, two brown bears born in 2013, have taken up residence where knights once walked. They’re living proof that life has a way of carrying on, no matter what history throws its way. A Tale as Old as the Hills Back in 1999, some archaeologists decided to dig around the old hill and found signs of an ancient settlement from the Hallstatt period. It seems that Zámecký Hill has been home to more than just kings and bears; it’s been a place of human habitation for centuries, maybe even millennia. King Wenceslas IV must have sensed something special about the place when he decided to build his castle there. Wenceslas, with all the quirks of a king, started construction in the late 1300s, supposedly after a fire took out his older castle at Žebrák. But knowing Wenceslas, it’s just as likely that he was looking for a new spot to escape the troubles of his reign. The castle was his retreat, his sanctuary from the world. By 1398, the place was already half-built, and Wenceslas was living there, overseeing the work as it progressed. The castle became his personal fortress, a place where he could hold court without the pressures of the throne weighing him down. But after his death, Točník began to fade from the royal spotlight. The Kolovrats took over, and though they kept the castle in decent shape, it was never quite the same. The fire that had once burned so brightly in its halls began to dim, and the castle started its slow decline into obscurity. The Final Fade By the 17th century, Točník was little more than a relic, a place where soldiers might have sheltered during the Thirty Years’ War, but little else. The castle, once a proud symbol of Wenceslas’s reign, had become a shadow of its former self. The local burghers, indifferent to its history, even used it as a dumping ground. The last military garrison was pulled out in 1648, and Točník was left to fend for itself, slowly crumbling into the ruin it is today. Modern times haven’t been much kinder. The castle passed through the hands of various owners, each with less care for its history than the last. By the 19th century, it had been sold off to Bethel Henry Strousberg, who didn’t do much with it, and then it fell into the lap of the state. Now, it’s managed by the National Monument Institute, which keeps an eye on what remains. A Glimmer of Hope But all is not lost for Točník. In 2007, a reconstruction effort began on the Royal Palace’s roof, using a medieval wooden crane to lift beams into place. It was a throwback to the old ways, a nod to the craftsmanship that had built the castle in the first place. And so, Točník continues to stand, battered but unbowed, a testament to the resilience of history and the enduring spirit of those who refuse to let it fade away.