Prague's Dancing House: history, architecture, and what to see

In the very heart of Prague, among timeworn facades and cobbled streets, stands a building that clearly refused to blend in: the Dancing House. Strikingly modern, it looks as if it might pivot into a waltz at any moment. Behind its glass curves lies a story impossible to tell without the city’s own journey of change.

How it began

There was once an old house on this spot. It was destroyed in a 1945 bombing, and for years the plot stood empty. Only in 1986 did Václav Havel, the future president of the Czech Republic, suggest building something new and inspiring here. He envisioned a place that would join the cultural life of the city.

The project went to two architects: the Czech Vlado Milunić and the renowned American Frank Gehry. Together they conceived a building unlike anything Prague had known.

Why it “dances”

The structure is composed of two towers. One is slender and glazed, as if in motion; the other is more upright and solid. People quickly began calling them Fred and Ginger, after Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. On the roof sits a metal structure—part tuft of hair, part crown—nicknamed the Medusa.

The house is built from 99 concrete panels, each one uniquely shaped. The architects wanted a building that wouldn’t merely stand still, but would seem to move, breathe, and hold a dialogue with the city around it.

What’s inside?

Inside the Dancing House are offices, a café, a gallery, and the Dancing House Hotel. At the very top, the Ginger & Fred restaurant opens onto sweeping views of the Vltava River and Prague Castle. The interiors are bright, stylish, and decidedly contemporary.

Not everyone was delighted

When the building opened in 1996, reactions were mixed. Many residents weren’t ready for such a bold statement in the historic center. Over time, though, it became one of Prague’s emblematic sights. In 1997 it was named Building of the Year, and later it even appeared on a commemorative coin.

Why it matters

The Dancing House stands as a marker of how the country has changed. It is not just about architecture—it is about nerve, momentum, and an old city choosing to embrace the new. Up close, its subtle sway feels less like a provocation and more like a conversation. And precisely because it doesn’t mirror its surroundings, it holds your attention—and keeps it.