How do you like your castles? Do you go for grey, forbidding, lurking hulks with curtain walls and implicit violence? Or something more refined like a French chateau, more curlicues than crenellations? Do you like to poke about in weed-grow ruins or do you prefer your castles with a roof and coats-of-armour furnishings? What about size – a small tower to guard a pass, or a full-scale fortress covering a large area and a lot of history? The point I’m making is that “castle” encompasses a wide variety of structures and a range of purposes. So on my first visit to Pražský Hrad, Prague Castle, I was prepared for any or all of those things, but what I found didn’t really fit even this flexible definition. In fact, I’ve been trying to find a better word than castle to describe the complex (apart from “surprise”, obviously). The best I can do is the French “cité”, or, less good, “citadel”. Both those go some way towards describing a collection of military, religious and administrative buildings dating from various periods and whose relationship to each other is more locational than functional.

Before going inside to try to make sense of it all, I recommend taking a long view of it from a distance. You will probably emerge from the metro at Malostranska and immediately look upwards to get a glimpse. Unfortunately from here you won’t see a great deal – too close and at the wrong angle. You need to be further away. Across the river in Staré Mesto, the Old Town, the view is restricted by narrow streets and tall buildings, plus you’ve got other things to look at over there. So aim for somewhere in the middle – Charles Bridge, or a boat on the river (nice on a hot summer afternoon). Now you can see the structure clearly: a long, low group of buildings running along a rocky outcrop with defensive-looking masonry at each end, not unlike the hull of a ship. It was first built in the 9th century to protect the ford below and for that its position is ideal. You might also be struck by the rows of little windows dotting the exterior walls, giving it a colander-like look, but we’ll come to the windows later. Dominating the whole caboodle, towering above the low-rise surrounding buildings and complete with spires and buttresses, is a gothic cathedral. Looking northwards (from your left to right) you’ll see something that looks like, and is, a basilica. Eventually, at the far northern edge, are a tower and some battlements – a castle at last.

It has been described as the “largest medieval castle complex in Europe”, but that’s only half right. While the size is not in dispute, “medieval” is not apt, as wars, fire and individuals’ desire to make their mark all contributed to rebuilding in the 12th, 14th, 16th and 17th centuries. It is still in use today by the President of the Czech Republic. What it does provide, better than any text book, is a potted history of Prague and its importance in the Holy Roman Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Later as you wander round the Old Town you will be able to add flesh to the bones of what the castle has to tell you.

Let’s start with the big, dominant cathedral which appropriately was put there by a big, dominant ruler. You can’t go far in Prague or the Czech Republic without coming across Charles IV. It’s his bridge, his university, his town in the north of the country and his countless squares and streets. Although a 14th century King of Bohemia and later Holy Roman Emperor he was modern in outlook and a great builder, not just in the bricks and mortar sense. He and his father John of Luxemburg fought with the French at Crécy, against another father and son combination Edward III and the Black Prince. It was partly that experience which led to his pragmatism and dislike of fruitless gestures. He ordered the construction of this cathedral in 1334, on the site of an existing Romanesque church, to contain the relics of St Vitus.

Why St Vitus? He was a popular saint in central Europe. People used to dance at his shrines, hence the name St Vitus’ Dance given to Sydenham’s chorea whose sufferers display involuntary muscle movements. As well as the patron saint of dancers and entertainers he also guards against animal attacks and lightning strikes, among many other things. So a very practical and useful saint. You won’t learn this in Prague; remember you read it here (courtesy of Google).

The cathedral is “transitional gothic”, so not quite the full flowering you get in the finest English and French gothic cathedrals, no delicate tracery vaulting or soaring lightness. Nevertheless it is a very nice place to be. It is stuffed full of art treasures and has a crypt of Bohemian kings (including Charles), but I thought the nicest part was the chapel of St Wenceslas (yes, that Wenceslas) which contains his tomb. It is covered in semi-precious stones which sounds way too ornate, but the dark reds and greens produced an understated opulence I found very beautiful.

Let’s move forward nearly three centuries to the early 17th, the age of most of the buildings you see in the courtyards around you. It is also the time of Rudolf II, another modern, though quirky, Holy Roman Emperor, but notably less successful in the actual business of ruling. His courtiers despaired of his interest in “wizards, alchemists and the like” while he sought to make of Prague a renaissance city, attracting, no doubt among a host of witch-doctors and snake-oil merchants, the astronomers Kepler and Tycho Brahe. Here in the castle you can see his Court Chamber.

Unfortunately while he was happy as a virtual recluse in Prague Castle, Europe was sliding into the unrest of the counter-reformation, which brings us neatly to the windows mentioned earlier. The Czech assassination method of choice is defenestration, a poncy latinised way of saying chucking people out of windows. It is effective, of course, but surprisingly not always for the victims, some of whom survived. In 1618 the defenestration of two Catholic governors and their secretary unleashed the Thirty Years War, which in its Europe-wide devastation rivalled anything the 20th century produced. You can see the very window and obelisks now mark the landing spot. But by then they were well practised. In 1419 they had done exactly the same thing, flinging out a collection of town councillors to start the Hussite Wars. Later when you stand in the middle of the Old Town Square admiring the statue of Jan Hus, and seeing Hapsburg building frontages round the square obscuring church façades, you can reflect that the castle was where it all started.

Meanwhile we continue strolling through the castle and the centuries. Like most of Prague, the focus is largely on the exteriors and the ensemble, rather than individual interiors and the interest is by association rather than what you actually see. There are no exquisite furnishings, no beds where monarchs slept. The interior of St George’s Basilica is no longer a church but a collection of Bohemian art. Where there are portraits they are of Hapsburgs, a graphic illustration of the outcome of the Thirty Years War and an empire that lasted until 1918.

As did the castle, and indeed still does, although the major events of the 20th century – the creation of Czechoslovakia, the German invasion, the declaration of a communist republic, Prague Spring, the new Czech Republic – took place elsewhere in the city. Nevertheless two further points of interest bring us up to date. Golden Lane, at the northern end of the complex, is a street of former and indeed current artisans’ houses, though now mainly of the tourist sort. Nevertheless its collection of brightly coloured Hobbit houses and cobbled paving is still charming. Kafka lived in one of them for a time, in the shadow of the castle. How apt. Then moving from the sublime to the ridiculous there is the changing of the guard. Vaclav Havel when he was President was responsible, apparently, for the sky-blue uniforms with white cravats. In this get-up, complete with dark glasses and long hair, they look like the bodyguard of a South American drug baron. The Brigade of Guards would have a fit. The bits of ceremonial heel-clicking take place in the front courtyard with the backdrop of the baroque façade. Your time is better spent admiring that, or indeed the fine view over the city.

There are more buildings – a toy museum, a powder tower – and some I’ve only alluded to. Overall it’s an eclectic mix and therefore difficult to rate. It’s not strikingly beautiful, or awesomely impressive, or even the sum of its parts. I hesitate to use the word “interesting” which has overtones of “worthy and boring” but, like the castle itself, I struggle to find a better description.

Some practical points. Firstly, getting there. Back at Malostranska metro station you need to get up the hill. You can walk, of course, but my advice would be to save your legs for the castle itself and instead take one of Prague’s excellent trams two stops up the hill. Next you have to decide whether to buy a ticket, and if so which of several options. A ticket is not essential – you can wander all over the complex and into St Vitus Cathedral for free (although there are usually queues for the latter). There are three levels of ticket, depending on which and how many buildings you actually want to go inside. For this purpose Golden Lane is considered a “building” and fee-paying. The ticket office usually has a patient queue of people while all these options (including family tickets and audio guides) are explained in the appropriate language to every visitor. Finally, you will be one of many visitors. Although the complex is large there are bottlenecks, and if you are irritated by umbrella-wielding tour leaders and forests of arms brandishing digital cameras, best go at a quiet time of year.