Not-So-Magic Flute

How do you do a fairy tale these days? Hip? Dark and Menacing? Sexy? I am open to any approach, but in the case of the MF, it has to be fun, and funny. The production in Budapest, musically quite satisfying, was lacking in delight. I think the MF has to be like a modern version of Toy Story-- it has to be cartoonish enough to grab the imagination of a 6-year old, yet have overtones of richness and ripeness. It has to look like grape juice and have enough sweetness in it to appeal to an immature palate, yet have sophistication for a conoisseur.

Well, the students at school were much more interested in the MF than the alternative, La Boheme, so it was around 30 of us that wound up yesterday at the Vígszínház, which is Budapest's Ópera Comíque--usually it presents plays, but it does have an orhestra pit, and it arranges with the Ópera to do the MF, since the opera house is busy this time of year with performances of Fledermaus and the Nutcracker. My deal was this--I bought their opera tickets (about $9 each) , and i gave everyone 2000 forint (about $10) to buy their own train ticket. I also sprang for tickets on the metro line. They could go in to Budapest when they wanted... late afternoon or early morning, they just had to go to the production.

I left Tata around 1:30, and there were about 10-12 of us on that trip. We went to the shopping district in Pest, to the traditional Christmas Market, to just walk around, see what was there, and so on. The market is something like a standard weekend crafts fair in the US, only it lasts longer, i guess about 2 weeks. The booths are equipped with electric power, so when darkness started to fall at 4:15 or so, the square started to light up brightly. It was crowded, a fair number of foreigners (I overheard French, Russian, and lots of American English), bu mostly the crowd was Hungarian, mostly just window shopping, but enough trade going on to satisfy the vendors, I think. I bought some specialty jars of honey to use as house presents in the next week or so when I visit folks over the break.

I was intrigued by the offerings. Lots of wood products, Christmas decorations out of dried fruits and seed pods, leather, household ornaments, ironworking, jewelry, fabrics, toys. Not much in the way of "fine art," with most items tending to be practical : fur hats , trivets, oven mittens, candles, specialty honeys , cutting boards, pottery, tablecloths, napkins, blank books with beautiful covers, belts, watches, wallets, purses, mittens, gloves. With almost every item I felt a sense of stylistic difference--an American item, even a handmade craft item, would look a bit different, have a slightly different shape, use a somewhat different coloring, have a different sensiblity.

At one corner of the market was a stage. When we arrived there, around 3 pm, there was a Punch and Judy show in progress. A real one. I had never before seen one live, only in movies or on TV. About 80 people were standing, smiling at the antics of the handpuppets. All magyarul, of course. Later there was a small orhestra playing traditional Hungarian music (violin, flute, another wind instrument, percussion, maybe accordian). Right at 5:30 PM people started to gather in front of the Gerbeau coffeehouse--i thought there might be some kind of glockenspiel thingy, but instead it was a brass quartet, which played Christmas music from a balcony up on the 3rd floor.

I did make one big mistake on the trip, not that it affected the students that much, but I suggested meeting at a the coffeehouse around 5 pm. What I should have done instead is suggested Burger King. They felt a bit out of place a the former (it is VERY fancy), and they really don't have much opportunity to visit the latter, since the stores are only in Budapest.

The production of the Flute was fine. Overall. Really. I mean, I was intrigued, and it didnt matter that much to me that they were singing in Hungarian and that they did not have any surtitles. But I think it was hard for the students to follow, at least at first. Also the theater was heavily overheated.. i had been smart enough to wear a short sleeved polo shirt as an undershirt, and i stripped down to it so that I would not melt.

On the way to Budapest I had sat with one group of students on the train. On the way back another student asked if I would sit with him and his group, which I gladly did. There were three of them, both in 12th grade, and we held a long and serious conversation about how I viewed Hungary and what the country's economic prospects were and how that would affect them. History, America's problim with instituionalized racism, Hungarians' overall attitude of leaving it to someone else to solve problems, lack of individual initiative, etc etc. Despite the late hour (our train left Budapest at 11:25 pm) we had an energetic conversation for almost an hour.

When we arrived in Tata around 12:30, I wanted to make sure that people had a way to get home. But then I had a minor problem. Peter and David, both 9th graders, said that they were going to walk home. I knew it would take David at least 40 minutes to walk home, and I kept saying that they should let me call a taxi, or at least they should ride with Armin's father, who had arrived to pick up his son and whose family lives not terribly far from David's house. But then Peter said no, they really wanted to walk, and it would be nice if I walked with them because that way we could continue to talk.

So what's a guy to do? I mean, the whole point of my inviting folks to go to the opera was to open them up to a new kind of experience. And the whole point of my weekly kaffeeklatches is to encourage folks to come in and engage in English conversation outside of the classroom. So here are two earnest, engaging young men who would prefer a long walk home at 1 AM to a comfortable taxi ride, and they actually want to share my company!

Normally the walk from the train station to my house would be about 25 minutes. I think it took more like 40 last night, because we were talking the whole time, and then we would stop every few minutes as Peter or David came upon some thought for which they did not have an equivalent Englsih expression. We would figure out what the one or the other wanted to say, and then we would start walking again.

It was 1:45 AM when I got home, about 2:15 when I got to sleep. I have been tired all day, have taken at least 3 naps. I get to do this again next Monday. I dread it, and yet, I welcome it.

First season snow in Tata

The ribbon ceremony

Well, like most things Hungarian, the descriptions are not what the reality is. In this case I was surprised greatly, and deeply, and all in a good way.

All I really knew was that there was this ceremony in which the students are presented with their class ribbons: a band of cloth with their years at the gymnázium... 2006-2011 for the students with the extra year, an intensive 9th grade , 2007-2011 for the others. And then I heard that there were dances, actually two dances by each class group (5 class groups in all), so there would be a total of ten dance presentations, and I understood that one of them would be formal--a waltz in tuxedos and ball gowns.
So I show up at school for this gig, turns out I was an hour early, but that was ok, I was in no rush to be anywhere or do anything. People started gathering around 3:30, and I went in to the sports arena around 3:45, finding that the general seating area was already pretty crowded, but not concerned because I knew I had a reserved seat. Turns out it was in the front row-- not the front front row, but the seating was in a largish C, so i was in front of one of the arms of the C.

Things started out in somewhat formal fashion, a greeting, the entrance of the senior class, in their class groups, dressed in the standard formal school dress--black suits for boys, black skirt and navy-style white blouse for the girls. They stood in formation, one of my English colleagues gave a speech (i think it was something about how the faculty is proud of them and wishes them all the best), people stood and sang the National Hymn (I was prepared--I got a student to write the text for me in my notebook so I could genuinely sing along), there was a poem (by Goethe in Hungarian translation), and then each senior was awarded the ribbon. They do this in a clever fashion: the ribbon is already pinned on their lapels, but only one side.... the class advisor then flips the loose end of the ribbon over and fastens it with the extra pin. Then the advisor shakes the student's hand. If the advisor is female, then the student is also kissed on both cheeks. If the advisor is male, then the female students are kissed, but the male students get only a handshake. Then the students processed out.
Then there was a pause of about 20 minutes. People milled around, said hello, some stepped outside for a smoke, others went to the toilet. Then things started up again.

What followed was a combination of high school musical and ballet. The groups did musical numbers: a charleston, a country-line dance, a medley from Grease, a medly of sailor chanteys, and a medley of American football rah-rah songs. The classes had hired professional choreographers to help them plan the dances and had been rehearsing for some time, some of them for months. The Grease number was very complex, with a number of the moves close to those of the film. The charleston reminded me of a production I saw several years ago of The Boy Friend, maybe at CCC in Cincinnati.

The formal numbers were not as demanding, more a corps de ballet thing, with swirls and twirls, stately, flowing. But I was looking not at the whole thing like I would if I were attending a ballet, but rather I was looking at individuals, these young men and ladies who have been in my classes during the last year or so, and seeing them not as the pains in the butt they often have been but instead as elegant and secure adults, stepping a bit cautiously but still bravely into a world that is hoping anxiously to be delivered by them.

There is a young woman that I know only by sight, she has some kind of leg deformity and walks a bit clumsily. She was in the middle of this group, dressed in her formal gown, dancing gamely with the rest, and I could not help but watch her especially, anxious lest she stumble and cause a hiccup in the dance. And her partner, whom I have had in class and whom I know to be a most serious and diligent student. He paid her as much attention as anyone could ask for, constantly looking her in the face, making sure that she was ok, providing every ounce of support for her that he could muster. They pulled it off without a hitch.

During these dances I would notice this young man, that young woman, amazed at how secure they seemed. It was like the MayDay even at MICDS when my daughter Meredith was there. I saw all those young teenage girls transformed at one stroke into lovely young women.

When the final dance was over, the last of the applause fading away, the music started up again. Viktor, who was sitting next to me, explained that it was traditional for the seniors to dance with their parents. How extraordinary I thought, and suddenly I became more moved emotionally than I expected. Yes, I am a stranger here. Yes, I do not know their language, and I never will, not really. But I know enough to know the language of a young man dancing with his mother, a father with his daughter, and then a young woman with her mother. It is a language beyond ... beyond the power of my poor electronic blip to transmit. For a while at least I knew that I was privileged to be here.