Brassó/Brasov

 This is about 25 miles outside of Brassó, on the train route from Bucharest.  Bucharest is in lowlands, much like the Texas Gulf coast.  The Carpathians reminded me of the Tetons-perhaps not as high, but very rugged.

 View from my hotel window. Away from downtown, industrial area, thus cheaper.  Mountains are part of ski area you can reach by local bus.

 Another couple of fotos from the train

I cant understand why  central european budget hotels are so user- unfriendly.  No city maps (avail at no cost from local tourist office) and no info about public transportation (ditto).

Back in Europe again. Bucharest

 Bucharest.  Historic section of town is just a pastiche of trendy pubs and foreign food restaurants.  Went exploring, ran into a arts/antiques bazzar and wound uo buying this silver bracelet for 150 lei, about $40.

 Hotel room.  Got to hotel by combination of bus from airport (sro) which got caught in rush hour traffic, plus streetcar, helped out by a young man who explained the tickets and directions.  Later it dawned on me that he was really cute...but at the time i was exhausted from about 21 hours of continuous travel

Good Friday .. just another day in Udvarhely

I went to church once when I first got here.  Really couldn't take it, too much pious rosary chanting and bad music.

I genuinely miss my sunday liturgies, however, and I am constantly reading postings about what is going on in the religious world, whether it is the pending canonizations in Rome or the latest litigation between the breakaway conservatives and the more liberal wing of whatever denomination one wishes to mention.

Recently a post appeared that prompted me to write a response. The author was making a claim that it was really, really important to believe that JC really really physically and all that re-emerged into the really real world.    The blog included a poem by John Updike, which is by the way a marvellous piece of literature, but not one for me to hang my faith hat upon.  I have updike's poem at the bottom, just for reference.  Anyway, here is the comment I posted to the blog


I long ago came to the conclusion that God does not do magic. Any god who does magic is just another capricious s.o.b. Furthermore, any supposed "miracle" for person X ( whose pocket bible stopped a sniper"s bullet) or person Y (who after getting hit by lightning got up and started to cook supper) is more than offset by any number of deadly events, be they avalanches, sinkings of ships, or pogroms. 

So if God doesn't do magic, then Updike's version (as well as that of the gospels outside of Mark) can only be understood as poetic vision. Which is fine. I like poetry, and I like especially Updike as an author. But, I am inclined to lean more towards the notion that Jesus was treated just like any other "criminal" of his day, which would have involved no special favors for the family., no special treatment of the body after he died. Quite possibly just dumped or thrown to the dogs.. Probably no "body" left to resuscitate. 

So what about the creeds? For me, they are hymns. We all know not to take hymns literally--they are poetry, they are songs, they are art. We can SING all sorts of stuff that we know we would never SAY. If I can chant the creeds, then I am fine. If I have to SAY them, it"s a different matter.


John Updike

SEVEN STANZAS AT EASTER

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

Horda -- Central European Dance Company (Budapest)

Performance last night at the local cultural center auditorium, place about 60% full, I would say.  Eight dancers, 4 men 4 women.  Some of the men were TALL, like about 6' 4" for the tallest, easily 6' for another, not something you expect with dancers.

Abstract , mostly, i dont know dance vocabulary so it is next to impossible for me to describe.  Not classical, but not just athletics.  The momentum of the piece was toward communality (is that a word?)--a physical loaf of bread being first grudgingly shared, then fought over, then finally  genuinely shared      mixed in was a basin of water which was at first a source of mystery and magic, then a foot bath, a baptismal font, a focus of marital strife, then something akin to marital bliss.     A couple of times one of the male dancers sat on the edge of the stage and delivered a kind of political pep talk to the audience, no discernible language, but full of passion and conviction.  There was an extensive pas de deux, a couple of pilobolus-type groupings, but mostly it was ensemble work, and I caught myself marveling at how fluidly the team executed extremely complicated maneuvers, especially when three of the men would be dancing with one of the women, with her being lifted by one, caught and twisted by another, dropped onto a third, twirled back to number one, and so on, all without repetition of moves.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DOeMiCfQ6O8     pieces of HORDA which I saw last night

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKNe8Lge9uI        Nutcracker, rehearsal

Hiking up to the CornerStone

Szarkakő   Cornerstone   click on the pictures to see them in full size!!!

888 meters above sealevel

a climb of about 1500 feet from Udvarhely, where I started out on my bike

I was able to use the bike for about half of the hike.  some of it was pretty steep, so I just pushed

and the steep parts coming downhill were rocky and muddy, so I also walked

It didnt help that my brakes were iffy and that once I got up speed it was really hard to stop

and one thing i didnt need was to be concussed out in the boonies with a difficult maneuver for any rescue vehicle coming my way.

Weather was nice, about 60 degrees, mostly sunny

Coolish breeze at atime, but I was never cold

A couple of times I flashed back to the time I went hiking above squaw valley near Lake Tahoe.  Not quite as high, obviously, and the air was't nearly as thin, but at times the ascent was just as steep.

I would say to myself, ok you can rest after you hit that rock that is about 50 yards ahead.   I reached what I thought was the summit, but it wasnt, then I reached the next , but it wasnt either. I almost decided to turn back, but I kept pushing.  

Not yet at the summit, but this was a nice view over a meadow towards woods and, in the distance, Udvarhely.

This was the spot where I snapped this and the previous picture, it shows my ultimate destination, the hilltop at the top right of the photo.

The hilltop has a sharp dropoff, probably about 200
foot, and then the ground tapers to the river valley.

Apparently it is the remains of an ancient volcano core, here you see the exposed rock as a bluff.  I imagine it is this which gives the name to the hill-- Szarkakő--Cornerstone

I took this on the way back downhill, just to document where I had been.

The official proof, along with the bike i picked up at the flea market when I arrived in town.  Still dont know what to do with it.  I am thinking of donating it to the school where I helped out..Let them hold a drawing of some kind?  RFestrict it only to kids who don't already have a bike?   Not sure, will talk to Péter Julia about it.

15 seconds of fame Udvarhely Hirado, 4 April 2014

A csalánlevest kanalazva megjegyezte: Amerikában ez a növény gyom. Csillog a szeme, amint kimondja: „Csihányba nem üt a mennyko”. Robert Edward Lewis az Amerikai Egyesült Államok Missouri államában, St. Louisban él. Anyanyelve angol. Egyetemi tanár, aztán bankszakember volt. Írt pár német nyelvu könyvet. Nyugdíjasként visszatért nyelvtanári álmaihoz. Néhány angolra fordított Weöres Sándor-vers arra sarkallta: nem csak olvasni, érteni is szeretné a költeményeket. Pár hetet Székelyudvarhelyen tölt: tanul és tanít. Húsvét elott Brassó felé indul. Pár napot ott marad, szeretné megismerni a környéket. Majd Kolozsvár, Nagyvárad következik. Debrecen, Budapest után június végén megy vissza Amerikába. ||| Robert a mosolyával, szeme csillogásával is megérteti: szeret magyarul beszélni „Nekem a magyar nyelv üveghegy”

Spooning up the nettle soup, he remarks.. In the US these are just weeds. His eyes sparkle as he recalls a Hungarian proverb... Lightning doesnt strike on nettles. REL, from the US state of Missouri, lives in St. Louis. English is his mother tongue. He used to teach at a university, then he became a banker. I wrote a couple of books in German. On retirement he turned back to his dream of teaching languages. A couple of poems by Weöres Sandor that had been translated into English caught him.. He wanted not just to be able to read them but also to understand these works of art. He is staying In Székelyudvarhey for a few weeks, studying and teaching. Around Easter he thinks he will go to Brasov. He will stay there to visit the countryside, then he will go to Cluj, Oradea, Debrecen and Budapest, returning to the US in June He smiles, his eyes sparkle and he says... For me, Hungarian is a glass mountain ------------------------------------------------------------------- Hungarian text first, English follows Három alkalommal ültünk le beszélgetni. Ha lassabban is haladtunk az életút- és ta paszta latmegosztásban, megérte. Magyarul hallhattuk, milyennek lát minket, székelyeket egy tengerentúli, miben kap vagy várhatna segítséget a külföldi. Azt találtuk a legérdekesebbnek, hogy hetvenévesen milyen érdeklodéssel és jó hangulattal tanul. „Nekem a magyar nyelv olyan, mint egy sima üveghegy. Nincs ko, amit megfoghatok” – nyugtázza. „HOGY TETSZIK LENNI?” A fenti kérdést sokáig nem értette. „Hogy mi? Ki? ... Most értem!” – kacagott. Az is örömmel tölti el, hogy ha bemegy a belvárosi cukrászdába, ismerik és tudják: kávét kér meleg tejjel, hozzá meggyes tortát. Amerikában nincs meggy, csak cseresznye. A savanykás gyümölcs „süteménybe a legjobb” – vallja Robert. TANÁR VOLT – TANÁR LETT Nyugdíjas. Nem gazdag, de ahhoz van elég pénze, hogy tanuljon. Pályakezdoként német nyelvet tanított az egyetemen. „Ez volt a legjobb munka az életemben.” Reagan elnök idején az irodalom- és zeneoktatás háttérbe szorult a gazdasági ismeretek mellett – nem kellett idegen nyelvet tanulni az egyetemeken. Mit tehetett? Visszament tanulni: könyvelést és pénzügyi ismereteket tanult, majd egy bankban helyezkedett el. A papíralapú könyvelést a számítógépes váltotta – elterjedésével új, érdekes feladatot kapott. De a „nagyobb bank megvette a kisebbet: több munkás, kevesebb munka” – összegezte Robert. Az egyezség szerint egy évig dupla fizetést kapott, aztán megszunt a munkaviszonya. Megtakarításait ingatlanokba fektette, és idoközben nyugdíjas lett. Kérdezte magától: mit szeretnék csinálni? Válasza: visszamenne tanítani. Bár egyetemi tanárként írt pár szakkönyvet, a gimnáziumi tanításhoz nem volt pedagógusi diplomája… Olyan országot keresett, ahol amerikai tanárokat fogadnak. Sokat utazott Európában. Tatán kapott vendégtanári állást. Másfél évet dolgozott Magyarországon. Az elso szó, amit megtanult: köszönöm. Pár diákkal jól tudott beszélni angolul, néhányan pedig németül is tudtak. A helyi kamarakórus vezetoje német szakos tanárno. Megismerkedtek, és meghívta énekelni. A szöveget nem értette, de a kotta sokat segített, a társalgáshoz pedig kézikönyvbol olvasta ki a szavakat. A kórustársasággal sokat utaztak, kisvárosokban, templomokban énekeltek. Csöngén meglátogatták a Weöres Sándor Emlékházat. Nem tudta, „ki ez az ember, de a többieknek fontos volt”. Interneten talált pár verset angolul: „Nagyon érdekes volt – emlékezett vissza az élményre Robert. – Ezt a nyelvet meg kell tanulnom, hogy tudjam olvasni és érteni is a Weöresverseket.” „NEM TURISTA VAGYOK” Tanár nélkül, önállóan tanult magyarul. Járt-kelt Magyarországon, foleg vonattal és kerékpárral. A vendégtanári státus véget ért. Feleségével, fiával, lányával és annak barátjával még utazgatott az országban, majd visszatértek Amerikába. Néhány egykori diákjával Skype-on beszélt magyarul. Könyveket Internetrol olvasott. Egyik volt diákja utolsó éves a gimnáziumban, megígérte, visszatér a ballagására. Idoközben azt is megtudta: „Romániában élnek olyanok, akiknek az anyanyel vük magyar”. Elhatározta: választ egy várost, ott marad egy ideig, kisebb kirándulásokat tesz. Köztük élve az embereket is megismerheti. Tourifoirodáknak írt, háromtól kapott választ. A legjobb ajánlatnak az udvarhelyi irodáét találta: választása a Gizi csárdára esett. Úgy tíz nap után gyalog sétált a Bethlen utcában. Valaki angolul szólt: kioldódott a cipofuzoje. Érdekelte, ki az, aki angolul beszél. Így ismerte meg Péter Júlia angol szakos tanárt, aki meghívta, néha beszéljen diákjaival angolul, és foglalkozzon azokkal, akik nyelvvizsgára készülnek. KIBOVÜLT A MOZGÁSTERE Reggel hatkor ébred. Kávézás után tanul: mostanában az ezer magyar közmondást értelmezi. A tableten mutatja: ma a Lehazudná az égrol a csillagokat szólás volt a feladata – értelmezni és megjegyezni. Az elvont szavakat nehezebben érti: legutóbb az erkölcs kifejezés tette próbára. Errol barátainak is beszámolt angol nyelvu blogján. Heti rendszerességgel ír kirándulásairól: autóbusszal és vonattal közlekedik, a városban pedig a bolhapiacon vásárolt használt biciklivel. Errol megjegyezte: „Nem királyi, egy kicsit kellett vele dolgozni”. Járt Korondon, Szovátán, egy hideg napon vonattal még Segesváron is. A Muvelodési Ház rendezvényeinek visszajáró látogatója. Részt vett a téltemetésen és Csíkszentmiklóson disznóvágáson. NAGYON JÓL ÉRZI MAGÁT Szép a táj. A város csendes. Nem fél, biztonságos. „Az úton van lyuk, biciklizni kicsit veszélyes”. Ezért nem kerékpározik sötétben. Ami hiányzik: „Nincs magyar nyelvu és magyar feliratú film, csak a Kis Vuk. Nehéz magyarul tanulni film nélkül – ismételni, visszajátszani újra meg újra. Makk Károly sok filmet rendezett. Jó filmek, fontos filmek, de csak a magyar tudja érteni. Miért nem feliratozzák ezeket? Magyarország, Erdély sziget? Nem kell a külföldi megismerje? – nyomatékosítja. – Segíteni kell a külföldi embereknek.” Hogy milyeneknek látja a székelyeket? „Udvariasak.” Történeteket mesél nyomatékul. Látják, hogy nem magyar. Angolul válaszolnak a magyarul feltett kérdésekre. De amikor újra magyarul szól, megértik: tanulja a nyelvet. Onnantól segítokészek. Nagy élményként, meghatódva említette: beszélgetésünk napján az óra végén megtapsolták diákjai. Ilyen Magyarországon soha nem fordult elo vele! Az itteni tanulók jobban értenek angolul, mint a magyarországiak. Robert úgy gondolja, a román nyelv után könnyebben tanulunk idegen nyelvet. „UDVARHELY A LEGJOBB VÁROS NEKEM” Magyar, nem túl nagy, de van könyvtár, színház, cukrászda. Csak a mozi hiányzik – magyar feliratú magyar filmekkel. Család nélkül él itt sok diák – merengett el. – Amerikában csak a nagyon gazdag emberek gyermekei engedhetik meg maguknak ezt. Udvarhelyre nagyon nehéz vonattal jönni. Segesvár ötven kilométer, másfél órai utazás. Ezért kell a diáknak itt laknia…” Nem ismeri még a várost, de a leg rosszabb, amit eddig látott, a Budvár-negyed. Az egyik bevásárlóközpontban rácsodálkozott: minden könyv román nyelvu. Kinek adják el, ha a város 98 százaléka magyar? Sot, minden ott található „DVD is románul beszél…” A friss zöldségek, gyümölcsök fölött az ártáblán is csak román nyelven szerepelnek a terméknevek. A sok hagyományos étel „nehéz”. Evett papsalátalevest, pisztrángot, borjúpörköltet – nagyon finomak. A reggelibol negyed adag is elég – a sajt, szalonna, kolbász mellett legyen sok zöldség. Rácsodálkozott: a Szent András-kereszttel jelzett vasúti átkeloknél minden jármuvezeto megáll. Hazájában, ha tudják, „naponta háromszor jár a vonat, senki nem állna meg”. SZÉKELY PÓLÓ? Ha rá bíznák Korondot, próbálna több hagyományos darabot eladni. Rákérdeztünk: mire gondol? Vannak nagyon szép, de csak ünnepeken használható férfiingek. A pólók ázsiaiak. Nem talált egyet sem székely jelképpel. Pedig szeretné, hogy „munkaruhán” is viselhessék az itteni emberek, de az idegenbol érkezok is, az életfát, napot, holdat… „MÁS SZEMÉVEL…” A fotózáshoz nem akart nyakkendot tenni. „Temetésre talán még igen” – jött a derus válasz. Említettem: csütörtökön megjelenik beszélgetéseink írott anyaga. „Érdekes lesz! – mondta kisfiús mosollyal. – Szeretek olvasni… Most majd más szemével nézhetem magam.”

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We sat down three times to chat a bit slowly we listened to his life story, what he had done and his impressions. In Hungarian he told us how he sees us, us Sekler people from far way across the ocean and how this stranger gets along. We found it most interesting that at the age of 70 he studies with such interest and devotion. Hungarian is like a smooth mountain made of glass. There is nothing to hold on to he emphasized. “How does my lord today,” For a long time he did not understand what people were asking. What? Who? Today I understand the expression, he laughs. He is pleased that when he goes to the local coffee shop, people know what he wants... he always orders coffee with hot milk and sour cherry crumb cake. We don't get sour cherries in the US just sweet cherries. The somewhat tart fruit is really the best Robert adds. “He used to teach, now he teaches again” Retired. Not really rich, but he has enough money to study. In his career he taught German at a university “It was the best job of my life” But under Reagan foreign languages and the fine arts took a back seat to business classes students no longer had to learn foreign languages at the university. What could he do. He went back to study accounting and finance and then got a job at a bank. Paper-based work changed to computer-based—and he got new, interesting assignments. But a big bank ate up the little one too many employees for the work that was required. So for a year he got extra salary and then was out of a job. He got involved in some real estate and then retired. But he asked himself , what do I want to do. His answer—go back to teaching. While he had done some publishing as an academic he did not have a teaching certificate to work in a high school. So he looked for a country which had a need for American teachers He was familiar with in Europe. So he got a position in Tata as a visiting teacher For a year and a half he worked in Hungary. The first Hungarian word he learned--”thank you” There were a few students who spoke good English, a few knew German. He met the local chorus director, who was a retired German teacher. She invited him to sing. He did not understand the words But he could read the notes, and the chorus members and dictionaries helped him to pronounce the words The chorus took several trips to sing in venues in other towns, churches and so on. In Csönge they visited the home of Weröes Sandor, now a museum. He did not know --"who is this person who is so important to these people?” On the internet he found a couple of translations “They were very interesting” Robert remembers being introduced to them. I think I need to learn this language so that I can be able to read the poems of Weöres. “I am not a tourist” Without a teacher he started to learn Hungarian on his own. He traveled round Hungary by train and bicycle. Then his job as visiting teacher came to a close. With his family-- spouse, son, daughter and her companion he traveled around and then he returned to the US. With a few former students he talked in Hungarian using Skype He read some Hungarian texts on the internet. Some of his students are now graduating and he promised to attend their ceremony. In the meantime he realized-- There are people in Romania who speak Hungarian as their native tongue. He decided to travel and stay there and do little day trips He wanted to get close to people get to know them. He wrote to several tourist offices and got three answers. the best came from Udvarhely where he selected the Gizi Inn About 10 days after arriving he was walking on Bethlen Street. Somebody spoke to him In English—your shoe is untied. He wondered, who is it who is speaking English. And so he met Péter Julia, a local English teacher who invited him to meet with some of her students and work with them to prepare for language exams. Expanding his horizons He gets up around 6 am. After breakfast he studies. Nowadays he can understand about 1000 Hungarian expressions. He showed me his tablet computer with the phrase--”he would swear there were no stars in the sky” on the screen he understands and can explain the phrase Abstract words are harder to learn. Recently the word erkölcs (virtue) was something he tried to say—with difficulty He said he wrote about his problem with it in his blog he keeps for his friends, along with the stuff he does each week and his trips by bus and by train to places nearby or on the second hand bike he got at the flea market. About the bike-- “ Not the best, I had to do a little work on it.” He has gone to Korund, Szováta, and to Segesvar too on a recent cold day. He is a repeat visitor to the events at the local art center. He witnessed the Burial of Winter celebration and also went to Csikszentmiklós for their pig butchering festival. He likes it here The countryside is pretty, the town is quiet. He feels safe. The roads have potholes, so biking is a bit dicey And for that reason he does not go biking after sundown. What does he need? “There just aren't any Hungarian films that also have Hungarian subtitles. Just Kis Vuk (popular animated film). It is hard to learn a language without films—being able to repeat, go back, listen again over and over. Makk Károly (noted film director) made lots of films. Good ones, important ones, but only Hungarians can understand them. Why are there no subtitles? Both Hungary and Transylvania are (cultural) islands. Foreigners have no reason to get to know your culture?”--he asks emphatically. “ You need to help people from other countries.” -- What does he think about the Szekély people? Courteous, he replies. He tells this story with strong emphasis. People see that I am not Hungarian. When I speak in Hungarian they reply in English. But when I again speak in Hungarian, they understand-- he is studying the language. From then on they help him. He recently had an unusual experience He spoke with a class and at the end they applauded him That never happened to him in Hungary. He thinks the local students do better in English than those living in Hungary perhaps because they live next door to Romanian speakers and this exposure makes it easier for them. Udvarhely is just right for me It is Hungarian, not too large. It has a library, a theater, coffee shops Just no cinema-- well there is one, but the films are all dubbed. He notices that many high school students live here independently. In the US only very rich people would be able to afford to do that. But it is hard to get to Udvarhely by train. Segesvar is only 30 miles away, but the trip takes nearly 2 hours. So the students have to live in town. He does not yet know all of the town, but it seems to him that the Budvar area is the most run down. He noticed at one of the local stores that every book on the shelves was in Romanian. Who is going to buy those books? Udvarhely Is 98% Hungarian! Every single DVD was also Romanian. Vegetables and fruits also had names and descriptions only in Romanian. He finds the local traditional diet to be heavy. He tried the “priest lettuce” soup, the trout, and the veal stew. They were delicious. For breakfast he wants a quarter of the usual serving-- instead of sausage and cheese he prefers vegetables. He remarks that at the local rail crossing every vehicle comes to a full stop. Back in the US, if people know there are only 3 trains daily nobody stops. Székely polo shirts? He visited Korund to see if he could pick up some traditional items. We asked him what he thought about things. Well, they are pretty, but just for dress up-- eg, the men's shirts. All the T shirts are made in Asia. Not one produced locally. For example it would be nice if people could wear the stuff to work --stuff embroidered with traditional symbols like the “tree of life” and the moon and stars As others see us.... He wasn't interested in wearing a tie for the photographer. Maybe for my funeral, he said dryly. I told him that the material from our conversations would appear on Thursday. It will be interesting, he said with a boyish grin. I am looking forward to reading it. Now I will be able to see myself through another person”s eyes.

The article

  So on Thursday last, April 3, the thing appeared in the local paper. A full page, five columns, all about me and what I have done, am doing, and why I am here. The writer, Molnár Melinda, is apparently free-lance for the paper, seeking out things or people that have some kind of appeal to the local readers. The thrust of the article was that here is this guy who has a background in languages, he somehow gets involved with Hungary, is introduced to some Hungarian literature and decides to start learning the language. So he winds up here in Udvarhely, and then the rest of the article is how do I as an outsider view the local scene. The article pretty faithfully reports what I said—the town is pleasant and peaceful and offers what I was looking for. I don't drive, I use local bus or I ride a bike I picked up at the fleamarket. I don't ride at night because the streets have too many holes and I cant see them. I can't understand why the local equivalent of walmart has a book section which contains only Romanian books, when 98 % of the local population is Hungarian. I question the local artisans' decision to produce only traditional clothing. If you want a shirt with traditional embroidery or decoration, then it is only a dress shirt. There is no such thing as a nice polo shirt with traditional decoration. Anything in that line is simply some cheap printed thing with I “heart” Transylvania, or something of that ilk. I complain that there are no Hungarian films with Hungarian subtitles. None. Well, one, an animated film from the early 90s. But that is it. Lots of good Hungarian films, some with foreign subtitles, but none with Hungarian. Either Hungarians don't want foreigners to learn their language, or they are just unaware of the hurdles that are inadvertently imposed.

During our interviews (all in Hungarian, sometimes it took a while to understand what she was asking me) I could tell Melinda wanted me to feed her some good lines about how great the locals were. I stretched things a little bit, not too much, in saying how nice the countryside was, that I felt safe, that I found people to be a bit more personal than, say, folks in Budapest, that I enjoyed going to the local theater and musical performances, and so on.

She did omit my big story about having to spend about two hours walking up and down the street to find the local tourist information office and being totally put out because the office staff had not bothered to put up a sign anywhere to let people know where they were located. But I wrote about that in an earlier blog. Perhaps that was too too hot a topic to include in the article, because it would make particular individuals look incompetent or foolish. And I can understand that, but my point is still valild. (I can report that the office now is very clearly marked, and that you would have no trouble at all finding it).

Bartók

Performance at the city hall chamber last night. Two violins, one mezzo. Plus a narrator. Who spoke Hungarian in machine-gun paragraphs. At one point I decided to count the number of phrases she was using in each sentence.. something like twelve. I could tell because her voice would rise at the end of each phrase, she would catch a little breath and then dive back in. Acoustics were not suitable for rapid-fire speech, so much of what she said was just a blur to me, but I did understand that at least part of the audio that was going to be played out of the laptop that the violinists had brought a long derived from a radio program out of Kolozsvár (Cluj), a major Transylvanian city off to the east of Debrecen. They were tinny and scratchy, but authentic enough, and it gave you a sense of what the real music was, like listening to the recordings of Appalachian songs on archival records. Either that, or the mezzo sang a few verses of the particular song.

Hungarian music is just—different. I looked up on Wikipedia to see what there was to be found, which was primarily that Bartok and Kodály had determined that the typical Hungarian folk song uses a pentatonic scale and that notes are almost always the same length. Well, I am not sure of the pentatonicity of these songs, they sounded like mixolydian mode to me, with maybe a couple of extra half tones thrown in for amusement. I kept saying to myself, but there is no MELODY there. And yet the mezzo always seemed to know exactly what she was doing, her voice seemed every once in a while to hit on a key note that somehow resounded like a trombone blast. As she sang, he body would dip and sway a bit, and I could see how the Sitz im Leben of the songs was a public sing-dance event, probably with lead singer in the center of a circle of village girls dancing around her in a circle and joining her on alternating verses.

Off into the Wild West....

 my first genuine laptop.   well, now i have a new toy. have to learn how to use it.  lenovo g500.  i am hndaving problems with the keyboard, probably because i keep hitting arrow keys by mistake. sending the cursor all over the place.

big adventure, buying this

now i can play civilization again.

so yesterday (Sunday) did big offroad trip with zita, her husband Barni and Donci, their son, as well as Gizi, Zita's mom and Dönci's grandmom.  German army jeep, serious, mercedes benz engine, we must have done about 15 miles of genuine cross country i mean no road or if it was a road then it was known only to horses and pedestrians.  Another 15 miles was dirt road, another 5 or so was so rocky and bumpy that you had to hand onto stuff in order not to be shaken out of your seat.  Barni drove, Gizi sat in front with him, the rear of the vehicle is benches that sit parallel to the road, so there was little to no back support.  We were gone a total of about 6 hours, probably 4 of them driving.  Total distance covered was about 45 miles, but when you are going only about 5 or 10 mph, you dont get there very fast.


The country was wide open, steep hills, brooks, springs, patches of dense deciduous forest, occasional stands of firs, lots of open meadow pasture land, absolutely no farming or crops.  We passed umpteen piles of freshly felled trees, there is serious logging going on.  I felt like I was somewhere in Montana.  No really high mountains, but off in the distance we could see the Hargita, which is about 1600 meters. right at 5000 feet, still with snow on top.  We were mostly on a ridge top that was 3000 ft

I did take a couple of photos, so will post them when i figure out how to do it.  we did three lookout points, visited the village where Zita was born (today's population approximately 15), and also wound up having a bit of dinner with Barni's parents who live in Zetalaka, a village of about 2000 located some 12-15 km northeast of here.

today is april 2, the trip was on march 31, I will keep adding detail as I come back to the blog.


This is Dönci (sounds a little like   done-tsee), the foto is of his maternal great grandparents (I think)

This is the route we took, starting left center from Udvarhely about 7 miles to the first horizontal slash mark.
From then on it was all cross country to the lookout statue (about 70 feet tall). Here is a foto from the internet.  The construction of the stature was an act of private piety by a local family who is big in the dairy business. The location is on a high point overlooking one of the valleys, elevation bout 3100 ft.

The dark side of the Jesus statue....

I did not climb all the way to the top, access was by narrow steep steel ladder, and my knees were not at their strongest. Also the day was a bit hazy, so distant objects appear a bit blurred....

 We continued to a second lookout, a more conventional wooden tower that overlooked a valley to the East. On the map it is the second horizontal line.  I took a short hike and snapped a few pics of the forest....

The trip continued for about two more hours, mostly at speeds of 5 to 10 (at best) mph.  Much of the ground was muddy from recent rains. We reached Szent Csed, a village of about 4 houses, the place where Dönci's mom, Zita, was born.  From there a road led downhill toward the river that also flows through Udvarhely... the Kiküllő, which at a about 25 miles upstream from the city is really just a brook.  The road reminded me of  a stretch of the Oregon Trail that we saw on one of our trips to California (I think it was in NW Nebraska), where you could see how much deeper the trail was than the surrounding terrain.  The road from Szent Csed must have been a couple hundred years old, it resembled more of a streambed than a road, with large rocks and an occasional boulder making passage by normal auto totally inadvisable.

After we reached the river, the terrain leveled out and we were able to travel much more normally.  We continued downstream toward Várság, perhaps the largest village in Romania, Zita claiming that the village limits were more extensive than that of Bucharest.  Not sure about that, but a Wikipedia article says it is 76 sq kilometers, so 8 km by 9 km, roughly, which means a square about 5 miles on each side, so she may be right.

Downstream from Várság is Zetelaka, a largish village of about 3000, where Barni comes from and where his folks still live.  We did another hill climb up to the hunting cabin.  All of these hills lie at about 3000 feet, and the valleys are generally at about 1500, so  it is a pretty steep climb any time you do it.  Again, nearly all of this was cross-country.

Bear poop, no shit. The brown stuff at center bottom of the pic.   This was out near the hunting cottage that Barni built out on a ridge about 2 km from his home village of Zetalaka.  There are a few others in a group that uses the place for hunting... deer, wild boar, sometime bear.  We found scat from deer as well.... The guys have rigged up a barrel that hangs from one of the trees, and it is set up to distribute corn once or twice a day, so as to attract the game to the area.

Afterwards Barni got a call from his folks insisting that we go to their place for a visit.  Ordinary family house, comfortable, reminded me a bit of my grandparents'  homes. Dinner was soup (both a fruit soup and a meat broth, I chose the former which was apple and sour cherry, wonderfully sweet and flavorful), then breaded-sautéed turkey cutlets with mashed potatoes.  Apparently turkey is a delicacy here and is expensive--something on the order of veal in the US.


We got back to Udvarhely around 6 pm.  I decided to rest, fell asleep at 7 and was out till midnight.  I got up, made some coffee, did some vocab stuff and a little reading till about 3 am, then went back to sleep till 6 am, my normal getup time.