A poem by Weores Sandor Monkeyland

Monkeyland
Hey! for distant Monkeyland,
monkeybread a-plenty there,
from monkeywindow monkeybars
the wind twangs out a monkey-air.

In monkeyfield and monkeysquare
monkeyheroes draw their swords,
hear the monkeymiserable
moaning in their monkeywards.

Monkeyteacher makes Monquita
learn her monkeylessons well,
monkeymalefactor rages
in his monkeyprison cell.

In monkeymanufacturies
much monkeymayonnaise you’ll find,
limn in hymn the limitless
illimitable monkeymind.

Monkeymonarch spouts decrees
from monkeypole in Monkeynese,
monkeyheaven waits for those
eternal monkeyhell for these.

Macacque, gorilla, chimpanzee,
orangutan and rhesus, too,
all read their daily monkeynews
when the monkeydinner’s through.

In memory of monkeymeal
the outhouse rings with monkeyfarts,
monkeysoldiers on maneuvers,
Left face! Right face! Forward march!

Monstrous monkeymilitary
mania in every face,
Monkey clutching monkeygun,
The world, it is the monkey’s place.

— Sándor Weöres
Fordította: Will T. Laughlin

Celldo"mo"k Day 2

The night was warm, the hotel room was stuffy. I had two windows fully open, using the lace curtains as screens against the mosquitos, only partially succesfully it turns out. I got up several times to get water from the bathroom sink, waiting in vain for the cold tap to produce cool water.
Finally I got up at 5:30 and went downstairs to go for a walk. The main door was closed. Damn, how was I going to manage till people decided to get up? Fortunately there was a night clerk and he heard me rattling at the main door, and he came out to open the thing for me. So I stated off on a hike towards downtown, about ¾ mile away.

I get about half a mile down the road and Mr Nightmanager is suddenly in his car chasing after me. I guess he thought I was leaving without having paid, but he spoke a little German, and I assured him that I was just out for a walk. I proceeded to the main square , sat down on a bench next to the statue of Brother Odo, and proceeded to read the book I had brought along in my backpack.

Odo is not the only bronze on the plaza. Across from him is a statue of the BVM (can you pronounce that as “beeevum”, or does it always have to be the three distinct letters, like ATM, which is, to my knowledge, never reeduced to “ate'em”), not a bad work, actually, a rugged modern Rodin=esque figure of her and 2 yr old child, but in this case she is wearing a beanie—the crown of Hungary with its latin cross bent at a 60 degree angle off to the side. Mary, Patron of the Nation.

Mary is offering the boy an apple, and there are some bronze apples on the low marble wall behind the two figues. But the apples are also Rodin=esque, and as a result look like they have withered down to about 2/3 their former ripe size and look decidedly unappetizing. I wonder if there is a political interpretation here. Mary will look out for the Hungarians== they wont die, but they will have to content themselves with bad apples.

Just after 6 am I head back toward the hotel and over to the Tesco supermarket, hoping to find some flip=flops and a bathing suit to wear later in the morning. But this is a mini-Tesco; it carries only normal grocery items, no clothing section like the Tesco where I live in Tata. So I settle for a container of yoghurt and a packaged cream-filled croissant.

I return to the hotel and manage to rustle up some coffee, by now there are a few of our group awake and downstairs, so there is conversation and time is occupied till breakfast, which is the standard Hungarian assortment of cheese, salami, ham, some sliced sweet paprica, a few tomato slices, plus marmalade and some Muesli. The plan is to go to the thermal bath at 10, so I head over to the other supermarket next to the hotel, the Penny, to see what I can find there. Maybe they will have some summer goods available, like bathing suits and flip flops?

They do have flip flops, and they do have bathing suits, but only bikinis in size about 10 year old. Oh well. So I figure I will have to wear my hiking slacks as my bathing suit—these are lightweight pants that have zippers in the legs so you can convert from slacks to shorts. Only they are just a little loose on me, so what will I do to prevent some kind of embarrasing accident? Surely I am not going to go into a pool wearing a belt?

The solution I came up with... I found a piece of plastic wrap lying in a vegetable bin. I turned it into a length of twine, wraped one end around my left front belt loop, then drew the other end through the right front one, pulled, and tightend up the shorts. The plastic was transparent and practically invisible. No Problem.

Walked to the thermal baths, about ¾ mile in the other direction from downtown, could not sign up for a massage as they were available only after 1 pm, so contented myself with the hot water and semi-massage spouts, had a cup of coffee, went into the big pool, families were gathering, the whole setting seemed to be eerily both european and american, we were surrounded by fields of sunflowers, the sun was bright and the weather was hot, but the whole setup... architecture and ambiance, was decidedly non-american. No waterslides, no gangs of yelling teenagers, no rock music blaring from radios, instead, all was genteel and civilized, calm, tranquil almost.

We did lunch in the dining room of the hotel, everyone dragging out leftovers from the previous day, I started to get a bit nervous, there was not that much ice in evidence, and what about all that meat? Turns out the meat is all salted beyond imagination, I was given a plastic icecream bucket, containing a frozen ocean of white pork fat in which cargo ships of meat chunks were embedded. Gamely I took out a chunk of the meat, wiped the fat off of it with my paper napkin, and took a bite. Almost like biting into a chunk of solid salt. Luckily I had a banana left over, plus there was some normal bread and some cheese and a tomato or two.

Then it was off to Cso”nge, a village about 20 KM away, and we stop at a museum which honors Weo”res Sa'ndor. I have since looked up some stuff about him on the internet—he seems to have been something of a combination of Lewis Carroll, ee cummings, wallace stevens. Wrote in the 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, very political (anti-authoritarian), was suppressed, was allowed only to do translations (Lao Tse, shakespeare, goethe, some russians). There was a tour guide, I looked at pictures and documents, then we gathered outside for some refreshments (I was still incredibly thirsty, went through at least two liters of water), and then the choir did a little program, some songs, some recitation of some of his poems, more songs, a wreath laying, and then it was off to the village church.

This is Lutheran country. The catholic church building either doesnt exist or got transformed into something else. We got to visit the second grade school building, and in one of the classrooms there is an alcove with folding doors, and behind the doors is an altar with all the usual Hungarian altar trappings and a tiny organ, and that is the church on sunday, I guess they move the desks out and put folding chairs in for mass.

On to the Lutheran church, built around 1800, which is very interesting, a rectangular building with stone/stucco exterior walls, wooden interior pillars and a completely flat wooden ceiling, with a wooden u/shaped balcony. the pillars are set so that they are all along the interior edges of the balcony, which means they are also in the middle of the pews, so the pews have semi/circular sections cut out of them so that people can move around the pillars. There was a wheezy organ, orignally euipped with bellows (you can still see the lever that was used for pumping) but now outfited with an electric blower. So the deal was that we were goint to have an ecumenical prayer service.

The choir rehearsed from 6 to around 7, then changed into their formal dress (white shirts and blouses with purple ties or scarves, dark trousers/skirts), townspeople started to gather, and the bell in the tower bonged several times, and then the Lutheran pastor (a stout woman, about 5' 2” I would say, about 35 years old, wearing her black robe with her little white tab collar came in, accompanied by a girl of 5 or who, based on their interaction, seems to have been her daughter, plus a roman priest in eucharistic garb. They both went up to the altar, she greeted everyone, and then there was a hymn, the choir sang a kyrie, there were readings, there was more choir and more hymn, and then the priest talked for about 20 minutes, with me picking up such words as KATHOLISH EVANGELISH REFORMATORISH AUGSBURG UPPSALA THEOLOGIE PROFESSOR , well, enough for me to understand that he had been in various places and had been exposed to non=roman theology and felt that he was the better for it.

So now I get to blow my own horn for a moment, well, just a bit. The choir did a piece based on psalm 121, and then it hummed the music while four readers spoke the first two verses of the psalm (I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help? My help cometh from the Lord, who hath made heaven and earth.) , first Hungarian, then Russian, then German, and I ended with the English. It was very effective and elicited a shiver of applause when it was done.

Then the service is over, people shake hands and say how nice, and how good of you to come visit and we are so honored, and then there are picnic tables and some wine and a stew for dinner. And this is indeed a tasty stew, not nearly as salty as the other stuff I have had, and then in the conversation (this is a mixture of hungarian, german, and english) I am informed that the meat in the stew is venison. So I try out my Hungarian, uttering something like Me Now Eatum Bambi.

I am sitting across from three of the ladies, Kati who speaks some German, and two others. Now it is Kati who came up with the 100 forint coin yesterday to buy me a cup of coffee from the coffee machine and to whom I promised that I would buy her a cup of coffee in return. So I remind her that I owe her a cup and will get it for her at breakfast the next morning (coffee does not come free with breakfast, you have to pay for it if you want it). She says fine, then she says that she wants it brought up to her room. I say fine, what time? She says 7:30, I say no problem. Then the two other ladies chime in and say what about us? I say, fine, what room? And they are laughing and teasing me, and then I get inspired.

So from the little hungarian I know so far, I have been able to figure out that there are some “international” words that you can count on. Autobus, radio, taxi, that sort of thing. So I am fairly certain that this is going to work. It is worth a try, anyway.

Now the hungarian words for ONE TWO THREE are egy, ketto”, harom. So I ask them, Mi az egy meg egy meg egy? (what is 1+1+1 ? ) and the answer of course is Egy meg egy meg egy az harom (+1+1+1=3).

Now the key word here is HAROM, which starts like the english word HARD, and then the >om< ending rhymes with english SOME.

The hungarian word for woman is no”, which sounds something like the Nur in nurse. So I ask: Mi az no” meg no” meg no” (How much is woman plus woman plus woman?) And they are puzzled, of course. This sounds stupid. And then I give my answer:

No” meg no” meg no” az HAREM! (woman plus woman plus woman = HAREM, which is the same word in both English and Hungarian).

And there it is, a linguistic milestone, I have created a joke in Hungarian. Wow.

It didnt really help. I still continued to have inadedquacy dreams. One involved me having to lead evensong, but not having the right size vestment, trying to button the one I did have while we were processing down the aisle, and starting to lead the service and then realizing I didn't have the right prayerbood, and trying to do it from memory and not being able to recall the opening sentences, and people in the choir muttering about how Bob always screws things up.

The next night it was me attempting to compete at a swimming/calesthenics event)

But still. My first hungarian pun.

72 hours > the first 24 July 4 Weekend 2010

So I have this linguistic dream. It has to be linguistic, because it is about not knowing what is going on and doing everything wrong. And it comes at the end of a day when I have been banging my head against the wall trying to use what little Hungarian I have to talk with Lajos, who works a couple of acres of grapes on the NE slope of an ancient volcano, who has a cellar that measures about 14' x 14', and who makes two kinds of wine, RED and WHITE, and who is explaining his tools of the trade to me: the press, the barrels, the plastic jugs (used mineral water bottles which are perfectly good for storing wine in, will hold up to a year no problem).

The dream comes after the big wine tasting, which was in the other cellar, the one that belongs to Imre. Imre of the big smile, the expansive gesture, the beginning of each sentence with Kedves Vendegemek, or something like that, meaning Dear Guests, for the 30=odd of us are squeezed into his cellar, measuring something like 20' x 30', with about 10 wooden casks containing 250 liters each, stacked on them a number of 50 and 25 liter barrels, plus three stainless steel tanks each holding something like 500 liters. Imre has a day job, not sure what, but the land he works is some kind of family holding, winemaking a family tradition, and he does this little wine tasting gig for private groups. Besides the cellar, there is a covered picnic area in the middle of the grapes, vines growing over the roof and all, and we are served a tasty but heavy and somewhat salty stew of wild boar (shot personally by Imre, though Lajos assures me that he did not kill the boar on the premises of the volcano, for that is a protected nature preserve), with side dishes of pickled green tomatoes and, as I can best recall, onions, plus a slice or two of beer. And wine. And mineral water. Eva , the organist, sits across from me, and she has instead a plate of noodles with sour cream and some kind of powdered cheese. Perhaps she is vegetarian? Plus wine, of course.

The day has been fiercely sunny. After the tour of the city hall (former benedictine monastery, some of the decorations have been retained, Saint X , Saint Y, the Redominifcation of the blessed Sulomitaritians, the Valutpta of Saint Schomiatoria, patroness of the Celdomitians, etc etc, all of which we admire and oo and aa, and uh and hum, we also get a tour of the CHURCH, which was built in record time of XXX years, and was erected because of the miracle healing of a stone worker, who was injured while helping to excavate a site of a natural spring, but who recovered so quickly and so completely after his prayer to the BVM , that all were amazed, and then hundreds and thousands came to the well, so a pilgrim church was erected, and of course it needed monks to help take care of the pilgrims and all that, so Brother Odo (statue of whom, complete with grape cluster and vine sits in the park and gazes directly at the church, for whose construction he was primarily responsible) came from Austria to help out, and now we have the church, the protection of the BVM somehow being mysteriously and not-really-discussed-about-hushed-overly absent during WWII when the bombs fell and smashed a lot of the place (but one bomb did not explode and of course that is a miracle indeed).

What to say about a somewhat tacky, somewhat gloomy, somewhat seen-better-days place that just reeks of early 19th century piety? Perhaps that it has a wonderfully kitschy Schatzkammer upstairs, filled with historical bits and mementos and a wide variety of votive offerings. Primary among the offerings were little silver legs, it looks like someone took a sheet of silver, about 2" x3", and used a wood carving of a leg, and hammered the silver sheet so that it created a bas relief of the legs. So there were legs, and arms, then there were little pairs of eyes. I wasn't sure about the eyes, so I asked one of the other people I was with, I said, these are eyes , aren't they, and they said, yes, what else could they be?, and I said, well, maybe they were breasts? I kept looking, but found no votive penises. Apparently you didnt go to the BVM if you wanted help in getting it up.

There were a lot of votive paintings, Now that would make for a wonderful exhibition. My favorite was one showing a husband and wife being rescued from a tumble of their wagon into a into a river. They were trapped and in despair, until they called on HER for help, and sure enough, help arrived right away. Watson and the Shark it isn't, but you can see how much they share a Sitz im Leben.

After the Church we went back to the hotel, then reassembled for the attack on the Saghegy=the volcano core. This basalt cone apparently supplied cobblestones and building materials for NE Hungary all the way to Vienna and down to Budapest. We assemble at the hotel, caravan to the base of the volcano, park at the trailhead, then unpack all the picnic lunches. Well, I hadn't brought lunch, was not in the loop so to speak, but i had gone to buy some bananas, so I had them to offer. Beautiful summer landscape: we are about 200 ft or so higher than the rest of the landscape, gazing eastward across fields pointillated cream yellow (just=mown wheat and hay fields) and deep green, interspersed with rust red splotches of tile roofs, with a horizon about 20 miles off to the north, east, south, and everything except our volcano core and another one off about 10 miles to the southeast as flat as central Kansas.

Lunch starts with the group singing a Grace. Then palinka is offered (i refuse, also the wine being passed around, saying not till evening, never in the afternoon, in very broken Hungarian) And then the hike. DAMN it is steep, jeez, i thought we had driven close to the top, no way.

Huff, puff, and then the sun starts to hit me and I am sure glad I didn't have any wine, and I am soooo thirsty, all that Hungarian food is filled with salt, and all I have left is about 1/3 of a plastic coke bottle I filled with tap water before we left the hotel. The core of the volcano is about 1/2 mile across, I climb up what I think is the rim, but it isn't, there is more, and the pathways are broken rock and no I am not going to try that, thank you. Did I mention the sun? There is little shade to be had, we are baking. And no it is not 100 degrees in the shade, only about 90, but there are no clouds anywhere and the sun is just plain fierce.

Ultimately we work ourselves around to the eastern rim of the cone, where there is a memorial. I will have to look up more on Google, but this is a Trianon memorial, and for every Hungarian the word Trianon is burned forever into the national psyche. Trianon was the treaty the Hungarians were forced to acquiesce to at the end of WWI, and it redrew the national borders and shrunk the area thereby circumscribed by about 2/3... sort of like all of Texas being reduced to just the area east of Ft. Worth, losing out on the Edwards plateau, the Big Bend, and the Panhandle. Of particular sensitivity was the loss of territory in what is now in Romania, the land beyond the forest, Transylvania, where there are real mountains, not the 3000 foot stubs that are all that remain inside of today's borders. So Trianon was what made the Hungarians side with Adolf in WWII, or at least not actively oppose him, because they hoped that in the Greater Order of things these lands would once again be returned to the Magyar peoples as their birthright. After resting a while in the shade of this memorial, we organized for the trek back, the choir sang a song and then the national anthem, and we headed back down the hill.

Soon back at the hotel and time for a shower. Oh, the hotel doesnt provide soap? Hmm. Well, sorry bout that folks, right now all I can do is a rinse job, but it is refreshing, and then we head out around 6 pm for the bus ride to the wine tasting.

,

On Conversation and Salvation

Email to an American friend

so infequently do i have a chance to just talk

i mean

really

really

talk

without strings

i walk a lot

it isn't real exercise

like racquetball

but\

like tonight

about 2 miles to dinner

about 2 miles back

well

maybe 1.5

anyway

i am all sweaty

but it was a good dinner

and good conversation

and i learned some things

and the wine was excellent

and so

as i was walking back home

i quoted Goethe to myself

Wer immer strebend sich bemueht

Den koennen wir erloesen

protestant work ethic

salvation lies in work

in struggle

in keeping on, plugging on, slogging on

i am not like the Witnesses, who KNOW that they are saved

nor the Jews, who KNOW they are Chosen

but the only hope i have is in

doing what i am doing right now

which is working to help these kids learn english

because, believe me,

without english they are screwed

not necessarily BIG TIME

but screwed nonetheless

so

I keep at it

Recent Outing

A regular exchange program between our school and one in Magdeburg takes place, with 15 or so students from each school visiting the other. The Germans were here for a week, and since the Monday after Pentecost was a holiday, I was able to join the group for a bus outing to two sites. The first was in Godolo (with umlauts, which I cannot type), the summer/vacation palace of the Austro-Hungarian emperor, in the process of being restored after being (ab)used for decades as barracks, hospital, senior center, etc etc. The other was Holloko (more diacritical marks missing) which was more strenuous and more interesting. Yes the palace was historic, but it was somewhat sterile and formal. Holloko is a small farming village which was built up in the years just before WWI. After the war it went into general stagnation, but not total decay. Abut 50 of the original buildings remain, and nearly all of them have been repaired/restored to appear like they did 100 years ago. It is a one-street town, with large uneven cobblestones that are murder to walk on. And about half a mile away is a fortress perched on the tip of a eroded volcano core

I will post some pictures I took

God or Opera? Are they the same?

Yesterday was pentecost sunday. I had purchased a ticket to the 11 AM performance at the opera, so I went to Budapest, taking the 7:20 train and goetting into the Keleti station just after 8:30. The walk from the station to the opera house leads past the little Anglican (CofE) chapel which I have visited a couple of times, so I decided to go bz and say hello. Services start at 10:30, so I thought someone might be there by 9:15 or so. I parked on a bench at a nearby park to wait for someone to show up, and in the meantime I reviewed and commented on the exercises that students had written in class last week.

By 9:10 they had opened up, so I went on in to say hello. Overpowering smell of mold and dank---a pipe had burst in the wall and they were in he process of drying out. It will take a long time; they are in the basement of a standard five-story building, and air circulation is pretty nil.

I made chit chat, wound up borrowing three books from their exchange-a-book library, and left at 10. On the way to the opera I stopped in at KFC for an early lunch, knowing the opera would not conclude till around 2 pm.

So here we are at the opera house. For 4000 forint ($20) I have what is arguably the best seat in the house... just above and to the left of the royal box. The orchestra pit has been reduced to 50% of its normal size. At stage left an extension covers the pit and will allow the singers to come practically into the audience. The chamber orchestra has two harpsichords, about 4 winds, about a dozen strings.

By 11 am most of the place is occupied, the orchestra has tuned, we are waiting for the conductor. Then the concertmaster gives a little signal with his bow, and the overture starts--sans conductor. Hmm, I think, this is going to be one of those Who the Hell Needs a Conductor peformances. But I am wrong. After the opening section (larghetto, I suppose, if I had to choose a tempo) the conductor comes strolling down the aisle, steps over the barrrier between orchestra and the front row, and then suddenly we presto assai into a rolicing measure whose tempo is visually reinforced by the entrance of one of the players--a somewhat chunky, scruffy-bearded fellow in his mid twenties wearing loud middle-eastern colors and vaguely flowing pajama trousers, plus a pair of earphones, and he is strolling along, rocking to the beat of what he appears to be listening to--in this case, the baroque hip-hop of the orchestra.

As the overture continues he is joined by several others wearing similar garb, a kind of middle-eastern gangster rap crew, that show off to one another by doing break dancing, exaggerated gang signs, and the like. It takes me a few moments to figure out that that the others are the corps de ballet. Mr Chunky must be a singer, probably the comic bass of the opera.

Overture concludes. Now we get to the opening recitativ and aria and are introduced to Xerxes, warrior hero and king of Persia, who is in love with a sycamore tree and who sings Handel's Largo (it is actually largetto but never mind), "Ombra mai piu," an outpouring of his love for his leafy beloved. On stage we see the trunk of the tree, rising up about 30 feet into the proscenium. Xerxes finishes embracing the tree, rubbing it, caressing it, kissing it, and then climbs up into the tree, literally going inside the tree. (this could have been very outrageously sexual, fetish=like, but they didnt go that far). Then we see a sports car being driven by Mr Chunky, accompanied by Countertenor Niceguy who is Xerses' younger brother), come down a semicircular ramp. The car bangs into the tree, the tree shudders and then s l o w l y crashes to the ground. So much for the eternal love Xerxes has for his sycamore tree.

Next we are introduced to GF of Niceguy, who with her sister lives in a middle-eastern 4 story apartment building with external AC units. The lighting seems to suggest that GF and her sister are involved in a very ancient profession normally occupied by females. (I am not sure if that was the intention, but that's how I saw it.) Anyway, we get to meet her and the sister, and then Xerxes gets up from the fallen tree, sees the GF, and immediately is convinced that SHE is THE ONE FOR HIM, and next thing you know we have a triangle and Xerxes (he his the king, after all) uses his absolute authority to banish his brother Mr. Niceguy so he can have GF to himself.

Sister of GF is all for helping Xerxes get his hands on GF, because Sister wants Niceguy. Then there is Jilted Lover, the mezzo, whom Xerxes neglected to pursue his botanical interests. Jilted shows up bearing gasoline cans and dynamite, intent on being a suicide and blowing up Xerxes' palace in the process. Then there is a letter, from Niceguy to GF, but somehow it gets to Sister, who claims (a( it is is addressed to her, (b) and Mr. Niceguy no longer is in love with GF, so (c) GF had better move along and hitch up with Xerxes.

GF resolves to remain true to Mr. Niceguy, despite Xerxes' rubbing the rejection letter into her face, Xerxes can't begin to understand how she can stay true, so he resolves to kill his brother to remove he last reason GF has for remaining true to him.

One more figure to round things out, the father of GF and Sister, a one-armed general, apparently the commander of Xerxes forces. When we first see him he stands tall and straight, he is just missing the one arm.. Later he has a crutch , which he uses as he joins the dancers , who are all dressed in desert camouflage outfits. Still later he has an eyepatch. In the final scene he is confined to a wheelchair.

Xerxes at various times shows up in a sports car, a tank, an airplane, (He throws bombs out of his plane; as they hit the ground, flashes and smoke erupt on stage, "killing" the soldier-dancers below.) and a battleship. There is a shark that swallows Mr. Chunky and drags him beneath the waves. (Chunky later emerges from the water wearing snorkel gear and fins.) And there are about forty gaudy plastic carnival rabbit figures, each about 2' tall, that are Xerxes' attempts to win the favors of GF, who will have none of them, and who enlists her friends to pile them into shopping carts and take them to the ocean and throw them away.

It is all very busy, not necessarily coherent, at least not that I could figure out, but then I don't know the text well enough to comment with any authority. Nevertheless, up until the last scene I was engaged, engrossed, absorbed. Several of the arias were quite well done. The countertenor (Mr Niceguy = Birta Gabor ) was especially good, with one long slow aria of despair and desperation that was quite affecting, and one of anger and revenge that blazed with brilliance.

Then there was the finale.

Now I understand a bit better why there was a deus ex machina in ancient comedy. There is none in Xerxes, but in this performance, as the chorus begain to sing of calm and reason and order being restored and everything being put into its proper place, a subtle rain of glittering flakes started to fall on the singers. What had been intellectual and aesthetic for me suddenly turned emotional. I was transformed for a moment, moved to a different place.

Of course it was a trick, stagecraft, calculation, and all that. But if all I had seen was the finale, I would not have had the same reaction. It is because I had "worked through" the opera, had gone on the journey with the singers and the orchestra and the dancers, that it had the effect on me.

Last night I did a Google search to see if I could find any kind of review of this production. Nothing in English. Nothing from any Hungarian newspapers. I did find a personal blog written in Hungarian, and I used the Google translation tool to see what was being said. In about two pages of comment the writer said that the production made no sense visually (I am not sure I agree, there are things that I found quite appropriate), but that the music was great.

I agree the music was great. I even did something I have never done before. I found the email address of the countertenor (contact@mrniceguy.hu) and actually sent him a fan letter. My very first.

Vienna. DAYS 1 and 2

DAY 1

Ok

You cant get there from here

And

Life is like a box of chocolates (TY forrest gump)

So no, you cannot buy a train ticket from Tata to Vienna

First you must go to Gyor or Tatabanya

Then you leave your train and go to the INTERNATIONAL ticket office

(which we do not have in Tata)

And buy your ticket there

Never mind that the train to gyor continues on to Vienna after only a five minute stop

And you don’t have time to buy a ticket and get back on the same train

And will have to wait an hour or two

And no you cant buy international tickets on the web

Has to be done in person

(Or I guess thru a travel agency)

So WTH

I am on vacation

don’t have to be anywhere really

Well

I told the guy in Vienna I would arrive around noon

And it is 2 and I am still in gyor

About 90 min from Vienna

But WTH

And the train takes me to Vienna

I arrive at the Suedbahnhof,

Not the Westbahnhof

So have to take streetcar to the Wbhf

I find Mariahilferstrasse

but I don’t find Millergasse

Like it was on the map on the internet

(stupid printer failed me at home, could not bring documents with me

Just my handwritten notes)

And finally ask a couple out for a stroll

Oh I went the wrong way on Mariahilferstrasse

Back he way I came

ok yes, now I am ok

Here is Millergasse

Yes here is Nr. 32

Here is bell for suite #10

B u tttttttttttttt…..

Strange name on door.. Hofer,, Nor Erzmann

And…

No one answers

P U N T go to KFC around the corner on main drag

No wireless

Go to McDonalds across the street

Yes wireless

Send message to guy I’m supposed to be renting room from

I AM HERE WHERE ARE YOU

Cool heels wait go back and ring doorbell

Still no answer

Ok now what

Go to Westbahnhof find info office

Ask Say, any recommendations on an inexpensive place to stay

--Well, there’s this place about 8 blocks away

And I go there

And by golly I get a room for the night

32 euro $43

And it works fine

Very GERMAN tile floor and walls

About 7’ x 12 tile floors and a sink

Power outlet over sink

So I can plug in my CPAP and recharge the PC

I shower, take a brief nap, and then around 7 pm I head out

On foot, waking toward the inner city

Stop at an internet café.. Check stuff..

Not much, keep going

Reach the museum area.. Check out opening time prices .. So on

Keep walking

And now twilight is setting in

And the buildings are starting to glow in the dusk

And gosh they are just magically beautiful

So grand so serene,

And they have bin cleaned up a lot since I last saw them

over 40 years go

What I remember from then was dirt grey grime dark black

And now it is white cream clean golden, whatever it is, it sparkles

LITERALLY

Because not only are they cleaned up, they have had new exterior lighting installed

And now the buildings are not only glowing from the twilight

With the sky deep blue around them

They are glinting from the spotlights

And off in the distance the city hall

Looks like it stepped right out of a disney animation

It is a real Kincaide City

(Or however he spells it)

Not one of his fakeries

This thing just won’t stop

Wedding cake architecture, but far from Stalinist

Late 19th century Hapsburgian

Then suddenly I get really tired

I HAVE to crash

And it is starting to rain

But where is the god dam metro stop

Ah here is the streetcar stop with a map.. Ok yes I see here is the National Theater.. Yes

And then behind it and over two streets.. Ok Herrenstrasse and then the Metro

Ok

But of course the streets change names once you are on them and I get confused

So I finally head toward some traffic.. Ah there is a station

And I buy a 24HR ticket, which I plan to use all the next day

(and actually do, but that is for a later posting)

A N Y W A Y…. I take the metro back to the Westbahnhof

Go into the 5am-12PM grocery store, and buy

a beer and a bar of chocolate, an apple, two bananas

Take them back to my hotel room

(or cubbyhole)

And 20 minutes later I start to feel my legs cramp up from all the walking.

But I am drifting off to sleep.. Thing will just have to work themselves out over night.

………………………………......................................

DAY 2

============

so i get up at 7 and have breakfast. just rolls and marmelade, and coffee with warm milk. it was tasty, and the coffee was good (maybe it was just the warm milk), but it wasnt really enough. So I headed out not too late after 8 am, intending to use well the 24 hour ticket i had bought the previous evening. Off I head to the city center, figuring to emerge from the metro around the Stephansplatz, where I recall the big cathedral was located. Well I do emerge, and there the place is, pretty big building, i would put it a bit larger than the college church, and of course it dwarfs anything around it, and there are people streaming inside, so i figure why not, and almost as soon as i enter the doors the bells start to bong, and these are no chinky little clinkers, let me tell you, these are big boomers, and they keep right on booming and i look at my watch and it is 8: 55, so mass must be starting at 9, and I am puzzled because there is a front section roped off, but it is just ordinary folk up there, families and kids and what have you, not like a VIP section, but i am not going to crash the party without knowing what the party is, so i get a seat kind of close and look at the program, 5th sunday after Easter, routine stuff, and then there are all these flashbulbs going off and i am a bit ticked at the gall of people to be taking photos during the service, but there is this bustling and moving around by people, then there is a cling cling of a small bell and people start to stand up and boy does that organ really fill the place up, huge big full throat of a prelude, sort of french like, not bach or anything, and i can tell he (organists tend to be male) is just vamping it up big and then people are looking back toward the entrance, and no i don´t do things like that i keep looking straight ahead, and in a couple of minutes the procession has reached me, the processional cross, the paschal candle, altar boys, then a whole slew of 8-10 year olds, the boys wearing white shirts and ties, the girls in white dresses with little flower coronets and i say to myself, oh, ok, this is a first communion sunday, and so it was, with all the hymns (except for the last one) being contemporary guitar sing-along stuff, with the words changed to make things rhyme...
glory to god (clap clap)
glory to you (clap clap)
when i am sad (clap clap)
you know what to do .. well, not THAT bad but you get the idea
AAAAAAAANYWAY.......
the nice thing was that i could understand everything
even knew some of the stuff by heart
(including the lyrics of the last hymn, which i remembered from attending church in Germany
back in the 70s)
and could understand every word of the prayers
the sermon
the announcements
what a welcome change from hungary

for a big central cathedral with cardinal and all that this was a remarkably informal friendly service with lots of emphasis on family and kids

well of course it WAS first communion
but even then

little touches i remember..... the cathedral has a conrol booth for video and lighting and sound
very neatly set into an alcove off to the side, up about 18 feet

large monitors show the main altar for those who are seated behind pillars

gothic church, with incongruous baroque altars and paintings scattered around
but hey, their cathedral, they get to choose the furniture

just bread for communion, but at least this is not stick it on your tongue country


well that takes me up to about 11 am. the rest of the day is travel around on metro and streetcar and just soak it in.. off to the other side of the danube where the industrial complex is building sleek new skyscrapers and hotels and conference centers and tech palaces

and thru the residential areas
and as i people watch i see how international this town is
only bout 3-40% speaking german
the rest-- czech, russian, turkish, farsi, who knows what....

in industry city was another church, very modern, i saw several families coming out after mass who seemed to be east indian, i go inside look around, and see that about 30% of the masses scheduled are in English.

I continue my streetcar wanderings, then decide to switch to the metro and take it out to the end station. After a few stops it comes out from the tunnels and runs along an elevated section, which looks like it dates from the late `19th century. Then suddenly we are at a modern station with porthole windows, and i see outside them something that HAS to be HUNDERTWASSER, i mean, nobody else does stuff like this>

But the metro is moving, so i go to the next station, turn around, go back and then go explore. What IS this place ?

Fernwa"rme... Distance Heating.. Some kind of heating plant, which then transfers the heat to buildings/apartment blocks. Hmm. Like the steam tunnels in downtown St. Louis. OK, I understand that.

So it is this combination of whimsical and catchy with serious industrial, i guess. Whatever it is, it is neat. And unmistakably Hundertwasser.

So I continue my stroll. At the Stadtpark I see some beautiful chestnuts in bloom, people just relaxing and enjoying the day.

Eventually i tire out and head back toward the Westbahnhof, this time using the metro. I stop at the McDonalds and check email, and find to my consternation that the guy who was going to rent me a room has responded, but it is too late, i have already booked my room at the pension for 3 nights. So I send a message about later in the week, if that is possible.

Back for a brief nap a the hotel room, then I head out again just to explore, didn't really do that much, went back and looked at the lights and the traffic and the buildings and all, got turned around a couple of times, bought gyro to go, which comes in a box like chinese food, has rice, the gyro meat, onions and lettuce and yoghurt with herbs. Wash it down with a can of beer, I am fine. I am tired. My 24 hr transport card expires at 9:21, it is now 8:50, i make it back to my station at about 9:10, think ... well, i could ride another stop and walk back, no, stupid, i'm tired, i want to go to sleep, and I do. Deeply.