Requiem æternam dona ei, Domi

We haven't exactly been the best about updating this page (for many years). But we must return this year. Vera has left us, and we must share our memories with you.

Vera, Zia's mom, was first and foremost a chef. She had no special training, but I really don't care. She was a chef. Self trained, but the absolute best. She would read recipes for fun, and then as she copied them into her journal, improve them. She made some of the best meals I ever enjoyed, and if you never had the chance to enjoy her cooking I pity you.

Her training was as a seamstress. My best story around this was showing up one year with a sport coat with sleeves that were a little too long. You or I, to fix this, would roll the sleeves up and tack them in place. She, more correctly, removed the sleeves completely from the shoulder, shortened them on that end, and them sewed them back in place. All in less than an evening. Truly the best in tailoring. 

Most of the trips we took out of Keszthely were planned by her. She loved to explore, and took us on many journeys over the years. I saw the Croatian coast, Vienna, Venice (on my bucket list for decades), Graz, Salzburg, and most of Hungary at her instigation, and for which I am forever greatful.

Vera was the family peacemaker - forever trying to bring folks together.

She loved live music and a party, and was more than willing to stay up all night to enjoy one.

Vera was the absolute best of humanity. Please keep her in your thoughts the next few days as we lay her to rest in the family cript in Mali Idos.

June 23, 2017

Once again, it’s time to jump on a plane to the old country.

This year I’m flying Sun Country airlines (which Mr. Cynic started referring to as “Sun Catastrophe Airlines” the minute he discovered the name). It is a newer and smaller company trying to be “hip,” with “humorous” taped messages for things like preflight.  It also follows the new trend of charging for everything.  That said: the flight crew was great, and they have the European style seats with a little extra room for bags. I’d fly them again – making sure to grab a sandwich at the airport.

The obligatory "mountains from plane

window" with a few water/cleaning

fluid stains.

I’m a little disappointed in the PDX flight prep folks today. When Z booked my flights for this trip, she indulged me in the rare window seat (so I thought…she told me when I got to Keszthely that was the leg she couldn’t request seats for.  Thanks for the great seat, Sun Catastrophe folks!). Sadly, the cleaning water was so dirty I’m looking through a window with a monster fingerprint. Either that or it’s an “edgy detail” from Air Catastrophe. Either way, taking photos on this beautiful day is impossible. It’s kind of a shame – it’s beautiful today.

The problem with these long flights is that you can’t set up the computer rig to write music – not enough room. I’m always itchy to get started after a long year of concerting/parading/festivaling and the like, but I’ll have to wait for Palinkaland to get started. I’d probably write crap on a plane anyway.

The real problem, of course, is that you spend a year corrupting the leaders of tomorrow today, you are in a hurry to jump back into having a life with a happy wife again. Not that being sarcastic to high school students is bad, mind you. But I married her – not them. Aww heck, it’s just a 20-hour trip. That’s nothing.

****

My favorite of the new “hip” announcements: “The captain has turned on the seat belt sign. Federal regulations require that you return to your seat.” And then, with venom in her little synthetic voice, “So do it, please.” Sounds like they would have preferred “damn it!” in place of the “please,” but knew they probably couldn’t get away with it.

****

Another of those wonderful examples of Hungarian being a made-up language. Nyar is a poplar, as in the tree. Nyár is summer. Now come on, this isn’t fair!

****

The next leg is on Condor Air, the budget division of Lufthansa. Our crew is based in Germany on this flight, and have good “Klaus” accents. Very friendly, though.

Like everything else in the new discount air travel business, all you used to get for free you now pay for. Premium movies – 8 euro. Premium meals – 14 euro. You get the idea. I don’t care that much, as I would rather read than watch a movie on a midget screen with awful sound.

In this brave new world, dinner is a choice of pasta and…well that’s it. It comes with spicy tomato sauce and cheese. Along with it you get an American roll and cheese.  You also get two pieces of the thin German “sports” bread and butter. The veg is creamy coleslaw. For desert – chocolate pudding. 5,000,000 calories, top. The “premium” meals have an actual protein, a fruit cup, and the bread and accompaniments. Probably not that much healthier, but probably less of a gut bomb. 4 months of dieting blown in one “meal.”

One of the great challenges of international air travel is sleeping in the little seat they give you. You envy the little kids their tiny bodies that can stretch out flat. Adults must get more creative. Do you use the table in front of you and double yourself over? Try to use the dread “sleep doughnut” and injure your neck for weeks? Are you one of the types that finds new and creative ways to use your chair? No kidding, I saw someone sitting upside down once, snoring away.

Of course this swell blanket provided by

Condor made for a swell sleeping

environment!

This last method was my choice for this trip. Not the upside-down thing – okay, I admit to doing that when I younger – but the “creative sitting” model. My choice for this trip involved scrunching down on my left side while simultaneously hooking my legs around the outside of the seat in the isle. I didn’t hear crashing trays or anything, and I actually got about 3 to 4 hours of reasonably good sleep. Could be a new winner!

Breakfast on Condor is a continental plate of cantaloupe and pineapple, with a tired looking piece of ham and more cheese – they must own stock or something – and a roll with butter and jam. As this came with an acceptable cup of coffee, I was not forced to kill anyone (kidding, just kidding. Or am I?).

****

My last leg is on Lufthansa – assuming I can find it. I’m here 3 hours before my inter-EU flight, which means that info will be posted for at least an hour. After running no less than 12.4 miles (yes, I’m sure, Frankfurt is a big airport) to get to the gate on my boarding pass, and having had bad experiences with this before, I asked the nice ladies at the counter if this was the right gate.

You all know where this is going, right?

“No, this is gate 56. You need gate 8. It’s way back that way about 12 miles.”

Sigh.

So, I trudged back, bought a pretzel (Hey, I’m in Germany) and found the gate. Where I promptly curled up in the empty lounge on a bench and took a nap.

Most of you know by now that Hungarian is not my first language. But I’ve been around it enough now to know it when I hear it. Strangely, one of those things all that music experience has done for me is making easier to identify Italian than that wacky space-alien language. So upon waking and hearing lots of Italian and not so much Hungarian, I groggily perceived a problem. I know, nothing gets by me.

A check in at the ticket gate quickly rectified the problem. “You need to be at gate 56.” At least he was nice enough to call and double check.

June 28, 2015 – Kishegyes … “Requiescant in pace”

My Father-In-Law, Peter, had the soul of a gypsy.  Over the course of his life, he owned property in three different countries, Serbia, Germany and Hungary, and made a sincere effort to put his foot down on the soil of as many other places as he could.  I seriously doubt there is anyone on the planet that, within a few minutes of meeting him, wasn’t a friend for life regardless of whether they shared a language or not.

In the Catholic countries, the Name Day is almost more important than the birthday.  Flowers are exchanged and meals with friends and families are enjoyed.  Tomorrow is Saint Peter-Paul day.  It will also be the first that we will celebrate without Peter.  He succumbed to cancer and complications related to diabetes in October of last year.  This could quite possibly be one of the most difficult posts I have put up on this page – so bear with me if it doesn’t reach my usual level of self-disparagement.

Z will tell you that her most vivid memories revolve around food (about witch she is currently writing a cookbook/memoir – available soon on an Amazon Kindle near you!).  As you might have guessed, mine are more focused upon musical experiences.  I have many fabulous memories of Peter and music – he was a fellow enthusiast.  In honor of his Name Day, I would like to share a memory of my favorite two:

A couple of years back. Lojos-Baci was celebrating his 70^th birthday.  As is the case in these things around these parts, a band was hired.  In this case, the Primas of the ensemble was the first-call

violinist for the film studios in Budapest looking for traditional Roma style playing.  My family all know I play, and events like this are command performances anymore.  The expectation is that I will show with a horn and sit in with the band.  This group was so good, and the level of musicianship so overwhelming that I ended up playing with them for several hours.  Through it all, I could see Peter with the largest grin on his face, talking me up to his friends and relatives, dancing, and singing along with the tunes he knew.  He talked about that party wherever we went.  As much as I enjoyed playing (and it was really cool), it was clear that he had a way better time.

We go to the Wine Fest every year just before we leave – it is one of the last things we enjoy before getting on the plane home.  For the last five or six years, the last bit of entertainment has been the troop from the local community theatre performing the biggest tunes from operetta.  You may not be aware of this, but Hungary is a hot spot for the form, and although, sadly, not many of them get performed in the States, they are masterpieces of the form – every bit as funny and charming as Gilbert and Sullivan or Strauss.  Z and I always had a task that last evening – to get a table close enough that Peter could see the stage and costumes and all.  He would join us just before the performance began, and for the next two hours or so, he and Z would sing along at the top of their lungs with the crowd and the stage.  Mere words cannot capture the joy he was experiencing in that moment.

Peter has settled down now.  His ashes are in the family crypt in Kishegyes.  But as long as we hold onto his memory and tell his story, he still will be a gypsy in the world. 

If you think about it, please throw a buck or two at the Cancer Society in his name when you next get a chance - they do good work over there.

Because I hate ending this post on words – here is a medley of the operetta tunes as performed by a friendly accordion player at the wine fest last week  (because Blogger is stupid that way, you'll have to go over to YouTube).  Peter was, I’m sure, singing along.

YouTube Video of our Accordion Friend

6/19/2015 - Keszthely

Dave enjoys a Jetlag Recovery Wine
at the Downtown Fest in Kesztheky.

Today is a jet-lag recovery day.  I don’t know how you do it, but I do it by driving the Mighty Opel so the ladies can go shopping.  This is followed by one of Vera’s swell meals, a nap, a little blogging, and a trip to the Downtown Keszthely Wine Fest.  This is not to be confused with the Keszthely-Days Wine Fest, or the Keszthely Beach Wine Fest – both of which come later.



Z enjoys a Chardonnay at the Keszthely Fest

Lake Balaton is one of the major wine regions in Hungary.  Rather than producing Tokai or Bull’s Blood, they produce the more traditional Pinot, “Shiraz,” Cabernet, and especially Chardonnay.  We took a leisurely walk downtown and enjoyed several of the really excellent jazz combos performing in the Centrum, followed by some excellent wine produced by our friend Gabor at the Bezerics vineyard.  Z enjoyed a Chardonnay – oaky with a nice fruit flavor, and I had the Shiraz – again a nice balance of oak with the grapes, but very light for a dark red wine.  Most Hungarian wines would fit into the “light” description.  A heavy red, like an Oregon Pinot would be too much for the warmer climates that you get in this region.



Everything is better on a
stick.  That would include
the fish roasted by these folks
over hot coals at the Keszthely
Wine Fest!

As alluded to above, this wine fest is a traveling road show.  There is a fest every weekend throughout the summer somewhere on the north end of Balaton.  The vineyards all have very nice “Food Cart” style trucks, which they move from festival to festival throughout the summer.  If you like to sample wine, this is a great way to make yourself aquatinted with several different local wines – while enjoying some great traditional local food and some really quite excellent music.  The musical theme of this fest is traditionally jazz combos, but the others have large selections of classical and folk music.

Which would be another travel tip – look for the local festivals.  I’ve enjoyed wine and music around the lake now, as well as local beer fests in Germany.  I’ve enjoyed great local food and alcohol.  I’ve heard great local pop bands like the Cimbaliband from Budapest, great classical music from the likes of the principal brass quintet of the Budapest Philharmonic, traditional gypsy bands, and Feurerwehr Bands (“Firehouse band” – or the German Community Band.  They rehearse in their local Firehouse, hence…).  This is a great way to “live like the locals,” and an opportunity to enjoy the local food and culture.  Seeking them out will reward tour efforts.  
 

June 17, 2015 PDX-MSP-CDG-Bud

 
Off again on another adventure.  This year we are forgoing our Canadian friends (eh?) in lieu of Air France (Hah Hah), so I will get to see Paris finally – for 1 hour and 50 minutes!

The obligatory PDX Foot Photo on the new carpet.
Not quite the same, but unique none the less.
What do you think?

Air France (Har Har? – I’ll figure out how to spell it later.  For now, just know that you pronounce it as snarkily as possible) partners with Delta in the US.  Delta has an unsavory reputation with musicians, as is evidenced by the many horror stories in the International Musician (the union publication of us musician types).  I’ll be good and reserve judgment.  Trumpet cases are pretty small.

We were picked up this morning by my Mom and Dad.  In what is surely an omen of things to come, traffic is a nightmare in Portland today because a truck full of empty wine bottles crashed on the I-5 Bridge.  That said, if it is an omen, I am not quite sure what to do with it.  Will we break a lot of bottles this year?  Will they only be empty bottles?  Will I forego beer for wine this trip?  Possible.

The obligatory PDX foot shot -
probably one of the last
on the old carpet.

All of this said, we made it across the bridge early enough for breakfast at the Cameo, easily breezed through customs and our security vetting (it is only a "security check” if you travel domestically) and into the waiting area like seasoned pros – which I suppose we are at this point.  I’m enjoying the lack of drama so far!

*****

In the “Karma punishes small sins immediately” department: I typed the above before leaving Portland.  So of course, we “enjoyed” an extra 1.5 hours sitting on the plane in Minneapolis while they “added more fuel” and then “fixed a technical difficulty.”  As we had a 1.5 hour layover in Paris, I wrote off my croissant and looked forward to my run through the airport.

*****

A quick conversation we had as we flew over Minneapolis:

Happy moments on the plane. 
This would be before the "meal" service

Z: “Is that a football stadium.  There’s a game going on.”

D: “No.  That’s a baseball stadium.”

Z: “What is the name of their team, the Vikings?”

D: “That would be the Twins – baseball, remember?”

My wife is a football fan, can you tell?

*****

This was our first flight on Air France, and all I can say is: “eh.”  The announcements about the fuel and difficulties are of the evasive sort that I expect from all airlines anymore.  But they get things going eventually and get you headed in the right direction.  On an international flight, the next thing they want to do is get you fed so they can get you to go to sleep and stop bothering them with requests. 

A travel tip that we have lived by for years: if you must eat airline food, develop a dietary restriction.  Be a vegan, only eat kosher, etc.  The food is freshly prepared, and generally shows a little more effort than the stuff they bring around.  That said: avoid the gluten-free one, it was awful.  You can tell by this that our standards for inflight meals is pretty rock-bottom, but even by this standard Air-France found a way to hit a new low.  Look, I don’t expect a gourmet meal, but at least put a modicum of effort into it.  This is not met by serving me a meal of tortellini and cheese (mac and cheese), a apple sauce cup, a slice of Tillamook Monterey Jack Cheese, a dead roll with butter, and, in an attempt to be futzy, some fresh melon.  In short, the lunch I serve my grandkids.  Breakfast was not much better.  But with a 24 hour day ahead, and an uncertain future ahead on connecting flights, you shudder and attempt to get it down.

Don’t touch your meal on an Air France flight if you would like to have a beverage.  If they look at your tray and see the food gone, they won’t even acknowledge your presence. The bring the “special meals” out before they bring the cattle car around, and so we ate them, as we always do, while they were hot.   It was pretty humorous, then, when the gentleman flight attendant started to ask what we wanted, looked at our tray and saw the completed meals, and briskly turned around.  The “no drinks for you” message received loud and clear.

*****

I have never been to France before.  When you have a short period of time to experience a culture, you have to boil it all down to one thing.  I realize that this is stereotyping, but until I get a chance to visit with more time to look around, it is all I often have time for.  The trick is usually to have a quick culinary experience with something they are noted for.  If I am passing through Germany and only have a few moments, show me where to get a beer.  They do it better than the rest.  One day in Italy – show me to a pizza stand.  Z is still trying to find the cheese-steak sandwich shop in the Philadelphia airport.  I knew we wouldn’t have very much time, and so decided that a croissant would have to stand in for the Paris experience.  I figured this went out the window with the late start.

The Palinka bottle at the
end of the journey!

We touched down at Charles De Gaulle Airport with 50 minutes to spare to make our connecting flight to Budapest.  After taxiing around for 25 minutes and the usual cattle-car deplaning procedure, we had about 15 minutes to make our next flight.  Z and I have a deal that we made several years ago that we do not run through airports anymore.  You almost never make you flight, and all you get out of the experience is sweaty clothes that you get to enjoy through your next flight.  But the flight attendant convinced us that our next flight left just around the corner, so we decided to try for it.  Somewhere in our mad dash down the never ending hallway I think we both realized that there wasn’t a chance in heck of making it, but once started you have to see it through.  It won’t surprise you then to hear that we ran down the hall, cleared passport control, and arrived at our gate – just in time to watch them close the door and tell us we could not board the flight.

For what it’s worth – after waiting in line for an hour to get rebooked, and settling down to rest for a sec, we discovered an e-mail from Air France that they apologized for the delay, and had rebooked us already.  We could have ditched the line and picked them up at the gate.  Oh well…

And the croissant?  They were sold out.  We settled for a baguette.  It was pretty swell.

Remind me never to joke about road issues again!

June 26 – July 2, 2014, Keszthely and

I see it is not just Vancouver where the auto drivers are homicidal maniacs around bicycle riders.  In the parking lot in front of Vonyarcvashegy (or “Vaya Con Dios” if your Hungarian is as lame as mine) I was almost run down four times in today’s outing.  That doesn’t count the pedestrians who ran in front of me and my fellow bike riders who tried to blow me off the path.  It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here folks, and you can’t afford to be timid.

You have to be careful riding or walking on the bike paths in Hungary.  It is legal here for “mopeds” to ride on the path.  Of course, some of these “mopeds” have 500 c.c. engines and the name “Harley Davidson” in large friendly letters on the side.

*****



It's America Month at Aldi!

It is “America” month at the local Aldi store – the sales flyer came today.  This document says that interested Hungarian shoppers may delight in American delicacies like Peanut Butter (smooth and crunchy), frozen “Wraps” and “Chicken Nuggets,” Hamburger and Hot Dog Buns as well as Hot Dogs in a glass jar (You can’t buy white bread “buns” in Hungary at the store, but they have them at McDonald’s), “Frozen Milk Shakes,” and Miller Genuine Draft.  Seems about right to me – except they forgot the “Wings” and the “Pizza” (the latter readily available already).

 

*****

My chores as “chauffeur” this year frequently involve driving the ladies to the local “China” store to shop for “Shoes” and “Clothes.”  In the US, out clothes are made in China and sold to us through corporate middlemen.  In Hungary, they cut the middlemen by having the Chinese sell directly to you, saving you some sheckles.  As a result, the locals all wear the same badly fitting clothing with strange English sayings on the front.  Some examples:

·        U.S. Mershall (sic), Dept. 1976, Miamt, Flarida (sic) – I’m not sure “Miamt, Flarida” is, but I would be careful of the “Mershalls” there.

·        This is my Little Black T-Shirt – on a pink t-shirt

·        If You Want Me I Tell You My Phone Number – ‘nuff said

·        Some Things Never Happen – not a lie, I guess

·        Flick A Man Open of Lonesome – what was that?

·        Atlantic Sanfrancisco – it’s just north of Miamt Flarida, you can’t miss it

Of course, you can make anything more hip at the “China” store by adding the phrase “Of Athletics” or “University” to the front, so:

·        YUES New York of Athletics – Umm, seems a little blatant

·        University of Special Girls – somehow I don’t think I would enjoy this college

·        Athieltcdpt (sic) University Athletic Dept – Huh?

·        Meow University – I don’t think that means what you think it means, fellows

And then, by sheer number, they occasionally get it right:

·        Your Wings Already Exist, All You Have To Do Is Fly – Isn’t that sweet?

·        More Respect Less Attack – words to live by

*****

7/2/14 Pécs

It's "baby" season.
 Z has lots of pictures of blurs like this. 
I think it is supposed to be a stork,
but no promises

We went to the pretty city of Pécs today, but not to sight see.  Peter needs to have some important medical tests performed that they can only do there.  So, once again at the wheel of the Mighty Opel, off we go on the 2 and ½ journey.

I have a challenge for the guys on the BBC TV show “Top Gear.”  I double dog dare you to start at a town in Hungary that is on an Autobahn – say Györ (just because it is going to be the name of my heavy metal band someday).  You get two cars.  One of you only gets to travel on the most direct route to Pécs.  The other only gets to travel the Autobahn.  Who wins?

You need to have this factoid first.  Years ago when they started building Hungary’s modern road system, they decided that “all roads lead to Budapest.”  So to get from Gyor to Pécs, you have to travel several hundred miles out of your way to Budapest first.  And yet, you probably still will win.

The back roads we took from Keszthely to Pécs were easily the best ride I have been on since doing the roller coasters at Knotts Berry Farm.  At 100 KPH I only hit my head on the roof of the car once – and that was wearing a seat belt!

*****

It is what you think it is - yikes!

The hospital in Pécs is in the middle of one of the largest Soviet era “Complexes,” or perhaps “Projects,” I have seen in Europe.  This, of course, makes it a natural as a teaching hospital, and so it is.  While Peter gets his test (“Your radioactivity rate will be very high for the next two days.  Don’t be around any young children.”  Yikes!), he sent us away to have lunch with Angi (whom you met earlier in the blog).

Restaurants in “the Projects” are geared to the large student population nearby.  Prices are low and the quality is acceptable for the simple bar-type fare they sell.  My lunch started with a pretty good vegetarian mushroom soup (it could have used a little more pepper), followed by the Mains of a cabbage salad and a traditional Hungarian dish of, in this case grilled (it is more often breaded and fried), camembert cheese with rice and cranberry preserves.  Z had a traditional bean and sausage soup, followed by the cabbage salad and what she thought would be mac & cheese, but ended up being noodles with scrambled eggs.  She said the soup was good, but the noodle thing needed catchup or something.  Price for the meal was 1150 Ft – about five bucks.  I bet this is a happening place on Friday and Saturday night.

June 14 – 15, 2014, On the road again….

Here we are again, at Portland International Airport, waiting for our flight to Vienna, via Vancouver B.C (eh?) and Munich.  I put that “International” part in there because I think we are this week.  With Portland, you can never be quite sure from week to week.  The flights will total 18 hours of flying and layover time.  This is to be followed by a two plus hour drive to beautiful Keszthely.  Strangely, we are looking forward to this and can’t wait to get started.

Dave and Zia always look
 happy going on vacation!

As usual, we met a familiar face to hang out with while waiting for our flight at PDX.  It has become so much of a tradition now that we would be disappointed were it not to happen.  This year, we found Hannah M., the Columbia River High School Drum Major, who was on her way to Berkeley, CA for a conference.  We had time for a nice chat before she had to dash off for her flight.

*****

Dear Laurelwood Brewing Company,

A $3.50 bottle of Laurelwood Brewing
Company water.  Times must be
 tight in the brewery business.

Thank you for selling mineral water at the airport.  We really enjoy it, so it is appreciated that you carry it for us.  A couple of things, though:

1.      Seeing as we have all just cleared security, and the requisite emptying of our pockets of everything, including bottle key rings with bottle openers on them, don’t you think it would be a good idea to have twist top bottles?

2.      If not, don’t you think it might be potentially useful if the clerk had a bottle opener at the cash register?

3.      If not, don’t you think it might be useful to tell said cashier where to find one, so that he doesn’t have to spend five minutes looking for one?

And while we’re on the subject –

4.      Don’t you think $3.50 is a little steep for 16 ounces of soda water that can be bought at my local Safeway for less than a buck?

Thanks awfully,

Z tells me that taking pictures of
 your feet at the airport is a thing. 
OK, so here....

Which, of course, brings me to my annual rant.  I’ve been to the Laurelwood Pub on Sandy Boulevard in Portland.  I can guarantee you that they don’t charge $3.50 for a pint of club soda there.  So why the price gouging because we are captives at the airport.  It doesn’t encourage me to visit their restaurant.  I like their beer, but I like lots of beer in Beervana.  It becomes pretty easy to make other choices.  So why do they do it?  Why do they dis the very customer base that they are trying to build?  My thoughts, because they can.

I have written my congress person about this and received no response.  Maybe if you join me in this, we can see a change?

*****

Longtime readers of our blog know that I am a big fan of Airplane TV on international flights.  I love the adventure of seeing how far we have traveled, and the esoteric and sometimes strange names people give their hamlets.  My favorite was always Godthåb, Greenland, which the locals call “Nuuk.”  I became so fascinated by this place that I’ve even looked it up on Google Earth and researched it online.  It’s the capital, you know, and the largest city in Greenland.  And it looks about like you would expect, if your expectation is that it would look about like frontier Alaska. 

The Airplane TV folks were pretty fascinated with the place, too.  It showed up on almost every map except the really close detailed one – and most of those on the way to Europe.  Of course, that was the old Airplane TV.  Lufthansa has a new version of Airplane TV, with 3D views of the plane, genuine simulated views from the cockpit, this really weird thing where you fly into the plane from billions of miles out in space.  They have pretty much done away with the “town view” map except for a little bit when you are leaving and just before you land.

And evidently the good folks of the Visitors and Information Bureau of Godthåb haven’t paid their bills to the new Airplane TV people.  Sadly, I didn’t see them come up even once.

*****

We were entertained on the Munich-Vienna leg of our journey by two good-natured but slightly dense Cal Poly students hitting on a couple of stewardesses that were deadheading it to their digs in Vienna after having worked our Vancouver flight.  We learned from this male brain trust, in no particular order:

·        That Lufthansa stewardesses get paid by the unit for their trips (although the stewardess told him this first thing in their conversation, it took him 5 minutes to put together that they got paid by the unit).

·        That, although he was going to start student teaching in the fall, he had “really no clue” what it entailed (ummm, maybe teaching?)

·        That Cal Poly means, ummm Cal Poly (that would be “California Polytechnic”)

·        A long involved conversation in which he assumed that she was Catholic, although she repeatedly told him she was not

·        That Austria looks nothing like America (well, probably not California – and as we all know, America is California)

·        Upon discovering that she had trained to be a professional opera singer: “we don’t have that in the U.S.”  (I’ll remember to tell that to my friends in the Eugene Opera)

·        The “like” tax would, like, have run him, like, thousands of, like, dollars, like.

·        A long involved conversation about native foods of Austria, schnitzel, palatschinken (crepes), sausages, Kaiserschmarn and the like, and ending with the brain trust asking, “Do you eat as much sauerkraut as the Germans do?” (I hate to break it to you, friend, but the Germans don’t eat that much of it either.  And you should have listened when she tried to explain the Kaiserschmarn, it’s pretty tasty – crepes torn up with raisin-y goodness on top)

To make it through the program at Cal Poly they likely are very book-smart.  But they are pretty naive at the whole life thing.  It’s probably a good thing they are getting out and seeing the world a bit.

And strangely, neither one of them got a phone number.

*****

We were met at the Flughafen Wien by András and Péter and whisked away to Keszthely (if being “whisked away” involves a two and ½ hour car ride), where chilled pálinka and pogácsa awaited, followed by dinner (roasted duck with stuffing, fried squash and roasted sweet potato) and a flat place where we could put our feet up and call it a day.  A happy place, indeed!

July 10-12, 2013 Croatia and Venice!

July 10-12, 2013 Croatia and Venice!

Dave and Zia in Opatija - taking a selfie
with a real camera is a little complicated!

A four hour drive took Vera, Z and myself to the Croatian coast and the little berg of Opatija – a pretty little casino town on the Adriatic Sea.  Although I guess they are all pretty little casino towns on the Adriatic.  We ambled about the waterfront for a bit and watched the increasingly ominous black clouds move in.  About the time the lightning strike hit the bay just off the shore with instantaneous thunder, there was a mass exodus off of the beach – including us!

We hit a machine to get some Kunas, or as the smart-alecky American quickly retitled them, Kahunahs, and then stopped and enjoyed an espresso at the Café Bar of the Bellevue Optija and a really great vegetable quesadilla at the walk up stand down the street.  Back into the car, we left with the rain and jumped over the mountains.

*****

I am startled of course, but no longer surprised, that I am alive to write this rant.  In the course of our journey today I have had near misses with a bus, a couple of trucks, many cars, brain-trust motorcycle riders, and even a girl on roller blades while walking down the street in Opatija.  At one point, nearing a stop light on a corner, and following a large truck, I was passed on the left by a Darwin-Award winner, who then raced to the trucks right to get to the intersection first, narrowly missing death and dismemberment from the truck driver, who evidently has very good breaks.  Of course then missing the short green light while he patted himself on the back for his exploits probably didn’t win him any friends either.

And I thought Serbia was bad!

*****

We traveled over the mountains and through more tunnels than I have ever seen in my life.  The best was the magic three-mile long tunnel with rain on one side and sun on the other!  Back to nice weather again, we dodged the traffic back down to the coast.

Old Town in Poreč at night

We ended our day in picturesque Poreč.  I’m pretty sure that I have seen this façade in plenty of Hollywood movies.  Either that or it looks just like plenty of façades in Hollywood movies.  For example, it’s not the old town at the end of the first Bourne flick, but it could be a body-double for it.

The old town area, as you would expect, is full of people, stores, people shopping in the stores, people, restaurants, people eating in the restaurants, and more people.  And this is a Wednesday.  I shudder to think about it on a weekend.  Taking a clue from our surroundings, we bought a couple postcards, found a place to eat, and then returned, exhausted, to our pension.

You can find an agency to rent an apartment in most European cities.  Ours is a one-bedroom with a small deck and a little kitchenette.  The small bedroom has a king bed and a rollaway shoehorned in it.  There is a small bathroom with a shower.  As we are only sleeping and eating here, it is perfect!

*****

7/11

A 5:30 a.m. wake-up was our fate this morning, as we needed to be at the port early enough to clear customs for our 8:00 hydrofoil to Venice.  It seems Venice is in a different country (go figure), and we have to get passport stamps and the all-important security vetting.  I had never been vetted before I went to Europe, now it happens all the time!  Of course, in the US you have “background checks,” but those aren’t as fancy.  Long story short, all this means that you need to arrive an hour early to catch your flight – errr, boat.

On Rialto Bridge
in pretty Venice

Once checked in and seated, they take you through your preflight – err, sail – in four languages, Croatian (authoritarian voice), British English (dour), Italian (sounding as if he seriously couldn't give a shit about your safety or anything else) and Russian (sounding as if it was recorded from the top of a deep well).  The preflight – err , sail – is just like the ones on the airplane, except that your seat, strangely, cannot be used as a flotation device.  We then hit our cruising speed of 35 knots, about 40.2772807 miles per hour (but who’s counting), and in a little over two hours we were there.

Venice has been on my travel bucket list ever since I started realizing that you could actually go visit these places 20 years ago.  The actual line item reads “Go to San Marco and play Gabrieli in the chapel.”  We should all have dreams, but odds of getting to play there were surely to be unrealized this trip.  That said, I greatly looked forward to scouting it out for my next trip with 11 brass-playing friends.

We cleared Italian customs and took a brisk 50 minute walk with our Tour Dude to San Marco Square.  Venice, as it turns out, is a maze – one we had a lot of fun exploring later.  I’m OK with a map and probably could have made it, but it was nice, and probably faster, to have a green umbrella to follow.  Thanks Tour Dude!

The Piazza San Marco was everything I expected – with the possible exception of how really very small it is.  It turns out movie camera make things look a lot bigger, who knew?  My favorite movie view of the square is from the Bruce Willis flick “Hudson Hawk,” but I’m sure you have your own, there being a million of them.  Z and Vera left to “explore” (i.e. “shop for shoes”), and I joined the line to check out the basilica.

OK Uncle Dave, why is Saint Marks on you bucket list?

Crossing San Marco
off of the bucket list!

Well my friends, a long time ago, in an empire far, far away, there was a period of music referred to in Dr. Bob’s Music History Class (and everywhere else for that matter) as the Renaissance.  The three guys who brought this musical period to its crowning glory all worked here.  The space had a lot to do with how they did their jobs as composers, and I looked forward to being inspired. 

The three guys, you ask?  Andrei Gabrieli, who invented stereo, and after him, his nephew Giovanni, who invented dynamics (he was the first guy to write it into a piece of music), who was followed by Claudio Monteverdi, who also wrote a pretty tune. 

Stereo, in this case meaning “antiphonal,” is the practice of two groups playing call-and-response across distances.  Having played this music in some frightfully large concert halls, I was always curious how they did it “back in the day.”  It turns out it probably wasn’t so difficult, as the platforms the musicians played from were not as far apart as I thought they were and certainly not as far apart as the way we perform the stuff now.  They were, however, far enough apart to give the sound some separation (stereo-effect). 

And this is why you go see the stuff where it happened.  It gives you some insight into how the composer thinks and works, especially in this case.  It would be a thrill to see it in person.

Tour books will tell you that you will stand in line for hours to get into San Marco, but it only took me about 10 minutes on the Thursday morning.  Be prepared to check your bag at the door.  Your clothing will be inspected before you are allowed to enter, and looking too “touristy” will get you spiked.  Bare shoulders are out.  Shorts that are excessively short also get you the boot.  In short, you are entering a church, show some respect, huh?

Surprisingly, some folks (Americans mostly) have a hard time with this, the two young women in line in front of me for example.  Two older ladies, who had just finished their tour, walked by and, upon seeing the bare shoulders of the young women, made a gift to them of the cloth they had brought to cover themselves with.  All the way to the front of the line, they were making it clear that they would not be wearing this over their shoulders, it was too hot, not attractive, etc, etc.  As I passed the women at the entrance, they were still arguing with the door guard about how they were not going to wear the unattractive cloth, and he was making it clear they weren't getting in without it.

My reasons for visiting St. Marks were primarily musical, so you can imagine how delighted, thrilled, overwhelmed and overcome I was to walk into the chapel to the sounds of a live choir singing Monteverdi.  I’m not sure where they were in the sanctuary, but they were very good – a few dropped notes in the chant between tunes being the only clue that it was not a recording.  Well, that and no obvious sound reinforcement equipment.  It was stunning.  It was beautiful.  The memory of it will haunt me for a long time.  Why aren't you out making these kinds of memories?

*****

After a tour of the beautiful cathedral and a visit to the gift shop to procure enough “educational material” to ensure my tax write-off of this trip, I made my way back outside to find Z and Vera.  Regrettably, they had gotten lost – easy to do in Venice.  There are signs painted on buildings all over everywhere.  The hard part is believing that this little passage between these two buildings is the correct path (and won’t lead you to the friendly neighborhood mugger).  You get better at finding your way around as the day progresses, and you finally get pretty good at it just about the time you leave.  With the help of some descriptions back and forth on the cell to each other and the map in my pack, 30 minutes later we were reunited.

We enjoyed lunch at a little café on a side street.  In Venice, you will pay an extra surcharge to sit down to eat.  Watch the menu fine print for this.  If you would like to save a buck, go to one of the many walk-up places that don’t charge the fee.

The whole crew - Z's the
one with the camera

On any given day in high season, Venice will have 100,000 tourists.  Between this, the flooding (remember kids, as our friends in congress will tell you, there is no such thing as global warming), and the extreme cost of everything, the locals are moving away in droves.  Our Tour Dude, who makes this trip all year around, told us that except for high season and Carnival, Venice is a ghost town/museum piece.  As hard as it is to get through the crowds, we could use a little of that today.

We had a beautiful day visiting a beautiful city.  I wish we had more time, but as Peter always tells me “if you see it all this trip, you have nothing to look forward to next trip.”  Although I get to cross Venice off my bucket list, I can hardly wait to return and see the many things I missed this trip.  But for us today, back to Poreč for people, dinner, shopping, and then to bed.

*****

7/12

Croatian Driving Rules:

Should you ever need to drive in Croatia here are the rules, and good luck to you:

1)      130 kph on the freeway unless otherwise marked – usually 110 kph

a.      This, of course, does not apply if you are from Zagreb, in which case you must drive as fast as you think you can control plus an extra 10 kph

2)      50 kph in town

a.      This of course does not apply if you are from Zagreb, in which case you are expected to nearly miss as many things as is humanly possible.  Records will be kept, and your license removed, for failure to do so.

3)      It really doesn't matter what is in front of you – go ahead and pass.  Blind corner, no biggie.  Big truck you can’t see around, who cares?  The other car from Zagreb barreling at you at 2000 kph will surely hit their breaks, right?  Likewise the car you are passing.  Especially when you are doing both at the same time.

4)      100 kph in tunnels, of which there are a lot in Croatia.

a.      Needless to say, Zagreb-ians traveling lass that 50,000 kph through a tunnel will be cited.

5)      If you have been on the road for an hour and have not faced death at least five times – not serious injury, the big sleep, you are not in Croatia, and certainly not in Zagreb.

I was getting excited when I heard in the original plans for this trip that I would get to drive in Italy.  Italian drivers have the reputation of being amongst the worst in the world and I was looking forward to seeing if my skills were ready for primetime.  As always, our trip followed “the Oregon Plan,” and hence our sea voyage rather than the drive.  All I can say for sure is that if Italian drivers are amongst the worst I really don’t need to see them anymore.  Their neighbors in Croatia are more than up for their title run.  Our one hour trek from Poreč to Opatija was full of moments that were a testament to my mad skills as a driver and the Opel’s great brakes – or blind luck as the case may be.  In any case, I’m good on the bad driver experience, and really don’t need to experience it again.

A special Darwin Award mention goes to the gentleman who passed us in a space with so little room that both the folks in the oncoming car and myself were forced to lock up the brakes to save his sorry rear end.  And then he did it again in the next “gap!”  Obviously life is cheap in Zagreb.

*****

The harbor in Opatija is a pretty place

Back in Opatija we allowed the nerves to calm with a swim in the Adriatic.  You can rent a beach chair with a ubiquitous orange, red and blue umbrella for 70 Kahunahs a day, about $13.00.  At this time of the year the Adriatic is like coldish bath water, but I am told it warms up.  We enjoyed a great swim until about 4:00 in the afternoon when Z stepped on a sea urchin.  She says they are painful, fyi.  After removing as many of the spines as we could, we called it a day and headed for home.