7/26 Munich

7/26

After a leisurely breakfast and a quick walk with Lola down to get pretzels, we left for Munich. Our intrepid band is joined today by our friend Chrystal and her husband Jared – great company and swell people. This drive is so much like driving to Mt. Angel it could make you homesick (if you weren’t excited about tasting the ingredients all put together). This is the Bavarian hop region, and there were row after row of Hallertauer and Saaz hops. The harvest looks pretty good this year.

We pulled into Munich around 1:30, and, after the quest to find a parking space, went to lunch – at the Hofbrauhaus. OK, I get that this is kind of a big tourist thing now, and the locals all go somewhere else, but it’s kind of like Disneyland for beer drinkers. If you do, you must.

It’s big and crowded and finding a table took time. Then we had to track down our Foam Dude and get our maβ (a maβ is a one liter beer stein). Then the party started. Look, I am a performer. I am fortunate enough to work in some pretty large venues and to see a lot of crowds. This place was like a bomb waiting for a match. You drop a band like, say, Z Musikmakers in here and we could have this place going absolutely bonkers in 5 seconds. People know what they want when they walk in the door, and if they don’t get it, they’ll make it themselves. Three different tables near us were singing German folksongs, accapella. There is a brass band in the middle of the place, with the greatest gig I have ever seen. They play one tune. Then wait 5 minutes or so, and then play another one. They are very good, and when they play there are people dancing in the aisles. But then, another 5 minutes? Come on folks, let’s do this. The best part, though, is the obligatory “ein prosit.” There have got to be hundreds of people in this place, and they are all singing, holding up steins as big as their heads and toasting each other.

Lunch was fabulous. I had a potato frittata thing that was great, and Z had a roasted pig on a spit thing with a huge salad that she said was fab. The service was a little erratic, but probably to be expected in a place this busy. The beer was great session stuff – why I could have had another couple of those steins. Ahh, but there is more beer to drink, so onward.

A short walk down the street took us to the Spatenhaus, the downtown pub for the Spaten and Franziscaner breweries. A short diversion… Bavaria is one of the greatest beer producing regions in the world, and Bavarians drink more, per capita, than anyone else. Every town has a little regional producer of something, and almost all of it is swell. Munich is home to the big breweries, and there are traditionally five. The oldest is Augustiner Brauerei, and then there are Hacker-Pschorr, Löwen-Bräu (that’s “Low-ven-broy” kids, not “Low-en-brow”), Paulaner Brauerei , and Spaten-Franziskaner-Bräu and then there is Staatliches Hofbräuhaus, which is a brew pub, but is trying hard to grow the empire, plus various other swell brew pubs.

As long as we are diverging – many of you, my friends, are like me, Hopheads. We like big beers full of those wonderful green flowers. 100 BU’s, oh, come one, bring it! The beers we are talking about here are more subtle than that. They are in balance, and not big in the Northwest sense, so you can sit around knocking them back all day in mugs the size of your head. That said, some of them have more of the little green flower, and those, of course, are my faves. For this reason, I was looking forward to trying Spaten on their own turf. They seem to be unafraid of hops.

A nice clean place with what looks to be a pretty good restaurant, we just settled in for beer this trip. Hoppy within the breed, pleasant – a nice session beer, much like the Hofbrau suds, but hoppier. We sat and enjoyed a beer and watched the protest gather in front of the restaurant. They didn’t like something in Iran, I gather.

We left Spaten to do a little shopping and check out the sights. We found the factory store for Manner Cookies, the greatest cookies on the planet, not that I am biased. We enjoyed the view of a couple more amazing churches, had a cup of Starbucks (supporting both my stock and my bladder at the same time, what a deal!), and endured a torrential downpour in the doorway of one of those amazing churches and then bought really, frightfully expensive umbrellas to make sure that the rain thing didn’t happen again.

When traveling, sometimes you get lucky. There is often a best way to see the sights – a correct order, if you will. We had just bought our umbrellas, and the clouds were beginning to thin a bit, and I heard the sound of the Glockenspiel. Munich is supposed to have a killer one of these, so I wandered down the street to investigate. I have been in Europe long enough to have seen some amazing churches and buildings, and like to think that I am somewhat immune. But, alas this is another one of those spots where words are going to fail me. As you enter Marienplatz, at least from the direction I did, you get an amazing view of an incredible church steeple. And then another one. And then another one. And then a remarkable statue, and they just keep piling this stuff on and on. I have never seen anything like it, it was beautiful. And then I turned around to see the Glockenspiel on the front of the Neues Rathaus (New City Hall). This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. I kind of stood there and walked around in circles with my face to the sky and tears running down my cheeks. You must go to this beautiful place. Don’t miss it. Really, you’ll be glad you listened to Uncle Dave. (The glockenspiel is kind of cool, too, but doesn’t have Christiana playing violin on it, so it’s my second favorite.)

We caught a few more sights and then moved onto the Augustiner pub downtown to try beer from the oldest brewery in Munich. Unfortunately, we got lost and had to settle for the pub next to the Hofbrau, rather than their old pub building. As my Father-In-Law says, “if you do it all on the first trip, you’ll have nothing left to do next time.” Augustiner is another great Bavarian session beer, not that I have had a bad one yet. Look, some of them have water that is a little soft, which doesn’t work for me (example, the dread Jelen Pivo – stay away), some of them could have more hops (most of the local stuff), but at least they are in balance with themselves, are tasty and refreshing, and are served in great big huge mugs. I’ve not had a bad one yet. But it’s like pumpkin pie, the worst slice you ever had wasn’t that much worse than the best one you’ve ever had. Augustiner is pretty good. I’ll drink it again.

7/19 Keszthely, Melk, Vilseck

7/19

We left Kezsthely this morning after breakfast, amid the usual tears. It is hard when your parents live in a country half way around the world to say good-bye. Z and her folks take it particularly hard this year.

We traveled across Hungary, stopping so that Greg could take a look at a German Tiger tank that they are giving rides in for a fee. I guess they are pretty rare, and were quite something in the war. Other than a half hearted attempt at the “City-Name-Game,” the rest of Hungary was uneventful.

We crossed the border into Austria. The alpine vistas are beautiful, rolling hills, small woods surrounded by green pastures, fields of corn, wheat and barley. Every so often there are cute little villages, each with its fortress or onion domed church. Probably the most famous of these (mostly due to its proximity to the freeway) is Melk. We stopped to stretch our legs.

This church is a huge presence on the side of the freeway. It is still a Benedictine Monastery, so parts are off limits. We choose to just walk the outside. There are many baroque paintings and statues to look at, and the view of the city and the church is amazing. This is probably why so many tour groups stop here (that, and the proximity to the freeway). Yet another reason not to take the tour and move on.

More hills and scenic views surround our journey. We turned and moved down into the flat lands, into Germany, and onto Vilseck without any further muss or fuss.

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Veldensteiner (www.veldensteiner.de), Neuhaus/Pegnitz Brewery

Nice foamy, white head, with a cloudy yellow beer below. A little bit of yeast, a lot of hops, a little bit of malt. A nicely balanced beer, but not too big, a swell session wheat, without really tasting like one. We had a Zwick’l Kellerbier from Bayreuth Brewery that was a lot like this, just a tiny bit darker.

7-13 and 14, Keszthely and the dentist (part 2)

7-13

Today is a red letter day. I get my teeth back! Z is spending the morning with her genius hairdresser lady. It is sunny. The mosquitos are in hiding. All is right in our world.

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So after all of the build up, I'm afraid getting the crown was anticlimactic. A quick check to make sure it fit, dry and swab the tooth it was covering, and glue the crown in. The whole thing took less than 20 minutes. Both visits and all the work, the new crown and all, cost less than 275 bucks, no insurance.

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7-14

It's getting hot (over 100 degrees), so it's a good time to hang by the lake. But first, or typical morning - breakfast, trumpet practice, a power walk, watching Z shop for shoes - then lunch.
We went down to the "public beach." It costs 900 forint (about 4 dollars, 50 cent), but gives you the run of the basic facilities in exchange. No paid bathrooms, a couple of water slides, deck chairs (if you get there early enough), a heated pool, various playground toys, and occasional special events. It is quite the zoo of humanity, and the people watching is choice.

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Forgive me while I rant...

So somebody please explain the shoe fetish thing to me. My wife, Z, who agonizes over spending two bucks for a loaf of good bread, turned loose in a shoe store becomes a lady on a mission. We cannot, under any circumstances, without exception, miss ANY opportunity to shop for shoes. We could see the exact same brand name store we just searched to death 15 miles ago, we could be passing a place we shopped for hours yesterday, and we MUST stop and shop. Because they may have something different - or something. I just don't get it. Now if it was something important like trumpets or sound equiptment, maybe...

7-12, Pécs

7-12

After a bumpy two-hour drive we reached Pécs and immedeatly headed for the market (Peter's favorite pastime). This one, however, is a big surprise, literaly. The thing is huge. In addition to all the usual stuff - antiques, clothing, kettles, cookware, etc., - they have cornered the market on underwear. Thong anyone?

We bought a small kettle to make vegetarian goulash in and a Kurtős cooker - a stick thing that is used to make Z's favorite dessert over here. And it even comes with a recipe! In essence, it is a large wooden cylinder on a big metal stick (that should be really easy to pack). You wrap a slightly sweet dough around the cylinder and then roll in sugar, cinamon, vanilla sugar, etc., and then toast over an open flame (or open heating element) until the dough is cooked through and the outside is toasty brown. They are pretty swell. Ask Z nice and maybe she'll make you one. She has the "thing" now!

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From the market we moved downtown. I'm really not quite sure what to make of it. On the one hand, there are these beautiful buildings everywhere. Just when you say "they'll never top THAT view" you turn the corner - and they do! The German name for Pécs is Funf Kirche or Five Churches. They are all here, along with mosques, an ornate City Hall, the Hungarina National Theater, street art, fountains... it's almost overwhelming. Very, very beautiful.
But on the other hand, occasionally you have to look and see where you are going. When you bring your eyes to street level, there is graffitti everywhere. While the city is free of garbage, it looks like it could use a good dusting. There are several public works projects going on, as Pécs won the right to be the European Union's "Cultural Centre" next year, hence all the construction. I'm sure it will look better next year. On the whole, right now looking up is better.

We had lunch at the István Pince Borozo, a Wine Keller down a side street. They have a small, simple menu for lunch. When you ask for it, the waitress takes it off the wall and brings it over to the table for your perusal. I had a nice veg plate, Z had a hearty bean soup. It was very good.

We walked up the pedestrian mall and enjoyed an espresso and slice of cake. Mine was a ginger cake with a chocolate - cherry topping that was more than a little fab. it is called goose foot... We enjoyed it on the deck, surrounded by swell views. I am getting hopelessly spoiled.

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We spent the afternoon as the guests of the Matisa Family, Angi, Laci-bacsi, Ocsi (Zoltan), Otti and her husband, and little tiny Vanda, who fed us - another lunch, hurray! Actually, this lunch is hitting me about the same time as the wonderful poppy seed bread from yesterday, so the bathroom and I were friends for about an hour or so. You know, these guys have a phone in their shower? Between visits to the plumbing, we had a nice, but short visit. I am looking forward to getting to spend more time with these wonderful and charming people on our next visit.

7-10 Keszthely

7-10

Today it rained buckets and buckets of rain. Z and I took a long walk and got chewed out for getting so wet. Felt nice, though.

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Dreher Black (Bock)
Really a doppelbock, it had a deep black color and a nice brown frothy head. The nose is carmel and a bit of alcohol. Lots of carmel malt in the front and a nice, chewy texture. There are some hops that hang on at the end for the smooth glide down the throat. Probably a 5.5%, maybe a little bigger. This is a surprisingly good Hungarian dark.

7-9, Hungarian Driving Rules, Eszterhazá, Eisenstadt, Széchény, and Franz Joseph Haydn

7-9

We are going to visit the summer digs of the Eszterhazy family today - patrons of one Franz Joseph "Papa" Haydn, the greatest composer of the classical period. More than Beethoven, you ask? Sorry, Beethoven is a Romantic. Better than Mozart, you ask? Why, yes. How many Trumpet Concertos did Mozart write, huh? In fact, Haydn said that his Trumpet Concerto was his "most perfect" concerto (in truth of advertising, the actual quote is "It is a shame that I have written my most perfect concerto for such an imperfect instrument." But let's not quibble).

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Hungarian Driving Rules

1) 50 KPH in the city, 90 KPH in the country.

2) You have to wait for the light to change before you can turn - then move!

3) You get a yellow light before the green light. This is so you can rev the engine and set up the kids in the next lane for the speed trap up ahead.

4) The trucks are really, really big - really. On the small, two lane back roads, they like to drive right down the middle. You would be best advised to get over. They win.

5) You will see all kinds of cartoon-like signs by the side of the road - numbers with red circles around them, empty yellow diamonds with red slashes through them, and, my personal favorite, a red bordered triangle with an exclamation point in it (what does it mean?). Feel free to ignore all of these signs, everyone else does.

A few words about passing...

Passing is the national sport in Hungary. Hungarians will pass you anywhere, anytime. Busy two lane street in a small town, you're toast. Blind corner at 90 KPH, look out - here I come. No passing stripe, not a problem.

A hypothetical situation: you are driving down a narrow two-lane street. There is barely enough room for two cars to squeek by each other in opposite directions. The car coming toward you has an obsticle in their lane that will necessitate the driver of that car merging into your lane. You will arrive at the obsticle at the same time. You can depend upon the fact that the other driver will not slow down, and will soon be driving right at you. In a game of Chicken the Hungarians win. They have more practice.

The lesson here, of course, is check your mirrors early and often - so you can live in constant fear of what you see there!

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We left the house early, which meant that we arrived at Eszterhazá an hour before they opened. This gave us time to relax at the Ettrem accross the street and enjoy an espresso and a sandwich, while admiring the ornate front gate. ( sandwich - thick creamy mushroom soup with big chunks of mushrooms on a baguette with cheese melted on top )

Once inside, we started with the tour. We are only able to take half of the tour today, as they are filming on the other side. Regrettably, this is the side with most of the Haydn exhibits in it.
So you are on a tour. It is of course in Hungarian, not your language. What does it look like? Like this...

Tour Dude: (in a total monotone) "Batabatabatabatabata..." (2 minutes and 12 seconds pass) "...batabatabata."

Not a problem, you have your trusty translator along, who will help you figure out what was just said and bring you right up to speed.

Z (translation): "car."

To be fair, she did buy me a nice book on Haydn at the bookstore. She said there was too much to translate. About half way through the tour I noticed a couple of folks referring to a piece of paper. This was the Italian translation of the Tour Dude speach. Turns out they had one in English, too. Oh well.

On the plus side, we got to hear a Haydn piece or two, snapped a couple (illegal) shots of some music and music stands, watched a weird movie about a fireworks presentation that made no sense until later, and kicked in a couple of Forint for the new Haydn memorial statue.

We then crossed the border into Austria and went to the Eszterhazy's home base in Eisenstadt. There was a mention or two of them in the two hours of exhibits we looked at, but it seems the good folks of Eisentadt have decided that there is more money in Haydn. And the best part is that the tour and exhibits are in English! No cars!

There are all kinds of cool things for the music guy here. There are original documents and manuscripts in Haydn's own hand, original documents from Mozart and Beethoven, too, and, for the trumpet player, some pictures and information of Johann Nepomuck Hummel. (As an aside, the way I see it, the Eszterhazy's were respnsible, at least througth patronage, for two of the three trumpet concertos in the standard rep. We owe them a big vote of thanks.) A well organized and presented tour - well worth the time. Oh, and the fireworks - the Eszterhazy's liked to put on big exhibitions for guests. Marie Antoinette (that one) got the biggest, and evidently what we were watching a recreation of at Eszterhazá.

They also have a pretty swell wine cellar here. The Eszterhazy's, like many of the nobility, were into lots of stuff. The wine cellars still produce several award-winning wines, that you can sample here or buy for later enjoyment.

We wandered downtown to explore, after our tour finished, and found a café for coffee and pastries on the central square. We had no more than sat down outside, under the umbrella, when we had the stereotypical Hollywood rain storm - you know, a clap of thunder and then rain that looks like someone turned on a shower directly above you. I didn't know those really existed. If you have been mocking them in the movies for years like I have, sorry, it's for real. The folks in the café abandoned us with our coffee and pastry.

We finished our castle tour with a looksie at the digs of Count Istvan Széchény. Of course, we had to find it first. We saw all kinds of back country roads before we realized we had the map upside down. After figuring that out, finding the castle was a cinch!

So Széchény, the man national hero Kossuth (and my Father-In-Law Peter) call "The Greatest Hungarian." He was responsible for the dredging of the Danube so that it was suitable for freighting. He paid for and built the first Chain Bridge in Budapest (it has been bombed a few times, but always rebuilt) and followed it up by building the tunnel at the end of it. His biggest claim to fame is as a champion of the Hungarian language. At a time when German and Latin were the offical languages of government, he had the courage to speak his native language in the Lower House, starting a language revolution. Paul Lendvai, in his book "The Hungarians" (page 191-205) discusses all of this much better than I do, if you are curious.

Anyway, the castle. Well, we couldn't see the inside because, you guessed it, they were making a movie. The outside was large. And white. (As they often are.)

7-6 Keszthely, the dentist, and more language issues

7-6

We started the day off, as we always do, with breakfast and the paper on the deck. The paper is the local rag, BORS. Compared to the other Hungarian language papers I have seen, it is only mildly pornographic. It does, however, have a resonably reliable weather forcast - 85 degrees and hot today. Sounds like a nice day to visit the dentist...

...who doesn't open until one. To stall, we wandered down to the Centrum for a cord to connect the camera to the computer. We forgot ours at home, and it seems, won't be able to get a replacement downtown. The nice guy at the computer store burnt us a disc of what we have, though.

After a quick lunch, and a thorough brushing (you do it too, come on, admit it), we made our way back to the dentist. There is good dentistry in Hungary, but it is all no-frills stuff. Z has filled my head with stories about lack of novocain and other fun things like that - just do the job and get out. To say that I am a bit apprehensive would be an understatement. Oh, and of course, we don!t share a language. Z, thoughtfully, has taught me the word "ouch" in Hungarian on the way over. Should you ever happen to need it, the word is "Faj" and pronounced "Fie."

We were admitted after a short break and the dentist had us in to explain the problem. I got to try out the chair and look at the tray of little sharp, pointy, whirly thingies that would soon be attacking my mouth. The dentist found it all to be no problem, and told us to come back that afternoon at 3:30. A same day appointment at the dentist? Boy, we really aren't in Kansas any more.

Z told me on the way home the first thing he said to the dental assistaint when I sat down in the chair was "hand me a diaper." It wasn't for concern about me completely loosing it. That's what they use for drool rags in Hungary - nice.

So, 3:30. There I am, sitting in the chair, agonizing over the novicain shots they kindly gave me, and the drilling starts. The tooth dust is everywhere, as it will do, and that sickening smell of ground tooth is in the air. At this point, when you are feeling most vulnerable, the dentist and aid, who, mind, have been nothing but cooly professional all day, exchange a quick sentence and begin cackling evilly over the top of me. This went on for about 10 minutes, with me having fantasies the whole time of all my teeth being ground to dust. Then came three attempts at getting an impression of my teeth - evidently the compound used wasn't setting correctly. Then he shoved some weird light device into my teeth, followed by muted cursing - of course raising my confidence level. After that we were allowed to leave. I don't think I ran.

Z filled me in afterward. The laughing had to do with the detist's daily trip to the beach to go swimming - the reason he doesn't open until after 1. The light thing is a color matching device for the enamel on my teeth so they can make a replacement the same color. The nurse evidently told him that he never can get that thing to work, and he should just use the color pallet-stick things, that he ended up using anyway. He told Z I don't get a temporary - I shouldn't need it. Oh, and the best part. I get to go back next week and have him set the crown - Joy!

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More language issues... How do you explain the difference between "brake light" and "breaking news?" Vera would like to know.

7-5 Kesthely

7-5

I haven't done many beer entries this trip, as we haven't had many new ones. You may, of course, assume that I am enjoying them, though. Several in fact. A new discovery this trip is Szalon White. It is a nice little amber to yellow colored beer with a bright white head that disappears quickly leaving a foamy ring of tiny bubbles around the glass that hang on for the whole thing. Faint hints of banannas in the nose, as expected in a wheat beer. It is pleasently citrusy, at least owing partially the the obligitory lemon. Some hops toward the end, but not out of balance with the malt. Not a big beer, but very refreshing on this hot day. It certainly is not a Fransiscaner or Erdinger, but not bad for Hunary.

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Vera, Z and I went shopping at the "Russian Market" this morning. The down economy has affected little road side markets like this. It is easily half as big as last year. The Indians are still here with their pan pipes, though.

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We are having a lot of fun with language this trip. I am becoming something of a trained monkey with my 16 or so words of Hungarian. This evening Z and Vera are reading an English language cookbook we brought - or rather Vera is, while they both disolve into histerics over her "phonetic" misreads. Slicing becomes "Schlitzing" (exposing vegetables to bad beer?), and whipping becomes wiping (not quite the same thing). But they certainly are enjoying themselves.

7-4, Kishyges, Kecskemet

7-4

And a Happy Fourth of July to you all! No fireworks for us this year. We did drive by a sunflower field this morning. Acres of sunflowers point right at us. I swear you have never seen yellows that bright before. I guess fireworks are where you look for them.

We leave Kishegyes today for Kesthely, via Keckesmet. Leaving here is something that I do with a bit of remorse. I love the sincerity and work ethic of these people. I admire the simplicity and serinity with which they live their lives. That said, I couldn't live here. I don't have the required skill set. It is a beautiful place though. I'm glad, as always, that Z shares it with me.

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I've had this recurring fantasy of a K-Ha-3 commercial. Beaming female model-type proudly displaying bottle. Voice over: "K-Ha-3. Now with three times the Ha!." Reality is, it would never work. They don't use voice overs in commercials in Serbia. Sad. I could have made a mint!

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The amusing part of driving in a foreign country is you get to see the new and amusing signs. This mornings entry: the tire stores in Serbia are called "Vulcanizer." It fills the head with wonderful visions of a big machine that turns you into Mr. Spock or something.

We also went by the Tuning Disco again. Just a reminder, kids. Tuning is not a village in China, but it is a Disco in Hungary. Make sure you use the little box to be safe...

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We flew through the Serbian border, but the crossing into Hungary is taking a little longer. You get to open both the trunk and the hood this time - if you are lucky. The lady in the car in front of us is having a hard time of it. I'm guessing she just had her nails done and it is hard to open those latches...

I am glad we are not on the other side. The Northern German provences just went on Summer Break and everyone is going to the Baltic. The line is really long. And that's right kids, that means the rest of Germany is still in school!

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Up to Keckesmet to see Kazi, Zsuzsa, Kis-Kazi and Claudia. I blew most of my travel budget in the Kodaly store, which, after three trips, was finally open. Between the music and the Traditional Hungarion Cowboy outfit, I dropped mare than I should have. But come on. How many people can say they have a Traditional Hungarin Cowboy outfit? Still need to get the hat, but Peter promises to pick one up for me at the market in the fall when they sell such things. I'll need to get the boots at home. Should make a nice school outfit one day!

Kis-Kazi and I lead everyone and their cars out to Zsuzsa and Kazi house - always an adventure in towns without street signs.

Conversation around the table is enthusiastic, as always. As always, Greg and I are expected to participate. As always, the Metaxa makes it possible to understand more Hungarian than you even thought you know! As is the beer...and the wine... (Dinner was a Catfish Paprikas with mushrooms and the traditional pasta with curds.)
I love these people more than all of Z's relatives that I have met so far. They are very good at making you feel comfortable, and keep you involved in things. It was a very enjoyable visit.

7-3 Kishyges and Dombos Fest

7-3

We had guests early this morning. The breakfast dishes were barely cleared when Pisti and Rozsa dropped by to say goodbye. The conversation is spirited. The weather is destroying the local wheat fields and the price is going up. If you can salvage what you have, you can make a killing, but few can. Dombos comes up in the conversation, and then other topics. Z has been leaving me hanging a lot this trip, leaving me free to watch the flies cavort about the table. The reality is that Z says she is having a harder time tracking conversations this trip than on any previous one. Evidently everyone is talking more quickly and all at the same time. By the time she has processed it, they have moved on to a new topic. The things they are talking about are leading her to believe that they are feeling their own mortality. I would hypothesize, however, that it goes a bit deeper than that. Everyone can feel the changes coming here, from the news paper to the people on the street. I think they are trying to hold onto as much of "home" as they can before the changes overwhelm them.

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After my morning power walk to Cuban jazz, we made a quick trip down the street to see Pityu-Basci. Faithful readers of our blog will remember him as the host of the 75th birthday party with the quince schnaps (if you missed it, it's the entry on 7-16-06). Z and this couple go way back, as they used to live in the same village in Germany and used to look after her when she was a kid. Pityu-Basci is looking really bad. The smoking is catching up, I fear.

From there we went by to say goodbye to Imre, Kati and Emese. Our conversation took us through a comparison of teaching salaries. Emese makes 400 Euroes a month, no benefits. She has a masters degree and 17 years experience. She is considered well paid in this society. (By comparison, my monthly take home is several multiples higher, and I get health insurance and a retirement.) Tearful hugs all around, and it is time to leave. Later in the afternoon we will repeat this experience with Beethoven-Bacsi and Mozart-Neni.

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Some random notes:

Word has gotten around that Jaden likes Palacsinta, which are crepes to you and me. We have had them plain, with jelly, sweetened cream cheese and fruit, homemade preserves, etc., etc. The masterpiece was the desert at Capriolo, an amazing masterpiece involving a hazel nut pureé filling and a chocolate ganosh. Jaden still prefers hers with cinammon and sugar.

Peter has given me a bottle of Palinka from Lajos' cellar. I figure it is about 1.5 liters, and is sealed with a bottle cap, so it can't be resealed. So we'll be looking for a big event to consume this - you've been warned.

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Speaking of Palinka, Beethoven-Bacsi proudly showed off the works to me today. In case you've wondered, here is how the stuff is made.

Schnaps is made from fruit, so you have to get that first. Hungarians make palinka from plums, cherries, pears, quince fruits, apples, katata berries, elderberries and apricots (apricot, in Hungarian, is "barack" - so you cam immagine how popular apricot palinka was after the last electon). The fruit must be eatable, no mild or black spots. 100 kilos of fruit is put into a barrel with 2 kilos of sugar to help start it all working, and it is left to "cefre" or, as would say, mash. It is stirred once a day, but otherwise left uncovered until the liquid at the top is clear. The liquid is then poured into the still and heated until it comes out in a stream on the other side about the size of a match stick. The remaining seperated solids and liquids are discarded, and the distilation process is repeated. The target alcohol level is 55% by volume. Age as is appropriate. Enjoy.

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Dombos fest this evening started with a duet performance by a "performer" and a "musician." The musician played the bandoleon and is pretty good. The performer was a "vocalist." Their set lasted about one-half hour, which I will never get back.

The second group was, dig this, a klezmer band! A really great one too. This is still a pretty courageous thing to do around here, so my hats are off to them. They covered the best bands (Klezmer Concervatory Band, etc.) and their originals were pretty ok. The strongest musicians seemed to be the clarinet and guitar players. The pianist and drummer were god enough to support without getting in anyones way, I almost felt like they were being under utilized. The bass player, a leggy model-type, would not be picked by anyone as a musician, but had excellent chops. The violinist, a pretty crucial instrument in a klezmer band was smart enough to not over ornament past her abilities. She played cleanly and simply, always a good call if you are in over your head. Then there was the trombone player. Musically, when things were written out for him, he mostly got the style. His improv, though, was seriously stiff and scaler. Actually, I didn't need to hear him play to know it was going to be like this. You are always tipped off that a performer is not feeling confident in their abilities when they walk on stage wearing a mask. All of the performers seemed comfortable on stage and with each other. The only negative was the moron sound guy who thought he could "help" the energy by turning it up much too loud. A pretty hot show!

7-2 Kishyges and Topolya

7-2

As further proof that things are not happy here in Serbia yet are recent articles in the Hungarian language Magyar Sző detailing attacks on people speaking Hungarian in the larger cities. Peter reinforced this a few days ago when he suggested we take the car up to Topolya to walk around, but to "be careful not to speak Hungarian" because there has been some violence there (Z and I, of course, hold lengthy conversations in Hungarian all the time). I am always a bit amazed by all of this. Here is a country that is currently doing everything it can to get into the Europen Union. They are rebuilding their infrastructure, getting all the modern conviences and stuff. Yet they still feel that they must snuff out the "foreigners." If they can't live peacably with each other in their own backyard, who is going to trust them in the international community.

Today is the beginning of Dombos (that's doam-bosh) Fest, the local music festival. It is held in an open field west of town. There is some talk that this will be the last year of the festival. It is heavily subsidized by the Serbian government and they are finding it "too Hungarian." The opening act this evening is a violinist who has made his debut in Carnegie Hall, but only gets 15 minutes of time on stage because he is crazy (read: drug addict). The rest of the evening is filled with a folk dance group and a disco for the kids.

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I haven't really started on the beers yet this trip. Suffice it to say I am "enjoying" a few, or as much as I can in Serbia. Most of them have been covered earlier in the blog. They are generic pilners, around 4.5%, and are yellow fizzy water. My description of them so far can best be somed up with this entry for Master Pils (a Heineken product): "It's a pils. Eh."

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Afternoon kavé this afternoon is spent in the company of Imre and Kati. Another afternoon for me of being a walking knick-knack. It goes with the turf sometimes of being the husband of a Hungarion wife. It's worth it.

The afternoon rains are brewing and the skies are getting that dark blue that foretells our daily afternoon storm is arriving, always an adventure if not at least for a break in the humidity. This afternoon features a huge electrical storm pretty much right on top of us. It didn't seem an opportune time to be holding a metal object, so I put away the horn and dug the show with my grandaughter. Pretty cool!

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Speaking of incongruouities, dinner this evening is as guests of Lajos and Bori at their Capriolo Restaurant (home of the greatest pizza on the planet, but we won't be having any this evening). The first incongruouity, the house sound system is playing flamenco music in Spanish. Then the chord changes start to sound familiar. Then - hey, isn't that? It is! It is! Hotel California, the flamenco version.
Dinner is guinnea hen soup, which I am told is fab, followed by a Greek salad and a mega-huge, Dan Ralph-sized house platter of grilled meat. You could hear the thump of Greg's jaw hitting the table. On the plus side, the chef is a vegetarian. I had the best veg plate I have had this trip, sautéd mushrooms, home-made soft cheese, stir-fried vegies and wild rice pilaf. No one can figure out how he cooks meat so well, but I'm not complaining.

Also dining with us this evening is Lajos III (Lali) with his wife Adrianna, daughter Lena, and Loijos IV, a cute little tyke about a year old. Lali is the head of the Capriolo bicycle empire (search "capriolo" online for their web site), about which you can find more information earlier in the blog. As a result of his buisness interests, Lali speaks excellent English, and so we were able to converse about business (slow, the economy), Greg's tattoos (finom), etc. It was a swell evening that stretched on long enough that we missed Dombos tonight. Maybe tomorrow...

7-1 Subotica and Kishyges

7-1

Back to Subotica we go today to do some more work on Z's Serbian passport. I am again at the wheel of the mighty Opel, with Vera and Z helpfuly giving me a maze of direction in Hungarian, German and English. We arrived at the courthouse and marched up to the door, only to find that Z will not be allowed in. She is wearing sandals and "this is a place of buisness, not the beach." Keep in mind that these are 100 dollar sandals, not unlike the ones that Vera was wearing under her slacks. Maybe the Serbs are offended by toe nails, who knows? So Vera takes the documents and goes in to meet the judge, while we wait out front. It is only footware, by the way, that keeps you out. Some of the clothing we saw walking though the door was, ummm, really something.

Vera dropped off the papers, and the judge promised that this time they would be processed or he would call the issuing judge in America and get it sorted out. So with that all squared away, we left for home. We may still have to fly to DC just to get it squared away, as it is unlikely that the paper work will be finished before we leave and the only Serbian embassy is in DC. I hear it's pretty in December.

We arrived back at the Keckes homestead just in time to help put away the winter woodpile. It turns out our timing was perfect, we got it all stored away just before the daily thunderstorm.
After lunch I had one of the Mentos that Z bought me at the store, causing an interesting development. The filling on my back tooth broke off. I blame Z. More on this to come, I'm sure.

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I spent the afternoon working on the Cuba project for VSAA for next year, which is kind of incongruous in Serbia. But I can now tell you where the Son comes from, what a Son Montuno is, and all kinds of other cool stuff!

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Dinner this evening is at Z's first cousin's (Anni her husband Pityu and daughter Evelin) house. Steak on the grill, lots of pigeons and other critters for Jaden (and Z) to play with - and enough flies at the table for an Off commercial. Dinner starts with Palinka, bubbly water, and turkish coffee. Z's first cousin is of the "glass is never empty" school of entertaining. So after three palinkas, my glass sits, full, awaiting dinner. Our host brought us fly swatters, and the we entertained ourselves while coversing before dinner by playing the "how many did you get with that swing?" game. Dinner is the house platter, a fine assortment of fine barbecued meats, a Greek salad, pommes - and a fine assortment of fried vegetables for the veg. Seems zuchini are in and that's pretty much all anyone can think of to do with it. On the plus side, they fry better than anyone on this side of the world, never oily or greasy. A pretty fabulous meal and great company.

6-29 Kishegyes, Subotica, Peter's Names Day

6-29

Lot's to do today, but not so much as to miss starting the day with a shot of Vera's "Holy Water" in honor of Peter's Name Day. This is Palinka patiently aged for over 20 years in the basement. Very smooth, no chaser necessary here - wow!

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So Names Day. In the Catholic countries your Names Day is more important than your birthday. This is the day that you celebrate another year. Towns with churches have a big celebration on the day of the saint their church is named after. Vera's hometown, Bajmok, has a church named Saint Peter Paul, and as we drive through town, the celebration is in full swing.

We are driving through town as we need to get Vera's birth certificate so that she can get one of the new Serbian passports. Obtaining a new passport is the first step in a planned trip to come visit us in the States. Vera's cousin picked it up for us, and has it waiting when we arrived. It is not a happy day here. Vera's cousin's wife's brother had just passed away, everyone assumes of a broken heart. His son had died three weeks earlier of complications brought on due to diabetes. It was a quick, but very sad stop. We would like to stay longer and help comfort the widdow, but, unfortunately, we have an appointment we have to keep.

The next stop is in Subotica at the translators. Z, who has dual citizenship in the US and Serbia, needs one of the new passports too. This involves translating her divorce decree from English to Serbian. The translator is only available on Monday mornings, so off we go.

I believe that I have mentioned before in this blog, but the streets in Europe are stupid. Street names can only be found on houses - usually, but not always, on the corner. So often you have to drive a ways down a street before you know which street you are on. This makes finding the house of the translator an adventure, to say the least. Peter, in this context, is usually muttering curses in Hungarian. I'm thinking of learning a few.

Vera and Z go in to see the translator, while I stay with the car which is, umm, precariously parked. The translator speaks British English, rather than 'Merican, so our stop takes somewhat longer than we might have liked. Z says we are never getting divorced (duh!).

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While I was waiting for Vera and Z to finish, I watched a trombone player who studies at the Conservatory downtown ride by on his bicycle. Damn trombone players are the same everywhere. Riding their bikes around and making me feel guilty. Sheesh!

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We went downtown for espresso before returning home. Real cups and saucers, silver spoons, good coffee, and, best of all, the local savory biscuits that I like so much. We got a large box of 'em and I got to nosh for the rest of the day.

We took a quick stroll before our return drive. We wandered by the Conservatory to pay our respects, but it is audition day for next year, so we aren't allowed in. We did wish several brass players good luck as walked by. Next was the music store, where we find cool guitars but no Serbian folk music. A quick stop at the "Donald's" to pick up lunch for the Bentow's and off for home.

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I spent the afternoon finishing The Storyteller by Anna Porter. It is the story of a young girl growing up in Hungary during the post-war, Communist years, and her Grandfather, a WWI vet, several sport winning olympic athlete, womanizer, and virtuostic storyteller. It is an increasingly dark look at the history of the Hungarian people, especially during the 1900's, although she manages to find a happy ending - of sorts. She gets out of Hungary just after the '56 Revolution by lying to the border gaurd, saving herself and her mother, and joins her grandparents in New Zealand. The coda has her and her family exploring the Hungary of her grandfather and his stories in the '90's after the fall of the Curtain. Turns out he was born just down the street from Kishegyes. A highly recommended book, especially for the afficianato of the history of the Hungarian people.

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Peter's Names Day celebration was held in Kishegyes up the hill at a small ettrem on a miserably humid evening. We were seated in a small dining room by our waiter of the evening, Z's old high school boyfriend (we still aren't sure if he recognized her). He brought us beer as we awaited the fashionably late guests. Beethoven-Basci, Mozart-Neni, Imre and Kati, Emese and Joe with Adam and Arron, Bori and Lajos, Pista and Rozsa, one of Peter's counsin, and, of course, our usual entourage. The carnivores had a platter of beef and chicken. The veg, a plate of fine fried cheese, mushrooms and zuchini. We shared the cole slaw and pommes. Many toasts were toasted with Peter's fine wine and, in the case of the youngsters (Joe, Greg and Dave) Holsten Beer. (More can be found about Holsten farther back in the blog. Nice on draft like this, though.)

We seperated into the "kids" at one end of the table, and the "old folks" at the other. Our end had a lengthy, rambling conversation about pregnancy, school, work, cars, driving to gigs in the US, embarrasing family stories, etc. What the old folks talked about, I couldn't tell you.

6-28 Novi Sad Pictures

This is the downtown square in Novi Sad. If you look closely in the lower right corner in the building next to the courthouse, you'll see the Mickey D's. They're everywhere...













World Headquarters of the dred Jelen Pivo. Damn yellow whimpy beer...














This was a statue on the fortress that Vera was particularly taken with...














Downtown Novi Sad from the fortress...














Peter and Vera on the fortress wall...

6-28 Novi Sad

6-28

Today we travel to Novi Sad, the second largest city in Serbia. This is one of those trips that point out that things are not as they should be. First of all, Greg is advised to wear a longer sleeve shirt to cover the tattoo of the Hungarian crown he wears on his arm. We are also cautioned not to speak Hungarian too freely, there have been reprisals lately. I should be OK.

We started at the large open-air market. Peter describes it best, "they have everything except what you want." And it's true! Clothing, kettles, animals (much to Jadens delight), antiques, musical instruments (none that would do you any good for more than decoration though), plumbing, seed, garden implements - the list goes on and on. Our visit is complicated by the fact that we can't find Vera. She went back to pay the parking fee and has gotten lost in the crowd. She finally went back to the car and waited for us there. See, we wanted to find her and we couldn't, prediction true!

From the market we went across the bridge to the old fortress on the hill overlooking the city. A fortress has existed, in one form or another, since the Romans built one in the 1st century BC. The corner stone for the current fortress was layed in the 1690's. The smaller rooms have now all been turned into art studios, and this is now a serious centre of art work. There are stunning views of the city from here, including some classic churches, the Danube, and the supports of old bridges (all three bridges, and many neighborhoods, were taken out by bombs during the Kosovo war - your tax dollars at work).

Kyra (who is pregnant) and Jaden both needed to use a bathroom. In order to do this we needed to pause for refreshment at the local coffee shop. They came back with horror stories about the "trench" style bathroom they found there. Travel tip from Z, face the wall before you squat!

We left the fortress and mosied downtown to eat leasurly lunch (i.e. the cook had to grow all the materials, raise and slaughter the animals, cure the meat, sharpen his cooking knives, remember he needed spices and herbs and send someone out for them, prepare and reduce the sauce, etc.). The square where the cafe is located is a lot different than the other places we have visited. It's hard to describe, but it doesn't feel as - well, old. The church is cool - very colorful, but lacking the detail work that would make it a classic. There is a big "Communist" style statue in a central square in front of City Hall surrounded by the set up for the EXIT Festival. The central square has lots of trees, like many in Serbia, making it feel classy.

Down the street is the brewery of the dreaded Jelen Pivo, the beer as bad as its advertising budget. Europe is home to the greatest alcohols in the world. Germany makes great beer and owns some vineyards. France and Hungary make some great wine and own some breweries. Belgians make beer; Hungarians, Palinka; Scandinavians, Aquavit; Spain, wine; Greeks, Metaxa, etc, etc. The Serbs make war. They have gotten very good at it. As a result, they never entered the European alcohol derby. I offer as proof Jelen Pivo - a whimpy little yellow beer with no head, little flavor, very brief exposure to hops, and nothing on the back of the palate. In short, it is fizzy yellow water. Or shorter still, ick.

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We spent the evening with Beethoven-basci and Mozart-neni. It is the day after Beethoven-basci's Name Day. This is like our Birthday, and calls for flowers and celebrations. More on this tomorrow.

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If you are enjoying what you are reading, drop us a line and let us know! Or better still, let us know what you would like to know more about, we'll try and investigate...

6-27, Kishigyes and Topolya

6-27

We went into Topolya this morning for the open air market. It is amazing how much more selective you get after a couple of years of doing this. The romance has worn off a little bit and you wander around looking for only the best stuff. We strike out today - although there was this cool bread box...

This is followed later in the morning with a quick visit to Bori and Lajos's house to chat. We also got to sample some of his gold medal winning palinka. Repeatedly. At ten in the morning. Ain't vacation grand! The commercial stuff he is making now is slightly less lethal than the stuff Peter makes. It is smoother in finish and features the fruit flavors a little more prominantly. The three glasses we had this morning didn't hurt a bit.

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Lunch is at the home of Pista and Rozsa. Rozsa has a way of blurting out rather abrupt comments that have been rather hurtful to the ladies in my life in the past, but all seems to be forgiven today. Or so I am led to believe. Pista is one of Z's favorite uncles, because he had the farm with all the animals that she got to play with as a kid. She is always looking forward to meeting the latest animals, and has shared her enthusiasm this trip with Jaden, who can hardly wait to see them all.

Lunch starts with two more glasses of palinka - everyone agrees that Rozsa makes the best around. It is the big, lethal stuff that we have come to know and love. My notes get increasingly hard to read from this point on. Lunch was soup and some chicken thing for the carnivores, fried veggies and cheese for the veg. A very tasty meal, indeed.

6-26 Kishegyes

6-26

Today we have to register with the police. You have to know where those foreigners are and how to get your hands on them, you know. Of course, this is, at least partially, a way of "putting you in your place." As evidence, I offer our last experience with trying to register (see July 10, 2006 in the blog). The short version is, you have to get a card, the card has to be filled out correctly, and signed by the police. You have 24 buisness hours to do this, or you get a hefty fine. How much of a scavenger hunt and grief you get depends upon how much they like you, how much grief they got from their boss that day, or a whim. The card, of course, is in Serbo-Croation, a language which is not always that dependable. Vera came with us today to run through the scavenger hunt and did pretty ok. She past the card test, and lucked out by getting the son of a neighbor as her police officer. Fourty-five minutes and we were out - a record!

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Our "home and away" visits start later this morning with a trip down to see Imre and Kati, and shortly joined by Emese after handing out report cards and sending her 6th grade homeroom class on vacation. It is always nice to visit with these folks, as they are friendly and outgoing. Emese is working on her English, and I am happy to be a guiney pig. We'll have pictures of all these folks as soon as we can get a cord for the camera!

Greg appears to be going through a bit of culture shock as we converse. (When I say "we" I mean Z, Kyra, and the locals. Jaden is out playing with Emese' son Arron and not being bothered by little things like language.) When asked about it later, he says he is OK, just thinking. We'll have a lot of time for that over the next few days.

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Afternoon finds me on the deck practicing Clarke Studies - in a thunderstorm. Even nature is commenting on how out of shape I am, sheesh!

6-25

6-25

I spent a few days out of commission due to illness. Seems like I spent a lot of the last half of last school year sick with something. This is really the first time I have felt 100 percent in weeks. Hmmm, sounds like something needs to change!

Vera, my mother-in-law is now playing the phonetic game with me. Jaden was having her morning bowl of Honey Combs, which in Hungarian phonetics, after translation, becomes Honey Thighs, which I suppose is eventually true.

Today we travel to Serbia. This always illicets a certain amount of tension. Think of it like this: Kishegyes is in a region of Serbia that, pre-1919, was part of Hungary. It would be nought unlike Mexico fighting in a war on the opposite side of the US and ending up on the winning side and being given California as compensation. For most of the last 90 years the Serbs and the Croats have either been persuded by the iron fist of Tito not to kill each other off or, more recently, making up for lost time. Now that most of that stuff has kind of worked its self out, they can start on the foreigners. Z told me a story recently a rather scary tale about a buisness man in Beograde involving an abduction and torture. (Ask us about it sometime, we'll fill in the details.) A place where this happens is a little worrysome.

I eveidently am still fighting my bug, as I am spending a lot of this trip asleep in the back seat, so I can't tell you much about it other than we traveled far by car, and, at some point, arrived.

6-22

6-22

6:20 in the morning and we are picked up by Haley, who will be attending to the house and being abused by the cat while we are gone. She whisked us to the airport and left us to our fate (Z did get a hug out of the deal.

We prechecked our tickets, so arriving at the airport, all that was left to do was check the bags. Since we will be throwing all of this into a car 15 hours from now for our trip to Hungary we tried to get things into the smallest number of bags possible. This, as it turns out, was not the greatest of plans. Two of our three bags, it seems were over weight. So for the price of a new bag (which we could have checked for free) we got our three bags onto the plane and made our way back for breakfast and to board our flight - where, following the Murphy's law of teachers, we got to have a brief chat with the CRHS Video Production students on the way to Nationals in Kansas City (Go Chiefs! - Nick, I want my metronome back!)

Into the air, where for an hour I had the worst sinus pain of my life before blowing a golf ball sized hunk of gook out of my nose. For what it's worth, pretty much everything is seven bucks on US Air now. Buy the drink at the airport. It really is cheaper!