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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.
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