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!