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 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 24 (and 25 and 26), 2013

Dave and Z in Toronto. 
How we got there is a long story.

As always, our trip begins with an unexpected adventure.  We had an inkling that this might be coming when Z’s mom called in the middle of the week before our flight, full of curiosity about how the flooding in Calgary was going to affect our travel plans.  Z led me to believe that her phone call was filled with somewhat more urgency about her “curiosity” than the word would lead one to believe.  I believe the word “panic” was used in her description of the conversation more than a few times.

Regardless, frequent internet checks of Air Canada’s web site on my part continued to show green on flights into and our of Calgary, although you may have troubles driving to the airport.  Not a problem we reasoned, we were flying in.  I, therefore, returned to doing something much more important – playing with my grandkids.

Meanwhile in the background, the Drums of Doom began to beat.

CNN News report: Calgary flooding will crest at noon on Monday (that would be at the day and time we were supposed to fly through Calgary).  Back I go for a quick internet check.  Air Canada still shows green!  No worries!

Z, in total paranoia mode: “Have you checked the internet lately?”  She actually did this several times.  Back to the computer for another green report from Air Canada.

You have to understand that in our household, I take these events seriously.  These things are not “Acts of God.”  In Z’s opinion these events are all my fault.  See last year’s debacle with our baggage as proof (June of last year).

So on June 24^th, when all was clear and the lights were green at Air Canada, I breathed a sigh of relief and thought all was well in my world.

And the beat of the Drums of Doom got louder…

We went out and ran a few errands.  Had a quick brunch with Kyra, Nico and the grandkids, and, following tearful goodbyes, were ferried to the airport.

We had probably our easiest time ever, breezing through check-ins and security vetting and the like as seasoned pros.  We arrived at our nearly empty gate early, which as it turns out was a good thing.  For this was when the Drums of Doom got so loud even we could hear them.

In recent years I have begun to check boarding gate numbers while we are waiting.  All too often they have changed to another gate nearby, and it is useful to know this early.  This is where I overheard a gentlemen talking with the Gate Overlord –  or whatever they call them – from United about the text he had just received from Air Canada that “all flights to and from Calgary had been canceled.”  Said Gate Overlord informed us to call Air Canada directly, as the nice United folks couldn’t access the Air Canada booking computer.



Air Canada - the greatest airline ever!

A quick phone call later – OK, 10 minutes on hold and a 15 minute phone call later – and we were completely rebooked.  Pity the poor souls who found out about this later and were on hold for as long as 45 minutes.  Our new route took us from PDX to Vancouver, Canada (Eh?) with a long enough layover for a leisurely dinner.  From Vancouver we would take a red-eye to Toronto, where we were faced with a fifteen hour layover.  To make it up to us, the nice Air Canada man threw in a “Day Room” to hang out in.  By the way, did he mention that “we can make a positive out of a negative here?  Did you know that Niagara Falls is a short car trip away?”  Yes he did.  Repeatedly.  Finally we would travel on to Frankfurt on another red-eye flight to Frankfurt, a day later than planned.

All of this, of course, necessitated a trip back out to the front counter for a “do over” of our check-in, security vetting, etc…  Needless to say, the nice folks at United that ran Air Canada’s desk had no clue about any of the new arrangements.  Fortunately, we had new flight numbers and were quickly – OK, 45 minutes later while they unburied themselves from the chaos this all caused – on our way.

These things bring out the best and the worst in people.  Z and I have now been through enough of them together that we start getting the giggles and teasing each other – Niagara Falls getting a lot of play this trip.  This tends to lower our stress level and make us a lot of new friends, for example, Meg from London who was standing next to us while they unraveled our flight information.  She was on her way back after a couple of week vacation for job interviews in cartography, and was hoping she would have time for a shower before she went.  We wished her luck, and if her travels went as smoothly as ours, she should have been OK.

The United agents were great through this unexpected disruption to their workday – even-tempered and good-humored about it all.  Even in the face of the “gentleman” Z quickly dubbed “Mr. Grouchy-Pants.”

*****

Dear Mr. Grouchy-Pants,

The nice ladies behind the counter do not control the weather.  Nor do they work for the airline you are intending to fly.  What’s more, they are just a bit overwhelmed at the moment with all the other people in the same boat as you.  We’ve all got the same problem.  Chill out.  They will get you there.  They are not going to abandon you at PDX.  Although we can hope.

Thanks Awfully,

*****

The agents in question are Amy and Shelley – and they are wonderful.  United, give them a raise.  They let the negative roll off of them while entertaining us with commentary about being on hold.

An aside here – Amy had the singular greatest pin I have ever seen.  It was an oval metal pin, printed in blocky corporate travel type – obviously provided by and expected to be worn by the airline.  The text: “Ever been to Phuket, Thailand?”

A second security vetting and we were back at the same gate we started this all with.  No biggy.  After giving up my horns to ride under the plane (yikes!), we were on our way to Vancouver.  I amused myself (childishly, I admit) on the short flight by writing “eh?” after every incidence of the word Canada.  Hey, it was something to do.

In Vancouver we followed directions and cleared Canadian customs into the International Flight area.  Things having finally settled down, we had time for a bad airport meal, so we enjoyed one.  I didn’t know it was possible to screw up tomato soup, but Hourton’s managed to do so.  Z said her “Chinese Food” was not much better.

We took a walk after dinner and looked over the flight boards, as we didn’t have a gate number on our boarding pass for the next leg.  Strangely, none of the posted flights seemed to be going to Toronto.  A quest to find an information booth to solve this dilemma eventually led to our meeting “Irish Peter,” a chipper and helpful gentleman, who then introduced us to Alex, the Lead Concierge at Vancouver Airport.  After listening to our tale of woe, Alex led us through the airport, opening magic elevators and down empty hallways – always with a smile and the reassurance “don’t worry, I’m staying with you until everything is right and you are where you are supposed to be.”

A few words about the airline employees we met on this day are prudent at this point in our journey.  This has been an amazingly stressful day for them so far.  Chaos reigns everywhere, and nothing is going according to plan.  Yet, everywhere we go, whomever we meet, they are friendly, courteous, and in good spirits.  On a day where it was probably the last thing on their mind, they took the time to make us feel comfortable and cared for.  Props are offered to the employees of United and Air Canada indeed!

Working on the blog -
The book is green and yellow this year!

Alex eventually got us straightened out and to the nice man at Baggage Claim – you guessed it, bags lost again – who quickly filled out the correct forms and got them in our hands, reassured us that in all likelihood our bags would catch up with us in Toronto due to the length of our layover, and directed us to the security vetting for our next flight; number 3 for the day.

I should mention in passing that every one of these security vetting has cost us a $2.50 bottle of water or soda.  I get the security thing but: do we really need to have 5 security vettings on three legs of a flight?  And, more importantly, I can get the same bottle of water at my local Safeway for less than a dollar.  As we are no longer allowed to bring liquids through security, you and I both know there is now a huge captive market on the other side.  To mark up soda and water this much is Highway Robbery and my Congress Folks should be looking into this.  Just sayin’

Security vetting number 3 lead to our first “downer moment” on our trip.  It seems there is metal in my splint/cast thing.  In the course of taking it off for the police dude, I bent my wrist incorrectly, leading to an excruciatingly painful moment.  This is why they make Advil.  And expletives.  But “made it aboard” we eventually did, and off to Toronto we did go.

Our “Red Eye” flight got us in Toronto at around 6:00 in the morning and off to meet more nice Air Canada (or Air Canadia, as Z calls them) folks.  A short stop at the customer service counter found our evening flights reconfirmed, a new trace put out for our missing bags, and a voucher for our Day Room – they even threw in vouchers for breakfast and lunch!

Day Rooms used to be common in travel, back in the days of multi-day trips with many layovers.  Today, they have mostly fallen by the wayside of corporate travel and big business cost cutting.  Our Air Canada folks looked at each other, one telling the other “you are going to have to beg the hotel for it.”  What you end up with is a clubhouse to hang out in, garb a shower and a cuppa, and most importantly, a nap between legs.

The Congress Center in Toronto -
about all we saw of Niagara Falls!

A tip we have learned on several of these adventures and pass on for your consideration.  We were particularly delighted to get vouchers for both breakfast and lunch.  While those vouchers will get you a full meal at the airport, not so much at the hotel.  If you want both meals, then, eat them before you leave and after you come back.  Our $17.00 CDN would seem to be plenty for breakfast to buy a nice, sit down breakfast at the hotel– all we cared for.  Z had eggs and bacon, I had cereal and some fruit, and we still ended up kicking in $8.00 CDN out of pocket, plus gratuity, of course.

We hated to disappoint our Air Canada travel scheduler guy, but we passed on Niagara Falls to catch a nap and shower – maybe next trip – and were back early to grab some lunch at Toronto Airport before the next leg.  The cool thing here is that all of the restaurants in the concourse have you order off of I-Pads.  After you order, you are free to surf the web while you wait for your meal and flight.  I caught up on the Duck’s Football woes while enjoying a “Detox Salad” of greens, sweet potato, seasoned tofu and dried cranberries.  Z opted for coffee and a gluten-free brownie.  I’m not sure what she looked at on her I-Pad, but I would bet Facebook.  I think we both walked away happy – I know I did.

*****

My favorite thing to do on international flights is watch “Airplane TV,” the map thing they give you so that you know where you are in your journey.  It is insightful into what is deemed important to the mapmakers.  Of course, there is also hours of fun to be had looking at place names: Grimsby, Uxbridge, Gananoque, Magog, Antogonish.  Do they make cleaners in Ajax?  Does everyone in Tweed wear tweed?  Argyle in Argyle?  Does everyone have cancer in Asbestos?  I assume very small people live in Dalhouse.  Don’t forget to take a gander at Gander.  Then there is the ever popular Godthab – what does it mean?  You know it is important in that you can see it on the big map for almost the entire journey.

The "end of journey" traditional palinka and bundt cake!

*****

We were picked up, a day late, at Frankfurt Airport by Peter and Valentin, the gentleman Peter and Vera rent an apartment from in Germany, and were whisked off to Niedernhall.  Awaiting us was the traditional palinka and Bundt cake.  Let the vacation begin!

6/21-28/2012: Travels, Keszthely, and Kishegyes

6/21-28/2012: Travels, Keszthely, and Kishegyes

PDX:

I usually take notes for this thing in a hard-bound Moleskine® brand notebook, like wanna-be travel writers everywhere.  I don’t like the soft cover ones, as they get bent and mangled in your pocket.  When we went to Powell’s to buy this year’s edition of “the book,” we found that the only hard-bound version available was the “Star Wars^©” edition.  The first page of this bares the following famous, comforting quote: “I have a bad feeling about this.”  A bad omen indeed for travelers; would that we had listened.  Of course, I discovered this just before they took my trumpet case away for the puddle jumper to Vancouver, B.C.  (Not to worry, no problems occurred in the handling of my trumpet case – read between the lines whatever you wish here!)

*****

Dear American Traveler,

I know you will find this hard to believe, but “last time I checked, Canada is not part of America.”  (It’s true – the Stew told us over the intercom, pretty much just like that, only more rudely!)  As such, yes, you do have to go through customs and fill out their forms – even if you are continuing on to another country from there.  It’s their country; they get to make the rules.  Isn’t that astounding?

Thanks Awfully

And while we are on the topic…

Dear Air Canada Stew-dude,

I know this is not your fist choice of career and that you can hardly wait to retire soon.  I’m sure everyone about four rows back knows this now, too.  This does not, however, excuse you from doing your job, which “last time I checked,” was customer service.  If you can’t suck it up and at least behave in some semblance of politeness, maybe now would be a good time to quit and move to China and get started on that ice hockey school.  I’m sure the kids there will respond as well as your passengers (or current students – I shudder at the thought) to your warmth and charm.  Maybe if you try being a little patient with people who are nervous traveling and in new circumstances and unsure about what they are doing, you might be surprised to find that they treat you nicely and with respect.  The fact you have heard the question a million times on this flight alone does not make it easier for the rooky travelers you are supposed to be helping out through your “competence” and “calm demeanor.”  I know, who knew?

Thanks Awfully.

*****

Several hours, two airports and a couple of bad airplane meals later, and we were in Wien, awaiting our baggage.  Actually, my airplane meals were pretty OK.  It was Z who had problems with them.  We had ordered her “gluten free” meals, as she was eliminating gluten when we were confirming tickets.  She said they were somewhat less than appetizing.  Those were not the words she actually used.  Anyway, baggage…

I had a “bad feeling” about our bags in Vancouver, B.C.  They did not have a confirmation of us continuing on, and had to look us up.  I made the mistake of mentioning a slight concern at this point about our bags arriving with us.  Z says that making the statement at all makes it my fault that, needless to say, the bags did not arrive with us in Wien.  The more likely problem was that our flight from Vancouver to Frankfurt arrived with just enough time for us to make the connecting flight, and the airline folks had to rush us through customs.  I guess our bags don’t run as fast as we do.  The end result is that we left Wien without our bags, but with promises that they would be delivered to Keszthely “by 8:00 tomorrow evening.”

*****

Travel Tip: always pack a change of clothes and a toothbrush in one of your carry-on bags.  I had a back up outfit in Z’s bag, and a shirt and underwear keeping my cornet from sliding around in the travel case, so I was OK for a couple of days.  Z, who had only packed one outfit in her carry-on was a bit pressed when, no surprises here, our luggage did not arrive at the promised “8:00 tomorrow evening.”  Fortunately for us, they did arrive the evening before we left for Kishegyes.  Bonus – we didn’t have to repack.  (Well, yes we did.  We needed to downsize to get everything in the car.)

*****

Sign, seen in a night club window while driving through the Hungarian town of Sopron, halfway between Wien and Keszthely: “Jacuzzi, Spa, Hot Tub, Wellness, Table Dance.”  This is obviously a version of “wellness” that is probably not covered by your health insurance.

*****

Vacation always begins for me in Hungary when Peter throws out the inaugural Palinka when we arrive at their place in Keszthely.  After about 24 hours of traveling in cars and planes and severely dehydrated, it is, as always, a great time to slide into straight shots of my Father-In-Laws’ moonshine.  Three Palinka later and I was feeling no pain.  I had dragged out my Sunday-best Hungarian, and was doing my best to keep up as we were joined by the neighbors from the houses on either side of Peter and Vera.  The doctor from the house on the right, who speaks four languages fluently, tells me that “I must learn to speak Hungarian.”  So much for “Sunday-best.”  I don’t know what he is talking about, though.  Give me a few more Palinka and I’ll be fluent!

*****

The next morning, while eating breakfast on the deck, the following came up in conversation on the deck – it seems that a kindergarten student in Kishegyes had figured out that his substitute teacher was ethnically Hungarian.  He confronts the teacher on the playground and informs her that “someday, when I grow up, I’m going to kill you.  My dad says the only good Hungarian is a dead Hungarian.” 

I am learning that a certain amount of this is hyperbole.  Like all exaggeration, a certain amount of it is based in fact.  That said, as I meet more Serbians, I am less inclined to believe it all at face value.  They want into the EU too badly to allow it to be screwed up by hot-heads.

*****

A couple of days of recovering-from-jet-lag later, and we are in the car on our way to Kishegyes – Z’s hometown.  It is a pretty drive through the plains of Hungary.  This is farm country, and about every mile or so we pass a “Dinnye” (cantaloupe) stand.  After a while, I start to notice that they are all the same.  They have exactly two watermelons and two cantaloupes.  I am sure there is a hidden meaning here somewhere.  I’m probably missing it.

You know how successful your town is in Hungary by the length, in meters, of your town sign.  We pass some real whoppers on the way south-east.  Examples would include: Balatonszentgyörgy, Balatonmáriafürdő, Balatonföldvár, Mezőszilas, Simontornya (where we always stop for coffee and bubbly water) and Kiskunhalas.  You have to imagine seeing all of this strung out on a sign as you fly by at 60 miles per hour.  It is always an adventure.  Of course the losers in the length derby are: Fonyód, Enying, Cece (the locals say this is pronounced “tseh-tseh.”  I still maintain it is “kee-kee”), Solt, and Tompa (or “Tampa” to the smart-aleck American).  These folks are clearly underachievers.

I also enjoyed the radio reporter’s glee while announcing that gas prices in Hungary were going to be lowered to less than $8.00 a gallon (!) for the first time in 6 months.

*****

Regular readers of this blog know that one of the highlights of any trip to Serbia for me is always the trip to the police station to get “registered” so they know where to pick us up if they start pogroms against the outsiders again – I mean, where to find us in case of emergency.  This year, Z, bereft of reason or common sense, decided we were going to march down there without cash or translator, and “make them see the light!”  In her view, if they were planning on joining the EU, they were going to have to learn English (it is the “common language” of the EU).  In her magic universe, this all happened in the last year.  She was not amused when I started laughing at this point.

Needless to say, Officer Incompetent (see the "Registration" entry from last summer) was quick to put her back in her place.  It seems that there was “no one here today that could do this duty.  Oh, and swing by the bookstore and buy the cards you need – surely you know you must do this.”  (Well, no, not last year.  But the arbitrary rules are what make this game so much fun.)  “Come back tomorrow,” he says.  We know all of this through the good services of a nice gentleman who was kind enough to translate for us.  It seems Officer Incompetent has not learned English or Hungarian in the last year – go figure!  I think the bruises on my arm from laughing as we left the police station went away with a couple of days.

Sad to say, the rest went easy.  Peter picked us up the cards at the bookstore and went with us the next day.  It took us 10 minutes to get checked in.

Z has asked me to point out that she did address Officer Incompetent in three languages, English, German and Hungarian, before we had to resort to the nice gentleman translator.  In her view, he was “almost embarrassed” by this point.  I think it is more likely that he had no clue she changed languages but rather had cabbage for lunch.

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We had a visit from Kazi-Basci and Sandor-Basci that afternoon – the eighth Palinka of the day sitting in front of me like a time bomb.

The Palinka game in Hungary works like this.  Whenever a new person arrives, a new round is poured.  If the ladies are cooking in the kitchen and miss the initial round, another round is poured.  If you sit at the table for longer than ½ hour, another round is poured.  If someone says the secret work, another round is poured.  You get the idea.

There are two secrets to playing this game and surviving.  The good Hungarian will spot you a bubbly water chaser with every shot.  You will want to drink these.  As swell as the flavor of this stuff is, it will catch up with you very quickly.  So enjoy – then chase!  It is also good to know the magic word.  If it looking like the game is going to go on for a while (say 8 rounds!), if you use the work “kicsi,” they will fill your glass only half way – and no penalty points!  Score!

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A new series…

New Inventions in Beer!  Coming soon to a bottle or can near you…

Found on a bottle of Tuborg I enjoyed a couple of days later – a pull-top bottle cap!  No need for a bottle opener!  What will they think of next?

The Tuborg was followed by a new one for me: Sixtus Wheat beer.  Although the label is in German, it proudly brewed by the Sixtus Brewing Company, Warsaw, Poland.  I know what you are thinking, and yes, I guess they do brew beer in Poland – after a fashion.  It looks pils-ish in the glass, light and closer to yellow than gold.  There is no nose to speak of, a little strange for the Wheat’s of this neck of the woods.  The flavor is thin and watery; a little malt followed by an exposure to a hop cone on the front, completely disappearing by the time it gets to the back.  They say it is 4.2 percent, but I would guess less.  A true lawn mower beer.  I’m sure they have lots of lawns in Warsaw.  The can says “best if served between 8°and 10°.”  Maybe that’s it…

*****

We just found out Z’s car got broken into back home (another “bad feeling” moment); continuing a longstanding tradition of car problems while we are over here.  Perhaps we should just start leaving the deductable on the fridge when we leave.  Although there is nothing we can do until we get a phone in Hungary, Z is on her way down to Emmese’s to use “The Facebook” and find out what happened.