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.
*****
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!
*****
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.
