On to Poland. Entirely flat, and unfortunately located directly between the Soviets and Germany, this nation has been marched across by both of those armies time after time. So much so that Polish jokes began like; How do you stop a Polish army on horseback? Turn off the carousel.
Our trip here started with a bike ride to the Budapest train station. After pleading with the conductor to let us bring the bicycles on board, he still would not budge. Very emphatic "no" motions. Ah.......shit. We wrote out two quick "free" signs. We leaned our faithful machines on a post, and I shed a tear or two as I waved them goodbye. Laura's email address was on the note also in case the lucky Hungarian wants to thank us.
An all day train ride back through Vienna and further east got us here around 9:30 pm. Much of the ride was spent in conversation with two Polish gals and a Norwegian couple about our age, Hilde and Thomas from Oslo. Very interesting few hours, and we will probably see the Norwegians again.
Kracow has a million people, but it doesn't seem like it around our hotel in old town. The square is one of the best we have ever seen, the Poles are friendly and extremely nice and helpful. We have hit a bad stretch of rainy, cold weather. Today is so wet we can't even walk around with our umbrella. But being in the same square where Nicolas Copernicus spent time makes up for it. He is the most famous Pole of all, formulating the theory of the sun being the center of the universe in the early 1500's.
Laura bought some scissors to give us both a cheap haircut, but we haven't used a washing machine in over a month. At times our room looks like a Chinese laundry. We are finding the food here a little more like what we are used to. Hot dishes for breakfast, refills on coffee. I actually had pancakes for breakfast this morning while you were all sleeping.
Tomorrow we have a tour lined up to Auschwitz. That will be depressing, but interesting as a part of history. I have been wanting to see it.
One more joke seems appropriate: Who wears a dirty burlap sack and rides a pig? Lawrence of Poland.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Hot Water
All things Hungarian. Who knew Buda and Pest were two separate towns until 1873? Joined now in name and also by four very pretty bridges crisscrossing the Duna. Only Hungarian High Altitude flour, along with Hungarian gulyas, rings a bell.
Gulyas, which in Hungarian means herdsman or cattle stockman, is a stew made of meat, potatoes, carrots, spices. Under my careful preparation when I used to cook for my kids, it morphed into everything I could find in the refrigerator combined into one pot.
And Hungarian High Altitude Flour has a Colorado connection. John Mullen patented the process of milling flour using the method started in Hungary. He brought it to Colorado, founding a flour milling empire that made him one of the richest men in Denver. The Flour Mill lofts by my townhouse were once a part of his Hungarian High Altitude brand. The high altitude part is simply because the flour was grown in Colorado, Montana, and the Dakotas.
Not many have heard of "taking the waters" in Hungary, but we jumped in today. A trip through Budapest on the bikes brought us to the center of City Park, where we locked the wheels outside an old, ornate, peeling yellow building. A complex built in 1913, when statuary and decoration were in fashion. The Szechenyi Spa and Baths. After being assigned a changing cabin the size of a coffin, we closed the door behind us and changed into swim attire.
Squeezing out and walking the few steps into the pool area, we had our choice of; left, a wave pool; center, a huge lap pool; right, a warm, 25 degree celcius pool. We chose the warm but, I wanted to go inside a small door on the far wall promising more hot water and soaking.
We took the plunge, entering a tomb-like cavern. Slick rock floors. Dripping. Steamy. Echoes. Bodies. Butt cheeks. Pot bellies. Fountains. Water.
One 40 degree pool, next to a 20 degree pool for the heat-ice experience. Laura partook, I declined. Pools behind low arches and mysterious corners where only the veteran Hungarians appeared to go. More arches, columns, mosaic tiles, doorways. Dripping, echoes, puddles, low ceilings. Enough of the cave, we walked outside after a half hour or so.
In the warm pool again, I noticed a sign reading szauna, pointing down a stone stairway. Laura declined. I made my way into a long room. More flesh. Arm to arm on long wooden planks, two deep, three high. I was reminded of chickens roosting in chicken coops. Sweat. Heat. Dripping. Sweat. Men, with the occasional bikini top mixed in. Squirming, sweat, sighs, drips, heads in hands.
Back outside, we tried the wave pool, where people of all ages and nationalities bumped and stumbled around a circular course, laughing like two year olds being tickled. Then back to the warm. Laura tried a power nap as I watched men playing chess on a watery board placed on a step of the pool. Conversations with strange sounds. Vratch, schzra, kooch, vlut, zloty. Every so often I heard a word like John Travolta or something actually familiar to my language challenged brain.
Tomorrow we will board a train for Kracow, Poland. After i post this, for the last time we are heading to an etterem, (restaurant) with genuine Hungarian flour and gulyas.
Gulyas, which in Hungarian means herdsman or cattle stockman, is a stew made of meat, potatoes, carrots, spices. Under my careful preparation when I used to cook for my kids, it morphed into everything I could find in the refrigerator combined into one pot.
And Hungarian High Altitude Flour has a Colorado connection. John Mullen patented the process of milling flour using the method started in Hungary. He brought it to Colorado, founding a flour milling empire that made him one of the richest men in Denver. The Flour Mill lofts by my townhouse were once a part of his Hungarian High Altitude brand. The high altitude part is simply because the flour was grown in Colorado, Montana, and the Dakotas.
Not many have heard of "taking the waters" in Hungary, but we jumped in today. A trip through Budapest on the bikes brought us to the center of City Park, where we locked the wheels outside an old, ornate, peeling yellow building. A complex built in 1913, when statuary and decoration were in fashion. The Szechenyi Spa and Baths. After being assigned a changing cabin the size of a coffin, we closed the door behind us and changed into swim attire.
Squeezing out and walking the few steps into the pool area, we had our choice of; left, a wave pool; center, a huge lap pool; right, a warm, 25 degree celcius pool. We chose the warm but, I wanted to go inside a small door on the far wall promising more hot water and soaking.
We took the plunge, entering a tomb-like cavern. Slick rock floors. Dripping. Steamy. Echoes. Bodies. Butt cheeks. Pot bellies. Fountains. Water.
One 40 degree pool, next to a 20 degree pool for the heat-ice experience. Laura partook, I declined. Pools behind low arches and mysterious corners where only the veteran Hungarians appeared to go. More arches, columns, mosaic tiles, doorways. Dripping, echoes, puddles, low ceilings. Enough of the cave, we walked outside after a half hour or so.
In the warm pool again, I noticed a sign reading szauna, pointing down a stone stairway. Laura declined. I made my way into a long room. More flesh. Arm to arm on long wooden planks, two deep, three high. I was reminded of chickens roosting in chicken coops. Sweat. Heat. Dripping. Sweat. Men, with the occasional bikini top mixed in. Squirming, sweat, sighs, drips, heads in hands.
Back outside, we tried the wave pool, where people of all ages and nationalities bumped and stumbled around a circular course, laughing like two year olds being tickled. Then back to the warm. Laura tried a power nap as I watched men playing chess on a watery board placed on a step of the pool. Conversations with strange sounds. Vratch, schzra, kooch, vlut, zloty. Every so often I heard a word like John Travolta or something actually familiar to my language challenged brain.
Tomorrow we will board a train for Kracow, Poland. After i post this, for the last time we are heading to an etterem, (restaurant) with genuine Hungarian flour and gulyas.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Buda
A quick ferry ride across the river today and we rode down to Vac. Pronounced vats in Hungarian. Arrived in this little village about 2 pm, and spent about an hour quizzing the locals about the location of a bed. Our Hungarian has improved to the point to where we know one word. But that word changes, and under pressure it disappears.
A shower and walk downtown improves the spirits, and a lucky Skype conversation with the kids and grandkids, mixed with multiple Hungarian beers at the zentro square completes a really nice day.
We had a gyro at a street shop for dinner, where I stumbled my way through the menu with sign language. That was painless, but when we got back to our hotel, I tried to chat up the desk clerk, who appeared to know English. I asked if she was married to the owner, who turned out to be her father. I asked if the kids running around earlier were hers, to which she said "What, do I look old enough to have those kids?" Uh..maybe not the 14 year old, but...uh...your dad could have married a much younger woman? " I'm his daughter," she says. I tried a few more charming remarks, but had to be bailed out by Laura.
Riding a bike couldn't get a whole lot better though. Bike path almost all of the way. Farms, fruit trees, riverbank, Hungarian back yards, palisades and gauntlets of 200 year old trees, castles up on the hills. The rear wheel on Laura's bike is now so far from true I have had to release the brake to avoid rubbing.
After a 24 hour interruption, we have made it to Budapest! Much to say about the wind up of the trip, but Internet is hard to come by so I will write another up to date post when I can. High fives to Laura.
A shower and walk downtown improves the spirits, and a lucky Skype conversation with the kids and grandkids, mixed with multiple Hungarian beers at the zentro square completes a really nice day.
We had a gyro at a street shop for dinner, where I stumbled my way through the menu with sign language. That was painless, but when we got back to our hotel, I tried to chat up the desk clerk, who appeared to know English. I asked if she was married to the owner, who turned out to be her father. I asked if the kids running around earlier were hers, to which she said "What, do I look old enough to have those kids?" Uh..maybe not the 14 year old, but...uh...your dad could have married a much younger woman? " I'm his daughter," she says. I tried a few more charming remarks, but had to be bailed out by Laura.
Riding a bike couldn't get a whole lot better though. Bike path almost all of the way. Farms, fruit trees, riverbank, Hungarian back yards, palisades and gauntlets of 200 year old trees, castles up on the hills. The rear wheel on Laura's bike is now so far from true I have had to release the brake to avoid rubbing.
After a 24 hour interruption, we have made it to Budapest! Much to say about the wind up of the trip, but Internet is hard to come by so I will write another up to date post when I can. High fives to Laura.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Daily Routine
We are still in Hungary this morning. The sun comes up about three o'clock here. Must be because we are at the eastern end of this time zone. This is about as far east as we plan to go, as we turn south today along the Danube towards Budapest.
As the riding goes on, we have a generally established pattern. Up for breakfast at 7 or so, with the sun high in the sky, and down to a breakfast set up as part of our overnight accommodations. Always the same thing, bread, cheese, sliced meats, juice. The only complaint is the difference in coffee habits. The endless refills I am used to have turned into a doll house sized cup with maybe four sips in it. Usually we ask for one more, but after that it begins to look like we are high maintenance.
We are on the road around nine, with map in hand. Everything we have is on our backs, so packing up is easy. We usually can scam a sandwich for lunch from the breakfast fare, so we ride until we see a good cafe for a break or until we stop by the trail for lunch. Distances between town are short, and even with sightseeing we stop by late afternoon.
Laundry has been an issue. Coming in hot and sweaty, clothes streaked with sweat stains and just a wee bit pungent, we try to wash out the salt and smell in the shower or sink. Most of our overnights do not provide any soap or shampoo in the bathrooms, so we use our dwindling supply of shampoo, all of the three ounces TSA would let us fly with. Last night we found a Tesco, a Hungarian style Super Target, and resupplied with sunscreen, wine, and eastern European culture. One of the highlights of Laura's entire trip.v
Without a set itinerary, afternoons bring the surprise of the day. Where will we stay in this town we have been trying to get to all day, and how much trouble will we have trying to get what we want. Language, cost, location, wifi, vacancy. Somehow we have always managed to find really nice people, and only once I think were we surprised at what we ended up with. That was at a hostel type place just like a college dorm room.
Today we plan to cross back over the river to the Slovak side to ride, then back to Hungary to spend the night in Esztergom. It has started out bright and sunny. I know the pig roast fiesta is today, so I hope you all get the same nice day back there in Denver. Save a little of that cheek meat for us.
As the riding goes on, we have a generally established pattern. Up for breakfast at 7 or so, with the sun high in the sky, and down to a breakfast set up as part of our overnight accommodations. Always the same thing, bread, cheese, sliced meats, juice. The only complaint is the difference in coffee habits. The endless refills I am used to have turned into a doll house sized cup with maybe four sips in it. Usually we ask for one more, but after that it begins to look like we are high maintenance.
We are on the road around nine, with map in hand. Everything we have is on our backs, so packing up is easy. We usually can scam a sandwich for lunch from the breakfast fare, so we ride until we see a good cafe for a break or until we stop by the trail for lunch. Distances between town are short, and even with sightseeing we stop by late afternoon.
Laundry has been an issue. Coming in hot and sweaty, clothes streaked with sweat stains and just a wee bit pungent, we try to wash out the salt and smell in the shower or sink. Most of our overnights do not provide any soap or shampoo in the bathrooms, so we use our dwindling supply of shampoo, all of the three ounces TSA would let us fly with. Last night we found a Tesco, a Hungarian style Super Target, and resupplied with sunscreen, wine, and eastern European culture. One of the highlights of Laura's entire trip.v
Without a set itinerary, afternoons bring the surprise of the day. Where will we stay in this town we have been trying to get to all day, and how much trouble will we have trying to get what we want. Language, cost, location, wifi, vacancy. Somehow we have always managed to find really nice people, and only once I think were we surprised at what we ended up with. That was at a hostel type place just like a college dorm room.
Today we plan to cross back over the river to the Slovak side to ride, then back to Hungary to spend the night in Esztergom. It has started out bright and sunny. I know the pig roast fiesta is today, so I hope you all get the same nice day back there in Denver. Save a little of that cheek meat for us.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The Cold War
We have only seen a few reminders of how things were here in Hungary fifty-five years ago. Buildings the length of city blocks that look like my old high school, formed from cement, with no frills or imagination, built to blend in with the masses. And just a few stories of how everyone had the same jeans, the same cars, the same toys, the only selection being which one of three or four colors you might want.
Things have changed so much now that I am sure Louis Vidokovits wouldn't know his own homeland. He fled Hungary in 1956 to escape from the communist regime. As fate unwound, I became one of the lucky ones fortunate enough to be a part of his new life in America. Sadly, I never knew anything else about him, and was too uninterested to ask. He organized and motivated, whipping a dozen kids into a fairly decent soccer team, and playing hero to me and about twelve of my friends as our coach, starting in about 1965.
I know what has come of a few of those buddies. Some I have lost track of, and some have died. Roy, Skip, Phil, Mike, Geoff, where have you gone? But most of all I wonder about Louis. I remember hearing that he fled Hungary in 1956, along with 200,000 other refuges, when the Politburo sent Soviet troops in to suppress a revolution. Most were students, and he would have been about 25 at the time. I never asked about the details.
These days, with crowds of parents pleading and coaching from the sidelines, it's hard to remember how easy it was to make out Louis' deep voice from the sideline. "Pass und go!" Shuud it!" "Get der first!" "You vill be fine!" "Show dem how guud you are!"
We came across the Hungarian border from Slovakia, without even a passport check. The only excitement was when Laura fell down a side hill as she tried to stop for a turn. We are now in Gyor, an old town at the junction of three rivers. Using Florints for currency, at an exchange rate of 187 to one. Hard to count change when the clerk fills your hand with coins. Last night a big storm came through, knocking out all power in our little "pension" called the Buda.
The Hungarians have been very patient with our language problems, trying their best to use English. They apologize when trying to find a word, and I try to say I am the one who doesn't know the language, not them! Anyway I think about Louis while I am here, finding it hard to imagine him as an 80 year old man. But heroes never die, as long as they still exist in someone's mind.
Things have changed so much now that I am sure Louis Vidokovits wouldn't know his own homeland. He fled Hungary in 1956 to escape from the communist regime. As fate unwound, I became one of the lucky ones fortunate enough to be a part of his new life in America. Sadly, I never knew anything else about him, and was too uninterested to ask. He organized and motivated, whipping a dozen kids into a fairly decent soccer team, and playing hero to me and about twelve of my friends as our coach, starting in about 1965.
I know what has come of a few of those buddies. Some I have lost track of, and some have died. Roy, Skip, Phil, Mike, Geoff, where have you gone? But most of all I wonder about Louis. I remember hearing that he fled Hungary in 1956, along with 200,000 other refuges, when the Politburo sent Soviet troops in to suppress a revolution. Most were students, and he would have been about 25 at the time. I never asked about the details.
These days, with crowds of parents pleading and coaching from the sidelines, it's hard to remember how easy it was to make out Louis' deep voice from the sideline. "Pass und go!" Shuud it!" "Get der first!" "You vill be fine!" "Show dem how guud you are!"
We came across the Hungarian border from Slovakia, without even a passport check. The only excitement was when Laura fell down a side hill as she tried to stop for a turn. We are now in Gyor, an old town at the junction of three rivers. Using Florints for currency, at an exchange rate of 187 to one. Hard to count change when the clerk fills your hand with coins. Last night a big storm came through, knocking out all power in our little "pension" called the Buda.
The Hungarians have been very patient with our language problems, trying their best to use English. They apologize when trying to find a word, and I try to say I am the one who doesn't know the language, not them! Anyway I think about Louis while I am here, finding it hard to imagine him as an 80 year old man. But heroes never die, as long as they still exist in someone's mind.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
World Shaker
Gabcikova, Slovakia is not a well known town in the annals of history. But under communist rule, the government built a massive dike and dam for power production just outside of this little village. We rode that dike for seemingly endless miles in the hot sun today. Here we sit on a warm Slovak evening drinking beer and soaking up the atmosphere. "A picture is worth a thousand words."
The morning was spent in Bratislava, Capitol of the country. I spent most of the time looking for cannonballs embedded in the walls, evidence of Napoleon Bonaparte's bombardment of the city in 1809. "History is written by the winners." Around the time of the bombardment, other more familiar events were taking place. George Washington died in 1799, Thomas Jefferson became president in 1801, and Lewis and Clark started out in 1803.
So I got to thinking. The man was born in 1769 on the island of Corsica, and quickly rose up the ranks of the French army. As a general, he was a military genius, eventually becoming emperor of a vast empire. He led a full life in between battles, with multiple wives but only one son. After trying to add Russia to his territory, his army was weakened to the point that he lost at Waterloo to the Duke of Wellington in 1815. "Men are moved by two levers only: fear and self interest."
Exiled to elba, he escaped after a few years, only to be exiled once more, for good this time to St. Helena, an island in one of the most isolated places on earth in the middle of the south Atlantic. "Nothing is more difficult, and therefore more precious, than to be able to decide." He is credited with introducing the metric system into Europe as well as the civil code of justice we use today.
And showing what a wise man he was, sometime before he died in 1821 of stomach cancer he also said, "A woman laughing is a woman conquered." All of the quotes above came from him, but I think the one that says the most follows:
"The soldier, I realized, must have had friends at home and in his regiment; yet he lay there deserted by all except his dog. I looked on, unmoved by battles which brought death to thousands. Yet here I was stirred, profoundly stirred, stirred by tears. And by what? By the grief of one dog.
Napoleon, on finding a dog beside the body of his dead master, licking his face and howling, on a moonlit field after a battle. He was haunted by this scene until his own death.
The morning was spent in Bratislava, Capitol of the country. I spent most of the time looking for cannonballs embedded in the walls, evidence of Napoleon Bonaparte's bombardment of the city in 1809. "History is written by the winners." Around the time of the bombardment, other more familiar events were taking place. George Washington died in 1799, Thomas Jefferson became president in 1801, and Lewis and Clark started out in 1803.
So I got to thinking. The man was born in 1769 on the island of Corsica, and quickly rose up the ranks of the French army. As a general, he was a military genius, eventually becoming emperor of a vast empire. He led a full life in between battles, with multiple wives but only one son. After trying to add Russia to his territory, his army was weakened to the point that he lost at Waterloo to the Duke of Wellington in 1815. "Men are moved by two levers only: fear and self interest."
Exiled to elba, he escaped after a few years, only to be exiled once more, for good this time to St. Helena, an island in one of the most isolated places on earth in the middle of the south Atlantic. "Nothing is more difficult, and therefore more precious, than to be able to decide." He is credited with introducing the metric system into Europe as well as the civil code of justice we use today.
And showing what a wise man he was, sometime before he died in 1821 of stomach cancer he also said, "A woman laughing is a woman conquered." All of the quotes above came from him, but I think the one that says the most follows:
"The soldier, I realized, must have had friends at home and in his regiment; yet he lay there deserted by all except his dog. I looked on, unmoved by battles which brought death to thousands. Yet here I was stirred, profoundly stirred, stirred by tears. And by what? By the grief of one dog.
Napoleon, on finding a dog beside the body of his dead master, licking his face and howling, on a moonlit field after a battle. He was haunted by this scene until his own death.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Psychoanalysis
Vienna. The home of Sigmund Freud. I walked over to his old house and office today to check out the place where he lived and worked most of his life. For the last two days we have covered most of Vienna's inner city, where all of the interesting sites are to be found.
We spent much of the morning at the Hapsburg compound, a sprawling complex of gigantic baroque buildings with parks and statues sprinkled throughout. Inside we got to lay our eyes on the actual apartments, offices, and bathrooms they used during a six hundred year reign over a vast portion of Europe. It all fell apart when Archduke Ferdinand, an heir to the throne, was assassinated, causing a world war which the Austrian side lost. Their empire was divied up among the victors.
But in the 18th and 19th centuries they were the richest family in the world, and it showed. Nothing was spared as far as luxury or opulence. While America was fighting our civil war they were rolling merrily along building a very fancy palace, inside a very fancy city. Now all of the world class power is gone, but what do they care? The culture of royalty remains; wide tree lined boulevards, statues on every corner, parks, fountains, roofs lined with more statues, opera, concerts, outdoor cafes on most every sidewalk.
In this atmosphere Sigmund practiced his therapy. Born in 1856 in Moravia, now a part of the Czech republic, his family moved to Vienna. They made it through one world war, but the second one wasn't so kind. His four sisters died in concentration camps, and he was forced to flee from the Nazis in 1938. After being in London for only one year, a previously diagnosed cancer flared up, and he asked his doctor to perform a Kervorkian. On September 22 and 23, 1939, he was given major doses of morphine, and he died on September 23.
Come to Vienna and you can learn all this and more! Tomorrow we leave for Budapest, with about five stops in between. We bought a new map to help with route finding, because Hungarian is not our strong point. Laundry is fresh, butts are normal again, attitudes are adjusted. Along the way we can think about one of S. Freud's famous quotes. "We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love."
We spent much of the morning at the Hapsburg compound, a sprawling complex of gigantic baroque buildings with parks and statues sprinkled throughout. Inside we got to lay our eyes on the actual apartments, offices, and bathrooms they used during a six hundred year reign over a vast portion of Europe. It all fell apart when Archduke Ferdinand, an heir to the throne, was assassinated, causing a world war which the Austrian side lost. Their empire was divied up among the victors.
But in the 18th and 19th centuries they were the richest family in the world, and it showed. Nothing was spared as far as luxury or opulence. While America was fighting our civil war they were rolling merrily along building a very fancy palace, inside a very fancy city. Now all of the world class power is gone, but what do they care? The culture of royalty remains; wide tree lined boulevards, statues on every corner, parks, fountains, roofs lined with more statues, opera, concerts, outdoor cafes on most every sidewalk.
In this atmosphere Sigmund practiced his therapy. Born in 1856 in Moravia, now a part of the Czech republic, his family moved to Vienna. They made it through one world war, but the second one wasn't so kind. His four sisters died in concentration camps, and he was forced to flee from the Nazis in 1938. After being in London for only one year, a previously diagnosed cancer flared up, and he asked his doctor to perform a Kervorkian. On September 22 and 23, 1939, he was given major doses of morphine, and he died on September 23.
Come to Vienna and you can learn all this and more! Tomorrow we leave for Budapest, with about five stops in between. We bought a new map to help with route finding, because Hungarian is not our strong point. Laundry is fresh, butts are normal again, attitudes are adjusted. Along the way we can think about one of S. Freud's famous quotes. "We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)