What a weekend!
-- a never-to-be-forgotten weekend spent in Moravia in the home of one of my former students and his family. The occasion was the town's annual "Open Houses" which, not unintentionally I'm sure, coincides with the grape harvest and its new wine. Burcak (wish I had a Czech keyboard so you could see the actual spelling of the word) is wine which has been fermented only slightly. And it is purchased -- many times over the course of the evening :-) -- in very tall bottles for the evening's festivities.
But first a bit of history. Archaeological finds (and we visited one of the sites) suggest that primeval people lived in this agriculturally rich area which is protected by rivers and mountains since (or during) the Stone Age. Prior to the 13th century it had become an important trade and religious settlement. In 1257 the king declared it a royal town with the aim of protecting the eastern and southern regions of the Czech Kingdom. Uherske Hradiste (fortress) has had its ups and down over the centuries with the various winners and losers in the ongoing battles for domination of one sort or another. Today it has preserved much of its historic past, either through restoration or maintenance. (If you're interested, you can find the town's website with a simple search. I found it a bit more interesting than the Wikipedia information.) I knew Rostislav was very proud of his town and heritage. Only on this weekend did I begin to realize the richness and depth of that pride.
All the wonderful and historic places in the town -- actually the whole town centre, two old squares, and the environs -- are part of the Open Houses. Churches, monastaries, the old and new (1880s) town halls, restored and renovated grand spaces. Even a lekarna (chemist's -- the Czech version of a pharmacy) which has been in continuous operation since the 1600's -- decorated appropriately! The ceiling is still beautiful with frescoes (early 1700s), the lighting is from antique crystal chandeliers, and the beams are all lovingly cleaned and oiled! It's not your everyday CVS! There were two young Czech women giving the history and high points.
The presumed history and layout of the archaeological site we visited are recorded, and the site itself is open and cared for to be enjoyed by any and all. Clearly it was the choice spot for defense -- what a gorgeous and commanding view of the area. And what seamless integration of past and present -- a young boy running all around the stones getting his homemade kite off the ground -- successfully!
The trip to Uh. Hradiste was a wonderful four hours by bus through continuously changing countryside. There really is a difference between Moravian and Bohemian scenery!
What beautiful terrain. Flat grazing lands, with lovely fat herds of dairy cattle (made me wish for time with John and Sandy or at least to have them with me), enormous round and rectangular bales of hay ready for the winter, then a gradual change to rolling hills, some scattered very tall trees giving way to forests. The hills were tall enough that my ears popped several times! Then lakes, village after village, and always "weekend" cottages tucked away high and low, near water or with a view. I'd actually like to make the trip again on a train, just to see other sights and enjoy a different perspective.
One more point of my ignorance -- I never realized that the famous battle of Austerlitz was fought right here! Yes, the name has been changed -- not sure who is being protected in this one. Of course I came back to read all about it. Just another instance of the importance of this area as a crossroads north/south, east/west.
And near to Austerlitz a large family gathering, the pig already turning on the spit for the afternoon's festivities. Village and family life/roots are still very important here. As a matter of routine, I ask my students about their weekend (a good way to practice conversational English without all the pressure of having "right" answers!). It is not unusual that at least half have visited their families, week in, week out. And many still live quite near where they were born and reared.
On to Uh. Hradiste. What a marvelous family -- definitely the main attraction of the weekend! Rostislav lives in Uh. Hradiste and works in Prague, making the commute each Friday and Monday. He's a very bright man with multiple inventions/solutions to his credit. He's also such a family man -- what good times I had "practicing English" and learning about them during our classes. His wife is both beautiful and gracious, and their daughters are certainly walking in their mother's footsteps. The elder is an accomplished cellist, a finalist this year in the country-wide competition. She played for me -- her touch and musicianship are extraordinary considering her youth! The younger is a bouncy six year old with a smile that seems to go on and on. She's so excited about learning letters/words/places. She and I are in a race to see who learns more words in the other's language by the time we meet again. She is also learning to play the cymbal -- a percussion instrument which I had never seen in person before (and which I learned to love after an evening's entertainment with cymbalovka music and burcak). It was an absolutely marvelous family weekend with all the enjoyment of the beauty and history of another Czech gem!
After a full day of walking, talking, looking, oh-ing and ah-ing, we had family supper and left the girls at home. It was wine festival time. From their lovely home we walked uphill past a small 17th century chapel, across the top of the ridge, then began to wind our way downhill, greeting friends and stopping to taste and listen at wine cellar after wine cellar. There's a definite reason why this is named Vinohradsky Street! The street itself runs along the bottom of a steep hill. The beautiful homes, most with their own wine cellars (some private, some public) on the lowest level, are open and friends are coming and going, celebrating together. Some of the cymbalovka groups (violins, viola, bass, and a cymbal) are outside, others deep in the cellars. What a lovely stroll. It was a very cool, moonlit night, and time really did seem to stand still. At the bottom of the hill we joined at least another 10 friends at a table in a large tent. At first only my student and I used English. He commented later that it was interesting how much English others "remembered" as they enjoyed more burcak! Because of the cold weather, the group which had been playing on an outside stage moved inside -- right next to our table.
What a night! After several hours we walked home. Remember that hill we walked down. Home was up! It is the latest I've been out and about in a very long time! And every minute was memorable.
Sunday morning was family time -- a terrific Czech breakfast, time to talk, to hear instruments, to move slowly into the day. Then Rostislav and Anete and I drove past fields of sunflowers waiting for harvest to the next town to visit a beautiful Benedictine church/monastery/school, then on to another to walk through only a small part of a family estate and its formal gardens. Home for a wonderful dinner, then a rush to the bus station and a thoughful return trip home.
What an incredible weekend. The Pelc family are the center of it all. All the new sites, sounds, history, and impressions they've given me will last and last.
I'm grateful for the opportunity to revisit this golden time by sharing it with you. Thanks for coming with me - - - -
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
A Perfect June Evening
Sometimes everything lines up just right, nothing could possibly be any better, at least for that one happening. And I was privileged to have one of those nights this past week. Absolutely a night to remember . . .
One of my colleagues is a beautiful young woman from Sri Lanka. Our lives had crossed paths in several different ways. In one of those encounters I learned that not only is she fluent in many languages and teaches English, she is also a pianist. Because I'd heard only brief statements now and again of both her gift and her background, I had no idea the depth of those gifts and heritage. Her father is Sri Lanka's most famous composer. Working in the tradition of Janacek and Dvorak, who were his inspiration, he combines folk melodies with classical composition. Gayathri continues in those footsteps. After studying in the conservatory in her homeland, she moved to Prague 13 years ago -- she still looks like a teenager -- to study at the Prague Conservatory because she "loves Bach." After rigorous studies there, she was accepted at the highly selective Academy of Early Music. Why all this background? Because her classical training is so far from the music of the evening that it seems another world away. I heard Phillip Glass in her playing, not J.S!
She interrupted her studies following the tsunami, first to return to Sri Lanka to see her family and help in the relief efforts, then to return to Prague, giving a series of concerts of the music of Czech composers to raise money for the effort. In addition to this, she composed and played the soundtrack for the documentary about the victims, Facing the Waves, which also looked at the issue of racism which was reopened following the disaster. This is one gifted young lady, a person to remember and follow.
And now to the evening.
The setting was Zizkov Atrium. Zizkov is another of Prague's many and varied districts. It borders my home, so a leisurely walk, including supper with a wonderful new friend, was the perfect opener for a perfect evening. Good talk, good food, great views of lovely architecture I'd not seen, all under a quiet, end-of-the-day sky. And then we arrived at Atrium. Oh my goodness! Total awe. There, set back from the sidewalk (remember, the "apartment" buildings border the sidewalk with the greenery inside the rectangle) was an exquisite mellow cream-yellow building, wrought iron gate, roses, lush trees, brick and cobblestone entrance way. It is one of those places where I automatically drop my voice to a whisper. And then to enter. First a long hall-type entry with the concert hall on one side and a courtyard "cafe" on the other. Walking into the courtyard brought the wonderful surprise of many colleagues, already enjoying their espresso, wine, and conversation. (This group of colleagues is known for how much they support each other -- it may not be "my thing," but I'll be there for you!) The doors were opened. It was almost like being transported. I kept saying to myself "this had to have been a church," "I just know this was a church." The concert grand was on the marble "chancel", at the back there were two marble niches awaiting more holy water, and I'm certain I could tell where the confessional had been at one time in this magical building's history.
This is a small venue, tucked away in its own corner of the world, a little bit of a walk from any tram or metro. Of course I had to search the web. here's what I found (with only slight editing). In the Tchaikovsky street you can find historically protected building - Baroquechurch of St. Promote,
Then the music. Most of the program was solo piano, all Gayathri's compositions. The program carried the title "Me and My Elephant" with a picture of her sitting beside and petting, yes, an enormous elephant. Talk about size extremes! The pieces and the program notes told a haunting story, both in words and music, of the terrors and tragedies of war and of racism, the disruptions and losses, repetitive themes of being lost, searching, finding a small space for rest. The last number before intermission she was joined by Badra, a drummer from Mali. During the second half -- and by the way, applause occurs only at the intermission and at the end of the program -- she was joined by her group, a bassist and a violinist. The last number was absolutely, no question, the best. Great rhythms, great freedom, soaring music.
To open the concert two people introduced the evening -- one in English, another in Czech -- and presented her mother and a close friend with yellow roses, a Sri Lankan tradition. Also two small candles were lit at the front of the stage. At the close, it was very emotional to see her mother, even tinier than Gayathri, come forward to embrace her, and to think of all that had occurred to bring them to this point.
This is probably her last concert in Prague, at least for some time. In January she's emigrating to Canada, joining her sister who left a few years ago because of the racism here. Pity, pity. And in my Caucasian skin I can only begin to feel the ripples of it.
For now -- I was privileged to be there when magic happened.
One of my colleagues is a beautiful young woman from Sri Lanka. Our lives had crossed paths in several different ways. In one of those encounters I learned that not only is she fluent in many languages and teaches English, she is also a pianist. Because I'd heard only brief statements now and again of both her gift and her background, I had no idea the depth of those gifts and heritage. Her father is Sri Lanka's most famous composer. Working in the tradition of Janacek and Dvorak, who were his inspiration, he combines folk melodies with classical composition. Gayathri continues in those footsteps. After studying in the conservatory in her homeland, she moved to Prague 13 years ago -- she still looks like a teenager -- to study at the Prague Conservatory because she "loves Bach." After rigorous studies there, she was accepted at the highly selective Academy of Early Music. Why all this background? Because her classical training is so far from the music of the evening that it seems another world away. I heard Phillip Glass in her playing, not J.S!
She interrupted her studies following the tsunami, first to return to Sri Lanka to see her family and help in the relief efforts, then to return to Prague, giving a series of concerts of the music of Czech composers to raise money for the effort. In addition to this, she composed and played the soundtrack for the documentary about the victims, Facing the Waves, which also looked at the issue of racism which was reopened following the disaster. This is one gifted young lady, a person to remember and follow.
And now to the evening.
The setting was Zizkov Atrium. Zizkov is another of Prague's many and varied districts. It borders my home, so a leisurely walk, including supper with a wonderful new friend, was the perfect opener for a perfect evening. Good talk, good food, great views of lovely architecture I'd not seen, all under a quiet, end-of-the-day sky. And then we arrived at Atrium. Oh my goodness! Total awe. There, set back from the sidewalk (remember, the "apartment" buildings border the sidewalk with the greenery inside the rectangle) was an exquisite mellow cream-yellow building, wrought iron gate, roses, lush trees, brick and cobblestone entrance way. It is one of those places where I automatically drop my voice to a whisper. And then to enter. First a long hall-type entry with the concert hall on one side and a courtyard "cafe" on the other. Walking into the courtyard brought the wonderful surprise of many colleagues, already enjoying their espresso, wine, and conversation. (This group of colleagues is known for how much they support each other -- it may not be "my thing," but I'll be there for you!) The doors were opened. It was almost like being transported. I kept saying to myself "this had to have been a church," "I just know this was a church." The concert grand was on the marble "chancel", at the back there were two marble niches awaiting more holy water, and I'm certain I could tell where the confessional had been at one time in this magical building's history.
This is a small venue, tucked away in its own corner of the world, a little bit of a walk from any tram or metro. Of course I had to search the web. here's what I found (with only slight editing). In the Tchaikovsky street you can find historically protected building - Baroque
Then the music. Most of the program was solo piano, all Gayathri's compositions. The program carried the title "Me and My Elephant" with a picture of her sitting beside and petting, yes, an enormous elephant. Talk about size extremes! The pieces and the program notes told a haunting story, both in words and music, of the terrors and tragedies of war and of racism, the disruptions and losses, repetitive themes of being lost, searching, finding a small space for rest. The last number before intermission she was joined by Badra, a drummer from Mali. During the second half -- and by the way, applause occurs only at the intermission and at the end of the program -- she was joined by her group, a bassist and a violinist. The last number was absolutely, no question, the best. Great rhythms, great freedom, soaring music.
To open the concert two people introduced the evening -- one in English, another in Czech -- and presented her mother and a close friend with yellow roses, a Sri Lankan tradition. Also two small candles were lit at the front of the stage. At the close, it was very emotional to see her mother, even tinier than Gayathri, come forward to embrace her, and to think of all that had occurred to bring them to this point.
This is probably her last concert in Prague, at least for some time. In January she's emigrating to Canada, joining her sister who left a few years ago because of the racism here. Pity, pity. And in my Caucasian skin I can only begin to feel the ripples of it.
For now -- I was privileged to be there when magic happened.
Friday, May 2, 2008
How Do You Measure "Far Away"?
Do you use a ruler? A calendar? A history book? An impression? Is the answer "it depends"? Or is it really a matter of the heart?
I wish I had the "right" answer this morning. At the moment it could be any and all of the above.
I know, because a Google search and Geobytes just told me, that I am 4506 miles and 7251 kilometers away from the city I left three months ago (my how time flies. . . ). It offered to tell me quite a few things about Durham. My silent answer was "no thanks -- already know that." It must have assumed I knew about Prague, since it entered that as my "home" automatically and offered no further introduction to the city. Being curious, I continued to search. This distance thing was turning into fun. Not a big surprise that there's at least one more answer. MapCrow says it is fewer miles and/or kilometers. And both were "as the crow flies." Different crow? That answer came from satellites and GPS and all kinds of technological marvels. And it certainly isn't the one I'm looking for today.
My grandmother was and continues to be a significant defining influence in my life. How I wish I could tell her thank you at this point in my life. What an incredible lady! Homesteaded with her parents in the 1889 Run which opened Indian Territory for settlement, married my grandfather (who made the same Run with his brother) at 15, made the Run which opened the Cherokee strip as a new bride, gave birth to eight children -- the oldest dying in WW I, the youngest flying in WW II, kept the farm running while Grandpa was away working as a carpenter, helping others get settled. I was married on their 65th anniversary -- they cut the second piece of cake at the reception! I can still hear her saying, multiple times, "Oh Anne, the wonders you will see. Things I can't even imagine." Her love of life and her openness to change shaped me. And she doesn't seem very far away. Her influence is so strong, her acceptance of me, warts, mistakes, and all, such a life gift.
I continue to be amazed at the way technology erases the miles (and perhaps increases the agita). So often I comment to myself and others about the difference between Grandma going to the unknown territory and my coming to Prague. I know she had almost no means of contact, and certainly not the regular and easy connections I am afforded. I'm sure she thought her goodbyes to friends and family were final. Mine could be, but I don't know that. And we all seem to live our lives based on the presumption that we will see each other and share stories again.
My last day at Pilgrim UCC did include final goodbyes to two dear friends. Would the parting have been any different if I had known that? Bryant Dunshee and Midge Niblock will remain in my heart always for their grace and their smiles. And I feel very far away at the moment. I cannot share my sadness with anyone else who knew them.
Maybe, if you measure with your heart, "near" is when things are going along fine, memories of good times are strong, email and Skype are working well, and life isn't scattering major question marks along your path. "Far" is when the questions marks are growing, there is too much between the lines in the emails, beloved voices don't sound quite the same, and you are feel so completely powerless. It is very little help or comfort to realize you couldn't change things if you were closer. But it is so difficult not to offer a hug or a listening silence. That's "far"!
And measuring with a calendar and history book? Yesterday was a public holiday here -- Labour Day. I'm old enough to remember when May Day -- May 1 -- brought news pictures of an enormous show of military strength in a Red Square parade. It had nothing to do with the historical rites of spring, welcoming the new season, a traditional May Day celebration. Now everyone knows it is nearly impossible to take a holiday away from people, so you just rename it! And the history book certainly can tell us about these changes. They are very near to those who lived them and to those whose lives are now represented by plaques and memorials. The history is very far away to the late teen/early twenties generation who are the future.
I am, once again, very grateful to be at this place in the world at this point in my life. What wonders! You are so right, Grandma. I just wish I knew more about the distances I've traveled to this point and the ones yet to come.
I wish I had the "right" answer this morning. At the moment it could be any and all of the above.
I know, because a Google search and Geobytes just told me, that I am 4506 miles and 7251 kilometers away from the city I left three months ago (my how time flies. . . ). It offered to tell me quite a few things about Durham. My silent answer was "no thanks -- already know that." It must have assumed I knew about Prague, since it entered that as my "home" automatically and offered no further introduction to the city. Being curious, I continued to search. This distance thing was turning into fun. Not a big surprise that there's at least one more answer. MapCrow says it is fewer miles and/or kilometers. And both were "as the crow flies." Different crow? That answer came from satellites and GPS and all kinds of technological marvels. And it certainly isn't the one I'm looking for today.
My grandmother was and continues to be a significant defining influence in my life. How I wish I could tell her thank you at this point in my life. What an incredible lady! Homesteaded with her parents in the 1889 Run which opened Indian Territory for settlement, married my grandfather (who made the same Run with his brother) at 15, made the Run which opened the Cherokee strip as a new bride, gave birth to eight children -- the oldest dying in WW I, the youngest flying in WW II, kept the farm running while Grandpa was away working as a carpenter, helping others get settled. I was married on their 65th anniversary -- they cut the second piece of cake at the reception! I can still hear her saying, multiple times, "Oh Anne, the wonders you will see. Things I can't even imagine." Her love of life and her openness to change shaped me. And she doesn't seem very far away. Her influence is so strong, her acceptance of me, warts, mistakes, and all, such a life gift.
I continue to be amazed at the way technology erases the miles (and perhaps increases the agita). So often I comment to myself and others about the difference between Grandma going to the unknown territory and my coming to Prague. I know she had almost no means of contact, and certainly not the regular and easy connections I am afforded. I'm sure she thought her goodbyes to friends and family were final. Mine could be, but I don't know that. And we all seem to live our lives based on the presumption that we will see each other and share stories again.
My last day at Pilgrim UCC did include final goodbyes to two dear friends. Would the parting have been any different if I had known that? Bryant Dunshee and Midge Niblock will remain in my heart always for their grace and their smiles. And I feel very far away at the moment. I cannot share my sadness with anyone else who knew them.
Maybe, if you measure with your heart, "near" is when things are going along fine, memories of good times are strong, email and Skype are working well, and life isn't scattering major question marks along your path. "Far" is when the questions marks are growing, there is too much between the lines in the emails, beloved voices don't sound quite the same, and you are feel so completely powerless. It is very little help or comfort to realize you couldn't change things if you were closer. But it is so difficult not to offer a hug or a listening silence. That's "far"!
And measuring with a calendar and history book? Yesterday was a public holiday here -- Labour Day. I'm old enough to remember when May Day -- May 1 -- brought news pictures of an enormous show of military strength in a Red Square parade. It had nothing to do with the historical rites of spring, welcoming the new season, a traditional May Day celebration. Now everyone knows it is nearly impossible to take a holiday away from people, so you just rename it! And the history book certainly can tell us about these changes. They are very near to those who lived them and to those whose lives are now represented by plaques and memorials. The history is very far away to the late teen/early twenties generation who are the future.
I am, once again, very grateful to be at this place in the world at this point in my life. What wonders! You are so right, Grandma. I just wish I knew more about the distances I've traveled to this point and the ones yet to come.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Been there (Vienna)
Done that (applied for my visa)! And now I can say "Oh yes, I spent the day in Vienna. Just a quick trip down and back." Another never-to-be-forgotten experience.
It began with a bit of a shock -- my colleague and I had purchased our tickets for the overnight train together, hoping we would be in the same coach. We asked lots of questions, received what we thought were all the right answers, and felt comfortable that at least a known part of the trip was in order. Wrong! The first time we were told, in very limited English, that we didn't have reservations, we couldn't understand, or perhaps couldn't believe what was being said. The second time we were told that, we understood -- it was the conductor speaking and he had excellent English! Turns out that, although we had a handful of expensive tickets (remember, we're crossing a border), we didn't actually have a reservation. Basically we had paid for the trip, paid for the compartment, paid for the bed, and didn't reserve any of it. I still don't understand it or how it happened and that really didn't matter. Solving the problem did matter, and we accomplished that with more Euros. Hooray -- we were in our marvelous three-person sleeping compartment.
The beds were already made up -- three high -- crisp and fresh. The tiny bathroom in the tiny compartment was a design marvel. It even had a shower! There was a bit of stopping and switching. And then it was 6 a.m. and we'd arrived at a great train station. Clean, airy, a variety of places for breakfast, and, best of all, a very helpful information center! We bought our all-day transport pass, went right out the front door, walked across a set of tram tracks, boarded the #18, and we were on our way. Could not have been more simple. One easy change, and we were only a few blocks away from the Czech Permanent Mission, arriving early enough for a neighborhood stroll.
The buildings and colors were so similar that it was almost as if we'd not left Prague. (You can see our destination -- a much better picture than mine -- by "searching" for Czech Embassy Vienna.) And the woman who assisted me in the Visa Section could not have been more helpful. Thanks to Katerina, another colleague, everything was in order, and after multiple examinations of all the papers and more Euros, we were on our way.
When we left the tram we walked straight ahead to the Ministry. I couldn't miss noticing, however, that Schonbrunn, the marvelous Hapsburg home, was just to our left. (That's another good internet search -- great history, wonderful pictures.) And Schonbrunn was Stop 2 in our day.
My impression on the long (cold, windy, rainy) walk to the main entrance was that it could be Versailles. And sure enough, it is very similar. And at the same time very different. Purchase of the grounds (more than a square mile) began in 1596, construction of the middle part of the present palace in 1696, and the first festivities (I'm curious how one would celebrate the opening of such a home) began three years later. It was Maria Theresa, however, who made it the "family homestead" we visited. It's amazing when I realize my "family homestead" was a one-room sod cabin two hundred years later!
What a wonderful place. I am grateful that, in spite of all the world turmoil, all the changes of ideology and government with multiple restitutions, there are places from our collective past which have been preserved or restored. And certainly Schonbrunn has seen many changes. Today it is not only a packed tourist site (and we weren't there on a special or sunny day, certainly not in tourist season), it is also a place where people come to the lovely park to walk the dog, sit under an umbrella of ancient trees, or just stroll around for relaxation.
As could be expected, there were choices of eating places within the grounds. I'm so glad we opted for "top" choice: inside the china-linen-turn-of-the-century-music restaurant. We also selected traditional food (another great choice). Because Kim's only request was eating Sacher torte at Hotel Sacher, we passed on the astounding desserts. During our little train trip around the grounds -- zoo, botanical garden, and Gloriette (Maria Theresa's breakfast "room" high on a hill overlooking the city) -- a furious storm broke, and we spent the remainder of the day very wet and quite cold, which, of course, slowed our explorations. If you're interested, a search for Schonbrunn zoo will bring you a great chronology with pictures of the panda cub, born last year. Both the zoo and the botanical garden are responsible for research and innovations in their respective areas.
Public transport again, this time subway, to one of the central areas. We came to the surface right in front of the Vienna Opera House -- oh for a chance to be inside! -- and only a block from Hotel Sacher, Stop 3. Altho' a relative newcomer (1876), it also is the turn-of-the-century glamor I'd hoped, all the right colors, pictures, seating, and even three tablecloths with signatures, now embroidered for preservation's sake and including Franz Joseph, of famous guests of Anna Sacher, widow of the founder. She is the moving force which made it the 5-star establishment it is today. And yes, the desserts are terrific!
So often during the day I thought of Lotte, my dear Viennese roommate. How I wished she could have been with me. And how I hope I can return. What a mixture of enchantment and reality. I'm certain that, just like Prague, you can be a quick tourist or you can linger and enjoy so many marvelous places -- and desserts!
Nearly 30 hours later I was back in my own bed, safe and satisfied. My passport is now stamped "visa applied for" with four days to spare, and I continue to be legal! So happy to have been there and done that!
It began with a bit of a shock -- my colleague and I had purchased our tickets for the overnight train together, hoping we would be in the same coach. We asked lots of questions, received what we thought were all the right answers, and felt comfortable that at least a known part of the trip was in order. Wrong! The first time we were told, in very limited English, that we didn't have reservations, we couldn't understand, or perhaps couldn't believe what was being said. The second time we were told that, we understood -- it was the conductor speaking and he had excellent English! Turns out that, although we had a handful of expensive tickets (remember, we're crossing a border), we didn't actually have a reservation. Basically we had paid for the trip, paid for the compartment, paid for the bed, and didn't reserve any of it. I still don't understand it or how it happened and that really didn't matter. Solving the problem did matter, and we accomplished that with more Euros. Hooray -- we were in our marvelous three-person sleeping compartment.
The beds were already made up -- three high -- crisp and fresh. The tiny bathroom in the tiny compartment was a design marvel. It even had a shower! There was a bit of stopping and switching. And then it was 6 a.m. and we'd arrived at a great train station. Clean, airy, a variety of places for breakfast, and, best of all, a very helpful information center! We bought our all-day transport pass, went right out the front door, walked across a set of tram tracks, boarded the #18, and we were on our way. Could not have been more simple. One easy change, and we were only a few blocks away from the Czech Permanent Mission, arriving early enough for a neighborhood stroll.
The buildings and colors were so similar that it was almost as if we'd not left Prague. (You can see our destination -- a much better picture than mine -- by "searching" for Czech Embassy Vienna.) And the woman who assisted me in the Visa Section could not have been more helpful. Thanks to Katerina, another colleague, everything was in order, and after multiple examinations of all the papers and more Euros, we were on our way.
When we left the tram we walked straight ahead to the Ministry. I couldn't miss noticing, however, that Schonbrunn, the marvelous Hapsburg home, was just to our left. (That's another good internet search -- great history, wonderful pictures.) And Schonbrunn was Stop 2 in our day.
My impression on the long (cold, windy, rainy) walk to the main entrance was that it could be Versailles. And sure enough, it is very similar. And at the same time very different. Purchase of the grounds (more than a square mile) began in 1596, construction of the middle part of the present palace in 1696, and the first festivities (I'm curious how one would celebrate the opening of such a home) began three years later. It was Maria Theresa, however, who made it the "family homestead" we visited. It's amazing when I realize my "family homestead" was a one-room sod cabin two hundred years later!
What a wonderful place. I am grateful that, in spite of all the world turmoil, all the changes of ideology and government with multiple restitutions, there are places from our collective past which have been preserved or restored. And certainly Schonbrunn has seen many changes. Today it is not only a packed tourist site (and we weren't there on a special or sunny day, certainly not in tourist season), it is also a place where people come to the lovely park to walk the dog, sit under an umbrella of ancient trees, or just stroll around for relaxation.
As could be expected, there were choices of eating places within the grounds. I'm so glad we opted for "top" choice: inside the china-linen-turn-of-the-century-music restaurant. We also selected traditional food (another great choice). Because Kim's only request was eating Sacher torte at Hotel Sacher, we passed on the astounding desserts. During our little train trip around the grounds -- zoo, botanical garden, and Gloriette (Maria Theresa's breakfast "room" high on a hill overlooking the city) -- a furious storm broke, and we spent the remainder of the day very wet and quite cold, which, of course, slowed our explorations. If you're interested, a search for Schonbrunn zoo will bring you a great chronology with pictures of the panda cub, born last year. Both the zoo and the botanical garden are responsible for research and innovations in their respective areas.
Public transport again, this time subway, to one of the central areas. We came to the surface right in front of the Vienna Opera House -- oh for a chance to be inside! -- and only a block from Hotel Sacher, Stop 3. Altho' a relative newcomer (1876), it also is the turn-of-the-century glamor I'd hoped, all the right colors, pictures, seating, and even three tablecloths with signatures, now embroidered for preservation's sake and including Franz Joseph, of famous guests of Anna Sacher, widow of the founder. She is the moving force which made it the 5-star establishment it is today. And yes, the desserts are terrific!
So often during the day I thought of Lotte, my dear Viennese roommate. How I wished she could have been with me. And how I hope I can return. What a mixture of enchantment and reality. I'm certain that, just like Prague, you can be a quick tourist or you can linger and enjoy so many marvelous places -- and desserts!
Nearly 30 hours later I was back in my own bed, safe and satisfied. My passport is now stamped "visa applied for" with four days to spare, and I continue to be legal! So happy to have been there and done that!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Remembering and Forgetting
It has been a week -- a really crazy one -- since my wonderful Zahorany Easter! The memories of a particular smile, an unexpected treat, the playful fluffiness of a new puppy, the privilege of connecting again with family have all been added to memories of other wonderful times in Zahorany. The pleasures keep piling up. And what a wonderful gift it is that we can treasure people, events, joys, and yes, sorrows of other times. It is easy to understand why Alzheimer's is such a feared diagnosis: the memories we choose to keep and cherish (or which we seem unable to forget) create who we are within ourselves and with others.
It has been more than seventeen years since my first trip over the road going north out of Prague, winding its way through Litomerice, on up to Usti nad Labem, and on through Germany. And it's been seventeen years that I have carried the memory of my first trip past Terezin, one of the infamous Nazi concentration and death camps. And it's been a week in which I cannot shake the impressions and thoughts of yet another trip around the bends in the road right through the middle of Terezin.
Terezin, just around the bend from Litomerice, was built in the late 18th century as a "perfect fortress" for that time, at least. It's never been tested in combat. Part of the town, however, became a prison a century later, and then "earned" a place on the larger canvas of history when the whole town was turned into a Jewish ghetto in early WWII. Not only did "The Little Fortress" become a death camp, the whole town became a transfer station for Jews on their way to death camps all around Europe. Terezin is now just another interesting Bohemian town, this one with more history than most. The camp is now "restored" -- certainly sanitized enough that visitors can bear the awful weight of its history -- and there are indeed markers and memorials to those who lost their lives. It is a large site, still the mounds of dirt covering the rooms beneath, still the appalling difference between the paths for guards and the ditches for the condemned, still signs of the tracks carrying the freight cars. Several times I've wondered if the overwhelming sadness I feel each time I pass is just fanciful. I think not. Surely such horror and anguish must remain as a reminder somehow, somewhere.
Because I was on a bus without the distraction of good conversation, or perhaps because it had become time for me to notice yet another layer of this horror, I became acutely aware of surrounding churches. One only a block or so away, several others near enough that seeing the nicely landscaped site would have been unavoidable. I know that for the most part the churches were emptied, used for other purposes. They were not places of worship and faith. I've listened to stories as recently as this past week of life during the past 60-70 years. I've heard about the various ways religion was replaced with "state." And yes, I've read the works of and the stories about clergy, theologians, philosophers, and ordinary / extraordinary people such as Elie Wiesel so that I've gained even a small understanding of some of the enormity of their choices, the incredible manner in which their beliefs held fast.
Someone taught me a few years ago that the power is in the question. There are enormous questions remaining in this for me. One is the ability of world leaders to forget so quickly the lessons of the past or to believe so arrogantly that what was wrong and evil for others is necessary and/or excused for them. Another is the rise of those who would simply revise history, either because they cannot or will not allow themselves to admit even a small portion of connection to the horrors of the past or the possibility of repetition.
That's all the big stuff. I am still dealing with the small stuff. What would I have done? Who would I be, living in such terrible circumstances? How would I act and react, for myself, for those I love, and for others I do not even know. What do I really believe? Who am I?
It is said that someone asked Eleanor Roosevelt at a particularly trying time in her life if she believed a person should "forgive and forget". Her response was this: Of course we should forgive. We should not forget. It is our memories that shape us and make us who we are.
I'm old enough to remember parts of this history, protected enough that it is not personal, and hopeful enough that somehow, sometime we can incorporate memory into our planning, we can raise our standard of acceptability, not repeat the past we appear to have forgotten.
It has been more than seventeen years since my first trip over the road going north out of Prague, winding its way through Litomerice, on up to Usti nad Labem, and on through Germany. And it's been seventeen years that I have carried the memory of my first trip past Terezin, one of the infamous Nazi concentration and death camps. And it's been a week in which I cannot shake the impressions and thoughts of yet another trip around the bends in the road right through the middle of Terezin.
Terezin, just around the bend from Litomerice, was built in the late 18th century as a "perfect fortress" for that time, at least. It's never been tested in combat. Part of the town, however, became a prison a century later, and then "earned" a place on the larger canvas of history when the whole town was turned into a Jewish ghetto in early WWII. Not only did "The Little Fortress" become a death camp, the whole town became a transfer station for Jews on their way to death camps all around Europe. Terezin is now just another interesting Bohemian town, this one with more history than most. The camp is now "restored" -- certainly sanitized enough that visitors can bear the awful weight of its history -- and there are indeed markers and memorials to those who lost their lives. It is a large site, still the mounds of dirt covering the rooms beneath, still the appalling difference between the paths for guards and the ditches for the condemned, still signs of the tracks carrying the freight cars. Several times I've wondered if the overwhelming sadness I feel each time I pass is just fanciful. I think not. Surely such horror and anguish must remain as a reminder somehow, somewhere.
Because I was on a bus without the distraction of good conversation, or perhaps because it had become time for me to notice yet another layer of this horror, I became acutely aware of surrounding churches. One only a block or so away, several others near enough that seeing the nicely landscaped site would have been unavoidable. I know that for the most part the churches were emptied, used for other purposes. They were not places of worship and faith. I've listened to stories as recently as this past week of life during the past 60-70 years. I've heard about the various ways religion was replaced with "state." And yes, I've read the works of and the stories about clergy, theologians, philosophers, and ordinary / extraordinary people such as Elie Wiesel so that I've gained even a small understanding of some of the enormity of their choices, the incredible manner in which their beliefs held fast.
Someone taught me a few years ago that the power is in the question. There are enormous questions remaining in this for me. One is the ability of world leaders to forget so quickly the lessons of the past or to believe so arrogantly that what was wrong and evil for others is necessary and/or excused for them. Another is the rise of those who would simply revise history, either because they cannot or will not allow themselves to admit even a small portion of connection to the horrors of the past or the possibility of repetition.
That's all the big stuff. I am still dealing with the small stuff. What would I have done? Who would I be, living in such terrible circumstances? How would I act and react, for myself, for those I love, and for others I do not even know. What do I really believe? Who am I?
It is said that someone asked Eleanor Roosevelt at a particularly trying time in her life if she believed a person should "forgive and forget". Her response was this: Of course we should forgive. We should not forget. It is our memories that shape us and make us who we are.
I'm old enough to remember parts of this history, protected enough that it is not personal, and hopeful enough that somehow, sometime we can incorporate memory into our planning, we can raise our standard of acceptability, not repeat the past we appear to have forgotten.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
A Long Night's Walk
Saturday in Prague. And once again a surprise email from a colleague: We're going to the celebration tonight. Meet at 5:30 at the tram stop if you want to come along.
There were a couple things about the situation I knew I could depend on. The first was that I definitely could find my way to and from this tram stop. The second was that these colleagues come up with some great ideas and are great company. Seemed to me that made it an obvious choice, especially since the day had been a bummer. (I'd "lost" a room to rent because I'm not an EU citizen -- a situation not likely to change any time soon!)
Two poor maps -- one with no street names and only driving directions -- and an article from the paper (in English, thank goodness!) got us well on our way - - - - in the wrong direction! Getting there can be part of the fun when you're with the right people. Fortunately, even though their exploration styles are totally different, these were the right people. Three long waits in a pretty brisk wind -- it is definitely still winter here -- and two crowded trams later, we were finally near our destination.
Remember the truism that a woman will ask for directions? Several interesting things happen when there are three women! One learns that there is a special music event every night at 8 at the Municipal House. This is an absolutely gorgeous Art Noveau building with the largest concert hall in Prague (as well as a stunning restaurant). It is also where Czechoslovakia was declared independent in 1918 and, coincidentally, a sight I get to admire twice a week going to and coming from a class, each time with slightly different light showing off the incredible green and gold. So -- first interesting thing learned while getting directions is where to enjoy other great evenings. Another learns that we'll reach our destination (the old fruit market) by going through the Powder Tower (built in 1475 on the site of an 11th century gate, and until 1836 beginning of the route of the Bohemian kings on their way to be crowned at the Castle). Then we need to walk a bit (no surprise there!), turn left, walk some more, and then those infamous and ominous words: "You can't miss it!" Fortunately the third woman (me) was playing eavesdropper, because she'd already heard "I'm not good with directions" from the second woman.
Particularly in the area leading to Old Town Square (this is called The Royal Mile) there is something interesting, or historic, or wonderful, or beautiful, or all of these to see every few steps. The first entry in a Google search for Old Town Square Prague states that if you go there, you'll step back in time 600 or 700 years. That's just what we had come to do! We had come to attend a celebration of an historical event 666 years ago. We were there! Staromestske Namesti -- Old Town Square.
First the fruit market. Hard to miss -- once we came to the right area. Just behind the Estates Theater. I must admit this is the first time in all my walks in this area that I'd been at the back of the Theater. And the back is nearly as beautiful as the front. It was built privately in the early 1780s by a Count and inscribed "To the Native Land and the Muses". When it was joined with the National Theatre, their motto -- The Nation Unto Itself -- was fittingly added. And yes, this is the place where Mozart himself conducted the premiere of Don Giovanni. At this point we knew all we had to do was follow our ears -- right to the stage where a group of musicians in period costumes were performing. The music was period, pleasant, and inviting. Soon, however, we just had to move on and investigate other possibilities.
Down narrow and crooked walkways, always watching for a stray cobblestone that could cause a stumble (sounds a bit like life, to me!), we gazed and gaped our way right into the middle of the Square and the Easter Festival. Booth after booth after booth selling sausages, chocolate, beer, Prague souvenirs, beautifully decorated Czech Easter eggs, a traditional sweet (long ribbons of dough wrapped around a round metal pole and roasted then sugared), nearly anything a vendor thought someone would buy. And more music. In an area totally decorated with colored eggs, festive ribbons, and fabric flowers, a stage had been erected, complete with 21st century lighting and sound system. It was graced with an ensemble of dancers providing a marvelous programme of folk dances. Who could possibly walk away from that?!
And yet, after more than a half hour, we managed to move along, back to the Estates, just in time for a medieval festival, commenorating the 666 years ago. There on the left of the stage was the court, complete with jester. In the middle, entertainment -- fire jugglers, dancers. And on the right, the troubadors. There was even a smattering of translation for those of us not yet initiated! What a show. At the end, the noble and knights mounted horses and clip-clopped their way down the cobblestones while their ladies waved farewell. All in keeping with tradition, it is duly noted!
Who could stop walking at this time? Surely not us. We continued to turn corners, stop here and there to check out good books or test the coffee, or just watch others enjoying themselves.
The night ended earlier for me than it did for the others. Moving toward home seemed more wise than moving onward. I found my way, still walking, to a tram stop much nearer home, one connection less, and at least 30 minutes faster. And yes, it was a bit embarrassing to see how easy it would have been to get there if only we'd known where we were going. (That sounds a bit like life also, doesn't it!)
One more Prague gift. What a night. Shortly after I reached my warm room, the fireworks began. This time I knew the reason. And I could join in celebrating that Prague was established, that it has come through all its twists and turns to this era, that for a little space it can be "mine", and I am blessed to enjoy it with friends.
There were a couple things about the situation I knew I could depend on. The first was that I definitely could find my way to and from this tram stop. The second was that these colleagues come up with some great ideas and are great company. Seemed to me that made it an obvious choice, especially since the day had been a bummer. (I'd "lost" a room to rent because I'm not an EU citizen -- a situation not likely to change any time soon!)
Two poor maps -- one with no street names and only driving directions -- and an article from the paper (in English, thank goodness!) got us well on our way - - - - in the wrong direction! Getting there can be part of the fun when you're with the right people. Fortunately, even though their exploration styles are totally different, these were the right people. Three long waits in a pretty brisk wind -- it is definitely still winter here -- and two crowded trams later, we were finally near our destination.
Remember the truism that a woman will ask for directions? Several interesting things happen when there are three women! One learns that there is a special music event every night at 8 at the Municipal House. This is an absolutely gorgeous Art Noveau building with the largest concert hall in Prague (as well as a stunning restaurant). It is also where Czechoslovakia was declared independent in 1918 and, coincidentally, a sight I get to admire twice a week going to and coming from a class, each time with slightly different light showing off the incredible green and gold. So -- first interesting thing learned while getting directions is where to enjoy other great evenings. Another learns that we'll reach our destination (the old fruit market) by going through the Powder Tower (built in 1475 on the site of an 11th century gate, and until 1836 beginning of the route of the Bohemian kings on their way to be crowned at the Castle). Then we need to walk a bit (no surprise there!), turn left, walk some more, and then those infamous and ominous words: "You can't miss it!" Fortunately the third woman (me) was playing eavesdropper, because she'd already heard "I'm not good with directions" from the second woman.
Particularly in the area leading to Old Town Square (this is called The Royal Mile) there is something interesting, or historic, or wonderful, or beautiful, or all of these to see every few steps. The first entry in a Google search for Old Town Square Prague states that if you go there, you'll step back in time 600 or 700 years. That's just what we had come to do! We had come to attend a celebration of an historical event 666 years ago. We were there! Staromestske Namesti -- Old Town Square.
First the fruit market. Hard to miss -- once we came to the right area. Just behind the Estates Theater. I must admit this is the first time in all my walks in this area that I'd been at the back of the Theater. And the back is nearly as beautiful as the front. It was built privately in the early 1780s by a Count and inscribed "To the Native Land and the Muses". When it was joined with the National Theatre, their motto -- The Nation Unto Itself -- was fittingly added. And yes, this is the place where Mozart himself conducted the premiere of Don Giovanni. At this point we knew all we had to do was follow our ears -- right to the stage where a group of musicians in period costumes were performing. The music was period, pleasant, and inviting. Soon, however, we just had to move on and investigate other possibilities.
Down narrow and crooked walkways, always watching for a stray cobblestone that could cause a stumble (sounds a bit like life, to me!), we gazed and gaped our way right into the middle of the Square and the Easter Festival. Booth after booth after booth selling sausages, chocolate, beer, Prague souvenirs, beautifully decorated Czech Easter eggs, a traditional sweet (long ribbons of dough wrapped around a round metal pole and roasted then sugared), nearly anything a vendor thought someone would buy. And more music. In an area totally decorated with colored eggs, festive ribbons, and fabric flowers, a stage had been erected, complete with 21st century lighting and sound system. It was graced with an ensemble of dancers providing a marvelous programme of folk dances. Who could possibly walk away from that?!
And yet, after more than a half hour, we managed to move along, back to the Estates, just in time for a medieval festival, commenorating the 666 years ago. There on the left of the stage was the court, complete with jester. In the middle, entertainment -- fire jugglers, dancers. And on the right, the troubadors. There was even a smattering of translation for those of us not yet initiated! What a show. At the end, the noble and knights mounted horses and clip-clopped their way down the cobblestones while their ladies waved farewell. All in keeping with tradition, it is duly noted!
Who could stop walking at this time? Surely not us. We continued to turn corners, stop here and there to check out good books or test the coffee, or just watch others enjoying themselves.
The night ended earlier for me than it did for the others. Moving toward home seemed more wise than moving onward. I found my way, still walking, to a tram stop much nearer home, one connection less, and at least 30 minutes faster. And yes, it was a bit embarrassing to see how easy it would have been to get there if only we'd known where we were going. (That sounds a bit like life also, doesn't it!)
One more Prague gift. What a night. Shortly after I reached my warm room, the fireworks began. This time I knew the reason. And I could join in celebrating that Prague was established, that it has come through all its twists and turns to this era, that for a little space it can be "mine", and I am blessed to enjoy it with friends.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Step by Step
. . .mile by mile. What a mixed bag of thoughts and experiences during the week, almost all accompanied by the sound of my own or someone else's footsteps.
I had a good idea when I read about and was interviewed by St. James what my work week would be. Since the company's mission/goal is to provide English language instruction to/in businesses, there are no "personal" language classes. (You know -- we're offering this class at ___ on ___. Sign up if you'd like to come.) The instruction is done at the client company's offices on a schedule which fits their work demands. That is why full time teachers are required to be available at peak hours -- 7:30-9 in the morning and 4-6 in the evening. The other requirement for full time status is to teach at least 17-20 hours a week. Because people can and do cancel, there obviously has to be some flexibility on the number! Logic says that to maintain the minimum hours, at least some mid-day work is necessary. Fortunately, I've been given several of those assignments. So, although I didn't talk about it much, I was not operating under any illusion this would be easy and comfortable. And that's before any consideration of preparation time for so many different classes each week!
I'm sure you are getting the picture here. 7:30-9 a.m. in one part of the city, then comes the routine: walk/walk, hop on, sit briefly, hop off, walk/walk (often accompanied by some degree of climbing) to arrive at another group, frequently in a very different section. Same thing, different place the next morning. And each afternoon a repeat, fortunately with different beautiful buildings, other interesting people to work and talk with and always a variety of faces to watch. To give them full credit, the Client Relations Managers (the folks who are in charge of our schedules) work very diligently to give us the time necessary to get from one place to another. There have been a couple times when they've been reduced to near begging and abject apology! And of course it is our mutual goal to keep the client happy! I have no idea how many steps I walk in a day. I do know I'm working on lengthening my stride. Logic tells me that if I cover more space in the same number of steps, I will arrive more quickly and do a favor for my body at the same time. I also know that the stairs down into the metro (subway) are in groups of 14-17, often with three sets. We're talking some serious steps in a day here!
Why am I talking about this? First, because it's such a major part of my new life/routine. Oh yes I'm tired when a day is complete. More importantly, however, it's on my mind because those steps are taking me to so many interesting thoughts.
Wednesday was a VERY long day -- began early with one of my favorite classes. Bright young people -- female corporate lawyer and male assistant marketing director at a personal products company (Unilever is a competitor and I've been aware of and used some of this company's products since my first trip here in 1990.) The day then moved through some rather normal events "down" into my least favorite group. You know this also: I dare you to teach me something! And then it was time (already 5:30) to make the trip to meet Iva for our first session. Little did I realize -- good thing -- the commute was over an hour each way. I also could not have realized what a gift it is to have time with her in the middle of each long week.
This assignment's SO different. First, it's in Iva's flat. She's invited me into her home and into her life. In many ways Iva seems to be representative of so many Czechs I see every day. Her life and mine are so similar -- school, college, memories of growing up and our favorite Christmas, college, marriage, a family with all its usual ups and downs, then work and a career change and constant sense of hangin' in there. Big difference? She's lived through some monumental changes of which I have only a third party knowledge. And she's obviously done it with grace and a lovely, somewhat shy smile. As we closed the door on the rest of the family -- eating the dinner she had prepared after work in, of course, a pressure cooker -- and settled down to begin our conversations (what a benefit to me that her primary goal is to talk!) I was so aware of two things. The first is how blessed I am to have been born when and where I was. The second is the universality of our experiences. Wife/mother/worker -- get it all done. That seems to know no boundaries, just a common thread of using what you can get to make it happen. She's changed jobs recently; better English -- and her conversation is already quite good though modest and hesitant -- will probably lead to a better job.
Time with Iva didn't reduce the number of steps or shorten the bus ride (and I do avoid a bus if at all possible -- they're so slow) but it changed the complexion of the day. And it makes it easier to face the next trip, and the one after that . . .
Iva's flat is way up on some hill miles out of "Old Prague". It's one of the "ubiquitous prefab Communist panelak housing estates ringing the city where much of the population still lives." (I told someone next day that I now knew where the "other million" of the Prague inhabitants live!) Quoting a guide book again: "local governments try to break up the grey monotony with two-tone paint jobs." Well, not at Iva's place! You're on your own if you want less monotony. And she certainly has done that within her crowded space. Lots of beautiful plants -- her Christmas cactus blooms three times a year: Christmas, Easter, and yet again. And even in the monotony and crush of buildings, after only a few of the many steps from the bus to her place I knew I felt safe and in some ways "at home."
I simply could not help reflecting on that hill and the others I could see from there. Who walked there 20 years ago, under the Russians? And 40? And 60, under the Germans? How about 100? At what point was it farms and villages, maybe only trees and forests. What an incredible country and people I'm blessed to share.
Oh yes -- another gift in the day? Walking out to see the same enormous moon that you were watching (I hope!!) Don't know if we could see the eclipse here. Do know that I missed it. And also know that if I had been with Alexander (oh, do I miss "my boys"!) we've would have had some serious conversations about it.
Bottom line for each of us - - day by day it's step by step. Tiring? Yes, sometimes. Interesting? Always, if we take the time and energy to let it become part of us.
I had a good idea when I read about and was interviewed by St. James what my work week would be. Since the company's mission/goal is to provide English language instruction to/in businesses, there are no "personal" language classes. (You know -- we're offering this class at ___ on ___. Sign up if you'd like to come.) The instruction is done at the client company's offices on a schedule which fits their work demands. That is why full time teachers are required to be available at peak hours -- 7:30-9 in the morning and 4-6 in the evening. The other requirement for full time status is to teach at least 17-20 hours a week. Because people can and do cancel, there obviously has to be some flexibility on the number! Logic says that to maintain the minimum hours, at least some mid-day work is necessary. Fortunately, I've been given several of those assignments. So, although I didn't talk about it much, I was not operating under any illusion this would be easy and comfortable. And that's before any consideration of preparation time for so many different classes each week!
I'm sure you are getting the picture here. 7:30-9 a.m. in one part of the city, then comes the routine: walk/walk, hop on, sit briefly, hop off, walk/walk (often accompanied by some degree of climbing) to arrive at another group, frequently in a very different section. Same thing, different place the next morning. And each afternoon a repeat, fortunately with different beautiful buildings, other interesting people to work and talk with and always a variety of faces to watch. To give them full credit, the Client Relations Managers (the folks who are in charge of our schedules) work very diligently to give us the time necessary to get from one place to another. There have been a couple times when they've been reduced to near begging and abject apology! And of course it is our mutual goal to keep the client happy! I have no idea how many steps I walk in a day. I do know I'm working on lengthening my stride. Logic tells me that if I cover more space in the same number of steps, I will arrive more quickly and do a favor for my body at the same time. I also know that the stairs down into the metro (subway) are in groups of 14-17, often with three sets. We're talking some serious steps in a day here!
Why am I talking about this? First, because it's such a major part of my new life/routine. Oh yes I'm tired when a day is complete. More importantly, however, it's on my mind because those steps are taking me to so many interesting thoughts.
Wednesday was a VERY long day -- began early with one of my favorite classes. Bright young people -- female corporate lawyer and male assistant marketing director at a personal products company (Unilever is a competitor and I've been aware of and used some of this company's products since my first trip here in 1990.) The day then moved through some rather normal events "down" into my least favorite group. You know this also: I dare you to teach me something! And then it was time (already 5:30) to make the trip to meet Iva for our first session. Little did I realize -- good thing -- the commute was over an hour each way. I also could not have realized what a gift it is to have time with her in the middle of each long week.
This assignment's SO different. First, it's in Iva's flat. She's invited me into her home and into her life. In many ways Iva seems to be representative of so many Czechs I see every day. Her life and mine are so similar -- school, college, memories of growing up and our favorite Christmas, college, marriage, a family with all its usual ups and downs, then work and a career change and constant sense of hangin' in there. Big difference? She's lived through some monumental changes of which I have only a third party knowledge. And she's obviously done it with grace and a lovely, somewhat shy smile. As we closed the door on the rest of the family -- eating the dinner she had prepared after work in, of course, a pressure cooker -- and settled down to begin our conversations (what a benefit to me that her primary goal is to talk!) I was so aware of two things. The first is how blessed I am to have been born when and where I was. The second is the universality of our experiences. Wife/mother/worker -- get it all done. That seems to know no boundaries, just a common thread of using what you can get to make it happen. She's changed jobs recently; better English -- and her conversation is already quite good though modest and hesitant -- will probably lead to a better job.
Time with Iva didn't reduce the number of steps or shorten the bus ride (and I do avoid a bus if at all possible -- they're so slow) but it changed the complexion of the day. And it makes it easier to face the next trip, and the one after that . . .
Iva's flat is way up on some hill miles out of "Old Prague". It's one of the "ubiquitous prefab Communist panelak housing estates ringing the city where much of the population still lives." (I told someone next day that I now knew where the "other million" of the Prague inhabitants live!) Quoting a guide book again: "local governments try to break up the grey monotony with two-tone paint jobs." Well, not at Iva's place! You're on your own if you want less monotony. And she certainly has done that within her crowded space. Lots of beautiful plants -- her Christmas cactus blooms three times a year: Christmas, Easter, and yet again. And even in the monotony and crush of buildings, after only a few of the many steps from the bus to her place I knew I felt safe and in some ways "at home."
I simply could not help reflecting on that hill and the others I could see from there. Who walked there 20 years ago, under the Russians? And 40? And 60, under the Germans? How about 100? At what point was it farms and villages, maybe only trees and forests. What an incredible country and people I'm blessed to share.
Oh yes -- another gift in the day? Walking out to see the same enormous moon that you were watching (I hope!!) Don't know if we could see the eclipse here. Do know that I missed it. And also know that if I had been with Alexander (oh, do I miss "my boys"!) we've would have had some serious conversations about it.
Bottom line for each of us - - day by day it's step by step. Tiring? Yes, sometimes. Interesting? Always, if we take the time and energy to let it become part of us.
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