Time to leave Italia

Snow adorns the Alpina cafe in Paderno, two weeks ago, and again today!

Well, dear friends, our time here in Paderno del Grappa is coming to an end rather rapidly. Last night we had the final dinner out with faculty at the same Casa Bianca where we ate our Thanksgiving meal, and the folks there knocked themselves out on our behalf. Excellent food, and excellent vegetarian and gluten-free selections as well. Everyone was enjoying each others' company and the volume of conversation was near deafening, until the dessert came - a home-made vanilla gelato with a warm berry sauce - and the room fell quiet. Except for spoon scraping bowl.

We have been blessed with an exceptional group of people with whom to work and live while here. The faculty are all dedicated and hard-working, and enjoy the kids, the environment, the program, and the travel opportunities. They are positive, kind, bright, funny and thoroughly delightful to spend time with. It has been a joy to be among such folk and it will be difficult to part from them. I hope we have made some friends with whom we will maintain contact, and even reunite. Maybe even here!

Last time we left here we said to each other, "That was great, but we don't need to do it again. Been there, and done that." Now we leave and hope to return.

I have grown even more impressed with and fond of this region of Italy. It is beautiful, quiet, authentic, rural, rich in history, and very Italian. It is also very conservative, socially, and resists change. There are changes looming all over Europe, and the entrenched populace is alert to and averse to them.

Immigration is one such perceived 'threat' - where last time there were very few noticeable immigrants, now there are many more. From India, Africa, Asia, and the Middle East. Where former immigrants were interested in and willing to be involved in assimilation, new arrivals seem more likely to cling to their former cultures. This is seen as eroding the Italian lifestyle.

The culture here is integrally linked to agriculture, with small fields of every imaginable crop grown in any available location, vineyards, olive orchards, and hayfields between the rural lanes. Everyone keeps some level of kitchen garden and most homes grow a variety of fruit trees, herbs and veggies. Sheep are herded through the lanes to graze down the fields, manure spreaders trundle along the main roads, and flocks of cows descending from the mountain pastures block traffic on their return every autumn. The pastoral effect is cultural and part of what the way of life is here.

This is Gabriella's Ortofrutta, a local truck-farm produce outlet. Most of the produce is from Italy, much from this region. We got most of our fruits and veggies here, as it was the very best, always primo fresh. That's what happens when it grows 5 kilometers away.

The Italian culture is also deeply steeped in its own history, and in its millennia-long symbiosis with the Roman Catholic Church. It is nearly impossible to extricate one from the other. Even the garbage and recycling calendar notes not only the date and day of the week on which each collection occurs, but the saints' days associated with that date. Paper recycling on Saint Joseph's day? Va bene!

A corner of the CIMBA campus, a La Salle order Catholic private school, during warmer weather earlier in our stay.

To what extent will these folks from vastly different cultures manage to assimilate? Will the new immigrants fill positions on the small-scale farms or work only in the region's industries and service sectors? Will they value the slow pace and the offerings of this rural area? Will the residents accept that folks with different religions and ways of being can be contributing members of their community? There is not a lot of acceptance visible yet, and some out-right hostility - especially toward the African immigrants - is overt and proclaimed. It will be interesting to watch.

Another change in the offing is dealing with trash disposal. Italians love cleanliness, and they love packaging, and there is a lot of trash generated in the process of living. This province, the Veneto, is exceptional within Italy in that it has gotten on board with a comprehensive recycling program, has educated the populace, and has provided excellent almost daily service for the various recyclables. There are other regions in the south that are struggling with trash issues - Naples has a grant from the EU to try to get its trash system under control and out from the grip of the Mafia. Campania is a region that took on other areas' junk, and now finds that close to 50% of the soil is contaminated. Much Italian garbage is sent to Africa for disposal, and surely there are problems that will develop with that system. Obviously, this is an issue much larger than Italy alone, and it stands as a case in point of how the personal has become global.

A home that we walk past every time we come into the campus, flanked by the base of Monte Grappa.

We have noted changes since our last visit, but the essence of this corner of the world is still beautiful and embracing - granted, as long as one is not from Africa. Ritorniamo.

That's all from Italy! We fly out on Sunday am to London, then go to Chicago to see Dad Hoffer for three days. From there we head home on Dec 9th. Home!

Prague

We had heard that Prague is a great place to visit for quite a while. When we lived in Italy in 2006, Mike's dad, Hank, spent several days there before coming to see us. Several other friends have been there since then and we kept getting great reports. It was time to see for ourselves.

We took the train from Budapest to Prague, going through northern Hungary and western Slovakia. The scenery evolved as we progressed - northern Hungary looked less bleak than we thought it might, but retained much of Budapest's grey tones. Western Slovakia was picturesquely rural and agricultural - apparently quite the breadbasket of Eastern Europe. Eastern Czech Republic showed more color and order and wealth, and Prague exhibited its vitality from its outskirts in.

"Vital" is the word that we found ourselves returning to again and again. This is no small feat for an ancient city striving to maintain its heritage identity while creating a modern niche in terms of trade, education, mass transit, and new markets. Tourists come for the history, architecture, the sights, the tours, and the entertainment, but if the city lacks vitality, there is little reason to consider returning. "Been there, done that," doesn't apply if the destination continues to evolve and attract. Prague does.

By a fortuitous quirk of hotel overbooking, we ended up removed from the tourist-heavy Old City, but close enough to access it easily by the city buses and foot. In our daily trek through the newer areas, Wenseslas Square, and the Old City, we got to experience various facets of the city, and our hotel was fabulously quiet, unlike those close to the Old hub. Not to mention that we were within a block or two of three vegetarian restaurants and a great little natural foods store. (More on this later: the VRI to city vitality.)

So, what's to like about Prague besides the wealth of vegetarian amenities? The Old Town, intact in spite of two world wars, and brimming with beautifully built and maintained architectural treasures;

The Charles Bridge - along with Charles Square and Charles University - was named after King Charles, a regent who actually may have deserved the tributes. The Bridge, seen here from the center toward the Castle side of town, is dotted with various statues all along its length, serves as a public market and gathering place, and is home to several buskers and groups of buskers.

View with statues, the Prague Castle, and the Vlatava River.

Atypical busker.

Typical tourists.

Typical buskers.

The Prague Castle, within which is the St Vitus Cathedral. The castle continues to be the seat of the Czech government, and is the world's largest functioning castle.

Interior of St Vitus Cathedral.

There is a tower within the cathedral that is open - for a fee - to folks who want to climb to the top. Personally, I have never liked heights. Mike talked me into it. I'm glad he did.

View of interior of Prague Castle yards, the west bank of the Old City, the Vlatava River and its bridges. The views were amazing.

The cathedral roof and another tower. This church is the most heavily gargoyled structure I have ever seen:

Look closely at the gargoyle outspouts across the top. If you have a computer with decent resolution, you can see that they look a lot like little pigs with crowns and wings. When pigs fly!  I only wish I could have gotten a closer shot, but that would have entailed flight or mountaineering gear, or a fancier camera.

Back in the center of the Old Town, in Charles Square, one finds this fabulous Astronomical Clock on the City Hall. People flock there to watch the hours struck, as the figures you see all move and a rooster crows, and other mechanical marvels unfold. It is beautiful, and keeps the hour, the day, the month, the season and the year.

Home of Franz Kafka. Prague was his birthplace, and is duly proud of the distinction.

Prague's civic tribute to Kafka. There is also the Kafka Museum, but what would that contain? Giant cockroaches? "The Existential Room"?

Prague is the home of a Jewish quarter. There are several old synagogues and an impressive cemetery. The cemetery contains over 17000 tombstones, all on less than one acre. Though Prague took in a wandering group of dispossessed Jews when few other communities would consider it early in its history, the resident Jews were not allowed much land and even less for the purpose of burial. We went into a synagogue which is now dedicated to the inscription of the names of those Jews killed in World War II from the Prague area. Each name is written by hand on the walls of the inner chambers. This in itself is powerful, but when I saw surnames of folks I now know: Fink, Schaffer, Schmit, and, yes, Hoffer, it was chillingly personal.

Anyone who has read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay will remember the Golem and its connection to Prague and the Jewish Quarter. I refer those who have not, back to the novel - a wonder. The Golem lives on in tourist souvenir booths, where one can now buy little Golems to take home. We didn't.

Perhaps there is a connection from the Golem to puppetry. At any rate, Prague is home to many many marionette shops and a marionette theatre. Almost anyone can end up as a puppet, it appears:

Pirate puppets.

Royal marionettes, court figures and jesters.

Witches!

We also saw marionettes of current politicians, celebrities and other cultural targets.

Protestantism and independence, linked not only psychically for the Czechs, but commemorated together in the town square by a statue with the figure of Jan Hus at its focus. Hus was a priest with a mind toward reforming the Catholic Church more than 100 years before Martin Luther came on the scene. His mistake was to take his ideas to Rome, where he was killed. Modern Prague has taken his spirit of reform and independence as its inspiration. We went on a "free tour" led by an ex-pat American, a totally enjoyable time with well-told stories. He verbally depicted the 1989 Czech Revolt at Wenceslas Square, in which over 200,000 Czech citizens gathered peaceably, then took out their keys. Each person jangled their keys, and the combined effect spoke their frustration with their sense of imprisonment relative to the world and their own freedoms.

Jan Hus to the left, with the oppressed of Prague to the right.

Prague, home of Alphonse Muncha, became a germinal point for the development of Art Nouveau. There are myriad examples all over the Old Town.

Classical music: Every church in Prague seems to host some variety of musical concert almost every night. There were a whole lot of organ music concerts of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, Pachelbel’s Canon in D, and other standard fare. It became a challenge to find a concert without that kind of boilerplate repertoire. We ended up going to a chamber music concert at the Music Academy because we wanted to avoid an organ concert, and because it promised to cover some Dvorak. Lo and behold, they also did the perfunctory – and their hearts truly were not in it – “Spring” from Vivaldi’s 4S, and P’s C in D. But the Dvorak was lovely, the musicians obviously cared more about it (I watched bowing technique as a visual cue, and it proved very indicative), and it was a lovely evening in a beautiful concert hall.  

The Academy string quintet. Note the imposing organ looming in the background. If we had a taste for organ music, this city would have been a goldmine.

Finally, this note: In Prague, the Vegetarian Restaurant Index to a City's Vitality was cemented. We had noted this as a possibility in London, where the most VRs were in the most avant-garde section of town, and decided that it has credibility while here. It's a simple premise: those cities with more vegetarian restaurants are the most vital. Witness Portland and Eugene, Oregon. The link is young people. See, when you have a city that is attractive to young people, you have a city that is more vital and you have more VRs. Simple, obvious.

The talent show

Faithful readers may recall that in the wake of Mike's guitar purchase, the subsequent students' guitar purchases, and the discovery of several talented individuals, a talent show came into plan. Well, it happened a few days back, and now we have a couple of photos to share, thanks to Sandy Peace (our camera overloaded that night, poor thing). Mike started out as a backup 'singer' for Bob Peace's rap skit:

Lookin' bad in the black hoodie, 'Dore'. The two middle kids are Oregon students who happily enough stepped up to the challenge, thank you Stephan and Ryan. The far left long-hair is professor Terry Robertson, with the skit's star, far right, Bob Peace. We suggested several names for the group, including Peace and Justice (Bob is a lawyer) and Give Peace a Chance. Even in the face of such brilliance, they remained nameless.

 Then Mike, one set later, came back on stage as the guitar-man for our duet, "Falling," by Kate Rusby. At times I thought the title way too appropriate, but we managed to keep our balance, hit the right notes, end together, and neither fell nor failed. Yay!

Yet another milestone for our Paderno experience is now safely under our belts, and the last week here approaches. There are increasing moments of bittersweet and nostalgia, but we are getting very psyched about being home again. Stay tuned for further postings as we manage them.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

We had a quiet day this Thanksgiving. Slept in, worked out at the gym, spent some time at the office, called family to say HT!.

Molly, Mike, the proprietor's daughter, Elena, Bob and Sandy Peace. That is a fireplace behind us, and there was a lovely fire burning in it. Elena practiced her school English on us.

Then we went out to eat with our friends and neighbors, Bob and Sandy Peace (great name, isn't it?), from North Carolina.We chose a place that Mike and I had been to twice last time we lived here (Bri and Rebecca, we took you there), but not since, "Casa Bianca" (white house, which it is), in Fonte, the village south of Paderno. The proprietress actually seemed to remember us, and fed us some of the best food we've had in Italy this trip.

This morning we woke to rain, which turned to snow! This is a first for us, as there was none of that at all in 2006. Paderno is pretty in the snow:

The palm trees outside our apartment window look a little bedraggled with snow on their heads. It was wet, won't last long, but it was kind of fun.

Also from our window, the near-by church steeple, mid-snowfall.

And now, with thanks to Ron Morey for supplying them, some quotes relevant to this great holiday:

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” — Albert Einstein
“Can you see the holiness in those things you take for granted–a paved road or a washing machine? If you concentrate on finding what is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.” — Rabbi Harold Kushner
“No duty is more urgent than that of returning thanks”. — Unknown“What if you gave someone a gift, and they neglected to thank you for it-would you be likely to give them another? Life is the same way. In order to attract more of the blessings that life has to offer, you must truly appreciate what you already have.” — Ralph Marston
“When we become more fully aware that our success is due in large measure to the loyalty, helpfulness, and encouragement we have received from others, our desire grows to pass on similar gifts. Gratitude spurs us on to prove ourselves worthy of what others have done for us. The spirit of gratitude is a powerful energizer.” — Wilferd A. Peterson

Pastoral interlude, with sheep.

Though I haven't yet gotten to the portion of our travels with my brother, Herb, and his partner, Judy, I find I need to jump ahead, beyond their visit, for a small tale of local wonder.

While they were here, Herb and Judy stayed in a near-by agritourism farm. Their first morning they discovered a narrow road that led them from the farm to the road leading to our apartment. Mike and I set out on Wednesday to explore it.

The road, with an ancient farmhouse. The photo is tilted, not the building.

It was an amazing fall day, with sunshine, pale blue sky and soft, cool breezes. We passed the farm and were heading further when suddenly we became aware of new and increasing animal sounds. We turned, and there on the hillside behind the farm, where formerly there had been only tall grass and clover, were now hundreds of sheep, goats, and donkeys.

We watched them fan out across the hillside, and decided to head back and investigate. Once there, we stood and took it all in. The entire flock had arrived just after we had passed the farm, and the fact that they had been right behind us was surprising, given their numbers. We hadn't heard them sneak up on us at all.

There were four shepherds with three dogs monitoring the perimeters, as there were no fences. One shepherd at the top of the hill called down to those below, and one of them went over to a donkey wearing a set of panniers, opened the compartments, and pulled out three newborn lambs! He slung each from his hands by their back feet, with scrawny heads, floppy ears (look at the photos - these sheep not only have floppy ears, they retain their tails. Funny looking.), and skinny legs hanging downward, bleating all the way. Then he made his way through the flock, finding ewes with freshly spray-painted backsides that indicated that they had just lambed, and plopped the little fellows down in front of the appropriate mommas. These babies were so tiny that they must have been dropped just that day, possibly mid- forced march.

Shepherds, with dog.

These guys did not have any more English skills than we had Italian, unfortunately. But a school kid showed up to watch, and we managed to put together this with his assistance: The sheep live on Monte Grappa most of the year. As a cold front was approaching, it was time to leave the mountain and head to lower pastures. So, what these guys do, apparently, is to drive the 700 sheep (plus 40 'piccoli' [little ones]-and counting!) from field to field, grazing them down, leaving their dung as exchange, going the distance to Venice along the Piave River, then turning around and returning come February. Whether they sell some off at Venice is unknown. 

Mike returned the next morning with an interested neighbor and learned more. The sheep had been sequestered for the night by a portable heavy plastic fence, and pretty much stripped the fenced area bare. A neighboring farm woman came by and asked them to have the sheep graze a section of her property, but then proceeded to delineate just where and where not the sheep were to go. Mike imagined that these guys who spent most of their time answering to precious few others would probably get tired of micro managers rather quickly. At any rate, her plot got a cursory grazing and the flock moved on. This was all big excitement for us here, and I knew you'd want to share in the thrill.

One of the newborns and its momma get some respite in the back of the specially-outfitted station wagon.

Mike made friends with one of the working dogs. He has a knack. But see how the dog doesn't really allow himself to disengage from his task. You may also notice that Mike looks cold - this was the day before the snow came.

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Budapest

As I see that Budapest is in the celebrity news due to Angelina Jolie filming there, I'd like to assert that we were there first. Flashback to October, our first travel week. Which in many ways feels like a year ago, considering that I’ve been in Prague, London, Delhi, the Punjab, Barcelona and Venice since then.  And lived to tell the tale quite happily, I hasten to add. According to my camera’s built-in calendar, it was Oct 2 through 9. I consider that a reliable and well-informed source. Better than I am, at least.

Budapest was fun, but a mixed bag, all in all. Mike and I could probably have fun anywhere, I acknowledge, but some places are more conducive, more awe-inspiring, more quirky or somehow have their own unique addition to one’s view of life that they naturally add to a good time.  Budapest has a dual personality disorder which it has not effectively resolved, and which got in the way.

You see, Budapest would like you to believe that it is a shining, cosmopolitan, modern city with an ancient and rich history, all of which you really want to see. But the reality is that it is a recently recovered Communist bloc city, with dark, gray, seamy, and grimy sectors way too close to the thin veneer of chic shops and pedestrian malls in the old town.  Don’t scratch the surface too deeply, it will not hold. 

We were commenting on the morning that I took this that the predominant color in Budapest was gray. The weather came color-coordinated as well. This is on Andrassy Korut, the main drag from the river up to the Szechenyi baths, near our hotel. We decided to capture the going mode.

And the reality behind the “Ancient and Rich History” is that Budapest came into its hay-day in the 1890s, as the seat of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Most of the beautiful, splashy buildings date to 1896 or thereabouts. Whereas in Italy and Spain one encounters cathedrals and civic buildings dating from the 1300s to the 1500s that are built from quarried marble and limestone, and ornamented with statuary carved from real stone by Renaissance Masters, in Budapest, many of the neoclassical mansions and public buildings are plaster-over-brick, adorned with cement statues, and are starting to show the ravages of cheap construction and 100+ years. It’s a little like seeing  a fresh young maid in her national ethnic costume, only to discover on close inspection that she’s actually 48, her costume is made of nylon and polyester, done poorly, and her underthings are Soviet-issued dingy woolen longjohns.

Naturally enough, I didn’t take photos of the seamy underbelly of Budapest, just the pretty and interesting stuff. Go figure. 

We walked many miles while there, as is our wont. There are a couple of very long bridges over the Danube, which connect the Buda and the Pest halves of the city, and we walked them a few times.  We found but one reliably good vegetarian restaurant, Govinda’s – hardly native, but it had consistently very good and inexpensive food, and we ate there every day. There is something odd about being served food by a Hungarian wearing a sari.

A record of the Budapest penchant for neoclassical statuary.

This is the Chain Bridge, the bridge crossing the Danube near central Pest.

Same bridge at night, all lit up, with Parliament Building on the opposite side of the Danube.

If you have not yet gotten the sense that the Hungarians reveled in neo-classicism, you certainly will soon! We got tickets to see a ballet one evening, scoring very good seats at a very reasonable price. The ballet was performed in the Opera House, a beautiful and impressive example of the aforementioned style. Note the genuine marble.

Entry staircase within the Opera House.

Cloakroom at the Opera.

Box seats within the performance hall. One can easily imagine the place in its prime, with Austro-Hungarians in full regalia, furs, jewels, top hats, and dress military uniforms. It also has to be a great place to shoot period piece films. Fun to sit and check it all out, too.

This is where one goes for Intermission. The Snack Bar? Our unschooled couthless minds fall short. Someone out there is more couth than we and can help, without a doubt. The Fancy Snack Bar!

So, the ballet was set to music by Dvorak, a Czech, to a libretto based on the novel by Margaret Mitchell - you guessed it - Gone with the Wind. An interesting juxtaposition. The dancing was actually very good, and truly conveyed the story quite well. Something that we could not fail to "notice" was that there were no African-Hungarian or otherwise descended dancers, so the parts of Mammy and the other O'Hara slaves were played by European descended dancers in blackface. Doing some very un-PC moves. Mike does a good version, you can have him demonstrate. A multicultural experience, all told, yes indeed.

We had an evening tea here. This is the back room of a modern book store on Andrassy.

The interior of the Szechenyi spa entry foyer.

No visit to Budapest is complete without at least one visit to at least one of the many hot spring spas throughout the city. Word is, if one digs a hole for planting a tree anywhere in Budapest, one has a hot spring on one's hands. There are dozens here. We went to Szechenyi because Rick Steves said that it was where the natives were more likely to go. It's also really big and cool-looking - we saw it from the airplane as we approached Budapest. There are three outdoor pools with fun features like fountains that pour onto one's head, bubbles and jets that arise from the pool floor and walls, a circular walled section within the major pool that had its own, strongly compelling current - folks just make their way into the area (due to strong currents at the mouth of the entry, this was no small feat) and get carried around and around in circles by the current. It's really fun, for some reason. There were two stone chess boards as permanent fixtures of one pool, with constant chess competitions, complete with bystanders and their comments.

Indoors there are more pools than I managed to count, with temperatures varying from a chilly 17 C to 42 C, and heated rooms for getting heat prostration, apparently - temps of 45 to70 C! Seriously. (As reference points, 17 C is 63 F, body temp is 37.1 or so, 50 C is 122 F, 60 = 140.) We walked into the coolest and turned around and walked out. But the pools were great, and I always like having a cool dunk to finish off. The clientele seemed split between your average Hungarian 63 year old and the college aged tourists. We spent about two and a half hours at Szechenyi and felt limply relaxed as we left. An afternoon well spent.

We indulged in an evening's entertainment of Folklore Dancing. Yes, it did sound a tad hokey, and the audience consisted entirely of tourists, but it turned out to be genuinely entertaining. One likes to think that some of the tourist dollars go toward keeping hungry Hungarian folk dancers off the streets.

Unlike this poor Hurdy-Gurdy busker:

This is a class act busker- complete with native costume, hat and boots, and playing a tekerolant- the Hungarian hurdy gurdy.

Folkloric Dance performance hall, full of American and English tourists.

As no flash was allowed, I tried to capture the dancers to limited success. These guys were wearing Fedoras, vests, boots, and shirts with puffy sleeves, over big skirts. I know these clothing items have very masculine sounding names in Hungarian, but that's what they appeared to be, in English. They also had long sticks and swords. Very masculine, indeed.

I probably shouldn't even include this one, but it shows that the guys also danced with women and that they were doing some very fast moves. Tight little circles, stomping, clapping - all very energetic and fun to watch.

That's all from Budapest, folks! Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

Really tiny cars

This is a posting composed before I left for India. It's pretty fly-weight, but it's got to get put out there sometime or another. Might as well be now.



Mike measures an "Aixam" model at the local grocery store.

 Probably because their roads originated millennia ago as footpaths and cow tracks, grew to accommodate a cart and horse, and got frozen at that size by the buildings that had sprung up, Italians seem to love small cars. They are, in other words, size appropriate for Italian city streets. And garages. We were walking along a side street in Bassano when a guy opened his garage door, drove out his BMW, parked it, wheeled out his motorcycle, then drove the Beemer back in where it rejoined his other motorcycle and a Smart Car. The garage was what we in the States would call a "one car garage."

I think one of the Fathers at the Istituto Filippin drives this. It's a Fiat that's a few decades old, and one of my favorites. If I had managed to have Mike stand next to this guy, it would probably come up to the bottom of his ribcage. It makes a Smart Car look like a Jeep. What it really needs is a big wind-up key on its back.

This is a recent Fiat model, parked at Bassano for one of the passegiatta evenings. I saw several of these in England, too, as they are incredibly good on both mileage and air quality.

And this smallest of all is actually from Barcelona! I don't remember its make, it may be an early Smart car.

OK, it's not only the Italians who like these. I do too. Our CIMBA- issued car is a pretty standard, black four-door Fiat sedan/hatchback - a Punto. But one of the other profs here got this beauty:

 That's right, it's a cherry-red, black-trimmed Citroen convertible! Mike Harnden, I can hear you groan with envy. Me too.