NY: Didn't scream once

Ok, so after a 13 hour day we’re home. I admit, I was feeling pretty conflicted about the whole road trip idea. I don’t like road trips. My mother wanted to live on the east coast; she never liked change and wanted to stay put. My father had bad asthma, and also I think sensed some glamour in heading west. We even moved there for a year, to Scottsdale, which wasn’t nearly as developed as it is now – there was desert for miles around, where we played in sand storms and my brother would bring home Gila monsters and tortoises, putting them in the bathtub while he tried to convince my mother that they would make good pets. I went to kindergarten in Scottsdale.

But my mother won out, and we returned, not to Philly but to NJ, being part of the flight to suburbs where the schools were free and inhabited by people who looked like us. But in the meantime, we drove back and forth. I don’t remember how many times, but I do remember interminably joyless trips in the back seat of an un-air conditioned two-toned Pontiac, me and my two older brothers, chewing gum stuck in hair, squabbles and swats, me throwing my shoes out the window and watching them disappear on the horizon to amuse myself. I remember with particular fondness a pair of red Keds.

So when Jon proposed we do this trip, I was conflicted. Ok, it is in my unwritten job description to go with him; I would want him to go with me, if the situation were reversed. But road trips are boring and physically uncomfortable and my legs are sticking to the vinyl car seat and my brothers are there and there’s a box turtle stuck under the seat who would’ve really preferred it if we left him in Texas, and please don’t make me go.

But we went, 7+ days, across 8 states, farms, mountains, the occasional small town, skirting cities, majestic rivers… and back again. This is one big honking country, I tell you. These states are frigging big. Hooooouuurs later you are still driving across the same damn state.

At times I settled in to a strange complacency. I lost track of time. I wasn’t nearly as squirmy coming home as I was on the way out. I’m still not sure what you get out of it though; you have a destination in mind, you get there, and you do what you went to do. The way there is kind of a loss. This country is resplendent, there is no doubt, and I’m thinking that’s what there is. You look out the window and it’s pretty. Hopefully. It might not be; it might be boring or ugly or exploited or neglected.

I think the dilemma was, this was a destination trip. To Woodstock NY and back, with just enough fluff time thrown in to keep us from flipping out from the tedium and the endurance test of sitting in the same pose for 13 hours a day. You can stop and get out, take photos, shop for souvenirs and what not, but a little negging voice wants you to just get the hell on with it. So the entire trip I was conflicted: Wait, let’s stop! Take photos, shop in that funky little shop back there…. Wait, we’re past it. Let’s just keep going. Every moment we stopped, in my head, added to the length of the day. I’m sure there’s a happy ratio: drive one day, stop for two, maybe. Whatever the happy ratio is, we didn’t employ it.

But I enjoyed the company, and nothing of any significance went wrong, and there were certainly bright spots along the way. But I think the jury is still out on the appeal of a road trip, particularly one halfway across the US and back in one week. Tell you what - next time I’ll fly and meet you there.

NY: And the birds sang along

July 30, 2011

Cleveland is a nice city. It seems some cities have an unfairly bad rep, mostly from people who have never been there. I live in Kansas City (on the Missouri side); I do recall my mother expressing surprise on her first visit that Kansas City “has a real airport”. When my father visited he brought groceries with him, in case he couldn’t find a store nearby. And I’m sure both of them half-expected to see a cow wandering down Main Street.

Does Cleveland suffer from the same assumptions? I imagine if you said you were going to Cleveland, the response would be, “Really? Why?” Does size matter? – is it that these cities are on the smaller side? How much stuff do people need to do, anyway? I’ve lived in Kansas City for 30 years, and I don’t take advantage of all there is to do here. You should visit; I’ll show you around.

Anyhow, in the morning we schlepped the laptop to Panera for some real coffee and a bagel, since our no-frills hotel only had non-dairy creamer. I’m sorry, but life is too short. We planned our day and headed out. Up 77 north to the West Side Market.

This market made me wanna move to Cleveland, no kidding. It’s one of the few remaining enclosed farmer’s markets in the US. Sturdy old building with just the right amount of ornament, with aisles and aisles of glass cases with people hawking meat, produce, cheese, baked goods, juices, prepared foods, ohmigod it was colorful and noisy and just smelly enough. We bought poppy seed Russian Tea Biscuits for a nosh, as well as some freshly ground horseradish (double X!) and some fresh coarse Dijon mustard to lug home. I would be at that market weekly if I lived there. –sigh- The funny thing is, if I had chosen the Cleveland College of Art and Design over KCAI, I might live there now...

Then east to the Cleveland Museum of Art. Under a ton of construction but they steered us along with cool signage. Visited a Japanese / Korean exhibit of calligraphy that didn’t hold our respective interest, but a photography show and a breeze through their contemporary collection did the trick.

Headed due north to see the Lake (Erie), just because it was there, and the Rock and Roll Museum because I.M. Pei designed it. They want $22 a pop. The Art Museum is free. As Jon put it, as big a fan as he might be of Tina Turner, he doesn’t care about seeing her dress.

Back to the no-frills but functional hotel for a snooze (the first of the week. Impressive stamina, I think, and I am a Big Napper). Then to Blossom Music Center for a concert by the Cleveland Symphony. Jon said they are one of the best in the country; Blossom is their summer venue. Blossom is the name of the big donor, isn’t that serendipitous? A nice evening, if a little steamy at the start. Birds inside the pavilion competed with the solo violinist but nobody seemed to mind. An all-Russian program – Tchaikovsky, Borodin, Stravinsky… A long program but not too.

Here’s a sweet thing: they started with a performance of Sibelius and Prokofiev by students in the Kent/Blossom Summer Institute. Then for the last piece (Pictures at an Exhibition by Mussorgsky), the students came back out and were stand partners with the orchestra musicians. Some of them fought back grins during the performance. How cool is that. What a memory that will be. Jon said, “One of the best endings”. He meant the Mussorgsky piece, but it was a nice ending to a good day. And yes, in Cleveland.

NY: Sooo, where you from?

July 29 2011
I like having meals with total strangers. You do it on train trips, too – you are arbitrarily seated with people for x number of minutes and then that’s it. So you make conversation, and I, for one, plunge right in. There’s something about the finiteness that makes it easy. No risk, no commitment. Yours is a shared experience, being at that place at that time, and the place is very important and deliberate. You chose, as did they, to be at a B&B in a 400-year-old stone house built by Dutch settlers in the New York Catskills. Relax and enjoy.

The British proprietors had met online; he had sold his internet-provider business to a telecommunications company, apparently for a happy sum, and he and his speech therapist wife had moved to NY from Bristol and London respectively to open a B&B. What is it about this trip – we keep meeting people who are living a dream. It’s either inspiring or depressing as hell. But it’s such pretty country and we are half a country and weeks away from our own lives, so what the heck, let’s just be inspired.

The B&B, the Stone House in Hurley NY, had cut fresh flowers and fresh homemade scones and fresh oat bread, still warm, and freshly whipped cream for your coffee and freshly scrambled eggs and ham. There were several of us at the table, a family from Arizona, a couple from the Netherlands via Atlanta. The proprietor, Sam, had a headful of history of the area he was delighted to share; there were cabinets of artifacts found in the house during its renovation. It was all very pretty but not too, not overwrought as B&Bs can be. And if that’s all too much for you, you can go sit in the cutting garden and access wireless internet.

But so much for that. We decided to burn through to Cleveland in one day, so back on the road we were. 9 hours. I must admit, I was actually refraining from screaming much of the time. I experienced waves of clenching where I felt like I would rather empty my skull with a melon baller than spend any more time in this car. But if you ever wondered what I would look like not complaining (in case you think I can’t), much less screaming, there I was. Sucking it up. Nothing would be gained by me pummeling the car window with my fists hollering “for the sake of my long-term sanity you must let me out of this car”. Although I would like to have given it a shot, just for grins, see if anybody’s listening.

But no, no screaming, so on to our suite hotel in a suburb of Akron we go. It has a kitchen we won’t use but it’s nice to have the extra room. No frills but it’s cheap and clean, although it is deodorized to within an inch of its life and exudes artificial fragrance from every polyester fiber. It doesn’t really matter though – it’s another night of falling into bed, oh so glad to be out of the car for a while.

NY: Just enough room in their front yards for a Madonna

It’s hard leaving home, again. We all went to breakfast at Cracker Barrel (my mother loves the place. They do have real maple syrup, and their eggs taste really fresh, and Jon thought their breakfast potatoes were great, and breakfast is not something he takes lightly. I like that you can completely invent what you want from here and there on the menu, including ordering off the children’s menu even if you are 56).

First, we were greeted warmly by Marianne the hostess, then our waitress (who you can find in the encyclopedia under Q, for “Quintessential people from New Jersey”) showed us a photo of her grandson (all those newborns look like aliens, I’m sorry, even mine), then another waitress who had a laugh that could break glass stopped by our table to say hello. My mother is well liked, if you judge it by the welcome she gets at Cracker Barrel.

Then back to Ellen’s house. Put the stuff in the car and say our goodbyes. My mother cries every time; it’s particularly poignant since she’s a widow now, and it’s tough driving away and leaving her there all alone. Although she cried when she was married too. It’s part of the deal now; if she didn’t cry I would worry why not.

We had a shortish drive to Woodstock ahead of us – 3 something hours. Although I have to remember to write to Google and give them what for, because they sent us via Route 206 through the heart of Trenton, much of it working class rowhouses single lane residential neighborhood creeping along, for over an hour and a half, though Google said it would be a perky 20 minutes. So 3+ hours became 5+ hours, which when you factor it into a 2500 mile road trip is annoying as hell. It was a testament to our relationship and our respective maturity that neither Jon nor I whined. Really. I’m surprised too.

So up through New Jersey and across the Hudson to New York, to the Catskills to Woodstock to the bassmaker’s place. I. Want. His. Life. Or his wife’s life – that would work also. She’s a bowmaker – they met at a string instrument convention, how perfect is that. They sit in their studios and work with their hands and gaze out at the hummingbirds on the monarda and coneflowers – take a nosh to the screened-in back porch and sit on pleasantly worn cushions on the wicker chairs and watch the deer, close enough to touch– 7 of them, that I saw – and two fawns, too. They stopped chewing when my camera shutter clicked and would stare at me through the screen. They looked healthy, not like the starving deer that invade suburbia in winter. I know deer are nuisance to many people, who I'm sure are sorry about that killing-off-all-their-natural-predators glitch - but I feel a certain privilege to be so close to such strong beautiful and gentle animals.

What I surmised about bass makers not being Type A’s proved very true. We returned from shopping in Woodstock proper – an occasional nice gallery nestled in between head shops selling tie-dyed tshirts and statues of Buddha – at 6 as instructed for dinner at 6:30. 2 ½ hours later we were finally sitting down on those back porch cushions for burgers and corn. Luckily our hosts were gracious and personable individuals, and during the wait there was much wine flowing. I am much more amenable to killing time with a glass (and then another) of Syrah in my hand.

Finally, then, on to the B&B. We had to let ourselves in because of the late hour, as directed by a note replete with diagrams left by the proprietor. No a/c on, really? It is cooler there but not that much. A double bed with a footboard – people who live in TallLand like ourselves usually do without the footboard. Hot room, short bed. But still, a bit disappointing we didn’t arrive early enough to enjoy the place a little more - quintessential b&b flowered wallpaper, very nice sheets, big happy pillows. Little notes everywhere explaining things, such as the bathroom is down the hall. Late. Tired. Bed.

NY: 3 trips over 2 bridges later

Wednesday July 27, 2011

I like visiting my mother. She's spry, upbeat, and has a positive energy. I'm not allowed to tell you how old she is, but she is old enough that she ought to seem a lot older than she does. There are many people 20 years younger than her with half her energy and wit.

Anyhow, so here we are. We talked about mall walking and visiting the pool in her 50+ living community, but we really really wanted to go to Ikea so it won out. Breakfast at Panera, then we tackled Philly via the Walt Whitman as well as the Betsy Ross, with no help from confusing Google directions, and proceeded to get quite lost (Jon was navigating. That's all that needs to be said about that). Plus that PA/NJ border is confusing, since it's on a diagonal - there's even a little snip of NJ that is west of a little parcel of Philly, go figure. Anyway, it took us about 3x as long as it should, but we made it. Even if we went over the bridge(s) 3 times.

This is a big deal, you see. The closest Ikea is 7 hours away in Minneapolis, where I have been known to drive just to go to Ikea. So it was on our list, baby. The list of places I made a point of going to when in Philly used to be a lot longer - Crate and Barrel, Restoration Hardware, Trader Joes, Whole Foods - KC is deemed a large enough market now for all of these, but Ikea is holding out.

So, with store map and big blue plastic shopping bag in hand, we shopped and shopped, ate the obligatory Swedish meatballs, Caesar salad, and a strange but good shrimp sandwich, and shopped some more - was all excited about new curtains and a new lamp, neither of which turned out to be in stock, but we made do with a new table purchase for the office. Score!

Home for a glass of wine while we assembled Ellen's new Ikea coffee table...

To Carlucci's for dinner - right on the Rancocas Creek - pretty - memories of riding horses to the creek through Anderson's peach orchard, circa 1970 or so... Friendly and cute waitress, good sea bass risotto, too.

That's it, a nice day spent with Ellen, who incidentally showed no sign of lagging during the marathon Ikea expedition, although both Jon and I had our low blood sugar moments. Good to know that I have her aging-gracefully gene - thanks, mom.

NY: Rob and Laura eat at Bob Evan's

July 26, 2011

So after a good night’s sleep in a seedy motel, we stopped at Bob Evan’s for breakfast, since the continental breakfast at the motel was anything but. What does that mean, anyway, continental breakfast? I’ll have to look that up later. I’m actually writing this in the car and will upload it later; otherwise I’d google it now. I’ll get back to you on that. I also had an idea to list every river we crossed, but that might be a notion that has already lost its appeal.

So the mystery of the moment is how a restaurant can suck the joy out of a simple breakfast. A little fleck of crisp, a sneak of rich, a glimmer of spice, a wisp of tang.. but no, weak lukewarm coffee, an egg scrambled in the factory weeks ago, home fries - again, what does home have to do with these what-used-to-be potatoes? Couldn’t some of them be crispy, a little disheveled where they stuck to the pan, some bits of flavorful yum to indicate that this food was cooked by a human being? And how hard is it to make a good cup of coffee? It's breakfast, for crying out loud - have some pity. Anyway, remind me not to go there again.

Steak and Shake works for me, incidentally – I’ll stop there once (but only once) every roadtrip. We stopped there yesterday in Indianapolis. I enjoyed the crisp onion slices on my single burger with cheese (albeit cheese of an unidentifiable nature). The fries are crispy, and I like places that use those squirty red bottles of ketchup that they refill, thank you. I hate the small plastic bottles of, say, Heinz that you know they are going to toss when empty. How hard is it to refill the squirt bottles, and think of the plastic you keep out of a landfill. I’m just sayin. Their ice tea was cloudy and bitter, though, but several lemon squeezes made it drinkable.

Did you know you can cross the state of West Virginia in about 20 minutes, across its panhandle that is squeezed up between Ohio and Pennsylvania? The second half of Ohio starts getting quite pretty, as it gets hillier as you go along (I disparaged Ohio in the last post, along with IN and IL. Blame the corn lobbyists. My apologies to the eastern half of Ohio). Some of it is downright picturesque, rolling hills becoming mountains, and increasingly more lush as you head east. There’s the strange billboard phenomenon, though. I personally vote for outlawing them altogether, but nobody asked me. Along most highways it seems that there is a frontage area along the highway where the billboards are – all equidistant from the highway, like somebody sat down and made up some rules about it. In the hills of Ohio, though, all bets are off – it seems that the private landowner succumbs to the temptation of some easy money, and puts a billboard up on their otherwise stunningly pristine homestead. Breathtakingly beautiful rolling hills, lush woodlands, fog in the low valleys, crisply painted barns and outbuildings, and smack dap in the middle of it, a board for an XXX Adult Toys store. Or McDonalds. Or adding insult to literal injury, the coal industry.

Then into Pennsylvania and the Allegheny Mountains. Tunnels going right through ‘em. I love tunnels, no idea why, I think it's a childhood going from NJ to NY memory. Exciting if fleeting drama. The Turnpike was odd though. Posted speed limit of 45 much of the time, orange cones blocking off the shoulder, and absolutely no construction workers in sight. After a while you get cocky and, like everyone else who has been passing you up till now, you damn the torpedos and barrel through at 87 mph.

Then, maneuvering highways white-knuckled through Philly. There’s Billy Penn on top of City Hall - there was a law for decades that you couldn’t build anything taller than Billy, but commerce won out and the poor little fellow is dwarfed by the skyscrapers around him, but there he is, holding his own nonetheless. Over the Betsy Ross into south Jersey, gingerly following the google directions to my mama’s house. Hugs, welcomes, fresh linguini with fresh clam sauce at Red Lion. Rob and Laura finally say good night across the gap between the twin beds.

NY: 11 hours and 3 states later...

Monday, July 25 2011

Ok, so we’re back on the road after a pleasantly uneventful stay at the Country Inn (which is part of a family of hotels; Country being the family-oriented sibling; Country describes the décor, more than anything else more genuine). Crossed the Mississippi into Illinois, Land of Lincoln. Forever on the horizon looms midwestern farm land, most of it evidently owned by corporate farms, judging by the monoculture of miles and miles of corn fields. Miles and miles, forever miles. Not much evidence of any other crop, aside from the very occasional soybean field. No orchards, grains, tomatoes, blueberries, nothing else. If you think the gun lobbyists are scary, then you don’t know enough about corn.

Illinois, Indiana, Ohio. The Missouri, Mississippi, the Susquehanna, and a dozen less reputable rivers inbetween. Once in a while, a picturesque farm – barns, silos, outbuildings , many pristine and tidy - contrasts with the occasional abandoned farm, its house and barns crumbling slowly. How sad that must’ve been, to be happily entrenched in your family farm life, likely for generations, only to gradually face the fact that your home is too close to the highway, although it wasn’t too close 10, 20, 50 years ago.

So last night, we decided we were going to stay half way between St Charles and New Jersey, and Expedia’d a hotel for about the price we Named Our Own Price for the bland-in-a-good-way Country Inn. Turns out not to be a good method – if you take the bidding process out of it, you take what you get: A room that was a smoking room for decades, in a one-level motel which is kind of quaint, except you can’t open your blinds or step outside except onto the parking lot. Nice people, cleanish room, dripping sink, rumbling white noise air-conditioning unit that’s either off or blasting frigid air, smelling of very old cigarettes.

But you know what? After 11 hours in a car and 3 states, you’re really tired, and you sleep really well. They did have lots of pillows. And good water pressure. And free wireless in the room. And what the heck, turns out that weak coffee, non-dairy creamer, stale pastries and relentless smoke smell are good motivation to get up early and hit the road.

NY: To New York via St Louis via St Charles

So here's the story: Jon plays the bass - the double bass or stand up bass - it's beautiful, "his large instrument" (that's another story). It developed a buzz, and had to be sent back to its maker, literally, for repair. Jon's son Nathan delivered it, last summer I think. The maker lives in Woodstock NY with his bowmaker wife, and let's face it - the guy lives in Woodstock and makes bass instruments by hand. This is not a Type A personality. So a good year later, after some pressure by Jon because school is starting up here soon, the bass is ready to be picked up, or that's the rumor, at least.

Jon is unwilling, for lots of good reasons, to ship it, so he has to go pick it up. I'm Jon's girlfriend, and although I don't have a written job description, if I did, 'accompany said boyfriend on long road trips of a practical and necessary nature to provide moral support' would probably be on the list. So here we are.

We left this afternoon, glad to be leaving Kansas City during its like 10th day of 100 degree temperatures, although most of where we'll be over the next week has the same dismal forecast. Uneventful drive to St Louis, about 4 hours - a stop at Sophia's in Columbia (we Urbanspooned it. Favorable reviews, and open on Sundays). We enjoyed - a friendly waitress, good service, nice space, pleasant food reasonably priced, and these funny Thomas Hart Benton-esque murals all over, only with the farmers taken out and college students painted in. (Columbia being the home of MU, the University of Missouri - Columbia Campus. Big honking school. Go Tigers, Go Mizzou. Whatev.)

Another 90 minutes in the car - just chatting, as the only mechanism for playing the ipods was packed in a suitcase, and it was, after all, only 4 hours, although I know that 4 hours without music would push H right over the edge. But we're grownups. I was weaned on 8 tracks. And Jon wasn't getting the player out, and it was in his suitcase. So we chatted, I survived, he survived me surviving, and off I-70 at exit 129 to St Charles.

A Priceline hotel. Priceline has never really let me down, and this is working fine - the Country something - Inn and Suites maybe. St. Charles is pretty. What Weston MO wants to / used to be. A big Lewis and Clark statue in the Katy Trail State Park (what is up, though, with the ridiculously overscaled dog..). We walked down to the river, and of course I left my camera in the hotel (which is almost my trademark. I never have business cards when I meet somebody, and I never have my camera when I am surrounded by photo ops). So the photos are lifted off a stock site, but they will have to do. Very pretty town, pretty riverfront. So far (256 miles far), so good. Only 1061 miles to go. And then we turn around and come home.

Hungary: The last email from the Land of Paprika

Well, here it is. My last afternoon in Budapest. It's only 3:30, but it's raining (surprise!)and seems much later = very dreary weather.

I dropped Dotty off at the metro station around 12:30, and took the Metro hither and yon, with quite a bit of walking yon, too. I went to two galleries to see the Typography show - it was in 3 but the 3rd wasn't open, thank heaven - I'm tuckered out. Although it was inspiring - I took many photographs and wondered why my students don't look at more work and get inspired - they are so dull - they should be sponges! I was a sponge today!

We overslept this morning (mighta had something to do with the two glasses of wine we had with the cake - should've written down the name - mocha with nuts, layered, hmmm, a Hungarian traditional cake) the waiter was a cutie and we lingered. ALthough the couple next to us smoked CONSTANTLY and I was distracted by that. If I wasn't already wearing my clothes for too many days in a row (the doing laundry in a sink notion works ok with underwear and sox - jeans and turtlenecks are another matter) - I am surprised my jeans don't have the metro stops memorized by now - I would find them icky simply because of the smoke they have absorbed this week. Ick. Anyway, where was I..

.. we overslept this morning and so missed the 9:30 English-speaking tour of the Parliament - so instead we had coffee and - you guessed it - croissants and took the metro there anyway, just to point and look from a distance, since the Hungarian equivalent of the Secret Service are pacing up and down and eyeing us suspiciously. I reached in my purse (my new MOMA travel bag with a zillion zippers, which is working out great, a good purchase) to pull out the camera, and got everyone's attention. Little ol' me, from the Midwest, wearing a purple hat I borrowed from Dotty. People keep guessing that we are American - mostly beggars and merchants - and I think it's the damn purple hat. Not a lot of color here. I took a photo of 4 teenagers - about your age, H, all dressed alike (as teenagers tend to do, no offense) dressed completely in blacks and grays. Not that they were of the Goth mode - I just think that's the fashion. Devoid of much color.

After messing with the SS guys, we went to two galleries - one, Hungarian Art Nouveau - fabulous, tons of the stuff, and a wide range of the style from its flowery inception to its evolution into arts arts and crafts. Then to a photo gallery, which was closed, but the building itself was so interesting - funky, old (but what isn't around here), and loaded with photo ops. So the photo viewin' turned out to be photo doin'.

Back to the hotel, dropped DOtty off, had a gyro sandwich which was actually on a tortilla instead of pita bread, and had definite chili seasoning on the meat. A little culture clash in a square piece of foil. To the two Type galleries, and now here to the internet cafe, which was swarming with students when I arrived and now it's just me and the sullen clerk behind the counter. Although sullen seems fair enough - it's kind of dank in here, and there's an arcade next store - noisy. And smoky.

Speaking of being by myself - metro episode: I had walked and walked and found myself at a big farmers market inside a repurposed train station (exotically titled Big Market on my map), then caught the metro to head up to the galleries. It was the end stop on the yellow line, and I was in a car by myself - kind of peaceful actually. THe train started, and then stopped, in the tunnel. No one else in the car. Dead quiet. Dotty would've been freaking out (although of course she's level headed - it's just that her voice gets kind of high when she's excited...)! Then a young woman and a guy in a uniform walk by, in the tunnel, outside of the car. The woman shrugs, the guy gestures to me (I'm guessing) that nothing's wrong, just stay there. Then the car goes back the way we came, I get all confused and get off, and start over again. I think they forgot we were at the last stop, went too far and had to backtrack. Hmmm. My first solo metro experience. Similar sensation to stopping in an elevator between floors. I think my cool traveling head was tested and I passed.

Some generalizations about Budapest:

Hungarian women, particularly those in their 20s and 30s, spend a lot of money on boots. Tuck in their pants. Women with money highlight their hair. WOmen without use cheap red dye from the drugstore. They seem bored with being brunettes.

Beggars here really mean it. THey are pathetic - crippled, sick, shriveled - unlike the Plaza beggars, who wear shoes that cost more than mine (not that that is saying much).

They are real big on conserving water - all these fancy low flush toilets with two buttons, 1 for #1 and 1 for #2, no kidding, but they don't recycle anything and you rarely see florescent (sp?) light bulbs.

There's no person-to-person crime to speak of. No dangerous areas. You never smell urine (travel to NY and you'll know what I mean). They don't litter. Stuff is clean, like the metro cars. Except the buildings, which are very sooty from all the cars. No SUVs, but few Smart cars either.

Ok, I'm kind of annoyed, I was going to print my boarding pass now but forgot my passport. Argh. Must go back to my room and get it. Then I will nap a bit, get cleaned up, get a recommendation from the desk clerk for a nice but not too pricy restaurant, maybe hear some music if I can find any, and I did finally find a scrubby and bath salts (Judith wrote it down for me so I could find it in a store: Furdoso!, (only with lots of dots over the letters). Turns out Hungarian is its own language, and not related to anybody else's except, get this, Sardinia. No wonder it's so difficult to figure out. So I'll get to try out that bath tub - it's like 2 feet deep, I can't wait.

My only fluent Hungarian word? Kosonome. THank you.

That's it. When you wake up tomorrow (wednesday) I will be in the air over the Atlantic. Bon voyage to me.

xos/mom see you soon. I'm ready to come home now...

Kosonome.

Hungary: Missing my q-tips

Hi. I'm spending a lot of this trip damp. I even have a damp towel in my backpack, so there.

Let's see, what's been up. Last night we met Dotty's friend Judith - young, professional, cute, well-spoken, smokes like a chimney - for dinner and beers. We are on an erratic eating schedule - between Dotty not being a big breakfast person, the language barrier (always on the lookout for menus in English), keeping it cheap, and trying to cram a lot into a couple of days, it's way too many croissants and cappucinos. Oh what I'd give for a big salad. It's a wonder my lower intestinal tract hasn't completely given up by now. Anyway, last night, dinner and beers: babba ganoush (sp?), and fried cheese - a middle-Eastern theme, I reckon, in a Hungarian jazz club.

On the way home, in the pouring rain, we went seeking one of those nylon-net scrubby things, but struck out. Seems they don't use wash clothes here in Budapest. I was soooo looking forward to my long shower this morning, washed my hair for the first time in ew, too long - ended up using a sock. WOrks in a pinch - put your hand in it, soap it up, works ok. And then you have a really clean sock to boot.

Hung the clothes up to dry, early to bed - in bed by 10 - pooped - Mike called and couldn't believe we weren't out partying - we do jam a lot into one day, though - getting our money's worth.

Long time falling asleep, all those damn cappucinos - you'd think I'd learn.

We had a weird thing this morning, though - due to my long shower (ahhhh) Dotty went out and about and we were trying to connect by text and couldn't - I texted her 5 times, they took as long as 20 minutes to get there, and arrived out of order. By the time we connected Dotty had a little teeny meltdown - said I wasn't holding up my end of the logistical planning - I said I'd be glad to but she already had our itinerary figured out - etc etc. The meltdown passed, I have offered several times to help with the plans but I think she's got such a head start, having been here several times before, so it seems kinda silly. ANyway, pretty good, considering we have been together almost 24/7 since Tuesday - one small meltdown and that's it -

Anyhoo. Finally found each other, took a few false starts to get to the Castle District, crossed the Danube, rode the Funicula (a ski lift of sorts, except there ain't no snow) to the top, had some croissants and coffee, and walked around all morning. Amazing. Amazing buildings, amazing sculptures, amazing view, and guess what, it wasn't even raining. Bought a cheesy carved box and a little teeny still life oil painting for $15. Made our way back down, and stopped at the Opera HOuse to buy tickets for...

...the PHilharmonic tonight. We are already lamenting how shabby we are looking - vanity is long gone, left it behind when I decided to do carry-on. Whatever, anyway the Opera House is supposed to be acoustically perfect. Tickets were $18.

Then, to the Baths. Very large beautiful building, probably a coupla hundred years old, mineral baths, saunas, steam, outdoor baths, indoors, on and on. We spent about an hour in the water (I am still pruney) then had a 20 minute massage (I wanted longer but they said no. I asked for 2 in a row and they still said no). My beefy masseuse spoke no English but who needs words at a time like that. I love a massage. Always a thoughtful gift idea, by the way.

So here we are, back in the internet cafe (they use the term cafe loosely - machine coffee, bottled water. By the way, NO sign of recycling here in Hungary AT all). Mr Big Guy with the B.O. has been replaced by Squirrelly Porn Man, no kidding. I am on computer 1, dotty on computer 2, and Porn man on computer 3. He is focused. Has quite an attention span, that guy. I think the building could burn down and he wouldn't take his eyes off the screen.

Soon in search of dinner and wine (not necessarily in that order), then to the Philharmonic. Tomorrow we hope to visit the Parliament, if there is an English-speaking tour. Then Dotty leaves around 1-2 ish. I hope to see that Typography show, have a nice dinner somewhere, pack and try out that bathtub. Will head for the airport first thing Wed a.m.

Saw a poster for Tom Jones (what's new pussycat, whoaoooaoaa) - he will be appearing at their huge sports arena on the 11th. Isn't he dead? Edgar WInter is appearing here also - all these dead guys still perform. Black Boys of Alabama. ANd Marcus MIller (Jon, do you know him?)doing the songs of Miles Davis.

I am receiving everyone's emails, thank you, by the way - no time to address them individually (I do like getting them though - nice to know I cross your respective minds), otherwise I wouldn't get to see as much of this beautiful city. It really is spectacular here. And we even had a little sun today - 5 or 6 minutes worth.

That's about it. There's a glass of wine out there with my name on it.

xos/mom

Hungary: If I say it enough times, will they give me what I want?

Sunday evening in Budapest. Last night we went to Aggie's for dinner - she made the lesho with oil instead of lard, thankfully, but was too pooped to prepare the paprikash (say that 3 times fast). We consumed much wine (big surprise), and came home and packed.

This morning we packed a brown bag of yogurt, apples and cereal bars, and boarded the train, er, bus for Budapest. The train tracks, like pretty much everything else in Pecs, is under construction. So we stopped at a small town after an hour bus ride (clean, comfortable) and switched to the train (ditto).

I love trains. The scenery, through the fog and drizzle, is picturesque, although I keep picturing marauding nazis everywhere - the landscape, the road signs, the village architecture - all just like in the movies. At the tower restaurant I annoyed the waiter by pulling the blinds down (all that fog was glarey - how ironic is that) and he said something that began with a 'p' (might have been 'do you want to order' for all I know) but in my head I heard "vere is your passport!?" and was sure I was going to get hauled off somewhere, never to be heard from again, all because I closed the damn blind.

Anyway, the scenery - pretty - only 50% of Hungary is cultivated - the rest is mostly forests and fields, rolling, quaint little villages with wells, no kidding, next to the houses, where you crank up a bucket of water, draft horse-drawn wagons moving piles of hay...

Ah, and Budapest! I am a city girl! Dotty did point out to me that I shouldn't judge Pecs by the gray drizzle (which followed us here) or by the construction - I think I offended her when I used the word 'decay' to describe my impression - and reminded me that Pecs has been named(I paraphrase) the Cultural City of 2010 by the European Union, and the reason that there IS so much construction, is they are spiffing it all up with the money the EU gave them... that if I came 'in season' there would be outdoor cafes, people everywhere, music in the streets! I acknowledge her point. But in any case, I like urban bustle, and am thrilled now to be in Budapest.

We arrived around noon, checked into our charming hotel, took the metro to Heroes Square, which is a LARGE square surrounded by museums, with an enormous monument honoring the heroes who rescued Budapest from some marauders. Not sure which ones, as Hungary has suffered its share of marauding and I can't keep all the parties straight. We had a nice lunch, the fanciest so far, with yet more Hungarian food (sausages and chicken paprikash), house Merlot for under $2.00 a glass (wine here is cheaper than water the water tastes awful and everybody drinks bottled), cloth napkins and clean waitresses.

Then to the Contemporary Art Museum for some esoteric video installation that lost a lot in translation, and ogling of the jewelry in the gift shop.

Home to nap, and we are out once again. We are meeting Judith (a student of Dotty's from some years back - the woman can't only make friends on a dime, she can keep them, too)for dinner at her favorite restaurant.

Tomorrow we are going to try to get tickets for the symphony, go to "the castle district" (I kid you not), and to the thermal baths for a soak and a massage. Seems the city has underground thermal (hot) springs under it - I intend to take advantage of them, along with the strong forearms of a beefy Hungarian masseuse (sp?).

Right now we are in an Internet Cafe. Very simple, tables with PCs with two languages on the keyboard. Someone in here has B.O. but my need to connect with home is outweighing my delicate sensitivity to odors, even those emitting from a big Hungarian fellow who really needs to rethink his standards of personal hygiene.

It's still raining - actually till now it's been a mild drizzle; now it's POURING. EVERYONE smokes, although thankfully they don't allow smoking in here - maybe for the sake of the computers - which balances out big guy's B.O. a little bit.

Tired of the rain, tired of the cuisine, but thrilled to be in a European capital city. I am not concerned about my time here alone. THere is a contemporary typography exhibit, believe it or not, at a gallery that's a branch of the Contemporary Museum I intend to check out Tuesday afternoon. I also have an eye on the hotel bathtub - incredibly deep! I might see if I can make a drugstore clerk understand English for "bath salts!" Maybe if I repeat it enough .... at the concert Friday night I got in line for a bottle of water and was so involved with remembering how to count the money I forgot I had no idea how to place my order - once again, I resorted to repeating it - 'bottle of water, bottle of water!' The two bartenders just stared at me - finally one slapped the other on the back and said "Viz!"

Ok, off to meet Judith. Another day, another pair of damp socks...

xos/mom

Hungary: Is the wine mulled yet?

Good morning, on Saturday. Today we are going to take the bus to the “tv tower” which is up in the “hills” (mountains, by MO standards) to see the view, cloudy as it will undoubtedly be. On the way down, we are stopping at a restaurant where Laszlo recommends the trout. Yum.

Meanwhile, Aggie (a friend Dotty has met here) is making us dinner – lecho (sp?) a national dish which Aggie described as ‘greasy’ and ‘you start by frying onions in lard’. It has tomatoes and paprika in it also, which is actually the pepper, not the spice derived from its seeds. Aggie also pointed out that both of those are out of season. Nonetheless, Dotty had wondered about it, and Aggie, being warm and thoughtful, texted us this morning and told us we are eating dinner at her house tonight. She is also making chicken paprikash. Sometimes, though, greasy is just what the doc ordered, so I will give it a try, and put the lard detail out of my mind.

The 3 of us went to a concert last night – as luck would have it, the Balkan World Music Festival is here this week. It was Gypsy music last night, 3 very different bands. The last one played what sounded to me like one polka after another, although the instrumentation was interesting – a saxophone played by a man who had to be 6’8”, and a square piano-like thing, played by a middle Eastern fellow (not saying that the instrument was middle Eastern necessarily) played with xylophone- type sticks. We left midway through that – a little polka goes a long way. I enjoyed the first two bands - the first had a woman vocalist with an ethereal voice, and the second, very animated guitarists and violinists – entertaining to watch. At one point I think I heard a lick from that song that Pulp Fiction made famous, with that very fast guitar. Who knew it was an Hungarian folk song – no kidding.

Time to go – more later.

Ok, we’re back from our trek to the mountaintop. As it turned out, there was enough fog to make a good setting for shooting a horror movie, where you can’t see your fingers at the end of your arm and the creature comes snarling out of the woods.. We laughed and laughed and took photographs of all 4 views (n,s,e,w), all of which looked exactly the same. Then, as we had two hours till the bus returned, we camped in the restaurant in the tower, had too much coffee and discovered that fried pancake is actually a croquette. A surreal interlude: in a 360 degree panoramic restaurant, windows all around, can’t see a thing, a waiter that doesn’t speak any English at all, interior decoration along the lines of a Sound of Music diner (floral tablecloths, carved furniture, dried flowers on the table), and the soundtrack from Grease playing on the radio.

Thinking the bus left at 12:05, we paid the bill and went outside (Cold. Damp.) and realized that the bus didn’t actually return till 12:35. More hysterical giggling. But we discovered a small bar at the foot of the tower, met two Budapest architecture students, (both outgoing and able to speak English), and had a cup of hot mulled wine. We thought that quite a stroke of luck.

We skipped the trout restaurant, having killed our appetite with deep fried pancake, so we went and bought our train tickets for Budapest (we are leaving Pesc tomorrow morning – I am ready -this is really just a 2000 year old college town - population about 160,000). Dotty will be returning Tuesday afternoon, which will leave me Tuesday evening in Budapest on my own – an opera or symphony concert perhaps? Then Wed morning I take the train to the airport and begin the trek home.

Dotty and I are getting along fine – we really did break into hysterical laughter upon realizing that we had traveled up the mountain to view the fog.

I think that might be all to report for now. We are heading to McDs to send this (I do it in Word first), grab a snack, I hoping a nap at some point, and head to Aggie’s for Chicken Paprikash and the infamous Lecho at 6. We had talked about either a jazz concert tonight or the Michael Jackson movie (no kidding) but not sure either will materialize since we are leaving earlyish in the morning. Will pack tonight and catch the train at 9. I’ve been on a Pecs bus – tomorrow a 3 hour train trip – am looking forward to it – maybe some nice rural scenary – hopefully visible through the fog..

Hmm, wondering why the offspring hasn't had time to write to me since Wednesday....

Not sure about emailing opportunities in Budapest – we shall see – Dotty is not bringing her laptop with her.

Xos/mom

Hungary: No paprikash, just fish pancakes

Good morning. I am in Dotty’s flat – our schedule is a little different since she is not teaching . I just got out of the shower – you can tell by looking at me that I have been on the road – no makeup (Dotty doesn’t wear any; so when in Rome..) – I look like a before ad for a hair product. I am wearing my last pair of socks, although I still have some underwear. I think I will buy a pair of socks today so I will only have to do wash once.

Dotty’s back. Not sure when I’m going to email. Hmm. I love my emails – my connection home. Although I am not homesick really. At night before falling asleep (which I am having trouble doing, although it might be partly due to the 5:30 pm expresso. But it’s either that or be dull and lazy. Good house guests and good world travelers are neither) I think about my daughter, my beau and my doggies - so many miles away, and asleep when I’m awake and vice versa. Right now it’s 3:00 in MO; 4 am in NJ (hope you are sleeping soundly Ellen).

……..

Ok, it’s after lunch – a Greek salad with too much dressing but it was yogurty so that helped. We walked to a farmer’s market and then went to the Arkade (the mall.) Didn’t see much of anything you couldn’t get in Oak Park Mall but managed a few purchases nonetheless. We’re at home again – I’m using Word to write this, Dotty’s going to the library to use their computers, we’ll schlep this to McD’s to use their capitalist but reliable wifi, send this, schlep the computer home (cute little laptop that it is), and head back out. Don’t tell my feet and legs – they are enjoying having the weight off. It will be a packed day.

We’re heading to tour a cathedral or two – to tell the truth Dotty told me where we are going but I don’t remember anything but St Stephen’s something. I missed the porcelain factory by the way – I arrived at 3:25 – the woman ran and found someone to speak English (few people do) and so I was told that since it closed at 4 they wouldn’t let me in since I wouldn’t have time to finish. I was a little perplexed by that but because of the language barrier I didn’t bother suggesting a Plan B (like they waive the admission and let me see what I can in 35 minutes).

Forgot to tell you - Wednesday night we did go to a gallery opening, and yesterday we visited a church in the town square – dating back to 240 a.d., built by the Romans, then destroyed and rebuilt by the Mongols (!) in 1241, then the Turks tore it down and built a mosque there in 1579, and so on and so on. There is evidence of all this – there are some muslim artifacts – the holy water fonts are actually carved stone Turkish foot baths (eww), and the architecture is noncommittal as to what century it’s from. I expect this afternoon’s tours to be the same – amazing, layers and layers, literally, beginning below ground, of history.

The jury is still out about Pecs, though, in my mind. I am trying to ignore the construction - every view has a piece of heavy machinery and chain link fence in it – and the gray dank weather – I finally broke down and borrowed a hat. But it’s a pretty run down place – there is graffiti everywhere and a sense of decay – the buildings are weathered and need repair. We are considering bringing the students here, but I don’t know – even in pretty weather sans the cement mixers, this is not a joyous city. The economy is poor – and the life span of the people is short and the suicide rate is 4x that of the US, 3x that of the UK. Our host last night explained that by the poor health care system as well as the poor education of most people. People with successful careers tend to leave. Plus I think our students would prefer a city where the odds of finding someone who speaks English is better than 1 in 10.

Dinner at Laszlo’s was pleasant enough. I was nervous about meeting him, the Director of the Center for the Study of Moving Images at the University of Pecs, and wouldn’t you know it, he was visibly nervous about hosting us. Just shows to go you. He’s also a bad cook – too ambitious, and some very odd choices (PLEASE don’t tell Dotty I am saying all this!) He made garbanzo bean soup that was served somewhere between chilled and room temperature, fairly successful Mandarin chicken, and Japanese fish pancakes, which were like burritos sort of with tomatoes and celery. They were inedible, frankly. I was glad when Rita, Laszlo’s companion, stopped eating hers so I could follow suit. She was very pretty and didn’t say much, as she spoke hardly any English. Although I don’t think her role in the relationship is to provide interesting conversation (meow).

Ok, Dotty is waiting – she has returned from the library – we will schlep to McDs, once again.

More tomorrow, I’m supposin’.

Xos/mom

Thursday in Hungary

Well, back to McD's for me. Working backwards, here I am, sitting too close to the door (it's still coolish here, but the worst thing is the sun has been out for maybe 4 minutes since my arrival. It's the kind of damp cold that gets through your layers. I'm stripped down a notch because I'm indoors, but have 4 layers on my top half when outside. And those beloved gloves. No hat, but that's ok since I'm usually too vain to wear one anyway).

I did venture into a little French cafe, by myself, and ordered a bowl of soup and a regular ol' glass of water. I think he pretended he didn't know what I meant - it was a pretty chic place - and I kept saying Tap, tap (as in tap water) and gesturing like I was turning a spigot. He asked if I spreken the doitch (can't even spell it, guess I don't speak it) and finally gave up - even made the same spigot-turning gesture himself. I chose the place because they were rumored to have wifi (the same in any language - cappucino and wifi - what more does a girl need) but it was a roose (sp?) to get unsuspecting tourists inside to purchase overpriced soup. So I did feel a bit smug that I wore him down in the tap vs. mineral exchange. So you see, I did attempt an alternative to McDs. But here I am. No pastry though. They did have a little something that translated to "spelt cake" but I opted out. After the pickle debaucle of Tuesday, I am not leaving ordering to chance.

Still haven't learned many words, although I recognize the word 'soup' on a menu. Can't ever remember the word for goodbye - it sounds like juggernaut but not quite. I never want to risk it - shouting 'juggernaut' as I wave at the sales clerk...

Before that I went back to bed. I know, shame on me, being in a new exotic city and napping at 12:30 in the afternoon. But I woke up weary, and am determined to stay healthy. So I downed a glass of Emergen-C and crashed (I love the stuff. powder, dissolve in water, packed with vitamins, minerals and electrolytes, whatever they are but I hear they're important. Tastes like tang, which always reminds me of my Pop-Pop and Oyster crackers in his east PHilly kitchen.) I didn't sleep well - took a long time to fall asleep - might have been all that beer the D and I consumed Wed night - local brewery, I stole coasters - and was awakened too early by D's landlady saying something in Hungarian that D thinks had to do with the heater, but we never were sure. So I napped, had overpriced soup, am at McDs.

Still working backward, DOtty and I already have a morning routine. I sleep later than her, she is up and at the library across the street checking her email, leaves me coffee ready - all I have to do is push the on switch - I shower, she returns, she's completely awake and talking like crazy, I nod and blink, waiting for the caffeine to click in. We venture out, all layered up, and go have more coffee. About this time I click on and take over my conversational duties. This morning we made reservations for the Budapest hotel. Budapest Astoria, a 4 star, for $85 for 3 nights (my share). Amazing deal.

The money is easy - move the decimal point over two, divide in half, add a little buffer. For ex, something for 1390 florits would be about $7. Although I haven't bought anything but food yet. The souvenirs all fit in two categories - little handpainted chickens on pot holders, or American pop stuff. I can buy any of dozens of tshirts with Elvis, Rosie the Riveter, or Bono on them. Nothing with a cool Hungarian band graphic on it, which would be a cool gift for the offspring (I'm still looking).

After I am done here there are two stops for me - one to a little gallery specializing in mid-century expressionism, and a museum of a porcelain company. I know, right? but D says it's fascinating and wants my opinion of the famous glaze that D thinks is awful, the color of duck puke. Speaking of ducks, they serve lots of strange animal parts here. On the chic restaurant menu was an item translated to Lamb Innards. Really. Not famous for its cuisine here, unless you are a fan of cabbage. And egg noodles. We actually had tacos last night. I know, shame on us, tacos in Hungary - but they did have really good beer. And lots of it.

Tonight the bus to Dotty's boss' apartment for dinner. We were going to go to a concert last night but it was sold out. Tonight it's an Indian techno band that we may or may not be sorry we missed, can't really tell. TOmorrow night, jazz - we are planning on going.

Dotty doesn't seem lonely at all - she has met a woman who has proven to be a good social resource - between her and her students (who think older people are interesting and cool, unlike American students), she has been horseback riding, and extreme sporting, and hiking, etc. She does say it would be a totally different trip if she hadn't met her. Plus I think Dotty is wired that way - meet people, get onboard.

Oh and the music - everywhere, American. I think it's like the souvenirs. It's either Elvis or Hungarian folk tunes. Last night in the brewery I heard Prince, Gloria Estafan, Sting, and lots of disco ("It's raining men - hallelujah!")

Ok, I will venture to the gallery and the porcelain museum (aren't you jealous) and peek in on some retail on the way.

Love you all. Back on go the layers.... xos/mom