Mardi Gras in Mohacs

Well, not really but close. In Mohacs, a town about 30 miles from here, a festival is held towards the end of February and has been for hundreds of years. Many of the people we asked about it, confessed that they had never been. Some said that the festival is really by and for the townspeople of Mohacs and that there was no program or printed flyers about it. Sounded to be a lot like the earlier years of Mardi Gras in San Luis Obispo. It turns out that our landlords live in Mohacs and they invited us to join them on Sunday for lunch and the festival. It sounded like fun to us so we boarded a local bus that from my investigation was supposed to be an express bus trip of about 45 minutes. Boy, was I wrong! We had seats, but the aisles were full and we stopped 15 times between Pecs and Mohacs where people got off and others got on. I’m going to have to work on my reading of the bus schedules. We finally got to Mohacs an hour and quarter after we started – I was really glad the trip was over because after the last shuffle of people at the last stop I ended up with a kid staring out from about 6 inches away from my face.
Personal space is definitely compromised on public transportation.

We had directions to Eva and Sandor’s house so we took off to find them. We had no trouble and were greeted heartily by Eva who was cooking a mountain of food. They have three boys, Tamas, Bolas and Andrew (or something close to that). Tamas, his girlfriend, her parents and Sandor were walking around town, so Eva sat us down and poured us a generous shot of Palinka (the clear brandy that Hungarians often start their meal with). It warmed us all the way down and Eva suggested that Andrew take us to see the festival and meet up with the others. We wandered the main street of town which was closed to cars and had booth after booth set up with people selling crafts, good eats, candy, hot wine, lots of masks, and other traditional items.

We met the others and after introductions all around, we headed back to the house for lunch. Again, we started with Palinka – and followed with duck soup. We were all served broth with noodles and a platter of roast duck and roasted vegetables were placed in the center of the table. Everyone sort of picked a bit of duck and some vegetables to go in the broth and dug in. We were getting sort of full when Eva said that the first course was over and she started clearing the table and brought out the main course. She served mashed potatoes, peas with rice, fried pork chops, more duck, pickled cabbage and some fruit. We washed all this down with some of their home-made white wine and beer. Even though we had thought we were getting full, we found ourselves eating with gusto. We finished off with a custard filled pastry, chocolate cake and coffee.

About this time, we heard the noise starting to build outside and we were told to get our coats on because the parade was right outside on their street. We all dashed out and saw group after group of men dressed in sheepskin and wooden masks. One group had a coffin and it was explained to us that the tradition is for the men in masks to scare or kill old man winter. They put him in the coffin marched him down the street and then tossed him in the Danube River. The men, in their travels down the street used their pitchforks or other wooden shafts to goose the women in the crowd and toss feathers in their hair. This is all met with gales of laughter and good natured kidding all around. Again I was reminded of the early day of Mardi Gras in SLO. [Not sure what the good-natured girl attacks have to do with the end of winter unless they are exhibiting early spring behavior. Carol got a wooden spear nudged into her arse when she wasn’t looking.] The men all had bottles of what looked like red wine or rum punch that they stopped and sipped from during the parade which started, stopped and crept through the main street of Mohacs down to the banks of the Danube.

It was getting colder so we made our way to a hot wine stand and all had a cup while we watched a bit of traditional dance on a stage in the town square. We then meandered around the streets where we saw lots of teenagers kidding around with each other, little kids running around, food stands and of course long lines to use the few toilets available. We made our way to the river, caught a glimpse of the coffin floating away, watched more traditional dance on another stage and then our group took to the stage to see if our Hungarian dancing skills were any better than our Hungarian language skills. (Not for me but Carol got the hang of it.) It was then time to take a stroll along the banks of the Danube and make our way back to the house. We sat down and warmed up a bit and began talking about the best bus back to Pecs for us to catch. The boys pulled up the schedule on the internet and we discovered that the fast bus left in 20 minutes. We hurriedly said our goodbyes and scampered back to the bus station. We jumped on the express bus and were delivered back in Pecs in about 45 minutes. We stopped for a bite to eat, then walked home commenting on another fun adventure in Hungary, and we have just scratched the surface of things to see and do.

I wonder how long it will be before the town leaders of Mohacs get worried about liability and close down the celebration. Since it has been going on for 100 years or so, I think they are safe for a few more years.

Teaching Classes

Pictures of my office.

It was a relief to finally begin teaching after such a big buildup. I had gotten information from the orientation in Budapest and from my colleagues in Pecs as well. Everyone told me that the students do not talk, they are shy, they do not feel as if they should have an opinion, etc. I was also told that they talk to each other during class, especially in a lecture class. The students take at least six or seven classes and can have four literary seminars in English. They can’t possibly read everything. The professors all teach six classes unless they are an administrator and then they teach five. I can’t believe this. The major difference is that the classes meet once a week, usually for an hour and half. The professors in Pecs teach 12 hours a week but in 6 classes whereas we teach 12 hours in 3 classes. A big difference!

I am fortunate because I teach half this load. I am teaching three classes: one large lecture class and two seminars. The American Literature Survey II lecture class meets Tuesday mornings from 9 to 10:50, and both of my seminars are on Wednesday, one from 10 to 11:30 and the other from 12 to 1:30. So in actuality I teach only two days a weeks.

For my 45 minute lecture class, you should see the syllabus I am supposed to follow. Last week, I covered Edgar Lee Masters, two Sherwood Anderson short stories, and Cather’s My Antonia. I left out The Grapes of Wrath. This week I covered modern poetry: Robert Frost, Ezra Pound, William Carlos Williams, and Wallace Stevens. When I got to Stevens, I had about five minutes left! Next week is modern fiction: The Great Gatsby, The Sun Also Rises, “The Gentle Lena” and selections from Dos Passos. I am only grateful that I don’t have to do Faulkner that day. The semester ends with a one hour test; that’s it, no papers or anything else. It’s a blitz and you are not supposed to expect them to read everything and in fact, few attend the lecture. They take the final test. However, at the end of their study they have to take an oral exam on all this reading material and then write a thesis. Out of 64 students enrolled, I have about 30 attending. They are very attentive and even ask questions. The class flies. Students come up afterwards which pleases me no end.

The seminars are meant to be exactly that – seminars – and so are limited to 15. I have about 12 in my Modern Southern Fiction class and 9 in my Contemporary American Fiction. I was disheartened by the numbers. The first seminar is upper-level: higher than a B.A., similar but not quite a M.A. They are clearly a smarter group. We have begun with Faulkner short stories, and they are doing very well. They talked the first day. They like Faulkner, but know nothing about the South and don’t seem particularly interested in its history. Next week we start As I Lay Dying.

My second seminar is for students in the three year program. They are a hodgepodge: a goth vampire, a young monk ( real monk), a few young attractive coeds, and guys with jeans and hoodies. I started with a lecture on postmodernism that they liked and laughed at the right times. Today we did The Things They Carried, and I even showed them the old video of Tim O’Brien’s appearance at Cal Poly. I had to change classrooms to show them the video, but was delighted because the seminar rooms are very old.

Also the cardboard boxes serve as trash cans. It makes complete sense—why buy something to throw trash in? In fact, we adopted the system at home.

Hungarian Dentist

In order not to have to go to an Hungarian dentist, I got all matter of teeth concerns taken care of before I left. My second week here while in Budapest I broke off part of a tooth. I don’t know when exactly but no pain or discomfort resulted. More then broke off. Still no pain except that awful preoccupation with a new scenario going on in my mouth that the tongue keeps wanting to check out over and over again. Because we were in the Fulbright orientation and keeping a nonstop schedule, I did nothing and said nothing. Paul from Temple University did miss one afternoon because he broke a bridge and got an appointment with an English-speaking dental specialist in Budapest. He gave me the office phone number.

The first day of classes I asked Gabi if she could recommend a dentist in Pecs, being somewhat concerned about the expertise of a dentist here, but I really didn’t want to spend three hours on the train to Budapest going and then another three hours coming back. She said yes that she had a dentist who spoke English and was good. She called for the appointment (thank god) and came to escort me to his office on Thursday at 5pm. (I need to get a picture of Gabi and her dog Rosie, a very cute pair.)

As I am want to do, I was talking nonstop (and listening), but not paying attention to where I was or much less where I was going. All of a sudden Gabi stopped at a door and said, “This is it.” It looked like a door to a New York crack house: bars, graffiti, beaten paint. She punched a numbered button and the door was unlocked. The hall looked worse. Discarded cardboard boxes piled up. Dark corridor. Gabi quickly said, “The office is nice inside.”

Sure enough another locked, metal door opened to the left and a white-robed woman, clearly a dental assistant came out to greet us. She spoke no English. Janos Lantos, the dentist, did, so Gabi left me after making the introductions. I filled out a short form in a small clean waiting room with an Hungarian edition of HOME magazine. Much laughter erupted from behind the closed office doors, and ten minutes later an attractive and well-dressed Hungarian woman emerged to retrieve her coat and leave. Dr. Lantos came out and ushered me into a white room with one dental chair where I then reclined. He immediately spotted the problem—a broken crown. I didn’t realize a crown was the problem; this would be more complicated to fix. Dr. Lantos assured me that he could repair the broken part with some filling material, but he didn’t know how long it would last. Eventually the whole crown would break. I decided to wait about getting a whole new crown. While I lay there, he jammed a metal piece around the guilty tooth and began mixing something. As I reclined with slightly bleeding gums and no anesthetic, I began to wonder if I was too trusting and naïve. These two traits have often served me well, but I have always known there would be a time…. Dr. Lantos crooked his index finger and stroked my cheek, saying, “patience.” What choice did I have.

I am happy to report I have a beautifully restored tooth. Dr. Lantos worked quickly and entertained me the fifteen minutes I was in the chair. He is quite the amusing character, and now I plan to make an appointment to get a crown. It turns out that dentistry in Hungary is very cheap, and who knew, but people from the States come to Hungary, primarily Budapest, to get their teeth worked on because it is cheaper than back home. Dr. Lantos has another office near the Austrian border where he sees many Austrians. A new crown will cost me $250 and the appointment for my beautiful white filling cost about $75. My only lingering question was if he were having an affair with his red-haired dental assistant like all the dentists were in Baton Rouge when I was growing up. He did have lovely photos of two children, so I am sure this query is more about me.

Weekend in Pecs

We attended a ballet performance at the National Theater in Pecs on Friday night with our friend Bill Issel. The building is very impressive - inside and out - and we were excited to see Bolero and Carmena Burana performed in the historic building. In checking the schedule - we found that most of the other performances will be plays in Hungarian so we were really pleased that we saw a performance where language did not come into play. Dinner after the show was at the restaurant that is quickly becoming our local favorite. The main waiter Bolas already knows us. We lingered over our duck legs with pearl barley and strolled home in a rather substantial snow fall. Another great night. [Carol-yes, walking home at 11 o'clock with snow falling and filling up the squares and streets was magic.]

Wine Train to Villany

Saturday morning we woke up to clearing skies and even though the forecast was for more cold, snowy weather, we decided to head out to the little village of Villany. Many of the fine red wines that we have encountered since our arrival here come from this village. We heard that visitors could walk the streets and sample wines at many, many shops along the main street but we were told to be sure to find the restaurant/tasting room/hotels of the two best known winemakers - Gere and Bock. We caught the 1 PM express train (30 minute ride costing about $3 each) to Villany and enjoyed a conversation with a student from France who was on his way to Sarajevo along the way. [He was adorable.]

We had packed a couple of sandwiches, books, umbrella and other essentials for our outing and as we exited the train station I asked Carol if she had the map. Oops -
Oh well, we picked a direction and after about 30 minutes we came upon a statue honoring the grapes in front of what we think is the the town hall. [I want to add that nothing was around the train station and no one. A path veered off to the left down through some trees. I kept saying that I would feel better if I knew that we were going in the right direction. No one else was around. We came to some cement-block industrial type buildings with graffiti on them. It was like a ghost town, and I told Tom I felt like we were walking through some deserted movie set. It wasn't too much farther before we encountered the small village and its main street.]

A map was nearby and we walked on to Bock. There was a spa/restaurant/winery complex and we asked about a tasting. We settled in the restaurant area and were treated to six fantastic wines, wonderful home-made foccacia, and conversation with several interesting groups - a family staying there for a get-away weekend from Budapest and three younger folks who were doing some wine drinking (not tasting) for the day. We found out that they planned to be on the same train back to Pecs that we were going to catch.

After about an hour and a half and Carol starting to retaste the wines that our waiter left on our table, we [Tom] figured that a stroll around the village would be in order. We had a 5:30 reservation at the Gere restaurant and there would be more wine. Carol really liked [LOVED] the Bock wines as you can see.

[Inside the small dining room was truly like stepping back in time. Wooden beams, old tables, good smells coming from the kitchen, baskets of homemade bread, and all gathered at their tables talking to one another. You taste wine in the dining room, not in a tasting room. There was no tasting menu so we didn't know for sure what we would be sampling. The English speaking waiter seemed impressed that we were from California. He first poured us Chardonay and Rose (I usually run from this, but it had a little fizzle to it and was very refreshing). Then he started with the reds: a pinot noir, a syrah, two cuvees/blends, and Magnifico! All five were incredible! He also left the bottles after pouring. We were very well-mannered for a while and then I said to hell with this, and poured a splash more of syrah and cuvee in an attempt to decide what to buy. I have never been to any winery where I truly loved all five reds. Bock is considered Hungary's top winemaker at the moment.]


It was cloudy and sort of cold, but the fresh air was exactly what we needed to prepare us for our next gastronomic adventure. We met a few friendly dogs along the way and could only imagine how this village would come alive in the summer with tourists all around and especially during their Harvest festival.

At Gere, we were expected and our waiter had the timing in mind so that we could enjoy our dinner and make it to the train station at 7:49-for the last train. The three young people we saw drinking at Bock were in the attached bistro knocking back even more wine. [This friendly crew ordered bottles of wine for their table, not tastes. I saw at least three bottles on the table at Bock and more at Gere.]

We had what could only be described as a fabulous dining experience. A smoked trout salad, potato soup, rack of lamb and rabbit ravioli. And again, some really wonderful wines. [I ordered a pinot noir with my trout salad and a bigger red cuvee with my lamb.]

Picture of duck appetizer Is my face as red as the wine?

[The Gere restaurant is newer and more modern, and more in the center of the small town. The food is not rustic Hungarian cooking. You can see by the picture of the complimentary duck appetizer they brought us. Very nouvelle cuisine looking and fabulous food. How can we be having this kind of dining experience in a village of 800 people?]

It was then time to walk back to the train station and a light snow had begun to fall. We made it to the station in plenty of time but wondered about the three youngsters who were still drinking at Gere when we left. About that time, they came running up to the small station and jumped on board. We joined them on this one car train and prepared for the one hour return trip (more stops than the express). They turned out to be very interesting (and rather drunk). They had an open bottle of wine, but no cups so we passed the bottle around each swigging straight from the bottle like a group of winos. At this point, we may be winos. The trip back to Pecs passed quickly and we walked home in the snow - again reveling in our extreme good fortune.
[Time for a literary reference. Sitting next to these fun-loving, young Hungarians and sharing their bottle of red wine, I felt like Jake in The Sun Also Rises when he is on the bus with the Basque people in Spain and they pass a wine skin around. The five of us are the only ones in the lone train car. One of the cute guys was born in Columbia, served in the US military because he grew up in Kansas, and now lives in Budapest and works for NCR while sometimes doing stand-up comedy. I swear! The other cute guy lives in Pecs, is a student and lives with his parents. The young friendly female lives in Budapest and works for the United Nations. She gave us her cell phone number and said to call when we came back to Budapest. I have given my card to so many people at this point I will not be surprised to one day pick up the phone back in SLO and hear some Hungarian accent on the other end.]

Go Tar Heels

The Duke Carolina game is one the greatest rivalries in college basketball and the game on Wednesday evening did not disappoint. We have ESPN America on our cable TV and they featured the game – live – at 3 AM Pecs time. Since it was the Duke/Carolina game, in Durham, I knew that I had to watch. The station will replay the game at a reasonable hour on Thursday night (our time) but that would mean that I could not look at the internet or read any emails until after the replay. I did not think I’d be able to discipline myself so I set the alarm and crept down the stairs at 3. The game had just started and Carolina was off to a fast start. We pulled ahead by as much as 11 points and then went cold at the same time anything the Dookies threw up – went in. At halftime we were behind by 8 and I was questioning my decision to get up in the middle of the night to be sorely disappointed. The second half proved to be much better with Carolina erasing the deficit and surging ahead by 17 at one point. It was a great game and marked the fourth time in four years the Tyler Hansbrough and Danny Green have beaten Duke in Durham. I’m really looking forward to March Madness and being able to see some games live and some replays. Life continues to be wonderful in Pecs.

Soup

As I said before out trip here, I want to learn to make real Hungarian Goulash (spelled Guylas here). I consulted a few recipes and asked one of Carol's colleagues and decided I was ready to give it a try. We went to the farmer's market and got some carrots, onions, peppers but were stumped looking for celery. We finally found "zeller" and bought one of those - not celery but "celery root." I toiled in our tiny kitchen and this is the result.


As soups go, it was pretty good but it was a far, far cry from authentic Guylas. The good thing about failure here is that we could still eat it for dinner. I bought one of those hand puree devices, so my next attempt will be different and hopefully better.

Today is Carol's first day actually teaching. I am off to Tourinform to get information about a festival in late February in a small town nearby named Mohacs. It sounds a bit like Mardi Gras with parades, masks and lots of alcohol. Then I will attempt to get the correct bus to go to the local Tesco. It sounds like it is a Costco-like store with everything a person could possible want.

I'll close with a picture of Carol going to her first day of teaching.

Arriving for the Orientation in Budapest – Carol’s Post

Riding on the train to Budapest from Pecs.

The Fulbright orientation program in Budapest for the new Fulbright lecturers began on Tuesday, Feb. 2^nd at 9am. We arrived Monday afternoon around 4:30 on the train from Pecs and immediately knew we were in a big city: the pace, the traffic, and the crowds. Tom had directions to the Hotel Ibbis, and we took the tram without a problem. Although I confess that I never knew where I was in Budapest for four days, everyone seemed to find the tram and metro system easy to navigate. It seemed to me that if you got on tram 4 or 6 that it was a good bet.

Food

The first night when we arrived in Budapest, we ate at Rosa’s, a restaurant recommended by the woman at the front desk. We had asked her about a restaurant recommended in our guide book and she said the food there was too expensive, and the food at a restaurant down the block was just as good and more reasonable. We were happy with our beer, red wine, pork and lamb dishes. Hungarians love their meat. Duck is a common dish and is always fabulous. The other meats, however, don’t always fare as well. Too often it is breaded and fried. For lunch one day at the orientation we went to a restaurant where they served us cordon bleu, breaded chicken with cheese and ham in the middle, French fries, and rice. Tom and I figured that our cholesterol went up 40 points. For dessert there was sponge cake with chocolate and whipped cream. I’m wondering whether to break down and buy a scale or just wait until I can’t zip up my pants.

We are told that Hungarians eat their big meal at lunch at their work place and then eat little for dinner. The reason for this custom goes back to the communist rule where they wanted more state and less family influence. My only problem with work eating is that the cafeteria at the University serves the heavy fried breaded food. Institutional food everywhere seems to be bad.

We were worried that we would find no salads in Hungary but have been pleasantly surprised. Better restaurants have them, and I do think this has been mainly due to tourist influence. You can find a Hungarian restaurant that has Caesar salad with chicken, and you know that this is not an Hungarian idea. We have been hesitant to eat seafood. They have cold water fish on the menus. So far I can’t bring myself to order pike or catfish. I eat catfish all the time in Louisiana, so I’m just being a snob.

The one very special and wonderful meal we had during orientation was at the Hungarian Academy of Science, a beautiful historic building on the Danube.

Annamaria, the wonderful Hungarian woman in charge of Fulbrighters, instructed us to wear formal attire to the first day of orientation because we would be introduced to Fulbright dignitaries and Embassy personnel and would also have dinner with them. The Hungarians are quite proud of the Academy of Science because of their history of famous scientists. The formal dining room overlooked the Danube with its lighted bridges and Parliament buildings. It was a gorgeous view. It was one of those dining occasions with multiple knives, forks, and glasses and waiters serving with white gloves. Also attending were Hungarian Fulbright Alumna, Hungarian professors who had received Fulbrights to go to the US. They were an impressive group. Tom and I sat at their table and were very entertained. The one Hungarian woman, Dr. Catalan Nudgy, the Dean of the Dental School at Sagred, was a real beauty, very entertaining, and friendly. Her charm reminded me of some kind of contemporary ZsaZsa Gabor. She wore skin tight black pants with a stylish wide notched belt flatteringly cinched to her small waist and topped off with a black balletic sweater. I think all the Hungarian male alumna come to these events to see her, and I would include the First Consul of the United States Embassy. It was great fun watching and listening to their conversation because they all knew one another. They were kind enough to speak English most of the time, and certainly asked us questions about our selves. A fun group. Oh, I forgot about the meal: butter fish with mixed greens, then some of the best duck I have ever eaten. The duck was so incredible that I can’t remember anything else, except the red wine—unbelievable.

In terms of alcohol we were greeted with champagne or orange juice; then for dinner they poured a glass of white wine, red wine, and then a dessert wine. You would think I would be satisfied, but NO--- I wanted another glass of red wine. I had gone easy on the other knowing how good their reds were. They poured only one glass of each. What made me so miserable was that about four people at our table did not touch and I DO mean did not touch red wine. I practiced mind control to keep from asking if I could have their wine.

We found out the reason that they were not drinking is that Hungary has a zero tolerance law for drinking and driving. Evidently it works because the people at the dinner who were driving home did not touch a drop of alcohol. The fines are very expensive and they take your license away, so the policy works. Interesting, but I still regret those beautiful glasses of red wine sitting on the table. My only hope is that the waiters observed this as well and enjoyed. We left the evening full of good feelings. After one day of Hungarian language lessons, I proudly thanked our waiter by saying “Kosovo.” The next morning in language class I realized I said the country, not kosonem, the Hungarian word for "thank you."

This is Maria, our Hungarian language teacher at our 8:00 AM class.

Hair : I have been very concerned about who in the world I can get to cut and color my hair here in Hungary. Roberto told me to just ask someone whose hair I liked, no problem. WELL Big Problem. I don’t mean to be unkind, but I have yet to see a decent haircut. Hungarian women are too busy to be concerned about something so trivial. Everyone here, men and women, have serious bed head. It’s actually quite endearing. I don’t care who they are, what their position of prestige, they don’t comb their hair. Hair roosters abound, and serious ones. Some of this comes from infrequent shampooing. Our delightful Hungarian language teacher during orientation was a very cute middle aged woman whom I could definitely relate to. She arrived the first morning with an asymmetrical short haircut that was unusual but very cute on her; each day her hair took off at varying angles from the top of her head. She was not alone. The head of the Fulbright Commission, Dr. Huba Bruckner, shared the same problem, but it gave him a certain disheveled distinguished look.

I think Hungarian hair stylists should be shot. The hair cuts are not only bad, but the coloring is worse. For some distinct cultural reason some women dye their hair a peculiar color red. The color red is impossible to label; it is very distinct to Eastern Europe. I want to call it a communist red. My father’s caretaker from Lithuania wore her hair this color. Some might call the color crimson. I am worried about coming home with this shade because of some terrible communication problem. You can tell my level of personal concern and vanity because of my long digression. I wanted to give you some context for my preoccupation with Catalan at the formal dinner. All night long I had to discipline myself so as not to reveal my superficial preoccupation. I wanted so badly to grab hold of her and confidentially ask her who did her hair. I fear going to a drugstore and trying to read Hungarian hair dye labels.

I actually have a far more serious problem. I lost part of my tooth during orientation and will have to go to a dentist, one I hope who will speak English. More on this problem I fear later.

Back to Orientation

You would never know by my outpouring of personal issues, weight, hair, teeth, that I learned an incredible amount of information about Hungary during the orientation. We started each morning with language lessons and then had speakers for one and half to two hour segments by leading experts on Hungarian higher education, history, politics and government, literature, and music.

This is a clip of Tamas Bardos who gave us a lecture on music including a demonstration of some of the Hungarian folk songs. He was a real treat.

We also had sessions on practical matters such as residency permits and a briefing by the vice consul from the American Embassy and Foreign Affairs officer on emergency numbers, driving, different services like passport replacement and crime. We were assured that if we were arrested we would be visited once a month. The funniest part was the posting of male clubs to avoid because of scams. The men were amazed to learn that if they were approached in the streets and told they were good looking that they hadn’t been transformed into hunks by their transatlantic flight. Of course, we all know that Tomas is an exception. One man in our group had already been stopped on the streets and told he was very hot and would he like sex. He wasn’t sure how to answer because of course he wanted sex, just not with her. His wife has yet to come to Hungary.

Budapest Highlight

Besides our new group of Fulbright friends, all so wonderful, friendly, impressive people who make you so proud of what America can produce, young and old. One major highlight of the week (among several unforgettable moments) took place at the Franz Liszt Academy.

Side entrance to the Academy with statue of Liszt above.

First of all the building and concert hall in particular are a beautiful example of Hungarian art nouveau.

Besides a tour, we also gathered in a large seminar room around a long table with oil paintings of famous musicians hanging above.

We heard from famous musicians and composers who teach some of the most gifted students from around the world. There are a number of Japanese musicians who come to study with one piano teacher in particular. We were told that we would get to hear a lesson. A Steinway piano was in the room right by the end of the table where Tom and I were sitting. In walked an attractive older Hungarian man and a young Japanese man who we were told later already held concerts in Japan and had cd’s. He very much looked the part of a Japanese rock star with romantic sensibilities: tall, thin, shaggy hair coiffed with subtle red highlights, a black suit, and shirt. He nevertheless looked shy and modest; his professor was in full stride and talked to us beautifully about Franz Lizst’s piano music.

Then the student sat down to play the famous Liszt piano piece. I was only four feet away from the keyboard and could see his long fingers as they commanded the keyboard. I have never had a musical experience like this one. I felt every note, and this warm rush of emotion swept through me. For me tears were inevitable. The passion he put into his piano playing and that our small room of listeners shared transported us to one of those heightened moments in life that will always remain with us. Many of us quietly wiped tears from our faces. The extravagantly romantic music registered in our bodies and words seemed inferior.

To our amazement, his professor said, “He has played this many times and plays it very well, but it needs improvement. You should have heard it ten years ago. You would not want to listen.” The professor sat down and over the next thirty minutes instructed by telling his student what emotion Lizst was expressing with each part of the piece and then would tell him to play that part again. At times he would say “no” and push him aside to explain and play again, or would say “yes” better, “that’s it.” I loved how beautifully the maestro articulated the emotions. For example, he would say, “Now this is the dark part of Lizst, capable of evil things” or “this is his childlike self.” Or, these notes sound like when an eighty year old man remembers his great love for a woman and he is NOT SAD but happy that he has had this time. I had never heard anyone able to translate music. My colleagues and I are very familiar with translating literature into emotion that can be shared by our students. It was a privilege and a remarkable experience to hear such a gifted teacher instruct such a brilliant student. At times the young man stopped playing because he knew he was making a mistake or not doing it right. While his teacher played, he stood and watched and nodded humbly. And then tried again himself. What was so remarkable is that his first evocation of the music had moved us so dramatically. What was there to improve? Witnessing the lesson was humbling. I will never listen to a pianist in a concert hall the same way again. These were moments I will not recover from.

Tom and I are about to return to Pecs and I have gone from the ridiculous to the sublime. The problem is that I have left out so much from our four days. I will stop for now. Life feels so rich and I have not even begun to teach.

Gabrielle or Gabi: Our first Hungarian friend - Carol's entry

Gabi is the head of American Studies at the University of Pecs. I emailed with her over the summer about courses I would be teaching. She has been incredibly helpful. Last Wednesday she came over to our apartment for tea; it wasn’t a very fancy affair. Just tea and party mix. She stayed for two and half hours. Moments were awkward and there were occasional lapses in conversation. All of this can be explained by cultural differences and a lack of familiarity with one another. But what I think was most striking is the amount of good will that existed between us and how much we wanted to get to know one another. Besides talking about courses and American literature, she talked a lot about her family and dog. She has a sheltie named Rosie that she quite loves. I was somewhat surprised when she said that Rosie was having her period and therefore was difficult to deal with. I suppose she meant Rosie was in heat. We had one other funny language moment when Maria asked us if we were “cadaverous” ; what she wanted to know is if we were carnivores, not vegetarians.

On Saturday around 3:30, Gabi came over to our apartment to pick us up. She had Rosie with her, a sweet adorable dog, although she did have tendencies toward nipping at ankles and humping legs while walking. Gabi came to show us the way to her apartment. I needed to learn coospace, which is their name for blackboard. The dept. relies on coospace and electronic readings a lot. The students don’t buy books in English—too expensive. I am not used to doing so much online. She was kind enough to invite us over to her home. I was very curious to meet her family and see her apartment. First, her family consists of a husband Ernest and two boys, one in college in Budapest, and a 15 year old boy named Zolti, who was at least 6 ft. and very cute. I wish I knew someone to set him up with. Hannah, perhaps? Ok, too young. I’ll have to meet the older one. He was not home, but in Budapest. Zolti knew English and was very interested in us. I had watched the Australian Open semifinal with Nadal and Verdasco and was full of enthusiasm and desire to talk about it. I asked him what sports he liked. He said swimming and soccer. I was disappointed but persisted. I asked him if he liked tennis or watched it. He said, “No, I don’t like tennis.” Gabi quickly said to him, “Say pardon.” You could tell he was translating everything he said into literal English and was therefore very blunt. I was not however deterred and proceeded to go on about the match that lasted over five hours. I obviously needed to talk to Al or one of my brothers.

Gabi had told us that her husband did not speak English, that he was of the generation that learned Russian. Ernest is a computer guru at the post office. He apologized immediately for his lack of English skills. Here his wife is an English expert and his son is learning it. Tom and I later decided that Ernest understood more English than he let on. He did ask us if we would like tea, which he prepared. He walked into the room carrying a tray and said, “Room service.” We all laughed.

Gabi and Ernest own their apartment, which consists of five rooms: a foyer which opens into a dining room with a small kitchen off to the side, a living room or study, two bedrooms, and bathroom. They have stopped heating the living room to economize. It is an old apartment and has a lot of character. The ceilings are 15 or 16 feet high with large windows, so the apartment feels light and airy and therefore larger than it is. Gabi knits her own sweaters and goes home everyday to prepare a meal for her family. She knows a lot of history and we talked about Poe’s The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. I am astounded by how much she knows and does. She told me that she teaches five classes; she has one off for chairing American Studies. Brutal. The professors at Pecs are in the classroom for 12 hours a week, which is what we are at Cal Poly. The difference is that their classes meet once a week. While at Pecs, I will teach three classes, but they meet once a week. [More about my teaching later.] Anyway I can’t get over what all Gabi does and how she is good at it all. She has a Fulbright next year to somewhere in upstate New York. I am sure that I will be writing more about Gabi.

SNOW

After a couple of days of snow flurries, we got the real McCoy yesterday afternoon and last night.

This is what we saw as we walked around this morning. It was cold but not miserable and the snow fell hard and fast at times. Mostly it just fluttered and looked pretty.

This is a street scene leading up to the cental park area.

Here is a shot near the cathedral.

This is out of order (I still need to work on that). Here is Carol and Bill Issel, the Fulbrighter that has been here since September.

After walking around in the snow for a while, we stopped at a coffee shop for a cappuccino and a croissant. Now we are cozy and warm and our apartment watching the Australian Open live. Nadal and Federer are locked in an epic battle. Carol is a very happy camper.