Budapest: Edifice Envy

                                         BUDAPEST: EDIFICE ENVY

                                                         HE SAYS:

If Vienna competed with Berlin for political and cultural grandiosity, Budapest tried to mimic Vienna as part of the dual monarchy.  Today Budapest is a poor man’s Vienna.  Its buildings are grandiose, large, and ornate, in some ways more so than in Vienna. It reminds one of the fading glories that were once Venice’s. But Budapest, like Venice, is now like an old whore without any makeup.

Our entrance into Budapest by boat was truly spectacular: a gorgeous light show that lit up all the massive buildings, with their spires and domes, along the Danube. Amazing!

Hungary, and more particularly, Budapest, is the land of my forefathers. They were modern Orthodox Jews who went to Pittsburgh in the 1890’s. My grandmother repudiated her Judaism when her synagogue refused her entrance for the High Holy Days during the 1930s and couldn’t afford the ticket fees. My mother always said that there was a status hierarchy within the European Jewish community, with Hungarian Jews (and then German) at the top, of course; Polish Jews were peasants. After my grandmother repudiated her Judaism she became a communist and sold copies of The Daily Worker in front of steel mills. I cannot escape my family history, and recently I have had to confront the reality that in many ways I am my father’s son, too.

That was in another era, and the world, for better or worse, has changed. But I feel no sense of exuberance or any sense of “return” as I walk the streets and hills of Budapest. I feel nothing . I do not believe in the American notion of “roots”, nor do I believe in hyphenated Canadians. Families and history move on.

At that moment, Budapest is just another large city. And the weather in Budapest that day is as hot (34C) as the chili-paprika that it is famous for. 

Budapest is really two cities: Buda and Pest. Buda is the hilly, political, rich section of town on one side of the river, whereas Pest is flat, newer, and middle class section of town on  he other side. We go to the castle at the top of the hill overlooking the Danube.  And where the three rivers meet there was even a flash of blue. Looking down, Buda is on the left and Pest is on the right. It is truly a magnificent sight. I take it in; it is a feast for the eyes, rich and lazy.

It is stinking, viciously hot. Like NYC in the summer. As we walk across the Bastion for another overview of the city we are baked and make our way towards a self –service restaurant. We collapse in the AC. As we walk back I duck into a tourist store and buy three canisters of paprika and resolve to learn something about Hungarian cooking and try some recipes. 

After lunch I go off on my own since Eleanor is literally sick and tired. I go to a memorial on the Danube River about 10 minutes from our docked ship. It is the Shoes Memorial. It is where the Arrow Cross militia, native Hungarian Nazis who the Germans, ironically, didn’t trust like, killed off their political opponents – Jews, trade unionists and communists. This bank along the Danube became the killing grounds for opponents of all ages and creeds. The victims were forced to undress and were shot and then thrown into the Danube; it is said that the blue Danube turned red. Today the victims’ shoes are bronzed as a memorial; the shoes are placed on top of a 20 foot concrete retaining wall.  There men and women’s shoes; and, pathetically, the small shoes of young children.  Truly a sobering and unique memorial.

Historically, Hungary’s economy was at best backward and distorted. It was governed by an ossified landed nobility and had virtually no middle class. Interestingly, Jews were granted full civil rights and civil liberties by Queen Maria Theresa in 1774, before the French revolution, and a Toleration Act was passed in 1780. Generally, Jews were well integrated into Hungarian society. Until 1949 half of the population lived in the rural countryside, literally without electricity or schools. It was a one city country – Budapest.

Today Hungary, notwithstanding its membership in the EU after the fall of the wall, is extremely right wing, autocratic, and xenophobic; it is attempting to pursue a policy of economic autarchy. There have been a number of high publicity trials related to the murder of Romas (Gypsies). The native Arrow Cross movement is again on the march. The transition to a so-called “market economy” is creating new stress points and social fissures. The market economy is not paying dividends. 

Afterwards, I decide to walk about 20-30 mins in the heat and go to the celebrated and trendy Cafe Gerbauld (1853), where the beautiful people now gather. This was an exercise in social stratification. The people-watching was good. I had a $5 coffee with whipped cream but gagged on a piece of strudel that would have cost $13. There were a few locals and some tourists, and a fair number of Germans.  What intrigued me was the number of well- dressed young women in their mid-late 20s with seemingly expensive wardrobes and hairdos and a definite sense of confidence and entitlement. Sociologically, were they the daughters of the new economic elite, daughters of former party officials, or working girls? My educated guess was that they were well heeled frauleins on vacation,slumming it with the Slavic peasants.

We are beginning to feel “toured out”, as well as “castled” and “churched out”. Poor us. Off to Prague, and our return to Vienna. Ho, hum, another city….Sitting in a café watching the world go by is our idea of a vacation. Ho, hum…

                                                SHE SAYS:

I see that my improving health hasn’t improved someone’s mood an awful lot, has it?  Or maybe he’s thinking back to the mood of that day, which really is mostly a fog for me.  After Bratislava, Budapest was a breath of fresh air: blazing hot, humid fresh air, maybe, but still…

We reached port at 10:30 at night.  We’d been told that sailing down the river towards the city was the most spectacular way to be introduced to Budapest, so most of us trooped up onto the upper deck to see the view.  The entire city was lit up, highlighting the mountainous Buda on one side and the flatter Pest on the other, with the Parliament buildings, major cathedrals and monuments all outlined in lights. We all snapped away with our cameras at first, then finally realized that there was no way the photos from all but the best cameras would ever do the sight justice, so we put the cameras away and just enjoyed the view.  Truly spectacular!

The following morning, I felt worse than ever despite the antibiotics.  For the first time in my life, literally, I had no appetite, and two days later, it still isn’t great.  Don’t tell HIM, but I consider this a huge plus, to tell you the truth.  Maybe it’ll help balance the 2 weeks of fabulous cruise food.  Stop frowning.  Yes, I’m eating yogurt, fruit, and the few vegetables that don’t make me feel as if I’m grazing. And protein, too, although at the moment, the thought of beef or pork is repulsive.  (Stop smiling,Mike.  I’ll get over it.  A life of beans and tofu just isn’t in my future.)  And a bite or two of all these fabulous desserts is enough; I leave the rest, along with the whipped cream mountains, for Dr. D.

I managed the air conditioned bus tour of the city, but found a shady spot to sit for most of the walking part, appreciated the café stop for a cold lemonade at the end, and headed for bed as soon as we made it back to the boat, falling asleep to dire warnings of the doctor I’d be forced to see in Prague.  Not surprisingly, I guess, I had a terrible dream about a Czech-speaking surgeon who couldn’t understand what I was saying and was preparing to operate to remove…what? A cough gland?  I don’t know, since I don’t speak an awful lot of Czech, but somehow I knew that his hospital didn’t believe in anaesthetic.   Luckily, my coughing woke me up before the surgery began.

As much as I hated to, I even skipped the last dinner and a chance for a final farewell to the great group of people we’d enjoyed eating dinner with since the beginning of the tour.  I’ll do it by email when I get home, or maybe I’ve already done it by writing this.  You guys were great!

Next morning as soon as I opened my eyes (and coughed for a while) I realized that Dr. D’s amazing pills were working.  I don’t claim a miraculous instant cure, but the fog was definitely lifting enough for me to block out more doctor threats, finish packing, eat a small breakfast, and settle in for our 7 (!) hour bus transfer to Prague.  The 22 others who were going on to Prague were the ones who complained that the large toilet-equipped luxury coach we’d been promised had somehow morphed into an older, more cramped bus without even a chamber pot.  This was the first time on the entire trip that we were disappointed (see how polite I am?) in Viking?  We’ll be registering our displeasure when we get home.  I, for one, was ordered by 3 doctors (2 medical and Dr. D) and one nurse to drink plenty of fluids.  Why would I knowingly do something like that when the next toilet is 2 hours away?  The tour rep promised regular “comfort” stops, and the others grumbled along with the good doctor while I settled in for a lovely day of sleeping and coughing out of the sun in air conditioned semi-comfort. 

 The journey continues….

The Bratislava Bust

                                       THE   BRATISLAVA BUST

                                                     HE SAYS:

Greetings, fan club.

This will be a catch up blog for a variety of different reasons.

First, I am royally irritated that the computer lost my last blog on the same subject. As well, St. Eleanor has been quite ill over the past few days, but has refused to seek medical care with a doctor or hospital, which has royally (no pun) pissed off King Richard.  And lastly, during our tour through Vienna and Bratislava the weather has been a beastly 34C!  We are now in Prague (a slightly cooler 31C) and will return to Vienna in two days for our final whirlwind. So there is a good deal to catch up on. But I am not in a witty mood.

Today is Tuesday, so it must be Belgium, or is it Bratislava? We visited Bratislava for 3 hours, which says it all. Why the tour company bothered with this is a mystery to me. The city, which is a sunny industrial slum, is the capital of Slovakia. Market capitalism has not been generous or good to the people here. They are the flotsam and jetsam of the new European labour market. They are the new untermenschen – the trash used up and cast off by the capitalist labour market. For them freedom is a bottle of beer and the right to be skin heads. When we talk about “freedom”, we confuse form and content.

The Czechs tell Newfie jokes about the Slovaks. Now I understand why. The working class walks about town in their undershirts, baggy basketball shorts and flip flops. A more middle class woman with her child in a stroller is walking down the street wearing a white sequined see-through dress with a black thong. A real class place. To paraphrase the Canadian politician Jean Marchand, the best thing about Bratislava is the boat to Vienna.

The following day we arrived in Vienna for a full day of power tourism. It was a brutal 34C. Fortunately, we have decided to return for an additional 5 days of fun, great coffee and pastries, and high culture. The Austro-Hungarian Empire (or Habsburg) was one of the great political empires of the 19^th and 20^th centuries and lasted for nearly 600 years.

The Austro-Hungarian Empire and Germany attempted to rival the other’s accomplishments and excesses. And, in turn Hungary and Budapest, the weak sister of the Habsburg empire, aped the Austrians and in particular the Viennese. Viennese haut culture was, alas, founded on the edifice complex. The bigger, the better; and the more ornate are even better.  The massive and ornate buildings and architecture in Budapest  reflect this edifice complex; or, was it an inferiority complex ?

After the obligatory city tour we did our own thing. The first thing we did we was to go off to a famous café where 19^th and 20^th centuries revolutionaries hung out and fortified themselves with good pastries and coffees before they went off to change the world. We decided to do it right, and had one of the famous Viennese coffees – 6 main types and about 64 with variations. This was accompanied by a large piece of self-slimming sachertorte with a mountain of whipped cream on the side.

Later, St. Eleanor, attempting to imitate her rival St. Joan, decided that we should go off  and see the Lippinzaner foals that were running around under the watchful eye of their mothers in what is certainly the most ornate horse training ring in the world, complete with crystal chandeliers. The foals will receive 8-10 years of training and are treated royally. The show was full of pomp and was good fun.

Afterwards we went to the Archives of the Austrian Resistance. The small museum  was created in the early 1980s by an all-party agreement, ranging from Catholic Conservatives to Communists, and is beautifully curated. After the abortive February revolution of 1934, when the Schutzbund – armed workers units under communist party leadership fought the Austria Nazis in the streets and made their last stand in the Karl Marx Hof housing project where they were obliterated by artillery fire – there was never an effective anti-Nazi underground resistance in Austria, unlike in Czechoslovak where the communist resistance was highly organized and effective.

Our journey continues….

                                             SHE SAYS:

Remember a few days ago, when I wrote about deciding to walk back to the boat in the rain because I already had a cold and what else could happen?  Note to self: don’t tempt fate like that again!  Turns out that colds that aren’t treated with respect can crawl down into the bronchial area and/or the lungs and cause chills, heavy coughing, and general misery.  They also make it tougher for a fog-loving Newfie like me to adjust to long walking tours over acres of asphalt in high humidity and searing temperatures (for a Maritimer), no matter how beautiful the city.  I love this climate when I’m sitting on a beach beside the cool ocean with a pina colada in my hand, but I have to admit that the last few days have been tough on us both: on me because sweating and coughing are not my idea of a good time, and on the good doctor who sometimes forgets that his title does not refer to a degree in medicine, because my coughing kept us both awake most of the night.  If you’ve read this far, I think you have probably picked up on the fact that not having all of his medical directives followed instantly  makes him a little  ….um… touchy. (He says: Grumpy)

Despite recent accusations certain people have made to the contrary, I am not a difficult patient…as long as the doctor is making sense to me.  I don’t believe in chemicals for every ache and pain, but when I need medicine, I take it.  When travelling through a huge city in blasting heat, I insist on watching horse shows in air conditioned comfort rather than hunting down yet another cathedral or military statue, and I demand equal time to sample desserts and fancy coffees in air-conditioned cafes. 

I have to admit that since I’ve started teasing him and blogging about his travelling pharmacy, the good doctor has pared down his medical travel kit considerably, from roughly half his travel weight allowance to probably only ¼.  Of course, we’ve had to take extra precautions as a result, making sure our diets are balanced enough to ward off beri-beri, rickets, and scurvy, and being careful to avoid poisonous snakes and vicious dogs.  We trust that somewhere in these big concrete jungles we’ll find a pharmacy or two, and that our medical insurance company will help us hunt down a hospital in an emergency.  True, it adds a dimension of danger to our cruise through Europe, but on the plus side, it meant that Richard could add a pair of shorts, 2 pairs of jeans, and a few assorted shirts to his suitcase.

Even with his reduced inventory and our trip to the drugstore in Melk, he still found a dozen things to force upon me: remedies for everything from headaches to athlete’s foot, none of which would have helped me, but any of which would have made him feel better. I  kept refusing and he kept grumbling. Finally, in the bottom of the case, he struck gold: an antibiotic his doctor had prescribed for our last trip, that he hadn’t needed.  Two of our travel mates were doctors and one is a Nurse-Practitioner, so he got ok’s from all of them first, and then gave me my orders: the pills or a doctor at the next stop, and either way, I’d have to see a doctor in Prague.  I felt so terrible by then that I was happy to give in.  Bratislava was interesting, but my Slovakian is a little weak, and the city  didn’t strike me as the kind of place European ladies would choose to visit for their cures, so I decided to avoid it, too.  I’ve been on the pills for 3 days now and am happy to report that I think I may survive.  Even better news: the good doctor is a lot less irritable than he’s been, so on we go.

 “Cough”  “Grumble”  “Cough”  “Grumble”…

(He says: a bad patient)

PASSAU: BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

                                                                                             

                                                                   HE SAYS:

We have reached the German city of Passau, bordering on Austria, which marks the half-way point in our journey down the Danube to Budapest. In reality, the Danube is a greenish-gray, not blue, contrary to musical fantasies.

Passau captures the paradox of Germany’s modern history: the beauty and the beast.

In one instance the city is certainly one of the loveliest cities that we have seen. Colourful flower boxes hang from the windows and sweet shops and galleries and cafes abound. It has a large industrial base, as well as a university. The city has a large, and ornate, cathedral where we heard an organ recital. To the untutored eye this is the idyllic and stereotypical Danube.

On the other hand, our tour guide, who was fairly thorough, made absolutely no mention of the fact that Passau was home to three subsidiary-camps, which housed Soviet and Polish prisoners, which were part of the infamous Mauthausen concentration camp complex during WW II.

For me, this highlights the bifurcated nature of German history. But social and cultural historians for the past 60 years have been asking the same question: How could the nation of Beethoven and Goethe embrace Nazi barbarism? In this regard it is important to ground our answers in concrete reality; in short, German fascism was a mass political movement, and must be studied as such. To use ethical categories such as “evil” or to talk of “megalomania” is to miss the point. One- out- of three adult Germans belonged to the National Socialist Workers (Nazis) Party.

We arrived in Austria late yesterday afternoon and today saw the stunningly beautiful, and modernly curated, Melk Abbey with its rich Baroque art and its 100, 000 volume library. The weather has been very spotty, with little sun; it rained this afternoon.

Tomorrow we arrive in Red Vienna whose forgotten and unknown modern history, is every bit as interesting as Germany’s. But it ain’t the Julie Andrews version of history….

                                                SHE SAYS:

Last evening in our briefing for today, Andrew told us that the forecast for Melk was warm (27 C) with a possibility of showers, so when we left the ship for our visit to the abbey, we played it safe and brought our umbrellas along. The plan was for buses to take us up the hill to this magnificent building complex that overlooks the town of Melk.  We’d tour the buildings and then we’d have a choice: take the buses back or take the 20 minute walk back to the boat down the hill through Melk’s main street to get a better view of the town.  By the time the tour was over, rain was coming down in sheets, but we had umbrellas with us, it was nice and warm, we needed the exercise, and how long can a shower last, anyhow?  Plus, I knew I woudn’t catch a cold by walking in the rain; I have one already.

If the sun had been out, it would have been wonderful to sit on the patio of one of the restaurants, sipping an Austrian beer while we watched the locals strolling through the open air market buying fresh fruit and veggies, fabulous looking breads and pastries, and all kinds of smoked hams and sausages.  As it was, we ducked into a café for a cappuccino halfway down the hill to drip dry a little, and then, after a stop at the drugstore to get something for my cold, we rushed back to the boat for hot showers and dry clothes.  An hour later, just as we were pulling away from the dock, the rain stopped, the clouds lifted, and the Abbey of Melk stood proudly on the hill in the bright sunshine.  So much for Austrian showers!

40 years ago, I spent 4 years living in Germany with the Canadian Forces.  Rather than living in married quarters on the bases, we chose to live “on the economy”, in German towns.  At that time, the children learned English at school, but few of the adults spoke it, so we had to learn to communicate in German (admittedly with lots of hand gestures).  It’s been amazing for me to see how much German I still understand.  I can read many of the signs, and in restaurants and cafes I can read enough of the menu to find the schnitzel or the `hot chocolate or the local beer. I can ask directions and if the locals speak slowly enough, I can even understand some of their answers. 

So when I decided to go into the drugstore to ask for something for my cold, I was sure I’d be able to let the pharmacist know exactly what I needed.  The easy part was the throat lozenges; they were on a shelf near the counter.  When the pharmacist came to serve me, I held up the lozenges, and in my most fluent German, I said, “Ich bin krank.  (I am sick).  Hier (pointing to my throat) und hier (pointing to my nose).”  The pharmacist thought for a bit, then went to the back and returned with 2 packages, put them on the counter, and said in English, “I’d recommend one of these products for your congestion.  This one has pseudoepinephrine, etc, but if you’d prefer a more natural herbal remedy, this one is also good.”  See what I mean?  I’ve still got that old mastery of the German language.  She understood me perfectly!

Smoked Beer and the Ghosts of Nuremberg

                           SMOKED BEER AND THE GHOSTS OF NUREMBERG

                                                                 HE SAYS:

After visiting Bamberg yesterday, we have now arrived in Nuremberg where Eleanor and I have decided to pursue  our different interests: she by singlehandedly supporting the declining Eurozone economy by shopping,  while I go on a World War Two tour to visit a number of sites related to Germany’s Nazi past, including the parade grounds where the infamous Nuremberg rallies took place, the Palace of Justice’s famous  Room 600 where the Nuremberg trials were held, and the new Documentation Centre with its museum.

Yesterday, we briefly visited Bamberg, a bustling city of 80, 000 people, with timbered houses, founded in 902 AD. The city had a Jewish community dating from at least medieval times, but it was destroyed during the Nazi era. Today, it has a small Jewish population of 1, 000 people, replenished from Eastern Europe, with a Reform temple and a woman rabbi.

The town is famous for its smoked beer which tastes something like smoked ham. Actually, it isn’t all that bad and has a frothy, malty taste, and after the first gulp it tastes like any other beer. Yummy….

Half of our trip down the Main-Rhine-Danube Rivers through Central Europe is spent in Germany. Therefore, it is entirely appropriate that we visit Nuremberg, one of Germany’s most famous, or infamous, cities. The city was originally founded because of its centrality to trade routes and was the capital of Germany from the 12^th to 16^th centuries. It was also known as an artistic center for the Northern German Renaissance; Albrecht Durer lived and worked here, and his famous etching of the Four Men of the Apocalypse would portend the future.

In the popular mind, Nuremburg is perhaps best remembered for the infamous torchlight Nazi rallies. Less well known it the fact that a young German worker by the name of Eisner attempted to assassinate Hitler during a Nazi party dinner there by blowing up the beer hall. Eisler was immediately captured but wasn’t executed until just before the end of the war. (She says: A plaque was erected in the town in his honour.  Yesterday, a huge bouquet of fresh flowers had been placed right underneath, with a note in German, dedicating them to Herr Eisner with many thanks.)  Prior to the war Nuremburg had a Jewish population of 8, 000, 80% of whom survived. Today Nuremburg is a modern and interesting Germanic city, with severe architecture, and a population of 500, 000 people.

During our World War Two tour in Nuremburg we saw:

O the Zeppelin Field, where the infamous torchlight Nuremberg rallies took place. The Nuremburg rallies fostered and re-enforced a key tenet of National Socialist (Nazi) ideology, namely, gemeinschaft – a sense of community (Max Weber) – and Volksgemeinschaft (national community). These ideas were one of the ideological foundations of German fascism and were re-enforced by folk and popular culture among people who had been atomized and traumatized by the Great Depression;

O The incomplete Nazi Kongresshalle (Congress Hall), which was intended to be the Nazi party HQ and marching field for the party leadership cadre;

O The Palace of Justice, Room 600, where the first and best known of the 12 Nuremburg trials took place. The first trial saw 21 leaders of the Nazi Party tried on four (4) charges, 18 defendants were found guilty of various charges, note below, and 11 were executed. The well- known film, Judgement at Nuremburg, with Spencer Tracey, recounted a later trial of Nazi judges.

O The newly completed Documentation Center with its well curated museum. Some of the exhibitions, such as the original trial indictments, were fascinating.

 O Regarding the Nuremburg trials what is not ordinarily known is that Churchill and Stalin had reached an agreement whereby 70, 000 German officers would be tried by summary court martial to circumvent formal trials. FDR objected and told the US Dept. of Justice to take over the prosecutions; an exiled German lawyer developed the contentious doctrine of crimes against humanity.

Four sets of charges were brought against the Nazi defendants:

O Conspiracy to commit murder;

O Violation of international agreements;   

O War crimes; and

O Crimes against humanity – this as a legal concept, or a criminal charge, didn’t exist until the Nuremberg trials; effectively the Allies made the law as they went. The German defense was that they couldn’t be tried on a charge that didn’t exist (“unknown to the law”) in law. In short, a person can’t be tried on a charge that doesn’t exist, or after the fact. In terms of a formal defense they were quite right in terms of longstanding common law legal tradition. Prima facia the Allied judges violated this precept, but then the victors write history and the law. Legal historians still debate this issue and the propriety of using the doctrine of crimes against humanity at that time before it was incorporated into international law. All the defendants, however, were found guilty on all four charges and executed by hanging two weeks later.

But I am introspective: Today the Zeppelin Field is overgrown with weeds and covered with debris; it looks like a set from a bad western. It has been allowed, deliberately, to deteriorate. The marching field itself has been covered over with concrete with pylons and fences. It cannot be used. The granite review stands which formerly were used by Hitler and Nazi party officials that overlooked the field, today have weeds and small shrubs growing from the stonework. Most of the world’s best rock bands have played here, and on weekends skateboarders and amateur racing car drivers come out. This puts a new meaning to dancing on someone’s grave.

It would be nice to say something profound like, “ashes to ashes”, but the setting is actually quite surreal. And this monument to barbarity which was to survive for a thousand years now seems like Coney Island or a dilapidated theme park. No one really cares any longer what happened here, and that truly is the “banality of evil.”

The erratic and overcast weather that we have been experiencing has now become sunny and 27C - great weather for spending all day tomorrow in Regensburg. The wine and cheese are great on this cruise, as is the cuisine in general; and we seem to have found our social niche with our two Southern Belles two California babes and a really nice gentleman (American turned Australian). Today for lunch we had pasta with three different types of sauce. Mozart wafts in the ship’s hallways with their old maritime maps. Sucks to be us….

Hopefully, the new venues will allow me to focus on and enjoy less weighty subjects in the future.  (She says: I guarantee it.  We’re heading into chocolate cake with whipped cream territory.)

We have just entered the Danube, and our adventure continues….

Urban Renewal and the Graveyard of History

                                              URBAN RENEWAL AND THE GRAVEYARD OF HISTORY     

                                                                              HE SAYS:

Our river boat glides down the Main River as we watch the quiet, green shore line with its overgrown vegetation, occasionally littered with tourist rec vehicles in camp sites. There is a gentle mist falling which will become a downpour. Now, today, the river is, literally, quiet as a grave yard. And the metaphor is all too appropriate as I think about what I have seen.

Some random retrospective and prospective thoughts….

O The Jewish community in Cologne, which we visited two days ago,  was reputed to be the oldest in Europe with a population of about 30, 000 in 1933; at the war’s end the population was only 3, 000. Today, with the influx of Eastern European immigrants, it has a population of 8, 000 and boasts a new (Conservative) synagogue.

O As we left the boat to board our buses for our tour of Koblenz there was a tall, guff gentleman behind me who growled, “Why are we visiting Koblenz?  I thought we bombed it flat.” There is an unarticulated, but real low-key tension between the nominally apolitical tourist experience of most, and the cloud of memory of others, and the historical amnesia of the locals.

O We leave for our tour this morning to Wurzburg, a colorful, small-large town with a mixed economy; however, it is best known for being a university town. The local Franconia white wine was nice, but the town is otherwise non-descript, being a mixture of old timbered houses and post-war modern archtecture. One of our German tour guides says that the town was spared saturation bombing until the end of WW II when it was fire bombed. The woman next to me whispers, “What are they complaining about?  They got free urban renewal.” This tension is glossed over with a benign smile.

O We visited Miltenberg, in Bavaria, yesterday. Our guide, Bridgette, was superlative – knowledgeable, bright and enthusiastic. She knew her local history and had a feel for small town (10, 000 pop) life and politics. She bragged that the mayors in Bavaria, who evidently have a good deal of political power, in the 1930s rejected the lured of National Socialism (Nazis). But even she, who is strongly anti-Nazi, didn’t know that it was the Bavarian Peasants’ Party that threw their electoral support to Hitler so that he could be elected.

After the formal tour she also took us, at our request, to the local Jewish cemetery. Interestingly, it was desanctified in 1904 (yup) after the entire Jewish community left for some reason; it was never used again. We contemplated this experience over a beer in Germany’s oldest beer hall.

At the beer hall another person who knew the local scene told us a blood curdling story. A few years ago her then teenaged daughter found out that there was a group of students and townspeople getting together for a meeting, but she wasn’t invited because she was of a mixed marriage, and wasn’t considered to be fully German. As it turns out, this group of students, adult townspeople and grandchildren of local Nazis had dug up Nazi paraphernalia that had been buried after the war and were now having Nazi marching drills in a cellar. As well, there had been a large and unchallenged neo-Nazi demo in this town only a few years ago.

This is the ugly underbelly of the new Germany. Notwithstanding denazification, and saccharine platitudes, Germany still suffers from historical amnesia, as do the Austrians and the Japanese. The recent historiography on German fascism has emphasised how the Nazi movement took root  in small towns and tries to answer the questions: Why did people support the Nazis? and, why did people follow orders? The most cogent study in this genre is Ordinary People by Browning.  And what this study shows, simply, is that ordinary people did unspeakable things in the name of security, employment, community, and ideology. But historical amnesia leads to the graveyard, both for victims and victors.

My lengthy op-ed piece in The Ottawa Citizen (Aug 28, 2011) demonstrates that genocide is an old as human history, and that no one group, religion or ethnic group has a monopoly on misery or being victims; we should honour all of the victims of genocide throughout history. Promo Levy, the famous Italian writer and holocaust survivor, wrote a New Yorker Magazine piece a few years ago trying to explain the dynamics of racism, and said that “Everyone wants their Jew. Now the Israelis have the Palestinians.”

We all make a mistake if we think that it can’t happen again, or that the most overt symbols such as torchlight parades or black jack boots are necessary to announce the arrival of fascism. And we should understand that fascism doesn’t have to be racialist. It was Mussolini who once said that, “We are not anti-Semites, we are fascists.” In short, fascism has many faces.

ROLLIN' ON THE RIVER

ROLLIN’ ON THE RIVER

She says:

After 6 days on the boat, we all seem to be falling into a comfortable routine…not too difficult to do, since the Andrew, the Program Director, and his staff make it so easy for us.

Every evening just before dinner, Andrew holds a quick briefing in the cocktail lounge to give us an outline of what’s in store for the following day.  When we get back to our cabins after dinner, there’s a copy of the “Viking Daily” on our turn-downed beds that gives activity times on one side, and a brief description of the shore visit we’ll be making on the other side.  I don’t agree with my esteemed co-author that we’re over-regimented, and that we’re sometimes like rats in a maze trying to find some free time.  There’s no Day-Trip Nazi with a clipboard making sure we follow a tight schedule; if we choose to sleep or read all day we’re welcome to, but if we want to be occupied, there’s a lot to keep us entertained. 

Every day, there’s an excursion of some sort on shore.  So far, most have been in the morning, which means getting up earlier than we usually like to on holiday, but since we’ve had to adjust to a 6-hour time difference anyhow, we decided we’d be able to adjust to a 6:30 wake-up time as well, and so far we’ve been  on time every day.

A typical day goes like this:

For early risers, there’s a light breakfast in the lounge (coffee, juice, and pastries) starting at 6 AM and continuing till 11 for those who sleep too late for the fabulous dining room breakfast that runs from 7-9.   In the dining room, there’s a buffet: fresh fruit, yogurt, steel-cut oatmeal, muesli, cold meats and cheeses, fabulous breads, rolls, and pastries, and a hot table with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, home fries, baked mushrooms, baked beans, etc.  There’s also a chef at the buffet who makes omelettes to order, and if you don’t see anything you like, you can order from a menu that includes pancakes, French toast, and Eggs Benedict.  We aren’t worried about the calories because, according to our waiter on the first day, there are no calories in any of the food served on this trip.  If you can’t trust your waiter to tell you the truth at a time like this, who can you trust?

They tell us that at 7 AM every morning we can go to the upper deck (or to the library if it’s raining) for Qi Gong exercises.  What’s that, you ask?  How the heck would we know?  Who’s awake enough to exercise without coffee?  But I’m sure it’s healthy.

While shore excursions are usually walking tours of towns, cities, World Heritage sites, or castles, and are usually led by local guides who really know their subjects, occasionally we’ll meet in the lounge and be briefed by a local expert beforehand and then go ashore on our own with a map to explore.  There’s always plenty of time after a walking tour to do some more wandering on our own, whether it’s to shop, visit a museum, or hunt down a local pub and sample the local food or drinks.  Throughout the trip, there are also optional tours with an additional cost that people can choose to take: bus trips to other towns, pub crawls to sample local beers, a classical concert in Vienna, etc.  Shore excursions can last anywhere from 2 or 3 hours to half a day, depending on the attraction we’re visiting. 

Back on the boat, there’s plenty of time to sit and watch the river going by, to read, or to sit in the lounge and sample the cocktails.  Often, local people come on board to speak or perform.  So far, we’ve had an expert on the old dykes and windmills at Kinderdijk, a man who talked and answered questions about Germany today, a talented trio who played the works of several German composers, and a glass blower who entertained the group with entertaining running commentary as he demonstrated his skills at the front of the room, making glass figures and candlesticks. 

Lunch can be eaten in one of two places.  The lounge serves soup, salad, sandwiches, and a few surprise items in a casual setting.  Yesterday they announced that it was German street food day and served sausages, pretzels, meatballs, German potato salad, berliners (jelly donuts), fresh German peaches, strawberries, plums and apricots,  tray after tray of desserts and all the beer we could handle.  The dining room is more formal, with a salad bar, breads, pasta, local pates and cheeses, and a changing daily menu that offers regional specialties like Dutch veal stew or roast German pork, and hot sandwiches.  We quickly learned that the dining room has a huge advantage over the lounge for lunch: it serves free wine, and the wine’s delicious.  It’s also the best place on the ship for great coffee.

At 3:30 there’s usually coffee with a sampling of regional desserts.   A couple of days ago, the chef gave a demonstration on how to make Rudesheimer coffee, a process that involves melting sugar over a flame, pouring German brandy over it, adding it to hot coffee, and topping it with a mountain of cream.  Delicious, but potent stuff!

6 PM is the start of the cocktail hour.  Near the lounge, there’s a wall of machines that serve free coffee, espresso, cappuccino, latte, hot chocolate, and tea 24 hours a day.  There’s always free bottled water available, as well, and generous quantities of good-quality wine are free at lunch and dinner in the dining room.  All other drinks must be paid for.  When we came on board, we were introduced to an optional plan that provided all the drinks you wanted for 2 weeks at a low price: 299 Euros (about $375) for the 2 week cruise.  We decided that we’d never be able to drink that much, so we pay as we go, but this is the time of day when it’s easy to see who opted for the plan and is working hard to make its cost worthwhile by working their way down the list of available cocktails. 

At 6:45, the Program director goes through the next day’s itinerary and then the chef runs through the evening’s menu and the accompanying wines of the day, and we all rush into dinner as if we hadn’t been eating all day.  To start, the menu will have 2 or 3 appetizers, plus a soup and a salad.  Memorable examples: wild mushroom soup, lime-marinated jumbo shrimp with mango salsa, and the best crab cakes I’ve ever tasted.  Main courses usually consist of a meat or poultry, a fish or seafood, and a vegetarian option: seared scallops, roast duck, macadamia-encrusted black cod, to name a few that I’ve enjoyed.  Desserts include fruit, ice cream, sorbets, and regional specialties like plum cake and nut pudding.   As the chef (who looks as if he loves his own creations) always says in his nightly briefings, “Yummy, yummy”. 

Dinner ends around 9, and then it’s back to the lounge where Konstantin, the pianist, usually entertains as we sit and talk to our fellow travellers.  At least, that’s how it starts.  Then he’ll play a familiar song and people start to sing along to the Beatles or other ‘60’s songs.  Then a few will dance, and Konstantin encourages participation with a few more familiar songs.  One advantage to being on what a certain cynic calls a floating geriatric ward is that we all enjoy the same music...and I’m not talking about Bach or Beethoven. One night we had a silly trivia contest before the music started, dividing into teams and trying to answer tough questions like “How many 2 cent stamps in a dozen?” or “Why can’t a man living in the US be buried in Canada?”  Andrew told us in advance that the questions would require thinking outside the box.  You know me; I LIVE outside the box, so I spent the night telling my team members they were trying too hard.  There are 12 of everything in a dozen, and men who are living anywhere can’t be buried because they aren’t dead.  What was the US president’s name in 1980?  Well, what was YOUR name in 1980?  He was Obama then, too. We came second.  Our downfall was this question: How many animals of each sex did Moses take on the ark?  We brilliantly said there was one of each sex, but overlooked one tiny detail:  it was NOAH who did all that; Moses didn’t have an ark.  Doh! 

Of course, not everyone participates; some go back to their rooms to watch CNN or a movie on tv.  Whatever we choose to do, most of us feel we’ve had a fun, busy day, and go to sleep happy, ready for whatever adventures the next day will bring.

Dutch Gin and Jelly Donuts

DUTCH GIN AND JELLY DONUTS: CATCH UP BLOG

HE SAYS:

We are now sailing down the Rhine after a lovely afternoon of castle watching. This allows me to put together this catch up blog, and to expand on a number of meandering thoughts. A stream of conscious approach will capture my mood.

Time moves on. In Holland, Amsterdam has been transformed from a nascent capitalist economy based on the early frenzied speculation in tulip bulbs to the leading major economy of the 18^th century.  Subsequently, continental countries such as Germany and France surpassed Holland, and Europe’s history was sealed. The late US president John F. Kennedy went to the Berlin Wall and pronounced, “I am a Berliner.” The Berlin citizens cracked up  because in slang what he had said was, “I am a jelly donut.” He certainly caught the spirit and absurdity of the Cold War.

As we make our way through the Dutch canal system towards the Rhine and Main  Rivers I am struck by how industrialized both countries are along this waterway. On one side of the river there is lush vegetation and rolling hills, and on the other side many modern factories and a railway line. What is interesting is that there isn’t a clear or decisive break in the geography and flora between Holland and Germany. It is a rolling continuum. The silence of the scenic countryside is only broken by the sound of a speeding freight train.

Viking Tours is marvellous and has thought of all the mod-cons. The meals are haut cuisine with great regional wines; quite to my surprise I learned that Austrian reds are robust and bold, while their whites are smooth and rounded to the tongue. Their cuisine is as good as or better than Beckta in Ottawa, and we’ll be offered this 3 meals a day for 14 days.

Our Viking river boat, the Prestige, is 132 m long and 12 m wide; it holds 190 passengers and costs a cool E 28m. This is a far cry from the 30 foot barge tour with 30 vacationers that I remember in central France in the late 70s. Our state rooms are in a modern Scandinavian style. Being in steerage class and below the water line, it is an eerie sensation when one sees that the river is at the same level as the large porthole in our wall.

All that said, the demographics of our fellow passengers is of interest .There is a decided feeling by some unnamed cynic that this is a very elegant and expense floating geriatric facility. The one drawback for this guy is that I feel over-managed, and that everything is too scripted. I desperately need some time to myself !!! Crowds always bring out the misanthrope in me. As a good friend said before we left, “remember who your fellow passengers are.” In general they are very well- heeled, and hail, “you all”, from Texas, Florida or California, are former corporate executives and are Republicans; the average age is probably 75-80. We do not talk about health care. Definitely my type of folk.  Blessedly, we have met a group of about four women who are sympatico.  (She says: and Richard seems to enjoy being the only male at a table of six!)

Our first port of call after we left Amsterdam was Kinderdijk, which we went ashore to visit. This world heritage site is a quaint community of about 20 ancient windmills. They are operational and have families living in them; they are rented for E100-200 per month. Notwithstanding the quaintness, there was a certain theme park quality about it all. That evening we had a lecture on Dutch cheese and Jinever, that is, Dutch Gin. This clear sterno-like liquid was enough to wash away the day’s weariness, even of this cynic. (She says: And after three shots of Jinever he had enough energy to hang out in the lounge to listen to the pianist play old ‘60’s tunes, and even danced!  I keep threatening to buy some of the stuff when we get home and hold regular Jinever and dance evenings.  We’ll dust off the Rolling Stones CD’s and party!)

Yesterday we spent the afternoon in Cologne. It was largely destroyed during WW II, with the notable exception of city center with its large cathedral.  Its famous Cologne Cathedral is a massive structure which took 800 years to build. Its architecture is dark, brooding and uninspiring, enough to turn the most faithful into non-believers. Its Romanesque architecture is the antithesis of inspiring the English and Spanish Gothic church architecture, with its upward lines, that sing the glory of His Kingdom. The cathedral is considered to be Germany’s main tourist attraction and some 22, 000  people visit this church every DAY! Clearly, the God business is profitable.

Today we had a morning tour of the Koblenz castle which was built around 1230 AD and which, over the years, was owned by a number of noble families. This afternoon we continued our journey, and almost relaxed, going down the Rhine River looking at lush hills (and expecting Heidi any minute to yodel), vineyards planted on sharply sloping hills and watching more castles pass by. Most of these castles date from the 13-14^th centuries. Ho, hum…. Sad to say, no matter how spectacular they are, by the end of the afternoon, their sightings become commonplace, and we stop running from one railing to another to take photos.

The date of these castles, of course, reflects the extreme regionalization and fragmented nature of social stratification in Germany until it was unified under Otto Von Bismark.

Tomorrow we continue our voyage down the Main River, with its vineyards and 60 some odd locks. Thankfully, we have had a chance to sleep in before we go off on a well-managed tour to see the countryside and, of course, another castle.

A Riverboat Fantasy

Day 1Amsterdam

Arrive in Amsterdam, capital of the Netherlands, and transfer to your ship.* After boarding, the rest of the day is yours to relax or begin exploring the city on your own.

She says on behalf of both :

Our big adventure is now underway!

I guess before I write about the cruise, I should summarize the trip from Canada.  My Facebook friends will already know that I suffered a major setback in my packing and organizing the night before we left.  Traumatizing, it was!  I was sorting out things to go in my purse.  I picked up my leather passport case  and decided to check one more time to make sure I had my new passport and not the recently expired one.   The case was empty.  No problem; it had to be there somewhere nearby.  I cleared off the desk it had been on, and then the bed where my packed suitcase and carry-on bags were sitting.  Nothing.  Under the bed?   No. I dumped out my purse, then my carry-on.  Still no luck.  Finally, in the middle of unpacking my suitcase and frantically trying to remember when I had last seen it, I remembered that the previous day I’d scanned it and sent myself a copy so if it got lost or stolen in Europe, I’d have the information I’d need to get home.  Problem was, I’d stupidly left it in the scanner.  Thank goodness I checked when I did.  Somehow, I don’t think I would have made it very far by presenting an empty passport case to the airport security guys!

We travelled Swiss Air.  Since they don’t fly out of Ottawa, they provide a coach transport from the Ottawa train station to PET airport in Montreal.  We’ve done the transfer on past trips and it’s never crowded, but this time we were the only passengers, so we had our own private chauffeur and plenty of room to stretch out for the 2 hour trip.  That almost made up for the way Swiss Air packed us into their plane.  We’ve done Air Transat excursion trips to Cuba and the Dominican, so you’d think we’d be used to tourism togetherness, but this plane must have broken the Guinness Record for sardine packing!  But the food and the service were fine, we made our connecting flight from Zurich to Amsterdam by the skin of our teeth after another trauma at security, and the Viking people were there to meet us and transfer us to the boat, so it was all good.  (I won’t get into the security trauma except to say that Richard’s magnetic personality always sets of security alarms, and that he now knows the ins and outs, so to speak, of a full body search.)

It’s been my experience that the brochures don’t always reflect the reality, so it was a lovely surprise to see that this boat really does look the way Viking advertised it.   It’s a year old and beautifully maintained, and the staff are incredible.  We arrived mid-morning, and knew before we arrived that people from the previous cruise wouldn’t be leaving until noon, and we wouldn’t be able to get into our cabins until 3 PM, but the lounges began to fill early with jet-lagged, grubby travellers anxious to shower and change, and staff members did everything they could to make our wait bearable.  They fed us a wonderful buffet lunch, made sure we knew where the toilets and bar and coffee dispensers are, and took care of our luggage so we could wander around the city while we waited.    They also offered a walking tour of the downtown area of Amsterdam.  Our original plan had been to walk to the train station and take a hop-on, hop-off boat tour of the city but it was pouring rain and we were exhausted, so we talked ourselves out of that idea and convinced ourselves that it would be better to stay dry and sample the food and drinks on board while getting to know some of our fellow travellers.

At 3 on the dot, we received our keys and were shown to our cabin.  I think we were too tired to appreciate how bright and well thought-out the place is in a sleek Scandinavian style, but we were happy to unpack and shower and have a chance to lie down for a bit.  We’d been told that there was an introductory get-together at 6:30 that we should attend so we could hear the plans for the following day, so we made sure we were awake for that, but being a practical, self-disciplined pair, we decided that we’d come back to the cabin right afterwards and skip dinner; we needed sleep much more than another meal, after all.  But during the meeting, such delicious smells wafted through the room that we agreed that perhaps we should go into the dining room for a bowl of soup or a light snack before turning in.

Then they brought the menu.  Hmm….lobster bisque sounds nice.  Oh, look!  Surf and turf with king prawns.  Then the gooey chocolate dessert for me and the cheese plate with assorted Dutch cheeses for Richard.  And, of course, the complimentary wine that accompanies lunch and dinner, and the great-smelling coffee, and two hours later, we rolled back to the cabin and I swear we were asleep before our heads hit those cloud-soft pillows.  Heaven!