The Spouse Went to Moscow This Weekend

Below are random emails, composed on his Blackberry.

Take carrots. Put them in the cuisinart. Put them on a plate. Drop some cheese -- not too much-- in and grate that. Put on top of the carrots. Take a big serving spoon of mayonnaise and put that on top in a big glop. Sprinkle with grated walnut dust. Garnish with parsley. Wash whole thing down with mineral water from Georgia. Which tastes like dirt.

Be in the window of a Georgian restaurant in pedestrian zone of Arbat street. Sun on table is bright, and you are baking in the heat but outside the pedestrians are slipping on the icy patches of slush. It is 3 pm and the shadows are long. The light is a cold color but it warms as it comes sideways through the window. It seems like evening with this really northern light.

The door opens and you welcome the blast of cold. But only for a moment. CLOSE THE DOOR!!

They sing of unrequited love in Russian on the radio in here. Slow and yearningly.

Waitress hates her job. Hates the food. Hates you. It's nothing personal. She knows you hate her back, so "what is difference?"

Beef in a pot comes in a pot the size of one of those bowls we use for bacon grease. But it is clay, very hot. Beef chunks, eggplant, peppers and pieces of crinkle-cut potatoes. It takes five bites to finish, but not bad. Costs 8 dollars, but not bad. Coffee is nice.

Rested. Fed. Ready to face Arbat street again. Carrot salad, dirt water, beef pot, espresso. All for 16 bucks. Cheaper than a trip to Tblisi.

Think the soot and the traffic and the roar and the dirt of Taichung, the cheap glitz of Atlantic City, the brown and gray architecture of BA or the ugly parts of Blava and put it all at -2 degrees with icy patches and you get the picture.

We Dine in Brno

We went to a dinner in Brno on Saturday. I should back up and say first that I now belong to this gastronomy club, and you can go to events in other chapters. Well, not only do I belong, but I'm an officer. What I won't do for a good meal.

Because the Bratislava chapter is fledgling, we don't have a lot going on yet. So The Spouse and I have been hitting the road. We went to a dinner in Prague a few weeks ago. It was on the top floor of the Prague Intercontinental. The view at night was terrifc. The food was prepared by visiting Chef Viki (I'm not making this up). He's Belgian, so it was all Belgian fare, which was quite delicious. I can't remember what all of it was now, but I do remember that whatever the second appetizer was, that alone was worth the drive to Prague.

Because we enjoyed it so much, the Prague chapter invited us to come to another event they were holding in Brno. That's only about an hour drive from home, so we figured why not? It was a nice excuse for a little weekend away with no children.

Brno is about the same size as Bratislava, but it feels completely different. Some say it was modeled after Vienna with the rings of streets and Hapsburg architecture. Others explain that it has the Czech convention centers, so it was always groomed for foreign guests. There certainly is not an expat community there as there are no embassies nor much foreign investment. But all the same it has a very nice historic center that is vibrant because it has a healthy mix of shops, businesses, and residents. Bratislava's Old Town feels like a museum, and, compared to Brno, not in a good way.

We stayed at a cute little hotel called the Royal Ricc (http://www.romantichotels.cz/royalricc/index.php). The dinner was held at a restaurant called U Kastelana, which was rated The Best Restaurant in the Czech Republic in 2005 (http://www.ukastelana.cz/). (I offer you this website while I take some comfort from the fact that I can not only FIND the link to their menu, but I can understand most of it even if I can't pronounce it. After all this time in the region, I guess I have learned something.)

Our room was cute, but small. The ceiling had wooden beams that were stenciled in a lacy design. The windows had stained glass. There was an unfortunate painting of a crucified Christ that killed any wish one would have to rent the room by the hour. But the nice feature was a tile stove in the corner that could be used to heat the room. We couldn't figure out how to turn it on, so The Spouse had to go get Reception Lady to show us. She seemed to think we were idiots for not being able to light the pilot, but she came up and did it for us. The room got toasty and we had ample time for naps.

We decided that since the restaurant was not too far and we knew we would have lots to drink, that rather than take taxis, we would walk there and back. It turned out to be a flat and easy walk.

We found the restaurant and the Prague crowd was thrilled to see us again. The dinner was good, but not the best I've ever had. The meal in Prague was better, but this would certainly be worth trying again.

Now, unfortunately, I was wearing too many clothes as I thought the weather would be colder. I just didn't have anything I could take off. After the walk to the restaurant, I was plenty warm. Then I drank bubbly with the pre-starters, followed by two whites, three reds, a dessert white, and a shot of slivovitz (which is a plum brandy/firewater). They were all from the area and each was better than the last.

O although I had a shower before the dinner, now I need another one. It's almost midnight. We made our excuses and walked back to hotel, hoping to become sober. Got naked to take shower. Discovered there was no knob to make water enter shower/bath. The bathroom is outfitted with a big sink, a toilet, a bidet, and the bathtub, but only the bathtub is really appropriate for the sort of washing I want to do. I don't want to get my hair wet (as I said, I had already washed it earlier in the day), but I want to do some serious rinsing from the neck down.

I put my (sweaty) clothes back on and go to Reception to complain. Reception Lady sent Waiter Guy up to verify my claim. Yes indeed. There was no way to make the shower work. He hands me a key to another room. I go look at it. It is bigger and nicer than ours. There is no art involving Jesus in pain. I make The Spouse call Reception Lady. Do they really want us scampering in our towels between Room A and Room B? Won't other guests object? Well, you can't have BOTH rooms, says Recption Lady. No problem! We'll move our things ourselves!

I returned key to Room A. Got naked again, got in shower, turned on water, pulled up pin to activate shower. Pin comes off in my hand and water sprays ceiling and up my nose. It was blasting in my eyes while I flailed about trying to swat at it and turn it off. My head and the ceiling, are dripping. At least there were plenty of towels. Maybe we needed a picture of Moses parting the Red Sea in that room?

Hungry in Hungary? Not Likely

Yesterday was a school holiday. Both girls have time off around now, but, of course, not the same days. November 1 is All Saints’ Day, so most of Europe has that off.

So we arranged with Baboo’s best friend, J, and her mom, S, to have an outing.

We were going to go to see the chateaux of Lednice and Valtice, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site just over the border in the Czech Republic (http://www.radnice-valtice.cz/en/), but S determined that they were closed for the season. So we elected to go to Hungary instead to see the Archabbey Pannonhalma (http://www.bences.hu/). This is near the city of Györ, which I believe is pronounced “Djer.” Human beings cannot learn Hungarian.

I had been past the abbey twice before. About a year ago, we had driven to Lake Balaton (http://www.balaton-tourism.hu/public/balaton.php?language=2) and passed by. The abbey is on a hill in visible from quite a distance. I had no idea what it was, but found something about it in my guidebook. Declared we would return and check it out sometime since it is only about 90 minutes from us.

Last January, the Spouse and I had gone to stay in a nice little hotel in Györ (http://www.schweizerhof.hu/index_e.shtml.htm). On the way back, we stopped at the abbey, but it was Sunday morning and there was nothing for the public until after mass. Since we did not want to attend mass, we decided to come back another time.

S picked us up about 10:00 in the morning and we set off for the Hungarian border (oh, that sounds so exotic!). To get there we took the highway to Györ and then a small road to the village of Pannonhalma. The abbey was begun in 996 and sits on a hill called St. Martin’s Hill. Apparently, King Stephen of Hungary believed St. Martin, who eventually became the Bishop of Tours, was born in the area. The Turks were in and out of the area. They occupied the monastery three times, most recently in 1683 when the Turks were assaulting Vienna.

The monastery provided shelter for hundreds of people, primarily children but also racial and political refugees, during the last few months of World War II.

So we arrive in the parking lot a little before noon. The girls thought the parking lot was plenty of fun and ran around, looking for cats. Across the way, we could see a man cutting hay in a meadow with a scythe. It was a gorgeous sunny autumn day with blue skies and colorful leaves.

We went to the ticket office and learned that the next tour in English would be at 1:30, but if we didn’t mind tagging along on a Hungarian tour, we were welcome. They offered us brochures in English, and we thought that was just fine.

We caught up with the guide and the other tourists, and discovered that NO ONE in the group spoke any Hungarian. We had Czechs, other Slovaks, and a German-speaking woman. The guide initially claimed to speak no English, but as we progressed and proved ourselves pleasant people, she warmed up and began to offer information. It will still be useful to go again with an English-speaking guide, however, as she did not offer as much as she probably could have if she had been more comfortable with the language.

The complex is interesting and has many lovely architectural features and archeological remnants. There is a large library with documents dating back hundreds if years, including hand copied Bibles.

It was in the library that the German-speaking woman cornered me. She had cornered the guide in the church crypt. I heard her asking “Who is in charge,” but figured she was complaining about the lack of better material to hand people when they were stuck with the Hungarian Only Tour. Now she starts telling me, with tears in her eyes, about a cat she has found on the grounds here. “She is sick,” she tells me. “I don’t know what to do. I told them they must neuter the cats!”

“Where are you from?” I counter. This is not someone from a formerly Communist country. No, she is from what was West Germany, so she is afflicted with that Germanic love of pets that supercedes concern for one’s fellow human. Note, that this is coming from me: Former Stray Intervention Lady.

I nod sympathetically, but hope I can make a clean escape. “Do you have a tissue for me?” she counters. Alas, I am a bad mom, and I have Kleenex, but it is in the car. I confess and then the girls run over to me asking if I want to see the oldest book in the library. Yes. Yes, I do.

Thankfully, the tour is over, and we are deposited in the gift shop where I buy a small bottle of cherry liqueur. S and I determine that the abbey wine is an unknown, and therefore too great a gamble. We suddenly realize that it is 1:30. We are starving. It’s time to find lunch.

We leave the abbey, and descend to the village where we find a small restaurant. The young man working there does not seem to mind that we are late for lunch. Yes, we can eat. So it is three orders of goulash made with wild boar and served with spaetzle (my favorite) and two schnitzels for my girls. All delicious. Then it is the ubiquitous Central European crepe called palacinky. The girls’ are rolled and filled with chocolate. S and I share an order filled with ground nuts and cherries. Ours are folded. Very filling and very delicious.

Back in the car we vow to stop at a vegetable stand we passed on the way to the abbey. We want to buy strings of garlic and peppers. We can get strings of garlic and peppers in Bratislava, but somehow these Hungarian versions seem more interesting. We find a store that is part of a restaurant that clearly caters to tourists. The clerk is dressed in a charming traditional costume. The shop is filled with local products: honey, poppy seeds, walnuts, wine. We buy acacia honey and a kilo of hulled walnuts to share.

A little farther down the road, we stop again to buy eggs (maybe Hungarian chickens are happier chickens?), a jar of some sort of red pepper concoction, strings of garlic and peppers tied with a green, white, and red ribbon--the color of the Hungarian flag, and a bag of gingerbread cookies that have been dipped in chocolate.

The children attack them in the car, as do the adults. They seem to have some sort of sugar blob in the center. They are the best version of this cookie I have had. I vow that the cookies will go home with S, but somehow the remnants end up in my bag and I discover them as I hunt for my house keys while S peels away from the front of my house like she’s fighting for the pole position at Indy.

UPDATE: SPAIN 2005

It has been so long since I posted anything, that now you are just going to get condensed and glossed over accounts of what I can remember. But I can post photos, so maybe a few pictures will say a thousand words.

August means Spain, and once again we rented an apartment in Torremolinos at a complex called Costa Lago. It is where VW and I first went in 1993. Last year we had what they call an atico (a top floor apartment with roof access) that we found through the Internet. This year we rented a similar apartment through our friend, Carlos. It was slightly cheaper, and actually would have been fine if we had rented it first. The one we had last year had just a little nicer floorplan and nicer furnishings. When we did the math, the cost per person per day was worth it to us, so we will try to get the nicer one again next year.

Carlos was on his way out of town for his holiday, so our arrival, key exchange, cash exchange meeting was sort of brief and hurried. He was sure he had given us two sets of keys, but VW, who had arrived first from the US, was sure he had not. So we limped along on one set of keys and no garden gate key for a while.

On the first day I accidentally locked us out because I thought The Spouse had the keys! He had taken the girls down to the pool, I followed a while later, and forgot that he had told me to bring the keys along with me. He was not a happy camper. I knew the neighbors were home, so I knocked on their door and asked if it would be okay if I climbed over their atico walls to my atico. We had left the door unlocked, so I just walked in. The neighbor husband rolled his eyes a lot, but the wife was very sympathetic. I kept saying, in Spanish, "My husband is going to divorce me!"

Here is what I climbed over.

Of course, it turned out that VW DID have the second set of keys. They had fallen behind her dresser. And we got one of the groundskeepers to get us a copy of the gate key.

As a result, we all thought leaving that door open was a good thing. I said a few times that I thought it might be risky and that Carlos had been robbed once via the roof, but The Spouse thought the chance was slim . . . and sure enough, someone did come in and took The Spouse’s eye glasses, his watch, and $200 dollars from VW's purse. We figured it was probably a kid who lives there, and he only takes what he can put in his pocket and that cannot be identified . . .for example, he was not interested in the passports. Luckily, I had my wallet and camera and eye glasses all either with me, or hidden in places one would not normally look (like in the pillows). So it was a dumb mistake and our dumb fault, but nothing serious, really. The Spouse had extra glasses . . . the missing ones, of course, were Dolce and Gabbana, but what can you say? The thief had taste! Because VW had the master bedroom, the thief looked there first and that is why he got her cash. Our room looked like it belonged to the teenagers, so he obviously did not spend a lot of time there.

It was all odd, however, because we did not realize for a day or so what had happened. The Spouse had walked into town with his glasses, but then he couldn't find them and he couldn't find the case either. I tore the apartment apart, looking in the furniture and under the furniture, and in the refrigerator. We went over and over the possible scenarios and had just about decided that I might have accidentally scooped them up in a towel and then dropped them in the garden, when we realized that a drawer had been open in an odd way in our room. And then The Spouse said, "Come to think of it, I can't find my watch either."

So we asked VW to check her room. She recalled that her purse had been in a different place, but thought maybe she had tossed it carelessly or maybe even one of the girls had been looking at it, although she thought that was out of character. She checked her wallet and saw that her cash was gone. AH HA! Then we figured it out.