To the countryside

We spent our last full day in the Czech Republic with Vendy Petrinova's family in Kublov, a village of 600 people 45 minutes' drive from Prague. Vendy, age 7, had been my English student. Vendy and her sisters were eager to show me their house, but I wasn't much good on their trampoline.

Later, we hiked in the Bohemian forest and did some rock climbing with the girls, with considerable assistance from their mother, Daniela. The view was magnificent, and well worth the anxiety that I'd fall to my death. Meanwhile, Vendy and her sisters pranced around like little antelopes.

Joe managed to lose his glasses while he was hiking.

Can there be too much Mozart?

"Please," said the woman. "You have to buy my CD. Only 10 Euros. You will like it. It's country music. I want to get out of this stupid place and study in Nashville."

In the crowded street, merchants were hawking Mozart bauble heads, waitresses were wearing dirndls, and kids were playing excerpts from Eine Kleine Nacht music on violins and accordians.

"Boring!" said the woman. "I was born here. It never changes." Notwithstanding its beauty and culture, Salzburg is a tourist trap. People are so busy selling you stuff that there is no time for authentic conversation. We bought a CD and took the woman to dinner where she showed us some songs she had written.

Sound of Music Country

Salzburg is the birthplace of Mozart and the setting for The Sound of Music. The scenery is spectacular. It's a wonderful place to hear chamber music, view cathedrals, and enjoy rich desserts. But to tell you the truth, I prefer my "workations" where I develop relationships with people as they go about their lives.

Let the buyer beware

We weren't sure of our pickup point for our tour of the the Alpine lakes, so we caught the bus early yesterday morning.

Once we had found the location by the Mirabel Gardens, we looked around for a place to have brunch, and we happened upon a charming Italian grocery store and restaurant whose proprietor inquired if we were American. Waving his hands as he spoke, he addressed us in a combination of Italian, minimal German and pidgin English. We ,in turn, responded in English and minimal German. I don't like spaghetti that much, nor do I often eat ham; and I don't like high backed stools, since my legs are short. But the man was so expansive, so persuasive, that I went along with all this. He never showed us a menu, but I wasn't worried about the cost. This place was clearly a neighborhood deli, though a bit upscale. We got to watch the man talk loudly and wave his hands at his Austrian customers, who were pretty reserved. It was fun, and the food wasn't bad. At the end of the meal, the proprietor smiled and rang up the sale: 68.60 EUROS. At the current exchange rate, the meal had cost $91.39. Easily the most expensive meal of our trip. And in the absence of a menu or prior agreement, we had to pay it. The man had seen us coming and pegged us as idiotic Americans. In retrospect, our behavior was stupid. Normally, I pride myself on my street smarts. Moral of the story: Always ask for a menu!

Without knowing we know

In Vienna, we visited the Albertina Museum, which houses a combination of traditional and contemporary art. Currently featured is the work of Gottfried Heinwein, a contemporary Austrian artist whose work explores violence toward the weak and helpless-- everything from sadism, Nazism, to school shootings. His adoration of the Magi piece depicts the Wise Men as Nazi officers interrogating the mother of Jesus and reminds us they were deployed because a tyrant wanted to murder the Christ Child-- A foreshadowing of Hitler's "final solution."

The images, which include children being tortured, are difficult to view but very powerful. I am including only a few mild examples.

Heinwein believes it is the function of art to remind us of what we know, without realizing we know it. Reminded me of the play we saw about art in Terezin.

Parable of the three rings

Although the weather was hot, Joe and I went ahead with our scheduled walking tour of Vienna. The cathedrals of Vienna are magnificent.

Our tour guide, in discussing religious history, related a parable，which he attributed to the 17th century author and dramatist, Gottard Lessing: A man possessed a ring which conveyed on its owner perpetual grace before God and man. However, he could not decide which of his three sons should inherit it on his death. Therefore, he destroyed the original ring and made three identical copies. Upon his death, each son received one of these copies, along with a note that his was the true ring. The sons consulted a judge, but he could see no difference at all between the three rings. The sons began trying to outdo each other with goodness, and when they tired of this, they were cruel to each other and tried to kill each other. This, said our guide, is the story of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. And continued our guide, when there are no Jews or Muslims around, Christians like killing each other. A cynical attitude? Perhaps. But difficult to dismiss, in the light of history.

Concentration of Evil

I used to teach middle school, and one of the works on our curriculum was Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It relates the story of a scientist who develops an elixir that concentrates extreme evil in one part of his personality in the hope that another part of his nature will reflect sublime goodness. His experiment succeeds partially. He creates an alter ego, Mr. Hyde, who manifests intense evil. But the exalted alternative never develops, and the evil Mr. Hyde takes over. I thought of this during the trip to Terezin (Thereseinstadt) I made with our mission team the day before leaving the Czech Republic. The Holocaust was an unbelievable concentration of human evil, the more staggering because of its use of twentieth century technology and its roots in the civilization that produced Beethoven, Wagner and Bach. I have a personal connection to Terezin. Elizabeth Stark, my second Great Aunt died there. Her son, my Uncle Wilfred made it to America after a couple of years at Dachau. I imagine his mother spent her life savings to get him out. Other members of our family died in the Holocaust, but I don't know their names. Hilda Stark, Wilfred's widow and my Great Aunt by marriage, is the only member of my family willing to talk of these things. I said Kaddish (the Jewish prayer for the dead) in the memorial section of Terezin. I was touched that our team of American Christian missionaries joined me, though for the most part they are less familiar with this ugly chapter in human history. Below: The sign at Terezin's gate translates as "Work Makes You Free." The inmates were initially told Terezin was a work camp and learned their fate only gradually.

Vo ist ein Bankomat?

The project over, we have moved on to Vienna. We needed to get some Euros and were looking around for an ATM machine. Today, banking is international, it isn't necessary to visit a bank to exchange money. We use our American money cards to withdraw from our American accounts, and we get the local currency. The fees are pretty similar whatever way we change money. I figured I could communicate-- my grandparents were German speakers, and I heard a lot of the language as a child. Besides, the sound system of German is easier for an English speaker than Czech's, and its vocabulary more similar. So checking Rick Steven's German Phrasebook, I approached a gentleman and say carefully "Vo ist ein Bankomat ?" The guy chuckled and responded "You'll find an ATM over there." Is it any wonder why we Americans are so lax about learning other people's languages?

Signs of Life

The project went well, though personally I prefer longer ones as there is only so much you can do to improve people's English in a couple of weeks.  But I cannot deny I'm exhausted after rising at 5:00 AM to plan lessons, teaching six hours each  day, and going out almost every evening.

The night before last, we went to see Signs of Life, a play about inmates of a Nazi concentration camp who preserve a sense of order and personal meaning. during their imprisonment. Ceasing to believe in God in the face of unimaginable cruelty, the characters use art as a form of transcendence. The play is thus a work of Secular Humanism, an approach to life grossly misunderstood by the religious community. The setting is Terezin, also known as Theresienstadt, a Nazi concentration camp about 40 miles from Prague.  .

Signs of Life ran off Broadway in the US; this performance was sponsored by the International Psychoanalytic Society, whose annual meeting was held this year in Prague.  The cast was transported here from New York and toured Terezin, so this must have been a very expensive proposition.  But the cost of attendance here was modest-- I suspect the play was intended to educate the public here in Prague.  In all, a class act.

After the play, there was a "Talk Back" session moderated by Stefano Bolognini, President elect of the International Psychoanalytic Society.  She made a fascinating connection between the Nazi's secrecy about their objectives and lies we tell ourselves about goals and our personal past.

A stack of Bibles

Last week's mission team gave all the children English Bibles.  It was one of the easier translations, and there were lots of suggested activities and kid friendly study helps.  Still, the Bibles weren't in Czech. Even though I came to teach English, I think there's a lot to be said for reading scripture in your own language.

So Joe and I visited Prague's Methodist bookstore and cleaned them out of kid-friendly Bibles.  There weren't enough in any one edition, so we got a variety. They were well receive.

  

Reconciliation

Two young ladies from the seminary made a point of attending Vacation Bible School for several hours.  They sang, prayed and ate with us.  They even helped in the kitchen. They returned again the next day, despite their other responsibilities. I was touched.

Alex, (pictured above) said she knew how some members of her cohort had behaved toward us, and she apologized. "We don't want you to have a bad impression of the Czech people." 

I assured her I did not. Sharing space isn't easy, and language and cultural differences make it more complicated.