Recommended Viewing: Joseph Beuys and the Coyote

This post isn't really related to the main themes of this blog, but you don't have to read it if you don't want to.  Okay?

 I Like America and America Likes Me, Joesph Beuys, 1974

Photo copyright Caroline Tisdall

The Joseph Beuys story is one of the most captivating and iconic artist stories of all time.  As a young man, Beuys flew for the Luftwaffe as a rear gunner in a bomber unit.  In 1943, his plane was shot down in the Crimea.  Beuys claims he was discovered in the snow by nomadic Tartars, who nursed him back to health with natural medicines.  He remained unconscious until after he was returned to a German field hospital, but he maintains that the images of the Tartars and their healing methods penetrated his subconscious.  Most notably, he recalls being packed in animal fat and wrapped in felt to help his body retain heat.  Read more about his story at the wikipedia page linked above.  Regardless of the story's truth, these images and materials featured prominently in his art for the rest of his life.

Beuys was later among the most influential art figures of the 20th century.  His first trip to America was to mark the opening of the René Block Gallery in New York with a performance art piece.  The piece, I Like America and America Likes Me, began with Bueys's ride directly from the airport to the gallery in the back of an ambulance.  At the gallery, he spent three days in a room with a coyote, interacting with the animal as the situation dictated.  After the three days, he was taken back to the airport, again directly by ambulance.  Beuys later explained his mode of transportation: "I wanted to isolate myself, insulate myself, see nothing of America other than the coyote."  This video clip gives more about the work and Beuys's life, well worth the 15 minutes.  If the quicktime video doesn't work for you, I believe you can select a different format.

Tidbits

One of the greatest oddities of class in Hungary:  the chalkboard erasers are giant sponges.  The building's meticulous cleaning staff washes the boards daily and stocks them every morning with a damp sponge.  It drives me nuts when my topology prof doesn't wait for the board to dry completely before he starts writing again... you end up with this smudgy, broken haze of writing rather than clean lines of chalk.   Speaking of the cleaning staff, they must mop the stairs twice a day here... it seems like they are always doing that.

Maybe a greater cultural difference still, nay, perhaps the greatest single divider of Eastern and Western culture for an entire generation:  the preference of how to demarcate the endpoints of a conversation.  While many cultures in the West, such as the US, France, and Spain, choose to indicate which is the beginning and which is the end, most Hungarians are content to simply indicate "This is one side of our conversation."

In the US, we say "hello" and "goodbye."  In France, one says "bonjour" and "adieu."  In Hungary, however, you will often hear "helló" and, indeed, "helló."  I can't tell you how many times I've had to double-take as I left a store to hear the shopkeeper yell "helló" on my way out.  Did I forget something?  Am I stealing something? Oh, wait... no.  Furthermore, one can even observe a blending-zone of these preferences in Spain.  One can specify the side, as with "buenos días" and "hasta la vista, baby" or one can simply be content with "ciao" and "ciao."  Oh, the wonders never cease.

The grossest phenomenon I've ever witnessed:  no fewer than three times have I seen someone pick a particularly long cigarette butt off the ground, presumably to finish what its original owner did not.  Big-city dwellers, I ask you:  Is this a universal hobo practice or is it limited to Eastern Europe?

Side note:  Hungarians will (sometimes vigorously) contest the point that Hungary is not in Eastern Europe, but rather in Central Europe.  They have a valid cultural and historical argument, but I suspect that the Iron Curtain will define much of the east/west division of Europe for my generation.  Eastern and Central Europe are perhaps the most poorly defined regions in the entire world, though, so maybe Hungary will wiggle its way across that line.

To continue that side note, I am boggled by how devastating WWII was to Hungary.  At the Terror House museum, I read that WWII destroyed every bridge crossing the Danube in Budapest (eight cross it today, I think maybe six or seven crossed it before WWII) and 40% or more of the entire national wealth.  That is staggering.  What's more, to think the oldest generation of Hungarians today bore witness to all of this as young adults.  Quite a silent sadness -- I suppose it is far enough removed that people don't talk about or notice it as much anymore.

Okuyama no Sushi

I rallied a group of six (Kylee, Joe, Kumar, Lydia, Caitlin, and myself) to venture into Óbuda for what I heard was Budapest's most legitimate sushi.  Óbuda is a historical section of Budapest, literally "Old Buda."  Óbuda, Buda, and Pest fused in 1873 to form the city of Budapest.  Our destination was Okuyama no Sushi.  I had read a number of positive reviews, and I also had faith in the fact ethnic restaurants with atrocious websites tend to be authentic, if not extremely polished.

Indeed, we arrived at Kolosy tér, walked through the courtyard and downstairs to the basement to find Okuyama-san and his comfortable Japanese restaurant.  The dining space was fairly small, but didn't feel cramped at all, even filled nearly to capacity.  They give their tables, which provide seating for 25 - 30 at the most, plenty of space.  We all ordered sushi, but Kylee, having never tried sushi before (or fish outside its "stick" form, for that matter), was a bit apprehensive.  We steered her toward the California roll, which we hoped would be a success.  Kumar and I both ordered the small nigiri-and-roll combo, while Lydia, Caitlin, and Joe each ordered individual rolls.  Joe was perhaps the most adventurous and ordered the squid roll.  The house menu is mostly classic sushi: nigiri and basic, one- or two-ingredient rolls.  Definitely not abreast of the American souped-up maki sushi movement, which according to your sense of purity, could be good or bad.

A delicious bowl of miso soup (plenty of substance -- sprouts, kombu, scallions, tofu, and a mushroom or two) and a bottle of cold sake for the table helped the fairly short wait pass quickly.  I hadn't ever tried sake before but enjoyed it.  I thought the flavor was very gentle and a little bit like flowers.  Good, even thought it was a bit too sweet for my taste.

My sushi came with a single avocado-and-salmon roll and five pieces of nigiri:  salmon, shrimp, tamago (sweetened egg omelet), and ... the last two.  By sight and a little research, I'm fairly sure one piece was just shiromi, or seasonal white fish (or possibly it was white tuna, but I don't believe so), and the other was scallop.  I'm tempted to digress into commentary on my sushi research, but I'll save that for the postscript.

The reactions:  I enjoyed my sushi thoroughly and thought it fairly high quality, especially for a landlocked country without much interest in sushi.  I believe I read in a review that Okuyama-san flies his fish in freshly from abroad.  The scallop nigiri was very interesting -- delicate to the point of melting, a bit sticky, very moist, and semi-sweet.  The tamago was good:  I've always been intrigued, as it is a bit of a stand-out, both aesthetically and in that it is not fish, but I've never ordered it before.  This will probably join the group of my sushi regulars.  Joe was not such a fan of his squid roll, nor was anyone else at the table but me... I didn't find it thrilling, but the texture was interesting.  Not as rubbery as octopus, but like an extremely dense block of gelatin that chews (without difficulty) into a more watery gelly.  The flavor is there, but I can't say much about it... extremely light and non-offensive.  Kumar gave rave reviews to his plate, the same as mine.

Kylee, our sushi virgin, began her adventure with a dab of wasabi on the end of a chopstick.  So little, in fact, that I wasn't sure she'd get the taste.  I suppose I should have introduced the fact that Kylee dislikes spicy food of all sorts (she claims bell peppers are hot), as she did, indeed, get the taste.  Quite the reaction, and Lydia suggested some pickled ginger to ease the heat.  Unfortunately, pickled ginger has a kick of its own, so I'm not sure it really helped the situation.  Anyhow, on to the first bite of California roll.... not so favorable.  I should say this was a bit unusual by my experience of California rolls: a big, silver-dollar sized roll with a fat, thumbnail sized chunk of avocado at the center along with a piece of imitation crab stick.  Kylee was opposed to, I think, the texture of the nori on the outside of the roll, and perhaps the big chunk of avocado, too.  The salmon roll produced a similar reaction, but Kumar kindly offered half of his salmon nigiri (it takes a very generous man to share his nigiri), which she proclaimed the best of the three she tried.

One reviewer noted online that he often sees a table or two of Japanese people when he eats at Okuyama no Sushi, which he said he rarely saw at other Budapest sushi restaurants, and indeed, three Japanese men were enjoying a long dinner and conversation at the table next to us.  They seemed to have been there long before we arrived and stayed even after we finished our hour-plus dinner.  I liked the restaurant a lot and will be back.  The portions are a little on the small-and-expensive side, but not unusually so for sushi (they perhaps seem smaller and more expensive under the lens of Budapest's $2.50 street gyros and nearly-free produce).

To follow up on my sushi research, Slashfood has a fairly informative series on sushi basics.  Among other things, I learned that sushi purists dip nigiri fish-side down, in order to not sully the sweet, vinegared rice; that sushi purists also don't mix wasabi into the soy sauce, but rather apply it directly to the fish; and that picking up nigiri with your fingers is acceptable.  Info potpourri:

Katsoubushi is a dried, fermented, and smoked skipjack tuna that becomes almost wood-like and is shaved to produce shavings for dashi, the broth that is the stock for miso soup.

Real wasabi is awesome but unfortunately no one serves it (to wit: the site claims that even in Japan, only five percent of sushi shops use real, fresh wasabi).  The link also elaborates on the don't-add-wasabi-to-soy-sauce point, from the opposite perspective:  real wasabi is expensive and hand-grated, so diluting it in soy sauce is seen as a waste.

Finally, gari, the pickled ginger which accompanies sushi (and which I happen to adore), is naturally light brown and is of higher quality when served this way, as opposed to bright pink.  I think it's delicious either way, but the light brown gari served at Okuyama no Sushi was definitely softer and a bit different in flavor than the typical pink stuff.

Fat Tuesday, Indeed

A group of BSM students and I got together for Fat Tuesday celebrations.  Lydia played host and cooked an incredible number of pancakes for the crowd.  Her blog post covers it thoroughly, so I'll leave you with that.  Those Catholics know how to eat.

Monday No. 1092

This morning, 8 am, Mathematical Logic.  2 hours of frantic recitation of definitions and conventions to get everyone on the same page.  Not too bad considering; I followed almost everything, and the potential for interest still remains.  I'll definitely stick with it to see at least what next week is like.  A gem from Prof. Szabo: "Truth is sometimes a hopeless task."

Conjecture and Proof went well, going over our first problem set, and a few various topics in vector spaces.  Finally came Classical Algebra, the three-week course which sounded promising.  Emphasis on "sounded."  The prof is a retired St. Olaf guy who comes in to run a January term in number theory for St. Olaf kids and then sticks around to teach three weeks of classical algebra.  We reviewed topics from session 1 in both sessions 2 and 3, in fairly minute detail each time.  He seems to rejoice in doing long polynomial expansions on the board and concluding that they must equal to 1... or negative 1... oh no, wait, that's negative 1 so that must be negative 1 to the third power, which is negative 1... so yes, equal to one.  Or at least that's what we spend a quarter of our lecture time doing.  We also covered the proofs of the principle of mathematical induction (which he claimed most of us probably saw in grade school??) and the division algorithm in exquisite detail.  Which of course required a five-minute presentation of the well-ordering principle as background knowledge, complete with hemming and hawing about how to pose the definition:  to treat bounded above and bounded below as separate cases which imply maximal and minimal values, respectively, or to simply say "bounded" and be done with it, or, wait!, perhaps just bounded below and leave the bounded above case to symmetry.  Thankfully he spared us the proof.  This seems to be a total dud of a class, which is unfortunate given that the material is, indeed, "classic."  Fortunately, we only meet three more times.

Pigskin and Spelunking

A group of us played touch football Friday afternoon in Városliget (covered in 6+ inches of snow).  The game was a blast, but I'm sore in an uncountably infinite number of ways.  Head-to-toe, putting-socks-on-hurts sore.  Worth it, though.

Unicycling has been coming along nicely.  I can tell I'm improving a good bit (as I hadn't ridden much at all in a year at least) and developing some new skills that I've been working on.  Riding backwards is at the top of the list, as is learning to stall (stay in one place with minimal motion).  I've spent a good bit of time riding around the breezeway at my apartment building and through the courtyard and have gotten a few momentary spectators.  I brought the unicycle out to Hero's Square before the football game and rode around there a bit.  My friends say some tourists snapped pictures of me while I was riding.

Finally, a group of us went to see the labyrinth beneath the castle (which is really not a castle at all) over in Buda.  I heard good reviews and was looking forward to some unique history, but I was sorely disappointed.  The labyrinth began as a series of caves carved out by the numerous hot springs beneath Budapest. The caves were supposedly occupied by prehistoric man.  Later, the Hungarians adopted this underground network and built it up for use as a cellar and military resource.  In WWII and the Soviet era, the labyrinth was adapted for use as an underground bunker and reinforced with concrete.  Some time in the 90s, restoration efforts began, and the labyrinth opened to the public.

I was expecting a museum-like recreation, segmented by different periods and historical commentary. In reality, however, the labyrinth dangles somewhere between comedy and tragedy.  An absolute mangling of history, yet at the same time so ridiculously hokey as to make me laugh.  Stage one is the "prehistoric labyrinth" which is a bizarre amalgam of corny, stereotypical cave painting and Egyptian/Easter Island-esque statuary.  About as detached from any cultural authenticity as possible.

 Seriously?   

(All cave images courtesy of wikipedia commons.)

Their tribute to the terra cotta army.

Stage two is the "historical labyrinth," which consists of some cheesy Christian symbology, wells with iron grates and ominous music subtly emanating from their depths, and a Dionysus-themed room, complete with a four-sided wine fountain (smelling strongly of vinegar), festive harp music, and wilted ivy.

Devastatingly corny.

The wine fountain.  You know, for the next time you're looking to booze in a dark, musty cave.

Stage three brings you to perhaps the strangest part of the cave, the "other-worldly labyrinth."  The exhibit is framed as a set of archeological discoveries made in the numerous caves of the Buda hills, and each fenced-off rock specimen is accompanied by a placard explaining the find, complete with date and location of find, plus some speculation about age and origin.  The first find you encounter is said to be a footprint that archeologists later discovered to be of non-homo-sapien origin.  The print, the sign continues, has provided the basis for classification of a new species of ancient man who died out roughly 43 million years ago.  Oddly enough, the specimen looks like a sneaker print embedded in rock.  We continue to other bits of rocky strata with imprints discovered in the Buda hills, ostensibly traces of this mystery civilization, yet still the oddity continues -- the imprints are all modern items.  Among them, an ATM machine (O, what commentary), a laptop, a solo cup, and strangest of all, a gigantic rock (15 feet high) cut away to reveal the negative image of a glass Coca-Cola bottle.  I have no idea who came up with this garbage or exactly what their message was, but at best it seemed insipid, confusing, out of line with their love of cheesy historical recreation, and poorly executed.

One of the "specimens"

Other bits of the cave included little nooks and side-rooms and the "Labyrinth of Courage," which is a totally dark passage with a rope to guide you.  Potentially cool until the rope leads you to a brightly-lit side room with some huge copper sun tacked to the wall.  Snore.  A projection room ran a 10-minute film that was perhaps the height of this farce.  The film included lots of people dressed in velvety outfits with animal masks dancing around the cave and acting creepy.

I'll give it a little credit; the labyrinth itself was a neat structure and the atmosphere was definitely a little ominous.  That said, if you can't create a creepy atmosphere with 1200 meters of dimly-lit, rocky, prehistoric cave, then you're really doing something special.  Anyhow, my disappointment with this tragedy grows with each recollection.  Shame on whoever runs the labyrinth.  In line with it's dedication to being hokey, the website touts the attraction as one of the "Seven Underground Wonders of the World."

Sigh.  Budapest has many wonders, but the labyrinth in its present state is not one of them.

First week update

It's been a while since my last post and not a word yet about classes.  This week was the first of three shopping weeks, but I think I've figured out what my schedule will look like:

Topology
Theory of Computation
Conjecture and Proof
Masters of European Film

I may end up taking Mathematical Logic, but haven't been to a class yet.  It only meets once a week, and the first meeting conflicted with Film.  The class has been rescheduled to Monday mornings, however, so I'll be able to attend.  I've heard from others this class is less interesting than the Advanced Theory in Paint Drying seminar, but I think the subject is intriguing -- I'll have to see firsthand.

Topology seems good so far.  Very rigorous and ground-up style math.  I sat in on a day of Advanced Abstract Algebra, but the professor seemed boring, and nothing really jumped out at me.  As much as I enjoyed Abstract Algebra, this second level will have to wait for another time.  Theory of Computation, to my delight, is actually one of my favorites:  the prof and the material both are engaging.  We've been working with finite automata for the first two classes.  They remind me a lot of the Markov chain models we saw in Math Modeling.

Conjecture and Proof is a bit hard to sum up -- a lot like a course in competition-style math.  The lectures haven't taken any direct course yet; I think it will most likely follow a potpourri of topics.  The weekly problem sets are meaty, tough, and engaging, so that is a big plus.  The prof says not to share the problems online, though, so as to not spoil the delight of fresh problems for future students.  If I violate this omerta, I'll have a Hungarian headhunter named Laci (pronounced LAT-see) on my tracks.  I suppose I'm allowed to disclose the topics, at least:  this week, two proofs of irrationality, one analysis/function proof, one domino/chessboard proof, and one problem about kids and chocolate.  The professor notes on our problem sheet: "(This is a sad problem.)" as the kids just pass the chocolate around the table rather than eat it.

The film course seems good.  It's focus is analysis of early-to-mid-20th century film, so a lot of the material is black-and-white (and some silents).  Not exactly my favorite type, but I'm interested in film analysis and a classical basis of knowledge is never a bad one.

Unicycling Abroad

Some of you may know that I dabble with a unicycle at home in the States.  I picked it back up again right before leaving for abroad, for lack of math to keep me busy, and was a bit misty-eyed to leave it behind.  Lo, little did I know, but the Hungarian god of one-wheeled pursuits would bestow upon me a unicycle in Budapest.  As they say, the lord works in mysterious ways; indeed, the unicycle was to be found in the closet at Ranjan's apartment.  Ranjan, not knowing how to use a unicycle, was happy to lend it to me; I in return offered lessons to anyone eager to learn.

With most basketball courts and other open spaces covered in snow, space for riding is a bit slim, but the courtyard and breezeway of my apartment building have been okay for a little fiddling.  I hear the Russian Circus is holding tryouts in the Budapest Gym next week.

When your only tool is the bottom half of a percolator, everything tends to look like a thumbtack

Time for some home improvements.  My room here is equipped with some generous loft space, so I decided to make use of it as a bedroom.  Lucas and I moved my bed up there, and I got some curtains from Ikea to hang from the railings.  Naturally, the curtains needed a little trimming and then to be secured in place, but our apartment is a little thin on tools.  Fortunately, the bottom half of my percolator is pretty dense (ie works as a hammer), we have a chopping knife and a cutting board (perfect from trimming curtains), and thumbtacks are cheap at Tesco.  In my opinion, the results aren't bad.

 

The modified loft

The handiwork.  Complete with rolled hems.

A few miscellaneous Hungarian things before I go.  First, one of my favorite Hungarian objects, the 100 forint coin.

A pretty coin, plus the perfect size and weight.... kind of like a big, fat nickle.

Second, I picked up a set of four little brushed stainless steel bowls from Ikea (where I indeed ate meatballs for dinner every night since Tuesday.  The 100 forint deal, however, is now over, so my appetite for meatballs is sated and will remain so for a good while.).  These bowls were, again, an ideal little bit of metal.  Just an object with the right weight, size, heft about it.  They're fairly useless except for holding a few coins or maybe a spice or condiment, but the price was right and if nothing else, they'll make fair decor.  Anyhow, I'm mentioning these because they have an interesting property:  if you spin them with the curved side down, eventually they get off-balance, spin on an edge, and then very reliably tip over and fall flat-side down.  This takes no special effort to get them off balance; just set one a-spinning and every time it will tip over.  To wit:

Finally, I went with a group of BSM students today to Városliget (City Park) for the annual outdoor festival celebrating the Mangalitsa pig.  This breed is a woolly, fatty pig which was developed as a cross-breed in Serbia and Hungary in the early 1800s.  The real Hungarian spelling is Mangalica, as the Hungarian "c" is pronounced like an English "ts," like in "its."  The New York Times has a good article on the Mangalitsa pig and its return to favor in American cuisine.

The festival was outdoors and had tons of booths selling Hungarian knick-knacks and treats.  There was a booth selling 30 or 40 different types of jam, and I bought jars of elderberry and quince jams (for you, Mom).  Also, a number of stalls sold delicious marzipan (also on display:  a half-scale marzipan pig).  We tried some of the sausage and the pork stew, both of which were wonderful, fresh, and appropriately fatty.  Anyhow, snow (and its dreaded cousin, slush) has returned to Budapest, and as I often like to joke before a cold track workout, it sure feels like hog-killin' weather.

Let the Maths Begin

You, my dear readers, may be doubting my pretenses of having come to Budapest to study math.  Indeed, these two or three weeks of language school may have deceived all of us here in Budapest, too, but the study of "maths" begins on Monday.  For those interested, our schedule and syllabi are online.  Our three week shopping period sounds much more legitimate than those advertised by every liberal arts college in America; registration doesn't even occur until the end of the three weeks.  With that in mind, here's what I'm sampling.

AAL (Advanced Abstract Algebra)
C&P (Conjecture and Proof) or MPS (Mathematical Problem Solving)
CLA (A three-week refresher/competency course in classical algebra, intended to cover topics often left out of the American curriculum)
TOP (Topology)
FILM (Film Analysis - Grand Masters of European Film)
THC (Theory of Computing)
LOG (Mathematical Logic, held as a reading course for now)
GAL (Galois Theory, also as a reading course for now)

The deal with reading/regular courses:  if enrollment for any class is 6 or greater, the class is a regular, twice-weekly class.  If enrollment for an advanced class falls below 6 but stays above 3, the class is held as a reading class and meets once weekly, with a lot of the material left to the student (hence, "reading" class).  If an introductory class's enrollment falls below 6, or an advanced class below 3, they are canceled.

I'm fairly certain about taking topology, film, and conjecture & proof.  Advanced algebra is a likely pick.  Theory of computing, galois theory, and logic will probably yield a fifth class, depending on how the workload seems.

Playin' Hooky

A group of us decided to ditch language school (which has become somewhat laborious) for the day and instead go out to see more of the city.  I met up with Joe, Neal, and Jared by the Astoria metro stop and we headed out to see Margit Island.  Beautiful place even in the winter:  lots of open space, and a zoo to boot.

Pretty duck at the zoo on Margit

The view of Parliament from Buda (we stopped over on our way to Margit).  Note the icy Danube.

Some pretty steeples on a church in Buda.

We left Margit and met up with Ranjan to see Terror Háza, which took us several hours (no cameras inside, sorry!).  Terror Háza is a museum of the fascist and communist days of Hungary, specifically of their secret police forces, which operated out of the very same building as the museum.  As you can see on the wikipedia page, the museum and it's intentions carry more than a bit of political charge.  Regardless, it's a good sight, and the museum's design is aesthetically very good.

Where else could the day end but Ikea?  Back down the yellow line (the second oldest metro line in the world, only to London), up the red line to the end, and into Meatball Palace.  I shot a few pictures of the signs regarding the deal for translating on Google once I got home, and as I suspected, the deal is limited to one plate per customer.  Regardless, all of Budapest seems to have a tacit agreement to ignore this regulation (damn Swedes) and rejoice over heavily-subsidized meatballs.

The best deal in the history of food.

Ikea Meatballs

Until recently, I had no idea that Ikea had a cafeteria.  Someone with the BSM program was on their game, though, as word got out that A) Budapest had an Ikea at the end of the red line, B) Ikea had an étterem, and C) their plate of 10 meatballs with fries was on promotional sale for 100 Ft.  This may be the best deal in the history of food, if not the best deal in the history of humans selling stuff, period.  At the present exchange rate, this delicious plate sets you back about 51 cents.

I think the deal might be limited to one plate per customer per visit, but regardless, the rule (if it exists) is not enforced at all.  Want 30 meatballs and 3 helpings of fries?  Yep, 300 Ft.  Sadly, the deal comes to an end this Sunday.  It's been running for at least two weeks now, which is shocking.  Ikea is really pulling out the stops on this loss leader.  Needless to say, I'll be eating lunch and dinner at the Ikea cafeteria until they throw me out Sunday night.  They don't even bother to burn you on drinks, either -- a cup, which carries unlimited refills on juice or coffee, only costs 200 Ft.

Pictures coming soon.  A heaping plate of 10 meatballs with gravy, fries (or mashed potatoes, your choice), and ligonberry sauce; double that plate and throw in a coffee cup to quaff a few cappuccinos, and I'm eating like a king for 400 HUF ($2.05).  My mental image of Ikea has been transfigured forever into a shimmering temple of meatball nirvana.

Reporting from Budapest, Vol. 2 (Foreign Correspondent Series: Czech Republic, Day 3)

We roused ourselves early, cleaned up the room, and wandered down to the restaurant side of the pension at 8:00, delighted to find it open this morning.  Frühstück at last.  The pension's owner greeted us, took orders for drinks, and said she'd be back in 10 minutes with breakfast.

Sit-down, full-service breakfast?  This place kept getting better.

Euro breakfast.

After breakfast, we paid and thanked our gracious hosts.  I asked the owner what the bottles of liquor sitting behind the counter were; she explained to me "local" and "alcohol."  I had gathered that much, but she got down a 0.1 L bottle and gave it to us as a souvenir.  We saved it for a toast upon our safe return to Budapest and found it quite like Southern Comfort.

We hopped back in the Ocatavia and hit the road.  As a whole, Europe seems not so big on street signs.  Our hamlet was no exception, and even the best Google Maps directions will only get you so far without any point of reference.  After a few lucky guesses, we managed to get to the highway, and from there the driving was easy. We got to Tábor roughly on schedule, around 9:30, a full hour-and-a-half before the Women's start.  Parking seemed shockingly disorganized for a World Championships.  We parked in a strip mall's parking lot, just across the street from the race course.  Getting our car towed was among the lowest items on the day's To Do list, so we asked some Czechs who had just pulled in if they spoke English or German, and after two successive negatives, managed to convey the question "Is this parking really free?" without real language.  "Free." and a head nod confirmed.  I noticed the same thing at the grocery store right next to the course -- no one was taking money, just a police officer there to direct traffic.  Extorting sports fans for event parking must be uniquely American.

We hit up the grocery store for snacks and an ATM before buying our tickets.  Heading out, we noticed a group of old guys passing a bottle and a glass right in front of the grocery store, taking shots.  Free parking, no open container laws, and no restrictions on outside food/drink at the race -- this was a distinctly European championships indeed.

Excited for the race

Given the freezing conditions (Czech Republic had been in a cold snap for the weeks leading up to the race, leaving the course frozen and covered in snow) and our inherently-macho/dumb American nature, chest-painting was a must.

The Brits next to us decreed us "bloody wankers" and rightly marked this as dumb in an American way.  Friendly guys actually.

The races got underway, and we watched from several locations around the course.  The race followed a loop of several kilometers, which the racers covered about 10 times.  Below are some of the notable snaps, feel free to check out my complete set at http://picasaweb.google.com/GMarcil/CzechTrip#.  First up was the women's race.

Marrianne Vos (Netherlands) was in a league of her own and looked easy winning solo.

The hometown hero, Katerina Nash, mustered a 4th place finish.

Hungary had one competitor in the women's race.

Tough cornering on ice and slush, bunched early in the race

Czech Champion Zdenek Stybar delights the crowd with a solo attack.  Stybar held his advantage to win by a good margin.  Here, he's carrying his bike immediately after the stairs (one set of several on the course).

Francis Mourey (5th) and the thousand-mile stare

Timothy Johnson (14th, first American) sliding through the turn

Before leaving, we stopped in again at the grocery store for lunch and snack food.  Neal and I made a trip through the store to pick up snacks and noticed that beer was alarmingly cheap (8 or 9 CZK or ~0.50 USD for a .5 L beer) and, from our experience at Paradise Club, better than what they served in Budapest.  Naturally, we pooled our remaining change and tried to spend every last koruna on beer.  Browsing the beer aisle, a local man identified us as foreign and with great gusto directed us to look no further than "Gambrinus!!"  We grabbed a mix and figured eight beers would be conservative enough to just barely undershoot our remaining 92 koruna, but we got stuck with a 3 koruna deposit on each bottle.  We asked the cashier if we could take one bottle off the purchase, which involved calling a supervisor over to override the register and hit a few codes.  After this production, we packed up quickly, but not before an enthusiastic German man tapped me on the shoulder to ask if I spoke deutsch.  I answered no, but pointed to Neal, who he told to wait a moment.  He pointed the cashier to the beer she had just taken off our bill, had her ring it up on his check, and handed it to us with a great smile on his face.  Neal and I found this hilarious and thanked him warmly; I suppose a jettisoned beer was too great a tragedy for him to allow.

Our drive back to Budapest went considerably better than our drive on the way up.  Tábor was slightly closer to roads that landed us on a fairly straight shot through Brno and Bratislava, plus I was getting well-accustomed to driving on European highways.  The only event of note on the drive back was ridiculous driving on the part of locals.  I kept a steady 130-140 kph all the way, but about 30 k out from the city another car passed us so fast it seemed that he was driving at highway speeds while we were merely stopped.  Passed us like shook-our-car fast.  200 kph at the very least; we were all too shocked for speech.  Driving in the city with traffic, however, was probably the toughest and least-enjoyable part of the trip.  Budapest drivers are kind of crazy to begin with, and the city's plethora of one-ways and no-left-turn intersections only compound this madness.  I won't divulge how many times I stalled the car.

We returned to Budapest to find an enormous deposit of snow:  just as the previous snow had melted off, it was replaced by an unexpected weekend snowfall of five or six inches.  Snow in the city is nothing like snow in the 'burbs... all you can look forward to is a week or so worth of icy, inky brown sludge coating the sidewalks.  I now understand so well why northern US towns have codes about shoveling/salting your sidewalks (being from the South, the need to take care of this at all always struck me as a little odd).  Anyhow, the trip was amazing, and we pulled it off pretty cheap -- about $170 a head.  Next up on the travel list:  Prague to visit Jordan and Northern Austria for hamlet exploring.

Reporting from Budapest, Vol. 2 (Foreign Correspondent Series: Czech Republic, Day 2)

Apologies for the lapse in posting this series.  Grueling week, you know.

We awoke from our post-diszkoban slumber at 9:30, lounged and cleaned ourselves up for a bit, then decided to explore the complimentary breakfast around 10.  Neal had spoken with our check-in host about breakfast in German, and Neal assured us that breakfast didn't end until 11:30, maybe 10:30, or at least at some half-hour after 8 AM.  Downstairs was dead, and the restaurant was dark -- we missed breakfast, and we were crushed.  We replaced the meal with some snacks in the room and set out to explore the town.

First stop: pastry shop in the town square.  We shared a variety of treats, and I had a coffee.  Not quite breakfast, but we figured we could tide over to lunch on that.  Now late morning, we started walking and re-found the town pond we had seen the night before.  Frozen solid, the lake was covered in snow and in tiptop condition for ice hockey with a little shoveling.  Sure enough, as we made it down to the lake, we came across a group of local kids playing hockey.  Neal, through a series of gestures, secured a spot on one team and took to the ice in sneakers.

Raw talent.

Surprisingly enough, ice hockey is much harder in sneakers than on skates, so we took turns trading out with the hockey stick (which was unfortunately left-handed).  This game with the kids was no doubt the early highlight of the trip.  Paradise Club was rocking, the local kids were cool, and Jindřichův Hradec was becoming more and more of an awesome discovery.  I booked the rooms through www.discoverczech.com (legit, and the owner is very helpful) randomly; I just went for the closest town available to Tábor for the cyclocross championships.

Local sports heroes.

Jindřichův Hradec gets the seal of approval.  Legitimately this hot after playing hockey in hiking boots.

Group shot with our new homeboys.  Neal says "Number 1."

My ad hoc tripod

We said thanks and goodbye to our new friends, hiked out to the island in the middle of the lake, then moved on to see other parts of the town.  Nothing terribly exciting, other than a few beautiful buildings and quizzical signs.  Lunch went down at a delicious pizzeria, with lots of salamis, chilies, and cheeses involved.

Getting aggressive with the Easter Egg palate.

Gorgeous balcony

The central part of town was filled with beautifully laid cobblestones.  This pattern was only one of several.

Quizzical sign no. 1.  After a little research, I think this means "End No-Parking Zone."  European sign designers do not fear the double negative.

This guy was selling fish and auto tires out of his garage.  I have no other way of explaining this.

One last pre-dinner adventure:  going out in search of the third largest castle in Czech Republic (Deceptively hard to find, even three blocks from our hotel.  We literally walked by it and spent a half hour trying to find it.).  Not especially spectacular in a photograph-able way; the castle was a big collection of buildings within a wall, more of a true Medieval-style castle, I guess.

My best shot in the dark.

The enormous swans living in the castle's mostly-frozen pond.  I am constantly amazed that animals survive the winter without the aid of clothing and centrally-heated shelter.

We also wanted to see the World's Largest Mechanized Nativity Scene in the adjacent Regional Museum, but alas, the entire museum was closed January through March.

We had dinner at an Indian restaurant in town.  Ranjan met one of the owners at Paradise Club the night before (yes, this raised some flags, but Paradise Club is the only place to hang out) and got his card, so we gave the restaurant a shot.  Both Ranjan and the owner speak Hindi, so Ranjan ordered up a delicious and filling meal for all of us.  My favorite of the night was saffron kulfi, an Indian ice cream.  Hard to describe but delicious.

We knew we had to be up in the morning for traveling to the race (about an hour's drive), so we played some cards back at the hotel and retired early.  This time, we were determined to get our complimentary frühstück.

Reporting from Budapest, Vol. 2 (Foreign Correspondent Series: Czech Republic, Day 1)

Written on Saturday, Jan 30.

As I write this, the world cyclocross championships are tomorrow in Tabor, Czech Republic.  Being only 5 hours away, I had to go and rallied a group for company.

The Crew: Ranjan, Pam, me, Kylee, and Neal

We looked at various transport options, starting with train.  Twelve hours and $100+ seemed a high cost for taking the train, so we looked into renting a car -- much faster, much cheaper.  Despite Anna's discouraging words, we went for it.

The Octavia

The drive was an adventure itself.  Google maps directions in hand, we piled into the car.  Piloting the car out of Budapest was... exciting.  After successfully exiting the city limits, I made discovery number one.  Stay out of the left lane.  Don't even think about passing someone slowly in the left lane.  Stomp on it or get out of the way.  After maybe 40 km of high-stress driving, we cleared city traffic and the sailing was pretty smooth.  Throw the Skoda in fifth gear, pass the occasional truck, and listen to American pop of various eras on the radio.  First up as we hit the open road:  One More Night.  European radio is absolutely littered with American pop.

Some of us had concerns about the border crossings, as our visas have yet to be converted from single-entry to residence permits.  Most of us didn't get stamped at the airport, but two of us did, so an additional stamp would have burdened them with the inconvenience and cost of reapplying for a visa (which you always get, according to Anna).  Whatever minor worries we had were alleviated as we blew through the empty Hungarian/Austrian border station.  Austria went by smoothly until Vienna, where we got onto A4/E49, which was supposed to transfer us north to B5, which crossed into Czech Republic and essentially ended our trip.  Somewhere along A4 however (a traffic circle?), we missed B5 and ended driving a good bit extra before we were sure we had missed a turn.  We turned around and headed back to the most recent Austrian hamlet, Geras, to gather ourselves and plan.

Luckily for us, the Polizei station was just off the main road.  Things looked dead, but a few rooms were lit, so we buzzed up to the station.  Neal fortunately speaks a little German, so he met the "Hallo?" with "Sprechen sie English?"  "Nein."  *buzzzz*  Locks open, and we took that as a sign to walk up and speak face-to-face.  The night-shift cop (who happened to look just like Liam Neeson, who of course looks just like Harrison Ford...) spoke only a little English and explained this to Neal.  Neal explained that he spoke only a little German, but the guard proclaimed Neal's German "great" and set out in rapid fire German.  He was extremely helpful though, and photocopied and highlighted a map for us to reroute our trip through two other towns back to B5.  We headed for the door and I mustered my best "danke."

Fortunately for us, it seems that every hamlet in Austria keeps their roads immaculate in winter.  Despite at least a foot of snow on the ground, we drove over snow for two miles of the trip, tops.  We were scheduled to arrive at our pension at 6:30 PM, but after a late and long car rental, we certainly weren't making that, so we called ahead to inform them to expect us around 9.  Once we got to B5, sailing again was smooth.  As the English say, "A smooth sea never made a skilled mariner," but we had our fill of attaining skill at this point.  Some of the drive through Northern Austria was amazing, especially as we closed in on the Czech border.  Perfectly straight asphalt with powder and endlessly tall pines rising on either side.

The Czech border station was abandoned, too, so we proceeded without delay to Jindřichův Hradec, where our rooms were booked. Our stay for the night was Penzion Na 15. Poledniku. This place was an absolute gem: beautiful, two blocks from the city square, clean, comfortable, and costing us only 20 euro per person per night.

The town square (check this out if you're interested in pronunciation)
 

Penzion Na 15 Poledniku

Apparently, the deal with the pension's name is that the town of Jindřichův Hradec sits on the 15th meridian. I'm not sure why this is a big deal (the most significant fact I've found: The 15th Meridian marks the center of the Central European timezone.) but apparently it is cool enough for the town to evidence it with a fairly neat marker embedded in their cobblestones.

Arabic and Czech

Chinese (I think?)
 

Spanish
 

The city itself is beautiful, but our late arrival left no sunlight for sightseeing. After checking-in (which consisted of mentioning our reservation and the restaurant's staffer handing us the keys... no money, no credit cards, no passports asked for... all in the morgen), we were quick to hit the town looking for a drink. Nearly everything was dead and the bar across the way from our pension was packed to capacity, but we landed at the real gem of Jindřichův Hradec: Paradise Club.

A real diamond in the rough

Where to begin describing Paradise Club? We showed up at 10:30 and bought a round of beers (both cheaper and of much higher quality than those in Hungary). The place exuded kitsch Americana mixed with every klub eurotrash stereotype you can imagine. Paradise Club was loosely divided into three rooms: bar, bowling/fusbol, and disco. The two bowling lanes were a bit rough looking, and the pin racking system was handled by strings tied to the head of each pin. Maybe this is hard to envision, but seeing the pins jump up like limp marionettes after the ball cleared was amusing and strange. The bar crew: a terrifying, young woman with purple hair, gothic makeup, and piercings and a slightly doughy guy in a t-shirt who looked like he just rolled off the frat couch. Doughboy spoke a little English, so we ordered from him for the night. By the time an hour passed, the club was packed... we had no idea the village even contained this many people, but apparently Paradise Club was the place to be on a Friday night. After a few hours of dancing, we made our way back to the Pension (a three minute walk) and crashed for the night.  Breakfast awaited downstairs in the morning.