We are walking...we are are seeing...we are eating....
It's Festival Time in BA! Long live the king! Although there had been some discussion about visiting Vienna, it was determined that Bratislava was the place to be this week-end, so here we stayed. This past Friday was the celebration of Constitution Day, and just like Labor Day, serves as the last fling of summer. In addition, the coronation is re-enacted, commemorating over 250 years of Austro-Hungarian royalty having being crowned in St. Martin's Cathedral. Dom Sv. Martina was one of the first places I visited upon arriving, and I was surprised to find it a relatively humble place considering it was the coronation church of nineteen kings and queens, 1563-1830. It is Bratislava's most important Gothic structure, with a spire topped by a tiny golden crown instead of a cross. It also sits dangerously close to Novy most (New Bridge), whose traffic impacts the building with both exhaust fumes and vibrations. Novy most, also called most SNP (Bridge of the Slovak National Uprising) for which the old Jewish Quarter was ripped up, spans the Danube and seems in odd juxtaposition next to The Old Town.
The bells are ringing and have been for the last 30 minutes, signaling the end of the coronation ceremony of Matej II, 1608. I'm excited and don't even know the guy! Later I will go out on my square (Hviezedoslavovo namestie, which I really have to learn to pronounce because this is where I live) to catch the end of the procession as it finishes here.
Back now from the culminating festivities, and what an event it was! There was much Medieval hoop-la including musicians, soldiers, horses, ladies-in-waiting and their escorts, not to mention the good King himself, who is quite the equestrian. He rode his steed up on stage - twice. King Matej, however, has either a small royal head or a too-big jeweled crown. I couldn't tell which but the effect was less than regal. Also turns out that the King is 40-ish, tall, and good-looking. I know about the tall part because he dismounted and held a press conference...just to the left of the jumbotron, making King Matej a true King of the people, even us commoners on the Hviez-whatever square.
Yesterday, I visited the Hrad (castle) with fellow Fulbrighters Jon and Nicole, to check out the goings-on up the hill. There were period artisans demonstrating their craft, goods for sale, music, jousting and FOOD, FOOD, FOOD! We saw lace makers, wood workers, and cornhusk crafters. There were tinkers, whip-snappers, and barrel makers. An area dedicated to a hands-on school for children to try their ability even included kid-sized potting wheels. We saw mouth harp musicians (I may have the wrong term here. Think George Clooney in "Oh, Brother Where Art Thou?") and much more.
We were so taken by the intricacy of the work, no matter the craft. And of course an artisan is always willing to talk about his/her craft, so that made it not only interesting but personal too. And the eggs! Woo-boy did they have eggs. Eggs painted with wax, or covered with fine twine, or drilled out with a dentist tool, or dyed with onion skins and painted in the most muted of shades. Sizes? Try ostrich, goose, duck, hen and quail. And some just didn't even seem feasible. An egg shell covered in a wire mesh design? I had to buy and the ones I chose resembled pinecones.
But shopping makes you hungry so Jon tucked in to one of those sandwiches I'd been smelling from my flat: chicken, slathered with onions and smeared with mustard on an enormous roll, a tasty treat called cigansha. Nicole and I held out for something I had discovered on the square the night before -rezance!
The rezance tent was an assembly-line operation of about 6 women making homemade pasta, with the last-in-line ripping the noodles into stroganoff-size strips. After boiling the noodles in a huge kettle, the final step was to mix this with melted butter and break up blocks of cheese (resembled farmer's chese in consistency). So you get your bowl and put the final touch on it...powdered sugar! I don't care how it sounds, it tastes terrific. (I might also mention that this was a very happy assembly-line of pasta makers, stopping every once in a while for a shot of medovino, or honey wine.)
Polishing off my noodles, I hit the hand-made bell booth. What a great gift for my dog, Sampson, who knows to ring the bell with his nose to signal that he has to go out. I attempt to engage the bell-maker in conversation, wondering about how long it takes to make a bell. He looks very confused about what I guess was an American kind of question. His co-worker explains that is hard to say because, "First he is cutting the steel, now he is pounding the metal. Next he is heating the metal to form the bell."
This is the way I sometimes hear things translated for me by some very patient Slovaks. It always makes me smile, just like the festival T-shirt for sale that says, "Kiss me I am Slovak". Lost in translation? Well, sometimes, but it's amazing how you can communicate when you want to, irregardless of how hard it may be and how funny you probably sound. Think about NOT being able to make yourself understood or understand somebody, and how that would affect you. My exchange partner, Sona, has good language skills, but says she yearns to speak Slovak and feels like "half a person" speaking English. What a great analogy; your language is you and you are what you speak.
The bells are ringing and have been for the last 30 minutes, signaling the end of the coronation ceremony of Matej II, 1608. I'm excited and don't even know the guy! Later I will go out on my square (Hviezedoslavovo namestie, which I really have to learn to pronounce because this is where I live) to catch the end of the procession as it finishes here.
Back now from the culminating festivities, and what an event it was! There was much Medieval hoop-la including musicians, soldiers, horses, ladies-in-waiting and their escorts, not to mention the good King himself, who is quite the equestrian. He rode his steed up on stage - twice. King Matej, however, has either a small royal head or a too-big jeweled crown. I couldn't tell which but the effect was less than regal. Also turns out that the King is 40-ish, tall, and good-looking. I know about the tall part because he dismounted and held a press conference...just to the left of the jumbotron, making King Matej a true King of the people, even us commoners on the Hviez-whatever square.
Yesterday, I visited the Hrad (castle) with fellow Fulbrighters Jon and Nicole, to check out the goings-on up the hill. There were period artisans demonstrating their craft, goods for sale, music, jousting and FOOD, FOOD, FOOD! We saw lace makers, wood workers, and cornhusk crafters. There were tinkers, whip-snappers, and barrel makers. An area dedicated to a hands-on school for children to try their ability even included kid-sized potting wheels. We saw mouth harp musicians (I may have the wrong term here. Think George Clooney in "Oh, Brother Where Art Thou?") and much more.
We were so taken by the intricacy of the work, no matter the craft. And of course an artisan is always willing to talk about his/her craft, so that made it not only interesting but personal too. And the eggs! Woo-boy did they have eggs. Eggs painted with wax, or covered with fine twine, or drilled out with a dentist tool, or dyed with onion skins and painted in the most muted of shades. Sizes? Try ostrich, goose, duck, hen and quail. And some just didn't even seem feasible. An egg shell covered in a wire mesh design? I had to buy and the ones I chose resembled pinecones.
But shopping makes you hungry so Jon tucked in to one of those sandwiches I'd been smelling from my flat: chicken, slathered with onions and smeared with mustard on an enormous roll, a tasty treat called cigansha. Nicole and I held out for something I had discovered on the square the night before -rezance!
The rezance tent was an assembly-line operation of about 6 women making homemade pasta, with the last-in-line ripping the noodles into stroganoff-size strips. After boiling the noodles in a huge kettle, the final step was to mix this with melted butter and break up blocks of cheese (resembled farmer's chese in consistency). So you get your bowl and put the final touch on it...powdered sugar! I don't care how it sounds, it tastes terrific. (I might also mention that this was a very happy assembly-line of pasta makers, stopping every once in a while for a shot of medovino, or honey wine.)
Polishing off my noodles, I hit the hand-made bell booth. What a great gift for my dog, Sampson, who knows to ring the bell with his nose to signal that he has to go out. I attempt to engage the bell-maker in conversation, wondering about how long it takes to make a bell. He looks very confused about what I guess was an American kind of question. His co-worker explains that is hard to say because, "First he is cutting the steel, now he is pounding the metal. Next he is heating the metal to form the bell."
This is the way I sometimes hear things translated for me by some very patient Slovaks. It always makes me smile, just like the festival T-shirt for sale that says, "Kiss me I am Slovak". Lost in translation? Well, sometimes, but it's amazing how you can communicate when you want to, irregardless of how hard it may be and how funny you probably sound. Think about NOT being able to make yourself understood or understand somebody, and how that would affect you. My exchange partner, Sona, has good language skills, but says she yearns to speak Slovak and feels like "half a person" speaking English. What a great analogy; your language is you and you are what you speak.
posted by Joan Vande Velde @ 11:26 AM
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