Vaulting Over the Goat

Today I got up the nerve to assemble the gymnastics equipment in the small gym. Jozko, our Department Chair and I both teach zero hour classes on Monday, so he agreed to show me how to set things up before school, and my yoga students helped. Between the five of us, it took 30 minutes and we didn't even put everything out, not that there was much. The equipment reminds me of the circa 1930's ladder system we used to have at The Lab Schools in old Lower Sunny Gym. We have wooden stall bars along one wall, a solitary rope in the corner and a set of unusable rings hanging from the ceiling. But it was the other stuff that had me mystified and maybe even terrified. Diane Taylor, donde esta?

Two wooden ladders store vertically against the opposite wall along with two wooden balance beams, also vertical and reaching almost to the ceiling. One beam and ladder can't be moved so Jozko showed me how to pull the second beam out away from its anchored side, and support the other end with a metal contraption that weighed at least 50 pounds. (The beam stays attached as it slides down a pole, me pulling out the free end and Jozko pushing down on the anchored end.) I think if the pulley worked it's a one-man operation, but of course the pulley is long gone and we left the ladder for another day. The remainder of the equipment is a series of floor to ceiling heavy metal bars that hang from ceiling supports, like curtain hooks from a rod. To move these poles you lift up and then try to move the pole along the support, stopping at the floor plate and dropping it in where it locks in place. Take out a metal bar (also stored vertically) and place that horizontally at the desired height. Push a curved metal bolt through the holes to secure the bar and cross your fingers that it's the right height because you need to almost completely disassemble before you re-assemble. It's actually very clever and maybe even state of the art at one time. All the bars are metal, no laminated wood over fiberglas, no chalk, although I thought about "borrowing" some from school because it's almost the same consistency and breaks all the time. I made a few high bars and a low bar, but couldn't work out how I would get parallel bars or uneven bars and suspect I never will. We pulled out six heavy mats and rolled out one long canvas mat that was as thin as a blanket. And voila! This was our gymnastics gym; no wonder nobody ever set this stuff up.

I had an additional substitution today; one of the PE teachers got clocked with a soccer ball last December and hasn't been back since. Between us other teachers we fill in for her, which unfortunately gives her classes little consistency. With Danka's class and my own schedule I'd be in the gym for 6 lessons following yoga so I figured it was worth the effort to set up the equipment. My classes went OK but the HS class I subbed for wasn't prepared for me, and had a rash of "Sorry, Joan, I forgot my clothes." I felt like saying no problems ladies, what you really need are sailor tops and bloomers anyway, the better to toss around those indian clubs with. (Which by the way we do NOT have.)

In my own HS class, Ivona said she had forgotten her clothes, and so did Martina. But when Martina appeared in Ivona's pants (the same "forgotten" ones she always wears) I had to use the old, "C'mon, guys, born at night but not last night." Surprisingly, they got it. My students seemed to have little experience with equipment, swinging, and moving upside down and were very timid about trying stunts. And they wanted to keep on their shoes, or trainers as they call them. It's difficult to sell girls on "just trying" when the emphasis has been on succeeding. But they were game to try which felt like a small victory; I don't think I could have pulled this off last fall. We had lots of laughs, everyone was safe and a few girls actually learned something.

Next lesson I add the GOAT! In the States years ago and long before anyone ever heard of adjustable cables, a small version of the vaulting horse was called the buck. I think this was used because it was easier but I haven't seen one in many years. Here in BA we have not one, but two and the equipment is known as the goat not the buck, which I think is odd but that's just me. So soon we "vault the goat" with our antique beat board. If you've been around gymnastics as long as I you recall when beat boards were called reuther boards (like calling tissue kneenex). Well, we have our very own made-in-Holland Reuther board, and none of that sissy padded carpet stuff with springs - it's a springless wooden board that looks brand new. We also have a mini-tramp in the equipment room where even I think it should remain. Still, I'm tempted to haul it out for a good round of Shipwreck...

Czech This Out

Well, it was bound to happen I guess, what with the traveling I've been doing the past few months: no room at the inn, or rather no one home at the inn. Arriving in Prague (locals know it as Praha) with arrangements to stay at the Ekumenicka accomodation, I rang the doorbell about 10 PM. And rang. And rang. It was dark and I could see no names, so thinking all the bells belonged to the hostel, I rang them ALL. Finally some man in an undershirt stuck his head out the window. "Prosim?" said he. "Ekumenicka!" pleaded I. Coming away from said window, I figured, ah now here is a hostel (hostile?) resident who will come down and let me in, because Mrs. Jelinkova on night duty apparently won't. After a few more minutes of waiting and insistent doorbell ringing, I realized no one was going to answer the door and I'd better start walking the streets of Bethlehem. Always one to look on the bright side I noted I was NOT pregnant NOR did I have a tired donkey in tow. Things could be worse.

Fortunately, there was a hostel right down the block where, having requested a private bath, I got the equivalent of the presidential suite. So I checked in to the CzechInn (get it?) and I had to laugh as the place was easily four times bigger than my flat, full kitchen with oven, table, chairs, and needless to say the kitchen sink. The CzechInn had an internet cafe and bar with live music that doubled as our breakfast room in the morning. The historic building had been gutted and everything was clean, new and quiet. Erase visions of a grungy youth hostel; it was neither grungy nor filled with young people. Too traumatized to even go enjoy a good, cheap Czech beer, I went to bed.

The next morning after a great breakfast, I hoofed it back to the Ekumenicka. It was then that I realized that only the second bell was the correct one; another Ugly American alive and well in Praha. I returned two more times and no one answered the bell, and not wanting to waste anymore time I got another room at the CzechInn. (I had to downgrade as the honeymoon suite was booked but my new room was fine.)

So finally off to the city center I went, somewhat delayed by this accomodation glitch. I started at the National Museum, located at the top of Wenceslas Square, named after the Good King of Christmas carol fame. Good King W was a much-loved 10th century Duke of Bohemia, credited with bringing Christianity to the country and raising the level of culture of its people. He wisely aligned the Czechs with Saxony rather than Bavaria, giving the Czechs some say-so in regards to the all important Holy Roman Emperor, which you kids already know about from previous blogs. After his assasination in 929, he was memorialized (and later canonized) and has become a symbol of Czech nationalism. He is still thought of as a kind of hero, that in the darkest of times he will come riding down from Blanik Mountain (Are you reading this, Beth Blahnik-Wade?) to save the country. Since this still hasn't happened some pessimists assume that the worst is yet to come!

An aside: Like some others friends, Beth has gotten in touch with me recently. In fact, there have been a number of e-mails as people have just now received my xmas cards! I also enjoy the blog comments but I can't necessarily reach you in order to reply when your address is inaccessible. So, Johnny in ALA, please write! OK, now let's keep walking down the square...

Wenceslas Square is more of a boulevard and for me reflects the feel of the recent history of Czech nationalism. Outside the museum under the cobbles is a memorial to student Jan Palach, who set himself on fire in 1969 in the name of Czech independence from communism. The pillars on the museum itself look like they have a case of chicken pox. This is result of masons repairing Russian bullet holes from the black days of 1968, on purpose mismatching the mortar work in order to preserve the memory of the incident. Further down, opposite the fabulous art nouveau Grand Hotel Evropa, is the balcony where 21 years later, Havel announced that Czechoslovakia freedom was at hand. Try to picture some 300,000 people assembled, jingling keychains and chanting, "It's time to go now." Between crowds, an amazing variety of architecture and history, just standing on the square is overwhelming.

Continuing down the square I hung a left when I saw the signed arrow for the Opera House. I went to the ticket booth and was able to purchase a ticket for Don Pascuale by Donizetti. (Zuzka and I are going to Bergamo, Italy next month, home of Donizetti so it seemed fitting to go see one of his operas.) Returning to the boulevard not too far beyond this, the walk empties into the Old Town Square, a myriad of architechtural styles over the many years building (and re-building) went on here. Prague is the only capital in Central Europe to escape the bombs of last century's wars, so it offers a unique opportunity to see a well-preserved city.

I happened to be inside the information center when the infamous Astronomical Clock struck 1:00. We all rushed out to see the "amazing" show but all I saw was the unamazing end. The show goes like this: One of the four statues next to the clock face represents Death. Death gets the ball rolling by tipping his hourglass, pulling a cord and ringing a bell. This opens the window and brings out the 12 apostles who parade by, a rooster crows and the bell rings. I promised myself to return to catch the whole show, but just as with clocks timing is everything and I never did make it.

The clock is much more complicated than that, keeping several versions of time. You see miniatures being sold all over at souvenir shops as well as t-shirts that say, "Czech me out!" I resisted but did buy a nice signed photo of the Charles Bridge, doing my part to support the Praha economy. I turned onto narrow Karlova, going past Charles University and the Kelmentinum, Prague's huge National and University Library. Charles University was founded over 700 years ago; just imagine THEIR alumni association. We have about six Fulbrighters there in a variety of fields, both teaching and researching.

While the university was once a major European center of learning, it struggles nowadays. Like most universities in Europe, education is free and housing is heavily subsidized. But education is not accessible for many as the state lacks necessary funds. There are many holdover faculty from communist days who value memorization and rote learning, and this teaching style is true of many gymnaziums (high schools) as well. Grades are meaningless; students just need to pass so often do as little as possible. It's no surprise that teachers are poorly paid, even at the university level, and this holds true for Slovakia.

My colleagues here at Comenius University never have their schedules and class rosters until the last minute, and even then things change; my own gymnazium seems much more organized. Last fall at Janeil's graduate level art school, registration was delayed a week because the registrar had some sort of dental work done. Chuck's international business law class designed for discussion, swelled to an enrollment of over 70 and became a lecture course, with even more "distance students" getting the material through Chuck's internet organization. There is much talk of revamping the system and assesssing fees, but it is a political issue and seems to lack the necessary priority. I plan to return to Prague another time and try to hook up with some Fulbrighters and see more of the university.

Meanwhile, continuing the walk brought me to the Charles Bridge, over 500 meters long, spanning the Vltava River and connecting the Old Town with Prague Castle. The bridge is decorated with statues, most blackened due to the pollution, and makes for an entertaining if not commercial stroll. You hear tour guides talk about two of the statues in particular. The first is actually a cross where prisoners would stop to pray as they marched from the castle prison to their execution in the town square. The second is that of St. John Nepomuk, a Czech saint who was the queen's confessor in the 14th century. (Two questions here; who ever heard of this St. John and how many saints ARE there anyway?!) It seems the king was hassling Father John for the details of his queen's sins, but the good priest kept mum. The king had him killed and thrown off the bridge where, as soon as he hit the water, five stars appeared. SO...at the statue there is a plaque with very shiny stars commemorating this. You make a wish and rub a star and be careful because you only get to do this once. Lots of wishing and statue rubbing around here, I'm finding and yes, as I reached the castle grounds I spied the obligatory plague column.

To tour the castle is to really tour a whole complex, including St. Vitus Cathedral where coronations occurred and Good King W is interred. As with any castle it is WAY UP out of harm's (including floods) way. I walked back down, re-crossing the bridge, returning to have some dinner, this time enjoying a Pilsner Urquell, a popular Czech beer often found on tap at pubs. I walked down to the Opera House arriving early and good thing too, as I was at the wrong opera house! (I wanted The Estates Theater, not the State Theater!) I made it in time and was shown to my 2nd balcony box I shared with two other german-speaking women. I enjoyed the performance although it was approximately 110 degrees in our box. During one scene where it looks like the "guy has to give up his one true love" I thought I heard the theme from the Godfather; not the Love Theme, but the solitary trumpet known as the Main Title theme. Excited that The Godfather had used a Donizetti opera motif, I googled it, but all credit seems to go to Nino Rota, a contemporary Italian composer. So much for my sophisticated ear.

The Estates Theater was where Mozart premeired Don Giovanni. There is a bronze statue outside commerating it, but no mention of the fact that it was considered a flop in Prague. Shortly after, Mozart took his show to Vienna where he was embraced. (See, I only know this from having been to Vienna. Different cities, different versions.)

On Sunday I had planned to spend the morning at the Jewish Museum which like the castle is a number of buildings that requires about 3 hours. Instead I walked over much of the same area and also visited the Alfred Mucha (say moo-ka) museum, something I was interested in and also felt I had the time for. Mucha worked at the turn of the last century, and like Klimt in Austria, did extensive work in Art Nouveau. He is best known for his posters, although he designed and painted as well. He also did one stain glass window (a replacement) in St. Vitus Cathedral which I had visited the day before. I bought a birthday present for a certain sister-in- law married to the brother- in- law who is now in possession of the infamous walking stick.

I later heard from the Ekumenicka who said that they realized the door bell didn't work, Mrs. jelinkova was home all week-end, and "hoped I wasn't too inconvenienced". Well, I was but in their defense, their accomodation is generally used for church-related visitors; they are not in the business of hosteling. I have since heard of an accomodation that is reserved for visiting academics right in Old Town. So this is probably where I'll book next time I come to CZECH IT OUT.

An American in Vienna

A Turkish vendor was hawking his goods Saturday in the Naschmarkt, Vienna's open air market. Speaking German, it was obvious that he was saying something about how great his food was and that everyone should try it. Just as I walked past, he changed to English, and without missing a beat continued humorously (I think)..."Everyone but Americans. Not for Americans. Everyone else but not Americans." I laughed and walked on, but really should have stopped to ask, "How'd ja know? What tipped you off?" Was it my black wool overcoat? (Larry Levine) My backpack? (North Face) I probably looked tired, but American? A tired American?

In Bratislava I sometimes get stopped for directions by people thinking I'm local. But merchants, I think, are adept at identifying customers as part of their job description. Actually that was only the second time I had worn that heavy coat over here because it has been so mild. Not so In Vienna, where of course since I had planned a week-end walking tour of the city it was cold, windy and snowing!

Like most cities in Europe Vienna is very easy to navigate due to an excellent public transport system. After I took a one-hour train trip from BA to Vien (say veen), I used a combination of bus, tram, but mostly U-bahn (subway) to get to my destinations. The only snag came on my first night where I took the subway (about 3 minutes) in to the city center with no problem. When I took it home, however, I got out at my stop, walked upstairs, outside and said, "Where the hell am I?!" NOTHING looked familiar, so I went back in and down and tried it again, exiting at a different direction. And same thing, but wait, I soon realized I was on the other side of the street because I was leaving the city not going to it. Just be calm and remember, direction is everything!

You know how you frequently don't "hear" muzak? It just sort of acts as white noise in the background? Recently I was aware of hearing, and I'm pretty sure in this order: The Gipsy Kings, Annie Lennox, and someone singing Red River Valley in Slovak (or maybe we lifted the tune from them - could be) In Vienna it was all Mozart, all the time. Not exactly, but everywhere you go, including the subway (where I saw someone scrubbing down the escalator side grips at night - good call!) there is classical music permeating the atmosphere. Lovely.

I re-visited Stephansdom Cathedral that evening. I think that may have been the first time I had been in a major cathedral at night and it was eerily beautiful, with masses of votive candles supplanting the meager lighting. I lit a candle for Baby-to-be V and could just imagine the darkness of the Medieval era when the Habsburgs ruled for hundreds of years, most of their leaders managing to get crowned Holy Roman Emperor. In fact the hearts (literally) of many of those same "holies" are in a urn that lies beneath the main altar. Creepy.

The decorative pulpit was an amazing piece of intricate handiwork. And as is often seen in cathedrals there is a portrait of its humble creator, Anton Pilgram, holding his square and compass. In the center of the city, Stephansdom is a landmark, its roof readily identifiable by the colorful tiles, about one quarter of a million of them! You can also go outside and climb up the bell tower to get a better look and view "Boomer" the giant bell. It was too dark for that, so I'll save that adventure for another day.

After my evening walk, it was time for the ballet at Staatsoper, the State Opera House! In my enthusiasm to be dressed properly I had my handmade evening bag (Thanks, Janet!) with me, but that caused me to NOT have my camera to take pictures of the magnificent interior. Doh! The ballet was La Fille Mal Gardee (Wayward Daughter), a non-ballet lover's ballet. What with dancing chickens, a clog dance, ribbon numbers and, yes, even a Maypole dance it was very lively. And I almost forgot, a live pony. The plotless story was just a series of mishaps as the daughter's mother (a goofy character always danced by a tall male) tries to arrange a marriage with the vineyard owner's son who seems to love his red umbrella more than life itself.

Halftime, ah, I mean intermission was great people watching: lots of furs, formals, tuxes and even two women in traditional Japanese dress. I meanwhile, had previously checked my "American" wool coat in the "cloth" room; the usher wouldn't seat me until I had done so. I splurged and bought glass of champagne, smugly strolled around; dressed in black pretending that my gown was inconveniently at the dry cleaners and the mink jacket stored at the furrier's!

I am a big fan of Art Nouveau and the Arts and Crafts Movement and so a visit to the Secession Museum was in order, an interesting building with stucco exterior, decorative owls, and vine designs, crowned with a giant gold filigree ball of intertwined laurel leaves. I think I read that they call it the Golden Cabbage, but then what ISN'T cabbage around here, golden or otherwise? The Seccession artists were a breakaway group of turn of the century renegades whose movement is known as the Jugendstil style, an organic approach that reminds me of Rennie Macintosh in the UK at about the same time. I wanted to see the Gustuv Klimt Beethoven Fieze there, an incredible piece of work designed in 1902, covering 3 walls and 110 feet long.

From there I walked over to Karlskirche to ride the elevator. Really. Some friends in BA had clued me in to this; it seems there had been renovation to the dome last fall and an elevator had been installed for the workers. During the winter months it is too cold to continue work but they kept the elevator in place so we tourists could ride it up to inside the dome. Then if you're game, you can get out and climb the stairs all the way into the highest dome over 50 meters above the base of the main dome. This is the first opportunity anyone has ever had to view the dome from eye level and it was quite an experience. As you went up the final stairway, the sign said in german that laughing and singing is forbidden and "Schreiben ist uncool." When I got back on the elevator to go down, I happened to board with another American woman about my age - wearing pretty much an identical black overcoat to mine, so I guess maybe it was an "American thing".

And about those plague columns. I feel compelled to write about this because I have seen these in numerous town and city squares. They are individual columns, sometimes set in a fountain, but always in an open, public space. Without having done any research on this, it seems that they were constructed as a sort of "Thank God we're alive!" worked out architecturally. Consider how important churches were, how major any kind of construction was and how religious people were it makes sense that this happened. Elsewhere in Vienna there is a plague column erected in 1713, and in the case of Karlskirche a whole cathedral was built in thanksgiving. Maybe I'll start keeping track...

I returned to Pension Wild, my accomodation for the week-end, a staid place despite its name. The family-run pension started out with the Wild family, Germans in what was then Czechoslovakia, getting kicked out of the country after WWII. They arrived in Vienna with a couple of suitcases and Mrs. Wild cleaning flats. She finally bought one flat and rented out part of it, then purchased another to let, and eventually took possession of the beautiful 100 year old building with 60 rooms. She is 86 so son, Peter runs the place, located in Jozefstadt. When Vienna expanded beyond its city walls in the 18th century, this district, named after (yes, another Holy Roman) Emperor Josef II, developed. It was convenient to be in a well-preserved neighborhood just out of the hub, yet only a few minutes U-bahn ride to the city center.

Had dinner at the Alte Stube, one of the original burgermeister's houses from the 1600's that had been a working bakery up until 1963. Not much time, so had the special: oh, great cabbage soup, what a novelty. After being outside most of the day, felt like lingering but I had a date with a puppet!

I know this is totally dorky, but I went out to the Schonbrunn Palace (the royal summer home of the Habsburgs who apparently felt the need to remove themselves from the urban scene) and saw the "Magic Flute" at the Royal Marionette Theater. Our puppeteer came out before the show and explained how the puppets worked and how the 6 puppeteers stood on a scaffold meters high, leaning over to work the "opera stars". Many of the puppets had 7 strings and 3 wires, but a ballet dancer puppet could have as many as 17 or 18!

She spoke in German but I had been given a single sheet English translation of her interpretation. I'm not sure what she actually said, however, because I'd estimate she spoke about 3 pages worth of German. You get that a lot around here: five sentences in a foreign language is somehow condensed into 3 words of English. So you're always wondering, what did they REALLY say? Then the canned opera music began, curtains opened, lights on, and I was pleased to see that the marionettes were almost twice as big as what we'd just seen in the short demonstration.

The Magic Flute was indeed magic and afterward we got to go backstage to see the innards of the stage, meet our all-time favorite puppeteer and see the stars. I was shocked to see the marionettes were the same small versions he had showed us. It was explained that with special lighting and undersized scenery, an optical illusion was created making the puppets appear much bigger than "life". I thought it was also interesting that just hanging from their hooks, the puppets were "dead"; it was hard to imagine how animated they had become for the last 2 and 1/2 hours of suspended reality. Think of Chevy Chase in Caddy Shack, "Be the ball, Danny, be the ball..." puppeteers don't just move strings, they are the puppets.

Sunday morning it was back out to city center, this time in the Habsburg zone, to attend 9:15 Mass where the Vienna Choir Boys sang Mozart's Solemn Mass. Burgkapelle is quite small so you have to purchase tickets in advance, unless you want to come one hour early to getting standing room. The choir is in the third balcony along with a partial orchestra so you can hear but not see them. There is a performance every Sunday and they sing a completely different program each week.

After Mass but before the priest exited, the choir came down and stood in front and sang one song acapella. It was just as stunning as from the choir loft with the orchestra. There they were: wearing those sailor suits and looking to be about ages 8-14 but I'm not sure about that. Some, like Panov, hung out on the square so we could take pictures.

I returned to my pension to settle my bill (cash please, it's cheaper) and collect my backpack. I wasn't suprised that I had thoroughly enjoyed my stay there, one of Peter's previous e-mails having said, "We will look after (I think he meant forward) to give you a nice stay In Vienna and wish you a goot trip."

I visited one more museum before leaving, The Folk Museum, which was pretty diappointing. All explanations were in german, with the exception of the PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH SIGNS in english. I did happen upon a great photography exhibit upstairs, though. The photographer had visited Piedmont, Italy to see the re-eactment of the Battle of the Oranges. The original battle dates back to medieval days when the townspeople rebelled against the feudal soldiers. Back then, an orange was a valuable commodity so to throw an orange was an insult of the greatest kind. These re-enactments have been staged since after WWII but in the last 40 years have become quite a 3-day spectacle. There are teams with colors, strategies, soldiers who ride through on wooden carts, and thousands of oranges pelted at either side from pre-determined sites. Christian and Leah have told me about many of the strange festivals in Spain like, burning up floats, running bulls, celebrating flies...You'd think Valencia would hold this, but I guess they're too busy supplying the oranges to Piedmont.

Finally I dragged my weary body back to the train station, passing the same beggars who had been in the same spots all week-end. I wonder how they figure that out. Most don't stand around here; they kneel or if you know Yoga, assume the child's position. I boarded my train for an unremarkable trip home, just what you want when you're tired and ready to call a close to your "goot" trip.