To the tired wanderer

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While the Night Writer family hasn’t been writing much here the last few years, that doesn’t mean we haven’t been writing. Tiger Lilly in particular has been prolific, posting stories, poems, photos and art on a site that shall remain nameless. One of her poems that appeared there awhile back seemed especially appropriate as she caught up with her mother and me in Prague on Thursday. Here it is:

To the tired wanderer

I.
If you haven’t found a home yet,
Don’t worry.
It doesn’t matter if it’s been ten days or ten years.
Sometimes home is just that rock by that one river in Indiana
Where you sat and watched the sunrise after the long and awful night
When your wallet was stolen and your boots finally wore through
From all the rain and the mud and the burrs that wouldn’t leave you alone.
Sometimes you will feel like there’s a weight
Attached to the back of your tongue,
Dragging down into your throat
And choking all of the words you might have said
(or might not have, anyway).
We all need to leave sometimes.

II.
It’s all in how you move forward.
Do you buy new boots and break them in,
Accept the blisters and stretch out the leather,
Until it seems like you never stopped at all;
Or will you trudge on bare foot
Because the dust is in your blood
And the ground belongs to your sole?
Or maybe stop and stay for while, rest for a while,
settle down for a while,
Shake the road out of your hair
And turn your head from the vast horizon that stretches before you—
There will always be places you’ve never seen—
And remember that just because you’ve stopped
doesn’t have to mean you’re done.
The movement is in your soul, wanderer, whisperer,
Little firework, little not-my-own,
You belong to the movement of the world:

III.
But
Someone should have told you
That the world will go on without you.

Fitting in

A gun at the top of the stairs

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by the Night Writer

Wednesday we moved into the apartment where we expect to stay for the next month. It’s a loft in a 19th century Art Deco building, on a cobblestone street with a tram stop at the corner of the building and close to the Old Town. It has much of what we need – and one thing we didn’t: a guy with a gun inhabiting our lodgings.

No worries, though. He was the previous renter (it’s an Airbnb unit) who overstayed his visit. He was a small fellow with a large semi-automatic in his backpack. The Reverend Mother asked him if it was difficult to have a gun here and he said that Security was much more concerned about his knife. Knife? “Yes, it’s a big one.” I was thinking maybe Crocodile Dundee, but though his English was in a South African accent (“My family fled to South Africa in 1969”), he was Czech. He didn’t show the knife, which was good because about that time our landlord was on the phone to us, upset that the guy was still there. “He’s crazy,” she told my wife. He had an interesting and convoluted tale of woe, but quietly packed up and left without incident. Other than the surprise of finding him here, we didn’t get any weird vibe from him, so despite his armament I didn’t consider him a threat to life.

No, the biggest threat to life (well, my life) was the stairs. We had been told that there wasn’t a lift and that the loft apartment was on the fourth floor, but that the steps were “gentle” (presumably lined with kittens or some such). Of course, in Prague, as in London, they start counting floors from zero, so this meant the apartment was actually on the fifth floor. We’re talking 10 stone steps, a landing, and another 10 steps per floor, plus 20 some steps once you’re in the building before you even start climbing the stairs to the apartment (and not a kitten in sight). So, 120-some steps altogether if my math is right – but that wasn’t the calculation that concerned me. THIS is what I was calculating:

  • 120 steps
  • Two large, loaded suitcases, and two carry-on cases
  • One bad knee
  • One cane

To quote Emperor Cuzco, “Bring it on.”

The execution, then, was to drag one big bag up 10 steps; go down and get the second big bag; drag it up to the first; do it again with the smaller bags: lather, rinse, repeat – and I was definitely lathered. I’m not even going to think about how many steps that all added up to with the repeated ups and downs. The Rev Mum did some of the dragging but a good chunk of the time she was at the top of the stairs, dealing with the unexpected lodger. The cruelest part, though, was seeing a shiny elevator at the top of the first landing. The sight made my heart pound even harder, but then I saw a resident walk past me and use a key to open the elevator door and ride up. Ok, so it’s restricted – but certainly a “service fee” can be arranged and a key provided, right?

As it turns out, this elevator is a continuing skirmish in the Cold War. Our landlord used to work for Radio Free Europe and now lives in the U.S. while renting out her former apartment. To gain an elevator key she has to be approved by the Board of the building’s tenants. One of her neighbors is an old-line Communist who hates her for moving to America and renting the apartment for gain. As such the neighbor does whatever she can to make our host’s life more difficult, and apparently this includes having enough pull with the Board to deny an elevator key to the unit. It is all now in the hands of lawyers, but if I hadn’t been so out of breath I would have stood on the landing and shouted, “Madame Elevator Czar – tear down this wall!”

Anyway, by the time I made it to the top of the stairs and into the apartment it didn’t matter if the tardy tenant had a rocket launcher; I was making my (wobbly) stand right there. No way was I going to take those bags back down those steps. Perhaps, as our host said, the other tenant was crazy – but he probably took one look at my sweaty, bright red visage and decided he better get out of blast range as quickly as possible.

This allowed us to then scope out our new home. We had seen photos of the place on the Airbnb website, of course, but those can be deceptive. The place looked much like the photos, but was also rather worn. It reminded me of some of the college flop-houses my friends rented. All the necessities are there, but kind of rough around the edges, the wood floor scuffed, the furniture mismatched, and herds of dust rhinos roaming the plain. For that extra collegiate touch, the previous tenant left two empty pizza boxes, a loaf of moldy bread and several overflowing ashtrays.

I guess you could say it’s all rather Bohemian – but we are, after all, in Bohemia.

We have arrived in Prague

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This blog is still in tourist mode as the Reverend Mother and I roam Prague seeing the sights, trying new food, going the wrong way on the tram and trying to figure out how to pronounce words with four consecutive consonants. There’s nothing like seeing a billboard in a completely incomprehensible language to make you feel “foreign”. Fortunately it’s not too disorienting as there are a few billboards in English, and even more that are in the international language of boobs.

My holiday is almost over, however, and I will soon be back “working from home” – but from Prague rather than the Twin Cities. This is like a dream come true for me; when I travel I like to try and experience what it’s like to live in a new place rather than just barge through with a camera in front of my face, heading for the next attraction. This probably goes back to my first trip overseas when I was fortunate to have the opportunity to spend a semester at Reading University in England. I rented a room from an English family and hung out with more English kids than American ones at the “Off-Campus Student Hall”. The hall had showers, a laundry, social and studying areas, and even it’s own pub which was staffed by students. I took up darts, a tweed cap, and a liking to real ale. I even took a turn tending the bar.

Later our best times in Italy where when we stayed at an agriturismo in Tuscany that was also a working olive farm and winery. When we went to Spain we spent a week with the Pueblo Ingles program, speaking English to Spaniards who’d signed up for an English Immersion week to improve their language skills. It was a well organized and interesting week and we learned so much about the country, it’s culture and history by talking to the “students”. After the program we rented apartments in Madrid and Barcelona rather than going to hotels in order to get closer to “street life”. Going grocery shopping, doing laundry and other common things while also sight-seeing has been a great way to get a feel for a country from, perhaps, 5,000 feet instead of 10,000.

The other thing I always do when I travel is to stand at certain spots and try to imagine what happened there, from the epic to the mundane, in the past. Sometimes I imagine spooling time backwards like a movie rewind. How great would it be to stand on Stirling Bridge and watch William Wallace rout the English, or sit in the plaza in tiny Dicomano in Tuscany on market day and imagine the sights and sounds from 500 years ago? This urge is especially strong in Europe where so much history is layered so densely in relatively small spaces. This is certainly true of the Czech Republic as well, with the added texture of so much more recent and world changing history. Today (Nov. 17) we stood in Wenceslas Square as the country celebrated a national holiday in honor of the Velvet Revolution in 1989 that freed the country from the Soviet Union, made all the more poignant by the non-velvet iron fist of USSR’s crushing of the “Prague Spring” in 1968. The history here beats, breathes and bleeds all around you and I am eager to immerse myself in it over the next 8 weeks.

I am also eager to share the experience with you here through regular postings that will be part travelogue, part monologue, and hopefully part dialog. Please feel free to share your comments and especially your questions in the posts here. We’re not going to have time to look up distant cousins for you, but will try to respond to your curiosity!

Click to enlarge the photos below.

Taking the view of Prague from the Castle; charm, culture...and Starbucks.

Taking the view of Prague from the Castle; charm, culture…and Starbucks.

 

Approaching the Castle, the sculptures offer a clear warning of what happens if you try to sneak in without a ticket.

Approaching the Castle, the sculptures offer a clear warning of what happens if you try to sneak in without a ticket.

 

There are a lot of views in Prague that can jump out and take you by surprise, such as this one in the Castle district. For me, though, this one was strictly "look, but don't touch."

There are a lot of views in Prague that can jump out and take you by surprise, such as this one in the Castle district. For me, though, this one was strictly “look, but don’t touch.”

 

Prague is enjoying the warm autumn weather. Temperatures have been in the 50s (F) this week, extending the sidewalk dining season. The inviting heater, fleece seats, lap robes and hot mulled wine are also worth a pause.

Prague is enjoying the warm autumn weather. Temperatures have been in the 50s (F) this week, extending the sidewalk dining season. The inviting heater, fleece seats, lap robes and hot mulled wine are also worth a pause.

 

Prague is also a city of bridges, and the most famous is the Charles Bridge. We were able to get a little more unorthodox view from river level, even though the photo had to be shot through the dirty glass of the tour boat. I like the light, though.

Prague is also a city of bridges, and the most famous is the Charles Bridge. We were able to get a little more unorthodox view from river level, even though the photo had to be shot through the dirty glass of the tour boat. I like the light, though.

 

The most ornate bridge in Prague, however, is the Art Nouveau Èech Bridge, named after Czech poet and writer Svatopluk Jones, I mean, Èech.

The most ornate bridge in Prague, however, is the Art Nouveau Èech Bridge, named after Czech poet and writer Svatopluk Jones, I mean, Èech.

 

Another view from the Vlatava River, through the tour boat glass.

Another view from the Vitava River, through the tour boat glass.

 

The monument to Bohemian reformer Jan Huss, an antecedent to Martin Luther in terms of the Protestant Reformation. He was given a guarantee of safety to meet with Church leadership, only to be burned at the stake. His monument is in the Old Town Square, not far from the old town hall where his followers later tossed the mayor and city council to their deaths from a window in the town hall; the first Defenestration of Prague (there have been at least three defenestrations in Prague's history, and at least one depontification (thrown off of a bridge).

The monument to Bohemian reformer Jan Hus, an antecedent to Martin Luther in terms of the Protestant Reformation. He was given a guarantee of safety to meet with Church leadership, only to be burned at the stake. His monument is in the Old Town Square, not far from the old town hall where his followers later tossed the mayor and city council to their deaths out of a window in the town hall; the first Defenestration of Prague (there have been at least three defenestrations in Prague’s history, and at least one depontification (thrown off of a bridge).

 

They didn't throw them from a window or off of a bridge, but the Czechs and Slovaks did kick the Soviet Union out of the country as a result of the Velvet Revolution of 1989. Nov. 17 was the date the revolution started, and it is now a national holiday. It's also the day we visited Wenceslas Square to see the celebration, which typically includes some political demonstrations. This photo shows one such gathering. The speaker was angry, the crowd around him was chanting, but the police and most of the other people in the square seemed bored. (The police - or Policie - presence was very large.)

They didn’t throw them from a window or off of a bridge, but the Czechs and Slovaks did kick the Soviet Union out of the country as a result of the Velvet Revolution of 1989. Nov. 17 was the date the revolution started, and it is now a national holiday. It’s also the day we visited Wenceslas Square to see the celebration, which typically includes some political demonstrations. This photo shows one such gathering. The speaker was angry, the crowd around him was chanting, but the police and most of the other people in the square seemed bored. (The police – or Policie – presence was very large.)

 

In my first trip to London I went to the Hard Rock Cafe for a real American hamburger. I know, I was supposed to be getting the English experience, but after a month of experiencing British "beef" my friends and I were delighted to sink our teeth into some prime grease. I was surprised to see Budweiser on the menu, and while I wasn't a big Bud fan, I thought it would complete the experience. Imagine my surprise when it came to the table in a pink and yellow label, from the original Bud Weis brewerey in Czechoslavakia. They've been brewing since the 1300s, and are still going strong, it appears.

In my first trip to London I went to the Hard Rock Cafe for a real American hamburger. I know, I was supposed to be getting the English experience, but after a month of experiencing British “beef” my friends and I were delighted to sink our teeth into some prime grease. I was surprised to see Budweiser on the menu, and while I wasn’t a big Bud fan, I thought it would complete the experience. Imagine my surprise when it came to the table in a pink and yellow label, from the original Bud Weis brewery in Czechoslavakia. They’ve been brewing since the 1300s, and are still going strong, it appears.

 

On the road in Hungary

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The days are blurring together already. We arrived in Prague late Sunday afternoon (Sunday? Yeah, Sunday, that was it), after taking a coach from Budapest. We’d had to get up early to catch the coach at 7:30 a.m. (including dragging the luggage two blocks to the pick-up spot) and while some in the group were ready to take on the City of Spires, the Reverend Mother and I were thinking nap and a chance to catch up the short sleep from the past week, month, week – whatever. Anyway, no blogging Sunday night but I wanted to share some images from our Saturday “Danube Bend” tour. We saw some interesting villages and countryside, to be sure, but there was also some interesting political and historical dialogue with our guide, similar to what we’d experienced the previous day with another guide … and all a prelude to what we’d hear on our long ride Sunday. I want to tie all those together in a later post. For now, here are Saturday’s photos, and tomorrow (tomorrow? Probably tomorrow?) I’ll take you through our first day in Prague.

A view of the Danube, from the Hungarian side, looking to Slovakia.

A view of the Danube, from the Hungarian side, looking to Slovakia.

The Basilica at Esztergom, viewed from the Slovakian side of the Danube.

The Basilica at Esztergom, viewed from the Slovakian side of the Danube.

The Basilica gift shop appeared to be selling Holy Hand Grenades of Antioch. Three was the number of counting.

The Basilica gift shop appeared to be selling Holy Hand Grenades of Antioch. Three was the number of counting.

Another view of Esztergom from across the river.

Another view of Esztergom from across the river.

Esztergom from the Basilica's courtyard.

Esztergom from the Basilica’s courtyard.

Night falls over the Hungarian village where we stopped for coffee and crafts.

Night falls over the Hungarian village where we stopped for coffee and crafts.

By the time we returned to Budapest it was fully dark, but it gave us a chance to get a photo of Buda Palace at night.

By the time we returned to Budapest it was fully dark, but it gave us a chance to get a photo of Buda Palace at night.

On Leaping

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by Tiger Lilly

This has been a long time coming.

Sometime in the middle of the death march that was my college years, I was probably in the middle of an angst-session with my mother about what I was going to do after graduation when she said, “You should go overseas. You’re young and unattached, now is the perfect time to get that kind of experience that you can’t get anywhere else.”

Sure, traveling sounded great, I’ve always wanted to travel. Not to mention I was one of those strange people who didn’t blanch at the thought of taking the advice of their parents. It was pretty much a pipe dream at that point, though—I had no serious job, I was slogging my way through textbook after textbook, and let’s not forget I’d made the grave error of pursuing a degree in what I loved (English and writing) rather than what was useful.

Still, the wishful part of me did a small amount of research. I found a site that compared the cost of living between cities and started typing in cities from every country I’ve ever visited or wanted to visit. Edinburgh, Dublin, Inverness, London, and most places in Italy went right out the window pretty quickly, along with most of my hazy, romantic visions of renting an attic flat at the top of some ancient-but-still-trendy-and-somehow-affordable building in the middle of some cosmopolitan Euro hub. You know, the typical coming-of-age story that Hollywood had always promised me. I’d play the perky and naïve protagonist out to “find herself,” make friends with the local fauna (even though I’m not a Disney princess), have a smoke out on my balcony in the evenings (even though I don’t smoke), and pursue a career in which I’d briefly struggle before my brilliance caught the eye of the senior editor/art director/photographer/bagel-muncher and from there it’d be a straight shot to the top. There’d probably be a tall, handsome stranger involved at some point.

Okay, so I didn’t really think that any of that was going to happen, but it was fun to think about. Point being, I was sitting there trying to think of any other city I wouldn’t mind living in that wouldn’t also smack me upside the head with financial worries. All the big names seemed to be out of the running. Then, what’s that place with the cool clock?

Judge me if you want, but I think that Prague’s astronomical clock by itself is a perfectly good reason to want to visit.

Anyway, Prague, capital of the Czech Republic, czeched out (I’m so sorry). Much lower cost of living, large community of American ex-pats, cheap beer in a place famous for its beer, what could be better? There was the teeny-tiny problem of Czech being one of the hardest languages to learn and I’d never done more linguistically than a deeper look at my native language and one semester of French, but I blew that off. In fact, that gave me an idea for how I could gainfully employ myself! Everyone wants to learn English, right?

As it turns out, in the Czech Republic, the answer is yes. A brief Google search told me that there was a huge need for English teachers there, and suddenly my pipe dream was becoming a little more solid. But what’s this? “Certification?” Damn those bureaucrats, always getting in the way of a girl’s need for adventure and—oh, here’s a program that will give me TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) certification and guarantee me a job with them once I’m certified?

This was getting to be a little too good to be true. I suspiciously surveyed the area for either flittering songbirds for me to befriend, or someone hiding in the bushes, waiting until my hopes were sufficiently raised to jump out and yell “PSYCH!”

Why yes, the world does revolve around me, why do you ask?

Anyway, if I couldn’t befriend wildlife, I was at least befriending Google, who told me that this certification program wasn’t a scam, and they probably wouldn’t kidnap me and sell my kidneys on the black market.

After a few days of mulling all this over, it was time to get a second opinion. No, not God, I was a little too absorbed with myself and my ideas to check for divine approval at that point. I ran it past Mom first, who said something along the lines of “what do you mean you’re leaving me?”

Talk about mixed signals.

Well, whatever this looked like then, it was too soon to be focusing too much energy on it; I was drowning in essays and I would need a degree to make my application to this program look nice and shiny anyway, so it was back to the educational grind. Still, as the months wore on and I packed on the credits, the need for an after-college plan was becoming more apparent.

I went and found more information on the TEFL program—how much it cost, how much money I’d need to support myself while taking the four-week certification program, plane tickets, all that jazz. I figured out a number: $6000 to cover the tuition and plane ticket and have enough money left over to not feel like I needed to have a financial freak-out while unemployed. I had some savings already, but not nearly enough at that point, of course.

Now, if there’s one thing I truly hate with every fiber of my being, it’s the idea of going to the same place every day to do the same thing over and over for years on end.

If there are two things I truly hate, the second one is customer service.

These mindsets are what had contributed to the initial angst-session with my therap—I mean, mother, way back at the beginning of this post. How could I ever find employment to fund this trip? I had worked a couple different jobs while in school, including a political campaign and as a chocolatier at Godiva (way less fun than it sounds, but that’s another story). Towards the end of school and after my graduation, I’d taken a few jobs as a freelance editor/proofreader for college students who wanted some shine on their papers before submitting them for grading, but I was doing that at extremely low rates (college students always want to pay in bottle caps and old homework) for very few people. It’d take me decades to earn enough money!

That’s where my church family came in. On the one hand, jewelry making is my hobby, I’ve been doing it for 10 years and I’m not too shabby at it, so I got to set up a small stand in the church bookstore and sell my accumulated inventory there for several weeks. On the other hand, my church is a very tight-knit and supportive community, and anyone can ask for help with anything at any time. I told the church what I was planning and hey, if anyone has any odd jobs that need doing, I’m available!

So there were a few brief engagements, things like helping people move or dog- and house-sitting. The most notable one was a friend who called and said she had a friend who needed a nanny for her three-month-old son, and so I nannied for her for nine months (even though I’m an experienced baby-sitter and my sister has four children ages five and under, I learned a lot more than I ever wanted to know about child care and myself during that time). Between all of these sources, I managed to pay for my plane ticket and the course’s tuition, with a couple thousand extra.

Somewhere along the line, I got to thinking. I had been planning all of this on my mother’s advice and my own whim. Had I ever actually said to God, “Hey man, was this Your idea or mine (or my mother’s)?” And then I got really nervous. Here I’d been telling people what I was planning, and I’d completely neglected the first and most important step. What if I asked Him and He said I needed to stop? It’d be so embarrassing! (Never mind how embarrassing it would be if I never asked and everything went belly-up later.) And I’d already spent all this non-refundable money on a plane ticket and tuition.

So it took me a few days to scrape up the courage to do what I was supposed to. I mean, on one level of course I knew that I needed to find out ASAP, since if it wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing then it’s better to find out sooner rather than later (nobody wants a repeat of the Jonah incident), but hey, pride is a thing that I have, believe it or not. Well, I finally got around to it, and the answer was nearly immediate, and I imagine He said it with a roll of His eyes: “You’re good.” (Paraphrased.)

Well, that was a relief! And His will in this became more and more apparent as I was given more and more opportunities to make money, or money was just flat-out given to me. I sold my car quickly and easily. My grandmother gave all her grandchildren a generous, surprise sort-of-nest-egg. My church family and friends sowed “seed money” into my life. Before I knew it, I had more than I thought I needed: $6000, after paying the tuition and the ticket fee!

So now the time has come upon me, and I’ve run the gamut of every emotion known to man. Excitement, nervousness, dread, disbelief, “how can I be doing this? How can I be leaving everything I know and love behind?” That last one has become especially prevalent with all the goodbyes I’ve said lately, to close friends and closer family. Sometimes it feels like I am exiling myself, and sometimes I (ridiculously unfairly, I know) wish that the world would pause while I’m away so that I don’t miss anything here.

The tumultuous situation in Europe is no consolation, either. The refugee crisis, the suicide bombers in Lebanon, terrorist attacks in Paris, and now I want to move to the heart of Europe? But here’s the thing: It’s not just me that wants to go. God wants me to go. What am I going to do, say no? (I mean, the alternative is probably going to be something along the lines of getting eaten by a giant fish.)

And under the layers of fear and doubt, I do want to go. Of course I want to go. I’ve always wanted to have adventures, and while I sense there’ll be a distinct lack of dragon slaying, stepping off into the wide (and far, so very far) blue yonder with just my faith and my suitcase sure sounds like one anyway. I’m a perennial traveler and a perpetual student, and there are things to be learned out there.

Onward!

I think I saw George Ezra

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by the Night Writer

Our first glimpse of Budapest was from the airplane window as we prepared to land. It was 9:00 p.m., so there wasn’t much to see in the dark but the lights of the city. Even so, there was something almost magical about it as the jewels below weren’t in regimented grids, but appeared as whimsical whorls of some kind of electrical paisley.

Morning brought a strange mix of sun and fog, and Marjorie and I walked the mile to Danube from our hotel. This was inspiring for a couple of reasons; one being that a year ago my walking limit was about half a mile. When we got to the river I found a shady bench while Marjorie decided to walk up to the Freedom Bridge, back down the other side and to cross the bridge nearest me for her morning exercise (this was another five miles – stats provided by her Fitbit watch). The temperature was very pleasant, in the upper 50s, and I was quite comfortable sitting by the jogging path that runs alongside the river. As an observation, there appears to be 8 women joggers for every male runner that went by. I also saw several people go by with their dogs, none of which were on a leash.

It was a kind of foggy day, but we had a great view of the city from a hill overlooking Budapest.

It was a kind of foggy day, but we had a great view of the city from a hill overlooking Budapest.

Since I had time to ponder, I thought about how I was sitting beside one of the great historical waterways of Europe, if not the world. I tried to imagine the history these banks had witnessed as I watched barges go by, and wondered what we might find if we could someone peel the water back and examine the river bed. At the time I assumed the river must be dozens of feet deep; I later learned that it’s typically no more than a meter deep as it runs through the town. While the water in the photo above is suggestive of the “blue Danube”, this particular morning it was more gray-brown. I was experiencing a bit of a cultural mash-up myself. While it would have been appropriate to hum the notes of “The Blue Danube Waltz” I instead had the following running through my head:

“I’m going back someday, come what may, to Blue Danube.”

Ach du lieber!

Below is the bridge Marjorie crossed, beneath the “Liberty Monument” (see caption for the irony that accompanies the iron).

One of the bridges over the Danube. This one is named "The Liberty Bridge," as named by the Russians after they "liberated" Budapest in WWII. Like many Soviet political phrases, it means the opposite - think "5-Year Plan" or "Affordable Care Act."

One of the bridges over the Danube. This one is named “The Liberty Bridge,” as named by the Russians after they “liberated” Budapest in WWII. Like many Soviet political phrases, it means the opposite – think “5-Year Plan” or “Affordable Care Act.”

There is still no love lost between the Hungarians and the Russians. Our tour guides were pretty blunt about their feelings – without any prompting – about the Russians, and worked some rather arch comments into their descriptions of many of the sites we visited. I’ll probably share these observations and my related thoughts in a later post.

We had fun storming the castle! This archway from the courtyard frames a great view of part of the castle and Pest below. And Marjorie, of course.

We had fun storming the castle! This archway from the courtyard frames a great view of part of the castle and Pest below. And Marjorie, of course.

Buda Palace commands the city – and your respect. It is beautiful in form and function, projecting both power and a certain grace. The sweeping lines of almost luminescent walls speak of the power and the perspective of the past, and are more than a little reminiscent of the White Tower of Ecthelion. We easily could have spent much, much more time here. Unfortunately, our route didn’t afford us a good photo op of the outside of the castle this day, but I’ll try to rectify that. You can get a sense of it from these photos, however.

Another view from inside the castle's courtyard, looking at stairs leading to a tower.

Another view from inside the castle’s courtyard, looking at stairs leading to a tower.

 

Marjorie goes to the bathroom. (Rather, she's on her way, following the signs.) It's important when traveling to know the word for "toilet" in any language. In Hungarian, it's "Toalet".

Marjorie goes to the bathroom. (Rather, she’s on her way, following the signs.) It’s important when traveling to know the word for “toilet” in any language. In Hungarian, it’s “Toalet”.

 

This is the church of King Matthias, who was Holy Roman Emporer, King of Hungary and Croatia, and King of Bohemia (apparently there wasn't enough royalty to go around). The symbol of his house, though, is what caught Marjorie's attention. (See next photo.)

This is the church of King Matthias, who was Holy Roman Emperor, King of Hungary and Croatia, and King of Bohemia (apparently there wasn’t enough royalty to go around). The symbol of his house, though, is what caught Marjorie’s attention. (See next photo.)

 

That black bird is a raven, symbol of Matthias's house - and a close cousin to Marjorie's crows. King Matthias is also the one who imprisoned Transylvania ruler Vlad Tepes (the model for Count Dracula) for 30 years - for tax evasion, not for being a mutilating, mass murderer.

That black bird is a raven, symbol of Matthias’s house – and a close cousin to Marjorie’s crows. King Matthias is also the one who imprisoned Transylvania ruler Vlad Tepes (the model for Count Dracula) for 30 years – for tax evasion, not for being a mutilating, mass murderer.

 

Say, there's another awesome view.

Say, there’s another awesome view.

There’s more to see than just castles, of course.

Marjorie stands before Parliament.

Marjorie stands before Parliament.

Here’s another panorama to wrap up this day’s adventures. On Saturday we took a bus tour into the country – and into another country, Slovakia – to see some more sights. More to come. By the way, if you see George Ezra, we saw a number of houses for sale (“Elandro”).

For a little more insight on how we ended up in Budapest, and why, go here.

Another panoramic view, this one from one of the walls of Buda Palace.

Another panoramic view, this one from one of the walls of Buda Palace.

Travelogue layover

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by the Night Writer

Marjorie and I have had a great first day in Budapest. I was planning to share my impressions and photos with you here, but I’m having a little issue with importing images into the template. I’m using my iPad, and I think I can solve this by switching to the laptop – but that requires accessories that are up in the hotel room where Marjorie is sleeping, and it won’t bode well for a great second day in Budapest if I wake her. So that travel post will be delayed … call it a “layover” if you will.

In its place I’ll provide a summary of the 29 hours it took for us to get here. Don’t worry – this will go by much faster (and I hope more entertainingly) than what we experienced.

First of all, Marjorie (aka “The Reverend Mother” in these parts of the blog-world) found this Budapest/Prague trip on Groupon. It was a great deal, costing only a few hundred dollars more than our round-trip airfare for the two of us just to get to Prague, with the bonus of three days in Budapest plus accommodations and services in Prague. The only issue was that the deal was based on flying in and out of Chicago. Not a big deal, we could rent a car one-way affordably enough, even if it meant factoring a 7-hour drive at each end. The day before we left though, the travel company offering the voucher called to tell us that due to the Lufthansa strike (we were scheduled to fly Lufthansa from Chicago to Munich and then onto Budapest), they had booked us on a United flight – but leaving at 6:15 p.m. instead of 9:35 p.m.

So Marjorie was at the rental office at MSP airport at 7 a.m. We made it to O’Hare in plenty of time. As we walked and wobbled through the airport (guess which of us was which) with our pile of luggage (including all the stuff that Patience couldn’t fit into her suitcases but would still need for a two-year stay in the Czech Republic) we were collected by a young man pushing an empty wheelchair who offered to get us through the check-in process. I’m getting along pretty well these days, but I still use my cane and braces for longer jaunts (like airports). This young man was a god-send, not only did he move my carcass and all our luggage, we were expedited to be next in the check-in line. Here we found out that, again due to the strike, our Chicago to Munich leg was now a Chicago to London trip…with a 10-hour layover at Heathrow. The agent made multiple attempts to get us there more quickly but there were no better options (especially with some 100,000+ ex-Lufthansa passengers all scrambling for different flights.)  Oh well, we’re still getting there, and we’ll have some time in London.

Upon boarding our flight we saw that our tickets were “economy”, which wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was that the plane’s bulkhead extended under the seat in front of me, taking up half the space available for my feet. This was not a pleasant prospect for an overnight, overseas flight. In addition we were surrounded by Putin Youth, tween-aged Russian boys who were not evil, per se, but were bouncing around, trading seats and generally being hyper, tween-age boys. When the crew announced that there were seats available in Economy Plus for a mere $129 each I was on that like a duck on a june bug. As we repositioned ourselves the flight attendant said they were kind of busy with take-off and other duties and that they’d come back by later and collect my credit card info for the upgrades. I guess they were really, really busy all flight, though, because they never came back around other than to give us wine, a three-course upgraded meal, and show me how to operate the movie screen in the back of the seat in front of me. And I didn’t want to be a nag about it.

At Heathrow, with thoughts of a London walk-about in our heads, we found out that they no longer offer a held luggage service, according to the woman at the information desk (and contrary to what Trip Advisor says). While our main luggage was checked through to Budapest, we still had our carry-ons and didn’t feel like clearing Immigration and then tooling around London dragging our rollers. There was no option but to spend a tedious day waiting for our 6:05 p.m. flight.

Sitting guard. Heathrow layover.

Sitting guard. Heathrow layover.

In addition, before we could “lounge”, we had to clear security again because we were switching from United to British Airways. You should understand that it takes a lot of energy for me to motorvate from place to place. Being an exothermic kind of guy anyway, even a short “walk” makes me pretty sweaty. It’s also a hassle to take my shoes off because the braces are very slippery on hard floors. In Chicago the TSA sensibly understood the situation and (since I’d been wheeled there I was cool, calm and collected) and I’d merely been swabbed and scanned. A wheelchair wasn’t handy at Heathrow, and it’s one of the most far-flung airport layouts I’ve ever seen. By the time I got to Security I was a flop-sweaty, profiler’s dream. It took a little more explaining but fortunately I did end up with a similar review as Chicago and not in rendition.

After that the day was uneventful – grindingly tedious, but uneventful. We boarded our flight about 8 hours later than the originally scheduled one, and instead of reaching Budapest in the afternoon we cruised in under cover of darkness – a darkness that permitted a magical glimpse of what was in store for us. More about that in the next post.

Blowing the dust off

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*Cough*Cough*

A bit dusty in here. Still, everything looks to be reasonably functional in the old Night Writer HQ. Update a few plug-ins, clear out some spam, freshen up the theme, a little Lemon Pledge – and we’re back in business.

It may be a limited engagement, but I’ve pulled the sheets off the the furniture and fittings of the old blog in order to add a new chapter of the “Nights on the Road” series as we launch into a new adventure, based in a new city: Prague in the Czech Republic. As I write this, the Reverend Mother, Tiger Lilly and I are preparing to leave the country on an extended journey. Tiger Lilly is embarking on a new career and life in Prague, and my wife and I are going along for the first two months to usher her out of the nest in style. Some folks have asked for a public website to follow the account of this latest expedition and re-opening this blog is the easiest way to do this, allowing us to write more creatively and extensively than on Facebook. I’ll post photos and possibly even videos along with my writerly observations, and hopefully the Rev. Mum and TL will contribute as well. Heck, we may even see the Mall Diva check in, all the way from Iowa, Land of Mystery.

As for the last five years of blog silence, let me explain. No, there is to much. Let me sum up.

The Mall Diva was last seen here leaving for Iowa with her husband, Son@Night, and their child, Baby Moose. That little family unit is significantly bigger now with the addition of another son and two daughters, collectively referred to as “the Moosen”. Son@Night has another flock as well, the congregation he is pastoring amidst the rolling hills of soybeans, corn and the tour buses of presidential candidates.

The Reverend Mother is now a part-time graphic designer and full-time minister and associate pastor at our church and still ripping around the countryside on her motorcycle, which I believe she had just acquired right about the time we stopped updating this blog.

Tiger Lilly has used the intervening time to win a couple more writing awards while earning her B.A. in English at age 20. For the last two years or so she has been aiming toward this move to Prague where she hopes to be certified to teach English as a Foreign Language, along (hopefully) with some freelance editing.

I’m happy to say we’ve stayed in regular contact with many of our blogging friends from the old days, and we’ve continued to visit Keegan’s Irish Pub often. Keegan’s was Tiger Lilly’s choice for the site of her send-off part last week and most of the old crowd was there for the occasion.

Send off

As for me, there’s not much to report aside from being diagnosed with ALS, retiring from my job, being “un-diagnosed” (and miraculously healed) from ALS and un-retiring. You can follow that whole story on the new blog I launched in April of 2014 to chronicle that experience, No Longer I Who Live. (The first post on that blog is here.) When I came back to work it was with the same employer but in a new role that has me supporting the company globally rather than a single business unit in Minnesota. Because my  management and internal clients are located in distant cities I’m able to work from home – and home is essentially anywhere I have WiFi, which includes Prague. This enables me to set up my office in Prague and anywhere else we may travel over the next few months. I’ll definitely be taking some time off over the course of this adventure, but I’ll also be working while TL works on her certification and the Reverend Mother helps her find an apartment.

Stay tuned.

So I had this bird

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by Tiger Lilly

She was a beautiful girl, turquoise feathers with a yellow cap (a very rare color for parakeets). My aunt found her after a huge storm in 2005, so I should have named her Gale. I didn’t. I was terrible with names back then, and we just ended up calling her Birdy-Wirdy (we also had a guinea pig named Piggy-Wiggy. We were a creative bunch).

She was six months old when I wheedled my parents into letting me take her in, as her owners were nowhere to be found. I trained her to be comfortable around me. She was a vicious thing, biting was one of her favourite pastimes. There was a point when I had twelve bite marks each on three of my fingers.

I loved her anyway.

She was vocal and wild, yet tender towards me, allowing me to scratch the sides of her face when she was tired. She showed me affection in ways that only a bird could- regurgitating her meals on occasion. Mostly she would simply kiss my face whenever I had her out. I would try and play piano for her every day, something that she (and her playmate, Chiquita, which we rescued a few years after taking in Birdy-Wirdy) greatly enjoyed.

A week or two ago, I noticed that her plumage on her belly near her vent was brown and picked-over. I didn’t really think much of it, as she was acting healthy and just fine. Chiquita had no signs of anything like Birdy-Wirdy had.

This morning, when I gave her water, she drank a bit and was sneezy and tired. I knew something was wrong, but I had to leave for work right away. I had hoped she would be fine until I got home.

She wasn’t.

She was cold in the corner of the cage when I returned. I spent a good half-hour cradling her and sobbing or playing the piano. Eventually, it dawned on me that I should look up her symptoms.

It turns out that they are symptoms of ovarian tumors and/or eggs that have gotten caught in the wrong area. Most people were recommending to take the sick bird to the vet and fix the diet.

Now, I wish that I had thought to look this up when I first saw the feathers, but what’s done is done.

Anyway. If you have a female parakeet and see anything like this, TAKE HER TO THE VET IMMEDIATELY. Don’t leave her be. Birdy-Wirdy was only 7, less than half the lifespan of a parakeet (15 years).

Good night, pretty bird. I love you. Fly high.

What Have They Done?!

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by Tiger Lilly

So my father directed me to an article from CBS news, which stated that, contrary to popular belief, chocolate actually helps people maintain a lower Body Mass Index, despite the amount of calories.

I have a problem with this information.

I have heard from other sources that chocolate may become extremely rare and expensive in the next fifty years or so, due to what I’m sure are many good reasons that I was never very sure about.
So if people are writing articles about how chocolate is good for your health and helps you maintain a girlish figure (which I’m sure all you macho men out there are very concerned about), people will be flocking to the chocolate shops in hordes. HORDES, I tell you! And what does that mean? That means chocolate is going to become ever harder to come by, faster! It means that prices of chocolate are going to go even further up, because of the increased demand!

WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS TO MEEEEEEEEEE?!

Of course, on the other hand (which is also holding chocolate), people don’t eat healthy foods as often as they should. Maybe, just maybe, since chocolate is now a healthy food, people will lose interest and leave the good stuff for the more devoted chocolate dabblers (myself).

My name is Tiger Lilly, and I am a chocoholic approve this message.

Ciao for now!