December 27, 1949

I am usually up between 5:00 and 7:00 a.m. listening to the morning news. But today, my day started at 12:03 am. I am usually up well past midnight either reading or working on a puzzle. This evening, however, I had fallen asleep early.

In my sleep, I heard the familiar sound of a guitar strumming. By the time I realized that it was my phone, not part of a dream, I had already missed the call. It was Gila and she had left a voicemail message, an off key rendition of Happy Birthday sung by Gila and Heaven. Since it was now only 12:05 am, I had no qualms with returning the call.

Instead of hello I sang a verse of 'When I'm 64' a hit by the Beatles from the Rubber Soul album. We laughed about the songs and then arranged for a pick up at 10:30 for dim sum. How unusual for me to have such a fuss made over my birthday, but now that it has happened, I am so thankful that I have a friend who makes me feel so good with her extravagance. By now I was wide awake and I knew that I could not lie still waiting for sleep to return, so I returned to the quilt. Each time I sewed parts together, I realized that I had made a mistake. The first error was sewing one piece to another upside down. Then I sewed the pieces together without following the established bargello pattern. Seam rippers were invented for people like me. I was sure that I had it right now. The piece was not upside down, the pattern was properly followed but I had sewn a strip too wide for the pattern. I have learned that when I start to make errors, it is time to walk away from the machine. It was harder to go wrong reading. After a while my eyes finally drifted closed and the book fell out of my hands.

I still woke up early. I tried to return to the land of Nod, but I knew that I was already too wired to lie still in bed, hoping to fall asleep again. I got up but rather than making tea or getting dressed. I picked up the quilt once more, sewing up an entire square without mistakes. I estimated that stopping at 10:00 would give me more than enough time to get ready. As the hourly news came on, I made the bed, picked out my clothes and began to dress. Before I was done, I heard knocking at the door. I peered down the stairs to see who it was, but all I saw was a colourful bouquet of flowers tied to the knocker. Only one  person could have done this, Gila. And there she was behind the balloon. Dressed in an unbuttoned sheer black shirt over a white bra (what was I thinking) I raced down to open the door. No I was not trying to be sexy. I just needed more time to become presentable. I was very touched to be presented with one of Gila's paintings as a birthday gift. I had admired them at the cottage during the summer and I am happy to have one of her originals. I rushed back up the stairs to get ready. Gila went back to the car to keep it warm.

When I got to the car, Gila was busy making a balloon necklace for me. I wore it until it popped on the barrette in my hair. The restaurant was still not busy and when we got a somewhat secluded table, I was presented with even more gifts. First was a wonderfully schmaltzy card with the following wish: May you always have a pot to pee in! When your cup runneth over, may you have a shmata to clean it up! First there was a plastic quill pen to write with when there was no power. Then I unwrapped a beautiful pottery bowl designed to feed knitting yarn to the needles. I'm going to have to find something to knit. And finally a pottery pitcher emerged from the yards of wrapping. So thoughtful! So extravagant! So beautiful! So appreciated!

Over the past few years, Josh has taken me out for dim sum on my birthday. Sometimes, it was just the two of us. Other times, Irv and his family joined us and one special year, Willie and Sarah came too. This year, for a change, Josh decided to treat me to Peking duck. To keep the tradition alive, Gila treated me to dim sum. Since she had never eaten this type of meal, I had the bonus of being able to pick all of my favourite dishes. Gila was somewhat surprised that I said no to the first few carts that were rolled by, but I knew what I wanted. By the time we had shu mei, har gow, shrimp with green onion dumplings and shrimp rolled in rice noodles, we were full. Gila was ready to stop but I still hadn't had a few of my favourites. This is Chinese food. Wait a while and you are hungry again, so when I ordered snow pea leaves and chicken sticky rice, that disappeared as well. Now I was ready to quit, but couldn't pass on the eggplant and shrimp that sat on the next cart. The lovely thing about dim sum and this restaurant is that you can sit enjoying the tea almost indefinitely. The problem is that if you sit long enough you can be tempted by something new from the kitchen like beef ribs and mini spring rolls. We had to stop then or the staff would have to roll us out. And we talked non stop. The conversation with Gila always flows uninhibited and uncensored. She listens without judgment and tries to understand the meanings trapped within the words. She makes me dig further to understand where I am coming from and where I need to head. How fortunate I am to have a friend who has shared so many similar experiences and is willing to listen to me prattle on. She has also taught me to be a better listener and values the support I offer when she needs it. Before we left, I admitted that I have never laughed as much before I met Gila. Through her, I have come to better appreciate my place in the lives of others.

While we ate, I got more birthday wishes from Isabel and another rendition of Happy Birthday from Irv and Cynthia. I need to remember this day when I feel down, unloved or unappreciated.

Our plan had been to see the Guggenheim treasures at the AGO or see a movie. I was interested in American Hustle, but time had slipped away so quickly that the film had already started before we were ready to move on. Gila had seen two of the films on my must see list and the other possible choices were either too far away or in progress. Just as we were prepared to visit the art gallery, we found that we still had ample time to get to the Carlton Theatre to see Dallas Buyers Club. I knew little about the film, other than Jean Marc Vallee (C.R.A.Z.Y. and Cafe de Flores) was the director and that there was a buzz about an Oscar for Matthew McConaughey's stellar performance. In the film, the actor starts as a self involved homophobic slacker interested in only sex and drugs. He transforms from a man dying of AIDS to an entrepreneur in an illegal enterprise to an empathetic friend and finally to a vocal AIDS activist, a riveting film.

During the movie, my phone buzzed a number of times. It was Dov persistently trying to deliver his his special greetings. I texted that I was in a movie and found that he had left a voicemail message, an upbeat duet of ... you guessed it, Happy Birthday. I called him back to learn that there was a parcel in the mail for me as well. Later while I was enjoying some down time before dinner, Zev sent a short movie of Mia, Hazel, Ash and Clove singing Happy Birthday. The bonus was chatting with Hazel when I called to with my thanks for the video.

Then Josh and Christine arrived to take me out for dinner, the next activity on my birthday schedule. They also had gifts, a Holocaust themed book, liners to facilitate cleaning the crock pot and lastly in the big box, a new slow cooker that had given birth to a mini crock pot while waiting to be opened. Christine had noticed that the lid of my crock pot had a wad of aluminum foil instead of a handle, making opening the pot somewhat problematic. I will have to plan a dinner with chocolate fondue from an included recipe in the mini pot as dessert.

Dinner was at a Peking Man Restaurant. Although it is in a strip mall on Sheppard Ave., access to it is difficult if you don't already know where it is. It is a large room trapped in a time warp of the late 60's or 70's. The room was festooned with lights and tinsel appropriate for the season, many arrangements of fake flowers and wooden sleighs, trains, reindeer and trees we saw regularly in Germany. Josh did the ordering. After appetizers, the waiter first brought little bowls of sauce, a plate with green onions and cucumber and several bamboo steamers filled with tortilla like rice wrappers  to the table. That was followed by the appearance of a whole roasted duck artfully carved and arranged on a bed of crushed Oriental chips. The carcass disappeared back into the kitchen. Josh showed me how to assemble the offerings on the table into what looked like a blintz and by the time we polished off the crispy crackling skin and the succulent meat, the waiter retuned with a plate of whole lettuce leaves and the rest of the meat now minced from the carcass. This time we wrapped the meat in the lettuce leaves and devoured that too. It was a wonderful evening with delicious duck and comfortable conversation.

It is without question that I love my children without reservation. But year after year, I realize how lucky a woman I am that my children include me in their lives and consistently extend their respect and honour me at every special event. I have to remember to recall these moments whenever I feel down, alone unloved or unwanted. There is no better evidence to refute those feelings.

On the ride home, Willie called with his birthday wishes. We chatted about blackouts, Christmas dinners and the need to get together after the holidays. It had been an amazing day! I felt both loved and appreciated. If only these feelings could be bottled and saved for whenever the world seems so much more unfriendly and cold. Again, I realized how lucky a woman I am.

This had been my best birthday in years. The day was over and cherishing each moment I was ready to retire for the evening. Unexpectedly, there was a knock on the door. I certainly didn't expect anyone at this hour. It was Heaven with a huge hug and yet another gift. Gila had driven her over so that I could celebrate this day right to the last hour. Heaven had given me a beautiful, uniquely designed sweater. Wow! I don't think the day could have been any better.

Now that I'm older, wiser by far,
Many years from now.
I will still remember all the love I had
When I was sixty-four.  

My apologies to Paul McCarthy for the plagiarism.

Ice Storm December 21, 2013

The Ice Storm

Toronto has been the laughing stock of not only the country, but of the world in general, thanks to the buffoon that thinks he is the best mayor Toronto has ever had. And we thought Mel Lastman who called in the army after a snow storm and later had no idea what WHO  was during our SARS epidemic, but I digress. This storm has shown some maturation on handling problems despite some confusion as to who was in charge.  

The weekend before Christmas there was a winter storm front heading towards Toronto and we were warned that was closely followed by a second huge system from the US. Unfortunately, the local temperature had warmed up and we were told to expect the rain to freeze upon contact because the ground was colder than the rain. I decided to do my shopping early in the day and then wait out the nasty weather in the comfort of my home. This was a good time to get started on a quilt for Dov's birthday.

I had also prepared a Christmas gift for Christine and texted Josh about a good delivery time. Josh and his phone took a break from each other so I got no reply until later in the evening. " Tonight is fine" beeped in hours after the message was sent. By now, I had settled in for the evening. The rain was coming down in sheets. The road glistened in the dark. I went through my options and decided to make my delivery tonight, rather than wait for another opportunity. 

I bundled up, put the gift in a plastic bag as protection and headed out to the car. It was very wet. The precipitation had transformed from rain to sleet, but there was no need yet to scrape my windows. As I drove towards Josh's home, the condition of the roads started to deteriorate and I was sure that I was now dealing with black ice, but there was no point in turning back at this point. 

There was no street parking left, so I pulled into the school lot. One car was already there, but it was totally encased in ice. It looked like Mr. Freeze had run his icy fingers all over the car. Getting out of the car, I realized that the entire lot was a sheet of ice. I skated rather than walked to the house. Everything was sparking with a thin layer of crystal. That was the first indication of what was to follow. Inside the house, the power was flickering on and off, clue number two. As I left the house the sky was illuminated by a series of lightning strikes, unlike any I had seen before. The light was green!

Once at home, I congratulated myself on having done my errands before the storm got worse and I returned to the quilt and then snuggled into bed with a good book. My  phone beeped at eleven. It was Gila. Was my power out? Hers was and it was cold. I invited her to wait out the blackout at my house, but I got no response. Later I noticed that the message had not been delivered, but by now it was very late and I called it a day. 

I woke up to the news. The storm had hit hard during the night. There was a lull now, but the second wave was due later in the day. There were reports of power outages due to heavy ice on the wires and trees crashing down. Obviously, I still had power. The radio was working, but I was worried about the condition of the Manitoba maples in my yard. I ran to the window over the backyard. The limbs were all on the trees, not on the ground, but the world had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Everything had become crystalline  tree branches and trunks, railings, roofs, the patio chairs and the barbeque. It was a beautiful sight.

Gila called before nine. She still had no power and asked about my status. My invitation was offered again, but that would necessitate climbing out of a warm bed and she declined. I texted Josh about his situation. The power had gone out late the previous night and still was out. It was cool in the house but bearable. Another invitation to Handler's Hostel was extended. The current news was that this was the worst storm Toronto had ever seen. Three hundred thousand households in Toronto were without power and there was every possibility that power would be out for 72 hours, three days! I remembered the Quebec ice storm and the devastation it caused, hydro out for a week in some places. Immediately, comparisons to the Quebec ice storm were made. Commentators noted that this was not as widespread as the storm in Quebec, but it was definitely the creating havoc in the city. The mayor made an announcement. Yes, it was serious, yes many households were dark and cold but no this was not yet an emergency.

In the meantime, Josh had called. He and Christine were coming over to shower and recharge electronics. Was there room in my freezer? It would take about twenty minutes. An hour later, my power also went out, but as I was calling Josh to tell him I was also hit, the lights came back on. Josh still had not been able to clear his  car of the ice and continued to scrape for a while before he could drive. I spread salt out on my porch, stairs, walkway and sidewalk, snapping the ice caked branches of the neighbouring butterfly bush. 

Josh and Christine finally made it. They had put their frozen meat outside hoping it would not thaw. They opened all their faucets hoping for no burst water lines. They plugged in and showered. As they were trying to decide which movie to see, I spoke to Gila again. She was out of bed. It was cold. She wanted to come over, but she was not able to leave. Her area is called 'the Woods" because of all the trees and the streets ending with the word wood: Maplewood, Pinewood, Humewood, Wychwood. Tree trunks and branches were scattered over the roads, on cars, on roofs. Hydro lines were down and sparking. Crews were busy installing yellow caution strips to indicate blocked streets, removing the trunks from the road and dealing with downed lines. The neighbourhood looked like it had been sprayed with Agent Orange and then bombed.

Regular Sunday morning radio was cancelled. Hosts were accepting calls from listeners describing their problems and condition of the neighbourhoods. Spokespeople for Hydro, TTC, city works all came on air with updates. The damage from the storm was more widespread than had been estimated. Power could not be restored until all the fallen trees were cleared. Streetcars were out of service. The ice on the lines did not allow the power to reach the cars. Parts of the subway were closed because of trees on the tracks of the outside portions. There were not enough shuttle buses to handle the riding capacity. Two hospitals were without power and working on backup generators. All crews were working nonstop trying to restore power. But this still was not an emergency.

This was the season when everyone was trying to get away on holiday or to their families for the Christmas celebrations. Flights were delayed and then cancelled. Hotels were full with passengers waiting for rescheduled flights. Downtown hotels, normally  quiet at this time of year, were full to capacity with line ups of more prospective guests. Businesses without power could not make sales and were closed  during the last few frantic shopping days before Christmas.

Josh and Christine left for a movie. The second wave of the storm had started. Again, rain that fell turned to ice upon contact. As crews worked, more ice brought down more lines and more trees and more people were without power. Warming centers were opened, but seniors in high rises could not make their way out of the buildings without the elevators. People were using fireplaces, propane heaters and generators to try to get warm. Two people died of carbon monoxide poisoning due to poor ventilation. Many more were rushed to hospitals for the same reason. There were warnings about not bringing coal heaters barbeques or generators into the house. One woman in an Ajax hospital gave birth by flashlight ( I guess an upbeat human interest story was needed to lighten the mood.)

Gila finally arrived with her electronics and an overnight bag. While she played with her new computer, I prepared dinner and returned to the quilt. Josh and Christine returned from the movie and decided to head home in the hopes that hydro had been restored. Gila and I had dinner without them, cleaned up and watched some tv before turning in for the night. Josh still had no power but decided to stay at home and use extra blankets and the cats to keep them warm. Heaven realized that she could still prepare food on the gas stove opted to stay at Gila's. She also had extra blankets and a cat to keep her warm. I was happy that my power was still on.

It was now Monday morning. There was even more ice encasing the city but the rain had finally stopped. Any hopes that the warm air or sun would help melt the ice were dashed as the temperatures plummeted. Josh was on his way over again, still no power and Gila was still in bed. Christine sat in the living room still wearing her toque despite the warmth in the house. She wasn't taking any chances. I made waffles and warmed apple sauce for breakfast. Christine and Josh showered at my house again. Gila got up for her breakfast and the news was now that for some, the power would not be restored until the weekend. Josh and Christine had their own plans and left. Gila had appointments and left. I returned to the quilt.

In the afternoon the sun came out and the iced trees and streetscapes glittered. I was still not willing to go anywhere and continued quilting. With the sun out, it was time to try to clear the car before I needed to go somewhere. The car looked like it was glazed. My first step was to get the scraper out of the car. Easier said than done. The ice was so thick, it was impossible to open the door. I tugged for some time but seemed to make no progress. Time to try something else. I got a stick and started to scrape the ice out of the crevices around the door. I alternated the scraping and tugging and after a while, the door finally creaked open. I turn the car on, set the defrost to high and engaged the rear window heater. The ice was so thick that the antenna could not rise and the scraper barely scratched the ice on the front and back windows. The side window were somewhat easier to clear and once the defroster and heater warmed up the windows, they could be cleared as well. What I should have done was try to open the other doors.

Later in the afternoon, I prepared dinner again. Josh and Christine returned but had had a late lunch, so decided to pass on dinner and take their chances at home. Gila decided that the kitchen was under stocked. She made a stop at Loblaws and returned with enough groceries to stay for a month or provide for the Russian Army  and came back with many bags of food. There was so much, I had trouble fitting all of it into the fridge and freezer. We had dinner together, and Gila called Heaven. Her hydro was still out. She tried to convince Heaven to come here for the night or at the very least to go to her cousin's house, but she insisted that she was fine. Josh called to report that his power had returned and his Christmas dinner was no longer in question. Gila called neighbours to find that her electricity was still off, so Gila decided to stay another night and watch a movie before calling it a day. She had never seen the Big Lebowski, a serious gap in her movie viewing experience, so we made ourselves comfy in front of the TV. The movie was engaging and in a mellow mood, Gila decided that Handler's Hostel was a good full service hotel and the restaurant was also very appealing. We went to bed hoping a return to normalcy the next day.

It was now Christmas Eve Day. The news in the morning was that progress in restoring hydro was made, but there were still 200,000 households without power. Some would have to celebrate a dark Christmas or find friends and family with power for the holiday. After another breakfast, Gilda thanked management for the hospitality and left to wrap gifts and celebrate a Jewish Christmas with others from her synagogue. I had adult literacy scheduled and left with what I thought was more than enough time to navigate icy roads safely. What I didn't count was that not all the fallen trees had been cleared and I had to double back several times before I gave up my usual route for the main street. Unfortunately that made me late for the session.

At the end of the session in the library, I offered my student a ride. The passenger door would not open as I had ignored it when I scraped the car the day before. It took ten minutes of tugging and scraping to get the door to open. That should have been an indication that I needed to deal with the other doors, but I didn't. I also planned a Jewish Christmas with Isabel and her friend Judy Cohen. Again opening the back door was problematic. I was ready to ask Judy to climb over the front seat to the back when I finally got firm footing and pulled hard enough to open the door. I was hoping that car would thaw a little more in the underground parking, but the garage was not much warmer than the outdoors. 

Things were starting to return to normal. Josh hosted his dinner. Gila found that her power was finally on and I could easily open all the doors of the car. Because it was late, Gila decided to go home without her electronics and survival kit. 

As far as I was concerned, the storm was history although 150,000 households were still in the dark. On Christmas morning, Anna and I went out for Dim Sum and I was surprised at how much yellow caution tape was still indicating impassable streets and the huge piles of wood at the side of the road of side streets. It wasn't until the drive home that I saw some of the true extent of the damage caused by the storm. On Kendall Ave., a huge tree had come down and initially had totally blocked the road. The trunk had been sawn in a number of places and the wood was stacked off the road, but unfortunately, a van was parked in front of that tree. The trunk landed on the roof but had not yet been removed. Needless to say, the roof was crushed. But the force had been such that a side window had been pushed out of its frame and the door was crumpled like aluminum. I was thankful that the tree under which I park stayed rooted to the ground. The branches did scrape against the roof and windows like witch's claws, but my car is intact, my power stayed on and I was able to help out someone who was not as lucky. Quite a change for someone who always seems to be a victim of Murphy's Law.

It is now Thursday, Boxing Day. The storm started Saturday afternoon. There are still 54,000 homes without power. Visually the storm was not as awesome as the Quebec ice storm, but in terms of the number of people affected and the difficulty reestablishing hydro it certainly is comparable. Although there was a lot of criticism with the announcement that the storm did not constitute an emergency, the city pulled together and provided regular update  information related to road conditions, hydro and transportation and the service workers stayed on the job non stop, even over Christmas, Toronto finally deserves a little respect.

Budapest Day 22

This is my last posting until my next trip somewhere. I can hear the collective sigh of relief. And just to sweeten the pot, it will be quite some time before I take another trip. I know it is a long report but it was probably the most significant day of our trip and even if it is only for my sake, I need to record as much of it as I can remember. I promise, no more long torturous e-mails anytime in the foreseeable future.

I think our last day in Budapest was one of the best days of our trip. After breakfast in a cafe, our guide Kate and her driver Frank picked us up for a tour of the Jewish Budapest that is well off the beaten track.

Did I mention that Kate is a Jewish mother? She was concerned about the cold I obviously have and the first stop was to a drugstore to pick up some cold pills. They actually worked! Within an hour or so I had stopped coughing and was feeling a little more alive.

Our next stop was a little obscure park in a Buda residential area. It was the monument to Raoul Wallenberg, the Swedish diplomat we remember as being responsible for saving thousands of Hungarian Jews by giving them Swedish citizenship. The interesting fact is that Wallenberg was not the only diplomat to help the Jews. He was the leader of a group of foreign diplomats who all saved Jews in the same way. The reason that Wallenberg is the only one known by most of the public is because of his disappearance at the hands of the Soviets and the Soviet denial that they even knew who Wallenberg was. When he disappeared, there was considerable global demand that he be released. Although the documents in the Lubliyana prison indicate that he died there in 1949 of 'heart failure', people claimed to have seen him in a Siberian gulag well after that. Why such an obscure placement for the statue? During the Soviet rule of Hungary, the Soviets consistently denied any knowledge of the diplomat. They would not allow the memorial to be erected in a well-traveled and well visited area in the city because of the negative reaction it would arouse among the Hungarians.

The memorial is a statue by Varga, the same artist who created the Tree of Life memorial. It portrays Wallenberg bare-headed, appearing to pat the head of a child who is not there. It is surrounded by two large blocks of Swedish granite donated by his family. On the back of one of the granite stones, there is an etching of a man, supposedly Wallenberg, wrestling with a snake, with swastikas all along its back. This was the image of a statue that had disappeared from another site. Again this was evidence about the constant denial of Jewish history by the Soviets. The engraving stone dedicated the statue to the citizens of Hungary who had been arrested and murdered during the world war. It obviously referred to the Jews without using the word Jew. According to Kate, this was more evidence of the current right wing swing of the Hungarians and their refusal to accept responsibility for the fate of the Jewish population.

                                     

 As we were in Buda, we got driven through the very posh residential area. The streets were all up on a hill and were lined with gated villas. Before the war, this would have been where the very wealthy Jewish captains of industry would have lived. We also drove past a Jewish private school, one of four that exist in Budapest. It was established by the son of the Estée Lauder of the cosmetic empire and called the Lauder School. This was not the first time we have heard the name Lauder. He was also responsible for the revitalization of Josefov in Prague.

The car then took us into Obuda, the third town that amalgamated with Buda and Pest to form the capital city of Hungary. As we drove, Kate pointed out where some of the factories once established and owned by Jews had stood. Most of the area consisted of dull grey rectangular apartment blocks that had been erected during the sixties, but we parked at the edge of the old central town square of Obuda. It was one of the few places where the original buildings still stood. On one side, there was a long building that had once been a royal palace and later converted into army barracks. The smaller cottages around what used to be the barracks were used by the prostitutes that serviced the army. Beside the barracks was another installation by Varga. It consisted of a series of women holding open umbrellas as protection against the rain. It was encircled by beds of flowers still in bloom during November. A tribute to the prostitutes.

                                    

The actual town square was dominated by the town hall. In front of it was yet another installation of a man sitting at a covered table with his book and wine. Unfortunately I did not take notes and I no longer recall the significance of the sculpture. I believe it may have been melancholy over the things and way of life that had been lost under the Soviets. On the wall was a plaque that had been installed just earlier this year. Like the Wallenberg statue, it was dedicated to the Hungarians who had died for their beliefs during the war. Again no mention of Jews.

The main reason for the visit to Obuda, however, was to view the small gallery of Varga's work. Varga is not a Jew although he is married to one. At the age of ninety he is still alive and comes to the gallery each weekend. His work always seems to pack a wallop. The museum consists mostly of maquettes of work he had been commissioned to do. His own beliefs come across very strongly in his work and often it is not the exactly the message intended by the sponsors of the work. He designed the Hungarian House in the Vatican with a very dramatic statue of King Stephen holding the royal crown. There were statues of victims of the war, like that of Randotti. He was a young man who wrote poetry. He died during a mass shooting of Jews. In his coat was a bloodied notebook with all his poetry, influenced by the trials of the Jews during the war. It had instructions as to who should receive the work in case of his death. Thus the journal found its way to being published.

Another statue entitled the passage of time was of a young woman standing, the same woman lying down but now more middle aged and the same woman again, elderly and close to death. I think of the most powerful pieces was of three wounded veterans, all wearing medals from the first world war. I had never heard of this sculptor and yet his work has an enormous emotional impact. Only photographs, of which I have many, can do justice to his work.

                                        

 On our trip to Szentendre, Kate had pointed out the synagogue built in the courtyard of a building. Today we visited that synagogue. It was built entirely on donations in 1926, the heyday of Jewish influence in Hungary. From the outside the only evidence of its existence are the Jewish stars etched on to some of the lower areas of the building. Inside the courtyard, it stands like a small jewel. It is still in use today and there are many Jews residing in this building that is also the site of the Jewish community centre. The bimah is in the centre with the seats in an almost circular formation around it. It is an inclusive effect. One interesting point was that the blessing before reading the Torah was on the bimah in transliterated Hungarian, the only Hungarian we could figure out how to read.

We also visited another large building still being used as a synagogue. The original was built in 1775. The present structure was from the nineteenth century. There was little to indicate that it was a synagogue and I commented that the Jews who had it built must have been very prosperous. Kate explained that the grandeur of a synagogue was dependent on the level of acceptance of the Jews at the time and not on economic circumstances. Today, it has been taken over by the Lubavitch movement. Unfortunately, we could not enter because no one was there at the time.

       

                                                                      Another memorial but this time in Budapest

 Back in Pest, we were shown the shoes memorial. This installation was also placed in a very inaccessible spot. Because of guardrails, it cannot be viewed as you drive by. There is no break in the guardrails nor a crosswalk to provide access to it. The only way to see it is to walk to the installation from a parking area a distance away. All the factors preventing the public from readily seeing this memorial are not coincidental. The Hungarians are keeping it as hidden as possible in an effort to deny their responsibility. The installation of bronzed shoes carelessly scattered at the edge of the river recalls the women and children who were brought to the Danube, told to disrobe or at the very least remove their coats and shoes and then were shot, falling into the Danube. I was curious about why the shoes were removed. Often a gold watch, a diamond ring or even some money was hidden in the heel of a shoe as a last resort. The most heartbreaking part were the shoes of a young child. They were filled with stones and a single candy. Flowers that had been placed there as a memorial were not removed though they were long dead.

                                               

 We were then taken to see the statue of the Prime Minister during the war. Kate claimed that he was more bloodthirsty than even Stalin. This statue had been in a very public place but was the site of many protests and so it was moved into a small gated niche in front of a church among the government buildings.

This is where our tour ended but not our time with Kate and Frank. She invited us to her apartment for tea and canapés and conversation. She told us about her fears that the Nazi Party would have a better showing in the next election because of the discontent about Hungary's poor economic status. She spoke about the rise of anti semitism and the hatred of all things communist, with communist being a code word for Jewish. Her apartment itself was a wonder. Filled with art and an eclectic collection of antiques and tchachkes. It was also huge, many rooms with twelve foot ceilings. It was an appropriate way to end the tour. I asked Kate to arrange a taxi to take us to the airport. Instead, Frank offered to pick us up the next morning, of course for a fee, but with someone who also spoke to us about the current conditions in Hungary. Without Kate and Frank, we would have had a totally unrealistic view of what living in Budapest is for a Jew today.

Time was flying and we had plans to go to see Madame Butterfly at the Opera House at seven. In the meantime, Gila wanted to fit in the Chagall exhibit in the National Museum in the Buda palace. By the time we arrived, it was after four and the gallery closed at 5:30. Traffic across the bridges of the Danube are very congested at that hour of the day as well so we already knew that we would have to get a taxi to the Opera House and keep our fingers crossed that we would make it in time. At that point we did not realize how the Chagall exhibit would affect us. The exhibit also displayed the work of an artist Imre Amos, a young Hungarian contemporary of Chagall who was greatly influenced by his meeting with Chagall. Nowhere in the copious notes about the second painter does it mention that he was a Jew. However, he was presumed to be shot in a concentration camp and somewhat like the poet Randotti, had given the last sketchbook he used to his wife. These stark and moving images were projected on a wall in sequence including the front and back covers.

With ten minutes before closing we rushed through the Hungarian impressionists, impressive at the very least and tried to see the French impressionist exhibit. Our ticket did not include this show. I had dissuaded Gila from buying the combination ticket because of time restraints. The security also told us that that part of the gallery was closing in twenty minutes. Gila offered to buy the additional ticket at the cash, but it was already closed. She somehow talked him into allowing us in for a marathon dash through an unbelievable rich collection of Monets, Cezannes, Renoirs, Gaugins and Van Goghs. The thought of rushing to the Opera was less than appealing and happily, Gila concurred. We had too much to think about and talk about to just rush off to another event. With some difficulty, we found a taxi and rode back to the Oktagon. In a very rare occurrence, Gila wanted to return to a restaurant we had already been to, the seafood place. Over a relaxed dinner with wine, we were able to decompress somewhat and review what had been especially noteworthy on our trip. The residents' views on present Hungary were frightening and disheartening, but they gave us a glimpse of the real world that is seldom easily open for tourists.

A short stroll, (short because we went in the right direction the first time) brought us back to the apartment to pack and get to bed early enough to be ready for a 5:45 pick up. Fortunately, no lost Hungarians approached me for directions or names of streets. Gila is worried that the guy I directed yesterday may be in Prague.

In summary, WHAT A TRIP!!!

Budapest Day 21

Neither of us was in a hurry to get up this morning. Our original plan was to get an early start so we could retrieve Gila's purchases from the Museum of Applied Arts in the west end of the city and still have time to visit the two art galleries in Hero Square in the east. After being so consistently wrong yesterday, my plan was not even to look at a map. Gila would take the lead.

When we finally left the apartment, Gila tried to find a photograph of the museum on her phone. She was planning to show it to people to get directions. The man in one of the shops on our block said he did not know the meaning of applied arts and so I tried to describe it for him. It was a big building, near a metro station. It had a tile green roof with a dome and needed some renovation. There was some construction around it and it had big wooden doors. The man gently answered that all museums were big buildings. Gila exploded with laughter. My description was akin to asking for the site of a tall condo building made of glass in Toronto. Finally with the help of some buddies, they figured out where we wanted to go and gave us what I thought were good instructions.

However, Gila had not yet had coffee. So before getting on the tram we stopped at a small bakery/cafe for some breakfast, delicious yogurt, a bun and coffee. When we left, we found the tram stop with a tram there. Before getting on, Gila tapped on the driver's window, showed him a sketch she had made of the building we were looking for. The driver pointed to another intersection and told us to get a bus there. We found the bus stop, showed that driver the picture and asked for directions. He pointed back to the tram stop. On the way back to the tram, Gila showed her drawing and asked for directions from five different people, who all pointed to the direction where we had tried to get on in the first place. She was amazed at how many people did not recognize the building. Finally on the right path, we headed towards yesterday's destination to retrieve her purchases. The bag was just where she has left it. It was finally time to start for today's museums. The tram to the Oktagon was no problem. But now it was time to transfer to some conveyance of transportation along Andraissy St

Gila looked for another tram in that direction, but there were no stops. Again, she showed her drawing of the museum we were headed for and again the building was not recognized. Gila had seen a bus stop in the form of a blue sign so we began walking up this elegant avenue. I remember someone telling us that to get to Hero's Square you had to take a subway line, but I was not navigating today so I tried to say as little as possible. Several blocks later we finally found the Autubusz sign. Even Gila commented that this seemed excessively far for the placement of a transfer spot. As we approached the stop, the first bus drove by us. Gila busied herself sketching the area. I was on the lookout for another bus. One stopped right in front of us, but it was a tour bus letting off tourists for some guide commentary. The next bus was a Hop On Hop Off bus. At last the city bus approached and drove right by us. I thought it was because we weren't right at the stop, so we moved the two feet to the sign and Gila continued to sketch contentedly, while I waited somewhat impatiently and cold. When the third city bus zoomed past us, we concluded that perhaps the bus was not the way to get to our destination. Gila looked for a taxi. I looked for the next metro stop. The subway entrance appeared first so descended from the street to the platform. The station was really short in length. Was it because the subway train itself was short? Or was it that the train was short because the station was also short? While trying to figure this out, we continued to add characteristics to the by now imaginary building we were looking for. It had been a former palace. It had peeling paint. It was hard to stop giggling. On the train, Gila resumed asking passengers if we are the way to Hero's Square. At the station Horos something or other, I figured that the first word must be hero and we got off. Seeing the square now void of tourist crowds spread out in front of us as we climbed the stairs was a relief. It is not so easy taking on the navigation!

Of course we could not head directly to the first of the two museums. More photos of the square had to be recorded and our stomachs'' growling was a clear sign that it was already lunchtime. In front was of us was a cafe advertising pizza, so in we went. Both of us had a big bowl of soup before finally crossing the street to the museum entrance. By now it was after one o'clock and we had only just arrived at the first museum. Navigating in a foreign city wasn't all that easy. We purchased our tickets, dropped our coats of in the cloakroom and at long last we were ready to enter the Caravaggio exhibit. I flash my ticket. Gila's was nowhere to be found. She returned to the cloakroom and even emptied her knapsack but that ticket had found its way to the twilight zone. Gila went back to the cashier and asked for another ticket. The woman agreed that she remembered that Gila had bought a ticket, but it being lost was of no concern to her. After a flurry of Hungarian with anther employee, Gila was finally supplied with a replacement ticket.

The exhibit displayed a series of works on the same topic, like David slaying Goliath painted by both Caravaggio and his followers in a similar style. To get in there was an electronic door that led into a tiny plexiglass room with a second security electronic door. It was a little like the decontamination area for visitors to the Starship Enterprise. It was a very long exhibit winding its way through a great number of rooms. When we were both done, Gila was for visiting the second gallery on the other side of Hero's Square, so we headed for the cloakroom, got our coats and bags and headed out the building via the gift shop. I don't think there is such a thing as a museum gift shop that Gila doesn't browse. This was was not to be the exception.

Somehow we then decided to see the permanent collection instead of heading for the modern art gallery and had to descend to the cloakroom once again. We were becoming quite intimate with the lift. We wandered through many rooms of European works from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century and disappointed that there was no work more modern than the nineteenth century. While waiting for Gila outside the WC, I noticed another room labeled the twentieth century. Before I could say a word, Gila disappeared into the gallery without a word, leaving me with our belongings. Even after the announcement that the museum was about to close, there was no sign of Gila. As the cleaning crew descended upon the place, Gila emerged, camera in hand gushing about the work she had seen. Now, at long last we were both done.

Suggestion one was to find a place to eat dinner and then head by taxi for the apartment. With only the cafe where we had lunch at visible, we proceeded to Suggestion two. Go to the Oktagon to eat dinner there. It was now past six in the evening and I had already forgotten that I was taking a break from navigating and led us to the metro. I had to remind myself that Gila who could read maps better than I was in charge. At the Oktagon, she chose the direction we were going to try. After two blocks of cafeteria style establishments and a trendy second hand clothing store. It was time to return to the Oktagon and head in another direction to find a place to eat. There seemed nothing all that appealing until we came upon a seafood place called the Big Fish. You chose the fish and sides you wanted from the counter and sat down waiting to be served. It was both delicious and light.

After a session of therapeutic talk, I proposed a cafe for dessert, Gila was for a taxi home and she was in charge. We both knew we were very close to the apartment, but we got a tour of downtown Budapest. We both commented that we were going in the wrong direction but the driver kept pointing to his GPS and showing us he was following it. We did get back to the apartment although it did take us considerably longer than the day before.

Once we were trying to get into the building, a young Hungarian man asked for the name of the street up ahead. Did I know? Did that stop me? Again no. I explained that I didn't know the name of the street, but pointed him into the Oktagon. Of course, Gila burst into gales of laughter. I spoke no Hungarian, got us totally lost on several occasions but still thought I was qualified to lead the poor man astray!

Enough for one day. Tomorrow Kate will give us a private tour of the Budapest Jewish community. I have promised not to make any attempts to take over tomorrow, our last full day of out trip.

Budapest Day 20

Today was another transfer day. These are the days I have the hardest time with. Perhaps because packing and unpacking is annoying, especially since there seems to be more to pack each time. Perhaps because it is a very humid and rainy day and perhaps because the cold seems to be quite happy resting in my chest.

We had to say goodbye to the Corinthia Hotel today. I wouldn't have minded finishing off our trip there as this is the place to go if you want total attention to every detail, if you like elegance and if you want to feel like you belong to the 'haves a lot' rather than the 'haves enough'. We lingered over breakfast and said good bye to a very nice older couple from Connecticut who we had spent some time with. There was some last minute packing (repacking), looking for lost items, like the adapter I borrowed and finalizing tickets for the performances over the next few days with the concierge.

I bought another adapter at a nearby store and we headed out for the Museum of Applied Arts a beautiful building, although a little worse for wear, with a green ceramic tile roof. I'm afraid I was a terrible companion once again. Gila, being Gila noticed every sign and store in this new neighbourhood and realized that it was the XXX section of town. She was amazed to find it located in so open and busy a city square, but unfortunately, I couldn't muster the same enthusiasm. The best I could do was wait as patiently as I could under a tree, hoping to stay as dry as I could while she captured all the details on her camera. Even standing outside the actual building, she wanted to point out all the features that appealed to her. All I wanted was to get in out of the rain.

It is strange that most of the exhibits were temporary and to see these displays, you had to buy a dual ticket. Seeing only the small permanent works on display was not an option. I enjoyed this museum more than I expected. The interior of the building was completely white with ornate arches all around. The centre was an atrium topped with a rose window. Grand marble staircases graced each side of the hall. The first floor was devoted to modern Italian designers. Although their chairs, tables and shelves have become part of the modern idiom, it did not appeal to me. Gila was fascinated by the strength of the design and wanted to photograph the showcases, but this was not permitted, so while I enjoyed a cup of tea, she went through the exhibit again making notes and sketches of the show. The second floor consisted of beautiful inlaid and carved furniture pieces, vases, plates, silver sets and even antique clothing and lace gifted to the museum through the years by patrons. Another exhibit consisted of ceramic, tiles, pillars, cornices and the like used in the Paris exhibition of the late nineteenth century and bought by the museum in 1900. This was the first exhibit of these works since they had arrived in Hungary over a hundred years ago. There were also graceful personal care items by Lalique, Tiffany lamps, stained glass panels, goblets and every size and design of vase. The third floor displayed unusual examples of bookbinding and a wonderful exhibit of carpets, clothes, sabers, daggers and pottery from the Ottoman Empire.

I have to admit that I enjoyed this site more than I had anticipated. I also went at my own pace and didn't mind resting while Gila took her time recording it all on her camera and sketch pad. It was now time to find our way back to the hotel, claim our luggage and find our new lodgings, a small but very neat little apartment only a few blocks away from the hotel and even closer to the Opera according to the map.  As close as it was, we took a taxi considering that it was still raining and our baggage is becoming more and more bulky. Good thing! We might still be looking for the right place if I were charged with finding it.  The building looks like many of the complexes in movies filmed in Hungary, a central open court, with the hallway to each of the apartments on an outdoor balcony with wrought iron. Like so many other places we have seen, the exterior is a little shabby, with peeling paint etc., but thankfully the interior of the apartment has been maintained. Rather than rushing to another gallery and trying to make the opera on time. We spent the afternoon settling in. I napped. Gila painted, sketched, wrote, surfed the net? Take your pick.

Unfortunately, my navigating skills have seriously deteriorated and it is unlikely that I can blame it on feeling unwell. When we left the apartment for a bite (we hadn't had lunch again), I steered us in the totally wrong direction. We found somewhere to eat a snack, but by that time we discovered, after asking a few passers by, that we were far away from the Opera House. A taxi was a very quick and easy solution. It took less than five minutes by car. I should have learned from that what to do when lost.

Our seats were in the centre of the third row and thank goodness the soprano in the lead sang instead of screeching. I am not an aficionado of Opera. I have only been to two previous performances and I suppose my reaction was based on that lack of experience. La Traviata is performed in Italian with surtitles above the stage. I kept glancing at the translation realizing each time that I understood more of the Italian sung than the Hungarian written above the stage.

The costumes of the ladies of the chorus were frilled and tiered looking exactly like the crocheted dolls that sit on toilet paper rolls. In another scene, the dresses looked like draperies and shower curtains. One particular gown had two large circles on the bodice that looked like the demarcation of her breasts. Violetta, the main character has consumption, but the force with which she was able to sing seemed very powerful for a person with breathing difficulties. It is not a wonder that Violetta died after getting out of bed and singing her heart out. Having expended all that energy and breath, she collapsed on the stage. The other thing I had not seen before were the curtain calls after each act and a very lengthy one at the end of the performance. The music was beautifully lilting and despite a few missed notes in the first act, the lead soprano had a lot of nuance in her singing. The singer who played Alfred was often drowned out the orchestra, but the performance improved as the play progressed. Alfred's dad was very effective. He had a supreme control and range. I am learning an appreciation of opera. We will see if Madama Butterfly on Thursday evening will meet with my approval.

I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Although it was late, we set out to find a meal. We found several open restaurants in Liszt square. Dinner was much appreciated by this time and although the restaurant was closing, we were allowed to finish our meals in leisure. During dinner I checked the map a number of times and I was sure that it was just a short walk home. My navigation license, however, is being revoked and I am delegating myself as follower for the rest of the trip. I am definitely far less effective than a GPS. I took us completely in the wrong direction and we were wandering alone through Budapest at midnight. Of course, being stubborn, I was sure I could still find our way. Gila the more reasonable of the two, decided a taxi was the solution. She was right. Thank goodness one of us has a functioning brain and good sense.

Tomorrow we have to return to the Museum of Applied Arts. Gila bought a book, a lovely clutch bag and very interesting bookends in the shape of flames early in our visit. She decided to leave the bag in the gift shop while we continued our visit. Because of her concern for me, she forgot to pick it up on our way out. Then we have to head in the exact opposite direction to visit the museum of fine art and the Hungarian National Museum in Hero Square. As I am becoming a liability rather than an asset, Gila is getting the map and will be in charge for the remainder of the trip. I don't want this wonderful adventure to end on a sour note.

Budapest Day 19

I started this morning with a visit to the spa and my favourite, the hot tub. We then got to enjoy the most incredible breakfast imaginable. The service is so attentive that it seems obsequious at times, but the space is amazing. The outer part consists of a six storey atrium with a domed glass roof. It looks like it used to be the space between two buildings or where another building altogether stood. The inner section that appears to be yet another building annexed to the hotel has several cold buffets, a hot buffet and an omelet station. The seating area is graced by a stained glass ceiling. Everywhere you look you can see repeating motifs or shapes, diamonds in the grillwork but also in the marble floor and the lotus in all the wrought iron balconies that open onto the atrium and the mounted wall lamps. The beauty of the space was overwhelming and almost brought Gila to tears. And that was even before we tasted the breakfast! Before leaving she photographed every minute detail.

Then we met our tour guide, Kate, once again, for a trip to Szentendre, a small community a half hour outside of the city. On the way, Kate pointed out significant landmarks and amusing stories about them all. A former train station, designed by Gustavo Eiffel, was turned into the first McDonalds behind the iron curtain. It is a beautiful space with high ceilings worthy of the name Eiffel. The Hungarians thought that having a piece of American culture was so amazing that it became the place for romantic dates although the local cuisine so bests anything McD can even think of. The Hungarian Prime Minister was so impressed by it that when Bush Sr. came for a visit, the state dinner was held there!  She pointed out a small synagogue in Buda found in a courtyard of a building adorned with Jewish stars. The story is that a religious Jew living in that building was getting on in years and walking to the services on Shabbat was too much for him. Unfortunately, I don't remember where the funds came from, but a small sanctuary was built in that courtyard for him. We passed another large synagogue that did not reopen after the war because it could not gather a minyan.

Apparently, everywhere you dig, Roman ruins are discovered. Under a bridge we saw the remains of a Roman bath. Further on were two amphitheatres. Without the exterior walls they were not as impressive as the Roman coliseum although it was built in the same design and one of them was just a large as the one in Rome. The ruins of a town or community, an aqueduct and a Roman legion camp were also on our route. 

                                                                      The  Romans had built a town called Aquincum on the shores of the Danube where Budapest currently stands. Thus all the ruins. Unfortunately the bus was traveling too fast for photo ops.

Kate also told some funny stories about life under the Soviets. The funniest one was about a car called a Trabant, manufactured in East Germany. 

                                                 

She recalled it when one of the cars came along side our bus. The car was advertised as being very light weight with the remarkable asset that it did not rust. The reason was that it was constructed of cardboard with a thin plastic coating on top. It could rot or dissolve but it did not rust!  It had a two stroke motorcycle engine that mixed oil with the gas. The smoke from these cars continually greyed every surface almost immediately. Pastels colours would be used to refresh buildings and in no time the Trabant would turn them grey. She also told us about an ad that featured a Trabant with the trunk open and vegetables falling from it. A horse directly behind the car was eating not only the veggies but also the car. It was an insurance company's ad that announced that this claim was also covered.

The village of Szentendre was established by Serbs who were fleeing from the Muslim Ottoman Empire in the sixteenth century. They received permission and the land for their community and the architecture and layout of the streets resembled a Mediterranean village not one in central Europe. 

                         

Now it is a perfect tourist destination. Once it was an artist community and today, the shops along the main street all sell Hungarian crafts, from traditional clothing, hand carved secret compartment boxes, sheepskin vests and hats, leather bags, embroidered linens and clothes to designer Italian fashions and vintage soviet hats and uniforms. We were there to help the Hungarian economy and to take advantage of prices considerably lower than those in the city if you found something you wanted.

On our return, we had a short rest and headed out for a guided tour of the famous Hungarian Opera House. Over the top and angepatchked are the best way to describe the building. It was even more ornate than the Benedictine Abbey in Melk. Part of the tour included a short (thank goodness) performance by a soprano. She was so loud it sounded more like shrieking than singing. I only hope she is not one of the performers in the opera we are seeing later in the week.

                       

                       

Having missed lunch because we were too busy browsing and shopping, it was time for dinner. On our walk home we found a restaurant not yet full because of the early hour and enjoyed another Hungarian meal with dessert. If each restaurant had the same dessert menu, we would have already tasted them all and would have been able to pass on this course, but how can you pass on warm plum strudel with vanilla ice cream if you have never had it?

Back at the hotel we packed. Our check out is tomorrow and we will be moving to an air bnb place nearby for our last three days. Unfortunately, the cold that I started to develop a few days ago is doing better than I am. So, after another jacuzzi session, it was off to bed hoping that the cold would be gone by morning.