Fred Hoyt – Page 27 – Fred Hoyt's Travels

I have seen Singapore, and it works

In the euphoric days that followed the outbreak of the Russian Revolution in 1917, the American journalist Lincoln Steffens reported, “I have seen the future, and it works.” He was wrong, of course, but whenever I get to Singapore, I wonder if he’d have the same observation. I think I’ve seen the future, but in any case, I’ve seen something—a city that is also a nation—that “works.”

One area is in housing. Part of the popularity—or at least the electability—of the People’s Action Party (the only party that has ruled Singapore since it became independent of Malaysia in the 1960s)—is the emphasis it has given to affordable housing. We visited the Urban Rehabilitation Agency today, and learned that for at least 35 years the city has had a series of master plans that involve land use. The key seems to lie in the Confucian approach that works here: the whole is more important than the individual. Over 85% of Singaporeans live in their own homes (or rather, apartments; home owning is rare and very expensive here), built by the government and leased for 99 years (effectively, “owning”). The government builds in to the plan (we saw the most recent) public transportation and green space, encouraging a quality of life that is unusual around the world. Part of it is an engineered effort to retain quality labor, which the government sees as the key to remaining competitive. One speaker yesterday said that the government has a policy of enforcing ethnic balance in neighborhoods—if you’re Indian, for example, your children learn Tamil (the officially approved Indian language, since many Indians, or about 10% of the population, are from South India) and you can sell your apartment only to another Indian family. There’s a reason the government has a reputation for running a “Nanny” state.

One of the features of the planning that struck me today, and I’ve not noticed it in the past, is the effort to conserve the old. What brought that home to me were the three museums I visited in the morning—all housed in stately old buildings. We had a free morning, so some of us went to the Art Gallery, housed in the former St. Joseph’s School for Boys, built in the early 1900s and abandoned for a newer home in the 1990s. I’d walked by it many times, but had never gone in. Glad I did, though it houses mostly modern art; the building was older than any of the paintings it contained. I left that to wander toward the Philatelic Museum (housed in what I think was a post office), and stopped in to a Peranakan Museum, also located in a former school that’s moved into newer digs. It’s a handsome colonial building accommodating displays relating the mixed families (mostly, I think, Chinese men and Malay women).

The business visits today were to the Urban planning agency for a look at the plans put together by the 48 ministers of the government and approved by the Parliament (yes, it was a British colony), and to one of its projects—you’d never guess it from what I’ve said about Singapore, but one of the government initiatives has been to develop casinos. Asians like to gamble, as I’ve certainly seen in Macau, and the Las Vegas-based Sands has expanded to Macau and Singapore. We visited the 6.4 billion investment that the Singapore government awarded to Sands. The building, on reclaimed land, has three towering hotels, a casino, convention center, and a mall attached to it. It’s not completely functional yet, but is quite stunning. The speaker, an American, is in charge of developing a sustainability plan for the building, which includes some forward-thinking approaches to energy conservation and greenness. Slight energy savings can lead to big savings. I forget what he said the electricity bill was, but I think it was over $6 million a month.

The highlight was really a highlight—we were taken to the skydeck which fits over the three towers like a surfboard. The view of the harbor is stunning; my favorite part was the swimming area, which goes to the edge of the building. I wanted to come back and swim in the morning.

The speaker was pretty complimentary about his work with the Singapore government, which pretty much tells him what it expects from the project. I asked about the differences and similarities with the property in Macau, which he also helped develop. He said that the Macau government (the autonomous region which replaced Portuguese rule opened the gambling to others; it had been the monopoly of Stanley Ho and his 8 wives until that point, but that’s another story) was concerned only about its 40% cut with Sands.

Though we sometimes get a sense that as Singaporeans get richer, their expectations are getting higher, too, and that there is a widening gap in income, I still think Lincoln Steffens might be right had he described Singapore instead of the Soviet Union. There aren’t many places in the world where I’d feel comfortable eating at street vendor food courts, but I certainly am here. Just finished roti for dinner from the court outside the hotel, and had a wonderful helping of Taiwanese spring pancakes with onions for lunch.

Talk to you later.

Hello From Singapore

Associate Professor of Business Administration Fred Hoyt was selected to participate in a Faculty Development in International Business program in Singapore and Malaysia, where he visited factories and learned about the current state of these Southeast Asian economies and their relationship with American business. He’ll return to the area with students for a May Term travel course.

It’s been 49 hours since I left Bloomington, and 15 hours since I arrived in Singapore. If you do the math, you’ll understand how long a flight I had—from Chicago basically north over the North Pole and then south to Shanghai, followed by a 9 hour layover in Shanghai (which was disappointingly devoid of distractions). Fortunately, when I arrived at the hotel in Singapore, my roommate was jetlagged himself and up.

I am reminded of a conversation Carolyn and I had when I first broached the idea of her coming to SE Asia. “I’ll come when it’s cool,” she replied. “You have two choices—hot and humid, and hot and rainy.” Notice the common denominator.

Singapore, a degree or two north of the equator, varies temperature day and night not more than ten degrees (lows in the upper 70s and highs in the upper 80s) all year round. It’s a green city (surprisingly) with an integrated park system. We’re near one—Fort Canning Hill, which contains the “Battle Box,” the high command post where the British generals gathered February 15, 1942, and discussed whether they had any alternative to surrendering to the Japanese armies, after Japan landed bicycles and troops up the Malay Peninsula after Pearl Harbor and biked South to besiege the so-called Gibraltar of the East. The Battle Box is now a museum which recreates the last day of Britain’s supremacy in the East—with wax like characters that are a spitting image of the participants, including General Percival, who wanted to continue to fight on, but his staff said there was little ammunition and no water left; even then, Singapore was bereft of resources, including water. Today, the city’s water comes in large part from Malaysia, but Singapore is trying to become self sufficient by recycling water and reclaiming water from the sea.

There’s a metaphor in that for the kind of city, or rather city-state, Singapore has become. As late as the 1950s a Third World country, Singapore’s government (the political action party which has ruled Singapore since independence) has turned it in many ways into a model—safe, well run, a great place to do business and a great place to live—with an income level of $36,000, which I believe is higher than the figure from Great Britain.

One of its advantages has been its advantage since even before Sir Stamford Raffles set foot on the island in 1819 to claim it for the British Empire—its location. With a naturally fine harbor, Singapore (named for a lion supposedly shot by a Sultan—a Singha is a lion in Bahasa Malaysian) sits astride the major East-West trade routes; something like 50 percent of the world’s trade passes through the Straits of Malacca (even today, the port is the first or second largest container port in the world [by some counts, Shanghai is bigger]).

The government of the 4 million Singaporeans (plus a floating population of skilled and unskilled expatriate labor of nearly 2 million temporary residents) seems to many to have managed the city with the long term in mind in a way that many businesses would envy.

To take one example, the Economic Development Council has decided that Singapore must move forward or fall behind; its current niche of sophisticated high-tech manufacturing is being occupied by China, so Singapore has gone out of its way to attract companies and especially educational organizations that set benchmarks for best practices, in its belief that education long term is essential. Hence, in an old colonial building behind our hotel sits a branch of the University of Chicago Graduate School of Business. The government talked the University of Illinois into putting a specific computer program in place here, and has made several successful efforts to attract business in what it deems significant sectors: 1,500 American firms call Singapore its regional headquarters, along with 3,500 Chinese mainland companies, and 10,000 others. It probably helps that Singapore can promise both safety for people and safety for a company’s intellectual property rights.

We had an enlightening visit with members of the U.S. Embassy staff about American prospects in Singapore—whose presentation will I hope be at least duplicated in May when I take IWU students back here. You’ve read some of their contributions to me in the paragraph above, but one of their comments could easily close this blog—he described Singapore as, “Asia for beginners.” It’s one reason I’m glad we’re starting here first, then proceeding to Malaysia.

Have a great day.

Douro Cruise and a stop in Spain

Memories of this trip include wine tasting, and realizing that there is a difference between port and expensive port. On the way to catch our boat at Porto, we went through Coimbra, the University town, where we learned the inquisition lasted longer in Portugal than anywhere else. Like so much of Iberia, it was settled by the Romans, and served as Portugal’s capital from 1131 to 1255.

The Douro cruise took us from Porto via the Douro River to vineyards, small towns, and led to a sampling of the wines, including at the estate of Mateus, a rose.

Some sights on the Douro:

We crossed the border into Spain, and boarded a bus for Salamanca, an inland city with a large university. The city is known for its Plateresque architecture, and the first university in Europe, courtesy of Alfonso X of Leon.

Some other sights in or around Salamanca included the Castello Rodrigo. The Casas de las Conchas with the shells in the facade celebrated its status on the Walk of St. James.

On the way home, we stopped in Madrid. I was rather disappointed in the palace, given the scale of Charles V and the wealth of Spain. I think, though, there was an earthquake that required a rebuild, by which time Charles had exhausted the treasury in a vain attempt to hold back the rising tide of Protestantism. The paella was good too, but the highlight for me was the museums. The Prado especially housed Hieronymus Bosch, one of my personal favorites, as well as Durer, Titian, Goya, and El Greco (among others). It was my Western Civ class!

Of greater joy than Madrid, was our tour of Toledo. Although political power passed to Madrid when it was named national capital in 1561, Toledo retained much of its historical significance (the Visigoth court lived here in the 7th century); it had a thriving Jewish and Muslim culture; and is renown for its sword steel.

Lisboa

July 31, 2010

Lisbon

If you’ve followed my blogs, you know that the trinity for me is Castles/Forts, Churches,and Museums, at least in Europe, and that’s why I’m ecstatic: yesterday was truly a Fred day.

We began with a city tour that more or less duplicated things I’d done when we got in on Thursday. I had visited one of the two Scout organizations (the big one is Catholic (this country is 98% Catholic, but the shop was in the suburbs), which put me in the area of Belem (the districts are named for the local parish; Belem is the waterfront area—Bethlehem), which was where several of the important sites were, so I stayed. One is the monastery of St. Jerome, a magnificent edifice constructed by the king to commemorate one of the most important voyages in European history—the discovery of the route to India around Africa.

Significantly, this westernmost part of Western Europe, recovered from the Moors in 1147, was really important in those early voyages of discovery. Unlike Lewis and Clark, the Portuguese shared Europe’s ignorance of the world beyond the horizon. Like troop 19, whose motto is bring on the adventure, for some reason 15 th century Portuguese, led by Prince Henry the Navigator (one of the sons of the king, Henry was a prince, but never navigated anything; he simply encouraged others to probe the limits of the known world, culminating in the round of the Cape of Good Hope and the entry into the Indian Ocean, with Vasco da Gama bringing back the riches of India and making Portugal one of the richest countries at the time—hence affording the magnificent monastery built to honor that voyage.

In the area is also a monument to Henry and his sailors (along with a map that spelled out when and where Portugal became a global power, with trading posts scattered from Macau to Malacca, to Goa, to Mozambique and Madagascar, and Angola). One ironic outcome was the Pope’s division of the colonial world of the Americas between the Spanish and the Portuguese, with Portugal getting Brazil (whose gold furnished the second gold era in Portuguese history, and whose territory furnished a refuge for the royal family, who fled Brazil during the Napoleonic wars and settled in Brazil); that happened in the 15 th century when Portugal and Spain were the great colonial powers.

There’s also a stunning fort/tower that guards the entrance to the Tagus River, where Lisbon sets, that provides stunning pictures even 500 years later.

I enjoyed going back yesterday with the group, partly because our guide was so good—and I also had some free time to explore places I hadn’t been on Thursday, including a maritime museum that talked about how the Portuguese developed ships that were capable of oceanic exploration.

The group tour was done at 1. That began Fred’s day of doing things he hadn’t done before, starting with the local pastries for lunch (one of the treats of Europe!), then a climb by tram up the hill that gives Lisbon its significant location (the capital of Portugal since 1547, when the then-king decided he liked it better) and views. The castle/fort was Celtic (I think), the Lusitania, a tribe that resisted the Romans unsuccessfully, then Roman, the Moorish, then Portuguese, more reflected in archeology than in the existing building (a recreation of the old built by Franco’s contemporary as dictator of Portugal from the 1920s until the 1960s; he specialized in grand buildings reflecting Portugal’s distant past); on the way down from the hill, I visited the Se (Cathedral) that was built on the site of the mosque (fairly common in the Muslim-Christian battles) whose most charming feature is the “Treasury” of artefacts, and a cloister that is being restored, but which had unearthed Roman/Muslim/medieval ruins underneath. Then the church that marks the birthplace of St. Anthony (a local patron saint).

In the evening, I learned that the Museum of the Orient was opened till 10, and that turned out to be THE museum I really would have wanted to see. Focusing on the Portuguese presence in Asia, it featured the Portuguese connection with Macao, and was almost as much fun as being in Macao (but that was in January). A video highlighted a number of places I’d been to, and some I hadn’t. Turned out that one of the homes had been the residence of Luis Camoes, Portugal’s “Shakespeare,” who I learned had gotten into trouble in Portugal and was saved from execution by going to the East; he settled in Macao. The museum was a nice complement to the new one in Macao, which also featured Luso-Chinese art, artefacts, and life. Portuguese is still one of the official languages in Macao (siempre pronto is the Scout motto there—be prepared!); even though there were never very many Portuguese in that colony, the first foreign enclave in China (whose importance diminished after Britain seized Hong Kong) and the last—it went quietly to China in 1999—there is still a strong Portuguese-Macao connection; there are also some wonderful collections which form the basis of the museum. I went to bed ecstatic.

Saturday was another splendid day, marked by the exploration/tour of two of the ruling family’s palaces—one nearby, and one in the town of Sintra, which is near the ocean.

The Sintra one was built on the site of a Muslim governor’s palace, and has some of the arches and tilework from that period. The main escape residence for the royal family (which could include up till 30 children, not all from the same woman!), it is housed in a town rather like Sinaia in Romania—the rich built cottages around the palace, and the artists/tourists/nouveaux riche have made it their playground today. It’s a great location for a sardine lunch, I discovered!

The palaces don’t really match the Romanov’s in Russia (happily!), partly because they tended to be built before the era of Louis XIV, who made Versailles the benchmark. And they tended (if I can believe our guide) to rest on the exploitation of the colonies, rather than the exploitation of the peasantry. Though Portugal overthrew the monarchy exactly 100 years ago (and had 40 years of “monarchical dictatorship” of Salazar, that led to disastrous wars to try to preserve what was left of the empire in Africa—Angola), there were neat touches to the palace grounds, especially a tiled waterway used for boating; tiles here help distinguish the architecture.

We’re about to embark for Porto, the second largest city in Portugal—and the home of one of its most famous products—Port. I’ll wine later.

Lisboa 1

Saturday July 29 2010

I almost said hi from Macau, because I’ve been to Macau (as readers of this blog know), but never to Lisbon. Based on a cursory view (I got to our hotel at noon, and spent most of the afternoon sightseeing), the Portuguese built some things in their East Asian possession, the last European part of Asia, being turned over to the Chinese in 1999, that would have made them feel comfortable. In particular, the Mediterranean style architecture, the pastel colorings, and the tile. I’d suspected it might be like this.

Of course, unlike Macau, Lisbon has a long European history. Notice the layers at this archeological site in Lisbon. And it is bom dia, not buenos dias!

I’m in Lvov Lvov

At the Lvov Opera House for a performance of Verdi's "Il travatore"

May 29, 2010

Professor Pana was right. I was in love with Romania. But that was yesterday’s news. And today I’m in Lvov, Ukraine (not the Ukraine), and I’m in Lvov with a new city.

Part of my joy comes from just being allowed in the country. With some free time in the airport in Timisoara, I thought I ought to do my homework on Lvov. I read a guide online, which stated that the city is underappreciated because foreigners need a visa to visit Ukraine. Sweat started to roll down my face, as I envisioned spending two days at the Lvov airport, unable to enter the country because I hadn’t applied for a visa. I wondered whether I could get one if needed at the airport, or whether I’d have to spend the time till my flight Monday in the never-never land in front of the customs desk. Happily, the web was incorrect (there’s a lesson there for all you believers in electronics!), and I made it to the hotel. And relieved because the airport, one of those Soviet-looking Stalin buildings (too much to tear down, said our Poland guide) had no amenities.

Then there was the second treat. The hotel I’m at is the Opera, across from a turn-of-the century (20th) palace of the arts, the Opera House. I inquired if there were any performances tonight. The concierge replied that the opera starts at six (it was 5:30), but he’d inquire. He called 5 minutes later to tell me I had a ticket (for around 8$). It was main floor for Verdi’s “Il Trovatore.” For those of you who know Verdi’s Anvil Chorus, it’s from that opera. The building itself was worth seeing, a beaux arts construction with about 1000 seats. It sits on the main river through town, which was concreted over and diverted underground. The performance was excellent. A dinner of vareneky (dumplings), TV with the locals to watch the Kiev-Romania match) and I’m a happy camper.

May 30, 2010

Today did nothing to dampen my ardor. The day began with sunshine (which lasted at least till about 9:15 tonight) and a brisk walk around the hotel. I had little knowledge and few expectations about the city, other than that it had not been destroyed in World War II (though its population was decimated) and had many Italianate features. The city bills itself not as “The Paris of the East,” or “Little Paris,” but as the “Florence of the East.” Personally, I think it looks more Austrian, but that may be because it was under Austrian rule from the early 18th century, and many of the remaining older buildings date from that period, designed by Italian or Austrian architects, or the decor from Austrian designers; the central area in other words is impressive, especially when you consider that Lvov has never really been the capital of a country, merely, under Austria, the capital of the province of Galacia. Even today, Kiev is the capital of Ukraine, while Lvov likes to say it is the “cultural” capital of the country. It certainly has a different feel than Kiev, partly because Catholicism held sway (it belonged to Poland before it was part of Austria, and was part of Poland from 1918 until 1939). When Carolyn and I did our cruise from Kiev to the Black Sea a few years ago, I asked the English speakers, mostly non-Americans (and a lot of English expats living in South Africa) if they thought we were in Europe; they roundly said, “NO.” I don’t think they’d have said that about Lvov.

I knew I was going to enjoy the guide, who arrived just before 9; she handed me a map and asked me what I wanted to see. Both were firsts on the trip. Usually, we’ve been told what we’re going to see, and only one previous guide handed out maps (and she handed out 8 for the 29 of us). I asked to see what was left of the ghetto, because before the second World War, the population was 25 percent Jewish; I know my maternal grandparents came from Poland, but Poland as such did not exist until 1919; I think they came from Russian Poland–so perhaps here, but there’s little left other than a deli and some buildings, and plans for reconstruction.

The guide spent four hours showing me the city, which has some architecturally superb churches. There’s an Armenian church, because Armenian traders came here early (I think after the Mongol period; yes, my friends from the steppes of central Asia overran Lvov) and still remain part of the firmament. The German churches remain in a city they called Lemberg in Austrian days, though the community got dispersed after World War II, sent to Siberia or to Germany. So did many Polish churches, though many Poles were sent to Wroclaw, which under redivision of Europe, went to Poland as the border shifted to the West (and Lvov went from Poland to Russia), and the usual Dominican/Jesuit/Benedictine churches; the Orthodox churches came mostly 20th century, as the Polish majority were Catholic. Many former Roman Churches now house Greek-Catholic congregations, which do the Eastern rites, but follow the Pope. Don’t ask. One of the churches might well be (on the inside especially) the prettiest one I’ve seen on this trip. Of course there were still some fortifications, but the city fathers tore most down as useless in the late 19th century, ignorant of the potential for tourism in the 21st, though a few remnants dot the center, and are incorporated into some of the museums.

She pointed out the museums for later consumption, so after she left me, I was able to visit six (and spend some time in some; there’s little English here, much less than anywhere else I’ve been on this trip, and while I can read the Cyrillic alphabet, my vocabulary is limited. Hence, I can cover a lot). Several of them were in former palaces, themselves well worth the entrance fee; one I had to see had been the local residence of Jon III Sobieski, who commanded the armies that in 1683 relieved the siege of Vienna and began the long rollback of the Ottoman Empire (Europeans seem to relive the Ottoman wars more than the Sobieski support), and another sported a large collection of icons, a few from before the Mongol period, collected by one of the Church officials and housed in I believe a former Governor’s palace. Maybe the one that fascinated me most was the one supposedly about the Ukrainian diaspora (as my Scouts know, there’s a Ukrainian community in Winnipeg, because we’ve had pirogis there several times). It gave the Ukrainian side of the accession of Poland (I saw the Polish side in Warsaw, and they’re quite different). When the Austrian empire blew up after World War I, Western Ukraine declared its independence; Poland declared war on the Soviets; the Red (Bolshevik) and White (anti-Bolshevik) armies fought the Ukrainians, with the result that Ukraine got split between Poland and Russia. The Russian Ukrainians fared worse; when Stalin took power, he pursued a relentless subjugation policy. From what I remember, between the civil war and a Soviet-imposed Sovietification, 10 million Ukrainians died. When the Germans came in, the Ukrainians initially welcomed them–until the Germans started to do the same extermination that the Russians had done. There was a partisan group that resisted both until the late 1940s. They’re popular heroes today, and I’ll detail going to a partisan-theme restaurant tonight if you’ll be patient.

There was a ballet today in the Opera House, and I decided I had to go. I think the last ballet I saw before this trip might well have been 8 years ago in Budapest. I hadn’t heard of the composer before–Ludwig (nee Leon Fyodorovich) Minkus–but a real orchestra, the elegant Opera House, and an otherwise unoccupied evening made the $7 ticket quite a bargain. Minkus wrote La Bayadere in 1877, so the music was romantic, the dancing and staging quite superb, and the storyline quite complex. Suffice to say, everyone died in the ballet. Wikipedia says one of the acts is a standard for displaying excellence.

My guide had pointed out a theme restaurant to me–one dedicated to the Ukrainian Partisan Army. I tried to find it last night, but there’s no sign outside (don’t want to be captured, do we?). When I got to the door, a uniformed guard pointed a machine gun at me (I hope it wasn’t loaded) and shouted something in Ukrainian at me; I think it was their slogan, something like, “Glory to the Ukraine”. I was given the password, which I think was “Glory to our heroes”. I was admitted to a bunker like basement, with uniformed waiters who periodically did close order drill, and a wandering musical team that roused the crowd with patriotic songs that only one person there did not know. Quite kitsch, with a great Ukrainian meal of dumplings with sour cream, better borscht than grandma, and a sausage/potatoes/tomatoes dish that had some name like sergeant’s delight.

Withal, a day that capped a lot of the last month’s activities. Peter the Great came here and stayed in the only house that had a big enough doorway for him (he was tall, even for those times); he came to negotiate with the Polish landlords to get their help into putting an end to Sweden as an aggressive power (in the 21-year Great Northern War). The Austro-Hungarian Empire was here, and for a long time so was Poland. The Russian hegemony was fairly recently, and still resented in some circles. Russia has been putting (Putin?) pressure on Ukraine. If you’ve followed the country in the past few months, a pro-Russian prime minister caused fist fights in Parliament by pushing through a bill extending the Russian lease to the naval base in the Black Sea port of Sevastopol. From what I read, people in western Ukraine would like to realize the dreams of 1918, when Western Ukraine was a country. They’d welcome NATO and the EU, I’ll bet.

Well, Professor Pana, you were right. I did fall in love with Romania, but you can see some newer country has come along and turned my head. Don’t feel bad, though; I bet Tuesday I’ll fall back in love with Bloomington. I love where I am, though I’ll miss where I’ve been. To quote one of my Scouts who was 12 at the time, Eastern Europe, “I’ll always remember you.”

I wish you all a pleasant journey. I’ve certainly had one in what other people have called “the forgotten half” of Europe.

In the Timisoara airport

If I could not use “rain” to describe the weather, I probably would have been at a loss for words on most of this trip. Once again, rain descended, but at least this time it was after a partly sunny morning. And if I could not use “cute” to describe my latest flirtation with an Eastern European/Romanian city–Timisoara–I would be hard pressed to find a substitute.

The difference in this western Romanian city is the Austrian influence, since many of the majestic buildings around the ever-present squares are from the Austrian period, which began when Austria, under Austria’s most famous general, Eugene of Savoy (you thought you’d heard the last of him) liberated Timisoara from the Turks–1718 or so. Hence the palatial Baroque buildings, together with two plague monuments. There’s only one “plaque” left from Turkish days–on the rebuilt (in the Austrian style) building atop what was once a Turkish bath. The major museum is in an old Austrian palace, built atop Roman ruins, while the art museum is in what had been the Austrian governor general’s abode. Many of the older buildings are being renovated.

I came for more than the baroque, however, because Timisoara is renowned for its architectural blending, which supplements and complements the many ethnic groups that have blended here in the Banat area (I’m out of Dracula’s lair, Transylvania). The National Theater, on the most famous (recently anyway) square, which I’ll explain below, offers plays in German, Hungarian, and Romanian. Another square is dominated by the green building of the Serbian bishop, together with the yellow Serbian Church. The architectural styles include: major rebuilding of fortifications in the early 1850s, following the suppression of the Hungarian revolution (the army sided with Austria here, and earned garrison duty in the barracks built atop the former city walls); a major Romanian Orthodox cathedral, built in the 1940s and one of the largest in Romania. King Michael’s last appearance as ruler of Romania was at its 1947 consecration. Around the turn of the century, as well, the neo-Gothic of the Hungarian millennium church (Hungary’s conversion to Christianity was in 1000, supposedly on Christmas day; services are conducted in the three main languages, and also in Italian!). Art Deco, Art Nouveau, and Secessionist buildings dot the downtown area. Interspersed are the Communist-era buildings. My guide said people walked on the one side of the major square that had the Austrian fin-de-siecle buildings, while the servants used the Soviet side.

Perhaps you know about the revolution of 1989 that toppled the regime in Romania. It was the only Eastern bloc turnover that was marked by violence. It began here in Timisoara, in that square mentioned above, when one of the priests (I understand he’s still alive) denounced the Ceacescu regime; 150,000 people jammed the streets, and the police opened fire, killing over 20 protesters. The anti-tyranny movement (as they called it here) spread from Timisoara to the other big cities, and despite the rumors in Timisoara (that my guide had experienced) of massive Communist reprisals, the army went over to the revolution, and Ceacescu and his wife were executed. We walked by the Museum of the Revolution, and I said I wanted to go in; it’s nothing we have at home! As it turned out, the museum is the brainchild of one of the revolutionaries, wounded in the fighting, who walks with a cane from the bullet. He gave us a tour of the museum, along with his personal story. He had a 25-minute film, but we were pressed for time. I am in Timisoara for only a few hours; I had about six hours layover, and since I know what airports look like (this one is small and busy), I asked my travel agent for a tour of Timisoara. After all, I needed to sample as many of the Romanian cities as possible to see whether, as Professor Pana put it, I’m still in love.

Great visit. On to Lvov in the Ukraine for the next two days.

My latest Romanian temptress

Sibiu —

I sent my blogs from Romania to my colleague, Professor Pana, who commented, “I think you are falling in love with Romania.” She might well be right, as you’ll see when I tell you about my latest encounter with a temptress, the city of Sibiu, or, to give it its German name, Hermannstadt.

The city was the cultural capital of Europe in 2007–the sewer covers say so–which meant that the European Union lavished money on the refurbishment of what was already a medieval jewel with the expectation that Europeans (and others) would flock to it.

A seductive jewel it was before being polished. One of the cities the King of Hungary invited Germans to settle, in order to protect the Kingdom of Hungary from the Turks (the paintings in the churches from the period have the bad guys in the Christ pictures dressed in Turkish outfits!), it has a distinctly Austro-Hungarian flavor. The Germans got privileges that enabled them to become wealthy, the Reformation led to the formation of Evangelical Lutheran churches that enabled a political and religious semi-autonomy; the subsequent fusion of Sibiu with Hungary (after the reestablishment of Austrian rule and the reconquest of Budapest from the Turks) made the city the seat of the Governor, who was usually a German. The subsequent slide in importance left the city (perhaps) too poor to reconstruct everything, so never having been conquered, the old city remained old (supplemented as the city grew by a new city that tourists generally ignore, and for good reason).

My morning consisted of the transfer from the elegant but out of centrum Hilton to the more centrally-located Ramada (I’m watching fireworks in the old city from my window right now; ironically, the construction of the Ramada, at 12 stories, botched a bid to have the city included in the UNESCO heritage listing). There then followed a three-hour tour of the most important buildings. It has the trinity–cathedrals, forts, and museums. Of the cathedrals, the Gothic Catholic Church became the Evangelical Lutheran Church after the Reformation; my understanding is that it got the properties from the Germans who left after World War II, and owns much of the old town; it is the resting place of Vlad the Impaler’s son, who was assassinated here for his father’s misdeeds; there is also a baroque Catholic church, a Hungarian church, and a 1902 Orthodox church that resembles Hagia Sophia in Constantinople. Of the forts, there’s a series of squares that provided fortification, but none as grand as the walls and the 39 towers that were manned by the merchant guilds (built atop the Roman ruins). The museums are housed in a variety of merchant/politician buildings. The most spectacular was a palace built by the governor (a German, naturally) in the 1770s, that has a few Breughels and Rubens–pictures he had acquired, but there’s also a museum of ethnography (a 19th century quasi Scientist brought back a variety of artifacts from an expedition to Egypt, so there’s a mummy), a museum dedicated to the guilds, and one that celebrates the area’s role in homeopathic medicine. Perhaps the most distinctive feature of the buildings is the eye-shaped windows in the attics. The most Austrian-looking building dates from 1987; I made a bad guess on that one!

Later in the afternoon, I finally contacted my new best friend, Radu, who is a local Scout leader. He’s been a leader for 12 years, and gave me his view of the city, but more fun, took me to a gathering of his Scouts at the school where they meet. He has mostly 11-14 year old boys and girls, some of whom showed up in uniform, and went blank (more or less) in English, even though they studied it in school. We exchanged mementos and stories for about an hour.

Radu and I were joined by two of the boys for dinner in the old city, at a medieval-looking restaurant in the vaulted cellar of one of the old buildings. Radu and I walked through the fest celebration that was capped with the 20-minute fireworks that just ended.

It was fun to have embraced another Romanian city. I’ll have one more, tomorrow, when I fly from Sibiu to Lvov (in the Ukraine) when I stop briefly in Timisoara, which is another of the Saxon beauties of Romania. My wakeup call is in 5 hours. Goodnight, and happy Memorial Day weekend.

Forts, Castles and Museums–what could make me happier?

Sibiu, Romania —

Anyone who knows my fascination with forts, old Cathedrals, and museums (that is, anyone who has ever traveled with me), can well imagine the joy-filled day I’m about to share that consisted of forts, old Cathedrals (sometimes one with the forts), and museums–along with the beautiful scenery of the Transylvania countryside. That may be familiar to you as the “home” of Dracula, an idealization of the famous Vlad Terpres, Vlad the Impaler (and for tonight, the home of Fred; the only bloodthirsty anythings around are the mosquitoes, teased out by the rain and now warm weather).

Let me start with none of the above joys–or at least a different one for Romania, the countryside. I believe the country has one of the largest percentages of farmers; a look at the basics of agriculture kind of explains why. There’s still a lot of horsepower supplied by horses. I saw a man with a scythe, honing it by hand; I saw people in the fields with hoes. That doesn’t happen in Illinois, except maybe around Arthur, or in backyards. The infrastructure is abuilding, which is to say it’s not yet built. Traveling down from Baia Mare through Cluj-Napoca, which is the major university city, to Alba Iulia, which has historic importance in modern Romania (it’s where the country declared its independence), to Sibiu, the roads were mostly two-lane (which drivers tried to make three or four; sometimes on hills it actually was three lanes wide), with enough traffic for four lanes. My guide yesterday called the roads “Romanian Roads,” as in it’s only 180 miles but it will take you four hours; my driver today spoke no English, so we had a rather quiet ride. There were a lot of abandoned big plants, as I had been warned; the factories that employed thousands in inefficient industries have not been able to withstand global competition, or even EU competition. Some companies have located here, partly because of cheap labor. We saw a major Nokia factory, for example. The countryside was rolling after we climbed down from the Maramures district. The villages we went through had colorful homes and colorful churches, reflecting the history of this region, which has been a borderland and battle land from Roman times until recently.

The church at Cristian is a case in point; it’s aptly named for the 86% of the population that is orthodox, but has Hungarian and German names, reflecting the efforts of local rulers to populate the area and hold it against (choose at least one) the Tartars, Turks, Germans, Russians, Swedes, etc. It looks like a church, and it is a fort, but it’s also a castle (a fortified church). Fred gets two for one on this town, which is also the stork capital of the world–self-proclaimed.

We sailed through Cluj-Napoca, whose Romanian residents added the Napoca to emphasize their descent from the Romans, rather than the Magyars, who had ruled the area in the 18th and 19th centuries. Too bad, because from what I saw, it had a lot of forts, neat churches, and museums–and an Opera House that was performing Orpheus in the Underworld this weekend!

Our major stop was at Alba Iulia. As I mentioned, the industrial city has a special place in Romanian history since it was here that Transylvania became part of Romania twice–in 1599 for a brief union under Michael the Brave (which did not last beyond his assassination shortly thereafter) and on December 1, 1918, which is the date Romania celebrates as independence day (there’s a Boulevard December 1 in most cities). The city has been important since Roman times, but the fort (or should I say, THE fort) is from the 18th century. Built along the lines pioneered by the famous French fort architect, Vauban, it’s a classic. The piece de resistance, however, is that it’s decorated in the inside in Baroque.

If that were not enough to endear me to the place, my initial view was of one of the most spectacular Orthodox churches I’ve seen. Called the Church of the Coronation, it was built in the early 1920s for the coronation of King Ferdinand I and Queen Marie (the latter is one of Romania’s best-loved politicians). It’s quite attractive, and resembles as much a monastery palace as a church.

And if that weren’t enough, an 1851 building houses one of the best history museums in Romania. There were a lot of Roman sculptures, tombstones, pillars, etc., found in the area; as I said, the Romanians treasure, literally, their Roman heritage, and a nice display on three peasants who led an uprising in the 1780s (against the Hapsburgs, I believe). Two were crushed with a wheel (a wheely bad way to go)! Happily, most of the captions were in Romanian (and there were hordes of school children in the building), or I might still be looking at the items.

I was a happy camper when we wheeled (ha) into the Hilton in Sibiu. I’m here only one night, but it’s the poshest hotel I’ve stayed at. I’ve been able to swim in a lap pool for the first time on the trip, and used the sauna for a bit as well.

Tomorrow I have a tour of the city of Sibiu, which looks interesting, and a meeting in the afternoon with some English-speaking Scouts. I’m looking forward to that.

Baia Mare made simple

It occurred to me yesterday, as I walked through the park near our hotel, waiting for my transfer to the airport, where European history and American history diverge, particularly in the 20th century. In the park, there was an American aviator monument. Curious, I sought it out. It praised the 378 American airmen who lost their lives in Romania in World War II. By contrast, in one of the museums I visited, I saw that over 100,000 Romanians died after the country switched sides, over 200,000 Jews disappeared, and the country lost over 2 million in the War. Quite a difference, one which again made me glad my grandparents were fortunate enough to have left Europe before World War I.

I took the students to the airport and saw them off, then returned to spend the afternoon in Bucharest. There were two museums I wanted to see–when we were there two years ago, the Royal Palace and the National History museum were closed. I thought I’d take them in, only to discover museums are closed on Monday and Tuesday in Bucharest, at least those two. (The government is planning to cut the budget by 25% next month, so there may be more closings–and more protests; something like 20% of Romanians work for the government). Instead, I did what I like to do–wander around. The Atheneum, home of the George Enescu Philharmonic, for example, was open; built turn of the last century, it offers 600 seats and 52 boxes, making me wish I could have stayed for the performance of Mozart later in the week. There’re also a lot of Beaux-Arts building (I finally figured out what they were) that helped Bucharest vie for the title of the “Paris of the East.” One had a glass-covered mall with shops and a tiffany-type dome, the palaces of the bourgeoisie. I sauntered past one of the palaces of Vlad Terpes, the model for Dracula; he was a local prince who borrowed some of the Turkish tortures to fight the Turks and other people he didn’t like, and a few of the churches spared by the former Romanian dictator. I had lunch (beef ragout and sausage=hot dogs and beans) in one of Bucharest’s oldest and finest, a gothic restaurant in the old quarter. And I did something I usually do in China, but for some reason, haven’t in Europe–which was a walk in the park, which led me to the plaque that I mentioned above. It was a great place to people watch.

The highest wooden church. It's from 1721.

When I left for Baia Mare, the capital of the district of Maramures (a part of Romania that borders the Ukraine and Hungary, both of which have at various times coveted or invaded, or ruled the area, which joined Romania after World War I), I had visions of an idyllic bucolic region with wooden churches and farmers. The idyllic vision was shattered by my seat mate, an American from Los Angeles, who was going to Baia Mare to check on his company’s aluminum processing plant, which fabricates parts for Airbus! As it turns out, this is in the heart of what was mining country, but with the environmental and other costs, it’s no longer profitable to mine the area, and so various towns around here are scrambling to find a new economic base to avert high unemployment; about half the population worked in the mines. One has built a ski resort, but Baia Mare seems to have a diversified economy, if the diversity of auto dealers I saw on the way in is any indication. I knew it was going to be a different experience, too, when I realized the hotel had a pool, but after all, it’s a Best Western. I had a nice swim last night for the first time on the trip!

This morning, my local guide showed up, and told me he was scheduled for a half -ay tour of the city. The first stop was a mineral museum, which testified to the importance of mining (I think these were mostly tailings, but spectacular crystals); the name of the city means Great Mine. We then went to the old town, one that is being renovated and restored to its 17th century glory, including the home of the prince who defeated the Turks and was given the town as a reward. Maybe the most elegant Gothic church in it burned down a hundred years ago, leaving only one of the Prague-style towers; I found out that the four towers around the main one signified that the priest could dispense justice.

I asked the guide if we could arrange a tour out in the countryside–the 80 or so kilometers through the Mara Valley to a town that sounds like spaghetti (I think it’s Sigheti); he rearranged his schedule, and I got in his Dacia (a local car, make in joint venture with Nissan, named for the tribe the Romans defeated, then intermarried with, providing the Romanians with their name), and off we went through the mountains.

The countryside I’d come to see was, happily, there. We saw a lot of horsepower–provided by horses; farmers with hoes in the fields; and best of all, the wooden houses, gates, and churches I’d seen in Bucharest that provided my inspiration to visit Maramures in the first place. In places there were separate villages for Hungarians (my guide told me Hungarians can teach Hungarian in school; Romanian is a second language). One of the highlights was the “merry cemetery,” which has painted tombstones that indicate people there are not afraid of death. Some are poignant, like the one cursing the taxi driver that killed a girl in front of her house; others are funny, but they’re all in books on the country as one of the places to visit. As we arrived, a funeral was leaving the church!

One of the sights was a prison that the Austrians had built in the 1890s, the Romanians had used during independence, and the Soviets used afterward. The prison now housed a museum that talked about the torture/terror of the Soviet regime, and I learned a lot about the tortured (in more ways than one) period after World War II–how the Russians manipulated a “free election” to take over the country, instituting a terror that landed a lot of politicians and intellectuals in the prison, etc. We’d seen something similar in Budapest about what happened there; the Soviets used the location (code name Danube work colony) because it was so close to the Soviet border that escapees would have a hard time escaping.

We had dinner at a picturesque restaurant beside a stream. My guide said, “fish or polenta”. I said, I’ll get the fish, if you’ll get the polenta, and we’ll split. Turned out the fish was a grilled trout, alongside the trout pond it was raised in.

As we were returning, he said there’s one church you have to see; it’s the tallest wooden church (without a foundation and without nails, if you want to know the complete category) and I’ll try to send a picture of it later because it was a Catholic Church, not the dominant Romanian Orthodox.

I’m back now, with a chance to swim before I turn in–and get taken to Sibiu tomorrow. The “take me someplace spectacular I’ve never been before” tour continues.