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.

History museum in Timisoara

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.

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.

The church fort at Cristian

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.

Wooden gate to the Catholic church.

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.

Ceausescu's Place in Bucharest

Yesterday was unusual for this trip–in that we had nice weather, warm and sunny, for the first time in two weeks, and a free day till 6 p.m., for the first time on the trip.  My understanding is that students spent it a variety of ways: visiting the nearby museums, one documenting the terror of living under communism (our Soviet guide waxed nostalgically for the days when Mother Russia embraced her family!), another housing one of the finest Spanish painting exhibits outside of Spain; the spa (30 florints for a drink of sulphur water from the spa), shopping (Kelsey bought a musical instrument of some sort, a fleugelhorn), and general hanging out.

At 7:45 in the morning, Alex, Michael, and I left by train for Eszztergom, the religious capital of a Catholic country, and the burial place of many prelates including Cardinal Mindtzety, who hid in the American Embassy after the 1956 uprising until he was allowed, 15 years later, to leave; he was reburied at Estergom after the end of Communism.  After an hour and a half train ride, we arrived at the city, which houses a huge Basilica that fronts on the Danube, and that I’d seen often enough to want to visit, for the views, if nothing else.

The city sits on a great bend in the Danube, and has been inhabited for almost 2000 years, by Celts, and Romans (we passed a major ruin that is being excavated of Roman baths; the Roman name refers to the hot springs in the area), Magyars, and during the Turkish occupation, Turks.  The Eztergom Hill was the site of a castle, now a museum, that was the first royal palace of the Arpad dynasty; one of the rooms was reputedly where St. Stephan was crowned king in 1000, and ordered the Magyars to convert to Catholicism.  The Basilica offers a grand view of the river–which bends south at that point–and 800 florints, about 4 dollars, lets you climb a tower for 274 steps that provides an even better view of the Danube Valley.  The Basilica also contains, as many important churches do, a Treasury of religious artifacts that demonstrate the piety and wealth of the church–copes, monstrances, and my favorites, drinking horns and gold/jeweled staffs from both Esztergom and Hungary.  Some of the relics were from King Mathias Corvus, whose church we saw on Buda hill.   In the old prelate’s palace, we saw a Christian museum, with artwork from the 11th to the 19th centuries, containing some stunning pictures and objects, including a “Christ’s coffin” used in parades.  The church on the site was razed during the Turkish occupation (there were Turkish tombs in the Castle area), then rebuilt over a period of years in the 19th century.  I had hoped to visit another site on the way back, but we had just enough time to get back, get something to eat (it was both a Sunday and a holiday–Monday is Pentacost, which means Catholic Europe shuts down, and the two Hungarian restaurants I had fancied patronizing were closed), and board our train for the Carpathian Mountains, and the last stop on our tour (Bucharest).

It seems fitting that our trip, which started in a non-European Union country, ends in one of the newest (and poorest) entrants into the EU.  Romania appears from the train (I’m still on it as I write the above) the least prosperous country we’ve visited.  There’re a lot more horses supplying horsepower than we’ve seen in the countryside, but the trip through the mountains made for a slow trip (17 hours) but interesting scenery.

The train was about an hour late into Bucharest, but we still had ample time to shower and change before embarking on our tour of the city.  Over 2 million people call Bucharest home, and most seemed to be driving today.  Fewer of them, I believe, were tourists than in the other countries we’ve visited.

Bucharest seems to have some of the characteristics of many of the countries we’ve visited.  It was part of the Ottoman empire; parts of Romania were part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire (where I’m going tomorrow did not get to become part of Romania until 1919, when it was ceded at the Treaty of Trianon, a decision our Hungarian guide denounced; Romania constructed an arc d’ triomphe to commemorate the occasion).  Germans played a role in it, from the Hohenzollern King Carol, who brought credibility to the country in 1866 (and whose descendent, Michael, invited the Russians in to get rid of the Nazis and correct Romania’s misguided decision to go with the Nazis; the Soviets promptly offered him the choice of abdication or death.  He chose abdication, and is still alive today, and reclaimed some of his property after the 1989 Revolution) to the Schwabians who were invited in to settle the border lands and help fend off the Ottoman Empire).  Bucharest in the late 19th century sought to be the Paris of the East (didn’t everyone?) and built the impressive fin de siecle buildings that distinguish so many European cities, and a wide street and mansions that was supposed to resemble the Champs Elyssee–the ties with the French language and culture, so important in 19th century Europe, for Romania led to its siding with Britain and France against Austria-Hungary, and hence the additions after 1919.  Finally, like much of Eastern Europe, it was part of the Soviet bloc during the Cold War.  Ceausescu, who became the last Soviet dictator of the country, pursued a semi-independent policy toward Russia, which earned him some praise from the West (and a medal from the British); by 1989, however, when Gorbachev warned him, “things are changing,” C. is reputed to have said, “not here; the people love me.”  Over 1,000 Romanians lost their lives in the revolution that followed.  Christmas day, 1989, Carolyn and I were in Paris, watching the events on TV–a block from the Romanian Embassy, where the pro and anti Communist expatriates and their supporters marched every night–when C. was shot. Our guide said it’s not entirely clear who executed C.

If nothing else, Ceausescu in my opinion should have been at a minimum voted out of office for what he did to architecture.  He closed most monasteries and churches, and destroyed blocks of Bucharest in an effort to create a “modern” Ceausescu city.  In the center, he built the second largest building in the world, known in some circles as Ceausescu’s palace, and a wide street with fountains leading to it;  8% of the building is occupied.

A Maramures church

Our guide has been one of the best.  He and I got talking, and it turned out the tour company Carolyn and I came here with have used him (and will be using him this Wednesday; he confirmed what I knew–Tauck is one of the best companies, and I know they use only the best guides).  His company has taken us to two of the best restaurants we’ve been to on the trip (most have been hotel restaurants) with filling European fare–meat and potatoes.  One overlooked a lake, and we chose off the menu.  Hence, I was able to sample Sascha’s tripe soup, which he said is “an acquired taste.”  One spoonful was not enough for me to acquire it. Tonight’s final dinner was in a palatial restaurant that could have been meant for royalty; the meal was cabbage rolls and polenta, with a yummy pastry desert.  Quite fitting finale.

We stopped at the country’s outdoor museum, which had a number of wooden homes from the Maramures area where I’m going tomorrow.  One of the reasons I decided to go there was what I saw at the museum.  As the students begin to journey home (4 are staying somewhere in Europe; Sascha will be visiting his parents in Germany), I’ll begin my next journey.  My closing words to them were Chinese (which I translated)–“a peaceful journey” not just home, but through life.  Yi lu ping an.