So much for the ominous warnings of dreary central European weather. For the last month or so the daily highs have crept up from 7 degrees (Celsius) in March to 24 degrees! (24 C=75 F...much higher than what they are supposed to be: 3 and 7 degrees respectively), and we have had virtually no rain.
Horrible weather for farmers; great weather for tourists (really, it's like living in California but with absolutely no bean sprouts for your salads).To celebrate spring, Betsy and I took a short day trip via public bus down to Mikulov, a beautiful hill town in the middle of South Moravia's wine country (Sophie was hiking with her scouts. I love her scouts.). Because Mikulov is so close to the Austrian border it was virtually forgotten during the Cold War. But now flocks of rich Austrians drive (and bike!) north for the wine and cheap, but excellent, food. So, like so many
places here, the houses on Mikulov's winding medieval streets can now afford a healthy clean coat of fresh stucco and paint and the town's gorgeous "zamek" (chateau) has been restored. The only tired buildings we saw were the old pilgrimage churches on top of the ancient sacred-pagan limestone hill that overlooks the town. (Really, I don't understand why more people don't come to Southern Movaria to get out their must-see-Europe yah-yahs.)Besides the legacy of the Cold War, Mikulov also contains a poignant reminder of the seven years of
Nazi occupation: the old Jewish cemetery (the newest grave stone was from 1938). We let ourselves into the cemetery with keys given to us at the town information center. Walking under the early blooms of fruit trees and among the fallen gravestones filled us with conflicting emotions: on one hand, grief for all the Jewish citizens of Mikulov who weren't able to be properly buried here and, on the other, appreciation for the serenity and beauty of a graveyard that modern Mikulov has decided NOT to forget. In fact, one of the most heartening sights were all the little memorial pebbles set on many of the gravestones by recent visitors. (Follow this link to learn more about the Jewish practice of leaving stones on graves. Or this one if you want to fully appreciate the
story of Mikulov's Jews).As great as it was, Mikulov was just a warm up for the road trip we took during Sophie's Easter break to southern Bohemia, the highlights of which included (note: many of the following words have characters that are too strange to be recognized by the software running this blog site):
- Stop in Ceske Budejovice to meet with a friend (and drink the original Budweiser)
- Two nights in Cesky Krumlov (beautiful medieval town situated in tight U-bend of river and connected with foot bridges. Our rooms were in one of the towers of the old town's fortifications!)
- Biking around the farmland, forests, and fish ponds around Trebon (original home of our Christmas carp)
- One night in Jindrichuv Hradec, home of one of MANY beautiful zameks built by the noble clan that controlled Southern Bohemia and, thus, the carp trade
- A visit to Hluboka nad Vitavou (absolutely bizarre Windsor-castle-esque zamek built by a particularly Anglo-philic, self-indulgent member of the fish clan
- A night in Telc's mind-blowingly beautiful Renaissance square. By this time, only Betsy wasn't "zameked" out.
- Brief pilgrimage to Dacice (home of the sugar cube)
- Stop in Slavonice (yes, yet another Renaissance town, but THIS one has the most "sgraffito" facades (look it up) in the Czech republic AND vaguely eerie bunkers facing the Austrian border)
- Great picnic in the ruins of Cornstejn castle. Said with American pronunciation, I guess
that would be "Corn Palace!" But this was not Kansas. It was was a VERY cool "real" castle overlooking a lake. Sophie knighted us with a strange ceremony including hand fulls of thrown grass and then we had a proper battle among the ruins. It was quite yeomanly.
After visiting all those zameks, a visitor from the "new world" can't help
but reflect on the enormous amounts of wealth that was thrown by "leaders" at those image-enhancing building projects. I can't remember who said "All art is violence" but when you see these AMAZING buildings with all that AMAZING low-wage craftsmanship, your inner-Marx starts to stir. (That said, if anybody ever gives you a choice to go back in time, shelve your revolution and pick "landed aristocracy." The interiors of these zameks were all masterpieces and, at least, someone would empty your chamber pot for you.)By the way, speaking of flailing peasants, I must also mention EASTER itself--and not just because one of the customs here is to arm all the boys and men with woven
sticks (pomlázky) so they can whip the girls AND get rewarded for it with candy and booze (I'm serious!). They also have wonderful egg decorating traditions (yes, the GIRLS do that, while the boys weave their pomlázky). In the days before Easter ("velikonoce" or "big nights"), the women folk scurry around making and buying the eggs which they hang on trees or branches cut from freshly-blooming shrubbery 
(it's VERY pretty and puts all our American plastic kitsch to shame). The girl-whipping takes place on the day after Easter. In the morning, roving males (dads with sons, groups of young boys, horny teens, or single drunk uncles) roam the streets visiting all their female friends and relatives and, theoretically give them a light slap on the legs/buttocks with their pomlazka while reciting a poem. (Tradition says this slapping promotes fertility and frightens away bad spirits. Betsy's female colleagues reminded us that sometimes a stick is NOT a stick (would you call that a
"Freudian Stick?") The women "thank" the men by tying ribbons onto their pomlazkas, and giving them decorated eggs, candy, and/or silovice (brandy). By noon, the men stumble home. It's beautiful, in a gender-segregated, ritualized sexual-violence, day-time-Halloween kind of way. If you are into that sort of thing.Betsy and Sophie bravely got out of the car (in sugar cube town) to ask a group of boys if they'd mind having their picture taken. The boys were VERY cute about the whole thing, mumbling through their poem and sort-of tickling Sophie on the rump with their...ahem...sticks. But POZOR ("beware!"). Just when it all seemed happy-happy-quaint-village-custom, Betsy got a surprise WHACK from an inebriated 50-something passerby. And--I wouldn't tell you this if I was a good
husband--she perpetuated the tradition by rewarding the men with a most delightful little shriek! What fun, heh, heh, heh (Anyway, you get the picture...kind of gross; kind of great.).So that was Easter in a eggshell. Beautiful weather, an excuse to spank your neighbor's wife, gorgeous eggs, and lots of revolution-inducing zameks. Happy Spring!
