The Last Dance

We said goodbye to the Czech Republic on July 3. After a month in Croatia and three days in Venice, we are back in the U.S. When we left the Czech Republic the good citizens of Brno were basking in the glory of summer. The walking streets were filled with pedestrians, the sidewalk cafes were singing with chatter and clinking beer glasses, and the outdoor public pool in our neighborhood was packed with families, teens, and scantily clad sunbathers. Good final memories…

One of our last memories of the Czech Republic will be one of our best: the International Folk Festival at Straznice held on the park-like grounds of a zamek in a village near the Austrian border. Oddly enough, we hadn't seen any publicity announcing this festival in Brno, even though it’s the closest city that can provide a steady supply of tourists. In other words, this was a festival for people-in-the-know. And that was maybe the best thing about it. We may not be the best judges of folk authenticity, but what we saw at Straznice seemed like the real deal.

Betsy’s Czech skills are now pretty darn good, but even she couldn’t decipher the specialized vocabulary on the festival program. We decided to go to something that promised “tančniky” (“dancers”) but only because (and this is the pathetic reason) it was the only word we thought we understood. We had a couple hours to kill before the tančniky so we cruised the beer and meat vendors and watched all the people gliding by in their beautiful village-specific kroj (check out some of the outfits at http://www.rotrekl.cz/kroje.htm). In addition to the main four stages, scattered here and there around the park were little platforms, some commandeered by impromptu gatherings of musicians sharing songs and drink, others occupied by professional “cymbal” bands. The most distinctive instrument in these bands is a special hammered dulcimer thing (cimbalom), but the leader is usually a violin player who knows ALL the songs. And he (yes, HE) is backed up by a standup bass player, a clarinetist, and a bunch of violinists. Everybody’s decked out in his or her kroj and everybody sings. . .

Authorship Disclosure: although there’s been plenty of eye candy for me in the Czech Republic, Betsy’s been pretty hard up; but when she saw these in guys in their tight slacks, cool boots, vests, ribbons, and feathered hats, it inspired a torrent of passionate writing that would have made most husbands jealous. But for me, jealous or not, it proved to be a good source of material to borrow from for this blog posting. Back to my tale..

The cymbal band sound is an orgy of non Western sound; klezmer-like clarinet lines, jazzy rhythm changes, and gipsy violin lines. But also think “beer garden” meets “family reunion” meets “dance party.” The audience, a complete mix of generations, sings along between bites of klobasa and quaffs of Moravian beer, brandy, and wine (the de rigeur accessory is a little shot glass basket you hang around your neck).


Our mysterious tančniky program turned out to be a competition of solo men performing a very stylized song and dance routine in full-on kroj. Each performance begins with the competitor coming out from the wings, kind of like a boxer before a fight, acknowledging the crowd with cowboy-like “yips,” and then walking across the stage to meet a ritual “host couple” (also in a kroj)--the woman pours wine for her “husband” and the performer, the two men drink, and then, as if fortified by the wine, the singer bursts into a short, operatic song, sung very loud, with minimal accompaniment from a cymbal band. As he sings, he holds one or two hands in the air in a “friends, countrymen, Romans” kind of way (think hip hop gesturing in lederhosen). After one verse he shouts "Musiko!" and does a slow dance consisting of a very prescribed combination of kicks, boot slaps, spins and jumps. Some people looked like robots, but the good ones were really expressive, especially with their hands. We learned that the dancers can only choose from a menu of traditional moves, but can put them in any order …like a compulsory skating routine…except with really cool hats…and those pants that made Betsy swoon. After another verse of the song, he once again proclaims "musiko!” but this time the band plays double time, and the performer spins together a new frenzied combination of moves, and then, bang,...it’s over, he thanks his “hosts,” and the next guy comes on stage for his turn with the wine and band.

As good as the performances were, I think we were even more impressed with the spectators’ reactions (and the degree of our absolute cluelessness…this is a new feeling for Betsy; I’m used to being amazed at my ignorance). Each performance only took maybe two minutes, and the crowd hung on every move that the good performers made, clapping on the first notes, full throttle cheering when the performer sang a particularly high note, singing along with the most popular songs, and commenting to each other about particularly good moves or mistakes. But we had no idea what to look for. Think watching the short program of figure skating program minus Dick Button. "Now, Joshka really showed outstanding ribbon control in the semis--but he's got a challenging combination planned for the final and he’s sporting even more ribbons on his kroj, that might be a mistake…but those pants do wonders for his…nevermind, look!…that was a nice opening, smooth turns--oh! beautiful! His knees were just glued together on the boot shuffle. The judges will like that…this kid has great fundamentals…just like his Dad’s 1984 debut performance! Okay, now into the final combination--the slow double spin right into the cossack hop, a good dancer makes that look easier, but nice control on the spin, beautiful arm position, now the hop--beautiful height, but oh! He's lost his hat! And his ribbons have flopped into his face. What a tragedy! Hat drops are a mandatory two-point deduction, and the judges hate watching these boys peeling ribbons off their faces. There go his medal chances!"

In between rounds, the judges would go off to confer and we were treated to performances by the winners from the kids’ divisions. The kids ranged from 7 to 16, and they were really, really good. And the crowd LOVED them, totally encouraged them…and who could blame them? It is great to know these traditions have a future.

Finally, the judges went off one last time, and the bands played to entertain us while we waited. We were getting hot and bored, we didn't really care who won, but just as we had decided to leave a few young guys started singing really loud along with the band, and then rushed the stage! Suddenly, men from all over—competitors, audience members--from ages 6 to 70 came flooded the stage, some in kroj and many, many more in their civilian clothes, to sing and dance together. These were the same guys we see on the tram, teenaged guys in cool sunglasses and big black adidas, bare-chested dads, sixty-something guys with grey hair and paunches, 9-year kids dancing next to their uncles. They knew ALL the steps. They knew ALL the songs. And they did it with wild abandon and great love—during the singing parts they would all put their arms around each other and sway as they sang—and then after a big chorus of “MUSIKO!” they would go completely nuts. High kicking, twirling, everything…a tradition-affirming bacchanalia!

And then, it was time to come home…to Brno and, after a month in Croatia, to the United States.

Some final thoughts about our last days in Brno: Between the time that Sophie’s school ended on June 29 and we left on July 3, every single one of Sophie’s friends, and even our pet rat, had left town for camp or vacation. Thus, although we had had a chance to say goodbye to our neighbors and friends in the preceding weeks, our departure was remarkably quiet, stress free, a little lonely, and…maybe anti-climatic? Ten months of living in someplace new and exciting reduced to cleaning out the frig, giving away your pet rat, finally getting up the guts to eat the jars of gifted pickled cabbage, and mailing packages.

Over my goodbye coffee with my American expat friend, we talked about my last blog posting (re: Czech education). She has a son in Czech schools, and although she’s not particularly happy with how things have gone for him, she also pointed out that there is more variety in Czech education than I had presented—and that my understanding of Czech education was just as limited as my ability to “get inside” Czech culture (in other words, she thought I was obnoxiously wrong!)

Of course she is right about that “getting inside” thing... I mean, it is THE challenge of being a long-term tourist and although we’ve been lucky to meet families and learn Czech, we haven’t been privy to the whole picture. It’s like…hmm…imagine walking down a corridor with curtained windows and doors on either side. You can hear that there is something going on in the rooms but you can’t see through the curtains and you don’t know how to unlock the doors. It’s exhausting (and stressful?) to ALWAYS be on the outside. So inevitably, of course, I’ve painted some inaccurate (and unkind ?) pictures of Czech culture. However, by the time we left, some of the curtains along the corridor were getting more transparent and we were feeling more competent with the locks. I hope the readers of this blog can appreciate much we have loved living there, how much it meant to us to be so welcomed by our Czech friends, how much we have enjoyed the beautiful countryside and castles, the mushroom-hunting with our friends, the challenge (and fun) of the language, watching Sophie succeed at school, etc.

So, in that light, we were so grateful for the folk festival…the opportunity to go to a big Moravian party where the curtains were more or less pulled back, where everyone was wearing their extrovert “inside faces” and even an outsider could understand their love for music, dance, and their culture...well, you know what I mean. It was like--aha! These guys were having fun and…so did we!
Thanks for reading.

KONEC!
(the end)