Christmas in Meat Land

Sorry about the long slump in blog production. I think December was a transition month of sorts . . . the adventure sensation wearing off, the "real" living beginning, or maybe the stress of living in a foreign land catching up with us. Perhaps anticipating the arrival of relatives over the holidays took some of the "giddy-up" out of my passion to write and connect with people back home. But now, I'm on break from work and the relatives are gone so I need you again! So here goes. I present:

CHRISTMAS IN MEAT LAND

The Czechs LOVE Christmas in much the same way some groups of people (often men) collectively love spectator sports. What I mean is:
1) there is a lot of anticipation and excitement for something that is essentially the same every year,
2) it's a heck of a lot more fun to experience in groups that know the same cheers and songs,
3) somebody on the field is doing the real work (in this case Czech women...like, oh my Gaw, they make SO many, of like, THE greatest cookies EVER while the men do, like, . . . nothing?!),
4) it involves mind-blowing levels of alcohol consumption (ah, yes, now I remember: THAT's what we men do!).

The season, I mean, "preseason," starts on December 6 when kids are confronted by roving costumed trios (one chain-rattling devil, one blonde angel, and one stoic Mikulas--that last would be the Czech name for Saint Nicholas) who dole out coal, potatoes, or candy as befits the recipient. To avoid the coal, kids must recite poetry or sing songs . . . it's pretty darn cute (and probably potentially terrifying, no? . . . ah, the spirit of Christmas!). There's not a huge separation of church and state here, so Sophie experienced Mikulas full throttle at school and was also visited here at home (sorry, no photo). As you probably know, a lot of other Europeans also celebrate St. Nick on December 6. The Devil and Angel companions aren't entirely unique to the Czech lands . . . personally, I think it is a big step up from Holland where St. Nick travels around with his black slave! But I really liked the tradition here; the roving costumed trios are vaguely holloweenesque (holloweenish? holloweeny?) .

While we are on the subject of the cozy relationship between church and state, Sophie's school put on a Christmas performance that would have made Pat Robertson proud (the final straw for me was a poems linking the red stripes in the candy cane to Jesus's sacrifice). But the children's performances were very cute and, in many cases, very very high quality. We had heard that Czech families take music instruction pretty seriously (we've seen the results in the four operas we've attended), but it great to see those kids dancing, playing their fipple flutes (recorders), and telling it on the mountain (in Czech)...even if it IS a public school.

Like most Czech towns, Brno turned its main square into a Christmas market, the highlight of which was a stage set up to showcase music from school choirs and folk groups. They also set up a Christmas village of vendors' stalls offering the usual crafts along with remarkable VOLUMES of strong drinks and mysterious dried meats. (Historical side note: in a set back to the potential of Central European cuisine, a Polish-Austrian-German army led by King of Poland Jan III Sobieski turned back the army of the Ottoman Empire at the gates of Vienna in 1683. Thus, there is nothing for Muslims to EAT in this country.)

Fortunately, for those on halal diets, Czechs are also QUITE serious about "cukrovy," which are these absolutely delicious tiny cookies (literally: "sweet things"). Good Czech wives and mothers take pride in making several KILOS of these beautiful cookies in many different shapes, colors, and flavors . . . and then swapping them with their friends and neighbors. The picture shows a fraction of the different styles we enjoyed. There is a quiet debate among "modern" women about the proper response to this highly gendered and extraordinarily labor-intensive tradition. Betsy (and Sophie) jumped into the fray by donning their aprons to help one of Betsy's colleagues, who, taking one side of this debate, sees the task as a matter of choice. Other women take the route we did--before we realized that everyone would come to our house bearing cukrovy--order them from an emerging entrepreneurial class of housewives. Everyone agrees that the cookies MUST be "domacni" (homemade); that is, there is NO market for a corporate cookie provider! So I guess, the sweet sweat of women puts the cukr in cukrovy. (Look for an update on this issue in soon-to-be-published update of the Friedan classic "The Feminine Bisc-que")

Anyway, speaking of drinking while the women work, one of our best holiday experiences was visiting Betsy's distant Czech relatives with her dad and stepmother (these relatives are the siblings and descendants of Betsy's great grandmother!). The day after Bobbi and Jerry arrived, we took the train to Plzen, home of the famous beer. Despite the barriers of language, time, and history (WWI, WWII, and communism, good grief!) they were instant family: generous with their houses, food, and time . . . except they tried to get us much drunker than my family ever has! (plum and apricot brandies made by a local collective, wine, and, of course, Pilsner Urquell). We even got to eat one or two of their rabbits! (Another side note: back in November we celebrated Thanksgiving with one of Betsy's colleagues and her American husband who live in a small Czech village near Prague. No, we didn't eat rabbit for Thanksgiving, but on the last day we heard an ice cream truck jingle, and looked out the window to see the local rabbit skin guy going through the neighborhood to buy the newly liberated hides...wow, totally medieval!)
When we got back to Brno, it was time to get serious about Christmas. Jerry and Bobbi helped us carry our tree home on the tram and prepare our Christmas feast: the MOST distinctive of the Czech holiday traditions, Christmas Carp. About five days before Christmas, fishmongers set up huge kiddie pools on street corners and market squares to sell carp, which, along with potato salad, is absolutely required on the Christmas Eve menu. Traditional Czechs buy the fish live and keep it in their bath tubs until Christmas eve when they use a special mallet to send Mr. Fish to Carp Heaven. Somewhat less traditional Czechs (and certain hygiene-minded foreigners who might actually bathe once or twice before Christmas), ask the fish mongers to do the honors of lopping off the heads and tails.

We celebrated Christmas three times: once, the Czech way, with a present from Jesiček (baby Jesus!) on Christmas eve, once on Christmas morning (with the help of globe trotting Santa and the American postal service), and again when Betsy's mother (Melinda) and sister (Abby) came for a short visit.

Sophie's favorite present was a baby rat, a gift from our rodentophilic neighbors who plan to adopt her when we leave. Magdalena (aka "Maida," yes, as in "Maida Mouse") is turning into a most satisfying pet. Although still quite young, she comes when called and even helped me with this blog. (her contribution: dddddddddddddddddddddddddfffffff)


One final sobering note: This posting has been almost exclusively about the holidays, or more specifically, Christmas, in the Czech Republic. Receiving a nice secular "holiday" card from a Jewish friend back home reminded me of how homogeneous the culture is here. History has been particularly cruel in this part of Europe to any other religion's holidays (I am trying to avoid using the other "N-word" in a Christmas posting). So, given this cruel history it feels ironic, if not myopic, for there to be such a level of overt state endorsement of one religion. I know, I know . . . the political correctness we have in the US can be a little much; after all, Christmas IS a major holiday for a majority of Americans. But then again, there is something very hopeful (from an historical point of view) about Americans' passion for the separation between church and state. The tension between political correctness and shared public culture IS real but so are the consequences of marginalizing segments of your population.

One final schmaltzy note: Although I am a lapsed Episcopalian, I still really like some of the spiritual symbolism of Christmas, especially the renewal of hope and innocence as represented in the humble birth of a child (i.e., NOT the blood of sacrifice as represented in candy canes!! yuck!) The "goodwill of man" (and flour-covered women too) we felt this year was genuine, perhaps made more poignant by the distance from our American family and friends and their concerted efforts to either travel to be with us or send us packages and letters of love. I also feel grateful to have experienced first-hand another culture's take on a holiday that is usually so comfortably familiar. And last of all, the way in which we have been embraced by our newly found Czech friends and relatives really does give one faith in the potential of a universal family of humanity.

Sorry, one final, final thought: on Christmas Eve I was reading the Matthew and Luke Christmas stories to Sophie. In the middle of our conversation about the hopeful symbol of the innocent baby Jesus, Sophie suddenly became quiet and then said: "It makes me sad to think of all the bad people in the world and that they were once innocent babies too. Why does that happen?" Why indeed? So, here is your assignment: spread love and peace, be nice to children, and have a wonderful new year! And for gosh sakes, keeping sending your emails and packages!

Stastne a vesele vanoce a stastny novy rok!

Istanbul, fish sandwiches

Last week Betsy and I realized a dream that we have had for many years: we went to Istanbul!

Istanbul has always seemed a little off-limits . . . for whatever reasons: the cost off getting there? 9/11? Our own "orientalism"? The sometime savage historical legacy of Ottomans?

Those "off-limits" feelings were reinforced by our acquaintances who told us to "be careful" or "watch yourselves." However, now having been, those fears, limits, and worries have evaporated. Istanbul is an AMAZING place--certainly the most interesting and beautiful tourist destination I have visited as an adult.

First, a reality check. Istanbul is HUGE (population 15 million) and its sprawl straddles the European and Asian shores of the Bosporus Strait for as far as the eye can see. But our experience of Istanbul was limited to the "key sites" and tourist hotels that are confined to a tiny part of the peninsula created by the "Golden Horn." So while we did venture out of our tourist ghetto to take ferries over to the Asian side and up the Bosporus, our understanding of Istanbul is as limited as that of a visitor to New York who limits their excursions to upper Manhattan and, maybe, a boat ride out to the Statue of Liberty.

So that said, rather than give you the blow-by-blow narrative of our stay, I will just show you some pictures and share a few highlights:

1) The Aya Sophia: It deserves ALL the hype. Outside it looks like something the Romans built (they did, but what I mean is that it looks impressively functional, but not necessarily beautiful) But the inside? It soars! It accomplishes that rare feat of being both an awe-inspiring technical marvel (e.g., Hoover Dam) and an aesthetic gem (e.g., Taj Mahal). Betsy and I both agree that we experienced a very rare sense of pure wonder inside that 1500 year-old building. We have both seen some very beautiful cathedrals, canyons, and canvases in our short lives, but this...I've never seen the Pyramids...maybe one would get the same feeling there? (By the way, the Blue Mosque, which is directly opposite the Aya Sophia) is stop-in-your-tracks beautiful, but it doesn't have the same quality of looking "impossible." The sense of impossibility is enhanced when you learn that the Aya Sophia was built in only 5 years!!!!! I mean, there's an apartment building at the end of our street in Somerville that's taking 5 years to build and, well frankly, it just ain't up to snuff.

2) The Hamams ("steam baths"): yes, another total tourist trap but sooo worth it. Sophie and Betsy went to the women's side, I to the men's. You sit in a domed steam room built 500 years ago listening to water drip and the sounds of people getting scrubbed, massaged, and sweating. Then they throw cold water at you! Ahhh.... (sorry, no pictures!)

3) The Sultans’ Topkapi Palace and Harem: We spent almost the whole day touring the beautiful tiled chambers, looking at relics "recovered" from Mecca, goggling at baskets of emeralds, having lunch overlooking the Bosporus, etc. Definitely inspired me to find a "How to set up your own Harem" pamplet . . . Betsy and I are still working out the details . . . .

4) Fish Sandwiches on the Asian shore: one night we took the ferry over to Asia for a dinner of street food and a walk along the shore. As night fell, we sat on a bench and watched a light show being put on in honor of Turkey 's Republic Day. A Turkish family next to us shared their sunflower seeds. We shared our baklava. What could be better?

5) Tour of the Bosporus: for a handful for change you can take a public ferry up the Strait from Istanbul to a ruined citadel the overlooks the Black Sea. On the ferry, the "caj guy" comes by every 1/2 hour with warm tea, baked goods, or yogurt made in one of the local villages. Sophie made friends with a Malaysian family that taught her how to properly wear a head dress. Those of you who remember Sophie's "Pilgrim" stage can imagine how this headscarf episode may turn out to be a mixed blessing).

6) A Nice Hotel: Ok, so we've become soft, sue us. Our little boutique hotel had views of the Bosporus and the Blue Mosque's minarets. Sure, it's designed for tourists, but heck, I am not ashamed to say I LOVED waking up to the sight of huge ships moving back and forth between the Mediterranean and the Black seas. And: it was cheaper than our Dutch "BYOS" (Bring your own squeegee) room. But alas, no chocolate sprinkles for breakfast!

A couple of parting thoughts:
Parting Thought #1: One can't help leaving Istanbul impressed by the weight of history and how important it is for Americans to be thinking about history, particularly in light of the war in Iraq and our elections. Istanbul's location on the Bosporus means that it has and will probably always play an important geo-political role (think of the 500,000 causalities on both sides in the WWI battle of Gallipoli!). As you look out at the Bosporus it is just as easy to imagine Soviet submarines under the water as it is to agree with the Constantine's decision to move the Roman capital here. Europeans will always care who controls this piece of water; Americans probably should, too. The boulevard that runs along the sea from the airport into the city is named after JFK (thanks for the Atlas missiles, big guy!). And yet, it's hard imagining the Turks naming another road after an American president, at least in the near future.

Parting Thought #2: Haggling for prices--if Europeans ever admit Turkey into the EU the institution of haggling will probably go the way of the Fez (still allowed for tourists) and women wearing the head scarf in government in the service of fulfilling Attaturk's dream to turn Turkey into a "modern" country. Yeah, it's kind of fun to haggle, but it is also SOOOO tiring. The line "for you, special price" is both an endearing symbol of the old fashioned, but pure, market system and an annoying insider's taunt. It exhausted us to know that we were probably being suckered every time we pulled out our wallets but still, I suppose it will be sad to see haggling go.

Parting Thought #3: Squat toilets. Just don't like 'em. Especially on boats.

Last thought: (I write this mainly for the family members who have seen Sophie grow):
The Turks seem to LOVE children in a way we have yet to see elsewhere in Europe. Sophie was our ticket to instant friendliness, a quick little discount, or faster service. Of course, after three months in the Czech Republic, it took Sophie a while to get used to the friendly pats on the head and almost constant cheek pinches. But for us, all the affection she received was affirmation for the great love and respect we feel for Sophie. Really, one of my favorite things about this whole year is seeing what a marvel Sophie is. She is an enthusiastic traveller, a curious tourist, and a wonderful companion. Istanbul, more than any of the other places we have visited, demonstrated just how special (and lucky) this little girl is. She is starting to assemble an understanding of history and religion I wish my high school students would develop. We are not blind to how fortunate she is to be able to experience these wonders at such a young age. (I sometimes wonder if we are "spoiling her"...whatever that means) But somehow, with a child who absorbs it all so willingly, who is so respectful in the Mosques, so curious in the museums, so friendly with the strangers, so energetic on the long walks through the winding market streets of Istanbul, so willing to amuse herself on the airplane by putting on a puppet show (a sort of Ottoman Cats!) using crayons, barf bags, and a Turkish Air blanket . . . well, with a kid with that kind of panache . . . it is just a pleasure.