'I don't know'

"Whatever inspiration is, it's born from a continuous 'I don't know.'"

— Wislawa Szymborska, poet and Nobel Laureate.

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Bridge

The Budapest Chain Bridge or, rather, the Széchenyi Chain Bridge. The first permanent bridge to span the Danube, opened in 1849. I'm sure for the people of Budapest who travel it every day, it's just another bridge, yadda yadda. But for me, driving across it on the way into the city last night, it was a real kick. Click to embiggen.

Per Wiki, "(t)he bridge is named after István Szécheny, a major supporter of its construction. At the time of its construction, it counted as a wonder of the world. It had an enormous significance in the country's economics and life. Its decorations made of cast iron, and its construction, radiating calm dignity and balance, raised it among the most beautiful industrial monuments in Europe. It became a symbol of advancement, national awakening, and the linkage between East and West."

[Image pinched from Wiki Commons]

Leer

I am in Budapest this morning (local time). The owner of the studio for whom I have been hired to do some writing called yesterday afternoon, as I was napping in my hotel in Bratislava, and announced that I was to accompany him on a day trip. So here I am.

I woke up earlier, looked out my fourth-story window and was confronted a stone frieze of the face of a leering man about 20 feet away (I may have used the wrong architectural term). He has a full beard and mustache, straggly curls and creased, bushy brows. He also wears a coronet on his head, which at the moment is also topped with a pouf of white snow. His mouth is parted as he leers, showing off an upper row of formidable teeth.

I tried to take a picture of it with my camera phone, but couldn't compensate for the saturation of morning light. The frieze sits atop the music conservatory next door. Yeesh. This building is far more modern than the convervatory, so I imagine when it was constructed there was just no avoiding placing a window directly opposite this leering stone frieze. Or maybe it was a Hungarian architect who sees this sort of thing all the time. Welcome to Europe, son.

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Speak

Bratislava Dispatch: Once again, I am immersed in a non-English-speaking culture and it is a fascinating, instructive experience. On the whole, Slovakians largely appear to be indifferent, if not outright annoyed, by those who don't speak the native language. Those who have taken the time to learn enough English to converse seem to have had that annoyance dissipate quickly.

The balance tilts the other way in Prague or Budapest, much larger cities with a regular influx of Americans, British, Canadians and Australians speaking English. Czechs also appear to be, if not charmed, then at least appreciative if one makes an effort to speak the language. Slovakians, if they don't already speak some English, don't seem to appreciate it at all. I'm told Slovakian spoken with an American accent sounds hilariously odd to the native ear. Hungarians, apparently, don't expect anyone to make the effort, Magyar being a notoriously thorny language to learn.

I have a renewed respect for someone like my older brother, who is deaf, and has to figure his own way through the day if there isn't anyone to offer guidance. He has often explained that he doesn't have to understand most of what a person says to get the gist of the conversation and to act accordingly.

It gives one pause to think about how much talking we're doing, as opposed to really communicating.

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Takeoff

Made it back to Bratislava, Slovakia in one piece. It's cold but not uncomfortable; this morning big, fat snowflakes are falling and clumping on the street. I gloriously had a seat open next to me the entire 10-hour flight from LAX in Los Angeles to London Heathrow.

It was not a full flight, perhaps a quarter empty. I was on the aisle and as we were taxing down the runway, the woman at the window seat suddenly begun gasping quietly and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. When the plane lifted off the tarmac her hand shot out and she grabbed my forearm with alarming strength. She gasped and cried for several minutes, gripping my arm tightly, until we leveled off and her personality instantly changed. She apologized sweetly for nearly ripping my arm off; if she hadn't soon thrown a blanket over her head and gone right to sleep, it would have been the start of a Sophie Kinsella novel.

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Back to Bratislava (2010)

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Travel Day

"Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind."

— Seneca the Younger (4 BCE -65 AD), philosopher, statesman and humorist.

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Back to Bratislava

I am flying back to Bratislava, Slovakia tomorrow. Another three-week trip with stopovers in Budapest, Hungary and Prague, Czech Republic. I was just Instant-Messaging with someone over there — nine-hour time difference — and apparently it's colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra. That's the official reading.

I may have mentioned this already, but last time I was over there I remarked that my trips never seem to coincide with warm weather. My guide replied, with what I've come to recognize as typical Slovakian dour humor, "This has never happened."

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Rain-cleansed view from West Hollywood

One lovely side effect of the unending rains? Surprise, we are closely ringed by mountains in the Los Angeles basin. Thanks to smog and cloud cover, it's easy to forget. This view is looking east on Santa Monica Boulevard — Beverly Hills and the Pacific are behind you in this picture — towards the middle of WeHo and Hollywood itself.

Quite a few buildings in Los Angeles have neon signs on their roof like the Emser Rug & Tile sign you can see in the far background here. Many have been restored and are now landmarks, a leftover from Hollywood's early years. CLICK HERE for more information. One of L.A.'s lesser-publicized delights is our retro neon signage.

Click the image to embiggen.

[H/T WeHoDaily Twitpic.]

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Learning the violin

"Life is like playing a violin in public and learning the instrument as one goes on."

— Samuel Butler (1612-1680), poet.

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