In the Sonoran Desert

After yesterday's drive of 450 miles we decided to stay closer to home today. On the outskirts of Scottsdale there is a trailhead with miles of hiking trails in the surrounding desert. A good walk was on the agenda. I love the desert environment; it is so different from any other. In the spring (March and April), after the monsoon season, this arid landscape will be in bloom. I wish I could experience it then.

Tumacacori

Sometimes the best laid plans go awry. My cousin Charlotte made reservations for us to take a tour of some caverns to the south of Tucson. Unfortunately, we misjudged the travel time and arrived too late to join the tour. We decided instead to visit one of the oldest missions in Arizona (now a state park). To get there we took a scenic road south to the Mexican border, then west to Nogales skirting the mountains that form tha natural border, then north for a bit. The mountainous scenery was impressive. The area of the Santa Cruz Valley was first visited by the Spanish in the 1690's. It wasn't until the mid 18th century that a settlement was established. The plans to build a self-sustaining mission and church were never fulfilled due to harassment by the Apaches and the changes in the political winds in that Mexico gained control of the area and evicted the Spanish clergy in the 1840's. The partially completed church mission buildings were then abandoned, the tower of the church never receiving its intended dome. Through neglect and wanton destruction the compound fell to ruin. It is a pity because it would have been a gem of colonial architecture. What remains is something of a wreck (see pic). The second pic is of one of the hand-carved doors, one of the few decorative elements to have survived the ravages of time. The interior of the church was once brightly painted, but the plaster has long since crumbled and even the choir loft has disappeared, either collapsed or purposely dismantled for its wood. The compensation for the less than spectacular architecture was in the very well-organized exhibit on the history of the place. The information presented did not avoid the fact that the arrival of the conquerors was catastrophic for the indigenous inhabitants. In my view, the Catholic missionaries forced the inhabitants of the area to abandon their superstitions and ignorance to replace them with their own version of superstition and ignorance. Behind it all is the eternal great motivator of man: money and power.

Gallup to Scottsdale

The morning in Gallup was really frigid, with the temperature in the single digits. The altitude is again over 6,000 feet. It is dry as a bone here and the mountains look like massive rock piles that were deposited by some capricious giant. The landscape is magnificent in an austere way. Crossing over into Arizona the topography changes again, flattening out. It is perhaps the most inhospitable and charmless landscape I have seen. I left the interstate to join a two-lane secondary road headed south. For the first hour I sped through a vast emptiness; there was no one and nothing to be seen. I would have felt utterly alone had not a Mozart Piano Concerto been playing in the radio to console me. Rising in elevation I passed a sign announcing the Tonto National Forest. First there were only widely spaced juniper trees which are more like bushes than trees (you call this a forest?) but then there were pines and eventually nothing but pines. At the top of the ascent a vista opened up of snow-dusted, forested peaks, unexpected and glorious. What a change in flora in just two hours of driving! The gradual descent went through the town of Payson (which has grown a lot since the last time I was here) and then began the steep descent to the valley floor. The pine forests disappeared and were replaced by suguaro cactus, first a few, then countless specimens. These are the iconic cacti of the desert that grow to thirty feet in height with arms curved upward. It takes a suguaro 75 years to produce its first arm. Reaching the sprawling megalopolis of Phoenix/Mesa/Scottsdale there were palm trees, blooming bougainvilea, orange and lemon trees hung with a bounty of fruit. It was surprisingly cool, only in the fifties. The pic is taken outside of Payson, on the way down the mountain. Note the splendid prickly pear cactus specimen.

Las Vegas to Gallup

I stopped at the town of Las Vegas (not to be confused with the one in Nevada) to have a look around. Although it was only founded in the late 1800's (hardly worth mentioning by European standards) it sports an Old Town with a charming town square replete with park and Victorian band stand. Most of the buildings here are original but many have undergone some unfortunate changes. The town seems to be just hanging on. The most impressive edifice is the Plaza Hotel. Again, this is the pic I would have taken if...but I have used someone else's shot. Continuing south the road enters the mountains. Here they are covered with pine forests and, with a dusting of snow, they are magnificent against the blue wintery sky. The altitude here is over 6,000 feet.

I reached Santa Fe just in time for lunch. Not to sound like a broken record (I have commented on this before in my blogs), but the quality of food available to the traveler on this continent, and especially the vegetarian traveler, is just plain awful. Outside of Wichita I got off the freeway to find a place to have lunch. There were restaurants all right, but all six of them were burger joints. Doesn't anyone eat anything besides burgers? (Okay, there was a KFC, but that's just a different variety of junk food.) I knew that Santa Fe, the sophisticated town that it is, would have something to meet my needs -- but how to find it? The guiding spirits of Bonne Cuisine were with me as, just by accident , I found a bakery/cafe that had the most wonderful black bean/mushroom veggie burger I have ever had. And with sprouts! And salad! Real food! I intended to have a walk around the famous Plaza but couldn't find it. I drove around in circles and got quite lost until I found myself on a highway going south. It was too far to turn back so I kept on going and eventually joined the interstate again. I have been to Santa Fe once before. I reckon it was in 1978. That's 32 years ago -- half a lifetime. Gradually descending in altitude I turned westward again at Albuquerque and made it to Gallup, the last big town in NM before Arizona. I am now in the Great Southwestern Desert. New Mexico is the sixth largest state in the Union but it only has a population of two million.

In the Land of Enchantment

Leaving Guymon bright and early on a cloudless but chilly morning I made a bit of a detour to the west. I wanted to hook up with the scenic route. This meant an extra hour through the Oklahoma Panhandle to the town of Boise City. It gave me an unobstructed view of the High Plains. And what could possibly obstruct the panhandelian view? Nothing. The term 'flat as a pancake' came to mind as I cruised through the treeless, grassy plain. What land is not reserved for cattle grazing (and the cultivation of whatever it is the steer eat) is scrubland. I reveled in the joy of being in an environment so utterly different from any other I've seen. Dorothy, we definitely ain't in Missouri anymore! At the point where Texas, Oklahoma and New Mexico meet I entered the "Land of Enchantment" which is the official epithet of the State of New Mexico. I think it is well chosen. This secondary road I was on was actually the Santa Fe trail, the route that brought settlers and traders from Missouri to central New Mexico. The roadside markers revealed fascinating bits about the surroundings. For example, just after crossing the state line into NM there is one lonely hill rising up from the flatness. This was known as Rabbit Ear Hill to the travelers on this route. It was a sign that they had only 200 more bone-crushing miles to travel in their wagons to Santa Fe. The first town in NM, Clayton, already had a different feel to it. There was evidence of Southwest culture: the adobe earth-colored buildings, the color turquoise and the emblematic New Mexican cross. Hills and mesas became more abundant and then, in the distance, I saw a mass of looming white. Could it be? Yes! The Rockies! What a thrill to finally see the high mountains, especially now with their recent adornment of snow. I reached the I 25 and headed south. This must be one of the most beautiful stretches of Interstate in the country as it skirts the eastern edge of the Rockies from Cheyenne, Wyoming to Las Cruces near the Mexican border. The pic is of a butte at a town called Wagon Mound. This is the pic I might have taken myself IF I had remembered to recharge the battery of my digital camera. Aaaargh!! I am grateful to whomever provided the pic.

Greensburg

Just before Liberal I passed through the town of Greensburg, or better said, what is left of it. This once prosperous town, a county seat, was wiped off the map in the spring of 2007 in a mega tornado. In a few minutes 95% of the town was gone. It has stubbornly refused to surrender and is rebuiliding, this time as an example of 'green' living. I made a short detour to have a look at the place. The rubble has been cleared away. There are some new buildings going up. The street grid has been maintained but there are plenty of empty lots. The old trees with their branches lopped off looked forlorn. I wish the town well. The pic was taken just a few days after the disaster.
The town of Guymon is located in the panhandle of Oklahoma, just south of Liberal, Kansas (which boasts a 'Land of Oz' exhibit). It was my plan to overnight in this burg. It really feels like the middle of nowhere. Tomorrow I cross over into New Mexico. It is odd for me to consider that the eastern state line of Kansas is about a mile down the street from my house while at this end only about 30 miles of Oklahoma separates it from the southwest. it's a meeting of the worlds.

Westward Ho (Ho Ho!)

Guymon, Oklahoma. By some inexplicable coincidence, the distance between Scottsdale, Arizona and Schroon Lake, New York is exactly the same: 1,250 miles. Since flying has become such a hassle and is so unreliable I decided to drive westward. The unreliability in the overland plan is the weather. How could I have known that one of the biggest blizzards in decades would sweep through the Midwest on Christmas Eve day? I watched the progress of the storm attentively. It seemed to be two-pronged, bashing the Upper Midwest and the states south of us at the same time, but leaving western Kansas virtually unscathed.
When I started off this morning I had to ask myself if I wasn't making a big mistake. The Interstate was in part ice-covered and high winds blew drifting snow. But around Emporia, after two hours of white knuckle driving, the situation improved and by Wichita there was little of the white stuff to be seen. I have described the landscape of this segment of the journey, the Flint Hills, a little more than a year ago. The road west of Wichita was unchartered territory to me. I have traversed the entirety of the great state of Kansas before, heading to Denver, but that route was in the middle of the state. Today's route, the K 54, was more southerly. During the steady and subtle gain of altitude into the Great Plains trees become scarce. These are wide open spaces here. There is something grand about the vastness of space on the Plains. The land is fertile and given over to agriculture. There is a gentleness to the curve of the land. I can imagine how its inhabitants would be attached to living out here, although I would find it intolerable. Towns are few and far between. Look at any map of western Kansas and it looks like it is nearly empty. After Wichita I travelled on a secondary road. I much prefer it to the monotony of the Interstate. Of the towns I passed through, with names like Kingman, Calista, Pratt, Bucklin and Meade, a few were charming, with some vestiges of a past century, while others were utterly non-descript, a collection of ramshackle homes, the inevitable fast food eateries and abandoned gas stations.

Confessions of a lapsed Mahlerian

I was in the mood for Mahler the other night (or so I thought) and wanted to acquaint myself further with the compositions that Mahler wrote during his summers in Toblach, the Ninth and the unfinished Tenth symphonies. I discovered that the Ninth was the only Mahler symphony I didn't have in my cd collection, although I have the complete symphonies on vinyl with Bernstein and the NY Philharmonic. I couldn't remember ever having listened to the Ninth. I anticipated the treat of being swept away by a late masterpiece unknown to me. The first movement started off just fine but by the middle of it I had lost interest; it began to sound like all the previous symphonies he had written, but going through the motions with nothing new to say. The next movement, a Scherzo, although a marvel of orchestral colors and contrapuntal writing, was a hallow, noisy affair. The third movement, a Burleske, a hysterical cacaphony. I left the final movement, the Adagio, for the next evening. I couldn't get through all of it; it just didn't hold my interest. There is much of Mahler's music I adore, "Das Lied von der Erde", the Fourth, Fifth and Eighth symphonies especially, but the Ninth is not on my list of favorites. It turns the old adage, less is more, on its head, in this case: more is less. After the experience of the Ninth I felt like I had been bashed by a baseball bat. When I took the LP off and switched back to radio, an early Mozart piano concerto happened to be playing. Aaaaahhhhh! Now that's music! -- effortless, joyful, serene, like a summer breeze. There are hardly two composers more different in their approach to composition than Mozart and Mahler. Mozart is the Zen Master of classical music, completely, effortlessly in the moment. Mahler works too hard. I did listen to the Adagio of the Tenth Symphony today and was enchanted by it.

In the group pic I had just returned from my second Liederabend at the Ruefasaal. The pic is taken in the lobby of the Heim. I am wearing my newly acquired Janker (Tyrolean style jacket) for the first time. Dennis and Penny Johnson on the left and one of the faculty voice teachers, Barbara Steinhaus, on the right.

The other pic is taken on the following evening, during the intermission of the Meistersinger concert, in the lobby of the Helmut List Saal. Opera coach/pianist Darryl Cooper and I are both in our Jankerian splendour. His student would go on to win first prize by the end of the evening. Darryl lent his two hands to the Schubert piano duet we performed at the beginning of the summer.

Me and my friends

My good friend and colleague Penny Johnson and I (Penny's husband Dennis took the picture) at the bistro across the street from the Heim. It's officially called the Café Mückenauer, but everyone calls it Margit's. It's the most popular hangout for Aimsers as the food is good and it's cheap! Penny had just found a biography of Hugo Wolf at a used book sale that day and we were admiring the photographs.

LKH Kirche

I went back to the Landeskrankenhaus Kirche, the venue of my first Liederabend, to take some photos of the place when no one was around. The art nouveau decor is lovely. Note the unique Jugendstil window and the front altar with the two medallions on either side. The church is more like a chapel. It's not very big, square and domed.

Häuserl in Walde

As the end of our days at AIMS nears we want to enjoy the pleasure of the company of our colleagues one last time. I hadn't been to the restaurant Häuserl im Walde once yet this summer and suggested to a few colleagues that we plan for a festive dinner there. More than a dozen of us made our way up the hill Friday evening, some by cab, some by foot on the forest path. A special room was reserved for us. The Häuserl ("Little House" in Austrian dialect) specializes in Austrian/Styrian cuisine of the highest quality. The place is admirably situated, with several terraces overlooking the leafy suburbs of Graz. It is one of the most popular restaurants in the city. As August is the time for harvesting Eierschwammerl (wild mushrooms) there was an entire page of be-shroomed entrées to choose from. Everything we had was delicious. Some of us ended with a specialty of the house, a dessert of Kastanien crème, puréed chestnuts served with a mountain of Schlagobers (whipped cream) -- no calories in that, of course! Some of us walked back, a much welcome exercise after the indulgence in a rich meal.
I have mixed feelings about leaving Europe. Since I have been away nearly two months I look forward to sleeping in my own bed at home again. The things I won't miss are the lumpy bed in my room and the noise in the Heim. Some of our younger students like to party all night (although this year it has been relatively quieter than last). I will miss the congenial company of my colleagues, the many fine musical events that were offered here, the beautiful city of Graz, but most of all I will miss the easy way of life here. It was pointed out to me that there are many more restaurants in Austria than in Germany. The Austrians have a culture of enjoying life, and that includes going out for a good meal. Austrian cuisine is lighter and more imaginative than its German counterpart. Austrian desserts, especially the Torten, are renowned for their delicacy. The general attitude here is much more laissez faire and tolerant than you will find in neighboring countries. This is the land that invented the genre of operetta, after all! The Germans are too uptight, being preoccupied with following every rule and regulation to the letter. The Austrians are willing to overlook a few things. The Swiss are serious and dour, as if they are all experiencing a permanent bad day. My colleagues and I are unanimous, I think, in our appreciation of Austrian civility and graciousness.

Meistersinger finalists

The ten finalists. Bass Scott Connor from Kansas City is on the right, just behind Andrea Huber, the emcee for the program.

Abschlußkonzert

The final concert of the program took place last night in the Helmut List Saal. This was the final round of the Meistersinger Competition. The ten finalists and two alternates had been chosen a few weeks earlier in a preliminary round. The level of singing was very high and each performer was impressive. There were two basses, one tenor, one mezzo and six sopranos. The ultimate winner was a young spinto, Natalie Aroyan, who sang Veri's "Surta `e la notte...Ernani involami". Not only did she win first place from the panel of distinguished judges, but she also garnered the Audience Favorite Award. It's nice when there is unanimity of opinion in these matters. The orchestra, under the direction of Edoardo Müller, opened the concert with Rossini's Overture to "La gazza ladra", superbly done, and ended with the Liszt tone poem "Les Préludes". It was a thrilling, memorable performance. It made me sad to realize that this fine ensemble would be dispersed to the four corners of the globe after this concert.

Liederabend II

Sometimes the best laid plans go awry; the unexpected keeps life interesting. As we didn't have enough student pianists to go around this year I was assigned only one for my Liederabend program. It turns out she is very capable, but she is young and I couldn't burden her with learning the entire program. I was also assigned one of the pianists on the faculty to help out. Of course, I gave him all the hardest pieces. The day before my Liederabend he threw his back out and was unable to play, so that left me holding the pianistic bag. I know all the pieces as I have been coaching them for weeks now, but hadn't worked them up to performance level. It took some extra practicing to get myself up to speed. Our first performance was in the Landeskrankenhaus Kirche, the church that is part of the provincial hospital near here. It is a charming Jugendstil building with its original decor intact, so cute one would like to wrap it up and take it home. (The photo is of a stylized saint.) Like last year, the concert was very well attended. As the Director of the AIMS program didn't come (I thought he would) it was left to me to offer some welcoming remarks to our audience and inform them of the program change. I have no problem speaking publicly, but I have never done so in German -- and to an audience of Austrians! I got more nervous about that then playing, but all went well. The concert was a great success. My young charges all rose to the occasion and sang beautifully. I'm very proud of them all.

The second performance took place in a venue on the Hauptplatz, in the heart of the old city. The RUEFA (an acronym for something of other) is actually a travel agency by day. The desks are pushed aside and concealed behind a curtain and, voilà, instant concert hall. A Bösendorfer grand was moved in for the occasion. Embellishing the somewhat surreal atmosphere of the place is an enormous palm tree that is wall-papered on the front wall of the room, just in front of the piano, a visual that rather put a damper on the "Winter" segment of my program. (The theme of the program was "Die Jahreszeiten" = The Seasons). The power of music had to overcome it. (Perhaps next time I can create a program around all of those Goethe South Sea Island poems; the well-known "Nur wer Tahiti kennt, weiss was ich leide" jumps to mind....) Once again my students performed admirably. I chose a particularly interesting program of Lieder, a mix of well-known favorites and lesser known songs, including compositions by Clara Schumann, Fanny Mendelssohn-Hensel, Alma Mahler, Robert Franz, Josef Marx and Charles Ives. Two duets by Mendelssohn and Schumann added luster to the evening. Two different people told me later that they thought this was the best Liederabend they had ever heard at AIMS. There could be no better compliment. This second program was taped and recorded. I hope I can add some clips to this blog at a future date.

Schlossberg

Just across the river from the Minoritenkirche is this view of clock tower on the Schlossberg, 'the castle on a hill'. The clock tower is the most recognizable feature of Graz. The castle used to be a mighty fortress until it was blown up by Napoleon.

Minoritensaal

The piano is a Fazioli, a make considered one of the best in Europe. The vignette above the huge painting in the center says: SILENTIVM, with a cherub on either side, reminding the monks below to shut up and eat. It's high camp.

Meisterklasse

So far I have said little about the musical experience this year. As it was last year, the program at AIMS is jampacked with activities. The singing in the public performances with orchestra has been at a generally higher level than last year, but there have still been a few that were not up to par. The orchestra, on the other hand, is phenomenal. They say it's the best in years (and it was pretty darn good last year!). It is outstanding on every concert, playing with precision and great subtlety. On my end of things, the Concert Studio, we have lately enjoyed two masterclasses by high profile singers. Bo Skovus, the Danish baritone, came over from Salzburg (where he is singing Guglielmo at the Festspiele) at the beginning of the week. Barbara Bonney, the American soprano, also made her way over from the City of Mozart today. Both classes took place in the Minoritensaal, a large room that is part of a functioning monastery. The room itself, splendidly and unashamedly Baroque, used to be the refectory, but it is no longer used as such as the community of monks is too small. It's a great space. The AIMS orchestra concerts were held here for many years, I'm told. The photo is of the Minoritenkirche from the outside. It was a gloomy day.

Siesta on the mountain

A group of bovine beauties near the top of the Schöckl. Smile, girls!

Auf dem Schöckl

By far the highest elevation in these parts, at 1,500 meters, is a mountain called the Schöckl. It's about 15 miles out of town, a popular day trip destination for Grazers who consider the Schöckl their 'Hausberg', their private mountain. One can hike up (strenuous) or ride the cable car to the top. My plan was to take the cable car, but I missed the stop and continued on in the Postbus for another two stops, about half way up the mountain. From there it was a considerable hike to the top, but nothing like the death-defying climb I made in the Tyrol over a month ago. When the weather is clear one can see for many miles, as immortalized in the Broadway hit tune: "On a Clear Day You can see Slovenia" (which you supposedly can). It wasn't quite clear enough for that, but still quite impressive. There are several restaurants and cafés on top. It is also a place for paragliders to sail off into the blue yonder (see pic).
I treated myself to the cable car ride on the way down. Unfortunately I had just missed the bus back to Graz and the next one wasn't scheduled to show up for another two hours. Not to waste a perfectly fine summer day I set off on one of the marked trails through the delightful Austrian countryside in the direction of Graz. The first town is the modest spa of Sankt Radegund. It's a Luftkurort, a spa that offers especially good air. What is special about their air is a mystery to me. After two hours I had no idea where I was, having lost my bearings completely as the roads and paths wind around through the hills. I luckily found a road and a Postbus stop. The next bus was to tootle by in an hour. Threatening clouds were moving in from the east but fortunately the rain held off until the bus came. It was a spontaneous, adventure-filled day. This was my last free day before I leave. The performances and activities come at a furious pace during our last week here in Graz.

Hike along the Mur

After two hours I had 'done' Maribor. There was little else worth seeing. What to do with the rest of a spectacular summer day? No point in going back to Graz. Back at the station I enquired about a train to the town of Ptuj (pronounced pa-tooey). I had read in some guidebook that it was worth visiting. But the train did not run on Saturday, so pfooey to Ptuj. I thought a nice hike would be just the thing so I boarded the next train north and alit at the first station across the Austrian border, Spielfeld-Straß. I expected there would be marked hiking paths from there. Nearly every town has them. Walking down the hill from the station I found a Gaststätte (restaurant) in the sleepy town and enjoyed a lovely light lunch sitting under a chesnut tree. It was one of those 'life is good' moments. One has a lot of those in Europe. My speculation about hiking trails was confirmed in the fact that there were several. I chose the Murradweg (bike path along the River Mur) also called the Grenzweg (border path) beacuse it follows the river that separates Austria from Slovenia. The River Mur happens to be the stream that flows through Graz, so it is an old friend. I started off, happy as a lark. The asphalted trail is meant expressly for hikers and bikers. One finds a lot of trails of this sort in Europe. It followed the river for a while, passing lots of corn fields and fields of squash. The corn is not the sweet variety we prize so much; it is grown as feed for the pigs. Corn on the cob is still a rarity here (and it's expensive if you find it in a grocery store). The squash is used for making something called Kürbiskernöl (pumpkin seed oil). It's a Styrian specialty. They put it on everything. There were also stretches of forest, much appreciated as it was getting really hot. There were also a few sleepy villages along the way, like Unterschwarza and Oberschwarza. I walked until I got tired, had a rest, turned around and retraced my steps. I walked 12 km (8 miles), a little too much on a hot day. There were plenty of bikers, but these were people out for the fun of it, not the fanatical biking hordes I encountered in the Tyrol.

Another Drava vista

This is a somewhat wider view of the town from across the river. I had a look at a new shopping mall a friend urged me to visit. A shopping mall? They're all the same except that the signs here are in Slovenian. At least I got a nice photo for my efforts. Walking through the streets of the old town a bit later I stopped to examine a map of the town and heard some music drifting into my consciousness. It was a bit too exotic to be European. My ears did not deceive me: it was Indian music. A little ways up the street sat a lone Hare Krishna guy, shaved head, saffron robes, the whole kit, singing gently and accompanying himself on a harmonium. It was so unexpected and incongruous I did a double take. Passersby on the busy shopping street looked at him as if he had just landed from another planet. As I passed him I made an effort to nod and smile, to thank him for his courage. He flashed me a huge smile. The guy was blissed out. Hare Krishna y'all!

Bridge over the River Drava

We all know someone who, from a certain angle, with the right lighting, etc. looks pretty darn good. So does Maribor from the bridge over the Drava. In a lovely coincidence, the Drava (Drau in German) is the very same river whose source I saw outside of Toblach in the South Tyrol. It's all grown up here, a big river, having made it's way through three Austrian provinces and flowing into Slovenia at Dravograd. It will join the Danube somewhere in Serbia. The lady walking on the left is now forever immortalized on my blog. The setting of the town is very pretty, with its hills and vineyards. I have seen a picture of the old, pre-war Marburg. It must have been a lovely town.

Slovenia

I had Maribor, Slovenia on my list of places to visit this summer. It is only an hour away by train and, since it is in a country I have never visited, I thought it might be interesting. Maribor gets tepid reviews from my colleagues who have been there. I boarded an early train, the Vienna-Maribor Inter City Express and was on my way.
Until the debacle of the First World War the city was German-speaking and known as Marburg an der Drau (to distinguish it from the university town Marburg an der Lahn in Germany). Like so many other cities on the fringes of the German/Austrian Empires it was surrounded by a countryside populated by non-German speakers. After the demise of the Austro-Hungarian Empire Slovenia was established as an entity and the Germans were kicked out. As a former city of the Hapsburg Empire one would expect the usual imperial architecture. Unfortunately, not a whole lot of it remains in Maribor and what is left is pretty shabby. Slovenia was quick to embrace the west when the former Yugoslavia collapsed. It joined the European Union and it is the only former east bloc nation to switch to the euro currency. It has a high standard of living. But twenty years cannot erase the legacy of half a century of communist economic mismanagement. I applaud the Slovenes for doing as well as they have. From what I have seen in photos, it is a beautiful country. It even has it's own mountain range, the Julian Alps, and 50 km of Adriatic seacoast. But all that doesn't change the impression one gets of Maribor: it's a dull and dingy place.

I strolled from the train station to the town center. The cathedral was so unimpressive I almost overlooked it. That's it?? It is one of those churches that went through stylistic renovations through the centuries, starting as a Romanesque building, becoming Gothisized later on and finally Baroque-isized. It's the all too common fate of European sacred buildings. I have seen a lot of churches so it takes a lot to impress me. This one, inside and out, is on the level of any small town parish church. It's in the Slovene ho-hum-ski Baroque style. The Franciscan Basilica, which looked promising from the photo in a travel brochure, turned out to be an early 20th century copy. Sorry, 'neo' doesn't do it for me. Puhleeeeze. The photo is of a pleasant square in the center of town. The building is called a castle. Can't imagine why.

Schubert in Graz

Last week I was in the Old City, enjoying an after-dinner ice-cream with a friend before the orchestra concert taking place at the Stephaniensaal, when I noticed a bas relief of Schubert's familiar visage on a building across from where we were sitting with '1827' written under it. Schubert in Graz? I had no idea. A few nights ago I was enjoying an evening with friends in a popular beergarden, the Schuberthof Propeller. I thought nothing of the name because the place happens to be on Schubertstrasse. (If you think I spend a lot of time in ice-cream parlors, beergardens and restaurants, you're right, I do! -- it's part of the fun of spending the summer here.) One member of our party has been coming to Graz for a very long time and remembered the former incarnation of the Propeller as the Schuberthof. He went on to say that Schubert liked to come to Graz because of a special wine made here, and that, as legend would have it, he visited this very beergarden. You mean Schubert sat under these very trees? I asked incredulously. Back home I did a little research on the internet. It is true: Schubert came to Graz, but only on one occasion. The house with the plaque in the Herrengasse must be where he stayed. Here is a detailed account of that visit from the year 1827, copied from the website www.franzschubert.org.uk.

"Back in Vienna much of the summer was occupied trying to promote a performance of his (‘Great’) C major symphony, the score of which he had already presented to the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in the previous December. Two copyists had been busy with the immense task of preparing the orchestral parts and the work was put into rehearsal (according to Leopold Sonnleithner – writing in 1861, long after Schubert’s death), but "it was provisionally put on one side because of its length and difficulty".

On Sunday 2nd September Schubert left Vienna by coach in the company of Johann Baptist Jenger for a 24-hour journey to Graz, where they would stay with their host Doktor Karl Pachler. As the fare for this journey by express coach was 9 florins 20 kreuzer AC, Deutsch speculates that "Schubert may have obtained the means for this journey from the proceeds of Opp.75 and 87" (D599 and D713,637,638). Dr Pachler’s wife Maria was an exceptionally good pianist of whom Beethoven was able to write, "I have not found anyone who performed my compositions as well as you do". Whilst in Graz Schubert was present at an opera by Mayerbeer that was not to his liking, but an event of greater importance and appeal for Schubert came only a few days later when the Styrian Musical Society, of which he had been elected an honorary member in 1823, mounted a charity concert in his honour, from which the proceeds would be divided between the victims of recent floods and the widows and orphans of country schoolmasters. At this concert Schubert made one of his very few appearances as an accompanist at a public performance as he almost entirely restricted his piano playing to private gatherings. The pieces of his that were performed were the song Normans Gesang (Scott, D846), the quartet for male voices and piano Geist der Liebe (D747) and the female chorus Gott in der Natur (D757).

The Pachlers invited many friends and keen music lovers to several Schubertiads at which Schubert sang to his own accompaniment, there being no other singer present, and played piano duets with Jenger. He may also have played some of his first set of Impromptus (D899) that he had in preparation."

Grazer Nachbarschaft

I just can't keep my fingers off the camera shutter these days. I took an evening walk the other day, not in my usual favorite Geidorf neighborhood behind the Heim, but past the Odilien Anstalt and up the hill on the other side. Actually, it is a sizable hill, the Rückelsberg. There is a restaurant on top called Haus Jobstl which has been mentioned by my colleagues a few times. I found it by accident. There is a view from there of the Alps to the north of Graz. On my way up the hill I enjoyed the fine houses and gardens of the Waltersdorf neighborhood. There are some attractive modern homes as well. These photos are of a street not far from the Heim. I would guess the houses were built in the 1920's, in a style more art deco than art nouveau. It is not as grand as anything you'd come across in Vienna or Budapest (and I can now say that from experience), but this street is delightfully charming, the reason we like Graz so much.

Finale

On the Chain Bridge with view of the Duna, etc. It turned out to be a fabulous sunny day (after a chilly start).

Cafe

Yours truly in a cafe on Buda Hill. It was a fanciful neo-Gothic kind of lodge overlooking the city.

Keleti Station

Keleti Station is one of those pre-war train stations built during the heyday of the Empire. It's a bit shabby around the edges, but still an imposing building. Penny took this shot from the balcony of her hotel.

More Budapest

I'm posting a few more photos. These are courtesy of Penny who has a sharp eye for the interesting subject. This is the side entrance to the Gresham/Four Seasons Hotel, as grand a concoction of Jugendstil peacocks in wrought iron as ever there was.

Incident at Szombathéley

Traveling to a foreign country is always an adventure, especially when the language of the country you are visiting is as familiar to you as Middle High Klingon. Hungarian is certainly one of the more impenetrable tongues on the continent. Penny, a practiced linguist, and I attempted to 'crack the code' of the language we encountered, trying to guess how many genders Hungarian might have (it doesn't have any, actually), what endings denote singular or plural, what significance various diacritical marks have, etc. We didn't get very far.
Sunday morning we boarded our train at Keleti Station for the return journey. This time it was packed and, as we didn't have seat reservations, we were forced to sit in the smoking car (ugh!). This leg of the trip was also an express train. The conductor, who spoke only a little German, made his rounds and informed us that we had to pay a supplement to the tune of 900 Hungarian Florints (about $5). We didn't have that many florints left. What would it be in euros? we asked. He consulted his electronic ticket gizmo and announced that it would be 36 euros. I think we simultaneously exclaimed our disbelief: sechsunddreißig euros???? That would be about $55, an outrageous sum. Penny would have none of it and dug in her heels. The conductor, poor man, who was just trying to do his job, became intransigent on the issue. We were at an impasse. He confiscated our tickets. The last word we heard from his lips before he stormed off was: Polizei! We were going to be dragged off the train by the police at the next station. Somehow the aid of another passenger was enlisted, a young lady who acted as translator. It seems that the conductor had missed a decimal point on his gizmo. The actual conversion was 3.6 euros, not 36. And he obviously had no idea how much a euro was worth. The crisis was diffused and we paid our florints/euros. We had to change trains at Szombathéley, boarding an Austrian train for the second leg of our journey. I'll bet that conductor was glad to see the back of us. And here is yet another view of the Danube from Buda Hill.

Buda Hill falcon

This is on Buda Hill again, a statue of King Steven, the legendary founder of Hungary. There was a guy in vaguely medieval garb sitting there with a large hooded falcon. He was offering tourists the experience of having his bird sit on their arm -- heavily gloved, of course (the tourist, not the bird).

Museums

The Museum of Applied Arts was just down the street from my hotel. The building is an exuberant example of Hungarian Jugendstil with an overlay of Moorish influence. We couldn't spare the time to spend in any museum during this short stay. I look forward to exploring Budapest's fine museums on my next visit.

Zsinagóga

A short walk from the basilika is the Zsinagóga (synagogue), one of the largest in Europe. It is built in a Byzantine/Moorish style. My photo doesn't do justice to the fine brick work of the façade. As it was a Saturday the interior was closed to visitors.

Szt. István Bazilika

After our pleasant visit to Buda Hill we made our way down to the river and again crossed the Chain Bridge. The weather had (thankfully) cooled down and the wind blowing down the Danube nearly took us along with it. We passed the Gresham/Four Seasons and headed towards the Basilica of Saint Stephen, the patron saint of Hungary. The neighborhood around it has been turned into a delighful pedestrian zone, adorned with elaborate street lights. There is a large open square in front of the basilica, making the building even more imposing. It took many years to complete and the style is described as 'eclectic'. The interior has a new, scrubbed-clean look, but it is still very beautiful.

Parliament

The House of the Hungarian Parliament graces the Pest side of the Danube. It was built in neo-Gothic style and is the third largest parliament building in the world. It is hard to resist photographing it.

Budapest III

The city of Budapest was created in the late 1870's by joining the two cities of Buda and Pest, each occupying a side of the Danube, into one metropolis. (I suspect this was inspired by the celebrated union of Osh and Kosh in Wisconsin.) The river dominates the city with Pest on rive gauche. On the other side Buda castle, seat of the Kings of Hungary, looms on one side of a long narrow mesa, nearly a kilometer in length. The hill is nearly a city unto itself with buildings from various periods in its long history. In one building near the castle a plaque proclaims that Beethoven once made a concert appearance there. The Soviet Stalinist regime gutted the Palace itself in the 1950's but it has since been restored. The view of the Pest side and the river is magnificent. Even Vienna doesn't offer anything like it as there are no hills in the city. Oddly, Vienna, which celebrates the Danube, has its back turned to the mighty stream. In Budapest it takes center stage. There are several islands in the river and five important bridges. The Germans blew up every one of them, but they have all been rebuilt. The most famous and a landmark of the city is the Chain Bridge. It is an imposing span.

Budapest II

Budapest is said to be one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. Everyone I know who has been there has waxed ecstatic about the place. Add me to the list. If you appreciate interesting architecture there are few cities to match the Hungarian metropolis in magnificence. You cannot walk down a street without coming across stellar examples of Belle Époque, neo-Renaissance and especially Art Nouveau styles. It seems that the entire city was rebuilt in the late 19th century. And indeed it was. The Golden Age began with the creation of the Dual Monarchy with Vienna and Budapest as co-capitals in 1875 and continued unabated until the First World War. Not only are there numerous public buildings to gawk at, but seemingly endless streets of gorgeous residential buildings. Of course some are neglected and crumbling quietly away, but very many have been taken care of. Considering the ravages of WW II and the '56 Revolution, Budapest is in surprisingly good shape. They might do a little better at trash pick-up, though. And some of the parks were in a sorry state, but those are minor quibbles about this great city. The photos show the famed Gresham Palace, originally built by a British insurance firm as an office building. In the Soviet era it fell into disrepair but has now been restored to its former glory by the Four Seasons hotel. It's a real stunner.

Budapest

With no one signed up for Friday afternoon and fine weather predicted I decided that this would be the weekend to go to Budapest. At the last minute my British colleague and friend Penny Johnson decided to join me. The train journey east takes about six hours. There are two possible routes to take: either through Vienna or crossing into Hungary directly east from Graz. I assumed (wrongly) that the latter would be quicker. Our train turned out to be something of a local, stopping in nearly every station along the way. No matter -- we weren't in a hurry and the turnip express afforded us the opportunity to see more of the country. The train didn't go northeast as we anticipated, but it zigzagged from one town to another. Eastern Austria is quite pretty with rolling hills, the end of the Alps, and prosperous villages. We watched for the border crossing, but there was virtually no trace of what had once been the fiercely guarded Iron Curtain. Things in Hungary looked like (in Penny's words) they needed a bit of TLC. The terrain in Hungary flattens out. The area is surprisingly sparsely populated. The vast expanse of nearly featureless farm land looked like what you might see in rural Illinois or Nebraska, that is until the train stops in a place like Nagytétényiszemlöhegy (I made that up) and you know you're not approaching Omaha. We got stuck in one station for a long time. Announcements were given repeatedly over the loudspeakers, but since they were in Hungarian we had no way of knowing what was going on. Perhaps it was something like: This train will be running off a cliff after leaving the station. Have a nice trip and thank you for traveling with Magyar Rail. It turned out to be a malfunctioning engine. Once that was fixed we were on our way. It was blazing hot and the train was not air conditioned (very little is in Europe). We arrived at Budapest Keletli Station an hour and a half late and somewhat fried. The first thing that hit my eye upon leaving the station was a huge sign for Burger King. Good grief -- is there no escaping American culture? After sorting out our hotels (both relatively new and quite nice) we stumbled upon a street that had something like 45 restaurants, all with outside seating. We found something to our liking and had a fabulous dinner among the Magyars.

Schloss Eggenberg

Sunday evening. The days festivities continued with everyone piling into two huge buses and heading out to the Baroque Eggenberg Palace. We are there at the official invitation of the Governor of the Steiermark and we have the place to ourselves. I participated in this special event last year. Eggenberg is still enchanting. The weather was perfect: cool and no rain. It is a formal affair and everyone dresses up in their best finery. After admiring the inner courtyard whilst being serenaded by a brass ensemble playing Renaissance tunes we moved into the Planetensaal, a stunning Baroque period room. An ensemble played (magnificently) a movement from the Schubert Octet and the chorus again sang a few numbers. After that there was a light supper of open sandwiches and drinks. It was a delightful evening. The photos show the inner courtyard of the Schloss and myself together with my friend, the conductor Wei-zhi Wang. Behind us part of the Planetensaal is visible.

Die festliche Eröffnung

Sunday. This morning we enjoyed the Festliche Eröffnung, the Convocation of the AIMS program which is celebrating its 39th year in Graz. The Convocation took place in the Aula of the Karl-Franzens-Universität. There were the de rigeur speeches (mercifully short) by the Rector of the university, the Director of Aims, a Representative from the Styrian Assembly and an attaché from the American embassy. Between all that we heard the orchestra playing the first movement of Händel's "Watermusic", a Suite from "Daphnis and Chloe" by Ravel and, at the very end of the program, the "Donner and Blitzen Polka" of Johann Strauss. The chorus sang "Von hohem Dachstein", a Styrian folk-song, as well as the American and Austrian national anthems. It was a lovely program. Looming over the orchestra in imposing splendor is a statue of his Majesty Emperor Franz I. I assume they named the university after him. Some people are not content with just a plaque.

Villas in Graz

I have mentioned on occasion how much I love the neighborhood behind the Studentenheim in which we live. It is one of the nicest residential areas in town. Here are a few pics of these venerable manses. Many are still private homes, but some have been converted into offices. Who can afford the upkeep on houses this big? My colleagues Karen ( a stage director) and Penny (one of the German Diction coaches) adorn the photos.

Im Kino

What to do on a rainy Saturday? Why, go to the movies, of course! Two colleagues and I set off for Graz's one multiplex on Saturday afternoon to catch a showing of "Harry Potter und der Halbblutprinz". I would have preferred to see it with the original soundtrack, but that wasn't possible (only one showing and that is at 11 PM). Okay, it's not Shakespeare, but when you know what the actors actually sound like (the voices of the unmistakable Alan Rickman or Maggie Smith, for example) it is a bit irritating to hear some totally different voice come out of their mouths, not to mention the fact that they would be speaking in German! Whatever. It's all about the special effects anyway. I haven't been to the cinema in Europe for decades and forgot what a totally different cultural experience it is. First of all, there are various ticket prices according to where you sit (middle of the theater being the most expensive) and the seats are assigned. How ridiculous is that?! I said to my friend Penny that I thought that was sooo European. No, she said, it was sooo Germanic. There is also a surcharge of one euro if the film is unusually long. Needless to say, with all these options just buying your ticket can take a while. Every film has a fifteen minute intermission. They just stop the film wherever and off you go the restroom or to replenish popcorn. The Cineplexx (as it is called here) was built on the edge of town, at the end of a tram line, in a not very attractive district. It not only houses a multiple screen movie house, but several restaurants and a lovely cafe as well. All of them have table service. There is no on-the-run junk food here. It is all very civilized. (Popcorn, candy and soda are available in the theater itself, of course -- but they're not food!) The complex itself was not very well designed; restrooms were off in some obscure corner and the lobby was too small to accommodate the number of people in the theaters. I may rail against the impersonal, charmless atmosphere of American movie houses these days, but they really are well planned. After the film we treated ourselves to a feast in the Chinese/Japanese restaurant next door. It was some of the best oriental food I've had anywhere. It was a fun afternoon.