Freundschaft in Limburg

In conclusion of this travel diary I include a photo taken at a restaurant in Limburg. (This may have been a year later, actually.) I met this lovely woman, Uschi, there. She was also seeing MM and sniffed me out as a kindred spirit. We became friends for a number of years. Uschi ,a British subject, was actually born in Insterburg, in the former German province of East Prussia. She and her family fled as the Russian armies approached in 1944. This province was awarded to the Soviet Union after the war (they were eager to get their hands on a Baltic port) and is now known as the Kalliningrad Oblast. It is, from what I have heard and read, a total shambles. The main city used to be Königsberg, a great center of culture. Every stone of it was blown up by the Russians. I see that just fifteen years ago I was still trim and had hardly any grey hair. Sigh. None of us can escape the ravages of time.

Thalheim

Thalheim is the village about an hour north of Limburg in the state of Hessen where Mother Meera lives. [Actually, a few years ago she moved to another village just outside of Limburg.] I had read about MM in an article published in "Yoga Journal" about a year before. Something about her fascinated me enough that I wanted to check out the scene personally. I had already planned this trip to Europe, so I tacked on a few days at the end of my itinerary to come up here.
As there are no accommodations in Thalheim itself, visitors must stay in the surrounding villages, or in Limburg (if one has a car -- the trains don't run very frequently on this line). Most of us stay in Dorndorf-Dornburg which is just a few miles away, a pleasant walk. As a result of MM's popularity in the past few years, D-D has experienced an economic boom. The surrounding area is nice enough, but it would attract few people for a holiday. MM gives darshan (a session in which visitors sit in her presence and receive, one by one, her personal blessing) four nights a week, Thursday-Sunday. Each darshan lasts less than two hours. I am in equal measures curious, wary and excited about the experience. Everything is well-organized. This ritual has been going on in Thalheim for years now and the organizers are very careful not to disrupt normal life in the village. One must make reservations by phone weeks beforehand. Only about 120 people can attend any given evening. Darshan happens in complete silence and, as I learn from subsequent visits, takes place in exactly the same manner every single time. I love the silence and the reverence. The energy is very powerful. I won't describe my experiences here except to add that I returned at least a half dozen times, traveling the distance form Kansas City to Thalheim just to sit in silence in a room full of strangers. [MM has made a few visits to the States in recent years and I have seen her here as well.] The picture is of the utterly unremarkable village of Thalheim. Well, I will share one experience I had: I think it was the second year I visited; I woke up in the middle of the night from a powerful, ecstatic dream in which MM appeared to me and took me to some celestial realm. She was wearing the same sari she had worn in darshan that evening. I could barely gaze upon her, so glorious was her presence. I felt myself re-enter my body and awoke in tears. From the window of my room in Dorndorf I could see Thalheim in the distance. Who are you?? I wondered. I still don't know the answer to that question. [There is a previous entry on this blog about Mother Meera on December 15, 2008.]

Limburg an der Lahn

The town of Limburg an der Lahn lies about an hour north of Frankfurt. It is only half the size of Fulda and, like that town, escaped the ravages of war. Limburg boasts a superbly preserved town core. Its glory is the Cathedral of Sankt Georg (13th century), considered the best preserved example of late Romanesque architecture in Germany. This magnificent structure sits on a hill around which the town was built. Its seven spires dominate the landscape. Since 1965 It has been restored to its original color scheme (a bit gaudy to our tastes, but there it is). The warren of narrow medieval streets of the surrounding town are mostly built in the half-timbered style of the area. Although small, Limburg is a real gem. The famous (infamous?) stinky cheese is named after this town. Once you get past its stomach-turning fragrance, Limburger cheese is really quite delicious. [N.B. The inside shot is not mine, but the other two are.]

Fulda

August 10. I've had my fill of big city life. After a train ride of less than two hours from Berlin I alight in Fulda. It's a small town (pop. 60,000) that is known for its many fine examples of Baroque architecture. Happily, it escaped the destruction of the last war. It is a lovely place with a long and rich history and I'm glad I stopped here. The photo (not my own -- this one is better) is of the magnificent Cathedral. [I checked the wikitravel site for some details. Fulda is described as follows: "Fulda's architecture mostly escaped the baroquization that took over much of Europe. The lack of decoration (of) the buildings gives the eyes a rest from the ornateness of other cities." Huh?? My German guide says: "Das 18. Jahrhundert gestaltete fast explosiv das Stadtbild von Fulda um und machte es zu einer Barockstadt." In other words, Fulda is most definitely a Baroque city. Whoever wrote the wikitravel article must have been smoking something, or he got off the train in Peoria by mistake. Have a look at the Cathedral. If this is not as Baroque as a Brandenburg Concerto, I'm King Tut.]

Berlin

August 9. Berlin is more bustling than ever. The former East Berlin is now one big building site. Dozens of giant cranes tower over the city. Still, when you cross what used to be the dividing line, the place where the infamous wall stood, the difference is striking. Alexanderplatz, in Communist times a vast, empty, dreary expanse of concrete, has been adorned with some trees and grassy areas. Gendarmenplatz, one of the jewels of the city, is still under renovation. The communist authorities had renovated the exquisite Schinckel Theater, but one of the matching pair of churches on either side (the "French" Cathedral and the "German" Cathedral) is still in the same state of ruin as it was at the end of the war. (My photo shows the restored church.) A visit to the Museuminsel, the museum island, is thrilling, especially the Pergamon Museum. This houses many great treasures, the most important of which is the ancient altar from the Greek city of Pergamon that was brought to Berlin piece by piece and reconstructed here in the late 1800's. My other photos show the Protestant Cathedral and the Brandenburg gate. The Brandenburgertor used to straddle the border and was off-limits for thirty years. Now it has taken its place as the center of city life again. [Since then all the major museum collections of East and West have been combined and housed on the Museuminsel.]

By train through Mecklenburg

August 8. Arrive Travemünde 8 AM. This small port town is northeast of Lübeck and on the border with the former DDR (Deutsche Demokratische Republik), the Communist German state. Embark by train going east and change in Bad Kleinen. The wait at the station is like something out of the twilight zone as the platforms are completely deserted. I am the only traveller there. Where is everybody? What I see of towns in the former East Germany has that grey, dull look of all of Eastern Europe. It has only been four and a half years since the wall fell and the two Germanies were reunited. On the way south to Berlin, just north of Schwerin, the train breaks down inexplicably in the middle of nowhere. It is really hot again and we are stuck for over an hour. One of the passengers in my compartment, a woman in her forties, complains that this is what she would expect of the Reichsbahn (the former E. German railway) but not of the Deustsche Bundesbahn (the W. German national railway that has now taken over running the entire system). "I thought things are supposed to get better", she remarks indignantly. It is, I think, typical of the expectations people in the eastern side have, that life in the West is a bed of roses and everything goes smoothly. Well, it doesn't -- not always.

Tallinn, Estonia

The bus stops for twenty minutes in the Estonian town of Pärnu. It looks like an interesting place. (I read later that it is well worth a longer visit.) Estonia has a more cheerful, open aspect to it. The clouds drift across the sky; there are many lakes and a great deal of forested land. Is it just the splendid summery weather that lifts my spirits? I like it a lot. We arrive in Tallinn, the capital, about 2 PM. I am able to leave my luggage at the ferry terminal and spend a few hours exporing the city. It is also quite old, with ancient ramparts, buildings and church spires. The Russian Orthodox Cathedral of Alexander Nevsky is on the top of a nearby hill; very pretty. It is now used as a concert hall. (The Soviets discouraged any practice of religion and turned most churches to other uses.) In a café I witness another incident of anti-Russian retaliation. The women at the counter refuse to serve an elderly Russian-speaking woman because she doesn't speak Estonian to them. I can make out the phrase 'no Russian'! Many Russians have lived in the Baltic states for generations and have never bothered to learn a single word of the local language. Now the tables have turned: you don't speak our lingo, you get no service. It is sad for the elderly lady, but I understand the dynamic of the interaction. The resentment lies very deep.
Embark on the Queen Balanga, the Estonian ferry that will take me back to Germany, at 10 PM. It is an older ship that has only recently been bought and put into service here. The ship is a bit shabby, but comfortable enough. I share a cabin with two Estonian bikers. As we don't share a common language there is no conversation. We're at sea for two nights and one full day. It's a boring trip. I remember a similar boat trip that I took from Helsinki to Stockholm many years ago. We sailed through an archipelago of thousands of islands. That was enchanting. This is just open water.

Ainazi

August 6th. The bus for Tallinn leaves at 7 AM. I want to make this segment of my journey overland as I am curious to see what the countryside looks like and, more than that, what it will be like to cross such an obscure border. I have a fascination with such places. It is a beautiful summer day. The road leaves Riga and continues north along the coast. Ainazi (ponounced: EYE-nah-jee) is the last town in Latvia before the Estonian border. It's a really small town. (This is not my pic (and my thanks to whomever took it.) This is what an obscure border town looks like. It could be anywhere, actually. The bus stops for the usual formalities. Two female passengers carrying CCCP (Soviet) passports are hauled off. I am sure this is just retaliation for the decades of mistreatment the Letts and Estonians endured from the Russians. Still, it isn't fair since these people probably had nothing to do with that. I wonder what language the border guards converse in. Latvian and Estonian are totally different. The obvious common language would be Russian (which everyone was forced to learn in school) but somehow I doubt they want to resort to that. Perhaps these guards are recruited locally and speak both Estonian and Latvian. Perhaps they are practicing their Klingon skills...

Riga

August 3. The capital city of Riga is looking good; much renovating going on. Many historic buildings, in style from medieval to Jugenstil, have survived and give Riga a European rather than a Soviet appearance. A stroll through the old town brings me to the impressive Doma baznica, or Cathedral, built in the 13-14th centuries (see pic) and the large square in front of it. But especially moving is the Freedom Monument, the Tevzemi Brivibai, the symbol of Latvian striving for independence. During Soviet times the authorities monitered any activity here; anyone attempting to lay a wreath at the monument would be hauled away by the secret police. The famed Riga Opera House is to the right of the square. I asked my relatives how the Baltic states established governments after they managed to extricate themselves from Russian rule. In each case fifty years of illegal occupation was declared and the constitutions from the brief period of independence between the two World Wars were re-instated.

Liepaja

We make an excursion to the city of Liepaja (German: Libau), where my mother grew up. The entire city was strictly off-limits for visitors until recently as the Russians had a naval base there. When the Soviets finally pulled out they scuttled some ships in the harbor, just out of spite. Now the Latvians have to clear the wrecks and rebuild the facilities of the harbor which are in a deplorable condition. [At a nearby army facility the Russians purposely trashed the place, even pulling the electrical wiring out of the walls. They saw the Baltic States as their colonies and resent being evicted. The Latvians, Estonians and Lithuanians take all this destruction in stride. They are overjoyed to be rid of the Russians. As I heard it often said here: We are grateful that the Russians liberated us from the Nazis, but we didn't invite them to stay on for fifty years!]
July 31. We take a walking tour of the old part of Ventspils. There is still evidence of old European architecture and ornate wooden buildings such as one finds in Scandinavia. Renovations have begun in the hope that the town will become a tourist destination. There is a lot to be done. Nearly every building is in disrepair; some are beyond hope and need to be razed. A building which was once a classy hotel is a shambles. The Russians appropriated all the best buildings for themselves then trashed everything. There is still a large minority of Russians living in Latvia. Most of them live in the cities, dominating certain areas. I notice later in Riga that where every street sign was in Russian and Latvian, the Russian has been blacked out. People don't want to see the Cyrillic alphabet anymore. There is not a good word to be said about the Russians here. My aunt tells me that there are good ones and bad ones. She is very reasonable. Most people aren't. She also tells me that Latvia is fifty years behind; they know what Western Europe is like and they want their piece of the pie.
We attend a piano recital at the local conservatory. (One of my aunt's best friends is a professor there.) The pianist is Andra Zandmana. [A few years later we had a wonderful foreign student at the UMKC Conservatory, Inara Zandmana, who turned out to be the daughter of the pianist I heard in Ventspils that evening! It is truly a small world.]
The photo is of the house where my mother lived in Liepaja as a girl, just before the First World War. The name of the street then was Bahnhofstrasse.

Turaida, Kuldige

1) Turaida Castle was built in the 13th century. It commands a fine view over the lovely rolling hills. 2) A street in the sleepy town of Kuldige. August 3. I am driven to Riga where my older cousin Talis lives. On the way we stop in the charming little town of Kuldige (German: Goldingen). The Germans were a presence here for centuries and lorded it over the locals. They were the landowners. The Germans were resented but they were also admired. They brought German culture to the Baltic region and established cultural institutions like the Riga Opera. Richard Wagner was an assistant conductor there in his early years. It was on the sea journey from Riga (on his way to Paris to escape creditors) that he came up with the idea for the opera "Fliegende Holländer". The story of the opera, an old north European legend, was eventually set off the coast of Norway. [During my student years in Germany I once met a woman who was Baltisch Deutsch, one of the community of Germans who had lived in the Baltic states for centuries. She told me that in order to attend university in Tallinn before the Second World War she had to master the Estonian language -- which she did. (Related to Finnish and Hungarian, it is one of the most difficult languages to learn.) The Russians permitted use of Baltic languages only through middle school. If you wanted to study at university in Latvia, Estonia or Lithuania it was in Russian only. In that way people were forced to learn the language of the occupiers. It was their intention to russianize the local populations and eradicate the pesky nationalities.]

Europe, 1994

Some sixteen years ago, in 1994, I took a trip to Europe. As the itinerary of that trip was a bit unusual I thought it would be worth sharing with those who read my blog. The journey that summer started with a visit in Hamburg with former students. I continued on with a flight to Riga, Latvia, then overland to Tallinn, Estonia and by ferry back to Germany. I stayed with friends in Berlin and ended that trip with a visit to the tiny village of Thalheim where I met Mother Meera for the first time. In the process of going through various boxes of accumulated stuff from my past I found a photo album and a written diary of that trip. Modern technology (a scanner, iPhoto and this blog) have enabled me to post my now somewhat dated travelogue here. What follows are a few pics and written excerpts from the 1994 diary. Keep in mind that both Latvia and Estonia were formerly part of the now defunct Soviet Union and in 1994 had only enjoyed independence for a few years.

"July 30. Departure from the new terminal 4 at Hamburg's Fühlsbüttel Airport. Everything is as shiny, efficient and pleasant as it could be in Germany. When the Aeroflot flight leaving for Saint Petersburg is called out heads turn in curiosity. Who would be flying on Aeroflot? The former Soviet airline retained its name and along with its legendary reputation as one of the worst airlines in Europe. The Lufthansa flight to Riga, in a comfortable 30 seater, takes just one hour and 45 minutes. I wonder what Latvia will be like now. My last visit was 24 years ago, in the depths of the Soviet oppression..."
My cousins and my aunt [my mother's younger sister] meet me at the airport. We drive nearly three hours to Ventspils, the port city on the Baltic where they live. My cousin Janis, who works as a professional chauffeur, has provided a Russian-made Volga. It is a decent vehicle, probably considered de luxe by Soviet standards, but nothing to write home about compared to Western autos. It is extremely hot -- the heat wave of the century. Of course, there is no AC in the Volga. The road, the main route between two of Latvia's biggest cities, allows one lane in each direction. It is in surprisingly good condition; only the occasional pothole gives us a jolt. The scenery rolls by: large tracts of forest, predominantly pine and birch; generally flat, some farmland. Villages are sparse here. I am amazed at how empty the countryside is. Everything looks parched after weeks of heat and sun. Now and then a fancy Western auto with Latvian plates passes us. Who can afford a BMW, Audi or Mercedes? [Later on I am told that there is a thriving market in stolen cars from Western Europe, especially Germany, that are then shipped to the former Soviet Union for re-sale.]
The dilapidated condition of the houses along the way gets worse as we approach the outskirts of Ventspils. Here are rows of run-down, Soviet-era apartment blocks, the kind that blight all of Eastern Europe. After only 15 or 20 years they look like they are ready for the wrecker's ball. They were cheaply built and are now crumbling. The general air of dreariness is only made worse by the utter lack of vegetation. There is hardly a tree or bush to be seen. The sidewalks, and often the streets, have crumbled into rubble. This is the legacy of half a century of Russian occupation.
My relatives, ever kind and generous, live quite well by local standards. They have a large house and spacious garden. If things are in disrepair it is not out of neglect but due to a lack of proper building materials...
The television seems to be on all the time. Why are they watching auto racing? It soon dawns on me that the TV is the window to the world that has been nailed shut for so many years. Up until independence just three years ago the only stations that aired were strictly controlled by the government. It was illegal to watch foreign programs; one could be reported for having an antenna turned towards the west...
In the evening I take a walk alone to a nearby park. In Soviet times that would have been discouraged for fear of KGB agents, etc. The fear was palpable then. Now people say what they want and go where they want.


The Latvian word for castle is 'pils' and it is found in many Latvian place names. The port city of Ventspils is located on the mouth of the Venta river, hence the name meaning castle on the Venta. The Germans called it Windau. The classical Lutheran church of St. Nicholas was finished in 1833 and was dedicated to "Gott und Kaiser", to god and emperor. In this case that would have been the Tsar of Russia. The Baltic states were politically in the Russian sphere of influence for centuries, but culturally dominated by the Germans who had been there since the Middle Ages. Initially these old ports on the East Baltic were trading places established in the 12th century, later under the influence of the German Knights of the Baltic.

Colleagues

At the end of the semester the collaborative keyboard staff meets for a celebratory luncheon. Our restaurant of choice for the past few years has been the Webster House, a late 19th century school building that has been remodeled into a chic eatery and antique store. We always enjoy meeting there. Seated on my left is Patti Higdon, collaborative artist par excellence, Richard Williams, my colleague in the vocal coaching/opera area, and Natalia Rivera, who is adjunct faculty. Natalia just became Dr. Rivera and we toasted her achievement with a round of champagne.

Brush Creek

After several disastrous floods the seemingly docile Brush Creek was tamed. The city decided to make a public space out of the project and thereby created one of the nicest walks in the Plaza area. After heavy rains, when sewage is apt to leak into the creek, this stretch is known locally as Flush Creek.

Our fine city

"Everything's up to date in Kansas City
They gone about as fer as they can go
They went an' built a skyscraper seven stories high
About as high as a buildin' orta grow." (from "Oklahoma")

But we residents of Kansas City can boast of more than a paltry skyscraper! For the past few days we have been enjoying a stretch of fine weather. The skies have been cloudless and the humidity low. I thought it would be a good time to take a few photos of one of the nicest areas of Kansas City, the Country Club Plaza (which is adjacent to the UMKC campus). I was there fairly early, before the shops opened, and was surprised to find the Plaza nearly deserted. It is a very popular destination for both tourists and locals. The Plaza was created in the 1920's as a shopping area, one that could be reached by automobile. It was the first such arrangement in the country. Architecturally it is built in a style reminiscent of Seville, Spain. The highest structure, the Giralda Tower, is a half size version of a tower in the Iberian metropolis. The Plaza is a lovely area to stroll through. It boasts many fountains, plant displays, shops, restaurants and cafés. The most famous fountain in the city is the J.C. Nichols memorial fountain. Mr. Nichols was the original developer of the Plaza.