Never Been to Praha (Part 4)

It’s Christmas day and I’m anxious as ever. And my anxiety has been building for this day for weeks now…months really.

Planning my October visit to M in Rome required a map of the City. I knew that an old one could be found in a long stored box of memories from my study abroad experiences twenty-four years prior. Rummaging through its contents, I stumbled upon a stack of old letters and postcards. Some were to me from friends and family and some from me to others. Curious, I began to survey my find in hopes of spotting a card from Rome and spark a memory or two of places since forgotten. It was not to be. However there were two letters from an old friend that caught my attention.

Grant Podelco and I met by chance on London’s West Side in January 1983. We were two of many students residing at the Talbot Lawn Hotel. The word “Hotel”, to hear it now, sounds overly formal. Though it was nicely situated between Hyde Park and Paddington Station, it showed its age, badly. [The picture at right was taken in 1996 following an apparent renovation] In 1983 however, it suffered from neglect and facing the smallish overgrown commons of Talbot Square was of little consequence. Still we were young and abroad and this was “home”. I was studying Architecture from Nebraska and Grant was from New York and studying journalism. We shared many free weekends heading in all directions from our London hub. We also shared an enthusiastic predilection toward, freedom, adventure, travel, wrong-sided driving and Guinness. Sadly April arrived, our term ended, and we parted ways and Grant Podelco and I never saw each other again.

The letters were postmarked Syracuse, NY 1983 but return addressed as Cuyler and Cortland, New York. The first congratulated Denise and me on the upcoming arrival of our first child. The second expressed an excitement to begin an internship at the newspaper in Syracuse, NY. I remember wondering to myself where he was now. Then, I found my map and was back to planning. Weeks later, and just prior to my departure for Rome, thoughts of my old friend resurfaced. This time I decided to investigate his current whereabouts but without much hope of really finding him.

Google: Grant Podelko, Syracuse, NY.

Hit 1: “Newspaper archive: Class Begins January 13, 1991 Grant Podelco Magazines Editor”…maybe, but too long ago and a dead end.

Hit 2: "Obituary Daily Times, Podelco, Irene 86”…not exactly the way I remembered him.

Hit 3: “Grant’s Prague Bike Blog”...Hmm, Prague? I don’t think so. Click anyway…Eureka! Twice as old and I’d still recognize him anywhere! But Prague? Intrigued I pecked out a quick e-mail to the link in this blog…

“Grant...is that you? Please let me know if you’re that Talboteer Boxman that I recall from years and years ago. If not, sorry for the bother. -mw”

The next morning as I opened my e-mail and prepared to delete the usual deposit of junk mail I noticed one in particular, not junk…

“Holy sh**! Yes, it is I, Boxman!!!! And where be you?? -Grant"

I could tell in an instant that he had risen to the ranks of a Senior Editor. He had such a command of language…such eloquence. I actually laughed out loud! And I was so unexpectedly happy.

That was September and today it’s Christmas. M and I arrived in Prague by train. We managed to muddle our way through a currency exchange from Euro to Czech Koruna (or Crown). Adding to the confusion I needlessly made a mental exchange to dollars between the two. Let’s see, 1Kč is equivalent to about 6.5¢ and €1 is about $1.50 and I have €130.00 and $96.00 in cash and we each need 18Kč to catch the approaching subway…quickly now…Argh! The conversion process exceeded the capacity of my tired traveling brain. I took what the clerk gave me, never counting, and was happy for it.

Within an hour, there was a spectacular knock at a door on the third floor of the Hotel Leonardo in Prague and two old friends were reunited.

Grant, Daisy and her daughter E were a welcome sight indeed. I hoped to spend much lost time with him but was somewhat unsure of what lie ahead. After all, I was really here to spend precious time with M. We were down to a couple of days and then I would not see her again for almost half a year. We are too close to ignore that truth. And I wondered too if they might have other plans for Christmas besides us.

Diner must have been satisfying. I don’t remember. I do recall that we had a wonderful conversation and quick history of the past quarter century, each from our own perspective. Mine as an Architect in Omaha and his as a Senior Correspondent and Editor for Radio Free Europe.

It was here in Prague with M and my new/old friends where I ordered my first Czech beer. Grant explained that the the Czech Republic is the number 1 beer drinking nation on the planet, with an annual per capita consummation of some 156 litres. That's the metric equivelent of 430 12-ounce bottles of beer for every living man, woman and child in the County...Yowser! Needless to say it is good, plentiful and cheap. In Prague, a half-liter (16 US ounces) is between 20-80Kč or about $1-$4 and elsewhere in the Country it is even cheaper. Beer is less expensive than bottled soda and bottled water! Grant began to explain his unofficial (but quickly becoming "official") search for the cheapest half-liter draw in and around Prague, and how he dutifully documents these discoveries within Grant's Prague Bike Blog. At that moment, our cold, crisp half-liters of Pilsner Urquell arrived. Wow, that was good! And since I had another, I remained just 310 half-liters shy of my obligation for this year! Sitting here I almost forgot my prejudice toward Guinness…almost. Ironically, it was with Grant in 1983 when I experienced my first Guinness.

Then we walked through Old Town, saw the astronomical clock and calendar on the Town Hall Tower and strolled through the Christmas Market in Old Town Square. Later M would tell me how much she loved that evening in Prague.

We spent the next day with Grant and E as they gave a grand tour of the city. We saw the Charles Bridge, St. Vitus’s Cathedral, Prague Castle and many historical old streets and buildings seemingly untouched by time and war. We parted ways at the Castle walls after a nice hug and a quick picture. And as Grant and E walked away in the crowd they were hand-in-hand and I hoped that our paths would cross again soon.

That evening I shared a couple of half-liters of Budvar with M. We talked and savored our remaining time in an old basement pub in Old Town Prague. Some moments you just know you'll never forget...and this was one. We were the only patrons and it was a splendid way to prepare ourselves for tomorrow.

The next morning we awoke early. I packed my things, gave M a tremendous tearful hug, and we said good-bye for five months. A car was waiting to deliver a weary father to the airport alone…tough day.

Austrian Christmas - Vienna (Part 3b)

As our train coasted to a stop at Wien Westbahnhof, night was upon us. It was 23 December and Vienna’s West Station was predictably bustling. From here the U-Bonn would speedily deliver us underground to within a few blocks of the comforts of our fine Viennese accommodations.

I wanted to treat M to something special over Christmas and Hotel Wandl was a superb find. This 300 year old structure is situated in the heart of Vienna and has been operated by the same family for generations. The Hotel, and indeed the rooms decorated with period furnishings from the 1800’s, invites you to fall head first into its rich history. It stands down a narrow street from Peterskirche (St. Peter’s Church) and is well within earshot of the chapel bells as they sing throughout the day and evening hours. Here in this marvelously historic setting, you truly feel as if you have stepped back in time.

Stephansplatz is only a few short blocks from our hotel. Here stands the literal heart and soul of Vienna in the majesty of Stephansdom (St. Stephen's Cathedral). This Romanesque and Gothic structure was consecrated on this site in 1147. It’s spires stretch skyward a stunning 450 feet. The glory in this Cathedral is in its richly colored roof formed of almost a quarter-million glazed tiles. And from within, color is again strikingly evident in the gorgeously monumental stained glass windows. Remarkably the Cathedral survived destruction in WWII despite orders for the retreating German army to "fire a hundred shells and leave it in just debris and ashes." Mere words hardly seem worthy in describing this place.

Over the course of the day we walked all over the city. With M as my historical guide, we visited many cultural and architectural sites. We even trekked about 3 miles southeast of City Centre to St. Marxer Friedhof. This graveyard established beyond the walls of the city in the 18th century had its last burials over 130 years ago. There are rows and rows of overgrown graves and crypts. And it is here, on a rainy night in December 1791 where the world’s greatest composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was given a pauper's burial in an unmarked mass grave. Today the “estimated” location of Mozart’s earthly remains is marked by a memorial. The place is stunningly eerie.

Earlier that day M & I had purchased tickets to a Strauss & Mozart konzerte at Kursalon. We were so eager for our special Christmas Eve and looked forward to this night with much anticipation. As evening came, we changed into our best clothes and walked about a half-mile to the Kursalon konzerthall. It was a brisk evening but still quite pleasant. And as we approached Kursalon, it began to snow. Walking with M on Christmas Eve in this well timed snowfall was a magical moment that I’ll never forget.

The concert was wonderful. M entertained the young boy in front of us by making faces. Eventually he returned the gesture and was promptly scolded by his mother for bothering the "nice people". Haaa…It’s always the “reaction” that finds the discipline.

After the concert we made our way toward Christmas Eve dinner. Most restaurants were closed but our Hotel concierge had recommended a place that he promised would certainly be open. He described a casual family type chain restaurant with a good traditional German-Austrian menu. His German-English pronunciation, sounding something like “Wiener World”, failed to evoke a palatable image of a dinner befitting of Christmas Eve. Therefore this, we decided, would be our “Plan B” should a more intimate dining establishment fail to present itself. And since none did, we experienced Christmas Eve at Wienerwald (Vienna Woods). M had the beef goulash and I enjoyed the wiener schnitzel. Half expecting a wiener, I was delighted to enjoy my first “Vienese cutlet” on Christmas Eve in Vienna. And our dinner was so good, that we proclaimed Christmas Eve as “wienderful”.

By now it was after 9:00 p.m. and the only real activity on the streets was the various Christkindlmärkte. Christmas Markets are part of the Bavarian holiday tradition. They are a gathering of holiday merrymakers within and around an open square or park. There are various temporary structures that are nicely decorated with festive greenery and lights. These tiny huts house arts and crafts and music and food and spirits and friends and family and all combine together to enhance the joyous holiday atmosphere of historical Vienna. And for heat there were plenty of barrels filled with burning firewood. It was thrilling.

We quickly became aware that much of the joyous behavior seemed to emanate from the mugs that everyone seemed to have but us. Soon we found that many of the markets furnished mugs, upon the surrender of a modest deposit that could then be filled with Glühwein. And so long as you remained in possession of a mug, this hot mulled wine was available everywhere as the cheerful merrymakers (now including us) traveled from market to market. And as this holiday cheer was offered at remarkably low “Cheer-to-Euro Ratio”, we decided to join in and embrace the gaiety.

It was late on this evening when for some reason we began to follow the lead of virtually everyone else in the City and only speak German. Strange for us since between us we only know English, French and Italian (I’m the English-knower). So given our limited vocabulary we settled for made-up fake German words. Despite our un-German-ness , this was remarkably easy. My goofy woolen stocking cap with the dangly balls on top, bought by the necessity of that night’s weather, thus became my “hoodwinkle”. Words like “du bratslonggen” and “uun chestnutroasten” just roll off the tongue once you get the hang of it. After an hour or so, this fake-German speak came to a colorful (and histerical) end as I backed away from a crowded wine merchant with two newly filled mugs of “newgotten-winehotten” and turned right into the passing elbow of a rather robust Austrian “Biere-trinker”. Forgetting myself and the fragile nature of my personal safety in the heat of this moment, and in full “character” I unleashed a relentless string of the most foul fake German speak ever devised by man ...“Franken-Beanzen-Flockin-Weinzen-Spatzen-Boyzen-Houzen-Brocken-Flamtazelen-Mustof-Fartin”…and on and on and on. It’s remarkable that I wasn’t immediately subjugated as the cause for some sort of International incident. But the big guy (and everyone around us) just stared at me and my nonsensical foul mouth and my half-empty mugs and dripping coat with a look of puzzled pity. I thought M was going to drop a laughter-induced puddle right there on the straw covered soil of the Rathausplatz Christkindlemarkt. Once again, an instant eternal memory.

We had such a remarkably unique and fun-filled day. And the night before Christmas has never been more delightfully provocative, and yet so strangely remote from home and tradition and family.

Christmas morning brought the time honored tradition of Santa Claus. And over the last few days together we had each managed to acquire a small stash gifts to which each would awaken. They were carefully arranged on the fireplace and within stockings.

Then we readied ourselves to depart. We left our baggage with the Concierge and headed with purpose to Hofburgkapelle, the Imperial Chapel of Vienna’s Hofburg Palace. On this special morning, and in this most apropos city, we hoped for a chance to attend Christmas morning Mass with the music of Joseph Hayden performed by the Wiener Sängerknaben, a.k.a. Vienna Boys' Choir. This world renowned choir has been performing at Hofburgkapelle for more than 500 years. The Boys’ Choir performs from an upper balcony at the rear of the Chapel and is, for the most part appropriately invisible to the gathering worshipers so as to not detract from the sanctity of the Mass. And when they performed, the heavenly sound of the choir and soloists on this day and in this place was nothing short of divine. The Mass of course was beautiful, albeit in German but the music was spectacular!

And as we went from the Mass and returned to the Hotel to gather our baggage I remember an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment on our mission of a memorable Christmas! But one last objective remained. On this afternoon, four hours of train travel would deliver us into the Czech Republic where I had pre-arranged a rendezvous for Christmas dinner. I’ve never been to Prague and I haven’t seen my old friend for twenty-four years. I truly cannot wait!

Austrian Christmas - Salzburg (Part 3a)

As our train slid off of the island and on to the main land, traveling due north from Venice to Villach and then sliced though the mist and into the snowy Alpines toward Salzburg, I caught glimpses of mountains and slivers of towns between naps. The chill and the altitude of the Eastern Alps in Austria are a significant contrast to the unmistakable proximity to sea level in the Venetian Islands and lagoons. Traveling through northern Italy and into Austria you can actually see the changing climate and geography. The contrast is so dramatic in such a short span of time and distance…just 250 miles. You can almost feel the centuries peeling away and rolled back again, back and forth from Byzantine to Renaissance to Gothic to Baroque. And the music - you can almost hear its magnificence. Beethoven, Haydn, Schubert, Brahms, Mozart! The Austrian hills are indeed alive with the sound of it all.



As a side note, who hasn’t heard Franz Schubert’s “Ave Maria” or Johannes Brahms’ “Hungarian Dance” or Ludwig van Beethoven’s “Turkish March” or his “Symphony No 5 in C Minor”…duh-duh-duh-duhm! The music inspired by the Austrian culture is arguably the best timeless music ever imagined. And if you have never heard Mozart’s Symphony #25 In G Minor, then you really need to stop what you are doing and do so now…fabulous!

Upon our arrival in Salzburg we were greeted by a shroud of dense fog that clung to the city. It hung there above us, ever so delicately and just beyond the reach of the many church spires like a soft teasing phantasm. And it heightened one’s senses. This sheltering blanket of mist held sounds close to their source, not offered the usual space to expand and dissipate themselves. This thick afternoon haze created a diffused sunlight that intensified visible color and created spectacular images devoid of shadow. The brisk air was so - how can I describe it – “new” and fresh that it stood in stark contrast to the aged buildings and cobbled streets that it enveloped. The air was noticeable!

We walked along the winding river Salzach, climbed to the Nonnberg Abbey (of “The Sound of Music” fame), visited Mozart’s Geburtshaus (birthplace) and stood in the shadow of the medieval Hohensalzburg Fortress. Salzburg is steeped in history and you could feel it everywhere.

As we passed a little shop, Christmas in Salzburg, I noticed eager shoppers admiring a window display. As I snapped a quick picture my mind carried me back twenty-five years…

In the spring of 1983 Denise and I purchased a carved wood nativity in Manheim, Germany on a whim. It was a nice enough piece but not the sort of thing a young college couple would normally choose to tote around Europe in their backpacks. It was a round setting with intricately carved figures and with candles at its quadrant corners. Above was a smallish wooden propeller that caught draft from the rising heat causing the men and gifts and beasts to rotate and thus encircle the miraculous new born and family in the center stable.

Within a few years, although they may not recall, this moving nativity had become a wondrous Christmas spectacle to our very young children – watching the animals go around and around, motivated by the invisible force of the flames. Ultimately though, this little treasure would meet an unfortunate demise in 1992 when it, together with many of our other possessions, was consumed in the flames of a building fire. Our daughters were 8, 5 and 2.

So, as sentiment would have it, finding a suitable replacement this close to the Black Forest would become a priority as my Christmas surprise for Denise and our girls. Imagine my surprise as we approached the shop window and realized that the window shoppers in my last photo were admiring the only wood carved rotating nativity in the store. Remarkably, it is visible in the above photo within the shop window between the couple on the right. It is almost an exact replica of its predecessor although slightly larger in scale. Hesitation gripped me, brought upon by a combination of sticker-shock and bewilderment at the ease with which I found this gift. Perhaps rather, it found me. Fortunately I shook this off, swallowed hard and pulled the trigger as this would be the only rotating nativity that we would see on this trip through Austria. The shop keeper and assistant proceeded to the window, removed the centerpiece of their Christmas display and proceeded to disassemble it for packaging. Completing the transaction, I once again assumed the burden of fragile nativity toting in Europe…déjà vu, all over again!


We walked up and down winding paths and along cobbled streets. All the while, there was an unmistakable feeling of our nearness to Christmas despite our distance from home. And as a cool winter's night settled over Salzburg the crisp chill of the alpine air began to penetrate into our bones.


Hotel Wolf is a family owned hotel reconstructed within a 500 year old building that immediately felt like a real home with its Austrian country-style bedroom. This was a wonderful accommodation with an excellent breakfast. And it was situated nicely in old town Salzburg.

Although we thoroughly enjoyed our stay in Salzburg, our Austrian Christmas destination really was 190 miles (300km) due east in Vienna.

Tuscany verso Veneto (Part 2)

Checking our luggage at Pisa Centrale Station, we decended upon the city with purpose. It’s a pity that the Piazza del Duomo and it's structures, the Baptistery, the Duomo and especially the Campanile dominate the interest of tourists in this scenic city bisected by the river Arno. But in the interest of time we succumbed to this failure of respect as well. And so much as it had been twenty four years ago for Denise and I, and despite its history and other splendors, Pisa was again for us a quick stop on the way to somewhere else.

The Duomo Pisa (Cathedral Pisa) was built between 1063 and 1118 and is the largest Romanesque church in Tuscany. And the Duomo, the Baptistery and the Bell Tower have great unity in spite of using various architectual elements such as Byzantine mozaic, pointed Islamic arch, small arcade of Lombardy and colonnade of Old Roma.

The famed Leaning Tower of Pisa, also Romanesque, is the bell tower of the Cathedral. Its construction began in 1173 and continued (with two long interruptions) for about two hundred years. The tower is 55.86 m (183.27 ft) from the ground on the lowest side and 56.70 m (186.02 ft) on the highest side. Its weight is estimated at 14,500 metric tons (32,000 pounds). The tower has 296 or 294 steps; the seventh floor has two fewer steps on the north-facing staircase. The tower leans at an angle of 3.97 degrees. This means that the top of the tower is 3.9 meters (12 ft 10 in) from where it would stand if the tower were perfectly vertical.

In the past it was widely believed that the inclination of the Tower was part of the project from its beginning, but this is not so. The Tower was designed to be vertical. It started to incline during its construction. And even if it did not lean it would still be one of the most remarkable bell towers in Europe.

Denise and I enjoyed the thrill of seeing our children mount the leaning tower and stroll the exquisite lawns of Piazza del Duomo beneath a brilliant blue sky as we had alone so many years ago...Deja Vu.

As our day in Pisa came to a close, we found ourselves back on the train and bound for Siena.

The Duomo Siena was begun in the twelfth century and remains a great example of Italian Romanesque architecture. Its main façade was completed in 1380. It is unusual for a Christian cathedral in that its axis runs north-south. It was originally intended to be much larger, with a north-south transept and an east-west aisle, as is usual. After the completion of the transept, construction was halted by lack of funds and the onset of the black plague and was never resumed. The outer walls and floor of the beginnings of the addition, intended to be within the larger cathedral, remains today as an exterior façade and parking plaza.

Piazza del Campo is a medieval square and the principal public space of Siena. The piazza is paved in a herringbone pattern of red brick with nine contrasting lines of division which converge at the low center. Eleven narrow streets extend from these divisions of the piazza and represent areas of the city which each bear their own unique flags and symbology.

The Torre del Mangia was built between 1325-1348. The tower is the exact same height as the Duomo as a sign that the church and the state had equal amounts of power.

We stayed in a lovely bed and breakfast in the heart of historical centre of Siena. The Antica Residenza Cicogna dates back to the middle ages and is an enchanting building with spacious rooms each with frescoes dating back as far as the thirteenth century. We were treated to the room of the “Lions” and the room of the “Angel”. It is operated by a father and daughter team that offer impeccable service. And the “genuinely homemade breakfast” was astounding!

Montalcino was MG's gift to our family. We departed Siena early via private limosine for the Castello Banfi Montalcino where we enjoyed a full day of fine food, wine, a tour of the grounds and winery and more wine. To make this day even more special, we appeared to be the only guests on this day and were treated to service especialle.

Castello Banfi is a family-owned vineyard estate and winery in the Brunello region of Tuscany. Upon their 2900 hectare estate (7100 acres), one-third is cultivated in noble vines, and the balance in olive groves, wheat, truffles and plums, and forests filled with deer, wild boar and pheasants.

Teodolinda Banfi, who inspired the founding and naming of Banfi Vintners, earned a place in papal history by being the first lay person ever to head a pope's household staff. Her nephew, John Mariani, Sr., established the company that bears her name in 1919.

We returned to Siena as we arrived, except for wine and memories within and of course the "burden" of twenty some bottles of excellent souveneers.

On the heels of the rich history and majestic art and architecture of Roma and the awsome beauty and charm of Tuscany, we were about to fall head first into the absolute enchantment of the Veneto. WOW!

By all accounts, Venice possesses a breathtaking attraction. Its reliance upon water, and the simultanious threat of water, combined with the romanticism of Italian culture and a juxtaposition against a rich history of Pursian and Islamic influences all combine to compound upon themselves to create a unique city that borders on the surreal. It's allure is perhaps beyond the discription of words and beyond the capture of photography. I think perhaps that the wonderous enchantment of this "City of Water" can only be held in poetry...

White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest
So wonderfully built among the reeds
Of the lagoon, that fences thee and feeds,
As sayeth thy old historian and thy guest!
White water-lily, cradled and caressed
By ocean streams, and from the silt and weeds
Lifting thy golden filaments and seeds,
Thy sun-illumined spires, thy crown and crest!
White phantom city, whose untrodden streets
Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting
Shadows of palaces and strips of sky;
I wait to see thee vanish like the fleets
Seen in mirage, or towers of cloud uplifting
In air their unsubstantial masonry.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Venice has a population of almost 300,000 stretched across the mainland and 118 small islands in the marshy salt water of the Venitian Lagoon along the Adriatic Sea in northeast Italy. During the 20th century wells were sunk around the perimeter of the lagoon to pump water for local industrial uses. As a result, the city began to sink into the sea. In 1960, wells were banned and the sinking stopped. However the city routinely experiences flooding as tidal waters rise.

We stayed in a lovely pension, La Calcina on the Zattere waterfront. It is known also as "Ruskin's House" as it served for a time in 1877 as the residence of the art and architecture esseyist John Ruskin. The pension is family owned and operated and affronts a pedestrian promenade on the edge of the Giudecca Canal and holds an incomparable panoramic view.

We ventured one day by private boat to the island of Murano known for its world renowned glass artisans. In 1291, Venice ordered all of its glassmakers to move their foundries to the island of Murano to quell the risk of fires. In the century that followed, Murano held a virtual monopoly on Venetion glass and exports supported the flourishing industry. Glass and crystalline stemware, chandeliers, multi-colored glass jewelry, artwork and figurines are everywhere within shops, studios and foundary showrooms. The sheer beauty and elegance of this craft is stunning.

And as if Venice needed additional intrigue, the wares of the Maskmakers Guild hold a mystical prominace among the many shop windows along the Venetian promanades. The mask-wearing tradition of Carnevale Di Venezia dates back to 1268. This festival is observed each year between Christmas and Lent.

Our last day was spent much like the rest, enjoying the many tiny bridges and tangled walkways along the water within the city. Literally every view was picture-worthy and yet, paradoxically no picture could ever adequately convey the nature of Venice.

Before sunrise on our fourth day, I would watch from the promanade as Denise, K, J and MG together with the bulk of our luggage and all of our Tuscan wine boarded a small chartered boat bound for the airport and slipped away into the silent mist of the venitian night.