Arriving in Győr for Harold's "Alma"

(
harold schiffman-composer.com)


As those of you who have been reading my blog know, we traveled to Hungary for a special celebration, the European premiere of my dear friend Harold Schiffman's Alma cantata, based on poems from my collection WILDWOOD FLOWER. Coinciding with his 80th birth year, Harold Schiffman's cantata Alma (2002) was to receive, in Győr, Hungary, its European première in a performance by the Győr Philharmonic Orchestra and the Hungarian National Chorus, Mátyás Antal (for whom the work was written) conducting. The première was scheduled as part of the orchestra's regular subscription series. Mátyás Antal's recording of Alma (North/South Recordings), released in 2004, has drawn high critical praise.



Harold and his wife, the pianist Jane Perry-Camp, live in Robbinsville for part of the year and early on fell in love with mountain music and culture. Harold is a Greensboro native, with strong ties to my alma mater, UNCG. His settings of my poems give me goose-bumps each time I hear them, and I had goose-bumps big time when I heard the magnificent presentation of this canta on the evening of Thursday, 16 October 2008 in Győr's János Richter Hall.

First we had to get to Győr, however. And this was not easy. The train station in Budpest was confusing, and since few of the people working there knew English and we knew no Hungarian, Jim had written in Hungarian our request for tickets, always a good idea when traveling a country where the language is a mystery. Finally we found the Vienna Express, which made one stop along the way--in Győr---and settled in for the ride. I love riding trains. I even began a poem while we traveled through the Hungarian countryside.


Now the Vienna train picks up speed
and suddenly haybales large as my father's
rush by. Then gone as quickly
as now it seems he was. Verges
clustered with glowing leaves, faster
and faster, the villages strewn over
hillsides like seed pods, the ongoing
fields of corn weathered by now into
dun-colored tapestries....




We got up bright and early next morning to explore the small city, which as the following photos make abundantly clear, is both charming and beautiful.



(Jim checking out the beer prices at a restaurant!)



(If you look carefully through the trees you can see a statue of a man astride a beast part horse, part fish!



(Morning sun over the city)



(I want a writer's studio here, where I can look out of all those windows, watching everything going on, and never writing another word! Who would need to? Welcome, writer's block! I'd have the city of Gyor to observe all day long.)



The colors of the buildings in Győr captivated me.









And so did the color of the paprikas!

A River Runs Through It

Every time we crossed the Elisabeth Bridge, we passed numerous tourists taking photos of the river, or of their significant others leaning against the railing, with the Danube flowing indifferently beneath and the Budapest skyline as backdrop. Crossing the Danube became a daily journey, and each time, whether at night or during the day, the scene was different. I never got the night-time photo I wanted, but I could not stop trying.







Budapest is divided in half by the Danube, with Buda being on one side and Pest on the other. Our hotel was on the
Buda side, where many of the historical sites are located. Pest is more bustling, with shops and cars and hordes of tourists. We loved being on the quieter side of the river.






(The Danube and Budapest from atop Castle Hill.)



(Another shot from Castle Hill. This view is addictive!)



(Having crossed the river, on our way into Pest to see TOSCA at the opera house, we we saw the full moon rising over the city.)

All the Mornings of the World-----

--- if only they could begin like this: hearing the bells of Budapest ringing, then opening the windows to see the church tower glowing in the sun, no cats yet on the adjoining roof, a clear blue sky above. Time for breakfast, walking down the stairs where at each turn of the stairwell, the church tower greets us through the window.



(Later we learned that this church was built on the site of a mosque, built during the Turkish occupation of Hungary.)

The breakfast room is filled with different languages--French, German, proper British, some Australian accents, and Hungarian, of course--and fresh coffee waits on the small table where we sit down. On the buffet an array of cheeses, meats, yogurt, cereals, and wonderful European bread of several varieties. Real butter. A jam called Fruits of the Forest. Outside, the tour buses labor through the small street, and the natives hurry on foot to jobs or classes. Beyond them, the Danube begins its morning, the tugboats chugging along, the cruise ships gearing up for another day of business.



We decide to cross the Danube on the Chain Bridge, bicycles whizzing past us, not to mention cars. And tourists! One couple walking toward us looks American (how can we tell such things about people?) and I see on the woman's vest an Obama button, so I know I'm right. We chat for a little while about the Presidential debate the night before, which we are glad we missed. When we reach the other side of the bridge, police cars and emergency vans are everywhere. Has there been a terrorist attack? No, NATO is in town, having one of its big meetings and all the big shots are nearby, needing police escorts and secret service protection.



We look around several well maintained parks and then head for the opera house, where we hope we can buy tickets for Fidelio and Die Meistersinger. The street leading to the opera is lined with outdoor cafes, banks, and shoe stores. Yes, shoe stores. They are everywhere in Budapest, and I see some fine looking legs wearing snazzy shoes, including boots to die for, walking around the city.




At the opera house we buy our tickets, listening while we wait to sopranos in their practice rooms above us, running through their scales. Across the street, Bel Canto, a charming looking cafe and bar is opening up for business, but we decide to continue our walking tour through the center of the Pest side of the city.






































After strolling through the always crowded pedestrian freeway named Vaci Utca (pronounced vahsi ootsa), the big tourist-shopping section in the city, we stop at an elegant restaurant just off the Danube for lunch. It looks a bit too elegant for two tired Americans, but despite a snotty waiter, we enjoy the meal, my dish being a vegetable "tower" of roasted egglplant, zucchini, tomato, onion, melted cheese in an incredible sauce, and Jim's being a fish with a tasty paprika sauce. We cross the Danube at the Elisabeth Bridge, with a nap on our minds. We will think about where to have dinner when we wake up.