Today marked the last official day of classes for the term. I have a skeleton schedule for July (gone for 3 wks anyway) and August.
Let me be clear on this: I am sooo happy to be unburdened for the next two months, that I can scream.
In fact … I just did.
My plans? This Saturday: Berlin for 4 days. Next Saturday: Poland for 3 weeks.
Have a good summer. I shall.
Every Tuesday I go to a wine tasting, otherwise known as Professor Kriz’s English lesson. This has been happening for the better part of the year, now.
The Professor likes to show off his wine tastes, and I’m not one to argue, being, if not a low-brow connoisseur, then at least an imbiber. Kriz likes his native country’s wines, and that means his selection is often from Moravia, the major vinting area of the CR. The equivalent grape varieties of chardonnay, muscat, cabernet-sauvignon, champagne, and muller thurgau, etc.
Our meeting usually begins with a handshake, and the subtle question, “Is it too early for a spot of wine?” My answer: “Of course not, Professor.” To which he instructs one of his minions to fetch a bottle. Most of the time he takes a moment to describe the wine we’re about to sample, the region from which it comes, and perhaps something unique about the grape or vinting process that is otherwise not commonly done in other wine-making regions.
We don’t finish the bottle, of course: we’re not winos.
Today the Professor suggested we stray from white wine (seldom does he take red during the daytime) and sample a sparkling wine. But this is no ordinary wine, nay-nay! This wine cannot be found in shops, nor be bought from wholesalers. This sparkling wine is from the winery’s private stock, and can be gotten only by friends & associates of the chateaux.
The wine is a brut, with a pronounced golden color, not so effervescent, nor alcoholic. The taste is excellent, dry, smooth, with a refreshing follow. I highly recommend it.
Here’s a photo of Asia … showing the flowering tree a thing or two about beauty:
The Sunday morning sun shined brightly on the way to the expat flea market. Asia wished we could take a picture of our shadows, which stretched before us like actors standing in the wings waiting for their cue.
“I have my camera,” I said, and off we were.
Do our shadows only mime our movements? Have they lives of their own? Are they manipulative, or do we hold the chains to their shackles?
Let them stand in the twilight of being, and they hold our thoughts like canisters on the cellar shelf. Breathe on them and they step from the silhouettes holding a palette of possibility.
On the outskirts of Prague lies a reservoir park called PÅ™Ãrodnà park HostivaÅ™, around which an asphalt path leads you through the forest that overlooks the water. We can take Tram 22 from near our place and be down there in 30 mins. It’s like you’ve landed on a green Mars.
Hostivar becomes steep hills if you wander off the path, but otherwise a circumnavigational walk can take you about 1.5 hours. We weren’t that adventuresome today, but wanted to hike up the hill from the lake to the site of Hradcany Hostivar. This is a plateau that has yielded artifacts to archeologists suggesting an early settlement was established probably more than a thousand years ago. No buildings exist today; they were wooden structures with a an upright fence and look-out towers — akin to American Old West calvary outposts.
But this plateau is a great place for a picnic. When you get there, after a climb that comes after a long walk, you know you deserve your lunch. We relaxed on a blanket, in the shade, and read our books for a while. Lunch was sardines, cheese, wheat wafers, pickles, and yellow pepper. Dessert? Of course: cinnamon chocolate!
The walk out of the park is peaceful, dreamy, and cool under the pine trees. Then a sleepy tram ride home. A gorgeous way to spend lunchtime.
Seldom do I think about stamps these days — actually, for the last 12 years or so — because I don’t send letters or mail bills anymore. The obvious needn’t be stated. So surprise-surprise when Professor Kriz holds an exhibit at his law offices for some 15 postage stamp art pieces.
The exhibited pieces were the original mock-ups that artists designed for the annual contest the Czech postal service holds for its first-class stamp. These mock-ups, along with the final proof sets, were the winning designs for the years 1993 – 2010, for which the Czech Republic was solely its own country and no longer connected with Slovakia.
The pieces ranged from pastoral scenes to royal portraits to Art Nouveau nudes. The inclusion of the artist mock-ups (or “paste-ups” as printers/lithographers call the practice) gave a nice look at the artists’ eye. For one thing, many of these pieces were details from famous paintings that can be found in the National Gallery, from which the artists had to render a graphic replica/duplicate.
Also, each artist developed a second art-detail used as a sort of watermark ink-stamp used on the front of envelopes (but I forget why … maybe air-mail or “class” identifier). The layouts of each piece really was art itself, not a showcase per se of postage stamps.
One display case also had original litho plates, showing the five-plate, five-color printing technique that makes stamps so crisp, and artworks themselves, not simply tax commodity affixations.
As always, Prof Kriz put on a good show, and I recognized in the crowd famous artists, personalities, pols & lobbyists, etc etc … along with the good professor’s English instructor. Good wines and beers were served, with knowledgeable staff that explained the vintage, place of origin, etc. Upstairs, a full buffet of classic Czech foods enticed the visitors. There’s this particular smoked bacon that’s served cold, and it’s positively delicious, not so fatty, that makes you feel like an animal gnawing on a bone. Outstanding!
After a few glasses of wine, and a chat with the professor, I was off into the still-light summer evening, taking a walk across Old Town Square and on past the astro clock.
Reading is an essential part of our lives, and taking a park walk to find a nice place to read is the one of the best events any summer day can give you. In these cool summer days, thanks to the volcano I think, it’s still fun to wear jeans & a light jacket. The air is more spring-like or autumnal: our combined favorite months.
Riegovy Sady have loads of benches that are set up for people watching and disappearance into your own world. Along one avenue, there are flower beds with, now, a summer display. These flowers are designed to attract butterflies, and as summer moves along, lots of colorful butterflies that are unique to an American eye will move through the park.
Over along the ridge are benches that look across the vista created by the Vltava River down in the valley. Across the way is Prague Castle, the iconic building of Prague.
And then of course there’s the relaxation of reading itself … with your girl.
Asia prepared her homemade chocolate last night, of which we ate hot & gooey lumps from the leftover bowl while the pan cools in the fridge overnight. The recipe comes from Asia’s grammar school teacher, who made it for her kidniks from time to time … when they weren’t so unruly little Poles running about the classroom, I imagine.
Surprisingly enough, the recipe is simple: lots of butter, lots of sugar, powdered milk, and cocoa powder. It sets up over night, then you cut it into cubes: seems that we’ll be having chocolate bits in our cereal, in an omelet, on bread with cheese, as a side dish to wine, with cheese & crackers, stirred into coffee or tea, shaved over a salad, dropped from heights into a bowl of ice cream, with honey smeared over the top, or even with spaghetti.
so we decided to take a bath.
The jacuzzi bath has been calling us, and tonight we got its jets and bubbles and heat and wetness in action, working in concert, finding a rhythm as nature is wont to ask through its slow, languorous voice.
And what’s a jacuzzi night without some wine, candles, and music? Not enough … so we had all three. Of course, I poured in about a half a cup of bath liquid, which when the air jets got blowing full bore, made enough bubbles to cover the candles, the wine glasses, and us! What fun!!!
Surprisingly, the water stays quite warm for the longest time. Not too hot, so we could luxuriate for a couple of hours … with only one break to run down the hall, trailing suds, to change the music (and get chocolate to go with our wine).
When we finally showered off and moved into the salon, we both felt more relaxed than we’ve had in weeks. Looks like Friday night is going to turn into BubbleBathTime around the AsiaMark palace flat.
(te-hee!)
WORLD CUP SOCCER
Oh, but you don’t get away so quickly, nay-nay!
This world cup is showing its ubber-tedium not just for being a boring kick-ball sport, but the poor sportsmanship and awful officiating proves once again that soccer is bullshit. Let’s review:
Portugal v. Ivory Coast … no goals scored
Brazil v. North Korea … after 60 mins of no scores, I was rooting for Kim Jong Il to come onto center field with his “vuvuzela,” that silly fucking horn moron fans are blowing constantly in the stands. (I asked a student what he would do if someone in the seats behind his was blowing one of those horns: “I’d kill him,” the man said)
It’s not just the slow play, and ubber-focus on defense (more kick-ball, only well behind any possible field of action)—which will only get worse into the quarter finals, etc, since footies fear giving up goals more than trying to score them—but what really irks me is the cheating:
1. star players take dives at the slightest touch (or close non-touch), trying to gain cheap advantage in field position or penalty yellow card / red cards. The worst of these is Christiano Ronaldo of Portugal, whose entire sports history is replete with dives.
2. with only one ref on the field, cheating is rampant, including pulling of jerseys, elbows & knees, and tripping. What leagues (and the Cup) need are four refs patrolling the field.
If you cut down on cheating, the players will be forced to PLAY THE GAME, which may yield excitement, and perhaps a couple goals. Rules for these fouls exist, including pussy players taking dives, but not enough eyes are catching the rampant cheating. It takes away from the game. The only fans who remain will be the obsessed idiots.
