Off Croatian Time

It was a beautiful Monday morning, my third one here at Zdravko’s. I went out and pulled up a bucket of well water and washed my face as Zdravko made us a breakfast of eggs, sausage and bread. This was my last breakfast. I was leaving today for Zagreb and points beyond. I‘d decided that I needed to see more than I was able to do at Zdravko’s and I couldn’t force him out of his comfort zone to do things.

As much as I didn’t like it I could understand how Zdravko felt. In one sense he is living in the past. Returning every year to where he had grown up and seeing it change, making him a stranger in the memories of his youth.

He left Croatia with his wife and child in 1987 and ended up in San Francisco with a couple of dollars and the name of a friend. His father had told him that he should leave because it was not going to be a place to raise a family. Within a few years the country was torn apart in war.

His childhood friends still greet him and want to know how he is doing but most don’t really know him any longer. To some he is now a wealthy American who comes home every summer to stay in his family’s house. To others he is still the same, a Roma.

Having family, and friends like Yasa, probably makes it more of a conflict because they do care about him. But the life that Zdravko knew before he left is gone and will not return. Properties that have been in families for generations are being sold as children grow up and leave for better paying jobs in the city. Farms are being bought by wealthy British businessmen who recognize this as prime vineyard acreage.

It’s not that different from how I feel about going home to Pennsylvania. It’s good to see family and some of the friends from my childhood but it’s not the same - it makes me feel uneasy.

We discuss these things, but there is no solution that is going to get Zdravko out of the house so I tell him my decision to leave and we part ways. I may return before I leave for home but since I don’t have plans I’ll have to wait and see. Zdravko walks with me to the bus stop and already I sense his loneliness at staying in the big farm house by himself. He is a good man and I wish him well. I look forward to seeing him again.

On the bus to Zagreb I decide I’ll take the 9:58 train to Budapest tomorrow.

I love trains and could ride them forever. To me they are like being in a big steel womb, the clickity-clack of the tracks is the heartbeat of the protective mother. I’ve logged a lot of rail miles in the US, but most of it was in box cars. I enjoy trains in Europe more than trains in the US. They run on schedule, more or less, and have compartments where you sit with other people, and can have conversations.

On the train to Budapest I share my compartment with a young couple from Korea who are touring Europe on their vacation. In our discussion they mention a cousin who lives in Union City, California. I tell them that an actor friend of mine was who is Korean-American is doing a theater show about growing up gay in a small town in California. They are very interested in the show and want to know more. They ask if people go to see it and when I explain that it has been extended for another month they look very proud. They write down the The Marsh website and say they will send it to their cousin in Union City.

Budapest is the first city I remember wanting to go to as a child—well, after Niagara Falls. I remember being ten years old, in 1956, watching resistance fighters on the evening news fighting Soviet tanks with rifles and Molotov cocktails. I didn’t understand the conflict but thought those people were brave to fight against tanks like that. Ten years later, I read about how they fought against the bureaucratic structure of Stalinism with its secret police, the AVH, and set up workers councils to run the local and state governments.

On the bus ride to the hostel I can’t wait to get out and explore. The first place I head is the Torture Museum. In 1944, during the gruesome domination of the Hungarian Arrow Cross Party, this building, known as the “House of Loyalty,” was the party headquarters of the Hungarian Nazis. Then between 1945 and 1956, the Stalinist secret police organizations the AVO and its successor the AVH took up residency here. 60 Andrassy Boulevard has become the house of terror and dread. It is now a museum that tells a very chilling history.

That night I receive an email from my wife, Nora, saying that she and two friends, Jan and Pedro, will join me in about 10 days and will meet me in Vienna. Since they want to visit Budapest I decide not to spend any more time here but to head somewhere that we won’t be traveling together.

My goal of going to Odessa to see the steps in the film “Potemkin,” then ferry to Istanbul to see friends, who are currently in Iran, is not going to happen in ten days. After a lively discussion with some people I’d met in the hostel I decide to go to Transylvania.

The night train with a sleeper doesn’t cost much more than a night in the hostel so I set out for the heart of Romania on the 11:13 PM train. My destination is Sighisoara, a dreamy, medieval citadel town of 32,000 which claims to be the home of Dracula.

As we leave Budapest, the sleeping car attendant tells my Romanian compartment-mate and me that we will be awakened at about 3 AM for Romanian customs and that she will wake me in time to get off at Sighisoara. Sure enough, Romanian customs wakes us at 2:45 and wants me fill out a form regarding my travels to any country that may have a Swine flu epidemic. The customs agent gets surly when I ask how do I know if a country I have been in during the last 10 days has had a Swine flu epidemic. “Have you been in the United States in the last ten days?” he barks. I check “no” on the form, accidently sign it on the wrong line and hand it back to him. He gives it back to me and tells me to scratch out the incorrect signature and sign it on the correct line. I do and receive my passport back with a fresh Romanian custom stamp.

I drift back to sleep but am awakened later by a lot of noise and ruckus outside in the hallway of the car. I finally get up and open the door enough to look out and see what is happening. At the other end of the car is a short man with a pencil-thin mustache wearing a trench coat and a fedora. Next to him is a tall, shapely dark haired woman in a purple dress. Just then I hear the door at the opposite end of the car slam shut and the dark haired woman points and yells, “Look, Boris, Moose, Squirrel!”

I go back to sleep and wake up 10 kilometers past my stop.

Two Steps Forward and Two Steps Backward

Week two at Zdravko’s would finally bring some activity. Still no running water but we would get some work done, I would be introduced to a side of Croatian politics and the Sv. Ivan Zelina Wine Festival was finally here. Monday morning brought a cold rain, unusual according to the locals. Usually the summer rains are warm showers. Zdravko was not feeing well from yesterday’s wine but said his back did not hurt any longer. He decided it would be a good day to rest and went back to bed. I took to cleaning up the kitchen which had acquired a certain film of grease since most of the dishes were being washed in cold water. I heated some water and went at it and got the place looking better. When Dana, who I’d met Sunday, called and asked if I wanted to come to her house in town to use the internet, I agreed. It started as an enjoyable afternoon, I was given a good lunch and enough wine to keep out the cold. Internet access gave me a chance to post my first blog entry and catch up on the news. I decided that for the rest of the trip, I don’t need to know the news. A short discussion with Mathew about the American health care system prompted a response that was very anti-Semitic. I told him it wasn’t religion but American capitalism that prevented us from having universal health care. The town, Sv. Ivan Zelina, has a population of about two thousand seven hundred. It’s a hilly and winding five kilometers from the village Zdravko and I are in. Zelina is known for its clock tower church, the highest point in town. There is a town square of sorts in front of the Municipal building and it has several small businesses, a number of restaurants and a few cafes, none of which have any live music. The biggest thing that happens there every year is the Wine Festival which begins this week. I’m looking forward to this as Zdravko has been telling me about it since my arrival. The following day in a light rain Zdravko and I started burning off the brush that he had cut. We worked all afternoon and were able to burn off everything in the front of House 2. That night we where invited to Iset’s cabin to have dinner with some of the dancers and staff of one of the folk groups that was performing at the Festival that week. It was an enjoyable time and the wine drinking was moderate for all of us. Wednesday morning at dawn under a cloudy and humid sky we started burning off the huge growth behind House 2. It was hard work but we kept at it and by 1 PM we had the biggest part done. We ate lunch of potato soup and bread then headed home for a nap. That night we headed to town for the Wine Festival. Now I grew up in Pennsylvania farm country and when a fair or festival happened it was over with by 10 PM so the farmers could get up the morning and do chores. Not here. We arrived at 9 PM. Near the entrance it had about ten booths selling local honey, jams, needle work and wooden toys. Then it had booths enticing little children to beg their parents for a toy made in China, games of strength for the teenage boys to impress their girl friends and games of finesse where a properly thrown ball would win you a stuffed bear. Of the carnival’s four rides the bumper cars was by far the favorite, and rightly so. It was the best bumper cars I had ever seen and the rides were long, creating a line that must have included every six year old thru teenager in the area. The festival’s entertainment starts at 8 PM with the main show at 10 PM. Three stages of programs had everything from local rock n’ roll bands to Croatian and international folk bands. Two of the venues had bars with tables and benches to sit on while listening and they were always crowded and busy. The third stage had no bar and never seemed to have anything happening. Zdravko after talking to several friends decided he did not like the music because it “wasn’t gypsy music” and went home, offering to come back for me if I called him. I headed to the main stage which was at the open end of a large tent that must have seated 1200 to1500. One side was a bar with soft drinks and draft beer. The back had a kitchen serving several pork dishes and my unfortunate choice, sausages. The warm up band was a group of older guys playing traditional Croatian folk music. It was very enjoyable and I got into it because they had an accordion player who was very good. They launched into a version of the Carl Perkins hit, “Blue Suede Shoes” and I realized what rock n’ roll was missing all these years – an accordion. Prior to the main act was one of those cultural events that always make me feel a little uneasy. A group of ten high school age girls do a synchronized dance routine to music that had to have been chosen for the beat and not the words. I feared that at any minute one of the parents would understand what “Shake your pussy where you want your man now” meant, and run up and grab their daughter and embarrass her in front of this large cheering crowd. But it didn’t happen and for all I know they all I knew what it meant and didn’t care. The night’s headliner was a very popular band called Gazde.
From what I could ascertain from people they play a pop style of folk music. Everyone seemed to know the words to their songs and would sing along, louder and louder as the night went on. Shortly before the show ended Dana spotted me and invited me to join her and some friends. She offered me a ride home which I took her up on and she mentioned that the next day was a holiday and they were going to have a picnic at a local castle and invited me to go. I looked forward to seeing some of the local sites and agreed.
The trip to Trakoscan Castle was a little over an hour but seemed very long. Tony and Dana started tell me of their experiences working in the U.S. for a major cruise line. Soon their racism towards others came to the front. Trying to be diplomatic I told them I was from a city where we flourish with different races and their cultures; and that soon if not now San Francisco would be minority white. They wanted to know why I would want to live with other cultures, didn’t I like my own? “Yes I liked my own, but my Slavic culture forgot to create jazz, blues, rock n’ roll, and salsa. It also forgot burritos, egg rolls, curried chicken, pupusas and Thai Basil Chicken.” They asked if I had ever been to a castle before. Trakoscan Castle was built in the 13th century within Croatia's northwestern fortification system, as a rather small observation fortress for monitoring the road from Ptuj to Bednja Valley. It has been added onto and abandoned several times. The current renovation has made it into a very good museum with a large collection of armament and art work of past residents. It overlooks a beautiful man- made lake and Mark and I walked its three mile trail. The ride home was civil but it was clear these were not friends I would be seeing again. A cold rain returned that evening and continued the rest of the week preventing Zdravko and me from doing much work. Sunday we went to the spa and spent the rest of the day discussing politics and the ways Croatia had changed since he first left in 1987. Even with constant suggestions from me I could not get Zdravko to do things out of the immediate area. I wanted to see more but he was anchored to the house -- and the past. I felt my time was not being very productive and that it was time to move on to new adventures. Zdravko has made it through twelve days without smoking, which I think is great.