Two weeks of "substitute teaching": priceless

Last Tuesday I returned from teaching for two weeks at universities that have Erasmus Exchange agreements with my institution: Masaryk University in Brno (Czech Republic) and Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń (Poland). My university encourages this sort of exchange for “mobility” reasons, and in fact receives some kind of financial incentive for each teacher who participates. It would be an understatement to say that I am glad I decided to take part, though the timing could have been a little better. Taking off three days after a 10-day trip to the US gave me little time to recover, barely enough time to do laundry and repack my bags. In addition, I missed spring completely. I’m back in Joensuu and, to give you an example, it was 78 degrees F at 8 p.m. yesterday. When did this transformation take place? Next year I want to be here to actually see the transition between winter and summer.

My first night away, I stayed with my friends Nina and Make near Helsinki. That is always a bonus when I  travel via Helsinki: their generous, relaxed hospitality. This time they get even more kudos because they were leaving the same morning for Copenhagen to see Bruce Springsteen and take their son Frans to Legoland. I’m so used to traveling alone; it was good to share the morning nerves and rush, get in line together, wave goodbye at our gates. I got myself to the right train station in Vienna (what a different visit than two years ago, when I got to spend four luxurious weeks there!) and was in Brno a couple hours later.

I’d never been to the Czech Republic before and wish I had done more “homework” before arriving (although, come to think of it, when would I have done that exactly?). Brno is a beautiful little city with the usual Eastern European graffiti and shabby buildings, but the center is mostly lovely. I think people are so focused on getting to Prague that they don’t bother about Brno, but I thoroughly enjoyed spending a week there. The weather was good, the food was delicious and scandalously cheap (I treated myself to a fancy lunch at the city’s most expensive restaurant: $24; most days a complete meal was $4-6). The city is walkable, so my feet got me everywhere I wanted or needed to go. My hostel was next door to St. Jacob’s Cathedral, and I went to Sunday mass; even understanding no Czech, I was able to follow the service pretty well. Beneath the cathedral is Europe’s second-largest ossuary. The bones of 50,000 people – it’s a bit difficult to wrap your mind around that one.

My colleagues for the week were very friendly, though nobody had much time for socializing. One woman took me on a two-hour walk to get my bearings on that first Sunday, and another one invited me to lunch. Jarmila is in her 60s so she remembers the “bad old times” very well. She worked as an interpreter/secretary for an English company, so she was put on the list of collaborators and had some nasty experiences, including an interrogation. She got tears in her eyes when talking about how happy she was that times had changed, mostly because she didn’t have to watch her children and grandchildren suffer through them. Others I talked to weren’t happy about the current government – they felt that the current president was a “good old boy” who was more interested in lining his own pockets than creating better conditions for the average Czech citizen.

I taught three courses while there. One was on teaching English in Finland. It turns out that the Czech and Polish languages are similar to Finnish because they have cases and no articles. So their struggles with the English language are similar. A second course was simply a lecture on how I came to teach translation and English in Finland – not really teaching, but providing a native speaker for students to interpret into Czech or Slovak. The third course felt really out of my league – assessment in foreign-language classes in the US. But apparently they went well enough, all three. Whew!

I was ready to head for Dresden on Friday, but Jarmila convinced me to spend a few hours in Prague on my way there. I have very mixed feelings about that visit. Prague is every bit as exciting, beautiful, fascinating, overwhelming, etc. as everyone says. I would like to spend a month there accompanied by several history books and some lessons in Czech. I walked over the Charles Bridge, went to the Kafka Museum, had apple strudel in a sidewalk cafe on the Old Market, visited the beautiful synagogue, strolled the medieval streets, bought a delightful little painting of Kafka’s “Goldenes Gässchen”. But by the time I got back to the train station to continue on to Dresden, I had a blazing headache, probably from too much sun and too little water. I dragged my suitcase onto the train and soldiered on to Dresden, hailed a taxi and got to my Airbnb apartment. Fortunately my host was not very talkative and understood that I needed a rest. I crawled into bed fully clothed at 8 p.m. and didn’t get up until 12 hours later.

So what a first-world predicament: I went to Prague and what I remember most is my headache. This story definitely needs rewriting.

Dresden: for seven years I taught German with a textbook that introduced Dresden and Frankfurt at the same time. I had never actually been to Dresden but from the textbook I knew some of the “must-see” sights: the Zwinger, the Frauenkirche (destroyed during WWII and recently reopened), the Semperoper. During my stay, the weather was cool and rainy, so the “Florence of the Elbe” definitely had a grayish cast. However, since during my entire visit I had the firebombing of February 1945 in the back of my mind, the weather seemed appropriate.

I have an inexplicable affinity for Eastern Germany. I felt comfortable in Wittenberg, Leipzig and Halle; I loved strolling around Eastern Berlin; and I felt very at home in Dresden. Several strangers spoke to me – did I seem so comfortable that they assumed I lived there? Mostly I wanted to walk around and get to know the city, but I did have one thing on my cultural agenda: to view the Neue Meister (new masters) in the Albertinum. It was a thrill to see some of the paintings I know through a unit I teach on Degenerate Art: works by Dix and Kirschner, for example. And, of course, I loved the paintings by Monet, Munch, Nolde and Picasso. After leaving the museum, I simply wandered around without a plan, and that was the best thing I could have possibly done. I stumbled across two wonderful soloists (music students?) performing with a keyboardist under a bridge. They sang “Panis Angelicus” and two other pieces, and it was indescribably beautiful, echoing all through the passageway. After that, I happened upon a church (Hofkirche), went inside and strolled casually towards one side chapel. I stopped in awe. There was an unusual sculpture that seemed more incredible the more I read about it. 

I’ll translate what the plaque said in German:

The Memorial Chapel

Originally, this chapel was dedicated to the Bohemian saint Johann Nepomuk.

Since 1976, it has served to memorialize the victims of the bomb attack on Dresden on February 13, 1945, and the victims of all unjust violence.

With his image of the Mother of Sorrows, Mary, who holds her Son in her lap, the Dresden sculptor Friedrich Press created an imposing memorial of suffering counted in the millions.

In her hands, Mary is holding rubble from the war, which she is fashioning into a crown of thorns. The gaping wound in Jesus’ heart bears witness to His love, which absolves us from our guilt, despite war and hatred, and offers us reconciliation.

The separate altar in the middle of the floor represents Dresden as it burns.

Friedrich Press created both works of art from Meissen porcelain.

I couldn’t tear myself away from this sculpture until a janitor said, laconically, “Church closing”, jingling his keys. How lucky I was that I got in to see this wonder right before closing time.

The next day I took the train to Berlin and then Torun. Here I want to say something about being in a country where you do not speak the language and where almost nobody speaks your own language. If you’re a language person, your decoder doesn’t shut off. You keep trying to bring order out of chaos, and it simply doesn’t work – but that doesn’t mean, in your subconscious, that you lose hope that order will eventually win. It makes you very, very tired. I spent the entire train trip, in a compartment with seven other women speaking Polish, believing I could make sense of what they were saying. Imagine my relief when Ewa, my colleague, met me at the train and greeted me in beautiful British English. She took me to my hotel and then out for coffee. I had never heard of Torun before; I was amazed at how lovely it was. The medieval city wall is nearly intact. The building where Copernicus was born is still standing and still in excellent shape. How did I not know this place existed? The view of the medieval town on the banks of the lovely Vistula River was so impressive.

Farmhouse in Torun's outdoor museum

Now I’m going to sound like I’m complaining, but it’s more like good-natured ribbing. I think I’m going to call Poland the country where everything almost works. In fact, most things did work while I was there, but in some cases it took a while to get there. The hotel room was at first glance imposing, luxurious, but the bed was dreadful (it felt like a box spring with no cushion), the shower fixture couldn’t spray in the proper direction without my holding it in place, and the Internet wouldn’t work. Fortunately, most of the women who worked at the front desk knew some English, so the computer issue was worked out the next morning. I didn’t have to teach until Wednesday and Thursday (three sessions of “Pitfalls of Legal English”, right up my alley), so I spent a couple of days either working alone in my room or wandering around alone (Ewa lives about 40 minutes outside of town and has a small child). Ewa and I took each other out for several lunches and coffees, and that is, of course, one of my favorite things to do – explore the food of another culture. What do they consider a meal? What is dessert? I have to admit that I did not become a fan of Polish food during my stay.

The kind ladies at the front desk must have known that, and wanted to make one last good impression, so the breakfast they packed for me the day I left would have fed the entire population of Torun, or so it seemed. Four large sandwiches, two containers of deviled eggs, one container of radishes and lettuce, one bottle of iced tea, three cookies and a container of cheese. They even threw in a piece of ‘espresso chocolate’, probably to compensate for the lack of coffee. I was touched and horrified. I ended up leaving most of the food at the Poznan train station, hoping a person in need would find it. There’s definitely poverty in Poland, and I witnessed it on the train. One friendly woman who helped me find the right train in Torun was on her way to the hospital in Poznan. As we parted in Poznan she moved really close to me and tried to tell me in broken English that she needed money. I didn’t have much Polish money left so I gave her a two-zloty piece and made the universal gesture for “out of money”. She didn’t look convinced. The idea that all Americans are wealthy is probably still present in Poland.

The nightmare of getting from the train station in Berlin out to the airport convinced me to stay put and get some work done rather than tourist around. In the evening I arrived in Zurich for my R&R weekend. I met up with Erik around midnight and he took me to a “Hoffest” – an annual party that the tech people (i.e. those involved with scenery and staging) put on for the rest of the employees of the Zurich Opera. It was a hoot. Lots of dancing to an eclectic array of music, strobe lights, lots of friendly people who seemed pleased to meet “Erik’s mom”. I went home around 2 a.m. and then met up with Erik for a casual breakfast the next morning. We had an early sushi birthday dinner (how long has it been since I’ve had sushi??) and then went to a recital by Joyce DiDonato – Erik had been able to get us tickets. What a lovely evening! She sang pieces about Venice, and I am no expert on vocal arts, but it felt like she was a different personality with each one. Her pianist had finger cramps during one number and they handled it so smoothly and naturally that everyone was rooting for him rather than feeling upset at the break in the show. Her last encore was “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, and in light of the deadly tornados in Oklahoma, it was a moving tribute. I had the delightful experience of seeing her hugging Erik and hearing, “You can’t be old enough to be Erik’s mother!”

The next morning I wandered around Zurich on my own although the weather was windy, rainy and cold at eight degrees Celsius (46 F). Springtime?? I saw a whole bevy of swans (yes, I looked it up) on Lake Zurich who didn’t seem to mind the cold or rain at all. Eventually I met up with Erik for a rather American breakfast, except the hash browns were “rösti”. We wandered around the shops in the Viaduct, and afterwards I let him go home for his pre-show preparations.

Seeing him in Don Giovanni was amazing. I don’t think I will ever get used to having children who are professional musicians, and this is a good thing. Every performance is precious and new and exciting. This time Erik was Masetto, dressed as an Amish man. The production was fascinating and controversial – most of the recitative was removed. At the end, the singers were applauded warmly, but the conductor and artistic direction were booed. And those who didn’t agree with the booers started to shout “bravo” even louder. After the show there was a premiere party where the head guy, Andreas Homoki, praised everyone and their efforts, in particular Peter Mattei who had sung the demanding lead role while very sick. He is from Sweden, so of course Erik introduced us, and we had a chat in Swedish. He’s from Luleå, and you have to think it’s even less likely that a town far in the north of Sweden would produce an opera singer than a small town in Oregon…but I suppose you never know.

Yes, this blog is very long. I hope you don’t feel compelled to read it all in one sitting, if at all.

The next morning I flew to Vienna, parked my bags, and took a bus in to see a little of the sights. Very little. Knowing Vienna, I decided to aim for one sight and one meal. I headed for the Leopold Museum, remembering that I had seen works there by an artist I didn’t want to forget, and had gone ahead and forgotten anyway. As it turns out, it must have been another museum, or a temporary exhibit that was no longer there. But I did “discover” Theodor von Hörmann, who may or may not have been the one I was looking for. I also saw more degenerate artists, a lot of Schiele and Klimt of course, but the real gem of the visit was in the basement, where Manfred Bockelmann’s “Drawing against Oblivion” is on display until September. It is a room full of drawings based on photographs of children who were incarcerated, and mostly murdered, in concentration camps. Some of their heads are shaved, some are in prison garb. All are named, and that is part of the idea: that these children not simply fade into oblivion, but be brought into our field of vision.
http://www.leopoldmuseum.org/en/exhibitions/51/manfred-bockelmann

The trip back to Finland was almost magical. Seeing it from the air, with the sun still up at 10 in the evening, with the lakes glinting golden orange, made my heart leap a little to think that this beautiful land is now my home. Nina and Make had been on yet another trip to see Bruce, and their flight came in about a half hour before mine, so they kindly waited for my flight and we all went home in a taxi. The train trip to Joensuu the next day was surreal – where did all the greenery, summer temperatures, happy smiles and cheerful chatter come from? Back at my apartment building, I saw the man I usually see walking his dog who has never acknowledged my existence. I held the door open for him and he smiled at me and greeted me. Is this part of that arctic hysteria I’ve heard about?