A Day in the Country

THURSDAY

Ellie is sick, alas. Not only is she still in dire pain with her back, she has now inherited by Budapest cold and was in misery all day long. While she braved the day for as long as she could, by dinner time she crashed, and decided to stay home.

Otherwise, a lovely day—what else?—in my merrie olde homeland. The weather was mostly rotten, of course, with but few bright patches of sun between the showers. But it was wonderful for spend time with my sister, whom I see too rarely these days, since we live on opposite sides of the globe. She made me a tasty bowl of her own special porridge—that’s oatmeal, for readers across the pond—spiced up with ginger, and Ellie mixed up a bowl of granola.

After breakfast, we walked literally around the corner from this charming little street



and found ourselves immediately in the center of Cirencester, in the shade of the parish church. Ambling down the main street,




we made a detour at a nice little art gallery and turned back into the park behind the church,



with its vestiges of the ancient Roman wall and the abbey that once stood there. Once again, I found myself awed by the trees—great sycamores and oak tree, chestnut and a good few venerable copper beeches,



contrasting the innumerable shades of green with their coppery glow. Centuries of growth—and centuries of work transforming sunlight for the benefit of our species. They deserve out thanks, and our reverence.

And then the lawns—endless, and endlessly green! The rain brings benefits, too.

Back in town, we visited the church--with a special interest in this Clothier tomb



(I think you can read the text of the poem from this picture: it's worth a shot!) Flora led us to a favorite coffee shop where we dallied over latte and carrot cake, and Ellie and I made an extra stop at Boots the chemist to acquire the wherewithal to fight that cold and aching back. One thing I’m unable to find anywhere, it seems, is a travel-sized can of shaving foam. I refuse to cart around those great, heavy things they make in my already overladen suitcase.

At Flora’s house, we had a very pleasant lunch and took ourselves off for a nap. Then ventured out once more, headed for the local Costwold Water Park where, we had learned, the artist Patrick Dougherty had created an environmental art piece. We discovered it there—a primitive dwelling shape, an igloo or a teepee, its walls and roof elaborated into complex patterns by gathering live willow shoots from the roots, then bundling and twisting them together.



Shades of Andy Goldsworthy, we thought. And why should there not be others working in the same manner? My take was that Goldsworthy would not have chosen to destroy the natural material even as he manipulated it. Flora point out that the reeds—many of them broken in the process—would eventually grow back. Maybe. But even so, I prefer the idea of a more quickly replaced ephemerality—the notion that we should take care to leave no trace where our path has taken us.

Interesting, though. And we thoroughly enjoyed the long walk around the lake, a former gravel pit now allowed to fill naturally with water and made available to the public as an expansive park.







Who could resist those lovely trees and hedgerows, the song of the birds at the lake’s edge, and the families of ducks and moorhens enjoying the prerogative of the water’s surface?



This is pretty much when Ellie crashed. When we got back home, she opted out of our planned pub dinner, so Flora and I went out ourselves to a place she recommended, where we found the food to be excellent, but the service… well, lacking. This was an expensive little place, highly mentioned by Les Routuriers, so we expected something more, well, sophisticated than a young man who had obviously never heard of single malt Scotch and was too young to serve it anyway; and an undoubtedly well-meaning young Latvian woman, hugely pregnant and rather shabbily attired, who could not explain what the “confit” meant, in “duck confit” and, when asked about the bream, was able to say that it was “fish.” Asked about the preparation of this fish, she offered that it was “cooked.” It was clearly someone’s night off and, okay, they deserve it. But when I pay as much money as that, I reserve the right to expect at least minimally professional service. Does that make me a food snob? Ah, well.

Ellie was already in bed and quasi-sleeping when we got back. Flora and I watched a little of the television special on the infamous Camilla Parker Bowles, but after that I thought better of getting hooked on a program I’d never see the end of and went off to bed, hoping to find Ellie better in the morning.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 5/31/2007

"If you engage in many meaningless activities your virtuous activities will degenerate, therefore stop activities that are not spiritual."

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To Cirencester

WEDNESDAY

A day of travel. Our flight was not due to leave until 12:30, but we were up early and got most of the packing done before breakfast to leave time for a final walk around Budapest before leaving the Continent. A cold, windy morning—and a striking contrast to the heat we have had since arriving here. And once out of the hotel, another brush with the Queen of Spain! I had been listening to the clamorous protest of numerous car horns from our hotel room, and down on the street we discovered that the northbound streets out of the square had been completely blocked off, much to the ire of commuter drivers. Police at the major intersections had been holding traffic for at good fifteen minutes, and nerves were frayed to breaking point. I joked to Ellie that it was probably the Queen of Spain—and indeed it was: a few minutes later, her motorcade swept past, with dozens of police cars in escort. Ah, well. Thinking back to the palaces we have visited, it seems that we still afford the aristocracy special treatment!

We left the hotel mid-morning, and made it out to the airport with alarming speed: our taxi driver seemed oblivious to the fact that there were other drivers on the road, and worked his will with a vengeance, cutting off other cars and speeding past them as with abandon. The airplane ride, after that, seemed a relatively mild experience. Landing at Heathrow in pouring rain and dragging the suitcases around the endless airport corridors and stairways, through immigration and customs—that was something else. Oh, I didn’t mention, did I, that Ellie put her back out this morning, and was in agony all the way?

By the time we reached the car rental desk, found the bus to the remote lot, fooling around all the while with the damn international cell phone we had rented, that refused to function for us, I was in something of a stew. Once out on the road, however, having negotiated the side roads (left hand side, stick shift!, still pouring rain) to the Motorway, I settled back down, Ellie managed to get the phone to work (by dint of calling America to get help from the rental company) and we called my sister Flora only minutes before our arrival. Her detailed instructions led us through the back streets of Cirencester to her beautiful new Cotswold stone home on the historic Coxwell Street. So different from what we have been seeing!








A lovely reunion. Flora’s house has been lovingly remodeled, combing the charm of the old with the convenience of the new. After the house tour, we sat around and talked for a long while over a delicious soup and a variety of salads my sister had prepared—a welcome and refreshing change from all the rich foods we have been eating for the past couple of weeks. Then we watched a brief video of a charming performance by our grand-nephew, Hugo (did I get that right? My sister’s daughter’s son) who at the age of ten already aspires to be an actor—and to judge by this piece, certainly has the chops. It was a funny, quirky, amazingly confident act. A few minutes of a tacky British reality show (title? The one about the people being shut up in a house together for weeks, until they all go crazy, or drive the audience crazy, whichever comes first.) And bed in good time. Ellie, in serious pain, has a lot of difficulty getting off to sleep.

Conversations: The Biggest Rock

I'm driving down one of the Malibu Canyon roads toward Pacific Coast Highway, during one of the heaviest rainy seasons ever recorded in Los Angeles, returning from a weekend social justice retreat. After three days of solid rain, the narrow mountainous roads are strewn with natural debris, including tree branches and large, shiny black rocks.

Most of the rocks I can drive over, but one is so big that I simply can't pass over it with the car. Strange to be trapped like this. The rock has the power to block my path, even though I can easily walk around it and pass along my merry way, leaving the car behind. Of course, I'm not about to leave my car behind, and so my car is, in a sense, inseparable from me, an extension of my body.

Although the road is very sparsely traveled, more cars eventually line up in front of this massive rock. By the time there are five or six of us, we have enough strength between us to lift the rock and move it over to the side of the road.

I think that the world's problems are much like that situation with the rock on the mountain road. Individuals have the flexibility (creativity, love, compassion, energy) to overcome virtually any (man-made) challenge to our happiness and well-being. But individuals are always saddled by institutions, cultures, political systems, ideologies, etc. These (like my car) are tools that were developed to help us. Also like my car, they sometimes prevent us from reaching solutions, if we are attached to them.

My question for today's conversation is: what are the biggest rocks in our human road right now? Are there any "tools" preventing us from moving those rocks? How can we think outside the box, to open the path to a better future?

People moving rocks:

TruthDig on Cindy Sheehan

Discussion Forum on The Assault on Reason

Rockridge Nation

Article for Which I was Interviewed for Published. Plus, All Beings are Buddha

All beings are by nature Buddha,
as ice by nature is water.
Apart from water there is no ice;
apart from beings, no Buddha

-Hakuin Zenji, "Song of Zazen"

James: On another note the article that I was interviewed for was published in the Hartford Courant newspaper in Hartford, Connecticut, USA. Here is the full text:

Worship on the Web
By Phil Hall
April 5, 2007

The late Quaker theologian D. Elton Trueblood said evangelism "is not a professional job for a few trained men but is instead the unrelenting responsibility of every person."

Many people, particularly those with webpage-building skills, have taken Trueblood's words to mind and modem, creating a new online era of conversation and commentary in all matters theological.

In some cases, the Internet has provided a new extension of an existing theological experience. In 2005, for example, the Unitarian Church in Westport expanded its audience for Sunday services by having sermons digitized for podcasting or real-time broadcast from its website (www.uuwestport.org).

"In the past 12 months, there have been 1,837 requests for podcasts, and 519 sermons have been listened to online," says webmaster Charles Klein, who adds that the church's Net audience stretches far beyond its Connecticut congregation. "The website gets approximately 4,700 visitors monthly. The site is visited from all over the United States, much of Europe and even the Middle East."

Still, Klein is aware of the local value of this Net outreach.

"Those who are elderly have indicated a strong desire to visit the site specifically for the podcasts," he says. "Some listeners have moved away, and it is a way to stay connected. Others have either vision or hearing issues, and this really goes far in making sermons accessible to them. Others might be ill at home and do not wish to miss a service or have become shut-ins due to ill health. Others simply enjoy having the services available at their leisure while driving, walking, exercising, or at work."

For those who'd rather be in the pulpit than the pews, the Net allows personal views on matters of a divine nature. Blogging provides a more intimate discussion of faith, as James Ure discovered when he launched The Buddhist Blog (www.thebuddhistblog.blogspot.com) in 2005.

"An important aspect to Buddhism is the `Sangha,' or community of followers," says Ure, an artist in Loveland, Colo. "Being disabled with mental health issues, I have a difficult time staying connected to my physical Sangha, so I started this blog to stay connected with followers online. This blog has helped me see and connect with that worldwide community of followers that I call `The Greater Sangha.' Further, it has helped me realize that we are interconnected with the entire planet [Buddhists and non-Buddhists alike] and therefore one giant community."

Ure says he appreciates the depth of the connection (he averages 100 hits per day) and the diversity of experiences that lace these interactions. "I receive comments and stay in contact with bloggers of the Sufi Islam faith, mystics, agnostics, Christians, Taoists and Hindus," he says.

Cutting across religious traditions has benefited the Dalit Freedom Network, a nonprofit advocacy group devoted to bringing civil rights to the Untouchable caste within India's Hindu faith. Benjamin Marsh, social justice coordinator, notes the group's website (www.dalitnetwork.org) has attracted a strong level of global non-Hindu attention.

"A good deal of our traffic comes from the U.S., U.K., Canada and a surprising amount from China," he says, adding the one group that has tapped into the site is the community in its focus. "Most Dalit have no access to electricity, let alone the Internet."

Distinctive approaches to faith can also be addressed online. Michael Elliott discovered this when he launched The Christian Critic's Movie Parables (www.christiancritic.com) in October 1998.

"My interest is in trying to show how Scripture could be applied to life -- using the lives of the characters we see in the movies as examples," says Elliott, who runs his site from Orlando, Fla. "So, for me, R-rated films are every bit as valid as G-rated films."

Elliott says his initial efforts were not well received.

"Believers were concerned for my soul, thinking that I was naively subjecting myself to the negative influences of a devilish temptation," he says. "Unbelievers were offended that I was bringing religion to their secular entertainment. Over time, the negative feedback has all but disappeared. Most of my e-mail now is simply filled with suggestions of films people want me to review or, better yet, biblical examples that people have seen in films that I haven't yet had an opportunity to review."

Of course, some degree of negativity aimed at faith-based Net entities exists -- yet the digital environment allows intolerance to be erased with little more than a Delete Button click. Leslie Bunder, editor and publisher of the website Something Jewish (www.somethingjewish.co.uk), can afford to be blase when anti- Semitic e-mail is sent.

"We get a few e-mails of that nature, but generally we ignore it," says Bunder.

For Ure, the main problem facing Net-based faith is not the lack of tolerance, but the lack of face-to-face interaction.

"Perhaps the only negative that I can see between religion and the Internet would be that perhaps it might keep some people from interacting with others in person regarding religion," he says. "However, in today's busy world many people are finding it easier [and just as rewarding] to commune online vs. visiting a physical temple or church. In fact, my teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, says it is not enough to be mindful at temple or while meditating -- that one should stay mindful and present throughout the day while engaging in various tasks."

PHOTO: One of my favorite representations of the Buddha called, "Resting Buddha." I first saw it as a large sculpture available in the "Dharma Crafts" magazine but for hundreds of dollars. I can't seem to find a smaller version. I guess I'll have to paint one!!

~Peace to all beings~

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 5/30/2007

"If you talk too much with little meaning you will make mistakes, therefore speak in moderation, only when necessary."

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The Buda Diaries 3

TUESDAY

I have not been reading email while away—I have left that chore to my excellent assistant, Cardozo. I have, however, been reading comments on the blog and have been delighted, as always, to hear from Carly, who has been following our journey from afar and offering tips gleaned on his own visits to some of the cities along the way. I have been searching eagerly in Budapest for the Esterhazy torte that he mentions—but so far, no luck. Maybe this afternoon, our last before leaving for England tomorrow. Thanks to Carly, anyway, for the hint.

True to his word, our friend at the Spinoza had brought back my sweater to the hotel, and we picked it up from the concierge on our way to breakfast. Always good to be reunited with something that was lost. We enjoyed an excellent breakfast, as usual, and left in decent time for our day’s tour. First stop, the city market, open today for the first time since our arrival because of the holiday weekend. Ah yes, the shops are open. Having spent the past two days desperate for a cough drop—my cold has tail-ended into a nasty and persistent cough—I am finally able to go to a pharmacist for some relief. Never did cough drop taste so good, I promise you!

The way to the market led down the now-familiar Vaci Utca (pr. Vatsi Utsa, so far as I can tell,) the main north-south tourist drag that parallels the Danube, and we made a mercifully brief stop at a Marks & Spencer-type department store where Ellie had spotted, through the window, a couple of blouses that appealed to her, and which she was now able to try on—and buy. We also kept an eye open for an inexpensive carry-bag to accommodate that seemingly ever-expanding load of our travel gear, and found one, eventually, at the market itself, whose upper level was devoted to non-edibles.




The interior of the building that houses the market proved to be a huge, open structure, with a complex of iron-work beams and stairways. The ground floor was filled, wall-to-wall, with market stalls selling every imaginable type of fruit, vegetable, meat



and baked ware (though, alas, not an Esterhazy torte to be found!)—a rich and colorful display that demanded countless pictures on the digital camera. We spent perhaps an hour there, enjoying the bustling sights and sounds, not to mention the intense variety of smells. A feast, then, for the senses, as markets are wont to be.

Map in hand, we wandered afterwards in the direction of the Museum of Applied Arts, a building



designed by the dean of art nouveau in Budapest, Odon Lechner, and a truly beautiful example of the genre, inside and out.

We skipped the current exhibit on Tiffany and Galle, but spent enough time within to get a good sense of the space, then headed north again for lunch in Raday utca, a long, narrow, attractive street shaded with sidewalk restaurant umbrellas that we had come upon by accident on the way down. We each chose a salad, both of them as simple and tasty as anything we have had for lunch since our arrival here. Then a long walk back through the side streets to our hotel for a nap, to recover for what is likely to be our last outing, to the area just north of where we are staying.

Post nap, we did indeed set out in the intended direction, and found a different Budapest from the one we have so far explored—this one clearly more affluent than the other areas. We made an initial stop at St. Stephen’s Basilica, with a wonderful, spacious,



light-bathed and decoratively paved plaza stretching out before the steps leading up to the west end entry. Inside the cathedral, an evening mass was in progress, and visitors were permitted only a sidelong view, but we could see enough to be impressed by its grandeur.



Out on the plaza again, we headed north through streets lined with buildings that we evidently better tended than those we are now used to seeing in this city—though small signs of the wear caused by both human and natural agencies are still visible, just patched over rather more successfully. We reached the splendid Szabadsag Square, with its many trees and lovely shaded walkways and its mostly magnificent surrounding buildings, then turned back south briefly to visit the masterwork of the architect Odon Lechner, the former Postal Savings Bank,



whose façade boasts intricate painted floral motifs and multiple reliefs, and whose roofs and parapets offer a fantastic display of colorful tile and ceramic flourishes. Impossible to photograph well, in part because of the height and angle of the building, in part by the wealth of deciduous trees that surround it with their greenery.

Back through the Szabadsag Square toward the river, then south a couple of blocks to the Gresham building, recently renovated as the luxury Four Seasons Hotel, another great example of the architecture,



and one that shows what can be done. Ellie is convinced that the whole city will be “radiant” in a few years. Maybe. We stopped at the (cheaper!) restaurant, and had a very pleasant supper sitting at a window table,


watching the sun set over the Buda side of the city. A huge police presence that we attributed—wrongly as it turned out—to the need for security at such a tourist mecca.

Then, after supper, we ran into the Queen of Spain. Really. I was waiting for Ellie in the lobby, watching a growing crowd of dark-suited men and elegantly dressed women whom I assumed to be part of some kind of business convention—along with a number of large men with bulging suit jackets and communications earpieces. When Ellie joined me, there was a stir and a parting of the crowd as this nice-looking women made her appearance from a stairwell and started greeting members of the assembled party with a gracious courtesy. “That’s the Queen of Spain,” Ellie said immediately. You could have fooled me. I wouldn’t have the first idea what she looked like, so I scoffed somewhat at the idea. Shortly after, though, the crowd flowed out of the hotel and into a parade of waiting cars, which sped off with two dozen police cars in escort. Naturally, I inquired of the hotel staff who this might be and he told me it was “the Spanish royal couple.” We had missed the king but what the heck; we saw the Queen of Spain, no more than an arm’s length from our very selves. No pictures, though, Sorry. I didn’t have the presence of mind to get the camera out. Besides, those security goons might not have been too pleased.

Excited, we got lost on the way back to our hotel. But did find it. And got to bed in decent time in preparation for the next step of the journey: England.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 5/29/2007

"Always keep a smiling face and a loving mind, and speak truthfully without malice."

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The Buda Diaries 2

MONDAY

Ah, yes, that air conditioner. They sent a pair of technicians up at ten o’clock at night to see it they could fix it for us. First problem: the panel that gave access to the inner workings of the machine was blocked by a protruding picture frame, so firmly attached to the wall that it took all of the technicians’ skills and perhaps a half hour of labor to get it off. Then, no luck. The telephone rang. The deputy manager for the night shift. Abject apologies. Our problem turned out to be a serious one, that might take days to fix. He would like to offer us an alternative room, and we could move there this very night, if we so chose.

Travel weary, exhausted from the day, and ready to believe that the heat would break for at least the duration of the night, we opted for an open window and a move tomorrow. And we received, this morning, another call, this time from the manager himself, with the renewed offer of a new room (we accepted, repacked with some disgruntlement) and begging us to accept a “gift” in compensation. We accepted… and left before the gift arrived.

A good breakfast, and a long consultation of the maps and tour books on Ellie’s part, whilst P hied himself to the business center to post yesterday’s handsome piece, with pictures! (The ethernet connection in the room is not functioning, and this is a holiday weekend: Whit Sunday, Pentecost, followed by a national holiday today) so it won’t be fixed before tomorrow at the earliest. We are learning quickly that there is a good deal of malfunction in Hungary.

Ellie’s research paid off handsomely. It’s good to have some sense of purpose in a foreign city—aside from wandering from tourist site to tourist site, and for us in Budapest the theme has definitely become the art nouveau and art deco architecture. First, though, a visit to the synagogue, the second largest in the world, which we had been warned would certainly be closed on a national holiday. Pentecost? I doubted it.

We found it open, and mobbed with tourists joining guided tours in English, Spanish, German, French, Japanese… Amazing. The building is clearly of great historical as well as architectural interest, having survived WWII virtually intact. At least the exterior. The interior was gutted, used as a stable and a barracks, with—irony of ironies!—the Gestapo headquartered in the capacious balcony. Left in a shambles after the defeat of the Germans in 1945, it regained its stature as a working synagogue even though the restoration process did not start until 1991, with funds from the Hungarian government aided by a foundation led by the actor Tony Curtis—originally a Hungarian Jew.






Today, it is splendidly restored to its original state, a glowing tribute to those who put so much time, love and money into the process. Our guide gave us an excellent history of the building, and much information about the Jewish quarter that surrounds it. She led us around the side of the building to a cemetery, where the date of death on every grave marker is 1945.



The fate of the Hungarian Jews is particularly poignant, since they were the last to have been subjected to the Nazi treatment, and only in the last days of the war. Walled into a ghetto around their synagogue, the Jews of Budapest died either by random execution or by starvation, and many were left lying in the streets—a health hazard the Germans resolved by allowing them all to be buried in this tiny cemetery, six thousand of them in the space of seven weeks.

We also visited the Holocaust Memorial Tree behind the synagogue,


along with a memorial to Raoul Wallenberg and numerous others, Hungarian and other Christians, who risked their very lives to save the lives of others. Upstairs, in the museum, we found an exhibit in memory of one resistant Jew, along with numerous large-scale photographs of that grim period in European history. All in all, a sobering and moving highlight of our trip.

Then we roamed the streets—first the old Jewish quarter—armed with maps to locate buildings of special interest. We found them for the most part, as usual, dingy and in sad disrepair.




The money is simply not available to restore them. Even in the richer area, up toward the city park, where many foreign embassies are located, walls seemed to be crumbling, details lost to the effects of pollution, paint peeling. We took a lot of pictures, and stopped for a very indifferent lunch at a restaurant in the lively Franz Liszt Square, where restaurants jostle with each other for space on the busy sidewalks under the shade of a multitude of umbrellas and trees. The adjacent



Franz Liszt music school is supposedly a remarkable example of nouveau architecture, but when we ventured in for a look inside (a rich, teasing glimpse) we were rudely expelled with the explanation “Closed building”—despite my indication of our interest in the architecture.

Further north, at the edge of the city part, a rather spectacular memorial

to those who lost their lives in the 1956 revolution against the Soviets—but sadly ill-kept, the purposefully claustrophobic spaces between its vertical steel beams filled with trash and, worse, human waste. You had the impression of people shitting and pissing callously on a heroic moment in their own history, as though despising the freedom it was intended to gain, and which they have now finally achieved.

A stop at the Kunsthalle, nearby, after admiring the “biggest hourglass in the world”



—a monumental sculptural piece that is supposed to keep time for centuries to come. P found a comfortable seat while Ellie perused the bookshop. We were grateful to have happened on this convenient and comfortable shelter when the rain started, minutes later, a veritable downpour that flooded the huge square outside. It lasted only a few minutes, so we were able to continue our architectural adventure



on the way back south towards the hotel, ending up with a long walk down Andrassy,



reputed to be the Champs Elysees of Budapest, where we passed a film crew busy making a period movie—shades of Hollywood, where massive movie trucks often impede your driving in familiar locations.

Back at the hotel, we found our “gift”—a small plate of fruit, to compensate us for out pain and suffering—and I luxuriated in a soak in the capacious bath. Then down to the lobby for our complimentary glass of Hungarian wine, before heading out to a restaurant we had spotted earlier in the Jewish quarter, the Spinoza. A very nice, very Hungarian meal—goulash for P, breast of goose for Ellie—with a glass or two of Tokay, served by a charming young waiter who forgot to bring one of our courses—but did not forget to charge us for it at the end! Very sweet about it, though. And when, on our return to the hotel, I discovered that I had left my sweater there, they gladly offered to drop it off at the hotel.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 5/28/2007

"See all living beings as your father or mother, and love them as if you were their child."

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The Buda Diaries...

(from Budapest)

SATURDAY

Still cruising toward Budapest as we woke. Despite the feeling of a cold coming on, I put in my usual pleasant solo time up top—a brief meditation and an update for this travel log. A cup of fruity hot stuff instead of my usual English tea—I normally avoid anything that masquerades as “real” tea—and woke Ellie in time for a shower and breakfast in the dining room.

At 7:30, Frank’s voice on the p.a. system invited our presence on deck to witness the ship’s arrival at its final destination.





And indeed Budapest was a very fine site, with the captain guiding us down past Margitsziget, Margaret’s Island, the playground of the residents of the city; on past a splendid view of the Parliament on the Pesht side of the Danube and the royal palace and castle district on the Buda side, to the right. A quick change as we docked, and out for a last official guided tour of the trip, boarding the familiar line of three buses at the quayside.

The tour was a good introduction to the city. On the Pesht side, we drove inland through a commercial district to the new football stadium and the venerable old east railroad station, then on to the “Hero’s Square” with its monumental buildings and statues, the great plaza swarming with gypsy women anxious to sell us maps, guide books in English, hand-knitted traditional Hungarian blouses… A short stop for photos, then down the major tree-lined boulevards, past embassies and the art and music schools, ending up at the river again with a different view of the parliament buildings, this time from the land. Then across the Margaret bridge to the Buda side, through narrow streets, and up the steep incline to the group of palaces, castle walls and churches, where the parapets offer a spectacular view of the entire city of Budapest and the Danube River.




P beginning to feel very under the weather with his cold by the time we returned from the tour for lunch, but managed to tuck into a delicious Hungarian goulash before retreating for an afternoon of rest and recuperation. We had been scheduled to join another bus tour out to the country to a diamond factory and an art colony, but alas, I lacked the energy and decided to remain back on the boat for a good rest. We did manage, Ellie and I, a long walk through the back streets of the city closest to the boat, and began to scout out the area where we’ll be spending the next couple of days, after we leave the Viking tour. It’s a less well-tended city than some others that we know—like Vienna, for example—but we attributed that in part to the continuing recovery period from the communist regime. There’s a lot of work to be done to bring it back to what was clearly its original beauty.

Instead of our customary daily briefing with Frank at 6:45PM, we gathered for “A Time to Say Goodbye.” P nursed his cold with a glass of single malt scotch whiskey, and we all got a bit sentimental about the journey, our fellowship on board, and the pleasure of the cruise. At the end, Frank invited us all to celebrate with hugs all around, and we gladly complied. A last dinner with Tom and Danette, served by our always friendly and efficient waitress, Ivana, and a fond farewell to them: they leave at 4:30 tomorrow morning. Then a few moments on deck, and an early bed for P, with hopes for better health in the morning.


SUNDAY

I woke feeling much better than last night, but earlier than I would have liked. Made my way to the upper deck with the laptop, intending on a half hour’s meditation before writing down the events of Saturday. Shortly into my meditation, though, I felt drops of rain on my head and didn't want to risk giving the computer a shower, so I chickened out and found a space under the shelter of the bridge to get on with the log.

Not an exciting beginning to the day: we had to squeeze everything back into our bags again for the next leg of the journey, and Viking nicely organized a taxi for us to the Keplinsky Hotel in the center of Budapest—on the Pesht side of the river. During the ride, one of my two batteries and a memory card apparently slipped out of my camera case, and we were surprised and delighted that the driver took the time to bring them back to the hotel. Chalk one up for the Budapest taxi driver.

We were soon unpacked and spent a while trying to agree on an itinerary for the afternoon. P still feeling very much under the weather—this is now unambiguously a nasty cold—but not wishing to waste precious time on our vacation. We decided that a thermal bath might be just the ticket, and headed out in the direction of the Gellert Hotel, a spa that had been highly recommended to us.

First, though, a lunch stop at the Gerbeaud restaurant close to the hotel, and a long, slow walk down mostly narrow side streets, admiring some fine examples of both art nouveau and art deco buildings.










Well at least the bones are there, for the most part. The details have often weathered badly through both weather and war, and many of the buildings are in a sad state of disrepair. Again, I suspect, also a heritage of the communist period. We encounter many signs of poverty in our wanderings, from ill-kept, dusty parks populated with obviously suffering humans, to crumbling buildings and dirty streets.

Speaking of which, the Gellert spa, when we reached it, seemed no exception to this rule. Talk about faded grandeur! We ante’d up what we thought was a rather expensive entry fee at over $15 a person, but then were asked to fork up another 10,000 forints (about $60) for a towel for each of us—1,000 for the towel and 4,000 deposit. We didn’t have that kind of cash with us, and the women at the cashier’s desk tried in vain to make out credit cards work. Lacking any sign of success, we had to make a side trip to the nearest ATM, and returned with cash in hand.

The baths were certainly pleasurable. We stayed mostly in the big thermal mineral bath, where at least three dozen people didn’t seem to be too much of a crowd.




The adjacent swimming pool proved too cold for this sick soul, so we passed on that, but we did find a spot in the sun by the outdoor pool to relax for a while amidst the holiday crowd. (It’s Whit Sunday over here, in Catholic country, a big festival, it seems, for children, and there were many of them with their parents at the baths, contributing a pleasantly joyful energy to the afternoon.)

We headed back to the hotel around six o’clock, with P’s energy visibly wearing thin along the way. I was grateful when Ellie suggested staying in our hotel room for a light dinner, rather than going out to one of the many local restaurants. Our hosts had already left us a nice assortment of hors d’oeuvres, so all we had to do was order a soup and salad—which we watched as Serena Williams vanquished a French Open rival on the television. We opted not to watch a movie, which would have cost us some $30. Everything here seems incredibly expensive, though the revenues from the tourist dollars are not evident either in the appearance of the city nor, so far as we can tell, in the lives of many of the people. The results of the inefficiency and waste of the old communist system are everywhere in evidence, and we wonder how the less fortunate Hungarians survive—particularly, we have heard, the pensioners, who earned little under the post-war regime and who, today, receive pathetically small retirement income from the government.

Ready for bed. The air conditioner in this expensive hotel is not working, and it seems hotter than hell in here. Still, it’s not hard to remember that our woes are small by comparison. Malfunctioning air conditioning? What a tragedy!

Tibetan Monks not Bothered by Mandala Destruction

May 25, 2007

KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- The little boy spotted the pile of colored sand and couldn't resist. Slipping under a protective rope, he danced all over the sand, ruining the carefully crafted picture.

Never mind that it was the creation of Tibetan monks who had spent two days on the floor of Union Station, meticulously pouring the sand into an intricate design as an expression of their Buddhist faith.

They were more than halfway done with the design -- called a mandala -- on Tuesday when they ended their work for the day and left. The little boy showed up later with his mother, who was taking a package to a post office in the hall.

''He did a little tap dance on it, completely destroying it,'' said Lama Chuck Stanford.

The monks saw the destruction Wednesday.

''No problem,'' said Geshe Lobsang Sumdup, leader of the group. ''We have three days more.''
AP

James: I heard about this story on several non-Buddhist news feeds and have to giggle a bit at the surprise from people that the monks are not bothered by the child's "dance." For many of us know the mandalas are always wiped away and the sand released into a near by river. Therefore symbolizing impermanence through the sweeping away and inter-being through the merging of the sand with the water. Hence the destruction of sand mandalas is just as sacred a process as the construction of them.

So in reality this child was actually a benefit to the monks by helping perform a sacred task. Thus in that context I find the whole thing quite cute and a good lesson in not taking ourselves too seriously and becoming attached to even the most beautiful, seemingly precious things.

Sometimes children are our best teachers.

~Peace to all beings~

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 5/27/2007

"Do not contemplate your own good qualities, but contemplate the good qualities of others, and respect everyone as a servant would."

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In Vienna

(Sorry. Again, rough text.)

FRIDAY

Woke up early and went up to the top deck for a half hour’s meditation and catching up with yesterday’s events on the laptop while Ellie was still sleeping. Stopped by the reception desk to discover that the online connection was not working: we were berthed between two sister ships, I was told. A fine excuse. Anyway, I made a cup of coffee instead, and a cup of tea for Ellie and headed back to the cabin to get ready for the day.

After the usual excellent breakfast, the buses arrived on the quay for our introductory tour of the city—and indeed did a complete circuit of the Ring streets, which circle the city where the old wall used to stand. These streets lead past virtually all the major monuments, so it makes for a pretty easy sight-seeing trip: in a single loop, you take in the Opera and the Burggarten, the Hofburg and the Heldenplatz, the major museums and the Rathaus—not to mention the statues of Mozart and Strauss and Schiller and Goethe and Franz Josef and Maria Theresien…. Vienna is surely one of the most beuatiful cities in Europe, with great, wide boulevards interspersed with narrow alleys filled with wonderful surprises. At every corner, it seems, some great composer lived here: Mozart and Vivaldi, Beethoven, Bruckner, Schoenberg and, well, of course, there’s always Salieri and Strauss. Our guide was endlessly informative and fluent in her English.



After the Ring, our bus tour brought us to the Belevedere, where we had just an hour to spend in the galleries. Of special note was the wonderful collection of Gustav Klimts and the Egon Scieles, unsurprising, of course, in this part of the world, where they once lived and worked, but a feast for the eyes nonetheless. Ellie and I were particularly taken with some of the Schiele paintings,


of which we have seen few before, and somewhat regretted the loss of the wonderful drawing from her parents collection—a loss, at least, to the family, and a gain for the Los Angeles County Museum. We found a few minutes, at the end, for some choice medieval paintings and sculptures, and marveled at their meticulous detail.

The tour dropped us off at the city center, in front of the Stephansdom, and we joined out friends Tom and Danette and parted from the Viking gang for our own afternoon walking tour of the inner city. We spent only a few minutes inside the dark, gothic cathedral with its occasional rococo flourishes, where only worshippers were permitted past the railings designed to keep tourists in the back. Understandable. Re-emerging into the light, we wandered past Mozart’s house in the shadow of the cathedral, and found a great lunch stop in the Neumarkt. Ellie and I shared a good salad and a ham and asparagus plate—and tasted some of Tom’s excellent fried cheese.

Deciding against a prolonged visit to the Jewish Museum, given the shortage of time, we wandered on through the narrow streets and came upon an auction house filled with fascinating treasures. At another time, we might have been tempted by some of the wonderful glass objects—and Ellie by the jewelry! On toward the Hofburg, passing up on the (expensive!) visit to the Spanish Riding School but stopping for a photo-op at the stables. Then on through the palace and back to the Ring, with another stop for a well-deserved rest—and a respite from the heat—under the shady trees of the Burggarten.

Speculating about a huge conservatory structure at one edge of the garden, we discovered it to be the “Schmetterlinghaus”—the Butterfly House—and succumbed to the temptation to investogate. It proved to be exactly what it said—a hothouse filled with all kinds of colorful specimens of butterfly, some brilliant, some quite huge, all fluttering here and there and settling on the lush leaves of the plants and on the (plastic!) orchids sprayed with homey to attract them. We left sweating from the heat and humidity inside, but grateful for a small, if unexpected adventure.

A couple of blocks from there to the Opera, to find that access was allowed only on official tours. To console ourselves, we found the Sacher Hotel, instead, immediately behind the Opera, and indulged in the famous Sachertorte (delicious!) and an exceptional cup of coffee. Ellie was so excited that she forgot to take her handbag with her when she left. Fortunately, it was still there when we rushed back to find it.

We navigated the subway—very easily, in fact—back to the Vorgartenstrasse, the closest stop to the harbor, and found a convenient gelato establishment to compound our excess of only one hour before. Then back to the Viking Spirit in time to relax in the sun—and the wind!—with our friends over the complimentary bottle of Veuve Cliquot that is left for top-deck passangers like ourselves!

An evening of celebration on board. More complimentary champagne and a round of toasts, with the captain and the tour managers making the tour of the cabin for individual thanks and toasts. Then, from Frank, a lengthy set of debarkation instructions, and an excellent “farewell dinner,” followed by a sparkler parade of all members of the crew, and introductions and grateful applause from the guests as each of the crew individually took a bow. Got to bed too late, too well fed, too sated with champagne, too tired—but at least with a sense of pleasurable camaraderie.

Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 5/26/2007

"Do not look for faults in others, but look for faults in yourself, and purge them like bad blood."

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Early Morning Buddhist Inspiration - 5/25/2007

"Do not be jealous of others' good qualities, but out of admiration adopt them yourself."

Technorati Tags: Buddha Buddhist Buddhism Meditation Dharma Compassion