Flashback

I want to get in an entry with a real life adventure from last month. I got two sailing-trip log-entries in before we started getting ready for that party, but the end of the trip needs to be documented.

We were circumnavigating Ischia, the largest island in the Bay of Naples, on an excruciatingly calm day. In order to move forward at all we had to use the motor for the first two hours. Andras does not like to run the motor. He goes sailing so he can sail, not tool around in an underpowered motorboat. Fortunately, once we reached the western side of the island we were moving with the current, and as a result we could run without the motor at an astounding 2 knots. It was a relaxing last day of sailing – until…

We were heading toward the harbor at Ischia Town when I saw the first flash of lightning over Monte Epomeo. Then the wind picked up. At first it seemed we would catch a nice stiff wind and beat the storm to the harbor, but then the gusting started. Then it started to rain. Then the gusting started to make me nervous. I’ll admit, as a less experienced sailor – ok, as a completely inexperienced sailor – I was losing faith in the stability of our little craft. I could feel the center of balance lifting up out of the water at times. “A three hour tour, a three hour tour…”

Andras, however, kept the cool that is so important for the captain to keep. He told me to hold off on bringing in the sails until he had us pointed squarely into the wind. Well, he didn’t actually tell me this, he just did it and told me what to do when it needed to be done. It is only through the benefit of hindsight that I can now understand what was going on. It was a flurry of activity, all while being pelted by a cold rain and blown around by storm winds. When I felt on top of things, it made me feel like a badass. Then I would have to walk out to the mast and pull a line in; the badass feelings evaporated all too quickly.

In the end, however, we got to the harbor. No slips. Damn it. We went back out and cruised to a second harbor. No slips. Damn it all. We were tired and hungry. We decided to anchor just outside the harbor in a relatively calm spot. The boat was rocking, but not so bad.

Before we went in for our trip’s last supper, I had a coffee with rum and a hot shower. Of course, we then had to ride the dingy to shore in the rain, canceling the effect of the coffee, rum, and shower. We hiked around a little, found a place with good pizza, and went back to look at the boat. Things didn’t look good. The sea was choppy. The boat was being tossed around quite a bit. And the dingy was bobbing up and down even while inside the harbor. Andras decided to put the girls up in a hotel, and without really consulting me (his right as the captain), he decided that the two of us would risk the dingy ride back to the boat where we would spend the night. The ride was rough, and the boat was rising up and down in the water as we boarded, but we got on board without injury. Andras’ decision was the right one. I slept fairly well, waking up on occasion to be sure the anchor was holding. In the morning things were calm again. We headed back to the mainland, and sadly the trip was over.

Eric Clapton

Saw Clapton last night. Fantastic show. Robert Cray opened, and he came out to do a few during Clapton’s set, but the encore was the real highlight. Apparently the previous two shows did not include an encore, but the crowd was going nuts, and after a few minutes the whole band, including Cray, came out to do a asskicking rendition of “Crossroads”. The guitars were great all night. We got some nice piano solos. Overall, it was nothing but a joy.

Dora’s seeing another concert tonight, Robbie Williams. I didn’t get a ticket, not because I couldn’t. I turned down a nicely priced one this morning, but it’s not a show I need to see. Don’t get me wrong, of the pop musicians out there right now, I think Williams is one of the only interesting three-dimensional figures playing on an otherwise flat and flavorless pitch. And I’m sure his show will be a good one. The word spectacular comes to mind, but I saw Herbie Hancock last month (he closed with “Chameleon”, awesome in the true sense of the word) and then Clapton, and I’m learning a lot about the kind of shows I enjoy. I had a sincere smile on my face for the duration of both of those shows. I did not take the time to critically reflect on the choices the musicians were making because every choice they made felt like the right one.

I remember when John Andonov and I used to go to see these blues shows at the Memorial Union in Madison. I normally had a little something something in my system, and I’m fairly certain I repeated the following theory about music 47 times (and each time with the same awestruck enthusiasm): “Dude, John, dude, listen… In a novel or a play or a film, if you can predict the next moment, then the artist is failing in some way or another. But! But, in music, if the song, even during a solo or a jam, if the song is doing the right thing, then you should be able to feel where things are going. So, it’s like predictable is good.” I’m not ashamed of this analysis, despite the obviousness of it, because I had to make that realization at some point, and John was nice enough to listen... every time. I’d add some caveats nowadays. I don’t think pop music fits into the category of music I was describing back then, mostly because it is all so predicable now: One beat throughout, a simple breakdown instead of a bridge, some vanity vocal embellishments if the singer had the chops (computer effects if not), and a sample from something people used to enjoy but will now associate with the work of some hack producer.

Anyway, I don’t think Robbie Williams fits into the negative mold I’ve cast above, but he is more an entertainer than an artist. Last time I was at a show like that was over Christmas. Dora’s folks took us to see Gwen Stephanie. She's another one I don’t mind so much, and I’m glad to have seen her. But I did check my watch a couple of times during the show… and she only played for 65 minutes. I guess I want more of the music and less of the spectacular. I’m tempted to say that makes me sound old, but I don’t think I felt much differently when I was back at the Union with John.

Anyway, it was a great show last night.

Had us a party.

If you’ve ever bought a keg of beer in the States, you’re familiar with the large onus American beer distributors put on the small-scale buyer. You need to put down a deposit on the keg, provide your own tub, fill the tub with ice, rent a hand pump tap, and then pump the beer out of the keg with good old-fashioned elbow grease. Here in Hungary they make drinking beer much easier. I went to the brewery outlet and picked up a keg. With that keg I was given a CO2 tank and a tap that runs the beer through refrigerated tubes – no deposit and very little hassle. The amazing thing is, despite all this great service, barely anyone in Hungary buys kegs. At our party the general consensus was that the keg was ingenious, but a novelty. Everyone was happy the keg was there, but I don’t think we’re going to start a trend.

That, however, proved to be the only disappointment of the party. The event was an overwhelming success. A very mixed crowd started drifting in after four, and by eight we had nearly fifty people eating appetizers, kebabs off the grill, drinking beer, cocktails, and spirits. The festivities continued until about two in the morning. We chalked up a visit from the local police, who proved to be the nicest cops in the universe. They actually insisted that we keep the music at the party-friendly level it had been at all night. The only reason they visited was because Arpi, an excitable friend of ours, got a little too excited while defending the valor of his favorite Hungarian football team. The language got a little earthy, and some neighbors with children put in a call. The only other bump in the road was when Hari, Dora’s MBA schoolmate, started trying to DJ. I had put together a nice eclectic play list for the event, and everyone seemed to be enjoying the music. But after a beer or two too many, Hari thought he was DJ-fucking-Shadow or something. He kept starting a song and changing it after ninety seconds. When I told him to stop, he gave me a thumbs up and changed the song again.

Lessons learned, lock the keyboard before people get drunk, always get a keg, and don’t get Arpi going about Fradi.

Happy Belated Anniversary to my Folks

First thing, I need to wish my folks a happy anniversary. They have been married 36 years. The anniversary was actually on the 20^th. My sister sent a reminder, because my brothers and I aren’t the best at remembering these kinds of things, but I didn’t check email until today (and I didn’t remember). So, Happy 36^th Anniversary, Mom and Dad! Sorry to be late in saying it.

Other than that good news… It’s still obnoxiously hot here in the city, and it is more fun for me to continue thinking back to our sailing trip.

So, after an overnight at our port of call we were off sailing. On my first trip to the Mediterranean, the trip on which I met Dora, I was struck by the blues of both the water and sky. On this trip I found myself awed by the land poking through and into those blues. Rock and vegetation rise up and out of the sea at sharp angles. It looks as if it takes effort to hold such postures, as though the land needs to prove its strength in the face of such an overwhelming sea. The rugged coastlines in Italy manage to bring the land and water together with the kind of aesthetic that I believe has been ingrained in the collective consciousness as the way opposites should co-exist.

Anyway, we sailed to Capri. Ahh, Capri. After Courtney visited Capri in 1993, she came back to the States and told me it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. This kind of superlative is not common coming from my sister, so it sent me to Capri in 1999. I agreed with Courtney’s appraisal then, but on this trip I came to appreciate the island even more. Yes, the city of Capri is a bit too touristy for my taste. The island itself, however, is nothing short of stunning, and from a sailboat, that fact is driven home especially well. We approached from the west, headed for the Marina Grande, but when we got close Andras had us tack so we could navigate around to the island’s more intimate Marina Piccolo.

I am proud to say that I served as first mate on the trip, and I think I did a bang-up job. I knew a bit about sailing, but I learned a lot that day: some knots, the lines on a bigger boat, it was my first time putting out a jib, and… yeah, it was a learning experience and all that.

Once we anchored, we had some drinks and a snack then headed for shore. We planned to return to Capri on our return, so it was enough to just shop around in the city of Capri and find a place for dinner. And my oh my, did we find a place for dinner. The city itself is all white buildings along little winding alleys, no room for cars. We explored for an hour or so when we found a place that seemed to cater as much to the Italians as it did to the tourists. We sat down at eight, the place nearly empty. I ordered a proper Italian meal: antipasti, pasta, mussels, and dessert. I was halfway through the mussels when I noticed the place had filled up. We may have arrived a bit early, but I got the feeling we were seeing a side of Italy that is closer to real Italian than that which many tourists get to see. The wine was good, and the food was better. We got back to the boat close to midnight, and on that note I’ll stop for today.

Getting June Down

It is hot in Budapest, like torture hot… with humidity.

That’s okay, but there’s more. When Szóda was a puppy she peed on the rug once or twice. I have since shampooed the rug three times, but in this heat the smell is resurrected. I hate this smell. I want to do something about it, but I’m not sure what. I’ve shampooed the rug three times for god’s sake. (I actually just took a brake and shampooed the trouble spots a fourth time.) Before this, I had never shampooed a rug in my life, not ever. For those of you who haven’t done it, it’s a pain in the ass. I don’t have one of these big machines that does the job for me. I wish that were the case. I’m sure it would do a better job than my generic rug shampoo and elbow grease.

Anyway, the city is getting to me. I’m going to need to get out this weekend, but seeing as how it’s Tuesday, that doesn’t help me much.

I was at the bank today and yesterday, where I ran into nothing but delays and refusals. Two weeks to get a new PIN code for e-banking?!? And, “Oh, you’ve changed the name of your company? You’re going to need some other papers that you don’t have, and they are very difficult to get. Can you find your way to the door?”

I’ve been back from a killer vacation for just two weeks now, and I already need another break. Actually, work is fine. I have little to nothing to complain about when it comes to work. I have some new students, and I like them, and I like the classes.

Aside from all that, if you’ve read this far, you must know me, because why else would you wade through all that whining. And I know I owe family and friends an explanation of that sailing trip from the beginning of the month. So, here goes. If you want some pictures to go with this, you can see my yahoo slide show thing.

First off, I can’t figure out why the rest of the world won’t just shut up and live like the Italians. They eat well, and I mean both healthy and delicious. They live well. And they appear much more at ease than the other cultures I’ve become acquainted with, including American culture (actually, especially American culture. Now, make no mistake; I’m not being anti-American. In fact I’ve come to view anti-Americanism as an obnoxious incarnation of arrogance, equal to, if not greater than the arrogance of the all-too-common ugly American). Now I know we can’t all live in a Mediterranean climate. Nor can we all live in a location with roots stretching back 3000 years, but we could learn a lesson from these people.

All of that is beside the point. Dora, Lili, and I arrived in Naples early Saturday afternoon. Dora’s folks had arrived only 20 minute before us. We caught a bus to the port that took us through downtown. Scenic downtown n Naples; we saw a car-fire, street crime, a non-stop traffic jam, and lots of friendly Italian gesticulations. Then there was a ferry to Procida where we picked up the sailboat, a 46 foot Oceania. Four cabins. Nice boat. We had to wait an extra hour because the boat wasn’t ready as scheduled, and thus we got our first sample of Mediterranean punctuality. No one seemed to be in much of a hurry, and if you had a problem with that… well isn’t that interesting. I personally found it the perfect attitude for my week away from work. We had pizza that night, and yes it is better in Italy.

So, perhaps tomorrow or the next day I will have time to talk about the sailing, Capri, Amalfi, and Ischia. For now it is bedtime.

Back from sailing

I have been away from the log, because I have been away from electronic communication. I was on a sail boat tooling around the Bay of Naples. Dora’s mom turned 60 last weekend, and one of her presents was a family sailing trip.

Not a bad life they’ve got for themselves down there in Italy. I’d like to go into more detail tonight when I have the time, but for now I’ve got to get back to work.

I should let it be known that I did not win the Maurice Prize in Fiction. It had me down for half a day, but like I’ve said, being a finalist is something in and of itself.

Summer's coming...

I’ve got one hell of a summer ahead of me. The plan is this: sailing in Italy, Hungarian lessons, maintain the vegetable garden, train the dog to catch Frisbees (she’s already pretty good), see Eric Clapton in concert, long weekend in Transylvania, get a fishing permit, go fishing, see Radiohead and other bands at the Sziget Festival, and get a literary agent.

The list is not in order, but I’ve only got three months, so most of it will be happening as a blur. Lately things have been like that. I’ve been finishing the grading for the semester. Some very good papers, talented students. Some lame excuses, not so talented (at least not in the excuse department).

Dora’s started working out more regularly recently. She’s running the track around Margaret Island, a good run. I’ve been keeping up with sit-ups and other stuff for a while now, but that is nothing in comparison to Dora’s new run. Now, we’re not competing… but you know how it is. If she’s running 3 times a week I can’t use the dog walks as my excuse for cardio. I mean, I’ve never been much at keeping in shape, but I know I feel better when I’m trying.

Anyway, maybe you can tell from the entry here, the last month has been more about work than anything else. I don’t have much to say.

I did start listening to “Enter the Wu-Tang” again recently. If you own that album, listen to it tonight.

Crazy Good News

I expect I’ll be floating on a cloud of self-congratulatory satisfaction for the next week or two. I received news from UC Davis that my manuscript for Mifflin made it through the first round of selections for the Maurice Prize in fiction. I am one of five finalists, and I know the competition is tough. I have high hopes, but I also know there are some excellent writers in this thing. I won’t be crushed if the prize money goes to someone else.
Truth be told, I’m just happy to have something to add to my query letters. I think “I was selected as a finalist for the Maurice Prize in Fiction, as judged by Gail Tsukiyama.” sounds pretty damn nice. I will, of course, wait for a decision before sending out those letters. I can’t be too optimistic, but I’m not a pessimist by nature.
Anyhow, it is the end of the academic year here, and I have more than 200 pages of Composition Essays to grade before the end of the weekend. I’m just going to go out to the summerhouse and grade outdoors. Should be nice.