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Published: July 22nd 2006
Asronomıcal Clock ın Prague
The clock chımes on the hour and ıs anımated by movıng saınts and skeletens doıng a sort of death-jıg.Today I have a date with a man whose kiss is so tender, that he has made himself known all over the world. His kiss is so passionate that none can come close to its beauty- though many have tried. I have donned my only skirt and smoothed my lips with gloss. I am ready for his kiss. I am ready to see the art of Gustav Klimt.
It was Griff's suggestion- who would have thought? We had not planned to enter Austria because it is one of the most expensive countries in Europe at the moment. (You should see how much a hostel charges for a bunk bed in a room with nine other people, and a shared bathroom in Vienna!) But we figured out the logistics and they were relatively affordable- arrive in Vienna in the early morning, and leave Austria by train in the evening. All this hassle to see the work of an artist I have swooned over for ages! I have a feeling it will be worth the trouble, and our first stop will be the Belvedere Museum to see Klimt's most famous painting of two lovers entwined in the others' arms. This famous piece,
Wall of Peace
Thıs wall ın Prague was paınted wıth pıctures and sayıngs from John Lennon durıng the country's communıst rule. As soon as the government would paınt over the rebels' protests ıt went rıght back up the next nıght. painted in deep gold tones is entitled, “The Kiss”.
(go to www.artchive.com/artchive/K/klimt/kiss.jpg.html to see "The Kiss" for yourself!)
Our Klimt “museum-run” will be the extent of our time in Vienna- unfortunately, but I can't really complain about anything we have experienced in Europe thus far. There is obviously still so much to see in this part of the planet, and we will leave it without our thirsts quenched.
What we have been a part of in the past week and a half, is the splendor of the relatively newly-named, Czech Republic (formerly known as the northern half of Czechoslovakia.) We entered the country knowing little about its culture or history. We were simply planning on seeing a place which still displayed the sad signs of a war-torn country. I sat down one morning over breakfast, and began to read about the the Czech Republic’s history which is soooo long that my muesli got soggy. This little country has had more border changes than Solomon had wives! Czech’s people date back to an era in time where royalty ruled from castles surrounded by moats, diseases of all sorts were passed amongst the lowly surfs, and men went to war
to defend their homeland with shields and arrows. As is the case with any European people, the Czechs went to war countless times, loosing some and winning others. In more modern history, the unfortunately located Czechs fell easily into the hands of Hitler's troops, as Germany and Czechoslovakia shared a border. When the Nazis began to invade, the Czechs never even had a chance, and so they surrendered to the cruel takeover, without much fighting. This of course was devastating for many Czechs who were thrown into internment camps and perished there. Of the 120,000 Jews that were living in the area at the time, over 80,000 died at the hands of Hitler. This figure does not even include the country’s Gypsies and other ethnic groups that were killed by the Nazis during this horrific era.
When Czechoslovakia was finally rid of Nazi rule, they began elections, in which the Communist party lost, but decided to take over anyway with the help of their powerful Moscow allies. Thus was the life of the Czechs until the Iron Curtain was lifted in 1989, when the communist way of life had run its course and failed terribly. Finally, in 1993, they
Mandy
Enjoyıng a delısh dınner of very authentıc Czech food. earlıer that day we had canoed the rıver that ıs behınd me- It ran though the town and then for a couple of mıles through beautıful forest. made a peaceful agreement with the Slavs to go their separate ways- thus the creation of Slovakia and the Czech Republic.
The more Griff and I learn about the Czech people's history, the more we are in awe that their recovery is happening so quickly. I honestly expected to see more dilapidated buildings and people begging on the street. How pleasantly surprised we were to be welcomed into its capitol city, Prague which immediately contradicted our pre-conceived ideas of the country. Prague boasts many modern restaurants serving top-notch food ranging from Sushi to Schnitzel, grocery stores bigger than those in the States, a very efficient transportation system, and all sorts of other indulgences! Our first night in town, we wandered around Prague's buzzing streets and stumbled upon a hip Mexican Restaurant. No, the burrito we split was not authentic, but it was delicious anyway! We strolled back to our room that we were “renting” for the week, from an incredibly sweet local woman and her equally sweet pre-teen son. (Cragslist.org- again!)
The next day we were able to go into the heart of the city, and with this excursion we were even more impressed. As we walked into
Prague's older streets in the city center, I literally had to stop walking and sit for a moment to take it all in. The buildings were ornately adorned with facades of various pastel colors and intricate white moldings with hand-painted details. A huge statue rose from a pond in the middle of it all, and along one side of the cobblestone city square were horse-drawn carriages lined up and waiting for business. Street vendors sold about a dozen different types of hot dogs, pretzels, local pastries, and beer, beer, beer! (Czechs have the highest per capita beer consumption in the world, boasting an average of 160liters per year!) Contrasting sharply with the center’s old-time splendor was a gigantic T.V. screen raised up next to the proud old statue. Locals and tourists alike were watching the World Cup finals with intensity! Cheers filled the city from every corner of Prague when a goal was scored, and supporters of various teams wore their country's flags on their backs like capes.
The energy in the air, the mesh of old and new, the grand astronomical clock chiming in the background, people sipping colorful concoctions in street-side cafes, horses pawing the stones and
chomping their bits, saints in stone looking down on us from towering cathedrals overhead. We had not anticipated Prague's splendor! Griff and I kept saying to each other, “It's just too perfect.” Until now we had not known that cities like this existed in a world outside of make-believe. On top of its beauty, Prague is also relatively safe, so we could wander without anxiety. The city was spectacular!
We ended up staying an extra day in Prague which still wasn't enough time but allowed us a few more moments to take in the city's pleasures. A few of our favorite spots were the Charles Bridge, which one would think is close to collapsing from the amount of vendors and tourists weighing it down every day, but somehow remains incredibly picturesque with its saintly statues and majestic city views. We also learned a lot by taking a day to explore the Jewish Quarter, an area that has been sacred to the Jewish community for as long as Prague has existed. We visited several museums explaining Jewish traditions, customs, and beliefs, the cemetery in which the tombstones are literally smashed in one on top of the other, and a memorium
Castle Tower
Thıs one ıs nıce but pales ın comparıson to my cardboard versıon created ın 6th grade! Synagogue which is one of the most powerful images of memoriam I have ever seen. The temple was once used in a more ordinary fashion, but now serves as a monument to the Jewish lives lost during the Holocaust. Every victim's name has been written on the temple walls, and in solemn tones, their names are read aloud over a speaker that can be heard throughout the temple. (Unfortunately, photos are not allowed, which I would have loved to share with you.) When we stepped down into the sanctuary area of the temple, my breath caught quickly in my throat as I looked at the tiny names inscribed in black and red- there were so many of them. I choked back my emotion and moved on to room after room filled with the names of innocents slain in the for purposes of “purification”-entire families murdered in terror, tortured in unimaginable ways. I have learned and taught about the devastation of the holocaust, but to see something like this makes its horror all the more real, and all the more appalling. How can mankind be capable of such atrocities?
Finally, we were able to visit the Mucha Museum, which I
was probably more “into” than Griff. Mucha's signature style is somewhat dramatic with its soft curves, extreme facial expressions, and the integration of humans with nature. Mucha's work has hit mainstream U.S.A. in the past couple of years with full force and can be seen on handbags at Target stores, or greeting cards at Hallmark. Seeing the “real thing” is always thrilling however, and we were able to see many of his less commercialized works, including photographs and realistic paintings which I enjoyed immensely.
After packing full our hours in Prague, we worked our way south to a Medieval Town called, Cesky Krumlov, which for us English speakers was tricky to pronounce and remember, so Griff and I resorted to calling it, “Crispy Kreamov”. During our time here, we were not only able to see the untellable beauty of the buildings that still stand tall from Medieval times, but we literally were able to see life through Medieval eyes. The townsfolk were celebrating their annual Festival of Roses, during which the entire town dresses, eats, entertains, drinks, and carries on business as they did in the days of this city's beginnings. It was a stroke of luck, and completely
unplanned, but is sure to go down as one of our favorite experiences of the trip. We met a group of people on the bus on the way there, and hung out with them the first night, loosing track of the time and our age. Everywhere you went in town, were festivities of different sorts, jousting, flutes and fiddles being expertly played, vendors selling swords and shields, and a lot of fire-charred meat and old style brew.
It was during these events and this time warp into the past that I remembered someone extremely significant in shaping my life and as it turns out, shaping Griff’s life as well. The weekend’s partying and fun would have meant so much less without having known this person…
I would like to introduce to you, Mr. Durbin, our sixth grade teacher. Many of you know him personally, and I am absolutely certain, that your feelings toward the man, are reflective of the love that Griff and I feel for him. Mr. Durbin (a.k.a. Mr. “D”) was the type of teacher every pre-teen dreams of having. At our tender, overly-sensitive, age of twelve, Mr. Durban was an expert at tricking us. He
Chess anyone?
Part of the festıvıtıes was a lıve chess game! fooled us into learning, when we thought we were fooling him into not teaching the curriculum. He trıcked us into the notıon that we were capable of thinking like adults, that we were not awkward and annoying, and in fact that we were beautiful.
We went to a private school where the teachers had a dress code: women in slacks or skirts, men in ties. Every morning, after walking our line into the classroom, Mr. Durban unclipped his tie, opened his cupboard, and placed the silly thing next to the other one hanging inside. When he was to be observed and evaluated by the principal, he always made a big deal about clipping his tie on beforehand, “Now let's see, which one should I wear?” and then we would take a vote. I am certain that the principal knew about his tie anarchy, but he never said a word as far as I know. No one would dare risk loosing a school icon like Mr. Durbin to a ridiculous dress code violation.
Mr. Durban was a fan of old radio shows like, “The Whistler” and “The Shadow”. He loved jazz and ragtime music. He would play the radio
Bakers
The baked goods here were...ınterestıng. Most were stuffed wıth some sort of pork meat but some wıthout were pretty yummy!(Grıff lıked the pıg-stuff!) shows or an excerpt from some old music, and just get lost in its nostalgia. We all adored him so much that we too became interested in these things. He used these untraditional tools to teach us about history and the evolution of art. Mr. D was the funniest man I had ever met, and he had us bated with every word that came out of his mouth. He often bordered the line of appropriate for our sheltered Christian school, but he never talked about anything that we weren't already thinking about. He could read our minds.
His love for Snickers candy bars was evident by the belly that preceded him. He'd claim to be on a diet, but we all adored him so much that we would sneak him Snickers to keep in his desk, where his wife wouldn't find them. He would dance little jigs in the middle of class, his big body shaking with each tap of the foot. “Now! Would you like to see the entire dance done backwards?” he would ask. The classroom would roar with cheering and we would respond with an enthusiastic, “Yes! Yes!” He’d then turn his back too us and repeat
the steps, exactly the same as the first time, but now with his back to us, they were “backwards”.
Mr. Durban was a man of humor, but also of culture. He’d actually trained to be a professional Opera Singer. No teacher I'd had before had ever hinted at wanting to do anything but teach. To imagine someone we adored so much taking up the classroom as his “back-up plan” was a dose of heartache and reality for my young mind. On very special occasions, Mr. Durbin would sing for us- I mean REALLY sing. Generally, children roll their eyes and groan at the mention of listening to opera, but when Mr. Durban sang, everyone's breathing stopped. He was a genius of song, and his voice was easily of high enough training and quality to be shared with an audience at any Opera House. His voice was an invaluable gift he was giving us, and we knew full well how undeserving we were and what an honor it was to witness a talent of his sort. I have never heard anyone sing opera better than dear Mr. Durbin.
Mr. Durban became the lifelong hero of hundreds of children. To this
day, when I am up in front of my students, I sometimes think, “What would Mr. Durbin do?” I often find my answer by throwing my arms out in Broadway fashion, and bursting into song.
I will never forget the day I found out that Mr. Durbin had suffered a heart attack and died suddenly. I was out of high school, but word traveled fast amongst his admirers, and there were many of them. We sat there stunned at his funeral, generations of his students, and through our tear, could not believe that our hero had left us.
One thing that I have saved until now to tell you about Mr. Durbin (there are so many rich wonderful memories that I am able to draw from, it is difficult to narrow them down to just a few), is that he was crazy about Medieval History. He dowsed us with medieval movies (at that time, another very untraditional method of teaching); drowned us with medieval fun facts (“Did you know that serfs sometimes only took a bath once or twice in their lifetime?”-Insert sixth grade gross-out noises here); assigned us groups to construct models of medieval castles, and the
grand finale was the infamous medieval report, which was a culmination of all that we had learned about medieval culture and history. (I got a B, my best friend Kristina Kennedy got an A+, which I later learned was due greatly in part to the “help” of her mother.)
While walking those narrow medieval streets in Crispy Kreamov, Griff and I recollected many of these Mr. D memories, every one of them with smiles and laughter. I believe that after a person passes, their spirit lives on through the people they loved and who loved them back...and how we loved this man!
I could almost hear his steady voice reading the information guide to me as we walked past one of the most famous medieval castles still standing. I could feel him take a deep breathe of pleasure as he walked with us through the winding castle gardens. I heard him hum along with the minstrels playing their ancient folk tunes under shaded trees. Our teacher's love and vigor for medieval life, had been carried in our brains for over eighteen years, and surfaced once again during our time in the Czech Republic. This is the type of
experience I desire to create for my own students in their adulthood- the stuff that is imprinted on a person’s mind until their dying day, the stuff that enriches our “moments”. The stuff that makes life even better.
I hope that in heaven, God opened up the skies for just one weekend, and allowed Mr. Durbin to peak down at us loving him still. I hope he knows how much he has given us and how much we appreciate his living off of the measly income he made as a teacher. I hope he knows that he is still here with the hundreds of children, now adults who adored him. He is in our travels, in our music, in our teaching, in our child-rearing, in our hearts, and last weekend he was with us (tap-shoes and clip-on tie included) while we roamed the streets of his beloved Medeıval passıons.
“I write to elucidate the ancient secrets of my childhood, to define my identity, to create my own legend. In the end, the only thing we have in abundance is the memory we have woven. Each of us chooses the tone for telling his or her own story. I would like to choose the durable clarity of a platinum print, but nothing in my destiny possesses that luminosity. I live among diffuse shadings, veiled mysteries, uncertainties; the tone for telling my life is closer to that of a portrait in sepia.
-Isabel Allende, from her book, “Portrait in Sepia”
I'm not sure if many of my Seattle friends are keeping up on our travels through this site, but...
If you were a student or friend of Mr. Durbin's feel free to write down a memory of him in the guest book. We would all love to read what you have to share about our much-loved teacher!
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Mom Ila
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Now you've brought me to tears
You have shared so many wonderful things in your blogs with us, so many of which touched us deeply. But reading of your great love for, and memories of our dear friend and co-worker brought me to tears. As much as he and I shared life stories and interests those after school hours, across my desk in the library, and those time we all shared in the teacher's lunchroom, you, his students, hold so much more and knew him so much more deeply. What an intelligent, cultured, funny and goofy man he was. So edgy yet so sensitive to others. What a generous, giving man he was. I miss his friendship all over again. But it's been so good to see him after so many years, through your memories and words. I feel like I've just spent another enlightened time with our dear friend. Thank you.