This weekly essay inevitably reflects whatever is on my mind (for better or worse). Right now, my mind resembles the state of a kitchen drawer containing everything from toothpicks to the tape measurer. Trapped in layers of mental miscellany, my ability to put together coherent paragraphs feels limited. But I will try.
Today dawned with clear skies, a sliver of which was visible above an incongruously large window in my tiny room at Budapest’s historic Hotel Gellért. The room itself lies four floors up along a twisted interior courtyard. You might say there’s a reason one finds rooms at such low prices on Expedia. But thank goodness for it, because I have long wanted to stay here!
Completed right after World War I, the Hotel Gellért remains an iconic spot in Budapest, despite its fading majesty. Situated directly on the Danube and nestled into the Buda Hills, it provides a fabulous example of imposing Art Nouveau. Nowadays the Gellért is dwarfed in luxury by clusters of sparkling, newly renovated hotels on either side of the famous Széchenyi Chain Bridge about a kilometer down the Danube. But the ghosts of Budapest’s fin-de-siècle glitterati still reign here.
How the elegant once came to Gellért Spa! It was known across Europe in an era when spas defined cultural life. Thermal waters sprout up everywhere in this part of the world, as the names of towns attest. And spas built on top of such waters rivaled the ancient temples. While the Gellért Spa is no longer the preferred one in today’s Budapest (technologically snazzier spas have arisen), no other can boast its stained glass, arched ceilings, and incomparably beautiful decorations of Zsolnyi tiles.
So I will go immerse myself in a bit of former glory this morning, albeit briefly. I won’t be soaking alongside of dukes and duchesses. That era has passed. Instead, the Gellért is filled these days with practical tourists: people seeking an economical yet interesting place to stay while visiting Budapest or waiting to board a river ship headed to the Black Sea or Amsterdam.
But this constituency has its own glories. Just a bit ago, at breakfast, I met three delightful folks from the D.C. area who are about to sail to Bucharest, one of whom was an historian and retired State Department official. A fourth person from Michigan in Hungary to pursue his genealogical roots sparked our conversation because he wore a T-shirt with the name of a café in Denton, Texas. Those three jumped in, then I jumped in, and off we went with Texas talk, which quickly evolved into a tangle of other jolly topics.
American travelers tend to embrace such spontaneous meetings, starting them off with a bit of whooping and hollering (“Really? You are? So did you ever go to such-and-such. . . ?“). This joy at encountering one another is eyed with gentle disdain by the sedate Europeans surrounding us. But as they quietly sip their espresso, I suspect they are jealous of the way we Americans embrace one another when traveling abroad.
After my dip in Gellért history, I’ll roll my suitcase across the impressive cast-iron Liberty Bridge (Szabadság híd), a massive Art Nouveau structure covered in statues and coats of arms. Then I’ll clunk my suitcase and myself down a set of stairs to the dock and board the lovely Amadeus Silver II. I know this ship well by now, and the crew (again for better or worse) knows me. Knowing who’s who and what’s ahead makes things easier.
Throughout the afternoon, Smithsonian guests and other passengers from college alumni groups will trickle in until we are completely boarded for our two-week journey to Amsterdam. By suppertime, we will be wrapped in the time-honored rituals of river travel, including the ceremonial reception that traditionally opens voyages. The Captain’s toast and opening dinner usually erase any doubts these jet-lagged passengers still have as to why they crammed themselves into airplane seats and lost a good night’s sleep.
Meanwhile the calendar overall is ticking, as you’ve no doubt noticed. Good luck slogging your way through the every-increasing thicket of plastic ghouls that pass as Halloween decorations. And be careful to avoid tripping over newly erected artificial Christmas trees on the way to seek the (thankfully still-modest) offerings of Thanksgiving linens and turkey platters. It’s probably safest to stay out of stores all together in the next few months, as we move towards Christmas.
And that brings me to the Advent Calendar. We’re at work on our 9th edition of our Advent Calendar, pondering new topics. We’ve added quite a lot of readers in 2019, so how can I resist showcasing some favorite entries of the past? But always we seek new topics and are grateful to those who have sent in suggestions (it’s not too late to send yours). Look for more music this year, and more art, too.
Another schedule is looming as we finalize spring conferences. By nature, I recoil at long-term planning. Yet this period of my life has demanded continuous long-term planning. I’d like to say I’m getting better at it, but I’m not. Hank just reminded me once again that dental appointments belong on our private family e-calendar, and not on the speaking calendar that sits on our public website.
But the upside of all of this is the fact that the glory of fall colors, beauty of Thanksgiving, the promise of Advent, the fulfillment of Christmas are soon upon us. And then, with a magical, if shocking, suddenness, I will be seeing many of you at conferences across the US. I remain utterly privileged and blessed by the chance to be part of your lives. That fact does not leave my mind, whether I’m crossing bridges, climbing towers, or burrowing through topics and files. And so, once again, I thank you.
