A real opportunity to touch live tradition

Two cups of fresh milk await us on the kitchen table in the morning. Aunt Rachel went to milk the cow at the grandmother of the Zedník family, where we had spent the night. We have a quick breakfast; we have a busy day ahead of us. In the end, it proves to be even richer than planned. At 9 a.m. we arrive at the local school, which is named after J. A. Comenius. It was built in the 1990s with help from the Czech government and NGOs such as People in Need. The teacher, Mr Skořepa, introduces us to the school principal in an office decorated not only with the Romanian, Czech and EU flags, but also with a NATO flag. Our arrangement is to work with all the children from the first to the eighth grade; the ninth graders are preparing for their final exams. We have about an hour to prepare, to see the school and to talk to the teacher, who very kindly spends his time with us. We peek into the kindergarten; from children’s murals we learn about the history of the Czechs in the Banat. In the library we talk about books, reading and the out-of-place magazines (fashion and gossip magazines such as Květy and Impuls) sent to these expatriate Czechs by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The selection of magazines is even more ridiculous considering the fact that the people in Helena are strong believers who live very earnestly and consistently according to almost Old Testament-like principles – working the land, sharing with neighbours, serving God. One odd addition to the Czech school is the air-raid shelter, required by Romanian law and built with Czech money. As a result, two large rooms with toilets cannot be used (the teacher mentioned a clubroom and cinema) so as not to compromise antinuclear cleanliness and safety. Mice do not respect these rules, however, but isn’t a ping-pong table better than mouse droppings. After all, mice don’t play nuclear war. From our conversations with the teacher, we also learn about the Czech minority on the Serbian side (Češsko selo, Běla Cerkva) and their Cyrillic, as well as the difficulties in switching to the Latin alphabet in Czech classes, which are taught by external teachers from Helena and Gernik. We talk a lot about education, the Romanian curriculum for minority schools, the planned secondary school exams in Czech, the success of the Czech-language Olympics, and about the exodus to the Czech Republic. The school is a telling example. Built for 200 pupils, from preschool to ninth grade, the school is attended by some thirty children. During our workshop we get to know almost all of them by first name, playing various games, including our favourites – with letters and rulers, talking about Cyril and Methodius. The children are absorbed in trying to guess which letter is which in the Glagolithic alphabet. One of the older boys, a football player called Štěpán, writes his own line on our Glagolithic sheet. The best part is probably the work itself and the conversations. The children collaborate regardless of age – it is obvious that they are close to each other. Many a teacher in the Czech Republic would be amazed by the peaceful and productive atmosphere. We offer Helena’s children some pictures of ours – the Cyrillic alphabet by the children from Ochrid is a big hit, as is a Czech film which based on Alan Marshall’s Whispering in the Wind. As we are leaving the school, we run into a delegation from Pilsen. The deputy governor is so surprised by our presence that she immediately wants to take a group photo with us. Support is promised, as is cooperation in preserving the “open air museum.” But this isn’t a museum, we were here among interesting people. We share our views with the development programme coordinator for People in Need, Mr Dokoupil, with whom we talk briefly. The fact that Svatá Helena offers an opportunity to experience authentic rural life becomes even clearer to us in a conversation with Uncle Venca and Aunt Rachel; an oral historian would definitely have been excited. We learn about the coexistence of the two churches, about people leaving (and coming back), about Helena’s golden ages and difficult times, about the relationship with other nationalities and about the locals’ relation to Czech culture and language. In the afternoon we have a unique chance to attend a funeral. We are concerned about being outsiders but our friends want to show us how traditions are kept. The whole village gathers. A Catholic funeral is not paid for – everything is contributed by the community, with people digging the grave, carrying the coffin all the way to the churchyard above town, and filling up the grave afterwards. The procession includes both Catholics and Baptists, and the two congregations are buried in the same graveyard with a view of Svatá Helena in one direction and the Danube in the other. Roman receives an extra present – his uncle shows him the place where his stepfather’s house once stood. Then we continue with our journey. There is a long way ahead of us, with a new task for the next day – not to miss Velehrad and Methodius’s grave. As we are leaving, we encounter a group of tourists drinking beer outside Helena’s grocery shop. The things that we experienced must have escaped their attention. And then we’re in Moldova Nuova, where we had previously spotted a friendly shop with a sufficient supply of cheap vegetable oil. With the help of a Serbian shop assistant, we strike a good deal. This just increases our disappointment when we realise that our car’s troubles are only getting worse. Several metres out of the parking lot our blue Methodius suddenly comes to a stop. A filter deformed by heat has begun to aerate the engine – which we don’t learn until later, since none of our two-member crew is an expert car mechanic. Not only that, but the sky is overcast and it begins to rain. But like a miracle – the car starts just as are getting ready to look for someone to tow us back to Helena. From then on, things only get better. In Timisoara, we manage to find the recommended shortcut to Hungary. Overjoyed, we go to sleep at a nice petrol station in Hungary. We even catch up with our journal, at least on the computer.

Towards one’s roots, or how to be more than just a tourist

Monday is a travelling day again. We’d decided in Bela Rechka to visit our fellow countrymen in the Banat region. The village of Svatá Helena, where Roman’s stepfather was born, was the clear choice. A chance to collect another personal story, this one even from the category of children’s dreams. Also, Roman and Agnieszka want to test the possibilities of collaboration in situ. But first things first.
We get up according to plan, although we hadn’t planned such a leisurely pace, the result of a short night. Céca sees us off and we promised to meet again soon (PQ 2007). We arrive in Jabuka with only a ten-minute delay, caused by our dear Serbian police and its deep interest in our four-wheeled companion.
Breakfast in Jabuka, prepared by Dragan’s mother, is delicious. While eating, we listen to a new CD of local music put together by Pepa using the recordings which Martin made on his first visit here. Dragan’s mother is overjoyed and immediately calls up her neighbours for coffee. In Dragan’s room the three of us look through maps and software to find the best route to Svatá Helena. For a while it look like a historical map of Austria-Hungary will be the most useful. Finally we find help on www.banat.cz, which is administered by the NGO People in Need.
Not only do we find there the shortest route, but a very scenic one at that. It looks like we will be able to see all the beauty of Vojvodina and Banat. After passing lush meadows and fields of black earth we cross a meander of the Danube and some old sand dunes before reaching rich pastures, limestone mountains, and – as the grand finale – the wild Danube as it flows through the legendary Iron Gate. We fight for the best views, sometimes from the car window, sometimes just having to stop and look. The customs office on the Serbian-Romanian border brings us back down to earth, however, and its irritating post-socialist spirit affects us all. A reminder of something that we thought long gone.
Svatá Helena itself welcomes us with picturesque sceneries and the pleasant Czech spoken by all the friendly people we encounter upon our arrival. In addition to Roman’s family, we receive a warm welcome from the local pub dwellers and the local teacher, Mr Skořepa. We are included almost naturally in discussions of the soil, tomorrow’s funeral, school memories and memories of times past. Everyone has something to say about Roman’s relatives. For instance, about those who have left for Bulgaria and Argentina. We learn quite a bit of history: about the grandfathers’ arrival, the relations between local Catholics and Baptists, the school situation, the growing number of empty houses, the dwindling number of young people, and how everyone wants to go to the Czech Republic. We also talk about ourselves and our project. We arrange a visit to the local school to hold workshop with children. Without even having to try, we are accepted by the locals; maybe it’s our openness and willingness to listen. The real tourists sit alone, trying to overhear conversations or, struck by the culture shock, gathering impressions of how “primitively” people live here. Somehow the locals take a liking to us. Maybe they recognised our interest in people and their lives and everyday joys, the fact that we aren’t there just to spend our holidays.
We are put up in a vacant house, full of grandmotherly smells, doilies, biblical quotes and a black hen forgotten in the outhouse in the courtyard. Both she and Pepa are sure to remember their night-time encounter for a long time to come. It sure made for a good story the next day. It begins to rain. Roman fell asleep while looking at the day’s pictures, and slid into the monitor. We sleep like kings.

A Glagolic intellectual salon in Belgrade

It’s Sunday but we’re hard at work preparing our presentation. The venue Ceca has arranged for our little show in Belgrade turns out to be rather prestigious – the Clio publishing house which, thanks to its clear programming, has a very good reputation among Belgrade intellectual circles (worth mentioning in relation to our field is their book Cultural Tourism; also on display were Fromm and Handke). During a leisurely, discussion-filled breakfast, we plan what to do and how to do it. We opt for maximum interactivity. Something that will make clear our approach to this expedition. It turns out to be a challenging plan, but we go for it.
First, though, we have to take care of Vlado’s ticket. This operation provides an opportunity for Roman to experience, however briefly, the real Belgrade. Although we are unable to exchange Vlado’s train ticket, we do manage to find another cheap connection to Skopje which allows him to spend the evening with us, take a night train and still be able to fulfil his theatre responsibilities. Without Vlado, we would not be able clearly show our international collaboration. Besides, we want to spend some more time together.
The streets are sunny and hot. At Céca’s, we sort through piles of material, rearranging, renaming and creating new categories and subcategories; Pepa’s gadgets are overheating and spinning out of control. Our only short break is lunch prepared by Céca’s mother.
In the end, everything works out. Having only slightly altered our original plan, we take several cabs to Clio, the DVDs still piping hot. Pepa wasn’t kidding; everything is there like he promised. Plus, he discovered a number of new tricks for operating his well-tried machinery. Most importantly, however, people have come even on a Sunday evening and despite the summery weather. And they listen, ask questions and play with our material. We offer an introduction, screen our DVD, show off our undoubtedly intriguing switching between Serbian, Macedonian and Czech – all elegantly translated by Dragan – and allow people to browse through our material on two computers as they please.
The third computer shows our website; too bad we didn’t know earlier that it wasn’t exactly in best shape. All in all, Céca’s “direct marketing” proved successful. Plenty of people came and there are interviews and questions and applause and admiration; even radio and newspapers. After seeing and hearing our presentation even Mr Zoran, Clio’s director and an important personality within Belgrade’s intellectual circles, promises to write a text for a prestigious cultural magazine. And this despite our truly site-specific camping out in his office. In one word – success. Then we say goodbye to the guests, the door is locked with seven turns of the key, we see Vlado off, have a night-time stroll through Belgrade, sit at a summer restaurant and walk back through the quiet town, faintly lit by distant sheet lightning. And we stay dry. Only three of us now, we keep talking until three in the morning. And then off to bed because our leftover tandem (Pepa and Romana) is planning to travel to Romania and breakfast is planned for 10 a.m. in Jabuka.
P.S.: The author of this text knows nothing about the night scene on the balcony, noisy arguments regarding a fictitious car thief, or the destruction of a laundry rack.

Driving. Ceca.

We feel like three men in a boat. Our original agreement was to leave Bela Rechka at 10 a.m. It wasn’t raining. Although all our stuff looked pretty much packed, a number of things needed to be fetched or rearranged. Then we had a light breakfast prepared by Nikolaj, the writer. And then greetings, kisses, goodbyes, invitations and ideas for future gatherings. We leave before twelve. Thanks to the switch to daylight savings we have an extra hour. We want to avoid the motorway, so we head for Vidin and then towards Serbia. The landscape changes with every kilometre; we descend to the Danube, passing through mountain passes, ascending and descending on numerous serpentines, all the time on the edge of the storm. Looking towards Stara Planina, the sky is filled with dark leaden clouds, while above the Danube it is clear blue. Our road is the dividing line, all the way to Belgrade. The air is humid and oppressive. The monotony of eight hours of driving in our blue “Methodius” is relieved only by our last shopping break in Bulgaria on which we duly spend all our leva. Mostly on oil, naturally. It’s quite fun, actually – a bunch of guys opening thirty one-litre bottles of the cheapest vegetable oil and pouring it into the fuel tank. This is preceded by our attempts at finding the cheapest place to buy oil and asking how much they have in stock (Billa is reliable). This way, our fuel costs are one third lower than with diesel. Nor do we neglect our needs – our last coins go for goat cheese and vegetables. Another change in the rhythm is the Serbian border control, which feels a little like being in a movie about a run-in with uniformed authority in a sleepy town in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, Vlado can converse jovially on both sides of the border, Pepa’s papers are in order and Roman smiles and mixes Russian and Bulgarian with all other Slavic languages, which manages to – occasionally – amuse even the stand-offish uniform. The recently established customs office savours its few minutes of importance. Again we have to explain the purpose of our project. The main question is: Why are Czechs, who use the Latin alphabet, so interested in Cyrillic? Who knows? After all, even in Serbia they alternate and mix both alphabets on public signs. Sometimes a village is marked only in Latin, sometimes in Cyrillic, sometimes in both. Graffiti is also written in both alphabets; Latin is especially striking in nationalistic slogans… and on the police car whose crew, hidden in the bushes, measured our speed. Now we know that EU citizens are charged special rates in Euros; not even Vlado is able to bargain a better deal this time. The heat and humidity are constantly getting stronger. At last, the Danube appears and then Belgrade itself. Ceca works at the theatre academy; we seek her out in New Belgrade. Vlado is radiant again, able to get directions even though hardly anyone in the street has a clue that there is a theatre academy in their area. Then we just rest and talk and rest and talk and eat and drink. We are joined by Dragan from Jabuka; he’ll be at tomorrow’s presentation, too.

Sunny morning, peaceful after the storm.

In the middle of the kitchen, which for two days has been the site of constant activity, there now remain only two lonely packed suitcases. Vladimír is catching up on sleep, since the night storm has again proved the roof’s leakiness and his bed got all wet, this time thoroughly.
Katka, Tomáš and Martin report from Vienna.
We, too, are slowly beginning to get ready. We buy oil for the car in Varshets and also something for us – the usual: bread, yoghurt, ljutenica and beer. For a brief period, the scorching sun breaks through the clouds.
The goat festival in Bela Rechka continues in its second day; Murat teaches belly dancing; our “oralists” enjoy their moments of fame. Instead of the planned hour and a half, their discussion of techniques, projects and project outcomes goes on for three hours. There is a lot to talk about.
Again thunder, lightning and rain. More people arrive, a lot of them students, some of whom sleep in tents above the village. They often ask us about our “bukvyte”. People switch languages as needed – Bulgarian, Russian, English and also Czech. There are locals, students from Sofia, Plovdiv, foreign visitors… The bar can’t keep up, even running out of beer for a while. A new shift of family members takes over at the bar.
And again people dance. An energetic Balkan brass band, again a classical Bulgarian circle dance. This time Roman even dances with Agnieszka, or at least tries to. Their polka is a bit more of a success; there even is applause. Standa concludes today’s festival programme with kino nočne (night cinema) about his eco-pilgrimage to the Near East. The festival audience listens carefully and Standa’s pictures receive well-deserved acclaim.
Then we sit together for a while before parting with Mirek and his “oral bunch” (they’re planning to leave in the early morning on an equally fun trip back to Prague, via Sofia and Vienna, using all possible forms of public transport).
A peaceful discussion with students on whether it is okay for Slavs to communicate in English was interrupted by a macho challenge – who wants to dive into the Bela Rechka river? The two Bulgarian bogatyrs, who look a lot like professional Greco-Roman wrestlers, accept. The rest of us stick to intellectual challenges. It’s drizzly and cold. Then we go to bed; we’re leaving the next day.
Lightning again.

The Goatmilk Festival

Today is a bank holiday in Bulgaria and in the surrounding countries in honour of Cyril and Methodius day. In Bela Rechka they are throwing a traditional sabor, and the Goatmilk Festival is taking place as well. The whole morning is spent cooking in Dežka’s garden; we have salad, rice with herbs, beans, and baklava for dessert. Before lunch, the results of the Nova Kultura foundation’s call for projects titled “On the Alphabet” are announced.
The first prize goes to the “Glagolithic Dictatorship” project and is presented to all the main “ideologists” of this humorous and intelligent project. After lunch two Swiss photographers, Sáva and Desiré, presented the “Couples” project. Due to unexpected thunderstorms and the resulting power outages the projection has to take place in the former “pigsty” in Diana’s garden. Sáva and Desiré present the contents of an exhibit currently on display in Sofia. They travelled all over Bulgaria photographing almost 30 couples and documenting their lifestyle, all accompanied by respective “soundscapes.” Murat gives the audience an insight into the secrets of belly dancing. This is followed by a beautiful concert by a girls’ choir from Plovdiv and a real traditional brass band from Varshets, whose music – interspersed by showers – makes the whole square dance. After dark, we present a new version of our project updated by one day of new films and photographs. Those who haven’t popped into the local pub to munch on cece fish or to refresh themselves with Zagorka beer can dance to Murat and his friend’s vigorous drumming until midnight…

Prophets selected the 3 best alphabet projetcs

Roma kids and the singers of the spa

Getting up early in the morning so that we are on time in the Roma school. The Roma live in a ghetto here as in other parts of the world, the hetto it is over the bridge. We started playing a letter game with kids in a large circle. The energy quickly accelerated. The kids were creating letters, playing with the parachute sail, and the alphabet table. More and more kids joined in—for every 10year old, there were suddenly also 2 five-year olds. Others were crowding behing the classroom windows and the main entrance to the school building. There was commotion everywhere, we were surrounded by activity and play. Eventually we felt a bit bad for the teachers who will have to tame the excited kids in order to bring them back into the classroom. The event went surprisingly well, despite our worries that the Roma will not have much of a relationship with the cyrilic script. We tried to talk with them in the Romany language, in the fragments we managed to remember from what they taught us. It was a strange juxtaposition of Romany and the cyrilic, but the kids at this age reacted with no hesitation. We saw four little kids running down the muddy street, dressed colorfully and dancing as they ran. It was an image of freedom and joy, perhaps more possible amongst the apparent poverty of this place than in the regulated world of affluence.
We needed a rest and appreciated the breakfast/lunch in a café, and after that even more restful soaking in the local mineral water spa. The main pool of the spa was in a domed hall decorated in the art-deco style, and it had excellent acoustics. Even when you sang into the canal bordering the pool, the sound resonated all the way from the water surface to the green-painted cupola.
We eventually returned to Bela Rechka, where more guests arrived in the meantime—Mirek and his people from the Oral History Institute of the Czech Academy of Sciences, and also people from the Bulgarian National TV. We will be in the news the day before the national holiday of St. Cyril and Metodus on May 24. The day ended in the pub. We had a dinner and celeration with the newly arrived friends. They said that there was great weather in Prague, over 30 degrees Celsia and sunny. So we hope and pray that it finally arrives here as well, tomorrow.