Karlstejn and Kutna Hora

With the wedding, celebration, brunch, and birthday dinner in our past, it was time for a couple of day trips outside the city. The first was to Karlstejn, which boasts a 14th century castle. The train ride over and walk through the village to the castle were beautiful. The castle itself is nice, and you can admire it for free from the outside; you can even walk on some of the castle walls. Years ago, J. apparently drunkenly urinated from one. His brother, this time, opted to “pay the 10 korona [for the official WC], like a citizen.” They never went on the guided tour, so they didn't know about the very sanitary medieval outhouse hanging from the castle walls. I opted for the guided tour of the castle (there’s no other way to see the inside; saves them the money of hiring guards, if it’s just one person taking everyone from room to room). It was fine, but you certainly would get your day trip’s worth without it. Our tour guide told us about Charles IV, of the Luxembourg Dynasty, who gained his substantial amount of land by marriage—four marriages, actually—rather than conquest.

The following day’s trip was to Kutna Hora. Nina took a carload—Jameson’s parents, aunt, and family friend—and the rest of us met Jameson at the main train station. As with Karlstejn, we bought a group ticket (which is literally a single ticket with the number of passengers printed on it), which offers a significant discount. The meeting was chaotic—people kept popping into Burger King for another coffee, or outside for a cigarette break—and J. was noticeably harried by the challenge of herding the dozen of us (not including him). By the time we got to the platform, just in time for the train, he didn’t get a chance to organize us to storm the coupés as soon as we came on board. Those were actually air conditioned; the rest of the train was not, and it was a hot, hour-long ride.

Not too far from the train station was the Bone Church, or ossuary. If you’re wondering what that means, see the pictures below. Be less creeped out by the knowledge that the bones were already bones; they were the bones of plague dead and war dead, bleached for the purposes of decorating the church.

That day was a scorcher, and there wasn’t a lot of shade to be had in the streets of Kutna Hora. I didn’t realize that most of the city—the old city, which is a UNESCO site—was a ways from the train station and ossuary. When I asked Nina, the day before, what was in Kutna Hora besides the church, she mentioned a cathedral and “the best garlic soup ever.” We were to go out for soup after the church. The train crowd got to the church first, and headed for soup by foot; just as we were leaving, the car crowd arrived, and would meet us at the soup place after exploring the church.

Did I mention that it was scavenger hunt wedding week? Neither Nina nor Jameson remembered exactly where they’d found this soup. Jameson initially took us the wrong, scorching way, back toward the train station. We were all already hungry and exhausted by the time we turned around and headed toward the old city in search of this soup. We walked for miles. I dubbed it the death march for garlic soup.

A.: This seriously better be the best garlic soup ever. Emily: It better be covered in goldleaf, or something. A.: Perhaps it will be infused with the poop of some exotic animal. David: It better be gluten-free. A.: And vegan. Maria: Or at least vegetarian. A.: I suppose I’ll settle for vegetarian. Onward. On we marched, in search of garlic soup. We finally got to the old city, where we circled every street, in search of this garlic soup. I lost enough weight just on that march that, afterward, my waist was no longer sufficient to hold up the pants that fit me just fine that morning. Eventually—don’t ask me how, I was in zombie mode at that point, just walking and walking without realizing what was happening—we found a nice garden restaurant. Here's a nice picture of the view from the tables, with J.'s brother enjoying the surroundings and libations. We did not find the garlic soup, but at that point, all any of us wanted to do was sit down and eat, in that order. After (a very late) lunch, those of us who cared enough went on the the cathedral, which we could see from just outside the restaurant. The view became more beautiful as we approached, and from there, we could enjoy views of the valley and vineyard below. Inside the cathedral was pretty cool, too. Just as we were leaving the cathedral, J.'s brother, Matthew, came up from the restaurant to see it. After he went in, Nina and co. opted to rejoin the rest of the crowd back at the restaurant, and asked if I would wait for Matthew and let him know where everyone had gone. Not a problem. My legs, feet hurt so much at this point that I was happy to sit in place. But nearly twenty minutes later, Matthew had not emerged. I popped back into the cathedral, didn't see him. He must have left a different way and not seen me there. I started to head back to the restaurant when I realized I had no idea how to get there. I'd followed Nina without really paying attention, and now I didn't know which of these cobblestone streets to take. They all looked the same, but the one I thought I should take, didn't look at all familiar. How was this happening? How, the day before my flight back, was I still getting lost? Matthew had the single ticket. I suppose if I didn't find them, I could take out more cash and get another one. But would I find the train station on my own? Probably. But I wanted to say goodbye to Nina. They wouldn't leave without me, right? Or would they? If they'd gone back up to find me at this point, they would have come up a different path and missed me altogether. F*. So there I was, again, walking down a cobblestoned street and focusing all my mental energy into staunching the meltdown that I could feel coming on, when I heard running behind me. Matthew caught up with me--he'd been walking around in the valley below. He didn't know I was waiting for him, but saw me walking when he came back up, and was able to catch up. Which is great, because as he directed us to the restaurant, I realized I just would not have found it on my own. Meltdown averted, for the umpteenth time that in a week. Reunited, we said goodbye to the group leaving in the car--including Nina--and heading back toward the train station. And so we successfully scavenger hunted ourselves through an amazing week.

Sunday roundup

Where does the legacy of Vietnam belong in our foreign policy? Who was General Zhukov? Let's let immigrants prosper, for our own good. Everyone loses out when people are persecuted, especially for stupid-ass reasons. Ah, the space-location-price tradeoff. I hear you, dude: constant negativity, whether from parents or in-laws, is not pleasant. Add flavor to Pollan's rules (eat food, not a lot, mostly plants) and Nestle's rules (eat food, move) with Kaminsky's rule: make it taste good. Ha.

Slaughtergate

Some interesting points in defense of Tracy McMillan, and an even more important point beside her point: men need to listen up, too. I've been meaning to post some responses to the Slaughter piece in the Atlantic. Opt for this one in the Times, not this misguided one, mostly but not only because of its socialist bent. She seems to completely miss Slaughter's point; does anyone think that Slaughter's in it for the rat race, rather than for the service and personal fulfillment? Does the blogger see success as merely a capitalist construct, rather than the achievement of one's personal goals?

Your blogger is on vacation

Another weekend photo essay

The only picture from Saturday: dinner at Rasika

and views from the party. I didn't get (good) pictures of the food or drink, which were as impressive as the views, nor did I get pictures of the people, who were a lot of fun, but just from these, you'll see why I stayed all evening and postponed all my packing for today, even though I have to go to work at least for the morning.

Sunday roundup

It does and doesn't surprise me how much charm-coated BS people will by into when they're driven by status, greed, and/or ego, but it unfortunately does not surprise me at all how much charm-coated BS a woman in love will buy into.

The Vatican wields "feminism" as an epithet, not unlike grade-school kids wield "cooties."

Maureen Dowd on Bush '41.

Not to be a pompous ass, but Louisiana Caviar Company's motto is missing a preposition.

For reasons of self-preservation, I disapprove of the decision to call animal control because the pet one sees through a window looks sad and in need of exercise.

As Dr. Gridlock himself writes in response to this sanctimonious letter, it's true that we make our choices and those choices have tradeoffs, but what's wrong with wanting to improve the realities of those choices? Yes, I'm sick of people choosing McMansions outside the city and then complaining about their commutes, but I don't blame them for wanting better roads. Similarly, even as I choose a smaller place in exchange for a quicker, painless commute, I have a right to complain about the metro not functioning as it should (and also about the street noise that can come with living in the city). The Metro has a responsibility to its users and we users have a right to hold them to account for subpar service.

I love umami. And the taste of (some) fats. And talk of how a limited lexicon may limit one's experience. But is this really true? Was there nothing orange in Europe before the import of oranges?

“There’s no real definition for basic taste, and there’s a problem with assuming there is because it limits your experience,” Delwiche said. “We didn’t have a prototypical example of umami until it was derived from seaweed less than 100 years ago,” she said. She compared it with the description of some people’s hair as red, a term used by Europeans since ancient times. “Their hair is actually orange,” she said. But Europeans didn’t have a word for orange until the fruit was imported from other continents. “Without the prototype, we don’t form a word for the concept.”

By the way, remember how I complained of the way the soy study was reported on, i.e. "soy doesn't improve cognition," etc.? Here's the right way to report it: supplemental soy may not yield cognitive benefits. In older women.

Saturday

Mom called yesterday and left a nice message--I very much prefer nice messages to nasty messages--but this isn't to say that she missed the opportunity to ask why on earth I might not be available. I called back as I was waiting on the corner for a friend, who'd gone to get her car. Mom: Where were you? A.: At a play, and then at dinner. Mom: What play? A.: You haven't heard of it. Mom: Tell me anyway. I've written before about this recurring verbal dance. I'm happy to talk about classic or modern plays that there's a good chance my parents have heard of and/or seen, but most theater I see is contemporary, and my parents, being non-native English speakers, turn often lead me into a multi-minute back-and-forth about what the play is called, what the words in the name mean, etc. Sometimes I have to spell the name out over the phone (and that still can go nowhere). So I'm glad they didn't call just after I'd gone to see Sister Mary Ignatius Explains it All for You, which, by the way, was great (and timeless). But I digress. A.: Mr. Burns. The critics loved it. I thought it was a cool concept, but the execution was wanting. That's how I felt about most of WM's season and its theme of "the" apocalypse. As is, it turns out (perhaps unintentionally) the New Yorker science fiction issue, particularly Junot Diaz's story I was reading on the metro. My gut reaction was, "why is the New Yorker so infatuated with Junot Diaz? I can only take him in very small doses, but they've printed him twice within the last month." But the story was good. The play was... okay. It was also, together with the post-show Rasika reservation (which I kept--you don;t just throw those away), and apart from my upcoming trip, the last thing F. and I had planned to do together (correction: I planned, he, apparently grudgingly, agreed). Anyway, as with other such plans, it wasn't hard--I didn't even have to try--to find a friend to join me in his place. Mom asked what we were doing next.

Mom: What are you going to do now?
A.: Going to a friend's house (same friend who came to the play and dinner) and then off to another friend's birthday party.
Mom: Ah. Well, don't drink too much.
A.: Huh?
Mom: Don't drink too much.
A.: Okay.

This threw me, because this is something mom's never said to me in her life. Which makes sense, because I don't generally (i.e. nearly ever) drink too much. Ironically (?), I ended up consuming more alcohol yesterday than I have... probably since college (which is not that much alcohol, over the six hours of having it). But it made me think, again, what does mom know? How does she know it? You'll see that in this post there is a contrast between the one unique conversation and the recurring conversations that mom and I have in cycles: Where were you? it's been a while since you've called; spell the play you saw; etc. In the latter category, there was also this:

A.: How are you feeling?
Mom: Better. Except that my eyes are moving slowly.
A.: Please go get the test sooner than later.
Mom: Nah, I'm fine.

Sigh. This weekend--which might be the weekend of packing and cleaning, but you only live once--has turned into the weekend of roof-deck parties. Like Rasika reservations, you you don't throw those away.

Friday evening roundup and ramble

Fareed Zakaria on immigration.

I don't know why, but I'm not offended by the concept of Spanx. I don't think they uphold an unrealistic standard; in fact, they do the opposite: nobody's perfect, here's something to help you smooth things out.

This piece on gestation crates made me angry. If humane sow housing is “cost-prohibitive,” then pork is cost–prohibitive. If you want to eat pork, pay the actual price of pork production, from (unsubsidized) feed to the environmental and health-care costs. Sometimes “farmer knows best” is essentially code for “what’s best for Smithfield’s and Cargill’s bottom line.” Consumers of agricultural products, just like any other consumer, have a right to make their ethical preferences known.

This Modern Love column was wonderful. I'm tempted to see a psychic, so that I can save myself the trouble if it's not in the cards. While I was happy in the past relationship, I told friends who were going through not-so-fun dating that it’s worth it, that all the bad dates are worth the one eventual good date that matters. It was so heartfelt and obvious then, but now—especially now that I realize I was sort of living a delusion—I don’t know. I guess it was true, but I’m just not feeling it. I started dating immediately almost out of symbolism, as a statement to myself and the universe that I was ready to move on. A very dating-seasoned friend said it would make me feel better, but it seems to have the opposite effect. At this point I’m essentially “over” F. I don’t miss him. That said, dating “other people” is the one thing that makes me nostalgic for that relationship, because as I sit across from men who can’t hold a conversation to save their lives, I have fond memories of sitting across from someone who could actually converse and even make me laugh. I know that there’s more to a good partner than that, but in the “please shoot me, I feel I’m getting dumber” moment, the contrast is very stark.

I mean—those of you who know me in person will attest to this—it’s pretty safe to say that if you can’t make conversation with me, you’re in bad conversational shape. I will help you along; I will throw you lifelines. If it’s a date, I understand that you may be nervous, and I’ll do more than my part to move the conversation along. But I’m not interested in entertaining you, and you have to do your part, too. You have to take those lifelines. I mean, on the first date with F., I did most of the talking, but it certainly wasn’t a monologue—he did his part in moving the conversation along. Whereas these guys just flay their arms in the air and ignore the donut thing. It’s amazing that people ( particularly men) can reach a certain age, be very successful in most areas of their life, and still not be able to hold a conversation.

At the Smith alum event last night, I was sitting next to a woman who’s been unemployed and mentioned that my agency hired attorneys, though I wasn’t sure whether we were hiring now. She replied that she was done applying to government jobs because the process was too frustrating. Fair enough, I told her, but I added that I’d applied to my current job four times before being hired, which is not to say that that’s for everyone; only that there’s something to be said for persistence.

The irony is, I keep hearing the same thing about dating, but you only have the will to persist if you want or need something badly enough, and I don’t currently want this dating-something at all. The other half—in addition to wanting it badly enough—is that you have to really believe that “it” is out there—the job, the person, etc.—and that “it” will eventually be yours. So my statement to this woman concerned the second half: I can’t tell you what you want, but I can tell you what’s there to be had. I took on the role of psychic in that case. So maybe I don't need a psychic.

Friday morning roundup

You've probably heard me balk at many a false assumption about the food system (that calories per dollar is a valid measure of anything but calories for dollar; that we need industrial agriculture to "feed the world"). One of the most pervasive myths--related to that last example--is that food insecurity is more about supply than distribution. Well, here comes an egregious counterexample from India: plenty of food, plenty of starvation.

Elie Wiesel's idea for stopping the carnage in Syria.

Nobody's saying that Turkey's a perfect democracy, but that doesn't mean that constructive relations aren't essential.

The Portuguese see no point in complaining.

Has the Church crossed a partisan line?

Why is it notable that the just-arrested Tokyo gas attack suspect was found with "no makeup"? This was in the blurb, and in the first paragraph of the article. I guess either Japan or the Times expects female terrorists to have their "face" on.

In other Japan news: fax machines thrive there.

Metro tips for interns and anyone else new to the city or system. Seriously, stand on the $%^&*-#$%^%^& left.

Thursday evening roundup

A lot of what these points are generalizable beyond parenting.

Husband complains that his pregnant wife asked him not to travel for a wedding the week before her due date, and apparently expected validation from Carolyn.

The fashion industry loves Michelle O.

*** I attended a number of events this week for work at which I couldn't help but notice that the women among the presenters were shrinking from their space. They self-deprecated, dismissed their credentials (including PhDs), slouched, and spoke very softly. In one case, I couldn't hear her; I had no trouble hearing the men who presented in the same space, before her. Then, this evening, I went to the local Smith Club's annual meeting, where each speaker stood up straight, projected, and said what she had to say without bowing her head. It was beautiful.

Thursday morning roundup

Wow, way to blatantly flaunt the class divide in standardized testing. It's nice that someone else quickly figured out how to set a travel notification on his Capital One account; I'm still confused, and I don't have time to keep looking.

Response to comment: Yes, you can blanch and freeze turnips. You can either mash them or cut them into cubes first.

Let's do some proofreading where it matters, people... like diplomas and words where that one letter will really change the whole meaning.

Wednesday evening roundup

China can be so amusing when it tries to do like North Carolina.

Lost in the debate on NYC soda sizes: is soda really food?

How infuriating is this headline? Soy isoflavins are not soy, and the nutritional benefits are not identical.

Theater is all about sitting close enough to see the nuances, and I'm truly blessed to live somewhere that's possible and affordable. It's true for professional theater here and even more so for community theater, but I'm aware that theater costs money and that artists deserve to be paid, so I'm aware of the contradictions in touting community theater as the solution. But don't those people deserve to use their talents, too, even if it is for free?

Alexandra Petri hits home in her post on banning books.

Wow, there is so much in this article about traveling as a couple (which I will not be doing next week, and it's for the better). It's funny... with my friends and family, sometimes I'm the put-down-the-camera-and-let's-go person and sometimes I'm the one stopping and taking pictures. It's all about finding something that works for everyone and compromising as needed. What will really ruin travel is complaining, grumpiness, blame, antics when things go wrong, and apathy. I've experienced these individually with certain people, and I've also had a blast with people who just have fun in any situation.

To this excerpt from a Scottish policy paper, the Economist and I say, "word:"

“Language learning is life enhancing. It opens the doors to possibilities and experiences which are not available to those who are restricted to the knowledge of one language.”

Do you have a To-Don't List?

Yes, please don't tweet $hit no one cares about.

Where was this months ago? Is it available for Droids?

Wednesday morning roundup

Nuns on a bus tour! In other Vatican-overreach-backfires news, Sister Margaret Farley's book is a best-seller.

Oh, CNN and co.

Wait, yesterday was National Hug-Your-Cat Day in Russia? And it got less press than parliament's vote on an anti-democracy measure?

Is it scary that my favorite part of this is the puns:

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Tip/Wag - Japanese Diet Goggles, U.S. Sperm Exports & Taxidermied Toys
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog Video Archive

Tuesday evening roundup

The clouds have parted, but so has Venus.

What a brilliant anti-corruption strategy.

Why on earth has this usually insightful writer lost his reason? The logic there is inane. Why compare lean beef to fatty beef when you could compare both to lentils? Who ever legitimized the "calorie per dollar" measure of food value? What about frozen vegetables, which are just as nutritious--if not more so?

GoogaMooga? Gag me.

JC Penney rocks. The Onion on learning Hungarian.

Response to comment: I agree that families should be able to sit together for free, but I don't think it's fair that they get an exception; if families get to pick their seats free, everyone else should, too. Making everyone else pay would be unfair, so--just in terms of fairness--the fee should be an all or nothing thing. I was just talking to someone today who was considering traveling with kids. She was talking about a friend whose kid demands French toast everywhere they go. Um, who lets their kids do that??

Tuesday morning roundup

The Post's article on an Abuela de la Plaza de Mayo--see the March New Yorker article for additional depth--went well with Rowena Xiaoqing He's op-ed on Tiananmen that ran today:

Maybe the Tiananmen Mothers could help remind us of some common sense: The moment a government orders its army to fire on its own people, it loses its legitimacy; when a regime tells its people that human lives and human rights, human dignity and human decency can be “sacrificed” for the sake of higher goals such as national pride and economic development, it sends the message that any principle can be compromised for the ideals of “get rich” and “rising.” Such mentality has become the root of major social and political problems in the post-Tiananmen China.

Virginia needs more net metering, not less. Not that yours truly has tens of thousands of dollars lying around for solar panels. You've gotta love how the article discusses free ridership among those with solar panels, without mentioning the externalities associated with coal-based electricity. Cheap electricity comes at a price, too. Do catch the Transit of Venus this afternoon if you have the chance. This gets good a few minutes in:

Monday evening roundup

The most balanced perspective I've seen with regard to who owns the death camps. The most balanced perspective I've seen with regard to debating intervention in Syria. When "well-meaning" revolution went wrong in Nicaragua and Cuba. Alright, let's talk about this kids-on-planes issue, which you know is close to my heart. I would be lying if I said I were posting this without even a trace of sanctimony--sometimes there are no-$hit consequences of your kid's not settling down--but even I'm not as hard-core as this writer, who is actually a parent. I will address the iPad issue: you know you're gonna have to turn the iPad off so why not try something low-tech to keep them amused? At the same time, we all know that sometimes kids will be uncontrollable (and yet, (many) parents these days don't seem to acknowledge that that shouldn't be everyone else's problem). I also have no sympathy over the CTA argument about how luggage fees punish parents:

“Families traveling with infants and toddlers often can’t avoid checking extra bags filled with everything from the many clothes changes needed for small children to diapers, toys, special blankets, and baby bottles,” says Charlie Leocha, director of the Consumer Travel Alliance. “Meanwhile, elderly passengers who lack the upper-body strength to get carry-ons into access overhead bins, also must check baggage and pay extra fees.”

Really? I have to subsidize what may be four different strollers, and any amount of special toys? Pay for that $hit yourselves. Where does it end? Now, I know you're going to tell me you try but sometimes you can't help it, and I believe you, but not all parents are you, and please believe me when I tell you I've been on the same flight with more than my fair share of unruly kids whose parents let them run wild (sometimes literally). I have to agree that there needs to be more of the onus has to be on parents, i.e. your kids are your responsibility. If you can't think of a way to manage them, you can't just make them everyone else's problem. Here's something more infuriating than a screaming child on a plane: hypocrisy, coal, and interpreting bathtub pictures as child pornography. Oh, also, some people think birth control is entirely a woman's responsibility. Any other Smithies think it's hilarious that, for the aging hippie, the Journal recommends Northampton. Lots of good stuff in this article about conscious separation. I loved this:

We took a Calvinist approach to our union, as if “hard work” could yield a better match. Or he did. I was probably channeling the sculptor Rodin. As if by constantly chipping away at each other, we would reveal an edifice of perfect love. Other times, I felt we were erecting a scaffolding of a life — beautiful home, nice parties — and hoping the snug interior would fill itself in. My husband is a good person: hard-working, committed to social justice. But I’ve come to a startling truth about myself: I might be happier with a less ambitious partner, someone less focused on his career and curing the ills of the world and more focused on me, actually, and the piddling details of our family life.

Do also read the last letter here, but I also appreciated this response to the first one:

If anyone claims to have made it to middle adulthood without being able to cite a moment when s/he, wittingly or not, treated someone cruelly, then that person is either delusional or a saint.

On a lighter note, I'm thinking about what to wear to this wedding I'm going to in just over a week. I quite like some of these--though not the first one recommended for a garden party--and I think I have a dress that's not unlike some of the nicer ones in style.

Monday morning roundup

The Canadian government is turning its back on environmental stewardship. It's really okay to have salt. Here's one fishing tournament I wholeheartedly support.

Weekend photo essay

I went to Artomatic with some friends yesterday. Photos were allowed and encouraged, but I should have done a better job of capturing artists' names. Still, hopefully even the nameless ones will inspire those of you who are local to check it out for yourselves. Note that some of these are mine and some were taken by a friend with a much better camera.

[My bad, didn't note the artist. If you're the artist and you find this, please let us know who you are.]

Tatiana Shchekodina

Tatiana Shchekodina

Marc Cates

Marc Cates

Art, and me, admiring it.

DC Glass Works (I think).

Rahul Saha

Diana Quinn

Diana Quinn

After Artomatic, we came to my house and indulged Gracie's hammy nature:

,

Afterward, we went too see the Tantallon Players' production of Guys and Dolls. It was a lot of fun, and you wouldn't have found better voices (or acting) on Broadway. I'm not the only one who thought so. This morning I saw The Arlington Players' production of "A Little Night Music," and I had the same thought. The voices were incredible. These two shows were extra special to me because in both cases, I know someone in the cast. It's so incredible to watch people you know participate in art. More generally, it's even more incredible to be surrounded by so much art. We only hit three of Artomatic's eleven floors, and were already overwhelmed with the talent, genius, and drive to create.

Sunday roundup

Are action-hero fairy tale heroines doing women any favors? It turns out that Tyler Cowen is a anti-slow food hypocrite.

Saturday afternoon roundup

India's troubles in telecom and manufacturing. In memory of Sattareh Farman Farmaian. I read her book ages ago, it was fascinating. Mexico's trust crisis. China's new tacky class shows off as Beijing's former mayor rues Tiananmen. Watch this iceberg tip over. Would your relationship benefit from a contract? These ads are really wrong. Except for the PETA one.