Walking through one of many stunningly beautiful Budapest churches we saw in our recent tour of the Danube cities, I saw a sign directing me to the Chapel of the Right Hand. Whose right hand? Why? A lot of cameras were flashing as I approached the front of the chapel and saw on the altar a small gold filigreed vessel with something in it. A relic, a hand? I stopped one of the many strangers milling about and asked, whose right hand? She smiled and said “I haven’t a clue.” I asked a few others, pointing to my right hand and then to the altar. No one spoke English. I wandered about, reading any scrap of English I could. Finally someone came up to me and said she had heard my earlier question and found a tour guide who explained that the right hand had belonged to the second St. Stephen (the first Stephen was the first martyr). He had been king of the area and thus the church was named after him. But why take his hand. No answers.
It was at this point that it dawned on me that I was truly in the Old World, a Catholic world, one in which the last 2000 years have left remnants of themselves everywhere, in abbeys, cathedrals, bridges, and public squares. For some Hungarians, relics were still important; statues of saints and crucifixes abounded, unlike here in the young United States where every creche and cross must be kept from the public arena. I stopped questioning and simply enjoyed the exquisite stained glass windows with spring light streaming through. The meaning of this trip would be the journey itself.
On impulse and spurred by the offer of bargain prices, Steve and I had signed up last September for a Viking trip entitled “Romantic Danube” offered for ten days: April 20-30, 2014. We had previously traveled to Rome, Paris, Helsinki, and Barcelona and taken two Caribbean cruises, but this would be the first river cruise with all the amenities of a first-class hotel, without the need to lug suitcases around even as we visited a dozen cities in five countries: Hungary, Slovakia, Austria, Germany, and the Czech Republic. Many of the place names were ones I had only known through history books and documentaries: Bratislava, Durnstein, the Wachau Valley, Linz, Melk, Passau. Others I looked forward to, especially Vienna and Salzburg because of Mozart. I was also eager to visit Budapest, and, of course, Prague because my relatives through marriage had lived there and loved it.
Off and on for ten nights we cruised up the historic Danube, where even before the Romans used it to move their legions and supply their settlements, ancient tribes rafted to trade furs and the all-important salt. The lower edge of our cabin windows was just above the level of the river’s gentle flow of water. I pictured my champion swimmer daughter stepping out the window and gliding alongside the 100-meter-long ship. Three meals each day were available with varied menus and buffets to choose from, and with truly caring and charming servers at our beck and call. The days were spent touring specially chosen sites; the nights were for music and, if we wanted, dancing. Peter, truly a master of the electronic piano and all its bells and whistles, at Steve’s request, said that although he had never played Irving Taylor’s most popular song, he would figure it out, and figure it out he did. Two nights in a row, he played “Everybody Loves Somebody” for the sixty or so other guests, getting the bridge between verses just right. Music was a bridge between our family and this stranger.
A total of some 180 passengers, mainly from the United States and the United Kingdom accompanied us, most middle aged and up, often retired and like us, looking for new sights, sites, insights and discoveries. Three interesting contacts stand out in memory. The evening of our arrival, Steve was too exhausted from being up for 36 hours straight and went right to bed. I was too hungry, and wandered into the large restaurant. Near the doorway was an empty seat. After introductions to the five women and one man at the table, I searched around for topics beyond the inevitable openings: where are you from, how was your flight etc. They were a silent group until something about not ordering wine or coffee came up – since I ordered both. Oh, are you Mormons, I asked. They all smiled, nodded, but volunteered nothing. So I explained that I had a lifelong interest in various religions and would they share with me what they liked most about their religion. All perked up. The woman sitting next to me, said she liked the Mormon idea of being with ones entire family, ancestors and descendants forever. Would that go back to Adam and Eve, I asked. They smiled. A woman named Mary said she loved having an authentic prophet in their midst – and she gave his name which I have forgotten. Joseph, the somewhat shy and rosy middle aged man, started explaining the connections between the New Testament and Mormonism. His wife Judith said she had studied many other religions and became certain that the Mormons have the true one, absolutely. The other two enlarged on these points. I looked forward to other meals where we could continue this discussion but a few friends joined them and Mormons filled their table for every meal. We never sat together again.
Eighty-three year old Angie, a warm and wild character, dancing with the best of them, had brought her entire family on the trip. As she introduced her niece Charlotte and Charlotte’s fiancee Danny, she summed up their love story. Danny was older, balding, mid-thirties perhaps. For years the family had teased and prodded him into thinking about marriage. He traveled a lot, met many women but none seemed right. He determined to stay a bachelor. Then last year he returned to his home town and met Charlotte once again a girl he had known since grade school. Raven haired, with a stunning smile, a sweet manner and a beautiful figure, she seemed quite a catch. As soon as he saw her again he realized she was the one. On board they were still celebrating their engagement. I saw them often and delighted in their affection for each other, although she was much more expressive. For them this was fittingly the “Romantic Danube.”
During one of the few lunches not aboard ship, wandering the squares of Salzburg (“city of salt,” a hugely important product for much of history) we found an empty table at a sidewalk café behind the cathedral and ordered a pris-fixe luncheon for two. The waiter brought an enormous tray with enough food for six people. Meanwhile, a young couple, frustrated with the few seats available, wandered back and forth, so we invited them to sit with us. They were students on holiday from Lucerne, Switzerland. The charming young man, Rainer, a music major, looked like a young Brad Pitt, and Fiona, who was studying to become a French teacher, reminded me of Cate Blanchett. Rainer became quite enthusiastic when told Steve’s father was a lyricist. Their interest in all topics and the easy flow of conversation was such that we didn’t want it to end.
My closest companion throughout the trip though – besides my husband – turned out to be John Updike. I had loaded onto my Nook Adam Begley’s just-published biography of him written these five years after his death, which brings him back to life just as his works bring him a sort of immortality. Of his hundred or so literary works, I enjoyed several novels through the years, beginning with his best known – the four volume series on Rabbit Angstrom. I also had read many of his delightful short stories and even taught a few poems, but in this book I was able to get a view of his entire oeuvre. Begley emphasized the way Updike deliberately focused on the minutiae of ordinary life – its relationships, surprises, events, scenes, but through his almost magical stylistic gifts transmuted and transfigured even the tiniest observations. His own life, values and obsession were at the heart of his stories. He has been criticized for writing so much about adultery, but he was a son of the suburbs and the sixties. During his second marriage, he came to regret his behavior, especially the harm done to his own children.
The highlight of the trip was our extended visit to Prague where we were housed in one of the city’s finest hotels, The Prague Hilton. Superb rooms, service and meals and plenty of time to explore our surroundings allowed us a view of this wonderful city of spires, castles, palaces, and, for Steve, a moving visit to the Terezín village and concentration camp. My favorite site was the pedestrian-only Charles Bridge, built in the 14th Century by Emperor Charles IV, lined with 30 statues. As we walked across the long arc of the bridge in the evening, music streamed up from the many nightclubs below and the waters of the Moldau reflected hundreds of lights. Lovers, families with baby carriages, gaggles of teenagers and old people arm-in-arm strolled with us, with all those ancient statues of saints and martyrs gazing down on the pleasantries.
The cities had all been full of surprises and the same was true of the airline flights. Our red-eye flight from Philadelphia to Heathrow, then connecting to Budapest, was exhausting with few distractions and the on-board entertainment system for the entire plane on the blink. But expecting the worst for our return trip, we found that the nine hours spent with British Airways from Prague back to Philadelphia went quickly and serenely. With abundant onboard entertainment available, I had access to movies and audio and enjoyed for a second time both “Sleepless in Seattle” and “August: Osage County.” Arriving home, it seemed we had been away much longer than ten days – we had really covered many centuries.
Journal of a Former Nun 