•January 15, 2007•
We just got back to Prague from a four day trip to Vienna. It's a scenic train ride from Prague through the dense forests of Vysocina province, miles of dormant farmland and snow covered hillsides under a bright blue sky. Imagine the sight of a small village, every cottage with a plume of smoke rising from the chimney and kids bundled up and playing by the tracks, waving as the train speeds by. The countryside is so dreamlike in white. Four hours later the train pulls into Sudbahnhof station and the stately, Baroque splendor of Vienna greets you.
We stayed in a small hotel near the Museums Quarter and spent every day in one museum or another. The Leopold had a magnificent exhibit of German Expressionists. Explosive, bold color and thought provoking content infuse the works of Emil Nolde, Max Pechstein, Ernst Kirchner, Otto Mueller, Lyonel Feininger and Kathe Kolowitz. I love Impressionism, Modernism, Cubism and Symbolism but at this stage of my life, none of them speak to me with as much volume as Expressionism. There is so much raw power and psychological intensity in the work of these artists from the 20's and 30's that you can't help but be moved. One of my favorite painters is Egon Schiele who died in 1918 before the full force of Expressionism was felt in Austria.
We spent one whole day in the Kunsthistorisches Museum. I would be willing to live in a broom closet just to spend everyday with the magnificent works of art there. Monumental works by Rubens, country village scenes by Brueghel the elder and his incredibly detailed Tower of Babel, portraits by Holbein that are so realistic you expect them to speak. Cranach, Vermeer, Canaletto, Caravaggio, a spirit elevating feast of beauty. When it comes to art I'm a real gusher.
With some exceptions the Viennese speak English. Although I can say a few things in German, I'm always embarrassed that I'm unable to communicate in the language of the countries I visit. I speak some French but I have a terrible time remembering gender. I don't know why inanimate things have to be assigned a sex. Why is a pen feminine? Doesn't make any sense. Maybe that's why I can't remember.
I bought six, delicate 19th century French pencil drawings in a shop in an alleyway, all signed with the name Marie Alexandre Dumas. What a moniker!
•January 20, 2007•
We went to the Czech and American Embassies today for information about my visa extension. Got two different stories as to what I should do. A little disconcerting. At the moment so many people are coming to the Czech Republic and overstaying their visas that when they're caught the government is expelling them and not allowing them to return. Many laws and rules here change so rapidly that web information is not always current. At the American Embassy we asked if another trip for a few days to Vienna would suffice and they were pessimistic. They gave us the address of the foreign police station and suggested I file for an extension there. We arrived and found the office vacant and stood there with a Korean couple trying to read a note on the door in Czech. We're talking about the place that is supposed to service foreigners here!
Overnight the weather has gone from balmy to bitterly cold. Paul and I stood shivering and I asked him, "Are you ready to leave yet?" and without hesitation he said yes. Three months is up on the 27th and on that day we will be on a train out of Prague for somewhere as yet unknown.
