Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 years of marriage. This is number 29 of a series about our lives and travels. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts you'll find below that are a previous series about later travels.
Sherrill in Budapest, Hungary "A taste of Eastern Europe, that's enough for now," Sherrill told me. "We can come back another time."
In the fall of 1988, that may or may not have been true. We didn't know it, but the whole area was about to explode with the fireworks of change. Our exploration began with a flight on an ancient Balkan Airlines plane from Vienna to Rouse, Bulgaria. We were startled to see uniformed soldiers carrying huge guns in the Vienna airport. We'd never seen anything like that before in our 24 years of traveling together. The Balkan plane—its colors were green, red, and rust—took off at a terrifying angle, struggling to get into the air as quickly as possible. Once we were aloft, the two male flight attendants, both stretching the worn seams of their uniforms, thrust at each of the passengers a box lunch of bread and sliced salami white with fat. We survived both the flight and the lunch, but descending into Rouse was almost as alarming as taking off from Vienna had been—plus the runway had to have been made of broken cobblestones and pottery shards.
In the fall of 1988, that may or may not have been true. We didn't know it, but the whole area was about to explode with the fireworks of change. Our exploration began with a flight on an ancient Balkan Airlines plane from Vienna to Rouse, Bulgaria. We were startled to see uniformed soldiers carrying huge guns in the Vienna airport. We'd never seen anything like that before in our 24 years of traveling together. The Balkan plane—its colors were green, red, and rust—took off at a terrifying angle, struggling to get into the air as quickly as possible. Once we were aloft, the two male flight attendants, both stretching the worn seams of their uniforms, thrust at each of the passengers a box lunch of bread and sliced salami white with fat. We survived both the flight and the lunch, but descending into Rouse was almost as alarming as taking off from Vienna had been—plus the runway had to have been made of broken cobblestones and pottery shards.
The Yugoslavian boat that we boarded wasn't new or grand, but we hadn't expected luxury. The next day, it took us along the Danube to a small port in Romania. A nervous teenage soldier who may not have been mature enough to shave stood on a wall with a gun almost as long as he was tall, watching us leave the boat and get onto a bus. As far as we could tell, dramatic change didn't seem to be in the air, but we didn't know what was bubbling underneath. During that day, however, we picked up clues about what might be going on.
"I'll tell you the truth," the young Romanian guide began, as the bus headed toward Bucharest. "And answer your questions, but please no recording devices. You must understand that half of this country is spying on the other half and we never know for certain who belongs to which half."
We all nodded agreement, but before we got very far the antique Soviet-built bus broke down. The driver didn't seem upset about it. He just pulled out a magazine and stretched out to read it.
"I'll have to arrange for a new bus," the guide told us. "Excuse me."
We had no idea how he'd do that, since we were surrounded by scruffy-looking fields. However, he just walked back to a little green car that had been following us, talked with the two men in it, and they drove off to do something. When the second bus came to get us, the little green car was with it and stayed with us the rest of the day.
"I'll tell you the truth," the young Romanian guide began, as the bus headed toward Bucharest. "And answer your questions, but please no recording devices. You must understand that half of this country is spying on the other half and we never know for certain who belongs to which half."
We all nodded agreement, but before we got very far the antique Soviet-built bus broke down. The driver didn't seem upset about it. He just pulled out a magazine and stretched out to read it.
"I'll have to arrange for a new bus," the guide told us. "Excuse me."
We had no idea how he'd do that, since we were surrounded by scruffy-looking fields. However, he just walked back to a little green car that had been following us, talked with the two men in it, and they drove off to do something. When the second bus came to get us, the little green car was with it and stayed with us the rest of the day.
The remains of Old Bucharest, Romania
As we continued, we noticed two things: the driver had to pilot the old bus through an archipelago of holes and rock piles and the villages and farms we were passing were wretchedly poor.
"Who lives there?" Sherrill asked.
"Around here, it's mostly Roma—gypsies." The guide glanced at the bus driver, as if he suddenly wasn't sure whether or not the man understood English. "They have a hard time. Also, the Nazis killed many of them—at least eleven thousand. They were taken away, along with the Jews."
We learned a little about the dictator Nicolae Ceausescu and his wife, Elena, who ran the country with him, but our guide obviously was trying to be discreet. Every time the bus stopped, for whatever reason, that little car also stopped behind us. In Bucharest, while we had lunch, it waited across the street from the restaurant.
"Do those two ever eat or go to the toilet?" Sherrill asked.
"Not when they're in the Secret Police," our guide told us.
"That's the Secret Police?"
We drove around the enormous "People's Palace" built by the Ceausescus. Third largest building in the world, by volume, the guide told us, with 3,000 rooms—its style seemed to be Early Wedding Cake. The center of old Bucharest was razed to make room for it. We never would have guessed that Bucharest once was called the Paris of the Balkans. Later, we dropped in at a service at one of the three Orthodox churches that were moved, instead of torn down, because they were considered historic. The rotund, bearded Orthodox priest smiled a lot at us after the service, showing his brown teeth, but either he knew no English or was afraid to be seen talking with us. Just a year later, as it turned out, central Bucharest was a battle zone. Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu fled, but were caught, tried, and shot on Christmas day 1989.
"Who lives there?" Sherrill asked.
"Around here, it's mostly Roma—gypsies." The guide glanced at the bus driver, as if he suddenly wasn't sure whether or not the man understood English. "They have a hard time. Also, the Nazis killed many of them—at least eleven thousand. They were taken away, along with the Jews."
We learned a little about the dictator Nicolae Ceausescu and his wife, Elena, who ran the country with him, but our guide obviously was trying to be discreet. Every time the bus stopped, for whatever reason, that little car also stopped behind us. In Bucharest, while we had lunch, it waited across the street from the restaurant.
"Do those two ever eat or go to the toilet?" Sherrill asked.
"Not when they're in the Secret Police," our guide told us.
"That's the Secret Police?"
We drove around the enormous "People's Palace" built by the Ceausescus. Third largest building in the world, by volume, the guide told us, with 3,000 rooms—its style seemed to be Early Wedding Cake. The center of old Bucharest was razed to make room for it. We never would have guessed that Bucharest once was called the Paris of the Balkans. Later, we dropped in at a service at one of the three Orthodox churches that were moved, instead of torn down, because they were considered historic. The rotund, bearded Orthodox priest smiled a lot at us after the service, showing his brown teeth, but either he knew no English or was afraid to be seen talking with us. Just a year later, as it turned out, central Bucharest was a battle zone. Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu fled, but were caught, tried, and shot on Christmas day 1989.
Sherrill & the Iron Gates on the Danube The next morning, we continued on the boat to Belgrade, capital of what still was called Yugoslavia, passing between the huge limestone cliffs known as the Iron Gates.
Belgrade was almost as gray as Bucharest, but seemed to be starting to shake off its gloomy past. The stores were busy and actually full of merchandise. In a large bookstore, Sherrill found a bizarre, rather fascinating, and surprisingly cheap, copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland in Serbo-Croatian. Was it significant that in these countries held by ruthless dictators we often found translations of Lewis Carroll's tale of the innocent but clever child trying to outsmart the lunatic monarchs? Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass were Sherrill's favorite books—which may have reflected her own view of the world.
Belgrade was almost as gray as Bucharest, but seemed to be starting to shake off its gloomy past. The stores were busy and actually full of merchandise. In a large bookstore, Sherrill found a bizarre, rather fascinating, and surprisingly cheap, copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland in Serbo-Croatian. Was it significant that in these countries held by ruthless dictators we often found translations of Lewis Carroll's tale of the innocent but clever child trying to outsmart the lunatic monarchs? Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass were Sherrill's favorite books—which may have reflected her own view of the world.
Later, in the hills outside of Belgrade, we visited the grave and memorial of Marshal Tito, the man who pulled together the six countries that made up Yugoslavia and president for life of this patchwork country. An honor guard that marched in front of his marble tomb was changed several times a day in an elaborate ceremony. Soon, without Tito's iron fist, each of the little countries would assert itself, proclaiming its own identity again. On a later trip, we'd see the result of that struggle.
 Alice in Wonderland in Serbo-Croation |  Melk Abbey from the Danube |
From the river, the historic buildings of Budapest glittered in the sun as if they were spackled with jewels—especially the gothic spires of the nineteenth century parliament building. As we explored the city, we agreed that Budapest was definitely one of the places to which we'd return. We never got around it, but we saw a lot while we were there—on both sides of the river—and indulged in a romantic dinner in a picturesque basement restaurant (much more elegant than the one where we had lunch in Prague), complete with Gulyas (goulash) paprika and a strolling violinist. (Sometimes, it was fun to give in and act like tourists.) We agreed that when we returned it would be by train through the spectacular 19th century railroad station—very Orient Express.
Sherrill, Memorial Square, Budapest Continuing on the boat from Budapest, we admired the Baroque towers of the Benedictine Melk Abbey poised like royalty on the cliff top, then stopped to survey the art collection in the abbey. In the museum, we found the elaborately carved bone reliquary of St. Coloman, an Irish saint who had been tortured and murdered in Germany en route to the Holy Land. His body, it was said, didn't rot for almost two years after he was hung. Eventually, his relics were transferred to Melk. One more reliquary for Sherrill's list.
Later, we passed through one of enormous locks on the river. Part of the ship's superstructure had to be collapsed so it could slide under the bridge spanning the lock. Sherrill grinned when the captain banged the ship's sides against the edges of the lock.
"No better than we did in England."
"No better than we did in England."
 Sherrill & Bruce on Danube ship going through Lock To be continued.... | If you enjoy these posts, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including to several complete short stories and excerpts from my novels. Please pass them on to anybody else you think might enjoy them. |
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