Frayday afternoon my friend Rob arrived. We know each other for twenty years now; one cold dark evening in November 1991 a strange thin man stood in the institute’s hallway where I was working, searching for a professor who accidentally just had left on holiday to Canada. Today Rob is a honcho in his own university in Hungary, but every two or three years he drops by, sleeps on a Matratze and digs his way through my library – I had to pick up some heaps of books this Sunday afternoon to make way and tried to press them back into the shelves. (My collection is in a terrible state, un-sorted still after the last move, too many furniture in front of the book-shelves, but for some reason unbeknownst to me he loves it.)
He attended an annual conference earlier in the week (“Horrible, Mago, just horrible: Like a machine – nothing new at all!”) and took the chance to come over to my place. He traveled with his eleven year old son – seemingly kids today only need internet access to be pacified – Gut so! We forced the poor boy to speak English, ah terrible this eduction efforts …
Yesterday morning the pair of them went into the city to get some presents for the ladies at home (his lovely wife and daughter), and in the afternoon we went to Nürnberg by train. Rob needed some photos of the Reichsparteitagsgelände (Ger., Eng.) for an upcoming article and he had not seen the Kongresshalle before, he only knew the Zeppelinfeld. It went well until we came to the platform to travel back, when we learned that the train was at least 40 minutes late. Minor earlier train services were cut out at all, so we stood like the proverbial sardines in the can on our trip back – the people took it in good humor. In fact a goods train had broken down (I happily told innocent travelers that it was Hungarian one) while Robci mumbled something about the decline of Germany and that such a thing never had happened in the Thirties. American survivors of the Oktoberfest were every now and again singing Volkslieder I never had heard before, and three young Japanese tried to decipher the names of the stations, some fool had told them that they would have to switch to a bus, what was totally wrong.
Today we had to reach the train to Frankfurt airport, and again the regular was announced as 40 minutes late, they grabbed another connection just in time. As I write this, father and son should be riding the Eastbound bus through the Hungarian night, arriving half past midnight at home in Debrecen (Ger., Eng.).
Besides all this we had some serious business to do and I was able to scan some articles for him in my local university library he can not reach in his hometown – digitization is a very good thing, but access is the key.
So, that’s why I am knackered. And why Sunday Music comes a bit late. It is a little tango by Georges BOULANGER (Ger., Eng., site), recorded in 1939.
I hope you enjoy the music – may the coming week be gentle to all of us.