Our classes are in a performance hall at the top of a hill on the campus of Thomas Bata University. It's just a short walk from the hotel to the rehearsals. Each of us gets a chance to conduct the orchestra or a chamber group every day. Today I was thoroughly schooled on Stravinsky's Petrushka. I got to practice all of the nuances of one eight bar section. The lesson basically consisted of me conducting the same eight measures five or six times, each time adding something that I had not considered the previous time. Wow. Our teachers here REALLY know the pieces. Larry Rachleff actually studied the piece with Pierre Boulez and he have us all of his tips. It's been truly amazing.
Kaia has been on her own these past couple of days and I will let her fill you in on what Zlin is like:
Digging into Zlin
When we first arrived in Zlin, I had to come face to face with my American arrogance at assuming that everyone here would speak English. And while Rick Steves promised that most people under 40 do speak English, he was talking about Prague, Terezin, and Chesky Krumlov--places he recommends in his guidebooks, and therefore places that English-speaking people go, and therefore the local people learn English to their own advantage...not so in Zlin. Probably I should have thought of that and taken my Czech lessons a little more seriously.
On the morning that Gene’s workshop started, I faced a tough choice. I could do what I knew would be comfortable: sit in the hotel room with the four novels I packed and read until 28 July. Or I could leave, walk back to the town square, and become adept at pointing at phrases in my phrasebook and hope for the best. The Teacher Kaia in me won out and pushed my English-only ass out the door.
My first stop was the Town Hall. I picked up a map, some brochures, and with gestures, verified that I could just walk out with them and that I wasn’t stealing them, and (very quietly) said “dekuji” on my way out.
I had postcards from Prague to mail, so my next stop was right next door: the Posta. It was full of people. They marched in, pushed a button on a kiosk according (I assume) to whatever service they needed, and then waited for their numbers to appear on a screen, telling them which window to go to. I stared and stared, tried to look up the words on the kiosk in my phrasebook, paced, sat, and stared some more. Eventually I screwed up my courage and approached a woman and said “Please. Want stamps.” and smiled hopefully. She pointed over her shoulder and I repeated the routine to the woman in the Posta Shop. 144 Kc later, my postcards were on their way.
Since then, I completed the walking tour of downtown Zlin and have visited the Shoe Museum. (Did you know that Zlin was famous for shoes?) Now you do! I have been taking a self-portrait at the places I visit, mostly to prove that no, I am not just reading novels and making these stories up.
I imagine this is how a toddler feels, actually. Having complex thoughts but a vocabulary limited to nouns is intimidating and frustrating. The other night I was sitting in a lounge area of our hotel while a dad and daughter walked up and down the stairs. The dad was counting each step aloud and I caught myself practicing my numbers, too. I’m on track with the 1 year old! It’s a good thing I’m more emotionally mature and so have not thrown a fit. Yet. I might try to take a bus tomorrow, so depending on how that goes...I make no promises.
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