A few more days and I'm home again.
Last night, we watched a film my grandfather made in the 1960's called Kym sa Skonci Tato Noc (Which translates roughly into Until This Night is Over). It takes place at a resort town in the mountains and is a little social study of the guests at a hotel, the staff and the locals. Really sweet, funny and interesting, the dialogue is mostly improvised. I think it would have been part of what is considered the Czech/Slovak New Wave. It was neat watching it with Grandpa, as he recounted shooting it, and all of the pleasure and stress that goes along with that.
After the movie my grandmother brought out some glasses and a bottle of champagne and my grandfather opened the bottle with flair and a pop and poured us each a glass. We watched celebration and elation in the streets of Egypt and we all thought aloud and wondered at it, what a world!
The next day, my cousin Janko and I went to my maternal grandmother's for lunch, after which Janko drove her to the supermarket so she could stock up on milk and get the fish that was on special. His car had been making some strange noises for the past few days and as we drove down the street we heard the sudden and persistent scrape of metal against concrete. After stopping the car and investigating, Janko discovered part of the exhaust system had rusted and broken and was scraping against the road. We pulled over and called his dad's girlfriend who so graciously lent us her car instead. We managed to get the grandmother and the fish home, too.
Did I tell you that Janko plays guitar and sings in a punk rock band? More technically, it's a metalcore band with a screamer singer and some seriously dirty guitar and very heart-shaking bass and drum combination. Though I'm usually not very interested in this kind of music, when it's live, it's a different story. Janko took me to Drama Queen's practice space, for a little jam session between drummer and guitarist. They rocked out for a good while.
After practice we went on to Pezinok, where my cousin Kajo and his wife Sona and their two little children live. When we arrived, the kids were drawing dinosaurs and kittens on the kitchen wall, which was going to be repainted the following week. Both darlings were flushed with excitement and also spotted with the last vestiges of a recent battle with chicken pox. Turns out that Janko had never had chicken pox and was in danger of contracting the dreaded virus. Apparently, this is the sort of thing that is much easier to have in childhood, but is important to have at some point in your life because it's harder to deal with as you age. In a vain attempt to lessen the chances of Janko contracting the pox, he borrowed a handkerchief from Kajo, folded it into a blue triangle and tied it around his face. Though I have my doubts as to its effectiveness, his mask was certainly very humorous for adults and children alike, especially when he had to lift the flap to eat and drink and also when he played an expressionless game of table tennis, without the table.
Tomorrow, I fly back to Toronto. Back to loving arms and cold streets, bicycles and urban wilderness and the politics and prose of On-tar-i-o. I'll miss it here, for sure.
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