A True and Accurate Account of the Peregrinations and Polyanderings concerned with World Nonsense, including Travels into several Remote Nations of the World including the Lands of Snod, the Mysterious Mustache Island, and the Chankly Bore, about which shall be appended the Exploits and Opinions of Certain Members of the Society For the Prevention of Sense.
11 August, 2009 Frankfurt, IRSCL Congress Part 2, Heyman, DDS
Kevin will be giving you the full details of our spectacular international nonsense panel at the IRSCL congress (click here for a gallery), so I will delight you with a few Frankfurt fits. First on our tour of fits is a tour I was not able to take. I had signed up for the Struwwelpeter Tour of Frankfurt, it being a Heinrich Hoffmann anniversary, but there were apparently not enough cool people at the Congress to fill up the trip, which was canceled. Here is a little taste of Our Hero, in old and some new incarnations.
Over the years, Hoffmann has sometimes been mentioned in the same breath with nonsense and Edward Lear in particular, but, even though his work and Lear’s may both exhibit an impatience with the typical didactic, preachy, and boring eighteenth century children’s books, Hoffmann is not writing nonsense. There are many ways to skin an evangelical, apparently.
The next character we encountered was lurking about the Caricature Museum. He thought he might blend into the shadows with his trench coat, but luckily we had set up a moose hunter's blind nearby, from which we were able to spring out, shine the spotlight on him, and snap these shots.
Kevin and I had wanted to call a special nonsense meeting while in Frankfurt, but we had trouble finding a suitable venue. If we had only known, we could have met here, a stone’s throw away from our hotel (click to enlarge).
Oslo – The Train Incident Friday 7 August, 2009 Heyman
The above view of the city of Oslo was something we saw one too many times, as you shall see. Our last day in Oslo meant little more than going to the train station, catching the train to the airport, and sloping off towards Frankfurt for the IRSCL conference. But such simplicity often belies the prevalence of gremlins in the grill, of goblins in the upholstery, and gnomes in the gnapestry. We took the bus down to the center of town, where we figured we had just enough time to split up, go to the book stores, and look for some folk nonsense. After a quick search, we came up with nothing and headed to the rail station. At the ticket counter, I asked the young lady about the slow train to the airport, specifically saying I did not want the express (and priced double) airport express. She helpfully told us to take the train Lillehammer and gave us the track number and time. At the track, we watched as several express trains went off to the airport, but we were saving some money and waited patiently on the same platform, where the slow train (only about 10 minutes slower, really) would arrive. It did, and we were soon speeding off in Norwegian rail efficiency, past the seaside on the south side of Oslo, through the docks and by the neat, black-tiled roof houses. I sat looking out the window, in a vague haze, while Kevin began to sweat. He mentioned that he didn’t remember this scenery when we came in on the train, but then we figured that there might be multiple routes that went by the airport. We sat for a while, watching the scudding froth scud merrily (if scudding can be done in such a manner). At one point I got up to look at the stop, just to make sure we were not there. After about 15 or 20 minutes, Kevin could stew no more and asked a gentleman if we were on the way to the airport. The gentleman’s eyes bugged punctuation to his immediate “I’m afraid not.” Apparently, we had been heading in the exact opposite direction of the airport, towards Strömstad. And with a quick look at the map now, I can see that we were also not headed toward Lillehammer, and yet we were both in agreement on the track the ticket woman had told us. Where would we have ended up? Only the gremlins, goblins and gnomes know, but now with very little time, we were much farther away from the airport than when we had started. The kind gentleman was getting off at the next stop, and he walked with us off the train, to the platform, and checked timings. Another train would be coming in 15 minutes, so, after bidding farewell and thanks to our friend, Kevin and I plopped ourselves down on the bench, contemplating the fact that we were now quite unlikely to make our flight. Still, if we caught the next train and then an express, there might be a chance. The sun beat down. I pulled out my safari hat, consigned to the fate of the trains and the misery of the world. Kevin, however, was consigned to neither, and he went to check on the price of a cab. After a little haggling, Kevin got the cab driver to agree to a fee that would buy him not four platinum hubcaps for his cab, but certainly two, and as Kevin and I had both been platinum miners in our prodigal youth, we decided to cab it—an option, by the way, that we were not sure would get us there any quicker. At this point, though, having already spent a fortune on our stay in Oslo, we were fiscally numb, and so there we were, speeding down the highway, praying that we might just make our plane. Our driver was from Djibouti, and he had the habit of talking to us partly in Norwegian. He was jolly enough, but didn’t seem quite to know the way to the airport. After a wrong turn or two, some traffic, flow-impeding speeding cameras, and about 40 minutes, we arrived—and, yes, dear concerned reader, we just made our plane, with about 10 minutes to spare. The day was saved, and we were on our way to becoming Frankfurters.
Oslo Monday, Tuesday August 3-4, 2009 Heyman reporting
Our entry to Oslo, through the magic of airport scooters and Moomins in Helsinki airport, was smooth. We found ourselves in a large hostel/hotel on the northwest side of town, surrounded by all of the embassies and posh establishments of Sense. It was a perfect bunker from which to launch our usual assault. One of our greatest stumbling blocks had to be this location (pictured below), something so deviously sensical that we had to walk Plumpudding Flea’s spitting distance around it in order not to be ill.
The next morning, we arose from our cell, scrubbed and buffed our tonsures, said our nonsense matins (that is, ὄρθρος or oўтреня or oygeŵąlt), and headed down to the Norse Barnebokinstitutt, which translates not to the Norgegian Institutute on Books about Barns, but rather, the Norwegian Children’s Literature Institute. When Kevin had initially written emails to various scholars in Norway, he received an overwhelming and enthusiastic response, and since our time was limited, we arranged one larger meeting with seven souls, a nonsense gathering of Nordic proportions. The building which houses the Institute and children’s book library is also the university library and is a grand place with a large indoor courtyard café on the ground floor . When we found our way up to the children’s library section, we met Kirsten Ørjasæter, the Director, who took us on a short tour of the library. It is an impressive space, with ample collections, scholarly works, and beautiful spaces to work surrounded by stacks of Norwegian children’s books. We were given a short lesson on typical Norwegian children’s books from days of yore—adventure stories of solitary survival in the wilderness (think Jack London meets Robinson Crusoe, but with polar bears).
Our meeting was held in a conference room, and was attended by the following group of friendly, knowledgeable, and helpful souls. The following, in order from left to right:
Harald Bashe-Wiig, Lina Undrum Mañussen, Åse Marie Ommundsen, Anne Kristin Lande, Anna Beate Storm-Larsen, Kirsten Ørjasæter, Asfrid Svensen
After we presented the basics of the Anthology, we had a quick-fire discussion where nonsense was being flung like squid. Kevin and I played squid-catcher as best we could, bagging many suggestions and taking furious notes. Our formal discussion broke up, but we continued to talk to individuals for some time, as they each had much to offer.
We came back to the Institute the next morning, to make copies of their many suggestions and gather bibliographical information. We were treated like gentlemen scholars, ensconced in the reading room with coffee and tea, and proceeded to reap the rewards. Here are a few shots of our workspace and some of the books we were looking at.
Note that some of these books are illustrated by Paul René Gauguin, the son of the Gauguin. We came away with much material and new nonsense friends. Many thanks to them!
Today we stopped into the Starbucks in Warsaw and met with Michal Zajac and Maria Kulik. Michal is a professor at The University of Warsaw, and Maria is the President of the Polish section of IBBY (International Board of Books for Young People). Michal and Maria, as a team, were a force to be reckoned with. They were full of advice, enthusiasm, and curiosity. Michael brought notes about the most important authors to produce literary nonsense for children in Poland. And Maria provided an impressive collection of publications in English created by the Polish section of IBBY, including including an almanac in English that covers Polish children's Literature from 1990 to 2005.
While everything Michal and Maria brought was helpful, it was probably Michal’s campaign to get us to go to Munich that will stick with me most. He’s right of course. Because our route this summer took us through eastern and northern Europe we had no stop planned in Munich, where there just happens to be one of the largest collections of children’s literature in the world, at the International Youth Libray (www.ijb.de.) Enticingly, because this collection in Munich is international, a quick search for nonsense for any given country or language might turn up results. Munich is high on our list of “Next-Time-For-Sures.”
A surprise for us was that Michal and Maria were so surprised at how much we liked Warsaw. Warsaw, apparently, does not have a reputation as a tourist hotspot. It’s famous more for business and industry, and isn’t known for its warmth or beauty. In fact, our guidebook, Lonely Planet, only gave a grudging recommendation for the place. But we found plenty of both warmth and beauty here. And the reconstructed old town is one of the most amazing testaments to the human spirit I’ve ever seen. Everyone should see this place.
On August 3rd, on our way from Warsaw to Oslo, Norway, we stopped for a few hours at Helsinki airport, where Mike stocked up on all things Mummin. He’s a huge fan of Tove Janssons surreal and quirky second world. I personally was tempted to stock up on Reindeer Jerky, but somehow just couldn’t do it. The temptation of the two wheeled push scooter was, however, too much for me. This is simply the most ingenious airport transportation system ever devised. Here is a film of my exhausted self, temporarily liberated from the shackles of my weariness by the fine flying sensation, a peculiar sensation that somehow felt like rule-breaking, of the most spectacular and inappropriate type:
Below is our one photo (so far) of Finland. Taken as the plane was approaching Helsinki:
Hello devoted nonsensophiles out there--Michael here. I bring you good news: there is much to come. We've gotten a little behind in our entries, partly because we were at the IRSCL congress in Frankfurt for a week. Kevin left this morning from Amsterdam, so it's a bit lonely here in De Pjip, Amsterdam. I promise we'll update the blog soon, with all the details from Oslo, Frankfurt, and Amsterdam.
For now, just to tide you over, I include here some links to more of the wonderful graffiti from Romania, some of which we recorded here in our early blogs.
Hold on to your herrings--we'll be back with more soon.
ps. I'm proud to announce that today was the first day that I was properly recognized. I was walking through Sarphati Park in Amsterdam, and a group of shady guys on a bench called out "D'Artagnan!" to me. Not Doug Henning, mind you.
Michael and I have had a lot of good luck on this trip, ending up by accident in the right place, at the right time, and bumping into the right people. But on Saturday August 1, at 5:00 pm, our strange luck was turned up to eleven. We were seated in the middle of the oldest square in Warsaw, and two beers had just been delivered to our table. Hundreds of people milled about the square, tourists licking ice cream cones, young couples walking hand-in-hand, and vendors selling children’s games and flowers. Then, something very strange happened. At precisely 5:00 pm everyone stopped moving and fell silent. Those who had been walking stopped in their tracks. Those seated, stood up. And when I say everyone, I mean every single person stopped moving--at all. We learned later that even cars and busses and bikes on the roads had stopped.
And the whole city fell entirely silent except for the church bells, which rang for exactly 60 seconds.
I can’t begin to tell you how odd it is to see a city suddenly stop--freeze frame. People stood with ice cream cones, not licking them. People’s dogs stopped and sat down. Watching it was so surreal. At first I thought perhaps I was loosing my wits (what few wits I have left.) After one full minute the church bells quieted, and in an instant hundreds of people were moving again.
It didn’t take me long to ask the waitress what had just happened, and, as I supposed, the moment of silence was in reverence for those who died in the Warsaw Uprising of 1944. By luck, we had ordered our beers five minutes before the 65th Anniversary--to the minute--of the beginning of the Uprising.
The Warsaw Uprising began when Polish Resistance fighters in Warsaw rebelled against the Nazi forces that held the town. The Polish fighters wanted to free the city from the Nazi’s before the immanent arrival of the approaching Soviet army. The fear was that if the Soviet’s took the city then Poland would be abandoned to the Soviets at the end of the war (how right they were). This rebellion happened shortly after D-Day and Polish expectations of help from the West were high. But no help came from the West, and the Soviet Army camped peacefully on the opposite side of the Vistula River and watched as Warsaw was flattened. In the end Nazi forces killed 200,000 people in Warsaw and destroyed every building in the city. The entire city was quite literally crushed. When the destruction was complete the Soviets waltzed in, kicked the Nazis out, and claimed Warsaw as their own.
In reverence to the Polish resistance fighters, each year, at precisely 5:00 pm, the people of Warsaw stop moving, fall silent and stand up for one minute. It is a beautiful, moving tradition.
What was once a flattened pile of smoky rubble is now a Unesco World Heritage site. In the 1950s, with no support from the Soviets, the people of Warsaw rebuilt their historic city centre. Using old photographs and memories, the city was painstakingly reconstructed, brick by brick. Hundreds and hundreds of buildings were rebuilt from scratch. This is a photo taken near where we were. And when looking at this photo remember that the buildings you are looking at were reconstructed from rubble in the 1950s. (Click on the image to enlarge):
As we rode the train, our last train, into Warsaw, Kevin noted (with the help of our trusty Lonely Planet) with some incredulity that there was a bar/restaurant in Warsaw called Sense, a few blocks from our hotel. Surely this must be some conspiracy. Bratislava denied us entry into Nonsense Club & Restaurant (see this blog entry for the ugly details), but now we were being handed Sense on a plate? Could Eastern Europeans be so protective of their nonsense, and so eager to orient the world (or propagandize it) towards their sense? The only solution to this would be for us to visit Sense. And subvert it.
After we settled into our hotel, we girded ourselves with all manner of potent nonsense paraphernalia, including the benevolent balderdash blunderbuss, two vintage bunko barettas (with plum pudding flags that shoot out the end), and a trained amphibious amphigory. None of these, mind you, are to be handled by nonsense neophytes. We headed out to Sense to do our worst. I present to you the exact moment of our assault:
Sense was not prepared for our hobgoblinry. With the help of some very tasty drinks, we proceeded to desecrate the establishment by creating all kinds of nonsense within its hallowed walls. I cannot describe the proceedings in detail because of the potential infringement upon the territory of certain secret Nonsense Societies, but I can say that nonsense pieces were produced, and a certain menu, that used to have the word “Sense” attached to various food items (as in “Sense Fries,” “Sense Pasta”), now has the word “Nonsense” as the descriptive moniker. When we left, we thought we heard the soft exogamous squish of Sense’s walls roiling and tumbling into a pile of quivering nonsensical noodles.
The next morning, perhaps not quite recovered from the Pastafarian Massacre, we had an appointment to meet at 1pm with Anna Fornalczyk, an academic who also works for a leading journal of translation in Poland. We were having a lovely relaxed morning at our hotel before the meeting, getting ready to depart, until we got a call from Anna around 12:30. I wasn’t able to receive the call, but suddenly a bat flew out of Kevin’s left ear as he said, “We were supposed to meet her at 12:15.” Somehow, even though he had written her the day before that we would meet her at 12:15, he had confused the times. To be fair, most of our recent meetings had been at 1… So we called her back, told her we’d be right there, did a quick primping (my switch-blade moustache comb is a delight--thank you AC!), and headed out. The meeting place, a bookstore closer in to the old town, was a bit farther than we had thought, so we hopped into a cab and were speeding our way through the streets of Warsaw… until we heard the marching band. As we sat in traffic, we could see ahead people marching in military uniforms and certainly hear the military bands. The cab driver drove around a little but then stopped on the side of the road, speaking a perfectly incomprehensible Polish to us and gesturing to the closed roads ahead. It seemed we were at a dead end. Back on the street, we realized that the cab had actually driven us slightly farther away than we had been at our hotel. Kevin switched into high gear at this point (and anyone who has walked beside Kevin knows his legs move with astounding velocity) as we wound our way through the city, past the parade of Polish military, and youth military groups. We had no idea at the time what the occasion might be, but there was no time to ask. We were extremely late, so we fast-walked our way about a mile in the hot sun, around the university, until we finally found Anna, waiting patiently in the bookshop. She was quite understanding, and as we gently sweat into the bookstore upholstery, she went through many texts that she had copied for us. She had a good sense of nonsense—a rare find—and had brought some promising pieces from both literary and folk tradition, from different time periods. She had also gone back to some very old volumes to dig out a few excellent folk texts. Lastly, she was kind enough to allow us to record her reciting two Polish children’s rhymes: click below to hear her.
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Anna was gracious and helpful, patient with our lateness, and promised to provide more material, overall showing us, yet again, the rich nonsense tradition of Poland.
ps. This is not related to our trip in Poland, but I have to pass on a link I was sent by one Belle Rudetha Prannyshake (a devoted philollower and phrend), a lovely example that includes mustaches and Spanish and nonsense. Click here for the video!
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