For two weeks my husband and I went on a river cruise down the Danube with two other couples who are old friends of ours.
On the shore excursions we saw remains of Roman settlements, five-and-six-century-old churches, city centers which survived World War II bombing, city centers that were destroyed and have been rebuilt under laws that require maintaining the building styles that existed before the bombing.
We saw the excesses of the Hapsburgs and puzzled over maps that showed the shifting boundaries as duchy took over duchy and the Holy Roman Empire took over everyone. We looked, amazed, at the high water marks of successive floods. We were reminded again and again how crucial this water was before paved roads, airplanes, or internet.
Each evening we came back to dinner on the boat where we talked of wars in Syria, Saudi Arabia, and Africa which are ceaselessly moving boundaries today. We contemplated the hardening of the southern boundary of our country, and the rejection of refugees all over the world. It seemed that history was moving along, like the river, but with nothing fundamental changing over the centuries.
In a way, we each took our own journey created by our own interests. I was thrilled to see Albrecht Durer’s house in Nuremburg, stumble stones imbedded in the streets of Passau to commemorate Jews sent to their deaths in concentration camps from there. My companions were mesmerized by music in Vienna. I laughed aloud to find Harry Houdini’s house in Budapest because my eight-year-old grandson has a Houdini fascination. Another of our party was knowledgeable about what humans have been pouring into waterways over centuries and modern attempts to remediate it. We saw plague towers in central squares, built in thanks for those who survived the plagues that took half of Europe’s population, and we thought of eBola, Aids, and drug resistant bugs.
Our historical tour was brought almost to a standstill by the parades and celebrations of May Day, the European equivalent of our Labor Day but on a continent where the labor movement is still alive and well. Families picnic the same way everywhere.
We enjoyed our small community on the boat, sharing stories of how we came to be there. We were amazed and a little embarrassed by the multilingual population, especially the staff of the ship who were from Scandinavia, Croatia, Bulgaria, Indonesia, and more, and yet all fluent in English.
We exclaimed often at the European Union and at the contrary pressures from nationalism and anti-immigrant feeling. It was interesting to talk with a British couple about Brexit, trying to understand, and try to articulate for them what Trump is doing. Much furrowing of brows and shaking of heads ensued on both sides.
Remembering that one cannot step into the same river twice, even though its name remains the same, I would like to come back another time, perhaps on the Rhine this time, and float through some more history.
The Connecticut Writers' Circle 