Daniel
Regarding my music store quest, the only shop I couldn’t visit on day One was Daniel’s so I was determined to re-visit. It was a tiny unsavory storefront. I peered through a dark dusty window pane, barely able to see the outlines of instruments hanging from everywhere. There was a little sign taped to the dirty window;
DANIEL BERDYCH
HOUSLARSKA DILNA 20/5
and an arrow pointing to the right. I followed the arrow and found a directory of names with buttons. I looked and looked but didn’t see anything resembling Daniel or Berdych or Houslarska or Dilna (or 20/5 for that matter). I was just about to give up, thinking that he must really not want to be bothered and had written it as a joke. But I decided to take one more extremely diligent look and found it, just like it was written on the note.
I pressed the button, expecting that he would either come down and open the dingy door, or yell at me through the intercom. Instead, a door opened to the right of the directory and this big guy with big mousy curly brown hair and a matching big mousy brown beard, and blue-grey eyes, came out. He looked like a lumber jack. I looked up at him, gave him my best flirty smile and batted my eyes, thinking; “Great, I pressed the wrong button and this guy’s going kill me.” As it turns out, it was Daniel Berdych, violin maker extraordinaire.
He took me upstairs into his workshop (yes, I was scared). It was small and cramped with bits of musical instruments everywhere. Every time I turned around I knocked something over, so I squeaked off my big down coat and my big furry hat and my long scarf , and laid them down gingerly on the only empty surface I could find and tried to make myself as small as possible. I tried not to breath too much or laugh too loud for fear of hurting something expensive. I learned that he is one of the few traditional Czech violin makers who actually stayed in the Czech Republic. Most, he explained, left the country to pursue prestigious careers elsewhere.
We had a really nice talk and he brought out all of his violas for me to try. Some were very old, some new, but it was a little like comparing apples and mangos because the quality of strings on each one was as different as the instruments themselves. Still not knowing whether I was serious or not about buying an instrument, I settled on two, picked out the oldest, funkiest case I could use to get through customs, and told him I would be back the next day. If he had taken American Express, I probably would have bought one.
The Million Russians
One night I walked into a crowded café for dinner, wearing my black CUBA t-shirt and a young Russian waitress asked me if I was Cuban (?). It turned out that she was dating a Cuban guy located elsewhere in Czech Republic and the two times he had attempted to see her he had gotten into a car accident (or so he said) and could not make the trip. So we talked for a little while and she spoke about how she disliked the Russians living in Prague because they were not particularly friendly. I told her that she should come to New York because we have over one million Russians (fact courtesy of my friend Yuri) and they all seem very friendly. She was intrigued so I told her my (now) infamous Million Russian story, which I tell everyone who asks me about New York. It goes something like this:
They: How do you like New York?
Me: I love it. It’s the most wonderful place on earth. You should
come and visit someday. You would love it too.
They: Why?
Me: Because nobody speaks English. We have people from every country and every religion, and everyone gets along. You can be anybody you want to be and you will fit in just fine.
They: Wow, I didn’t know that.
Me: For example, we have A MILLION RUSSIANS!
(statistic courtesy of Yuri)
They: No! A million Russians??!!
Me: Yes!
They: How did they get there?
Me: I have no idea, but they are EVERYWHERE. Even where I live on Long Island, everyone is speaking Russian.
They: Hmmm…a million Russians…I had no idea (their eyes focus to the distant horizon as they try to imagine it)
So my young friend was comforted by my story and I don’t know if she will ever hook up with the Cuban again, but at least she knows she would be welcome in New York.
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