Tag: europe

St. Stephen’s Hand

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When is a hand not a Hand? 

St. Stephen’s Hand is definitely St. Stephen’s Hand and is probably not St. Stephen’s hand. 

  • St. Stephen: 11th-century king of Hungary. Real guy. Had a right hand. 
  • St. Stephen’s Basilica: big church in Budapest. Contents include marble, gold, and a mummified right hand. 
  • St. Stephen’s hand: the actual historical hand of St. Stephen, dead 15 August 1038. 
  • St. Stephen’s Hand: mummified hand. Made the rounds: Croatia, Austria, now Budapest. Encased in an ornate golden box. 

The Catholic Church venerates this mummified hand as St. Stephen’s Hand. And thanks to fancy modern technology, we could test whether it’s also St. Stephen’s hand. 

But does it matter? 

Facts vs Hand-y Symbols

Carbon dating could tell us whether the hand comes from the right decade. 

DNA testing could tell us at least whether the hand is from a male and likely if the ancestry is a probable match (and not, say, an Egyptian mummy).

I don’t buy that it matters. 

The Hand of St. Stephen comes from the same organization that brought you The Body of Christ. To a Catholic, the eucharist is both the literal body of Christ, and Catholics who consume it are not cannibals. 

To a non-Catholic, those don’t jibe. 

Where laypeople see logical inconsistencies, Catholics have hyper-specific explanations fit for each circumstance. 

Idolatry is prohibited in Catholicism, thanks to the original constitution (the Ten Commandments, starring Charlton Heston). 

Yet, the entire basilica is organized around a mummified hand under glass, a money slot next to it, and candles you can light for €1.

Catholics say praying in front of The Hand is not idolatry. Most Protestants and nearly all Jews disagree. But Catholics have a particular distinction for this sort of behavior: 

  • “Veneration” is the appropriate honoring of a holy symbol that points the worshipper toward God. 
  • “Worship” is the inappropriate honoring of the symbol itself as God. 

In Catholic doctrine, categorically different. From the outside, indistinguishable. 

If I can’t externally verify whether you’re worshipping or venerating, is it idolatry? 

What is the sound of one St. Stephen’s Hand clapping? 

The Castle

In 1896 Hungary built a mock castle out of wood and cardboard for its millennium celebration: Vajdahunyad Castle.  

The castle proved so popular that, from 1902-1908, Hungary rebuilt Vajdahunyad Castle out of stone. This building blends Romanesque, Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque elements spanning ten centuries of Hungarian architecture. It now houses the Hungarian Museum of Agriculture. 

Partner asks: is it a real castle? 

Across the river and on top of the hill, the Buda Castle has been destroyed and rebuilt multiple times over the last 750 years. The most recent incarnation follows severe damage in WWII, so it is newer than Vajdahunyad Castle, and it is in a modernist style, so it looks less “castle-y” than the Vajdahunyad Castle. 

The cardboard version was clearly not a “Real Castle”. What about now, after 100 years in stone? 

The Costs

Upon entering St. Stephen’s Basilica, one may light a candle for either 300 HUF or 1€. This conversion is the closest-to-accurate HUF-to-EUR I’ve encountered in Hungary. The Catholic Church does its math. 

Just outside the Basilica, one of the staff members instructs you to remove your hat. 

The Christian god, evidently, is offended if He cannot see the top of your head. The Jewish god, I hear, is offended if He can. Many people say this is the same god. 

I’m curious what happens if a Jew with a yarmulke walks in. 

A yarmulke is a hat. The instructions say “No hats”. 

Perhaps a yarmulke is a Hat that is not a hat. 

To enter the Basilica, one must pay 2700HUF (around $9), unless you’re a religious person (with certificate) or a pilgrim (with certificate). 

I wonder what price I could get for certificates sold at the door. 

If arrested, I would have to tell the police that my certificates are not fake; they are merely Certificates. 

Two Service Industries

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The waiter has two jobs. So does everyone in the service industry.

A waiter who doesn’t bring your food has failed. A waiter who brings your food but ruins your experience has also failed, just in a different way. We refer to both of these elements with the same word: “service”.

Two completely different failure modes, one job title. The waiter sells a result (correct order arrives, hot) and an experience (the welcome, the rhythm of the table, the small talk, the upsells that don’t feel pushy).

Most service jobs are like this. A masseuse sometimes sells a result (your glutes stop screaming) and sometimes sells an experience (60 minutes of affectionate touch from a fellow primate). A hotel sells a result (somewhere safe to sleep, proximity to the places you want to be, a gym, food without leaving the building) and an experience (the pleasantness of all of it).

The word “service” hides two different products. Once you notice this, every purchase decision gets easier, because you stop accidentally paying for the one you don’t want.

(People miscategorize their purchases all the time. Doctors, for instance, are in the service industry. Personally, I only value “bedside manner” insofar as it impacts my medical results, generally through team cohesion.) 

The Hotel Switch

This idea showed up today while I switched hotels in Budapest.

Hotel 1 was the Kimpton BEM. $340 per night. Sauna, gym, restaurant, bar, room service, a quick walk to the Danube. A small room. No refrigerator. Paid laundry. Beautiful experience, modest result.

Hotel 2 is an aparthotel. $61 per night. A one-bedroom apartment (separate bedroom and living room). A kitchen with stove, oven, microwave, dishes, refrigerator. A laundry machine. One block from the biggest ruin bar in Budapest.

For the same money, I’d take the aparthotel every time: twice the space, a real kitchen, a better location, an in-unit laundry machine. The Kimpton costs roughly 5.5x as much. At that price, you’re buying 1) The experience of being attended to, and 2) Reliability (of room, food, and experience: Kimpton is a reputable brand.

The Preference

I’m probably odd in that I almost always want the result.

I prefer my infrastructure solves specific needs. If it solves the need, the work is done; the pleasure of the experience is secondary to the solving of the problem.

The key exception: play. I don’t play golf to get the ball in the hole. I play golf to play golf. Play is the rare context where the experience IS the product, and I’m clear on that going in.

Perhaps some people see visiting a hotel as play. I see it as infrastructure. 

The Cost

The aparthotel model isn’t free. You have to learn it. Photos lie. Hosts ghost. There’s no front desk at this residence: if you fail their check-in process, their automated system won’t email you the login code.

The variance is real: I once caught a nasty cough from a booking.com stay due to mold on the walls.

The result-first approach trades reliability for upside on the days nothing goes wrong. Most days, nothing goes wrong. And my skill at spotting good residences has improved. But I improved… by making mistakes.

The Result

As I write this I’m on the couch in our new living room, and Partner is squishing my feet. My feet hurt because the Kimpton was a 45-minute walk from the lively downtown area (from which Partner and I walked back to the Kimpton at 2am last night).

I’m enjoying the experience of a feet-squish from someone I love. Still, I’d rather we jumped to the result where my feet stopped hurting.

Costs & Choices (Apr 3 2026)

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My contractor asked if we wanted nice lighting.
“Depends the alternative and the cost”. 

I’m somewhat surprised by his surprise at my answer.
Like.
Sure: of course I want nice lighting. If you ask me that question in a vacuum, the answer is definitely yes.
But that question is only meaningful if it has a comparison.
What is the other option for lighting?
What are the actual trade-offs?
Is “nice” lighting one million dollars, while “normal” lighting is a buck fifty seven? 

I keep running into this situation with contractors.
I hired this contractor due to their line items.
I decided not to get a recessed niche in my shower… 
due to that shower niche being ~$2k.
At $2k, we’ll put our shampoo on the windowsill. 

My contractor – and his designer – often find this approach confusing.
It’s not that I’m unwilling to spend money.
It’s that I can’t say “yes” to a thing without even a ballpark.
And that ballpark should come with a basic comparison.
Do people not do simple economic analyses when renovating a home?
Not even a super-deep preference list, but just a simple “This light costs $100. That light costs $200. Would I pay an additional $100 for that light?”
On plenty of parts, my preference ended up being cheaper. 

In working with my designer, we must train each other to work well together.
One part of that is the way he proposes options. 

I hired him for his opinion and skill.
I want his recommendation – not merely to view all the options and choose myself.
And I also want his tradeoffs: what are the traits that would lean you toward this over that, and what are the summaries of other reasonable options? 

I don’t know how other people choose their elements
but I can do the simple gut check of “Would I pay $375 for an additional power outlet there?” 
That’s the beauty of money: it’s a universal comparison.
The best things in life are priceless.
For everything else, it’s a clear unit.

The Maginot Line (Mar 26 2026)

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Crossing lines and having great times 

After World War I, having been invaded by the Germans five times in under 200 years, the French devised a novel strategy: build an impenetrable line of defenses along the French-German border. The Germans could not defeat this line. The forts and artillery were too strong. The Maginot Line held. I see this same concept all over French culture. 

The Germans went around The Line. Through Belgium. And invaded France yet again.
Oops. 

In the 2010s, France experienced a rash of bombings. In response, there now exist security officers at every sporting event and even many grocery stores. These security officers check bags for weaponry. But if you simply don’t stop? What if you walk through, refusing their patdown? Do they tackle you like the potential terrorist you are? No, they shrug uncomfortably and continue about their business. How do I know? I’ve done this many times. 

When the park closes at 6pm and it’s 5:45, the French gendarmes stand at the entry to prevent your entry. They do this because the park closing at 6pm means everyone must be out by then, not merely in the process of leaving. I accept this difference as a cultural choice and have no qualms with it. But when an American in a silly teal dinosaur hat argues with the gendarme for forty five seconds and then simply plows ahead, they do not apprehend him. They do nothing more than shout “Monsieur! Monsieur” a few times before returning to their croissant. 

Some local frogs (that’s the PC term for French people) taught me a silly game of throwing sticks. I happened upon these frogs thanks to one time I was out for a stroll in the darkness and saw lights and heard laughter. I approached to watch. They said (in French) “this is a private club”. I replied (in French) “we were out for a stroll and saw the lights”. They invited me and Partner to play. 

That experience isn’t the Maginot Line connection. (Even though a boundary did go un-enforced, ahem.)

The Maginot Line connection is that I taught a frog classmate how to play the game and she kept stepping over the line. When I called her out on it (it’s like bocci or bowling: a restriction on one’s distance is literally what makes it a game), she didn’t stop. She continued stepping over the line, stepping on it, using her foot to move the line, etc. It’s like she needed Germanic-level rule enforcement to keep her in line. 

The public parks in France close at sunset. That closure is my least favorite part of French culture. My research suggests this trait is due to the French desire to prevent people from doing bad things. In American legal culture, we’re deeply skeptical of preventive restrictions. Our permissiveness is part of what makes us innovative: you’re allowed to break the law; it just leads to punishment. 

And the fact that we Americans are a violent bunch means people have the honor not to step over lines. Viewing a nude performance art piece in Texas, I asked a fellow audience member what would happen if someone started recording. The local longhorn (that’s PC term for Texan) said that at least a dozen people would beat you up and take your phone. 

During the French Olympics, the U.S. State Department warned Americans about Parisian pickpockets. The Americans responded by beating them up so frequently it became an international meme.
Presumably when a native frog catches a pickpocketed in France, the appropriate response is to shout “Monsieur! Monsieur!” as they run away.

Clown School Break Day 28: Statistical Cheese

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In which Our Hero ages in a cave for 24 months.

This has so far been my favorite Christmas season.

Why?

Is it the general chillness?
The presence of a 16-month-old nephew (our activities constrained by nap windows like a benevolent dictator)?
The absence of sprinting – from task to task, from obligation to obligation – so that family time feels calm instead of stolen?

No running and only a little work means I’m easy and jovial. I like this version of myself.

Part of this is the skill clown school taught me: the ability to choose fun instead of waiting for it to arrive accidentally.
And part of it is contrast: the calm after an absurdly intense storm.

January looms.
I’m buying an apartment.
Interviewing for a job.
Considering family visiting me in France.

For now, though, the assignment appears to be: do less. Enjoy more. Taste the cheese. 

—

Tonight we performed a statistical analysis on cheese.

Ten cheeses. France, Spain, the UK.
Who liked what. How much. Whose tastes clustered. Who outlied in what ways? 

My partner started a masters in statistics during her genetics PhD. This is her preferred form of play: turning pleasure into a dataset. Not just “which cheese did everyone enjoy the most” but “what were the standard deviations” and “who had the most similar taste in cheeses? The most divergent?”

It occurred to me that this – thinking carefully about what we like – is a behavior often poo-pooed. 

Anti-intellectualism runs rampant. In part because it’s easier to form a mob than to compete on precision. If you can’t articulate why something is good, it’s comforting to declare articulation itself suspicious. If you can’t relate to someone who knows 1/7th in percentages, it’s comforting to outgroup them as mad scientist-y. 

And yet:
Some of our favorite cheeses were cheap, mass-market cheeses from France and Spain.

Price is what you pay. Value is what you get.
It’s funny how the everyday object in one country becomes a delicacy in another—just by crossing a border and being paid attention to.

Maybe this is also a clown lesson.

Attention is not seriousness.
Analysis is not joy-killing.
And play doesn’t require intensity—sometimes it requires rest.

All in all, a very chill day.

Which is nice.
Especially
Because
I’m not in charge of the toddler napping
🤡