I have a new blog. I still feel like I'm at sea in a sieve most of the time, but the Hungarian chapter of my life is very much over. Though it would probably be much less of a hassle to write my musings in this blog, it just wouldn't feel appropriate. I can't promise the reading entertainment that only living in Central Europe could provide, but I'll give it a good go.
So. New blog: http://thepelicanchorus.blogspot.com .
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Százezer puszik, Magyarország!
I spent my last night in Hungary with some of the best people I've met, drinking, laughing, impromptu folk-dancing with traditional Hungarian street musicians.
I came back to an apartment ravished by half-packed suitcases and half-dried clothes, and I didn't even care. There is no better way I could have spent tonight. Thank you, Ági, Tim, Gréta, Anikó, and Attila. As one of my kids would say, a hundred thousand kisses, Hungary. I'm really going to miss you.
I came back to an apartment ravished by half-packed suitcases and half-dried clothes, and I didn't even care. There is no better way I could have spent tonight. Thank you, Ági, Tim, Gréta, Anikó, and Attila. As one of my kids would say, a hundred thousand kisses, Hungary. I'm really going to miss you.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Te Amo, BP, Red Currants, Statues, Beaurocracy and All...
Today I ate 500 grams of red currants. The red currant, according to the internet, is a "powerhouse berry," and can basically bring back the dead. A box of red currants back in the states would probably be no less than $4. Here, I bought one for less than $1. I'm really going to miss crap like that.
I've been slowly packing up my stuff-- slowly, because I watched the entire Dune miniseries online... and yes, the lab results came back and James McAvoy is still a stone cold fox... I know you were all languishing in wait-- and it all seems surreal. I don't think it fully hit me just how much I'm going to miss my life here. I know I complained a lot, but there are so many things I appreciate about living here. $1 magical berries, for one.
2. living in the city: I love waking up in the morning to the bustling of a million different things. I love noticing a cool new building I've never seen before. I love discovering little grocery stores, parks, and statues in my neighborhood. It breathes life into everything I do.
3. my little apartment: I do get sad living alone, but it's so nice not to worry about the dishes every day, or sweeping the floor, or showering with the lights on just because society dictates I should. Yes. I'm coming out, right here and right now, on my blog. I'm a dark-showerer. It brings me internal peace. Chew on THAT.
4. not understanding people: strangely, I've gotten accustomed to being unable to understand anyone on the street. after a while, peripheral conversations started to become white-noise, and there's a tranquility in that. also, i'm proud to say that i have picked up some Hungarian, and trying to use it every day is a big challenge that I will really miss.
4. my colleagues calling me "Genaro-Genaro": It's apparently a minor character in Lethal Weapon and sounds a lot like Jenny. Don't ask. I didn't. I met some incredible folks at the kindergarten (and at the high school, too!), who, beyond being wise, kind, funny, interesting people, are also just plain awesome to hang out with. I wish I had more time to build richer friendships with all of them.
5. you're all sick of this by now, I know, but MY KIDS: I had my goodbye cake at the kindergarten yesterday, and as per tradition, they all sang my favorite song,"There's a little wheel a-turnin' in my heart," which NATURALLY made me weep because it's so cute and poignant all by itself. Add amazing kids singing it into the mix, and I'm inconsolable.
Suddenly, as I was crying, I felt a dozen tiny hands and warm little heads petting me and comforting me, telling me not to cry. I mean, jeez, I'M ONLY HUMAN!!!! Yes, I did melt into a puddle on the spot.
I don't mean to idealize this place, as that would be hard to do, but even with the horrible bureaucracy, lack of proper vegetables, the surliness, homogeneity, and prejudices that many Hungarian people carry around, it's still a brilliant, beautiful place, full of brilliant beautiful people. And I am so freakin' lucky to have had this experience.
With that said... RIGA IN TWO DAYS!!!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thanks, med school, now I have a ten years' supply of shower gel!
In Hungary there is a rather delightful tradition of bestowing gifts upon teachers and doctors at the end of the year. Luckily for me, I fall into one of those categories, I'll let you sort out which one (and yes, I have legally changed my name to Dr. Acula). Yesterday I was absolutely SHOWERED with gifts after the Kindergarten farewell party; I'm fairly certain I received my weight in chocolate, bath items, and florals. My high school colleagues were also very nice, took me out for delicious ice cream, and gave me a gorgeous book about Hungary. Pictorial below.
Also, I nearly did cry at this card, given to me by Gerzson (one of the kissing machines from a previous entry). He wrote it himself, dear heart, and gave everyone little mechanical hedgehogs, which are his spirit animal. He even kind of looks like a hedgehog.
I know that I shouldn't feel such satisfaction from receiving unnecessary earthly possessions, but I seriously felt warm and fuzzy all day yesterday. Just for funsies, below are teachers Aniko, Tim, and Greta, and my faves, Dori and Gerzsi:
I have also been slowly coming to terms with the fact that exactly a week from now I will be on a plane bound for Latvia. All the crap on my walls will be gone, my clothes will be rolled up safely (good God, please, safely) in the belly of a majestic Boeing 737, and my little apartment, so cheerful, yellow, and cozy, will be emptied and ready for Lisa to move in. I was so anxious to leave Hungary behind a few days ago, but now, I'm nauseous just at the thought of leaving. Ah, the double-edged scimitar of goodbyes!
Also, I nearly did cry at this card, given to me by Gerzson (one of the kissing machines from a previous entry). He wrote it himself, dear heart, and gave everyone little mechanical hedgehogs, which are his spirit animal. He even kind of looks like a hedgehog.
I know that I shouldn't feel such satisfaction from receiving unnecessary earthly possessions, but I seriously felt warm and fuzzy all day yesterday. Just for funsies, below are teachers Aniko, Tim, and Greta, and my faves, Dori and Gerzsi:
I have also been slowly coming to terms with the fact that exactly a week from now I will be on a plane bound for Latvia. All the crap on my walls will be gone, my clothes will be rolled up safely (good God, please, safely) in the belly of a majestic Boeing 737, and my little apartment, so cheerful, yellow, and cozy, will be emptied and ready for Lisa to move in. I was so anxious to leave Hungary behind a few days ago, but now, I'm nauseous just at the thought of leaving. Ah, the double-edged scimitar of goodbyes!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Szalon a la Child
Other than giving me massages and compliments on a regular basis, my kids also like doing my hair, and spend much time ooh-ing and ah-ing over my unmanageable mane. It's amazing how little convincing it takes to get a six-year-old girl to brush your hair for 15 minutes.
The other week, I let Dori do my hair while I drew the 11736th "fairy princess" of the day for one of the other girls. As I was coloring in the drawing, an amazing conversation was going on over my head between Dori and Zsofi:
Zs. "Dori, after can I have a turn?"
D. "Zsofi, I need to do something very nice for Jenny, so that all the boys will love her."
Jenny. "That's right. Please take as much time as you need."
D. "If Jenny would like to be pretty, then we have to take our time."
Zs. "Okay." Short pause. "It's so strange, this day. Yesterday was sunny, and now it's rainy!"
D. "It's very strange. I hope tomorrow it's sunny again."
This conversation about the weather was taking place without any of my prompts, and Dori kept interjecting brusque commands and comments like "head up," "look left," "great," and "yeah, this is nice, this is nice." I felt like I had been transported to a beauty salon in Little Italy, and any minute now the conversation would switch to Tito's bad back, or Rosalita's new baby.
Here's a picture of the two of them, sort of. Dori is the one with her mouth open (one begins to see why she's my favorite: we pose for pictures the exact same way), and Zsofi is the blond one in the Hello Kitty shirt.
I know I told myself a hundred times that I don't want to make working with kids my career or anything, but it's just so damn awesome. How can you not enjoy these little people, who are, in many ways, so much more fun than adults? I've met lots of people who tell me they don't like kids, and I get it. I really do. They're annoying, snotty, loud, selfish. That's just cold, hard fact. But I think it's all perspective. Kids, I think, are just full of that, I dunno, "joy" or whatever. When I'm with them, I also get to take part in that dumb joy, and suspend my notions of reality. Kids make me feel so happy. I don't know if I could ever give that up.
PS. If you're wondering what my hair ended up looking like after Queen Latifah was done with it, it was a side ponytail. It always is. For some reason, they think side ponytails are the most hilarious, outrageous hairdos you can have, and they're always bursting with giggles as they send me to the mirror to inspect the quality of their work.
The other week, I let Dori do my hair while I drew the 11736th "fairy princess" of the day for one of the other girls. As I was coloring in the drawing, an amazing conversation was going on over my head between Dori and Zsofi:
Zs. "Dori, after can I have a turn?"
D. "Zsofi, I need to do something very nice for Jenny, so that all the boys will love her."
Jenny. "That's right. Please take as much time as you need."
D. "If Jenny would like to be pretty, then we have to take our time."
Zs. "Okay." Short pause. "It's so strange, this day. Yesterday was sunny, and now it's rainy!"
D. "It's very strange. I hope tomorrow it's sunny again."
This conversation about the weather was taking place without any of my prompts, and Dori kept interjecting brusque commands and comments like "head up," "look left," "great," and "yeah, this is nice, this is nice." I felt like I had been transported to a beauty salon in Little Italy, and any minute now the conversation would switch to Tito's bad back, or Rosalita's new baby.
Here's a picture of the two of them, sort of. Dori is the one with her mouth open (one begins to see why she's my favorite: we pose for pictures the exact same way), and Zsofi is the blond one in the Hello Kitty shirt.
I know I told myself a hundred times that I don't want to make working with kids my career or anything, but it's just so damn awesome. How can you not enjoy these little people, who are, in many ways, so much more fun than adults? I've met lots of people who tell me they don't like kids, and I get it. I really do. They're annoying, snotty, loud, selfish. That's just cold, hard fact. But I think it's all perspective. Kids, I think, are just full of that, I dunno, "joy" or whatever. When I'm with them, I also get to take part in that dumb joy, and suspend my notions of reality. Kids make me feel so happy. I don't know if I could ever give that up.
PS. If you're wondering what my hair ended up looking like after Queen Latifah was done with it, it was a side ponytail. It always is. For some reason, they think side ponytails are the most hilarious, outrageous hairdos you can have, and they're always bursting with giggles as they send me to the mirror to inspect the quality of their work.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Take a Shower and Shine Your Shoes
The past few days, Budapest has been experiencing the withdrawal of the San Fran weather, replaced by a depressing drizzle/rain.
I spent the last three days inside for the most part, lulled into a warm cocoon of pathetic fallacy. Today I ventured out into the gray mist solely for the sake of staving off cabin fever, and the sadness that enveloped me from the week's events. I spent an hour and a half at California Coffee, nursing a hot chocolate and reading Only in America by Matt Frei (he recounts his experience of working as a BBC correspondent in DC under the Bush administration -- pretty entertaining, check it out). I could see the Bazilika through the window, and part of the Latin written above the neo-classical facade: "Ego Sum Via Veritas et Vita." "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life." John 14:6.
When I was in San Francisco with Anna and Jackie, I would annoy them to no end by insisting on going into churches, spending at least twenty minutes in each one, walking around the perimeter, especially the sanctuary itself. Grace Cathedral particularly caught my breath. A peace filled the entire space, with the light coming through the wide, graceful windows, the creaking of feet on the wooden floorboards, the lingering smell of incense or perhaps old wood. The only time I felt this way was at the top of a waterfall in the Appalachians of Vermont. I still don't know how to define my idea of religion, or even the existence of God, but I know that if ever an edifice existed that could boast to be a House of God, this was it.
Today, hearing the bells of the six o'clock mass, I was seized by the desire to find that feeling again, to be surrounded by the peace that comes with believing in something greater than one's self. I walked into the church and stood at the back next to the "Tourist! Stop!" sign. Alongside me was a couple with their infant child, who looked like I felt, his face crumpled into a tearful grimace. The gray light poured down from the dome, clashing with the warmth of the candles, the red marble, and the gilded details. At the front, men who dedicated their lives to God were waving incense, and a woman knelt down by me, crossing herself. In spite of the large space, the mass felt intimate. I felt like a ragamuffin pressing up my nose against the frosted glass of a family's house. Chimney, snow, roast turkey, and all. I didn't belong, but at the same time, I felt myself included.
I shuffled out of the church after a few minutes (the sermon was in Hungarian, after all), and returned home.
For the first time in my life, I feel that I am truly pushing myself beyond my emotional comfort zone; beyond being scared shitless, I also know that I am making good, honest decisions. The future is, as always, obscure, but I have a head on my shoulders and the love of the best of friends to help me.
I spent the last three days inside for the most part, lulled into a warm cocoon of pathetic fallacy. Today I ventured out into the gray mist solely for the sake of staving off cabin fever, and the sadness that enveloped me from the week's events. I spent an hour and a half at California Coffee, nursing a hot chocolate and reading Only in America by Matt Frei (he recounts his experience of working as a BBC correspondent in DC under the Bush administration -- pretty entertaining, check it out). I could see the Bazilika through the window, and part of the Latin written above the neo-classical facade: "Ego Sum Via Veritas et Vita." "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life." John 14:6.
When I was in San Francisco with Anna and Jackie, I would annoy them to no end by insisting on going into churches, spending at least twenty minutes in each one, walking around the perimeter, especially the sanctuary itself. Grace Cathedral particularly caught my breath. A peace filled the entire space, with the light coming through the wide, graceful windows, the creaking of feet on the wooden floorboards, the lingering smell of incense or perhaps old wood. The only time I felt this way was at the top of a waterfall in the Appalachians of Vermont. I still don't know how to define my idea of religion, or even the existence of God, but I know that if ever an edifice existed that could boast to be a House of God, this was it.
Today, hearing the bells of the six o'clock mass, I was seized by the desire to find that feeling again, to be surrounded by the peace that comes with believing in something greater than one's self. I walked into the church and stood at the back next to the "Tourist! Stop!" sign. Alongside me was a couple with their infant child, who looked like I felt, his face crumpled into a tearful grimace. The gray light poured down from the dome, clashing with the warmth of the candles, the red marble, and the gilded details. At the front, men who dedicated their lives to God were waving incense, and a woman knelt down by me, crossing herself. In spite of the large space, the mass felt intimate. I felt like a ragamuffin pressing up my nose against the frosted glass of a family's house. Chimney, snow, roast turkey, and all. I didn't belong, but at the same time, I felt myself included.
I shuffled out of the church after a few minutes (the sermon was in Hungarian, after all), and returned home.
For the first time in my life, I feel that I am truly pushing myself beyond my emotional comfort zone; beyond being scared shitless, I also know that I am making good, honest decisions. The future is, as always, obscure, but I have a head on my shoulders and the love of the best of friends to help me.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Strange Birds
My kids are going through a Dr. Seuss stage, and I've been reading Marvin K. Mooney, I Can Read With My Eyes Shut!, Hop on Pop, and other such nonsense to them on a daily basis. I almost know Oh, the Thinks You Can Think! by heart now.
I always dismissed Dr. Seuss, I think, because I never really read it. Not really. His books seemed a bit moronic and patronizing to me. But this may be because I never read it to kids before. Real live-like kids. They eat it up like crack. Watching their faces as I read (even something as simple as Hop on Pop) is the most incredible thing. They listen with attentive wonder, follow the drawings with their eyes, and laugh at almost every part.
"No, Pat, no!" I turn to a page with a picture of a bear about to sit on a cactus. "Don't sit on that!"
"Ouch! That would really hurt!" Jochem squeals with ill-disguised glee.
One time I even caught Simon reading Hop on Pop. Simi! Reading! A whole book in English! Maybe in America, a 6 year old reading Hop on Pop isn't that impressive, but for me to find one of my Hungarian kids reading an English book on their own initiative was one of the highlights of my week. It's hard to express how much I love these kids and how proud I am of every little thing they do -- even something as minor as Dori showing a younger kid how to hold her spoon, or Lora and Zsofi squabbling amongst themselves, all in perfect English. Every minute I have spent frustrated or angry or sad in the school or outside all seem worth it just for those rewarding seconds. I am not sure how I'm going to handle leaving these guys.
If you want to see my superkids in full cuteness glory, here's a video of them doing Hungarian folk dancing. As if they weren't cute enough already:
In other news, Anna came to visit for 9 days. It was grand! Plus or minus an illness or two...
I always dismissed Dr. Seuss, I think, because I never really read it. Not really. His books seemed a bit moronic and patronizing to me. But this may be because I never read it to kids before. Real live-like kids. They eat it up like crack. Watching their faces as I read (even something as simple as Hop on Pop) is the most incredible thing. They listen with attentive wonder, follow the drawings with their eyes, and laugh at almost every part.
"No, Pat, no!" I turn to a page with a picture of a bear about to sit on a cactus. "Don't sit on that!"
"Ouch! That would really hurt!" Jochem squeals with ill-disguised glee.
One time I even caught Simon reading Hop on Pop. Simi! Reading! A whole book in English! Maybe in America, a 6 year old reading Hop on Pop isn't that impressive, but for me to find one of my Hungarian kids reading an English book on their own initiative was one of the highlights of my week. It's hard to express how much I love these kids and how proud I am of every little thing they do -- even something as minor as Dori showing a younger kid how to hold her spoon, or Lora and Zsofi squabbling amongst themselves, all in perfect English. Every minute I have spent frustrated or angry or sad in the school or outside all seem worth it just for those rewarding seconds. I am not sure how I'm going to handle leaving these guys.
If you want to see my superkids in full cuteness glory, here's a video of them doing Hungarian folk dancing. As if they weren't cute enough already:
In other news, Anna came to visit for 9 days. It was grand! Plus or minus an illness or two...
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Keep it in your pants, kid.
Kids are growing up so fast these days. Or maybe it's how fast they've always grown up, but I just never noticed because I was always one step behind. It just seems to me, from what I see in my little people, that boys and girls seem hyper-aware of each other's sexuality lately, even at the ages of 6 and 7.
Take this afternoon, for instance. After lunch, the kids who don't nap usually stay in the playing room and... play. Most days, I stay with them and try to keep at bay the madness that is inevitably bound to explode whenever more than a dozen children are gathered in a living room-sized space (at the end of free-play, the room really does look like a war zone, or as if KB Toys projectile vomited everywhere). The oldest group of kids --or Blue Group, as I often address them collectively-- has already been showing signs of that previously mentioned awareness (with Ju. taking off her top for the boys one day, Mel. and Jan. declaring their love for each other via colored pencils another day, etc etc). Today though, I was holding a sleepy baby in my arms when I saw G. and D. in a corner in a somewhat shocking pose. I won't be too specific, but there was straddling involved. G., the boy, was kissing the living daylights out of a giggling D., who was yelling "no, stop, no!" I was at a loss of what to do. Clearly she wasn't being hurt in any way, and she was enjoying the whole situation a great deal, but at the same time, this went against every scrap of feminism I had rattling around in me. Not to mention, hello, 6 years old.
Naturally, I tossed the baby aside, yelled at G. to get off, sat him down on a chair and lectured him about the meaning of "no." While I was yelling at G, who in reality is actually a really sweet though mischievous kid, D. was behind me, egging on Jan. and S. to kiss her. I whipped around, and saw D. being gang-kissed by three boys. "Jenny-mama!" She shouted happily through a tangle of arms and lips. "Look! I have three kissing machines!"***
What can I say. The girl knows what she wants, and how to get it. That, among other things, makes her my favorite.
***Quick side-note: D. is also a little homewrecker because moments later, Reb. was near tears, yelling at Jan. in rapid Hungarian, demanding from him an explanation for why D. is now His Girl Friday. Jan. turned to me in sheer exasperation: "I don't know what to do. I like Reb. but I ALSO like D.!"
Story of my life, kid. Ah. Young heartache.
Take this afternoon, for instance. After lunch, the kids who don't nap usually stay in the playing room and... play. Most days, I stay with them and try to keep at bay the madness that is inevitably bound to explode whenever more than a dozen children are gathered in a living room-sized space (at the end of free-play, the room really does look like a war zone, or as if KB Toys projectile vomited everywhere). The oldest group of kids --or Blue Group, as I often address them collectively-- has already been showing signs of that previously mentioned awareness (with Ju. taking off her top for the boys one day, Mel. and Jan. declaring their love for each other via colored pencils another day, etc etc). Today though, I was holding a sleepy baby in my arms when I saw G. and D. in a corner in a somewhat shocking pose. I won't be too specific, but there was straddling involved. G., the boy, was kissing the living daylights out of a giggling D., who was yelling "no, stop, no!" I was at a loss of what to do. Clearly she wasn't being hurt in any way, and she was enjoying the whole situation a great deal, but at the same time, this went against every scrap of feminism I had rattling around in me. Not to mention, hello, 6 years old.
Naturally, I tossed the baby aside, yelled at G. to get off, sat him down on a chair and lectured him about the meaning of "no." While I was yelling at G, who in reality is actually a really sweet though mischievous kid, D. was behind me, egging on Jan. and S. to kiss her. I whipped around, and saw D. being gang-kissed by three boys. "Jenny-mama!" She shouted happily through a tangle of arms and lips. "Look! I have three kissing machines!"***
What can I say. The girl knows what she wants, and how to get it. That, among other things, makes her my favorite.
***Quick side-note: D. is also a little homewrecker because moments later, Reb. was near tears, yelling at Jan. in rapid Hungarian, demanding from him an explanation for why D. is now His Girl Friday. Jan. turned to me in sheer exasperation: "I don't know what to do. I like Reb. but I ALSO like D.!"
Story of my life, kid. Ah. Young heartache.
Friday, May 1, 2009
www.overheardinbudapest.com
One of the things I mess up regularly in Hungary is avoiding being That Obnoxious Foreigner. As in, I walk around the streets of Budapest, speaking English loudly without censoring myself or lowering my voice, because, hey, I'm in fuckin' Hungary! Nobody understands me anyway, right!?!?!
Well, one of my favorite things is overhearing other English-speaking foreigners make the same mistake, and listening in on their conversations. Creepy? Maybe. Hilarious? Always. Take tonight, for example, as I was walking from Deak ter to the Bazilika, trying to make myself as unobtrusive and un-attackable as possible, seeing as it was after midnight. On the other side of the cobblestone promenade walked three young men (of mediocre to passable looks, in case you were wondering, and you were, so don't even pretend), talking loudly in what could only be the dear Queen's own English. My ears perked up, as they always do at this comforting sound, and I began to listen in on their conversation, which was quite loud (they probably thought they were alone, and were probably quite trashed). I caught only snippets, but it went along the following lines:
"Yeah then she showed me her something something."
Guffawing approval from friend.
"Then she made me touch her stomach something something, and said 'can you believe
I've had three kids?'"
Exclamatory phrase by other friend.
"In the end, though, I only paid 15 for the whole thing, and she only gave me [censored]."
This was followed by the second friend recounting a similar, more expensive rendezvous, with what I could only hope, for his sake, a more satisfactory set of results.
At this point, one of them looked over, and saw me walking across the street, dragging my dropped jaw behind me. They then quickly lowered their voices, snickering their English snickers, which are much more refined than American snickers don't you know (even though they use Women of the Night, just like any red-blooded man).
I was mostly just a)impressed at the woman's sass and b)hoping that the man usually used protection when obtaining, er, services.
Well, one of my favorite things is overhearing other English-speaking foreigners make the same mistake, and listening in on their conversations. Creepy? Maybe. Hilarious? Always. Take tonight, for example, as I was walking from Deak ter to the Bazilika, trying to make myself as unobtrusive and un-attackable as possible, seeing as it was after midnight. On the other side of the cobblestone promenade walked three young men (of mediocre to passable looks, in case you were wondering, and you were, so don't even pretend), talking loudly in what could only be the dear Queen's own English. My ears perked up, as they always do at this comforting sound, and I began to listen in on their conversation, which was quite loud (they probably thought they were alone, and were probably quite trashed). I caught only snippets, but it went along the following lines:
"Yeah then she showed me her something something."
Guffawing approval from friend.
"Then she made me touch her stomach something something, and said 'can you believe
I've had three kids?'"
Exclamatory phrase by other friend.
"In the end, though, I only paid 15 for the whole thing, and she only gave me [censored]."
This was followed by the second friend recounting a similar, more expensive rendezvous, with what I could only hope, for his sake, a more satisfactory set of results.
At this point, one of them looked over, and saw me walking across the street, dragging my dropped jaw behind me. They then quickly lowered their voices, snickering their English snickers, which are much more refined than American snickers don't you know (even though they use Women of the Night, just like any red-blooded man).
I was mostly just a)impressed at the woman's sass and b)hoping that the man usually used protection when obtaining, er, services.
"Apparently, you just... run."
So I've been trying to run on a set schedule lately, and I have even managed keep it up on a weekly basis, more less, which is kind of incredible. I've always despised running. I thought it was the stupidest form of exercise imaginable. And yet, here, in Budapest, I have been able to maintain some kind of regimen, mainly because I have nothing else to do other than stay in and read. Also, the weather lately has been consistently magnificent, almost on par with San Francisco. Cloudless sunny skies, mid-70s, a caressing river breeze. Daily weather perfection. To stay indoors would be a sin. And so... I run.
My usual route takes me out of my house, across the Chain Bridge, up and around the busy rotary, up the hill to the Castle District, then through the Gate to Vienna down the other side. I could sit and marvel at the panorama at the top of the hill for hours, but I make myself run back home. Sometimes if I'm feeling particularly disinclined to keep running, I stop by the herbal garden between the Fisherman's Bastion and the Funicular, and stoop down to figure out the herbs, and rub their leaves between my hands. When I get home, I can still smell the verbena and lavender on my fingertips.
My usual route takes me out of my house, across the Chain Bridge, up and around the busy rotary, up the hill to the Castle District, then through the Gate to Vienna down the other side. I could sit and marvel at the panorama at the top of the hill for hours, but I make myself run back home. Sometimes if I'm feeling particularly disinclined to keep running, I stop by the herbal garden between the Fisherman's Bastion and the Funicular, and stoop down to figure out the herbs, and rub their leaves between my hands. When I get home, I can still smell the verbena and lavender on my fingertips.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Berlin: this is long and I am sorry.
Coming back to the blogosphere from a three-week hiatus is a bit more difficult than I imagined. I keep constructing posts in my head, thinking and re-thinking what I should write about, not because I'm terribly worried about my audience, if I even have any, but rather because I'm of the belief that not only do thoughts shape writing, but writing also shapes thoughts. Meaning, once I write about something, be it my trip to Berlin, the heartache of separation from my love, the brilliant Budapest spring, or my horrid, life-sucking 12th graders, it's going to make me re-evaluate whatever I was thinking before I wrote about it. And I'm not sure I'm ready to re-evaluate. Maybe just one thing at a time then, and maybe by the end of this week, I'll be all caught up.
And so! Katie and Danny came to visit me in Budapest, and then we went to Berlin via bus. I've said this before, but it really is a wonderful thing to share Budapest with home friends. It almost reassures me of the rightness I feel in being here in this city, and the decisions I've been making or thinking about making. Also, being with old friends is one of the best mood pick-me-ups on this green earth. But, anyways, onwards to Berlin. Berlin -- if I believed in love at first sight, and if it could apply to cities, which I think it can, then I can safely say I had stars in my eyes the entire time I was there. Walking around the streets was simultaneously the most chilling and the most exhilarating thing I've experienced. On one hand, the city breathes life into whoever is in it, you can't even help it. Vibrant doesn't really do it justice. It feels young and it moves and changes in front of your eyes. it's a bit hard to explain, but everything about it, the food, the people, the museums, the buildings make you want to do something daring and spontaneous.
On the other hand, its history, which Berliners display in almost a profusely apologetic way (and I mean, hi, duh!), just gives you the creeps. Walking up to the Wall, crossing and recrossing the perimeter of it several times a day, realizing that your location 100 meters to the left or right could mean living in freedom or a soft dictatorship... This wall, so arbitrarily drawn up and so much lower and thinner than what I'd imagined, just grabbed me inside. I felt dirty, disgusted with humanity. More than anything, it made me realize the magnitude of destruction that was everywhere here only one or two generations ago.
We also went to a house in which a German hid many blind and handicapped Jews. It's hard to explain this feeling I got, looking around me and reading the stories of families ripped apart by hate and fear; being there, looking at a little girl's drawings of her camp, I felt so strange and just... full of nothing. On one hand I think anyone can understand the disgust and horror, just on a basic human level. Yet that afternoon in this tiny, out of the way museum, I don't think I ever felt more "Jewish," whatever that means. But then, I looked around me again, and despite this, I took in the place I was standing. This guy, Otto Weidt, a real cool cat, hid close to 50 people in this brush factory (see picture below) and other places all round the city, thus saving the lives of people he knew nothing about, for no other reason than that they were fellow human beings.
I don't think science of any kind (Social science! What a concept!) will ever be able to qualify why people do what they do, or why this much ugliness and beauty can exist side by side, sometimes even within the same person, but I walked out into the little alleyway of the museum, turned right onto Hackerscher Markt with its colorful stands of clothes, jewelery, food, knickknacks, all the other useless things people fill their suitcases with, breathing in the river water, the lindens, the burnt sugar, and
I felt sad. Not a despairing sad, an empty sad, but that sad you feel when you find a really old drawing you did when you were little, or when you have to leave home for a trip. That sad you feel only when you're replete with the happiness of day to day. As my buddy e. e. would say, "Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and sitting down."
To summarize: Berlin is ballin'. Go there now, and take me with you.
And so! Katie and Danny came to visit me in Budapest, and then we went to Berlin via bus. I've said this before, but it really is a wonderful thing to share Budapest with home friends. It almost reassures me of the rightness I feel in being here in this city, and the decisions I've been making or thinking about making. Also, being with old friends is one of the best mood pick-me-ups on this green earth. But, anyways, onwards to Berlin. Berlin -- if I believed in love at first sight, and if it could apply to cities, which I think it can, then I can safely say I had stars in my eyes the entire time I was there. Walking around the streets was simultaneously the most chilling and the most exhilarating thing I've experienced. On one hand, the city breathes life into whoever is in it, you can't even help it. Vibrant doesn't really do it justice. It feels young and it moves and changes in front of your eyes. it's a bit hard to explain, but everything about it, the food, the people, the museums, the buildings make you want to do something daring and spontaneous. 
On the other hand, its history, which Berliners display in almost a profusely apologetic way (and I mean, hi, duh!), just gives you the creeps. Walking up to the Wall, crossing and recrossing the perimeter of it several times a day, realizing that your location 100 meters to the left or right could mean living in freedom or a soft dictatorship... This wall, so arbitrarily drawn up and so much lower and thinner than what I'd imagined, just grabbed me inside. I felt dirty, disgusted with humanity. More than anything, it made me realize the magnitude of destruction that was everywhere here only one or two generations ago.We also went to a house in which a German hid many blind and handicapped Jews. It's hard to explain this feeling I got, looking around me and reading the stories of families ripped apart by hate and fear; being there, looking at a little girl's drawings of her camp, I felt so strange and just... full of nothing. On one hand I think anyone can understand the disgust and horror, just on a basic human level. Yet that afternoon in this tiny, out of the way museum, I don't think I ever felt more "Jewish," whatever that means. But then, I looked around me again, and despite this, I took in the place I was standing. This guy, Otto Weidt, a real cool cat, hid close to 50 people in this brush factory (see picture below) and other places all round the city, thus saving the lives of people he knew nothing about, for no other reason than that they were fellow human beings.
I don't think science of any kind (Social science! What a concept!) will ever be able to qualify why people do what they do, or why this much ugliness and beauty can exist side by side, sometimes even within the same person, but I walked out into the little alleyway of the museum, turned right onto Hackerscher Markt with its colorful stands of clothes, jewelery, food, knickknacks, all the other useless things people fill their suitcases with, breathing in the river water, the lindens, the burnt sugar, and
I felt sad. Not a despairing sad, an empty sad, but that sad you feel when you find a really old drawing you did when you were little, or when you have to leave home for a trip. That sad you feel only when you're replete with the happiness of day to day. As my buddy e. e. would say, "Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and sitting down."
To summarize: Berlin is ballin'. Go there now, and take me with you.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
I went to Hungary and all I got was this lousy old-timey disease!
Yep. I have Scarlet Fever, folks. Good job, Hungary, for being in 1905. Anachronistically enough, they also had some penicillin lying around a dusty corner, so I should (?!) be right as rain in a few days.
Here's some pictures of my scarlatina!
"I told you not to hold that Hummel baby" -Meredith
Here's some pictures of my scarlatina!
"I told you not to hold that Hummel baby" -Meredith
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Breaking news: Happy campers found in Budapest, investigation pending.
It was 80 degrees and sunny out today, so Ashley and Eliza and I went down to City Park to catch some much-needed vitamin D and enjoy the sheer whimsy, nay, near lackadaisical behavior that Hungarians were exhibiting under the cloudless sky. People were laughing out loud, making eye contact with strangers, dancing around spontaneously, whistling without the intention of selling you knives or souvenirs... It didn't feel like Budapest, even. Everyone seemed... what's the word I'm looking for? Ah, yes. Happy.
Last night we also went to a real Hungarian party, with people our age. They were a bit confused as to why we were there, seeing it was a birthday party, and the twenty or so guests were all relatively close friends. Our connection was the birthday boy's girlfriend's sister. It was interesting to observe and listen to real Hungarians talk. By real, I mean speech that isn't commercial or official, nor corrupted by teenage noxiousness or childish mispronunciation. Hungarian, I finally noticed, is beautiful and melodic, despite it being so monotonous.
Unfortunately, I caught a fever and sore throat at the kindergarten, and the rest of my weekend is looking to be indoor-bound. This entry is being written in the small window of lucidity I managed to catch, thanks to Advil, and my temperature is finally down to 99.5, which is far more reasonable than 100.2, what it was three hours ago.
Sorry, this is probably mundane. Bye.
PS. They're setting up a movie set on my street, in front of Parliament! It seems to be some kind of 1970s period piece set in the Ukraine, of all things, judging from the flags they've hung and the old cars they brought in. It's been causing quite a kerfuffle among the taxi community by the metro, not to mention an upheaval to the daily routine of Jingles*, the homeless man who lives under the metro breezeway.
*I call him that because he sings out loud and dances around with his iPod (yes, I said iPod!). He often accosts passers-by and asks them to sing popular music with him.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Big Life Questions: 101 ways to bore your readers!
Spring is here, truly truly here, I think. It was absolutely beautiful the past couple of days (disregarding the requisite daily blizzard, in typical Hungarian fashion).
The city is so different when it's warm and sunny, the transformation is a bit shocking. I went for a run along the river on Sunday morning, and even though it was gray and drizzling, somehow the air seemed to vibrate differently; it had undercurrents of something warm, light, hopeful. In short, spring. I ran all the way to Arpad Bridge, which is about 2 miles, then I ran back, the exact same way. That side of the river is just too nice to give up for the sake of change.
This time last year I was driven to a happy, mad-scientist kind of distraction by my senior thesis, while simultaneously being dragged down to the pits of despair by thinking about my future. Now I'm in a different country, teaching English language, of all things. The weird concept I'm trying to get adjusted to is that this is that implausible, nebulous post-college future. I feel differently about it day to day. Sometimes it feels like I've emerged out of a wide cavern into the light, the sun warm on my face, with the path right there, unassuming and solid. Other times it feels like I got out of bed to go to work, and the heat is off in the house, and I've already missed my bus. Missed opportunities, terror, etc etc.
I've managed to stave off "reality" for another ten-twelve months, though so far it feels bitterly real. If this isn't reality, I'm not sure what would earn that title. When do I cross that line? Did I already cross it when I flipped my tassel to the other side? Did I cross it when I flew over the ocean to Budapest? Will I cross it when I make my "real" life plan? This is my own personal, Central European hajj, so shouldn't I be coming to some cataclysmic discovery? I know, I know. Let go of that crap. I'm trying. But this is what I do/like best: splitting atoms.
On a more serious note, my couch smells like dog. It didn't smell like dog this morning. It's probably fine.
The city is so different when it's warm and sunny, the transformation is a bit shocking. I went for a run along the river on Sunday morning, and even though it was gray and drizzling, somehow the air seemed to vibrate differently; it had undercurrents of something warm, light, hopeful. In short, spring. I ran all the way to Arpad Bridge, which is about 2 miles, then I ran back, the exact same way. That side of the river is just too nice to give up for the sake of change.
This time last year I was driven to a happy, mad-scientist kind of distraction by my senior thesis, while simultaneously being dragged down to the pits of despair by thinking about my future. Now I'm in a different country, teaching English language, of all things. The weird concept I'm trying to get adjusted to is that this is that implausible, nebulous post-college future. I feel differently about it day to day. Sometimes it feels like I've emerged out of a wide cavern into the light, the sun warm on my face, with the path right there, unassuming and solid. Other times it feels like I got out of bed to go to work, and the heat is off in the house, and I've already missed my bus. Missed opportunities, terror, etc etc.
I've managed to stave off "reality" for another ten-twelve months, though so far it feels bitterly real. If this isn't reality, I'm not sure what would earn that title. When do I cross that line? Did I already cross it when I flipped my tassel to the other side? Did I cross it when I flew over the ocean to Budapest? Will I cross it when I make my "real" life plan? This is my own personal, Central European hajj, so shouldn't I be coming to some cataclysmic discovery? I know, I know. Let go of that crap. I'm trying. But this is what I do/like best: splitting atoms.
On a more serious note, my couch smells like dog. It didn't smell like dog this morning. It's probably fine.
Friday, March 27, 2009
They always come back...
I haven't posted in two weeks, maybe more, so no better time than the present. A brief catch-up is in order:
1) Michael, Annalynne, Ben and Sara came to visit. That. Was. Amazing. It was quite a strange sensation, sharing this city, this country, with them; since I had been going through this experience in relative isolation, trying to describe it via blog or Skype didn't quite capture the reality here. Having people from home actually come and see this place, showing them all the awesomeness, laughing at the absurdities with them made it feel more real for me. The hardest part, of course, was saying goodbye, but them's the breaks. Those things are never long enough.
2) My first real translation work (D. Rubina's "Adam and Miriam") was met with much enthusiasm by the author herself, who sent it to other translators and a literary agent, and this story may be featured in the New Yorker, of all things. She said the translation was "very American," which I hope was a compliment and which I find very ironic, given my status in said country. In any case, I am really excited that something I really enjoy overlaps with something I'm good at doing.
3) Looking forward to visits by Katie and Danny in April, then Anna in May. Anyone want to visit in June, come on down. My bed fits three quite cozily ("A bed for lovers," my program director called it).
4) Writing my favorite professor/thesis advisor a Letter of Recommendation for a Teaching Award. Mayhap this will give me a leg up when I apply to UMass next year. Fingers crossed, all.
5) There's a five-day sunny streak coming up next week. ENOUGH SAID.
I'm sure there's more, but daylight savings is nigh, and just thinking about changing the clock one hour ahead is making me sleepy. Jo eszakat, one and all.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Word Muesli and March 15
My Stack of Ungraded Assignments is metastasizing on my desk like a hairy mole on an old man's scalp. Some of it is a month (a month!) old. It's not my fault, though, truly. Every time I assign something to my classes, about 70%, nay, 90% will forget to bring it in the first week around, making me wait another week to get the majority of their papers, then another week so that I can hand them back all at once.
The root of it all, the crux (what an awesome word), is that they -- how do I say this eloquently? -- don't give a flying frenulum about me or my class. Surely, you might cry, you can make them care by giving them grades? Alas, gentle reader, no. My grade is "combined" with the grade of the OTHER English teacher, the not-conversational one; that is to say, even if they behave like rabid monkeys (and they do, by the Hammer of Thor), they can still get a decent grade through the grammar-focused English classes they have. Luckily, my colleagues seem very reasonable, and have been nothing but helpful.
On a lighter (or graver?) note, this weekend is the National Day for Hungary, celebrating Hungarian... nationalism. It's actually a bit difficult to pinpoint what they're celebrating, since they haven't had much luck revolting against ANY of the foreign powers that have come, conquered, and re-conquered this place. March 15, 1848 was the day Hungary started a revolution against the Hapsburg Hemophiliacs (I kid,I kid, I'm sure there wasn't ANY inbreeding on the AUSTRIAN side...), which failed, though it weakened the Austrian powers until they finally tumbled down at the end of the 19th century, leaving Hungary to enjoy unfettered-ness for, like, five seconds, before being seized by the Nazis then the Soviets.* And they aren't exactly all there now, either. To phrase it in the words of 11th grade Attila: "Hungary is very much in the shits."
ANYHOOS, the high-school kids and the teachers were all dressed in black and white with Hungarian pins on their lapels, and it was all very interesting and somber. What amazed me most of all was the pride, the fierce love Hungarians have for Hungary, in spite of, and maybe even because of the fact that the government, the economy, health care, everything, is in the shitter (I mean truly in the toilet; America, by comparison, is enjoying a Tropical Punch CapriSun at a family picnic five miles away from said shitter).
It's damn near impossible to find a Hungarian who approves of the government, or thinks that things are great the way they are. Some Hungarians have told me despair is quite tangible here, and yet, they're still here somehow, and they still wave their Hungarian flags in earnest rather than as lip service. To me, that is patriotism. Acknowledging the faults of your country and loving it in spite of them. That is a demonstration of hope, and the only way a country can change itself for its people (thank you very much, Rush "Grotesque" Limbaugh).
I never realized until I left that I love America to tears.
*If any history is wrong, feel free to correct me.
The root of it all, the crux (what an awesome word), is that they -- how do I say this eloquently? -- don't give a flying frenulum about me or my class. Surely, you might cry, you can make them care by giving them grades? Alas, gentle reader, no. My grade is "combined" with the grade of the OTHER English teacher, the not-conversational one; that is to say, even if they behave like rabid monkeys (and they do, by the Hammer of Thor), they can still get a decent grade through the grammar-focused English classes they have. Luckily, my colleagues seem very reasonable, and have been nothing but helpful.
On a lighter (or graver?) note, this weekend is the National Day for Hungary, celebrating Hungarian... nationalism. It's actually a bit difficult to pinpoint what they're celebrating, since they haven't had much luck revolting against ANY of the foreign powers that have come, conquered, and re-conquered this place. March 15, 1848 was the day Hungary started a revolution against the Hapsburg Hemophiliacs (I kid,I kid, I'm sure there wasn't ANY inbreeding on the AUSTRIAN side...), which failed, though it weakened the Austrian powers until they finally tumbled down at the end of the 19th century, leaving Hungary to enjoy unfettered-ness for, like, five seconds, before being seized by the Nazis then the Soviets.* And they aren't exactly all there now, either. To phrase it in the words of 11th grade Attila: "Hungary is very much in the shits."
ANYHOOS, the high-school kids and the teachers were all dressed in black and white with Hungarian pins on their lapels, and it was all very interesting and somber. What amazed me most of all was the pride, the fierce love Hungarians have for Hungary, in spite of, and maybe even because of the fact that the government, the economy, health care, everything, is in the shitter (I mean truly in the toilet; America, by comparison, is enjoying a Tropical Punch CapriSun at a family picnic five miles away from said shitter).
It's damn near impossible to find a Hungarian who approves of the government, or thinks that things are great the way they are. Some Hungarians have told me despair is quite tangible here, and yet, they're still here somehow, and they still wave their Hungarian flags in earnest rather than as lip service. To me, that is patriotism. Acknowledging the faults of your country and loving it in spite of them. That is a demonstration of hope, and the only way a country can change itself for its people (thank you very much, Rush "Grotesque" Limbaugh).
I never realized until I left that I love America to tears.
*If any history is wrong, feel free to correct me.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
iGoogle word of the day
stridulate (verb) To produce a shrill grating, chirping, or hissing sound by rubbing body parts together, as certain insects do.
Synonyms: clitter
Usage: The meadow was filled with the sound of countless unseen grasshoppers stridulating in unison.
Is it just me or is that totally awkward??
Synonyms: clitter
Usage: The meadow was filled with the sound of countless unseen grasshoppers stridulating in unison.
Is it just me or is that totally awkward??
Friday, March 6, 2009
The Sunny Side of the Utca
So today Budapest received its weekly ration of sunlight, which lasted for a good 6 hours. In fact, I didn't even need to turn my lights on when I came home from work, and simply let the blue and gold of the sunset seep through the diaphanous curtains. It's amazing what a little vitamin D can do for one's soul.
In fact, I reread a few of my earlier entries and it seemed to me that many of them could be construed as discontented or grumpy. This would be an inaccurate and unfair summary of my life in Hungary so far. Of course, the challenges of my job and knowing I won't see anyone I love back home for many more months-- those get me down. Lately in particular, and I suspect that the absence of sun is a strong factor in this. And yet, unfailingly, every day something amazing or interesting or funny happens to me, and I can't believe I am where I am, living out this part of my life. So, inspired by Lauren's "sunspots," I, too, have decided to put down the many things that make me smile:
My beautiful kids. I've said all the important things about them already, but just the feeling of looking forward to going into work, even though I want to throttle them most of the time (even my favorites -- especially my favorites), is an incredible feeling.
Teaching high school. This has been a curiously rewarding thing. Tonight, for example, I was busy grading my 12th graders' "hobbies and pass-times" quiz, and some of their responses were absolutely amazing. Berci's (one of my faves') definition of "to sew": "It's a woman's hobby!! She can sew a T-shirt." Trying to explain "to catch (fish, butterflies, etc)," he philosophically observes that "this hobby is for boring boys and girls. I don't like fishing, it is too long to catch one if you don't have luck." Too true, my friend. Of the same word, Kata said it means "the butterflies is fly and you catch with your hand." This last one reminded me of your kids, Hanna, and likewise melted the dreariness away. There were a lot of other good ones, but you get it. Too cute.
Hungarian interjections. If you hear me muttering "Oj joj" (pr. Oy-yoy) under my breath in exasperation when I come back to the States, don't be alarmed. Thank me, actually, because it's one hell of a useful expression. It's the rough equivalent to "oh dear," but also so much more. It can mean "Well, aren't you fancy!" and "Chase me around the room!" and "Really!?". There is also "HAH-hoh!", which translates to the American "HELLO!", when one is trying to get one's attention. "Chah" is also a good one, and signifies a casual form of greeting between close/familiar people.
Princess. This is a pastry chain (as ubiquitous as Dunkins back home), and you'll be hard-pressed not to find one at every metro stop. If you must know anything about me, know that I have an unbridled, irrational passion for pastries. If ever found in an extreme enough situation, I would kill for a fresh-baked croissant. Luckily, the Hungarians feel the same way and have been magnificently cooperative.
There are many more things I enjoy, and want to dedicate whole entries to, so you'll have to wait and see. For now though, enjoy the sunshine and warmth, which seem to be bestowing their presence across the globe.
In fact, I reread a few of my earlier entries and it seemed to me that many of them could be construed as discontented or grumpy. This would be an inaccurate and unfair summary of my life in Hungary so far. Of course, the challenges of my job and knowing I won't see anyone I love back home for many more months-- those get me down. Lately in particular, and I suspect that the absence of sun is a strong factor in this. And yet, unfailingly, every day something amazing or interesting or funny happens to me, and I can't believe I am where I am, living out this part of my life. So, inspired by Lauren's "sunspots," I, too, have decided to put down the many things that make me smile:
My beautiful kids. I've said all the important things about them already, but just the feeling of looking forward to going into work, even though I want to throttle them most of the time (even my favorites -- especially my favorites), is an incredible feeling.
Teaching high school. This has been a curiously rewarding thing. Tonight, for example, I was busy grading my 12th graders' "hobbies and pass-times" quiz, and some of their responses were absolutely amazing. Berci's (one of my faves') definition of "to sew": "It's a woman's hobby!! She can sew a T-shirt." Trying to explain "to catch (fish, butterflies, etc)," he philosophically observes that "this hobby is for boring boys and girls. I don't like fishing, it is too long to catch one if you don't have luck." Too true, my friend. Of the same word, Kata said it means "the butterflies is fly and you catch with your hand." This last one reminded me of your kids, Hanna, and likewise melted the dreariness away. There were a lot of other good ones, but you get it. Too cute.
Hungarian interjections. If you hear me muttering "Oj joj" (pr. Oy-yoy) under my breath in exasperation when I come back to the States, don't be alarmed. Thank me, actually, because it's one hell of a useful expression. It's the rough equivalent to "oh dear," but also so much more. It can mean "Well, aren't you fancy!" and "Chase me around the room!" and "Really!?". There is also "HAH-hoh!", which translates to the American "HELLO!", when one is trying to get one's attention. "Chah" is also a good one, and signifies a casual form of greeting between close/familiar people.
Princess. This is a pastry chain (as ubiquitous as Dunkins back home), and you'll be hard-pressed not to find one at every metro stop. If you must know anything about me, know that I have an unbridled, irrational passion for pastries. If ever found in an extreme enough situation, I would kill for a fresh-baked croissant. Luckily, the Hungarians feel the same way and have been magnificently cooperative.
There are many more things I enjoy, and want to dedicate whole entries to, so you'll have to wait and see. For now though, enjoy the sunshine and warmth, which seem to be bestowing their presence across the globe.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Lingua Franca?! Who needs you.
I'm sitting in Coffee Heaven right now, and on one side, I'm listening to a giant group of young people speaking English, Spanish, German, and Russian to each other, while to the left, I'm eavesdropping on a Hebrew student and her Israeli tutor discussing the weather.
Thank you, Europe. I am so happy to be where I am.
Thank you, Europe. I am so happy to be where I am.
Friday, February 27, 2009
How Julie and I won the Pulitzer
I was going through some of my old writing documents, and I found this little gem. This poem was co-written by Julie and me the night Michael and Spozo were inducted into the Mug Club at the Moan and Dove (which I miss/crave to tears; scratch that -- I just miss good beer, period. The beer here? Nem freakin' jo. Sorry. I just call 'em like I see 'em.). We wrote this for them to read at the "induction ceremony," but neither one wanted to, for some totally inexplicable reason.
Untitled
(subtitle: the long menu of belgian beers is very overwhelming)
The hardest wood, the tallest man
Deep cherry, stained and polished
Soft cotton wipes away the watermark.
Peanut shells, working man's debris
clink
One time we saw a mouse here.
You're welcome, world.
Untitled
(subtitle: the long menu of belgian beers is very overwhelming)
The hardest wood, the tallest man
Deep cherry, stained and polished
Soft cotton wipes away the watermark.
Peanut shells, working man's debris
clink
One time we saw a mouse here.
You're welcome, world.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Jenny: 1, Hungary: 0.
I think someone made a bet about me on the metro this morning. I had my headphones in, leaning up against the doors of the train car (what? Jenny is fun-sized and can't reach the little hand-holder things overhead), and I should also mention that I had my Hungarian face on, meaning I was staring at the ground aloofly and a little grumpily. Suddenly I noticed three high-school guys, all huddled up in a corner and talking to each other in Hungarian, then, unmistakably, looking up at me every minute or so and snickering. I was puzzled, of course. I naturally went through the mental checklist I have for looking like a relatively sane person: was my hair sticking out? Did I have toilet paper on my shoe? Was there salami on my face? Good God, the mirror, Humphrey, now!
Now, before I go on, I should mention that every Budapestian who rides the third metro line knows that Dózsa György is the stop where the platforms are reversed and the doors open on the opposite side than you expected. I have been burned by this before (possibly every day for the first two weeks), and have learned not to fall out of the train by either using the hand-supports from the ceiling or just paying attention and moving to the other side of the train when it comes to the said stop. SO, The train pulled up to the Dózsa György platform, and I, still puzzling over my appearance, stepped away from the doors and let people pass me by as I scrunched myself up against the other side of the car. Curious, I looked over at the hoodlums and saw one youth giving the other a 500 ft bill, the former looking at me with disappointment as the latter tucked his prize in his wallet with evident satisfaction.
Now, I was piecing the whole thing in my mind during my first period class (I need as much mental space from those students as possible), and it hit me. They were betting on me to fall out. Well, István/Attila/Bence, put THAT in your pipe and smoke it. I managed NOT to embarrass myself in Hungary for a full day. If that doesn't deserve a pastry from Princess, I don't know what does.
Now, before I go on, I should mention that every Budapestian who rides the third metro line knows that Dózsa György is the stop where the platforms are reversed and the doors open on the opposite side than you expected. I have been burned by this before (possibly every day for the first two weeks), and have learned not to fall out of the train by either using the hand-supports from the ceiling or just paying attention and moving to the other side of the train when it comes to the said stop. SO, The train pulled up to the Dózsa György platform, and I, still puzzling over my appearance, stepped away from the doors and let people pass me by as I scrunched myself up against the other side of the car. Curious, I looked over at the hoodlums and saw one youth giving the other a 500 ft bill, the former looking at me with disappointment as the latter tucked his prize in his wallet with evident satisfaction.
Now, I was piecing the whole thing in my mind during my first period class (I need as much mental space from those students as possible), and it hit me. They were betting on me to fall out. Well, István/Attila/Bence, put THAT in your pipe and smoke it. I managed NOT to embarrass myself in Hungary for a full day. If that doesn't deserve a pastry from Princess, I don't know what does.
Friday, February 20, 2009
More like Neo-Cit-wrong
When I first got here, people told me, "get ready to be sick a lot, and never really get better." I consider myself to have a fairly strong constitution, so that didn't worry me much. How bad could it really be, right? I mean, we're in a developed country, there's modern medicine and hospitals. Once again, I forgot that I was in Hungary, where things that ought to be easy aren't easy, and things that are difficult are damn near impossible. Well, I just got over a three-week cold, and I use the term "over" loosely. My throat still hurts and I still cough constantly, and the best anyone can offer is this lemon powder crap called "Neo-Citran," which, judging from the ingredients, is no more than vitamin C with sugar. You're supposed to mix it with your tea or some hot water. I thank God for whoever invented Ibuprofen, because it was the only thing holding me together the last week. Naturally, they don't have it here. I honestly don't know what they do on a day-to-day basis. Was that really Annoying-American just now? Probably. I don't care, I call a horse by its true colors (??).
In other news, Budapest has experienced its first real snow of the season. On my morning walk to the Metro, I found the Parliament gloriously sprinkled with snow, and it looked quite nice with the blue skies. To find the sky blue, not gray, was also an unusual and happy turn of events, so I decided to document it.
We're talking real snow here, at least 3 inches, and it actually stays on the ground and doesn't melt! Everyone was so excited about it that we even had extra garden time at the kindergarten all week to play in sub-zero temperature and poke at icy packed snow with little shovels. I sound cynical but it really is fun.
I haven't written about work much yet, mainly because I hoped that 1.5 months in I would sound more cheerful about it, but alas, it's definitely a mixed bag of tricks, many of them not the fun kind. I should start by saying that my kindergartners, though very mischievous, are absolutely amazing kids. I already love them as if they were my babies.
There's about 35 of them, and they range from 2 to 7 years old. Of course I have my favorites, but they are all (okay, with one or two exceptions) funny, clever, amazingly sweet, and they all look like they could be in Welch's juice commercials. If it wasn't for my bitch of a boss, this job would be perfect. I look forward to every day there, because I walk in the door, and they smile at me, and hug and kiss me, and that feeling of gratification is so indescribable and sweet, it's worth going through my mornings at the high school just for that.
As for the high school... it's a toughie. I teach 14 different classes of 9th to 12th graders, each between 12 and 18 students, and I only see each class once a week, at most. It's pretty much impossible to remember their names or build any kind of rapport, especially with the 9th and 10th graders whom I only see twice a month. Many of them can't even say the most basic things in English, nor do they care to learn anything, so it's been an enormous challenge. Discipline has been next to impossible to maintain, since teachers aren't allowed to send kids out to the principal (why? why?! it makes no sense), and I've had to tell numerous students to take out their headphones or stop texting. I spend at least 60% of class time telling them to be quiet. Of course, there's only about 4 or 5 really bad classes. The rest are quite amiable, and fairly well-behaved. I even have a few students who are very gifted and actually think my presence might be useful to them. Those are the kids I come to work for, the engaging, friendly ones. I just try to remind myself that I can learn from every single student I teach, be it in a good way or a bad way, and it really helps.
Anyway, I'm still happy to be here, though I miss home terribly (and reading Little Women hasn't helped one bit! Darn it all, I'm going to Concord, Mass. first thing when I get back). I'm learning oodles of noodles about myself, my priorities, etc, and I know I couldn't do that back home.
In other news, Budapest has experienced its first real snow of the season. On my morning walk to the Metro, I found the Parliament gloriously sprinkled with snow, and it looked quite nice with the blue skies. To find the sky blue, not gray, was also an unusual and happy turn of events, so I decided to document it.
We're talking real snow here, at least 3 inches, and it actually stays on the ground and doesn't melt! Everyone was so excited about it that we even had extra garden time at the kindergarten all week to play in sub-zero temperature and poke at icy packed snow with little shovels. I sound cynical but it really is fun.
I haven't written about work much yet, mainly because I hoped that 1.5 months in I would sound more cheerful about it, but alas, it's definitely a mixed bag of tricks, many of them not the fun kind. I should start by saying that my kindergartners, though very mischievous, are absolutely amazing kids. I already love them as if they were my babies.
There's about 35 of them, and they range from 2 to 7 years old. Of course I have my favorites, but they are all (okay, with one or two exceptions) funny, clever, amazingly sweet, and they all look like they could be in Welch's juice commercials. If it wasn't for my bitch of a boss, this job would be perfect. I look forward to every day there, because I walk in the door, and they smile at me, and hug and kiss me, and that feeling of gratification is so indescribable and sweet, it's worth going through my mornings at the high school just for that.
As for the high school... it's a toughie. I teach 14 different classes of 9th to 12th graders, each between 12 and 18 students, and I only see each class once a week, at most. It's pretty much impossible to remember their names or build any kind of rapport, especially with the 9th and 10th graders whom I only see twice a month. Many of them can't even say the most basic things in English, nor do they care to learn anything, so it's been an enormous challenge. Discipline has been next to impossible to maintain, since teachers aren't allowed to send kids out to the principal (why? why?! it makes no sense), and I've had to tell numerous students to take out their headphones or stop texting. I spend at least 60% of class time telling them to be quiet. Of course, there's only about 4 or 5 really bad classes. The rest are quite amiable, and fairly well-behaved. I even have a few students who are very gifted and actually think my presence might be useful to them. Those are the kids I come to work for, the engaging, friendly ones. I just try to remind myself that I can learn from every single student I teach, be it in a good way or a bad way, and it really helps.
Anyway, I'm still happy to be here, though I miss home terribly (and reading Little Women hasn't helped one bit! Darn it all, I'm going to Concord, Mass. first thing when I get back). I'm learning oodles of noodles about myself, my priorities, etc, and I know I couldn't do that back home.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Posta Horrors
So on Monday I received a slip in the mail from the Posta (it's "Poshta," you know), and went to retrieve my package only today, Friday, not because I didn't want it -- in fact, I wanted it desperately -- but because every single person I've talked to regarding the post office, American and Hungarian, rolled their eyes in exasperation and pity. So I've sort of been dreading it, and now I know why.
The little slip of paper directed me to a branch in my district on 16 Bajcsy-Zsilinszky St, which I couldn't even find on GoogleMaps. I decided to bite the bullet and just wing it once I get off the metro, since I've been on the street before. I got redirected by nice Hungarians a few times, until I finally found Bajcsy 16, only to end up staring at what was clearly a residential courtyard and no official-looking post office in sight. A kindly, bearded Hungarian let me into the stairwell and pointed towards some snivelly-looking door by the garbage bins, which actually turned out to be the selfsame Posta. Did I think to myself, "Why is there a handwritten sign that says 'Posta' on the door? Why did I need a door code to get into a post office?" Sure, all those questions and a million more ran through my head, but I've been in this country long enough to know that when facing a situation which makes zero sense to an American and every bit of sense to a Hungarian, asking why will get you nowhere. The answer to "why" is usually "it's just Hungarian/Hungary".
So, I went to this post office, wandered around the inexplicable maze of deposit boxes and desks, until a postal worker finally walked by me briskly. I cleared my throat and said "erm, bocsanot?" and the man turned around a bit fazed. I handed him the slip. He asked me something in Hungarian, to which I shrugged and said the one full sentence I know, roughly translated to "no comprendo, pal." He looked around and asked if anyone spoke English (of course no one did), scratched his head, then wrote something down. It was all gibberish to me, natch. I shrugged again. He then pointed at the wall for some reason, quite emphatically, and I became alarmed thinking I was in some weird 'government officials only' part and the man was telling me I knew too much now. How I determined this from his gestures, I don't know. Finally, he wrote down "BAJCSY 14," just like that, in all caps, as if I were a moron, then pointed to the wall again and said, "BAZILIKA!" Understanding dawned on me, and I yelled "Ertem! Ertem!" then proceeded to make my escape to the ACTUAL post office, which was and always has been next door, across from the Basilica on 14 Bajcsy. Obviously.
The real Posta wasn't that much better, actually, and I had to do the same ridiculous non-English pantomime, but I did get my package. And Meredith, in case you're reading this, when I accepted my package and read on the front: "(1) Calendar, (3) chocolate chip cookies," I definitely started crying. I wasn't even feeling particularly homesick today or anything. I don't even know what the people at the post office must have been thinking.
Anyway, Lesson Learned About Hungary #453537846: Avoid the post office if possible.
The little slip of paper directed me to a branch in my district on 16 Bajcsy-Zsilinszky St, which I couldn't even find on GoogleMaps. I decided to bite the bullet and just wing it once I get off the metro, since I've been on the street before. I got redirected by nice Hungarians a few times, until I finally found Bajcsy 16, only to end up staring at what was clearly a residential courtyard and no official-looking post office in sight. A kindly, bearded Hungarian let me into the stairwell and pointed towards some snivelly-looking door by the garbage bins, which actually turned out to be the selfsame Posta. Did I think to myself, "Why is there a handwritten sign that says 'Posta' on the door? Why did I need a door code to get into a post office?" Sure, all those questions and a million more ran through my head, but I've been in this country long enough to know that when facing a situation which makes zero sense to an American and every bit of sense to a Hungarian, asking why will get you nowhere. The answer to "why" is usually "it's just Hungarian/Hungary".
So, I went to this post office, wandered around the inexplicable maze of deposit boxes and desks, until a postal worker finally walked by me briskly. I cleared my throat and said "erm, bocsanot?" and the man turned around a bit fazed. I handed him the slip. He asked me something in Hungarian, to which I shrugged and said the one full sentence I know, roughly translated to "no comprendo, pal." He looked around and asked if anyone spoke English (of course no one did), scratched his head, then wrote something down. It was all gibberish to me, natch. I shrugged again. He then pointed at the wall for some reason, quite emphatically, and I became alarmed thinking I was in some weird 'government officials only' part and the man was telling me I knew too much now. How I determined this from his gestures, I don't know. Finally, he wrote down "BAJCSY 14," just like that, in all caps, as if I were a moron, then pointed to the wall again and said, "BAZILIKA!" Understanding dawned on me, and I yelled "Ertem! Ertem!" then proceeded to make my escape to the ACTUAL post office, which was and always has been next door, across from the Basilica on 14 Bajcsy. Obviously.
The real Posta wasn't that much better, actually, and I had to do the same ridiculous non-English pantomime, but I did get my package. And Meredith, in case you're reading this, when I accepted my package and read on the front: "(1) Calendar, (3) chocolate chip cookies," I definitely started crying. I wasn't even feeling particularly homesick today or anything. I don't even know what the people at the post office must have been thinking.
Anyway, Lesson Learned About Hungary #453537846: Avoid the post office if possible.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Don't Know Much About US History
If you were wondering whether US history could be boiled down to a 35 minute history lesson, wonder no more. It's true, folks. When your country has less than 400 years of recorded history, only 12 dates or so seem to matter, particularly to British textbook publishers. Strangely enough, though, my 11b class (not exactly the most well-behaved bunch) seemed to be interested in what I was saying, and engaged in the novel activity of "listening to the teacher while she's talking." Although I can't be sure if it had to do with the facts themselves or my delivery-- if you've ever studied for a history exam with me, you know what I'm talking about. I, er, tend to spice things up with imaginary dialogues, wild gesticulation, and spontaneous visual aids.
Sometimes it's still amazing to me that I am back living in Europe. I went to the Budapest State Opera last weekend to see Eugene Onegin, and though I couldn't see 75% of the stage or understand 75% of the words*, I just sat up there in the balcony, looking around at the gold-leaf details on the chandelier, the mural of angels and humans dancing around the circle ceiling, the heavy brocade drapery around the gallery, and hugged myself. I basked in the history that poured from every crack. Steeped, that word comes to mind as well. As shitty and tired as I feel right now, more than anything I just feel inordinately lucky.
*If you order tickets early enough, you can "see" an opera from mezzanine-type seats for 400 HUF. That's about a buck-eighty. It's pretty much a sin not to go. For decent/good seats, you have to pounce on tickets the day they come out, and even those are about $10 or so.
Sometimes it's still amazing to me that I am back living in Europe. I went to the Budapest State Opera last weekend to see Eugene Onegin, and though I couldn't see 75% of the stage or understand 75% of the words*, I just sat up there in the balcony, looking around at the gold-leaf details on the chandelier, the mural of angels and humans dancing around the circle ceiling, the heavy brocade drapery around the gallery, and hugged myself. I basked in the history that poured from every crack. Steeped, that word comes to mind as well. As shitty and tired as I feel right now, more than anything I just feel inordinately lucky.*If you order tickets early enough, you can "see" an opera from mezzanine-type seats for 400 HUF. That's about a buck-eighty. It's pretty much a sin not to go. For decent/good seats, you have to pounce on tickets the day they come out, and even those are about $10 or so.
Friday, January 30, 2009
i think this is the first time i've ever been back so late from going out. thank you, europe, for 3:30 last call. i even managed to avoid the night bus and get the metro, which starts running at 4:30 am. the early early morning crowd is a real treat.
tonight was also the first time when I realized-- i think it hit me in the toilet stall in Szimpla, as i was looking around at all the notes left by visitors to Budapest-- that i'm really here for a while, not just passing through, and i might even feel like i belong to this city, even if only for a little bit. the birds were chirping so loudly by parliament and all over kossuth ter, and i couldn't think of a more hopeful sound.
tonight was also the first time when I realized-- i think it hit me in the toilet stall in Szimpla, as i was looking around at all the notes left by visitors to Budapest-- that i'm really here for a while, not just passing through, and i might even feel like i belong to this city, even if only for a little bit. the birds were chirping so loudly by parliament and all over kossuth ter, and i couldn't think of a more hopeful sound.
Monday, January 26, 2009
typical
Michael- "Sara said, 'haha we're so old.. you have a travel agent and I have a timeshare.' If that makes me old, then I don't want to be young."
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Budapest night bus = nem jó
Okay, so I debated not writing about this for fear of seeming like a wuss, but whatevs.
I went out to Szimpla (a "beer garden," which is as awesome as it sounds) last night with a bunch of CETPers. It was pretty chill; I got to meet a lot of other people teaching in Budapest and in the rest of the country, attach faces to stories (CETP is like a summer camp or something in that way, freakin' rife with gossip- I love it), and hear about other people's experiences here. Everything was real swell until I agreed, not too reluctantly, actually, to throw palinka into the mix (that's the national Hungarian liqueur; tastes like fruity moonshine with a laundry detergent aftertaste). About two shots and one beer in, I felt like I wanted to crawl under the table into a fetal position and die. I swear to God, that plum-juice-mixed-with-Tide enfusion gave me an ulcer. For sure. Not wanting to reveal myself as the little bitch that I was (I was representing UMass, after all), I powered through till about 1 am, sitting there with my Dreher, sober, nauseated, and exhausted, using Herculean feats of strength not to upchuck all over everyone.
When the others decided to go to another nightclub, I decided it was time to pack it in and take the "night bus." How, where, what, I didn't know. I'll spare you the sorry details, but basically, made a few laps around Deak Ter and Astoria, being directed, re-directed, and misdirected by Hungarians and foreigners alike, none of whom knew what the fuck was up with anything. The bus drivers had no desire to talk to me, and probably thought that my smudged make-up and greenish skin tint was a mark of being trashed, and the unfairness of it all made me want to up chuck more. At one point, some dickwad with a cellphone ran up to me with arms spread wide, shouting what at first I took as "PUSSY!!!!". I then remembered that "puszi" means "kiss," which wasn't a sight better, and I ran away, practically weeping and muttering "er, koszonom, but nem." So finally I caved, and I took a 1000 ft taxi ride home (that's about $5-- freakin' worth every penny.)
Note to self- figure out transport prior to leaving house. Not being prepared= definitely nem jó.
I went out to Szimpla (a "beer garden," which is as awesome as it sounds) last night with a bunch of CETPers. It was pretty chill; I got to meet a lot of other people teaching in Budapest and in the rest of the country, attach faces to stories (CETP is like a summer camp or something in that way, freakin' rife with gossip- I love it), and hear about other people's experiences here. Everything was real swell until I agreed, not too reluctantly, actually, to throw palinka into the mix (that's the national Hungarian liqueur; tastes like fruity moonshine with a laundry detergent aftertaste). About two shots and one beer in, I felt like I wanted to crawl under the table into a fetal position and die. I swear to God, that plum-juice-mixed-with-Tide enfusion gave me an ulcer. For sure. Not wanting to reveal myself as the little bitch that I was (I was representing UMass, after all), I powered through till about 1 am, sitting there with my Dreher, sober, nauseated, and exhausted, using Herculean feats of strength not to upchuck all over everyone.
When the others decided to go to another nightclub, I decided it was time to pack it in and take the "night bus." How, where, what, I didn't know. I'll spare you the sorry details, but basically, made a few laps around Deak Ter and Astoria, being directed, re-directed, and misdirected by Hungarians and foreigners alike, none of whom knew what the fuck was up with anything. The bus drivers had no desire to talk to me, and probably thought that my smudged make-up and greenish skin tint was a mark of being trashed, and the unfairness of it all made me want to up chuck more. At one point, some dickwad with a cellphone ran up to me with arms spread wide, shouting what at first I took as "PUSSY!!!!". I then remembered that "puszi" means "kiss," which wasn't a sight better, and I ran away, practically weeping and muttering "er, koszonom, but nem." So finally I caved, and I took a 1000 ft taxi ride home (that's about $5-- freakin' worth every penny.)
Note to self- figure out transport prior to leaving house. Not being prepared= definitely nem jó.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Highlights from Hungary
I'm now sitting in a Burger King by Oktogon where I can get unlimited free internet for the price of a Whopper and a water bottle (which is about $5, in case you were wondering). I'm not buying anything next time.
Orientation came and went, more or less. It was fun and tiring at the same time, and I was really glad to move into my own flat. The strangest part, of course, will be living completely by myself, which I have never done nor had the desire to do, though the apartment is small enough that the lack of another human being is not really palpable yet. We'll see.
Unpacking didn't take very long, as I only brought two medium suitcases. This was awesome when I was still transient, but might be problematic, as I realized I only packed 8 long-sleeve light shirts, and spring starts at the beginning or March here. It's probably fine (the motto of Hungary, from what I'm told). Also, no one seems to know how to use my washer.
Burning questions answered/unanswered about Hungary:
"Is that a slice of mozzarella or lard in my sandwich?" (still not sure)
"Can you get a Liter-sized stein of beer for under $5 in Budapest?" (yep)
"Did they just refer to the coming ice storm by the name of a famous national pastry!?" (yes: 'THE BIG DOBOS TORTA IS COMING!!!')
"Is wi-fi amply available?" (nope)
"Did that elderly gentleman just run down from his booth 10 feet away just to help me put on my coat?" (chivalry is not dead in Hungary)
"'Szex Shop'? 'Szendvics'? Whaaaa?" (yes, I love Hungarian)
Hopefully, my apartment will have internet within the week, but I won't be surprised if I don't get hooked up till February. So, over and out, for a while.
Monday, January 12, 2009
I am in Budapest. Budapest, as in Hungary. You may or may not have noticed I am not using contractions. This is because I am using a Hungarian keyboard, which at first glance is a QWERTY but has certain, er, quirks (qwerks), which I still cannot get used to. For one, the apostrophes. Two, Zs and Ys are switched, thus often producing the mysterious new pronoun zou. Anyway. This is my poor excuse of a segue into the attempt of answering the burning question: Budapest?! Huh??
Basically, it's pretty sweet. First impressions so far are that it's quite beautiful, but there's also a curious element of opposites going on, especially in terms of architecture. Side by side you will see two buildings, one with beautiful stone sculptures, oxidized copper facades, tall columns, and all that European old charm that Americans drool over simply because it looks like it could have been around before the Louisiana Purchase was a twinkle in Jefferson's eye, and then one building that looks like it was airlifted out of Kruschev's Moscow. Also, that European quaintness is doubly contrasted by the graffiti thats absolutely everywhere, even on what I would consider really fancy buildings. The strip malls right outside the city look very much like something out of Ware, Mass., so there are dreary consumerist brushstrokes added to the mix right there.
I found out that I will actually be working mornings at the high school in Pest (the flatter, newer, larger half of the city east of the river) and spend afternoons at the kindergarten in Buda (older, more posh side west of the Duna). So I will be crossing the river every day in the tram. I think that's the part I love most about living in cities, familiarizing myself with the public transport system. I find out where I'm living in a few days, which hopefully will be central enough. It is now almost 10 pm, and bed calls to me. Over and out for now.
Basically, it's pretty sweet. First impressions so far are that it's quite beautiful, but there's also a curious element of opposites going on, especially in terms of architecture. Side by side you will see two buildings, one with beautiful stone sculptures, oxidized copper facades, tall columns, and all that European old charm that Americans drool over simply because it looks like it could have been around before the Louisiana Purchase was a twinkle in Jefferson's eye, and then one building that looks like it was airlifted out of Kruschev's Moscow. Also, that European quaintness is doubly contrasted by the graffiti thats absolutely everywhere, even on what I would consider really fancy buildings. The strip malls right outside the city look very much like something out of Ware, Mass., so there are dreary consumerist brushstrokes added to the mix right there.
I found out that I will actually be working mornings at the high school in Pest (the flatter, newer, larger half of the city east of the river) and spend afternoons at the kindergarten in Buda (older, more posh side west of the Duna). So I will be crossing the river every day in the tram. I think that's the part I love most about living in cities, familiarizing myself with the public transport system. I find out where I'm living in a few days, which hopefully will be central enough. It is now almost 10 pm, and bed calls to me. Over and out for now.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Hello from London!
Specifically Leyton, East London, which is Danny's adorable place of residence. The neighborhood, from what I gather, is comparable to Allston/Brighton in the sense that it's all residential, the streets being rows upon rows of adjacent, pretty much identical houses. Many of the people who live here are from the Middle East, so you can see why Danny fits right in.
So far, my second experience in London has been totally different from my first. I was afraid I wouldn't have time to do anything different and new, but as it turns out, the only overlap so far has been two trips to Camden Town yesterday. Camden Town, for those who have never been, is basically Hot Topic and Faces, were they to have a baby and metastasize to the square area of a village. Colorful, hip, lots of cheap outdoor markets and tattoo parlors, etc etc. That was also, incidentally, where I got My Red Coat two years ago.
Last time, I had defined London through the typical touristy things, like Tower of London, the incredible museums, walking by Buckingham Palace, Parliament and Big Ben, etc. This time, I had hours to kill while Danny was at work (the GAP, if you can believe it), so I got to walk around different neighborhoods that I hadn't seen before, without the pressure of having to "see stuff." I think the strangest but most accurate way I can describe it is this: when we got on the Tube from Heathrow two years ago, what struck me immediately was a smell that seemed to be everywhere. It was like, soap or shampoo or something, but it was just everywhere I turned. I don't think anyone who has spent more than a week in London would agree that this city smells like it gets scrubbed down with Herbal Essences every night, but I stand by it. This city smelled great the entire time I was here (okay so it's probably just the government-issue all purpose cleaning solution they use, but bear with me). When I came over this time though, I only caught brief whiffs of it every once in a while. Sure, it probably just means they cut the budget for public maintenance or something, but I'd like to think that it's a representation of my own disillusionment or rather the ability to see a broader reality of a place I was obsessed with for so long. London is no less amazing for the lack of a pedestal, however, and if you haven't been yet, consider going sooner rather than later, while we still have Katie here.
Today we're going to the other side of the river to check out the Globe (nearly jizzed me trousers when I walked by it), the Clink: Ye Olde Dickensian Gaol (it's really just the Clink), and just walk around the South Bank snapping photos and digging through our fanny packs while wearing Hawaiian shirts. So perhaps this will be a plog after all.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Packed up
Books packed: Little Women, Understanding and Using English Grammar, Lolita, Hungarian dictionary and phrasebook, Teach Yourself Hungarian, Holidays on Ice, Fingersmith.
DVDs packed: Felicity (Season 1, duh), Amelie, A Little Princess/The Secret Garden, Mrs. Doubtfire.
Decorative items: African wall hanging from Katie, creepy Victorian mask from Meredith, Norman Rockwell's Save Freedom of Worship, Shakespeare.
What else could one need to feel at home?
DVDs packed: Felicity (Season 1, duh), Amelie, A Little Princess/The Secret Garden, Mrs. Doubtfire.
Decorative items: African wall hanging from Katie, creepy Victorian mask from Meredith, Norman Rockwell's Save Freedom of Worship, Shakespeare.
What else could one need to feel at home?
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