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.
Friday, February 27, 2009
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?
Monday, October 27, 2008
The Dong and the Jumbly Girl's imminent goodbye
'Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.'
My application for CETP is finally coming together. I've put together the application papers, essay, pictures, money, and all the little things which I never thought I'd actually get to by the end of October. I mean, I certainly planned on getting it done, so I shouldn't be so proud of myself, but I honestly didn't think I'd actually go through with it. With every check mark, Budapest is becoming a more concrete part of my near future, and that is both alarming and exciting.
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.'
My application for CETP is finally coming together. I've put together the application papers, essay, pictures, money, and all the little things which I never thought I'd actually get to by the end of October. I mean, I certainly planned on getting it done, so I shouldn't be so proud of myself, but I honestly didn't think I'd actually go through with it. With every check mark, Budapest is becoming a more concrete part of my near future, and that is both alarming and exciting.
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