Standing in the check-out line at our friendly neighborhood market.
"Should we wait it out for a short bit?" Manasi asked me.
"Nah, we'll be fine," I said.
We both gazed out the front windows onto the street. "But that huge umbrella just blew over," Manasi quivered.
"Eh, I'm sure it just fell or someone accidentally bumped into it," I suggested.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's only drizzling. Our hostel is just down the street," I reminded her.
5 minutes later, walking past the Posta.
"See," I said as Manasi ducked her head into the hood of her jacket, "this isn't bad."
1 minute later, approaching the intersection.
"Crap! These droplets instantly quadrupled in size!" I shouted.
"Ah!" Manasi screamed.
"Hurry! We have to make the crosswalk signal!" I blurted out frantically.
4 minutes later, on the home stretch to our hostel.
Manasi broke into a desperate jog, with her Rainbow flip-flops smacking against the flooded sidewalk and her shoulders hunched over and wobbling side-to-side in unusual movements. Her brown hoodie was pulled tight around her head. "I am never taking weather advice from you ever again!" she threatened.
1 minute later.
"Wait!" I begged. "I can't run and laugh this hard at the same time!"
"I am soaked!" she yelled through the downpour.
"It's only rain," I said. "We'll dry." The droplets fell into my gaping, laughing mouth.
3 minutes later, finally inside, walking up the stairwell.
"Whew," I exhaled. I shook the water out of my hair like a wet dog.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
good morning
Though the people may seem somber... Hungary is still chaotic in its own special way, kind of in the same way Rome, Italy is chaotic (or so I have been told... I will be able to tell you first-hand in July). The drivers are crazy, sometimes you can't be too sure if your mail will actually make it to your mailbox, who knows when there will be protestors on the steps of Parliament...
But Hungary is still lovely, of course.
For example, this morning was wonderful.
Manasi and I ate a small breakfast (granola and banana) over tiny cups of espresso at our favorite cafe. We sat at the window on high swivel stools and discussed long-distance relationships and the idea of "moving too fast" in a given relationship. This lasted about an hour and we strolled out into the warm mid-morning spring mist. We ventured down the street, to an open air market where we wandered up to a smiling woman selling her home-grown flowers. She was patient with us as we practiced our Hungarian with her, trying to decide which batch to buy. After much pointing, smelling, and petal-caressing, Manasi and I chose a tiny bouquet of bright yellow daffodils for 200 forint (about $1.20 USD). The woman wrapped a small sheet of butcher paper around the stems and we walked off with flowers in hand.
Right next to the open air market, we stopped in the bakery and each purchased two bread rolls for 20 forint a piece (about 10 cents a pop). Right next to the little bakery is a shop full of small, milky brown eggs, stacked high in their open crates. We got a carton of ten, and the lady let us pick out the eggs, 200 forint for the ten.
We walked back out into the neighborhood, and down the street to our favorite fruit and vegetable stand. I picked out two white potatoes for 65 forint (about 40 cents). The woman recognized Manasi and I, and she forced us to practice our Hungarian with her. She pointed to the price and held up her fingers in accordance with the numbers... "Hatvan ot..." And we repeated after her "Hatvan ot." (Hatvan = sixty, ot = five). I plan on using those potatoes to make my own Goulash soup! At least I will give it a try...
With bread, potatoes, eggs, and flowers in tow, we crossed the street towards the bank where Manasi withdrew some cash. On the way we got a little distracted at a small boutique with very cute and very affordable shoes.
Other Hungarians were about their day; the little fruit and vegetable stands were crowded with at least 3-4 constant customers weaving their way through the produce, others were grabbing the daily paper at the newsstands, some were sitting on benches smoking cigarettes and chatting, little kids were chasing pigeons, others walking their dogs...
After the bank we walked back across the street to the Posta where Manasi quickly sent off a goodluck postcard to a close friend back home who is about to take the MCAT.
It was lunctime when we got back to our hostel. I took my bread roll, toasted it, made two of the eggs over-medium, put a piece of cheese in between them, dashed some hot paprika sauce on top, and had myself a delicious egg sandwich.
But Hungary is still lovely, of course.
For example, this morning was wonderful.
Manasi and I ate a small breakfast (granola and banana) over tiny cups of espresso at our favorite cafe. We sat at the window on high swivel stools and discussed long-distance relationships and the idea of "moving too fast" in a given relationship. This lasted about an hour and we strolled out into the warm mid-morning spring mist. We ventured down the street, to an open air market where we wandered up to a smiling woman selling her home-grown flowers. She was patient with us as we practiced our Hungarian with her, trying to decide which batch to buy. After much pointing, smelling, and petal-caressing, Manasi and I chose a tiny bouquet of bright yellow daffodils for 200 forint (about $1.20 USD). The woman wrapped a small sheet of butcher paper around the stems and we walked off with flowers in hand.
Right next to the open air market, we stopped in the bakery and each purchased two bread rolls for 20 forint a piece (about 10 cents a pop). Right next to the little bakery is a shop full of small, milky brown eggs, stacked high in their open crates. We got a carton of ten, and the lady let us pick out the eggs, 200 forint for the ten.
We walked back out into the neighborhood, and down the street to our favorite fruit and vegetable stand. I picked out two white potatoes for 65 forint (about 40 cents). The woman recognized Manasi and I, and she forced us to practice our Hungarian with her. She pointed to the price and held up her fingers in accordance with the numbers... "Hatvan ot..." And we repeated after her "Hatvan ot." (Hatvan = sixty, ot = five). I plan on using those potatoes to make my own Goulash soup! At least I will give it a try...
With bread, potatoes, eggs, and flowers in tow, we crossed the street towards the bank where Manasi withdrew some cash. On the way we got a little distracted at a small boutique with very cute and very affordable shoes.
Other Hungarians were about their day; the little fruit and vegetable stands were crowded with at least 3-4 constant customers weaving their way through the produce, others were grabbing the daily paper at the newsstands, some were sitting on benches smoking cigarettes and chatting, little kids were chasing pigeons, others walking their dogs...
After the bank we walked back across the street to the Posta where Manasi quickly sent off a goodluck postcard to a close friend back home who is about to take the MCAT.
It was lunctime when we got back to our hostel. I took my bread roll, toasted it, made two of the eggs over-medium, put a piece of cheese in between them, dashed some hot paprika sauce on top, and had myself a delicious egg sandwich.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Bohemia
Due to popular demand (I like to tell myself this) I must post a new blog. And, well, I did just travel to Prague for five days so I suppose I have a few things to report. It's overwhelming for me to think that I need to write a blog all about Prague... so I am going to do this bullet-point style like I have in previous posts.
-Praha (the Czech-way to say it) is quite fabulous. I can honestly say that the Old Town Square took my breath away. In order to get to Old Town Square, one must weave through a very narrow alley-way with the soft padding sounds of cobblestone below their feet and tall buildings towering over them. And then, unexpectedly, (like that scene in "The Land Before Time" where they are in the cave and all of a sudden are opened up to the vast valley of Paradise) you are peering out of the narrow street and into the wide-open, breath-taking sqaure of Old Town Prague. Before you is an enormous, intricate and gothic astronomical clock. To the right is a giant, castle-looking cathedral with pointy towers and crucifixes. In the middle is a huge sculpture, statue-thing that is green in color and has stairs around the bottom of it where people sit and enjoy the crowd. There are cafes, restuarants, and shops all in beautiful buildings. There is an excellent Salvador Dali exhibition (70 koruna for students which is less than $5USD for entrance fee). There are native Czechs singing and playing their instruments for smiles and money. It's magical, enchanting, phenomenal...
-Oh, and one more thing... in that little alley-way that leads to Old Town Sqaure... there is a Medieval Sex Toys Museum (which cost over $15USD for entrance fee, so, No-Thank-You). Plus the medieval sex toy on display in the lobby, and the post cards, looked a little masochistic. That was good enough for me.
-There is a large open street in the city center with lots of shopping, a McDonalds, and a tasty little trolly cafe in the middle of the street where I had an espresso almost everyday and their Honey Cake twice (exellent Graham-cracker crust with a soft, spongy middle).
-I went to the Municipal House where they had a photography exhibit for the month called the "Diversity of Planet Earth." There were striking images of natural landscapes, people, cultures, technology, insects...of everything, around the world, about the world, places nearly untouched by man (mind-blowing) and little explanations of the photos in Czech and English. There was a photograph of glaciers way down South around Antarctica. I really wanna see that for myself one day.
-"Get a Taste of Prague." I went to the Staropramen Brewery that was a ten-minute walk from my hostel. Their traditional brew was golden and smooth and crisp. Can't have just one!
-The view from Castle Hill encompasses all of Prague.
-And don't forget about Charles Bridge... Jew Town (as I like to call it), Puppet Shows, the Dancing Building, Bohemia Crystal, Langos, sausages, jazz clubs, live music and cobblestone everywhere...
-Oh! And one last thing. The Czech take their dogs EVERYWHERE! Even on the subway.
-Praha (the Czech-way to say it) is quite fabulous. I can honestly say that the Old Town Square took my breath away. In order to get to Old Town Square, one must weave through a very narrow alley-way with the soft padding sounds of cobblestone below their feet and tall buildings towering over them. And then, unexpectedly, (like that scene in "The Land Before Time" where they are in the cave and all of a sudden are opened up to the vast valley of Paradise) you are peering out of the narrow street and into the wide-open, breath-taking sqaure of Old Town Prague. Before you is an enormous, intricate and gothic astronomical clock. To the right is a giant, castle-looking cathedral with pointy towers and crucifixes. In the middle is a huge sculpture, statue-thing that is green in color and has stairs around the bottom of it where people sit and enjoy the crowd. There are cafes, restuarants, and shops all in beautiful buildings. There is an excellent Salvador Dali exhibition (70 koruna for students which is less than $5USD for entrance fee). There are native Czechs singing and playing their instruments for smiles and money. It's magical, enchanting, phenomenal...
-Oh, and one more thing... in that little alley-way that leads to Old Town Sqaure... there is a Medieval Sex Toys Museum (which cost over $15USD for entrance fee, so, No-Thank-You). Plus the medieval sex toy on display in the lobby, and the post cards, looked a little masochistic. That was good enough for me.
-There is a large open street in the city center with lots of shopping, a McDonalds, and a tasty little trolly cafe in the middle of the street where I had an espresso almost everyday and their Honey Cake twice (exellent Graham-cracker crust with a soft, spongy middle).
-I went to the Municipal House where they had a photography exhibit for the month called the "Diversity of Planet Earth." There were striking images of natural landscapes, people, cultures, technology, insects...of everything, around the world, about the world, places nearly untouched by man (mind-blowing) and little explanations of the photos in Czech and English. There was a photograph of glaciers way down South around Antarctica. I really wanna see that for myself one day.
-"Get a Taste of Prague." I went to the Staropramen Brewery that was a ten-minute walk from my hostel. Their traditional brew was golden and smooth and crisp. Can't have just one!
-The view from Castle Hill encompasses all of Prague.
-And don't forget about Charles Bridge... Jew Town (as I like to call it), Puppet Shows, the Dancing Building, Bohemia Crystal, Langos, sausages, jazz clubs, live music and cobblestone everywhere...
-Oh! And one last thing. The Czech take their dogs EVERYWHERE! Even on the subway.
Friday, March 14, 2008
sunset
Clouds lining the sky outlined in bright magenta, highlighter pink... the colors blending into the cloud, and filling the gaps where the evening sky shown through. Vibrance.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
a warmer, sunnier day
-A rowdy Black Jack tournament just down my hall kept me up late last night. They were playing for... real money. So, I opted to sit that one out and be a spectator. Gambling isn't quite my thing. I never truly understood the concepts of probability in my Statistics class.
-Consequently I slept in this morning until 11am since I did not go to sleep until 3:30am.
-I ate breakfast, showered, then wrote out a few postcards.
-I walked through the neighborhood... the trees are blossoming!!!
-I stood in line at the Posta behind a petite, elderly woman with a fuzzy hat on. She looked over and started talking to me in Hungarian. I got a little flustered and finally managed to say, "nem magyarul bescelek (I don't speak Hungarian)." She shrugged her shoulders and turned back around.
-I went to the market and left with a bag full of tomato sauce, spaghetti noodles, Hungarian cabernet sauvignon, cheese and onion flavored chips, bread rolls, and cheese.
-I sat on a bench and people watched.
-I browsed a small stand set up on the sidewalk. There was jewelry, uniquely patterned bandanas, wooden spoons/bowls/cups, and shawls. Can you guess what I bought?
-I stopped at the home of the best-cappuccino-in-the-world and treated myself to such a delight while Manasi ate their finom (delicious) scrambled eggs with onion and ham washed down with a Pepsi.
-I pet a little Shi-tzu that was trotting around inside of the tiny restaurant.
-I came back to my hostel, checked my email for information on next semester's registration (I know, already...). I want to take Poetry Writing, Technical Writing, Intermediate Spanish Grammar, and Spanish Phonetics. I need to write my advisor by Friday.
-I am about to make myself dinner... a cheese, garlic, tomato, and paprika sandwich toasted on a fresh bread roll.
-And then I have Hungarian Language homework.
p.s. I have to go back to Immigration tomorrow (the 4th time... sheesh!) because they spelled my last name wrong on my resident's visa: Villock. Yeah, oops. The sticker, however, is quite a nice little addition to my passport. :)
-Consequently I slept in this morning until 11am since I did not go to sleep until 3:30am.
-I ate breakfast, showered, then wrote out a few postcards.
-I walked through the neighborhood... the trees are blossoming!!!
-I stood in line at the Posta behind a petite, elderly woman with a fuzzy hat on. She looked over and started talking to me in Hungarian. I got a little flustered and finally managed to say, "nem magyarul bescelek (I don't speak Hungarian)." She shrugged her shoulders and turned back around.
-I went to the market and left with a bag full of tomato sauce, spaghetti noodles, Hungarian cabernet sauvignon, cheese and onion flavored chips, bread rolls, and cheese.
-I sat on a bench and people watched.
-I browsed a small stand set up on the sidewalk. There was jewelry, uniquely patterned bandanas, wooden spoons/bowls/cups, and shawls. Can you guess what I bought?
-I stopped at the home of the best-cappuccino-in-the-world and treated myself to such a delight while Manasi ate their finom (delicious) scrambled eggs with onion and ham washed down with a Pepsi.
-I pet a little Shi-tzu that was trotting around inside of the tiny restaurant.
-I came back to my hostel, checked my email for information on next semester's registration (I know, already...). I want to take Poetry Writing, Technical Writing, Intermediate Spanish Grammar, and Spanish Phonetics. I need to write my advisor by Friday.
-I am about to make myself dinner... a cheese, garlic, tomato, and paprika sandwich toasted on a fresh bread roll.
-And then I have Hungarian Language homework.
p.s. I have to go back to Immigration tomorrow (the 4th time... sheesh!) because they spelled my last name wrong on my resident's visa: Villock. Yeah, oops. The sticker, however, is quite a nice little addition to my passport. :)
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Szia!
Latest fashion trend in Hungary: (Women) Purple, magenta, pink, cherry cola, plum, or violet hair. And I am talking women of all ages. Pink highlights in your 50s is the new gray! (Men) Incredible unibrows or long, curled nose-hairs that twitch when you breathe.
No private space: Hungarians stand directly behind you in line (at the store, bank, posta, market...) and nearly rest their chins on your shoulder to keep an eye on every move you make.
Trust issues: According to my politics professor who is Hungarian himself, Hungarians do not trust the government or people who are a part of the government or a part of any sort of beaucratic institution. This is a serious sociological consequence from the communist rule unique to Hungary; other Earstern Bloc countries have not had and do not have this problem. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/5358546.stm
Life Tastes Good: Coca Cola was not introduced to Hungary until the very late 80s, at the turn of the decade because communist rule did not want any Western influence in Hungary whatsoever. According to my dear Hungarian friend Agi, absolutely no one was allowed in or out of the country. Her Mom is very religious and was not allowed to practice or pray in any fashion. Religion was forbidden. "This was very, very terrible for my mother," she explained, "She's Catholic."
Vocabulary: Titkos ugynok - secret agent. Szeretlek - I love you. Semmi baj - It's all good.
Baby blues: Beautiful Hungarians... olive skin, electric blue eyes, and thick, ebony hair. They are mysterious, too. Absolutely no eye contact if you are passing them on the street, at the market, in the posta... No stranger-smiles. Men stare at the ground as they pass you.
The question: "So, why Hungary?" My response, "Uhhh... a gulyasleves (the goulash)?"
No private space: Hungarians stand directly behind you in line (at the store, bank, posta, market...) and nearly rest their chins on your shoulder to keep an eye on every move you make.
Trust issues: According to my politics professor who is Hungarian himself, Hungarians do not trust the government or people who are a part of the government or a part of any sort of beaucratic institution. This is a serious sociological consequence from the communist rule unique to Hungary; other Earstern Bloc countries have not had and do not have this problem. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/5358546.stm
Life Tastes Good: Coca Cola was not introduced to Hungary until the very late 80s, at the turn of the decade because communist rule did not want any Western influence in Hungary whatsoever. According to my dear Hungarian friend Agi, absolutely no one was allowed in or out of the country. Her Mom is very religious and was not allowed to practice or pray in any fashion. Religion was forbidden. "This was very, very terrible for my mother," she explained, "She's Catholic."
Vocabulary: Titkos ugynok - secret agent. Szeretlek - I love you. Semmi baj - It's all good.
Baby blues: Beautiful Hungarians... olive skin, electric blue eyes, and thick, ebony hair. They are mysterious, too. Absolutely no eye contact if you are passing them on the street, at the market, in the posta... No stranger-smiles. Men stare at the ground as they pass you.
The question: "So, why Hungary?" My response, "Uhhh... a gulyasleves (the goulash)?"
Friday, March 7, 2008
what to do on cold, windy, rainy, cloudy days??
Yesterday it snowed! I had to walk home, 5 miles, uphill... in blistering winds...
Well, maybe it flaked. The little snow particles disappeared in the air, about 2 feet before potential landing.
But it's still really cold and windy and dark. When I wake up in the morning, there is frost all over my window. Gray skies and freezing winds make me wanna stay inside all day... yuck. Yesterday in class, I gazed out the window and simply imagined a bright blue sky and flowers blooming. I felt happier just from the thought of it...
So what can I do when this weather only makes me feel down and lethargic? I've never really been a mall-shopper, so that's not really an exciting option for me. Generally on days like these I would venture to a coffee shop or a bookstore... so yesterday I treated myself to a cappuccino. It was nice. But the bookstores here have hardly any books published in English, and really nowhere to sit around and enjoy the bookstore atmosphere. Bookstores here don't have little couches everywhere and the occasional coffee stand. They're more strictly business... or, maybe I would enjoy them more leisurely if I could read Hungarian. So then I think to myself, well, why not a movie? What about the theater? What about a new restaurant adventure? Well, last night about 12 of us took taxis downtown to a Tex Mex restaurant! Oh the flavors of home! I ordered a chicken quesadilla with green peppers and onions. It came with a side of guacamole! I swear! This was very exciting for me. Especially when they brought us habanero sauce and when I noticed margaritas on their cocktail menu.
Yet, of course, it cost me more than the gyros stand down the street...
We (Manasi, Agnes, and I) tried scoping out the theater situation, and movies that are in English won't be playing until next week. At least it will only be 600 forint (less than $4USD).
So today, I think I just might bundle up and walk to the market, but other than that the stairmaster is calling my name and so are Shakey Bill and Herman. Maybe I will go to a disko-tek tonight, too. I hope this weather takes care of itself soon.
Well, maybe it flaked. The little snow particles disappeared in the air, about 2 feet before potential landing.
But it's still really cold and windy and dark. When I wake up in the morning, there is frost all over my window. Gray skies and freezing winds make me wanna stay inside all day... yuck. Yesterday in class, I gazed out the window and simply imagined a bright blue sky and flowers blooming. I felt happier just from the thought of it...
So what can I do when this weather only makes me feel down and lethargic? I've never really been a mall-shopper, so that's not really an exciting option for me. Generally on days like these I would venture to a coffee shop or a bookstore... so yesterday I treated myself to a cappuccino. It was nice. But the bookstores here have hardly any books published in English, and really nowhere to sit around and enjoy the bookstore atmosphere. Bookstores here don't have little couches everywhere and the occasional coffee stand. They're more strictly business... or, maybe I would enjoy them more leisurely if I could read Hungarian. So then I think to myself, well, why not a movie? What about the theater? What about a new restaurant adventure? Well, last night about 12 of us took taxis downtown to a Tex Mex restaurant! Oh the flavors of home! I ordered a chicken quesadilla with green peppers and onions. It came with a side of guacamole! I swear! This was very exciting for me. Especially when they brought us habanero sauce and when I noticed margaritas on their cocktail menu.
Yet, of course, it cost me more than the gyros stand down the street...
We (Manasi, Agnes, and I) tried scoping out the theater situation, and movies that are in English won't be playing until next week. At least it will only be 600 forint (less than $4USD).
So today, I think I just might bundle up and walk to the market, but other than that the stairmaster is calling my name and so are Shakey Bill and Herman. Maybe I will go to a disko-tek tonight, too. I hope this weather takes care of itself soon.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Bew-duh-peh-sht: Goulash, Nutella Pancakes, Spanish Morning Fart Songs, the fall of Communism, and Hungarian Women Art
Bad news or Good news first? Well...
http://www.gmanews.tv/story/82941/6-killed-in-storms-in-central-Europe
Yesterday when I was in Budapest a wild storm came through the city. Luckily I was inside the National Museum scrutinizing artifacts in a trail of Hungary's history... dating back from Medieval Ages to the Fall of Communism in 1990. It is a fabulous museum. I was very impressed. So, in a mixture of good news and bad news, over 6 people were killed in this storm yesterday from such strong winds. On the good side, I'm still alive. And on another bad side, from my personal eye-witness, just outside the museum (across the street) there was a car parked nexted to the side walk. A piece of the building towering above broke off and crushed the entire side of the car, pieces of the car were everywhere accompanied by the concrete bricks scattered on the side walk. The windshield was completely shattered with bricks lying inside the car on the seats. It must have just happened, because people were stopping to look, and no police officials had yet arrived to the scene.
The worst of the storm pushed through Budapest when I was in the museum (for about three hours). When Manasi, Agnes, and I left, it was windy and hardly sprinkling.
Among other tourist-y activities, the three of us walked along the river, went to the Palace, saw Parliament, walked across the bridge from Pest to Buda, went to the Museum, and ate lots of Goulash and drank plenty of German beer and Hungarian wine.
Now, onto more important experiences that I had in Budapest...
The three of us stayed in a hostel. We opted for the largest room (8 beds total, 4 bunk-beds) because it was the cheapest. It was co-ed. Friday night, the three of us had the entire room to ourselves. That quickly changed.
On Saturday we had lots of lovely new residents come and join us in a fabulous slumber party. The first victim, a woman in her late 20s, was traveling solo from Argentina. The second resident was a man late into his sixties, Swiss yet lives in Sweden, with a large belly and pink face. I kindly ask that you please take a moment of silence to imagine the horrendous earth-quake sounds that could possibly come from this man. Well, these snores could start an avalanche. I think it must be some sort of serious health condition and that man needs to be put on a respirator... He slept in the bed below Agnes, next to me and Manasi, in his matching plaid pajama outfit.
The next resident was a skinny, gauntly pale woman who quite possibly could have been coming down off of a crack binge. She had stringy hair and wide, paranoid eyes.
There was only one bunk-bed left, but three Spaniards walked in. Two out of the three were lovers, so they shared the bottom bed together. The top bed went to their female friend. They were in their early 20s and all had those stylish mullets that are very popular in Spain.
So last night, Saturday night, the three of us got back to the hostel around 12. We were exhausted from a long day of museums, markets, and walking across the city. The avalanche-snores from the Swiss man were somewhat bearable. At least they actually sounded like... snores and had that 10-second grace period in between snarles. However, when the Spanish couple in the bed next to me started kissing in sloppy smooching noises full of saliva and lip-smacking sounds, I started to get a little annoyed. I mean, they could have kissed quietly. The room was over-full and people were trying to sleep. Finally, they stopped, and it was kind-of quiet except for heaving Swiss man.
Ten minutes later, the Spanish chick sleeping on the top bunk next to me started snoring. Quite possibly the loudest snarling sounds that I have ever heard in my entire life. They did not stop. These noises, coming from this little woman's body, were unbelievable. I was shocked at how loud her snores were. I sat up in bed and stared across at her to make sure that these snores were actually coming from her body. Still in my disbelief, I lay back down, with my eyebrows wrinkled and my eyes shifting. Really? Were those snores coming from her? That Swiss man had nothing on the Spanish mullet chick! I could not fall asleep. It was impossible. There was not even a grace period in between her snores. They were one right after the other. I was becoming incredibly annoyed while my ears twitched to the terrible, awful noises coming from this girl's mouth and nose. Did she have a megaphone over there?
I lay there for 20 minutes, thinking maybe I would just fall asleep. I wasn't kidding anybody. I don't think anyone in the room was sleeping other than the Spanish girl and the Swiss man. We were all laying there in disbelief of our incredibly unlucky sleeping situation.
I was becoming so angry and annoyed that I felt compelled to slap her in the face. Of course, trying to remain as rational as possible, I clutched my pillow and figured this would make a more humane weapon. I preferred to stay away from body to body contact. Right before I was about to chuck my pillow at her face, I paused and realized this was also a very bad idea. If I threw my pillow at her, she would definitely know it was me, and then I would have no pillow. So I looked around to see what was in my reach. Right next to my head, her scarf hung on the bed post. I stared at it and thought of the possibilities while she continued to growl in her awful, unbearable sounds. Few lights from the hallway barely lit the room. My eyes had adjusted at this point and I could see my target just fine.
I took a deep breath and lay supine in my wobbly top-bunk. I closed my eyes and thought maybe I should try praying or something. Perhaps meditate? I could not relax. As I was trying to count sheep backwards in my mind, the Spanish chick let out the loudest, echoing, wall-shaking snore. In a form of instant reaction, I flipped onto my belly, grabbed her scarf, rolled it into a ball, and threw it right at her face. My head remained peaked over the top-bunk baracade, with my eyes peering over the wooden rail squinting at my target. In a moment the girl startled, her snores ceased, and I ducked my head beneath the rail, slamming my face into the pillow. I shut my eyes to fake-sleep. Mission accomplished. I had at least ten minutes to fall asleep before she would start snoring again.
At 7:30 in the morning my wonderful fellow-residents began waking. We were all just sort of lying there, in our beds, quiet. In the subtle quietness, the Spanish male let out two trumpet-sounding morning farts, fluttering out from beneath his blankets. I laughed a little bit. I mean, really? Couldn't that guy hold it in? Not to mention his third, elongated, high-pitch morning fart that sang through our room and sort of sputtered at the end in its pathetic finale. His girlfriend was lying next to him all the while.
to-be-continued...
http://www.gmanews.tv/story/82941/6-killed-in-storms-in-central-Europe
Yesterday when I was in Budapest a wild storm came through the city. Luckily I was inside the National Museum scrutinizing artifacts in a trail of Hungary's history... dating back from Medieval Ages to the Fall of Communism in 1990. It is a fabulous museum. I was very impressed. So, in a mixture of good news and bad news, over 6 people were killed in this storm yesterday from such strong winds. On the good side, I'm still alive. And on another bad side, from my personal eye-witness, just outside the museum (across the street) there was a car parked nexted to the side walk. A piece of the building towering above broke off and crushed the entire side of the car, pieces of the car were everywhere accompanied by the concrete bricks scattered on the side walk. The windshield was completely shattered with bricks lying inside the car on the seats. It must have just happened, because people were stopping to look, and no police officials had yet arrived to the scene.
The worst of the storm pushed through Budapest when I was in the museum (for about three hours). When Manasi, Agnes, and I left, it was windy and hardly sprinkling.
Among other tourist-y activities, the three of us walked along the river, went to the Palace, saw Parliament, walked across the bridge from Pest to Buda, went to the Museum, and ate lots of Goulash and drank plenty of German beer and Hungarian wine.
Now, onto more important experiences that I had in Budapest...
The three of us stayed in a hostel. We opted for the largest room (8 beds total, 4 bunk-beds) because it was the cheapest. It was co-ed. Friday night, the three of us had the entire room to ourselves. That quickly changed.
On Saturday we had lots of lovely new residents come and join us in a fabulous slumber party. The first victim, a woman in her late 20s, was traveling solo from Argentina. The second resident was a man late into his sixties, Swiss yet lives in Sweden, with a large belly and pink face. I kindly ask that you please take a moment of silence to imagine the horrendous earth-quake sounds that could possibly come from this man. Well, these snores could start an avalanche. I think it must be some sort of serious health condition and that man needs to be put on a respirator... He slept in the bed below Agnes, next to me and Manasi, in his matching plaid pajama outfit.
The next resident was a skinny, gauntly pale woman who quite possibly could have been coming down off of a crack binge. She had stringy hair and wide, paranoid eyes.
There was only one bunk-bed left, but three Spaniards walked in. Two out of the three were lovers, so they shared the bottom bed together. The top bed went to their female friend. They were in their early 20s and all had those stylish mullets that are very popular in Spain.
So last night, Saturday night, the three of us got back to the hostel around 12. We were exhausted from a long day of museums, markets, and walking across the city. The avalanche-snores from the Swiss man were somewhat bearable. At least they actually sounded like... snores and had that 10-second grace period in between snarles. However, when the Spanish couple in the bed next to me started kissing in sloppy smooching noises full of saliva and lip-smacking sounds, I started to get a little annoyed. I mean, they could have kissed quietly. The room was over-full and people were trying to sleep. Finally, they stopped, and it was kind-of quiet except for heaving Swiss man.
Ten minutes later, the Spanish chick sleeping on the top bunk next to me started snoring. Quite possibly the loudest snarling sounds that I have ever heard in my entire life. They did not stop. These noises, coming from this little woman's body, were unbelievable. I was shocked at how loud her snores were. I sat up in bed and stared across at her to make sure that these snores were actually coming from her body. Still in my disbelief, I lay back down, with my eyebrows wrinkled and my eyes shifting. Really? Were those snores coming from her? That Swiss man had nothing on the Spanish mullet chick! I could not fall asleep. It was impossible. There was not even a grace period in between her snores. They were one right after the other. I was becoming incredibly annoyed while my ears twitched to the terrible, awful noises coming from this girl's mouth and nose. Did she have a megaphone over there?
I lay there for 20 minutes, thinking maybe I would just fall asleep. I wasn't kidding anybody. I don't think anyone in the room was sleeping other than the Spanish girl and the Swiss man. We were all laying there in disbelief of our incredibly unlucky sleeping situation.
I was becoming so angry and annoyed that I felt compelled to slap her in the face. Of course, trying to remain as rational as possible, I clutched my pillow and figured this would make a more humane weapon. I preferred to stay away from body to body contact. Right before I was about to chuck my pillow at her face, I paused and realized this was also a very bad idea. If I threw my pillow at her, she would definitely know it was me, and then I would have no pillow. So I looked around to see what was in my reach. Right next to my head, her scarf hung on the bed post. I stared at it and thought of the possibilities while she continued to growl in her awful, unbearable sounds. Few lights from the hallway barely lit the room. My eyes had adjusted at this point and I could see my target just fine.
I took a deep breath and lay supine in my wobbly top-bunk. I closed my eyes and thought maybe I should try praying or something. Perhaps meditate? I could not relax. As I was trying to count sheep backwards in my mind, the Spanish chick let out the loudest, echoing, wall-shaking snore. In a form of instant reaction, I flipped onto my belly, grabbed her scarf, rolled it into a ball, and threw it right at her face. My head remained peaked over the top-bunk baracade, with my eyes peering over the wooden rail squinting at my target. In a moment the girl startled, her snores ceased, and I ducked my head beneath the rail, slamming my face into the pillow. I shut my eyes to fake-sleep. Mission accomplished. I had at least ten minutes to fall asleep before she would start snoring again.
At 7:30 in the morning my wonderful fellow-residents began waking. We were all just sort of lying there, in our beds, quiet. In the subtle quietness, the Spanish male let out two trumpet-sounding morning farts, fluttering out from beneath his blankets. I laughed a little bit. I mean, really? Couldn't that guy hold it in? Not to mention his third, elongated, high-pitch morning fart that sang through our room and sort of sputtered at the end in its pathetic finale. His girlfriend was lying next to him all the while.
to-be-continued...
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
loomings
Spring is coming. It's getting warmer...
I am acclimating and feeling more and more comfortable here. Tomorrow I have to go to the immigration office once more to prove that I have transportation back to the United States and then I will receive my visa. This weekend I went to an Italian Ska concert at a local bar. It was very fun and I danced wildly with my Hungarian friends all night. Ska music is very very upbeat and bands usually consist of drums, guitar, bass, trombone, trumpet, and saxophone. Tomorrow I am also meeting another Hungarian friend of mine for lunch. Her name is Agnus and we sit next to each other in my Meville class.
I am not feeling all that inspired to write in my blog, I feel like I am still observing. Observing carefully, respectfully, and interacting when appropriate and when I feel comfortable. I know my way around now. I love the 30-40 minute walk to the city center. I also enjoy the 20 minute walk to my faculty. There are always Hungarians walking about the neighborhood of all ages, going to the produce stands, the market, the posta, the bank, the bakery, the deli. I have also noticed far more elderly people walking about here than I do in the United States. I understand I live in Arizona, where the sun lights your skin on fire in the summertime. But other times in the year, most of the year actually, Tucson has beautiful weather. I see elderly people walking around here all the time... walking theirs dogs, hanging up clothes, carrying bags of groceries back to their homes. Perhaps Tucson is too big and does not have such an effective mass transit system like Pecs (and all of Europe) does? And I am talking about an age of people who were most likely here during the Communist Eastern Bloc. I always watch them walking around and wonder what kinds of lives they have had.
That brings up another observation. The people here are somber. I told Manasi about this and she said that sounds like a sad word, and it is, but she agreed. People here don't really make eye contact with you walking on the streets, they don't really smile to strangers. And it isn't that Hungarians are rude or mean at all, they are just a little more quiet. They are somber. When interacting one on one, they are incredibly kind and as helpful as possible (considering the language barrier). The woman at the Posta who knows Manasi and I as "the Americans" is always very kind to us and helps us as much as she can. The couple who run the capuccino/Gyros shop are the same way. There is always this haze, hanging low, hovering in the sky. I suppose it might be fog. But really, I see it, and I am in it, and it makes me feel... war. I can feel that a devastating war to Hungarian people was here, in this country, on this land. And I also attribute this to the somberness of the people. You can still feel the affects of communism. It lingers here.
I am acclimating and feeling more and more comfortable here. Tomorrow I have to go to the immigration office once more to prove that I have transportation back to the United States and then I will receive my visa. This weekend I went to an Italian Ska concert at a local bar. It was very fun and I danced wildly with my Hungarian friends all night. Ska music is very very upbeat and bands usually consist of drums, guitar, bass, trombone, trumpet, and saxophone. Tomorrow I am also meeting another Hungarian friend of mine for lunch. Her name is Agnus and we sit next to each other in my Meville class.
I am not feeling all that inspired to write in my blog, I feel like I am still observing. Observing carefully, respectfully, and interacting when appropriate and when I feel comfortable. I know my way around now. I love the 30-40 minute walk to the city center. I also enjoy the 20 minute walk to my faculty. There are always Hungarians walking about the neighborhood of all ages, going to the produce stands, the market, the posta, the bank, the bakery, the deli. I have also noticed far more elderly people walking about here than I do in the United States. I understand I live in Arizona, where the sun lights your skin on fire in the summertime. But other times in the year, most of the year actually, Tucson has beautiful weather. I see elderly people walking around here all the time... walking theirs dogs, hanging up clothes, carrying bags of groceries back to their homes. Perhaps Tucson is too big and does not have such an effective mass transit system like Pecs (and all of Europe) does? And I am talking about an age of people who were most likely here during the Communist Eastern Bloc. I always watch them walking around and wonder what kinds of lives they have had.
That brings up another observation. The people here are somber. I told Manasi about this and she said that sounds like a sad word, and it is, but she agreed. People here don't really make eye contact with you walking on the streets, they don't really smile to strangers. And it isn't that Hungarians are rude or mean at all, they are just a little more quiet. They are somber. When interacting one on one, they are incredibly kind and as helpful as possible (considering the language barrier). The woman at the Posta who knows Manasi and I as "the Americans" is always very kind to us and helps us as much as she can. The couple who run the capuccino/Gyros shop are the same way. There is always this haze, hanging low, hovering in the sky. I suppose it might be fog. But really, I see it, and I am in it, and it makes me feel... war. I can feel that a devastating war to Hungarian people was here, in this country, on this land. And I also attribute this to the somberness of the people. You can still feel the affects of communism. It lingers here.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Wooden Floors, Blackboards, and Shakespeare
"Finger of birth-strangled babe,
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab."
-Macbeth's Witches
(IV.1.30-32)
It's picturesque, really. I walk in through a creaky wooden door with a loose brass handle, to a classroom that has nothing but the sun lighting the room, less than 15 students, a sturdy chalkboard (black as night with chalk white as snow), coat hangers against the off-white walls, caramel wooden floors, matching wooden desks with iron legs, high ceilings, naked tree branches reaching through the open windows, and a professor reciting Shakespeare's Macbeth in a Hungarian accent.
"Now," my professor looks up from her book, pauses, and says, "why should Macbeth not kill the King? What are the reasons he gives us?"
It's about time I've rekindled that old flame. I was a Shakespeare-junkie in high school, and now I'm relapsing.
My other literature class is also the quintessential, old-fashioned classroom. We're studying Herman Melville, just finished reading a few excerpts from Typee, and are now onto bigger things (literally) like Moby Dick. I honestly had no idea what Moby Dick would be like, and I am actually enjoying it. It is incredibly poetic and really an adventure. Plus, I'm so glad I finally got to experience that first-line first-hand... Call me Ishmael. I mean, come on, all those writers out there who try to think of a brilliant first-line for a novel... I think that's it. Arguable, of course... but really, I love it.
Onto my third class of the day called 'Political Culture in Hungary.' The professor for this class is very awesome. He speaks English well, is really excited about politics in Hungary (and East Africa, randomly) and we might all take a field-trip to the Parliament in Budapest. He informed us that on March 9 there is a critical vote taking place about whether or not FEES will be implemented for the first time for things like: bed spaces in hospitals, tuition fees for college students... and other controversial issues as such. My new Hungarian friend Agnus in my Melville class actually told me about this last week. She threw her hands in the air, slapped them against her hips and said, "I just could not afford the university! No one here could!" My excited Politics professor warned, with raised eyebrows, "this means protests in Budapest in a couple weeks..."
What? Protests? When? Where? What for? Okay, I'm there.
I had a one-hour break for lunch. Manasi and I walked down the street from our faculty and discovered a little hole-in-the-wall gyros place. Gyros are advertised in restaurants everywhere here. So, finally, after almost three weeks of being here, I had one. And ooh ooh so tasty! I just love that dressing stuff they put on there! It's very similar dressing Ali Baba's (one of my favorite restaurants in Tucson where Mikey always gets gyros and I get kebabs) uses on their salads. I think I found my new Tuesday lunchtime spot! I don't know if this place even had a name... just a giant wooden plank leaning against the wall on the street, and in big bloody red paint it shouted: GYROS!
And I ended my long school day with three hours in Hungarian Language class. My Magyar teacher has short, spiky blond hair with purple bangs and light blue eyes. She is a great language teacher. She is very interactive and uses all sorts of techniques and methods for us to acquire Magyar as another language. This language has some wicked pronounciation! For example, look at the word: csokola'de'. Now, upon looking at it I would have not guessed it means chocolate. But hearing it out loud and learning the pronounciation... it's one of those... "Ooooohh," moments... "I get it." And, chocolate is pretty much universal in its own form, anyway. Chocolate, chocolat, cioccolato, Schokolade, chocolade, csokola'de'...
Now, on this beautiful day in Pecs, I think I might go have the best capuccino in the world and read some Shakespeare...
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab."
-Macbeth's Witches
(IV.1.30-32)
It's picturesque, really. I walk in through a creaky wooden door with a loose brass handle, to a classroom that has nothing but the sun lighting the room, less than 15 students, a sturdy chalkboard (black as night with chalk white as snow), coat hangers against the off-white walls, caramel wooden floors, matching wooden desks with iron legs, high ceilings, naked tree branches reaching through the open windows, and a professor reciting Shakespeare's Macbeth in a Hungarian accent.
"Now," my professor looks up from her book, pauses, and says, "why should Macbeth not kill the King? What are the reasons he gives us?"
It's about time I've rekindled that old flame. I was a Shakespeare-junkie in high school, and now I'm relapsing.
My other literature class is also the quintessential, old-fashioned classroom. We're studying Herman Melville, just finished reading a few excerpts from Typee, and are now onto bigger things (literally) like Moby Dick. I honestly had no idea what Moby Dick would be like, and I am actually enjoying it. It is incredibly poetic and really an adventure. Plus, I'm so glad I finally got to experience that first-line first-hand... Call me Ishmael. I mean, come on, all those writers out there who try to think of a brilliant first-line for a novel... I think that's it. Arguable, of course... but really, I love it.
Onto my third class of the day called 'Political Culture in Hungary.' The professor for this class is very awesome. He speaks English well, is really excited about politics in Hungary (and East Africa, randomly) and we might all take a field-trip to the Parliament in Budapest. He informed us that on March 9 there is a critical vote taking place about whether or not FEES will be implemented for the first time for things like: bed spaces in hospitals, tuition fees for college students... and other controversial issues as such. My new Hungarian friend Agnus in my Melville class actually told me about this last week. She threw her hands in the air, slapped them against her hips and said, "I just could not afford the university! No one here could!" My excited Politics professor warned, with raised eyebrows, "this means protests in Budapest in a couple weeks..."
What? Protests? When? Where? What for? Okay, I'm there.
I had a one-hour break for lunch. Manasi and I walked down the street from our faculty and discovered a little hole-in-the-wall gyros place. Gyros are advertised in restaurants everywhere here. So, finally, after almost three weeks of being here, I had one. And ooh ooh so tasty! I just love that dressing stuff they put on there! It's very similar dressing Ali Baba's (one of my favorite restaurants in Tucson where Mikey always gets gyros and I get kebabs) uses on their salads. I think I found my new Tuesday lunchtime spot! I don't know if this place even had a name... just a giant wooden plank leaning against the wall on the street, and in big bloody red paint it shouted: GYROS!
And I ended my long school day with three hours in Hungarian Language class. My Magyar teacher has short, spiky blond hair with purple bangs and light blue eyes. She is a great language teacher. She is very interactive and uses all sorts of techniques and methods for us to acquire Magyar as another language. This language has some wicked pronounciation! For example, look at the word: csokola'de'. Now, upon looking at it I would have not guessed it means chocolate. But hearing it out loud and learning the pronounciation... it's one of those... "Ooooohh," moments... "I get it." And, chocolate is pretty much universal in its own form, anyway. Chocolate, chocolat, cioccolato, Schokolade, chocolade, csokola'de'...
Now, on this beautiful day in Pecs, I think I might go have the best capuccino in the world and read some Shakespeare...
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Lending bathtubs, borrowing money, forgetting passports, and wandering around Budapest
Thursday night there was a special "Welcoming/V-day" Party for the international students in a very small restaurant (we rented out the place). There must have been 100+ of us. There was free pizza and everyone received one free German beer (1/2 liter in size... is this normal?). I actually liked the taste of it. Our European friends made Manasi and I eat the pepperonis and chilis pizza because, "Oh! It is so spicy!" I thought it was delicious. It made me miss the Mexican food in Tucson.
After schmoozing with the French, drinking our "Sex on the Beach" (which of course an amazing drink for provacative exlamations such as, "Oh! Let's have Sex on the Beach! I love having Sex on the Beach! Let's have Sex on the Beach together!" followed by the endless tapping of glasses and shouting out cheers: "Egeszsegetekre!"), and dancing for a couple hours to a very eclectic mix of house, techno, Latin, then hip hop, old school, and cheesy Ricky Martin, we decided to step outside and cool off. The below-freezing temperatures were hardly intimidating (at the time for hopefully obvious reasons). I particularly took note in the extraordinarily steep road in front of the pub across the street. So steep that I could not fathom how the cars were parked on it. Well, I obviously had no other choice but to hike it with my French amis in order to experience the intensity of the hill first-hand (seemed like a good idea, at the time). We were all in heals that were probably not suitable for hiking, but the laughing along the way made it bearable. Once we were at the top we triumphed in waving down to the others and calling out "Egeszsegetekre!" Very angry dogs from a flat in the dark building next to us began barking death threats so we somehow managed to run down without falling on our faces.
About an hour after that, Manasi, the third American girl (there are four total Americans here), and I decided to take a cab home at about 2am. This was actually somewhat early, but Manasi and Pennsylvania (I can't remember her name but that's where she's from) were tired and I was supposed to be up by 5am to catch a train to Prague for the weekend.
I was in bed by 2:30-3ish.
At 5am, Mauricio knocked on my door to make sure I was getting ready. In my diziness I threw my backpack together with an extra pair of jeans, underwear, socks, t-shirt, toothbrush, toothpaste, tampons, my camera, and Moby Dick (I have to read the entire thing for one of my classes). My traveler's wallet, which straps around my waste beneath my jeans, securely held my passport, traveler's insurance card, Pecs Student ID card, Chase Bank card, 10 000 forints ($60 USD), and my calling card. I considered myself ready. Afterall, it was only going to be 2 or 3 days.
Mauricio and I stood in the hallway, waiting for Hwang to finish throwing his things together. Hwang is from South Korea and he brought his rolly suitcase. It was kind of funny.
The three of us left Szanto, our hostel, and walked in the dark, freezing, windy morning towards the nearest intersection (about a 5 minute walk) to meet up with Tiziano. Only four of us turned up, the other two Italian girls bailed.
Tiziano was also a little late, and before we knew it, it was 5:45am. Our bus, about ten minutes away (I will be giving minutes/hours as a measurement of distance by foot unless I indicate a different form of transportation) was scheduled to be there in 5 minutes. We ran. We missed it.
So, instead, we took a taxi to the train station. Our train was scheduled to leave at 6:15am for Budapest.
We ran around the train station, found the booth to purchase tickets, dished out our Student cards for the truly incredible discount (nearly 1/2 price, I believe) and bought our tickets to Budapest for about 2,200 forint each (approx. $13 USD). We hurried to the train, found our car, and claimed our seats. The train started moving about 4 minutes later.
The first hour (out of three) consisted of Tiziano talking about the Italian soldiers dying in the War in Iraq. "No Italian likes this War. I don't understand," he would say, trying his hardest to express himself in broken English under his thick Italian accent, "Americans have same connection to news we do. The war is because of Petrol (oil) and this is true. How do Americans not know this? Why don't they care? The facts are clear."
Before I could speak, Hwang said quickly, "Same for Korea. Korea has to do whatever America tells us. There are still soldiers from America in my country. Korea has no choice. We have to go to the War in Iraq, too."
I sighed and chose my words carefully, responding to Tiziano. "Not many Americans realize this, Tiziano. Not many Americans read the kind of news that you do. And yes, not many Americans even care. They go to work, they go home, if they have families they tend to their families, then they go to sleep. It is the common cycle of life in America for the lower and middle and upper-middle class workers."
"But how do they not know? Why don't they care?"
"I guess they don't read the news. Americans watch a lot of TV. So they can't really care if they don't know. And even if they did know, they still probably wouldn't care."
"Why not?" he asked, again. Hwang was shaking his head.
"I think many Americans are apathetic or cannot think for themselves."
We sat silently for a moment, thinking about what had been said, and I put my hand on his shoulder and looked him in the face.
"But, Tiziano, please know this. There are Americans who care. There are Americans who know. There are people who work tirelessly against the war, protesting, trying to spread the word," I said.
"Is it working?" he asked.
"I hope so."
The next two hours, we slept.
We arrived in Budapest to a bright day. We had 15 minutes to get off the train, purchase tickets for the train to Prague, and get onto that train.
The train station was enormous and exciting. We ran over to the arrivals/departure sign, which was a large black thing hanging from the ceiling. Each letter was its own flap, switching to the next letter when forming a new name of a new city, making swift fluttering sounds as names were constantly being changed. I personally had no idea what was going on or how to read this chaotic board of arrivals and departures.
We pushed our way through the crowd towards the international tickets booth. We waited, as patiently as possible, in line behind two people. We had nine minutes left.
Once we got to the window we had six minutes left.
"Four tickets to PRAGUE!" Tiziano spoke as clearly as possible.
"Student tickets," Mauricio added.
"Are you under 26?" the teller asked.
"Yes."
"Can I see your student cards and passports?" she asked.
Hwang forgot his passport.
Not kidding.
He was completely devastated.
"It's okay, it's okay," Tiziano said. "We say you lost it two days ago in Pecs."
And our passports and student cards sat in a pile, minus Hwang's passport. He kept mumbling to himself, "I cannot believe I forgot. How did I forget it?"
"13,500 forints," the teller said.
"For all four, correct?" Mauricio asked.
"No, individual."
That is about $80USD. We were only going for the weekend.
"If I spend that much I won't be able to eat this week," Mauricio said. "That's 45 euros. That is too much for me."
"When is the next train?" Tiziano asked.
"13:00."
"Okay, thank you."
We walked away. Mauricio was shaking his head, "There must be a bus we can take that is half the price. That is so expensive, I did not know. Prices for train are not posted on the website. Now I know why."
Yes, I was very excited to go to Prague for the weekend, and for a moment I was crushed. But then I thought to myself, damn, I am stuck in Budapest. Now isn't that just terrible. =)
We spoke to information booths in the train station, asking where bus stations were, and trying to get price quotas for as much as we could. The bus company they told us about was still pretty expensive. They honestly weren't much help.
We walked around Budapest for two hours, stopping in three Hostels, asking for prices and if they had space for four. One hostel was closed, the other had no space, and the third was too expensive. This didn't really worry me, Budapest must have thousands of youth hostels. Aside from all this, the city is really beautiful. The streets and buildings are really unbelievable and unique. This is when it hit me that I was in Europe and had been in Europe and I will be in Europe for five more months.
Around noon we stopped in a cafe that Tiziano particularly likes because they use Italian coffee machines. We all had a cappuccino. Two elderly men at the table next to us were playing chess.
Our dreams of Prague for the weekend were nearly diminished when Tiziano's friend, who was in Prague, told us about a bus company that leaves for Prague at 16:00 and is only 4,000 forint. The bus station was clear on the other side of town, but we had four hours to get there. We would have to take the subway train to get to the bus station, and we decided to walk to the subway instead of taking a city bus so I could see the city. It was a beautiful day and I could not get enough of the colorful, dramatic, old-fashioned, neo-gothic and neo-renaissance architecture. By 2pm we were at the metro station and bought our tickets.
"Can you borrow me some money for the metro, Justin (Hwang's nickname)?" Tiziano asked. They had been saying, "Can you borrow me (blank)" all morning. Finally, the ESL teacher/extraordinaire that I am, I stepped into the conversation to fulfill my duties.
"It is lend, not borrow. Can you lend me money." This is how I began my lesson.
"Lent?" Tiziano asked.
"No, len-duh." Hwang and Tiziano looked very confused.
"Okay, this is how you say it. Can you lend me some money. Or, can I borrow some money."
They repeated the phrases after me.
"Can I borrow money to you?" Tiziano asked Justin.
"No," I said, "from you."
As we stood on the fastest, longest, and steepest escalator that I have ever been on, I looked back at Hwang. He had a strange expression on his face. "Are you okay?" I asked him.
"Oh, yes! I am just thinking about lending and borrowing."
"Okay," I said. "I need money from you. You are the lender, I am the borrower. You lend, I borrow.
"Oh! Oh!" he exclaimed. "Amazing! Brooke, thank you. I understand. Wonderful, wonderful."
As we stood on the metro, Tiziano confirmed, "I borrow, you lent" (this is just his accent, something I didn't seem necessary to correct).
"Yep," I said.
"This is crazy, all semester and all last year I say, Can you borrow me a book? or money? or something, and no one corrected me," Tiziano explained.
"Well now you know."
"Amazing," Hwang said again.
When we got off the metro and to the bus station, things got complicated and tiresome. I am even dreading writing about it, right now. I will just say that, the bus company at the station didn't have a bus leavning for Prague until 11pm. The company we searched for was parked a mile away in a park, which was a meeting spot. We finally found them (on foot) and the driver told us we need reservations for the ride. Their office location was on the other side of town, where we had just come from. There was no way we could make it there and back on time. We walked a mile back to the original bus station, tried going online to book tickets, but you need to book online at least two days in advance. We called the company, they told us we can try buying tickets from the driver if there are enough seats left. We walked back to the bus across the park. The driver told us that we could buy tickets from Budapest to some random city that I do not remember the name of (their halfway stop from Budapest to Prague), and then from that city we would have to buy new tickets to Prague, which he could not ensure us there would be extras, meaning we would be stuck in that city if this be the case, plus we would have to pay in a different currency, and also we were not sure if they would ask for passports or not (because Justin still did not have his).
We sat on the bench. The sun started to go down. It was getting colder. We had been walking across town since 9:30am. We watched the people with reservations load onto the bus.
"I don't know," said Mauricio. "So much adventure today already."
"You three could go, and I would go back to Pecs," Hwang suggested since he didn't have his passport.
"No, no," I said.
We sat. The Italians were pissed at the bus driver because they felt like he was laughing at us and our situation. "I could kick his ass so hard," Mauricio said as he rolled tobacco for a cigarette. "I could kick his ass for two hours straight."
Mauricio and Tiziano conversed in rapid-fire Italian, smoking cigarettes and, yes, throwing their hands up in the air in dramatic movements.
"We can catch a bus, at the real bus station, back to Pecs for tonight," Mauricio suggested. "Too much adventure today already," he said again, "I am completely destroyed."
"We can still stay in Budapest one night," Tiziano suggested.
"I am destroyed," Mauricio said again.
"I think I am getting sick," Hwang explained.
I just sat there trying not to think about the cold.
We walked back to the bus station. There was a bus leaving for Pecs at 4:15pm. It was 4:10.
We waited in line, as patiently as possible, for the lady only to tell us which bus number, that it would be a 5 hour bus ride, and we buy the tickets on the bus. We ran. We climbed on the bus, bought out tickets, sat down on the crowded bus apart from each other. The driver immediately closed the doors and drove off. Our tickets only cost 1,500 forint, half the price, $9 USD.
I fell asleep, no, I completely passed out for the first two hours of the bus ride. I was probably drooling, my mouth was wide open, and I kept waking myself up from little sleep-talking noises that I was making. Finally I came completely back to consciousness when the woman next to me started gathering her things. I looked around and we were in a different city I had never seen.
"This your stop?" I asked her, nicely.
"Mmm," she said, "Parlez-vous francais?"
Dammit, I thought. I almost said Oui, and je m'appelle Brooke, et tois?, but that is as far as our conversation would have gone. So I just said, "No."
We sat for a moment, and I said, "Habla espanol?" It was worth a try. And at least she would know I could speak more than one language for my own pride's sake.
She laughed, "no. Sprichst du Deutsches?"
Somehow I knew she was asking me if I spoke German. I don't know how I understood, and I even surprised more when I said, "nein."
Well, at least we tried.
I sat on the bus for another hour, wide awake, and I thought that my bladder might explode. I couldn't wait another two hours longer. I really really really had to go. We made another stop, where the driver put the bus in park and stepped outside for a cigarette. I tried following him off, to say, "Toilet?" making sure that he wouldn't leave without me, but he walked around the building before I could catch up. I hesitated. Where was a bathroom? Would I have time? Would they leave without me? Where were we?
I saw a bathroom across the street. I ran. There was a large, burly woman standing at the door with a sign that said: 80 forint (many public restrooms charge a fee to use their toilets in Hungary). My hands were shaking as I rummaged through my traveler's wallet, counting my coins. Not enough. I threw a 500 forint bill at her and bolted into the stall, emptied my bladder like I've never emptied my bladder before, grabbed my change from her and zipped up my pants as I ran across the street, back into the bus. The driver got on right after me. And we drove away.
We got back to Pecs at 10:30 last night. The ten minute walk from the bus stop to Szanto was in below-freezing winds. "My fingers are turning purple!" Mauricio kept yelling. "Today was crazy. I am completely destroyed."
Finally, as we stood in the hallway of our dorm to say goodnight, I spoke my thoughts out loud to our small group. "I could really go for a hot, hot bath right now. Too bad there are not bathtubs here, but I guess that would be kind of gross, anyway."
Tiziano had just moved out of the hostel one week ago and now lives in a flat across the street. "I have a bathtub," he said. And his face lit up, as he announced, "I will LENT you my bathtub!"
After schmoozing with the French, drinking our "Sex on the Beach" (which of course an amazing drink for provacative exlamations such as, "Oh! Let's have Sex on the Beach! I love having Sex on the Beach! Let's have Sex on the Beach together!" followed by the endless tapping of glasses and shouting out cheers: "Egeszsegetekre!"), and dancing for a couple hours to a very eclectic mix of house, techno, Latin, then hip hop, old school, and cheesy Ricky Martin, we decided to step outside and cool off. The below-freezing temperatures were hardly intimidating (at the time for hopefully obvious reasons). I particularly took note in the extraordinarily steep road in front of the pub across the street. So steep that I could not fathom how the cars were parked on it. Well, I obviously had no other choice but to hike it with my French amis in order to experience the intensity of the hill first-hand (seemed like a good idea, at the time). We were all in heals that were probably not suitable for hiking, but the laughing along the way made it bearable. Once we were at the top we triumphed in waving down to the others and calling out "Egeszsegetekre!" Very angry dogs from a flat in the dark building next to us began barking death threats so we somehow managed to run down without falling on our faces.
About an hour after that, Manasi, the third American girl (there are four total Americans here), and I decided to take a cab home at about 2am. This was actually somewhat early, but Manasi and Pennsylvania (I can't remember her name but that's where she's from) were tired and I was supposed to be up by 5am to catch a train to Prague for the weekend.
I was in bed by 2:30-3ish.
At 5am, Mauricio knocked on my door to make sure I was getting ready. In my diziness I threw my backpack together with an extra pair of jeans, underwear, socks, t-shirt, toothbrush, toothpaste, tampons, my camera, and Moby Dick (I have to read the entire thing for one of my classes). My traveler's wallet, which straps around my waste beneath my jeans, securely held my passport, traveler's insurance card, Pecs Student ID card, Chase Bank card, 10 000 forints ($60 USD), and my calling card. I considered myself ready. Afterall, it was only going to be 2 or 3 days.
Mauricio and I stood in the hallway, waiting for Hwang to finish throwing his things together. Hwang is from South Korea and he brought his rolly suitcase. It was kind of funny.
The three of us left Szanto, our hostel, and walked in the dark, freezing, windy morning towards the nearest intersection (about a 5 minute walk) to meet up with Tiziano. Only four of us turned up, the other two Italian girls bailed.
Tiziano was also a little late, and before we knew it, it was 5:45am. Our bus, about ten minutes away (I will be giving minutes/hours as a measurement of distance by foot unless I indicate a different form of transportation) was scheduled to be there in 5 minutes. We ran. We missed it.
So, instead, we took a taxi to the train station. Our train was scheduled to leave at 6:15am for Budapest.
We ran around the train station, found the booth to purchase tickets, dished out our Student cards for the truly incredible discount (nearly 1/2 price, I believe) and bought our tickets to Budapest for about 2,200 forint each (approx. $13 USD). We hurried to the train, found our car, and claimed our seats. The train started moving about 4 minutes later.
The first hour (out of three) consisted of Tiziano talking about the Italian soldiers dying in the War in Iraq. "No Italian likes this War. I don't understand," he would say, trying his hardest to express himself in broken English under his thick Italian accent, "Americans have same connection to news we do. The war is because of Petrol (oil) and this is true. How do Americans not know this? Why don't they care? The facts are clear."
Before I could speak, Hwang said quickly, "Same for Korea. Korea has to do whatever America tells us. There are still soldiers from America in my country. Korea has no choice. We have to go to the War in Iraq, too."
I sighed and chose my words carefully, responding to Tiziano. "Not many Americans realize this, Tiziano. Not many Americans read the kind of news that you do. And yes, not many Americans even care. They go to work, they go home, if they have families they tend to their families, then they go to sleep. It is the common cycle of life in America for the lower and middle and upper-middle class workers."
"But how do they not know? Why don't they care?"
"I guess they don't read the news. Americans watch a lot of TV. So they can't really care if they don't know. And even if they did know, they still probably wouldn't care."
"Why not?" he asked, again. Hwang was shaking his head.
"I think many Americans are apathetic or cannot think for themselves."
We sat silently for a moment, thinking about what had been said, and I put my hand on his shoulder and looked him in the face.
"But, Tiziano, please know this. There are Americans who care. There are Americans who know. There are people who work tirelessly against the war, protesting, trying to spread the word," I said.
"Is it working?" he asked.
"I hope so."
The next two hours, we slept.
We arrived in Budapest to a bright day. We had 15 minutes to get off the train, purchase tickets for the train to Prague, and get onto that train.
The train station was enormous and exciting. We ran over to the arrivals/departure sign, which was a large black thing hanging from the ceiling. Each letter was its own flap, switching to the next letter when forming a new name of a new city, making swift fluttering sounds as names were constantly being changed. I personally had no idea what was going on or how to read this chaotic board of arrivals and departures.
We pushed our way through the crowd towards the international tickets booth. We waited, as patiently as possible, in line behind two people. We had nine minutes left.
Once we got to the window we had six minutes left.
"Four tickets to PRAGUE!" Tiziano spoke as clearly as possible.
"Student tickets," Mauricio added.
"Are you under 26?" the teller asked.
"Yes."
"Can I see your student cards and passports?" she asked.
Hwang forgot his passport.
Not kidding.
He was completely devastated.
"It's okay, it's okay," Tiziano said. "We say you lost it two days ago in Pecs."
And our passports and student cards sat in a pile, minus Hwang's passport. He kept mumbling to himself, "I cannot believe I forgot. How did I forget it?"
"13,500 forints," the teller said.
"For all four, correct?" Mauricio asked.
"No, individual."
That is about $80USD. We were only going for the weekend.
"If I spend that much I won't be able to eat this week," Mauricio said. "That's 45 euros. That is too much for me."
"When is the next train?" Tiziano asked.
"13:00."
"Okay, thank you."
We walked away. Mauricio was shaking his head, "There must be a bus we can take that is half the price. That is so expensive, I did not know. Prices for train are not posted on the website. Now I know why."
Yes, I was very excited to go to Prague for the weekend, and for a moment I was crushed. But then I thought to myself, damn, I am stuck in Budapest. Now isn't that just terrible. =)
We spoke to information booths in the train station, asking where bus stations were, and trying to get price quotas for as much as we could. The bus company they told us about was still pretty expensive. They honestly weren't much help.
We walked around Budapest for two hours, stopping in three Hostels, asking for prices and if they had space for four. One hostel was closed, the other had no space, and the third was too expensive. This didn't really worry me, Budapest must have thousands of youth hostels. Aside from all this, the city is really beautiful. The streets and buildings are really unbelievable and unique. This is when it hit me that I was in Europe and had been in Europe and I will be in Europe for five more months.
Around noon we stopped in a cafe that Tiziano particularly likes because they use Italian coffee machines. We all had a cappuccino. Two elderly men at the table next to us were playing chess.
Our dreams of Prague for the weekend were nearly diminished when Tiziano's friend, who was in Prague, told us about a bus company that leaves for Prague at 16:00 and is only 4,000 forint. The bus station was clear on the other side of town, but we had four hours to get there. We would have to take the subway train to get to the bus station, and we decided to walk to the subway instead of taking a city bus so I could see the city. It was a beautiful day and I could not get enough of the colorful, dramatic, old-fashioned, neo-gothic and neo-renaissance architecture. By 2pm we were at the metro station and bought our tickets.
"Can you borrow me some money for the metro, Justin (Hwang's nickname)?" Tiziano asked. They had been saying, "Can you borrow me (blank)" all morning. Finally, the ESL teacher/extraordinaire that I am, I stepped into the conversation to fulfill my duties.
"It is lend, not borrow. Can you lend me money." This is how I began my lesson.
"Lent?" Tiziano asked.
"No, len-duh." Hwang and Tiziano looked very confused.
"Okay, this is how you say it. Can you lend me some money. Or, can I borrow some money."
They repeated the phrases after me.
"Can I borrow money to you?" Tiziano asked Justin.
"No," I said, "from you."
As we stood on the fastest, longest, and steepest escalator that I have ever been on, I looked back at Hwang. He had a strange expression on his face. "Are you okay?" I asked him.
"Oh, yes! I am just thinking about lending and borrowing."
"Okay," I said. "I need money from you. You are the lender, I am the borrower. You lend, I borrow.
"Oh! Oh!" he exclaimed. "Amazing! Brooke, thank you. I understand. Wonderful, wonderful."
As we stood on the metro, Tiziano confirmed, "I borrow, you lent" (this is just his accent, something I didn't seem necessary to correct).
"Yep," I said.
"This is crazy, all semester and all last year I say, Can you borrow me a book? or money? or something, and no one corrected me," Tiziano explained.
"Well now you know."
"Amazing," Hwang said again.
When we got off the metro and to the bus station, things got complicated and tiresome. I am even dreading writing about it, right now. I will just say that, the bus company at the station didn't have a bus leavning for Prague until 11pm. The company we searched for was parked a mile away in a park, which was a meeting spot. We finally found them (on foot) and the driver told us we need reservations for the ride. Their office location was on the other side of town, where we had just come from. There was no way we could make it there and back on time. We walked a mile back to the original bus station, tried going online to book tickets, but you need to book online at least two days in advance. We called the company, they told us we can try buying tickets from the driver if there are enough seats left. We walked back to the bus across the park. The driver told us that we could buy tickets from Budapest to some random city that I do not remember the name of (their halfway stop from Budapest to Prague), and then from that city we would have to buy new tickets to Prague, which he could not ensure us there would be extras, meaning we would be stuck in that city if this be the case, plus we would have to pay in a different currency, and also we were not sure if they would ask for passports or not (because Justin still did not have his).
We sat on the bench. The sun started to go down. It was getting colder. We had been walking across town since 9:30am. We watched the people with reservations load onto the bus.
"I don't know," said Mauricio. "So much adventure today already."
"You three could go, and I would go back to Pecs," Hwang suggested since he didn't have his passport.
"No, no," I said.
We sat. The Italians were pissed at the bus driver because they felt like he was laughing at us and our situation. "I could kick his ass so hard," Mauricio said as he rolled tobacco for a cigarette. "I could kick his ass for two hours straight."
Mauricio and Tiziano conversed in rapid-fire Italian, smoking cigarettes and, yes, throwing their hands up in the air in dramatic movements.
"We can catch a bus, at the real bus station, back to Pecs for tonight," Mauricio suggested. "Too much adventure today already," he said again, "I am completely destroyed."
"We can still stay in Budapest one night," Tiziano suggested.
"I am destroyed," Mauricio said again.
"I think I am getting sick," Hwang explained.
I just sat there trying not to think about the cold.
We walked back to the bus station. There was a bus leaving for Pecs at 4:15pm. It was 4:10.
We waited in line, as patiently as possible, for the lady only to tell us which bus number, that it would be a 5 hour bus ride, and we buy the tickets on the bus. We ran. We climbed on the bus, bought out tickets, sat down on the crowded bus apart from each other. The driver immediately closed the doors and drove off. Our tickets only cost 1,500 forint, half the price, $9 USD.
I fell asleep, no, I completely passed out for the first two hours of the bus ride. I was probably drooling, my mouth was wide open, and I kept waking myself up from little sleep-talking noises that I was making. Finally I came completely back to consciousness when the woman next to me started gathering her things. I looked around and we were in a different city I had never seen.
"This your stop?" I asked her, nicely.
"Mmm," she said, "Parlez-vous francais?"
Dammit, I thought. I almost said Oui, and je m'appelle Brooke, et tois?, but that is as far as our conversation would have gone. So I just said, "No."
We sat for a moment, and I said, "Habla espanol?" It was worth a try. And at least she would know I could speak more than one language for my own pride's sake.
She laughed, "no. Sprichst du Deutsches?"
Somehow I knew she was asking me if I spoke German. I don't know how I understood, and I even surprised more when I said, "nein."
Well, at least we tried.
I sat on the bus for another hour, wide awake, and I thought that my bladder might explode. I couldn't wait another two hours longer. I really really really had to go. We made another stop, where the driver put the bus in park and stepped outside for a cigarette. I tried following him off, to say, "Toilet?" making sure that he wouldn't leave without me, but he walked around the building before I could catch up. I hesitated. Where was a bathroom? Would I have time? Would they leave without me? Where were we?
I saw a bathroom across the street. I ran. There was a large, burly woman standing at the door with a sign that said: 80 forint (many public restrooms charge a fee to use their toilets in Hungary). My hands were shaking as I rummaged through my traveler's wallet, counting my coins. Not enough. I threw a 500 forint bill at her and bolted into the stall, emptied my bladder like I've never emptied my bladder before, grabbed my change from her and zipped up my pants as I ran across the street, back into the bus. The driver got on right after me. And we drove away.
We got back to Pecs at 10:30 last night. The ten minute walk from the bus stop to Szanto was in below-freezing winds. "My fingers are turning purple!" Mauricio kept yelling. "Today was crazy. I am completely destroyed."
Finally, as we stood in the hallway of our dorm to say goodnight, I spoke my thoughts out loud to our small group. "I could really go for a hot, hot bath right now. Too bad there are not bathtubs here, but I guess that would be kind of gross, anyway."
Tiziano had just moved out of the hostel one week ago and now lives in a flat across the street. "I have a bathtub," he said. And his face lit up, as he announced, "I will LENT you my bathtub!"
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
sun
Oh, the ancient, wondrous Eastern European sunset! Walking home this evening from my Hungarian Language class, the sun was enormous, and low, and a rich burnt orange. I mean, it was HUGE and in my face. I soaked in it. It was a gigantic, red majestic sun against the soft purple haze, through the large, gray skeletal trees and steep, pointed rooftops. Mild waves boiled across the distance of the diameter, like a mystical mirage, as I gazed into its fire; and all the while small cars sputtered past me and the frozen wind chilled my cheeks and tips of my fingers.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Things I Did this Weekend (Craft of blog inspired by the wonderful Ms. Judith Hume)
Friday
1) I woke up around 8, stretched, and read a few chapters of Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love" (which I highly recommend for anyone; it is great writing, journalistic and memoir, intellectual and witty, and all about her travels to Italy, India, and Indonesia).
2) Decided that the only appropriate place for me to have breakfast on a Friday morning before a day of museum-hunting would be the home of the best cappuccino in the world. Manasi joined me, agreeing that it would be the perfect way to start the day, where we sat upon the same to stools as before at the high countertop. I had the scrambled eggs with bacon, she had the chocolate pancakes. And yes of course, we both had our own best cappuccino in the world. My eggs were yellow and scrambled and firm. The cubes of ham were mixed in throughout, somewhat hidden, like little surprises whenever I bit into one (the bacon and ham here is seriously delicious, and that comes from not a big bacon eater back in the states). Same goes with the surprise cheese. Okay but the best part about my eggs was the paprika dashed over the entirety of my small plate. Mmm-mm good.
3) Walked to the Faculty of Humanities to get my Hungarian Student ID card which I have to update every 2 months for whatever administrative bureaucratic reason. (350 forint to get the card, and 350 forint each time I update it). But hey I get student discounts on the bus and at museums and at the theater. Hopefully on the train, too.
4) Walked downtown. It was a beautiful day, blue skies, still cold but I'm actually getting use to it. From my hostel, the walk to my faculty is about 20-30 minutes. The walk downtown from the faculty is about another 20-30 minutes. Time doesn't really matter though, because the journey itself is really wonderful (small, European streets with high colorful buildings).
5) From the city center, Manasi and I followed the few signs in the direction which they pointed. They never really pointed at any specific streets to take, just sort of areas where the museums might be. We kept suggesting to one another, "how about... this way..."
6) And we found a museum. "Museum" in Magyar is muzeum (with an accent above the "u"), thankfully. Or else we probably never would have stumbled upon this particular muzeum.
7) It was a muzeum of architecture and decoration. An elderly woman sold us our tickets, and, with the student discount, it only cost us $2 each. I'm not kidding. And this was a very beautiful museum. Everything well-kept, restored, recorded, protected, explained, and lit. It was full of pieces of buildings, statues, lots and lots of ceramics, even a pond with ducks (not real-live ducks... artistic ducks), some paintings, chairs, table settings (extravagant), and my favorite part, the tiles. Wall tiles, specifically. They were beautiful and colorful and abstract. We nearly had the entire muzeum to ourselves. Only one other couple was there, that I saw. And a bored, young security guy doing the daily crossword as he leaned against the precious muzeum walls. His highlight of the day was probably when he had to wave his finger at us, saying, "no, no," when Manasi was half-way on her journey of climbing onto the fountain/pond thing for me to take her picture with the artistic ducks.
8) We stayed until the muzeum closed, at 4pm. It was that awesome.
9) Manasi and I found our way back down the labyrinth of streets and to the city center. We stopped in a little restaurant/cafe for a late lunch of goulash, a tradtional Hungarian dish. It is usually made of beef, onions, red peppers, and paprika powder (sometimes sour cream, spatzle, and finely chopped potatoes are added, maybe even some wine) and prepared as a soup.
Saturday
1) Slept in (until 9:30).
2) Stretched, read, made my bed.
3) Washed my jeans (the washer in my hall takes 2 hours for one load, not kidding). I'm lucky I caught it when no one else was doing wash.
4) Walked to the store and bought all kinds of groceries: bread, milk, butter, salt, noodles, sauce, salami, ham, cheese, frozen pizza, yogurt, bananas, granola bars, Nutella, peanuts, cooking sunflower oil, cereal... (this was fun to carry home to the hostel, 6 floors of stairs).
5) Talked to Mom and Dad on skype, then Mikey and da kitties.
6) Wrote some poetry.
7) Drank mulled wine (my new favorite, I mean really, favorite; it is basically hot wine with spices like cinnamon, cloves, orange and lemon rinds, maybe some Brandy) with my Lithuanian friends and practiced our English. I mean, their English. I listened to their Lithuanian like it's a song playing in the background. Or I stuck my head into the conversation pretending I could speak Lithuanian, too.
Sunday
1) Woke up at 9, right before everyone was leaving to go to the TV tower.
2) I will openly admit, I was a little groggy this morning (not from drinking, but I honestly thinking it was my first good-night of sleep since I got here, I nearly wanted to continue sleeping because it was such good sleep, I really only had one cup of mulled wine). But I got up anyway to go to the TV tower despite my inclination to stay in today.
3) I started coughing some pretty nasty coughs on the bus ride to the city center. It got worse as we started the hike (little did I know it was actually a hike, or else I would have been more prepared and stayed in bed). When I say hike, I mean steep hills and roads for 45+ minutes outside of the city, higher and higher, it got more difficult for me to breathe, and my coughs were relentless, pounding from my chest. My face turned red. I guess I should have stayed in bed.
4) I made the best of the situation and allowed my body to rest at the half-way-ish point, thinking everyone would be back in an hour. I sat in a really lovely park, watching dogs run by and little children chasing birds.
5) No one was back yet so I decided to walk back down to the city center and catch a bus home.
6) I took a nap.
7) I started reading "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
1) I woke up around 8, stretched, and read a few chapters of Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love" (which I highly recommend for anyone; it is great writing, journalistic and memoir, intellectual and witty, and all about her travels to Italy, India, and Indonesia).
2) Decided that the only appropriate place for me to have breakfast on a Friday morning before a day of museum-hunting would be the home of the best cappuccino in the world. Manasi joined me, agreeing that it would be the perfect way to start the day, where we sat upon the same to stools as before at the high countertop. I had the scrambled eggs with bacon, she had the chocolate pancakes. And yes of course, we both had our own best cappuccino in the world. My eggs were yellow and scrambled and firm. The cubes of ham were mixed in throughout, somewhat hidden, like little surprises whenever I bit into one (the bacon and ham here is seriously delicious, and that comes from not a big bacon eater back in the states). Same goes with the surprise cheese. Okay but the best part about my eggs was the paprika dashed over the entirety of my small plate. Mmm-mm good.
3) Walked to the Faculty of Humanities to get my Hungarian Student ID card which I have to update every 2 months for whatever administrative bureaucratic reason. (350 forint to get the card, and 350 forint each time I update it). But hey I get student discounts on the bus and at museums and at the theater. Hopefully on the train, too.
4) Walked downtown. It was a beautiful day, blue skies, still cold but I'm actually getting use to it. From my hostel, the walk to my faculty is about 20-30 minutes. The walk downtown from the faculty is about another 20-30 minutes. Time doesn't really matter though, because the journey itself is really wonderful (small, European streets with high colorful buildings).
5) From the city center, Manasi and I followed the few signs in the direction which they pointed. They never really pointed at any specific streets to take, just sort of areas where the museums might be. We kept suggesting to one another, "how about... this way..."
6) And we found a museum. "Museum" in Magyar is muzeum (with an accent above the "u"), thankfully. Or else we probably never would have stumbled upon this particular muzeum.
7) It was a muzeum of architecture and decoration. An elderly woman sold us our tickets, and, with the student discount, it only cost us $2 each. I'm not kidding. And this was a very beautiful museum. Everything well-kept, restored, recorded, protected, explained, and lit. It was full of pieces of buildings, statues, lots and lots of ceramics, even a pond with ducks (not real-live ducks... artistic ducks), some paintings, chairs, table settings (extravagant), and my favorite part, the tiles. Wall tiles, specifically. They were beautiful and colorful and abstract. We nearly had the entire muzeum to ourselves. Only one other couple was there, that I saw. And a bored, young security guy doing the daily crossword as he leaned against the precious muzeum walls. His highlight of the day was probably when he had to wave his finger at us, saying, "no, no," when Manasi was half-way on her journey of climbing onto the fountain/pond thing for me to take her picture with the artistic ducks.
8) We stayed until the muzeum closed, at 4pm. It was that awesome.
9) Manasi and I found our way back down the labyrinth of streets and to the city center. We stopped in a little restaurant/cafe for a late lunch of goulash, a tradtional Hungarian dish. It is usually made of beef, onions, red peppers, and paprika powder (sometimes sour cream, spatzle, and finely chopped potatoes are added, maybe even some wine) and prepared as a soup.
Saturday
1) Slept in (until 9:30).
2) Stretched, read, made my bed.
3) Washed my jeans (the washer in my hall takes 2 hours for one load, not kidding). I'm lucky I caught it when no one else was doing wash.
4) Walked to the store and bought all kinds of groceries: bread, milk, butter, salt, noodles, sauce, salami, ham, cheese, frozen pizza, yogurt, bananas, granola bars, Nutella, peanuts, cooking sunflower oil, cereal... (this was fun to carry home to the hostel, 6 floors of stairs).
5) Talked to Mom and Dad on skype, then Mikey and da kitties.
6) Wrote some poetry.
7) Drank mulled wine (my new favorite, I mean really, favorite; it is basically hot wine with spices like cinnamon, cloves, orange and lemon rinds, maybe some Brandy) with my Lithuanian friends and practiced our English. I mean, their English. I listened to their Lithuanian like it's a song playing in the background. Or I stuck my head into the conversation pretending I could speak Lithuanian, too.
Sunday
1) Woke up at 9, right before everyone was leaving to go to the TV tower.
2) I will openly admit, I was a little groggy this morning (not from drinking, but I honestly thinking it was my first good-night of sleep since I got here, I nearly wanted to continue sleeping because it was such good sleep, I really only had one cup of mulled wine). But I got up anyway to go to the TV tower despite my inclination to stay in today.
3) I started coughing some pretty nasty coughs on the bus ride to the city center. It got worse as we started the hike (little did I know it was actually a hike, or else I would have been more prepared and stayed in bed). When I say hike, I mean steep hills and roads for 45+ minutes outside of the city, higher and higher, it got more difficult for me to breathe, and my coughs were relentless, pounding from my chest. My face turned red. I guess I should have stayed in bed.
4) I made the best of the situation and allowed my body to rest at the half-way-ish point, thinking everyone would be back in an hour. I sat in a really lovely park, watching dogs run by and little children chasing birds.
5) No one was back yet so I decided to walk back down to the city center and catch a bus home.
6) I took a nap.
7) I started reading "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
my walk to the market and the post office
I just sipped on perhaps the most delicious cappuccino... in the world. I was strolling through the neighborhood (after buying a box of Bravil Color "washing powder" at the local market, and miraculously purchasing stamps at the Posta after some extensive communication in a bizarre form of improv sign language... I was nearly pressed against the glass that separated us--myself and a kind, patient yet eager, magenta-ish short-haired Magyar woman--breathing fog circles and planting finger prints... pointing and shaking my head, smiling, frowning, wrinkling my eyebrows, saying "stamps for America," igen (yes), nem (no), waving my hands, cocking my head like a confused puppy, repeating "stamps for America," and did I mention I was breathing fog circles?) when I walked past (I apologize for that long-winded parenthesis pause) a little place that had a huge yellow sign shouting GYROS! My tummy was rumbling just a bit, so I figured I would at least... check it out. Well, turns out they have far more than just gyros. They have pizza, eggs, sandwiches, pancakes, AND... espresso. Could this be it? The European Espresso Experience that I have been waiting for?
Yes. Yes, it was.
Manasi, my roommate also from the UA, was with me. We both agreed to give it a shot. The espresso was only 210 forint... just more than $1 US. I had a 200 forint bill on me, and scavenged through the zipper pouch of my wallet for change. 2 forint cent... 2 forint cent... 1 forint cent... 1 forint cent... 1 forint cent... "It's ok!" the friendly woman said, then continuing conversation in Magyar. I smiled and said... "Koszonom (Thank you very much)."
The best cappuccino in the world pooled itself inside a small, wide, espresso-appropriate cut atop a little saucer where I lay a small packet which I thought was sugar but was actually a toothpick. Well, hah, this cappuccino did not need any packet of sugar. The best cappuccino in the world had a small blob of whipped cream bobbing in the coffee with sprinkled... chocolate? Cinnamon? Some obscure seasoning that made this cappuccino the best cappuccino in the world? I stirred it together with my spoon.
I sipped.
Mmmmmmmmm.
I sipped.
Mmmmmmmmm.
These "mmmmmmmmm's" were vocalized, hymning through my pursed lips, a sound of satisfaction coming from deep within me.
And I sipped.
Mmmmmmmmm.
"Oh my god," Manasi gasped, "this is amazing."
"Mmmhhmmmmm," I agreed.
It was not hot, but warm. It soothed my scratched throat (from coughing). It was roasted, not burnt. It was sweet, but how to describe this sweetness? How do I describe the way the whipped cream dissolved into the coffee? To become, yes... the best cappuccino in the world?
Manasi and I sat in silence, sipping our cappuccinos, and mmmmmmmm-ing. We sat at a high counter, at the window, looking out onto the street. When our cups were empty, I wasn't even sad. It was just the right amount.
We thanked the woman who had just made us the best cappuccino in the world. "It was VERY GOOD!" Manasi said, giving a thumbs-up. I smiled and waved my hand slightly in agreement.
I walked onto the street and towards the intersection with that instant-gratification which espresso provides.
And I saw the Purple Old Lady!
I saw her a couple days ago, at a bus stop where I was going to the city center. She is an old lady. And I mean wrinkly, probably deaf and blind, skinny, tiny, protruding witch-like jaw, and no teeth old lady. She wears all purple. A long purple cloak, a long purple scarf (striped with light purple against dark purple), a purple hat, AND LARGE PURPLE GLASSES. The old lady kind of glasses that only old ladies wear. Huge, circular magnifying glass lenses with a thick purple frame. She looked like this two days ago, and looked like this again today.
I really want to take a picture of her.
So, I decided, I must learn a few things in Magyar. "Can I take a picture of you?" And, if she is offended, then, "Please? I am from America, and, you are so cute." Perhaps after that she would pose for me. I doubt she would smile, but if she did, well, that would be awesome. I am sure I will see her again. Someone like her must walk around just to be seen... because, after all, she is the Purple Old Lady.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
emergency pasta
I just ate some spaghetti for lunch. Maricho made it for "Justin" and I... he said, "I am so sorry! This pasta is not very good-- I am ashamed. But I was so hungry I had to make emergency pasta." And of course, I thought it was delicious. But according to Maricho's standards it was like "eating glue." He told me, "I invite you next time I make the good pasta." Oh don't worry Maricho, I will be there. And all things considered, for making an "emergency pasta," it was very tasty, and it took him over 30 minutes to prepare! He made the sauce from tomato paste, cream, onions, and a few other spices. I cannot imagine how long it would take him to make "the good pasta..."
While Maricho prepared the pasta, I sat quietly at the table with two other girls from Japan who were making cake. "She wanted cake!" Hana said about her Japanese friend and roommate, "So we make it." They whipped the eggs and flour and other misc. cake ingredients to a fluffy perfection and put it in their small round pan. It was baking in the oven when I left and they were making the cream for the topping.
And now here I am telling you about my lunch. I think I am going to go for a walk.
While Maricho prepared the pasta, I sat quietly at the table with two other girls from Japan who were making cake. "She wanted cake!" Hana said about her Japanese friend and roommate, "So we make it." They whipped the eggs and flour and other misc. cake ingredients to a fluffy perfection and put it in their small round pan. It was baking in the oven when I left and they were making the cream for the topping.
And now here I am telling you about my lunch. I think I am going to go for a walk.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
sicky head
it's tuesday night. i leave thursday morning (and i mean early thursday morning, not just morning morning, like 10 o'clock-ish, but more like 6:30ish, a real morning). So i leave early thursday, and it's late tuesday, and i have nothing packed. well, at least my laundry is done. but honestly my face is congested and it makes me not care about things except for nyquil and this pillow resting beneath my bum. don't worry, i've been taking vitamins and drinking lots o' H2O and o.j.
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