My limited Czech is a constant source of troubles in Prague. That said, I've dedicated a fair amount of time looking up new words, memorizing important phrases, and even listening to a few language courses on tape. The progress is still slow, however, I've gotten to a point where if I come up against someone (say a Post Office official) who speaks no English, I am not entirely helpless, just mostly helpless. That said, the Czechs are somewhere in the height of language snobbery, possibly topping the Parisians. There's no "Thanks-For-Trying" smile. Most of the time, I can say a sentence to a Czech, and unless I get it all perfectly right, they ignore what I said. For instance, when I was explaining to the new security guard at P&G that I needed the keys to my classroom, she took issue with my pronunciation of yellow (the color of the key chain) and thus ignored my request, even when I spelled the Czech word for it. The result has been a heaping on to my already thorough anxiety about using other languages. Often it's not that I don't know the word, I just get nervous using it around native speakers (whether that's German, Czech, or Italian).
I went into our weekend trip to Rome with a few refresher web courses under my belt and the notion that despite my Czech setbacks I would just go for it, and damn the Italians that snickered about my horrid pronunciation or incorrect grammatical structures. What a wonderful surprise that my first attempt (at a pasta place near the Vatican) was met with not only a smile but comprehension. Of course he spoke wonderful English and we thus used our native tongues throughout the meal, but it was a nice shot of confidence.
Now out of my neuroses and into Rome. What a city. There's a might to Rome that I haven't seen matched yet. We've all seen pictures of the Colosseum, Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, and everything else that makes printing brochures about the city the easiest thing in the world, but seeing them in person is much more satisfying. Pictures don't quite do justice to the grandeur of Capitol Hill, or the giant columns on the forum.
We left a Prague of fine snow whipping the sidewalks into unwalkable stretches of Siberian tundra, and jumped on a morning flight. After landing to a balmy 50-degree sunshine and a cab/van ride to our apartment and checking out the less-than-hospitable digs, we set out (all 8 of us: Alex, Liz, Pat Buckle, Lindsey, 3 Czechs, and me) towards the nearest metro. Unfortunately I took a wrong turn and led us a few blocks out of the way. That was enough time for the Czechs, and consequently Buckle, to decided that me leading was not their best option, and so we separated: Lindsey, Alex, Liz and I going to the Vatican via metro, the other four (let's call them group B) venturing off to god-knows-where. After the flight, the walking and the metro, we were all ready for a meal and a frothy espresso. We found a place I'd made a note of from a few travel sites a few blocks away and stuffed ourselves full of hearty homemade pasta and caffeine. We then went to St. Peter's Basilica. The square, impressive and dominated by the largest Catholic church on the planet, was sprinkled with sun-soaking Romans and wrapped in a line of impatient Catholics about as long as that kind of line could be. We decided, after seeing the inchworm pace of the queue, to forego the basilica and possibly get it the next day (which we didn't) or on a return trip when we have more time...and money.
From the Vatican, we headed to Castel Sant'Angelo for the views, and explored the bridge there (a mini Charles Bridge) before walking along the river markets and winding up at the Piazza del Popolo. As the sunset, we walked to the Spanish Steps for a few pictures before meandering to Trevi fountain (both of which, like most of Rome, exceeded any preconceived notions we had about them). We then checked out the Forum and Capitol before making it to a pizzeria and then going to a fantastic wine bar to sample some memorable Chianti and Pinot Noir. We made a detour on our walk home to see the Colosseum, which is even more imposing at night.
Day two was our Roman shuffle. We were out the door at 9ish, and had espresso and pastry at a cafe down the street buzzing with locals out for their Saturday morning fix. Properly fueled, we went to the Colosseum. I had read on a few websites that you could get a day pass for most of the Roman sites, and so while the ladies waited in line, Alex and I set off around the premises to ask (using most of my Italian skills) where to get this. Sadly, we found out that we just had to wait in line like the rest, unless we wanted to shell out for a three-day pass. Even sadder, by the time we found that out, the girls had made it to the front of the line, and unable to get in touch with us (we had some phone issues), they simply gave up their spots and the waiting started anew. We eventually made it inside. Instead of describing it, I'll just put a link to our pictures. Just know that it was much cooler than our pictures.
After the Colosseum, we walked through the ruins on Palatine Hill (see above for the pictures). This was the highlight of our trip, as the sun was out, we strolled relaxedly through the ruins, taking in views of the Circus Maximus (I was jealous of the guy jogging around it) and basking in the spring-like weather. If we'd had the time, we would have stayed all day, maybe even camped out there.
We lunched on pizza on the Spanish Steps, savoring the sun, and then grabbing (as we did after most of our meals...breakfast included) some gelato. We parted ways from there, Liz and Alex went on to saunter through that area of town while Lindsey and I ran back to the flat to talk to our host/landlord/front desk guy about getting a 5:30 a.m. taxi to the airport. Unfortunately he was nowhere to be found, and so we went to the train station to barter with cab drivers (yet another test of my Italian). Not finding an honest cabby, as they all seemed to think we had no idea how much a taxi should cost. We finally found a tourist desk, who gave us the number for a cab company, who were more than fair in their fares.
We met up with Liz and Alex at the Piazza Navona after tearing across the city, snapping photos of a fiery sunset. We hung out there for a few minutes, watching a play for children (which we guessed was part of the Carnivale festivities). There were parts of this play that involved the kids shouting at the stage, which made me think of my older Ray cousin.
From Piazza Navona, we went to the Pantheon (also better than advertised and also better in pictures). We did hors d’ oeuvres around the corner from there, scoring a free bottle of wine after appearing apprehensive about eating at the place. We paid for it with our first unsatisfactory service of the trip, aside from the apartment, but it was worth the price. We then made it to another restaurant for a main meal, which we finished with some fantastic desserts and some gratis dessert wine. It was remarkably refreshing to deal with waiters who actually smiled, chatted, and treated us as customers rather than inconveniences.
We spent the rest of the night walking amongst ruins and saying our goodbyes to the city, the lights, and the grandeur.
Our walk home was peaceful until we reached our street. Across the street from our building, a fight was breaking out in a Vietnamese nightclub. As we passed the entrance, we saw two men grappling in a crowd, and one of them pulled the other's face near his and bit his ear. Let's hear that again: he BIT his ear. Shaking off our urge to gawk, we shuffled into our rooms, but cracked the window to keep an ear on things. This proved to be even worse than watching, as the club was just out of sight, but we could hear two distinct gunshots (or gun-like fireworks). So we hit the hay, and tried the tune out the sounds of murder outside.
Our return trip was unremarkable, save for the cabby who averaged about 100 mph on the way there, and the heavy down of snow on the tarmac. We spent the rest of the day resting our overworked legs and reflecting on how incredible our trip had been. On the whole, Rome was much more impressive than our temporary home, but Prague is still the more beautiful city. That said, the people were much more friendly (although turning down a gypsy shoving a rose in your face every ten minutes got a bit annoying) and the weather was a nice respite from our continuing winter. It also gave us some hope for spring here, where we can walk around without doubling over to protect ourselves from the wind and sleet.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Love Bug
Seeking some extra hours and extra cash, Lindsey and I signed up to work activity week at Nessie, an English-language preschool in Smichov. Essentially we watched kids play, guided activities, and occasionally played with them. Lindsey even went so far as to dress up for a few tea parties, and as soon as I figure out how to post that photo, I will. The kids were mostly from well-off families of various nationalities (one kid came in draped in Dior). Many of them were being raised bilingually and even trilingually. As I followed them around, and read to them, I could only smile dumbly as they asked me simple questions in Czech. Those bullies.
Anyways, we finished on Friday, and as Lindsey headed to class, I made for the flower shop to put together a little Valentine's arrangement. We had talked before about how neither of us were big into the holiday, but Lindsey dropped some hints that she didn't want the "holiday" to go by unnoticed, namely by saying that she would like some flowers. I planned to go one or two further by getting her a Czech substitute for Bernard and whipping up a mix of mostly old soul songs about love (which are not that hard to find). And so, I gave her flowers on Thursday, planning to space the rest of the gifts throughout the weekend.
Shortly after, Lindsey got sick. A full night of sick. Lucky for me, she woke up on Friday asking for ginger ale (which is like finding a dinosaur skeleton here) and a stuffed animal. I ran around Old Town looking for the two. Ginger ale, it became clear, would be impossible to find, so I settled for crushed ginger in carbonated lemon water, which was a lot better than it sounds. I also had to go to four toy stores to find a stuffed animal that was a.) not that creepy, and b.) less than 550 Kc. I spent the rest of the day at Nessie, checking in when I had a spare minute. I spent the night keeping Lindsey company, watching movies, and massaging her back, as our bed is less forgiving to the bedridden.
The fallout from Nessie was swift. By Saturday, two of our friends working there came down with the same bug. I was doing fine, and even schooled a few young Czechs in the ways of basketball on Saturday afternoon as Lindsey rested. She regained enough strength to watch a few episodes of AD and entertain a guest, Nick, before punching out at midnight. "Here we go," I thought to myself. "Turning a corner just in time. We might even manage a meal out on Sunday." Shortly after Nick left, I went to the bathroom and upchucked until morning. Funny story, I was infected too.
Now this was turning into a Michael Chrichton book. We woke up side-by-side, reeling from the flu. After hurling until I was sweating (and beyond) I was worried that if I couldn't keep any water down soon, we might have to learn some useful words for Czech hospitals. Luckily it didn't come to that.
Obviously the plans were completely scrapped. Our Champaign was tea and gingery lemon water. Our caviar was ramen. Our hushed professions of love were sickly moans and hoarse declarations that sounded like, "I don't fell well," or, "My stomach feels like I ate road kill," or, "I am going to take my vengeance on those little disease vials at the preschool."
Thus Lindsey and I spent the tail end of Valentine's day weekend taking care of each other while we lay in bed fighting off fevers, stomachs like live grenades, and feeling like chewed-up pieces of Prague garbage. All in all one of our more romantic Valentine's Days to date.
Anyways, we finished on Friday, and as Lindsey headed to class, I made for the flower shop to put together a little Valentine's arrangement. We had talked before about how neither of us were big into the holiday, but Lindsey dropped some hints that she didn't want the "holiday" to go by unnoticed, namely by saying that she would like some flowers. I planned to go one or two further by getting her a Czech substitute for Bernard and whipping up a mix of mostly old soul songs about love (which are not that hard to find). And so, I gave her flowers on Thursday, planning to space the rest of the gifts throughout the weekend.
Shortly after, Lindsey got sick. A full night of sick. Lucky for me, she woke up on Friday asking for ginger ale (which is like finding a dinosaur skeleton here) and a stuffed animal. I ran around Old Town looking for the two. Ginger ale, it became clear, would be impossible to find, so I settled for crushed ginger in carbonated lemon water, which was a lot better than it sounds. I also had to go to four toy stores to find a stuffed animal that was a.) not that creepy, and b.) less than 550 Kc. I spent the rest of the day at Nessie, checking in when I had a spare minute. I spent the night keeping Lindsey company, watching movies, and massaging her back, as our bed is less forgiving to the bedridden.
The fallout from Nessie was swift. By Saturday, two of our friends working there came down with the same bug. I was doing fine, and even schooled a few young Czechs in the ways of basketball on Saturday afternoon as Lindsey rested. She regained enough strength to watch a few episodes of AD and entertain a guest, Nick, before punching out at midnight. "Here we go," I thought to myself. "Turning a corner just in time. We might even manage a meal out on Sunday." Shortly after Nick left, I went to the bathroom and upchucked until morning. Funny story, I was infected too.
Now this was turning into a Michael Chrichton book. We woke up side-by-side, reeling from the flu. After hurling until I was sweating (and beyond) I was worried that if I couldn't keep any water down soon, we might have to learn some useful words for Czech hospitals. Luckily it didn't come to that.
Obviously the plans were completely scrapped. Our Champaign was tea and gingery lemon water. Our caviar was ramen. Our hushed professions of love were sickly moans and hoarse declarations that sounded like, "I don't fell well," or, "My stomach feels like I ate road kill," or, "I am going to take my vengeance on those little disease vials at the preschool."
Thus Lindsey and I spent the tail end of Valentine's day weekend taking care of each other while we lay in bed fighting off fevers, stomachs like live grenades, and feeling like chewed-up pieces of Prague garbage. All in all one of our more romantic Valentine's Days to date.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Karlovy Vary
Last weekend (now two weekends ago) we decided it was time to get out of Prague, so we did what the nobles of Prague have done since the 1400s and went to the spa town of Karlovy Vary. Unlike the Charles IV, however, we went by Student Agency bus (hats off to Lisa organizing that) which was very similar to riding on a plane. They even brought us a free beverage and headsets to watch the in-bus movie. So we all got to watch "Sahara" and marvel at the fact that Matthew McConaughey still makes films.
From our Student Agency bus, we transferred to the local transportation, and after one failed attempt, we made it safely to our hostel. The main desk for the hostel was also a bar, and the barman/receptionist informed us that a.) we could leave our stuff in the bar and he'd look after it, and b.) that check-in was at 4 pm, but we should feel free to come later. Both of those things seemed odd, and if we hadn't been putting up with the strangeness of the Czech Republic since September, we would have been extremely paranoid.
We spent the day moseying around Karlovy Vary. We descended into the main strip of the city, several rows of ornate buildings lining the river and nestled into the rock that rises steeply from it. Our first stop was one of the Market Colonnade where we bought a small porcelain cup to sample the natural hot spring water that pulses up through the basins in the colonnades. We also bought some spa wafers (large flavored wafer disks) to take the acrid taste of the mineral water out of our mouths. I sampled water from several other colonnades, including the Mill Colonnade and Park Colonnade, before we made a giant loop of the south half of the city looking for lunch. Our loop took us past St. Peter and Paul, the Russian Orthodox church with minarets topped with fierce blue and gold domes, and a statue of Karl Marx (Karel Marx to the Czechs). We eventually settled on the only restaurant we could find open, a Thai joint that counted, among other things, pickled cobras and vipers as decorations.
We then headed to the Becherovka (the anise-y mineral spirit) museum, and got a rushed little tour, followed by a tasting of three Becherovka products while we watched a hilariously bad movie about the history of the liquor.
From there, we reverted back to the slow saunter that has become so much of our exploration in the Czech Republic. We stopped to look into the windows of expensive shops, snap pictures of almost strategic mistranslations, or riff on the political and anatomical incorrectness of various monuments, all while piecing together an alternative route back to the hostel.
Towards the bottom of our street, we split into two groups. One group went up to the hostel to check in, lug bags and the various foods for our continental breakfast up to our apartment. The rest of us went to a nearby bar for a drink and some appetizers, although not as many as we'd ordered. We then headed up towards our designated meeting place, a restaurant called Bernard, and took a few seats in a "Cafe Bar" next door. There were three other people in the place when we sat down: the owner and his two friends. The bar was decorated like a hunting lodge. Deer heads stuck out from the wall. Various birds had been stuffed and mounted. An antique gun case was a featured decoration. And, most impressively, a stuffed badger and fox stood on their hind legs, leaning on staffs and smoking corncob pipes, each wearing a pair of Pince-nez. Moreover, there were pictures of the owner, a smiling balding Czech leaving his fifties, standing over the dead bodies of most of the decor. When we asked him about it, he showed us more pictures, as well as the various shells he'd used to take them down. He then brought out a large red sausage on a cutting board and served it to us. While we ate it, he brought out a picture of a boar he had killed and made into the sausage we were currently eating, as well as the bulled he'd used, and then, as if that wasn't enough, he brought out the tusks to pass around. It was the most morbid show and tell I've ever been to.
After that, he showed us pictures of his son, who is a Thai fighter, posing beside the likes of Evander Holyfield and Lennox Lewis. And, just to be even, he showed us pictures of his other son, who just graduated university, posing in his swimsuit on the beaches of Portugal. I think I preferred the pictures of game.
Anyways, after a long night out and a slow continental breakfast, we made it out to the Elephant Cafe, a decadent art nouveau cafe across from the city's opera house. And after one last walk around the town and a mad solo dash to replace a missing souvenir, we caught the bus back to Prague. The in-bus movie was a Czech musical about a woman being in Karlstejn Castle. That's right, 90 minutes of songs that went something like, "Even a dwarf like a giant feels when he needs no woman to make his meals." In the end, they decided it was okay for women to be in the castle. Knowing this, I may take Lindsey there in the spring.
From our Student Agency bus, we transferred to the local transportation, and after one failed attempt, we made it safely to our hostel. The main desk for the hostel was also a bar, and the barman/receptionist informed us that a.) we could leave our stuff in the bar and he'd look after it, and b.) that check-in was at 4 pm, but we should feel free to come later. Both of those things seemed odd, and if we hadn't been putting up with the strangeness of the Czech Republic since September, we would have been extremely paranoid.
We spent the day moseying around Karlovy Vary. We descended into the main strip of the city, several rows of ornate buildings lining the river and nestled into the rock that rises steeply from it. Our first stop was one of the Market Colonnade where we bought a small porcelain cup to sample the natural hot spring water that pulses up through the basins in the colonnades. We also bought some spa wafers (large flavored wafer disks) to take the acrid taste of the mineral water out of our mouths. I sampled water from several other colonnades, including the Mill Colonnade and Park Colonnade, before we made a giant loop of the south half of the city looking for lunch. Our loop took us past St. Peter and Paul, the Russian Orthodox church with minarets topped with fierce blue and gold domes, and a statue of Karl Marx (Karel Marx to the Czechs). We eventually settled on the only restaurant we could find open, a Thai joint that counted, among other things, pickled cobras and vipers as decorations.
We then headed to the Becherovka (the anise-y mineral spirit) museum, and got a rushed little tour, followed by a tasting of three Becherovka products while we watched a hilariously bad movie about the history of the liquor.
From there, we reverted back to the slow saunter that has become so much of our exploration in the Czech Republic. We stopped to look into the windows of expensive shops, snap pictures of almost strategic mistranslations, or riff on the political and anatomical incorrectness of various monuments, all while piecing together an alternative route back to the hostel.
Towards the bottom of our street, we split into two groups. One group went up to the hostel to check in, lug bags and the various foods for our continental breakfast up to our apartment. The rest of us went to a nearby bar for a drink and some appetizers, although not as many as we'd ordered. We then headed up towards our designated meeting place, a restaurant called Bernard, and took a few seats in a "Cafe Bar" next door. There were three other people in the place when we sat down: the owner and his two friends. The bar was decorated like a hunting lodge. Deer heads stuck out from the wall. Various birds had been stuffed and mounted. An antique gun case was a featured decoration. And, most impressively, a stuffed badger and fox stood on their hind legs, leaning on staffs and smoking corncob pipes, each wearing a pair of Pince-nez. Moreover, there were pictures of the owner, a smiling balding Czech leaving his fifties, standing over the dead bodies of most of the decor. When we asked him about it, he showed us more pictures, as well as the various shells he'd used to take them down. He then brought out a large red sausage on a cutting board and served it to us. While we ate it, he brought out a picture of a boar he had killed and made into the sausage we were currently eating, as well as the bulled he'd used, and then, as if that wasn't enough, he brought out the tusks to pass around. It was the most morbid show and tell I've ever been to.
After that, he showed us pictures of his son, who is a Thai fighter, posing beside the likes of Evander Holyfield and Lennox Lewis. And, just to be even, he showed us pictures of his other son, who just graduated university, posing in his swimsuit on the beaches of Portugal. I think I preferred the pictures of game.
Anyways, after a long night out and a slow continental breakfast, we made it out to the Elephant Cafe, a decadent art nouveau cafe across from the city's opera house. And after one last walk around the town and a mad solo dash to replace a missing souvenir, we caught the bus back to Prague. The in-bus movie was a Czech musical about a woman being in Karlstejn Castle. That's right, 90 minutes of songs that went something like, "Even a dwarf like a giant feels when he needs no woman to make his meals." In the end, they decided it was okay for women to be in the castle. Knowing this, I may take Lindsey there in the spring.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Laziness or Business?
Well, it's been about a week and a half since my last post. Apologies to all four of you.
So let's get you caught up on last week's hilights. First, in the running game, I decided to take a new route along the bike path beside the river. After a few twists, and after passing through Stare Mesto into Karlin, the path turns from cobblestone to gravel, which is the softer surface that my knees have been craving. Anyways, the view lacked the majesty of Letna, but I did get to see some of the modern, over-windowed office buildings in Prague 8 for a good half mile. Meanwhile, to my left spanned Ostrov Stvanice, an island in the middle of the Vltava. A whitewater kayaking course had been installed on my side of the island, though with the water a hair above freezing, nobody was using it. Anyways, the trail eventually leads out to the driving range near our first apartment here. However, before arriving there, it goes through a demolished former high school campus. As a rule, things are never really leveled here, just made unusable through a solid three whacks with a wrecking ball. So the quarter mile long stretch was lined with half standing skeletons of buildings that looked like havens for addicts, rapists, and maybe a golem or two. Really, though, I can remember when the mall (where Lowes is now) finally died, and was completely ripped apart. By the next year, it was a desolate stretch of parking lot. If that were in Prague, there'd probably be some ruins of it left, although I'm not sure that's a good thing.
An important discovery on my run was an actual court, sans astroturf! I organized a Friday afternoon game, as it was supposed to be in the forties and sunny. Unfortunately, when we finally headed out, it was about 30 and getting darker. As a result (and due to some unfortunate timing) our squad was the three guys of my flat and our Scottish friend, Nick, who's basketball experience was limited to "watching 'Space Jam'". After some shooting around, some Czech kids challenged us to some four-on-four, as they seem to enjoy defeat. I had the pleasure of matching up with a rather rambunctious kid who's repertoire included, among other things, the two-handed hand-check (also known as a shove), the unnecessary dribbling showcase, the bear hug, and a knack for calling invisible fouls. At one point, I caught the ball in the low post, backed him in and spun baseline and he called a charge (which it was not). I mean, come on, a charge in a pick up game? Anyways, he was talking a lot of trash the entire time, in broken English. Finally, at one point, after calling another invisible foul at the other end, he flew across the lane and essentially tackled me while I was going up for a layup. He then pretended not to hear when I called a foul (from the ground) and everybody was slightly stunned when he took off to the other end for a layup. I had the sense to chase him down, but was still several feet behind him when he took off (Screech-meets-Jordan-style). I think my footsteps made him a bit nervous though, as he took off way late, shot the ball into the bottom of the hoop, landed funny and smacked the post. To my horror, and secret joy, I thought it was his head, but I found out later that he'd just twisted his knee and punched the post in frustration. Anyways, the several times I tried to see if he was okay, he pushed me away rather curtly, and even went so far as to blame me for his injury. But I held my fists, and let my wit do the talking.
The following weekend, I corralled a bunch of friends to go see "Glengarry Glen Ross" in English. Once I had a final headcount, I called the ticket office to reserve a block of tickets. They informed me that they didn't take reservations, but if we showed up a half hour early to the performance there would be enough tickets to go around. When we got there, however, we were placed on a waiting list because they had taken so many reservations. How Czech! Suffice to say we didn't see the play but did make a reservation for Friday. Turning lemons into lemon-flavored vodka, we walked across Prague 1 to the James Bond-themed Bar and Books cocktail lounge where we enjoyed a decadent atmosphere, extensive library of German books (turns out I don't understand Ulysses in German either), and a few delicious libations. We parted ways with Lisa and Todd who had 9 pm reservations at a sushi place that Todd was reviewing for a magazine (and thus had a nice allowance to eat there). The rest of us TEFLers took the metro to Zizkov to meet up with a coworker who was DJing at a club called Blind Eye. Now, when we were sixteen, we walled off a room in my friend's basement (bless the patience of the Hesses) and strung it together with various blacklights, strobelights, psychedelic posters, couches that were held together with plywood, and streams of color both from neon tape and strategic, almost surgical, painting. I'd say the only difference between that room and Blind Eye is that we didn't have a full bar. The club is a decent place to relax and listen to some good tunes, but I'd imagine that if I saw it during the day, I'd be checking my medical records for my last boosters of hepatitis, tetanus, and polio. There could be some Plague left there too. All in all, though, it's my kind of place, a place clothed in unpretention where people can gather to be pretentious.
So let's get you caught up on last week's hilights. First, in the running game, I decided to take a new route along the bike path beside the river. After a few twists, and after passing through Stare Mesto into Karlin, the path turns from cobblestone to gravel, which is the softer surface that my knees have been craving. Anyways, the view lacked the majesty of Letna, but I did get to see some of the modern, over-windowed office buildings in Prague 8 for a good half mile. Meanwhile, to my left spanned Ostrov Stvanice, an island in the middle of the Vltava. A whitewater kayaking course had been installed on my side of the island, though with the water a hair above freezing, nobody was using it. Anyways, the trail eventually leads out to the driving range near our first apartment here. However, before arriving there, it goes through a demolished former high school campus. As a rule, things are never really leveled here, just made unusable through a solid three whacks with a wrecking ball. So the quarter mile long stretch was lined with half standing skeletons of buildings that looked like havens for addicts, rapists, and maybe a golem or two. Really, though, I can remember when the mall (where Lowes is now) finally died, and was completely ripped apart. By the next year, it was a desolate stretch of parking lot. If that were in Prague, there'd probably be some ruins of it left, although I'm not sure that's a good thing.
An important discovery on my run was an actual court, sans astroturf! I organized a Friday afternoon game, as it was supposed to be in the forties and sunny. Unfortunately, when we finally headed out, it was about 30 and getting darker. As a result (and due to some unfortunate timing) our squad was the three guys of my flat and our Scottish friend, Nick, who's basketball experience was limited to "watching 'Space Jam'". After some shooting around, some Czech kids challenged us to some four-on-four, as they seem to enjoy defeat. I had the pleasure of matching up with a rather rambunctious kid who's repertoire included, among other things, the two-handed hand-check (also known as a shove), the unnecessary dribbling showcase, the bear hug, and a knack for calling invisible fouls. At one point, I caught the ball in the low post, backed him in and spun baseline and he called a charge (which it was not). I mean, come on, a charge in a pick up game? Anyways, he was talking a lot of trash the entire time, in broken English. Finally, at one point, after calling another invisible foul at the other end, he flew across the lane and essentially tackled me while I was going up for a layup. He then pretended not to hear when I called a foul (from the ground) and everybody was slightly stunned when he took off to the other end for a layup. I had the sense to chase him down, but was still several feet behind him when he took off (Screech-meets-Jordan-style). I think my footsteps made him a bit nervous though, as he took off way late, shot the ball into the bottom of the hoop, landed funny and smacked the post. To my horror, and secret joy, I thought it was his head, but I found out later that he'd just twisted his knee and punched the post in frustration. Anyways, the several times I tried to see if he was okay, he pushed me away rather curtly, and even went so far as to blame me for his injury. But I held my fists, and let my wit do the talking.
The following weekend, I corralled a bunch of friends to go see "Glengarry Glen Ross" in English. Once I had a final headcount, I called the ticket office to reserve a block of tickets. They informed me that they didn't take reservations, but if we showed up a half hour early to the performance there would be enough tickets to go around. When we got there, however, we were placed on a waiting list because they had taken so many reservations. How Czech! Suffice to say we didn't see the play but did make a reservation for Friday. Turning lemons into lemon-flavored vodka, we walked across Prague 1 to the James Bond-themed Bar and Books cocktail lounge where we enjoyed a decadent atmosphere, extensive library of German books (turns out I don't understand Ulysses in German either), and a few delicious libations. We parted ways with Lisa and Todd who had 9 pm reservations at a sushi place that Todd was reviewing for a magazine (and thus had a nice allowance to eat there). The rest of us TEFLers took the metro to Zizkov to meet up with a coworker who was DJing at a club called Blind Eye. Now, when we were sixteen, we walled off a room in my friend's basement (bless the patience of the Hesses) and strung it together with various blacklights, strobelights, psychedelic posters, couches that were held together with plywood, and streams of color both from neon tape and strategic, almost surgical, painting. I'd say the only difference between that room and Blind Eye is that we didn't have a full bar. The club is a decent place to relax and listen to some good tunes, but I'd imagine that if I saw it during the day, I'd be checking my medical records for my last boosters of hepatitis, tetanus, and polio. There could be some Plague left there too. All in all, though, it's my kind of place, a place clothed in unpretention where people can gather to be pretentious.
Our Sunday was a lazy and busy one. Despite our best efforts, we made it out for a walk, planned our week's lessons, and even managed to heat some dinner.
Next weekend we're headed with a group of nine to Karlovy Vary, but there'll be more on that later.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Another Blissful Week in Prague
When I first started my courses out at Proctor & Gamble, I was told, more than once, that my students would not be progress tested. This was a blessing, as it gave me the opportunity to toss the book aside, and instead of reading about how "Smiles can make the world a better place" I could bring in articles that were actually relevant. In my morning class there, my student expressed a desire to take the FCE, so for the past month or so I've been prepping her for the exam. I guess the best way to describe non-progress-tested courses is that you can teach them anything you think they may need instead of sticking to the coursebook.
Fastforward to the text I received Monday night from the course managers that informed me that the courses were progress tested, and the information I received, and have been believing for the past few months, was an oversight. My poor students were facing an exam that included sections that we hadn't covered (honestly, who needs to sort the various uses of phrases with "get"). I explained the situation to the course manager who told me the only way around this is for me to write four 90 minute exams based on my lessons instead of just getting the pre-arranged exams. I guess that's the only fair way to do it for my students. I hope they like it.
Between now and then, however, my week has gotten steadily better. My Thursday morning student, Jan, cancelled in advance which left me workless, blissfully so, for Thursday. I spent much of it writing tests, lesson planning, and jogging, but took the time to walk around a little bit. I've been trying to do that more, Lindsey has too. With people talking about when they're planning to leave, it sort of forces you to face the temorary nature of our lives here, and so whenever there's a nice night out, Lindsey and I have been sauntering along nearly every single street in Prague 1. We may just branch out to the other neighborhoods when the weather gets nicer.
Fastforward to the text I received Monday night from the course managers that informed me that the courses were progress tested, and the information I received, and have been believing for the past few months, was an oversight. My poor students were facing an exam that included sections that we hadn't covered (honestly, who needs to sort the various uses of phrases with "get"). I explained the situation to the course manager who told me the only way around this is for me to write four 90 minute exams based on my lessons instead of just getting the pre-arranged exams. I guess that's the only fair way to do it for my students. I hope they like it.
Between now and then, however, my week has gotten steadily better. My Thursday morning student, Jan, cancelled in advance which left me workless, blissfully so, for Thursday. I spent much of it writing tests, lesson planning, and jogging, but took the time to walk around a little bit. I've been trying to do that more, Lindsey has too. With people talking about when they're planning to leave, it sort of forces you to face the temorary nature of our lives here, and so whenever there's a nice night out, Lindsey and I have been sauntering along nearly every single street in Prague 1. We may just branch out to the other neighborhoods when the weather gets nicer.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The New Flatmate
We welcomed a new addition to our flat on Friday...a basketball. After talking it over with Pat and Alex, as well as mentioning it to a few other expat friends, I finally picked up an outdoor ball to unite us in our conquest of central European pick-up games.
After a night spent in debating about top movies, movie stars, movie heroes and villains, and the various other AFI lists, Lindsey and I settled in to watch "Rear Window". It was Lindsey's first viewing, and my twentieth or so. Even still, I get a little jumpy during it.
That morning, Alex and I went out to try the new ball at the school sports grounds around the corner. We started off trying to share the cramped court with some locals who were playing some 1-on-1, but that soon turned into a 2-on-2 game: us versus them. Having not seen them play before, I was unsure of what to expect. In my basketball experience, my humbling basketball experience, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm a low-level scrapper who is inconsistently inconsistent. Yet after playing these kids with Alex and running the score up to 7-0 before they hit the backboard and 10-0 before they even hit the rim (credit our defense and their nontraditional offense) I came to realize that on the playgrounds here, I'm not terrible.
The big difference between playing ball here and playing in the states (aside from the lack of talent) is the fact that most of the players I play with in Michigan (and again in Florida) have sound fundamental skills. They don't dribble without any idea which way they're going. They know how to pump fake without actually throwing up a shot, and they know how to pass in a way that doesn't look as if they're trying to join the And1 tour with everything they do. Fundamentals did not exist in our competitors' repertoires. Instead, they crossed-over, spun, went through their legs and behind their back while we stood back and a.) waited for them to actually do something and b.) tried not to laugh. It felt as if somebody showed some old Harlem Globetrotter videos to a group of asthmatic mathletes and then set them loose.
Before too long, we took mercy on them and switched up the teams, leading to some hilariously acrobatic (I say acrobatic, but really, there was very little coordination involved. I think awkward would work better. Awkward with a running start) hurls at the basket from our Czech teammates.
Their friend, who didn't know how to play basketball, was sitting on the sidelines listening to music. Apparently he had some mini-speakers with him, which he used to mildly amplify some rap music which he felt inclined to rap along to. If you thought that suburbanites rocking along to gansta rap was ridiculous, try watching Czech kids. It's pricelessly hysterical.
When our friends grew tired of basketball, they invited us to the soccer field, and the competition was much more even. The scales were actually tipped in their favor for most of it. Lousy kids.
Lindsey and I went out to dinner at a nearby Italian place. We went there several times in our first Prague experience, and were completely enamored. Yet in our absence, it seems to have changed hands or something, and the pasta is not quite as exquisite, and the pizza doesn't have the same zest. It seems reflected in its constant emptiness.
We then met up with Liz and Alex to see "Burn After Reading" which, like most Coen Brothers movies, I'd probably need to see again to fully make up my mind on it. That said, I was leaning towards liking it when we left. Leaning strongly.
We met up for a few drinks with our Vinohrady friends Todd and Lisa who were joined by Pat Buckle. We tried to go to a Homer Simpson themed bar, but since it closed early (at 11) we were forced to go to a cat themed bar. I would have preferred Homers, but sometimes you just have to resort to cats. That's a life lesson. Write that down.
After a night spent in debating about top movies, movie stars, movie heroes and villains, and the various other AFI lists, Lindsey and I settled in to watch "Rear Window". It was Lindsey's first viewing, and my twentieth or so. Even still, I get a little jumpy during it.
That morning, Alex and I went out to try the new ball at the school sports grounds around the corner. We started off trying to share the cramped court with some locals who were playing some 1-on-1, but that soon turned into a 2-on-2 game: us versus them. Having not seen them play before, I was unsure of what to expect. In my basketball experience, my humbling basketball experience, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm a low-level scrapper who is inconsistently inconsistent. Yet after playing these kids with Alex and running the score up to 7-0 before they hit the backboard and 10-0 before they even hit the rim (credit our defense and their nontraditional offense) I came to realize that on the playgrounds here, I'm not terrible.
The big difference between playing ball here and playing in the states (aside from the lack of talent) is the fact that most of the players I play with in Michigan (and again in Florida) have sound fundamental skills. They don't dribble without any idea which way they're going. They know how to pump fake without actually throwing up a shot, and they know how to pass in a way that doesn't look as if they're trying to join the And1 tour with everything they do. Fundamentals did not exist in our competitors' repertoires. Instead, they crossed-over, spun, went through their legs and behind their back while we stood back and a.) waited for them to actually do something and b.) tried not to laugh. It felt as if somebody showed some old Harlem Globetrotter videos to a group of asthmatic mathletes and then set them loose.
Before too long, we took mercy on them and switched up the teams, leading to some hilariously acrobatic (I say acrobatic, but really, there was very little coordination involved. I think awkward would work better. Awkward with a running start) hurls at the basket from our Czech teammates.
Their friend, who didn't know how to play basketball, was sitting on the sidelines listening to music. Apparently he had some mini-speakers with him, which he used to mildly amplify some rap music which he felt inclined to rap along to. If you thought that suburbanites rocking along to gansta rap was ridiculous, try watching Czech kids. It's pricelessly hysterical.
When our friends grew tired of basketball, they invited us to the soccer field, and the competition was much more even. The scales were actually tipped in their favor for most of it. Lousy kids.
Lindsey and I went out to dinner at a nearby Italian place. We went there several times in our first Prague experience, and were completely enamored. Yet in our absence, it seems to have changed hands or something, and the pasta is not quite as exquisite, and the pizza doesn't have the same zest. It seems reflected in its constant emptiness.
We then met up with Liz and Alex to see "Burn After Reading" which, like most Coen Brothers movies, I'd probably need to see again to fully make up my mind on it. That said, I was leaning towards liking it when we left. Leaning strongly.
We met up for a few drinks with our Vinohrady friends Todd and Lisa who were joined by Pat Buckle. We tried to go to a Homer Simpson themed bar, but since it closed early (at 11) we were forced to go to a cat themed bar. I would have preferred Homers, but sometimes you just have to resort to cats. That's a life lesson. Write that down.
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Taste of Spring
After digging deep and planning my lessons for the week, I was looking forward to a leisurely Thursday of studying at a cafe, reading, and exploring. That plan was scrapped on Tuesday, when a visit to Caledonian landed me back-to-back subbing gigs. I don't need the extra hours, but the course manager insisted, stopping just short of forcing the course sheets into my folders. I came home to an email from a private student of mine (not through Caledonian) requesting a lesson Thursday afternoon. That turned my one-class day into a four-class day, plus working with Jan at the bar (it's officially a routine) on his social English. Moreover, this meant I spent a good few hours after dinner scrambling to assemble lesson plans for these surprise classes.
Wednesday morning I arrived to work at the Proctor & Gamble plant, went through the usual security routing, and made my way across the campus to the building that houses my classroom. Despite the morning snow, the door to the building was wide open. I found this odd until I was hit with a nauseating blast of sulfur. Now, this is only guesswork, but I think that a large container of sulfur was overturned in the lab on my floor. My evidence: the egregious smell, and the small army of workers in full decontamination coats running in and out of the building. One of them, a student of mine, plucked off his mask long enough to tell me that the building was safe to enter. Right.
I braved the stench, like spent fireworks and the bathroom at White Castle, up to my room where, thankfully, the smell hadn't enveloped. That's not to say it wasn't present, but it wasn't overpowering. This was a mixed blessing, becuase while I didn't have to bury my nose in a cloth, my roomed smelled of flatulence as each of my students entered and gave me a knowing look of raised eyebrows. However, by lunchtime, my room smelled like the rest of the building. Headache, thy name is a room filled with sulfur.
In response to this, I was expecting a system of fans to turn on (at least). I was surprised when the height of technology in this response was propping all of the windows and doors open in the building, many of the props being collapsed cardboard boxes. This in turn made my room temperature hover somewhere around 48 degrees. By the time I left, I was cold, stinky, and nursing one hell of a headache.
I woke up early Thursday to load up on coffee and prepare for what I was predicting would be a day to give Wednesday a run for the money. My class with Jan went smoothly. From there, I trammed it over to Prague 5 for the subs. The pair of subs turned out to be a one-on-one, which went well, and a CA. (CA, the two most wonderful letters in this job, stand for Cancelled on Arrival, which means we don't need to teach, but we get paid. The only catch is that we usually need to remain at the classroom for 45 minutes in order to make sure nobody's going to show.) So, after the CA, I headed to Caledonian to inform them and grab a quick lunch. This gave me an hour and a half to head home, drop off some of the textbooks I'd been shlepping around, and try to enjoy the day.
I stepped out of Caledonian into one of those "pinch me, I'm in Prague!" afternoons. The sun was out. It was in the high forties. The passages between Mustek and Starometska Namesti weren't clogged with tourists. Out on the square a man was playing saxophone while some of the locals were shrugging off any suggestion of winter and were basking in the sun on their lunch breaks. I even got to spend a few minutes with Lindsey.
My private lesson lasted for nearly an extra hour, as we practiced the use and nonuse of articles. There are numerous rules governing this in English, and there's even more exceptions that rules.
After the lesson, I had time of a mad run (9 miles at 6:30 a mile) some grub, and I was off to meet Jan. Alex joined us this time, and Lindsey, when she'd finished her class, came and had a drink with us as well. Our walk back to the metro was a nice cap to a day that made up for the week.
Wednesday morning I arrived to work at the Proctor & Gamble plant, went through the usual security routing, and made my way across the campus to the building that houses my classroom. Despite the morning snow, the door to the building was wide open. I found this odd until I was hit with a nauseating blast of sulfur. Now, this is only guesswork, but I think that a large container of sulfur was overturned in the lab on my floor. My evidence: the egregious smell, and the small army of workers in full decontamination coats running in and out of the building. One of them, a student of mine, plucked off his mask long enough to tell me that the building was safe to enter. Right.
I braved the stench, like spent fireworks and the bathroom at White Castle, up to my room where, thankfully, the smell hadn't enveloped. That's not to say it wasn't present, but it wasn't overpowering. This was a mixed blessing, becuase while I didn't have to bury my nose in a cloth, my roomed smelled of flatulence as each of my students entered and gave me a knowing look of raised eyebrows. However, by lunchtime, my room smelled like the rest of the building. Headache, thy name is a room filled with sulfur.
In response to this, I was expecting a system of fans to turn on (at least). I was surprised when the height of technology in this response was propping all of the windows and doors open in the building, many of the props being collapsed cardboard boxes. This in turn made my room temperature hover somewhere around 48 degrees. By the time I left, I was cold, stinky, and nursing one hell of a headache.
I woke up early Thursday to load up on coffee and prepare for what I was predicting would be a day to give Wednesday a run for the money. My class with Jan went smoothly. From there, I trammed it over to Prague 5 for the subs. The pair of subs turned out to be a one-on-one, which went well, and a CA. (CA, the two most wonderful letters in this job, stand for Cancelled on Arrival, which means we don't need to teach, but we get paid. The only catch is that we usually need to remain at the classroom for 45 minutes in order to make sure nobody's going to show.) So, after the CA, I headed to Caledonian to inform them and grab a quick lunch. This gave me an hour and a half to head home, drop off some of the textbooks I'd been shlepping around, and try to enjoy the day.
I stepped out of Caledonian into one of those "pinch me, I'm in Prague!" afternoons. The sun was out. It was in the high forties. The passages between Mustek and Starometska Namesti weren't clogged with tourists. Out on the square a man was playing saxophone while some of the locals were shrugging off any suggestion of winter and were basking in the sun on their lunch breaks. I even got to spend a few minutes with Lindsey.
My private lesson lasted for nearly an extra hour, as we practiced the use and nonuse of articles. There are numerous rules governing this in English, and there's even more exceptions that rules.
After the lesson, I had time of a mad run (9 miles at 6:30 a mile) some grub, and I was off to meet Jan. Alex joined us this time, and Lindsey, when she'd finished her class, came and had a drink with us as well. Our walk back to the metro was a nice cap to a day that made up for the week.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Rerecharging
Last weekend, like most weekends, was supposed to be about recharging for the next week, planning my lessons, and catching up on the sleep I missed when I was out teaching English in the pubs at all hours of the night and then waking up a few hours before the sun. And like most weekends, it was anything but a recharge, and was instead a recovery. Thus is life in Prague: sleepless and frenetic.
Friday night, after posting, Alex and I went to the store to stock up on potatoes, sausage, mustard, and beer. We had a few of the gents over (to complement the ladies night out) and had a mini-Oktoberfest in our flat. When the ladies returned, they saw the bunch of us sitting around the carnage of our meals, playing cards. Our two nights converged there, and we sat up chatting around our table for a few hours before we all called it a night.
After recovering some on Saturday, I headed up to the park for a run. For the first time in a month or two, I could run without six layers of clothing (don't worry, I wore two), which means I could actually move my arms as I ran. This decreased the stares.
After an afternoon of lesson planning and studying, we headed over to our friend Daniel's new apartment in Zizkov. Daniel's father works for the Foreign Service, and so his apartment was decorated with, among other things, a picture of himself with Barack Obama.
Daniel was a great host, whipping up some delicious enchiladas (better than most "Mexican" restaurants here) and a calzone. After a well-paced three courses, we headed out to some of the local watering holes. Zizkov is notorious for having the most bars per capita in the world, so the walk wasn't so long. After bouncing from one bar to the next, Lindsey, Alex, and I finally caught the night tram home.
And so I found myself scrambling to print off all of my teaching materials, which included a trip to Caledonian. I walked there, a good three miles or so, through the Stare Mesto. Crossing the bridge from Karlovo Namesti to Andel and looking up at the castle, Petrin Park, the Narodni Divadlo (National Theater), the Charles Bridge, and downstream to Vysherad, I realized how much I'll miss this place when we leave. For all of the wicked scheduling, early mornings, and sleepless weekends, there's something intangible to living here that you can't get anywhere else.
When my alarm clock went off on Monday morning, however, I wanted to reach back in time and slap that optimistic version of myself standing on the bridge and folding the city up into my memory. By the time I was heading home for the day, falling asleep gape-mouthed with a book dangling from my fingers on the bus ride home while the Czechs around me chatted away, I was ready to reach back with both hands and strangle myself. But waking up as the bus passed Prague Castle, the Loreto, and pulled onto a boulevard of houses decorated like picture frames, I think I was closer to Bridge Jake than Alarm Clock Jake. That's probably what I meant by intangible.
Friday night, after posting, Alex and I went to the store to stock up on potatoes, sausage, mustard, and beer. We had a few of the gents over (to complement the ladies night out) and had a mini-Oktoberfest in our flat. When the ladies returned, they saw the bunch of us sitting around the carnage of our meals, playing cards. Our two nights converged there, and we sat up chatting around our table for a few hours before we all called it a night.
After recovering some on Saturday, I headed up to the park for a run. For the first time in a month or two, I could run without six layers of clothing (don't worry, I wore two), which means I could actually move my arms as I ran. This decreased the stares.
After an afternoon of lesson planning and studying, we headed over to our friend Daniel's new apartment in Zizkov. Daniel's father works for the Foreign Service, and so his apartment was decorated with, among other things, a picture of himself with Barack Obama.
Daniel was a great host, whipping up some delicious enchiladas (better than most "Mexican" restaurants here) and a calzone. After a well-paced three courses, we headed out to some of the local watering holes. Zizkov is notorious for having the most bars per capita in the world, so the walk wasn't so long. After bouncing from one bar to the next, Lindsey, Alex, and I finally caught the night tram home.
And so I found myself scrambling to print off all of my teaching materials, which included a trip to Caledonian. I walked there, a good three miles or so, through the Stare Mesto. Crossing the bridge from Karlovo Namesti to Andel and looking up at the castle, Petrin Park, the Narodni Divadlo (National Theater), the Charles Bridge, and downstream to Vysherad, I realized how much I'll miss this place when we leave. For all of the wicked scheduling, early mornings, and sleepless weekends, there's something intangible to living here that you can't get anywhere else.
When my alarm clock went off on Monday morning, however, I wanted to reach back in time and slap that optimistic version of myself standing on the bridge and folding the city up into my memory. By the time I was heading home for the day, falling asleep gape-mouthed with a book dangling from my fingers on the bus ride home while the Czechs around me chatted away, I was ready to reach back with both hands and strangle myself. But waking up as the bus passed Prague Castle, the Loreto, and pulled onto a boulevard of houses decorated like picture frames, I think I was closer to Bridge Jake than Alarm Clock Jake. That's probably what I meant by intangible.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wind it up for another weekend
It's Friday, and as of 10:30 today I was finished with my teaching obligations. My Friday class, at the Komercni Banka headquarters, is usually a class of two, however one of my students was out of town for the day. That cleared the way for some interesting conversation about the headlining piece of news in the Czech Republic. Controversial artist David Cerny has struck again, this time at the EU HQ in Brussels. For those of you who don't want to read more, here's a quick summary: Cerny was hired by the EU along with 27 other artists to create a sculpture for their building in Brussels. The artists turned out to be made-up by Cerny, who created a sculpture depicting (often hilariously negative) stereotypes of the 27 EU nations. For instance, Romania is depicted as Dracula's castle and Sweden is in the form of an Ikea box.
Now, Cerny has made a name for himself with bizarre and humorous sculptures around Prague. He was the brain behind the alien infants crawling over the TV Tower, Jesus on the still rings, Wenceslas riding an upside-down horse, and my personal favorite, the peeing fountain , called simply "Piss", where you can text messages to be peed into the pool. He has also drawn criticism for breaking into the national gallery here and leaving a dump on the floor to protest the standards of the curators. So my point for those offended, particularly the brain trust that hired him, is what did you expect?
Personally, I find the whole thing pretty funny, as did my student. However, that goes to show you that many countries are not quite ready to laugh at themselves. This led to a discussion of countries that are willing to mock themselves. America is certainly not one of those, and neither, as my student pointed out, is Russia. His theory was that the larger the country, the less humor it has about itself. Not sure if I entirely buy that, but the Czechs and Irish seem pretty open to satirizing themselves, so he could be onto something there.
After an hour and a half of self-deprecating humor and stereotype jokes, I was in a pretty good mood heading home. I had the entire weekend ahead of me. Except not really. Not at all.
To understand, it's important to rewind to last night, when I met my student, Jan, at a restaurant to help him with his social English. As an "intermediate" learner, Jan's speaking skills are well above anyone else at that level, although he still needs quite a lot of practice. I helped his pronunciation, sentence construction, and we built up his vocabulary for a good three hours over more than one beer. Jan is currently the sales manager for Ratiopharm and reports to work in Prague during the week. Unfortunately, he is doing Ph.D work in medical policy in Brno and his wife lives in Brno as well. Thus he lives in a hotel Monday through Friday and then commutes home to spend time with his wife, write his thesis, and take his exams. His doctoral work seems pretty interesting, as he is working to establish a better model for geriatric treatment, which is sorely lacking in the Czech Republic. When the topic of his wife came up, his usually bright face turned into shadows. While he's been doing this juggling act for a year already, he seems pretty frustrated by the whole thing. And that is when he confided in me that one reason he needs English lessons so that he can get promoted (he's hit the ceiling at Ratiopharm without English) and spend more time in Brno, although the successful completion of his thesis might help that as well. That prompted me to promise him a package of listening activities and podcasts he can use when he's making the long drive between cities. That seemed pretty appealing to him, and when we left I realized two things. One, I think that our meeting last night was less about English and more about him being lonely in Prague. And two, that I had just talked myself into hours of work.
So walking back from the metro on a balmy day (the cold snap is over) with actual blue skies, I was making a to-do list in my head that read something like this: "Write lesson plans for Monday and Tuesday, study for the SOA exam, listen to podcasts for Jan, study more, write exercises for Jan, study more, and then look out the window to see that the sun has set on the nicest day we've had in weeks". And that is where I am now. My brain is throbbing from probability equations (it's been so long since I've done any of this), grammatical terms, and enough coffee to kill a midget or a large child.
With the womens heading out for a girls night, this officially clears the stage for a men's night in filled with meat, beer, talking about our feelings, and probably some hugging and crying. Maybe later we'll braid each other's hair. Did somebody say pillow fight?
Now, Cerny has made a name for himself with bizarre and humorous sculptures around Prague. He was the brain behind the alien infants crawling over the TV Tower, Jesus on the still rings, Wenceslas riding an upside-down horse, and my personal favorite, the peeing fountain , called simply "Piss", where you can text messages to be peed into the pool. He has also drawn criticism for breaking into the national gallery here and leaving a dump on the floor to protest the standards of the curators. So my point for those offended, particularly the brain trust that hired him, is what did you expect?
Personally, I find the whole thing pretty funny, as did my student. However, that goes to show you that many countries are not quite ready to laugh at themselves. This led to a discussion of countries that are willing to mock themselves. America is certainly not one of those, and neither, as my student pointed out, is Russia. His theory was that the larger the country, the less humor it has about itself. Not sure if I entirely buy that, but the Czechs and Irish seem pretty open to satirizing themselves, so he could be onto something there.
After an hour and a half of self-deprecating humor and stereotype jokes, I was in a pretty good mood heading home. I had the entire weekend ahead of me. Except not really. Not at all.
To understand, it's important to rewind to last night, when I met my student, Jan, at a restaurant to help him with his social English. As an "intermediate" learner, Jan's speaking skills are well above anyone else at that level, although he still needs quite a lot of practice. I helped his pronunciation, sentence construction, and we built up his vocabulary for a good three hours over more than one beer. Jan is currently the sales manager for Ratiopharm and reports to work in Prague during the week. Unfortunately, he is doing Ph.D work in medical policy in Brno and his wife lives in Brno as well. Thus he lives in a hotel Monday through Friday and then commutes home to spend time with his wife, write his thesis, and take his exams. His doctoral work seems pretty interesting, as he is working to establish a better model for geriatric treatment, which is sorely lacking in the Czech Republic. When the topic of his wife came up, his usually bright face turned into shadows. While he's been doing this juggling act for a year already, he seems pretty frustrated by the whole thing. And that is when he confided in me that one reason he needs English lessons so that he can get promoted (he's hit the ceiling at Ratiopharm without English) and spend more time in Brno, although the successful completion of his thesis might help that as well. That prompted me to promise him a package of listening activities and podcasts he can use when he's making the long drive between cities. That seemed pretty appealing to him, and when we left I realized two things. One, I think that our meeting last night was less about English and more about him being lonely in Prague. And two, that I had just talked myself into hours of work.
So walking back from the metro on a balmy day (the cold snap is over) with actual blue skies, I was making a to-do list in my head that read something like this: "Write lesson plans for Monday and Tuesday, study for the SOA exam, listen to podcasts for Jan, study more, write exercises for Jan, study more, and then look out the window to see that the sun has set on the nicest day we've had in weeks". And that is where I am now. My brain is throbbing from probability equations (it's been so long since I've done any of this), grammatical terms, and enough coffee to kill a midget or a large child.
With the womens heading out for a girls night, this officially clears the stage for a men's night in filled with meat, beer, talking about our feelings, and probably some hugging and crying. Maybe later we'll braid each other's hair. Did somebody say pillow fight?
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Hibernation and Its Frustrations
In day-to-day business, this week has gone well for me. After my marathon Monday, which included a class in which the student has started work for the FCE exam (much more work for me in terms of prep and grading) and a team manager who can't compliment a lesson without finding something wrong with it (by "conversation class" he really means "intensive grammar"), Lindsey and I settled down in our apartment and watched the world freeze outside. My Tuesday lessons were smooth as usual and I'm meeting my student in a bar for class on Thursday. My marathon Wednesday (not as catchy) ended early due to an on-arrival cancellation of my last class. I ran to the bus stop from the factory and was able to catch the "fast" bus back to Prague, getting me in just under two hours earlier than usual. When I say fast bus, I mean that of the three busses (all run by Anexia) two of them take nearly two hours and one only takes an hour and ten minutes, sometimes less. While my working hours usually require me to jump on the slow bus (where I belong), I occasionally have the good fortune of catching the quick one.
On my commute back from Rakovník today, I peeked up from my book (currently Lamb by Christopher Moore) to see the splendor of Czech farmland rolled out in white for miles. The snow was muddled from the bubbling loam and the occasional big black bird (couldn't tell you what kind as I have my father's eyes), cut by ditches and train tracks, and lined with the drooping glazed branches of trees and bushes like cascades around the flat lake of land. Stretches of the land disappeared flat into fog or dissolved into hills, and one field dipped its toes into a frozen pond where a family was skating, or trying to skate through the snow.
And as I looked at this scene, I thought to myself, "I would rather have an ice-pick lobotomy than go out there right now." The world in white is nice to look at but is cuts through your scarf cruelly. My jog to the bus station is a bit over ten minutes (on a jog) but it was so cold that my forehead felt like it had caved in. When I saw the skating family, I wanted to run down to them and ask, "What in the hell is wrong with you people. It's 5 degrees out there, probably colder on the pond, and it's windy!" But that would have required me going out into it.
This raises and important aspect of our post-holiday lives in this cold snap. Outside has become pretty daunting. The walk to the metro seems to be more than enough, and waiting eight minutes for a tram, well, I just start walking. At least then I won't freeze so quickly. With all of this going on, Prague has become an archipelago of indoor meeting places. You could trace our lives from heated venue to heated venue. Apartment to pub. Pub to cafe. Cafe to restaurant. Restaurant to school. School back to the apartment, where we start hibernating. It's become increasingly anti-social here, as nobody wants to travel thirty minutes in the cold, transfer from metro line to metro line to tram line to see each other. At the same time, the hibernation has turned us all a little crazy from cabin fever. This has turned our apartment into a stage for pacing, sporadic comedic outbursts, a runway for pajama fashions, and the center of the universe. So for those of you who have been feeling a little off kilter lately, it is probably due to the drastic change in the gravitational pulls throughout the universe. On behalf of V Kolkovne 5 apartment 9, I apologize.
On my commute back from Rakovník today, I peeked up from my book (currently Lamb by Christopher Moore) to see the splendor of Czech farmland rolled out in white for miles. The snow was muddled from the bubbling loam and the occasional big black bird (couldn't tell you what kind as I have my father's eyes), cut by ditches and train tracks, and lined with the drooping glazed branches of trees and bushes like cascades around the flat lake of land. Stretches of the land disappeared flat into fog or dissolved into hills, and one field dipped its toes into a frozen pond where a family was skating, or trying to skate through the snow.
And as I looked at this scene, I thought to myself, "I would rather have an ice-pick lobotomy than go out there right now." The world in white is nice to look at but is cuts through your scarf cruelly. My jog to the bus station is a bit over ten minutes (on a jog) but it was so cold that my forehead felt like it had caved in. When I saw the skating family, I wanted to run down to them and ask, "What in the hell is wrong with you people. It's 5 degrees out there, probably colder on the pond, and it's windy!" But that would have required me going out into it.
This raises and important aspect of our post-holiday lives in this cold snap. Outside has become pretty daunting. The walk to the metro seems to be more than enough, and waiting eight minutes for a tram, well, I just start walking. At least then I won't freeze so quickly. With all of this going on, Prague has become an archipelago of indoor meeting places. You could trace our lives from heated venue to heated venue. Apartment to pub. Pub to cafe. Cafe to restaurant. Restaurant to school. School back to the apartment, where we start hibernating. It's become increasingly anti-social here, as nobody wants to travel thirty minutes in the cold, transfer from metro line to metro line to tram line to see each other. At the same time, the hibernation has turned us all a little crazy from cabin fever. This has turned our apartment into a stage for pacing, sporadic comedic outbursts, a runway for pajama fashions, and the center of the universe. So for those of you who have been feeling a little off kilter lately, it is probably due to the drastic change in the gravitational pulls throughout the universe. On behalf of V Kolkovne 5 apartment 9, I apologize.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Milestones and Cobblestones
Winter has more than officially plopped into the alleys of Prague. I first noticed it on Thursday carrying groceries home and my eyes started watering from the cold. People sitting in café windows must have had a laugh at me, as I half-walked/half-skated over the frozen cobblestones suffocatingly wrapped in my scarf, arms full of groceries, and seemingly crying hysterically. Then again, those things tend to happen here. Friday, while not the official anniversary, was the date the Lindsey and I set to celebrate. To avoid waffling for a week, I volunteered to make the arrangements the weekend before, and settled on dinner followed by some live music. After reading several glowing reviews, I made reservations at Klub Architektu, a cellar that supposedly had some dynamite vegetarian options. I figured a 7 p.m. dinner there followed by a jazz quartet at the U Stare Pani club would be the perfect way to commemorate our first year of marriage. The restaurant was, in design, a pretty interesting place: stone lined walls that arched seamlessly into stone lined ceilings. It was also entirely empty. We sat down and the servers immediately cut off the music, which meant that our conversation bounced through the entire building off of those elaborate walls and ceilings. Lindsey had to ask them to turn the music back on.
The stellar vegetarian menu turned out to be different forms of fried cheese, breaded and fried (rind and all). Lindsey opted for salmon pasta and we ended up, like so many of our dining experiences, splitting. While it's difficult to mess up fried cheese, the salmon pasta was so perfectly described by Lindsey: "It tasted like getting Tosi's and heating up the leftovers the next day." I think she was just trying to be nice, though.
We saved dessert for the jazz club. Now the short walk to the club was marked by a misting snow and a wind that cut the alleys to shreds. By the time we got there, we were ready to climb into an oven, or a fireplace, or something equally warm. Yet, despite the information on the website, the performance didn't start for another hour. We were left with the choice of sitting in another empty restaurant listening to the band tune it's instruments, or legging it back to our place to warm up and relax for a while, which we did.
Upon our return, we were happy to see that we would not be alone in the club. We took a booth off to the side and ordered a Bailey's cheesecake (literally cheesecake doused in Bailey's) and a hot brownie with ice cream to split. The club was warm, the band was decent, but the disappointing dinner and wretched weather had taken their toll on the evening. We ended up ducking out before the last set and calling it a night, a very very cold night.
This raises one of the tested hypotheses of our relationship. It is rare that on a night (anniversaries, weddings, birthdays, Arbor Day) when we are supposed to feel incredibly in love, or things are supposed to go well, that we do, or they do. Our best moments, for the most part, have come when we're not doing something for a reason, but just because we feel like it. That said, I guess we'll just have to suffer through many more annual disappointments that we can pad with sweet desserts and fried cheese.
Our roommates, Pat and Nell, suggested another restaurant for Saturday, and despite our meager salary, we indulged in a redemption dinner and joined them and Alex and Liz. The restaurant, Kabul, was a family-run Afghan place, not far from Architecktu. The owner was actually our server as well, and the menu was full of kebabs and various meat and vegetable pastries. Lindsey ordered the chicken kebab and I ordered a leek and potato bolani. Unfortunately, our server wrote down my order on the back of his sheet and forgot to put it in. Now, for those of you not familiar with service in Prague, you're not familiar with it because it doesn't exist. Between the post office and restaurants, the general service motto seems to be, "Stop bothering me by asking me to do my job". So when my food did not arrive, throughout the dinner, I was ready to be told a variety of lies (I once had a waiter insist that I'd ordered something completely different from what I actually ordered and refuse to bring me anything more). Instead, the owner apologized profusely and brought me a free beer. Despite the obvious problem, it was a delightful meal and interesting restaurant. We capped off the night with a trip to a wine bar in Vinohrady to meet our friends, Lisa and Pat Buckle. And instead of navigating the night trams at 1:30 a.m. in single-digit temperatures, we opted for a cab. While it is still common to barter for your fare before getting in, many cab companies are using meters to give the illusion of fairness. I offered the driver 200 kc to take us home (a reasonable rate from where we were) but he decided to leave it to the meter, which let us off with a lower fare. When all was said and done, we'd scored a great meal, free beer, and a cheap cab ride, which puts the ongoing tally at: Jake and Lindsey 1, Prague businesses 200. At least it's not a shutout anymore.
The stellar vegetarian menu turned out to be different forms of fried cheese, breaded and fried (rind and all). Lindsey opted for salmon pasta and we ended up, like so many of our dining experiences, splitting. While it's difficult to mess up fried cheese, the salmon pasta was so perfectly described by Lindsey: "It tasted like getting Tosi's and heating up the leftovers the next day." I think she was just trying to be nice, though.
We saved dessert for the jazz club. Now the short walk to the club was marked by a misting snow and a wind that cut the alleys to shreds. By the time we got there, we were ready to climb into an oven, or a fireplace, or something equally warm. Yet, despite the information on the website, the performance didn't start for another hour. We were left with the choice of sitting in another empty restaurant listening to the band tune it's instruments, or legging it back to our place to warm up and relax for a while, which we did.
Upon our return, we were happy to see that we would not be alone in the club. We took a booth off to the side and ordered a Bailey's cheesecake (literally cheesecake doused in Bailey's) and a hot brownie with ice cream to split. The club was warm, the band was decent, but the disappointing dinner and wretched weather had taken their toll on the evening. We ended up ducking out before the last set and calling it a night, a very very cold night.
This raises one of the tested hypotheses of our relationship. It is rare that on a night (anniversaries, weddings, birthdays, Arbor Day) when we are supposed to feel incredibly in love, or things are supposed to go well, that we do, or they do. Our best moments, for the most part, have come when we're not doing something for a reason, but just because we feel like it. That said, I guess we'll just have to suffer through many more annual disappointments that we can pad with sweet desserts and fried cheese.
Our roommates, Pat and Nell, suggested another restaurant for Saturday, and despite our meager salary, we indulged in a redemption dinner and joined them and Alex and Liz. The restaurant, Kabul, was a family-run Afghan place, not far from Architecktu. The owner was actually our server as well, and the menu was full of kebabs and various meat and vegetable pastries. Lindsey ordered the chicken kebab and I ordered a leek and potato bolani. Unfortunately, our server wrote down my order on the back of his sheet and forgot to put it in. Now, for those of you not familiar with service in Prague, you're not familiar with it because it doesn't exist. Between the post office and restaurants, the general service motto seems to be, "Stop bothering me by asking me to do my job". So when my food did not arrive, throughout the dinner, I was ready to be told a variety of lies (I once had a waiter insist that I'd ordered something completely different from what I actually ordered and refuse to bring me anything more). Instead, the owner apologized profusely and brought me a free beer. Despite the obvious problem, it was a delightful meal and interesting restaurant. We capped off the night with a trip to a wine bar in Vinohrady to meet our friends, Lisa and Pat Buckle. And instead of navigating the night trams at 1:30 a.m. in single-digit temperatures, we opted for a cab. While it is still common to barter for your fare before getting in, many cab companies are using meters to give the illusion of fairness. I offered the driver 200 kc to take us home (a reasonable rate from where we were) but he decided to leave it to the meter, which let us off with a lower fare. When all was said and done, we'd scored a great meal, free beer, and a cheap cab ride, which puts the ongoing tally at: Jake and Lindsey 1, Prague businesses 200. At least it's not a shutout anymore.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Another go at it
Alright, for all three of my devoted readers, I apologize for such infrequent posts. As it is the new year, I thought I'd try to renew my blogging efforts and actually write more than twice a month. Note that this is not a resolution, as I break resolutions like my Dad breaks pretzels (the three of you should be in on that joke).
My newest addiction, thanks to my roommate, Alex, has been to download podcasts to my mp3 player and listen to them on my commutes. I've been listening to a good number of economic programs from NPR and The Wall Street Journal, as well as the Bloomberg podcasts. They have made my trips to Rakovník and various spots around Prague much more enjoyable.
Anyways, yesterday was one of the stranger days of the new year. My only Thursday class is an 8 a.m. one-on-one lesson with the sales manager for the Czech branch of Ratiopharm. Jan, my student, works in Prague, lives in Brno (a two hour drive), and is concurrently the acting sales manager and getting his Ph.D in pathological medicine in Brno. He is my most eager student, by far, and ever since I fist-bumped him on our first class, has been giving me knuckle on a biweekly basis whenever he does well.
Now, for those of you not keeping up with the state or history of the European generic drug market, Ratiopharm was owned by the German billionaire Adolph Merckle, who owned, among other things, HeidelbergCement. Facing massive losses in speculation in Volkswagen stock, Merckle killed himself on Monday. I hadn't heard the news until Jan, in the middle of our lesson, stopped me and explained the situation. Jan heard from his superiors that Merckle jumped in front of a train. We suddenly went from discussing modal verbs to talking about the effects of Merckle's death, the economy, and the future of Ratiopharm. He seemed concerned that Ratiopharm would be downsizing at any moment, and suggested that we go out for drinks next week, just in case. I'm not sure how this would help anything except his English speaking and perhaps his head, but I agreed, and so I have a man-date with the Ratiopharm Czech sales manager next week.
On my way home, listening to the "What's News" podcast from TWSJ, I heard about Merckle. According to the news, he died in his home and not under a train.
My afternoon was given over to running in the still-freezing Prague, which is like running on a ice-rink covered in sand since the cobblestones are slick and covered in snow. Lindsey then came home from her Thursday circumnavigation of Prague, and we spent the afternoon being a young married couple: chatting, drinking coffee, taking a nap (which is hard to do after drinking coffee).
Our afternoon was not perfect though, as the Caledonian School, hereafter referred to as the ninth circle of hell, sent out another threatening email. This one, unlike last month's, did not promise massive layoffs (which never happened) but effectively lowered the salary of new teachers (not us) and required that any teacher with fewer than 20 teaching hours per week (also not us) must pick up substitutions or new classes, or be relegated to a part-time contract. As it stands, we're not affected by this, however part-timers are not reembursed for their travel passes and do not get any health insurance. After hearing that, I could help but wonder, "Would this be a bad time to ask for a raise?"
Lindsey teaches most nights, and with my SOA 1 exam looming, I took my study manual out to the Tynska Literary Café to study. The place was packed with red-faced-chain-smoking academics laughing over pints and debating whatever it is they debate. I sat in the corner nursing a beer and performing double improper integrations of multivariate equations which are used in calculating joint probability. Trust me, I know that is one crisp pocket protector from uber-nerddom (instead of super-nerddom). And trust me, that is not my usual behavior in such establisments. As far as productivity goes, though, its easier to take the studying when I'm out and about.
Lindsey and I finished the night with paninis and the worst bottle of Czech wine ever concoted. I think if we were to translate it, the winery would be called "Outhouse Cellars" or "Urinal Cake Valley". But that's part of the fun of living abroad, you've just got to brave things. Sometimes you take a bite of a strange looking cake and it's the tastiest thing you've ever eaten. And sometimes you find an inchworm peeking out from one of the slices.
My newest addiction, thanks to my roommate, Alex, has been to download podcasts to my mp3 player and listen to them on my commutes. I've been listening to a good number of economic programs from NPR and The Wall Street Journal, as well as the Bloomberg podcasts. They have made my trips to Rakovník and various spots around Prague much more enjoyable.
Anyways, yesterday was one of the stranger days of the new year. My only Thursday class is an 8 a.m. one-on-one lesson with the sales manager for the Czech branch of Ratiopharm. Jan, my student, works in Prague, lives in Brno (a two hour drive), and is concurrently the acting sales manager and getting his Ph.D in pathological medicine in Brno. He is my most eager student, by far, and ever since I fist-bumped him on our first class, has been giving me knuckle on a biweekly basis whenever he does well.
Now, for those of you not keeping up with the state or history of the European generic drug market, Ratiopharm was owned by the German billionaire Adolph Merckle, who owned, among other things, HeidelbergCement. Facing massive losses in speculation in Volkswagen stock, Merckle killed himself on Monday. I hadn't heard the news until Jan, in the middle of our lesson, stopped me and explained the situation. Jan heard from his superiors that Merckle jumped in front of a train. We suddenly went from discussing modal verbs to talking about the effects of Merckle's death, the economy, and the future of Ratiopharm. He seemed concerned that Ratiopharm would be downsizing at any moment, and suggested that we go out for drinks next week, just in case. I'm not sure how this would help anything except his English speaking and perhaps his head, but I agreed, and so I have a man-date with the Ratiopharm Czech sales manager next week.
On my way home, listening to the "What's News" podcast from TWSJ, I heard about Merckle. According to the news, he died in his home and not under a train.
My afternoon was given over to running in the still-freezing Prague, which is like running on a ice-rink covered in sand since the cobblestones are slick and covered in snow. Lindsey then came home from her Thursday circumnavigation of Prague, and we spent the afternoon being a young married couple: chatting, drinking coffee, taking a nap (which is hard to do after drinking coffee).
Our afternoon was not perfect though, as the Caledonian School, hereafter referred to as the ninth circle of hell, sent out another threatening email. This one, unlike last month's, did not promise massive layoffs (which never happened) but effectively lowered the salary of new teachers (not us) and required that any teacher with fewer than 20 teaching hours per week (also not us) must pick up substitutions or new classes, or be relegated to a part-time contract. As it stands, we're not affected by this, however part-timers are not reembursed for their travel passes and do not get any health insurance. After hearing that, I could help but wonder, "Would this be a bad time to ask for a raise?"
Lindsey teaches most nights, and with my SOA 1 exam looming, I took my study manual out to the Tynska Literary Café to study. The place was packed with red-faced-chain-smoking academics laughing over pints and debating whatever it is they debate. I sat in the corner nursing a beer and performing double improper integrations of multivariate equations which are used in calculating joint probability. Trust me, I know that is one crisp pocket protector from uber-nerddom (instead of super-nerddom). And trust me, that is not my usual behavior in such establisments. As far as productivity goes, though, its easier to take the studying when I'm out and about.
Lindsey and I finished the night with paninis and the worst bottle of Czech wine ever concoted. I think if we were to translate it, the winery would be called "Outhouse Cellars" or "Urinal Cake Valley". But that's part of the fun of living abroad, you've just got to brave things. Sometimes you take a bite of a strange looking cake and it's the tastiest thing you've ever eaten. And sometimes you find an inchworm peeking out from one of the slices.
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