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.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
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.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
My Classes Part I
What will follow are summaries of my classes, to give you a taste of my leisurely week.
Mondays and Wednesdays for me are the equivalent of the TEFL marathon. I head out the door at half past six, dolled up in slacks, shirt, tie, and an increasing number of layers to keep out the cold, and take the metro to Hradcanska. From there I have a ten-minute walk to the picturesque "station" for the "distinguished" bus line of Anexia. The station is merely a few signs posted beside the road spaced about fifteen yards apart. This would not be a problem, except my bus pulls up to a different "terminal" every day, which means I have to spend a few minutes checking bus numbers, and occasionally asking drivers where they are driving to, something I've learned to say in Czech without too much of an accent.
I take the bus to a village called Rakovnik, a small village about an hour outside of Prague. Unfortunately, there are several such villages on the way, and the bus makes stops at ALL of them. This turns an hour drive into almost a two hour drive marked by clinging to my armrest as the driver, who usually looks like a failed taxi driver (too much hash maybe?) whips this mammoth coach bus through alleys nearly wide enough for a wheelbarrow.
Rakovnik is a quiet and charming little village that happens to be home to main Czech contingent of Procter and Gamble. My first day, I got lost on the way from the bus stop, and decided to follow the billowing clouds of smoke. Sure enough I found the factory. But it's hard to badmouth the company that gives me so much business, so I'll leave it at that.
I teach five ninety-minute classes back to back (to back, etc.) on Mondays and Wednesdays there. I do get my own classroom, although the heat is strangely nonfunctional. I've asked repeatedly, and the common response seemed to be the equivalent of, "Bah! Humbug. Back to work, Cratchet!"
My first class of the day features the HR Director of Education (the man in charge of hiring and firing me). He and his colleagues are more interested in conversation, so I have been working on unscrambling my brains from the bus ride to highlight some grammatical points for them to tweak their English.
The rest of the day is made up of classes designated as "Intermediate". This is a disgusting exaggeration. They are great learners, and have a decent grasp of some important words (to be, to work, death to capitalism) however their listening and speaking is certainly not at the same level as their reading skills, due mostly to the fact that they often have to read emails from their American counterparts. Thus most of my Mondays are spent with me speaking monosyllabically, gesturing like a chimp with ADHD, and smiling like hell.
Just a few days ago my flatmate, Alex, and I got into a discussion about this. Days and classes like this make you feel like you're playing an elaborate game of Pictionary, and either your a terrible drawer, or your partners can't guess for beans. Probably both. Only there's no booze or fondue involved.
My last class of the day is a one-to-one with a budding manager, Jaromir, who has been encouraged to take English so that he could one day become plant manager. His English is wonderful, although he is such a commanding presence, I have to work to find the courage to tell him, "No, Jaromir, you don't cover up your children, you tuck them in." Maybe he has it right, though. Then I'd feel stupid, and shocked.
My day ends the same way it begins, with a Thunder Mountainesque ride back to Prague, and the produce-market-gone-bad smells of the metro. I know I sound callused to the whole thing, but really, it feels like I can't stop laughing about it.
Mondays and Wednesdays for me are the equivalent of the TEFL marathon. I head out the door at half past six, dolled up in slacks, shirt, tie, and an increasing number of layers to keep out the cold, and take the metro to Hradcanska. From there I have a ten-minute walk to the picturesque "station" for the "distinguished" bus line of Anexia. The station is merely a few signs posted beside the road spaced about fifteen yards apart. This would not be a problem, except my bus pulls up to a different "terminal" every day, which means I have to spend a few minutes checking bus numbers, and occasionally asking drivers where they are driving to, something I've learned to say in Czech without too much of an accent.
I take the bus to a village called Rakovnik, a small village about an hour outside of Prague. Unfortunately, there are several such villages on the way, and the bus makes stops at ALL of them. This turns an hour drive into almost a two hour drive marked by clinging to my armrest as the driver, who usually looks like a failed taxi driver (too much hash maybe?) whips this mammoth coach bus through alleys nearly wide enough for a wheelbarrow.
Rakovnik is a quiet and charming little village that happens to be home to main Czech contingent of Procter and Gamble. My first day, I got lost on the way from the bus stop, and decided to follow the billowing clouds of smoke. Sure enough I found the factory. But it's hard to badmouth the company that gives me so much business, so I'll leave it at that.
I teach five ninety-minute classes back to back (to back, etc.) on Mondays and Wednesdays there. I do get my own classroom, although the heat is strangely nonfunctional. I've asked repeatedly, and the common response seemed to be the equivalent of, "Bah! Humbug. Back to work, Cratchet!"
My first class of the day features the HR Director of Education (the man in charge of hiring and firing me). He and his colleagues are more interested in conversation, so I have been working on unscrambling my brains from the bus ride to highlight some grammatical points for them to tweak their English.
The rest of the day is made up of classes designated as "Intermediate". This is a disgusting exaggeration. They are great learners, and have a decent grasp of some important words (to be, to work, death to capitalism) however their listening and speaking is certainly not at the same level as their reading skills, due mostly to the fact that they often have to read emails from their American counterparts. Thus most of my Mondays are spent with me speaking monosyllabically, gesturing like a chimp with ADHD, and smiling like hell.
Just a few days ago my flatmate, Alex, and I got into a discussion about this. Days and classes like this make you feel like you're playing an elaborate game of Pictionary, and either your a terrible drawer, or your partners can't guess for beans. Probably both. Only there's no booze or fondue involved.
My last class of the day is a one-to-one with a budding manager, Jaromir, who has been encouraged to take English so that he could one day become plant manager. His English is wonderful, although he is such a commanding presence, I have to work to find the courage to tell him, "No, Jaromir, you don't cover up your children, you tuck them in." Maybe he has it right, though. Then I'd feel stupid, and shocked.
My day ends the same way it begins, with a Thunder Mountainesque ride back to Prague, and the produce-market-gone-bad smells of the metro. I know I sound callused to the whole thing, but really, it feels like I can't stop laughing about it.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Going Bohemian
Jiri’s switch from alcohol to green tea has certainly affected his sleeping, however with the money he saves from abstaining, he has been able to buy some fairly exotic teas. As it is strange for a man to brag about his tea collection, I was pretty curious as to what made his so great. This all led to Jiri inviting the five of us (Nell, Pat, Lindsey, Alex and I) over to his house in Ladvi for a tea party on Friday afternoon.
It has been a long time (never) since I’ve been invited anywhere for a tea party. I was not entirely sure about the etiquette of visiting a Czech house, let alone tea parties. As a result, I decided to take up any suggestion that Jiri had. Upon meeting him at the metro station, taking a bus a few stops, and walking to his neat little house on the edge of the city, Jiri offered the use of any one of his many pairs of slippers. Sticking to the plan, I accepted a warm plaid pair. The other’s politely declined and offered to take off their shoes, when Jiri assured us that the only reason to do so would be if, “you have shit on them.” Meaning dog shit.
This raises an important point about Prague, and most European cities for that matter. As so much of Prague is cobblestoned, and really the only green areas are a few flower boxes and the parks and squares that dot the city, there is a phenomenal amount of dog shit just lying on the sidewalks. There were times, especially in Florida, where cleaning up after Olive on a jog seemed like such a nuisance, especially since I would then have to jog carrying the waste of a 70 LB dog for three blocks before finding an available receptacle. Now that I’ve seen the alternative, I will gladly jog those three blocks with a bag full of, well, no need to be crude.
Anyways, back to the tea party. So, Jiri welcomed us into his home. His counter was full of vases that were packed with spent tealeaves. I figured it was just an odd decoration choice, but Jiri told me that he was saving them for compost. Our tour was limited the first floor (or the 0th floor here) which featured, among those things you find in most houses, a collection of drums, guitars, amps, and more than enough hats to go around. When he led us to a cozy sectional wrapped around a coffee table, I was sporting an Aussie bucket hat and Lindsey was in a beret.
Jiri brought teas out one pot at a time, insisting that we pour small glasses so that it didn’t get cold. I am sure there is a specific tea-tasting procedure: swirl, smell, swirl, taste, gurgle, whatever. There’s certain things you do when you taste wine, but my palette is not nearly sophisticated enough to distinguish much beyond “I like” and “I don’t like.” Tea was similar, however stacking them up side by side allowed for me to taste and smell the differences between early and late harvest Darjeeling. After Darjeeling and Oolong, we moved onto simple green tea. After nearly six or seven healthy pots of tea, a borderline-unhealthy over-caffination, Jiri invited us to play with his instruments. I strummed a few things on the guitar, and Jiri quickly joined in on his “Fun Box” (Jiri, if you read this, what is that thing really called?), which is shaped like a small stool that you, in fact, sit on and pound the sides of. This all led to a brief jam session between two people with too much tea in their system, wearing flannel slippers and hats.
As we left, the day still strangely bright, I was struck by how strange things can be here without my even noticing.
It has been a long time (never) since I’ve been invited anywhere for a tea party. I was not entirely sure about the etiquette of visiting a Czech house, let alone tea parties. As a result, I decided to take up any suggestion that Jiri had. Upon meeting him at the metro station, taking a bus a few stops, and walking to his neat little house on the edge of the city, Jiri offered the use of any one of his many pairs of slippers. Sticking to the plan, I accepted a warm plaid pair. The other’s politely declined and offered to take off their shoes, when Jiri assured us that the only reason to do so would be if, “you have shit on them.” Meaning dog shit.
This raises an important point about Prague, and most European cities for that matter. As so much of Prague is cobblestoned, and really the only green areas are a few flower boxes and the parks and squares that dot the city, there is a phenomenal amount of dog shit just lying on the sidewalks. There were times, especially in Florida, where cleaning up after Olive on a jog seemed like such a nuisance, especially since I would then have to jog carrying the waste of a 70 LB dog for three blocks before finding an available receptacle. Now that I’ve seen the alternative, I will gladly jog those three blocks with a bag full of, well, no need to be crude.
Anyways, back to the tea party. So, Jiri welcomed us into his home. His counter was full of vases that were packed with spent tealeaves. I figured it was just an odd decoration choice, but Jiri told me that he was saving them for compost. Our tour was limited the first floor (or the 0th floor here) which featured, among those things you find in most houses, a collection of drums, guitars, amps, and more than enough hats to go around. When he led us to a cozy sectional wrapped around a coffee table, I was sporting an Aussie bucket hat and Lindsey was in a beret.
Jiri brought teas out one pot at a time, insisting that we pour small glasses so that it didn’t get cold. I am sure there is a specific tea-tasting procedure: swirl, smell, swirl, taste, gurgle, whatever. There’s certain things you do when you taste wine, but my palette is not nearly sophisticated enough to distinguish much beyond “I like” and “I don’t like.” Tea was similar, however stacking them up side by side allowed for me to taste and smell the differences between early and late harvest Darjeeling. After Darjeeling and Oolong, we moved onto simple green tea. After nearly six or seven healthy pots of tea, a borderline-unhealthy over-caffination, Jiri invited us to play with his instruments. I strummed a few things on the guitar, and Jiri quickly joined in on his “Fun Box” (Jiri, if you read this, what is that thing really called?), which is shaped like a small stool that you, in fact, sit on and pound the sides of. This all led to a brief jam session between two people with too much tea in their system, wearing flannel slippers and hats.
As we left, the day still strangely bright, I was struck by how strange things can be here without my even noticing.
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