That's right, there's my big announcement! I'm moving my blog to a whole new website:
AlexWillTravel.com
Instead of just a blog, it will be a complete website that's going to be much better!
It's still in the early phases, so you'll have to be patient, but it's going to be incredible.
Head there now to see it!
You'll want to change your bookmarks, because that's where I'm going to do all of my posting from now on. Tell your friends! Tell your dog! Yell the new address out the window! Get some spray-paint and write AlexWillTravel.com on the walls! If you do that one, you may want to watch out for the rendőrség.
I'll see you there!
Alex
AlexWillTravel.com
Monday, November 22, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Pictures of Lake Bled, Postojna, and Zagreb
Remember the trip I took during my fall break a few weeks ago? Click here if you don't. I still have pictures to share with you. Again I've posted them on another site, and I will give you the link here.
First, there's Lake Bled. It's the famous, picturesque lake in the Slovenian Alps where I spent Halloween. It was rainy, foggy, and incredible. The pictures don't really do it justice, but they sure try. Click here to see them:
Next, my pictures from Postojna. That's where I visited a big cave full of Koreans, saw the coolest castle ever that's built into a cave/cliff, and met an Indian who was obsessed with the internet. By the way, I still haven't received my eagerly awaited e-mail from him. Click this picture to see the rest:
Finally, some pictures from one of my new favorite cities, Zagreb, Croatia. I fell in love with this place, and I may very well meet my wife there. She will obviously be beautiful and dressed very stylishly, as all Croatian women seem to be. Until then, you can enjoy pictures of the city by clicking here:
Now, for my Hungarian word of the day. It may not be correct, however, because I learned it from the dictionary. I have a strange distrust of language dictionaries, because they always seem to give a similar, but incorrect, word that causes people to laugh.
Fénykép (pronounced like "faint" without the "T" and "cape"). It means "photo".
One more thing, tomorrow I will (hopefully) be making an exciting announcement about my blog! Be sure to visit so you can find out what it is.
First, there's Lake Bled. It's the famous, picturesque lake in the Slovenian Alps where I spent Halloween. It was rainy, foggy, and incredible. The pictures don't really do it justice, but they sure try. Click here to see them:
 |
| Click the picture to go to the album. |
Next, my pictures from Postojna. That's where I visited a big cave full of Koreans, saw the coolest castle ever that's built into a cave/cliff, and met an Indian who was obsessed with the internet. By the way, I still haven't received my eagerly awaited e-mail from him. Click this picture to see the rest:
 |
| Click this image to go to the Postojna pictures. |
Finally, some pictures from one of my new favorite cities, Zagreb, Croatia. I fell in love with this place, and I may very well meet my wife there. She will obviously be beautiful and dressed very stylishly, as all Croatian women seem to be. Until then, you can enjoy pictures of the city by clicking here:
 |
| Click this picture to see Zagreb. |
Now, for my Hungarian word of the day. It may not be correct, however, because I learned it from the dictionary. I have a strange distrust of language dictionaries, because they always seem to give a similar, but incorrect, word that causes people to laugh.
Fénykép (pronounced like "faint" without the "T" and "cape"). It means "photo".
One more thing, tomorrow I will (hopefully) be making an exciting announcement about my blog! Be sure to visit so you can find out what it is.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Is Smoke Supposed To Come Out Of The Wall?
I have a big electric kettle to heat up water. Maybe you would call it a pitcher. It's a big blue plastic thing that boils water in less than a minute. Needless to say, it gets a lot of use.
Today, I clicked it on and went in the other room for a second. When I came back in, I noticed a funny smell. I looked at the electrical outlet and saw smoke pouring out of it.
Hmm, that's not normal.
Quickly I unplugged it. Smoke was still coming out, but I couldn't see whatever it was that was burning. I guess I'll blow on it?
Today, I clicked it on and went in the other room for a second. When I came back in, I noticed a funny smell. I looked at the electrical outlet and saw smoke pouring out of it.
Hmm, that's not normal.
Quickly I unplugged it. Smoke was still coming out, but I couldn't see whatever it was that was burning. I guess I'll blow on it?
Oh well, I was in the middle of making lunch so I just pretended it didn't happen. It went away. I'll ask someone about it on Monday, but until then, I'll just enjoy the adventure.
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| I never did find out why they were here. |
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| View from my balcony. |
I can always call the tűzoltóság (fire department). Pretty cool how I snuck in the word of the day like that. They were parked outside yesterday, they must be psychic too.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Wow, The Word Of The Day Picked Itself
As you know, I try to have a Hungarian Word of the Day. Usually, I connect it to some topic I'm discussing, or I tell something interesting that I learned that day.
Today, the decision was made as soon as I saw the word.
Let me set the scene. It's about 8:15 in the morning, and I'm teaching one of my 9th grade classes. They're the most advanced of their grade level, but they're still relative beginners.
I had finished what I had to teach, and I was now on the second part of my lesson. My classes usually begin with the boring stuff, and about halfway through I change to something else. Typically I have a plan of what to teach, but I often change it depending on how it's going. If they're behaving and participating, I can play a game instead of some textbook activity. If they're misbehaving, I practice my medieval torture methods.
Just kidding - I wanted to see if you're paying attention.
Returning to the story, this particular group usually behaves quite well. When I came to the point where I could make a decision, one student raised her hand and asked what Hungarian words I know. They have been fascinated by this since day one, so we started talking about it.
I put them in groups and told them to think of useful phrases or words to teach me. It started out with a few common words like juice and sunglasses, but then one girl asked if she could come write a word on the board.
You must know that this particular student has a very stern look about her. She's not mad or unhappy, but her face naturally has an intense, almost angry, look on it. When she's a mother, I think she'll have very well behaved children.
That's important to know because she came up to the board and started writing. I think most others would have started laughing. She was focused.
Then she kept writing.
And she wrote some more.
The pen dried up and she needed a new one - just kidding, but it's possible.
Finally she finished. It was one word.
"We don't know how to say this word in English, but it's the longest Hungarian word."
If you speak Hungarian, I bet your laughing. If you don't, I bet your not ready for this. This is what she wrote:
Megszentségteleníthetetlenségeskedéseitekért
She quickly read it out loud so I could repeat. I stared at her and the class laughed. Then she drew lines at certain intervals and taught it to me in parts. I'm proud to say I managed to pronounce it, at least in a rough manner.
So there you have it. That's what I learned in school today. If you're wondering what it means, just ask around. After all, it's not like it's difficult to pronounce.
Today, the decision was made as soon as I saw the word.
Let me set the scene. It's about 8:15 in the morning, and I'm teaching one of my 9th grade classes. They're the most advanced of their grade level, but they're still relative beginners.
I had finished what I had to teach, and I was now on the second part of my lesson. My classes usually begin with the boring stuff, and about halfway through I change to something else. Typically I have a plan of what to teach, but I often change it depending on how it's going. If they're behaving and participating, I can play a game instead of some textbook activity. If they're misbehaving, I practice my medieval torture methods.
Just kidding - I wanted to see if you're paying attention.
Returning to the story, this particular group usually behaves quite well. When I came to the point where I could make a decision, one student raised her hand and asked what Hungarian words I know. They have been fascinated by this since day one, so we started talking about it.
I put them in groups and told them to think of useful phrases or words to teach me. It started out with a few common words like juice and sunglasses, but then one girl asked if she could come write a word on the board.
You must know that this particular student has a very stern look about her. She's not mad or unhappy, but her face naturally has an intense, almost angry, look on it. When she's a mother, I think she'll have very well behaved children.
That's important to know because she came up to the board and started writing. I think most others would have started laughing. She was focused.
Then she kept writing.
And she wrote some more.
The pen dried up and she needed a new one - just kidding, but it's possible.
Finally she finished. It was one word.
"We don't know how to say this word in English, but it's the longest Hungarian word."
If you speak Hungarian, I bet your laughing. If you don't, I bet your not ready for this. This is what she wrote:
Megszentségteleníthetetlenségeskedéseitekért
She quickly read it out loud so I could repeat. I stared at her and the class laughed. Then she drew lines at certain intervals and taught it to me in parts. I'm proud to say I managed to pronounce it, at least in a rough manner.
So there you have it. That's what I learned in school today. If you're wondering what it means, just ask around. After all, it's not like it's difficult to pronounce.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Caught Off Guard
RING RING RING RING RING
"Is that my doorbell? No one ever comes to my apartment, so it's not really a sound I'm familiar with. I'll go look through the peek hole and see who it is. Oh that's right, the glass is so dirty that I can't see a thing.
"Well, there's a man standing there. Or a woman. But it's definitely a person. Unless it's an alien. Or a drunken angel statue. You never can be sure.
"I guess I'll open it. It's probably someone I know. If it isn't, I doubt it will take long for them to realize I don't speak Hungarian and they'll go away. Maybe it's a Hungarian girl scout selling Hungarian girl scout cookies. If that's they case, I'll buy a ton.
"I hope the whole transaction doesn't take long - I have dinner on the stove. It's not too important if I burn it, though, because I usually burn it anyway."
These are the thoughts that went through my head while I was cooking dinner tonight. When I opened the door, I didn't find a woman, an alien, or even a drunken angel statue. Instead, it was my neighbor. You remember him, he's the one I was at the sausage festival with (read about that here).
He's a nice guy, but his English isn't great (even though it's 20 million times better than my Hungarian). I've had a few short conversations with him in passing, but we only hung out at that one festival. On the other hand, he is my neighbor, so I wasn't that surprised to see him at my door.
"Do you like cookies?" he asked.
"Yes, I love cookies."
"Great! I made some cookies and I brought some for you," he replied as he handed me a Christmas tin, "Enjoy your dinner!"
And off he went.
Therefore, it was a pretty welcome feeling to have someone come knock on my door with a gift. It's just more proof to my theory about living in a foreign land: If you're lonely, homesick, don't fit in, don't have friends, etc., then you need to do one thing - be patient. With enough time, patience, and smiles, you will feel welcome.
So answer the door, if it isn't a drunken angel statue, it may be your friend with cookies.
Hungarian word of the day (seems important, under the circumstances): Köszönöm (you're on your own with this pronunciation, I know how to say it, but I don't know how to explain it). It means Thank You, and you could find yourself saying it a lot.
"Is that my doorbell? No one ever comes to my apartment, so it's not really a sound I'm familiar with. I'll go look through the peek hole and see who it is. Oh that's right, the glass is so dirty that I can't see a thing.
"Well, there's a man standing there. Or a woman. But it's definitely a person. Unless it's an alien. Or a drunken angel statue. You never can be sure.
"I guess I'll open it. It's probably someone I know. If it isn't, I doubt it will take long for them to realize I don't speak Hungarian and they'll go away. Maybe it's a Hungarian girl scout selling Hungarian girl scout cookies. If that's they case, I'll buy a ton.
"I hope the whole transaction doesn't take long - I have dinner on the stove. It's not too important if I burn it, though, because I usually burn it anyway."
These are the thoughts that went through my head while I was cooking dinner tonight. When I opened the door, I didn't find a woman, an alien, or even a drunken angel statue. Instead, it was my neighbor. You remember him, he's the one I was at the sausage festival with (read about that here).
He's a nice guy, but his English isn't great (even though it's 20 million times better than my Hungarian). I've had a few short conversations with him in passing, but we only hung out at that one festival. On the other hand, he is my neighbor, so I wasn't that surprised to see him at my door.
"Do you like cookies?" he asked.
"Yes, I love cookies."
"Great! I made some cookies and I brought some for you," he replied as he handed me a Christmas tin, "Enjoy your dinner!"
And off he went.
Either he's psychic or he could smell my food from the kitchen. The second is more likely, but I don't have any proof against his psychic abilities. I'll try to ask him, but I better bring my English-Hungarian dictionary because mind reading isn't something usually taught in language classes.
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| The Cookie Tin |
It may come as a surprise, but living in a foreign country can be lonely. The odds of this increase when you live in a small town where the vast majority of people don't speak your language. Until you learn their language, conversations tend to be at a minimum. Friendships only go so far when they're based off of three word interactions.
So answer the door, if it isn't a drunken angel statue, it may be your friend with cookies.
Hungarian word of the day (seems important, under the circumstances): Köszönöm (you're on your own with this pronunciation, I know how to say it, but I don't know how to explain it). It means Thank You, and you could find yourself saying it a lot.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Ljubljana Pictures
Slowly but surely. That's how I'm going to add pictures. Let's start with the first day of my fall break trip.
This was Halloween in Ljubljana, Slovenia. It was rainy and cold, but that didn't stop us from sightseeing. We saw a castle, an underground bar full of skeletons, drank hot wine, crossed some bridges, and saw the awesome neighborhood that housed the prison we'd stay at a few days later.
The pictures reminded me of something I need to bring up, though. There seems to be a tradition around here of using a padlock to symbolize love. A couple writes their name on it, locks it to something significant, and throws away the key. It sounds very romantic because it shows how confident they are that their love will last forever.
My issue is with those who choose combination locks. No key? How does that show anything? "I love you so much that we should put a lock on here so that everyone knows!"
Uncomfortably, he answers, "Um, okay, but can we use a combination lock?"
"What are you trying to say?" she replies, with a frown on her face.
Click this picture to go to my photo album:
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go buy a combination lock. I'll need to make sure I memorize the numbers, you know, just in case.
This was Halloween in Ljubljana, Slovenia. It was rainy and cold, but that didn't stop us from sightseeing. We saw a castle, an underground bar full of skeletons, drank hot wine, crossed some bridges, and saw the awesome neighborhood that housed the prison we'd stay at a few days later.
The pictures reminded me of something I need to bring up, though. There seems to be a tradition around here of using a padlock to symbolize love. A couple writes their name on it, locks it to something significant, and throws away the key. It sounds very romantic because it shows how confident they are that their love will last forever.
My issue is with those who choose combination locks. No key? How does that show anything? "I love you so much that we should put a lock on here so that everyone knows!"
Uncomfortably, he answers, "Um, okay, but can we use a combination lock?"
"What are you trying to say?" she replies, with a frown on her face.
Click this picture to go to my photo album:
 |
| Ljubljana |
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go buy a combination lock. I'll need to make sure I memorize the numbers, you know, just in case.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
So That's What That Is
There's a lady here in Békéscsaba who I give private English lessons to. She's also a tour guide, and today she needed practice for a tour that she's going to give in English. It was perfect for both of us.
Do you ever walk by something everyday and not know what it is?
I do.
If you say you don't, perhaps you should go on tour of your own town.
My favorie part went a little like this:
Tour Guide: "Do you know what the statue is on top of the fountain?"
Me: "Um, it looks like a little girl walking."
Tour Guide: "No, it is an angel. But she is...what do you call it when you have drank too much alcohol."
Me: "Drunk."
Tour Guide: "Yes, drunk! We call it the Drunken Angel fountain."
Me: "Hmm, I've never heard an angel described that way. I think that's my new favorite fountain."
There were, however, plenty of other things that didn't have to do with intoxicated deities. Maybe I can take some pictures of things and show you around Békéscsaba. I'll only do that if you agree to come visit! The Drunken Angel fountain is best viewed in person. Just don't expect water. She must have consumed it all.
Suddenly, the demand for my English language skills has sky rocketed. I've been asked to correct a translated version of a speech by the school director and proofread a paper written by the daughter of one of my colleagues. This is the part where I begin to wonder if I could sneak in ironic little phrases without anyone noticing...
Plus, my English language knowledge has given me some exciting plans for the evening. Have you ever wondered if there's anything worse than doing homework? There is. Grading homework. Right now, I wouldn't recommend being a teacher.
I think I'll become a sculptor who specializes in drunken angels. I'd probably be the only one.
Hungarian phrase of the day (thanks to my loyal Hungarian readers): Például (pronounced like pail, and then dowel). You gessed it, it means the topic of yesterdays post "For Example or For Instance".
Do you ever walk by something everyday and not know what it is?
I do.
If you say you don't, perhaps you should go on tour of your own town.
My favorie part went a little like this:
Tour Guide: "Do you know what the statue is on top of the fountain?"
Me: "Um, it looks like a little girl walking."
Tour Guide: "No, it is an angel. But she is...what do you call it when you have drank too much alcohol."
Me: "Drunk."
Tour Guide: "Yes, drunk! We call it the Drunken Angel fountain."
Me: "Hmm, I've never heard an angel described that way. I think that's my new favorite fountain."
There were, however, plenty of other things that didn't have to do with intoxicated deities. Maybe I can take some pictures of things and show you around Békéscsaba. I'll only do that if you agree to come visit! The Drunken Angel fountain is best viewed in person. Just don't expect water. She must have consumed it all.
Suddenly, the demand for my English language skills has sky rocketed. I've been asked to correct a translated version of a speech by the school director and proofread a paper written by the daughter of one of my colleagues. This is the part where I begin to wonder if I could sneak in ironic little phrases without anyone noticing...
Plus, my English language knowledge has given me some exciting plans for the evening. Have you ever wondered if there's anything worse than doing homework? There is. Grading homework. Right now, I wouldn't recommend being a teacher.
I think I'll become a sculptor who specializes in drunken angels. I'd probably be the only one.
Hungarian phrase of the day (thanks to my loyal Hungarian readers): Például (pronounced like pail, and then dowel). You gessed it, it means the topic of yesterdays post "For Example or For Instance".
Monday, November 15, 2010
For Example, For Instance
It's no secret that living in a foreign country can change the way you speak. Accents take a while, but little bits of vocabulary start meandering in. For example, if you live in Hungary you will start to say "for instance" - and "for example". A lot.
I don't know why, but the Hungarians seem to be very fond of these two phrases. For instance, they almost always use them when explaining something. It isn't necessary for the explanation, but it is said anyway.
These two pairs of words are the most common language difference I've noticed. For example, it's difficult to have a conversation with a Hungarian without hearing it at least once. I wonder if it's a translation issue? For instance, are these commonly used in Hungarian, and therefore they're carried over to English?
For a while, I thought I was the only one noticing it, but I found out that wasn't true. For example, the two American teachers I traveled with were joking about it. They teach in a town on the other side of Hungary, and they told me it's just as common there.
Most of the different expressions that I hear can be attributed to British English. However, I don't believe this can. For instance, how many British people do you know who often say these expressions?
This fascinates me. But, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. For example, I managed to say one or the other in every paragraph here (even twice in one!).
I don't have a Hungarian word of the day yet, because I'm going to try to learn a few phrases (I bet you can guess what they are). For instance, I should be able to tell you tomorrow.
I don't know why, but the Hungarians seem to be very fond of these two phrases. For instance, they almost always use them when explaining something. It isn't necessary for the explanation, but it is said anyway.
These two pairs of words are the most common language difference I've noticed. For example, it's difficult to have a conversation with a Hungarian without hearing it at least once. I wonder if it's a translation issue? For instance, are these commonly used in Hungarian, and therefore they're carried over to English?
For a while, I thought I was the only one noticing it, but I found out that wasn't true. For example, the two American teachers I traveled with were joking about it. They teach in a town on the other side of Hungary, and they told me it's just as common there.
Most of the different expressions that I hear can be attributed to British English. However, I don't believe this can. For instance, how many British people do you know who often say these expressions?
This fascinates me. But, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. For example, I managed to say one or the other in every paragraph here (even twice in one!).
I don't have a Hungarian word of the day yet, because I'm going to try to learn a few phrases (I bet you can guess what they are). For instance, I should be able to tell you tomorrow.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Return Of The Lángos
Remember langos, the deep-fried Hungarian bread? If you didn't see my first experience with it, you need to read Talk to the Lángos. It wasn't quite what I hoped, but I've been getting a craving to try it again.
One of my loyal Hungarian readers shared the following YouTube video with me. It shows the process of making the bread (which I hadn't seen), and the finished product ready to be eaten. You'll have to use your imagination to top it with lard, cheese, sour cream, and any other artery clogging condiments.
On another note, having a mustache is very popular in Hungary (as demonstrated here). I'm lacking in the itchy hairs of the upper lip, and maybe I need to remedy that. Perhaps that's the reason I didn't enjoy this food the first time. Lesson learned.
One of my loyal Hungarian readers shared the following YouTube video with me. It shows the process of making the bread (which I hadn't seen), and the finished product ready to be eaten. You'll have to use your imagination to top it with lard, cheese, sour cream, and any other artery clogging condiments.
On another note, having a mustache is very popular in Hungary (as demonstrated here). I'm lacking in the itchy hairs of the upper lip, and maybe I need to remedy that. Perhaps that's the reason I didn't enjoy this food the first time. Lesson learned.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Does Ordering A Beer Count As Fluency?
I may be in a foreign country, but I can still feel at home. Today was a well earned "lazy" day. I've been out and about for the past few weeks, and I almost forgot what it feels like to just rest.
To pass the time, I went to a few different cafes with my journal and a book. That's what made me realize I'm at home, not traveling.
Someone recognized me at each place I went. Our conversations were very, very limited, but we still communicated. My knowledge of the Hungarian language is severely low, and I didn't see much English in these people. However, as soon as they saw me, I knew they recognized me. Smiles, out of the ordinary for a stranger, would happen. They remembered what I usually ordered. They even spoke a few words of English.
My life has become an experiment. I've been too lazy to study much Hungarian, but I seem to learn more every day. I still can't say much, but I understand a fair amount when people talk to me. It's like living proof that someone can absorb a language simply by listening and living.
Perhaps I should start studying the language more, though. I can interact in stores, restaurants, and bars, but I can't have a conversation. Imagine, for a minute, what it would be like to go through your typical day if you couldn't speak to 95% of the people you see. It can be described as "really exciting" or "incredibly boring". Fortunately, I'm an optimist.
Hungarians are very good natured about their language. I don't speak it, and that doesn't surprise them. But, it's a great place to learn and I highly recommend it. When I say something wrong (which is often), they correct me. They usually chuckle, but they seem to be pleased that I'm trying. It's very different from the French who seem to believe you shouldn't come near their country without perfect fluency in their language.
In conclusion, learn Hungarian. It's a beautiful language, and there's a country full of people who will be happy to help you with it.
I'll start you off by returning to my Hungarian word of the day, here's an important one: sör (pronounced sure - not like shore, but the other way). It means beer, so you will say it a lot.
To pass the time, I went to a few different cafes with my journal and a book. That's what made me realize I'm at home, not traveling.
Someone recognized me at each place I went. Our conversations were very, very limited, but we still communicated. My knowledge of the Hungarian language is severely low, and I didn't see much English in these people. However, as soon as they saw me, I knew they recognized me. Smiles, out of the ordinary for a stranger, would happen. They remembered what I usually ordered. They even spoke a few words of English.
My life has become an experiment. I've been too lazy to study much Hungarian, but I seem to learn more every day. I still can't say much, but I understand a fair amount when people talk to me. It's like living proof that someone can absorb a language simply by listening and living.
Perhaps I should start studying the language more, though. I can interact in stores, restaurants, and bars, but I can't have a conversation. Imagine, for a minute, what it would be like to go through your typical day if you couldn't speak to 95% of the people you see. It can be described as "really exciting" or "incredibly boring". Fortunately, I'm an optimist.
Hungarians are very good natured about their language. I don't speak it, and that doesn't surprise them. But, it's a great place to learn and I highly recommend it. When I say something wrong (which is often), they correct me. They usually chuckle, but they seem to be pleased that I'm trying. It's very different from the French who seem to believe you shouldn't come near their country without perfect fluency in their language.
In conclusion, learn Hungarian. It's a beautiful language, and there's a country full of people who will be happy to help you with it.
I'll start you off by returning to my Hungarian word of the day, here's an important one: sör (pronounced sure - not like shore, but the other way). It means beer, so you will say it a lot.
Friday, November 12, 2010
I'm Sorry, Your Name Is Not Allowed
"In America, can people name their children whatever they'd like?"
This was the question asked to me by my Hungarian colleague. I didn't think I understood the question. Why couldn't you name your child whatever you want?
Then, she explained. In Hungary, there is a book that consists of all possible first names. When your son or daughter is born, you have to use one of these pre-approved labels for them. If you want to use something else, you must write a letter to a board that will make the decision.
I was dumbfounded.
It's not that this is a horrible idea, it's just that I'd never heard of it before - anywhere. The justification is that a child with a strange name could be picked on, and I think that's quite reasonable. Someone named We Need More Toilet Paper Smith would probably have a difficult time in life.
On the other hand, do names really need to be regulated? Being called something unique can make a boring person seem exciting and mysterious. I'd like to give a better name to every Mike I meet.
This is definitely one of those cultural differences that I can experience as an American living in another country. In the United States, people have all kinds of names because they come from all over the world. It would be impossible to judge what are appropriate, traditional names, and who just came up with the idea while watching television.
In Hungary, however, most people are Hungarians and their ancestors have lived here throughout all of recorded history. Names are so important to them that they have "Name Days". Each day of the year has a name (or names) assigned to it, and those people are treated special. If your name was Telephone Number, you'd be left out.
I would like to work for the group that makes the decision about the different names. Those people probably have some really funny stories to tell when they get home from work. How can I get that job?
This was the question asked to me by my Hungarian colleague. I didn't think I understood the question. Why couldn't you name your child whatever you want?
Then, she explained. In Hungary, there is a book that consists of all possible first names. When your son or daughter is born, you have to use one of these pre-approved labels for them. If you want to use something else, you must write a letter to a board that will make the decision.
I was dumbfounded.
It's not that this is a horrible idea, it's just that I'd never heard of it before - anywhere. The justification is that a child with a strange name could be picked on, and I think that's quite reasonable. Someone named We Need More Toilet Paper Smith would probably have a difficult time in life.
On the other hand, do names really need to be regulated? Being called something unique can make a boring person seem exciting and mysterious. I'd like to give a better name to every Mike I meet.
This is definitely one of those cultural differences that I can experience as an American living in another country. In the United States, people have all kinds of names because they come from all over the world. It would be impossible to judge what are appropriate, traditional names, and who just came up with the idea while watching television.
In Hungary, however, most people are Hungarians and their ancestors have lived here throughout all of recorded history. Names are so important to them that they have "Name Days". Each day of the year has a name (or names) assigned to it, and those people are treated special. If your name was Telephone Number, you'd be left out.
I would like to work for the group that makes the decision about the different names. Those people probably have some really funny stories to tell when they get home from work. How can I get that job?
Thursday, November 11, 2010
One Hundred And Twenty Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest
I didn't have to teach today. Instead, I went on a field trip. It started two weeks ago when I was handed a flier for a play. The paper was set on my desk, upside down, while two teachers were having a conversation next to me. I didn't think it was even for me until I was asked, "So, do you want to go?" My blank stare caused the paper to be flipped over and I saw what it said.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
The play was being performed and it looked like a group was going. "Sure," I answered, "I'd love to go."
"Good, we already bought your ticket."
Here's a word of advice for dealing with Hungarians. Be open for anything, because they're very, very generous people. If they have food, they won't share it. They'll force you to eat some of it. If they like (or don't like) something you're wearing, they won't hesitate to tell you. If they want you to do something (like teach an extra class or go on a 13 hour field trip) they'll make plans for you to go, and then they'll ask if you want to.
It's very fun, because they won't let life pass you by. They'll drag you along kicking and screaming, and then they'll give you more food. And while they're doing this, you don't have to worry that they don't like your new beard. They'll tell you - more positive than negative, but I shaved it anyway.
We met at the train station at 7 AM, and I was expecting to see a small group of students and a few teachers. There were about five teachers, and 120 students. I'm not exaggerating, that's the number of students that went.
They had reserved a train car for us so that everyone would have a seat. Unfortunately, the Hungarian railway service seems willing to accept payment for seat reservations, and then not provide the seats. Everyone had a place on the way there, but a few had to sit on the floor coming home.
Next, the play had been moved from a theater in the city center to a slightly less convenient location. By this, I mean we got off the train and took a metro a few stops. Then we switched to a tram for a while. Finally we took another kind of train that dropped us off a mere eight or ten blocks from the theater. That's a pretty easy process with 120 kids.
To keep it interesting, I was assigned to watch a group of students that I don't teach. That means that I didn't know any of their names, didn't recognize any of them, and they probably don't speak English. Thank God there was another teacher who was also assigned to watch them. Otherwise, Hungarian reporters would right now be saying, "This just in, a record number of missing person reports were filed in the capital today - 20. An American is taking the blame and apologizing profusely for his total inability to remember Hungarian names."
Overall, the play was good. It was depressing, but well performed. I was stunned, though, at how many dirty words and sexual references were made during a performance to high school kids. I'm still convinced I grew up in the wrong place. We would've been given detention just for attending the play during school hours.
In conclusion, if you ever go on a field trip with a Hungarian school, pack a big lunch. The Hungarians are too kind to let you sit and not eat while they have food. Don't try the "I'm not hungry" excuse either (even if it's true), they've already decided the answer.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
The play was being performed and it looked like a group was going. "Sure," I answered, "I'd love to go."
"Good, we already bought your ticket."
Here's a word of advice for dealing with Hungarians. Be open for anything, because they're very, very generous people. If they have food, they won't share it. They'll force you to eat some of it. If they like (or don't like) something you're wearing, they won't hesitate to tell you. If they want you to do something (like teach an extra class or go on a 13 hour field trip) they'll make plans for you to go, and then they'll ask if you want to.
It's very fun, because they won't let life pass you by. They'll drag you along kicking and screaming, and then they'll give you more food. And while they're doing this, you don't have to worry that they don't like your new beard. They'll tell you - more positive than negative, but I shaved it anyway.
We met at the train station at 7 AM, and I was expecting to see a small group of students and a few teachers. There were about five teachers, and 120 students. I'm not exaggerating, that's the number of students that went.
They had reserved a train car for us so that everyone would have a seat. Unfortunately, the Hungarian railway service seems willing to accept payment for seat reservations, and then not provide the seats. Everyone had a place on the way there, but a few had to sit on the floor coming home.
Next, the play had been moved from a theater in the city center to a slightly less convenient location. By this, I mean we got off the train and took a metro a few stops. Then we switched to a tram for a while. Finally we took another kind of train that dropped us off a mere eight or ten blocks from the theater. That's a pretty easy process with 120 kids.
To keep it interesting, I was assigned to watch a group of students that I don't teach. That means that I didn't know any of their names, didn't recognize any of them, and they probably don't speak English. Thank God there was another teacher who was also assigned to watch them. Otherwise, Hungarian reporters would right now be saying, "This just in, a record number of missing person reports were filed in the capital today - 20. An American is taking the blame and apologizing profusely for his total inability to remember Hungarian names."
Overall, the play was good. It was depressing, but well performed. I was stunned, though, at how many dirty words and sexual references were made during a performance to high school kids. I'm still convinced I grew up in the wrong place. We would've been given detention just for attending the play during school hours.
In conclusion, if you ever go on a field trip with a Hungarian school, pack a big lunch. The Hungarians are too kind to let you sit and not eat while they have food. Don't try the "I'm not hungry" excuse either (even if it's true), they've already decided the answer.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Slovenia And Croatia - Part 2: Spies And Beautiful Women
The other day, I told you half the story of my trip (click here if you missed it), but I left you wondering about my prison story.
Day 5 (continued): After the caves, we went back to Ljubljana and went directly to jail. We didn't cross go, and we didn't collect two hundred dollars. We did, however, have to pay for jail, because it was just a hostel built in an old prison.
I got you!
As a matter of fact, it was a very nice prison. It was crowded, colorful, and had bars on the windows. Plus, the receptionist was quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Another cool thing about it was it's location. It was next to a very interesting part of the city. I don't really know how to describe this place, but when I was told about it I thought it was "trendy". It was explained to me by another beautiful Slovenian woman (a very nice pattern that I noticed in the country). She described it as a place where all the young people go that is decorated by a lot of graffiti - in a tasteful fashion.
I hope she never has to describe a criminal to the police.
Instead of "trendy", it looked like a mix of a ghetto and punk rock heaven. There was graffiti everywhere, abandoned looking buildings, weird statues, and very interesting people. I thought it was awesome. My travel companion, Heather, thought it was horrifying. We first saw it in the day, and I couldn't wait to go back at night. It was a letdown, though, because it was just crappy bars with middle old people drinking. I'm determined to find out when it's crowded and go back. I want to climb the treehouse.
Day 6: Our prison escape occurred bright and early. Now that we felt like fugitives, it was time to leave the country. Croatia here we come.
Get out a pen and write this down:
Zagreb.
The Croatian capital is now one of my favorite cities. No one had told me anything very positive about it, so I wasn't expecting very much. Instead, I found a nice city full of very stylish people. It wasn't touristy at all, and it had a very large cafe culture. It's a nice unspoiled city that tourism has yet to discover.
I loved it, and I could see myself moving there if I get tired of living in Hungary.
Day 7: We, regretfully, left Zagreb and went to a national park. It had lakes, Koreans, and Lady Gaga. It may not have really been Lady Gaga, but there were some bizarre people who looked like they were traveling with a musical group because they were dressed in a really strange manner. Also, I overheard them talking about doing things during performances. I can put two and two together.
The park wasn't that great, but it was okay because we had to rush through it to not miss the last bus to Split. We made that trip in record time, because our bus driver's previous job was as a stunt driver in James Bond movies. I've never seen a giant bus pass someone on the outside lane of a dark mountain road. It was incredible.
The bus driver even knew the best places to stop. We had a break at a rest stop that had cages full of peacocks, mutant deer, and bears. Fortunately, there was a thin chain-link fence to protect the bears from escaping and eating anyone. Who needs any more protection than that?
Day 8: Our stay in Split was short and sweet, and then we took another bus along the coast to Dubrovnik. It was beautiful, and we stayed in a big house up on a cliff overlooking the city and the sea. One night was too short of a stay.
Day 9: We went back to Split where we impatiently killed time before our sleeper train that night. Most of the tourist shops were closed, so we followed my suggestion and went to a bar. It made my 10 million degree train bunk that much easier to sleep in.
Day 10: I wish I could always wake up on a train. The conductor knocked on the door and gave me a cup of coffee and croissant - that's nicer than being at home!
Back into the city we went. After coffee and breakfast, we passed our time hiding from a Brazilian at the train station. We met him in Dubrovnik and rode on the bus with him. That's when Angie noticed he had gross, open sores on his head that he kept picking at. Let's not sit with him on the train like we said we would. He was on the platform, so we dashed on the train at the last second to ensure he didn't see us. It was just like a spy movie.
I had hours and hours and hours to look at Hungary before I got home (Lake Balaton is much bigger than I expected). As soon as we crossed the border, I could already notice physical and architectural differences. It never ceases to amaze me how different European countries can be from each other, even though they are geographically so close together.
Traveling is one of my favorite hobbies, but it's always good to be home - no matter where home is. This is the good life.
Day 5 (continued): After the caves, we went back to Ljubljana and went directly to jail. We didn't cross go, and we didn't collect two hundred dollars. We did, however, have to pay for jail, because it was just a hostel built in an old prison.
I got you!
As a matter of fact, it was a very nice prison. It was crowded, colorful, and had bars on the windows. Plus, the receptionist was quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Another cool thing about it was it's location. It was next to a very interesting part of the city. I don't really know how to describe this place, but when I was told about it I thought it was "trendy". It was explained to me by another beautiful Slovenian woman (a very nice pattern that I noticed in the country). She described it as a place where all the young people go that is decorated by a lot of graffiti - in a tasteful fashion.
I hope she never has to describe a criminal to the police.
Instead of "trendy", it looked like a mix of a ghetto and punk rock heaven. There was graffiti everywhere, abandoned looking buildings, weird statues, and very interesting people. I thought it was awesome. My travel companion, Heather, thought it was horrifying. We first saw it in the day, and I couldn't wait to go back at night. It was a letdown, though, because it was just crappy bars with middle old people drinking. I'm determined to find out when it's crowded and go back. I want to climb the treehouse.
Day 6: Our prison escape occurred bright and early. Now that we felt like fugitives, it was time to leave the country. Croatia here we come.
Get out a pen and write this down:
Zagreb.
The Croatian capital is now one of my favorite cities. No one had told me anything very positive about it, so I wasn't expecting very much. Instead, I found a nice city full of very stylish people. It wasn't touristy at all, and it had a very large cafe culture. It's a nice unspoiled city that tourism has yet to discover.
I loved it, and I could see myself moving there if I get tired of living in Hungary.
Day 7: We, regretfully, left Zagreb and went to a national park. It had lakes, Koreans, and Lady Gaga. It may not have really been Lady Gaga, but there were some bizarre people who looked like they were traveling with a musical group because they were dressed in a really strange manner. Also, I overheard them talking about doing things during performances. I can put two and two together.
The park wasn't that great, but it was okay because we had to rush through it to not miss the last bus to Split. We made that trip in record time, because our bus driver's previous job was as a stunt driver in James Bond movies. I've never seen a giant bus pass someone on the outside lane of a dark mountain road. It was incredible.
The bus driver even knew the best places to stop. We had a break at a rest stop that had cages full of peacocks, mutant deer, and bears. Fortunately, there was a thin chain-link fence to protect the bears from escaping and eating anyone. Who needs any more protection than that?
Day 8: Our stay in Split was short and sweet, and then we took another bus along the coast to Dubrovnik. It was beautiful, and we stayed in a big house up on a cliff overlooking the city and the sea. One night was too short of a stay.
Day 9: We went back to Split where we impatiently killed time before our sleeper train that night. Most of the tourist shops were closed, so we followed my suggestion and went to a bar. It made my 10 million degree train bunk that much easier to sleep in.
Day 10: I wish I could always wake up on a train. The conductor knocked on the door and gave me a cup of coffee and croissant - that's nicer than being at home!
Back into the city we went. After coffee and breakfast, we passed our time hiding from a Brazilian at the train station. We met him in Dubrovnik and rode on the bus with him. That's when Angie noticed he had gross, open sores on his head that he kept picking at. Let's not sit with him on the train like we said we would. He was on the platform, so we dashed on the train at the last second to ensure he didn't see us. It was just like a spy movie.
I had hours and hours and hours to look at Hungary before I got home (Lake Balaton is much bigger than I expected). As soon as we crossed the border, I could already notice physical and architectural differences. It never ceases to amaze me how different European countries can be from each other, even though they are geographically so close together.
Traveling is one of my favorite hobbies, but it's always good to be home - no matter where home is. This is the good life.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
If You Want Sympathy, You've Come To The Wrong Place
I'm living a life of adventure, and I love it. However, it's not always as easy as it sounds. I know I left you with a cliffhanger about prison yesterday, but that story will have to wait until tomorrow.
Would you like to know what else will have to wait until tomorrow? Me. I smell really bad. I smell bad because I don't have any clothes that are clean. To be completely accurate, I don't have any clothes that are clean and dry.
I took all of my clean clothes with me on my trip last week, and I left a bunch of dirty laundry at home. I'm fortunate because my apartment has a washing machine that washes things for me. The downside is that nature has to dry it for me, because I don't have a drier. Instead, I have an overflowing drying rack full of clothes that are attempting to keep each other wet.
This isn't a complaint, I'm just trying to share all of the aspects of this lifestyle with you. I was just able to go on an awesome trip with only a few days off, and it drained me all of my energy. That leaves me with cleaning to do, a job to figure out, and smelly or wet clothes to wear.
Many of my Hungarian students and colleagues spent last week relaxing, so they're well rested and full of energy. I'm the opposite. I spent last week living on criminally low amounts of sleep. Everyone else is accomplishing a lot and wondering why I keep wearing the same blue striped shirt.
None of this, though, is the worst part. Are you curious what is? I'll show you a way to understand how I feel. When you get to school or work tomorrow, try saying this to everyone:
"Give me a break and let me do everything slowly. I spent all of last week exploring Croatia and Slovenia while you sat at home. It really tired me out."
Be careful not to say it to someone who hasn't had their coffee, though, because they might try and kill you. I'll wear moist, stinky clothes everyday if it means I can keep rushing off to places like that on weekends. I highly recommend it.
If you're wondering what to get me for Christmas, deodorant would be nice.
Would you like to know what else will have to wait until tomorrow? Me. I smell really bad. I smell bad because I don't have any clothes that are clean. To be completely accurate, I don't have any clothes that are clean and dry.
I took all of my clean clothes with me on my trip last week, and I left a bunch of dirty laundry at home. I'm fortunate because my apartment has a washing machine that washes things for me. The downside is that nature has to dry it for me, because I don't have a drier. Instead, I have an overflowing drying rack full of clothes that are attempting to keep each other wet.
This isn't a complaint, I'm just trying to share all of the aspects of this lifestyle with you. I was just able to go on an awesome trip with only a few days off, and it drained me all of my energy. That leaves me with cleaning to do, a job to figure out, and smelly or wet clothes to wear.
Many of my Hungarian students and colleagues spent last week relaxing, so they're well rested and full of energy. I'm the opposite. I spent last week living on criminally low amounts of sleep. Everyone else is accomplishing a lot and wondering why I keep wearing the same blue striped shirt.
None of this, though, is the worst part. Are you curious what is? I'll show you a way to understand how I feel. When you get to school or work tomorrow, try saying this to everyone:
"Give me a break and let me do everything slowly. I spent all of last week exploring Croatia and Slovenia while you sat at home. It really tired me out."
Be careful not to say it to someone who hasn't had their coffee, though, because they might try and kill you. I'll wear moist, stinky clothes everyday if it means I can keep rushing off to places like that on weekends. I highly recommend it.
If you're wondering what to get me for Christmas, deodorant would be nice.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Slovenia And Croatia - Part 1: Caves, Halloween, and Prison
You may have thought I wasn't writing because I didn't have any stories, but that's not true. I had stories, I just didn't have time or internet. I'll try to give you the highlights.
Day 1: I left Békéscsaba to stay in Pápa, Hungary for the night. I got out of school early and had plenty of time to pack. But, whenever I'm early, I always move slowly and end up late. It's a curse.
I left with just enough time to make the 20 minute walk to the train station and life was good. Halfway there, I realized I forgot to put on my shirt. That's right, I was only wearing an undershirt and left my polo shirt at home. Since I only had three shirts for 10 days of travel, I needed it. I ran home, grabbed it, and literally ran to the train station. Then I had three shirts, and one of them already smelled.
I arrived in Pápa and it was like a scene from a Halloween movie. There was a big, tree-lined street that was devoid of any other humans, but I could hear screams and dogs in the distance. That seems to explain why so many horror movies are set in this neck of the woods.
Day 2: Joined by my two travel companions, Angie and Heather, we started our journey south. After crossing a river of the famous Red Toxic Sludge, we got to Ukk, Hungary for a five hour layover.
The conductor chased us off the train to make sure we were in the right place, but he didn't speak English. Since we don't speak Hungarian our conversation consisted of one word, "Ukk". He would say it, we would repeat it, he would say it again, and so would we. The changing of tones convinced us he thought it was stupid to get off here, but we were sure it's where we needed to be.
He was smart. Ukk was tiny. I mean really, really tiny. We couldn't find a town. After an hour or two in an empty, one-room train station I couldn't take it anymore. I started wandering and found a small town on the other side of a cornfield. We looked so out of place that a very nice, very toothless man stopped his car and got out to try and help us. Again the language barrier got in the way, but it gave us more faith in humanity.
Eventually, we took the train out of there. We had a relaxing ride to Ljubljana, Slovenia, but I only had one beer to drink on the train. Ukk not having any stores had really messed up my plans.
Day 3: Slovenia is on the Euro, so I watched my money fly out of my wallet. We saw a castle, ate lunch in the rain, and went to a bar full of skeletons. It was Halloween after all, so it seemed like destiny that there was an underground bar full of dead people.
That night, we took a bus to Lake Bled. It wasn't a giant, red lake, but it was awesome. We couldn't find the place we were staying, so we had to wander in the pouring rain for a while. Fortunately, a dog adopted us and happily followed along. Angie named him Happy and wanted to keep him, but Heather tried to kick him. Someone tell PETA.
We found the place on a very Halloweeny street. It was dark, rainy, and scary. Instead of a typical hostel, it was just a house where the rooms were rented out. If you want to see what it looked like, just close your eyes. Imagine you have a grandmother who lives in the former Yugoslavia. This is what her house would look like. I had a room all to myself with the coolest picture of a monkey on the wall.
Day 4: We went to a castle on a cliff. We went to a church on an island. We hung out with some other American teachers we know. We drank hot wine while walking around a lake. We ate desert first and dinner second. We had a beer in a shopping center named Gaddafi. We slept in the same place two nights in a row.
That sums up that day.
Day 5: We got up really early so we could catch a bus to the train station. It was where I began my new hatred of buses. The landlady had helped us check times on the internet, but this particular bus no longer existed when we got to the stop. Instead of being warm and comfortable in my room with monkey art, I watched high school kids chain smoking in the rain.
It wasn't a waste of a day though, because we went to caves. The first cave had a roller-coaster-like train to take you deep inside - it was just like Indiana Jones. There were a million tourists, and most of them were from Korea. But, don't worry, they made sure to tell us they were from South Korea, not the North. Then they pushed us out of the way. Now that I think about it, they seemed to be more interested in pushing people than seeing the cave. Maybe that's why the Koreans don't get along with each other.
Next, we went to a castle. A different castle, though, because this one was in a cave! It's probably the coolest castle I've ever seen. You should go there. I don't remember the name, but you could always push your way on to a bus full of Koreans.
There was a free shuttle from the train station to the cave and the castle. On this shuttle, we met a guy from India. He was obsessed with finding the internet. He literally asked everyone - including people in the cave - if there was internet he could use. He also asked for our e-mail addresses. On our way back to the train station, the bus driver said, "That guy from India was nice, but he wanted my e-mail address. I wasn't sure why, but I gave it to him." I can't wait to see what he sends me.
We spent that night in prison.
But, I'll have to finish the story tomorrow, because I need to get some rest.
Day 1: I left Békéscsaba to stay in Pápa, Hungary for the night. I got out of school early and had plenty of time to pack. But, whenever I'm early, I always move slowly and end up late. It's a curse.
I left with just enough time to make the 20 minute walk to the train station and life was good. Halfway there, I realized I forgot to put on my shirt. That's right, I was only wearing an undershirt and left my polo shirt at home. Since I only had three shirts for 10 days of travel, I needed it. I ran home, grabbed it, and literally ran to the train station. Then I had three shirts, and one of them already smelled.
I arrived in Pápa and it was like a scene from a Halloween movie. There was a big, tree-lined street that was devoid of any other humans, but I could hear screams and dogs in the distance. That seems to explain why so many horror movies are set in this neck of the woods.
Day 2: Joined by my two travel companions, Angie and Heather, we started our journey south. After crossing a river of the famous Red Toxic Sludge, we got to Ukk, Hungary for a five hour layover.
The conductor chased us off the train to make sure we were in the right place, but he didn't speak English. Since we don't speak Hungarian our conversation consisted of one word, "Ukk". He would say it, we would repeat it, he would say it again, and so would we. The changing of tones convinced us he thought it was stupid to get off here, but we were sure it's where we needed to be.
He was smart. Ukk was tiny. I mean really, really tiny. We couldn't find a town. After an hour or two in an empty, one-room train station I couldn't take it anymore. I started wandering and found a small town on the other side of a cornfield. We looked so out of place that a very nice, very toothless man stopped his car and got out to try and help us. Again the language barrier got in the way, but it gave us more faith in humanity.
Eventually, we took the train out of there. We had a relaxing ride to Ljubljana, Slovenia, but I only had one beer to drink on the train. Ukk not having any stores had really messed up my plans.
Day 3: Slovenia is on the Euro, so I watched my money fly out of my wallet. We saw a castle, ate lunch in the rain, and went to a bar full of skeletons. It was Halloween after all, so it seemed like destiny that there was an underground bar full of dead people.
That night, we took a bus to Lake Bled. It wasn't a giant, red lake, but it was awesome. We couldn't find the place we were staying, so we had to wander in the pouring rain for a while. Fortunately, a dog adopted us and happily followed along. Angie named him Happy and wanted to keep him, but Heather tried to kick him. Someone tell PETA.
We found the place on a very Halloweeny street. It was dark, rainy, and scary. Instead of a typical hostel, it was just a house where the rooms were rented out. If you want to see what it looked like, just close your eyes. Imagine you have a grandmother who lives in the former Yugoslavia. This is what her house would look like. I had a room all to myself with the coolest picture of a monkey on the wall.
Day 4: We went to a castle on a cliff. We went to a church on an island. We hung out with some other American teachers we know. We drank hot wine while walking around a lake. We ate desert first and dinner second. We had a beer in a shopping center named Gaddafi. We slept in the same place two nights in a row.
That sums up that day.
Day 5: We got up really early so we could catch a bus to the train station. It was where I began my new hatred of buses. The landlady had helped us check times on the internet, but this particular bus no longer existed when we got to the stop. Instead of being warm and comfortable in my room with monkey art, I watched high school kids chain smoking in the rain.
It wasn't a waste of a day though, because we went to caves. The first cave had a roller-coaster-like train to take you deep inside - it was just like Indiana Jones. There were a million tourists, and most of them were from Korea. But, don't worry, they made sure to tell us they were from South Korea, not the North. Then they pushed us out of the way. Now that I think about it, they seemed to be more interested in pushing people than seeing the cave. Maybe that's why the Koreans don't get along with each other.
Next, we went to a castle. A different castle, though, because this one was in a cave! It's probably the coolest castle I've ever seen. You should go there. I don't remember the name, but you could always push your way on to a bus full of Koreans.
There was a free shuttle from the train station to the cave and the castle. On this shuttle, we met a guy from India. He was obsessed with finding the internet. He literally asked everyone - including people in the cave - if there was internet he could use. He also asked for our e-mail addresses. On our way back to the train station, the bus driver said, "That guy from India was nice, but he wanted my e-mail address. I wasn't sure why, but I gave it to him." I can't wait to see what he sends me.
We spent that night in prison.
But, I'll have to finish the story tomorrow, because I need to get some rest.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Lake Bled Is Not Bloody
Im in Slovenia right now, and everythings going well (except I cant find the apostrophe key on this keyboard).
Slovenia is a perfect place to spend Halloween because it is naturally decorated. Its hard to tell what is a decoration and what was already there. I love it.
Ill write more of my stories later.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
I Feel Like A Kid On Christmas Morning
I feel like a kid on Christmas morning, that is, if that kid received a new bike. That's right, I bought a bike today! Would you like to see it? Of course you would.
I bought it behind an old power plant. The guy was a friend of the husband of one of the teachers at my school. Out of a small building - a kind of shed - he sells bikes, and other things. I've gone a few times to see if he had a good one for me, but I didn't have luck until today. He stopped working on a lawnmower and showed me how he finished building this one. It was an eccentric experience.
I love it.
The train station is a 20 minute walk from where I live. It's a five or ten minute bike ride. Now I can easily explore the whole town, and all of the surrounding areas. Hungary's a very, very flat country, and I intend to take full advantage of that.
My day had two other highlights, a haircut and a sausage festival. Usually, when you get a haircut, you look at the hair of the person giving it. If their hair doesn't look great, you head the other way. This man, however, broke that rule. His hair was ridiculous. He looked like he stuck his finger in a light socket last week, and hasn't combed it since.
When in Hungary, do as the Hungarians do. Get haircuts from crazy haired people who don't speak English.
It was well worth it. He spent an incredible amount of time on it, and he did a very good job. I think he may have cut each hair individually, but I am not complaining.
Then, this evening, I went to the Csabai Kolbászfesztivál (the Sausage Festival of Csaba). It's the world famous festival held in Békéscsaba every October. If it's not world famous yet, then it will be. It was surprisingly large, although empty, because it just started today.
There were bands, beers, wines, Pálinka, and sausages. Lots and lots of sausages. Cooked, dried, and everything in between. I didn't get to see one of the traditional Hungarian pig slaughterings (a very big cultural thing), but I did see and smell a big truck full of pigs earlier today. It's not a good day to be a pig in Békéscsaba.
I ran into my neighbor at the festival, so I had someone to talk to. We at some food, drank some wine, and tried not to freeze to death. I'm not really sure whose idea it was to plan an outdoor festival during the last week of October, but they should rethink it.
Tomorrow, I leave for my fall break trip. I'm going to spend the Friday night with my travel companions on the other side of Hungary, and Saturday we leave for Slovenia. After a few days there, we'll go to Croatia to cause some trouble. Finally, I'll get back here next Sunday the 7th. I'll try to post on here while I'm gone, but I may not have the opportunity. I promise I'll have good stories when I return!
You can always pass your time by planning a trip to next year's sausage festival. Once you buy your airplane tickets, you can get a lifetime supply of antacids. Maybe a doctor too, I can feel my arteries clogging with the heavenly sausage.
 |
| My new bicycle. |
I love it.
The train station is a 20 minute walk from where I live. It's a five or ten minute bike ride. Now I can easily explore the whole town, and all of the surrounding areas. Hungary's a very, very flat country, and I intend to take full advantage of that.
My day had two other highlights, a haircut and a sausage festival. Usually, when you get a haircut, you look at the hair of the person giving it. If their hair doesn't look great, you head the other way. This man, however, broke that rule. His hair was ridiculous. He looked like he stuck his finger in a light socket last week, and hasn't combed it since.
When in Hungary, do as the Hungarians do. Get haircuts from crazy haired people who don't speak English.
It was well worth it. He spent an incredible amount of time on it, and he did a very good job. I think he may have cut each hair individually, but I am not complaining.
Then, this evening, I went to the Csabai Kolbászfesztivál (the Sausage Festival of Csaba). It's the world famous festival held in Békéscsaba every October. If it's not world famous yet, then it will be. It was surprisingly large, although empty, because it just started today.
There were bands, beers, wines, Pálinka, and sausages. Lots and lots of sausages. Cooked, dried, and everything in between. I didn't get to see one of the traditional Hungarian pig slaughterings (a very big cultural thing), but I did see and smell a big truck full of pigs earlier today. It's not a good day to be a pig in Békéscsaba.
I ran into my neighbor at the festival, so I had someone to talk to. We at some food, drank some wine, and tried not to freeze to death. I'm not really sure whose idea it was to plan an outdoor festival during the last week of October, but they should rethink it.
Tomorrow, I leave for my fall break trip. I'm going to spend the Friday night with my travel companions on the other side of Hungary, and Saturday we leave for Slovenia. After a few days there, we'll go to Croatia to cause some trouble. Finally, I'll get back here next Sunday the 7th. I'll try to post on here while I'm gone, but I may not have the opportunity. I promise I'll have good stories when I return!
You can always pass your time by planning a trip to next year's sausage festival. Once you buy your airplane tickets, you can get a lifetime supply of antacids. Maybe a doctor too, I can feel my arteries clogging with the heavenly sausage.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
No That's Not Correct, Wait, Maybe It Is
One nice thing about being a conversational English teacher is the lack of grading. School started at the beginning of September, and I'm currently grading my first writing assignment. My students have grammar classes where they write more than enough, so I rarely make them grab their pens.
Writing assignments are a good punishment method. I don't think I'm allowed to take them on a field trip to a castle torture chamber - it crossed my mind, there's one about five miles away. However, the threat of writing usually gets the kids in line. They're smart.
My most advanced class, however, has a difficult English exam to prepare for. It's a state administered exam here in Hungary, and it seems to be their way of making up for torture chambers being just museums in the modern day. I saw a sample of the test, and I had trouble with it. This class is being given writing assignments by another teacher, but they give them to me to grade (one of the negative parts of having English as my mother-tongue). It strikes me as a sort of good-cop, bad-cop situation.
This assignment is about writing letters of advice to people. They're short and easy to grade, except they're written in a different language:
British.
That pesky island continues to make my life difficult. I have to be very careful letting the ink out of my red pen, because it may not be a mistake. The true exam will be graded by Hungarians - seems logical, they're experts on English - who will be looking for British spellings and phrases.
Theatre? Correct.
Have you got...? Correct.
Saying a sentence in 35 words that could be said in five? Correct.
God bless America for shortening and simplifying everything except for the word elevator. How did the English call dibs on "lift"?
I'm counting the hours until I grade some of my other student's papers, I'll simply write "payback time". However, this particular class is full of hard-working students who always behave. "Be strict," I was told, but that's easier said than done.
Perhaps my comments at the bottom of the assignment will read something like this:
"Well done! Sorry I crossed out 90% of your words - twice. I changed my mind because they could be correct in British English. This assignment would be much easier if you were in America, because you would only use 1/3 of the words, and they would be easier to spell. Tough break that England's closer. If I were you, I'd try to write about elevators next time."
On the plus side, I can put a big, fat "F" at the bottom of every paper. The grading system isn't the letters A - F like in the United States. Instead, they get "marks," and they're the numbers 1 - 5.
They'll ask, "Why do all of our assingments have an F written at the bottom? Also, where is my mark?"
"It stands for funny," I'll answer, "funny because you didn't get upset when you saw it. And who's this Mark that everyone keeps talking about?"
Hungarian word of the day: Lift (pronounced Leaf - t) - take a guess what it means, even the Hungarians beat me on this one. The only consolation is "taking the elevator to the fourth floor" is probably something like problémamegoldóLIFTképessége. But now I'm just making guesses.
Writing assignments are a good punishment method. I don't think I'm allowed to take them on a field trip to a castle torture chamber - it crossed my mind, there's one about five miles away. However, the threat of writing usually gets the kids in line. They're smart.
My most advanced class, however, has a difficult English exam to prepare for. It's a state administered exam here in Hungary, and it seems to be their way of making up for torture chambers being just museums in the modern day. I saw a sample of the test, and I had trouble with it. This class is being given writing assignments by another teacher, but they give them to me to grade (one of the negative parts of having English as my mother-tongue). It strikes me as a sort of good-cop, bad-cop situation.
This assignment is about writing letters of advice to people. They're short and easy to grade, except they're written in a different language:
British.
That pesky island continues to make my life difficult. I have to be very careful letting the ink out of my red pen, because it may not be a mistake. The true exam will be graded by Hungarians - seems logical, they're experts on English - who will be looking for British spellings and phrases.
Theatre? Correct.
Have you got...? Correct.
Saying a sentence in 35 words that could be said in five? Correct.
God bless America for shortening and simplifying everything except for the word elevator. How did the English call dibs on "lift"?
I'm counting the hours until I grade some of my other student's papers, I'll simply write "payback time". However, this particular class is full of hard-working students who always behave. "Be strict," I was told, but that's easier said than done.
Perhaps my comments at the bottom of the assignment will read something like this:
"Well done! Sorry I crossed out 90% of your words - twice. I changed my mind because they could be correct in British English. This assignment would be much easier if you were in America, because you would only use 1/3 of the words, and they would be easier to spell. Tough break that England's closer. If I were you, I'd try to write about elevators next time."
On the plus side, I can put a big, fat "F" at the bottom of every paper. The grading system isn't the letters A - F like in the United States. Instead, they get "marks," and they're the numbers 1 - 5.
They'll ask, "Why do all of our assingments have an F written at the bottom? Also, where is my mark?"
"It stands for funny," I'll answer, "funny because you didn't get upset when you saw it. And who's this Mark that everyone keeps talking about?"
Hungarian word of the day: Lift (pronounced Leaf - t) - take a guess what it means, even the Hungarians beat me on this one. The only consolation is "taking the elevator to the fourth floor" is probably something like problémamegoldóLIFTképessége. But now I'm just making guesses.
Monday, October 25, 2010
I Think I've Signed Every Form In Hungary - With Different Names
Name. First name. Middle name. Last name. Surname. Family name. Given name. Maiden name. Current name. Previous name.
What do all of these things have in common? Forms. When you fill out a form, you usually have to write your name. It has to be in a certain order, and these words are used to describe what it is. Just when you think you know them all, somone thinks of a new word.
Then, they translate it into Hungarian. That's a whole new ballgame.
Would you like to know a nice little bit of trivia? In Hungary, you write your last name followed by your first name. If you have a middle name, it usually goes at the end. Sometimes. Plus, pick up a pen right now, and try to sign your name in a different order. It's hard, isn't in?
If you're an American in Hungary, someone has to translate the form for you. When they tell you to write your name, you have to ask, "Which way?" Usually, they seem confused and have to ask someone else. No one ever seems to know.
I get an answer like "surname" - which I can never remember, first or last? - but there's not a lot of confidence in the answer. I'm supposed to write my name how it appears on official documents. But, my official documents are different than the official documents that the form expects.
Official documents, official documents, official documents.
There are probably five million of my official documents in dozens of government offices in Central Europe. Many were filled out by someone else, and as a result, are spelled wrong.
My mother's maiden name is used a surprising amount, and it's two words long. This really throws a wrench in the gears. Today, someone wrote it on a form with the words reversed and one was spelled incorrectly.
It's beginning to remind me of the chapter in Catch-22 when Yossarian starts taking random words out of letters to see what happens. So far, no one seems to have noticed.
The good news is, someone with a name resembling mine opened a bank account and registered for the national health insurance today. I can see it now:
Me (in Hunglish): "I'd like to see a doctor, I'm sick."
Hungarian Hospital Official (in Hungarian): "Name?"
Me (in Hunglish): "I don't know. Just write anything, it's a safe bet I've filled out a form with that name."
Hungarian word of the day: fánk (it rhymes with honk) it means doughnut. I like it because it makes doughnuts sound funky.
What do all of these things have in common? Forms. When you fill out a form, you usually have to write your name. It has to be in a certain order, and these words are used to describe what it is. Just when you think you know them all, somone thinks of a new word.
Then, they translate it into Hungarian. That's a whole new ballgame.
Would you like to know a nice little bit of trivia? In Hungary, you write your last name followed by your first name. If you have a middle name, it usually goes at the end. Sometimes. Plus, pick up a pen right now, and try to sign your name in a different order. It's hard, isn't in?
If you're an American in Hungary, someone has to translate the form for you. When they tell you to write your name, you have to ask, "Which way?" Usually, they seem confused and have to ask someone else. No one ever seems to know.
I get an answer like "surname" - which I can never remember, first or last? - but there's not a lot of confidence in the answer. I'm supposed to write my name how it appears on official documents. But, my official documents are different than the official documents that the form expects.
Official documents, official documents, official documents.
There are probably five million of my official documents in dozens of government offices in Central Europe. Many were filled out by someone else, and as a result, are spelled wrong.
My mother's maiden name is used a surprising amount, and it's two words long. This really throws a wrench in the gears. Today, someone wrote it on a form with the words reversed and one was spelled incorrectly.
It's beginning to remind me of the chapter in Catch-22 when Yossarian starts taking random words out of letters to see what happens. So far, no one seems to have noticed.
The good news is, someone with a name resembling mine opened a bank account and registered for the national health insurance today. I can see it now:
Me (in Hunglish): "I'd like to see a doctor, I'm sick."
Hungarian Hospital Official (in Hungarian): "Name?"
Me (in Hunglish): "I don't know. Just write anything, it's a safe bet I've filled out a form with that name."
Hungarian word of the day: fánk (it rhymes with honk) it means doughnut. I like it because it makes doughnuts sound funky.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Relaxing Mornings In An Apartment Block
I like my apartment, or flat, as it is always called here. It's spacious. It's in a convenient location. It would probably be clean if a single guy wasn't living in it. And I have neighbors who are very polite.
Some of my neighbors even take the friendliness to a whole new level. Specifically, the people who live above me. I don't even know who they are, but they are kind enough to share their music with me. I'm sure they know how easily sounds leak through their floor, so they pick songs they think I'll like. I do kind of enjoy it.
However, they have a strange habit. I'm not sure what causes it, but they like to make repeated thumping noises on their floor. I have a few theories as to what may be causing the disturbance:
1. They don't like carpeting and have decided to cover their entire floor with nails. Therefore, they have to constantly pound them in.
2. Their washing machine only has three legs and it rattles a lot.
3. They're professional pogo stick riders, and they need their practice.
4. Knocking on your floor is a traditional Hungarian hobby that no one told me about.
The possibilities are endless.
Whatever the reason, they started doing it at 7:30 this morning. It wasn't the relaxing, sleep-in day I hoped for. To add to it, the siren across the street went off again (if you want to see more about that, read this post). It's nice to hear a siren for ten minutes that's louder than my obscenely noisy alarm clock.
Now it's time to get ready for teaching Halloween to Hungarians. I'm going to go pound on my floor while I think about it.
Some of my neighbors even take the friendliness to a whole new level. Specifically, the people who live above me. I don't even know who they are, but they are kind enough to share their music with me. I'm sure they know how easily sounds leak through their floor, so they pick songs they think I'll like. I do kind of enjoy it.
However, they have a strange habit. I'm not sure what causes it, but they like to make repeated thumping noises on their floor. I have a few theories as to what may be causing the disturbance:
1. They don't like carpeting and have decided to cover their entire floor with nails. Therefore, they have to constantly pound them in.
2. Their washing machine only has three legs and it rattles a lot.
3. They're professional pogo stick riders, and they need their practice.
4. Knocking on your floor is a traditional Hungarian hobby that no one told me about.
The possibilities are endless.
Whatever the reason, they started doing it at 7:30 this morning. It wasn't the relaxing, sleep-in day I hoped for. To add to it, the siren across the street went off again (if you want to see more about that, read this post). It's nice to hear a siren for ten minutes that's louder than my obscenely noisy alarm clock.
Now it's time to get ready for teaching Halloween to Hungarians. I'm going to go pound on my floor while I think about it.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
If You Didn't Win, It Doesn't Necessarily Mean You Lost
Today is the 23rd of October. That probably doesn't mean a lot to you - unless you're a Hungarian. In that case, it means a great deal.
 |
| Hungary and Békéscsaba. |
On October 23, 1956, the Hungarians decided they'd had enough of the Soviet occupation of their country. The people, mostly led by students, became more outspoken. They started demonstrating and spreading their cause, all the while being watched by a ruthless government. Protests grew larger, and the people claimed a new Prime Minister who withdrew Hungary from the Warsaw Pact (and thus, the control of the Soviet Union). Eventually, rallies and idealistic flagwaving turned to violence.
A statue of Stalin was torn down. Arms were taken up. Secret policemen were shot on sight. The city of Budapest fell to the people, and the Russians were thrown out. The Hungarians had won, and they now controlled their country.
Victory, however, was short-lived. A few weeks later, Soviet tanks entered the city and crushed the resistance. They regained control, set up their own government, and executed Nagy Imre (the temporary Prime Minister).
 |
| Stores were closed but flags were out. |
The revolution failed.
Most stores were closed today to honor the memory. I saw a sort of commemoration ceremony, complete with a play, in the square named for Nagy. There were Hungarian flags all over Békéscsaba, and, I'm sure, the rest of the country. Some had a hole cut out of the center to look like the flags of 1956. At that time, the flag had a Soviet symbol in the center, so the revolutionaries cut it out.
As an American, it seems odd a country would be proud of a failed revolution. We always try to ignore the unsuccessful parts of our history. This topic is one that I've discussed with both Hungarians, and Americans who live here. This has opened my eyes to a few different facts that I hadn't thought of.
 |
| There was an explosion sound, and everyone ducked. |
Second, they didn't win, but they didn't quite lose. After the revolution, the Hungarian system was referred to as Goulash Communism. Things were better than they were before, and stayed that way until the U.S.S.R. collapsed. They didn't get rid of the Soviets, but they had it better than most other countries controlled by them.
Third, they endured. The Hungarians have great pride that their country and people are over a thousand years old. They have been invaded, occupied, and beat up time and time again. Yet, they have survived and outlasted all of these powerhouse empires.
 |
| Nagy Imre at night. |
Szeged Pictures
After my big adventure in the Szeged immigration office, I took a long walk back to the train station. I was way too lazy to try and do anything touristy. Instead, I snapped a bunch of pictures to keep you happy. Feel free to tell me what the buildings are - I certainly don't know.
Click the picture to go to the photo album.
Click here to see my post about the trip.
Click the picture to go to the photo album.
Click here to see my post about the trip.
Friday, October 22, 2010
I'm An Alien, I'm A Legal Alien, I'm An American In Hungary
Today marks the end of my criminal life. I'm no longer accidentally breaking the law. Instead, I have a shiny new Residence Permit stamped in my passport. Hungary decided I'm cool enough to stay here until July.
(Behind on the story? Click here to read yesterday's post.)
Let me tell you how it happened.
This morning was the first day I left on a trip in the dark of night. I was surprised how many people were out and about at the freezing hour of 5:30 A.M. The Hungarian trains have heat, but the particular one I rode decided it didn't want to use it. That made for a nice ride. I stared out the window at the orange moon and wondered if it was warmer there.
The sun was up by the time I arrived in Szeged, but it was still cold. My school's picking up the tab for this little journey, and they instructed me to take a cab when I got there. I'm very, very glad they did.
Yesterday, I learned that you sit next to a cab driver in Hungary, not in the back seat. This is a great idea, because it makes conversation much easier. I showed the driver the address of where I wanted to go. It was a good thing I did, because his English was limited to three phrases (that he used a lot):
1. "Oh, Mama!" - Everytime he saw a girl, attractive or not.
2. "One, two. One, two, three, four." - Used to prove that he did, in fact, speak English.
3. "Don't panic." - Speaks for itself. He said this 47 times during a five minute cab ride.
He took me right where I needed to go, plus he taught me Hungarian and German along the way. It was money well spent. I'll hunt this man down everytime I'm in Szeged.
Just like every government office, everyone had to take a number and wait. Everyone, that is, except for me. I skipped the line and went right in to see a woman who was expecting me. Hungarians are very smart people, they know an important person when they see one.
I filled out some forms (in Hungarian), signed some forms (in Hungarian), gave her some forms (in Hungarian), and finally signed something with an English translation. The translation had a grammatical error, and being a teacher, I almost crossed it out and corrected it. Don't worry, I caught myself. That could lead to translating and correcting every government document in the nation. I'd need a much longer expiration date on my Permit.
While the lady went and made the actual sticker for my passport, I sat in the waiting room and waited. It didn't take very long, but long enough to sell my soul again. I had watched a guy march in the room with a bunch of papers, come out 30 seconds later to take a number (that he didn't even look at), and then march back in. Clearly he's been here before - not a good sign.
A few minutes later, the same guy came out and said, "Does anybody speak English." Sure, why not. He was doing the same thing as me, but needed another witness on his form to verify where he lived. The form was in, you guessed it, Hungarian. After joking that it was a contract in which I would give him all my possessions, he explained what it really said (and said I could verify it with the people that worked there).
This situation made me create a new life rule. Always help someone who's capable of making a joke after multiple trips to a government office. Write that rule down. Besides, what's one more Hungarian document to blindly sign? Been there, done that.
We had a short discussion while I was doing it. The usual - where are you from and why are you here? He was a German studying at the University there. He didn't have an opinion on the town, because he just arrived and hasn't had time to do anything. I figured it was the first and last time I'd ever see him.
When I was back in the room, the lady was putting the finishing touches on my Permit. Suddenly, the German guy popped up behind me. He handed me a piece of paper with his phone number and e-mail address and said, "Give me a call if you want to go get a beer sometime." Apparently he also has a life rule: Get a beer with anyone who will sign a document they can't read for a stranger in a Hungarian immigration office. Write that one down too.
The immigration lady laughed and said, "making friends at the immigration office?" Maybe that's not normal here. Oh well, I'm a resident. That mean's I can make it normal.
Hungarian word of the day: Tessék (pronounced Tesh (rymes with mesh) and ache (like a pain)). Remember this one, it means a lot. Here you go, what did you say, Hello (when answering the phone), what would you like (at a store or restaurant), and many more.
(Behind on the story? Click here to read yesterday's post.)
Let me tell you how it happened.
This morning was the first day I left on a trip in the dark of night. I was surprised how many people were out and about at the freezing hour of 5:30 A.M. The Hungarian trains have heat, but the particular one I rode decided it didn't want to use it. That made for a nice ride. I stared out the window at the orange moon and wondered if it was warmer there.
 |
| An unknown Szeged building for your viewing pleasure. |
Yesterday, I learned that you sit next to a cab driver in Hungary, not in the back seat. This is a great idea, because it makes conversation much easier. I showed the driver the address of where I wanted to go. It was a good thing I did, because his English was limited to three phrases (that he used a lot):
1. "Oh, Mama!" - Everytime he saw a girl, attractive or not.
2. "One, two. One, two, three, four." - Used to prove that he did, in fact, speak English.
3. "Don't panic." - Speaks for itself. He said this 47 times during a five minute cab ride.
He took me right where I needed to go, plus he taught me Hungarian and German along the way. It was money well spent. I'll hunt this man down everytime I'm in Szeged.
Just like every government office, everyone had to take a number and wait. Everyone, that is, except for me. I skipped the line and went right in to see a woman who was expecting me. Hungarians are very smart people, they know an important person when they see one.
I filled out some forms (in Hungarian), signed some forms (in Hungarian), gave her some forms (in Hungarian), and finally signed something with an English translation. The translation had a grammatical error, and being a teacher, I almost crossed it out and corrected it. Don't worry, I caught myself. That could lead to translating and correcting every government document in the nation. I'd need a much longer expiration date on my Permit.
 |
| A cool church. Please tell me if you know the name! |
A few minutes later, the same guy came out and said, "Does anybody speak English." Sure, why not. He was doing the same thing as me, but needed another witness on his form to verify where he lived. The form was in, you guessed it, Hungarian. After joking that it was a contract in which I would give him all my possessions, he explained what it really said (and said I could verify it with the people that worked there).
This situation made me create a new life rule. Always help someone who's capable of making a joke after multiple trips to a government office. Write that rule down. Besides, what's one more Hungarian document to blindly sign? Been there, done that.
We had a short discussion while I was doing it. The usual - where are you from and why are you here? He was a German studying at the University there. He didn't have an opinion on the town, because he just arrived and hasn't had time to do anything. I figured it was the first and last time I'd ever see him.
When I was back in the room, the lady was putting the finishing touches on my Permit. Suddenly, the German guy popped up behind me. He handed me a piece of paper with his phone number and e-mail address and said, "Give me a call if you want to go get a beer sometime." Apparently he also has a life rule: Get a beer with anyone who will sign a document they can't read for a stranger in a Hungarian immigration office. Write that one down too.
The immigration lady laughed and said, "making friends at the immigration office?" Maybe that's not normal here. Oh well, I'm a resident. That mean's I can make it normal.
Hungarian word of the day: Tessék (pronounced Tesh (rymes with mesh) and ache (like a pain)). Remember this one, it means a lot. Here you go, what did you say, Hello (when answering the phone), what would you like (at a store or restaurant), and many more.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Catching The Early Train To Stay Out Of Hungarian Prison
I learned something new today. Occasionally, you fill out tons of paperwork, talk to doctors, mail signed letters across the planet, go to the wrong city hall, and still manage to be in a country illegally. That's right, I'm "technically" working here illegally. Until tomorrow.
Yesterday, I filled you in on all the crazy events surrounding my residence permit. All the confusion of different people having different forms was resulting in the process taking forever. Apparently it took too long.
We finally got everything together, and I was ready to go to Szeged (the closest big town) to turn it all in. Klára, the lady at my school who helps me with all my problems, had been working overtime on this one. It's been driving her nuts and she finally saw light at the end of the tunnel. She called the Szeged office to see when I could come in, but they didn't tell her what she wanted to hear.
It went something like this (in Hungarian, of course): "He was supposed to come in with all of his paperwork sooner. It's too late now and he's technically working here illegally. Tell him to get on the internet and make an appointment to start the whole process over."
She handled it better than I would've - her head didn't even explode! After a long conversation explaining why it was late and who's fault it was (I'm still not sure who's it was, but it wasn't us. Was it?). Once the lady understood how hard Klára had worked, and realized other people had been preventing us from getting the paperwork, she changed her tune.
The lady scheduled me an appointment first thing tomorrow morning, and she's going to ignore the fact that it's late! It's all coming together. I have all the paperwork, finally, and I just need to bring it to her.
First thing in the morning, I said, and I wasn't kidding. My appointment's at 8:30 A.M. That means I'll take the 5:45 train. Suddenly, I miss only having to be at a 7:45 class. It doesn't help that I'm the world's worst morning person.
Now it's time for a few hours of sleep. I'll probably need it for tomorrow. On the plus side, Szeged's very close to the Serbian border. If they change their mind about the legal issue, I can always run. I'll just have to change the name of my blog to "Serbia is Alex's Classroom".
I hope that doesn't happen - it doesn't have the same ring to it.
Hungarian phrase of the day (very appropriate since I'm about to say it): Jó éjszakát (pronounced Yo Ahy-so-kaht), it means "Good Night".
Yesterday, I filled you in on all the crazy events surrounding my residence permit. All the confusion of different people having different forms was resulting in the process taking forever. Apparently it took too long.
We finally got everything together, and I was ready to go to Szeged (the closest big town) to turn it all in. Klára, the lady at my school who helps me with all my problems, had been working overtime on this one. It's been driving her nuts and she finally saw light at the end of the tunnel. She called the Szeged office to see when I could come in, but they didn't tell her what she wanted to hear.
It went something like this (in Hungarian, of course): "He was supposed to come in with all of his paperwork sooner. It's too late now and he's technically working here illegally. Tell him to get on the internet and make an appointment to start the whole process over."
She handled it better than I would've - her head didn't even explode! After a long conversation explaining why it was late and who's fault it was (I'm still not sure who's it was, but it wasn't us. Was it?). Once the lady understood how hard Klára had worked, and realized other people had been preventing us from getting the paperwork, she changed her tune.
The lady scheduled me an appointment first thing tomorrow morning, and she's going to ignore the fact that it's late! It's all coming together. I have all the paperwork, finally, and I just need to bring it to her.
First thing in the morning, I said, and I wasn't kidding. My appointment's at 8:30 A.M. That means I'll take the 5:45 train. Suddenly, I miss only having to be at a 7:45 class. It doesn't help that I'm the world's worst morning person.
Now it's time for a few hours of sleep. I'll probably need it for tomorrow. On the plus side, Szeged's very close to the Serbian border. If they change their mind about the legal issue, I can always run. I'll just have to change the name of my blog to "Serbia is Alex's Classroom".
I hope that doesn't happen - it doesn't have the same ring to it.
Hungarian phrase of the day (very appropriate since I'm about to say it): Jó éjszakát (pronounced Yo Ahy-so-kaht), it means "Good Night".
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
I Hope I Didn't Sell My Soul
It's been a rainy, cold, and dark day here on the Great Hungarian Plain. Umbrellas are open, collars are raised, and the bureaucratic machine is working hard.
One of the fun parts about living in Hungary (or any foreign country) is signing paperwork. Being an American, there's a lot of legal issues to deal with. The local government needs things, the Hungarian government wants things, the European Union has to have things, and I'm sure there are others who will demand something.
It's not uncommon to be handed a multi-page contract and be asked to sign it. "Don't sign anything until you read it," is the advice you always hear, and it seems like a good idea. However, people who say that have clearly never lived in Hungary.
"What does it say," I used to ask. My trusted colleague would give a very non-commital answer and explain that I have to sign it. So I gave up.
Some people at my school have been working very hard to get all my paperwork in order so I can receive my residence permit. I know of American teachers in other towns who were able to get theirs weeks ago. Their situations seem to be less complicated.
My flat is provided by the school, but apparently the town pays for some of it. Or all of it. So they need to produce paperwork to give to me to give to someone else. But someone hasn't given them paperwork so they can give it to the school who has to give it to someone else who has to give it back to the first person who has to give it to me who has to give it to a new person who will probably want something different.
Confused? Me too. But progress was made.
Yesterday, the headmaster made a threatening call to someone. This resulted in me being allowed to come sign something and get more gears turning. Now I know who wears the pants around here.
Two students in my first class were asked to take me to City Hall and get me to the right place. They were very nice and helpful. So what if there are two City Halls? The wrong one was prettier than the right one, so I'm glad we went there first. This will in no way influence their grades. It's not like it was pouring rain or something.
In all seriousness, they were very helpful. If they hadn't gone with me, I'd still be pointing and grunting with someone at the first City Hall. No one seemed to be able to answer their questions about where to go. At the second one, no one seemed to feel like trying to answer their questions. All this time I thought people just didn't like telling me anything, but I'm beginning to believe it's just a Hungarian state of mind. Or maybe there are more questions than answers?
To end my story, I signed three copies of a contract. For all I know, I'm now a member of the Hungarian army.
I was very sneaky, though, because I signed my last name first so it wouldn't really mean anything! Then I remembered that Hungarian names are given in reverse order. Oh well. There's only a slim chance that I sentenced my soul to eternal damnation.
Hungarian word of the day (learned from another teacher at my school who's teaching me Hungarian): Táska (pronounced Tash-caw), it means shopping bag, carrier bag, or any type of bag. Quite useful!
One of the fun parts about living in Hungary (or any foreign country) is signing paperwork. Being an American, there's a lot of legal issues to deal with. The local government needs things, the Hungarian government wants things, the European Union has to have things, and I'm sure there are others who will demand something.
It's not uncommon to be handed a multi-page contract and be asked to sign it. "Don't sign anything until you read it," is the advice you always hear, and it seems like a good idea. However, people who say that have clearly never lived in Hungary.
"What does it say," I used to ask. My trusted colleague would give a very non-commital answer and explain that I have to sign it. So I gave up.
Some people at my school have been working very hard to get all my paperwork in order so I can receive my residence permit. I know of American teachers in other towns who were able to get theirs weeks ago. Their situations seem to be less complicated.
My flat is provided by the school, but apparently the town pays for some of it. Or all of it. So they need to produce paperwork to give to me to give to someone else. But someone hasn't given them paperwork so they can give it to the school who has to give it to someone else who has to give it back to the first person who has to give it to me who has to give it to a new person who will probably want something different.
Confused? Me too. But progress was made.
Yesterday, the headmaster made a threatening call to someone. This resulted in me being allowed to come sign something and get more gears turning. Now I know who wears the pants around here.
Two students in my first class were asked to take me to City Hall and get me to the right place. They were very nice and helpful. So what if there are two City Halls? The wrong one was prettier than the right one, so I'm glad we went there first. This will in no way influence their grades. It's not like it was pouring rain or something.
In all seriousness, they were very helpful. If they hadn't gone with me, I'd still be pointing and grunting with someone at the first City Hall. No one seemed to be able to answer their questions about where to go. At the second one, no one seemed to feel like trying to answer their questions. All this time I thought people just didn't like telling me anything, but I'm beginning to believe it's just a Hungarian state of mind. Or maybe there are more questions than answers?
To end my story, I signed three copies of a contract. For all I know, I'm now a member of the Hungarian army.
I was very sneaky, though, because I signed my last name first so it wouldn't really mean anything! Then I remembered that Hungarian names are given in reverse order. Oh well. There's only a slim chance that I sentenced my soul to eternal damnation.
Hungarian word of the day (learned from another teacher at my school who's teaching me Hungarian): Táska (pronounced Tash-caw), it means shopping bag, carrier bag, or any type of bag. Quite useful!
Pápa Pictures
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| Papa |
Click here to see my blog post about the trip.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
This Is Where I Say "I Told You So"
In yesterday's post, I predicted that this week would be, for lack of a better word, interesting. I was right about that.
I was supposed to teach three classes today, but I taught half of one. "At least you didn't have to go to school, you pretty much had the day off," I'm sure you're thinking. No, I did have to go to school. A lot of time was wasted.
My first class was my beginners. They are all in one class, but I teach them at two separate times (divided up by their English level). Last week, both groups were in the classroom when I arrived. Now, it's not normal for high school kids to get up early and go to school when they could sleep in, so I knew something was different. I asked them what was going on and they pointed to the board. It said:
"We would like to go to training to the Gólya week."
Above "Gólya" was the word "Crane", and underneath it was a labeled drawing of a crane catching a fish in the water.
Well that certainly explains why they're all here. They would like to go to training to the Gólya week. No surprise there. I kind of wanted to go also, because I didn't have the slightest clue what this meant.
In their beginner English, they attempted to explain they wanted to dance. "Alright, that sounds fun," I said, "where would you like to dance?"
They pointed to the ground and started moving all the desks to the side. I sat down to watch and learn. One of the students was teaching a choreographed dance set to one of their favorite songs, the World Cup theme song (you can hear it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRpeEdMmmQ0).).
Every now and then they would stop, look at me excitedly, and ask if it was good. Obviously, I kept telling them it was great and encouraging them! I simply left out the part that I had no idea what it was or what it was for, so my opinion on its quality was worth absolutely nothing.
I didn't think about it until today when I walked in the classroom to find them all there, again. However, I didn't feel déjà vu becasue they were wearing swim caps and bright dresses (explained in yesterday's post). They wanted to practice again, but this time we went outside in the freezing cold to do it. I have to say, they have improved. Maybe I should make them do all their assigments out in the elements.
The exact purpose of the dance is still a mystery, but they told me they would perform it on Thursday. If I ever figure it out, I'll be sure to tell you.
My next class wasn't there. The room was empty. As I was walking back to the teacher's room, one of the other English teachers saw me and asked if I was lost. She then helped me piece together where my class was - they went on a field trip to the movies. Not only did I not know, but I wasn't even invited. They better bring me the rest of their Sour Patch Kids.
The other teacher seemed upset that no one warned me about this. It didn't bother me though, because this sort of thing happens a lot. There was a very nice notice on the wall that explained it - it was written in flawless Hungarian.
My last class had five students. It's supposed to have 14. They immediately asked, "Is it even worth teaching just five students, or should you just let us go home?" Good try. High school kids are the same everywhere.
Finally, for a new tradition, the Hungarian Word of the Day (taugh to me by beginner class): "Szív" (pronounced seeve). It means "Heart".
I was supposed to teach three classes today, but I taught half of one. "At least you didn't have to go to school, you pretty much had the day off," I'm sure you're thinking. No, I did have to go to school. A lot of time was wasted.
My first class was my beginners. They are all in one class, but I teach them at two separate times (divided up by their English level). Last week, both groups were in the classroom when I arrived. Now, it's not normal for high school kids to get up early and go to school when they could sleep in, so I knew something was different. I asked them what was going on and they pointed to the board. It said:
"We would like to go to training to the Gólya week."
Above "Gólya" was the word "Crane", and underneath it was a labeled drawing of a crane catching a fish in the water.
Well that certainly explains why they're all here. They would like to go to training to the Gólya week. No surprise there. I kind of wanted to go also, because I didn't have the slightest clue what this meant.
In their beginner English, they attempted to explain they wanted to dance. "Alright, that sounds fun," I said, "where would you like to dance?"
They pointed to the ground and started moving all the desks to the side. I sat down to watch and learn. One of the students was teaching a choreographed dance set to one of their favorite songs, the World Cup theme song (you can hear it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRpeEdMmmQ0).).
Every now and then they would stop, look at me excitedly, and ask if it was good. Obviously, I kept telling them it was great and encouraging them! I simply left out the part that I had no idea what it was or what it was for, so my opinion on its quality was worth absolutely nothing.
I didn't think about it until today when I walked in the classroom to find them all there, again. However, I didn't feel déjà vu becasue they were wearing swim caps and bright dresses (explained in yesterday's post). They wanted to practice again, but this time we went outside in the freezing cold to do it. I have to say, they have improved. Maybe I should make them do all their assigments out in the elements.
The exact purpose of the dance is still a mystery, but they told me they would perform it on Thursday. If I ever figure it out, I'll be sure to tell you.
My next class wasn't there. The room was empty. As I was walking back to the teacher's room, one of the other English teachers saw me and asked if I was lost. She then helped me piece together where my class was - they went on a field trip to the movies. Not only did I not know, but I wasn't even invited. They better bring me the rest of their Sour Patch Kids.
The other teacher seemed upset that no one warned me about this. It didn't bother me though, because this sort of thing happens a lot. There was a very nice notice on the wall that explained it - it was written in flawless Hungarian.
My last class had five students. It's supposed to have 14. They immediately asked, "Is it even worth teaching just five students, or should you just let us go home?" Good try. High school kids are the same everywhere.
Finally, for a new tradition, the Hungarian Word of the Day (taugh to me by beginner class): "Szív" (pronounced seeve). It means "Heart".
Monday, October 18, 2010
It's Going To Be One Of Those Weeks
It was a cold, dark morning. I always wake up a little earlier than I need to, and I drink a cup of coffee, watch the news, and check my e-mail. My brain needs this so it can start functioning by the time I begin teaching. Today, the sun decided to hit the snooze button. I had to use the lights. Not a good start to the week.
Things were about to change.
I rushed to school and arrived just in time (an unfortunate trend that seems to happen on Monday mornings). I headed for the stairway so I could drop off my bag and head to my classroom.
That's when I noticed.
Everyone in front of me was wearing bright swim caps and colorful, floral-patterned dresses. Some had on rubber gloves that are usually reserved for cleaning or washing dishes. Boys were wearing makeup and lipstick. Girls had mustaches. Plus, everyone had a sign hanging around their neck. The signs were made of bright paper and had two names on them.
Maybe the toxic sludge did seep into my water.
Then I remembered. It's "Freshman Week". I'm sure there's a Hungarian name for it, but I don't know it yet. It's the week that the school-leavers (or seniors) initiate the incoming students. Each freshman is assigned to a senior who makes them do things.
I've been told they have to wear funny clothes and do silly dances. They have to carry their books (and their senior's books) in a basket. Sometimes they buy lunch for their school-leaver. It seems they have to do any ridiculous tasks that the seniors come up with.
Between classes today, all the excited students rushed out to the courtyard. I watched from the window above and felt like I was a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The freshman, in their crazy clothes, hopped around, did dances, had pies (or something) thrown on their faces, and generally had a great time.
I can't wait to see what happens next. Wait, why didn't I get a freshman? I don't want to carry my books.
Things were about to change.
I rushed to school and arrived just in time (an unfortunate trend that seems to happen on Monday mornings). I headed for the stairway so I could drop off my bag and head to my classroom.
That's when I noticed.
Everyone in front of me was wearing bright swim caps and colorful, floral-patterned dresses. Some had on rubber gloves that are usually reserved for cleaning or washing dishes. Boys were wearing makeup and lipstick. Girls had mustaches. Plus, everyone had a sign hanging around their neck. The signs were made of bright paper and had two names on them.
Maybe the toxic sludge did seep into my water.
Then I remembered. It's "Freshman Week". I'm sure there's a Hungarian name for it, but I don't know it yet. It's the week that the school-leavers (or seniors) initiate the incoming students. Each freshman is assigned to a senior who makes them do things.
I've been told they have to wear funny clothes and do silly dances. They have to carry their books (and their senior's books) in a basket. Sometimes they buy lunch for their school-leaver. It seems they have to do any ridiculous tasks that the seniors come up with.
Between classes today, all the excited students rushed out to the courtyard. I watched from the window above and felt like I was a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The freshman, in their crazy clothes, hopped around, did dances, had pies (or something) thrown on their faces, and generally had a great time.
I can't wait to see what happens next. Wait, why didn't I get a freshman? I don't want to carry my books.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Would You Like Brains With That?
Again, the weekend has been overcast and rainy. It seems to be an unfortunate trend in Hungary. I spend all week looking out the window at warm, sunny days, and then I sit inside on the weekend.
This weekend, however, there was some excitement. I had a visitor! Another American teacher, Nephi, came to Békéscsaba to do some shopping and attend a church service. He teaches in a nearby town called Mezőkovácsháza, and it only has a population of about six thousand. Therefore, it's not exactly full of conveniences.
Our first stop was the mall where he bought, among other things, a football. I mean an actual football, not a soccer ball, and I think he bought the only one in the mall. Locically, is bright orange and says "Chicago" in green letters. Why not?
Then the rain started to pour, so we decided to pass the time in a restaurant. We headed over to a Slovakian place that I've wanted to try, and it turned out to be really cool. It wasn't exactly cheap, but it had an awesome atmosphere and some English on the menu.
It was these English words that informed us we could order brains. We laughed and wondered if that's what it really was. Nephi asked the waiter to confirm (pointing to his head to see if we meant the same brain), and it was in fact true. He even told us that these particular brains used to belong to a pig.
This is the part of the story where Nephi gains a lot of respect. He decided that he had to order them. After all, when would he get another chance? I played it safe and ordered "turkey stew in an egg jacket".
His plate of brains came out. No, it wasn't a big pink brain on a platter (although, that's what I was hoping for). It was little breaded pieces that looked like chicken nuggets. Apparently brains are best served on a bed of fries with a small side of salad.
He was very considerate of me when he took his first bite. By this, I mean he didn't spit the whole thing out spraying the table like a cartoon character. Instead, he looked like he couldn't settle on an opinion, so he gave me a little piece to try.
This was my first brain eating experience. Aside from feeling like a zombie, I wasn't overly excited. The flavor was almost non-existent, and the texture was best described as mushy. He said they grew on him by the end of the meal, but I'm not rushing out for another plate.
While on the topic of strange foods, we noticed something very interesting next to the pigs feet at the grocery store. This is just a guess, but we're pretty sure that they were pigs tails. Add another ingredient to the list of Alex's Hungarian Cookbook.
To counteract all the culture, we spoke American English (mumbling a lot), and watched college football on the internet. We spent the rest of the evening trying, and failing, to converse with Hungarian girls at a night club. The good news, I only saw one of my students while I was out drinking!
Now I'll plan a Halloween party. The Hungarians like to make it easy for you by supplying all of the necessary ingredients. They have wine called Bull's Blood, and brains and feet aren't hard to come by.
This weekend, however, there was some excitement. I had a visitor! Another American teacher, Nephi, came to Békéscsaba to do some shopping and attend a church service. He teaches in a nearby town called Mezőkovácsháza, and it only has a population of about six thousand. Therefore, it's not exactly full of conveniences.
Our first stop was the mall where he bought, among other things, a football. I mean an actual football, not a soccer ball, and I think he bought the only one in the mall. Locically, is bright orange and says "Chicago" in green letters. Why not?
Then the rain started to pour, so we decided to pass the time in a restaurant. We headed over to a Slovakian place that I've wanted to try, and it turned out to be really cool. It wasn't exactly cheap, but it had an awesome atmosphere and some English on the menu.
It was these English words that informed us we could order brains. We laughed and wondered if that's what it really was. Nephi asked the waiter to confirm (pointing to his head to see if we meant the same brain), and it was in fact true. He even told us that these particular brains used to belong to a pig.
This is the part of the story where Nephi gains a lot of respect. He decided that he had to order them. After all, when would he get another chance? I played it safe and ordered "turkey stew in an egg jacket".
His plate of brains came out. No, it wasn't a big pink brain on a platter (although, that's what I was hoping for). It was little breaded pieces that looked like chicken nuggets. Apparently brains are best served on a bed of fries with a small side of salad.
He was very considerate of me when he took his first bite. By this, I mean he didn't spit the whole thing out spraying the table like a cartoon character. Instead, he looked like he couldn't settle on an opinion, so he gave me a little piece to try.
This was my first brain eating experience. Aside from feeling like a zombie, I wasn't overly excited. The flavor was almost non-existent, and the texture was best described as mushy. He said they grew on him by the end of the meal, but I'm not rushing out for another plate.
While on the topic of strange foods, we noticed something very interesting next to the pigs feet at the grocery store. This is just a guess, but we're pretty sure that they were pigs tails. Add another ingredient to the list of Alex's Hungarian Cookbook.
To counteract all the culture, we spoke American English (mumbling a lot), and watched college football on the internet. We spent the rest of the evening trying, and failing, to converse with Hungarian girls at a night club. The good news, I only saw one of my students while I was out drinking!
Now I'll plan a Halloween party. The Hungarians like to make it easy for you by supplying all of the necessary ingredients. They have wine called Bull's Blood, and brains and feet aren't hard to come by.
Friday, October 15, 2010
How Does An American End Up Teaching In Hungary? Part 1: My Motivation
Ever since I started telling my friends and family that I was thinking of moving to Hungary, I began to hear the same old questions. What? Why Hungary? Where will you be? You're not a teacher, what do you mean you're going to be teaching? Teaching what? How did you find that job? How long will you be there? Can I have your X-Box?
I'll try, now, to explain all of this.
Lets start with my motivation. I studied Business at the University of Colorado. During my studies, I spent a semester in Brussels, Belgium. It was my first time out of North America, and it was a real rush. I loved Europe. I loved learning about new cultures. Most of all, I loved the absolute challenge of everyday life. Nothing was a guarantee anymore. Need to buy toilet paper? Good luck, try saying that in a language you don't speak.
After returning home, I still had that itch to travel. I made it back to Brussels the next summer for an internship. It was very different. This time, I didn't have a group of Americans around me. I struggled to find my way and make friends. Eventually, I was successful and felt even more satisfaction than I did the first time.
Then I went home again. I graduated in December of 2008, into a glorious unemployment market. "Real jobs", as many call them, were not easy to come by. I, and many of my recent graduate friends, struggled to find something, anything. Many were putting their diplomas to good use at restaurants and landscaping services - not exactly what we had in mind during those endless nights of studying.
Occasionally I would hear about another one of my friends living overseas and having a great time. What were they doing? Teaching English. "That sounds lame," I thought.
But, I would learn through e-mail that they loved it. Willing to research any job prospect, I began to look into it. It seems that it's very easy for an American to get an English teaching job in Asia. It can be done in many other parts of the world, but that's the simplest continent.
Sounds cool, but I don't really want to move to Asia. I'd like to go back to Europe, is that possible? Yes, but difficult. Since people from the British Isles hold EU passports, they can work freely in other European Union countries. With this as an option, most schools don't want to hassle with the visa process for an American.
After much research, I found an organization that places teachers in Hungary. It sounded cool, but I still wasn't sure if I wanted to teach. The idea went to the backburner.
I found temporary jobs, but never anything that would stick around for the long term. Fortunately, I have generous parents who were willing to take me into their home. I wasn't living under a bridge, but I was required to keep a room clean. It almost balanced out.
Putting my accounting degree to good use, I got a job preparing tax returns. I spent my days explaining tax laws and socializing with customers. It could be fun, except I hated 99% of the people. They were firm believers that the customer is always right. That means I must be wrong. And, I charged too much. "I could do this at home for free." If that was true, why didn't they?
One day something clicked in my mind. Taxes were sucking the life out of me. I need to do something cool. Something that I'll enjoy even if I hate my job.
I remembered the Central European Teaching Program and made an impulse decision to move across the world. I refused to allow myself to change my mind.
The people at the library grew used to me checking out guide books and language learning tools by the dozen. They kept telling me to travel while I'm young. It gave me confidence.
My friends gave a mixture of being happy for me, or anger because I'm leaving. My parents grew to accept it. My poor dogs had no idea. They're so angry they won't even return my e-mails.
That's what made me decide to come here, but how did I arrange it all?
To be continued...
I'll try, now, to explain all of this.
Lets start with my motivation. I studied Business at the University of Colorado. During my studies, I spent a semester in Brussels, Belgium. It was my first time out of North America, and it was a real rush. I loved Europe. I loved learning about new cultures. Most of all, I loved the absolute challenge of everyday life. Nothing was a guarantee anymore. Need to buy toilet paper? Good luck, try saying that in a language you don't speak.
After returning home, I still had that itch to travel. I made it back to Brussels the next summer for an internship. It was very different. This time, I didn't have a group of Americans around me. I struggled to find my way and make friends. Eventually, I was successful and felt even more satisfaction than I did the first time.
Then I went home again. I graduated in December of 2008, into a glorious unemployment market. "Real jobs", as many call them, were not easy to come by. I, and many of my recent graduate friends, struggled to find something, anything. Many were putting their diplomas to good use at restaurants and landscaping services - not exactly what we had in mind during those endless nights of studying.
Occasionally I would hear about another one of my friends living overseas and having a great time. What were they doing? Teaching English. "That sounds lame," I thought.
But, I would learn through e-mail that they loved it. Willing to research any job prospect, I began to look into it. It seems that it's very easy for an American to get an English teaching job in Asia. It can be done in many other parts of the world, but that's the simplest continent.
Sounds cool, but I don't really want to move to Asia. I'd like to go back to Europe, is that possible? Yes, but difficult. Since people from the British Isles hold EU passports, they can work freely in other European Union countries. With this as an option, most schools don't want to hassle with the visa process for an American.
After much research, I found an organization that places teachers in Hungary. It sounded cool, but I still wasn't sure if I wanted to teach. The idea went to the backburner.
I found temporary jobs, but never anything that would stick around for the long term. Fortunately, I have generous parents who were willing to take me into their home. I wasn't living under a bridge, but I was required to keep a room clean. It almost balanced out.
Putting my accounting degree to good use, I got a job preparing tax returns. I spent my days explaining tax laws and socializing with customers. It could be fun, except I hated 99% of the people. They were firm believers that the customer is always right. That means I must be wrong. And, I charged too much. "I could do this at home for free." If that was true, why didn't they?
One day something clicked in my mind. Taxes were sucking the life out of me. I need to do something cool. Something that I'll enjoy even if I hate my job.
I remembered the Central European Teaching Program and made an impulse decision to move across the world. I refused to allow myself to change my mind.
The people at the library grew used to me checking out guide books and language learning tools by the dozen. They kept telling me to travel while I'm young. It gave me confidence.
My friends gave a mixture of being happy for me, or anger because I'm leaving. My parents grew to accept it. My poor dogs had no idea. They're so angry they won't even return my e-mails.
That's what made me decide to come here, but how did I arrange it all?
To be continued...
Thursday, October 14, 2010
It's The Little Things
Everyday, someone asks me, "Do you like it here, isn't it hard living in Hungary?" Then, they bring up valid points. I'm far from my family and friends. I don't speak the language. I don't know very many people. I can't find a baseball bat. So, yes, it is hard.
But, it's the little things.
The little things make a big difference.
You have to learn to ignore the little, bad things. There are a lot of them, and they are unavoidable. This morning, I was cold and I couldn't use the heat. I don't know how to turn it on, so I had to shiver.
I didn't let that bother me. It would've been a waste of time, because I would've still shivered. Instead, I drank warm coffee and looked forward to my day.
Next, you have to learn to embrace the little, good things. I just went to a bar on the corner of my street for a beer. I like the bar because it's close, has a friendly atmosphere, and has a very appropriate name - the Street Corner.
It was during my walk that I experienced one of those enjoyable moments. I stepped outside into the cold night and looked up to see an orange, crescent shaped moon. It was slightly blurred through the foggy air that had a faint smell of smoke. It was exactly 9 o'clock, so I could hear the church bells chiming. All of this was complimented by the European architecture of my street.
I looked over at a statue of a famous Hungarian and said to him, "Mr. Nagy, this is why I'm here".
To anyone unsure if they're able to live in a foreign land, this is my advice. Learn to deal with the little things. They will make or break your experience.
But, it's the little things.
The little things make a big difference.
You have to learn to ignore the little, bad things. There are a lot of them, and they are unavoidable. This morning, I was cold and I couldn't use the heat. I don't know how to turn it on, so I had to shiver.
I didn't let that bother me. It would've been a waste of time, because I would've still shivered. Instead, I drank warm coffee and looked forward to my day.
Next, you have to learn to embrace the little, good things. I just went to a bar on the corner of my street for a beer. I like the bar because it's close, has a friendly atmosphere, and has a very appropriate name - the Street Corner.
It was during my walk that I experienced one of those enjoyable moments. I stepped outside into the cold night and looked up to see an orange, crescent shaped moon. It was slightly blurred through the foggy air that had a faint smell of smoke. It was exactly 9 o'clock, so I could hear the church bells chiming. All of this was complimented by the European architecture of my street.
I looked over at a statue of a famous Hungarian and said to him, "Mr. Nagy, this is why I'm here".
To anyone unsure if they're able to live in a foreign land, this is my advice. Learn to deal with the little things. They will make or break your experience.
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