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.

My new bicycle.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

First, they didn't beat the Soviets, but they showed they were willing to try.  A small country proved it was willing to stand up to a huge country, and they got in a few good punches before they were stopped.

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.

Instead of giggling about a nation that celebrates a failed revolution, try learning a lesson from a wise group of people.  I admire the fact that they were able to enter a sort of David and Goliath battle - even if they weren't able to cause an upset.  Plus, now I know I can celebrate even if I don't win.  It opens up a whole new world of possibilities.

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.

Szeged

Click the picture to go to the photo album.
Click here to see my post about the trip.

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.



An unknown Szeged building for your viewing pleasure.

 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.

A cool church.  Please tell me if you know the name!

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.

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".

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!

Pápa Pictures

Papa

Click this picture to go see my collection of pictures from my recent trip to Pápa, Hungary.

Click here to see my blog post about the trip.

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".

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.

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.

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...

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.

Baseball: The New Hungarian Pastime

As an American living in Hungary, I have to get most of my sports news from the internet. I can watch sports on TV, but I don't know what the announcers are saying. Although it is fun to make up my own dialogues, it's not exactly factual.

I may be out in left field, but I've learned that America is swept up in the Major League Baseball playoffs. That means American teachers are starting their classes by saying, "Did anyone see the Phillies game last night?" If I said that, my students would act like I'm speaking a foreign language.

In their defense, I am speaking a foreign language. But it doesn't change the fact that they don't know anything about baseball.

This is a problem that needs a solution. One cannot properly learn American English if they don't know anything about baseball. So, I drew a picture of a baseball field on the board and asked what it was. A kite. A tooth. A bird. A baseball pitch - close, but still so far.

But, I now challenge you with this. Explain what an "inning" or an "out" is to someone who's never seen baseball. Now, add a very small vocabulary and comprehension of the English language. It's a difficult task, but yes, I stepped up to the plate.

I cut bases out of paper. Then I grabbed a water bottle that resembled a bat and crumpled up a sheet of paper for a ball. "Everyone stand up," I said, "and come over here to the dugout."

I'm pretty sure some of my students think I'm crazy, and others think I'm awesome. But they played baseball. They had no choice but to speak English, because the Hungarians don't seem to have a word for "Strike 3, You're Out!"

Three things are for sure. First, my students now know to be ready for anything in my class. Second, I hit a home run with this idea. Third, I no longer have to worry about students studying for other classes during my lesson. Instead, I have to be concerned they'll be bored if they don't hammer a ball and thunder around the classroom.

I'll have to call the bullpen for some more ideas.

Suggestion Box

Pretend, for a second, that this isn't a website. This is a small cardboard box. It's wrapped in pretty red paper, and it has a hole cut in the top. Next to it, on the table, is a pen and a stack of paper. There is a little sign that says, "Please, tell us how were doing!"

Now we can come back to reality. I'd like you to tell me what you want me to write about. Whenever you think of something that you'd like to know, leave a question in the comments. If you'd rather e-mail me, you can find a link for that in my profile (somewhere on the side of the page).

I've received quite a few comments and e-mails so far, and I really appreciate them! Let me know what you like, don't like, and want to hear more about (or anything about, because I haven't mentioned it).

I've received one major suggestion so far. A few people would like to know how I got here, and what my working and living situations are like. I'm planning to write a post about that sometime in the next few days.

Plus, I'm working on getting pictures organized so you can have more visual satisfaction. A picture's worth a thousand words, right?

So please, give me feedback. I promise I will do my best to accommodate it.

Here's an example: Maguire Curran has been asking for his name to be mentioned here from the start. Check one thing off the to-do list.

Forget Toxic Sludge, Someone Tell CNN About the Spiderwebs

If you're not in Hungary, you've probably heard about the horrible Toxic Sludge accident. This catasrophic event has killed many Hungarian residents and poisoned the water supplies of everyone downriver. Everyone is talking about it.

If you're in Hungary, you probably don't know there was a Toxic Sludge accident. I was told about it by Americans and the international news media. CNN World is one of my two English speaking channels, and it's constantly warning me about the doom in Hungary.

The interesting part, however, is that my Hungarian friends haven't said a word. If America couldn't talk to me, I wouldn't know there was sludge. Does this mean it's not bad, or am I just out of the loop because it's on the other side of the country?

There's only one way to find out.

Yes, that's right. I headed for the ever Red Toxic Sludge last weekend.

Some of my fellow American teachers live in a town called Pápa, which is about 17 miles from the spill. They had graciously invited me to visit them this weekend and we were all looking forward to it. This was before the catastrophe.

CNN became a constant reminder that my weekend trip could be a bad idea. Then I decided it might be my one and only chance to see Red Sludge. Plus, it can't be that dangerous. Science fiction movies taught me that it's only dangerous if it's green. Problem solved.

I spent Friday in Budapest, because I couldn't leave early enough to make it to Pápa that night. Fortunately, I met some Brazilian guys and went to a club with them. They taught me two very interesting things. First, there's an awesome Portuguese word that can be used for everything (cheers; excuse me; Wow, that girl is beautiful!; etc.). But, I forgot the word, oops. Second, Brazilian guys have a talent for being very quiet and mellow while drinking a few beers. Then, like the flick of a switch, they can just look at a girl and make her fall in love with them. I wish that trick had been the third interesting thing they taught me.

Saturday, I arrived in Pápa. I was greeted at the station and then given a very good tour. Here was the itinerary (Heather and Angie, you suggested it, so you know I have to do this):

First Stop: The grociery store. It's a very fun place to go before you have a chance to set down your heavy backpack.

Second Stop: A church bell tower (after dropping off my bag). I waited until we arrived at the top to mention I'm horribly afraid of heights. It's not that I don't trust them, it's just that many of the wooden steps seemed rotten and moved when you stepped on them. The view was great, but I still didn't get a glimpse of the Toxic Sludge.

Third Stop: A closed museum. According to the hours on the door, it was open. According to the locked door handle, it was closed. I'm very relieved to know that Békéscsaba isn't the only place where posted hours mean nothing.

Fourth Stop: A palace. It looked cool on the outside, and very dirty and run down on the inside. We found a room that you had to pay to get into, so we did. It wasn't a really special room like we thought, it was crappy like the rest (the fee seemed to be a result of the paintings on the wall). In order to get even, we sat on the lion statues out front and took about 4 million pictures.

Fifth Stop: The oldest tree in Hungary. Or maybe it's the biggest tree in Hungary. Or the widest. Or the one most worthy of a plaque in front of it. They've tried asking Hungarians, but as usual, no explanation was given. Maybe it's a traditional tree.

After that, we went back to their flats (if we say "apartment", Hungarians don't know what we mean) for dinner. They put on a very impressive show. They made a massive Mexican style feast. There was one vegetarian, and one who's allergic to gluten and lactose, but this didn't stand in their way.

They functioned like a team of champs, using three kitchens (that I know about). Cookies were baked in an oven with no temperature regulation. Corn tortillas were made from scratch. Chicken was cooked with imported taco seasoning. The list goes on and on.

I decided I wouldn't be able to impress them with the fact that I sometimes put extra toppings on my frozen pizza. I kept that to myself.

We even had some Pálinka, the Hungarian brandy. Not sure what flavor to choose, we went with my students recommendation, plum. Yes that's right, my students told me what kind of liquor I should try. My job is to get them to speak English. If talking about Pálinka gets them to do that, we talk about Pálinka.

They were right, by the way, plum was a good choice. We drank it out of wine glasses. I, being the only guy at a table of four women, was given the biggest glass. Sweet.

The next day, my friend Heather and I went to the neighboring town of Győr. We wanted to see the inside of some churches, but weren't able to. Being Sunday, they were locked and we couldn't get inside. There are things about this country that I'll never understand.

On the plus side, I think we planned out a place to go for our fall break. We were supposed to go to Transylvania as a big group. But, as my Transylvania trips always do, it fell through. I'll wait for more details to be finalized before I explain it, though. You can remain on the edge of your seat.

Now, the spiderwebs. If you know me, you know that I love, love, love Halloween. Therefore, I was very sad to come to a country where it's not celebrated. However, since many of our scary Halloween monsters and their stories come from this region, I thought it would be alright.

It's more than alright. If you're in the United States, you're probably noticing people have decorated houses and store fronts with giant, fake spiderwebs. They make everything look very scary when combined with the changing leaves.

In Hungary, the spiders are decorating. Suddenly, you can't walk down the street without spiderwebs sticking to your face. They're inexplicably strung in places where a spider couldn't possibly build them (for example, across a parking lot). Also, we literally have seen them fall from the sky and land on your head. Who needs those stupid fake ones from the store? This is real Halloween country. Plus, we may or may not be in Transylvania on Halloween...

Now, I would like to thank my friends for their hospitality and company this weekend. I had a great time with some awesome people, and really enjoyed the giant feast they prepared. If you would like to read their blogs, check them out here:

Heather's blog (yes, it looks very familiar, it's just proof that great minds think alike):
http://heatherinhungary.blogspot.com/

Angie's blog:
http://alaginess.wordpress.com/

Perhaps they will have different stories about their tour guiding skills.

That wraps up my longest post ever. I owed it to you after a few days of not writing anything. I'll try to get some of the pictures here soon.

Remember, when you're watching the news, it's not the Toxic Sludge you have to worry about, it's the mutant spiders who make miraculous webs. Has anyone ever heard of Spider Man? I do have a spider bite...

The Teacher Has Become The Student

Today, I was teaching, and then I was learning.  Just like that.  There was no middle ground.  Complete reversal.

It was in a beginner class, my lowest level.  We started going through a list of vocabulary words in their book, and I asked if they knew what the first one meant.  They were terms to describe places people live (i.e. crowded, busy, traditional, quiet).  They told me they did know the first one, and then they all said something incomprehensible.

Uh-oh.  They look really confident about that answer, but I have no idea what they just said.  Wait, I think it was Hungarian.  That's better than just really, really, really bad pronunciation.

It was Hungarian.  It was their word for this particular vocabulary word.  Then they asked me to repeat it.  I tried and failed, a few times.  Finally, a frustrated girl got up and walked to the board.  She wrote the Hungarian word under the English word.  I said it, got corrected, said it again, and was cheered!

The girl went back to her seat, but came back up for the next word.  Then she just stayed up at the front, and wrote the Hungarian word for each one.  They would struggle through an English pronunciation, and I would struggle through a Hungarian one.  It was all quite comical - for everyone involved.

I wouldn't normally do this.  My job is to teach English, and sometimes it's too distracting if we try to bring Hungarian into the picture.  This, however, was the exception.  More than teach them, I'm supposed to increase the comfort level of speaking English.  Right and wrong isn't as important as just trying.  They were certainly trying.

This class has been one of my biggest challenges.  I taught them on my first day, and they didn't speak one word of English.  All my preparations had been for students that know something, anything.  They knew nothing.  My backup plan was to tell about myself by drawing pictures on the board.  There weren't markers.  By the end of that lesson, I know that some of them were thinking "this class is going to be horrible, I have no idea what that guy was saying, I hate English already!"  Of course, those thoughts were in Hungarian.

Now, they've improved quite a bit, but are still beginners.  It's awesome to see their knowledge and confidence increase.  I think my bad Hungarian pronunciations made a difference to them.  Instead of being the "native speaker" who everyone turns to when there's a question about the language, I was also a beginner.  They had to sound out words, and I still made mistakes.  Now we both know how the other feels.

But, I still think they know more than they let on to.  We were playing hangman, and the word was "classroom".  They had figured out three letters of the word, and they read like this:  _ _ A S S _ _ _ _ .  I saw one boy nudge his friend, whisper something, and they both laughed.  They're full of surprises.

I don't think this'll ever get old.

It's Tradition

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,

The gunpowder treason and plot,

I know of no reason

Why the gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.

-Part of a British poem

Remember, remember the Sixth of October,
Listen to poems and pout,
I know of no reason
To tell the American teacher
He shall figure it out.

-My translation of a Hungarian poem I heard this morning, notice the similarities?

This morning, I was running a little bit late.  I arrived at school at 7:45, the time my first class was to begin.  I dashed through the doorway of the school, and headed to the teachers room on the second floor (or first floor, if you're a European).  On my way, I couldn't help but notice a whole bunch of chairs set up in the lobby, and three microphones on the stage-like area in front of the stairs.  I see this about once a week, when someone is giving a presentation on something.  No one ever tells me about them, but it's never anything that applies to me.  Until today.

I passed three older Hungarians on the stairs, and thought it was a little strange that I didn't recognize them.  Then I noticed they were followed by the school director (in a suit - also unusual) and other important people.  I pushed this from my mind, though, because it's very common for me to see unexplained things like this.

Then I arrived at an empty classroom.  I'm not sure if I've mentioned, but I always meet the students at their classroom (a big difference from high school in the US).  Sometimes times change.  Sometimes rooms change.  Sometimes classes get cancelled.  Sometimes people tell me about these things in advance, but I don't count on it.

Usually, I go ask someone if there's a change if I should know about.  But, everyone who would know was busy.  The three unkown people were at the microphones reading something out of a binder.  I assumed my students were among the big group listening.

I walked to the back stairway and went upstairs.  I realized all the classes were listening to these speeches over the PA system, if they weren't watching it live.  The lobby is a circular room that is open to all four floors of the school.  I leaned against the railing upstairs, with another class, and listened to a 45 minute reading in Hungarian.  I didn't understand one word.

It sounded serious.  Everyone looked stern.  Who were these three people?  Has a war started?  Has the government been overthrown and these people are telling us the rules of the new one?  Why does it have to be during this class, I like this one.  Can we reschedule this for one of my classes where they don't behave?

Finally, they finished.  Everyone got up and went about their day.  The chairs were put away and the microphones unplugged.  No one mentioned death on a massive scale or how unreasonable the new laws are, so I figured I was safe.

After a while, I began to wonder if I imagined it all.  I asked another teacher what it was all about.  To no surprise, I was given a typical Hungarian response:

"In 1848 we had a revolution against the Habsburgs.  The leaders were killed on the Sixth of October in Arad.  You know where Arad is?"

I said yes, I know Arad is a Hungarian city that's now in Romania.  She smiled and walked away.  The mystery was solved.  It's some sort of commemoration of the "13 Martyrs of Arad".  They led a revolution against the Habsburg empire, but unfortunately, they weren't successful.  They were executed but are now remembered as Hungarian heroes.

It all makes sense, except for the little part about what they were reading.  A poem?  A story?  The Hungarian translations of my blog posts?  I guess I'll never know.  I'll just stick with the typical Hungarian response to a question of why something's done, it's tradition.

Bekescsaba Photographs

Click this picture, and it will take you to a page where I've posted a bunch of pictures of Békéscsaba.

The Socialist Party Party

No, my title is not a typo.  This blog is about the parties thrown by the Magyar Szocialista Párt (Hungarian Socialist Party).  They don't sound like they'd be wild and crazy, but you would be surprised.

First, I should explain that I think there's an election coming up.  Politicians have plastered their posters all over town.  I find them interesting, because they look like political posters in the US, but they have a fancy photo of the person.  Some appear angry, probably trying to make you vote for them out of fear.  Others smile and look jolly, obviously going for the life-of-the-party approach.  My favorite, though, are the people who look genuinely miserable.  I think they stand a fighting chance, because they look like they were born to spend their days in a government building.

Last Friday, I was walking by the Csaba Center (the local mall), and I saw a stage set up.  It seems to be the cool place to have a stage, so I wasn't surprised.  I was surprised, however, when a girl dressed as a giant lego came up to me and started talking.  I couldn't understand a word she said, but she had big red lego box around her torso, and her face was painted red.  She tried to give me a lego piece and was explaining what to do with it, but it was over my head.  Fortunately, I think she has a future in politics because she looked miserable in her stupid costume.

The stage had the initials MSZP on it's backdrop.  I know this stands for the socialist party, because their local headquarters happens to be attached to my apartment building.  I think we're friends because they give me dirty looks everytime I have the nerve to use their sidewalk.  I thought socialism was about sharing?

Aside from the coincidence that red lego blocks were my school's Garabonciás theme, there was nothing exciting going on.  Until later, when I came back.  I was lured down the street when I could hear music playing.  The sight that awaited me was horrible, but too great to look away.  It was a band made up of six middle aged members.  Most of them had the look of older people that want to be young musicians, but the lead singer definitely wins first prize.  He was wearing baggy leather pants, a cotton t-shirt that almost came to his knees, a leather jacket, and, the best part, and American flag do-rag (without a doubt the first time I've ever written this word, but wikipedia has confirmed that this is the correct spelling).  Mastercard couldn't use this man in an advertisement, because priceless wasn't a strong enough word for him.

I quickly lost interest in this band, because I couldn't stand to hear them butcher the Rolling Stones like that.  But, I giggled about it my whole walk home.  I was going to write about it, but it slipped my mind because of lack of excitement.  That is, until last night.

Last night, as you know, I stayed up late to watch the Redskins.  Finally, at 1 AM, I was comfortable with the lead and decided to sleep for a few hours.  When I went to check that my front door was locked, I heard loud music.  Very loud music.  More-than-one-person-should-call-the-cops-because-it's-way-too-loud-for-one-o'clock-in-the-morning-on-Sunday-night loud music.

As you know, curiosity for anything that could be funny is a weakness of mine.  I went outside.  Across the courtyard, through the rain, I saw a bunch of Hungarian socialists informing the entire world "We're not gonna take it" while the Twisted Sister song tried to keep up.  That's right, evidently they missed the political structure of the 1980's, so they played some American rock hits to try and bring it back.  I couldn't see too well, but there were at least a dozen people dancing around excitedly.  The music was loud, but they were louder.  Perhaps they had achieved some sort of victory that day?  Maybe they just felt like singing.

So remember, if you come to Hungary you should be aware of the socialists.  If you forget, I'm sure they will remind you.  They will sing, in heavily accented English, "we're not gonna take it, anymore."

There's No Hungarian Word For "First Down"

I was about to go to bed.  This week, it's my goal to get on a good sleep schedule.  That means getting to bed early every night so I don't need a nap every afternoon.  Fate, however, does not want this to happen.  There have been a change in plans that will result in me being tired in the morning.

My Hungarian TV is showing the Redskins.

One of my classes was telling me the schedule, and it sounds like they show two NFL games a week.  There's a Sunday afternoon game, and the Monday night game is replayed on Tuesday (because it would be in the middle of the night here).  This week, the Hungarians seem to be happy with me because they decided to show me the Redskins beating the Eagles.

If you don't like watching commercials, you should watch the game here.  The first quarter is almost over, and there hasn't been a commercial break yet.  It must be a result of soccer never having breaks, so they don't know how to do it.

It sounds really cool, "alright, the game will just keep going and I won't have to see really funny beer advertisements and clips of dumb shows that I don't want to watch".  Instead, I hear Hungarian announcers explaining something that I can't understand, while they show a the bird's eye view of the stadium for 5 minutes.

Earlier today, I went to the Munkácsy Mihály Museum.  He was a painter who grew up here in Békéscsaba, and then went on to become really famous.  I saw a bunch of his paintings last week in the Hungarian National Gallery in Budapest.  The museum here was cool, even if I didn't understand most of it.  The few exhibits on that man were in English, but the rest was in Magyarul.  I thought it was only a museum on the painter, but it also seemed to be a lot of history of this region.  It was very interesting, that is to everyone who speaks Hungarian.

It kept things exciting that the people who work there spoke absolutely no English.  Combine that with my knowledge of museum instructions in Hungarian, and there was a lot of laughing, pointing, and hand signals.  They had a special display (today was it's last day - one of the reasons I went), and it was very impressive.  It was photographs by a guy named Robert Capa, who seemed to be a combat photographer.  There were some great pictures of World War II.

After I went through the whole museum, I said good-bye to the museum people and headed towards the door.  Then, they gave me a big complicated explanation that I couldn't understand.  After a lot of frustrated pointing, one of them got up and showed me there was a downstairs.  I had a bunch more to see.  It wasn't time to leave.

But, it is time to go to bed.  I meant to be asleep an hour and a half ago, so tomorrow morning should be fun.

It was worth it, though, because I learned a valuable lesson tonight.  Everytime there is a big play in the football game, there is a bunch of excited chattering in Hungarian.  Suddenly, "first down" will come out.  As vast as the Hungarian language seems, no one thought to make a word to describe a first down.

Next time someone asks you if you know any Hungarian, you can say, "yes I do, first down".