One Month Ago...

One month ago, I arrived in Budapest (August 21, 2010).  That means one month ago I looked out an airplane window as it descended into grain fields, and suddenly an airport appeared.  There were people sitting on their parked car at the start of the runway - obviously no fence around the airport.  The building itself looked like it was collapsing, but I think the construction is an attempt at remodeling.  I was met by the directors of the Central European Teaching Program, who were very nice.  They were pleased to see I had a big smile on my face, because they said some people come out of the customs doors crying.  I bet they're crying because of the farmlands and rundown airport.

One month ago, I got on a minibus that took me into the city of Budapest.  I was startled when I saw crappy old propeller planes sitting in front of the airport, and then I realized it's some sort of airplane museum.  Well, I tell myself it was a musem because it helps me sleep at night.  I'm going to be quite picky when flying discount airlines from that place.

One month ago, the bus driver didn't speak English, but he was nice enough to drive me through neighborhoods that aren't aware the Soviet Union collapsed.  I saw some great communist architecture, people driving cars that junkyards wouldn't accept, and plenty of depressing little bars full of people drinking their lives away.  Those bars, sadly, are quite common here in Hungary.  Any hour of the day you can see working class men in them with a beer (or something a bit stronger).  There are no chairs, the men just stand.  No one is talking and laughing, everyone is just staring.  Sometimes there is music, but no one seems to notice.

One month ago, a group of experienced CETP teachers met me at the hostel and showed me to my room.  They told me to take my time and nap, shower, or do anything I wanted, and they would fill me in on everything when I was ready.  I had trouble with the door handles because instead of turning, they had a button to push.  I didn't know how to flush the toilet.  I opened the window very wide, but was afraid of falling out since there was nothing to stop me.

One month ago, I ate my first kebab in Hungary, and struggled with the fact that I had to pay nearly 1000 units of currency.  I stared blankly at the ATM trying to figure out what would be a reasonable amount to withdraw.  Las Vegas is the only place in America where ATMs show that many zeros

One month ago, I went to bed at midnight, not before, to help adjust to the time change.  I woke up at 3 and stared at the ceiling for a while.  The whole time I was wondering exaclty what I had gotten myself into.  Who came up with this idea anyway?

Today, I woke up at 6:30.  I went and taught a bunch of Hungarian kids.  I joked with my Hungarian colleagues.  I bought food at my Hungarian grocery store.  I got a Hungarian haircut (a little scary, but it turned out well).

I've spent my day comparing the 21st of August and the 21st of September.  I don't think I've changed much.  I live in a different place, talk to different people, and am constantly learning about a new culture.

My biggest change is the increase in numbness that I feel toward some of the sad sights.  I've grown used to seeing the bars that I mentioned earlier.  I've come to accept that I live in a town of 65,000 people, and there is always someone digging through the dumpster outside my apartment.  I look at Soviet architecture, or very worn architecture from some previous century, and see the details of it.  A month ago I could only see the ugliness.

On Sunday, I had dinner with an American couple who live and teach in a neighboring town, and have been here for about a year and a half.  They were very kind, made me a great dinner, and offered a lot of useful guidance and advice about living here.  We discussed many hot topics of the region, including communism and the differences between now and then.  They said the saddest thing they see here is old ladies selling flowers and things in the metro stations.  They are old enough to deserve to relax at home, but they cannot afford it, so they spend their time on street corners.  They have no life savings, because they didn't need any.  They were going to be taken care of, but instead fell victim to a major change in economic structure.  More unseen victims of the Cold War.

I'm sure I will see many more sad things and many more happy things.  Plus, I still have a lot to learn and adapt to.  For instance, giving someone a thumbs up doesn't mean "Good!", it means 1.  Holding your index finger up (to mean 1) actually means, well, nothing.  They'll stare at you like you've lost your mind.

One month from now, I wonder how things will be different.

One year from now, I wonder where I'll be.

One lifetime from now, I doubt I'll regret coming here.  That's why it's called an adventure.

Topic of Next Lesson: "Not" Jokes

You know what I'm talking about, you say something that's not true, and then you say "not" and laugh.  For example, I'm going to give you $500!  NOT!  It amuses young children, and apparently some Hungarians.

Let me tell you about my day.  It was going pretty normal until I was asked to step into the office of the vice principal (not her actual title, but it's the closest interpretation I can come up with).  Not too unusual, but she seemed strangely solemn.  Plus, I had just taken a class on an impromptu field trip without asking, was this not okay?

"No need to be so serious," she says, "this isn't anything bad.  The school was awarded a scholarship to take some teachers and a bunch of students on a trip to Transylavania.  Can you go to Romania with your passport?"

I hope this is going where I think it is, "yes, yes I can."

"Good," she answered, "One of the other teachers, Zoli, has been organizing the trip but now he can't go.  It's the last minute, but would you like to go?"

"Yes, when do we leave."

As we rush back to the other room with all the teachers, she explains the group will leave on Wednesday and come back Saturday.  Then we get in there and about 5 or 6 people start arguing in Hungarian.  Suddenly, they all get a pissed off look on their face and look at me and say:

"NOT!"

Well, okay, they didn't actually say "not" because I haven't taught that lesson yet.  Instead they said I probably can't go because I'm not a Hungarian citizen and the scholarship won't cover me.  More arguing ensued.  Finally, Zoli went and made a phone call to whoever would know the definite answer on the citizenship question.  It had a happy ending, because the person said an American can go.

I sit down with one of the other teachers who went through the schedule and translated it for me.  It said all the usual stuff, meet at the bus at 4:30 AM, we'll be visiting cool traditional Transylvanian places, lodging is included, breakfast and dinner is included but you will be responsible for lunch, bring plenty of garlic and holy water, ect...

This whole incident caught me as I was leaving for lunch, so now I finally headed home.  In the hallway I heard another argument between a bunch of the teachers, including Zoli.  Eventually they all storm off, but one lady looked at me and said, "It's not a language thing.  He speaks Hungarian.  He doesn't speak English very well but he speaks Hungarian."

I wondered if I should remind her that it is a language thing for me because I don't speak Hungarian and don't know what's going on, but she picked that up quickly.  "Now he's saying he may be able to go.  I was told this morning that I had to go and it's very inconvient because I have a family and my son is sick.  He had been planning to go and he suddenly canceled.  It's not like him.  And it's not a language thing because he speaks Hungarian."

Hmm, I thought.  Oh well, I'm hungry.  I ate my lunch and wondered how I would buy travel insurance (required), get a bunch of Romanian money, and pack my stuff in the next 48 hours.

For those of you not aware of the history of Transylvania, it is more than just the home of Dracula in Bram Stoker's story.  It's a region in present day Romania, but that doesn't make it Romanian.  It was a prized part of the territory taken from Hungary at the end of World War I, and they still firmly believe it is a Hungarian place full of Hungarian people and Hungarian traditions.  It's just a bit of bad luck that it's across a border.

After my lunch, I went back to the school and saw the vice principal looking at me funny.  She motioned and I followed her over to an uncomfortable looking Zoli.  He looked at me and said:

"NOT!"

Again, this wasn't exactly how he phrased it.  Something more along the lines of, "I can go now.  I didn't think I could go but now I found out I can."

They apoligized for getting me excited and said I would be able to go next time.  I'm not really sure there will be a next time, but it was a nice thing to say.

So again my dream destination of Transylvania evades me.  It saves me the trouble of packing really quickly and going with a bunch of high-school kids, but reminds me of how close I am.  But I have found three positive aspects of the whole situation.  First, I have planned my next lesson ("not" jokes).  Second, I now know what to say the next time someone tells me something I don't want to hear:  "It's not a language thing, they speak English so it can't be a language thing."  Third, I know I'm in the right profession because I'll never grow tired of being told by my boss that I need to travel to Transylvania.  I believe it's rare to be so sure of your job.

You win this round Dracula, but it's not over.

Did You Know There Are Famous Harmonica Players?

That's right, you can be famous for playing the harmonica, but more on that later.  First, I have a very important announcement.  The grocery store at the mall sells PIG FEET at the meat counter.  I'm starting to get into the whole eating feet thing.  There's a bumper sticker for you, I Eat Feet.  I wonder what other sorts of animal limbs I'll be able to find.

Last night I went to a music bar.  I was told about it by another American here in town named Joe.  I was told about him by people saying, "You're an American?  You should call Joe, he's an American too and here's his phone number."  Seems logical, I guess.  He's been here for 12 years, and therefore he knew that a famous harmonica player would be playing at this place.  The guy's originally from here in Békéscsaba, but now he lives in Budapest to make it easier to travel around Europe so people can hear his harmonica skills.  I admit my ear isn't trained to the quality of harmonicas, but it really sounded the same as they always do.  I was, however, very impressed by his case of at least 10 different harmonicas which he took great care looking through to pick the perfect one for each song.  And someone less ignorant than me recognizes his talent, because he's sponsored by a harmonica company.  I guess the field has gone a long way from cowboys sitting around campfires.

I was given lots of good advice about life here.  Joe told me good bars to go to, bars to be careful of because I'll see my students there, and warned me never to mess with a security guard because they're all members of a local Thai Kick Boxing gym.

Guide books and my Hungarian culture classes have warned me about the Hungarians.  They are notorious for forcing food and drinks upon you until you explode and die of alcohol poisoning.  Last night I experienced a text book example.  Just as Joe arrived at the bar and introduced himself, he saw another man he knows.  A quick introduction was made and the man didn't ask who I was or why I was there, but instead asked if I'd like a drink.  I showed him the giant bottle of beer in my hand and politely said I didn't need another.  He said, "no, not something like that, a real drink, something strong," and then he insisted I come to the bar with them.  The third time he asked if I wanted a drink (in a 30 second period), I accepted thinking it was the only way to stop him.  Don't get me wrong, I was appreciative, and I very much enjoyed my Scotch on the rock.  Plus it demonstrated that Hungary seems to also subscribe to the European belief that ice is evil, and shouldn't be used to get in the way of a drink that was kept in an unplugged refrigerator.

The rest of the music was great.  After Mr. Harmonica (who's name I can't remember, just like all the other 250 Hungarians I've met in the last three weeks) a band of teenagers took the stage.  My expectations were low, but their talent was high.  Two guitarists, a bass guitar, a keyboard, a drummer, and a few of them singing made for some good listening.  Occasionally a member of the audience would pull an instrument out of nowhere (not something small, a real instrument like a saxophone) and run up on the stage to contribute to a song they were enjoying.

I was told that Békéscsaba is the "biggest village in the world".  Everyone is connected to each other in one way or another.  Even though it is small, it has churned out multiple Olympians, and countless other talented people, such as the musicians I saw last night.  I believe it has something to do with the amount of feet consumed.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the harmonica store to complete the first step in my path to fortune and glory.

Notes on Everyday Life in My Recently Adopted Homeland

Food is interesting.  I'm learning, by trial and error, what things are.  I could look things up in a dictionary, but I like my method better.  I've only been unpleasantly surprised once (it wasn't sweet, delicious yogurt, it was some sort of fatty cheese/milk product thing).

Hungarian-American junk food, though, is another story.  If you ever find Ketchup Cheetos, don't buy them.  If you ever find Peanut Cheetos, punch the store owner in the face.  In their defense, they do taste just like peanuts, but that's the problem.  Also, I assumed that "fromage" Lays would be cheese flavored.  But they must have just thought "sour cream and onion" didn't sound very exotic.

The yogurt is awesome.  Even brands like Dannon (spelled Danone), that I eat in the US, taste much different here.  They're sort of runnier and just a lot better.  There are chunks of fruit in it that really make the texture work.  I can't really explain it, it's just awesome.

The TV in Hungary isn't very original.  It's a lot of American TV shows, but they dub them into Hungarian just to piss me off.  The only English channels are CNN and a British channel that shows crappy game shows and soap operas.  Every now and then I'll see something like the Simpsons that's only subtitled in Romanian.  It makes me really like the laziness of my neighbors to the east.

The secondary school (high-school) that I work at is similar to a high-school in the USA.  The biggest difference is that the students stay in the same classroom, and the teachers move around.  Also, the students all stand up when the teacher enters the room, and don't sit down until they're told.  That makes me feel pretty awesome.

Plus some of the students are super smart, and here is an example.  I divided a class into groups of four or five and gave them the task of picking five objects to bring if they were trapped on a desert island.  There was a very sensible answer of tons of food and water, a tent, blankets, etc.  Then there was the answer (from a group of four boys) to simply bring five girls.  I couldn't really argue with that.

Finally, there was the best and smartest answer of what to bring to a desert island.  It was a group of three girls and a boy.  They chose a computer even though they couldn't use the internet, and a lot of make-up (I think the boy lost the vote on this one).  I can't remember what their third item was, but the fourth was English books so they could keep learning.  Their final item was Alex Hoskinson.

My students like me so much that they would bring me to a desert island just so I could keep teaching them.  Does the winner of the Teacher of the Year Award have to give a speech?  I better start writing it.

It's Not Wasting Time If It Annoys Someone Else

Today I went to the tax office so I could get my tax card.  I don't really know what a tax card is, maybe it's like a social security card, but you need it to pay your Hungarian taxes.  It seemed a little unnecessary though, because I don't have to pay Hungarian taxes.  It's a law to get people to come here and teach English.  Now they need a law that says these English teachers don't need tax cards.

But, it did have it's entertaining parts.  The tax building was a big open room that rose up five stories.  On the bottom floor, the walls were wooden with narrow openings to talk to the 30 people who worked there.  I'm not kidding about 30 people, I guess thats what high taxes will do for you.  Keep in mind this is a smaller town, most large grocery stores only have two checkout lanes.

A colleague from my school went to act as a translator, and she called in the favor of a former students mother who works there to help.  But, she couldn't help a lot.  The 30 mean people in their wooden windows yelled at her and made her leave very quickly.  Apparently it was unthinkable that she be in a room in the building she works in.

The good part about having so many workers is we didn't have to wait.  The bad part is they seemed to hate their lives.  Think about workers at places in America for a minute.  Think about how much nicer someone is at a store or a restaurant than at a government office, like the DMV.  The lady here was that same amount of difference, except the starting point is the DMV worker and she was that much more unhappy and mean.

I found it enjoyable because when I left I know she sat there fuming in her little booth thinking, "Oh I hate that American, how dare he come in here and ask me to type a few lines into a computer.  Doesn't he know I'm practicing my frown to make myself look more unhappy."

She did a good job though, I noticed afterward that she spelled my name wrong.

I Learned A New Christmas Carol: Siren Night

Now I understand how Santa does it.  No one could visit every house in the world in one night, it's just impossible.  The big man's cutting some corners.  He comes to Hungary on December 6th and puts chocolate and presents in the childrens shoes.  That's Santa Claus Day, and boys and girls only get their presents if they clean their shoes and put them on the windowsill.  Plus, there's something to do with a broom that children are hit with to be punished, but that part went over my head.  Around here, you have to know when to let it go.

On December 24th, they are given a big present.  But, since Santa is so busy dragging Rudolph around, Jesus helps out.  That's right, the spirit of Baby Jesus delivers the Hungarian Christmas presents.  I can't be sure, but I'm doubting they leave out milk and cookies for the spirit.

Everyone will be relieved to know that April Fool's Day is alive and well in this country.  I have been told of this by my students who, sporting a mischievous look, say that teachers are a prime target.  I also learned that Teacher's Day conveniently  falls in June, right before the end of the school year.  Teachers get gifts on this day, not headaches.  The students know which side their bread is buttered on.

I would've slept well last night if it hadn't been for the siren. I live across the street from a large, mysterious building.  It's ugly (probably communist built), and has a weird shape that weaves around to hide how big it is.  If they were to make a Batman vs the Iron Curtain, it would definitely be a part of the set.  I've dubbed it the Food Factory, because it smells like bread is baking late at night.  Then, starting around 4 AM trucks and cars start arriving and continue all day long.  I think they're loading up on food for stores and restaurants.

There are two annoying parts.  First, the cars and trucks around here tend to have very loud engines, even if they're very small.  So that's pretty cool in the middle of the night since it's too hot to close my windows.  Second, there is an alarm or siren that occasionally goes off.  Sometimes it only lasts a few seconds, other times it goes on for minutes.

At 3:15 AM it decided to start blaring it's horrible noise.  For over fifteen minutes.  To be clear, this is not a quiet siren that is just background noise.  It's so loud that the French have been complaining that it's ruining the peace and serenity around the Eiffel Tower.  I woke up and waited for it to turn off.  Then I waited.  And waited some more.  Finally I got up and looked out the window.  Eventually, a car came speeding up into the loading dock area and a few minutes later the alarm stopped.  There must not have been anyone there, and someone had to drive from their house to turn the alarm off.  Fortunately, if they live on this side of Berlin they will here it from their bed.

After I thought the incident was over, every police and firetruck in town decided to stop by and see what was going on.  But, they worked together and coordinated their efforts.  Thus they were able to all arrive at seperate times, and their loud engines could disturb the quiet night for much longer.

I bet they don't have the Christmas carol Silent Night, and instead sing Siren Night.  I wonder which day they sing it, the 6th or 24th?  Speak of the devil, the siren just turned on.  Can you hear it?

Stop Ruining My Language England, You're Confusing My Students

I thought the students were just confused.  They were intimidated by my charm and dashing looks.  No.  Their textbooks really tell them the name of the subject is "maths".  With an "S".  I don't know what the British are trying to pull here, but it's my job to help these kids.  They're going to go to America and get pissed off when their sandwich comes with chips instead of fries, and then get seriously injured when someone bigger than them asks if they want to play football.

One of the main topics I've focused on the past two days has been these differences.  They know quite a few, and they're usually right.  However, they think we only ride in a cab (not a taxi), we only say "oh my gosh" (not "oh my God"), and we never say something is "in" the street (just "on" it).  Overall, I'm impressed with their knowledge.  But it needs to sink in.  I asked a student, "What's your favorite holiday?"  He answered, "Summer holiday."  I meant Christmas.

Holidays have been the other topic of the week.  In Hungary, I was relieved to find out, not all traces of communism have been tossed aside.  They still have their "day of the workers", which I think is similar to our Labor Day (except it's on May 1st and may or may not have fireworks).

Another interesting fact is how they celebrate Easter.  The boys go over to the girls' houses, and then they pour water or perfume on their heads.  If the girls aren't home, the boys assured me they do find them.  The boys are then rewarded with colored eggs.  But now that capitalism has snuck in, they just get money (and seem to like it better).  I was fascinated by this, so I've been asking everyone why they do it, what started it all?  They look at me like I'm fool and all tell me the exact same answer.  It's tradition.  Thank you, I never would've guessed that.

This has all helped me realize how lucky I am to be an American.  If I was Hungarian, I'd have to chase girls around to get my Easter eggs.  If I was British, I would waste a good portion of my life writing extra letters and saying an unnecessary amount of syllables.  The only downside is I'll never find a taxi.