When I first arrived in the Czech Republic I had a strong aversion to anything American, this meant that I protested even looking at Burger King, McDonalds, Subway, or KFC for fear that I might be mysteriously teleported home. I figured:"I moved to Europe for a reason, and I won’t let these degusting American franchises rain greasy western plight on my central European fantasy". That being said, I still, to this day, have problems ordering coffee drinks at cafes. It’s not even the language barrier, it’s that Europeans don’t seem to understand that I want way more coffee than they are willing to sell me, and that if even a drop of milk or a speck of sugar infiltrated my coffee; I will spit it out and demand a new one. Another notable difference in the relationship Americans have to coffee as compared to the Europeans is that for Americans coffee is medicinal. Many of us literally cannot function without our morning coffee. Tea drinkers may have a similar addiction, but from my perspective it really doesn’t compare with the wrath of an un-caffeinated American coffee drinker. Often I purposefully don’t drink coffee before my first class so that I can remain incoherent throughout- it makes the day go by a little faster.
I think it was back in autumn when I had to make a trip to the American Consulate in order to get something notarized. The Consulate is located in Mala Strana, a neighborhood I used to live in a few years ago, so I knew they area well, and had plans to do my business then relax at the *Hanging Coffee (see foot note) before work. The owner of The Hanging Coffee is an interesting fellow; he opens the café when he feels like it, which often has nothing to do with the posted hours. On this particular day, it was one of those days where he was there, sweeping the front walk actually, but wasn’t “open” despite it being after 10am. I asked when he would be open, he said “maybe 11:00”. I can’t really take chances when it comes to getting my coffee fix, especially when I’ve just spent an hour going through security and dealing with some of the most unhelpful consulate workers ever. My other coffee place of choice had been Café Loretta ** (see footnote) just a 2 minute walk from the Hanging Coffee, but the place had changed ownership, and I wasn’t even sure it was a café anymore.
Two strikes, still no coffee, I walked back down the hill and scoped out possible café option. Mala Strana is quite touristy as it sits nestled between Prague Castle and Old Town, this means that most of the cafes are touristy and overpriced, and I really wasn’t in the mood to hear tourists trying to read maps and argue about how to fit in a trip to the Mucha Museum, the Charles Bridge, the Segway tour of Old Town, and The Prague by Night Ghost tour, while trying to figure out if 60 koruny was a lot of money to pay for a coffee- the answer is "yes" by the way. I was working hard to stear clear of anyone wearing Croqs and money belt to try to avoid overhearing this type of conversation. I found a simi-out -of -the -way place that seemed nice enough, just as a pack of middle aged Americans passed me, bitching about Starbucks. “Oh lord, Starbucks is here too, I wouldn't be caught dead in there!” one woman exclaimed loudly as they waddled past me. Before I had time to enter café of choice, I turned and looked across the square. “Of course”, I thought, “I know exactly what to do; I can hide from these annoying tourists in plain sight!” “Starbucks!” No self-respecting American visiting Prague for the first time would step foot in that place, and no ignorant annoying American would visit Prague because they think it’s in Russia!
I confidently entered Starbucks for the first time since I had left The States, the proverbial Starbucks aroma hit me and instantaneously mentally transported me to another time and place, the male barista in his familiar green smock looked up with a big American-style smile and said…”prosim?”I was immediately pulled out of my nostalgic trance and dropped back into reality. I ordered in English…well Italian actually, it is Starbuck after all, to try to sneak back into that other world, just for a second, he understood, and went about assembling my order. Okay, that wasn't so bad I thought, so far so good. When I settled into a table near the window, I listened to conversations buzzing around me, they were in Czech, French, Spanish, Korean…no English to be heard anywhere! These patrons seemed to be students mostly and maybe a few tourists, but no American tourists, just as I had hypothesized. I sat back and enjoyed a coffee that really was “grande” not just in name. It was bitter and watery and lovely, like coffee should be. I sipped my piping hot coffee out of a paper cup with a lid and gazed out the window, it had started to rain, and again it became sadly apparent who the tourists were, they busted out their dorky hotel issued plastic parkas with pride then scurried around like ants that had lost the scent of their leader looking for shelter, while the locals simply opened an umbrella and went about their business. At that moment, I remember feeling really thankful, and not just about having never worn a plastic hotel issued parka- EVER; rather, I felt that my two worlds had seamlessly blended into one singular existance. I could still get a coffee that didn’t taste like fruity-thick-sweet-creamy-crap served in child's play tea set sized cup. And by fruity, I mean gay, yeah, I said it! European coffee is totally gay. I love the gays for dancing, shopping, gossiping, advising me regarding if I look good in certain jeans, etc., but I like my coffee straight!- Thanks. That day I learned to accept a self-definition which I had been fighting for a while. I am an American living Europe- my sensible shoes are a dead giveaway, or perhaps it was the fact that I was in Starbucks, drinking what amounts to a pot of coffee in touristy Mala Strana, but whatever. That's who I am, I'm that girl, and I'm ok with it.
**The Hanging Coffee: http://www.uzavesenyhokafe.cz/en/ The Hanging coffee has a unique tradition that had fostered loyalty among the local expat community. Upon your first visit to the hanging coffee you may be offered a free drink, paid for by another patron in the café, in return on your second visit you are asked to do the same for another newcomer. Thus, it’s a good way to meet people. On my first visit, a girl bought me a drink, I think she was Moldovan, Ukrainian or some other former soviet. I wanted to thank her, so I went over to where she was sitting and we got to chatting for a few minutes, we didn’t become best friends or anything and I was having trouble understanding her to be honest, but this gesture did keep me preaching the gospel of the Hanging Coffee for years to come. Oh, and yes, I did buy someone a coffee upon some future visit, although I think it might have been someone I already knew that had accompanied me.
**Café Loreta: Once located on the ground floor of the school I did my TESOL class in, I went this café everyday during that class. The two girls that worked there feared me, I recently learned from my friend Drew that got a bit cozy with one of the baristas after our class ended. I was always running late for class (because I am always running late generally in life) but it was physically impossible for me to handle my 9am all-day-class after being out late the night before without my morning Americano, which I ordered at a feverish pace in terrible Czech each morning. The fear factor was that I quick to scold them if I saw them reaching for the milk. I would fling my 20 koruny into the pay-tray and rush out yelling “dekuji” as I tramped up the stairs to class. The café closed at some point after I moved away, which is too bad, that place brings back good memories of people and a time that is long gone. I would like to have had a chance to revisit Loreta's, and ruminate about how full circle my life has come since that time. Now it exists only in my memory. I think it might be an ice cream shop now- I don't get excitted about ice cream, it has milk in it.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Harvey and the Great Curtain Caper
Harvey is one of the first people I became friends with when I returned to Czech Republic. He’s a smart and worldly guy; works in the film industry, and seems pretty competent at adapting to his surroundings unlike many expats I know in Prague. However, if he were to have a handicap; it might be his Briticisms, well no, on second thought, it is not so much Briticisms- they’re just "Harveyisms". He hasn’t adapted his diet much, so despite not having a kitchen, he has figured out how to make fried chicken in a small frying pan on a hot plate. Being the suffering artist that he is, he has lowered himself to drinking store bought tea, rather than growing and drying his own tea leaves; something which he considers a normal practice. Another interesting thing about Harvey is he has method to everything he does. I guess this is not surprising coming from someone who has a story board facing his bed. Just watching him make a cup of tea in quite engrossing, because he does it the exact same way every time. I know what you're thinking; most people do things in their own kitchen the same way most of the time, but not with the mindless sameness in which Harvey carries on. Step 1: decide to make tea, take out milk from the refrigerator, and do something else for a few minutes. Step 2: grab (a) cup(s) and place it on top of the refrigerator handles facing to the right for one cup to the right and to the left if there are two cups, pour milk into cup (while asking if his guest wants milk*) and add tea bag, again carefully positioning the tag to lie against the handle. Step 3: start boiling water, go sit on sofa and watch a clip or two on YouTube or similar. Step 3: Turn off boiling kettle, wait a bit little longer, then pour into cup, and stand there casually timing the steep. Step 4: Remove tea bag and is enjoy. Perhaps this is your standard tea operating procedure too, but with Harvey, it is always this exact process, no phone call or ring of the door bell will disrupt his precision.
During the summer, Harvey and I would regularly meet Monday afternoons and have a few beers in one of the millions of beer gardens in Prague, we’d talk about this and that, mostly about things that Czechs do that piss us off, or Harvey would have long contemplations about how it is possible that some of this students had gall to ask him such stupid questions, and not be completely embarrassed for themselves. (Whoever said there is no such this as a stupid question is probably someone Harvey would think was an idiot). As the summer wore on, autumn arrived and Harvey happened to mention a conversation he had had with his land-lady, who incidentally he has a tremendous crush on, despite her being married, and being about 55+ years old. (Don't let Harvey's old-man-name confuse you, he is a spritely young 32 year old, who would definitely be carded in the US). Perhaps because Harvey has this boyish crush on his land-lady, he doesn’t really manage to be very assertive nor effective when it comes to getting things fixed in the flat. He told me that all summer he has been going crazy with the early morning sunlight. His flat has great big windows, a voyeurs dream, since they seemly lacked any sort of window coverings, but terrible for getting a full night sleep. This was a point on contention for Harvey, so whenever he passed his land-lady he would tell her he needed curtains! She would reply there are curtains. There were these lacey sheaths that cover the length of the window, but they provided no respite from light or anything really. He continued pleading with this woman and her husband every time he saw them to no avail.
It was now mid-Autumn, the days were much shorter, and colder, and the issue was no longer sunlight, but heat; the windows of this 100+ year old building were drafty and a nice thick curtain would have provided some insulation. To prove how drafty it was Harvey had me stand next to the window. After a few minutes of commiserating about the draftiness, I noticed a string that was in my way, I moved it a few time out of my eye line, before asking him: “What is this?” He replied that he didn’t know, but it had always been there and he wished it weren’t. Then we looked at each other with mutual understanding and back at the string. “Pull it!” he said with a look that can only be described as sheer unabashed glee. Suddenly, a thick, dark woven curtain fell between the two panes of glass. I wonder if Harvey had had one of his students over, if they would have passed the curtain IQ test. It was a glorious day, and it still makes me laugh whenever I cross the street in the direction of Harvey’s building and see light in his windows, but nothing else, as the curtain have been permanently draw ever since.
**If you have read any of my other blogs, you probably don't require this footnote, as an illusion to my dislike of milk pops up in every post it seems. I shall say it again to be clear,I do not drink milk under any circumstances, and no not like it (Sam I am)
During the summer, Harvey and I would regularly meet Monday afternoons and have a few beers in one of the millions of beer gardens in Prague, we’d talk about this and that, mostly about things that Czechs do that piss us off, or Harvey would have long contemplations about how it is possible that some of this students had gall to ask him such stupid questions, and not be completely embarrassed for themselves. (Whoever said there is no such this as a stupid question is probably someone Harvey would think was an idiot). As the summer wore on, autumn arrived and Harvey happened to mention a conversation he had had with his land-lady, who incidentally he has a tremendous crush on, despite her being married, and being about 55+ years old. (Don't let Harvey's old-man-name confuse you, he is a spritely young 32 year old, who would definitely be carded in the US). Perhaps because Harvey has this boyish crush on his land-lady, he doesn’t really manage to be very assertive nor effective when it comes to getting things fixed in the flat. He told me that all summer he has been going crazy with the early morning sunlight. His flat has great big windows, a voyeurs dream, since they seemly lacked any sort of window coverings, but terrible for getting a full night sleep. This was a point on contention for Harvey, so whenever he passed his land-lady he would tell her he needed curtains! She would reply there are curtains. There were these lacey sheaths that cover the length of the window, but they provided no respite from light or anything really. He continued pleading with this woman and her husband every time he saw them to no avail.
It was now mid-Autumn, the days were much shorter, and colder, and the issue was no longer sunlight, but heat; the windows of this 100+ year old building were drafty and a nice thick curtain would have provided some insulation. To prove how drafty it was Harvey had me stand next to the window. After a few minutes of commiserating about the draftiness, I noticed a string that was in my way, I moved it a few time out of my eye line, before asking him: “What is this?” He replied that he didn’t know, but it had always been there and he wished it weren’t. Then we looked at each other with mutual understanding and back at the string. “Pull it!” he said with a look that can only be described as sheer unabashed glee. Suddenly, a thick, dark woven curtain fell between the two panes of glass. I wonder if Harvey had had one of his students over, if they would have passed the curtain IQ test. It was a glorious day, and it still makes me laugh whenever I cross the street in the direction of Harvey’s building and see light in his windows, but nothing else, as the curtain have been permanently draw ever since.
**If you have read any of my other blogs, you probably don't require this footnote, as an illusion to my dislike of milk pops up in every post it seems. I shall say it again to be clear,I do not drink milk under any circumstances, and no not like it (Sam I am)
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Monday Eating Riturals in Prague
You won’t hear many workers saying the following phrase, “I love Mondays”, but I do, because I work in Prague every Monday. It’s one of my easiest days, and allows me a mini-vacation of sorts. I have tried to diversify my activities each week, seeking out new restaurants for lunch or getting in some big city shopping done, and of course trying my best to keep in touch with Prague dwelling friends. Over the summer I calculated that during the tenure of this job contract I had 91 opportunities to sample different restaurants, and that was the mission, I kept it up for about two months, but then I started forming my allegiances and it was all over.
Some of My Favorite EATS:
Despite my desire to vary my Monday activities, I am a creature of habit, and my loyalties to those places and people I like best limited the scope of my Mondays. As of late one such local favorite is Himalaya; an Indian restaurant, I was introduced to by friends Holly and João; the best masala sauce I’ve ever had!Recently topped off dinner with a quick digestive walk over to the Paladium mall, where you can take an express escalator to the fantastic food court for some nice cakes, followed by a trip to the free bathroom (not many of those in Prague).
Another Monday favorite is meeting my another proud Praguer, Pia for our monthly tea and cake date at Café Café; not the most creative name, but it is everything a posh European café should, be, attractive waiters, sumptuous cakes, and over-priced but interesting hot beverages all in a classic atmosphere, black and white frame photography lines the walls and lovely deep reds and black furnishings inspire a blend of deco elegance work in tandem with the grandiose Victorian chandeliers giving it a glamorous feel. It’s a cherished monthly powwow, which I need to make the time to reinvigorate this tradition, as we have both been busy lately.
When I’m in a hurry, as a result of sleeping late, and just need a small bite before classes, I go to the Creperie across from the French Cultural Center. I have to admit, what I think I love most about it is, I never see anyone I know there, so I can be guaranteed to have some time to myself to read or just ruminate while enjoying a mushroom-spinach-ricotta crepe. The best thing about this place is they have a non-smoking section which is usually completely empty except for moi!
In the summer I have an insatiable hankering for salad, so I was thrilled when I discovered a tiny boutique hotel around the corner from work that had cheap Chicken Cesar Salad on the menu and a unique back garden that was actually partly enclosed with a giant skylight, so that even in rainy Czech summers, one can still sit "outside". The service is beyond terrible, but my need for salad overrode any service inflicted dissatisfaction I have with the experience.
If you would have asked four years ago, I would have said the best place to get a meal in Prague is Maly Buddha, the enchanting aroma of the dark cavernesk restaurant, the specialty teas, the Thai dishes in addition of Nepalese and other Southern Asian inspired gastronomy is delightful. However, they open late for lunch, so the only time I can go is dinner, and I rarely find myself in Mala Strana after work, so it just hasn’t happened. I used to eat there twice a week, this year, I’ve only eaten there once!
I was introduced to a Lebanese restaurant which I quite enjoy, despite it’s convenient location just on the river on the border of Staro mesto and Novo mesto, again, they open late so it’s rare that I make it there for a meal. One night I had some time to kill before meeting a friend, so I went there and just ordered a cup of Dahl soup and a giant bowl of tatziki with pita- a perfect meal! Sure it was a little embarrassing how much parsley found its way into crevasses in my teeth, which lead to tooth scrapping incidences the rest of the night, but it was worth it.
Last but not least, the grand old classic, which probably graces the top ten lists of most expat Prague inhabitants, The Globe book shop café. I always liked it, but usually I just went in and picked up a book or magazine and went on my marry way, but one day after picking up the latest New Yorker, I had some extra time and decided to trot over and sink into one of the velvet chairs and fip through my new read, over a filtered coffe (another difficult find), when I looked at the menu I realized they served a breakfast burrito- one of my all time favorite foods, I hadn’t had in quite a while. I assumed it would be terrible, as most Mexican food is in Europe, and by Angelino standards it was mediocre, but it still reigns supreme in terms of my first choice for brunches in Prague.
I will be taking a trip to my hometown in California in about a month, and I have already started mapping out what I want to eat as well as the can't miss restaurants I've been dreaming about since expatriating myself. Thus, I thought it an appropriate time to think back on some of the wonderful meals I've had in the Czech Republic, even if none of the above contain any Czech dishes- maybe in another blog I'll focus on my favorite Czech restaurants.
Some of My Favorite EATS:
Despite my desire to vary my Monday activities, I am a creature of habit, and my loyalties to those places and people I like best limited the scope of my Mondays. As of late one such local favorite is Himalaya; an Indian restaurant, I was introduced to by friends Holly and João; the best masala sauce I’ve ever had!Recently topped off dinner with a quick digestive walk over to the Paladium mall, where you can take an express escalator to the fantastic food court for some nice cakes, followed by a trip to the free bathroom (not many of those in Prague).
Another Monday favorite is meeting my another proud Praguer, Pia for our monthly tea and cake date at Café Café; not the most creative name, but it is everything a posh European café should, be, attractive waiters, sumptuous cakes, and over-priced but interesting hot beverages all in a classic atmosphere, black and white frame photography lines the walls and lovely deep reds and black furnishings inspire a blend of deco elegance work in tandem with the grandiose Victorian chandeliers giving it a glamorous feel. It’s a cherished monthly powwow, which I need to make the time to reinvigorate this tradition, as we have both been busy lately.
When I’m in a hurry, as a result of sleeping late, and just need a small bite before classes, I go to the Creperie across from the French Cultural Center. I have to admit, what I think I love most about it is, I never see anyone I know there, so I can be guaranteed to have some time to myself to read or just ruminate while enjoying a mushroom-spinach-ricotta crepe. The best thing about this place is they have a non-smoking section which is usually completely empty except for moi!
In the summer I have an insatiable hankering for salad, so I was thrilled when I discovered a tiny boutique hotel around the corner from work that had cheap Chicken Cesar Salad on the menu and a unique back garden that was actually partly enclosed with a giant skylight, so that even in rainy Czech summers, one can still sit "outside". The service is beyond terrible, but my need for salad overrode any service inflicted dissatisfaction I have with the experience.
If you would have asked four years ago, I would have said the best place to get a meal in Prague is Maly Buddha, the enchanting aroma of the dark cavernesk restaurant, the specialty teas, the Thai dishes in addition of Nepalese and other Southern Asian inspired gastronomy is delightful. However, they open late for lunch, so the only time I can go is dinner, and I rarely find myself in Mala Strana after work, so it just hasn’t happened. I used to eat there twice a week, this year, I’ve only eaten there once!
I was introduced to a Lebanese restaurant which I quite enjoy, despite it’s convenient location just on the river on the border of Staro mesto and Novo mesto, again, they open late so it’s rare that I make it there for a meal. One night I had some time to kill before meeting a friend, so I went there and just ordered a cup of Dahl soup and a giant bowl of tatziki with pita- a perfect meal! Sure it was a little embarrassing how much parsley found its way into crevasses in my teeth, which lead to tooth scrapping incidences the rest of the night, but it was worth it.
Last but not least, the grand old classic, which probably graces the top ten lists of most expat Prague inhabitants, The Globe book shop café. I always liked it, but usually I just went in and picked up a book or magazine and went on my marry way, but one day after picking up the latest New Yorker, I had some extra time and decided to trot over and sink into one of the velvet chairs and fip through my new read, over a filtered coffe (another difficult find), when I looked at the menu I realized they served a breakfast burrito- one of my all time favorite foods, I hadn’t had in quite a while. I assumed it would be terrible, as most Mexican food is in Europe, and by Angelino standards it was mediocre, but it still reigns supreme in terms of my first choice for brunches in Prague.
I will be taking a trip to my hometown in California in about a month, and I have already started mapping out what I want to eat as well as the can't miss restaurants I've been dreaming about since expatriating myself. Thus, I thought it an appropriate time to think back on some of the wonderful meals I've had in the Czech Republic, even if none of the above contain any Czech dishes- maybe in another blog I'll focus on my favorite Czech restaurants.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Czech Prom: so two broads walk into a ball...
January is Prom season in the Czech Republic, for reasons that have been explained to me, but that I still don’t entirely understand, most schools have their senior prom, or ball, as they call it, between New Years and Valentines Day. Nothing like darning a 10,000kc gown and heading out in the ice and snow, a full 18 weeks before you actually graduate to celebrate graduation! Ahh, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I go on, please take a moment to remember your own senior prom, and or some typical teen drama prom footage; having trouble? That’s probably because the prom in the US, while iconic, isn’t really that big a deal, and many students don’t go for a variety of reasons, ranging from financial, general disenchantment with the whole idea, inability to get a date, inability to find a date that is young enough to be allowed in, etc. Now that you have a picture of the event in question in your mind, just toss that idea out the window, because the Czech prom is something quite unique.
For starters, there’s the preparation; Czech students spend a year, sometimes more, preparing for this event by learning how to dance. The students take dance classes on Friday evening intermittently throughout the school year with their classmates.* They learn to the Waltz, Rumba, Salsa, ballroom styles of every kind. The two fifteen year old girls that I tutor are already taking classes. After class, it’s usual to see overdressed teens mucking up the ambiance at every restaurant and pub in town. On my last birthday, while out with a friend, I watched as two drunkedy-drunk school girls, took turns falling off their bar stools, while their equally impaired friends tried to help them up. (Clearly it was a dance night- which I unfortunately had to share my birthday festivities with).
Finding the perfect dress for the prom is another challenge, here in Pardubice, there are a few shops which carry the required and desired attire, but the cost is astronomical when you consider the average monthly wage is about 22,000kc gross and a nice dress is about 10,000kc, easily half mom or dad’s salary and about the same amount one would pay for rent on a small flat. Most students will rent their dresses, which is still pretty expensive, but to get the best dress, the girls start shopping early. In the case of the eightteen year old girls I tutor, they picked out their dressed over the summer, and still didn’t get their first choice!
Once prom night 2010 finally rolled around, it was a miserably cold icy night, I was thrilled that I only had to walk across the street to what used to be a public swimming pool, but has been since turned into a ball room. I invited Helen, a British teacher friend, who was similarly excited to witness this spectacle. I was invited by another of my students that I used to teach in the evenings. Helen and I were taken aback by how incredibly formal the students were dressed. I once wore a suede strapless mini with spiked hooker heals to a formal school dance. Another time I wore terry cloth bedroom slippers, just to be a disrespectful asshole and as weird as possible, oh and then there was the time I wore an Elvira inspired dress with a cape, oh and who could forget the punk rock troll corsage with real red radishes- very smelly- exxxxcelllant! (Thanks Tom). So this was quite a sight for me to see the students taking a school sponsored event so seriously. Once inside we noticed that there were several bars, but mostly it was the parents boozing it up, the students seemed well mannered. Helen remarked that we should come to this bar every weekend; after all there was a live band, dancing, and no smoking!
The prom officialy kicked off with a high energy techno dance number perform by pre-pubescent overly made-up girls in what we thought were kind of slutty outfits. (I think Mrs Allen was responsible for costume and makeup*) Helen stood mouth agape and said in the most maternal voice ever, “You can see those girls’ knickers, what are they thinking with those costumes?” Then a word or two from the principle, maybe a song or two from the band, and then it was time for the real show! Each graduating class came to the floor and performed a dance number. The first class did Chicago, complete with feathered boas and zoot-suits. The second class did Mama-Mia, the third class performed Thriller, much to my delight. After each class finished, each student was individually recognized. The MC would call them by their full name and they would walk down the aisle as if they had just won a Oscar, as they walked family and friends throw coins at them- violently with dangerous velicity, and sometimes from the second floor balcony! Several girls almost slipped on the coins in combination with their already cumbersome long dresses. Once they reached the podium, they received a long stem rose and a Miss America-esk sash with their class year, and their knick-name on the back. A picture is taken and off they go (back to school for another semester despite this recognition of their completion of high school).
After each student has been recognized, there's a special dance where student dances with their mother or father, this was interesting to watch, we really are our parents' children, it was so evident who was related to who. Mom in leather pants and a halter top dances with long haired metal son, the next top model dances with her hunky dad, my super tall student dances with the only man in the room taller than her, her father, etc. This seemed to be the last formality of the evening, after that it was time to get sloppy drunk and dance until 2am. It was around this point that Helen and I found ourselves hanging with the parents, enjoyable- yes, but also an association we were not comfortable with, so we thought it was time to call it a night.
I was really glad I got this chance to go to a Czech Prom, it made me feel sort of sad for American students, because this is what Prom should be. This was a celebration, a rite of passage, not a rite of privilege. It was open to absolutely everyone and everyone danced, everyone had a partner, everyone looked smashing, and I really like how each class seemed to have a sense of camaraderie. This was not a popularity contest, there was no king or queen, just a bunch of students dancing and celebrating together with their families... their banker, their barber, and their baker, each standing by proudly snapping pictures. When I asked my girls if they know everyone in their class, they all say; yes of course. When I tell them there are people I probably had classes with that I never learned their name, this idea seemed impossible to them. I had to explain that American high school students have 7different classes, each with different teachers and different students in each, thus, you know the names of those you run with, probably the names or faces of the cool kids, maybe a few of the super scandalous kids whose reputation proceeds them, but most of which, you would be unlikely to ever have a single conversation with, and would promptly forget their name upon graduation anyway. These students seem to really appreciate these friendships, and their teachers, it’s nice to see. American could really learn something from the Czechs.
(picture from the prom can be viewed here in the Pardubice album.
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=591285583#!/album.php?aid=276766&id=591285583
*High School student in the Czech Republic, like many other parts of Europe, are tracked, therefore, they usually go to school with the same 40-50 students throughout their the tenure of their high school experience, so they all know each other quite well. Additionally, they have the same teachers that follow them from year to year. In Czech high school the teachers change classrooms, rather than the other way around as it is in the U.S. In this was the student also forms a close bond with their teacher as well as their classmates. Evidenced by the seemly constant high school reunions that people my age seem to be attending as often as once a month, but at least once a year.
*Mrs Allen was the coach of the drill team of the high school I attended and famous for loading the girls up with makeup, outfitting them is gogo boots fishnets and having them wear matching wigs.
For starters, there’s the preparation; Czech students spend a year, sometimes more, preparing for this event by learning how to dance. The students take dance classes on Friday evening intermittently throughout the school year with their classmates.* They learn to the Waltz, Rumba, Salsa, ballroom styles of every kind. The two fifteen year old girls that I tutor are already taking classes. After class, it’s usual to see overdressed teens mucking up the ambiance at every restaurant and pub in town. On my last birthday, while out with a friend, I watched as two drunkedy-drunk school girls, took turns falling off their bar stools, while their equally impaired friends tried to help them up. (Clearly it was a dance night- which I unfortunately had to share my birthday festivities with).
Finding the perfect dress for the prom is another challenge, here in Pardubice, there are a few shops which carry the required and desired attire, but the cost is astronomical when you consider the average monthly wage is about 22,000kc gross and a nice dress is about 10,000kc, easily half mom or dad’s salary and about the same amount one would pay for rent on a small flat. Most students will rent their dresses, which is still pretty expensive, but to get the best dress, the girls start shopping early. In the case of the eightteen year old girls I tutor, they picked out their dressed over the summer, and still didn’t get their first choice!
Once prom night 2010 finally rolled around, it was a miserably cold icy night, I was thrilled that I only had to walk across the street to what used to be a public swimming pool, but has been since turned into a ball room. I invited Helen, a British teacher friend, who was similarly excited to witness this spectacle. I was invited by another of my students that I used to teach in the evenings. Helen and I were taken aback by how incredibly formal the students were dressed. I once wore a suede strapless mini with spiked hooker heals to a formal school dance. Another time I wore terry cloth bedroom slippers, just to be a disrespectful asshole and as weird as possible, oh and then there was the time I wore an Elvira inspired dress with a cape, oh and who could forget the punk rock troll corsage with real red radishes- very smelly- exxxxcelllant! (Thanks Tom). So this was quite a sight for me to see the students taking a school sponsored event so seriously. Once inside we noticed that there were several bars, but mostly it was the parents boozing it up, the students seemed well mannered. Helen remarked that we should come to this bar every weekend; after all there was a live band, dancing, and no smoking!
The prom officialy kicked off with a high energy techno dance number perform by pre-pubescent overly made-up girls in what we thought were kind of slutty outfits. (I think Mrs Allen was responsible for costume and makeup*) Helen stood mouth agape and said in the most maternal voice ever, “You can see those girls’ knickers, what are they thinking with those costumes?” Then a word or two from the principle, maybe a song or two from the band, and then it was time for the real show! Each graduating class came to the floor and performed a dance number. The first class did Chicago, complete with feathered boas and zoot-suits. The second class did Mama-Mia, the third class performed Thriller, much to my delight. After each class finished, each student was individually recognized. The MC would call them by their full name and they would walk down the aisle as if they had just won a Oscar, as they walked family and friends throw coins at them- violently with dangerous velicity, and sometimes from the second floor balcony! Several girls almost slipped on the coins in combination with their already cumbersome long dresses. Once they reached the podium, they received a long stem rose and a Miss America-esk sash with their class year, and their knick-name on the back. A picture is taken and off they go (back to school for another semester despite this recognition of their completion of high school).
After each student has been recognized, there's a special dance where student dances with their mother or father, this was interesting to watch, we really are our parents' children, it was so evident who was related to who. Mom in leather pants and a halter top dances with long haired metal son, the next top model dances with her hunky dad, my super tall student dances with the only man in the room taller than her, her father, etc. This seemed to be the last formality of the evening, after that it was time to get sloppy drunk and dance until 2am. It was around this point that Helen and I found ourselves hanging with the parents, enjoyable- yes, but also an association we were not comfortable with, so we thought it was time to call it a night.
I was really glad I got this chance to go to a Czech Prom, it made me feel sort of sad for American students, because this is what Prom should be. This was a celebration, a rite of passage, not a rite of privilege. It was open to absolutely everyone and everyone danced, everyone had a partner, everyone looked smashing, and I really like how each class seemed to have a sense of camaraderie. This was not a popularity contest, there was no king or queen, just a bunch of students dancing and celebrating together with their families... their banker, their barber, and their baker, each standing by proudly snapping pictures. When I asked my girls if they know everyone in their class, they all say; yes of course. When I tell them there are people I probably had classes with that I never learned their name, this idea seemed impossible to them. I had to explain that American high school students have 7different classes, each with different teachers and different students in each, thus, you know the names of those you run with, probably the names or faces of the cool kids, maybe a few of the super scandalous kids whose reputation proceeds them, but most of which, you would be unlikely to ever have a single conversation with, and would promptly forget their name upon graduation anyway. These students seem to really appreciate these friendships, and their teachers, it’s nice to see. American could really learn something from the Czechs.
(picture from the prom can be viewed here in the Pardubice album.
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=591285583#!/album.php?aid=276766&id=591285583
*High School student in the Czech Republic, like many other parts of Europe, are tracked, therefore, they usually go to school with the same 40-50 students throughout their the tenure of their high school experience, so they all know each other quite well. Additionally, they have the same teachers that follow them from year to year. In Czech high school the teachers change classrooms, rather than the other way around as it is in the U.S. In this was the student also forms a close bond with their teacher as well as their classmates. Evidenced by the seemly constant high school reunions that people my age seem to be attending as often as once a month, but at least once a year.
*Mrs Allen was the coach of the drill team of the high school I attended and famous for loading the girls up with makeup, outfitting them is gogo boots fishnets and having them wear matching wigs.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Holidays Aren’t for Celebrating
Here is accounting of the official state holidays in the Czech Republic for 2010 only about three of these warrant some celebration or notice. (and only if, the conditions are right, i.e good weather)
1 Jan: New Year's Day
5 Apr: Easter Monday, i.e the woman beating holiday (we’ll get to that later)
1 May: May Day.
8 May Liberation Day.
5 Jul: Day of the Apostles St. Cyril and St Methodius.
6 Jul: Anniversary of the Martyrdom of Jan Hus.
28 Sep: Czech Statehood Day.
28 Oct: Independence Day.
17 Nov: Freedom and Democracy Day.
24-26 Dec: Christmas
One not so special Wednesday back in early November I was giving an English lesson to one of my colleagues at work. Towards the of the lesson as the conversation was waning, I asked my student if he had any special plans for commemorating Democracy day, as it would be the 20th year anniversary of the fall of communism in, what was then; Czechoslovakia. I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but his reply lingered in my mind for days. “Holiday’s aren’t for celebrating in the Czech Republic”. He went on to explain that Czechs despise parades and holiday pomp which they perceive to be reminiscent of the Soviet days. At which time there were military parades regulary and attendance to these events were somewhat obligatory. So what do Czechs celebrate? Well the answer is basically Christmas, New Years and maybe Lent/Easter if you happen to be religious, but otherwise; there is no reason to celebrate-ever, at least in the manner of Anglo-American traditions. It seems that holidays are generally for staying home and resting, but sometimes for visiting relatives that live out-of-town, going to Ikea, or possibly, but rarely doing some sort of outdoor activity if one is very progressive or rich, usually skiing, nordic walking or cycling.
Christmas in the Czech Republic
As for me, it was the strangest thing; I got bitten by the Christmas bug rather early, and let it be known that I am not a fan of Christmas generally. Halloween was kind of a letdown for me, so once it passed and I remembered that having a meaningful Thanksgiving of any proportion was virtually unthinkable (as I hadn’t meet any local Americans yet) I decided why not just start decorating for Christmas. So I got a tree, a fake tree that is, as it was barely even November and there seemed to be no real trees available for sale yet. Previous to the actual 3-days of Christmas, I had been in Dresden for the Christmas markets, that was such a Christmasy affair, I figured I would have had my fill of Christmas, but no, the week after I got back, I had my company Christmas party (which I was sick for, and left really early) and then co-hosted my own Christmas party with my friend Helen in my tiny flat (you’re welcome neighbors) and finally the week before Christmas I was in Oslo celebrating “Jul” with my Norsk comrades, but upon my return I was still ready for more! Sejal, a friend from Norway, came back with me, and we had the most casual Christmas ever! We opened some Champagne and a bag of cookies, and watched DVDs in bed all day, then when it was time for dinner we tossed up a salad and heated up some frozen pizza, which we ate at the table, just to be a little fancy. After dinner, we headed out to the square to listen to carolers and drink hot wine from our newly made friend’s not even remotely concealed flasks, followed by a tour of the castle (Note: sending drunk people unattended into a castle containing fine glassware and rare medieval works of art was perhaps not a well thought out, but no colameties occured in our presence). So that was Christmas Eve in Pardubice. I actually don’t remember what Sejal and I did Christmas morning, it’s possible that we didn’t leave the house, and watched “the Office” all day.
Boxing Day We were up early and headed west, first to the city of Plzen, the home of Pilsner Urquell. When we arrived we were unsure that we had actually arrived, it seemed to be the only train station on the westward route that had no visible sign announcing itself. We cautiously disembarked and asked a uniformed conductor if we were indeed in Plzen, his replied affirmatively with a snicker, as if we were the dumbest girls he’s ever come across, and pittied the people of Plzen that would have to deal with us all day. First stop was Tesco, (to use the free bathroom) which appeared to be the sketchiest place in town. Then we headed towards what we believed to be the center, we just went in the direction of the ornate steeples (a navigation tool that works quite well in the Czech Republic). We did eventually locate the square and it was seemed pretty immense but also almost completely deserted, considering most shops were closed (I guess Plzonions don't celebrate Boxing Day, what a suprise). We wandered a bit, but we had a train to catch in two hours, so we looked at the Velky Synagogue(applily named: the big synagogue as it is the second biggest in Europe) and a lovely church in the center of the square, both were viewed at the speed at which Clark W. Griswold looks at the Grand Canyon in National Lampoons vacation http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQJH5tZLGis. We were getting hungry and these ubiquitious Pilsner reminders everywhere in town meant it was time to find “the Pub” I had seen this place advertised on a park bench on our way into town, and so that somehow made it worth visiting for us. We were the only customers at first, it was cavernous, and was a PYOP (pour-your-own-pivo) establishment (my favorte!) As other groups of dinners and drinkers came in and were seated, we noticed a score board of sorts which tallied the number of ounces poured per table. Unfortunately, Sejal wasn’t drinking so it was up to me alone to win it for us. I couldn't do much damage in an hour and a half, but it was a cleaver idea.
We arrived at Marianske Lazne around five o’clock., naturally it was already quite dark, and covered in snow, which was a switch as it was fairly temperate and sunny in Plzen, and only an hour or so away. M.L. is located in the mountains in the west of Bohemia, so it was to be expected that we would encounter snow. We phoned our hotel to shuttle us into town, they came promptly and whizzed us up the icy hill to our five star resort! Upon check-in we were served some tart but tasty hot wine (I drank Sejals) and we booked a bunch of spa appointments. In fact they actually had to Soup-Nazi us and said we were only allowed one massage a day. Thus, we extended our stay to two nights and doubled our appointments- take that spa nazis! We were pleased with our accommodation, the view from our balcony of the ski slopes and the town below was fabulous! We decided to dine at the restaurant as it seemed like a treacherous walk to get down the icy steps and road to the center, we’d save that fun for daylight. I think we had planned to have an after dinner swim, but dinner ran long and we wound-up having baths in our 8-jet tub instead, which lulled us right to sleep afterwards.
The next morning we set the alarm, as the day was jam-packed with Spa activities, however, the breakfast was not to be rushed or missed. It was probably the best complimentary hotel breakfast ever. First of all, we had our own reserved table, none of this get-your-food-and-hope-you-can-squeeze-in next to some loud annoying family or some smelly backpackers, no, we had our own beautifully set table with our room number proudly displayed on a gold placard waiting for us each morning. The buffet contained all the usual offerings, but the chef would also prepare special requests like pancakes (which we had on the second morning). The hostess was really nice and spoke good English, she greeted us each morning formally and while we were enjoying our coffee and pre-breakfast mini treats, talked about how worthless men are, this warmed our hearts and made us take in instant likening to her. The rich clientele brought their little fluffy dogs with them, un-tethered and unattended; they just roamed free in search of crumbs under other peoples tables, at the omelet bar, wherever. After breakfast it was massage time, my massage was good, not Glen Ivy- good, cruise ship- good, or even cheap Thai-massage parlor in Los Angeles- good, but for a hotel, I guess it was satisfactory overall. But Sejal had a different experience, during her massage someone entered the room several time and engaged in what was apparently a hilarious conversation in Czech. She was lying on her stomach at the time and considered her options. 1. Hope they went away soon, and try to ignore it. 2. Ask politely the the intruders and the masseuse could chat after her massage. Or 3. Turnover and say something like “hey you assholes, get the fuck outta here, I’m NOT paying to hear you bitches giggle”. I thought the last one seemed an appropriate response, but she opted for the first option, then complained to management and demanded a second massage for free. She was only able to get a discount on her second massage, and the promise it wouldn’t happen again, well and the fauder I needed to spice up my blog.
After lunch in the lobby bar, we headed out on the town, down the icy path, down the steps, past a beautiful abandoned hotel, and into the center, by this time the sun way already falling behind the hills quickly, and Sejal was again not feeling well, so I parked her at a café, and ran around snapping picture before we lost the light. After my romp around town, I needed a rest so I joined Sejal in the Kolanada (one of the main attraction of the town in the summer) and had afternoon tea. We ventured out again as evening feel, and when Sejal was better, we window shopped, and casually searched for a resturant for dinner, eventually we settled on a place called Churchills (there’s one in every touristy town in the world, I’m convinced- each is owned separately and completely unique, but always with the same hook- the name). The pub/ restaurant was nice, very cozy, but the easy-listening Muzak station was awful! Churchill himself would have been horrified by this soundtrack! After a good meal, and Richard Marx songs dancing uninvitedly in our heads, we headed up the hill to our snowy challet, we watched Billy Madison in Czech, and because I’ve seen this movie so many times, and know every line, I just translated he entire movie for Sejal in the appropriate character voices. I was kind spent after that, so off to bed I went. In morning Sejal had more treatments, while I went swimming. We tried to use the sauna but that was an unbelievable 44 euro for two hours, sure it was private, but still, can’t we all just share and save some money! In the afternoon we caught the train back to Prague where we had dinner at the Lebanese restaurant, 700kc later, we eventually made it back to Pardubice.
So, even though holidays aren’t for celebrating, I really did have one of the best Christmas’s I’ve ever had.
1 Jan: New Year's Day
5 Apr: Easter Monday, i.e the woman beating holiday (we’ll get to that later)
1 May: May Day.
8 May Liberation Day.
5 Jul: Day of the Apostles St. Cyril and St Methodius.
6 Jul: Anniversary of the Martyrdom of Jan Hus.
28 Sep: Czech Statehood Day.
28 Oct: Independence Day.
17 Nov: Freedom and Democracy Day.
24-26 Dec: Christmas
One not so special Wednesday back in early November I was giving an English lesson to one of my colleagues at work. Towards the of the lesson as the conversation was waning, I asked my student if he had any special plans for commemorating Democracy day, as it would be the 20th year anniversary of the fall of communism in, what was then; Czechoslovakia. I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but his reply lingered in my mind for days. “Holiday’s aren’t for celebrating in the Czech Republic”. He went on to explain that Czechs despise parades and holiday pomp which they perceive to be reminiscent of the Soviet days. At which time there were military parades regulary and attendance to these events were somewhat obligatory. So what do Czechs celebrate? Well the answer is basically Christmas, New Years and maybe Lent/Easter if you happen to be religious, but otherwise; there is no reason to celebrate-ever, at least in the manner of Anglo-American traditions. It seems that holidays are generally for staying home and resting, but sometimes for visiting relatives that live out-of-town, going to Ikea, or possibly, but rarely doing some sort of outdoor activity if one is very progressive or rich, usually skiing, nordic walking or cycling.
Christmas in the Czech Republic
As for me, it was the strangest thing; I got bitten by the Christmas bug rather early, and let it be known that I am not a fan of Christmas generally. Halloween was kind of a letdown for me, so once it passed and I remembered that having a meaningful Thanksgiving of any proportion was virtually unthinkable (as I hadn’t meet any local Americans yet) I decided why not just start decorating for Christmas. So I got a tree, a fake tree that is, as it was barely even November and there seemed to be no real trees available for sale yet. Previous to the actual 3-days of Christmas, I had been in Dresden for the Christmas markets, that was such a Christmasy affair, I figured I would have had my fill of Christmas, but no, the week after I got back, I had my company Christmas party (which I was sick for, and left really early) and then co-hosted my own Christmas party with my friend Helen in my tiny flat (you’re welcome neighbors) and finally the week before Christmas I was in Oslo celebrating “Jul” with my Norsk comrades, but upon my return I was still ready for more! Sejal, a friend from Norway, came back with me, and we had the most casual Christmas ever! We opened some Champagne and a bag of cookies, and watched DVDs in bed all day, then when it was time for dinner we tossed up a salad and heated up some frozen pizza, which we ate at the table, just to be a little fancy. After dinner, we headed out to the square to listen to carolers and drink hot wine from our newly made friend’s not even remotely concealed flasks, followed by a tour of the castle (Note: sending drunk people unattended into a castle containing fine glassware and rare medieval works of art was perhaps not a well thought out, but no colameties occured in our presence). So that was Christmas Eve in Pardubice. I actually don’t remember what Sejal and I did Christmas morning, it’s possible that we didn’t leave the house, and watched “the Office” all day.
Boxing Day We were up early and headed west, first to the city of Plzen, the home of Pilsner Urquell. When we arrived we were unsure that we had actually arrived, it seemed to be the only train station on the westward route that had no visible sign announcing itself. We cautiously disembarked and asked a uniformed conductor if we were indeed in Plzen, his replied affirmatively with a snicker, as if we were the dumbest girls he’s ever come across, and pittied the people of Plzen that would have to deal with us all day. First stop was Tesco, (to use the free bathroom) which appeared to be the sketchiest place in town. Then we headed towards what we believed to be the center, we just went in the direction of the ornate steeples (a navigation tool that works quite well in the Czech Republic). We did eventually locate the square and it was seemed pretty immense but also almost completely deserted, considering most shops were closed (I guess Plzonions don't celebrate Boxing Day, what a suprise). We wandered a bit, but we had a train to catch in two hours, so we looked at the Velky Synagogue(applily named: the big synagogue as it is the second biggest in Europe) and a lovely church in the center of the square, both were viewed at the speed at which Clark W. Griswold looks at the Grand Canyon in National Lampoons vacation http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQJH5tZLGis. We were getting hungry and these ubiquitious Pilsner reminders everywhere in town meant it was time to find “the Pub” I had seen this place advertised on a park bench on our way into town, and so that somehow made it worth visiting for us. We were the only customers at first, it was cavernous, and was a PYOP (pour-your-own-pivo) establishment (my favorte!) As other groups of dinners and drinkers came in and were seated, we noticed a score board of sorts which tallied the number of ounces poured per table. Unfortunately, Sejal wasn’t drinking so it was up to me alone to win it for us. I couldn't do much damage in an hour and a half, but it was a cleaver idea.
We arrived at Marianske Lazne around five o’clock., naturally it was already quite dark, and covered in snow, which was a switch as it was fairly temperate and sunny in Plzen, and only an hour or so away. M.L. is located in the mountains in the west of Bohemia, so it was to be expected that we would encounter snow. We phoned our hotel to shuttle us into town, they came promptly and whizzed us up the icy hill to our five star resort! Upon check-in we were served some tart but tasty hot wine (I drank Sejals) and we booked a bunch of spa appointments. In fact they actually had to Soup-Nazi us and said we were only allowed one massage a day. Thus, we extended our stay to two nights and doubled our appointments- take that spa nazis! We were pleased with our accommodation, the view from our balcony of the ski slopes and the town below was fabulous! We decided to dine at the restaurant as it seemed like a treacherous walk to get down the icy steps and road to the center, we’d save that fun for daylight. I think we had planned to have an after dinner swim, but dinner ran long and we wound-up having baths in our 8-jet tub instead, which lulled us right to sleep afterwards.
The next morning we set the alarm, as the day was jam-packed with Spa activities, however, the breakfast was not to be rushed or missed. It was probably the best complimentary hotel breakfast ever. First of all, we had our own reserved table, none of this get-your-food-and-hope-you-can-squeeze-in next to some loud annoying family or some smelly backpackers, no, we had our own beautifully set table with our room number proudly displayed on a gold placard waiting for us each morning. The buffet contained all the usual offerings, but the chef would also prepare special requests like pancakes (which we had on the second morning). The hostess was really nice and spoke good English, she greeted us each morning formally and while we were enjoying our coffee and pre-breakfast mini treats, talked about how worthless men are, this warmed our hearts and made us take in instant likening to her. The rich clientele brought their little fluffy dogs with them, un-tethered and unattended; they just roamed free in search of crumbs under other peoples tables, at the omelet bar, wherever. After breakfast it was massage time, my massage was good, not Glen Ivy- good, cruise ship- good, or even cheap Thai-massage parlor in Los Angeles- good, but for a hotel, I guess it was satisfactory overall. But Sejal had a different experience, during her massage someone entered the room several time and engaged in what was apparently a hilarious conversation in Czech. She was lying on her stomach at the time and considered her options. 1. Hope they went away soon, and try to ignore it. 2. Ask politely the the intruders and the masseuse could chat after her massage. Or 3. Turnover and say something like “hey you assholes, get the fuck outta here, I’m NOT paying to hear you bitches giggle”. I thought the last one seemed an appropriate response, but she opted for the first option, then complained to management and demanded a second massage for free. She was only able to get a discount on her second massage, and the promise it wouldn’t happen again, well and the fauder I needed to spice up my blog.
After lunch in the lobby bar, we headed out on the town, down the icy path, down the steps, past a beautiful abandoned hotel, and into the center, by this time the sun way already falling behind the hills quickly, and Sejal was again not feeling well, so I parked her at a café, and ran around snapping picture before we lost the light. After my romp around town, I needed a rest so I joined Sejal in the Kolanada (one of the main attraction of the town in the summer) and had afternoon tea. We ventured out again as evening feel, and when Sejal was better, we window shopped, and casually searched for a resturant for dinner, eventually we settled on a place called Churchills (there’s one in every touristy town in the world, I’m convinced- each is owned separately and completely unique, but always with the same hook- the name). The pub/ restaurant was nice, very cozy, but the easy-listening Muzak station was awful! Churchill himself would have been horrified by this soundtrack! After a good meal, and Richard Marx songs dancing uninvitedly in our heads, we headed up the hill to our snowy challet, we watched Billy Madison in Czech, and because I’ve seen this movie so many times, and know every line, I just translated he entire movie for Sejal in the appropriate character voices. I was kind spent after that, so off to bed I went. In morning Sejal had more treatments, while I went swimming. We tried to use the sauna but that was an unbelievable 44 euro for two hours, sure it was private, but still, can’t we all just share and save some money! In the afternoon we caught the train back to Prague where we had dinner at the Lebanese restaurant, 700kc later, we eventually made it back to Pardubice.
So, even though holidays aren’t for celebrating, I really did have one of the best Christmas’s I’ve ever had.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
My Neighbor: guitar hero super stomper extraordinaire
The orange walls* are closing in on me, (see footnote) and the only escape is into the 5*C Sunday that awaits just beyond the street door, which can offer little more than a bunch of closed shops and fog at the moment. It’s November now, so long gone are the days when I could just go to the park, go to an open air café and read when my upstairs neighbor decided to hammer for hours or invite friends over with tappy high heels or stompy boots over to noise-up my life. Things stayed open later and the beer gardens in the park were open on Sundays in summer, a fact I never appreciated until the onset of autumn, when my mystery upstairs neighbor and I entered into our stressful one-side relationship.
Let’s see what do I know about him? In reality, almost nothing, I’m not even 100% sure he is a male. I know what songs he likes to play on the guitar when I’m trying to relax after a long day at work, and it seems he’s doing some kind of construction on his bathroom that involves a ton of drilling and a hammering. He is not Amish, he constructs on the lord’s day! I know that after a hard day of hammering he likes to play songs on the guitar with the word one in it: “One” by Metallica, “One” by U2, come to mind as some of his favorites. Sometimes he sings along, and sounds manly, so I have decided he, must be male. He watches TV in the morning, usually the news, and spends more time in the living area rather than the kitchen, and tons of time in the bathroom, usually with the ceiling fan on. He takes short showers, and doesn’t seem to use anything electric in the bathroom (other than the drill) things like razors, trimmers, toothbrushes, hair dryer, penis pump- whatever men use to get ready. So he’s definitely got to be male; no woman would forgo a hair drying this time of year! My conclusion is he is a 400 pounder , or 181 kilos, in other words 28.5 stones based on his stomping. I imagine he has a nasty, ratty beard, not had a hair cut in a while, and he eats cereal and makes the tapper friends bring him pizzas or Mc Donalds for every meal, (there has to be a reason for the amount of time he clocks in that bathroom, (and there is no Los Jarritos here) so it has to be a result of pizza* (see footnote). What confuses me is how his fat, lazy ass finds the energy to do all this pounding and drilling, and why he has all these female friends, that clearly sleep-over as they are up and high healed tippy-tapping by 7am, but I have never heard any sex sounds from above- that’s a relief- it would wreak havoc on my self-esteem if this slob was getting some from sexy-shoe wearing squeaking- squawker girls (one of his female friends laughs, no cackles in the most annoying way) when I’m all alone in flannel jams in my single bed. (See footnote on this topic). Oh, and this neighbor of mine, smokes pot in the stairwell in the late afternoons, I’m sure of it. When I’m running the steps (something I do as a result of being too indecisive about which gym to join) it is often a 14 floor hot box, and the most intense part is always around the 13th floor; his floor!
The last two weekends in addition to his construction project, this guitar playing stomper has also thrown a couple parties! I have made a pact with myself that the next party he hosts, I’m going up! I will attend this party as a reconnaissance mission, because I must know who he is and why he was not taught to step softly, or at least take your shoes off when you’re I the house- this is not the US! People actually soil the soles of their shoes when they leave the house- there are elements here man! Last sentence- he is silent alas. I hear only the faint sounds of someone's far off spin cycle groaning and vibrating my walls just slightly, I was going to step out for a while, but perhaps I should stay and enjoy the silence.
FOOTNOTES:
**Orange Walls: the walls of my kitchen are a delightful shade of peachish- orange. I think it’s supposed to be Tuscan looking. You would have to have lived my life to really understand my hatred for certain shades of yellow and orange, as I had a yellow and oranges bedroom when from ages 0-12, and I spent many a ‘night thinking about how I could destroy that dandelion wall paper, the flowers actually frightened me as a toddler- they just looked like such an unfriendly sinister flower. Some little girls picked dandelions on their way to school- I squashed them like a cigarette butt and cursed their existence.
**Pizza** This footnote actually require another footnote about the Grandiosa Effect" a term I have invented to decribe what it's like to live with 8 Scandinavian male college students. Sounds like a fantasy eh ladies? Well, it's not! The two month after I finishd university, I was preparing to move to Prague for the first time, but could not actually go until late July, so I continued living in a dorm on the University of Oslo campus, though no longer a student. 7 rooms, one bathroom! The problem was, those sneaky Sweds decided to double up- rooms that were intended for one, were occupied by two to save money. Scandinavians in general don't really cook, and Scandi males only cook one thing- Grandiosa frozen pizza. As the ritual went, the oven worked overtime that summer, as each boy fired their pizza one after another, then took it in their room to eat alone (anti-social scandi's! I was always alone in the kitchen eating my salad). Then two hours later the run for the bathroom started, so between 19:00-21:00 I would hear the boys scrambling for the newspaper, some footsteps, then the lock snap on the toilet door; the bathroom was booked solid for two hours! I often had to walk over to friends places that lived nearby, if I needed to use the toilet, because there was no chance it would be available, and even if it was, it was not a place I wanted to spend any time. So,that was a long story to explain why I think my neighbor eats pizza.
**COMENTARY ON SINGLE BEDS***I know I live in Europe and even when you ask for a double bed at a nice hotel, it’ll probably be two single beds shoved together, I get that, but just because you’re “Single” doesn’t mean you want a single bed! It’s kind of offensive that when you’re job arranges your accommodations, as is the case with many overseas jobs, that they ALWAYS assume a single bed is appropriate. When I renewed my contract in Korea, I told them I needed at least a double bed in order to continue working for that school. I mean really, I’m not 5, I can handle a big girl bed! Besides, I have been sleeping in a double bed or larger since I was like 15. I do a least try to take in a lover at least once in a while, and I find it pretty presumptuous of employers to assume that it won’t happen often enough to warrant a larger bed! They always refer to the space quotient in the flat, I remember having a lengthy conversation with the Korean management at a former job, about which is more important, being able to do yoga in my flat, or be able to have special friends sleepover (not on the floor). What a strange conversation to be having with your boss, while elementary age children filtering past, and popping in to ask random questions about what was in today’s snack box. “Sorry kids, teacher is talking about her crappy sex life with the director and his translator that has resulted from her single bed”
Let’s see what do I know about him? In reality, almost nothing, I’m not even 100% sure he is a male. I know what songs he likes to play on the guitar when I’m trying to relax after a long day at work, and it seems he’s doing some kind of construction on his bathroom that involves a ton of drilling and a hammering. He is not Amish, he constructs on the lord’s day! I know that after a hard day of hammering he likes to play songs on the guitar with the word one in it: “One” by Metallica, “One” by U2, come to mind as some of his favorites. Sometimes he sings along, and sounds manly, so I have decided he, must be male. He watches TV in the morning, usually the news, and spends more time in the living area rather than the kitchen, and tons of time in the bathroom, usually with the ceiling fan on. He takes short showers, and doesn’t seem to use anything electric in the bathroom (other than the drill) things like razors, trimmers, toothbrushes, hair dryer, penis pump- whatever men use to get ready. So he’s definitely got to be male; no woman would forgo a hair drying this time of year! My conclusion is he is a 400 pounder , or 181 kilos, in other words 28.5 stones based on his stomping. I imagine he has a nasty, ratty beard, not had a hair cut in a while, and he eats cereal and makes the tapper friends bring him pizzas or Mc Donalds for every meal, (there has to be a reason for the amount of time he clocks in that bathroom, (and there is no Los Jarritos here) so it has to be a result of pizza* (see footnote). What confuses me is how his fat, lazy ass finds the energy to do all this pounding and drilling, and why he has all these female friends, that clearly sleep-over as they are up and high healed tippy-tapping by 7am, but I have never heard any sex sounds from above- that’s a relief- it would wreak havoc on my self-esteem if this slob was getting some from sexy-shoe wearing squeaking- squawker girls (one of his female friends laughs, no cackles in the most annoying way) when I’m all alone in flannel jams in my single bed. (See footnote on this topic). Oh, and this neighbor of mine, smokes pot in the stairwell in the late afternoons, I’m sure of it. When I’m running the steps (something I do as a result of being too indecisive about which gym to join) it is often a 14 floor hot box, and the most intense part is always around the 13th floor; his floor!
The last two weekends in addition to his construction project, this guitar playing stomper has also thrown a couple parties! I have made a pact with myself that the next party he hosts, I’m going up! I will attend this party as a reconnaissance mission, because I must know who he is and why he was not taught to step softly, or at least take your shoes off when you’re I the house- this is not the US! People actually soil the soles of their shoes when they leave the house- there are elements here man! Last sentence- he is silent alas. I hear only the faint sounds of someone's far off spin cycle groaning and vibrating my walls just slightly, I was going to step out for a while, but perhaps I should stay and enjoy the silence.
FOOTNOTES:
**Orange Walls: the walls of my kitchen are a delightful shade of peachish- orange. I think it’s supposed to be Tuscan looking. You would have to have lived my life to really understand my hatred for certain shades of yellow and orange, as I had a yellow and oranges bedroom when from ages 0-12, and I spent many a ‘night thinking about how I could destroy that dandelion wall paper, the flowers actually frightened me as a toddler- they just looked like such an unfriendly sinister flower. Some little girls picked dandelions on their way to school- I squashed them like a cigarette butt and cursed their existence.
**Pizza** This footnote actually require another footnote about the Grandiosa Effect" a term I have invented to decribe what it's like to live with 8 Scandinavian male college students. Sounds like a fantasy eh ladies? Well, it's not! The two month after I finishd university, I was preparing to move to Prague for the first time, but could not actually go until late July, so I continued living in a dorm on the University of Oslo campus, though no longer a student. 7 rooms, one bathroom! The problem was, those sneaky Sweds decided to double up- rooms that were intended for one, were occupied by two to save money. Scandinavians in general don't really cook, and Scandi males only cook one thing- Grandiosa frozen pizza. As the ritual went, the oven worked overtime that summer, as each boy fired their pizza one after another, then took it in their room to eat alone (anti-social scandi's! I was always alone in the kitchen eating my salad). Then two hours later the run for the bathroom started, so between 19:00-21:00 I would hear the boys scrambling for the newspaper, some footsteps, then the lock snap on the toilet door; the bathroom was booked solid for two hours! I often had to walk over to friends places that lived nearby, if I needed to use the toilet, because there was no chance it would be available, and even if it was, it was not a place I wanted to spend any time. So,that was a long story to explain why I think my neighbor eats pizza.
**COMENTARY ON SINGLE BEDS***I know I live in Europe and even when you ask for a double bed at a nice hotel, it’ll probably be two single beds shoved together, I get that, but just because you’re “Single” doesn’t mean you want a single bed! It’s kind of offensive that when you’re job arranges your accommodations, as is the case with many overseas jobs, that they ALWAYS assume a single bed is appropriate. When I renewed my contract in Korea, I told them I needed at least a double bed in order to continue working for that school. I mean really, I’m not 5, I can handle a big girl bed! Besides, I have been sleeping in a double bed or larger since I was like 15. I do a least try to take in a lover at least once in a while, and I find it pretty presumptuous of employers to assume that it won’t happen often enough to warrant a larger bed! They always refer to the space quotient in the flat, I remember having a lengthy conversation with the Korean management at a former job, about which is more important, being able to do yoga in my flat, or be able to have special friends sleepover (not on the floor). What a strange conversation to be having with your boss, while elementary age children filtering past, and popping in to ask random questions about what was in today’s snack box. “Sorry kids, teacher is talking about her crappy sex life with the director and his translator that has resulted from her single bed”
Table of possible Contents
Today is November 1st. I have been in the Czech Republic a little over four months now per this tour. During these months, I have kept a list of things that I find strange or interesting. Thus, think of this blog entry as a preview of what’s to come, a table of contents if you will, except in no particular order other than order of inspiration. In each blog I shall address a handful of these as they relate to the days happenings.
-Czech Waiters: would all be fired if they worked in the U.S
- The Office: cocktail hour
- Pealing out: in a 4-cylinder compact 4-door hatch-back
- Dumplings
- Documentation: "show your pass!"
- The Czech Mail Service
- Marriage and Weddings
- Bicycle Pub Crawl
- Business Casual
- The Cinema
- A trip to the Doctor
- The Police
- The Roma
- Self-Help at Starbucks
- Holidays: aren’t for celebrating
- Dog culture
- Mondays
- Olomouc
- Kutna Hora
- Escaping the Czech Republic
- The Mall
- The Village
- Standing in line
- The Czech Railway
- The Prague Restaurant Quest
- Finding Big Ben
- Sparta Hockey: The rivalry
- A run at the river
- The orange wall are closing in on me
- Karlovy Vary: Welcome to Russia
- The Hloubetin Subway Flood
- Making friends and maintaining enemies
- The Great Curtain Caper
- My upstairs neighbor- guitar hero super stomper!
- Herna Bars
- the idiocracy that is the Czech Grocery Store check out station
- Mojitos- the trendiest thing to hit central Europe since the mullet amd mustashes
- Everyone loves Bryan Adams (and they think he's American)
-Czech Waiters: would all be fired if they worked in the U.S
- The Office: cocktail hour
- Pealing out: in a 4-cylinder compact 4-door hatch-back
- Dumplings
- Documentation: "show your pass!"
- The Czech Mail Service
- Marriage and Weddings
- Bicycle Pub Crawl
- Business Casual
- The Cinema
- A trip to the Doctor
- The Police
- The Roma
- Self-Help at Starbucks
- Holidays: aren’t for celebrating
- Dog culture
- Mondays
- Olomouc
- Kutna Hora
- Escaping the Czech Republic
- The Mall
- The Village
- Standing in line
- The Czech Railway
- The Prague Restaurant Quest
- Finding Big Ben
- Sparta Hockey: The rivalry
- A run at the river
- The orange wall are closing in on me
- Karlovy Vary: Welcome to Russia
- The Hloubetin Subway Flood
- Making friends and maintaining enemies
- The Great Curtain Caper
- My upstairs neighbor- guitar hero super stomper!
- Herna Bars
- the idiocracy that is the Czech Grocery Store check out station
- Mojitos- the trendiest thing to hit central Europe since the mullet amd mustashes
- Everyone loves Bryan Adams (and they think he's American)
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