incarnation realities

I have smart friends. Kent and Bethany, the two other original members of our little blogging cabal, made profound Christmas observations on their blogs. I advise you to take a look.

As for me, my first Christmas away from my family was equal parts bitter and sweet. Fellow ESI-er Danielle did a wonderful job of making it feel like Christmas by opening her home to a random collection of folks with no place to go. Our potluck Christmas dinner was wonderful, and we had a great time. The toughest moment came when I woke up at 6:30 Christmas morning to call my family in Seattle (where it was 9:30 PM Christmas Eve). For as long as I can remember our family has gathered around our Christmas tree after church on Christmas Eve and all shared a Christmas reading of some kind - poem, scripture, short story, song lyrics, devotional, or anything, really. I think my family would agree that I'm particularly enamored with this tradition (I put it down to being the English major of the family) so I was really happy to be able to use Danielle's internet phone to take part in this tradition intercontinentally. My reading this year was excerpts from a sermon by Fleming Rutledge on the massacre of the infants, commenting on the importance of that detail within the Christmas narrative. She observed that without a recognition of pain, evil, and suffering in the narrative itself it has no more importance than the Rudolf story, or Frosty the Snowman. I was once again reminded how easy it is to insulate ourselves from the pain of the world, and that as long as one of my brothers or sisters is in pain, I am too. My New Years resolution (as it was last year, and the year before): be an agent of God's shalom in this world of pain.

holiday greeting

Here's some Christmas cheer from the wonderful 9A1 class!

scatterbrained

I can't seem to pull together coherent ideas, so here's a list of what's bouncing around in my noggin:

• Today was the last day of school for me, and I'm remarkably happy about it. Spending the break here in Budapest should be very relaxing, if a bit lonely. My students, sweethearts that they are, even offered to put together an ice skating party over the break so I would have something to do. I'm looking forward to sleeping, writing, reading, cooking, and playing guitar.
• Budapest is one beautiful city, especially with all the Christmas lights and decorations! I don't know how anybody can work around downtown and not feel at least a little bit festive!
• Last night my school had it's annual talent show, Kossuth Est. I enjoyed the parts of it I could understand and faked my way through the parts I couldn't (just clap when everybody else claps...). It's good to know that most high school bands are the same worldwide: loud and bad.
• The highlight of Kossuth Est gets it's own bullet point! The first act was not a current Kossuth student, but one who graduated last year and went on to fame and fortune by placing second in the Hungarian equivalent of American Idol. He even has a record contract! It was quite a big deal that he came back (my left ear is still a bit deaf from the girl who sat behind me and her screaming!), and he has a very good voice - high and velvety, like Otis Redding.
• It's amazing how one chord on my guitar immediately silenced the class that I can NEVER get to shut up. They actually participated today in our Christmas carol sing-along without (much) extraneous talking. Talk about your Christmas miracles...
• I love good jazz bari sax! I also love listening to the Duke Ellington version of the Nutcracker Suite at this time of year, especially Dance of the Sugar Rum Cherry. Coincidence? I think not.
• As advent is the season of waiting, both for our celebration of Christ's first coming and for his second, themes of social justice have been prominent in my mind lately. Budapest is a city with lots of people begging for handouts, and I never know what to do. I've started trying to give a little to those who ask, not necessarily for them, but as a spiritual discipline for myself. I don't, though, know if I should do this because so many people have told me it doesn't really help anyone. It's not hurting me - I marvel at how much God has provided me with - but I'm still unsure about what is just.
• Finally, thanks to Sam, I'm craving grits of all things! I know, it's crazy for a yankee like me to want them, but I can't help it.

That's what's in my head this evening, ladies and gentlemen.

a gift

My students gave me a Christmas present today. In the middle of class they suddenly stood, sang a rousing (but sadly monotone) rendition of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, and presented me with a small package wrapped in newspaper. I took this picture in my flat with my "gift" this afternoon.

One of my students commented, "We don't think you look bad. We just think you need to shave your beard." Thanks.

Side notes: Anybody want to take a guess at which mountain is just over my right shoulder? Kent? And speaking of Kent, it seems the Thorubos group blog may be primed for a re-birth of sorts. Stay tuned for further updates.

vent

[disclaimer: I'm about to vent in an annoyingly whiny sort of way. Sorry.]

I gave a major oral test to 36 of my students today, a test so major they get excused from their normal classes. The poor kids take turns entering a room to sit at a table and face their four English teachers (yes, they all have four hours of English class every day!). The test is the responsibility of their two native-English-speaking teachers, so we ask the questions and give the grades. I think I was as nervous as the kids were, but we were well-prepared and it was a fair test. We followed our rubric and the grades were about what I expected.

So, the problem? I'm told that some teachers are unhappy with the grades we gave. Let me assure you this was a fair test and the grades will not be changed, but this sort of passive gossip makes me particularly angry. I would love to talk to the other teachers about their concerns, after all I'm trying to learn how to be a teacher as quickly as I can - any suggestions/constructive criticism is always appreciated. Furthermore, at the conclusion of the test we asked the other teachers how they thought it went. We got the same response I get every day when I ask my students how they are: fine. (Mom: I'm sorry I used to answer that exact same word every day when I got home from school. Please forgive me!)

I feel like I'm stuck in some Jane Austen alternate reality where people don't communicate. I want a little open conflict. I want some discussion about this. Instead, it will probably just fade away and slowly fester until the next flare up. And to clarify, I don't think this sort of gossip is a particularly Hungarian problem. We all do it, of course, but that just makes it all the more annoying. I hate it when I see my own weaknesses demonstrated in other people - I don't even have enough moral high ground for some righteous indignation! I guess I'll just have to forgive them and try to prevent some of that festering.

risky busyness

I've been both looking forward to and dreading this week for some time. It's been (and will continue to be) filled with all sorts of fun activities, but I'm getting low on sleep. Let me fill you in on some of the details. Monday night I returned to my church's weekly coffee house event which is mainly run for refugees. It's wonderful to spend time with people from Nigeria, Iran, Ethiopia, and other very different cultures. It's funny that I can be living in what is a foreign country to me and still miss international culture. I'm exposed to my American values and the general Hungarian culture, but rarely do I interact with any other cultural groups. For that reason coffee house is a breath of fresh air. Tuesday I was fortunate to have my regional director here, all the way from LA. She observed one of my classes (I felt much better about it this time!), and we got to have lunch and hang out for most of the afternoon. Our visit to parliament to see St. Istvan's crown was a success, and it was a treat to have some good discussions with her about my teaching and the rest of my life. Last night I went out to celebrate my teammate's birthday and had one of the fanciest evenings I've ever had in my life. We dined in style. Went out for cocktails. I even wore my tie. For a brief moment I felt like part of a culture I've never known, but then it past. It's amazing how much money makes a difference in your approach to life. Tonight I'm off to see Madame Butterfly in the cheap seats at the Opera House. And then tomorrow I jump on the train right after school to go to Prague and some friends' school ball. And somewhere in this whole process I have to find time to grade the quizzes I gave this week (yes, I stupidly gave every single one of my students a quiz in the same week - what a fool!).

When I have weeks like this I wonder a little bit. As most of you know, I'm here to do a job. I have a strong sense of calling and commitment to this work, and that keeps me going. However, weeks like this I wonder if I'm allowed to have this much fun! Going to fancy restaurants, taking in the opera, and gallivanting around Eastern Europe is not why I came to Budapest, so the good ol' Calvinist work ethic/guilt complex fires up. I think I'm doing my best to live up to my calling, but the clouds of my own disapproval gather when I live "the good life." I think about other places I could have sent the money I paid for a nice bottle of wine last night. I think about the activities with my students I could organize this weekend instead of dashing off to Prague. Then a still, small voice in the back of my head pops up and says (in a voice that sounds surprisingly like Laura Smit), "Rest, and enjoy the beauty of creation." This, of course, is solid Calvinist doctrine. To quote the CRC contemporary testimony, Our World Belongs to God, "Rest and leisure are gifts of God to relax us and to set us free to discover and to explore. Believing that he provides for us we can rest more trustingly and entertain ourselves more simply." Maybe I could work on the simplicity part of that, but the idea that leisure sets me free from my own expectations of myself is wonderful. It reminds me that the work I do is not mine to do. I am God's instrument - his tool - and as such I'm not the one who has the final say in the success or failure of the work. What a relief! I think the only thing I can do in response is to go enjoy the opera.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Somewhere somebody once said you never appreciate things until they're gone. At least I think somebody said that, and if not I'm saying it. I'm feeling pretty mixed emotions about tomorrow, to be frank. It's my first Thanksgiving away from America, and I miss so many of the traditional holiday trappings (ask my family - they'll confirm I'm a tradition nut). I'm very glad I'll get to celebrate with my TeachOverseas colleagues tomorrow (I'm even skipping school!), but when I roll out of bed tomorrow morning I'll miss smelling Mom cooking the sausage for stuffing (and to you doubters, yes, my mom's stuffing has sausage in it, and it's the best stuffing in the world... so there). I have great memories of our "international-flavored" Thanksgivings back in State College, playing in the Thanksgiving Day football game with Uncle Dan in Holland, and the wonderful hospitality of the DeVries family in Grand Rapids (they even made me brussel sprouts!). There's so much to be thankful for, but I think it's good for me to step back from the tradition a bit. I've learned so much about my own culture in my short time here, and seeing things through the eyes of my students and my Hungarian colleagues helps me to understand myself. So tomorrow will be a different sort of celebration for me. Amidst the incredible blessedness I feel, I think I'll wonder about some of those things I've always been thankful for. Is my life really so much better because of the affluence, the things, and the luxuries I have? But don't worry - I won't let it get me too down. There's a lot of turkey and pumpkin pie to be eaten! Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

snow

In an effort to be more positive I will now list the five best things about snow in Budapest:

5) It covers up the trash left in the field I walk across on my way to school.
4) It is yet another reason to be thankful for the terrific public transit here - I never have to drive in it.
3) I'm not sure but I think mulled wine tastes better when it's snowing.
2) Ice skating in City Park by Heroes' Square is even more fun when Vajdahunyad Castle is dusted with snow.
And the number one reason: 1) It makes it feel like Grand Rapids!

Actually, that was a joke. The real number one reason is that a trip to the outdoor thermal baths in the snow is incredible. And here's something a friend sent me today that I loved. It's by Stanley Hauerwas (I think). "The beauty of a green leaf turning red, the brightness of a stranger's face, the joy of a cat at play, the sheer wonder coming from the generosity of friends--for all this and so much more we give you thanks, we praise you, gifting God. Help us remember, however, that you have made us, through Jesus Christ, your thanksgiving sacrifice for a world that refuses to acknowledge its giftedness. Let us rush again and again to your feast of the new age, where you provide the space and time for us to enjoy being your joy."

a few photos

Some favorite fall break photos...

"Mad" King Ludwig's Castle in Bavaria (and the model for Disneyland):

The Austrian Alps:

A favorite Munich activity:

observation

As I alluded to in my last post, it's been a busy week. I found time for some fun activities (the opera on Wednesday night and after school table tennis with my students, to name a few), but my work week was dominated by the four class observations I had this week (one unofficial).

This is the first time anyone besides my students has seen me teach, and it was a little disconcerting. It probably goes without saying, but I think about my students when I plan my lessons, when I teach, and when I grade. Their needs are foremost in my mind. This week, though, as I prepared to be observed by my department chair, my ESI country director, and a group of about 20 or 25 guests for Pedagogy Day I started to think about other things. What would other people think of my teaching techniques? What nifty slick tricks do I have up my sleeve that I can use to wow these other teachers? Instead of focusing on what my students' needed (to practice using "would" for imaginary situations so they stop saying things like, "If I went to the beach I will take sunscreen so I will not burn down") I focused on what would impress other teachers.

The thing is, it worked. The other teachers liked my lessons, and I got good feedback. I felt lousy about one of the four observations (the "unofficial" one, fortunately), but otherwise I thought I had done pretty well. Then last night I was unwinding by reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (again), and I was blown away by how caught up in other people's opinions they were. Why does Ron care so much that he might not be able to apperate? Why does Harry worry that people will think he put Ron on the quidditch team just because they're mates?

I was actually thinking to myself, "boy, am I glad I'm not in that world anymore" when it hit me. That's exactly what I did this week. I sold out my students, and taught them lessons that were designed so they could show off their (and consequently my) brilliance, instead of ones that challenged them and taught them new things, and I did it because I was worried about what other people would think. In a word, pathetic. I owe them an apology for forgetting why I'm a teacher.

don't worry, I'm fine (or am I?)

It seems that going a week without posting anything on my blog causes some worry among friends and family on the other side of the world. I guess that probably says something about my poor communication skills in other forums. My plan, mentioned in my last post, to bounce back from vacation with strength and vigor was derailed by a bad cold and cough. Instead I spent three days of last week at home in bed, eating strange Hungarian soup mixes, listening to soothing music, watching an occasional episode of Joan of Arcadia, and trying not to cough too much. I mainly stayed home so my students wouldn’t have the chance to make fun of my frog voice. I believe I’m back up to normal strength, which is good because I have a busy week ahead.

Between the road trip and my brief stint as an invalid I had some time to think, so I turned to my favorite subject: myself. Don Miller says we’re all “lifeboat people,” that is like those stranded at sea in a lifeboat trying not to be the one who gets it when the water runs out. To prevent that from happening we focus our energy on proving our significance to others, usually at the expense of others. I’ve only been in my current life situation for two and a half months, but it’s the most independent I’ve ever been in my life. It’s easy for me to fall into the lifeboat trap because I have few people around for whom I need to sacrifice my wishes and desires. As I teacher I essentially impose my will on my students (not necessarily a bad thing), and since I’m basically living alone I don’t have to worry about shared living space relationships. I don’t spend much time with friends, and when I do it’s often sadly superficial. Right now everything I do happens on my terms, and that’s not healthy.

Several recent events have brought this truth into stark reality: my parents’ visit (do I need to elaborate?), my trip with Sam, a recent e-mail from a friend living and working in some amazing Intentional Christian Community in New York City, an article I read on “the new monasticism” of urban ICCs that sounded so much like what we wanted Project Neighborhood to be last year (and sometimes was), and a few good chats with good friends. While being convicted of selfishness and self-idolatry is not a fun process, it’s made me draw closer to my many communities. As a Christian I’m called to live in community with my brothers and sisters, and that inevitably means sharing, compromising, giving, letting go of my need to feel worldly significance (read: superior to others), and serving others. I’ve been ignoring or avoiding that calling of late.

As usual, it feels good to get this out in the open (even if it’s through the passive channel that is my blog). The next step is for me to speak to those with whom I’m committed to being in community. Then I need to remember that my Christian ministry begins with my example of Christianity, and true Christian communities demonstrate God’s love in deep and beautiful ways. Perhaps by making this public I will force myself into a little accountability. As Luke Girardi would say, “Hey, Copernicus called. He wanted you to know he discovered the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

i love Bavaria (and more)

So, to summarize, vacation's good. After travelling through Austria (hitting both Vienna and Salzburg, with a drive through the alps and the Austrian lake district) and Germany (Munich and Bavaria), I'm relaxing in Praha (Prague). The lovely Aaron and Phoebe graciously agreed to host us, even though their two year old son, Nehemiah, proceeded to run around laughing, screaming, and throwing himself on the floor for a good hour after we arrived. He likes new people, I think.

Some brief highlights include seeing cows wearing actual cowbells, mad king Ludwig's castle (the model for the Disneyworld castle), drinking beer and eating soft pretzels in Munich, the Austrian Alps (which look surprisingly like western WA), going to All Saint's Day mass in Munich, and catching up with friends (Christina in Vienna, all the Cheb/Sokolov ESI folk, and now the Prague gang). I wish I could give you the blow by blow of all of Sam and my adventures, but it would be longer than a Rick Steeve travel book.

Mostly, though, it's been wonderful to get away from the routine. I love getting away from the daily grind, because it makes going back to the grind so comforting. Nothing makes me appreciate the little daily things like a few days away from them. I think I'll return to my teaching duties next week with renewed vigor and energy. But until then, a few more sights to see...

road trip

Greetings to my (7) faithful readers. I just finished teaching my last class before the much anticipated fall break. I will be spending next week driving around Europe, specifically to Vienna, Salzburg, Munich, Cheb/Sokolov, Prague, Bratislava, and back to Budapest. I'll try to update on the way. Until then!

"The Magical Food"

Though I often get work from students that makes me laugh until it hurts, I've hesitated to post it on my blog for general enjoyment. Remember I'm the same person who wonders at the ethics of censoring spam comments on my blog - publishing student work without permission seems sketchy. The following, however, is a story the author had to read aloud to his class. Because it is already a public document I don't feel bad about posting it. That and I really like it! By the way, a passable knowledge of the international soccer scene will help in the reading.

"Once upon a time there was a little fat soccer koala named Konaldo. He had a very good friend called Benhaldinho. Konaldo and Benhaldinho were football players on the Koalaian national team. They had a magical food, the eucalyptus footballus. But there was a very bad rock kangaroo called Jumpy. This rock kangaroo was the minister of Kangaruantina. He didn't like football and he hated Koalai. The standard of living was higher in Koalai. Education and tourism were also high, but inflation was very high in Kangaruantina. [editor's note: can you tell what type of vocab we were working on that they had to include in their story?] In Kangaruantina the government wanted to steal the eucalyptus footballus. They charged Jumpy to steal it. One day there was a football match between Koalai and Kangaruantina. It was a "war" because Konaldo played against his enemy Ronaldingo. Konaldo's team lost the match because Jumpy stole the eucalyptus footballus. The fans started to fight. The police came and took them to jail. The police also took Jumpy to jail because they discovered he stole the magical food. So they lived happily after in freedom."

Well done, Gabor.

parental units

I'll send some paprika to the first person who identifies the guys in the statue my Dad and I are standing by in the first picture.




By the way, it's 7:00 in the morning and game three of the World Series is still going on (11th inning). Can I skip my first class to watch the web cast? I'm guessing not.

Sinatra, baseball, a Zlaty, and Russian Lit

I'm feeling into bullet points today. Here goes...

• Mom and Dad left yesterday and I responded by spending the whole afternoon on my couch - grading, planning, relaxing, and watching Alias. I feel almost caught up.
• I'm sitting in an internet cafe sipping a Zlaty Bazant and it reminds me of Calvin Band Tours. I'm really thankful for those memories.
• At the big covered market today I saw a Jack-O-Lantern on top of a stack of pumpkins for sale. I nearly bought a pumpkin just so I could carve it.
• What happened to the 'Stros? I feel happy for the Sox and my Chicago connections, but I thought this would be a great series. Here's hoping Roy and the Astros can bounce back tonight.
• I have to preface the funny train story by saying I'm really not attracted to most Hungarian women because of the way they dress and act. Let's just say modesty is not a priority. So, when a tastefully dressed attractive young woman sat in our compartment on the trip home from Eger I took notice mostly because it's such a rare thing to see. I have no interest in dating a Hungarian (the cultural differences would make it challenging), but I have never wanted to speak Hungarian more than when this young woman pulled out a Hungarian copy of "The Master and Margarita" by Mikhail Bulgakov. This is at least one of my favorites, if not my favorite book of all time (with thanks to E. Ericson and R. Rienstra). It was crazy - I had been mildly attracted to this woman and seconds later, before I knew it, I desperately wanted to talk to her. Oh well, maybe I'll meet her again sometime when my Hungarian is a bit better.
• The Batman post is coming, but let me reiterate that humanity is what makes great people great. Nobody liked Superman until the comic book writers invented kryptonite. It's the same with Jesus. He went through the temptations we do, but didn't give in. Batman is the best superhero because he's not super.
• I saw a new ad on a tram this afternoon. It featured Dr. Green, Dr. Ross, Dr. Benton, Nurse Hathaway, and the Physicians assistant Gini from the old days of ER. I was trying to remember how long it's been since any of those people were actually on the show. Hungary - always on the cutting edge of culture.
• The internet cafe is playing Sinatra singing standards (I Only Have Eyes for You, The Way You Look Tonight, etc.). Nice.
• With fall break coming next week my students are about as cooperative as a three year old in a pet store. I need tranquilizers for them.
• Walking around Budapest and enjoying the wickedly beautiful fall weather while listening to Jack Johnson makes me very happy.

quick thought

Mom and Dad are here, and it's a surreal clash of worlds. My students are meeting my parents? So strange!

kedd

It's Tuesday (Kedd, in Hungarian), and it's cold. We had our first frost Sunday night, and now my early morning walk to school is full of the foot crunching wonderfulness that comes from frosted grass. Did that last sentence even make sense? The cool, crisp fall days have been beautiful, and last week I was inspired to walk around my little corner of Budapest taking pictures. I hope to soon post a photo-essay of sorts, documenting Csapel for you all. But as I was walking around yesterday, I realized that Sunday marks the two month anniversary of my arrival in Budapest. It's amazing how quickly that two months has past, but also how long ago that seems. I don't feel like waxing poetic to mark the occasion (at least any more than I already have), so, in honor of Sam, here are some random thoughts on a Kedd...

1. I went to Eger this weekend (that's where I had the chocolate/walnut/rum flavored pancake with fresh fruit and whipped cream that is featured below). I saw the second largest church in Hungary, a really cool library (with a letter from Mozart), and the castle where a mere 2,000 Hungarians held off 40,000 Turks in the middle of the 16th century (only to be conquered by those some Turks 40 years later in a truly Hungarian twist of fate). The area's famous for its red wine, which was quite good, though the Egri Bikaver I had (literally, bull's blood) wasn't too special. The legend is that the Hungarians with beards stained red by wine held off the Turks with such ferocity thought the Turks thought they must have been drinking bull's blood. Rick Steeve's debunked the myth for me (as usual, he knows everything) by saying the name doesn't appear until the mid 19th century.

2. Hungarian is hard! I have lessons with my wonderful tutor, Lidia, on Tuesday afternoons, and in preparing for this week I was struck (once again) at how different the language is. The structures of English I've spent so much of my life working on simply don't exist in Hungarian. The language has no prepositions - just 400 different ways to end words (slight exaggeration).

3. Pogacsa are wonderful. Just trust me - I eat too many.

4. I had lunch yesterday with Todd, a very cool American who's been here with his family for years working with church planting and summer camps for kids. They do a 10 day English camp and a 10 day arts camp every summer as an outreach ministry of the E-Free church here (KEGY). Maybe it's something I can be involved with.

5. One of the most interesting things about sharing an office with four other teachers is what I've come to call the I'm-gonna-kill-em face. The nearly daily moment of someone walking back into our office between classes with a look on their face that could freeze water is always interesting. As teachers we (at least try to) contain our emotions during class so we can maintain some sense of dignity. But when we get back in the sanctum of the office, all bets are off - the real feelings come to the forefront and it creates a funny sort of bond between us. Last week one of my colleagues had to deal with a tragic accident that put her sister and nephew in the hospital. We saw the face a lot, but we were able to be supportive. It felt like the way community is supposed to work.

6. I picked up some Russian Lit again (Pasternak this time), thanks to a funny thing that happened on the train back from Eger. It feels very appropriate to read it here.

greatest dessert ever

why I teach better when I iron my shirt

The good news is my students care enough to search high and low on the internet to find my website (nice work, Peter and Marcell). The bad news is that since they've found it I have to be more careful about what I say. I've reached the end of another week, and I'm relaxing by sitting in the Havana cafe sipping a latte and reading about college football and the baseball playoffs. The cafe just taunted me by playing half of a Diana Krall song I didn't recognize (does she have a new album out - must check on this) before switching back to lousy Hungari-pop. It's even worse than usual, though, because it's a live recording complete with adolescent girls screaming their heads off. I, however, am in such a good mood I don't mind that much. I never thought teachers looked forward to the weekend as much as students do.

As I teach more I've realized that what happens in my class is fundamentally about the image I present in class. Looking back I draw a correlation between the days when I have a hard time with student behavior and how "together" I am. I was taught that the best classroom management is preventive, and a big part of that is being organized and prepared. I try to be real with my students (like admitting when I've made a mistake and being sufficiently contrite), but that doesn't mean I need to reveal all my insecurities to them. The old adage, "fake it 'til you make it" is something I've come to live by. And for me, part of that is ironing my shirts. I still don't feel much like an adult sometimes, but if I look like one I can at least fake it until I do. There's something about a crisply pressed collar and a tie that gives me confidence to face those rambunctious fourteen year-olds when it's lacking.

(And don't think I've given my secret away to those students who may be reading this - they don't know when I'm faking it and when I'm not. Besides, their quiz on Monday will remind them who's the boss!)

countryside

The last few weekends I’ve been fortunate to get out of the city and enjoy a bit of the Eastern European scenery. With my parents coming to visit soon (and bringing a rented car) it’s likely the trend will continue. The fall scenery has been wonderful (though the changing trees don’t hold a candle to the colors in Michigan and especially Pennsylvania). My favorite part, though, has been the friendly encouraging people I’ve encountered. People in Budapest are friendly enough, but seeing Americans and suffering through their terrible Hungarian pronunciation isn’t a rare experience for the typical Budapestian. But out in Esztergom, Visegrad, or any of the many Slovakian hamlets we went to last weekend they’re a bit more gracious. This isn’t too surprising – everybody says you have to get out of the big cities to really see a country. So if this is the real Hungary, it’s one of the friendliest places I’ve ever been. Two examples: I was trying to ask directions in Hungarian, and the young man I was talking to patiently endured my slaughtering of his language before slowly and clearly articulating his response. I had a follow up question that was beyond my Hungarian, so on a whim I asked if he spoke English. He replied, “yes, I do. I would have said so before but I could see you really wanted to try your Hungarian, and you were doing very well.” (If only my students could form a compound-complex sentence like that one!) And second, last night, we were looking for a restaurant that was listed as number 14 on the main street in Szentendre. We couldn’t find it, so we asked the shop owner at number 13. She told us number 14 didn’t exist (which it doesn’t), but walked next door to another shop keeper to confirm this. When they agreed there was no number 14 we apologized and started walking away (they also apologized profusely – I guess for their town’s obvious deficiency for not having a number 14!), but a minute later the first shop keeper came running down the street after us. She had asked at another shop and found out the restaurant was in the next street over. Above and beyond the call of duty barely scratches the surface of this woman’s kindness to us.

Kossuth Day photos

Captions:
9B students trying to see how many people can fit in a small box

Viola, a 9A1 student, being turned into a mummy

Daniel, a 9A2 student

One of the games - it involved moving a coin down the line without using any hands

Shandor and Gergy, 9A2 students.

Kossuth Day

On Thursday instead of teaching my students English I got to show them my basketball skills at my school’s annual sanctioned hazing event, Kossuth Day. It began with the 10th, 11th, and 12th graders gathering in the gym, and making the four 9th grade forms parade in wearing the goofy overalls that blue-collar workers wear here. The first half of the day was a competition between the 9th grade forms in which randomly selected students were asked to perform silly and sometimes difficult tasks. For example, two students from each class were given two eggs, and going off the school grounds they were to cook them as quickly as possible. The various groups received points for speed and quality. Other pairs had to take a roll of toilet paper and get 50 people who had no connection to the school to sign it. Meanwhile, those students who were left had to compete in silly relay races and such. It was quite fun, and nobody was so embarrassed that they broke down and wept. After that students from all the grades were able to choose from a variety of activities ranging from sports tournaments of all kinds to candle holder decoration to a session on how to train dogs. I competed in the three-on-three tournament on a team with a PE teacher and a Physics teacher. We did well, but ended up losing the championship game 14-12 in a heartbreaker (we played first to 11 wins, but have to win by two). My involvement came about because I’ve been helping out with the after school basketball sessions recently. I enjoy it a lot because these kids have some skill, but no fundamentals. The first day I played on a team with three 9th graders, and we managed to beat four 11th graders because I was able to get my team doing basic pick and rolls, a give and go or two, and boxing out for rebounds. It’s a new kind of basketball for me because (a) I’m good over here, and (b) my greatest happiness comes when I get the ball to a weak player in a spot where he can get an easy lay-up. I don’t look to score unless I have to. It reminds me of years ago when I used to play basketball at Sunset Park with Don Garbrick. He would go out of his way to make us look good when he easily could have won the game by himself. It’s nice to see things come full circle a bit. (And sorry for those who don’t get the old State College reference.) I’ll post a few Kossuth Day photos, but I didn’t get any of the basketball since I was playing.

my students

I love 'em. I hate 'em. But here they are... my 9A students in all their glory.






Peter and Marcell "working" in class.






9A3






9A1



9A2

silence

Since people I don't even know are starting to ask me where I've been for three weeks (who are you Andrew?), I thought a tiny update would be better than more silence. I feel bad about the fact that I haven't written in a while, but not too bad because most of my time has been taken up with the process of learning to be a good teacher (or at least adequate!). This month has been both challenging and rewarding for me, but in list form here's what I'm frustrated with...
-Never being told what's going on and not knowing where to find things out (like when half my class just stood up and walked out of class yesterday to go tot he school doctor!)
-Smart students who don't care enough to do homework or study for quizzes
-The line for the copy machine
- Not feeling I've found a church home in Bp yet

I'm thankful for...
-having a copy machine!
-getting to know my students at a deeper level
-Family of Faith Church
-the Budapest Christian Library
-my fellow (Christian) American teachers
-the cultural events of the big city
-all my students (seriously, I can find good things to say about every single one of them)

Lots of love!

Borfest

This weekend we at the Bazis played host to the ESI Hungary/Slovakia team and our year opening retreat. It is terrific to have everyone back together, if only for a day, but the real highlights were the barbecued hamburgers and the impromptu softball game that followed. It almost felt like a Labor Day picnic! Saturday night many of us decided to head to the Buda Castle for the annual Wine Festival (“bor” is Hungarian for wine). The beautiful castle is taken over for three days by scores of wineries from all over Europe, and beyond. They set up in little gazebos where they offer tastings, and the variety available is dizzying! This was my first wine festival, and while it was a bit overwhelming I couldn’t imagine a better setting for it. Gazing out over the Danube with my fellow teachers, seeing Parliament and the Chain Bridge lit up, and doing it all while sipping on a nice French Bordeaux – it’s a nice life! But I think it’s not the life for me. At least for now I’m still more of a beer guy – now if only I could get to Munich for Octoberfest…

the first week

I’m not sure how to describe my first full week of teaching at Kossuth, now that I’ve survived it. I decided to wait at least a week before writing about school to avoid making snap judgments, but over the last week I’ve felt just about every emotion possible. Take the elation I got when two of my beginner students were simply able to ask each other what their names were, where they were from, and what their jobs were, and contrast that with the frustration of being unable to get one of my classes to do an activity in English because they could do it just as easily in Hungarian. From students I encountered both direct insubordination and enthusiastic cooperation. I’ve had students cheat on assignments (quite obviously, in fact), and turn in some terrific work. I guess I could sum it up by saying that teaching is an incredibly rewarding experience, but it requires extensive patience, great flexibility, and vast amounts of energy! I’m apprehensive about this year and the amount of work it will be, but I’m also very optimistic. I have some terrific students who are both bright and motivated, and for that I’m grateful.

a chance meeting

Picture this: I’m sitting on a bench in Deak Ter (“ter” is Hungarian for square) with my friend and fellow ESI teacher Joanna, waiting for another ESI teacher, Danielle. It’s a prime location to meet people because it’s where all three metro lines converge. I was enjoying My Name is Asher Lev, by Chiam Potak, when I looked up, and across the square I saw someone who looked familiar. I saw only her profile, but I thought to myself, “That looks like the girl from Prof. Holberg’s Survey of Brit Lit class.” I kept watching, and when she turned away from me I recognized the Calvin College Young Author’s Festival tee-shirt she was wearing. I hopped up, jogged across the square, and said, “Excuse me, you went to Calvin College, didn’t you?” It turns out that she was there waiting for other members of the Calvin semester in Budapest program, including Prof. De Vries who showed up moments later. I chatted with these wonderful Calvin folks for a few minutes before exchanging contact info and parting ways.

You don’t really expect these things to happen in Europe, or at least I don’t. Maybe if you’re wandering around Grand Rapids, MI you randomly run into someone you know from Calvin, but in Budapest? They tell you Calvin people are everywhere - who knew they were serious?

the bazis

Have I told you I live at something called "the base?" Because the school where I teach is a technical high school specializing in airplane engineering and flight technology (and other aspects of flight transportation, as demonstrated by the English class made up of 14 flight-attendants in training that one of my American colleagues has to teach) there are a lot of planes and such scattered around the school. I may have mentioned the display case right by my office devoted to motor oil. So, to give you a taste of life at The Bazis, here's the view that greets me every morning when I walk out the front door. Enjoy!

age

One of the ESI teachers in Bratislava had a birthday this weekend, so I hopped on the train for my first “long-distance” trip. It was great fun, and the two and a half hour trip cost me a little less than $20 (3750 forint). Besides seeing good friends I made during training, and drinking spiced “hot chocolate” that was quite literally melted chocolate in a tea cup, the highlight for me was wandering around the castle that’s perched on the hill above the city. It’s nothing spectacular, as castles go, but reading about the history of the city (thank you LonelyPlanet) and imagining all the changes that castle has witnessed impressed me. Over the years it has housed Moravian, Hungarian, Hapsburg Austrian, Czechoslovakian, Nazi, Soviet, and now Slovakian governments. I know it’s a pretty obvious observation, but as I ran my fingers along the stone and looked through the archer slits in the walls I got chills because this building has been there longer than I can even understand. I know from past trips to Europe that this is going to be a recurring theme; things that have been around for centuries impress me. I hope I never get numb to it, and that it always reminds me of things that are even more permanent than 1,000 year old buildings.

what a difference a continent makes

I look to my left and see a mild green pepper and salami and cream cheese on a roll - a coworker's lunch. I look to my right and see a man dressed in bright kelly green overalls installing a new shelving unit. Of course, those things mean I'm in Hungary. I've been here for a few days now, and I love the little daily reminders that I'm in another culture. I know that in 2 months I'll be fed up and cursing those same things, but for now they're lots of fun! Part of my preparation for this adventure was learning about the levels of culture, and how some differences are obvious (the annual beginning of the year faculty meeting I went to this morning, that was completely in Hungarian really brought home the language differences), and some are unbelievably subtle (I've already been cut in front of in line twice because I left too much space behind the person in front of me - I know you warned me, Voogts, but I forgot). I think what I really enjoy is both the satisfaction of figuring out the way Hungarians do things differently, and then trying to figure out why. Some reasons are pretty obvious (for example, Hungarians aren't as concerned with efficiency and timeliness, in part, because for 50 years, under communism, those qualities in the workplace were not rewarded but denigrated because they made other workers look bad). Other reasons for cultural differences are much harder, if not impossible to figure out (why do Hungarians feel so strongly about paprika?). Oh well, figuring these things out is all part of the adventure! Szia!

culture

Some of the lessons I’ve had to plan here at training revolve around aspects of American culture, and in fact some teachers with this organization teach classes based solely on culture. I wonder if I’m the only one who thinks this is a little odd. Can you imagine going to a public high school in the US that offered, say, Italian culture classes? These aren’t language classes, just culture. Of course, there are lots of questions about how to be fair and sensitive in these classes. Our text suggests, among other things, presenting both the advantages and disadvantages of American culture and being more polite than frank when addressing the home culture of our students. These are both good ideas, of course, but the fact remains that it is impossible to teach American culture without contributing to the global imperialism of American culture. I remember Professor Vande Koppel teaching me how important it is for overseas English teachers to reinforce the value of the home culture, but now I actually have to do it. Any suggestions?

training

I’ve reached the end of week four of training. Soon I’ll take my TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) certification exam, and then in 9 days I take the long flight from LA to Munich and then connect on to Budapest. By my count I’ve done about 25 full lesson plans and countless partial ones over the course of the four weeks. Yet, as much as I’ve learned and practiced, there’s no doubt in my mind that nothing can prepare you to teach except simply doing it. For example, we learned a lot about classroom management in our lectures. We talked about the typical root causes of the problems, techniques for how to deal with them, and important ways to prevent problems before they start. But when time came and I was standing in front of a class that was misbehaving everything I had learned was gone. I don’t know if the fact that it was a class of my fellow teachers pretending to be deviant teenagers makes it better or worse. Nonetheless, I handled the situation pretty badly (though I did remember not to give them a good knock on the head), but when I face discipline problems next fall it’s not the lectures I’m going to remember. I’ll think of how I botched my peer class, and how to avoid repeating the same mistakes. I find this both frustrating (why did I sit through all those lectures?) and encouraging (I think I’ll only get better as a teacher). It’s a good thing God doesn’t call us to be perfect, or even successful, just faithful.

what a wedding should be

This weekend I was privileged to be a groomsman in my friend Ryan Voogt’s marriage to Shannon De Young. The whirlwind 45-hour trip to Grand Rapids was a great time on all fronts, but the ceremony itself was beautiful. I wanted to share with you the vows they made to one another yesterday in front of God and all those gathered to witness the service. May God give them strength to keep their promises.

The Way of Creation (Genesis 2:18-25): Here at last is bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh, divine help in a form I understand. You are the image of God for me. God speaks to me in your voice. God looks at me through your eyes. God touches me with your hands. And, in my love for you, I too may reflect God.

The Way of Denial (Ephesians 5:21-33): I take you, Ryan/Shannon, to be my husband/wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death parts us. Nothing else will have the power, for today I turn away from all other options. Forsaking all others, I commit myself to you. I will seek to serve you with tenderness and respect, energy and intelligence, imagination and love.

The Way of Renewal (Matthew 12:46-50): I take you, Ryan/Shannon, to be my brother/sister in Christ, for this life and for the next. Let our love be loved within the community of his church, and our home be embraced by a household of faith. However much our love for one another deepens, I promise to love God even more than I love you. I ask you to love God even more than you love me, that our growing love for him will draw us closer to one another.

The Way of the Spirit (Romans 12): I take you, Ryan/Shannon, to be my partner in Christ’s service. I will help you develop God’s gifts in you and work with you for the coming kingdom of God. I will listen with you for God’s call on our lives, that our home may be a place where the good news is proclaimed, where justice and mercy are lived, where God’s children are welcomed, and where God’s name is honored. May our marriage give him joy!

the three Ps and more

Though I’m writing this on July 25 I’m not going to be able to post it for a while. For a week now I’ve been immersed in intense TEFL training (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) and team-building activities, along with 250 other TeachOverseas teachers. It’s been a lot of fun, but exhausting too. We’re ensconced at William Carey International University in Pasadena, CA – I’m back in a dorm room, eating at a dining hall! My typical schedule is an 8:00 “Discovery Group” discussion with 5-10 teachers. We have guiding questions each day addressing issues as varied as political perspective and Biblical authority. At 9:00 we move into the large group TEFL session with all the teachers. I’m learning a great deal about how to teach English in these sessions. The most difficult thing so far is the 80/20 ratio of student speech to teacher speech that they recommend for the language classroom. After the big group session we break into smaller, regional TEFL sessions (I’m with Central Europe, for example). After lunch we have a 1:30 session that can cover language and culture of the countries we’ll be working in, team dynamics, or other various things. At 3:45 we find out our teaching assignments for the evening, and we start planning our lessons. Immediately after dinner (if we have time to eat!) we head to our practicum site where we teach our lessons to local immigrants (or fellow teachers if there aren’t enough students). After we get back we have a debriefing of the day with the same small group with which we started.

Needless to say, it keeps me busy. I am learning a lot, though! The three Ps in the title refers to the way the suggest we plan our English classes – presentation (giving students new material), practice (reviewing and drilling the new material), production (student-centered creative language production using new material). The heavy focus is on getting to the elusive production stage (how else can you reach that annoying 80/20 ratio?). This is just the tip of the iceberg – from different learning styles to Bloom’s taxonomy, from classroom management to methods of assessment, I’m getting a crash course on how to be a teacher. What keeps me sane in all this is the interaction with the other teachers – they’re great! I get to have wonderful daily conversations about how Christians should interact with a foreign culture or about the role of traditional grammar in language education (linguistic descriptivists of the world unite!). This is what we talk over lunch – how a Christian should react when placed in an educational system that traditionally disciplines by public embarrassment and shame. I feel very blessed to be in this type of environment, at least until August 22 when it’s off to Budapest!

ridin’ the rails

As a kid I had a fascination with trains, but then who didn’t? I’m writing this as I ride south on the Amtrak Coast Starlight through California’s Central Valley. We’re flying by apricot orchards, lettuce fields, almond trees, and all kinds of other crops. There are downsides to train travel: it takes a long time, the food is exorbitantly expensive, kids on the train can be incredibly annoying. But what you can’t beat is the view. In some ways it’s even better than a road trip because train tracks go places cars don’t. As we wound our way through the Sierras last night some of the views literally took my breath away. I can’t wait until we get out to the coast this afternoon. I love the feeling of history I get when I ride the train. They have all sorts of old western connotations for me (I half expect us to get held-up by bandits!). Having read enough cowboy novels to know just how important the train was to early westward expansion, I wonder about the train routes. How did one little town get the train station that turned it into the county seat and local hub of industry, while another town got passed over and remains mostly a Western ghost town? Of course these decisions were not usually arbitrary, but it’s easy to get fatalistic about it. Could the train have made a difference for some of those little hamlets? We’ll never know. (For those who are interested, the train just went in between two buildings of the Blue Diamond Almond factory in Sacramento!) The one thing I wish the train still had is a real caboose with an open balcony. How fun would it be to stand outside and watch the country go by with all the smells and sounds that go along with the sights? (Except, maybe, in dairy country) Of course all this Americana might come flooding back in a few months when I’m stuck in Hungary longing for some good old American scenery. Maybe Hungarian trains will have open cabooses.

nomad

I’m fortunate to be able to spend this week tootleing around western Washington, visiting friends and enjoying the scenic beauty of this amazing state. I went to Deception Pass last night – the channel of water that separates Whidby Island from the Washington mainland and expands out to form the vast expanse of Puget Sound. It’s only about a quarter mile wide, but the water is over 220 feet deep at the base of the channel. This means the massive tides moving through the narrow space give the current terrific power – you can see it in the eddies that swirl on the surface, and the hundreds of whirlpools and “boiling pots.” We saw a harbor seal surface and swim against the current for a few moments before submerging and rocketing out to the Pacific like a torpedo (the tide was going out!). It’s called Deception Pass because Cpt. George Vancouver couldn’t believe that this tiny channel was not a river, but the northern entrance to the sound. When his scouting boat came back with that information thus proving the land mass in front of him was actually a large island, Vancouver thoughtfully named the island for the captain of that scouting expedition, John Whidby.

I’m writing this on the ferry ride from Whidby over to Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula (it’s amazing where you can get wireless internet these days!). I haven’t seen any Orcas yet – I guess they’re not too common on this side of the island. I have only a week before I’m off for California and my ESL training, so this chance to see some of the most beautiful parts of Washington is especially sweet. I’m taking lots of pictures to help me overcome the bouts of homesickness that are about 5 months away.

I had an interesting talk with my friend Jon last night about what home means for our generation. We were in the only pub that’s open in tiny Coupeville, WA after 9:00 pm, along with the four regulars. Our chat was informed by a thoughtful book we’ve both read, Searching For Home, by M. Craig Barnes. Jon was a Geography/Environmental Studies major at Calvin, and has spent a lot of time thinking about how different places affect people’s sense of identity, both individually and collectively. Our conclusion (in line with Barnes’) is that many young people today grow up without a sense of home that is tied to a particular place or community. The world of the family farm or small town community is rapidly disappearing, giving way to the impersonal suburban community. Instead my generation finds its sense of identity in relationships. I am not a Pennsylvanian, a Washingtonian, or even an American as much as I am part of a group of friends who scattered all over the world.

On one level I’m thankful because it means we’re not looking to money, status, or possessions to define ourselves, to give us a sense of place. (On a side note, I’m constantly amazed at how little we care about money – it’s ambivalence that borders on irresponsibility.) The problem is that we idolize those relationships and let them determine self-worth. What we want more than financial stability or career success is love, acceptance, and inclusion (and that includes unconditional acceptance – love no matter what we decide to do). The problem, of course, is that our true identity is only found in being a child of God. We are his workmanship, created in his image to do good works that he has planned in advance for us. I may be a nomad, but that is the one home I’ll always have.

of greed and guilt

As a Calvinist I deal with guilt a lot. It seems like every religious tradition claims guilt as its own (how many Catholic guilt, Lutheran guilt, Baptist guilt, or even Jewish guilt jokes have you heard over the years?). It’s sad to me because the thing to be proud of, the thing we should be fighting to claim, is grace. That’s another post though – the point is I’m good at guilt. My liberal anti-consumerist tendencies have prompted many good things (consistent use of buses, libraries instead of bookstores whenever possible, and trying to get secondhand goods if I can), but I can never go far enough for myself. I’ve trained myself to feel guilty whenever even a twinge of desire stirs in my heart. I (internally) condemn Christians who I see as too affluent (imagine what the majority of the world’s Christians would do if they met me!), because they have nice things.

My point in bringing this up is to say I’ve decided I want an ipod, and I’ve decided not to feel guilty about that. It’s basic but important to say that music’s a good gift from God (as I sit here listening to Jack Johnson I heartily say amen to myself!). The same applies to technology. Obviously not all technology is good (same with music), but it’s a tool that can be used for great good. This means ipods are not inherently evil (unless Apple, as a multinational corporation, is evil – but I’ve decided that I can’t avoid supporting big businesses, nor should I boycott them completely. I should simply be aware of the struggles of small local businesses and seek to support them as much as I can).

The question remains: do I have a genuine need for an ipod? Need vs. want. What is the role of desire in Christian life? Couldn’t the money go toward something more worthwhile? But then, I could healthily survive on only rice, beans, and various fruits and veggies. Am I wrong to spend money on chicken, cheddar, or any of the other “luxury” foods I could live without? These questions genuinely give me a headache.

Another issue in play here is the reinforcement of individualism that comes with the ipod culture. I write this as I sit in a Seattle coffeehouse (The Green Bean) and the two people who sit nearest me are both listening to ipods, socially isolated and cut off even from the previously mentioned Jack Johnson.

For me, it keeps coming back to my robust doctrine of creation. We can affirm the goodness of God’s gifts to us by enjoying them and using them for his glory (how to use an ipod for God’s glory – hmmmmm, that’s “a whole nother” question). When you give someone a gift how do you want them to respond? So it still makes my stomach queasy, and I wouldn’t stand up and publicly declare it in this coffeehouse, but I want an ipod and I don’t feel guilty about it… almost.

welcome memories

It's come to my attention that I might have a few new readers in my little corner of the cyber village. It's good to have you here, and I look forward to your comments! Today I spent the good part of the day sifting through the stacks of "stuff" that accumulated in my room over the years. It was kind of like an archeological dig - slowly picking through layers of old birthday cards, 11th grade history papers, programs from middle school band concerts, and all kinds of junk trying to use it to reconstruct who I was back then! Some comical moments included discovering my sisters gave me the same birthday card on my 11th and 13th birthday, and gathering all the postcards my parents have sent me in their travels into one four inch tall stack. It was impressive. I was also amazed at how many friendships I've been blessed with over the years. Many people have been influential in my life, and most of them are represented in the two boxes of keepsakes I'm saving (yes, I narrowed it down to just two!). I look forward to pulling those out in 15 years or so and reminding myself of all those great people. Maybe I'll have kids to tell all the great stories to...

As for the mundane details, I'm still at home with my parents where I'm getting to spend a lot of time catching up with them. It is most definitely not like the last time I lived here (summer before I started at Calvin - I was 18!), but I love the new "Matt-is-an-adult-now" dynamic. (That may be a future post.) I've been spending a lot of time trying to get things prepared for the move to Hungary, both organizing the loose ends of my life here and trying to prepare for life there. July 14 is the big day when I catch the train to LA for my training, so until then it will be more trips down memory lane while sorting through the accumulated junk of my life (so far the cutest find has been the two get well cards my sisters made for me when I was in the hospital for my heart surgery - their Crayola skills were substantial even back then!).

life stages

As I mentioned, I’m now a graduate but I’m not currently employed. This makes me feel post-college, pre-life. However, I’m pretty sure I’ll feel pre-life for a good long time yet. I think it was John Lennon who said, “life is what happens when you’re making other plans” (insert Office joke here), and I think that’s probably true. One of my favorite lines to use when people ask me about graduation is to tell them that when we all had our degrees conferred upon us I felt a wave of wisdom and maturity wash over the room, and that it lasted a good 15 seconds. The truth is that I do feel different. I feel more self-conscious about wearing flip-flops and t-shirts every day, I feel guilty about living off my parents for these 2 months, and I don’t seem to enjoy Adam Sandler movies anymore. In our culture where marriage is occurring later and later if at all, I think graduating is the true right of passage. It seems like the (nearly) universal experience that marks us as adults. I have to say I’ve especially noticed it in my church. It doesn’t help that I’m one of the few, if not the only, person between the ages of 18 and 35 at many of my congregation’s activities. Lots of people remember me as the bratty arrogant 16 year old I was, but many are starting to treat me differently. I even found a 45 year-old father of three who I look up to as a wise role model asking for my advice. How confusing! As I live in the done-with-school but not-yet-working limbo I’ll try to enjoy the fact that I can be an adult if I want, but nobody will say anything if I sleep until 11 and stay in my pajamas all day.

i'm back

As my 6 faithful readers will have noticed, I haven’t blogged in a while. I’ve come up with several excuses like I was testing the faithfulness of my regular readers, I had nothing to write about, or I was blogging under another name (specifically pretending to be a young female lawyer in Baltimore). Of course none of that could be farther from the truth – I could never even pretend to be a lawyer, I have a great deal to write about, and I’m not too concerned with the regularity of my readers (though I love you all). The truth is that things got a bit busy this spring, and when it came to making a choice the blog got the knife. But now I’m a college graduate without regular commitments until July 15, so you’ll be hearing from me much more regularly (as in, at all). Expect future posts on such fascinating subjects as what it feels like to be a college graduate, the future of a virtual Thorubos, never being able to go home again, the appearance of George W at my commencement and my resulting appearance on CNN, why I want an ipod and don’t feel guilty about that, “a whole nother” blog, riding cross-country trains, and why I love Seattle truly and deeply. Thanks for being patient – it’s good to be back.

spring break!

Running Diary: Barcelona/Toulouse 2006

Tuesday afternoon: What a day! I knew I shouldn’t put everything off until the last minute, but I was just spent last night. I probably shouldn’t have gone to Prague last weekend, since that’s what made me so tired yesterday. I got back from school last night (where I hadn’t gotten anything done, thanks to Carice’s call) and I just wanted to crash. I decided to put everything off until the morning and just go to bed. So, at 5:30 this morning I was up and at it – taking a quick shower, packing, and typing up the questions for the big speaking test. I managed to get it all done by 7:30, and Tracy and I started in on the test. The kids did pretty well, with nobody failing this time (not even Feri!). Everything would have been fine, except they had to make us wait for some of the tests because they had to make sure our classes were covered. It gave us some appreciated downtime in the middle of the tests, but it meant we didn’t finish until 12:20. My flight left at 1:30. I had called ahead for a taxi to arrive at 12:15, so I dashed downstairs and hopped in. It was a nerve-racking ride because I knew it would be tight. I dashed up to the check in (no line), heard them call my flight as I went through security, heard it called a second time as I went through customs, and made it to the gate at last call. I was very happy to be on that plane. Now I’m here. I’ve found my way to the hostel and I’m about to go out and get train tickets for the trip to France (I hope).

Wednesday morning: I’m in a room full of sleeping people – how funny. I forgot that nobody gets up early at hostels.

Wednesday evening: Yesterday I went to get my tickets and had some problems. First the guy didn’t seem to understand where I wanted to go. When I showed him my paper with the info on it he caught on. He got me my tickets there all right, but he didn’t think there was a train from Toulouse to Norbonne Tuesday morning. I asked him if he could check, so he did and booked it. Then he tried to get the Norbonne to Barcelona ticket and told me they only had first class. I told him to go for it – anything to get on that train – and he tells me the train isn’t running because of a strike. Now I own a completely useless Toulouse to Norbonne ticket (which I’ve paid for) since I can’t get from Norbonne to Barcelona in time to get my flight. I look at him pleadingly and say, Monday? He checks and gets me on Monday trains and refunds my other ticket. What a pain, but now I have to spend another night in Barcelona (an expensive proposition).

After that I walked back up La Rambla to the hostel, stopping for a cup of coffee at an outdoor café. I forgot how many street performers there are in this city! I saw magicians, mimes, musicians of all types, artists, people dressed up as statues, and even a juggler. I changed at the hostel, and went out for the legendary Barcelona tapas. I found a place that looked cool and ended up sitting outside munching on monchego cheese and tomato/garlic bread and sipping beer while a pan flute and guitar duo played Hey Jude. I felt very cultured. For dinner I wandered into a random restaurant down towards the water and had paella and sangria. I’m still not sure I ate the king prawn the right way (it was huge!), but the mussels were especially tasty. After a bit of walking I headed back to bed early.

Today I saw the Gaudi highlights: La Sagrada Familia and Parc Guell. I paid to go in the church, of course, and was so glad I did. Much of it was just as I remembered, and much of it had changed. The nave’s vaulted ceiling is almost done and they’re starting work on the glory façade which is at the bottom of the nave. The passion façade is starting to look dirty, and the nativity one is really getting dark, but I read that they plan to do a big cleaning as the building completes so it will all look the same when it’s dedicated and opened. I was able to see even more meaningful detail and symbolism in the building now. What were random grape-looking things last time are now part of a Eucharistic theme in the nave. The funky columns supporting the nave are now tree-like giving the nave a forest feel. They say it’ll be done in 2020. I’ll be amazed if they make that.

Then I wandered over to the park. I remember it being at the top of a big hill, but last time we definitely drove there. What a hike! It was pretty crowded, being such a nice day, but I still stopped to read a while in the shade. I wanted to find the exact spot where we took the great pictures last time, and I think I did, but my zoom is just too weak to take the same photos. That and the light wasn’t as good at midday. We’ll see when I upload them. After that I grabbed some forgettable pasta for lunch and hopped on the metro down to the beach. I spent the late afternoon basking in the sun, reading, and sticking my toes in some really cold water. Looking out at the Mediterranean I couldn’t help thinking of the line from Shawshank, “I hope the Pacific’s as blue as it is in my dreams.” It was gorgeous.

Thursday Morning: Here I am, on the train again. Some differences between Spanish/French trains and Hungarian trains: 1) All seats are reserved on all trains. This has its advantages (no fighting for good spots, more orderly process of getting on, no worrying about getting a seat when you get to the station) and its disadvantages (no choice in seat location, bummer if you’re next to the snorer, have to get tickets in advance to guarantee your seat); 2) The aforementioned seats have great lumbar support; 3) Clean, clean, clean, clean; 4) More luggage room; 5) No fun 6-8 person compartments.

Last night I was going to write some, but I was too tired. This is becoming less of a running diary and more of a plain old diary. How boring. I guess it’s unrealistic to do a running diary for a whole trip. I got in at about 1:30 after participating in an organized hostel event. I was skeptical, but I met some cool Chicago guys in my room and they convinced me. We left at 8 and went to a tapas place first. They were ok (the chorizo was the best, I thought), but the sangria was the best I’ve had! The two Chicago guys, a DC guy, a Kiwi, and I made friends with three IU girls from Indy and Detroit. They were friendly, but about as intelligent as rocks. I was surprised to hear they were actually grad students until they mentioned they were all in an MBA program together. My response: that figures. Obviously not all business types are dumb and shallow, but why are so many of the ones I meet like that?

After the Tapas we went to a Flamenco show, which was pretty cool. I was disappointed that there was only one woman who danced (I figured there would at least be two dancers!), but she was outstanding and the music was really cool. I’ve never seen feet move that fast in person (and if not for that stupid White Christmas movie it would have been an absolute first)! She was incredible, and so passionate. The singing was all about emotion, not quality of sound. Or maybe I should say it’s about creating a certain sort of pleading, overwrought sound. My favorite part, though, was the guitar player. All the stereotypes of Flamenco guitar playing were there. I couldn’t help thinking of the “Spanish guitar” songs Nathan and I used to sing to Miriam last year (“Miriam! Oh, Miriam! We did not wash our dishes!”).

From there it was on to a bar where we got a free shot: some sort of apple concoction. The highlight there was going three for three on ordering girly drinks. Yet another reason to be thankful for my sisters (A tip for those of you watching at home: coconut drinks almost always go over well. Just remember the adage, Malibu will never fail you.) After that we walked a bit to a dance club. The club was forgettable (I only stayed long enough to get a free shot there – another apple concoction – and to be polite), but on the way we passed a sweet brass band playing in the middle of La Rambla. The group had strange instrumentation (trumpets, trombone, euphonium, a mellaphone-type thing, a flugel, and one sweet tuba), strange zoot suit-ish costumes, and played/improvised a sizzling rendition of besame mucho in a Ska/Dixieland style. I loved it, especially because the tuba was seriously digging into his baseline.

So I didn’t stay at the club long, but headed for home, passing some chanting and dancing Espanyol fans. It’s amazing how alive the city was at 1:30 in the morning – I even passed a few families walking with kids in strollers! How strange! It was an early morning today to catch the 8:45 train, but I had time to stop for an unremarkable croissant and a terrific cup of coffee. Now I’m flying north toward the Pyrenees on the train. It looks like another beautiful day!

Later Thursday Morning: I take back anything bad I said about the Pyrenees. They’re real mountains and I would not like to bike up them. Also, Miles Davis’ Sketches of Spain was a great album to accompany this trip.

Thursday Almost-Noon: We’ve been passing by some amazing ocean views, and now that we’re in France. The blueness of the water still gets me. Somehow I expected everything to immediately turn ultra-snobby when we crossed the border. No noticeable change yet! Also, the customs guy made fun of my passport picture saying he wasn’t going to let me in because I have so much more hair (facial and otherwise) than I did then. Sweet!

Thursday Afternoon: Now I’m on the train from Norbonne to Toulouse (via Carcasonne), and I’ve traded ocean vistas for red earth vineyards. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen so many packed together. It’s like Red Mountain in Kennewick, only over the space of miles and miles. With the mountains in the distance and fields upon fields of rolling countryside being broken only by the occasional row of ash trees or terracotta roofed village, it’s downright provincial. I wonder if the origins of that word are with the Provence region of France. It would make sense, it seems.

On a side note, I originally thought I would be seated next to a smelly Frenchman for this leg of the journey, but it turns out he wasn’t sitting in the right seat, and now a lovely young Spanish woman is next to me. I might try to strike up a conversation when (if) she stops reading Rubias de Nueva York (“Blondes of New York”). High literature, I’m sure.

A Tiny Bit Later Thursday Afternoon: So we’re at the station in Carcasonne, and I’m quite pleased with the look of the town. It looks like a sleepy little university town (and the guy who just got on the train looks positively crazy professor-ish. I’m especially glad because one of the all-time favorite key chains in my extensive collection comes from this very town. It’s a little medieval cross Dad got me when he was here.

Also, I talked to the Spanish girl a bit, about as much as my Spanish allowed. She’s a university student from Barcelona in economics, and very interesting. Our language barrier has been reached, sadly, and the profound existential questions I would ask (which Barcelona soccer club do you support?) are beyond me.

Late Thursday Afternoon: I’m in Toulouse now. Sam told me that I should visit Jacobins in my free time this afternoon, and that I might want to figure out who is buried there. He was so right! I got to see the final resting place of Saint Thomas Aquinas! As I stood in front of his tomb, all I could recall from the chunks of the Suma I read for Dr. Smit were his proofs for the existence of God (cosmological, etc.). Too bad I never found any of them convincing. To be honest I appreciate Aquinas more for his methodology and approach than for what he actually said.

Thursday Night: After spending the afternoon wandering around the city I conclude that there are tons of young people here, and everything’s made of brick. I like it! The two churches I visited were cool (Jacobins and St. Sermin), especially on Maundy Thursday. There were a lot of people praying in the cathedral.

I met Sam in the square, and then had pizza and went to a concert with three of his buddies (Ross, Alex, and Juni). Ross, another engineer in his grad program, is a PSU alum, so we exchanged State College stories. That was a lot of fun, but I think we bored the rest of the group (Sam and the two Romanian girls). The concert was really interesting and unique. Dionysus, the first band we saw was extremely eclectic. They did it all, from fairly heavy rock-core to ukulele, banjo, and bell trios. I loved that they were always fresh and surprising. Everything seemed exciting, and it made for a terrific live show. I could tell the lead singer is an obviously tremendous performer, even though I didn’t understand a word he said. The second group, Moos and Haki, were pretty shallow. It seemed like formulaic happy/pop, only a notch above the Britney Spears or Jessica Simpsons of the world. When they came out later with a different background band (traded in a synthesizer for an accordion and an acoustic guitar) they sounded a lot better and far more organic. I enjoyed them then, bit we were too tired to stay very long.

Another observation: French people smoke a lot. I think more than Hungarians.

Friday Morning: I slept in, I took a long shower, I had a great shave, and I put on the last of my clean clothes for the trip (unless I do laundry). It’s gonna be a great day!

Friday Afternoon: I did a little site-seeing on my own this morning (saw the mayor’s palace, the arc du triumphe, and got camera batteries) and ended by stumbling into a Good Friday mass at a cathedral. I didn’t understand a word of it, but knew the melody to one of the hymns! I had almost forgotten it was Good Friday, and this small and serious gathering of people reminded me. It was pretty cool to follow what was going on (scripture reading, prayer, confession, etc.) even though I couldn’t follow what was going on.

I met Sam after he finished work (at noon) and we had lunch at a South Western French restaurant. I had fish (yummm!) followed by chocolate mousse and he had Duck heart and a meringue floating in milk custard for desert. It was tasty. We talked a lot about French food, and I can understand why this country turns people into gourmands. After that we went to the train station to figure out where we’re going tomorrow, and then rented bikes for the afternoon. Very shortly we’re going to go off for a ride!

Friday Night: It’s been a long day and I’m tired. We rode all over town, which is a terrific way to see things, and then went off along the river. Our goal was to wind our way downstream and then cut back, away from the river, to meet up with some of Sam’s friends to play Frisbee. The problem is that cutting away from the river always involves going uphill, and in this case going up a big bluff. It was rough going, but the downhill afterward was very fun. We eventually met the other four guys and played a bit of three on three ultimate (Les Americans vs. Les Frances) until Sam and I had to leave for church. We whipped back into the city, changed our clothes, and dashed off to church, making it just before the service started. It was in French.

They did the last seven words of Christ, and I could follow a lot of it (thanks to Sam’s help in pointing out Bible verses and such. I could even understand almost all of the songs (because I knew them in English or because they were so many cognates)! It was kind of fun to see how much I could pick up (until the sermon, that is!). I talked with some of the young people after, including Susanna from Costa Rica, who was very patient with my Spanish. I also met a PhD student of bird behavior. We had a great chat about his work, but it was a bit R-rated (for bird reproduction), so I’ll save that.

Sam and I rode back into town, and grabbed some crepes for dinner. They were delicious! They were also perfectly accompanied by Normandy hard cider. Sadly the combination of a long bike ride, an intense Frisbee match, some good crepes, and lots of great cider has made me too sleepy to continue.

Saturday Morning: My butt still hurts from that bike ride.

Saturday Noon: We spent the morning trying to find some internet access, first unsuccessfully at Sam’s school, and eventually at an internet café. The highlights of the morning included returning the bikes (thank goodness!) and breakfast at a real French bakery. I’ve always been a bread lover, but this is bread heaven. I could eat French baguettes for the rest of my life and never complain!

Saturday a tiny bit after noon: We’re on the train to Courdes sur Ciel, a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, but this is a very popular train. Every square inch of floor space is full of people, and Sam and I are sitting in the aisle facing each other eating our sandwiches for lunch. Xian’s had to stand the whole trip! It’s uncomfortable, but it’ll be a good story some day.

Saturday later afternoon: Courdes is lovely, and the rain held off almost all day! It’s 5 and it just started. The afternoon started well when a French kid from our train offered to have his Dad give us a ride to Courdes on their way home. It was nice, especially since it was a 5 km uphill walk! The town is perched on top of a small but steep hill in the middle of a valley which gives it an impressive view of the surrounding countryside and an imposing look as you approach it. We walked up through the town, parts of which date back to the 12^th century, and then explored a bit at the top. Its natural defenses were supplemented by a system of 5 walls and lots of interesting gates, so we had a lot of fun imagining what it would be like to attack the town. It’s got a lot of character and great views of idyllic French countryside. We had a cup of coffee at the top, worked our way back down, and then ducked into another coffee shop as the rain hit. We’re taking cover here for about an hour until our train back to Toulouse. Sam, Xian, and I have had some great conversations today about linguistics and language, faith, morality, and lots of other profound topics. It’s been very enjoyable.

Saturday Night: Joel from church met us at the train station and we set off to find a pub where we could watch the Toulouse-Paris rugby match. We ended up in a real popular team bar filled with fans that showed the match on a big screen. The atmosphere was great, even if we had to stand the whole time! Toulouse played aggressively, and what they lacked in size and strength they made up for with speed and passion. Someone really lit a fire under them! They could never put it across for a try, but they scored 5 field goals and won 15-0 showing great spirit on defense. It wasn’t the prettiest match (the rain didn’t help), but I had a blast. Ross (the PSU guy) joined us for the match and we all went out for kebabs afterward. It felt like a true guys’ night out!

Sunday Morning: Happy Easter! I slept with the window wide open last night and consequently woke up this morning unable to breathe. It’s the consequence of all the green around, I guess!

Sunday barely after noon: I went to Sam’s church again this morning, but this time Ross, Alex, and Juni came with us. The two girls, being Romanians who’ve never gone to church regularly, really didn’t know what to expect. We had to allay some of their fears as we walked to church (as we also munched on more French pastries – heaven on Earth!).

The service was a nice and festive (a little ensemble with a violin and flute complimented the piano nicely) with a heavy emphasis on music. We even sang some traditional Easter hymns I recognized like Christ the Lord is Risen Today and Thine be the Glory, but of course in French. Some times I sang quietly in English, though. I met even more people at church this time, especially young students. There are so many in Toulouse! I chatted with some French girls who had spent exchange years in the US (Traverse City, MI and Oklahoma), some Swiss guys who were in town for vacation, a few Americans, an Australian, a UT girl from Texas, and a Jamaican girl! It was also nice to see Joel and Susanna again! I wish I could have understood more (any!) of what was being said, but that’s ok. It was more about the cultural experience than anything.

On our way back from church we split up with the girls going to the bakery for bread and cake and the boys going to the market for fruits, vegetables, meat, and cheese. After we picked up a bottle of wine we had all the makings of a fine picnic. We’re off momentarily to find a nice spot along the river.

Sunday nap-time: This easily ranked with the best picnics I’ve ever been on: French baguettes (nice and soft on the inside!) with Toulouse sausage, powerful gruyere cheese (or brie), and super fresh tomato slices followed by incredibly sweet strawberries and slices of dried pineapple, apple “cake” that was really more like pie, all washed down with a Bordeaux sauvignon blanc. What a feast! Sam and I threw his Frisbee for a bit, but now he and Ross are throwing and I just feel like sleeping. It’s been fun to find out a bit about Romania from Juni and Alex, and hear about their transition to life in Western Europe. They have the Eastern Europe sense of humor, though, with its self-deprecating irony. I think I’ll just lay back in the sun and doze.

Sunday early evening: We met one of Sam’s friends at another park near the one were we ate because we thought he was playing “plunko.” It turns out he wasn’t actually playing, but just watching the Toulouse championships going on. “Plunko” is very similar to bocce, but it’s played on a rough gravel terrain so the technique is to lob the balls in toward the target, as opposed to rolling. The guys we watched for a while were incredible! They were especially good at tossing it forcefully in with back spin so it would knock their opponent’s ball out but leave theirs sitting in its place. I really wanted to try, though! Bummer…

Sunday night: Ugh. I went out to dinner with Sam and Xian for the big French meal. We’ve been planning this all weekend. Sam told me I had to try the specialty of the region: Cassoule. It’s a casserole of white beans, chunks of duck, and sausage that they bake for about a day. Complimented by a nice hearty red wine, it was a terrific meal, but I feel like I’ve got a rock in my stomach! I don’t want to do anything but sit, which is good since we’re gonna go watch a movie with Juni, Alex, and Ross.

Monday morning before dawn: Sam just walked me to my train and we said goodbye. It seems like I never say exactly what I want to at goodbyes. I don’t feel like I thanked Sam as much feeling as his hospitality warranted. He took care of me all weekend, making sure I had everything I needed or wanted. I wanted to bring him something Hungarian, but never quite got around to getting it before I left. Oh well, this is what friends do, but I don’t want to be someone who takes mine for granted.

Monday morning, still early: zzzzzzzz…

Monday morning, not so early: I always want to wait to take pictures. I think, I don’t want to be bothered now – I just want to enjoy this. I assume I’ll get another chance. For example, the Pyrenees were gorgeous on the train ride up to France, but I thought I could wait until today to take some pictures. It shouldn’t be a problem: same train, same route, and the mountains sure aren’t moving. Today they’re completely clouded in. I can’t even see them.

Monday noon: I’ve arrived back in Barcelona, and the question is what I will do tonight. I was supposed to come back tomorrow since my flight is tomorrow afternoon, but the train was completely full. That means one less day with Sam (bummer!), but an extra day in Barcelona as compensation isn’t bad. But, I don’t have a room reserved for tonight. I’m thinking about trying to pull an all-nighter, but it’s daunting. It would be a great story, and could be kind of fun. Sarah Jane will probably let me leave my stuff with her so I don’t have to worry about carting around my bags. But, I just can’t do it. Even as I write this I’m deciding to go to a hostel. If my flight was in the morning, if I had gotten a good night’s sleep last night or slept on the train, and if I had someone to do it with, I think I would try it. I just keep picturing myself at 4:00 am at some dance club with a bunch of weird people checking the time every 10 minutes to see if I can go find an open coffee shop yet. I’ll bet partying all night is not nearly as cool as it’s supposed to be.

Monday early afternoon: I got a room and I feel better already. Now I’m waiting for Sarah Jane and her friend. I hope they show, but I won’t be surprised if they don’t considering the last minute nature of our planning. And, they’re here.

Monday late afternoon: Last time I was here Dad and I drove up Montjuic, as I recall. This time Sarah Jane, Leah, and I walked. It was worth it, but I’m a bit tired. It’s the best view of the city, and I forgot how cool this fortress is. All I remembered was the insane gun museum, which was still there, as evidenced by the giant anti-aircraft guns and artillery that are still here.

Monday evening: We strolled down the hill through the gardens, and my job seemed to be chief photographer for SJ and Leah. I don’t mind it – it’s just funny to me how many pictures they want. We took a metro over to the beach and sat in the sand until it started to rain a bit. The most interesting thing was this pair of brothers throwing rocks at each other. Or rather, the older one was throwing them at the younger and the younger did his best to return fire. The moment of truth came when the older one hit his sister in the head – then mom had to get involved.

Monday night: More paella and sangria! I tried to find the exact restaurant that Dad and I went to 5 years ago, but couldn’t. At least we were in the same neighborhood (Barceloneta)! I don’t think it was as good as last time, but it’s hard to know after so long. We spent most of the evening discussing movies, actually, and I was made to expound on my theory of acceptable chick flicks. It seemed to meet with some approval. I’m back in the hostel for a reasonably early night (at least early by Barcelona standards).

Tuesday morning: I’m sitting at the north end of Las Ramblas at an outdoor table at the Café Zurich, enjoying a coffee and the bright sunshine. It’s another glorious day (the weather’s been so good)! I’m not sure what I’m going to do with my last few hours in Barcelona, but I think I want a new shirt. Perhaps I’ll buy a shirt.

Tuesday afternoon: I’m on the plane, soaring back over Barcelona after taking off above the blue Mediterranean. I can see La Sagrada Familia and Montjuic and all the other wonderful sites. It’s been a lovely trip, but I think I’m ready to get back to my routine. It was especially good to see Sam. And, I got the new shirt; it’s blue.