Joan's Fulbright

Ninety-one and Outta There!

2007-07-19T13:16:00.001-07:00

The magic number. Ninety-one is the total of my weight plus that allowed for each bag I was bringing home with me. I hauled out the infamous scale one last time, the same one that the others had used last spring before their respective flights. It was now my turn to weigh my chances as I packed, re-packed, re-weighed numerous times, repeating the process until I was reasonably sure I would be under the limit for my flight home. I ended up mailing an additional 20 pound box from the post office that morning. It would have been cheaper to pay overweight at the airport but I didn't want to deal with the extra weight. I didn't bother weighing my backpack and carry-on messenger bag; I already knew they were heavy. When I checked in at Lufthansa, one bag was .7 kilos over the limit and the second was .8, but both allowed. Whew, two bags lighter, one step closer to getting home, and praise God for wheelies! And if you're out there doing some quick math to try to figure out how much I weigh, SHAME ON YOU!

In addition to packing I was also cleaning out Sona's flat, readying it for her arrival at the end of July. As I worked I was reflective but also in disbelief that my great adventure was coming to an end. So much has happened over the past eleven months to me, and in the world in general. Some of it depressing, like watching the value of the dollar go down month after month, other parts were exciting like Leah being pregnant and having Uma last June 27. I was having laptop problems so was relegated to blogging at an internet cafe, much the same way I started last August. Likewise the temperature was pushing 100 degrees, just like last summer. It seemed like I had come full circle, but with no real ending.

I had just returned to BA from my final and best travel experience, going to Girona to see Christian and Leah's bundle of love, Uma. She is my first grandchild, and I may have mentioned to some of you a few (thousand) times that she is gorgeous. I know it sounds trite but she literally changed everyday, and it was so fun to see the explosion of development happening right before our eyes.I arrived when she was six days old and stayed just over two weeks. Leah folks were also there so there was lots of grandparenting going on. Christian had been there for Uma's birth but had to leave for the Tour when she was only one week old. I think I'd have to say he rode the Prologue with his head up his _ _ _, an anatomical impossibility, but you get the idea. Once settled in to the rhythm of the race, however, he is now riding strongly. Leah and Uma went to visit him last Thursday since the stage was only about 2 hours drive away from Girona. Uma got paraded around but some of the riders were afraid to hold her. Bad-ass professional athletes, my eye!

I flew Ryan Air, a discount airlines, and had to go first to Milan/Bergamo with a poor connection in order to get to Girona. I stayed overnight on the way out and my planned Italian shopping trip fizzled because all stores in Italy open at 3:00 on Mondays, just when I was leaving. Going home was also long but at least it didn't require overnight. Starting in November, Ryan Air has just announced it will open a Bratislava-Girona route. Figures.

My buddy Branislav ferried me to the airport one last time, and just as he had done with Kathy, he didn't charge me. We talked on the way and he told me that he had already been contacted by one of next year's Fulbrighters for an airport transfer. Branislav's taxi business had changed over the past year also. He has doubled his drivers (16), although he ALWAYS picks us up personally, kind of like having a kind but dependable relative there for you.

Unfortunately, the rest of the trip did not go so smoothly. A delay in Munich caused me to miss not one but two connections at Dulles. While waiting for security I was told I had special screening and placed with others in a sort of cattle-like holding pen. Alright, we thought! We're getting special treatment and we DESERVE it! Uh, no, we're actually waiting an interminable amount of time to get screened by a really gruff person AND DON'T TOUCH YOUR BAG! Almost all of us penned cattle missed our flights, so for me it was then 2 hours in line at United trying to get out on the next flight, which of course was the following morning. I grabbed a few hours sleep on an airport bench with all the other losers and managed to get on the first flight, stand-by. Nancy was "thrilled" to get my call at 5:00 AM Chicago time, letting her know I made the flight And just like Branislav she didn't charge me, although she is WAY cuter than he, and speaks MUCH better english. So OK, no charge, but I owe her big time for this and approximately one million other things. Dakujem, Nancy!

Looking out the window as we made our approach, I saw Lake Michigan, that stunning Chicago skyline and I'm pretty sure construction on the Dan Ryan. (Always a sure bet.) No one on the plane clapped when we landed, but I almost cried! Chicago! Home! I did it; I'm no longer "there" but "here" and does that ever sound good! See you on Monday!

The Principal Is Your Pal

2007-06-21T21:10:00.000-07:00

Remember that phrase to help remind you of the correct spelling, as opposed to PRINCIPLE which had no such clever statement? Yesterday morning before I went to my first class, my principal Hanka told me I did not have the scheduled lunch room duty but instead should come see her as she had to talk to me. It sounded ominous. I knew that that afternoon we were having our conferences to discuss the critical behavior issues and one of my girls' names was on the list. Or maybe a parent called complaining about that crazy American teacher? Like when a police car just happens to drive behind you, it made me anxious.

I taught my classes, one of which was a double period of all three 8th grade classes, 8 of whom had managed to actually bring their training clothes. Jozko and I "handled" the girls and Stevo and Dano organized the boys, a slightly larger group. After putting away the equipment, I reviewed my one student's report I had previously written and returned to the office to face the music.

Well, "music to my ears" anyway, as everyone was gathered in the office to surprise me! Hanka said some words and presented me with a small, framed water color, signed by its local 72-year-old artist. It was of Michael's Gate, a city landmark I walk through almost everyday. I was given a beautiful bouquet of flowers and then everyone lined up to shake hands, say some well-rehearsed words in english, and peck me on either cheek. And then the champagne toast! I made a short speech, the end of which was determined by my being overcome and unable to continue. Hanka translated, and we all said Na Zadravie! It was so sincere and touching, and then everyone rushed off to class, leaving me overwhelmed. Everyone had signed my card and Hanka had written, "See you on Monday" explaining that saying goodby is too final, so this charming version leaves open the possibility of meeting again. I think it's my new favorite phrase!

I Wanna Go Home

2007-06-15T23:23:00.000-07:00

I woke up from a dream this past week and found myself repeating those words. Can't remember the dream, but the dialogue was vivid. Yesterday I braved the masses to do some grocery shopping at Tesco, which we all agree remains just as scary as it was last August. This time, however, I had to fight off a NUN (for God's sake!) to get a shopping basket. We exchanged unholy looks and I silently repeated my litany, "I wanna go home, I wanna go home..."

My Flag Day soiree was a hit, and I hauled out leftovers the next day so it was an extended celebration. Many folks asked what was the orange cheese. Um...cheddar? I'm glad I was able to do this last week, as things seem to be getting more and more hectic. Grades are due; mine are almost finished. I am also trying to do something with the results of my fitness testing so the students can take something home, and this is taking some time to complete. I am comparing the students against the standards used for the Presidential Fitness Challenge we use at Lab. There is no form of fitness assesssment here, and as the students are very competitive, this actually was a surprising success. Strong fitness results, however, don't seem to be necessarily reflected in the gym. This is probably due to the perceptions that the p.e. lesson is not the arena for vigorous activity, it lacks importance in the school day, and girls participate differently than boys.

At school, it's becoming a list of "last time for..." as in last time for my swimming classes, where we have been swimming in near darkness because no one turns on the lights around here. Last time to use the toilet where the paper holder is under lock and key. Last time to see the pool personnel who spoke no english and were delightful to work with. Last time with Jozko to team teach, which I really enjoyed. He gets Sona back next year, which I'm sure HE'LL really enjoy.

Meanwhile we're all trying to get in some final social connections before everyone leaves. We had dinner with Fulbrighter Andy and wife Chris, and Chuck and his spouse Susan last Sunday before they headed back home. I retrieved the floor scale that had been making the rounds between Chuck, Kathy and then Andy in order to weigh suitcases. If that scale could talk... And everytime someone leaves, there is an exchange of leftover groceries and books that get left behind. I'm making deviled eggs right now to take to a BBQ at my principal's chata. Husband Peter and middle son John and girlfriend Martina will be there as well as some of our english-speaking faculty, so it will be a fun time. Hanka and Peter go to their 100-year old place almost every week-end, and John uses it as party central when they don't. I didn't pay attention to the size of my eggs while at Tesco. (Too busy fighting off Sister Mary Elephant!) Anyway, they will be maybe a mouthful, as they are about as big as robin's eggs. I'll also bring something tomorrow to our church pot luck, a good-by lunch for those who are soon leaving.

Tonight after the BBQ Eva and I will go to "The Scorpions" concert, outside at the football field. Hopefully I won't be the oldest one there. Rock you like a hurricane... or is it rock ME, I can never remember. Not a huge fan, but it'll be a good time.

The last week of school involves all sorts of trips. Zuzka heads to England with the 6th graders the day before I go on the Expedition with the 8th graders. So this Thursday evening we'll go see a Russian Folk Music/Dance performance at Incheba, an events arena I've not been to. By the time she returns from her trip, I will have already left for Spain, so this will be a nice evening for the two of us. I've seen a lot of Slovakia and learned much thanks to her, so Dakujem, Zuzka!

Chuck mailed a few boxes for me from Heinburg, Austria before he left. I have also mailed some from Slovakia where it is more expensive. Fulbright had shipped two boxes of books and files for me last summer, but we're on our own to get them back. I've given two large bags of clothing to Zuzka's cousin, and many of the others have done similarly. This week-end I'm going to try some practice packing to see what my suitcases can actually hold. Unless it's really important, if it doesn't fit, it doesn't go!

Last week at school I managed to lose my keys, probably outside across the street where I was timing the mile run. First Jakob helped me, and then later Zabco and I repeated the search. The course is around a small lake and one lap is 1000 meters. As we were walking, Zabco told me that in 1978 a plane crashed in this very lake, killing 40 people. There had been some reported difficulty, but the Russian plane had been denied landing in both Brno and Vienna. There was never one word said about this incident, so even though it happened, it "never happened", but now you know. Makes you wonder what else you DON'T .

Later on while in the office, Zabco asked did I know about Google Earth? We put in the information and finally zeroed in on 105th Street in Chicago. Then we traveled ALL THE WAY back to Bratislava; such a long way. I wanna go home...

Miscellaneous

2007-06-06T10:11:00.000-07:00

Random thoughts that have as yet found no home in any blog entry.

NAMES AND NICKNAMES are confusing. The good part is that there is so much repetition with names, when you can't think of the correct one, calling out Michel or Katarina is a good guess. But wait, Michel is also Misa or even Miska (say Misha/Mishka) and Katarina is Katka. Simona is Sisa, Martina is Mata and Kristina can morph into Kika. I've written that I teach with Jozef but everyone knows him as Jozko. The other three PE teachers are Stevo (Steven), Vilo (Viliam) and Dano (Daniel). and my buddy Zuzka is Zuzana (Susan). I teach Zora but she is also Zorka, just as Daniela is Danka, Paula is Paja and thank God Eva is Eva. Last fall, there was a lot of, "Who?" because I only knew what was written on my roster, even though almost no one uses these formal names. Yesterday when I was in Billa (European grocery chain) I was scanning the magazine rack as I waited to check out. Now I know that Dorota has a diminutive form, but really, but how could you purchase a glossy entitled, "Dorka"?! That also reminds me that a jewelry store I pass each day is named "Spleen" but now I'm getting off track...

I AM THE ONLY PERSON who still wears old school hard contact lens in Slovakia. I found this out when I visited no less than 10 optic stores last week in search of solution, receiving the usual looks of, "Whaddya crazy?!" My take on this is that with socialism, Czechoslovakia was by-passed on the whole hard contacts development; no holdovers now since there were none to begin with. These days, however, people wear the more popular soft lenses and since I appear to be the only one still in hard lenses, they do not see fit to have a store to sell solution to yours truly. I anxiously await a solution shipment from Nancy, the same friend who has nailed an esteemed place in heaven after this year's mentoring duties. Dakujem!

LANGUAGE is fun, weird but fun. I often wonder how things end up being translated a certain way, and then consistently used by everyone. In the US if someone said, "Don't you have a pencil?" that is an accusatory question, as in "(What do you MEAN) you don't have a pencil?! Here people say it to mean, "Do you have a pencil?" I hear this all the time and I am always taken aback because it sounds rude but it's just a simple question. (Edit update: Marcel has just told me that is how it's said in Slovak so that is the way it is translated. Makes perfect sense.)

Everyone laughs about "being out in the nature" and Slovak teachers of english yell at their students to never, ever say this although everyone still does. First there is no good translation, so they say nature when we would say outdoors. Slovak language doesn't use articles so you "take tram and go to restaurant" for example. Not knowing when to use articles makes them likely to overuse them, so we get "the nature", doubly strange.

The words speaking and talking get mixed; they say speaking when we would use talking. Not wrong exactly, just different enough so I notice it.

Kids say they are learning for a test; teachers remind them they are STUDYING for a test, which probably makes little sense.

The verb "to be" gets conjugated not incorrectly, just oddly. People say, "Do you have a good time?" when they want to know "Are you having a good time?"

"There is the possibility of...you have the possibility to..." is often said when "you can" works just as well, but is seldom used here.

The word rehabilitation (or is it rehabitation),has become rehab when speaking of building projects, as in "rehabbing an old apartment building on the Southside of Chicago". I have never heard this word used here, if in fact it is one. People here say reconstruction, which is probably more accurate because it usually involves a complete interior gutting and often extensive exterior work.

I finally saw the word "trening" written on a Judo poster and now understand why kids always say they can't do training in my lesson (what I hear) but they mean trening (as in can't participate). Last fall I thought this was so completely presumptuous of them, to refer to our class as training and themselves as "athletes", but now I get it and my kids know a new word - PARTICIPATE! By the way, to say athlete is also confusing because it means one who does athletics, which we would call track & field.

Some words are more British than American due to the use of texts from UK. Hearing tins instead of cans sounds strange, as does bin instead of wastepaper basket/garbage can. Trash seems to satisfy everyone.

"Have you a pen?" they ask. Not wrong, but who do you know who talks like that?

I AM READING TOM WOLFE'S BOOK, "I Am Charlotte Simmons", which is set in a mythical ivy league school much like Harvard but smaller. In one part an upper classmen character attempts to explain his perception of success after undergraduate school and wanting TO DO things, preferably like being a Bad-Ass Rhodie. Says freshman Charlotte, " "There are only 32 Rhodes scholarships?" Yes, nods Adam. "Well golly, that's not very many. What if you're a bad- what if that's what you're counting on and you don't get one?"

"In that case," said Adam, "you go after a Fulbright. That's a pretty long way down from a Rhodes, but it's okay. There's also the Marshall Fellowships, but they're the last resort. I mean that's bottom-fishing..." "

So not a Bad-Ass, nowhere near, but I'm also not a bottom feeder!

MY LAST VISIT at another school was yesterday, at the public grammar school I'd mistakenly dropped in on a few weeks ago. Miroslava DID in fact follow up and the visit was a huge success. I was skeptical because she mentioned me teaching her english class as well as observing the PE class. Her students were beginner/intermediates and I knew they did not get as much english as our students so I wasn't sure if we could sustain the conversation format she had in mind.

Her class of 12 pupils were 6th graders, very excited and in a good frame of mind to receive me. It was obvious the teacher had prepared them well. They introduced themselves, said a little about their interests, family, etc. and I interrupted frequently to ask questions and extend the dialogue. This went well and then I took a turn and told them about me, Lab, Chicago. They all said they wanted to go to my school when I described the PE facilities. I talked about my own kids and just happened to have some of Christian's CSC cards with me. So, acting like Grandma Mary, I gave everyone his own and now Christian has 12 new Slovak fans. Juraj had even heard of him!

They asked did we follow ice hockey since that's huge here in Slovakia. I was asked about the food; do I like Kofula? NO! but then I also said no one here liked the root beer I brought over from Chicago. They just couldn't fathom it. And soup! I said I enjoy the soup but that is not our custom in the states. REALLY?! Not even on Sundays? Nope. Utter disbelief. I asked them what they thought of PE. Jan and Ludovito, who I'd pegged as jocks said they liked it, even - you guessed it - vybijana. Others were less enthusiastic. Teacher Miroslava asked did we have a name for this game and I had to explain it was dodgeball. "And what does it mean, dodge?" she asked, apparently a new word for her. (Oh, great, I'm a world ambassador on the level of Ben Stiller in "Dodgeball")

It was a class that no one wanted to end. Lots of moans when the bell rang with hopes that I could come again. Unfortunately I have a different schedule next week as well as final grade reports so I won't be able to return. Right before leaving, Miroslava asked who was a "first-timer" for hearing a native speaker? FIVE girls raised their hands, and it blew me away. I was so impressed with them, my last comments were to keep talking, make mistakes because that's how you learn, and that they'd been talking to someone with a Chicago accent!

I was then walked over to the gym where a special volleyball class was in session, but following the exuberance of the english class this was a dud. These 13 year olds were in an extended double-period class but were less skilled than my girls. This was the fifth gym I had been in and I realized they are all (old and new) outfitted the same way: balance beams that store vertically, ropes, stall bars, shabby set of rings, blue metal bars you assemble for gymnastics. I didn't see the "goat" but I'm sure it was lurking in some equipment room.

Men teach boys and women teach girls, and students have class twice weekly. The regular teacher was sick but I noticed that the substitute had the curriculum document on the bench, the same kind of year-long plan I had had to create at the beginning of the year. The jeans-wearing substitute was a PE teacher himself and spoke a little english. I couldn't resist asking him about skill tests for university admission in physical education. He said there are standards for all sports, even swimming. (About zero chance that you'd ever teach swimming in a public school, since they're all the same and DON"T include pools.) He said - ready? - he took his tests FOUR times before he was admitted!

Just this week we tested our students in swimming according to their protocol, which meant timed 25 meter swims. There was no credit for rhythmic breathing and/or endurance and a certain amount of thrashing between the lane lines in a 12-year-olds attempt at speed. Everyone is interested in the bottom line here; you win or you lose, make the time or don't.

FLAG DAY IS COMING! I know, and who celebrates THAT? Well, this year I do. It is the custom at my school on one's birthday or name's day to bring in treats for everyone and put out the spread in the common area of our office. I did this last October and everyone else does it from time to time. When projects are finished we also eat (and drink!) to celebrate. Since I'd like to thank everyone for my year here but can't do so at my flat, I'm going to stage a celebration this Thursday on Flag Day to show my appreciation. I got in touch with Lucia at the American Embassy and she supplied me with lots of flags and red, white and blue decorations, including one of those round paper, hanging globe thingees. I have flag napkins from home, r-w-b grosgrain ribbon and will look for flowers. If nothing else, the decor will be to die for! Hot dogs and apple pie would be perfect, but I think I'll settle for cold cuts and fresh veggies... and NO KOFULA!

Masters of the Universe; Leaders of the Turtle Food

2007-06-05T03:42:00.000-07:00

At my school each class has a name, as determined by the administration and the alphabet. I teach the Primas who are Pilots and Racers. The Segundas make up my swimming classes, and are fittingly called Neptunes and Oceans. Tercias are Masters and Leaders, and the Quartas answer to Heroes, Innovators and Jets. I teach Friends in Kvinta, and they are indeed friendly, but I don't have the Europeans who are considered the school's most difficult class. There is a good explanation as to why Bears and Kites are together and the fact that Guardians and Zillions just graduated, but it's not important. (I actually just had this mystery explained to me. At the same time I also found out there is an english-slovak on-line source for translation. That only took me nine months to figure out and now I have 3 weeks to actually use it. Argghh!)

But let's get back to those Tercias, shall we? Last Friday was International Childrens' Day (Like everyday isn't!) and all the schools celebrate it here. School is still in session but special events are planned for the day. Our 5th through 8th grade students got to choose to go to the cinema, bike along the Danube, go to the Prater (huge amusement park in Vienna) or remain here and do organized sports, all supervised by faculty. (Girls choosing sport played Vybijana - all day - what a surprise.) The Senior School students, apparently not considered children, did not take part and had a regular schedule that day.

Leaders and Masters had planned a long week-end for their version of Childrens' Day. Vilo, the Leaders class teacher had organized a trip to Orava up in the High Tatras, including hiking, an afternoon at a water park and a visit to Orava Castle. Eva, Masters class teacher and my aerobics buddy would be going and Nyall, her assistant class teacher. I had been tapped to be the fourth chaperone and was thrilled to be included. Orava is where Sona comes from (Sona ORAVcova) and she had talked about how I should try to get up there because it is so beautiful. I already knew Leaders and Masters were fun classes to teach, and of all our groups everyone agrees that Leaders are very special. (They are sometimes almost too nice and recently admitted the unthinkable: they just couldn't play Capture the Flag. Too accomodating to be competitive, the game was lackluster at best. In all my years of teaching I have never seen such a strange non-display of strategy and risk taking, except for Rebeka who unfortunately spent the whole game in jail because her teamates were too chicken to help her get out.)

Cut to the Thursday before the big trip. I can't get into the Leaders classroom where I usually have my weekly conversation class. The students tell me they have to clean it up and so we go elsewhere. Later Alex and Veronika of Leaders come and join our group after they had finished cleaning. They explain that some girls had smeared a combination of glitter and turtle food on the cabinet. (Turtle is long gone, one of the boys having broken the tank.) The boys are responsible for shoe prints on the ceiling and walls, and apple cores and bananas peels are strewn about. The girls 'fessed up but the boys refused to admit and/or rat on anybody. Uh-oh; this is the GOOD class that I'm about to chaperone? The long week-end is looking longer all the time.

Friday is June 1st and we board the bus to begin our extended celebration of Childrens' Day. We head northwest into the mountains, and it just gets prettier and prettier. We travel through fields where the hay is stacked like little houses with peaked roofs and openings that look like doors. There are streams and a few lakes, but mostly enormous clumps of towering pine trees. Vilo says they get 2-3 meters of snow up there, making for a long, hard winter. There are some cows and herds of sheep, but not too many seen from the road. We see storks and their huge nests way up high. We notice the building is way different here with unique wooden houses all designed seemingly from the same plan. We see farmers but small fields and not much machinery. Farmers are stooped over doing something in the fields; they're often women and usually wearing skirts.

Almost 5 hours later we arrive at our first stop, the Orava Castle. Built in the 13th century, and like all castles, extensively remodeled for centuries, it is one of the most popular castles to visit in Slovakia. In honor of International Childrens' Day there was a Haunted Fairy Tale Castle event with live performances at certain points starting with a Medieval sword fight. Most stagings seemed to be well received by the students but I still can't figure out why we saw a Sheherzade re-enactment in one of the dining rooms. On went her CD and she danced around the table, doing bad gymnastics limbers and strange feats of flexibility. I asked Eva what was THAT all about, and even she couldn't answer.

Our next stop was at a dam, but that's pretty much all it was. No one seemed to be expecting us for a tour; we saw the outside dam wall and got back on the bus. Shortly after our arrival at the hotel we had our first of what was to be very bland and marginally nutritious meals. Our students were served not one piece of fruit and no dairy products in four days; the morning of our scheduled hike we got bread, butter and jam. Sweet, hot tea accompanied every meal.

Later that evening, we went upstairs and checked the individual rooms, telling the kids the schedule for the next day. I thought it was odd that everyone (boys and girls) was in pajamas, matching tops and bottoms, like the polyester flameproof ones my kids used to wear when they were about 8 years old. Eva and I finished the rounds and went to bed about 11:00. Unfortunately, not everyone else did, and when Vilo heard noises at midnight, he found some boys visiting girls in their room. Decked out in their matching flameproof jammies, it was innocent enough but inappropriate and clearly against the rules. Next morning, it was decided that they would be allowed to stay but with a special curfew. However, one boy's parents felt their son should be taken home so they drove all the way up there to do just that.

Saturday's plan for Aqua Park got readjusted because the weather looked dismal. Instead we went to an outdoor museum with over 20 transplanted wooden homes, outfitted to show the life in Orava hundreds of years ago. I loved this, but the kids literally sprinted from house to house, their highlight being a goat nibbling on someone's jacket. We followed this up with a trip to a different, smaller water park that was mostly indoors. I thought it seemed boring, but a number of girls I quizzed later said it was their favorite part.

Finally we were driven to THE SLOVAK TANK, another highlight for even more of the students. Some guy in camo gave us the rules and boarded about 25 of us for a 15 minute ride over hills and through streams. I was in the back where it was bumpier but at least didn't have to look at the view from the front, especially the downhill parts. Some kids paid for a second ride, and the "general" drove them out again. Saturday night was eventless; it probably helped that everyone was getting tired. Kids kept busy with pool, ping pong, fussball, play stations and of course their music. No programs were planned but they seemed capable of occupying their time with little problem.

Sunday started out dry but dreary, so we started to hike after the afore-mentioned unsubstantial breakfast. Fifteen minutes out, occasional drizzle turned to steady rain and we all took refuge under a bus shelter. After one and 1/2 hours of this, including a reconaissance mission by Vilo, we canned the hike and returned to the hotel. Eva was getting a cold and had stayed home with a few of the other girls who claimed to also feel poorly. We took naps that afternoon and I realized how exhausted I was from the stress of the trip. Later, I took a hike by myself before supper, just needing to get outside and once again got caught in the rain.

Dinner was noodles, poppy seeds, and powdered sugar, our second "sweet" supper and something I always try to avoid in the canteen at school. Not to worry, though, because we later roasted hot dogs at the fire pit. Nyall split some wood helped by some of the boys. Vilo went grocery shopping and everyone else waited - a really long time. Marshmallows couldn't be located although they do sell them here and sadly, no one knows about s'mores. Our spicacky was delish, and many of us lingered around the now roaring fire. Some of the kids sang tramp songs; I forced them to listen to my version of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game". This last night was another of the favorites that kids talked about later on at school, with nary a mention of the educational stuff.

Monday was traveling day so we packed up and boarded the bus after breakfast. Our drive took a bit longer because we stopped several times so Ada could puke roadside. We watched "Bridget Jonesova" in Czech, and they selected the english sub titles for my benefit. (Ada told me later she was fine afterward, explaining that she had "autobus" sickness. She also showed me a huge yellow and purple bruise she got on her hip from the tank ride; rough week end.)

FLASH! At school today I have been notified that I will help chaperone the Quartas in their "Expedition". It is a tour literally around Slovakia, traveling in a circle and visiting most places that tourists never see. Sona traditionally organizes this in her capacity as geography teacher, but in her stead Vilo has has put together the program. Marcel and Zabco, class teachers, accompany Vilo and I will make the fourth. We have about 40 students and will be traveling 5 days, staying in a different place each night. Hiking and caving will be included and I'll finally be able to get to the eastern, more rural part of the country. I think it will be a wonderful experience for my last weeks at schools and look forward to being with the students in this type of environment. All of my deadlines just got pushed forward as my teaching will end before the trip begins. So pack your matching PJ's and dramamine - we're goin' on the Expedition!

A (Half) Night at the Opera

2007-06-04T10:32:00.000-07:00

With the coming of sunny, mild spring weather and longer, lighter nights I seem to have dispensed with my weekly opera/ballet habit. A few weeks ago therefore, I thought I'd check the theater schedule and try to buy tickets for something I hadn't seen before. The Merry Widow caught my attention because it's described as an operetta, like a musical comedy, and greatly appealed to me as a fun night of entertainment.

When I arrived the ushers were explaining that one of the stars had taken ill and they were substituting Rusalka, an opera by the Czech Dvorak, but we could get our money back if we preferred not to attend. I opted to stay, thinking, hey, I at least had heard of Dvorak and knew this particular opera was part of the season's repetoire, so why not? And if you're thinking you don't like where this is heading you're thinking right.

Lights dim, conductor begins and we see the staging of a forest...with a very sparkly but Rubenesque character reclining on the branch of a tree. Tonight the opera is sung in Czech with German subtitles, instead of in Italian with Slovak subtitles. We see three blond-wigged (a la Farrah Fawcett) characters sing and cavort on stage. The Supremes interact with a bass demon in dreads who sings from the recesses of the stage floor because he's in the (pretend) water. Although the chorus routinely appears very sharp, it didn't help things when one of them tripped on his costume going downstairs.

Finally, Ms. Sparkly emerges and you get the idea that she is from the nether-world and moaning about something or other, and a little too old and un-svelte to be pulling this off. (I know, this is probably a very American take on the cast, but I just couldn't get my head wrapped around the plot.) She also has a Farrah wig on, although in a varied shade and different style. Hilarity ensues...NOT. This looks to be a heavy opera in more ways than one.

Thankfully, intermission arrives and I run home to see what the hell I'm watching. (You can buy the program at the theater but the english translation is so bizarre it' s always better to google.) Well, it seems I am watching something based loosely on a fairy tale, much like Disney's Little Mermaid, except she dies! ("Ariel, listen to me..."

Rusalka is the term for a mythological Slavik water sprite and this one has gone and fallen in love with a prince. If she pursues this life and "goes human" she will be speechless, (them's the breaks in the enchanted pond) which kind of puts the damper on her singing part. Rusalka is forced to act, appearing upset but determined to be a good (albeit quiet) bride. Oddly, whenever her prince/hunter boyfriend is on stage he has a video camera, taping Rusalka.

Later, in Act II we are at the castle where we now have "suits" playing body guards, complete with shades and ear pieces. Out comes the prince, camcorder in hand, but this time he's taping some other visiting princess who wears a really silly gold crown and ugly red dress. It gets better - and stranger. The ball unfolds and everyone is in Halloween orange and black with a little bit of silver for drama. Picture the women: they wear the trick or treat colors, with exposed breasts but really it is a plastic silver breastplate, like if you were trying to pretend to be the Incredibe Hulk. Their wigs are great; they look like a cross between SNL's conehead and Brides of Frankenstein. The men aren't bad either; they have black wigs with white mohawks. During this visual assault I didn't know where to look first. All I could picture was the costume and stage designers going, "What, Rusalka again?! OK, we'll give you Rusalka..."

At this point I'd give anything to hear the lively calypso version of "Under the Sea", but that's not going to happen. The well-known aria is called "Song to the Moon", with which I am not familiar but Sarah Brightman included it an album a few years ago. Anyone out there know it?

Anyway, after the Halloween costume ball, there is a SECOND intermission, and it is now that I realize this baby isn't going to end until 10:00, much too late for a disinterested opera patron who has school the following day. So Act III happened without me and I assume Rusalka bit the dust. I am not sure if the prince taped her demise but I would hope that his royal upbringing would prevent such crassness. And... where are Groucho, Harpo and Chico when you could use them?!

Queen Bee buzzes in!

2007-05-25T20:42:00.000-07:00

It's true! Queen Beatrice of the Netherlands was in BA this week. I know so because last Monday there was a 20 foot high obelisk made out of orange and white tulips placed on my square in her honor. Her majesty had given Bratislava 10,000 tulip bulbs and the tulip tower remained there for the duration of her visit. While walking through the square last Tuesday evening, I noticed that we had literally rolled out the red carpet for her at the National Theater. There were six flags of the Netherlands flying outside of the building, and I imagine she was going to attend an opera or ballet, seated in the special box reserved for dignitaries.

I had been on my way to Larry Silverman's place to attend an American Embassy sponsored BBQ honoring outgoing and incoming Fulbrighters, American and Slovak. Janeil and Jon B. have already left the country. Jennifer, Andy and Chuck were all traveling, Julie is out of town with the Roma and Josh is too far away to attend a week night affair. Mark and Betsy came in from Nitra with daughter Zofia, who, at 5 months, has more hair than I! Mike, Kathy, Jon C., Nicole and I completed the American Fulbright group. We had a chance to talk to the Slovak Fulbrighters, including the two exchange teachers for next year. I was especially interested in meeting Barbora, the art teacher who would go to New Jersey. Her American partner, Jessica, had located me through my blog, and been corresponding with me to learn more about BA. It was so interesting to be talking to people with their entire exchange ahead of them, with all of the excitement and unknowns yet to unfurl. And our group, on the other hand, is wrapping up the experience. Our mode right now is a frantic countdown: we're trying to get everything finished on that "to-do" list, both at school and away. Meanwhile Jon, Nicole and I have five more weeks of class so there is limited time and lots of to-do's.

On my list were school visits. I will head to Matky Alexie next week, a Catholic 8-year gymnazium in my neighborhood. I set this observation up in person (not the best way) when I noticed the school as I was just beginning a run. I didn't look TOO grubby, so I went in and with the help of a senior arranged a date. Yes, you can come to observe, said the administrator, but no, there are no positions available. Fine, I assured her I was not Slovak job hunting and just wanted a look-see.

A far better way to arrange such observations is to have your director contact the school and this is what we did when I visited the Sportove Gymnazium last week. When I learned that there are Sports Schools in Slovakia, I thought it would be interesting to do an observation at one of them. I mentioned this to Hanka, and she said there was one in BA right in our neighborhood and director Myka would arrange it.

Hanka printed out directions; it seemed easy to find as it was just 4 tram stops down and a short walk. "Look for the playing fields" she said, and so I did. The fields were behind the school but the first thing I saw as I made my way from the tram stop. And the fields were full of students of all ages: it looked like the entire school was at recess. I found an entrance and the guard found me. No one spoke english and I was escorted to the office where I was curtly asked, "What do you want here?" I explained about the observation; she said there was no such thing. We tried again and soon discovered I was at the wrong school! The Sports School was next door, and as they both looked alike with no names posted, it was impossible to tell which was which. After giving me directions, the adminsistrator asked ME to come observe THERE at the public school and maybe even teach "but there is no money". She took my name and e-mail but I haven't heard; maybe she just did it to save face after nearly kicking me out of her school.

Always good to be early, because after that episode I was now just on time! I got buzzed into the correct school and looked over all hype in the corridor while waiting for Vladimir Miller (!), the Head Master. Vladimir shook my hand, and shook and shook, until we were holding hands walking down the corridor. He is a very warm person, obviously accustomed to the p.r. part of his job, and was a terrific interview. We began by looking at the photos of the 10 most outstanding seniors and all the print displays. I saw athletes who were kayakers, skiers, and soccer players. Other sports represented were cycling, volleyball, tennis, judo, track & field and gymnastics. Valdimir was obviously very proud that in the 14 short years that Slovakia has been a country, 18 of their Olympic medals have been connected with this particular school, one of eight in the country. While this display was informative, what I didn't see were the students.

We went to Vladimir's huge office which held two immense conference tables, each completely covered will multiple stacks of papers. Sitting on couches set to the side, we had coffee and he explained the schedule. Students train twice a day, mornings from 8-9:30, then attend classes from 10:30-4:30, followed by a second training session. Most training occurs off-campus and in fact the school has only one gym which I never did see. He employs 23 coaches who are not teachers, to work with his students. Many students typically miss blocks of time for training and/or competition. An extreme example was one of their elite level tennis players who was out of the country 10 months last year. As my "observation" was mid-day, I basically got to to see the inside of Vladimir's office.

Soon Ludmilla joined us and helped with translating. Although Vladimir's english was quite good, it was really a bonus to have her with us. She had been a former student of Vladimir's, had taught physical education, but now only taught english at the Sports School. She explained that sometimes she has only 2-3 sudents in the classroom, but is still reponsible for coordinating the lessons of all her students. Slovaks call this consultation; it sounds very much like internet classes.

Prospective students sit for academic entrance exams, have a psychological test, skills and fitness evaluations and a medical examination. (Students must have absolutely no physical problems.) Although this is a state school, parents do pay some nominal fees but nothing close to private school tuition. "Does everyone who attends your school have ambitions of being a world class athlete?" I asked. Vladimir shook his head and replied ruefully, "No, but their parents do." This is an 8-year school, grades 5-12; not so easy to commit to the white water, for example, when you're only 10. It would be interesting to read statistics about longevity at such schools, but we didn't get that in depth.

Vladimir himself teaches a course about sport training. When gymnazium students are seniors and sit for exams they can take a Level III test in physical education. This compentency allows them to receive certification to coach young children, but it is limited and not as involved as the Level I certification available with a University diploma.

So not only was there no physical education to observe, there was no physical education, period. We talked a bit about the status of p.e. in the country; both verified my conclusions that it remains a second-tier discipline, as they say over here. Ludmilla said she was "out to change the world" when she first began to teach, but soon became too frustrated with the circumstances to continue. They both spoke about Slovakia's increasing obesity (People say, "getting like Americans"; now isn't that a sad commentary?) Slovaks have more sedentary lifestyles now, and there is a MacDonald's right next to the 200 year old Slovak Pub. Additionally, health care can't keep up and health education is woefully lacking. It's not surprising, then, that physical education is never graded, most view it as optional, and is the first program to be cut when funds are restricted. But physical education remains a skill-based subject, lacking the same emphasis as our attempt in the states to promote lifetime fitness. I just learned that skill tests are given in four different sports in order to gain entrance to University here; I'd probably have been a wash-out.

Vladimir holds the position of VP of the Slovak Olympic Committee, and had been involved with coaching Olympic Pentathlon. We exchanged some Olympic stories and he talked about his first opportunity to be trading pins in the Montreal 1976 Olympics. He told of the time a black athlete approached him to offer a trade, but the pin was not an Olympic one. He said he was only interested in trading Olympic pins, to which she shouted, "What do mean you don't want my pin? Don't you know me, I'm Venus Willams?!" Cameras flashed (pre-digital, imagine that), crowds formed, and yes, he traded pins.

So Vladimir sent me on my way with swag: a small, fringed, satin Slovak Olympic banner and an assortment of Olympic stickers which I've given to the teachers at school. He was so accomodating and had just offered to drive me back to school, when Slovak Radio called wanting a piece of his time. I easily returned on my own, passing the adjacent "wrong school" on my way out. This time the fields were empty save for a p.e. class way off on the other side. I conducted a distance surveilance of a class I would guess to be about 10-11 year olds. They appeared to do a version of Sophie's infamous Sokol: head circles, arm circles, knee lifts, on and on it seemed to go. Finally, they were allowed to run around the area clockwise, the wrong direction in my American mind. Always front and center was one girl - isn't there always one? - in a red sweat shirt. Then the students (guess who was first) lined up behind the teacher who did a right face, walked 4 or 5 paces and stopped her army. At this point I could suddenly pick out the boys because they were doing everything BUT marching to her Slovak beat, falling all over and generally messing around. She threw a small rubber ball to each kid, red sweat shirt getting the first one. Maybe the fun was about to begin but as I could stay no longer, I ended my stalking and caught the next tram.

Back at school, many were interested in hearing about my visit. Although Sport Schools are widely known, no one seemed to be informed about how they operate, so for once I had some Slovak information to share. I told Hanka about going to the wrong school and that I had observed what seemed to be the entire student body at recess. She said that was probably right; that's the way it is usually done in all public schools, uniformly on the same schedule, same texts, same curriculum, etc. Everyone has a short, late morning break and then dismissal at 1:30!

Sports Schools have been around for awhile, beginning from when Czechoslovakia was a country. Now Czech Republic retains theirs in the same way Slovakia does. I don't agree with this philosophy, but as I've said their physical education greatly differs from ours. (This from someone who taught Capture the Flag last week; a big hit!) Additionally, schools are not filled with clubs, teams and marching bands, etc. so recruitment is different. The pathway to the elite level in a small country like Slovakia, therefore, is often through one of its Sports Schools. When I told Jozko about Vladimir Miller, he was already well-informed about him. It seems that Vladimir is also the step-son of the President of the Czech Republic. No wonder he's such a capable diplomat!

Bratislava For All!

2007-05-14T11:37:00.000-07:00

I know, if you're a faithful reader, you're going, "Hey, what about Istanbul?" Yes, I'll get get to it, promise. But recently I have had some quality time right here in BA and wanted to tell you about that first. And it all seemed to fit in with this past week-end which was Bratislava For All, where the doors of the city were literally opened wide: you could meet the mayor, visit the townhall, museums and zoo, all for free. In addition, there were numerous musical performances, also no charge. So this was a great time to be home.

Bratislava For All was scheduled for this past week-end because centuries ago, the burger allowed Bratislava to elect its own mayor and decreed that it should be on April 2, St. George's Day. Well, I didn't meet the mayor but I did meet Eva's husband, Alexander. (Eva is a colleague who teaches english). We drove out to her place, stopped for coffee and then went to an exercise class in her village after school on Friday. (aerobics, the universal language.) Eva showed me her digs and her dogs, including the four long-haired daschound puppies and I got my canine fix.

I love home construction, especially remodeling, and was very interested to see what they had done to their 40-year-old place. What hadn't they done? All new windows and doors, in and out, sidewalks, kennel, tile roof, floors, new kitchen and bath, changing doorways and repairing plaster and paint. Their home has a steep roofline with CONCRETE steps going up to the attic which they are presently remodeling. (The majority of homes are concrete block construction with stucco coating and tile roofs.) We ended the evening by watching Borak, after which Eva drove me back to town.

On Saturday I was invited for dinner to the flat of Jozka and Ewa, two teachers at our school. Both teach German and Jozka also teaches PE as well as chairs my department. Ewa (say Eva) gave me directions and said if I take the 1:08 bus I should be there about 1:30. 1:30?! Yes, that is not unusual for a dinner invitation, so I figured out the tram/bus connection and made it a point to be on time, if not early.

Ewa had prepared a table full of food including both traditional Polish and Slovak specialties. We had two different types of soups; spinach or chicken. To the chicken broth you add your own noodles. With the spinach you spoon in hard boiled eggs, a dish we have in the canteen but I'd never tried. It's actually a delicious combination. There was a pork roast made with plums, sausage wih cabbage, zucchini, eggplant, carrots, salad, rice, corn (always) and probably more that I can't remember. Oh yes, middle child Martin is a vegetarian so he got eggs. Youngest daughter, Danielle is a 4th year, and eldest daughter Andrea, soon to graduate high school helped with dinner and even more with translating.

Following dinner we looked at some family photos on the computer while we nibbled on desserts. Martin left to go to Vienna; cheaper to go there to get the best price on the soccer shoes he needed. We checked bus schedules on line and decided to go to Devin Castle ruins, about 5 minutes away. Jozka's family lives in Devinska Nova Ves, an area that used to be a village but is now incorporated into Bratislava. It is next to Kolyba, the sand dune I had hiked last month, just above the Danube and the bike paths that run parallel to it. Jozka is a certified tour guide, working during the summer months, and knows a lot about Bratislava. He told us that the bike paths were built upon the original soldier routes the communists would walk as they secured the border. During those 50 years of communism, no one ever saw this gorgeous area except the border patrol.

We enjoyed the afternoon walking through the castle ruins, parts of which are over one thousand years old. Devin Castle had been re-built and remodeled numerous times before it was finally blown up by Napoleon's army. Jozko also told me that Bratislava is the 30th most expensive city in Europe, a statistic that will probably continue to rise as the euro gets introduced in Sovakia next year.

Here are a few more BA stats I discovered on my own: Car manufacturers have been enticed to set up shop here, with Kia being the newest arrival. Volkswagon makes the majority of its SUV's here. The Toureg is finished here, and the Porsche Cayenne and Audi Q7 are partially built here. We're thirty-something, the average age being 38.7. Beethoven performed his Solemn High Mass here in Bratislava. (This is what I heard when I saw the Vienna Choir Boys last winter.) And Bratislava is a sister city to eighteen cities, including Vienna, Prague, and...Cleveland!

During our talk about Ewa's German side of the family, she told about how her mother's family was forced to leave Poland after WWII. Ewa's Polish father then illegally crossed the border into Germany to get his fiance and bring her back to Poland. Taking advantage of the distraction of someone else's crying infant, they were able to cross back into Poland where they subsequently married and raised their family. As Jozko says, "That's real love."

Jozko's owns a car but his sister had been using it to drive out to their mother's place to work in the garden. (It's very common for flat-dwellers to own small pieces of property with either a gardern shed or, fancier, a small chata (say hata but make the "h" sound down in your throat; means cottage). She picked us up and I was driven home sometime after eight, later than I expected, but happy to have had such a good visit with the family Marek. (But Ewa is Marakova.) Jozko and Ewa apologized for being so late in the school year to invite me, as they were completing some major renovation. I complimented them on the improvements; it really was a lovely flat. Jozko replied, "It is not important."

The next day was Sunday and Bratislava For All beckoned. I had heard about some folk dance/music entertainment planned for Partisans' Meadow "where inhabitants of Bratislava can convene for traditional entertainment", or so said the announcement. So, feeling very much like a comrade, I took a bus to Zelezna Studnicka (Forest Park) a huge forest preserve in the Little Carpathians. I had planned a hike that would finish up at the Meadow where I could have lunch and enjoy the performance.

I had been there last fall with Zuzka so parts of the area looks familiar, but hiking the trails (or tramping out in nature as they say here) put a new spin on things. I hiked a bit and soon came upon the bottom of the "summer" chair lift for hikers where for some reason you could ride down but not up. So...I hiked UP the hill and crested Koliba, the hilltop where they were holding a mountain bike race. All riders were out on the course so I kept going.

Close by is Kamzik, the TV transmitter tower and a landmark of the area. Up here are the plastic tobaggon runs I had seen dormant last fall but now were in operation. I was dying to try but would have had to abduct a child to get a ride, so on I tramped. I identified a red hiking trail (Remember I now know how to read trail signs.) and thought it would exit me in the general area of the Partisans' Meadow. Didn't see much wildlife that day, unless you count the kid (as in baby goat) I encountered on the trail. I cut across the forest following the trail, which sort of dried up and spit me out on the street hours later, way too tired to go back in and look for the entertainment on the meadow.

Out on the street but not the street I came in on, I was once again confused. Thankfully, it was also a bus line street, and a quick look at the schedules told me I could get to the train station and then take a tram home from there. (I have a 3-month transportation pass which allows me to use any tram, bus or trolley-bus in Zone 1, which is quite large. Most people like me get to know many different stops by name. As at Jozko's, we can also look online to easily read routes and times.) So I missed Bratislava For All, but eventually made it home a tired and well-exercised comrade.

Please execute my daughter...

2007-05-09T03:15:00.000-07:00

As the PE excuse notes accumulate, I continue to require my students to translate them into english if the parent has written the excuse in slovak. Hence the latest gem written by a Prima (first year or 5th grader): "Please execute my daughter because she has been ill." Talk about tough love! "Oh, Barbora," I said, "do you know what you've written?" Friend Dominika understood and helped translate by making the "slit the throat" gesture across her neck. Actually if it had been written by a Quarta (fourth year or 8th grader) I probably WOULD have! All three of the Quarta classes I teach have severe cases of senioritis, compounded by hormones and 13-years-old attitude; they are troublesome to all their teachers, not just me. It appears that eighth graders act like, well, eighth graders, no matter where they go to school.

Last week-end was our last long week-end and a well-needed break for both teachers and students. Tuesday, May 8, was the actual holiday but I requested and received permission to take off Monday as a personal day. (I don't really think I have personal days but I didn't let that stop me.)

This allowed me to travel to Olomouc (say Olla-moats) in the Moravian region of Czech Republic, and support Fulbrighter Kat in her efforts to organize a 6K Fun Run. Kat is in public health and had previously lived and and studied in Olomouc some years before. Her Fulbright proposal involved drug prevention and this Fun Run was to be a culminating activity for her year here. Kat, herself, is an ultra-marathoner, has been working with agencies and not in schools like many of us.

As I often do, I went on line to read about Olomouc but as is also common I encountered some strangely translated information. Like "We prepare for you new webpage presently of UNESCO Czech Heritage Association. It would work in the beginning of year 2007. Actually in Czech version only." (May 3rd and it still wasn't working - in any language.) Elsewhere there was some historical background discussing the local trade issues in the 1300's stating "problems with Vietnamese merchants were not serious get." Non-functioning web sites and blaming the Vietnamese for Czech trade problems. Isn't the internet great?

Fulbrighter Jon and his colleague Amy joined me on the 3-hour train ride from Bratislava. Shelly came down from Decin and met Juliana in Prague, arriving shortly after us. Meg (a real runner) teaches in Olomouc so she was already there, and Ben arrived Saturday evening, missing the race but not the pub celebration.

Olomouc was having a theater week and Kat had picked up tickets for Dybbuk, a performance art piece set in a tent, reminding me of Cirque du Soleil. Well, maybe not so much, as the artist was a Russian dancer with a gymnast's body, but pre-Olga Korbut. Everyone had different takes on the show, but that's what made it interesting, and the music and lighting enhanced the piece. After that we all went our separate ways, planning to meet the next morning for the run.

Saturday dawned a dismal spring day, definitely taking some of the FUN out of the RUN. As it looked to be one of those days where the weather wasn't going to lift, no families came with children and who could blame them? The small group of participants were mainly people from local running clubs, including a female 94-year old former champion! We had taken a bus to the edge of town, driving up to Svaty Kopecek which Kat told me was owned by the Catholic Church. On the hillside sits the baroque church of the Visitation of the Virgin Mary. When Pope John Paul II rolled into town in 1995 he promoted the church to Minor Basilica (don't ask me) and also canonized Father John Sarkander, who had been tortured to death during the Thirty Years War which decimated Olomouc.

Because of the Church ownership Kat no difficulty in getting permission for her run, and no complications in dealing with municipalities because she really didn't have to. I told Kat I was expecting a jumbotron, gatorade and an inflatable start/finish line. Well, we had water, hard candy and someone's dog there for everyone's petting pleasure. NOT the Chicago Marathon, BUT the Olomouc 6K! (I never did find out why it was a 6K.)

The course was one of Kat's favorite runs: twisty, slightly hilly and deep in the woods. Routes had been marked earlier that morning; unfortunately MANY marks were all over the course: crepe paper, painted arrows, regular trail marks, etc. We had a rolling start and some of us (including guess who) managed to take a wrong fork, ending up going much further than planned. This seems to be a recurring theme for me. Hey, I get to see so much more this way! (And as far as I know the 94-year-old champ had no such difficulty!) Meg finished early (natch) and took us to see some monastic ruins in the area. Everyone had a great time, walking, running, 6K more or less. In leiu of an entrance fee we donated money to a special school in the area, and each left with a small ceramic horseshoe made by the students there.

We got back into town and after Kat told us about a Mexican restaurant, we decided to celebrate Cinco de Mayo, a weak excuse to have a bad margherita with lunch. I seem to remember words like interesting...and different... to describe our meals; and the salsa tasted like Ragu spaghetti sauce. One of the things I continue to miss is good mexican food! Later we re-convened at Kat's local pub for some good, cheap Czech beer, but only until 10:00 when the joint shut down.

Jon and Amy left Sunday morning and Kat spent the day with Juliana, Shelly and me, acting as our own personal tour guide. We walked the old town square, visited St. Wenceslas Cathedral, which eventually became an archbishopric in the 1700's. Olomouc at one time was the capital of Moravia before relinquishing that honor to Brno. The Modern Art Museum, surprisingly, held works by Klimt, Tiffany, Hoffman, Wagner, original Thonet furniture and a terrific Jindrich Streit b/w/photography exhibit.

Olomouc is a small university town; with a population of 100,000, it is 1/5 the size of "bustling" Bratislava. It is a town of fountains; we saw all six of them, each at the center of the various squares. Unlike most towns who removed their fountains when they installed water pipes, Olomouc kept them as reservoirs in case of fire. In fact, little Olomouc is the second largest historical monument preserve in the country after Prague, but has none of its tourists.

Olomouc has long had a German affiliation and at one time, re-named one of its squares after Adolf Hitler. The Czech residents changed the name again after the town was liberated. When the retreating German army passed through the town in the final weeks of the war, they opened fire on the town hall, destroying the old astronomical clock. It was re-built in the 1950's so what we saw was the proletarian version, which included a girl with a basketball under her arm, wearing, I'm pretty sure my old gym suit from St. Francis.

And their plague column is to die for. Really. The Holy Trinity Column is UNESCO-protected, huge and sculpted and you can go inside of it; a nun sits there and tells you all about it. Oh, yeah, and everyone seems to want to hop on the Sister City bandwagon. Olomouc has eight including Owensboro, Kentucky.

We all took trains the next morning, Juliana and Shelly to Prague, where Shelly could then continue home to Decin. I headed to Brno, this time, to visit another Fulbrighter and her family. I had booked a no-change train and was just settling in, most others having exited my compartment when the last traveler hoisted his backback and said something to me in Czech. Realizing I didn't understand him, he called the conductor over who kept saying "autobus" to which I kept replying, "I have to take a bus to Brno?" as if the more I said it, the more it would change the outcome. Talk about a conversation going nowhere...

Anyway, we all unboarded the train and stood together to wait for the bus. The conductor saw me and gave me the high sign as in, Yes, dear, you are indeed taking a bus AND standing in the correct line. We traveled 20 minutes on our bus and then re-boarded a very crowded train (there had been a rail problem) to get us into Brno only about 15 minutes late which I thought was remarkable.

Betsy met me and we went to her flat to meet her family and have some lunch. She, Bayrd and 9-year old Sophie live in a beautiful area, very hilly and at the edge of woods which she and Bayrd use for morning runs. Betsy also showed me their neighborhood pool which Bayrd has christened the "tuna tank". It seems many Czechs swim very creatively within the lane lines, seemingly unaware of others. Personal space is way different in Europe!

Betsy and Sophie had recently been to Bratislava and toured the town square, which they found to be much more interesting than Brno's. So Betsy's plan for the afternoon was to go to their reservoir, ferry up to some point and combine this with some hiking. (You know, tramping out in nature.) As the clouds and rain had moved out, replaced by a beautiful sunny day, this seemed like a great idea.

The ferry is set up so that it can make a number of stops along the reservoir, letting people out and on with the turn of a dockside sign that you pivot to indicate that the boat should stop. At some point we opted to get out so we could walk a bit, justifying a liquid break down the road. We hiked back on the other side of the water, sometimes walking through the rape seed fields and coming out all pollenated with the residue from the yellow blossoms. Rape seed is harvested to make both canola and benzine oils, and it looks like a blanket of gold covering the countryside.

As time was running out, we hopped a bus on the return to shorten our hike. Sophie and I sat and chatted as we watched others board the bus, including fishermen, archers and musicians. I have to say we had the best time, enjoying the area and each other's company. And if anyone out there is lucky enough to know Dirk, I've found his match. Sophie is an absolute delight and seems to be enjoying the year abroad. We were comparing PE, a favorite activity and she kept asking if I did Sokol with my students, referring to a traditional system for performing calesthenics. As you can imagine, Sophie did not exactly embrace Sokol, although she is one of the few girls in her class to participate regularly. Betsy and I had spoken about this last February and I mentioned it in a previous entry; things haven't changed since then.

Sokol is Czech for falcon, the symbol of the nationalistic organization founded in 1862 in the Czech lands which would later become Czechoslovakia, and now Czech Republic and Slovak Republic. It was dedicated to the development of physical fitness, and at that time consisted mostly of regimented gymnastics, exercises and calesthenics. It traveled stateside a few years later, brought over by Czech and Slovak immigrants. Sokol USA is a "fraternal organization serving its members with physical fitness programs, cultural activities and LIFE INSURANCE". Even now, these exercise routines are taught in private gyms throughout the country. Participants then come together for SokolFests (Cincinnati 2007!), huge exhibitions which showcase these routines performed by many groups according to ages, sort of like a family version of half-time at the Orange Bowl. (Everyone keeps his/her shirt on.)

That evening at the flat, Sophie entertained us by modeling her birthday present, a hand-sewn Czech folk dress. While Bayrd and I talked in the living room, Betsy helped Sophie get dressed next door in the bedroom. Starting with her special slip and a red bow in her hair, Sophie came running out to show us each layer. As a sewer I appreciated the fine work, and also the clever way that horizontal tucks were sewn into the skirts so they could eventually be let out to grow with Sophie. I'm not sure, but I'd guess she made at least six or seven appearances before the outfit was complete, including special hand-knit knee sox and pointy, tan leather lace up shoes. This was the summer version of the folk costume, but the outfit was incredibly heavy. One of her friends had taught her a folk dance, so Sophie finished the show by performing in front of a wildy appreciative audience.

Back at school the following week, we had the final ringing. The juniors prepare a special event for the seniors last morning at school. Each student is given a single flower and then the class visits the faculty offices to wish their thanks, say good bys, and unveil their class composite picture. This picture (about 30 x 48) then gets displayed in a local store window, with an internet competition for the "best photo display". Many of the students present their flowers to the teachers; my yoga kids thanked me for holding our optional class and gave me a tulip, which I found so touching. Then at the end the bell sounds for a full five minutes, marking their last bell ever for secondary school. We were in the gym at the time and not knowing about the custom, I thought it was a fire drill (If we've had one, I've not been there for it.) My class thought so too, but quickly returned to the non-burning gym because they wanted to finish their game! OK, it was vybijana (dodgeball), but, hey, they were invested!

Istanbul...not Constantinople

2007-04-15T09:53:00.000-07:00

Why did Constantinople get the works?
That's nobody's business but the Turks!

Sorry, couldn't help myself; I love that old song, and actually I DO know why Constantinople "got the works". This blog may be a three-parter as there is so much to tell; you may have to tune in to future postings for an answer. Listen to me, I'm marketing the blog! Do read on.

When I knew I would be coming to Slovakia last year, I decided early on that one of the cities I really wanted to visit was Istanbul. (say ee STAA bol) This city offers a unique history of Byzantine Christianity reconstrued as a Muslim metropolis, and now part of a republic presently seeking entry to the EU. Only a two-hour flight from BA, Turkey seemed a world away from Slovakia and a country I probably wouldn't have targeted as a destination point from Chicago. So flying Turkish Air, Istanbul here I come! (Turquoise leather seats and some of the best food I've ever had!)

But first the trip to the airport, where Branislav, our Fulbright-friendly airport service driver, assured me he would be water-spraying his girlfriend on Easter morning. I asked why and he said, "Tradition!" Cue Zero Mostel in "Fiddler on the Roof"! (When Branislav picked me up after Easter, he said he stayed home and only sprayed his family: his sister, his mother and his 74-year-old grandmother, who thought it was funny. Sometimes perfume is also sprayed, but he had stuck with plain water.)

I arrived at Ataturk Airport, named after its first president who is larger than life even though he's been dead for years. It was Mustafa Kemal 'Ataturk' (father of the Turks), the brilliant statesman and military genius who was the first president of Turkey following Allied occupation after WWI. The Republic of Turkey came into being in 1923, and Ataturk instituted sweeping reforms in an effort to keep pace with Europe. The european calendar was adopted, then the Swiss civil code and the Italian penal code, which abolished the role of religion in law. The turban had been banned 100 years prior, and now it was time to toss the fez. Language reforms were instituted, and although Ataturk's speeches were said to be compelling , almost no one could understand him as he was communicating in an as yet undescipherable language! And the name Constantinople, thought to have imperial associations, was changed to Istanbul; some decades later westerners finally got the message.

My hotel included an airport transfer where I found myself squeezed into the front of a seatbeltless van with some Muslim women filling up the back. After a highway drive involving some creative merging, I was let off first at my place, The Apricot Hotel. Met curbside by Mehmet, manager and all-around-concierge at The Apricot I was shown to my place, the new acccomodation around the corner. There I had 2 pairs of complimentary slippers so I wouldn't trample the turkish carpet. My room had no telephone, but everyone had complimentary internet in the reception and everyday was a surprise. One night I had no water, another no electricity, still another no heat but never all in the same day. And we never could figure out how to work the TV. But Mehmet partially comped me on the room, opened a bottle of wine the last night, and sent me home with another bottle of wine. When in Istanbul, stay at The Apricot!

Mehmet encouraged me to rest, freshen up and when I felt like it, return to the main hotel to discus what to do and how to see Istanbul. As our place was only 3 blocks from the Blue Mosque, that was where I began my mid-afternoon tour of the city. (Mehmet had written down the five daily prayer times, and it being 3:30, I decided it was a good time to visit.) I could see the mosque from my hotel, but rounding the corner, the sight was breathtaking: gardens surrounding the huge multi-domed building with its six minarets. We visitors walked through the huge courtyard to the entrance where we were instructed to remove our shoes and store them in plastic bags. Also provided were scarves which were for use as wrap-around skirts or head scarves. One woman wearing a denin skirt that didn't cover her butt (it was more like a wide belt) over leggings was sent back to use a wrap: good call in terms of respect AND fashion.

The Blue Mosque, officially called Sultanahmet, was the last of Istanbul's imperially commissioned mosques, completed just before the fall of the Ottoman empire. Mostly the Blue Mosque is big and smells a bit "feetsy". The interior is a mish-mash of tiles, giving the appearance of a predominantly blue mosque, but the space is still overwhelming. I would pass the Blue Mosque everyday on my way out each day, but I think it was the dramatic night time lighting which really set off the structure.

From there I strolled down to the Grand Bazaar, 15th century forerunner of today's mega-malls. There are sections for gold, textiles, carpets and more. in fact, there are 5,480 shops spread over 65 alleys; take THAT, Mall of America! Shopkeepers are usually the owners, who joke, cajole and use come-on lines to get you to stop. "I remember you..." "Excuse me,..." or "Are you a movie star?" It is expected that you will barter, and come away paying about half of what he (always a he) started out at. I probably could have done my Christmas shopping there but didn't have the energy. Instead I enjoyed browsing (not exactly encouraged) and did buy a few small things.

Dinner that night was at The Metropolis cafe near my hotel. The enticing wood burning fire drew me in, and the food was wonderful, especially the eggplant which I ate in some form or other everyday. I ordered meze, a sort of hors d'oevre plate and then had manti, pasta filled with lamb and served with yogurt and mint. Washed it down with an Efes (I think) beer and went home and collapsed in bed.

My stay at The Apricot included breakfast, as do many places in the city. I woke up plenty early as I did everyday because the first amplified call-to-prayer is at 5:30! We were served our meal up on the rooftop, looking away from the Blue Mosque but with a view of the Bosphorus Sea. Breakfast was a huge spread, including eggs made to order and drip coffee catering to the many english-speaking people staying there. (The Apricot, and especially Mehmet, had received rave reviews on tripadvisor.com, so the place attracted people who had read the recommendations.)

My first full day I headed out to Topkapi Palace which was also walking distance from my place. I wasted a lot of time in line and was anxious to get in; there is so much to see that I was told to allow at least half a day. It was Good Friday and I saw lots of school groups on field trips, always with male teachers.

When you enter the palace you walk through Disney-like Imperial Gates, but complete with very un-Walt-like niches to display the severed heads of rebels and criminals. I had purchased my ticket over by the Executioner's Fountain, where the axe would be washed after the deed was done. They seemed to be big on the bloody display since this was flanked by columns where heads could also be displayed.

The Palace was the main imperial grounds for the Ottomans for over 300 years, a combination of military command central and residence for the royal family and their entourage which numbered in the thousands. As you visit the palace you go through a series of gates, passing through areas that go from most public (Court of the Janissaries, the palace guards) to most private, The Third Court, where the sultan would receive (but not speak to) foreign ambassadors. No sultan would ever speak to a non-Turk so the Grand Vizier would conduct the conversation. In the Sultan's private chambers was a grandfather clock presented by Queen Victoria and set to 11:05, the time of Ataturk's death.

Need a diamond-studded set of chain mail? Searching for the perfect dagger, with emeralds as big as ping pong balls? The Imperial Treasury has it and a lot more outrageous items, many of which have never left the confines of the Palace. Also included in this display were medals that they awarded to themselves and others, including ones traded back and forth between the Pope and Sultan. This whole complex guards the Golden Horn and has a spectacular view of the Bosphorus.

Next door at the Archeology Museum, one of the most interesting things I saw was the long section of iron chain (with links the size of my forearm) that had stretched across the Bosphorus to bar the entry of invaders. Not to be outdone, the frustrated sailors took to the land, putting rollers on their ships, detouring above the Horn and putting in to water below the no-longer-restricting chain.

Part of the reason the museum had been established in the mid-19th century was to prevent the further flow of antiquities out of the country. Thanks mainly to the Crusades and various Venetian vessels, many pillars, mantles and statues left the country only to be installed elsewhere. When I visited Venice last February I saw St. Mark's Basilica, where much of the facade is older than the building itself. The famous Horses of St. Mark's had been "appropriated" from the Hippodrome in Constantinople, and these horses subsequently hoofed it around Europe. Napoleon managed to secure them in 1797, but they were restored in 1815. Since 1990 they have been in a exhibition room, I think in Venice. I didn't know it at the time, but what I saw were bronze reproductions. Inside St. Mark's is a purple marble statue of The Four Tatrachs...but the missing foot of one of the represented emperors is in Istanbul, with little chance of man and foot ever being reunited.

After this I hustled over to wait in line again to buy a ticket "for one people" for the Harem. When I finally attached myself to a tour, I realized our guide had probably done one tour too many that day, namely ours. It didn't help that our Spanish contingent was complaining that the tour was in english, although just barely. She had such a heavy accent it was difficult to understand her. What was all this "ultimate" stuff she kept referring to? Oh, OTTOMAN! And then we're in the Sultan's sun room - sun room -sun room, she kept repeating Oh, THE SON'S ROOM! (A-hah, as they say in Slovakia.)

Harem means forbidden but it may just as well mean prison. The sultan was the only male, plus princes and eunuch guards allowed in; the harem was "home" and entire world to its women for almost four centuries. I bought a book titled, The Mystery of the Ottoman Empire, that said harem meant the "home of happiness". Hardly. Originally, sultans kept female slaves but only married the daughters of Christian princes for political reasons, slaves being less valuable than a good (or even not so good) horse. Eventually, this tradition changed and the Harem became a place where wifely candidates could be kept and selected. This contributed to a life of intrigue where women jockeyed for favor and hoped to mother a son, who could eventually become sultan, and she the valide sultana (like a queen mother). The head eunuch was also one to be consorted with and it wasn't unusual to kill a mother or son who got in the way. A concubine could rise to the level of Odalisque, then Favorite. If a Favorite became pregnant she moved up the ladder to Felicity, making it possible to become one of the sultan's four to eight wives. Talk about stressful! Meanwhile, princes were also kept in the harem, virtual prisoners until the eventual time when they might become sultan.

My book turned into an unexpected laugh out loud read because of the translations, some of which sound like they've been written by a fourth-grader. There were many references to "chemical sons" sitting on the throne, and here are a few quotes:

"He became a father after he had sat on the throne." So THAT'S how they did it; probably had something to do with being a chemical son...

One hundred years later, "Abdulaziz sat on the Ottoman throne after he had died in 1861." Eeew! " Abdulaziz was not so fond of women as much as his father and brother had been." Mmmm...

Speaking about one of the Sultan's wives: "Hurem was ruthless. While she was taking the steps with great confidence, discarding anyone who might create problems for her. She was completely done except for Ibrahim Pasha. She became jealous of her husband's affection to that guy, too."

The building complex is magnificent in its decadent splendor. Adorable? Well, not so much but that's how the book describes Murad III's mansion, as well as Ahmed I's library on the following page. Must have been a vocabulary word-of-the-week.

I wrapped up my tour and grabbed a simit, a sesame seed bread ring sold on the street. The vendor was selling them to men and GIVING them away to women. Although it had been a little drizzly earlier on, it cleared up quickly. Each day in Istanbul was sunny and became increasingly warmer throughout my stay, reaching into the low 70's. (In BA it was in the 80's.)

Steps away, between the Blue Mosque and the Sultanahmet sits the majestic but comparatively shabby Haghia Sophia (Ayasofya). Dedicated in AD 537 by Emperor Justinian, Haghia Sophia ( Divine Wisdom), was meant to prove the new capitol's worth, following the fall of the Roman Empire. Justinian's cathedral towered over all else and was topped by an amazing dome, the largest one ever built. In fact, it took over 1,000 years to out-do the dome, when Michelangelo did so with St. Peter's in Rome, 1590. The church also served as a huge reliquery which was extensively looted by its own "Christians" in the Fourth Crusade; bronze horses and footless statues weren't the only items that ended up in European cities. Later, the Turks took control and the church grew minarets, turning into a mosque. Buttresses were added at different times, most mis-matched. The exquisite mosaics were plastered over, but that actually saved them as they weren't discovered until the middle of the 19th century.

When the Ottoman Empire fell, there was a push to return Haghia Sophia to the Greeks and another campaign to return it to the Italians. The solution of the new Turkish Republic was to deconsecrate the building and declare it a museum. It remains a mixture of a church-turned mosque, now museum in a country with not quite enough funds to adequately restore this gem. Nevertheless, it was still the most amazing thing I saw in Istanbul.

I visited one more site that day, because the Yerbatan Sarnici (Basilica Cistern) is right across the street, hidden under a simple one-story building entrance. Built during the Haghia Sophia days of Justinian, the cistern is an ancient reservoir that was pretty much forgotten for centuries. In 1545, A Frenchman named Peter Gyllius noticed people getting water by lowering buckets through holes in their basements; one thousand years later, the cisterns were "re-discovered" Playing havoc with Istanbul's infrastructure, the Yerbatan is an engineering feat: 336 columns supporting brick vaulted ceilings spaced about 13 feet apart. Walkways have been installed so you can go see the entire undergound system. Long before the cistern's restoration, James Bond explored by boat here in "From Russia with Love".

Dinner that night was another wonderful celebration of lamb and eggplant, and dessert was good too. I discovered "Turkish Delight" (lokum) a chewy, bite-size, hand-made candy in many flavors dipped in powdered sugar. I had pistachio, coconut, caramel, lemon, saffron, orange, rosewater, mint and lots more. Many of my friends enjoyed the apple tea, a popular drink here. I tried it, but I'm not a great tea afficionado. And I do love coffee, but not Turkish coffee. I ordered it one night after a meal (the only time it's really taken). I couldn't get more than two sips down my throat. I knew that the coffee was going to be thick, but I didn't realize it's prepared by boiling it with sugar. It's extremely sweet, thick, strong, and for this tourist, undrinkable! One night back at The Apricot we were having a coffee discussion. Mehmet explained that preparing Turkish coffee is a time consuming, fussy process and many folks just don't bother. The most popular coffe by far in Turkey...NESCAFE! (Another yuk.) More in another blog...

Happy Easter...Get Out The Whips

2007-04-04T10:41:00.000-07:00

Yes, this one goes in the "couldn't make this up" category. Two odd Easter customs here seem to provide hijinx for the guys and dread for the girls! On Easter morning, boys and men go around squirting or pouring water on women! This, I believe is thought to be complimentary; the girls are so happy they hand over an egg to the guy. Then after getting doused with water, the whipping starts. Willow branches are woven into weapons and girls are playfully(?) whipped with said branches. Once again, the girls respond by giving a colorful ribbon to the guy, with his goal trying to collect as many ribbons as possible on his willow whip. Let the fun begin! (Zuzka said she used to hide Easter morning in an attempt to keep dry. Not sure if she ever received a whoopin' though.)

At dinner with some Fulbrighters last week, someone was talking about having seen a folk dance performed by girls on my square, and then repeated down by the river. The girls had dolls on sticks which they threw into the Danube at the end of the performance. I asked Luba and she said they were throwing out Morena (winter). It must have been the first day of spring and traditionally girls dress up a doll (Morena) and perform the dance to cast out Morena and usher in spring. (So that later the drenching and whipping can commence.)

This blog is a sort of odds and ends piece, trying to catch up before I leave for Istanbul tomorrow. (Doesn't everyone go to Muslim country for Easter?) When I last wrote about Italy and spring break, I didn't mention leaving the next day for Berlin to attend the Fulbright Winter Seminar there. That was poor planning but we never knew about Berlin until much later, after we'd already booked Milan. Kathy, Jon, Chuck and Susan and I all attended. Our Slovak Fulbright Commission had said this was optional but highly recommended. Translation: we'd really like you to go but you'll have to pay your own way. But the fees were nominal and we discovered Air Berlin: leather seats and lunch on a 1 hour flight. Not bad.

As with everything Fulbright does, it was a first-rate conference. Germany has the largest number of Fulbrighters and there were over 300 of us there. I met an exchange teacher from Germany who was teaching P.E. so we had some great talks, having had very similar experiences. (Germany starts school in July so this teacher had not been at the Washington D.C. Fulbright Orientation last August.) Some of the sessions were research-oriented and appealed to a select number of attendees, but the opportunity to network or just catch up with others was excellent. We had many musical galas (international language) and even met the mayor at one of the last sessions at the Radhaus. Skipped the disco party but others said it was well attended and lots of fun. (OK, feeling a little old here; about half of Germany's Fulbrighters are 22-year-olds, so a disco party held limited appeal for me.)

Had a little time to tour so saw some of the great modern architecture on a boat trip, visited the Jewish Museum, Berliner Dome and Checkpoint Charlie Museum, including seeing some of the Berlin Wall. It was quite rushed and by the time of the close on Thursday we were all surprised that it was time to go. Operating on the good old American work ethic, we'd all said we would be in school on Friday. Without exception, upon returning everyone's principal had said, "Oh, you should have stayed longer." Now they tell us!

Remember the ear wax issue? Well, that was followed by three more doctors over this past week. The clinic says they hope to never see me again and I feel likewise. My ailments weren't serious but I did need medical attention nonetheless. Funny how when you walk down there for the fourth time it's suddenly no big deal, as you know what to expect and have sorted things out. I now have an amazing variety of ointments, lotions, drops, and meds to take, all with directions hand-written by the chemist on the outside of the package.

Sona, by the way, has connected with Andrea, Dagmar's sister-in-law. (Remember I met Dagmar at the hospital last week when I was "lost in translation".) They talked last Thursday and met at the Art Institute last Sunday.

This past Saturday some 20 of us from church drove 1 hour south to the refugee camp to attend a concert held to entertain the residents. The numbers vary, but right now there are about 150 refugees there waiting for asylum, some of them for over one year. In the meantime, they can't work, can't attend school, can't really do anything. Of the 150, about 75 showed up, only 2 of them women. We had a band, headed up by our "rockin' reverend" Dave, and they were great - to our American ears anyway. At one point, the north Indians commandeered the mikes and the place heated up. (In terms of manners, it may have seemed rude, but the idea was to engage the people to eventually do this themselves. Hopefully, they will pursue this.) We had brought food and drinks and everything was devoured or taken back home. The place was a former university, long abandoned and in the middle of nowhere. It was very depressing and I was exhausted when I got home, having done nothing but try to talk to some Indians, Ukraines, Ugandis, and Pakistanis.

Liba, Vlado and I hiked last Sunday. We cooked sausages again and this time our goal was Devinska Kobyla, and yes it really was a small sand dune. I could hardly believe where I was. By the time we reached it, it was about 4:00, and many people were sitting and/or lying around, as the area sits on the east bank of the Danube. Liba again picked flowers, being careful to "save some for the bees". She showed me net (I think we call this stinging nettle.) and said that would be the next thing she'd harvest but it was too early right now.

So I'm packing for Turkey tonight. Christian has cautioned me to not eat the street food even though it all looks so good. Everyone says be careful and I intend to. Oh, and even though I won't be here for Easter, I have purchased my own whip, 40 crowns outside of Tesco. Just trying to be proactive!

Buongiorno, Part II

2007-04-03T23:22:00.000-07:00

SPRING BREAK! Yee-ha! We'd book a cheap flight last fall flying Ryan Air (dreadul but puctual; you get what you pay for) from BA to Bergamo, Italy, just outside of Milan. Our plan was to stay in Bergamo, travel to Cinque Terre and return to Bergamo for our week-long holiday. Incredibly we met Alison and Aubrey at the BA airport, two young English teachers at Jon's Lyceem, who were headed to Milan on our flight, then Florence and a few days of wherever. I told Alison about going to La Spezia which they ended up doing and had a great time. (Good thing too, because I'd never actually been there. I was just reading the book and talking the talk.)

Fulbrighter Nicole had advised us on accomodation in Bergamo and once again the dymanic duo of me and Zuzka booked an apartment at Entro le Mura (Within the Walls) in the Citta Alta, the high walled city of old Bergamo. For a nominal fee, our B&B person, Enrica, met us at the airport and in ten minutes we were up in the old town. We had a late dinner at a trattoria around the corner, with me trying one of the Bergamasco specialties casonsei, a meat-filled ravioli that was delicious. Polenta is also a specialty, eaten as a side dish or dessert - polenta e osei are little cakes filled with jam and topped with yellow icing and chocolate birds (probably the only thing I DIDN'T enjoy in Italy)

The next day we strolled through the Piazza Veccia of the old town and caught the funicular to take us up to the castle. The funicular has been around since 1887 and has an interesting history. Much more than a tourist vehicle, it was built to connect the two levels of the town of Bergamo. The engineer who came up with the plan was already managing the horse-drawn tram service down in the lower town, and for years he operated the funicular. Finally, it was turned over to the city who has made many improvements over the years; nowadays it is simply part of the transit system. That week we would use it numerous times as we went either to the lower town or the train station which was just beyond it.

Our family-run B&B served wonderful breakfasts, especially coffee! We had a small garden outside our french doors, complete with a stone wishing well. The area was enclosed by a low wall built of the same stone, making the perfect perch for Gigia, the ever-present Springer Spaniel. Inside, the ceilings of our main rooms were all vaulted, as in a cathedral. Everything was stone and the place really wasn't comfortably warm until we returned there a few days later after our stay at Cinque Terre.

The guest book was filled with names of people from UK, Norway, Scotland, Belgium and Spain: all places on the Ryan Air routes. There were quite a few from the U.S. also, but we were the sole representatives from Bratislava - two wild and crazy guys.

After a few days we left by train (4 hours) through Milan and Genoa to La Spezia, where we would connect to the five small towns of the Cinque Terre. (Say CHINK-weh TAY-reh) We were staying in Varnazza, town #2 or 4 depending on if you're going up or down the Liguorian coast. Cinque Terre is a series of towns, connected by both walking paths and trains. They have been inhabited for 100's of years, many of the same families staying put, even speaking their own dialect. It is part of UNESCO world heritage list, and recently became a national park. There is not a museum in sight and the pace varies from slower to slowest.

We had some difficulty booking accomodation beforehand as we were about 2 weeks ahead of the season's opening, Elizabeth did have a room, though and met us at the main drag. Good planning that Elizabeth was accompanied by husband Joseph, who helped us up approximately 2,000 steps with our luggage. Zuzka was wondering what "hodge-podge" meant, the description of our rooms in "Rick Steve's Italy". Well, funky, crooked, odd; all that and more! Residents make the best out of what little space they have, much of it being vertical. We asked to see a second room after she showed us the first and ended up taking the latter. Two walls of our place were made of the natural black rock of the cliffs, and mysteriously a black cat joined us on the second night. We did not spend much times in our rooms.

Even though it was late the day we arrived, I took off and did the hike to Corniglio and back, arriving in the dark to our place which was right on the well-marked path. I had passed the nude beach way down below me, but at about 60 degrees that day the place was vacated. Since the CT became a National Park eight years ago, you have to purchase a pass to hike the trails. but this allows the hiking to continue and repairs to be made. And also makes me think the nude beach will soon be history. The next day Zuzka was with me when we hiked through the vineyards and olive groves of Corniglio. She found it depressing; it thought it was serene.

We managed to visit every town but missed the hike to Manarola since it was closed for repairs. In some areas, like Via dell' Amore, the boulders above are all hair-netted to keep them from joining unexpecting hikers. We heard that rock climbers from the north (Dolomite Spiders) were brought in to help with the construction work of this section As you look up you see steel netting bolted to the cliff side, while right in front of you are cacti with lovers' initials carved into them and locks with ribbons, testifying one's true love along this romantic path. CT is filled with tunnels, both for trains and pedestrians. When you're in town, trains sound like a jet coming in to land, but you soon get used to it. In some villages like Riomaggiore and Manarola you walk through a mosaic-decorated tunnel to go from the train to the town.

In Riomaggiore I bought earrings that had campanula flowers pressed inside. The shopkeeper told me that that day was her first day to be open of the season. In Vernazza I bought a hand-painted tile where the owner told me that, like many others, she and her family live in La Spezia and come up to open during the tourist season. We were talking about teaching, and she was complaining because part of her childrens' Italian curriculum is the study of Greek and Latin and she thought it was a waste of time.

There were a limited number of restaurants open but we still ate well, sampling fresh anchovies, pasta and pesto and snacking on the world's best focaccio. After dinner if you're looking for nightlife you'll find it - in the form of people strolling up and down, talking, talking and talking. I loved it all.

We took a side trip to Pisa on one of the dreary days, about an hour's train trip away. On the way we at first thought we saw snow in the distance on the mountain side, but then realized as we passed through the town of Carerra, it was marble! Pisa was interesting and yes the tower really does lean...a lot! Food anywhere, everywhere, was terrific. I was looking forward to a special dinner that night at a restaurant owned by a friend of Christian's; Zuzka was having some back problems so we cut it short and ate back at CT. The next day day we checked out using the following procedure explained by Elizabeth's note: put the "kee" under the carpet- the money here. (on the table) Just like the Hyatt!

Returning to the B&B we felt like we were at the Ritz! The next day we went into Milan where I had booked us for Da Vinci's Last Supper. That sounds like a restaurant but here's how they handle viewing the special fresco: Because Leonardo used an experimental process in creating this piece, it was already deteriorating shortly after completion. Throughout the many hundreds of years that followed, well-meaning art historians have attempted to "fix" it, causing more damage in the attempt. Finally, it is felt that all possible restoration that can be done, has been done. In order to control the humidity and not incur anymore damage, 25 people are let in every 15 minutes for a viewing. We were fortunate to get in, and luckier still because March 8 was International Womens' Day - it was free!

We viewed Milan's famous Duomo (magnificent) and I trooped around on its rooftop, walking between the spires. At 333 feet, the view is spectacular. I also toured La Scala Opera House, which was just OK. We hadn't been able to get tickets as the opera that evening was by Donizetti of Bergamo, so all the locals bought all the tickets. Did some great people watching at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, a four-story glass-domed arcade right on the cathedral square. There's lots of mosaic artwork there including the Torino bull installed in the floor. Occasional rowdy groups could be heard encouraging others to spin on the bull's testicles for good luck. With all that spinning, the tiles there were completely missing!

Outside on the balcony MTV mounts a camera, encouraging everyone to get stupid and get on TV. That day the square was filled with sign-toting Hillary Duff fans, but beyond that I couldn't explain any more. By the time we left Milan we were glad to get back to quiet Bergamo. Assistant manager Lucy says she hates Milan and makes a point to stay away. She highly recommended we pursue our plan to go to Lake Como the next day, and ferry to Varenna and Bellagio. We did and just enough was open to make it a relaxing but fun stay. Como is known for it silks, and I bought a scarf made there, although these days the silk is from China. A woodworker's store had a glass bottomed floor where you could look WAY down to see the ancient well below. He and his son create olive wood pieces and I bought some cheese knives before we continued walking through the village.

Taking the train out of there was a little confusing because no schedules were posted. BUT Rick Steves gets around; three groups out of four of us were carrying his book so we all put our heads together and figured out what to do next. (And hiking in Cinque Terre we had met ANOTHER American couple with his book.) Well, this blog does not do Italy justice. Did I mention the familes strolling in Bergamo on Saturday afternoon? Young, old, with children, without! Did I mention how put together the men were? How they can actually pull off wearing a pair of orange pants, or gold, or green or even PURPLE! And better not leave the house without your shades! Italy was sensual and slow, family and talk, good food and drink, simple but the best!

Buongiorno!

2007-04-01T03:34:00.000-07:00

I took two opportunities to visit Italy recently, trips as different as night and day. As a matter of fact, one was mostly night now that I think of it, where in some sort of apparently weakened mental state, I let Zuzka talk me into a bus trip to Venice for Carnevale. It was one of those junkets that sounded good in early January but left you with the question, "What the hell was I thinking?" come February. The tour was scheduled to leave BA at 10:00 PM on Friday, drive through the night and arrive in Venice the next morning. After spending the day at Carnevale we would get back on the bus at 8:00 P.M., again drive through the night returning to BA about 6:00 Sunday morning. And now you're also going, right, what the hell WERE you thinking?! I'm still not sure. Yes, it got me to Venice for Carnevale, but the tour definitely goes in the do-not-recommend pile.

And at first it looked like we wouldn't even get out of Slovakia let alone to Venice. Within an hour of leaving Slovakia you are doing passport control at the Austrian border. Last fall when I took a bus tour to Austria they had required all our passport numbers beforehand. At the border control no one needed to exit the bus and we went through in the fast lane.

This evening, however, we all got off the bus, showed our passports and returned to our seats aboard the bus. It was then that we were told that there was an issue with weight of the bus, we were being fined 75 Euros AND not allowed to cross the border. There must have been more to this but that is the line the tour guide fed us, as translated by Zuzka to me.

The whole thing smelled fishy to me: the inefficient way of checking five busloads through passport control, the overweight issue with tourists who had no luggage except for pillows and blankets, and the fact that after we paid our fine we were going to the other, less convenient passport control to supposedly try our luck. What was to to keep one control from phoning the other to tell them we were overweight? Were we suddenly about to become underweight at the other station? I guess so because we did not need to get off the bus, got waved through and added about one hour to an already dreadfully long trip.

Along with other EU newcomers, Slovakia is scheduled to sign the Schengen agreement this December, 2007. This agreement means that document checks between two countries which are members of EU are abolished, more like domestic travel. Most EU countries participte; UK does not. In order to be included countries need to secure borders with other non-EU countries, in Slovakia's case with Ukraine.This date has been pushed back a number of times but from what I gather it is due to complications in putting the technology in place, December, however, is a long way off and the Austrians looked to be taking advantage of us Slovaks. (Notice how I say "us"!)

After two rest stops were made it to Italy. Another passport control roused anyone still asleep, but this check was thankfully uneventful. And finally...Venice! As the bus rolled in from the two miles long causeway and you see the city of Venice in the distance, all I could think of was, "I'm going to Disneyland!" it was that unreal looking. Our bus parked, the tour guide gave us some directions and told us to be back here at 8:00. Now we're also thinking out of all these hundreds of buses, how will we ever find ours?

We navigate the kitchy souvenir stands to find a gondola and set up a ride to share with another threesome later that afternoon. Zuzka and I continue to walk toward the center to begin our Carnevale experience. Carnivale literally means "farewell to meat" and centuries ago was celebrated for the two months leading up to the Lenten season. Wearing a mask apparently gave you leave to do pretty much anything with anybody. Nowadays, the celebration is like Mardi Gras and lasts a mere 10 days, but the masks are still a Venetian trademark.

We walked Venice's confusing alleys heading for one of its famous bridges, the Rialto Bridge along the Main Canal where we decided we needed capuccino and teramisu. It was exhorbitantly priced but the canal-side table was worth the euros. (It's so much effort to haul in everything to Venice; everything consumable is expensive.) Refreshed and renewed with our excellent stop we follow the signs per San Marco, leading us to the main district.

Venice has 400 bridges and 2,000 alleys and much of the time it seemed we were headed down a dead-end, but that's just how you get around. We saw lots of push-carts loaded with goods to stock in stores; old Venice is car-less and even bike-less (!) due to its fragile infrastructure. (as in almost none) Venice is sinking! Many years ago before the Grand Canal even existed, Venice's river emptied into the Adriatic sea. When this closed up it formed a lagoon with numerous barrier islands separating it from the sea. Venice was built on marshy land by piling millions of trees atop the mud that covered the clay soil; its Grand Canal is the leftovers from the river.

Venice also floods about 100 times a year; no surprise that its population has gone from 200,000 to 65,000. As Chicago weatherman Tommy Skilling would enthusiastically explain (because weathermen love weather), when south Egyptian winds blow in and combine with high barometric pressure on the lower Adriatic sea, the water gets pushed up to Venice, the top end of the sea. Later when we took our gondola ride we saw many bottom floors under construction and/or vacant, with real life continuing above the salt water line.

Arriving at Piazza San Marco, we began to see costumed couples parading the grounds, pausing to oblige tourists for a Kodak moment. Most were dressed in the height of Venetian 17th century fashion, color coordinated and of course, masked. It was all very elaborate, elegant and stately; this wasn't New Orleans and it definitely wasn't Rio. I visited St. Mark's Basilica, its amazing cathedral covered with mosaics. Built in the 11th century St. Mark's replaces an earlier church and even houses the saints' bones. The cathedral relates more toward Eastern-style architecture, reflecting its connection with the Byzantine Empire which protected Venice from Charlemagne and yes, here it is again, his Holy Roman Empire. I had hoped to visit the Doge's Palace next door but time didn't permit. (Doge is like Duke and for some 400 years this was power-central and the hottest real estate in Europe.)

We later hopped a vaporetto, one of the bus-boats that are part of the public transit system. This put us back at the start where we met up for the gondola ride, followed by a late lunch. (I'd like to say the ride was romantic but sorry, I wasn't feeling it, and no, he didn't sing or even talk for that matter.) Our timing was totally off though, as it took so long to navigate both by boat and on foot as we tried to return to the square to see the costume parade. As we were walking IN toward the square we could tell that parade was finished because everyone was walking OUT in the opposite direction. At least we saw many of the costumes that way, but missed the experience of viewing it from the square.

I passed up the every-other-mask stores, wondering how you ever made a living on THAT? Instead I bought a small beaded necklace and earrings made of glass on the Venetian island of Murano, another place I wouldn't get to see. Can you tell this wasn't my kind of trip? I like to really experience places, get off the beaten path and talk to locals I visit; this was more of a tease. And the last frustrating part was that just as we were making our way across town (for the fourth time) you could tell things were heating up on the square. Live music was starting, there was dancing, both choreographed and improvised. Where children (also in costume but more like bunnies and bears) had been leaving the city, the adult party was gearing up. And like a child who feels she has been excluded from all the cool "big people" stuff, I returned to the bus. Here we waited for the same couple who had kept us waiting at every single stop (I guess there's always one.) and also for the tour guide, who, turns out, had been pickpocketed. We drove out the causeway, retracing our route to the mainland, with me thinking, "So much for Disneyland."

...Even In Australia

2007-03-29T07:23:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Friday and marks the end of the week of senior school-leaving exams, the Maturiti. Students must sit for exams in four subjects of their choice, including the required Slovak; each subject administered throughout the country on its designated day. This past Tuesday no one had exams because that was for Hungarian and Lithuanian, languages that are required at some schools in the eastern part of the country. Wednesday was English and the topic was announced to everyone on the radio by the Ministry of Education at 8:00 that morning. Whip out your pens and blue books, kids, and wax eloquent FOR FOUR HOURS!

All students were dressed up, boys in suits and girls in heels, suits or business-type outfits. Wearing their green ribbons they were easily identified around town as "last years" or seniors. And it's not over yet. In June these same students will go through another version of testing in the same subjects. English, for example, is oral but this time the students have studied the more than 20 topics from which they will randomly select. They will speak and answer questions before a panel of impartial teachers, all this so that they will be able to secure their certificate. Securing a certificate is a matter of choice and there are different levels depending on the type of school you attend. At our gymnazium, where all students hope to continue at university, this certificate is necessary for admittance to higher education. So tomorrow is TGIF; I'm sure there will be a lot of green-ribboned people celebrating tomorrow night!

Well thank God I wasn't being examined on my teaching last Wednesday! Let's just say I've had better days, but if I left it at that what fun would the blog be? Indulge me here: Ever since my children were small I've enjoyed collecting childrens' books. The collection leans toward the primary years; I even have books in different languages like my latest find: "Lezioni Di Tuba" (How could I resist, Ian?) Some are classics but most are books that gave me a laugh, a thought, a visual jolt or perhaps all those things. I am SOOO ready to be a Grandma! One classic is Judith Viorst's "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day". Poor Alexander is a middle boy of three, too young to be "cute" not yet old enough to be cool. When he wakes up with gum in his hair, the day only goes downhill from there: lima beans for dinner, his best friend finds someone to replace him, his cat won't sleep with him! In short, Alexander feels he is a seven-year-old screw up, but maintains all would be good if he could just move to Australia. And I told you that so I can now tell you this.

A few days ago I had one of those lessons where everything seemed to pull together: we played an effective volleyball lead-up game that more than satisfied the class' desire to "play real volleyball". The game was quirky which made it unpredictable and also took the pressure off the less skilled girls to perform on a par with those more skilled. And of course the best part was they said, "Can we do it again!" Of course you can; you are so wonderful and your P.E. teacher is pretty marvelous herself, I'm thinking.

The next day I adapt the game for Primas (first years) changing the skills but not the rules. Primas, remember are big on enthusiasm; they once cheered when I carried out the orange cones from the equipment room as in yes, we're using the cones today! No kidding. BUT not so good with the english language end of things, so that's the trade off. First off I taught them a new word which was also the name of the game POISON. I ask "Romeo and Juliet?" Most nod yes mainly thanks to Leonardo Di Caprio. I make like I'm drinking, then dramatically clutch my throat and pretend to die; major over-acting but they got it. OK on to the rules.

Using a volleyball we basically were playing a variation of a throw and catch game they already knew. We know it in the states as Newcomb; here they call it Prehadzovana. We played it with 4 teams, however, using one volleyball net and each team starting off with five objects (we used tennis balls) The object of the game is to try to play so you retain all five balls. Missing a catch means you must give up a ball and eventually one of the four teams loses all five tennis balls. (No, in P.E. you never say you lose your balls, or pick up your balls, or give me your balls, or anything like that good for a sophomoric laugh.) ANYWAY, this team disbands and can go to any of the other three teams, alone or together. This brought some whines of "But that's not FAY-ER!" (Why is it that with so little english, they can still whine with the best of them?)

However, that's the idea of the game; I said it was quirky. The now-vacated court becomes POISON and a ball hit into the POISON court results in the hitting team's loss of another tennis ball. Can't you feel the tension among the 10 year olds?! Lots of screaming, drama, foot stomping (I think I was playing Queen's "We Will Rock You") and unfortunately in one case the whole team colliding to catch the ball. (They all decked one another BUT SAVED THE CATCH! Vybourne, Primas!)

After that another team (OK I'll say it.) loses its balls and regroups with the remaining two teams. Now there are TWO POISON COURTS AND EVENTUALLY A WINNER! How exciting! Well... no, not if the game is over and you don't even know you won. Ohhh. BARBORA YOU ARE WINNER! Blank look. THEY ARE LOSER! More terrible english and another blank look. Judita, do you understand winner? Yes, she does. Can you tell Barbora that her team won? Even Judy saw how silly this was but let Barbora in on the secret that her team had won the very exciting but apparently incomprehensible game of POISON! As a very wise Alexander figures out (with his Mom's help of course) at the end of the story, "Some days are just like that, even in Australia". ...and Slovakia.

Arizona...and Glen Ellyn

2007-03-26T08:47:00.000-07:00

I arranged to go hiking again with Vladimir and Lubisa, although now they were Vlado and Luba (or Libby) because we had become tramping buddies. This time I met them at their tram stop and we started the walk on a different, unmarked trail. Our plan was to go to Arizona, felt to be a sacred, healthy place with the purest water around, although no one could explain the name. In spite of the week's rain including last night, it was once again a beautiful, sunny day. As before, Luba started picking flowers that she would mix together and dry, later adding mint and chamomile purchased from a chemist to make her herbal tea.

Early in our hike Luba pointed out the new-age Austrian windmills seen in the distance, and the town in the valley, the closest village in Austria. We walked through a meadow were there were the remains of the concrete fence pillars and barbed wire used for a barrier when the communists ran the show and patrolled the border. No one walked the meadow then except for soldiers.

We finally arrived at Arizona, a stunning, wooded area with granite outcroppings and a large fire pit. And as far as the eye could see, was the Kingdom of Bear's Garlic as Luba called it. She had brought sausages to cook, so Vlado got busy starting a fire. We were in a national park and there was plenty of wood to be had for the fire, but unfortunately all of it wet. Luba whittled sticks for our roasting utensils and I started picking garlic. This seemed to be an agreeable division of labor, although things seemed to get a little tense when Luba started offering unsolicited advice on how to get a wet fire started. But light it did and when we started grilling, the dripping fat helped the fire even more.

Our sausages looked more like hot dogs, and were almost as fat as they were short. Luba said they were special sausages for cooking over an open fire. They had been cut in an x at either end and as they cooked they curled and opened like flowers. There were logs set out that made a sort of table and benches. When we sat down to eat our feast included rye bread, sausages and salad (raw Bear's Garlic picked last week and washed and crisped for our picnic). We used knives to stab pieces of sausages, combining them with bread and garlic. I felt like a girl scout again and asked if they had scouting in Slovakia. She said it had been popular in the 1930's, but it fell out of favor because the communists thought it was "too western". I was surprised because I think of scouting as just the opposite, that if anything it leans toward communism not away from it.

Finishing our meal we tidied up the area and in 3 seconds doused the fire it had taken Vlado almost an hour to coax into existence. We passed two more natural wells as we walked downhill through the ravines, all of it still covered by a carpet of garlic. Some of it was starting to bud but we tried to pick the younger, more pungent plants. Luba quizzed me along the way: "And Jo-an, is it true that you say fall and not autumn... that you say zero not "oh"... that you cut all your meat before you begin to eat???" Like many english teachers, she uses the UK-published Headway series to teach. Some companies, however, prefer american english to the british version so she was curious about the differences.

Towards the end Luba said, "Joan, break...peace?" "Break...peace?" I dumbly repeated. "Peace" she repeated, then so did I. At least we agreed but I'm not sure on what. Was this a Slovak version of shake-hands peace I had done in church earlier that day? "PISS" she re-pronounced. Ohh! Take a piss! Got it and yes, I need to. We completed our hike, this time finishing near a bus stop which took us to our trams where we continued to our respective flats. Next weeks plans are to visit Sand Hill (in german, Sandberg), an area that fossils confirm used to be a prehistoric sea. It is 500 meters above sea level and sounds like a desert sand dune but I'm not sure.

Returning to my flat I realized my ear was really bothering me. It had been uncomfortable off and on for months, and after using a cotton swab it felt like I had water in my ear. When Ian phoned I also realized I could hardly hear out of that ear. Also, I'd rubbed my eyes with unwashed hands after garlic picking resulting in hay fever-like symptoms. I went to bed pretty miserable and slept poorly. Upon waking up things were no better and I decided it was TIME TO SEE THE SLOVAK DOCS! I'd hoped that I'd never have to do this but it seemed necessary.

Fulbright had referred me to a clinic a short walk away so that's where I headed to go see Dr. Igor Vozar. I walked UP to the first floor (reception is always the main floor which doesn't count) noticing the ornate wrought iron rail and small mosaic tiles, looking like they were from the 20's or 30's. The offices were bland but the entrance reeked of shabby elegance. I told Dr. V about a secondary issue as well (hey, why not?) but when I said I couldn't hear he looked alarmed and said he'd send me to the hospital to an ear, nose and throat specialist. I was out of there before 9:00 and no charge for the consultation. So far so good. I even kind of knew where the hospital was because it was on my way to school.

Stopped at the flat to double check the hospital address online. I was going to Zeleznicna Nemocnica which didn't seem to even be listed. The second word means hospital but I got out my dictionary to figure out the first. Part of that word means green, or growing or vegetable. Green hospital? Vegetable Hospitable? (Maybe they had electrotherapy like at the spa!) At least he didn't refer me to the OK Clinic which WAS listed online. OK? OK, what? We'll make you OK? We're not great, just OK? We're OK, you're OK? Best keep away from OK Clinic.

Over to the hospital now and directed to floor two, which if you're paying attention, you know is really on floor three. Show "Nurse Rached" my paper to see Dr. Gasparova, she doesn't take my name, instead points to a crowded hallway and says two. As the rooms are 227 and 229, two makes no sense. I go back and look pathetic, she walks me over to (locked) room 227 which also has a sign posted that says ORL Ambulancia II. And do what I ask. Neviem, she answers (doesn't know). So you know what's coming, right? I see there are 11 others there and resignedly sit down so I can ask my neighbor DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH? Bingo, Dagmar did and explained the system is that there is no system. It's not as bad as I thought, though, as she points to everyone in order, she is fourth, and I follow her.

Turns out I'm at a State hospital where she says things actually ran more efficiently under the communists. But because health insurance is deducted monthly, most people have paid into the system and can't afford to go to a private hospital. She says she goes to a private gynocologist and dentist and was being seen for her neck (everyone says that when they mean throat) because it would be too expensive. We chat and I mention Chicago, where her brother, Mark, lives in a Michigan Avenue condo with wife Andrea who really misses Slovakia. We exchange e-mails and I'm thinking a friend for Sona! Dagmar tells me she was an aupair 16 years ago for Russian-Slovak Dr, Palowski...in Glen Ellyn. This is getting too crazy and the world shrinks daily.

We continue to talk until the doctor sticks her head out the door and says Pani Vande Velde? How did she even know I was there?! I apologize for bumping Dagmar out of order and hustle in. There are two desks: Dr. Gasparova, who had summoned me spoke no english so I was seen by the other person who had no identification but did speak english. I explain the problem and sit down in the dentist's chair. She does a brief exam and it takes her no time to decide she needs to remove ear wax from my right ear. She does her thing and sends me out for 15 minutes to wait. Dr. G again calls me in, I get the cotton removed and we do a sort of whispering test across the room, the non-identified person whispering, me repeating, Dr. G positioning me and covering the other ear. The doctor washes the utensils while the other enters the report in the computer and hands me the bill, about $40. (Ah, maybe that's why I got called - cold cash!) I pay Doctor G who has a little money box for the odd paying patients like me. I ask about my other ear concern, but she says that is for a dermatologist and sends me back to the first clinic. I ask her what is the name of the hospital and she says it means Railroad Hospital. Just like the whole morning, makes sense to me!

Admitedlly ear wax is an icky subject. I have vaugely heard of candling but really didn't understand why I had this condition. As usual I went online, but the answer to that is that often there is no answer. Some of the best information came from a doctor's website called Wax, Boogers and Phlegm. Guess you have to keep your humor about icky stuff like that. Back to the first clinic where I run into my first doc, Igor, who asks was I seen and what happened. He seemed genuinely concerned and explained that he did not have the equipment there to do the procedure. So made my appointment for the dermotologist and went home. And just as I'm embarassed to admit I had earwax I hate to admit what I did next. Humming the tune of "You deserve a break today..", I had lunch at McDonald's!

February...March?!

2007-03-24T10:44:00.000-07:00

Now I read it! There is a weekly newspaper published here caIled the Spectator that gives us english-speakers local news, albeit most of it a week late. I also have a few editions of the slick Spectacular, its annual travel guide companion magazine with lots of good information about Slovakia. While flipping through an old Spectacular, I recently I came across a sidebar article about "How to Read Slovak Trail Marks", and had another a-hah moment. I now know I can secure trail guides in bookstores and at our local information center. The guides are in Slovak but the trails are color-coded in a way that makes perfect sense.

Trails are always marked in four colors: red, blue, yellow and green. These marks are almost always painted on trees; if it's a red trail, for example, there will be a horizontal stripe painted between two white ones, just as the markings I'd seen last Sunday. In fact, I had seen no red trails that day, as they denote the most challenging trails, ones that move steeply up and down hills. All other colors require less exertion and mean various things. The yellow trail I'd started with was a short connecting trail meant to be a path between two larger trails, and not point to tourist destinations like the castle. Green trails connect to other, larger trails and usually move hikers between tourist attractions. And the blue trail that lead me into the castle was a long, not-too-challenging trail that connects two major tourist attractions, in my case the river/bike path area and the castle.

I also noticed painted white squares with colored diagonals (not horizontals) passing through them. While it reminded me of a one-way, do not enter sign, I figured that was silly but could never see any logic to it. I now know it simply means that there is a sign containing information about the area's local wildlife up ahead, all in Slovak but at least with pictures. Finally, when you see a painted square with its top-right quarter missing (I didn't but I may have just not noticed.) it will be where the trail splits. The standard horizontal mark leads you on the regular path, with the 3/4 version leads to a tourist attraction. Most markings are 300 meters apart, so if you haven't seen something in that approximate distance you can retrace your steps to make sure you are going in the proper direction. So, I had done alright, but knowledge is power and I will do better in the future.

Well, I don't know how it happened but February is gone and good riddance! It's never been my favorite month and there's a reason it has only 28 days. But this brings on March which makes me realize I still need to chat a bit about the past month, so here goes. A while back I had mentioned that in early February we had some release time from school in order to convene for our Fulbight Mid-Winter Conference. We cooperated with Czech Republic making a group of about 30 meeting at the spa town of Trencianske Teplica in Slovakia. We were all expected to give 15 minute presentations explaining what we were doing, and if time allowed, answer questions. This took most of the three days, with some down time to tour the local castle and take advantage of the spa services.

Yes, we were at a spa, but ahem, a SLOVAK SPA, established at one of Slovakia's numerous natural springs. Scratch that: we were at the Flora Hotel, a facility with spa services available IF they could arrange the necessary out-of-house providers. That Sunday afternoon, we Slovak Fulbrighters bounded off our bus, checked in and immediately tried to sign up for massages. The reception desk said of course, but would first have to call the personnel. Ohhhh, OK, and when might we find out? Come back in an hour (or ten minutes, or after dinner, during your conference, in the middle of the night)...just come back. They seemed totally surprised and unprepared that they had a group of people clamoring to schedule massages. (me being one of the predominant clamorers) Their list of spa options looked inviting, but just try to get in to see "The Wizard of Oz". It seemed impossible.

We opted for the "healing waters" of their pool instead, fitted out with powerful jets. Being careful not to flash anyone in the public area of the changing room, I got into my suit. Slovak rooms are uni-sex, but have private changing rooms: just don't mix up the two! Chuck, our resident spa guru was the only one of us who used the sauna, mainly because he was the only one who figured out the procedure. (We couldn't even figure out how to get into the pool. We could see it through the window, but it took a Fulbright Committee of us to actually find the entrance.)

Meanwhile, with persistent "checking back later" I scheduled a massage. Reading the options I saw that I could get a foot reflex massage, shiatsu, under water massage, bubble bath with supplement of herbs and salts or finnish sauna. The list also included some ominous selections like vacuum massage, manual or mechanical lymphatic massage, turf pack and kinetic therapy-curative gymnastics. Overwhelmed by the offerings and figuring I'd best steer clear of turf pack, I went with a classical massage. I also steered clear of the ELECTROTHERAPY ROOM which was right next to my massage room. (Why did I keep thinking of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest"?)

Slovaks take great pride in the curative powers of their spas. Specific spa towns list diseases they claim to treat as well as methods of treatment. Trencianske Teplice specializes in treating the following conditions: rheumatic degenerative and inflammatory diseases, arthritis, ancylosing spondylitis, rheumatism of muscles, diseases of the spine, neurologies, conditions after operations and accidents of the motor apparatus, and sclerosis multiplex, which I'm pretty sure is NOT a movie theater.

Treatments include balneotherapy, specialized medical care, baths in thermal pools, mud compressions, limoplast/combination of mud and parrafin, physio therapy/hydro-electro-heat therapy, gas injections (!), rehabilitation, acupuncture, medical therapy, turf compressions, kneipis therapy and diet food. Our hotel could arrange access to the thermal pools, but as they were located elsewhere it was inconvenient. I would like to visit one, though, because that whole centuries-old experience is the basis for the contemporary treatments offered at spa towns.

My first massage was 20 minutes and all business. Remember this was all about healing, not some glitzy spa getaway on a remote island. We all compared notes afterward and I decided I would be more daring with future choices, regretting having chosen such a mundane massage for my first round. Meanwhile the Bears lost (remember?). I watched just a little, but the "young uns" saw the entire game which didn't start until midnight. I believe it involved significant amounts of pivo (beer) and cheering; the elders in neighboring rooms not being pleased.

Speaking of young uns, there was a decidedly split representation in just who was interested in massage. As pivo-drinking Jason (age 22) put it, "IT"S A DUDE!" No masseur for him; he'd check out the weight room, thank you. The women of all ages seemed to be more inclined to sign up, but some didn't have the time nor interest to keep "coming back later" so just quit trying.

Not me! I next went in for the massage with lava stones, a full 60 minutes this time. I had smooth, heated stones under my head, between my toes, in my palms and even on my belly. At half-time, you slowly sit up and join your masseur in a cup of peppermint tea, before flipping over to the other side. "And what are you wearing at this point?" asks a modest-aware Susan. "Well, my undies." I reply, only thinking about it for the first time. When you're getting worked on, you feel like a carcass and modesty doesn't even occur to you.

The last massage was the best, the honey detoxification regime. While only 20 minutes it seemed to be the most physical by far of the three massages I'd had. At the end of my treatment he sent me on my way, instructing me to drink five liters of baby water (what they call distilled nursery water). Out the next day for a walk I came upon a fountain which I could smell before I saw. It was bubbling over with sulphur waters and had a courtesy cup for anyone wishing to drink. Eeeew! Having bought my baby water at the potraviny, I took a pass on the public stinky waters of the fountain.

Next door to the grocery was the bakery dedicated to the making of oblakti, the communion wafer-like treat made at most spa towns. I brought coconut, vanilla, chocolate and hazelnut versions back to school and I think it was gone before anyone even took a coffee break.

In between massages we convened for our presentations, all different and all interesting. Kicking off the program were current scholars, Fulbrighters with the highest status (and largest stipends), including friends Chuck and Janeil. Breaks and lunches were built into the program so lots of chance to network or just be a Monday morning quarterback. Whatever. Next came the teaching assistants at universities followed by student projects. This category was amazing and I was so impressed with both the variety and expertise of these graduate students, most of whom were not far away from their undergraduate years.

Juliana was making a documentary entitled "Czechploration: Implications of Czech New Wave Images". Involved in public health was Kat, working in drug abuse prevention. An ultra-marathoner herself, she is organizing a fitness-based intervention and will hold a 5K/10K this spring. Ben attempted to explain his "Novel Retrovirus Assembly Research", and actually did a good job of presenting to non-scientists, although don't ask me to re-explain. These were just a few of some stellar power point presentations by an impressive group of young researchers.

This left three more groups yet to pesent. My group of five exchange teachers went next, with the highlight being Jon's math games and songs he composes to help his students remember their math facts. Accompanying himself on guitar, he shared "All Along the Desktops" sung to a Dave Matthews melody. Here's his final verse:

All along the desktops, books turn page by page.
Students are enlightened with pencils sharp and open brains.
Outside of the math classroom, where wild rectangles prowl
Two circles were approaching, 360 degrees around.

I guess that dies on the page but it was hysterical live, and I hate math! No one will ever forget Jon! As for me, my presentation went well. I talked about the low status of Physical Education in Slovakia and how I am handling the situation. Afterward I talked with Betsy, one of the scholars based in Brno with her family, including 8-year-old daughter, Sophie. She said it sounded exactly like Sophie's Czech gymnazium where she is usually the only girl to participate, especially in swimming and ice skating.

That left our teaching assistants to present, but sharing their experience at the high school level this time. Finally we heard from our newly arrived scholars, including Andy who we had just met on the bus coming to TT. Andy just stepped down from the department chair position at Wheaton College where he works in teacher training in special education. Like with physical education, Slovakia has a different mindset about special education. But unlike PE, there is a positive attitude and openess for change in special education. Andy and wife, Christine, school psychologist are team teaching one of Andy's courses here at the university in BA. They have already visited a number of schools finding segregation the norm, inclusion being a completely new concept.

Last went Kevin who will put his business and academic expertise to use as he teaches Czech NGO's how to build strategic management plans. Aware of his place that morning in our three day long (or three long days) program, Kevin told the story of his college graduation where, due to circumstances, he was the last in a very large class to cross the stage and receive his diploma. Being congratulated by his sainted granny brought smiles to his family as she said, "Why, Kevin, you must have so many friends. Everyone clapped the loudest for you." At the close of Kevin's report, we applauded wildly for our new friend!!!

Bear's Garlic

2007-03-20T12:38:00.000-07:00

Happy belated St. Patrick's Day. I had an interesting weekend and would like to share. Last Saturday some of my colleagues gathered at The Dubliner to tip some Guinness to celebrate Nyall's birthday and St. Pat's as well. The Irish Pub is a bit overpriced and well-patronized by lots of Ryan Air tourists from UK, but it seemed to be the place to go for our celebration. I brought some chili-flavored dark chocolate which everyone thought was "interesting" (they hated it, just as they did the gournet root beer from Chicago), Zuzka brought a cake and Nyall ordered a plate of munchies. Most of the talk was in Slovak and my mind and eyes were wandering.

Sitting down next to us were three women, one in a bright red hoodie. Leaning back, I could just barely make out I-L-L and then State. Had the Redwings landed in BA? Finally I could no longer resist, and went over to introduce myself to the three ISU people on leave here for a series of concerts. They were members of the Fine Arts faculty and included a pianist, opera singer and friend. Before long I was taking photos, giving directions and assuming ambassador-at-large duties. I introduced them to our table and before leaving, they sang Happy Birthday to Nyall, opera style. The entire pub quieted down and then burst into applause. Nyall turned bright red from his face to his shiny bald head, I think!

As predicted, this past Monday the weather finally took a grumpy turn for the worse, becoming cold, damp, and dreary. Like many folks around here, however, I made plans to spend Sunday outside to take advantage of our last nice day for awhile. I packed a lunch in my backpack and attended church in my hiking clothes. From there I had figured out how to take a tram to the end of the line and pick up a trail head that would lead me to Devin Castle ruins, a 2-hour one way hike, which I could either make an out-and-back, or just catch a bus back to BA. I'd been to the castle last August and knew the terrain would be hilly but not difficult, and of course the final reward was the spectacular view of the Hrad over the confluence of the Danube and Morava Rivers.

Riding the tram to the end and remembering the online explanation I'd read about the trail, it seemed I had gone too far. I exited and walked back in the opposite direction, and sure enough found the road about 1/2 mile back. I was looking for yellow trail signs, but soon realized that meant yellow painted markings, not signs. Once I figured this out, I easily followed the well-marked trail, first walking through homes on the side of the hill, which then turned into one-room cottages used on week-ends where people typically kept a garden in the small patch of hillside green.

Finally the cottages ended and the woods took over. The trail was wide and fairly dry and I was surprised to see so many woodland blooms in brilliant purples, yellows and lavendars. The signs continued to be well-marked and I noticed I was also on the green trail as each marking had both these colors. One sign said 1:45 to Devin Castle which jived with what I had planned so it seemed that I was on the right route. After a while, though, no signs, and then finally only a green sign. What happened? Had I lost the Yellow Brick Road? Although I had previously seen the castle from a crested hill, now I was in the woods with only trees...and a green sign.

I decided to backtrack figuring that in my enthusiasm (I walk fast) I had missed the yellow turn-off. I stopped the first couple I encountered with the inevitable question, "DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?" The couple were about my age, both with day packs, he with two large filled plastic bags, she with a friendly smile. "Yes, of course." she says. We discuss my apparent mistake, but it seems that yellow route turns into green which is the way to Devin. I had been going the right way but with no map to confirm the rainbow of routes, it wasn't immeditately obvious.

She invited me to join them, and I must admit my immediate inclination was to decline because they were ambling, and I was on a faster pace, heading "somewhere" quickly. But I agreed and what serendipity! I got to know Libusa and her husband (whose name I can't remember). Unbelievably, she is an English teacher working no longer at school, but doing corporate adult education because there is more money in it. Libusa's hubby spoke no english but understood some if not most of what we said. After a while, she asked if we would mind resting at a local camp site, one of their favorite spots. It was here that she said, "Are you seeing all the Bear's Garlic?" as she pulled a few leaves from the ground and took a big bite out of one of them. With my usual american eloquence, I think I replied, "Huh?" or something equally articulate. (Twelve weeks of Slovak and I didn't even have the presence of mind to say, "Prosim?", a polite way to say please, come again. Reading Slovak is easier than hearing, but spitting it out is hardest of all.)

We were sitting in an area completely covered with Bear's Garlic, a plant whose leaves resemble lily-of-the-valley. (Careful here, l-o-t-v leaves are poisonous.) In church earlier that morning we had sung Amazing Grace, so rejoicing that "I was lost but now am found", I gamely chomped on a leaf! As soon as I bit the leaf released a strong odor, a combination of garlic and chives. The pungent odor, however, was much stronger than the taste, which was like that of a sweet vidalia onion. My new friends had been out picking Bear's Garlic; having already filled two big plastic bags.

Libusa filled me in saying that this plant is good for picking about 3-4 weeks of the year. Supposedly when bears come out of hibernation they eat this because it is good for them, hence the name. It grows in woodlands, happily spreading to cover the ground. By the time it blooms with a star-like white flower it is no longer good for picking and although it has a small bulb like garlic, it is the leaf that is used.

She said she cooks it like spinach, sometimes adding it to potatoes and a few eggs too. (This sounds very much like the "Stumpf" that Grandma Valentine Van De Velde used to make most Fridays: spinach combined with mashed potatoes and an egg on top, a typical meatless dish back in Catholic pre-Cana days.) Libusa also uses it in pesto and soups and says the whole place smells like Bear's Garlic.

I later googled it and sure enough there it was in 24 languages and 40 synonyms, all in Central Europe where it is indigeous. The Slovak version, like many others, translates to garlic honey-eater. People believed that if you actually said the word "bear", out would come the big brown ones, so safer to call them honey-eaters. (Think Harry Potter and he-who-will-not-be-named.) Since it can't be cultivated and only harvested for a short time, it's known more locally than internationally. On the other hand, because it is not readily accessible, some chefs have made it trendy by introducing this hard-to-come-by flavor.

It is high in sulfides so probably those bears knew what they were doing. While not too famous, sulfides are important for linking together enzymes in ways that benefit our bodies, like in forming anti-bodies. If we lacked sulfides we wouldn't have the naturally occurring hormone insulin. Have you ever met a bear with high blood pressure, clogged arteries, stomach pains, indigestion, diahhrea and/or colic!? Thought so; Bear's garlic handles all that and more. It also stimulates the appetite so a spring-time feast of it makes sense for Yogi, who as we all know is smarter then th av-er-age bear!

If you go on organic sites (as opposed to botany-based) you read words like vermifuge and depurative. Prosim? It seems that some people use this as a remedy to basically cleanse the intestinal system and purify the blood. Try this tincture at home: Fight off the bears before they wake up and pick their garlic. Chop it up and fill a small bottle with it. Cover with 40% vodka and let it soak for 15 days in the sun. Take 15 drops a day in a glass of water and let me know how you feel! (Oh, and you'll probably have to go to Vermont or Virginia to pick "ramp" the closest thing to it stateside.)

Looking for a more social Bear's Garlic experience? Come to Eberbach, Germany for the annual ramson's festival held in late March/early April. Make plans now!

Libusa and her husband go and walk the woods every week-end like many other Slovaks. She also picked flowers for tea while we were together but she couldn't think of the word in Slovak for what she found. We have made plans to meet again and she said she'll bring the sausage! I do need to ask her about one ominous thing I read though. Ever since the practice of wooded areas being sprayed, the incidence of rabies in foxes has been greatly reduced. The downside, however, is that foxes can carry a parasite whose eggs end up, invisibly, on the garlic leaves. Called liver flukes, ingesting them raw is supposed to cause brain and liver damage!

We continued our hike until it was time for us to go our separate ways: I toward Devin Castle and they to Devinska Nova Ves so they could take a bus back home to cook up their garlic stash. Lubisa gave me two hiking options, asking me why did I want to go to the castle anyway. From that fork, we were looking straight down on the Morava River and I could follow the bike path to the castle. I could also go along the crest of the hill, across the valley and through the village and come out at the same place. She recommended the former, not feeling confident that her latter directions would get me to my destination. Of course I chose the high road (much more interesting) and, now following signs that had mysteriously turned to blue, I did not get lost. I asked Libusa would I see more garlic on my way. She said no and she was right; it had only been back in the woods as this part of the trail was open and sunny. In fact, the rest of the hike was downhill all the way in every way, with the real fun having been meeting new friends and looking forward to more good times next Sunday. Sometimes getting lost is a good thing!

Vaulting Over the Goat

2007-02-26T08:38:00.000-08:00

Today I got up the nerve to assemble the gymnastics equipment in the small gym. Jozko, our Department Chair and I both teach zero hour classes on Monday, so he agreed to show me how to set things up before school, and my yoga students helped. Between the five of us, it took 30 minutes and we didn't even put everything out, not that there was much. The equipment reminds me of the circa 1930's ladder system we used to have at The Lab Schools in old Lower Sunny Gym. We have wooden stall bars along one wall, a solitary rope in the corner and a set of unusable rings hanging from the ceiling. But it was the other stuff that had me mystified and maybe even terrified. Diane Taylor, donde esta?

Two wooden ladders store vertically against the opposite wall along with two wooden balance beams, also vertical and reaching almost to the ceiling. One beam and ladder can't be moved so Jozko showed me how to pull the second beam out away from its anchored side, and support the other end with a metal contraption that weighed at least 50 pounds. (The beam stays attached as it slides down a pole, me pulling out the free end and Jozko pushing down on the anchored end.) I think if the pulley worked it's a one-man operation, but of course the pulley is long gone and we left the ladder for another day. The remainder of the equipment is a series of floor to ceiling heavy metal bars that hang from ceiling supports, like curtain hooks from a rod. To move these poles you lift up and then try to move the pole along the support, stopping at the floor plate and dropping it in where it locks in place. Take out a metal bar (also stored vertically) and place that horizontally at the desired height. Push a curved metal bolt through the holes to secure the bar and cross your fingers that it's the right height because you need to almost completely disassemble before you re-assemble. It's actually very clever and maybe even state of the art at one time. All the bars are metal, no laminated wood over fiberglas, no chalk, although I thought about "borrowing" some from school because it's almost the same consistency and breaks all the time. I made a few high bars and a low bar, but couldn't work out how I would get parallel bars or uneven bars and suspect I never will. We pulled out six heavy mats and rolled out one long canvas mat that was as thin as a blanket. And voila! This was our gymnastics gym; no wonder nobody ever set this stuff up.

I had an additional substitution today; one of the PE teachers got clocked with a soccer ball last December and hasn't been back since. Between us other teachers we fill in for her, which unfortunately gives her classes little consistency. With Danka's class and my own schedule I'd be in the gym for 6 lessons following yoga so I figured it was worth the effort to set up the equipment. My classes went OK but the HS class I subbed for wasn't prepared for me, and had a rash of "Sorry, Joan, I forgot my clothes." I felt like saying no problems ladies, what you really need are sailor tops and bloomers anyway, the better to toss around those indian clubs with. (Which by the way we do NOT have.)

In my own HS class, Ivona said she had forgotten her clothes, and so did Martina. But when Martina appeared in Ivona's pants (the same "forgotten" ones she always wears) I had to use the old, "C'mon, guys, born at night but not last night." Surprisingly, they got it. My students seemed to have little experience with equipment, swinging, and moving upside down and were very timid about trying stunts. And they wanted to keep on their shoes, or trainers as they call them. It's difficult to sell girls on "just trying" when the emphasis has been on succeeding. But they were game to try which felt like a small victory; I don't think I could have pulled this off last fall. We had lots of laughs, everyone was safe and a few girls actually learned something.

Next lesson I add the GOAT! In the States years ago and long before anyone ever heard of adjustable cables, a small version of the vaulting horse was called the buck. I think this was used because it was easier but I haven't seen one in many years. Here in BA we have not one, but two and the equipment is known as the goat not the buck, which I think is odd but that's just me. So soon we "vault the goat" with our antique beat board. If you've been around gymnastics as long as I you recall when beat boards were called reuther boards (like calling tissue kneenex). Well, we have our very own made-in-Holland Reuther board, and none of that sissy padded carpet stuff with springs - it's a springless wooden board that looks brand new. We also have a mini-tramp in the equipment room where even I think it should remain. Still, I'm tempted to haul it out for a good round of Shipwreck...

Czech This Out

2007-02-24T07:28:00.000-08:00

Well, it was bound to happen I guess, what with the traveling I've been doing the past few months: no room at the inn, or rather no one home at the inn. Arriving in Prague (locals know it as Praha) with arrangements to stay at the Ekumenicka accomodation, I rang the doorbell about 10 PM. And rang. And rang. It was dark and I could see no names, so thinking all the bells belonged to the hostel, I rang them ALL. Finally some man in an undershirt stuck his head out the window. "Prosim?" said he. "Ekumenicka!" pleaded I. Coming away from said window, I figured, ah now here is a hostel (hostile?) resident who will come down and let me in, because Mrs. Jelinkova on night duty apparently won't. After a few more minutes of waiting and insistent doorbell ringing, I realized no one was going to answer the door and I'd better start walking the streets of Bethlehem. Always one to look on the bright side I noted I was NOT pregnant NOR did I have a tired donkey in tow. Things could be worse.

Fortunately, there was a hostel right down the block where, having requested a private bath, I got the equivalent of the presidential suite. So I checked in to the CzechInn (get it?) and I had to laugh as the place was easily four times bigger than my flat, full kitchen with oven, table, chairs, and needless to say the kitchen sink. The CzechInn had an internet cafe and bar with live music that doubled as our breakfast room in the morning. The historic building had been gutted and everything was clean, new and quiet. Erase visions of a grungy youth hostel; it was neither grungy nor filled with young people. Too traumatized to even go enjoy a good, cheap Czech beer, I went to bed.

The next morning after a great breakfast, I hoofed it back to the Ekumenicka. It was then that I realized that only the second bell was the correct one; another Ugly American alive and well in Praha. I returned two more times and no one answered the bell, and not wanting to waste anymore time I got another room at the CzechInn. (I had to downgrade as the honeymoon suite was booked but my new room was fine.)

So finally off to the city center I went, somewhat delayed by this accomodation glitch. I started at the National Museum, located at the top of Wenceslas Square, named after the Good King of Christmas carol fame. Good King W was a much-loved 10th century Duke of Bohemia, credited with bringing Christianity to the country and raising the level of culture of its people. He wisely aligned the Czechs with Saxony rather than Bavaria, giving the Czechs some say-so in regards to the all important Holy Roman Emperor, which you kids already know about from previous blogs. After his assasination in 929, he was memorialized (and later canonized) and has become a symbol of Czech nationalism. He is still thought of as a kind of hero, that in the darkest of times he will come riding down from Blanik Mountain (Are you reading this, Beth Blahnik-Wade?) to save the country. Since this still hasn't happened some pessimists assume that the worst is yet to come!

An aside: Like some others friends, Beth has gotten in touch with me recently. In fact, there have been a number of e-mails as people have just now received my xmas cards! I also enjoy the blog comments but I can't necessarily reach you in order to reply when your address is inaccessible. So, Johnny in ALA, please write! OK, now let's keep walking down the square...

Wenceslas Square is more of a boulevard and for me reflects the feel of the recent history of Czech nationalism. Outside the museum under the cobbles is a memorial to student Jan Palach, who set himself on fire in 1969 in the name of Czech independence from communism. The pillars on the museum itself look like they have a case of chicken pox. This is result of masons repairing Russian bullet holes from the black days of 1968, on purpose mismatching the mortar work in order to preserve the memory of the incident. Further down, opposite the fabulous art nouveau Grand Hotel Evropa, is the balcony where 21 years later, Havel announced that Czechoslovakia freedom was at hand. Try to picture some 300,000 people assembled, jingling keychains and chanting, "It's time to go now." Between crowds, an amazing variety of architecture and history, just standing on the square is overwhelming.

Continuing down the square I hung a left when I saw the signed arrow for the Opera House. I went to the ticket booth and was able to purchase a ticket for Don Pascuale by Donizetti. (Zuzka and I are going to Bergamo, Italy next month, home of Donizetti so it seemed fitting to go see one of his operas.) Returning to the boulevard not too far beyond this, the walk empties into the Old Town Square, a myriad of architechtural styles over the many years building (and re-building) went on here. Prague is the only capital in Central Europe to escape the bombs of last century's wars, so it offers a unique opportunity to see a well-preserved city.

I happened to be inside the information center when the infamous Astronomical Clock struck 1:00. We all rushed out to see the "amazing" show but all I saw was the unamazing end. The show goes like this: One of the four statues next to the clock face represents Death. Death gets the ball rolling by tipping his hourglass, pulling a cord and ringing a bell. This opens the window and brings out the 12 apostles who parade by, a rooster crows and the bell rings. I promised myself to return to catch the whole show, but just as with clocks timing is everything and I never did make it.

The clock is much more complicated than that, keeping several versions of time. You see miniatures being sold all over at souvenir shops as well as t-shirts that say, "Czech me out!" I resisted but did buy a nice signed photo of the Charles Bridge, doing my part to support the Praha economy. I turned onto narrow Karlova, going past Charles University and the Kelmentinum, Prague's huge National and University Library. Charles University was founded over 700 years ago; just imagine THEIR alumni association. We have about six Fulbrighters there in a variety of fields, both teaching and researching.

While the university was once a major European center of learning, it struggles nowadays. Like most universities in Europe, education is free and housing is heavily subsidized. But education is not accessible for many as the state lacks necessary funds. There are many holdover faculty from communist days who value memorization and rote learning, and this teaching style is true of many gymnaziums (high schools) as well. Grades are meaningless; students just need to pass so often do as little as possible. It's no surprise that teachers are poorly paid, even at the university level, and this holds true for Slovakia.

My colleagues here at Comenius University never have their schedules and class rosters until the last minute, and even then things change; my own gymnazium seems much more organized. Last fall at Janeil's graduate level art school, registration was delayed a week because the registrar had some sort of dental work done. Chuck's international business law class designed for discussion, swelled to an enrollment of over 70 and became a lecture course, with even more "distance students" getting the material through Chuck's internet organization. There is much talk of revamping the system and assesssing fees, but it is a political issue and seems to lack the necessary priority. I plan to return to Prague another time and try to hook up with some Fulbrighters and see more of the university.

Meanwhile, continuing the walk brought me to the Charles Bridge, over 500 meters long, spanning the Vltava River and connecting the Old Town with Prague Castle. The bridge is decorated with statues, most blackened due to the pollution, and makes for an entertaining if not commercial stroll. You hear tour guides talk about two of the statues in particular. The first is actually a cross where prisoners would stop to pray as they marched from the castle prison to their execution in the town square. The second is that of St. John Nepomuk, a Czech saint who was the queen's confessor in the 14th century. (Two questions here; who ever heard of this St. John and how many saints ARE there anyway?!) It seems the king was hassling Father John for the details of his queen's sins, but the good priest kept mum. The king had him killed and thrown off the bridge where, as soon as he hit the water, five stars appeared. SO...at the statue there is a plaque with very shiny stars commemorating this. You make a wish and rub a star and be careful because you only get to do this once. Lots of wishing and statue rubbing around here, I'm finding and yes, as I reached the castle grounds I spied the obligatory plague column.

To tour the castle is to really tour a whole complex, including St. Vitus Cathedral where coronations occurred and Good King W is interred. As with any castle it is WAY UP out of harm's (including floods) way. I walked back down, re-crossing the bridge, returning to have some dinner, this time enjoying a Pilsner Urquell, a popular Czech beer often found on tap at pubs. I walked down to the Opera House arriving early and good thing too, as I was at the wrong opera house! (I wanted The Estates Theater, not the State Theater!) I made it in time and was shown to my 2nd balcony box I shared with two other german-speaking women. I enjoyed the performance although it was approximately 110 degrees in our box. During one scene where it looks like the "guy has to give up his one true love" I thought I heard the theme from the Godfather; not the Love Theme, but the solitary trumpet known as the Main Title theme. Excited that The Godfather had used a Donizetti opera motif, I googled it, but all credit seems to go to Nino Rota, a contemporary Italian composer. So much for my sophisticated ear.

The Estates Theater was where Mozart premeired Don Giovanni. There is a bronze statue outside commerating it, but no mention of the fact that it was considered a flop in Prague. Shortly after, Mozart took his show to Vienna where he was embraced. (See, I only know this from having been to Vienna. Different cities, different versions.)

On Sunday I had planned to spend the morning at the Jewish Museum which like the castle is a number of buildings that requires about 3 hours. Instead I walked over much of the same area and also visited the Alfred Mucha (say moo-ka) museum, something I was interested in and also felt I had the time for. Mucha worked at the turn of the last century, and like Klimt in Austria, did extensive work in Art Nouveau. He is best known for his posters, although he designed and painted as well. He also did one stain glass window (a replacement) in St. Vitus Cathedral which I had visited the day before. I bought a birthday present for a certain sister-in- law married to the brother- in- law who is now in possession of the infamous walking stick.

I later heard from the Ekumenicka who said that they realized the door bell didn't work, Mrs. jelinkova was home all week-end, and "hoped I wasn't too inconvenienced". Well, I was but in their defense, their accomodation is generally used for church-related visitors; they are not in the business of hosteling. I have since heard of an accomodation that is reserved for visiting academics right in Old Town. So this is probably where I'll book next time I come to CZECH IT OUT.

An American in Vienna

2007-02-03T04:55:00.000-08:00

A Turkish vendor was hawking his goods Saturday in the Naschmarkt, Vienna's open air market. Speaking German, it was obvious that he was saying something about how great his food was and that everyone should try it. Just as I walked past, he changed to English, and without missing a beat continued humorously (I think)..."Everyone but Americans. Not for Americans. Everyone else but not Americans." I laughed and walked on, but really should have stopped to ask, "How'd ja know? What tipped you off?" Was it my black wool overcoat? (Larry Levine) My backpack? (North Face) I probably looked tired, but American? A tired American?

In Bratislava I sometimes get stopped for directions by people thinking I'm local. But merchants, I think, are adept at identifying customers as part of their job description. Actually that was only the second time I had worn that heavy coat over here because it has been so mild. Not so In Vienna, where of course since I had planned a week-end walking tour of the city it was cold, windy and snowing!

Like most cities in Europe Vienna is very easy to navigate due to an excellent public transport system. After I took a one-hour train trip from BA to Vien (say veen), I used a combination of bus, tram, but mostly U-bahn (subway) to get to my destinations. The only snag came on my first night where I took the subway (about 3 minutes) in to the city center with no problem. When I took it home, however, I got out at my stop, walked upstairs, outside and said, "Where the hell am I?!" NOTHING looked familiar, so I went back in and down and tried it again, exiting at a different direction. And same thing, but wait, I soon realized I was on the other side of the street because I was leaving the city not going to it. Just be calm and remember, direction is everything!

You know how you frequently don't "hear" muzak? It just sort of acts as white noise in the background? Recently I was aware of hearing, and I'm pretty sure in this order: The Gipsy Kings, Annie Lennox, and someone singing Red River Valley in Slovak (or maybe we lifted the tune from them - could be) In Vienna it was all Mozart, all the time. Not exactly, but everywhere you go, including the subway (where I saw someone scrubbing down the escalator side grips at night - good call!) there is classical music permeating the atmosphere. Lovely.

I re-visited Stephansdom Cathedral that evening. I think that may have been the first time I had been in a major cathedral at night and it was eerily beautiful, with masses of votive candles supplanting the meager lighting. I lit a candle for Baby-to-be V and could just imagine the darkness of the Medieval era when the Habsburgs ruled for hundreds of years, most of their leaders managing to get crowned Holy Roman Emperor. In fact the hearts (literally) of many of those same "holies" are in a urn that lies beneath the main altar. Creepy.

The decorative pulpit was an amazing piece of intricate handiwork. And as is often seen in cathedrals there is a portrait of its humble creator, Anton Pilgram, holding his square and compass. In the center of the city, Stephansdom is a landmark, its roof readily identifiable by the colorful tiles, about one quarter of a million of them! You can also go outside and climb up the bell tower to get a better look and view "Boomer" the giant bell. It was too dark for that, so I'll save that adventure for another day.

After my evening walk, it was time for the ballet at Staatsoper, the State Opera House! In my enthusiasm to be dressed properly I had my handmade evening bag (Thanks, Janet!) with me, but that caused me to NOT have my camera to take pictures of the magnificent interior. Doh! The ballet was La Fille Mal Gardee (Wayward Daughter), a non-ballet lover's ballet. What with dancing chickens, a clog dance, ribbon numbers and, yes, even a Maypole dance it was very lively. And I almost forgot, a live pony. The plotless story was just a series of mishaps as the daughter's mother (a goofy character always danced by a tall male) tries to arrange a marriage with the vineyard owner's son who seems to love his red umbrella more than life itself.

Halftime, ah, I mean intermission was great people watching: lots of furs, formals, tuxes and even two women in traditional Japanese dress. I meanwhile, had previously checked my "American" wool coat in the "cloth" room; the usher wouldn't seat me until I had done so. I splurged and bought glass of champagne, smugly strolled around; dressed in black pretending that my gown was inconveniently at the dry cleaners and the mink jacket stored at the furrier's!

I am a big fan of Art Nouveau and the Arts and Crafts Movement and so a visit to the Secession Museum was in order, an interesting building with stucco exterior, decorative owls, and vine designs, crowned with a giant gold filigree ball of intertwined laurel leaves. I think I read that they call it the Golden Cabbage, but then what ISN'T cabbage around here, golden or otherwise? The Seccession artists were a breakaway group of turn of the century renegades whose movement is known as the Jugendstil style, an organic approach that reminds me of Rennie Macintosh in the UK at about the same time. I wanted to see the Gustuv Klimt Beethoven Fieze there, an incredible piece of work designed in 1902, covering 3 walls and 110 feet long.

From there I walked over to Karlskirche to ride the elevator. Really. Some friends in BA had clued me in to this; it seems there had been renovation to the dome last fall and an elevator had been installed for the workers. During the winter months it is too cold to continue work but they kept the elevator in place so we tourists could ride it up to inside the dome. Then if you're game, you can get out and climb the stairs all the way into the highest dome over 50 meters above the base of the main dome. This is the first opportunity anyone has ever had to view the dome from eye level and it was quite an experience. As you went up the final stairway, the sign said in german that laughing and singing is forbidden and "Schreiben ist uncool." When I got back on the elevator to go down, I happened to board with another American woman about my age - wearing pretty much an identical black overcoat to mine, so I guess maybe it was an "American thing".

And about those plague columns. I feel compelled to write about this because I have seen these in numerous town and city squares. They are individual columns, sometimes set in a fountain, but always in an open, public space. Without having done any research on this, it seems that they were constructed as a sort of "Thank God we're alive!" worked out architecturally. Consider how important churches were, how major any kind of construction was and how religious people were it makes sense that this happened. Elsewhere in Vienna there is a plague column erected in 1713, and in the case of Karlskirche a whole cathedral was built in thanksgiving. Maybe I'll start keeping track...

I returned to Pension Wild, my accomodation for the week-end, a staid place despite its name. The family-run pension started out with the Wild family, Germans in what was then Czechoslovakia, getting kicked out of the country after WWII. They arrived in Vienna with a couple of suitcases and Mrs. Wild cleaning flats. She finally bought one flat and rented out part of it, then purchased another to let, and eventually took possession of the beautiful 100 year old building with 60 rooms. She is 86 so son, Peter runs the place, located in Jozefstadt. When Vienna expanded beyond its city walls in the 18th century, this district, named after (yes, another Holy Roman) Emperor Josef II, developed. It was convenient to be in a well-preserved neighborhood just out of the hub, yet only a few minutes U-bahn ride to the city center.

Had dinner at the Alte Stube, one of the original burgermeister's houses from the 1600's that had been a working bakery up until 1963. Not much time, so had the special: oh, great cabbage soup, what a novelty. After being outside most of the day, felt like lingering but I had a date with a puppet!

I know this is totally dorky, but I went out to the Schonbrunn Palace (the royal summer home of the Habsburgs who apparently felt the need to remove themselves from the urban scene) and saw the "Magic Flute" at the Royal Marionette Theater. Our puppeteer came out before the show and explained how the puppets worked and how the 6 puppeteers stood on a scaffold meters high, leaning over to work the "opera stars". Many of the puppets had 7 strings and 3 wires, but a ballet dancer puppet could have as many as 17 or 18!

She spoke in German but I had been given a single sheet English translation of her interpretation. I'm not sure what she actually said, however, because I'd estimate she spoke about 3 pages worth of German. You get that a lot around here: five sentences in a foreign language is somehow condensed into 3 words of English. So you're always wondering, what did they REALLY say? Then the canned opera music began, curtains opened, lights on, and I was pleased to see that the marionettes were almost twice as big as what we'd just seen in the short demonstration.

The Magic Flute was indeed magic and afterward we got to go backstage to see the innards of the stage, meet our all-time favorite puppeteer and see the stars. I was shocked to see the marionettes were the same small versions he had showed us. It was explained that with special lighting and undersized scenery, an optical illusion was created making the puppets appear much bigger than "life". I thought it was also interesting that just hanging from their hooks, the puppets were "dead"; it was hard to imagine how animated they had become for the last 2 and 1/2 hours of suspended reality. Think of Chevy Chase in Caddy Shack, "Be the ball, Danny, be the ball..." puppeteers don't just move strings, they are the puppets.

Sunday morning it was back out to city center, this time in the Habsburg zone, to attend 9:15 Mass where the Vienna Choir Boys sang Mozart's Solemn Mass. Burgkapelle is quite small so you have to purchase tickets in advance, unless you want to come one hour early to getting standing room. The choir is in the third balcony along with a partial orchestra so you can hear but not see them. There is a performance every Sunday and they sing a completely different program each week.

After Mass but before the priest exited, the choir came down and stood in front and sang one song acapella. It was just as stunning as from the choir loft with the orchestra. There they were: wearing those sailor suits and looking to be about ages 8-14 but I'm not sure about that. Some, like Panov, hung out on the square so we could take pictures.

I returned to my pension to settle my bill (cash please, it's cheaper) and collect my backpack. I wasn't suprised that I had thoroughly enjoyed my stay there, one of Peter's previous e-mails having said, "We will look after (I think he meant forward) to give you a nice stay In Vienna and wish you a goot trip."

I visited one more museum before leaving, The Folk Museum, which was pretty diappointing. All explanations were in german, with the exception of the PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH SIGNS in english. I did happen upon a great photography exhibit upstairs, though. The photographer had visited Piedmont, Italy to see the re-eactment of the Battle of the Oranges. The original battle dates back to medieval days when the townspeople rebelled against the feudal soldiers. Back then, an orange was a valuable commodity so to throw an orange was an insult of the greatest kind. These re-enactments have been staged since after WWII but in the last 40 years have become quite a 3-day spectacle. There are teams with colors, strategies, soldiers who ride through on wooden carts, and thousands of oranges pelted at either side from pre-determined sites. Christian and Leah have told me about many of the strange festivals in Spain like, burning up floats, running bulls, celebrating flies...You'd think Valencia would hold this, but I guess they're too busy supplying the oranges to Piedmont.

Finally I dragged my weary body back to the train station, passing the same beggars who had been in the same spots all week-end. I wonder how they figure that out. Most don't stand around here; they kneel or if you know Yoga, assume the child's position. I boarded my train for an unremarkable trip home, just what you want when you're tired and ready to call a close to your "goot" trip.

Never Teach the Bunny Hop in Slovakia

2007-01-18T07:06:00.000-08:00

We have just completed finals at school, serious testing for all eight grades with the senior school having more testing spread over three weeks time. The main schedule has been altered as it often is to accomodate the exams. For me this means I might proctor an exam as I did earlier this week, see a class back to back so they can get their allotted PE classes in, or even stranger have a class come two times in the same day, morning and afternoon. The atmosphere was quite tense here for the entire school community: students studying and sitting for exams, teachers preparing, grading and recording grades. It's similar to Lab, lots of pressure, anxiety, and sick kids. (I just re-counted: My excuses number over 90!)

In an effort to lighten things up a bit I decided to teach a rhythms lesson, by first teaching the Bunny Hop (easily done) and then explaining that I wanted them to make up their OWN dance (bit more complicated) with some of the same characteristics, so it must be 16 counts, everyone doing the same thing at the same time, using repeatable steps. Using my trusty dry erase board, I explained this to the class, having them work in small groups in order to demonstrate and later teach their combination to the whole class. Understand? Yes, they enthusiastically shouted! Good, I'll go turn on the music. Started the selection, turned around to see their smiling, eager faces...and the whole class lined up Bunny Hop style ready to give it another go!

NO, I laughed, hauling out the dry erase board again. After some ten lessons in Slovak I can actually count, so I thought I was making myself clear about the 16-count length. We discussed the word "repeat" and "same" and thought we were finally all on the same page. Cue the music. Raz, dra, tri, styri... NOW we're cookin'... wait one group has formed alternating lines and another group is kicking OVER their partners heads. Partners?! Who said you could have partners?!

There was a hip hop group and a salsa group. A duo of non-dancers did a sort of marching, slaphands version."Do you speak English?!" I found myself saying sharply to one attitude-challenged student who was blatantly and consistently NOT EVER following directions. Yes, she blankly replied, my dripping sarcasm lost in translation. Or maybe she understood and it was just 8th grade attitude. I have my suspicions.

After repeatedly intervening and pointing out that some dances were 64 counts, while others had no beat awareness and didn't even know how long they were dancing, etc., etc. I backed off and watched the show. Expecting that this should take 10 minutes max, I was surprised when the first class barely finished the challenge in the 45 minute period, mainly because they had created and changed about 12 dances in that time period. Quite prolific but unable to agree on a final product.

I had dances with pretend fighting, but then a conciliatory shake hands ending. Latin is huge here so the gym really heated up when some girls tried to incorporate their dancing steps that they learned in their "training" as they call it. LOTS of big production ending, never mind that there was to be none, because what fun was that? The Primas were into gymnastics, going by the theory if you don't dance you can always tumble, I guess. So we had girls circling 'round their headstand-holding headstander. Another group did crossing cartwheels. All different, exciting and so...wrong!!!

But as Pete Miller, our PE Department Chair at Lab said when I tried to explain my dance lesson gone awry, "That actually sounds like about most dance classes I have taught at Lab. It's all good." And of course it was. Students were engaged, cooperating, practicing and having fun. And maybe the music teacher can address beat awareness and repetition...in Slovak. Choose your battles.

Grades are now completed, all of us working on computers designated to certain classes. PE doesn't assign grades but I did need to write about each student, with the exception of my swim classes. I was limited to 80 characters for my 100 students and found it frustratingly difficult to be so hamstrung. My principal read my comments, and changed three reports which really surprised me. I had included mile run times in two reports because I had mentioned fitness and thought they were exceptionally good times. In another I had mentioned a girl by her first name. Saying that it wasn't exactly wrong, it just wasn't the uniform way things were done here, she deleted those parts.

During the course of last week I noticed students names accumulating up on the public notice board in the teacher room, which is open to all students and doubles as the general office.These students were to be discussed at the upcoming classification meeting regarding marks in behavior. The system is such: All student in Slovakia receive number grades for academic subjects and behavior, 1-5, 1 being the best.

At our school when a teacher feels there is a student with behavior issues, that name with supporting documentation goes up on the board. Each class takes the information back and discusses it, chaired by one student representative. The class determines an opinion. At the meeting, all these students reps (9 in Junior School, 8 in Senior School) convene together with its own faculty to discuss these students, nine individuals this past semester. The students themselves may attend but often do not. Our principal insisted one boy attend, however, because she was going to recommend expulsion - something about acid in biology class - didn't sound good. Eight were boys (surprise!) and the one girl was someone I teach, a goth-dressing student who among other issues, didn't want to do PE. I did not attend these meetings as they are in Slovak. The meetings lasted a few hours, students and faculty discussing the "designated ones", with the result being that everyone basically got warned in a public forum by a concensus of their peers and faculty.

So that's finished, reports have been distributed. Many teachers have received flowers, as is tradition. The whole country (finally) had a holiday Friday to mark the semester. Many schools have balls to mark the occasion, and now start the ski trips! Our 4th years called Qvartas (8th graders) are leaving today for one week in the mountains. Two other levels are also scheduled to go during the following 2 weeks. Some of the PE teachers who are also certified ski instructors have quite the gig, usually going for at least 2 of the 3 weeks. I, however, not being certified, remain at school substituting for their classes. Bummer.

But tomorrow I leave for my Fulbright Mid Winter Conference in Trencinske Teplice, a spa town located in the Lower Tatras a few hours north of here. Spa towns are all over Slovakia, but not your American brand at all. All have natural springs, but traditionally, are considered healing places. They tend to be medicinal and antiseptic, have doctor-like people walking around. You go to get "prescription" written out for your ailments before you go for treatments, and up until recently, state health care paid for up to a three-week stay at these places. Many are trying to upgrade and get competitive with the surrounding areas. But still for many Germans, Russians and of course natives, the spas in Slovakia are the places to go. I'll let you know.

So I board the bus tomorrow, making sure to wear my Bears hat. It remains to be seen as to how or if we can watch the Superbowl on Sunday where the Colts are for sure in for a whooping! I think it's on at midnight but I'm not certain. Besides the Superbowl on the unofficial agenda, we will all make presentations explaining our Fulbright experience. There will be an assortment of people from both the Czech Republic and Slovakia, only 6 of whom are exchange teachers like I. We number about 30 and will present over 3 days sharing our unique experiences. I have completed my presentation but am re-thinking it. Maybe I should teach the Bunny Hop in Slovak for a reverse cultural opportunity. Raz, dra, tri, styri...

Oh, My Achin' Back...

2007-01-08T13:05:00.000-08:00

Unlock your door. Twist open a bottle of water. Pull a banana off a bunch. Do you ever think of these mundane maneavers as efforts involving back muscles?! I sure didn't used to but, having had some painful back issues this week, I do now! And as a physical educator I know this, but still take these activities for granted. Not so anymore.

How this happened I'm not sure but my theory is connected with my trip home. I had 2 backbacks and 2 large suitcases with me, and although I checked the suitcases, I had the backpacks with me on my Chicago-Warsaw-Vienna flight. I slept awkwardly on three seats on the main flight, and probably had some extra baggage in the form of stress to bring back with me as well. Some days later I woke up with a pain in the side of my back that felt like someone had punched me repeatedly in the right shoulder blade.

Knowing better about rest but having none of it, I couldn't resist an invitation from Erika to join her in going to Sopron, Hungary for our last Saturday before returning to classes. Christian had recommended rotating a tennis ball against my back on the wall to knead out the tightness so I put one in my backpack and used in during the train rides. We did some shopping, saw some sights, and back to BA for dinner with Chuck and Susan, Kathy and her daughter, Kate and husband Harsh, who were due to return to the states soon. By the time I got home I was sore and tired and thinking what I most needed was a good night's sleep, went to bed.

During the night I was awakened by incredible pain from muscle spasms in my back. I sleep in a loft, so I initiated what felt like about an hour effort to get out of bed and go down the stairs. I could barely move an inch and decided, this is it, I'll die up here and no one will know! I managed to get down and up, though, and fell back asleep. The next morning I had scheduled a Thai massage, recommended by Nora and Viera of the Fulbright office. Thai massage is dry (no oil), performed on a platform which is on the floor. My masseuse was very small and used her whole body as a lever. It included her stretching me and at one point she was crawling on my back on her hands and knees. I thought I felt better afterward but should have realized that was too extreme of a massage to have with a tight back.

That evening went from bad to worse, and again involved one of those middle of the night episodes. By now the pain had grown in intensity and seemed to cover the whole right side of my back. When I moved on the stairs I adjusted my body to accomodate the pain on the right side. So what worked "best" was to drop my right shoulder down and hang my arm, sort of lifeless and ape-like down to my knee. In this simean posture I went down to look for a banana in the kitchen. Just kidding about the banana, and kidding about kidding; there was really nothing funny about this.

So now after managing to NOT recover my back and in fact making things significantly worse, I tried to go to school on Monday. After having taught from a chair for one hour in the gym I recognized I really needed to go home. I was in touch with Fulbright-Nora again, who this time recommended THE PATCH, an amazing analgesic, anti-inflammatory adhesive gel-patch applied right to the back. The patch was easy, fast-working, and I'm quite certain unavailable over-the-counter in the states. I stayed home Tuesday and returned to school Wednesday, feeling comfortable and happy. No, more than happy. Buzzed! Sadly, I don't think anyone even noticed, but after that night I decided I better go PATCH-FREE! Yes, folks, I'm patchless now and proud of it, and have been given a wake-up call to take care of myself. (Later that week I tried to give Zuzka some aspirin tablets because she had supplied me with some earlier. She threw up her hands, palms facing me, "NO! It is bad luck to return medicine, then I'll get sick." She meant it, too.

Slovaks are a very nurturing society. It is not unusual for children to miss 3-5 days of schools due to illness, and then remain out of P.E. for another week because they had been sick the week before. I just counted my written excuses collected so far - over 70 not counting those I didn't save from the first 3 weeks of school. Also many of these notes are for one to two weeks out of activity. Most excuses come to me in Slovak; I now have the girls re-write them in English. many, however are written in English and I have included a few favorites:

Some are achingly polite: Please, take in your consideration that my daughter doesn't feel the best today and feels like not to practice today at your lesson.

or chipper: Hello Joan! I have an infection on my toe and I can't do anything.

formal: Dear Professor, Please excuse my daughter. She won't train. She catch a cold.

REALLY formal: Justification - I would like to excuse my daughter from today's gymnastic lesson because she still has difficulty breathing.

retroactive: Excuse me, my daughter didn't train on the last lesson beacuse she was sick.

accident victim: Please apologize my daughter in your lessons for this week in cause of striking her wrist. She's fallen from in-line skates. Thank you very much.

and the dental patient: Please excuse my daughter. She cannot exercise because of wound for yank tooth which is not closed.

(You will notice that parents write about training, exercising and gymnastics, which is how "participation" is translated over here. A CLASS is a group of students but a LESSON is the period of time they are in a certain subject, like the 4th lesson of the day. Teachers days are described by how many lessons they teach per week. Amounts vary; the more you teach the more money you get.)

Some of our teachers have also missed multiple days of work so it's not just an issue with the children. Health care is subsidized; people often visit doctors, who are actually poorly paid. Those returning to work can then subsantiate their absence with a doctor's note. Americans, on the other hand, often tough it out, bringing our contagions to both work and school; somewhere there has to be a reasonable compromise for good health. But all I know for sure is that Slovak pharmacy is the bomb!

Couldn't Make This Up

2007-01-03T11:57:00.000-08:00

Holidays are behind us, and inspite of some temporarily lost luggage courtesy of LOT Polish Airlines, all went well. (Yes, there really is a Polish Airlines.) I got a kick out of the applause upon landing in Chicago, as in "Thank God, we're on the ground!" But the same thing happened on the way back. (Oh my God, he did it...again!) Zuzka laughed when I told her this and said, "We clap in Central Europe."

We once again started our Christmas holiday celebration with a fondue party on the 23rd, followed by Christmas Eve at home, and Christmas day at our cousin's place. My children all made it to Chicago, and it was fun to see all the relatives, and catch up with friends later in the week.

Presents made it over and PE equipment made it back. The PERFECT GIFT was a hit, (a hand carved walking stick with a duck's head for the handle grip) and in no time the duck was talking, swearing and I think maybe drinking! No one knew what to do with medovino, the amber colored honey wine - drink it or use it for a cleaner. I tried to refrain from giving gifts that got me all excited to "tell the story" but would make the recipient go, "Oh...wow?" I think if a lot of explanation is necessary, it probably isn't the best gift. So there is a touch of Slovakia in Chicago now ...and Amazon.com...and Target.com...and

Speaking of Target, that was one of the first stores I went to in Chicago. The cashier said, "Hi, how are you?" and I almost fainted. When she put my items in a sturdy bag for me, I wanted to kiss her feet! I almost felt like we should have exchanged Xmas cards after that.

Had lunch with Christian and Ian in Lemont one day and commented that I could really go for a burger, which is what I ordered. After lunch, Christian said he didn't want to say anything during the meal - maybe I was anemic the way I inhaled my food. Slovaks don't serve beef; we are a pig country. I hadn't eaten a burger in four months and it was GREAT!

Leading up to the holidays, I heard and read about some customs that made me think, I COULDN'T MAKE THIS STUFF UP! Some sound similar to what you may have already heard of, like the Slovak version of St. Nicholas is Sv. Mikulas (say Mikulash) but with a twist. Children put out their shoes and go to bed waiting for a visit. Some parents arrange to have Sv. Mik visit and he is always accompanied by a devil and an angel. The children are sometimes made to sing or somehow perform and the usual questions of "Have you been good?" ensue, because if not, then the devil will deal with you! Parents who haven't organized a visit for their children, sneak in while they are asleep and paint the naughtly one's cheeks black with coal to prove that in fact, the devil had been there. Sounds terrifying.

Then there are witches, who wear white, by the way. Hasn't anyone seen the Wizard of Oz for God's sake? The folklore of the witches is tied up with the Winter Solstice, attracting prosperity while warding off the dark forces. Since it was thought that witches drew their strength from the increasingly long night hours, Witches Days rituals were invented to protect against supernatural powers, and also somehow helped predict the weather, well before doppler mind you. It all starts on St. Katarina's Day, NOV 25th. Be sure to eat and hang garlic so it will snow on Christmas. On St. Ondrey's Day, NOV 30th bake a pie but don't forget to write names of suitors on papers. Put the papers in the pie; bake the pie in boiling water. The name that rises first - BINGO - he's who you'll marry. You've got to love the props used on St. Barbora's Day, DEC 4th, but first dress in white sheets and dust your face with flour. Get yourself a goose's wing to help sweep away negative energy, or cut a stick from a cherry tree; put it in water. If it flowers by Xmas, you'll marry within a year. St. Lucia was thought to be the most powerful of the witches, and Witches Days end on her day, DEC 13. Haul out the garlic and goose's wing again and hope for the best! Actually I was walking through the Old Town on my way home from school on DEC 13th, when I came across a band of witches, all about age 10, apparently on a school-sponsored field trip. They weren't scary, and except for one renegade were all in white - not quite like Glynda, more like Caspar the Friendly Ghost. Finally, the twelve days between then until Xmas are said to predict the weather for the following year, each day correlating to one month. (And who among us isn't thinking, probably just as good as any weather reporter?)

Because we had a short vacation this year, I was permitted to leave two days early to allow for travel. On Friday, the last day of class, students had two hours of gift exchanges and parties so I had no classes that day anyway. I was sad, however, to have missed the Kapustnica (say ka-poosht-neet-sa) on Thursday. Our school has a tradition of having a faculty get-together the last Thursday night before holiday. Cabbage soup is served, just as it is in most homes on Christmas Eve. The teachers do a gift exchange and I heard the soup was great and the party fun.

I've had cabbage soup before and I love it. Made with sauerkraut, mushrooms and smoked meat, it is delicious served before the traditional entree - carp. Christmas Eve day is a day to eat lightly; some even fast until the meal. Wafers with honey (oplatki) are served with chestnuts, along with crusty bread. But Christmas Eve carp is the last story I'll tell, not the eating part but rather the preparation bit. First of all, the fish is usually purchased live. I saw large bins holding the enormous fish outside the grocery stores. Pick out your fish and bring it home. Or pick out your fish and have the fish monger bash it over the head with a hammer to kill it. If you've taken it home live, put it in the bath tub, where it becomes quite a novelty for any small children in the house. Just when it has about taken on pet status, grab the hammer and you know the drill.

Having missed Christmas in Slovakia, I at least got to be here for New Year's Eve, known as Silvester's Day. The Slovak calendar has names days and at one time, it was required that you be named from the calendar. Even now there are many of my students with the same first names, VERY different from Lab, where among others we have Droffil-C, a girl named after her Dad - Clifford, spelled backwards! Your name's day is significant, similar to a birthday but not quite that important.

Zuzka and I took a (for me anyway) very jet-lagged walk through the Old Town. We stopped for some hot chocolate, the kind where your spoon stands up. We both tried Mexican, had chilis in it and was delicious. The concert on the square was just beginning its series of acts and we stayed for the first set. Shining on the buildings of the square were spotlights that said Welcome to Partyslava (in English). It was cold and damp and the DJ had a down parka and knit cap with ear flaps on which he didn't remove when he did his Elvis impersonation. The next set featured one of Zuzka's former students, but soon we decided it was time to leave. I could hear the din from my flat when I got home later and thirty minutes of fireworks at midnight. Happy 2007!

Blind Man Walking

2006-12-19T22:53:00.000-08:00

Today is a good day; I didn't have to walk over any dead guys to get into school. Last Monday I was coming to school early to teach my zero hour yoga class. It was shortly after 7:00 AM, so when I saw the police talking to our custodian, I figured someone had tripped the security system. We exchanged "Dobre Rano's", and I entered the building. What I failed to notice, however, was the dead person lying behind the police car, definitely all done walking.

Made me think of the cop shows on TV where they always decribe the "perp", you know, caucasian, male, six feet tall, with dirty blond pony tail, etc. As the witness, I'd be like, "Perp? There was a perp?" I think of myself as pretty observant, but I was definitely off my game that morning. Too early I guess.

I am a tornado of activity today, with all the presents swirling around inside the vortex, sorted, but mostly unwrapped, all unpacked. Yes, I am very stressed, but meanwhile here at school, the students are crazy as they traditionally seem to be anywhere before holiday. As I feel it is bad form for a teacher to be just as crazy as the students, I am trying hard to keep it together.

I have two large suitcases I had planned to pack, first for taking gifts home to Chicago and then for hauling equipment back to Slovakia. Fulbright has given me money to purchase equipment for my school, and I have determined that what we really need is anything that is a modification of the official type of equipment, particularly balls. Over here we can purchase volleyballs, for example, but any kind of oversized, light or soft ball is unavailable. Slovakia doesn't "do nerf". So I have placed two orders and will load up this equipment when I return home on New Year's Eve, the second important use of the suitcases.

Everything looked good for packing until it came time to include a purchase I had made for a certain anonymous brother-in-law whose initials are JMG. It was one of those fun gifts to buy because when I saw it I knew I had found the PERFECT PRESENT. But what happens when the perfect gift not only doesn't fit in your bag but is considered weapon-like and therefore unable to be a carry-on? I called the airlines, asked advice from everyone, and finally scored with a duffle on loan by Chuck. While the length is adequate, I sacrifice space and compromise on substantial suitcase structure.

This concerns me for two reasons: fragile gifts and P.E. equipment. Recently I made a Xmas shopping trip to Modra, a nearby town famous for its vineyards and well-known for its ceramics. The small factory uses a 400 year old process where the pottery is hand-thrown, then painted with an opaque glaze, then hand-painted by about 6 women in any number of traditional combination of colors. Each piece is different, and if you don't break it (I already broke TWO) the glaze will last forever. So I am challenged to safely pack the ceramics.

The other issue is that I will hopefully still have adequate room for all that equipment on the way home. So what started out as the perfect gift, has somehow disintegrated into, "Geez, he just better appreciate this..." I've gone from energetic elf to grumpy Grinch in the blink of an eye...

Last week I traveled to Gyor (say j-YOUR) with my friend, Erika, to buy not just any fabric, but SPECIAL fabric. Actually Erika had helped me bus to Modra for ceramics the day before, and then we trained down to Hungary the next day to get the material. This field trip turned into a three country, three currency expediton, although no trip was longer than 1 and 1/2 hours.

Last fall I had mentioned that I really loved the blue fabric I kept seeing in the folk art stores. The material is hand dyed with indigo, and then hand-stamped using 100 year old wooden blocks that are about 5" x 10". Erika said we must go to "The Blue Lady" (Although not the store's name, a good one, right?) There are as many patterns as stamps and an infinite number of shades of blue. The store was small and contained yard goods as well as made up clothing and accessories. I soon realized some blues looked purple, while others were green. Some samples were navy but I preferred the brighter shades. After the initial shock of just standing there, gaping in visual overload (much like at Modra the day before), I chose three contrasting prints, not perfectly matched but then that's just the point.

We cruised the farmer's market: Erika bought shelled walnuts from a granny and ever the Xmas shopper, I purchased pastry brushes made of chicken (I think) feathers. Spent an inordinate amout of time doing laps around the small village trying to locate the magyar hat I'd seen but didn't buy for Marisa. I swear the vendor pulled up stakes because we never did locate it. Instead we hopped the train to Bruck on de Leithe (sounds like brook on delight) for dinner in Austria. And although dinner was "de Leithe-ful" bed looked even better. Dobru noc!

Who put the Krak in Krakow?

2006-12-06T11:24:00.000-08:00

Well, Prince Krak, of course, but I'll get to that later. Last November, the week before Thanksgiving, I had a long week-end, unusual for my schedule. Four of us cooked up a plan to visit Krakow so this entry is out of sequence but really, do you care? Thought so.

Kathy, Jon, myself and another newly-arrived and recently-departed Fulbrighter, Al Magid (NY - political scientist) decided to take the night train to Krakow (say CROCK-oof), arriving early (6:00) on Friday, giving us the most possible time to tour the city. (No, Al's not dead, just in Prague with wife Sally before heading back to the States, his Fulbright stint having been completed.) I arranged the train travel, and was very nervous because there are no direct trains, we had to switch trains both ways, AND we had booked sleeper cars on the way there. But I had "my peeps" at school look at the reservations, things looked good and in fact were fine. (I say this NOW of course.)

We all met at the Hlavne Stanica where we would leave on Thursday evening, traveling through Czech Republic, going north through the Tatras and across the border to Poland. Jon had met Al the previous week where he heard him speak (and speak and speak) at the University about the elections held just the day before in the States. Al's a talker. Kathy had also met him, and although I met Al that evening we would ALL get to know each other well on this trip.

The first train was incredible! And why not? We were accidently traveling in First Class for the first 40 minutes until the conductor pointed out the giant number one posted in the compartment that no one had noticed. Oops - pretty good scam actually. The first connection was made with little complication - there's always a little - and we settled into our teeny tiny 3-layer beds for about five hours of sort-of-sleep. It was Al, Kathy and then me in order of acendancy, with Jon next door. We were somewhat concerned that the conductor kept our tickets, but later realized that's so we would get off where we were supposed to. Sure enough, 5:00 came, yet another passport check, we had our complimentary chocolate croissant and sparkling water, and it was Krakow here we come!

Kathy had booked us at the Hotel Chopin, walking distance from the station, and a major score in the good fortune category. We checked in at 6:30 and not only were our rooms ready, we ate an enormous buffet breakfast before heading out to the old town, feeling refreshed and able to take on the world or at least Krakow.

Krakow is Poland's third largest city, and at 800,000, bigger than Bratislava. It's history goes back over 1,000 years, and although it was destroyed by the Tatars in the 13th century, it was subsequently rebuilt. In 1945, the Russian Army encircled the town, forcing the Germans to evacuate thus saving Krakow from destruction. Today Stare Mesto, the old town, survives intact with its churches and museums, and Kazimierz, the Jewish Quarter, tells of a sadder recent history.

Krakow was a medieval students' town. Jagiellonian University, established in 1364, is Poland's oldest and where Copernicus studied. Today, it is Poland's second largest school and Krakow what we'd call a college town, with about 10% of the population being students. TO-GA, TO-GA! Well, maybe not so much.

As we walked into Stare Mesto, we crossed the Platy, the green space surrounding the town created by filling in the former moat that protected the castle. We zeroed in on the Market Square, Rynek Glowny, the largest medieval town square in Europe. We shopped at 16th century Cloth Hall, where I picked up some amber jewelry. Amber is symbolic of Poland and said to have health benefits, the stone warming to one's body temperature as well as being light and comfortable to wear. And there's more: soak amber in vodka and rub it on your aching joints! Does the AMA know about this?

Interested in churches? Walk a block and you'll find one there. There on the square we visited the 14th century Basilica of the Virgin Mary, an amazingly decorated structure that was so unlike anything I'd seen around here. The interior is painted with a rainbow of colors, seemingly over every possible surface, to me creating a very lively but peaceful space. As is typical in large cathedrals, we paid an entrance fee. However, there was also a distasteful photography fee which was optional. I paid and received a little sticker to put on my jacket to ward off the camera Nazi who patrolled the premises. Really. It certainly diminished any religious feeling I may have mustered, but we did luck out with the timing of our visit as we were there at noon for the opening of the altar. The main altarpiece, three stories high, dominates the sanctuary. Carved by a German, it depicts 200 scenes treated with color and gold foil, and is considerd to be Poland's finest sculptural work. There are five sections when it is closed, but when the nun comes out with her pole (hah!) at noon, you are able to see the basswood tryptych, viewed only when the sides are slid open.

During the viewing we also heard the bugler's sound played from the watch tower. Every hour this call is played from the west church tower, then repeated from the east, south and north. It recalls the medieval alarm the bugler would play to announce opening and closing of gates, fires and approaching enemies. The simple melody (Heynal Maricki) based on 5 notes, is known to all Poles and broadcast on Polish radio each day at noon. It ends abruptly as if unfinished to symoblize the bugler's call cut short by a Tatar arrow in 1241.

We also saw St. Florian's, home of Archbishop Karol Wojtyla who became Cardinal, and later Pope John Paul II. Poland is a very catholic country (80%) and they adore their own Pope John Paul.

From there it was a short walk to Wawel Castle and Cathedral, passing by a band, who for a few coins would play "The Star Spangled Banner" and pose for pictures. Very strange sight. Polish royalty lived in the castle and for four hundred years they were crowned in the cathedral, even after the capitol moved to Warsaw. The crypt holds one hundred kings and queens interred there, which unfortunately we didn't have time to see.

Another must-see didn't work out because it was after OCT 31. Remember the afore-mentioned Prince Krak? It seems the good prince secured Krakow's commanding location, but only after fighting off the annoying dragon who was making off with all the fair maidens. Clever Krak filled a sheep's carcass with pitch, the dragon had lunch and didn't stick around for dessert. There is a tunnel that leads down to the Vistula River, where a bronze statue of said dragon stands. During the cold months the tunnel accumulates dampness and/or water, so we couldn't go through it. Krakow, therefore, is filled with dragons-for-sale but most of them are Barney-like. No one bought, or if they did, they didn't admit to it.

After almost a full day of churches, a very patient Al led us to Kazimierz Town, the Jewish quarter founded by King Kazimierz the Great. About 100 years after King K the G lived, Krakow's Jews moved to this part of the city, where they thrived and at one time there were seven synogogues. It was in this neighborhood that Oscar Schindler had his home and factory, and some of the filming for "Schindler's List" was done here as well. We saw a Jewish cemetary and Al was able to get inside one synogogue for a few minutes during service, but we were not.

We had agreed to devote the next day to taking a bus out to Auschwitz to view the museum at the concentration camps. The name of the town was (and still is) Oswiecim, but the Germans re-named it Auschwitz, the death camp responsible for killing one million men, women and children over a four year period of time. Many years ago I had visited Dachau in Germany and almost took a pass on this, but decided to go, and realize it was a good choice. We saw a brief film that showed the Russians releasing the prisoners; a woman behind us was sobbing. We followed this with an English-speaking tour guide, who lived in town and was excellent.

After first visiting the site at Auschwitz, you take a shuttle a short distance to Birkenau, the camp that covers about 425 acres. While Auschwitz has the iron gate that says, "Arbeit Macht Frei", Birkenau has the oft-seen train tracks which came right into the camp to the platform. To stand on that very spot was overwhelming; many of us couldn't even talk during much of the visit, and we were amazed when we realized that we had spent about five hours there. Near the crematoriums and gas chambers there is an International Monument to the Victims of Auschwitz, and you walk on pavers, each one representing a lost life. I have decided to say little about this day because it would take a book; instead I recommend it to anyone. Even if you have substantial knowledge of the Holocaust, there is much to learn by experiencing this first-hand.

As you can imagine that was an exhausting day and we still had a bus trip back to town and a eight hour train trip the next day back to BA. Even Al didn't talk as much, or maybe he did and I was just too tired to know it. In addition to our Euros and Slovak crowns, we have accumulated Polish zloty and Hungarian forint. Most of us"went without" in the Czech Republic during brief stops because we didn't have Czech crowns. Bring on the Euro!

Happy Thanksgiving

2006-11-23T11:53:00.000-08:00

Josh, our other American teacher at school, cooked two turkeys last week-end to celebrate the holiday, but I was in Krakow so missed the gala. Assuredly, nothing much was cookin' today, Thanksgiving Day. Somehow Kathy and I ended up at a vegetarian restaurant where we had trouble ordering our entree from the 6-page menu. Finally, an English-speaking customer told us that posted on the door was a limited menu of soup and Indian kalto (?) due to the Xmas market opening tomorrow night. So we had the whatever, which supposedly contained chick peas and eggplant, but mostly tasted like deep-fried anything. We had a second glass of wine and told each other Na Zdravie (Good Health) A weird dinner, but I was able to make some family phone calls tonight, so that was a treat. What is it about a holiday based on cooking, eating and being together as a family? I miss home a lot right now.

We Fulbrighters get around, but my recent trip to Spain tipped it in for the most miles I think. Christian and Leah had planned to come and "do Bratislava" over my fall break, but the connections are difficult when you have limited flexibility. So I flew there on Halloween and it involved eight hours of traveling, door to door. When Christian met me at the Barcelona airport, I donned my Chiquita Banana mask that Marisa had sent me. Christian leaned over to open the car door - in his green wig, shades and silly hat. Not to be outdone, Leah was at home in her pregnant Julia Childs get-up, including bad curly wig with headband. Can you tell we love Halloween?

We also carved three huge pumpkins and lit them up with candles. In Spain people buy pumpkins at the vegetable stand to make soup, so the man at the market could not understand what she could possibly want with such big pumpkins, and three no less! Leah even roasted our pumpkin seeds - two batches, one hot, one spicy. YUM!

Besides being there for Halloween, Girona was also holding its huge Festival of the Flies! What luck! The festival really was terrific, with many food vendors being the highlight. The next day, Leah took the car to work and Christian and I took the scooter into town. (Yes, I was quite a sight in Christian's leather helmet and goggles.) I just love hanging out in Girona, which is a walled medieval town, with pretty pastel houses on the Riu Onyar. Bridges span the narrow river, one of which was built by Gustav Eiffel, with iron lattice that resembles his tower in Paris. You can "walk the wall", which is partly preserved, stroll down the Rambla, climb the narrow streets of the Call (the ancient Jewish section), or wander through the gardens outside the Arab Baths from the 1100's when the Moors were influential in the area.

I've been visiting Girona since 1999, early in Christian's pro racing career, and as you can tell I'm still charmed by the place. In case you can't quite place it, Girona is an hour's drive north from Barcelona. Set in the foothills of the Pyrenees, and a short distance from the beach towns that make up the Costa Brava, it's a great place to train, as about 13 or so English-speaking pro cyclists have decided. Girona is one of four semi-independent provinces of Catalonia, and the wealthiest area of Spain. The old town is very upscale, yet quiet and not touristy. Christian and Leah now live outside the city at Golf Girona, where their home sits just downwind from the tee box of Number One. And if it weren't for that darn Catalan language, the place would be perfect! (Not even Mother Juana's HS Spanish helps much with Catalan!)

We walked around just outside of the river, where the festival was being held, sampling this and that: wine, cheese, sausage, sweets...anchovies. This time of the year, vendors typically sell chestnuts (here in BA also); Christian recognized one as having been on the same corner each year. Individual sweet potatoes are also sold - no butter, no salt, just a potato. We had spinach empanadas, a pastry filled snack, that, together with all the sampling, pretty much did it for lunch.

Adjacent to the vendors was the carnival, set in a spectacular wooded area. We rode the ferris wheel, giving us a panoramic view of the town. Some of the rides were impressive, including the roller coasters. By far the most entertaining was the mechanical bull ride, decorated with the good old stars & stripes. The ride held six bulls, standing side by side, and each bull could carry about 6-8 people. The bulls would sway irregularly and fairly gently to goofy country western music, but then without notice, make an abrupt 90 degree tilt to the side, dumping out all the unready rodeo-wannabees. People fall all over one another and scramble to try to mount their steeds again. After a few dumps, you're laughing so hard you can hardly get back on. Christian said we couldn't go on because Leah would kill us - it's her favorite ride and she would be upset that she missed i!.

So are you still reading, or is anyone out there going, "Wait...Festival of the Flies??? Whaa??? OK, here is fly story, as Slovaks would say. Christian had purchased a whole leg of aged Iberian ham for the Thanksgiving holiday. Neighbors Frank and Asssume came over to teach us the proper cutting technique because it is an art. I think possibly your manliness is based on your ability to carve up the leg! We asked Assume (Assumption) about the story of the festival and she told us this Catalan tale. Centuries ago, Girona was under attack by the French (Spain knows Girona as the City of 1.000 seiges.) The French marauders tore open the tomb of St. Narcis, one of Girona's patron saints, buried in the Romanesque cathedral there. Out came swarms of flies; off ran the French, never to be seen again. So... in Girona you can buy chocolate replicas of St. Narcis, as well as individually wrapped chocolate flies - I mean, chocolates with pictures of flies on them. I did not.

Instead I got a great haircut in town, and splurged on a suede jacket for myself. Leah and I went to a wine spa for my birthday present, followed by a huge lunch at the resort restaurant. I have to say I really enjoyed the fresh fruits, vegetables and fish there in Spain. Whether we cooked in or ate out, we always ate well! And I slept well, too, as I always do there. They have a shutter system built into the windows mainly for the sun and heat, but you feel like you're in a cave once things are shut down. You can't help but sleep soundly.

Had some nice walks with Jake the wacky Weimaramer and watched his big act at night: Christian throws an old soccer ball out on the fairway after dark. Jake charges down the hill, retrieves the ball, and dashes back up the hill - about one thousand times if you let him. You can see the ball and not him so it's a strange sight to behold.

Also had some nice down time with the kids, and if we weren't solving world problems we were discussing...baby names! Jury is way out on that one, or at least it was last month. Anyway, before you could say, "Chocolate Flies" my stay was over and back I flew to Vienna where Zuzka picked me up and drove the 50 minutes or so to Bratislava. Home!

Remember Ethan

2006-11-12T11:38:00.000-08:00

Today was Remembrance Sunday at our church: Children were selling poppies, a ranking marine read one of the epistles, and US Ambassador Rodolphe Vallee read the gospel. Now how often does THAT happen? Pastor Dave's childrens' homily centered on memory, remembering, and the value of rememberance. How remembering is respecting, honoring and valuing. Meanwhile, my thoughts were of Ethan, niece Jaime and Kevin's baby, taken from us gently but unfairly as he slept in his crib. His family is devastated, an infant's passing being the hardest to understand. Ethan was the beautiful son of two special parents who loved him more than love itself. Jaime did everything right in preparing for Ethan's birth, and both Jaime and Kevin ushered him into the world with nuturing love.

Hearing about Ethan's Memorial service, made me feel isolated here in Slovakia but reminded me of my own Mother's funeral, where my cousin, Sue, played her violin like ...well, I really don't know. Sue later said that "the angels played the music", much I think how Alex scored his goal last Friday and Ethan's Grandparents spoke so eloquently to everyone gathered, comforting and assuring others when their own pain was raw and unanswered. Ethan's Remembrance Day was a gathering in body and spirit of all who loved him. So I'll remember Ethan, we'll all remember Ethan, and celebrate his short but beautiful life.

This & that

2006-10-27T12:22:00.000-07:00

In an effort to catch you up on a number of things, I will try to touch briefly on a wide range of happenings. Later on, I will write a This & That posting for school; stay tuned! So, for those of you with short attention spans, or a proclivity toward ADHD, this one's for you. The first topic should be entitled, FULBRIGHT CONNECTS since I recently met up with my old friend (and NOT friend who is old) Charlie. We had seen each other at Christian and Leah's wedding, but lost touch again after that. However, when the Keeley's realized they would be on a tour in Vienna, they arranged to come to BA via hydrofoil for the day. Charlie, husband Pat and I had a great dinner and conversation, which somehow even included talk of Mother Juana of St Francis High School notoriety. Charlie, Pat and kids live in Pebble Beach, but it took a Fulbright Exchange in Bratislava to get us together!

Next on the list involves gathering more stamps on my passport. I have left the country twice now, although most people around here don't think Vienna counts as "leaving" because it's only about 35 miles away. I think I read that Bratislava and Vienna are the two most closely placed capitals in the world. My first trip to Austria was with a bus tour to the wine country of Wachau, north of Vienna along the Danube River. The bus ride was spectacular, and Helen had lots to say along the way, unfortunately all of it in Slovak. We made three stops, the first one in Durnstein, a storybook village containing the castle where King Richard the Lionhearted was shackled. Two of the group hiked up to the castle and barely made it back in time; most walked the steep up and down cobbled streets of the village, and discovered a small cemetery with more flowers than Pioneer Garden in May! The next stop was Melk Abbey, a baroque structure on the UNESCO list of designated world heritage sites. Melk has a 1000 year old connection as both a cutural and religious center of Austria, Kings Leopold I and II having used it as a royal residence before turning it over to the Benedictine monks.

We hiked up to the top of its commanding hilltop position (nothing level on this trip) and toured the museum, church and incredible library. Every inch of wall and ceiling space was fresco painted and much of it in gold leaf. Outside in the garden were 250 year old linden trees along the Mozart Path. Mozart and his family have ties to Melk Abbey and signs proclaimed that, indeed, "Mozart was here." (It seems Amadeus played the organ in the Abbey Church.) Although this is a monastery, if you picture the most ornate and ostentatious castle imaginable, you've nailed Melk.

Stopped in Krems where the main purchase for most of us seemed to be pashima scarves, which everyone wore to church the next day. We were quickly made aware that things were a littler pricier than back at the ranch, and we had to think Euros not Slovak Crowns. (Slovakia is now part of the EU and scheduled for conversion to Euros in 2008.) We also thought Krems included a wine tasting featuring the stars of the famous valley vineyards. In fact, it featured a restaurant stop where you could buy anything, including a glass of wine.

Back at the flat, don't watch much TV, never have, but turned it on recently and got sucked into Zlate Vajce (Golden Eggs) where exceptionally unattractive contestants appeared to be involved in a game show based purely on luck. First you picked a very large, grey plastic hen from one of ten roosting on a fence. (See, who WOULDN'T get sucked in to that?!) Then you opened up its hatch and either screamed because you became a finalist or pretended to be happy with some sort of consolation prize. The last man who walked out used a cane and had a very prominent lumpy mole on his forehead; sadly he was destined to be one of the pretenders. The host did the exact same, lame small talk as any host anywhere - universal schmaltz - yet I continued to watch. At this point it was still tourist season around here with some very upscale visitors walking around the Old Town. I was beginning to think BA was full of Beautiful People...until I got a look at Alena, Ladislav, Anna, Stefan, Victor and Marek in their quest for the Zlate Vajce.

Have been to the mall a few times, usually in search of something specific. Was struck by such name-brand stores like Esprit, Adidas, Tommy Hilfiger, Pierre Cardin, Lacoste, and of course McDonald's which serves expresso and cappuccino here. Didn't know what to make of the womens clothing store called, GAS - KEEP IT SIMPLE (?) The closest mall is Aupark and here you can go to the cinema, bowl, play roulette, grocery shop and use the post office. Elsewhere in BA there is also an IKEA where it appears everyone goes to retrofit their gutted commie flats.

Took in a number of museums when I first arrived and decided that there is a great career to be had in doing English translations in such places. How about this curator's explanation posted in the Clock Museum? "Nice is a collection of small alarm clocks with rich decoration and a group of watches, manifold in their forms and decorative motifs. Great popularity at that time enjoyed clocks with going and striking trains on their dials." Manifold?! Who talks like that? There I was, alone on the third floor amusing myself, as the 80 year-old docent scowled at me, positive I was going to run off with one of the manifolds!

Our Hrad (castle) had a number of exhibits when I visited, and the one I enjoyed the most showcased Slovakia's Tinkers. Tinkers were the original fix-it men who started out repairing pottery with pieces of wire. This trade expanded greatly to mending anything and everything, and then morphed into wire creations, the folk art that most people recognize around here. The tinker trade was passed on father to son, so the birth of a baby boy was cause for fanfare and a very wierd custom. The baby (and future tinker) would be placed on a wooden spade and stuck out and in a window three times while saying, "To the world, my dear, to the world." The photograph featuring this oddity was dated 1985, although I suspect the Slovak version of DCFS frowns upon this practice nowadays. And we thought Michael Jackson was nuts!

If you want to at least sound like you're making an effort with Slovak language, just throw out a few good words: ano, dobre, prosim being three of the best. Any conversation overheard is lousy with "ano" (means yes, but almost pronounced and meant as I KNOW), "dobre" (good, as in dobre den - good morning), but many folks shorten the greeting to just plain "dobre". And don't forget "prosim" which is please, or you're welcome, excuse me, pardon. Finally there is Next Apache, obviously not Slovak, and in fact the name of the Canadian-owned bookstore we adjourn to every Sunday following mass. There is a another multiple-use phrase here that is "Nech sa paci" which can mean, here you go, here you are, can I help you, please enter, after you. The story of the name of the bookstore involves its owner, who, when he first arrived here couldn't understand why everyone was saying "next Apache" because that's exactly what nech sa paci sounds like. So when this Canuck opened his store, it became Next Apache Bookstore.

We Fulbrighters convened in Nitra last month, about four weeks post-orientation. We were missing a few individuals due to travel conflicts but most were able to make it. Mark, who teaches at the University there, and wife Betsy organized the get-together and we Bratislavans made the hour bus trip there on a Saturday. Mark and Betsy have a terrific flat right on the ped zone, the pedestrian-only streets found in most city centrums.

Nitra is Slovakia's fourth largest city, but at 90,000 that ain't so big. Sitting on a bend in the River Nitra the city is the center of Slovak Catholicism, ancient and modern, and also the agricultural capitol of the nation. It was a beautiful fall day, so we decided to take a walking tour of Upper Town featuring Nitra's churches with a guide who was a Belky look-alike from the old sitcom Perfect Strangers. Belky was a Hungarian architecture student with a good sense of humor and provided us with an excellent introduction to the role of the catholic Church in Slovakia.

Oddly enough, it was Prince Pribina, an atheist, who founded the first church in Czech and Slovak Republics. Go figure. This was 833 and for hundreds of years Nitra was a princely seat and bishopric. The city took a pounding by the Turks and the Church almost ran the feudal place into the ground in the 17th century. The plague also took its toll on the population; thank God the townspeople were able to parade through the streets with saints' relics to stave off disease (or so they believed).

We saw a collection of buildings up the hill including a monastery, seminary and library. See Library houses Slovakia's largest collection of rare medieval books, but due to a recent theft, the place was off-limits to regular tourists like us. There were bishop's crowns above the lintels of most facades, and holding up one corner of a building was an atlas-like figure named Corgon (also the name and label of a local beer). Legend has it that you rub his toe for good luck and so we all did. I don't know about the rest of our group, but I think when it was my turn mighty Corgon was on holiday (probably at the spa getting some relief from holding up the damn building), as that was the same week-end my home in Chicago was broken into! (No one home, no one hurt, and I now have a security system that rivals that of the old Stateville. I don't mean to sound flip; it was a terrible experience for me and Sona. My Chicago Fulbright support team plus colleagues, estate agents, contractors, family, and friends worked overtime to set things straight.)

Back to Nitra, there were statues of Sts. Cyril and Methodius, bishops stationed here and credited with codifying the the slavic language. As a former Lemonster, I always thought they were Polish priests, but they were around long before Poland and WAY before Polish jokes (which as far as I know don't exist here).

Completing our tour meant hiking up to the Castle, but really it's more of a walled-in fortress with churches within. It was a strange experience to walk through the churches, which are all connected, on different levels and a hodge-podge of styles. You enter at the side moving through a late-Gothic church, go up some stairs where the other Church has gone baroque. It's walls are all red marble where there aren't painted murals, and more frescoes covering every inch of the ceiling. Instead of a choir loft was the bishop's area, high and regal, more like a throne just in case you forgot who was running the show. There was also a grilled window where the Austro-Hungarian Empress Maria Thersa could attend Mass without mixing with the riff-raff. The final church, also added on, was the oldest dating from the 11th century. It was a small Romanesque rotunda with one feature I found fascinating. As you entered, on either side of the down stairway, were alcoves set within walls. They were just large enough so that an individual (one monk) could stand within. Each of the eight plastered chambers afforded an accoustical stage where the group could make a beautiful sound. Susan entertained us with an Episcopal hymn, and while it was no Gregorian chant, the sound was remarkable. This whole collective church structure is called St, Emeram Cathedral. So that about rounded out our tour, polished off with the gift shop where I bought a wooden hand-made rosary and a (but of course) Sts, C & M mug.

Afterward, Janeil treated us to a tea tasting where we were educated on the process (ike wine tasting), and sampled four types of pure (aged) teas. Later we had dinner followed by a concert at the Moorish-style synogue, a recently renovated space now dedicated to exhibits and concerts due to its excellent accoustics.. The concert was the last night of the Nitra music festival and featured an Italian duo who played concertina and guitar. It was an amazing concert, and finished up with SIX encores, raffle prizes, presenting of framed art and thanking everyone (even me I think) for making this all possible. We were trapped there, victims of incessant thank yous, and missed our bus as a result. Yes, we did get another bus, but it was a looong night.

Here's an observation that has some of stumped. What's up with the red hair in Slovakia? That's exactly what I asked Zuzka, and she said, "What are you talking about?" Women dye their hair this hideous RED shade of RED - young but mostly older women! To my American eyes, it's not a good look, but obviously Zuzka doesn't even notice it. Many of these same women also get on the tram at 7:00 AM, obviously work-bound, but dressed like they are ladies-of-the-night, or at least wedding-bound in a really bad dress. I see flimsy, see-through, low cut, dresses, textured hose, REALLY pointy stilettos and "matching" purses that are usually about 4 shades off but who cares? You feel like you're on the NOT tram, having missed the HOT version, as the fashion mags tell it.

Finally, you know you've been here awhile when you go see a ballet a SECOND time. Yep, I'm a junkie, and hooked up with the ticket lady who is honest enough to not sell me a bad seat, and tells me to come 1/2 hour early to get a seat for sold-out shows.. So there I sit, sizing up the performance, like is the prima ballerina cast well, did the male lead complete his triple pirouette, and what were they thinking with those new costumes? Good thing Richard Christianson retired as the Trib dance critic - I am so ready!

Cabbage Festival

2006-10-20T12:51:00.000-07:00

Got your attention, right?

I love autumn. I love the mostly crisp, dry weather, the orange, red and gold that announce the change of season, the almost frosty morning that is just slightly cooler than the one before. Fall is the start of school, a new beginning I've been making almost every year since I was four years old. It's football season and another try for Da Bears, because you never know, this could be the year. So now I get to experience fall in Slovakia...

We continue to enjoy Indian Summer, babie leto, where the temperature has climbed into the low 70's by most afternoons for the past three weeks. The explanation of babie leto concerns old women and spiders, and I'm still not sure if I understand it. When spiders weave webs, the threads are thought to resemble strands of grey hair, as seen in old women. So babie leto really means "old women summer". I don't get it either.

Around here, fall brings on the wine festival (in even-numbered years) at Modra, a typical ribbon-village with really good wine. The star of the show is burciak, the new unfermented wine that almost resembles grape soda, but not that sweet. Because I had traveled to Austria the week-end of the festival, I missed sampling the young wine. But not to worry, Kathy's hair stylist clued her in to yet another harvest celebration, the Cabbage Festival. A local recommendation by a Bratislavan? Kathy, Janeil and I were all over this, and hopped the bus to Stupava to catch the action.

We met at the main bus station, with not one but two buses leaving at the same time for the same destination. We got seats, which later on would become precious, as we continued to make many stops along the way. (As is very common here, Janeil had given up her seat to an older person. Thankfully, no one has done this for me - yet!) For about the last six stops, I thought no way is one more person getting on. But board they did, and the bus was packed. Janeil told us later, it was quite ripe in her part of the bus.

As we traveled north of Bratislava, the terrain became hillier and more rural. We saw some mammoth-size pumpkins along the way, but not one sign announcing the big deal Cabbage Festival. In fact, when we finally stopped and most of the people exited the bus, we deduced that we were probably in Stupava. There was not one sign referencing the festival, and not even a posting that, indeed, this was the town. "Stupava?", we questioned the driver. Yah, big nod (you knuckleheads, he's thinking), Stupava. We get off the bus not really knowing which way to go, and in good old Fulbright tradition, walk the wrong direction. Ah, but we're scholars, and quickly figure it out. Honestly, there was not one sign, not one picture of a cabbage - nothing. (For you SW suburbanites, Bengston's this was not!)

So we follow the crowds to...a flea market? It seems you have to walk through the riff-raff to get to the actual festival, and yes, I am going to talk about food. We all agreed that we would like to sample any and all things that looked interesting, usually just sharing a little taste. Kathy bought the first sweet, a pastry baked on its own dedicated metal cylinder, then slid off the rolling pin-size baker, and rolled in sugar and cinnamon. It was oppressively sweet, but somehow we finished it.

We continue walking, but are also thinking where the heck is the cabbage? Are we not at the Cabbage Festival? Not long thereafter, we find a booth where two brothers are operating a family food stand featuring the famous vegetable. We chat them up and they tell us their wives and mothers have been cooking at home for weeks and sleeping little in order to get ready for this week-end. They have prepared a number of treats, and we sample two. Are we worried that this has been prepared in someone's non-FDA-approved kitchen? Are you crazy?! We knosh on a small cheese delicacy and a pastry-stuffed cabbage, both remarkable, and probably involving lard, I'm thinking.

Janeil found a whole grains booth and we all purchased a variety of of breads. At this point we determined it was time for a beer break to counter all that test tasting. While seated at picnic tables we got a feel for where we really were - a few blocks off the main drag in an intersection that had been closed off to set up shop. This was an anniversay year festival, the mayor had visited, and there were said to be an especially large number of booths and more entertainment than usual.

Walking on, we finally came upon the festival center, a large open air barn housing a wide variety of plants, fruits and vegetables. We received our free slaw (paper cup, no fork) and washed it down with a thimble-size sample of wine from someone wearing a sash and tiara. Are you the Cabbage Queen? we wanted to know. Yes, she proudly replied, filling our thimbles to the brim. She was quite attractive - with babie leto grey hair and about 65 years old!

In the rear of the shelter, people were filing past an amazing display of gourd artistry. I saw a dinosour, a turtle, houses and much more created by children using all organic materials. No glitter, markers or paint for these creations that I could have lingered over much longer had something else not caught my eye. Across the stall with its owner, could it be...a Bouvier? No, its coat looked less dense compared to Sampson's, it had bigger ears and a long, uncropped tail. (In Bratislava, most dogs weigh less than 10 pounds, and some get toted around in bags. We were in the country, however, so this was really exciting for me to see a large dog.) Of course I had to approach the owner and ask, "Bouvier?" Yes, he nodded and proudly introduced me to Ariella, who even had a surname but I didn't catch it.

(Traditionally, almost all female names end in ova with accent on the a. This means that husband and wife have different names as well as brother/sister. We've been trying it with our American names. As you can imagine, it rarely works and often sounds downright stupid. Vande Veldova? I don't think so!)

Back to our Bouv. After some rubs and pets, Ariella was soon nudging and doing "the lean", a sure sign that she was a Bouvier. I even got to see Ariella's eyes, as she had a silly red bow tying up her hair in a topknot. She was decked out and on her best behavior; after all, this WAS the Cabbage Festival. I explained that I had a Bouvier in Chicago and could I take her picture. No, he said, as he gave me her lead, he would take our picture. So I got my canine fix that day, as well as my fill of kraut and slaw.

We spent a little time in the beer garden, having lunch and enjoying the action up on center stage. One after another, singing groups wearing matching polyester outfits performed up on the bandstand. There was swaying and lots of yip-yipping on stage, as well as great people-watching down below. We saw one man at a neighboring table eat a pork sandwich, followed by a klabasa, washed down by half a chicken! Ran into Peter and Katka, two teachers from my school, and at the time I thought it odd that the first thing she said was, "What did you have to eat?" I get it now. They also had burciak so I was able to try it. It wasn't bad but Kathy said it tasted much different (better) than that in Modra.

Although we were mostly consumers of food, we did buy some wool sox from a Turkish vendor. No one could decide on the sizing and Janeil advised us to buy smaller. I wasn't convinced and bought one size larger than she suggested, and good thing, too, because whose sox would now fit a CABBAGE PATCH DOLL, Janeil?

These are a few of my favorite things...

2006-09-20T21:29:00.000-07:00

After completing a three-day Fulbright Orientation a few weeks ago, the blog has unfortunately bogged down. The timing of the seminar may seem odd, but the university people have recently arrived because their start date is much later than ours. BUT before orientation it was time for a haircut, something I had been putting off for a week because I was nervous about not having my usual Kirby and trying to tell someone what I wanted. So, my colleague Zuzka hooked me up with her girl Magda, who works close to my flat. With very sketchy directions I found the building, but it was easy to find the salon, as MAGDA was plastered all over the widow. I met Magda who was in her 20's, wearing jeans and a red T-shirt. Her hair was black, sort of short, but with longer bits that were the color of her T-shirt. Uh-oh! She had some sort of a young male assistant who didn't do much of anything but the three of us managed to negotiate a color and style and it came out OK. I learned later that Magda is a local celebrity, having starred in some Slovak reality show. As a result someone set her up in this new location, hence the giant MAGDA window dressing.

But back to our Fulbright group, which seems to run the gamut in age, experience and subject area. I've already mentioned Jon and Nicole who are here with me in BA, teaching Math and English, respectively. Another Jon has taught English in Prague, will teach here at a Police Academy and joked about showing the Police Academy films to his cadets. Jen is a recent graduate who will teach English in Nitra, joined by Mark (linguist from UW Whitewater) and wife Betsy who will have a baby in January!. Kathy hails from Northern Ill. University, is an ESL specialist, and will be here in town, as will Janeil, an artist and administrator who works all over the world, most recently connected with Lill House in Chicago. Josh will head for Martin, a town in the Tatras, and Chuck and Susan will stay put so he can teach business law here at the University. Some of these folks stay only for four months; others are due to arrive next February.

It was hard to miss three days of school, having just built up a bit of momentum with my students. I left some lesson plans for my substitute, but found them on my desk Monday morning - untouched.The meetings were helpful but long, and included a blitz course in Slovak. I find the language difficult and feel a little better when even the locals agree. Nora organized an efficient orientation for us, and built in time for coffee, lunch and dinner so we really got to know one another. Also included was a reception in our honor at the home of the US Ambassador, with some seventy people in attendance. Friday was the last day and we finished it with a night at the ballet, Le Corsaire.

I figured I'd be informed and went on-line to get the story and shared it with others. But at the end, everyone's reaction was,"Huh?" The ballet was amazing, but the story line was a little shaky. Sold into slavery - pirates - wedding- rescued - re-sold into slavery... (Went on-line subsequently and found out that the story is considered silly at best and most modern staging eliminates the last act, hence the "Huh?". Face it, you don't go to ballet for the plot.)

So that was an exhausting three days and it would have been nice to relax over the week-end, but I had planned just the opposite. It was Cycling World Championships in Salzburg, Austria, Christian was riding and I was going. I had worked very hard on my arrangements for both transportation and lodging. Jan, at school had checked trains for me, trying to eliminate changing stations. Looking on-line I figured out how to get a hotel both close to the station and an easy walk to the race. John, Christian and I had a wonderful meal that evening at the USA Cycling Team's hotel, a 400 year old farm, owned by the same family all those years, and at some point converted into a restaurant/hotel. The working farm still exists, however, and the staff boast that everything served there is fresh.

The race on Sunday was great and we had Tour de France weather to make it perfect. Incredibly I got to see Christian as he rode up to the start line. He said later that he had to laugh at me as he rode away, I was so excited. True! It was the World's! I was in the VIP stands wearing the credentials of one of the US women who had already gone home. Watched 2 laps with riders coming round about every 45 minutes, but with almost 5 more hours of racing (265k race) I decided to head into downtown Salzburg to be a tourist.

I toured Mirabell Gardens which were right behind the start/finish area, and then made the short walk across the river into the old town, which includes the home where Mozart spent most of his growing up years. As it was Sunday afternoon, most of the shops were closed but that didn't stop people from strolling around. I saw many Tyrolians- drindls, wool jackets, even lederhosen. People still do really dress like that, and no, I did not see Julie Andrews singing, "The hills are alive..." but certainly expected to! Edelweiss, edelweiss, bless my homeland for... OK, staci (enough).

Back to the grandstands now for the final five laps, and not a seat to be had. I sort of worked my way up to the front row and sat on the stairs, 30 meters from the finish line. (Compared to the TdF finish, very loose security.) By serendipity I was next to a British couple, the Walls, Louis and Christine from Worcester, and huge cycling fans. This was so much fun because they so thoroughly enjoyed the racing, understood the sport, and even knew a bit about Christian. Also, Louis had a great camera with scanning abilities, and after a few laps, sure enough, got a picture of Christian. After exchanging addresses Louis said he would send me the photos, and Christian has instructions from me to send him an autographed picture.

The race was very exciting with lots of changes typical in such a long distance. And even though Christian had many CSC teamates there, this time he was riding for the stars and stripes. The Americans were looking good in Salzburg (in spite of their ugly black, blue and red jerseys). Christian's CSC mate, Fabian Cancellera had cooked everyone in the Time Trial (averging over 50k/hour - I don't drive that fast to the grocery store) but American Dave Zabriskie got the silver. Dave told Velo News, "I knew Fabian would be strong but I didn't know he'd be superman." The women also did a suberb job in the TT, with Kristin Armstrong winning gold and Christine Thorburn getting bronze!

We had a significant American presence on the road that day with Tyler Farrar going out early and staying out in a looong break.But eventually everyone came together and we grandstand critics had lots of opinions as to who had the best tactics, fastest sprint, strongest teamates, and just good old luck. Of course no one could say for sure, but we all had our hopes and allegiances. Across the street from us things were heating up, fans having staked out standing-room-only space hours ago. (The estimate was 300,000 spectators that day.) Then standing wasn't good enough, nor was shouting. People were climbing up on window ledges, hanging on signs and singing crazy-sounding songs. And the crazies got crazier, particularly a very vocal Italian group directly across from our stands,

Although we were watching the action on the Jumbotron, we did not see the Spaniard, Xaviar Cabre Florenco hit the brakes going into the final turn. This created a split, with Zabel, Bettini and two other Spaniards, Valverde and Sanchez getting a jump on the field. Valverde caught Sanchez' wheel, but it looked to be Zabel's day. Bettini would have none of it, however, and caught him in the last 50 meters, winning by a bike wheel. Meanwhile everyone, and especially the aforementioned crazy Italians went ballistic. Seeing Paolo Bettini singing up on the big screen, you would have thought he was performing in an opera, so dramatic is the anthem and so moving was the scene. They call him "The Cricket", and before you could say "Jiminy", up he was lifted by Zabel and Valverde. I still get shivers writing about it.

I just recieved some excellent 8x10 photos in the mail from amateur photographer and new friend, Louis Wall in England. He sent two pictures of Christian and two of the finish, and his image of the finish is just as I described. Some thirty meters before the line, all money is on Zabel... before Bettini comes around on his right shoulder to claim the title and those very special stripes!. Thanks again, Louis!

Planes, trains and...

2006-09-16T22:33:00.000-07:00

Really more like trains, trams, but mostly foot-power. We just returned from a holiday week-end of hiking in the High Tatras. Olga (Lutheran Church) had organized everything so we took advantage of her expertise and connections to enjoy our first trip to the mountains. Most of us met at the train station in Bratislava for what was about a 4 and 1/2 hour trip via IC train, the intracity express trains. Two of the teachers joined us at the Liptovsky Mikolas stop and our group made twelve.

The High Tatras (Vysoke Tatry) is the highest Czech/Slovak range in the Carpathian mountains, the rim that separates Poland from Slovakia and goes into Romania. I live closer to the smaller range in Bratislava, which is also less rugged. Our hike was to be almost entirely on granite boulders - for over eight hours!

We headed to Poprad, a town about ten miles from the mountains where we managed to miss the last tram to our hotel. But no worries, Olga's got "people" and we got a ride within five minutes. Our hotel was really a Church-run youth center, with me being way past youthful, girls in the "David" room, boys in "Ezechiah's". Actually, the accomodations were quite nice, all pine floors and ceilings, new tiled baths, but a hostel nontheless. But the price was right and as I could have never done this trip on my own at this point, it was a great opportunity.

Next morning after breakfast we took the tram to Tatranska Lomnica, which was packed with fellow hikers of all ages, all decked out with poles and backpacks. From there you go buy another ticket for the gondola (like for skiers) which brought us up toward the trailhead. Our group of 12 soon split into four different groups. One took another gondola all the way up to Lomnicky Stit, another got "lost" and took a different trail, but we all came together eventually, and cell phones worked at least part of the time. We were hiking on the second highest peak, and some of us would get to about 9,000 feet.

After about 2 and 1/2 hours we reached our first mountain cottage. There you could get food, drink, or just soak up the sun, as it was a gorgeous day. (I think it was in the 50's up there but we were very soon hiking in t-shirts.) Menu items on the mountain included draught beer, klebasa, and cabbage soup among other choices. Dobre chut! (good eatin')

Although no part of this hike was easy, the part after lunch was the most difficult. Someone had vaguely mentioned a section with ropes the night before but I didn't pay much attention. Well, it wasn't ropes, it was chains and it definitely got my attention that afternoon. There are sections on the mountain that are so vertical they are too steep for any sort of trail. To traverse these areas chains have been bracketed into the mountain so you can both pull and keep your balance as you climb. This section actually got backed up due to the crowd, and we heard it got even slower as the day went on.

Following this begins the descent, the part that no one likes but you gotta get back. There was another cottage stop here, where we found ourselves cooling off for the first time all day and putting back on our jackets. Not long after Amy (in my group) slipped and fell to her knees, I did the same. Unfortunately, in my case, my backpack slipped up to my shoulders resulting in a face plant. The whole thing was slow motion - very graceful...and really embarassing! At any rate, we all did fine, everyone accounted for and no serious injuries.

That evening we grilled klebasi "back at the ranch". Three or four people passed around a guitar and we enjoyed a great fire under a beautiful starlit cover. Two opted to hike the next day, but most of us returned home after hanging out in Poprad that morning. Our screaming knees and feet had quieted down by that time, but everyone (young AND old) was having trouble going down stairs. And me, I returned to BA with some great mountain memories to keep, and a small but noticeable scab I can't wait to lose!!!

Food, Fun and Folks

2006-09-09T22:07:00.000-07:00

I know, again with the food. This blog seems to be taking on a decidedly culinary point of view, but I can't help myself. Food is fun. It's an interesting window into a country's kitchen, and most importantly, it often brings people together. So, when I write about people, it often includes a bit about the chow we're sharing.

I just finished my first week with students, although it was a modified schedule. I still have not seen my Primas (first years, like our fifth graders) as they are on a class trip that includes cycling, rock climbing, kayaking and hiking. On Monday they are scheduled to hold a triathlon of sorts: run, ride, kayak before heading home on Tuesday. On Thursday and Friday I will begin teaching swim lessons with Jozef, my department chair who speaks little English. I think we'll be fine; it's obvious that he is a dedicated teacher, very invested in his students.

What's unique, though, is that we have no pool. Students go directly to a nearby facility first thing in the morning on the day of the lesson where we meet them. After the lesson we get them on the tram, students having purchased their own tickets, and return to school. I anticipate that this also will go smoothly even though it seems so unusual. My classes were great last week, exhausting, but fun. The students here are expected to be responsible and they rise to the occasion. Their schedules are similar to HS at Lab, coming and going at different times with possible free periods in between. I am describing the whole school here, remember, grades 5-12. And because the schedule is frequently changed, they also must be responsible to check the timetable in our offices.

Another unique aspect of teaching here is that no substitutes are used. We all shift around and cover for one other, having checked the substitution schedule (again with the timetable!) that morning, or sometimes the day before. I have an English class substitution Monday, which I will make a conversational session. It will be September 11 tomorrow, so I think I will have an effective topic for discussion. These students are eighth years, like our HS seniors, with well-developed language skills.

Last week was also the start of our food service in the canteen. For this, I had to go the Post Office to purchase my monthly ticket, which was about as scary as going to Tesco, the giant supermarket, the first time. I thought I had filled out the form correctly, but she DID NOT like the way I made my #1, you know like a straight line. It meant nothing to her and somehow seemed to really tick her off. I had exact change, hoping to gain her graces, but because of a service fee, that, too, was wrong and I think I completely ruined her day. Breaking a sweat, I took my stamped receipt and change and made a quick exit.

In Slovakia, employers are required to pay for their employees' meal while at work and that includes me because "I'm Sona". An amount is determined by a formula, and the employee pays for the remainder, about a dollar a meal. If the place of employment has no kitchen, many restaurants honor the system by preparing a special which can be immediately served. The third option is to be used in a grocery store, like food stamps. If you do not use the voucher, you lose the benefit so most people take advantage because they feel they would otherwise lose money.

So, we not only have a kitchen, we have a computerized system of choosing from among four items on the menu which is published in advance. I try to grab somebody and get them to translate so I have a clue, but there isn't always a person available who can explain. So lunch becomes a bit of a surprise! Last Thursday, for example, I knew it was going to be chicken-something-or-other, and that Friday would be a mushroom-thingee. For Monday I got crazy and ordered a traditional meal called buckti, similar to eating a fruit-filled pastry. Kelly, one of the teachers, tells me that Monday is sweet day, with one of the choices being a sweet entree.

I felt very guilty ordering this (as if I had ordered dessert for my meal) but I noticed that many teachers had also chosen this dish. We were served four very large prune-stuffed rolls which were sprinkled with powdered sugar and I could only finish one.

I've tried a few other things, too. Kofula is a soda that looks like root beer and try as I did to convince myself of this, I couldn't even finish half of it. Josh says it's an acquired taste; I guess so. Bought paprika chips when I first arrived; seemed like the thing to do. Don't bother. Taught that English class the other day and it went well. We had a very informal conversation talking about school, PE and my experience here. Someone asked what I thought about the food and away we went. When I bemoaned the fact that I had no oven, Eva, one of the students, said she would bake for me. Incrediby, this morning she brought in strudel made by her Gram! Poppy seed and apple, YUM! She said she knows how to make strudel because her Gram taught her, but there is something new out in the way of a shortcut and not too many people bother or even know how to make it the traditional way.

When the Prima trip returned they brought a delicacy from Piestany. The town of Piestony is famous as Slovakia's spa village because of its thermal springs, and the origins of the town go back to the Stone Age. Piestony's sweet treat is called oplatky and looks like two giant Holy Communion wafers sandwiched on either side of various fillings. A very small amount goes a long way; it would be good with a rich cup of coffee, also easy to come by around here.

But let's return to last Friday. Piatok marked the end of our first week and that called for a celebratiom which, you guessed it, called for food! Here in BA there is an International Evangelical Lutheran Church which celebrates Mass in English every Sunday. Most attendees are Americans, but the congregation is fairly diverse. The Church is connected with a number of schools and a mission, so there are many teachers and volunteers involved.

Fellow Fulbrighter (and fellow Catholic) Jon, teaches math at the Lyceum and plays guitar at Mass. Pastor David is a Californian and Asst. Pastor Josh hails from St. Charles. David's wife, Carla, plays harp at Church and is very involved in the ministery as well. So...last Friday David and Carla hosted "all the Americans" and then some, for enchiladas at their flat. Some of us baked or brought dishes, others brought wine, and still others brought the fixins' for Slovak Margharitas (vodka, no tequila). David set up his computer projector and we voted on a DVD to watch - Spinal Tap, followed by a little SNL with Chris Farley. Couldn't have had a better night!

We are walking...we are are seeing...we are eating....

2006-09-02T11:26:00.000-07:00

It's Festival Time in BA! Long live the king! Although there had been some discussion about visiting Vienna, it was determined that Bratislava was the place to be this week-end, so here we stayed. This past Friday was the celebration of Constitution Day, and just like Labor Day, serves as the last fling of summer. In addition, the coronation is re-enacted, commemorating over 250 years of Austro-Hungarian royalty having being crowned in St. Martin's Cathedral. Dom Sv. Martina was one of the first places I visited upon arriving, and I was surprised to find it a relatively humble place considering it was the coronation church of nineteen kings and queens, 1563-1830. It is Bratislava's most important Gothic structure, with a spire topped by a tiny golden crown instead of a cross. It also sits dangerously close to Novy most (New Bridge), whose traffic impacts the building with both exhaust fumes and vibrations. Novy most, also called most SNP (Bridge of the Slovak National Uprising) for which the old Jewish Quarter was ripped up, spans the Danube and seems in odd juxtaposition next to The Old Town.

The bells are ringing and have been for the last 30 minutes, signaling the end of the coronation ceremony of Matej II, 1608. I'm excited and don't even know the guy! Later I will go out on my square (Hviezedoslavovo namestie, which I really have to learn to pronounce because this is where I live) to catch the end of the procession as it finishes here.

Back now from the culminating festivities, and what an event it was! There was much Medieval hoop-la including musicians, soldiers, horses, ladies-in-waiting and their escorts, not to mention the good King himself, who is quite the equestrian. He rode his steed up on stage - twice. King Matej, however, has either a small royal head or a too-big jeweled crown. I couldn't tell which but the effect was less than regal. Also turns out that the King is 40-ish, tall, and good-looking. I know about the tall part because he dismounted and held a press conference...just to the left of the jumbotron, making King Matej a true King of the people, even us commoners on the Hviez-whatever square.

Yesterday, I visited the Hrad (castle) with fellow Fulbrighters Jon and Nicole, to check out the goings-on up the hill. There were period artisans demonstrating their craft, goods for sale, music, jousting and FOOD, FOOD, FOOD! We saw lace makers, wood workers, and cornhusk crafters. There were tinkers, whip-snappers, and barrel makers. An area dedicated to a hands-on school for children to try their ability even included kid-sized potting wheels. We saw mouth harp musicians (I may have the wrong term here. Think George Clooney in "Oh, Brother Where Art Thou?") and much more.

We were so taken by the intricacy of the work, no matter the craft. And of course an artisan is always willing to talk about his/her craft, so that made it not only interesting but personal too. And the eggs! Woo-boy did they have eggs. Eggs painted with wax, or covered with fine twine, or drilled out with a dentist tool, or dyed with onion skins and painted in the most muted of shades. Sizes? Try ostrich, goose, duck, hen and quail. And some just didn't even seem feasible. An egg shell covered in a wire mesh design? I had to buy and the ones I chose resembled pinecones.

But shopping makes you hungry so Jon tucked in to one of those sandwiches I'd been smelling from my flat: chicken, slathered with onions and smeared with mustard on an enormous roll, a tasty treat called cigansha. Nicole and I held out for something I had discovered on the square the night before -rezance!

The rezance tent was an assembly-line operation of about 6 women making homemade pasta, with the last-in-line ripping the noodles into stroganoff-size strips. After boiling the noodles in a huge kettle, the final step was to mix this with melted butter and break up blocks of cheese (resembled farmer's chese in consistency). So you get your bowl and put the final touch on it...powdered sugar! I don't care how it sounds, it tastes terrific. (I might also mention that this was a very happy assembly-line of pasta makers, stopping every once in a while for a shot of medovino, or honey wine.)

Polishing off my noodles, I hit the hand-made bell booth. What a great gift for my dog, Sampson, who knows to ring the bell with his nose to signal that he has to go out. I attempt to engage the bell-maker in conversation, wondering about how long it takes to make a bell. He looks very confused about what I guess was an American kind of question. His co-worker explains that is hard to say because, "First he is cutting the steel, now he is pounding the metal. Next he is heating the metal to form the bell."

This is the way I sometimes hear things translated for me by some very patient Slovaks. It always makes me smile, just like the festival T-shirt for sale that says, "Kiss me I am Slovak". Lost in translation? Well, sometimes, but it's amazing how you can communicate when you want to, irregardless of how hard it may be and how funny you probably sound. Think about NOT being able to make yourself understood or understand somebody, and how that would affect you. My exchange partner, Sona, has good language skills, but says she yearns to speak Slovak and feels like "half a person" speaking English. What a great analogy; your language is you and you are what you speak.

The A-HAH! factor

2006-09-01T13:28:00.000-07:00

Breathe in - breathe out. Big inhale, now exhale. Get ready, get set, BLOG. Thanks for joining me; I hope you'll check in from time to time. It's taken me over two weeks to actually get around to writing about beginning my year as a Fulbright Exchange Teacher here in Bratislava, Slovakia. High on the priority list were such issues as figuring out the SEVEN keys I have for the flat, the commute to my school, and just trying to communicate with...anybody. Most things seem to be mysteries around here even including the pencil sharpener at my school. I'm not kidding. When I first tried it, I assumed it was broken until Anna Cifrova, my principal, said, "Oh, I need to show you how that works." And she did: seems that you have to pull out the front portion while pressing in on another part, and manually turn the handle. So thanks, Anna, for that and everything else I can't seem to figure out on my own. I know, if you're even bothering to read this you most likely aren't too interested in pencil sharpeners, but it still amazes me. Remember those descripive writing exercises in schooL? Well, describe how the Sukromne Gymnazium's (my school) pencil sharpener works would be a great challenge. OK, sorry, enough about the pencil sharpener. But still...

I arrived here from Chicago last August 16. The last part of my trip was Munich-Bratislava, landing on time with luggage intact. I thought for sure I would be overweight but wasn't, although my backpack probably weighed in at 25 pounds, and somehow got heavier as I traveled east. Dada and Anna, Assistant Director and Principal respectively, picked me up and brought me to Sona's flat. Sona Oravcova, whose name I mispronounced for months until I actually met her, is my international exchange partner. We had worked out a housing exchange as well, so she is in Beverly (Chicago) and I am here. She will take my position at the University of Chicago Laboratory Schools as I replace her at Sukromne Gymnazium.

Sukromne Gymnazium is Bratislava's first private school, and in fact Monday's opening day will include a celebration of its 15th year. A gymnazium is a type of educational institution, not a place for physical activity as you may assume. We are an 8-year school, the equivalent of grades 5-12 in the states, with over 400 Slovak students. What we would call Middle School and High School, they refer to as Junior School and Senior School. Our students sit for an entrance exam, are required to take a minimum of two foreign languages, and all plan to go on and attend university.

I will teach every class in the Junior School, but only the girls because students are divided for physical education. (Oops, I mean Telesna Vychova which makes me not a PE but a TV teacher!) I'll see most of my students three times a week, including for swimming which I teach, but not for skating, which I do not. My duties also include after-school activity which is optional, and I think more recreational in nature. This gives me 24 lessons a week which is the way they break down teaching time. In addition, I may teach a conversational English class but that depends on sign-up interest because it, too, is optional. With or without English class, I will be teaching much more than back at Lab School, so Sona's got it easy. Just kidding! For better or worse, at least I will teach in English, with lots of gestures, I'm thinking. I'll also try to refrain from the technique of TALKING LOUDER IN AN ATTEMPT TO BE UNDERSTOOD. Should be interesting.

You know how we Americans mumble mm-mmm or uh-huh to indicate yes, agreement or understanding? Slovaks say, "A-HAH!" as if they have just solved Einstein's theory of relativity, and now so do I but for a different reason.THAT'S how you work the washing machine? A-HAH! THAT'S how you switch the keyboard to English? A-HAH! THAT'S how you sharpen a pencil? A-HAH! You get the idea; should be a radio station as in "This is W-AHAH in Bratislava, all A-HAHS, all the time."

Sona's flat is located in Stare Mesto, the Old Town, and although it is small the location is excellent. I am minutes away from shopping, tram stop to school, and I don't even need a coat to run across the namestie (square) to the National Theater. And these are all important factors for me, including the theater which is dedicated to opera and ballet. Tickets can be purchased behind the theater at the box office and go down in price as the performance date approaches. So, ten days before the show you can snag a ticket for about 150 sk. Currency is the Slovak Koruna, so for 150 crowns you're paying about five bucks for the theater, and the show changes nightly. Who needs Eurosport on the telly when there is the National Theate on the square? A-HAH!