Sauerkraut

I suppose it's fitting, in some way, that in my last week living in Prague with my host family that they would give me sauerkraut. It's one of the national foods, I'm pretty sure, right after everything fried, fatty, and greasy that you can think of. So, as a fond farewell, they gave me dumplings, meat, and sauerkraut (a Czech tv dinner, actually) for dinner tonight. It actually wasn't my farewell dinner, but I can't think of anything more "Czech" that they could have given me.

HOWEVER. I have to say that this at this "farewell dinner," there were not tears just because it was a "farewell" or because they fed me sauerkraut. In fact, there were no tears over sauerkraut. And this is exactly why they were tears. When they handed me my plate with dumplings lining the outside edge and the meat completely covered by the veritable pile of sauerkraut, I cheered inside. I knew that this moment was going to come at some point--for the last week, I have found myself thinking of sauerkraut at night, about the same time that I start thinking about bed.

The time that I set aside for thinking about bed is a sacred time. Bed is possibly one of my favorite parts of the day (I attribute it to my love of sitting back and watching the dreams my unconscious hands to me, rather than actually just enjoying being unconscious), particularly in the last week since I've been particularly tired and sick lately.

SAUERKRAUT SHOULD NOT BE GIVEN THE SAME STATUS AS BED.

Unfortunately, it was. I tried to deny it as much as possible, but when the bell dinged on the microwave, and a steaming hot plate of knedliky and sauerkraut was carried into the room, there was nothing I could do but sigh in relief that they had finally given me this. It has been months since they have fed it to me--I think they must have noticed that whenever they would feed it to me, I would eat very little of it while polishing off the meat and dumplings. They must have picked up on it somehow. And, now, two or three months later, I had to shed a silent tear as they placed the plate in front of me, not for that fact that they were giving it to me, but for the fact that it had taken them this long to give it to me again.

Wait, what?

One thought process, and knowing the rabbi, probably one breath.

"Hitler didn't have an original idea in his head. He just enacted everything. Here on your left is a Christmas tree farm."

So That's How It's Done

I just turned in my first final paper today. It was for my art history class (the good one) and about Surrealism. In celebration, I watched a youtube video about how to darn socks. I've always been curious about how it worked, but never took the time to actually learn. Thanks to the kind people at greenfibres.com, I now have the knowledge. The more you know... (da da da da da da daaaaaaaaaa).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4nY1jTVyBE0

Lost

The word "Lost" takes on such a desperate meaning when used in religious settings.

"I'm sorry I was late [to Bible Study]. I was lost."
"We are all Lost once."
"I took the wrong exit."
"The Devil leadeth us astray--to the wrong exit, into temptation."
"So...yeah. I was lost."
Pause, meaningful look, pat on the shoulder. "And now you are found."

Schedule

Because I have two papers and three tests looming, it is therefore fitting that I will continue my procrastination break (I began Watership Down last night) and give you all an update on my upcoming schedule. I could go minute by minute, but I have somewhere that I need to be in an hour (and leave for in 20 minutes) so that will be unnecessary.

December 10--Dinner at my Czech Teacher's House
December 11--Chanukah Services Followed by Chanukah Party
December 12--Write Jewish Paper
December 13--Art Paper Due
December 14--Jewish Paper Due, Jewish Presentation
December 15--Art Journal Due, Contemporary Czech Culture Final
December 16--Art History Final, TREVOR Arrives
December 17--Other Art History Final
December 18--"Graduation" Ceremony, Farewell Dinner, Move Out of Homestay into Parents' Apartment
December 19--FAMILY Arrives
December 20-25--Enjoy Prague
December 26-28--Enjoy Vienna
December 28--Bus from Vienna to Prague, Bus from Prague to Amsterdam
December 29--Arrive in Amsterdam
December 29-31--Sleep in a Cabin (in Amsterdam)
Night of December 31--Sleep in a Tent (in Amsterdam)
January 1-4--Sleep in a Cabin (in Amsterdam)
Night of January 4--Stay in Some Hostel (in Amsterdam)
January 5--RETURN TO AMERICA: DORITOS, COSMO, AND CHOCOLATE MILK

Well I still have 16 minutes before I leave. Obviously I have a fair amount of time left in Europe, but it should go quickly considering all that I will be doing. Luckily, though, once the program is over, my time in Prague will not be characterized by the shadow of lack of productivity hanging over my head. School will not be in session and therefore I can curl up and read Watership Down, or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (assuming Trevor let's me borrow it, of course) as I please.

Note to self: relax.

Today it is raining. It has not yet gotten cold enough for snow, yet. So I am left with cold AND wet feet, as opposed to just the cold feet that I would be encountering were I in Minnesota, or really any northern clime that's NORMAL and has looked at a calendar and REALIZED that it is DECEMBER and therefore should be COVERED in SNOW. Unfortunately, Prague has not received the climate calendar that the rest of the world has, and therefore does not realize that Christmas's without snow are only appropriate in places where you can wear shorts on Christmas. If you can't wear shorts on Christmas, then there should be snow. It's as simple as that.

Today I had fish and potatoes for lunch. The fish was ok until I got past the breading. The potatoes were fabulous as always.

My host family has some amazing oranges. I think that I am going to eat at least five of them a day until they run out. They are juicy. And easy to peel. Perfectly ripe. And smell amazing.

Nuns

At the tram stop today I saw two nuns. One of them looked introspective and at peace. The other looked cold and bug-eyed. I feel like only one of them gets it.

The Alternative to Snow...

I never thought that I'd miss snow. I'm not a person particularly inclined to bask in the glow of snow. I can appreciate the flakes as they fall from the sky, and know that they are beautiful, but ultimately, I don't feel a particular kinship with this form of precipitation. It is cold.

I was in Greece over the weekend. And while Friday was a beautiful day, at least 20 degrees and sunny, Saturday it poured rain. There were puddles in the street, mingling with the excessive amounts of garbage left by striking garbage workers. It was while walking down the street, after getting completely soaked by an enormous splash from a car driving much too quickly, and after being forced to SHOUT over my shoulder to make Trevor hear me, that I realized one thing that snow has over rain: Rain makes everything louder. Snow makes everything beautifully muffled.

It was not until hearing news of the events that were/are taking place in Minnesota at the moment--southern Minnesota no less--that I realized how much I miss snow. There is a blizzard in Minnesota. Here, it has been raining for days. I have not seen a flake of snow for months, and none of it has stayed on the ground here.

I hated snow until I realized the alternative was rain. When I get home, the best welcome I could get (once my plane lands in the MSP airport) is a blizzard that follows us all the way back to Duluth, forces us to drive 20 mph the entire way home, and makes Dad squint into the darkness while getting all sweaty and angry.

Toilet Trees

Over the weekend I went to Greece with Trevor. Upon arriving at our hostel in Athens--Hostel Zeus, named after the king of Olympus--I found myself needing to use the facilities. I made the trek down to the end of the hall and encountered a toilet with a most unsettling message: DON'T THROW PAPERS IN THE TOILET. Had the sign not depicted a hand throwing a medicine bottle--presumably empty though I'm going to assume this doesn't matter--and what appeared to be a crumpled up piece of computer paper into the gaping mouth of a toilet, I would have immediately interpreted the sign as being a warning against the disposal of your toilet paper in the actual toilet. But because to me the image seemed to warn against throwing garbage into the toilet, I thought I'd be safe flushing it all down together. After all, toilet paper is made for toilets (it's all in the name) and therefore has been designed to be flushed. If a toilet can't handle toilet paper, what else can't it handle? Other things that it, by virtue of it being a toilet, should be able to handle?

This concerned me deeply, so I promptly thrust if far from my mind and thus decided that the answer to my confusion lie in the word "papers." I do not call toilet paper "toilet papers." Rather I call it "squares of toilet paper." Perhaps they would be called "papers" if they were not all strung together in one "toilet paper roll." But they are. So I decided the "papers" to which the sign was referred were papers of a bureaucratic sort.

"Don't worry," I assured the toilet as I settled down on the seat, shifting my body weight to my right side to avoid the discomfort of the pinching that came about as a result of tiny hairline cracks in the toilet seat. "Don't worry, Toilet. I'll keep my documents to myself." I knew that I had to get home somehow and therefore had no plans to throw my passport into this Greek toilet.

The incorrectness of my interpretation of the sign rapidly became clear, though, when I attempted to flush my economical amount of toilet paper (I had still been a bit hesitant to fully trust my original interpretation). The bowl emptied, the water refilled, and there, floating, lurking in the depths was a lonely square of toilet paper.

It was then that I looked in the garbage can, searching out where my toilet square should have gone. I peeked in through the swinging lid and saw a garbage can much fuller than I usually see in bathrooms. I couldn't tell in what manner the toilet paper had been used--for all I knew, someone could have been using all those toilet "papers" to blow their nose. Swine flu, you know. Choosing not to take a whiff, however, I decided to trust my instinct and believe that this was the rightful place of my toilet paper. At that moment, I was very happy that I was not the janitor at this hostel.

I was, however, distraught over this discovery. This toilet paper goes into the trash, not down the drain into the sewage system. From the short amount of time I had spent in Athens, I had seen a great deal of garbage, though no sewage. Piecing these two together, I could only hope that this was one bit of garbage that would not end up coming back to haunt me.

On Saturday night, Trevor and I decided to go out for a "nice" meal. To us, this means going to a place where you sit down and actually have to tip. It means nothing more. But the restaurant we went to was a pretty nice restaurant--very clean, very modern, and very tasty food. When the meal was done, I decided I would go to the bathroom, just so I could experience what it was like to flush toilet paper in Greece (and actually have it disappear). So I went down to the bathroom and was pleased with everything I saw--motion detector lights, a nice basin for the sink, and a very sleek, frosted glass door to the stall. Getting into the stall, though, I discovered a sign on the toilet that said, DON'T THROW PAPER INTO TOILET. This sign featured a drawing as well, though this time the artist kindly made the paper actually look like toilet paper--rather than having it look like a crumpled up piece of notebook paper, the artist drew a banner of toilet paper, with dotted lines crossing it to indicate the perforated edges for easy separation.

I was disgruntled, being forced to not throw my "paper" into the toilet, but rather proud of myself for being able to instantly decipher the meaning of this sign. I suppose it's easier to interpret when the drawing doesn't suggest garbage and the slogan doesn't suggest documents.

That night when we got back to the hostel, I went to use the bathroom again. There was a piece of toilet paper floating at the bottom (not mine). I had to smile at the poor person who had made this mistake. Sitting on the toilet, leaning to the right, I had to say to myself about the poor confused soul who had done this, "Silly, silly. Can't you read the sign?"

Greece

Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece

In 24 hours I will be looking at the Acropolis!

Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece

Homesickness. I am ill.

As a tried and true procrastination technique, as well as a result of a fit of homesickness, I compiled a list of [some of] the things I miss from home.

Karluv Most

One of the many wonders you can find on Charles Bridge. They have a name but I don't remember it. My favorite is the washboard guy.

Nora: A Poem

The syllables aren't correct, but the sentiment remains. Good luck Nora.

There once was a girl named Nora
Who learned some fauna and flora
She studied for Orgo
Her life she did forgo
All to go to Australi-ora

Yay Nora! Good luck with finals!

My Body Is Falling Apart

It's a sad fact, but true. What I was looking forward to having happen to me in the future has come fifty years early. Europe has taken its toll on me and aged me severely. I am ailing.

*Disclaimer: If you don't want to pity me, don't read this. Also, some descriptions are maybe weird and kind of gross (but not really). If you have a problem with that, don't read this.

I blame the cobblestones for my first bout of problems. Though they appear quaint when you see them in pictures and in period films, they are uneven and difficult to walk on, even when in sneakers. It is for this reason that I believe they caused my knee-joint pain. This, combined with constantly walking up and down hills, something I have not had to do since I lived in Duluth, created for sharp pains shooting around under my kneecap like quick bolts of lightning with each step. Luckily, though, the pain passed and my knees feel as though they are back to normal. Or at least they have grown used to the irregularities that come with quaintness and adjusted accordingly.

My second ailment occurred a few weeks ago. After realizing that I "itched all over," I found red bumps on my legs that only appeared after I got home from class, though that had disappeared by morning. At first, it was shingles scare, though after Dad ran through the symptoms with me I realized it was possible. I eventually pinpointed the cause to be an allergic reaction to my new, comfortable-for-lounging sweatpants that have now become my new, useless-unless-I-want-to-itch-uncontrollably sweatpants.

My third ailment is along the lines of shoes. I came here with two pairs of sneakers, and within the first month of my time here, they both decided to fall apart. This left me with very little time to find a replacement pair of everyday shoes. What I found was a pair of teal Converse that fit me length-wise perfectly. In time, I realized that, despite fitting me in every other way, they squinched my baby toes in to the rest of my toes and rubbed against them so it felt like the skin was about to be rubbed off. To give my baby toes a break, I would switch to wearing my Aldo "Inca" (ankle) boots from New York. Good idea in theory, BUT I have worn them so much that I have worn them down so that when wearing them, I am almost stepping directly onto the ground. Therefore, by giving my baby toes a rest from the rubbing, I am instead forcing the skin to be rubbed off the bottoms of my feet. They receive no respite.

My final ailment is most disconcerting to my belief. Six months after having had my wisdom teeth removed, I eat a bagel chip at the wrong angle (this happened on Wednesday), and now, the empty gums where my wise tooth once laid has begun to swell. I have been eating cold things and waiting for it all to subside. Luckily aspirin halts the throbbing and I have high hopes that this will clear itself up, much as the joint pain and allergic reactions stopped themselves (the shoes will be an ongoing problem, I am sure, and I therefore have no hope that it will cure itself). Time will tell. All I can do is be happy that, while 1/4 of my mouth feels similar (though to a lesser extreme) to the way it did when I had my wisdom teeth out, I do not look like a chipmunk this time.

It's a wonder that I've survived this long.

People Watching: In Transit

When you're in big cities with lots of people, then you have lots of chances to see big things. Or at least the little things people wish you had missed.

Tram moments:



-A man trying to blow his nose the way I've seen skiers do it many times before: press against one nostril and blow hard to get rid of everything you want out of your nose. It didn't go so well for this man, and instead of get all the unnecessary mucus out of his nose and blown away onto the ground, he wound up with a long string of snot hanging out of his nose, swinging around. I'm sure he would have gotten away with it fine if he hadn't been doing it next to a tram stop where a semi-full tram was just pulling up.

-A woman with a kleenex or napkin (maybe toilet paper?) trying to find the best way to wipe her pretty-dog's butt. At least she was cleaning up after it.

Na metro:



-I was riding the up escalator, packed with people, and she was riding the down escalator alone. I was listening to my iPod but could still hear her burp echo through through the escalator transit tunnel. She continued on like nothing had happened.

-A young couple making out on the escalator down to the metro. There was no shame as his hand crept down her back to rhythmically squeeze her butt. They had it timed perfectly so that they came up for air just as it was time to get off the escalator.

Walking home:

-A man peeing into the bushes. He may have been giving me evil stares for gawking, but he was the one peeing in public.

Seeing the Sights in Radomysl

Apparently this is how Czech men like to dance after they've had their fill of Dudak, Klostermann, Becherovka, and Slivovice. Luckily I did not follow suit.




They showed us a slideshow all about what Radomysl has to offer (they didn't do it specifically for us--they did it for the new people in town). This picture is a bit blurry because I was laughing so hard, but it says, "Garbage--third place in the Czech Republic":



Bagpipes player:



+5 Adorable points:



Mini toilet:


Not quite politically correct:


Muddy shoes:



Jewish "cementary":





Countryside (and Lydia):

The Week in Review

Thursday night I went to the ballet. There were two cultural events this semester that we got to choose from, and because I am lucky, and in general a very culture-friendly person, I made it to both the Bartered Bride (+1 culture point), which was about a month ago, and Ballet Extrem (+1 culture point), which was Thursday.

After going to the ballet, I was feeling particularly cultural, though looking back on it, I realize that my feelings of cultural advancement are slightly tempered by the fact that I had Burger King for lunch (+1 ex-pat point), [cheap] Mexican for dinner (+1 ex-pat point, +1 smart point--two tacos and a margarita for 110 crowns), and that the first act of the ballet itself was a little less Swan Lake, a little more MTV Video Music Awards (+1 cool, -1 culture). The rest of the ballet, of course, redeemed itself with a highly erotic second act, and a Lion King-esque third act which featured a man dressed up as a baby mouthing Michael Jackson (+2 cool points). After the opera, I headed across the street to Cafe Slavia, a former hang out of Kafka (+1 culture point, +1 cool point), but that has now--supposedly--become a current hang out for tourists (-1 culture point, -1 cool point).

Friday was essentially a lost day, so I will ignore it (-1 cool point).

On Saturday I was forced to go to Radomysl, a small village in southern Bohemia. I was pleasantly surprised by the whole experience. We had to stay with local families, and somehow, thankfully, Tanya and I ended up in the same house (+1 cool point) and, as we figured out just as we were leaving the town (-1 smart point), the father in the family we were staying with was the mayor (+1 cool point). They were an incredibly hospitable family, and had a 19-year-old daughter, Katerina, who spent a lot of time with us. We also got to meet her boyfriend Jakub.

While there we had the option of eating duck--I refused (-1 culture point)--and just ate Czech food in general. Apparently they were celebrating some kind of feast or rural/farmers' harvest holiday, I think. So there was lots of food. As well as a woman playing bagpipes (+1 culture point) I also had the chance to try out the two local beers: Dudak--which translates into "Bagpipes," and Klostermann (+2 culture points, +2 tasty points). After dinner they took us over to a Czech dance where they had a live band playing Czech songs (+1 culture point). I have to admit, the last time I heard so much polka, I was at a Minnesota wedding (+1 culture point). While at the dance, I also had the opportunity to try two other spirits native to the Czech Republic: Becherovka and Slivovice (+2 culture points, +1 tasty point for the Becherovka, -1 tasty point for the Slivovice).

The next morning we got up to an EXCELLENT breakfast, with jogurt, grilled cheese-esque sandwiches that also had ham, ketchup, and mustard on them, traditional Czech pastries, and tea (+3 tasty points). We then went on a comprehensive tour of Radomysl. We toured the nursery school (+1 adorable point) and got paper apples that the children had made for the us (+1 adorable point), we toured the elementary/middle school and got to see people playing ping pong, we walked to the Baroque Church (+1 culture point), we walked down an extremely muddy path (-1 cool point) to the Jewish cemetery--or "cementary" as the people of Radomysl kept spelling it/saying it--and saw Franz Kafka's grandfather's grave (+1 cool point, +1 culture point).

Then we had lunch where I had another chicken schnitzel (+1 culture point) and water--jemne perliva--though my host family wanted to know why I wasn't getting another beer. After lunch, Tanya and I went with Katerina to the next town over, Strakonice where her boyfriend lives, to go watch a puppet show (+1 cool point). Her boyfriend does the lights for it. When we arrived, children were lined up off the stage, waiting for their chance to either sing a song or tell a rhyme, something that they do before the show (+5 adorable points). After the first act, because we were well connected (Katerina's boyfriend's mom also does things at the puppet theatre), we got to go backstage and climb into the rafters to watch the puppeteers working their magic (+2 cool points). We also got to see the people standing to the side of the stage, doing the voices (+2 cool points). Interesting to note: the table the people backstage were sitting at was littered with glasses of beer and an open bottle of wine (+1 cool point, +1 class point). I'm not sure if that's something you'd see backstage at a children's puppet theatre in the States.

After that we had to go and meet up with our class to talk about culture and values and stuff like that (-2 cool points). But we got a bag of Radomysl souvenirs like a book and a DVD (+2 cool points), some kind of cake thing from our teacher's mom (+1 cool point), and Tanya and I came out of the weekend absolutely loaded with different kinds of chocolate (+3 cool points) because our host family wanted us to experience the Czech candy scene.

Totals:
Culture- 10 points
Cool- 16 points
Class- 1 point
Ex-pat*- 2 points
Adorable- 7 points
Smart- 0 points
Tasty- 5 points

And tonight I am taking it easy, maybe watching the second half of the new "Dr. Zhivago" with my host dad. Tomorrow we don't have school because of communism.

*You may have noticed the addition of the "Ex-pat" category. There are times where I think my actions could be interpreted as times where I should lose a culture point, but really I feel that those actions should be interpreted in a more positive way. Thus I am naming them "Ex-pat" points because it gives a more positive spin on something that could otherwise have a negative connotation. These actions are not negative actions, or actions that are actually taking away culture. They are merely actions that are more culturally American than they are culturally Czech.

Pro Amandu

This is dedicated to Amanda because she is the one who asked.

Since coming to the Czech Republic, I have found myself becoming increasingly and increasingly unproductive. It is not that I do not want to complete my homework (actually that is part of it)--I really want my homework to be done, but without my effort. This leads to an intense bout of procrastination. Actually, it can hardly be called procrastination; it is prioritzing, and when in Prague, I must see Prague. Therefore, there are good excuses (in my mind) to not completing my homework.

I must say, though, that it is getting a bit wearing to say that I am going to be productive and then find myself, five hours later, staring at a nearly blank page where the only writing, at the top, lists the date and says "Art History Neo-Classical Notes." This lack of productivity is killing me and is, I think, part of the reason that I signed up for 20 credits next semester. To make up for my lack of drive and homework output this semester, I am overcompensating next semester. Right now, I am totally fine with this. Ask me again in three months and I'll tell you different.

How the Argument Was Won

Sometimes I see people on the trams give me the once over--look me up and down and by the time their eyes have made it back up to my head, their mouths are pursed and their faces grim. It is entirely possible that instead of this being an indication of their disapproval of my outfit, that this is their typical Czech reserved "street face," devoid of all emotion.

Today, however, I saw a young woman in the tram give me the once over--start at the bottom and rise up to my face where our eyes met and her upper lip curled. This action was subtle, it would hardly have been noticeable to a bystander not in the direct line of fire. But because the lip curling action was directed at me, or at least was a direct result of my clothing choice for today, I was very aware of it. I prefer to think of it as a lip curl of jealousy--jealous that my legs looked so shapely and muscular and toned in my legwarmers--but, being somewhat realistic most of the time, I realize that it was done in disapproval for my legwarmers.

Had this exhibition of disapproval occurred anywhere else in the world, other than the Czech Republic, I would have been offended and, overwhelmingly, embarrassed. Luckily, though, I in the Czech Republic, land of the asymmetrical haircut, and therefore am able to defend myself by simply saying (in my head, obviously), "This is the Czech Republic. One in every five people has a mullet!"

And that is how I would win that argument.

Generous Support for Minnesota Public Radio

I just donated money to Minnesota Public Radio and I think you should too.

I will admit, though, that this generosity originated with a bad bout of procrastination combined with an intense desire for a Radio Heartland Canvas Bag. It also helps that by streaming MPR, I am able to get my much-needed Minnesotan accent fix. Not to mention it is for a good cause. Plus the Current is excellent study music, though I suppose it is also important to note that I have not accomplished any work since I turned The Current on.

This is my justification for spending money on things at home while I am away.

Twenty-First: Zurich-Style

I saw this on the news, and I'm not sure if any of you felt it at all, but at midnight on Friday night (that would be 5pm Midwest time), a jolt went through the world. The Earth shifted a little on its axis and a buzz began to radiate out from the molten lava housed in the depths of the earth that ran to the very highest point of the Eiger, announcing to the entire planet's population that someone (that would be me) had finally come of age.

I was in bed when it happened, exhausted from looking at the high Zurich prices, and thus missed this momentous event that will no doubt go down in history as one of the greatest natural phenomenons in the world, no doubt to be called simply "ER21-2009," but I heard tell of its wonders the next morning. Halloween 2009 Morning.

It is a morning that will go down in history, not only because it was the first morning where Emily Rose was 21 years old, but also because it is the morning that Emily Rose finished an 145 CZK (approximately $8.25) bottle of Champagne before breakfast. The plan had been to bring Champagne to share with her friends Eric and Andrew, as well as the people who had been their couchsurfing hosts. But as it would turn out, it was Emily Rose's birthday and she did not feel the urge to wake up with Andrew when he went to leave for a saxophone thing, and thus missed out on giving him his Birthday Breakfast Mimosa, as well as giving one to Matt, one of the two couchsurfing hosts.

The door had hardly closed behind Andrew when Emily Rose decided that she had better wake up to make the most of her birthday, so she rolled over onto a different, colder part of the rug that she was sleeping on, and pushed herself up. "Eric! Hey Eric! It's my birthday. Want a mimosa?" Emily Rose called up to the top bunk.

Eric groaned and said, "I'm sick. I'm going to sleep."
"But Eric! It's my birthday! I'm twenty-one!"
"Do you realize how sick I am?" And he rolled over and went to sleep.

This left Emily Rose with the Champagne and Romy. As she left the room that she and her friends had been sleeping in, unopened Champagne bottle in hand, she ran into Romy. "Do you want a mimosa?"
"I think I'll have tea."

This left Emily Rose alone with 2L of orange juice and 0.75L of champagne to finish before sightseeing. Nothing could remain.

So Romy grabbed Emily Rose a champagne flute, and upon seeing Emily Rose's ineptness, she helped her open both the champagne bottle and the orange juice carton. Emily Rose filled the champagne flute with orange juice and a little bit of champagne--it was morning, after all, and one had to be classy with her drinking--and pulled out her Kafka book for some light, breakfast reading.

After the champagne bottle had gotten considerably emptier, Eric made his appearance. Once again ER offered him a Birthday Breakfast Mimosa. He did not seem receptive. She offered him some orange juice. He accepted on the condition that ER not put alcohol into it. When he wasn't looking, however, she added a small (small!) bit of birthday cheer. This was not met happily, and he ignored her claims that the orange juice would be really good for Vitamin C if he was sick and left the glass sitting next to him for the remainder of the morning, untouched.

Luckily, at this point, Romy came in, and asked if she could partake of the mimosa celebration, filling her juice glass with orange juice and some of Emily Rose's champagne. It was after this occurrence, while Eric and ER were working on making enormous amounts of oatmeal, that ER finished off the bottle.

After leaving Matt and Romy's house, the day was spent making Swizz purchases--a watch, some chocolate--and checking out the art at the Kunsthaus. At 6.30pm, Emily Rose, Andrew, and Eric met with Romy and her friend Cindy (?), a teacher at the international school in Moscow, for drinks at a Mexican restaurant. To give you an idea of why they planned to meet for drinks rather than a full meal, the amount of money they'd spend on one or two drinks would be equal or greater to a full meal in the Czech Republic.

When Emily Rose, Andrew and Eric got there, the world travelers, it became apparent that staying just for drinks was not an option. On the way over, Moscow teacher had informed Emily Rose that she was picking up her dinner, and once seated at the table, Romy said she'd get the first liter of cranberry margaritas (Moscow got the second, and Emily Rose was in the bathroom so she missed who got the last half liter).

Of course, a birthday restaurant meal is not a true birthday restaurant meal without telling the waiter that there is a birthday guest at the table. So, after coming back from the bathroom, the lights went down in the restaurant, inspiring Rocky-esque music came on, and the waiter ran out of the kitchen with two pieces of cake, on fire with sparkler candles, ran to one side of the room as a fake out, and then ran over to Emily Rose and set one piece of cake in front of her, and the other in front of a woman the next table over (I can only imagine it was her birthday as well, or else she can thank Emily Rose for the random free piece of birthday cake she got).

So Emily Rose, in a particularly charitable mood, bolstered by the random appearances of Swizz Trick-or-Treaters trickling in through the front door of the restaurant (apparently they Trick-or-Treat in restaurants there), passed the cake around and allowed everyone to partake of the Swizz Chocolate cake. It tasted like everything that's wonderful in the world.

After that, Andrew, Eric, and Emily Rose went to Cafe Schober, a place suggested by the lovely Romy, to have some Seven Dollar and Fifty Cent (yes, I feel that price should be capitalized) hot chocolate (it is Swizz land, after all). Here, again, Emily Rose was sung to, though this time it was only Andrew, Eric, and the waiter singing while Emily Rose sat in front of a group of Swizz coffee shop goers while a pianist tried to pick out "Happy Birthday" on an electric piano.

So ended an excellent twenty-first birthday. Zurich style.

Switzerland Part One: Advice

Just a few words of wisdom to tide you over until I get the full synopsis of my Zurich adventures posted:

Do not take the overnight bus if you plan on being productive and attending all of your classes the next day. You can only feasibly do one (riding a bus) or the other (being productive). Pick whichever is most important to you: getting the most of your time in a certain locale (for this hypothetical scenario, I'll choose Zurich) which results in taking the night bus home so that you are home in time for your classes, or taking an earlier bus home so that you will not only be home for class but also in a state fit to attend class.

Mull that one over for a bit, and I think it will be pretty obvious how the Zurich trip ended.

A Taste of Prague

In case you have the desire to see Prague in action, rather than just in my words, here are a few movies you should check (Czech) out:

The Brothers Bloom. It's good. I've seen it. It's a little bit Talented Mr. Ripley and a little bit Royal Tennenbaums. Maybe not quite as good as those, but at least you get to see the Charles Bridge sans scaffolding.

The Protector. I haven't seen this. I don't even know what it's about or where it takes place. It's a Czech movie though, and apparently it has subtitles now and it is/will be nominated for an Oscar.

Yay Prague!

Reminder

Just a small reminder:
My birthday is on Saturday (Halloween).
For those of you
who were wondering
I will not be bringing cupcakes
but rather
Birthday Breakfast Mimosas.
This is because
I'm 21,
and therefore,
I can.

Happy birthday to me.

The Love of My Life

Here it is: after countless [empty] promises of being delivered this account soon, a week and a half after my return, and mere hours before leaving my next jaunt, you have it.

Berlin.

To place this trip to Berlin in some sort of context, I'll have you know that I was a bit iffy about the prospect of heading this direction. Despite having German blood coursing through my veins, along with two German names to my name (Hahn and Oachs), I still was not feeling the draw towards this city. In addition to this, I had thought that my time spent in the Czech Republic would be a time where I would get to explore Eastern Europe, and was thus uncertain about going into Western territory.

How wrong I was. Berlin is the love of my life.

It's entirely possible that I would have felt differently about Berlin had I been coming from an equally Westernized city, say Minneapolis. Had I, coming from Minneapolis, come to Berlin after hearing myself rave about it, I would have felt let down. "What is so exciting about this city?" I would have asked my other self. "This city is okay. Maybe not the greatest." And that would just show how ignorant Minneapolis-Me would be.

After two months in Prague, a city renowned for its beauty, the beauty that is the result of the accumulation hundreds of years of various architectural styles. And after all that old, I was dying for some new.

And that is why I love Berlin. It is new. It is modern. It has buildings made of glass. The streets are wide, the buildings tall, and the cafes are coffee shops, not actual restaurants. Prague is a beautiful city, yes, but Berlin is the most comfortable city I have been in for at least two months.

I suppose some would look down on me for loving Berlin so much because it felt like home, because the public transportation was reliable, because the streets were clean, because so many people I ran into spoke English, and for finding the German language so much more attractive (and practical) than Czech. They'd say I wasn't appreciating an untouched culture.

I don't care though. Berlin was my first contact with modernity. For the past two months I have been living in a UNESCO world heritage site, and sometimes, SOMETIMES I really enjoy feeling like I'm in the States. I really enjoy the States and I really enjoy glass.

This is why I like Berlin.

Even before the train pulled into the station, I knew that Germany was coming home for me. I immediately felt my German blood boiling in my veins, happy to finally be home, as we travelled across the beautiful German countryside. It was immediately obvious to us when we were in Germany. Everything looked a lot nicer. And, I would like to add, like Minnesota.

In our train car, it was just Eric, me, and some German guy who slept the entire way. Towards the end of the trip, he started helping us out, offering us his services in figuring out which Berlin station it was that we were supposed to get off at. When we got into Berlin Hauptbanhoff train station, we knew that it was going to be a good trip. Eric and I looked at each other and started laughing in glee.

We kept repeating over and over between our laughs, "Oh my god. This is amazing."

The man in our car laughed at how excited we were. My excitement was further heightened when I discovered at dinner that night that you can order tap water (read: free water) at restaurants. This never happens in Prague. Plus, all the waiters spoke English and understood us when we spoke English.

So, this is a brief synopsis of why I liked Germany. I'm sorry it's not more entertaining--it is what it is, and it's all I could do while also packing for Switzerland. To see what I did while in Berlin, please refer to the earlier post that lists all the sights I saw.

Short Quiz.

There is only one question and only one answer.

Q: How self-involved and self-centered does a teacher have to be to have his students turn in a 6-page research paper the same day as the midterm which is the day after he requires an all-day day trip to Moravia?

A: Very.

I hope you all scored 100%.

Quizzicality

Sometimes I pretend to be confused by what people are saying just so I can show off my much-practiced single eyebrow raised. People are almost always impressed.

Fall Back

Tomorrow/tonight is when we fall back in the Czech Republic. According to most people, this is a week earlier than in the US. By my calculations, this means that, for one week, even though we will not be closer physically, we will still be closer in the fourth dimension. Or something like that. Enjoy our proximity.

Papers, Midterms, Procrastination, and a Friday Night

Tonight was my first foray into Judaism. I am in a Jewish history class--History of the Jews in Bohemia--and the professor is not actually a professor, but a rabbi. To make up for a class that we missed due to a bank holiday at the beginning of the semester, he decided to have the whole class, all seven of us, over for Friday night Shabbat dinner. The rabbi told us that we were also welcome to come to services before dinner as well.

I decided that, since I was invited, now would be an interesting time to go to services, so I went along with two other girls from my class, both of whom are Jewish and have been to his services before, to the Jewish town hall where the services were held.

The rabbi had warned us beforehand that there would be some security, and that we had to say that we were coming for Rabbi H's Shabbat service (I may have gotten that description wrong--I apologize). He had also pointed out the location of the Town Hall to us before, so I had seen the security guard from a distance.

I did not realize that the security guard was an armed security guard. As we approached to him, the other two girls I was with looked at me and said, "Ok. This is where we have to fight our way in." Looking at the guard, they said, "We're here for the rabbi's services." We repeated the rabbi's names a few times, and the security guard smiled at us, shook his head, and pressed a little buzzer near his head. I assumed this was the button that would open the door for us, but instead it called over a British-accented man.

"What are you doing here?" he asked us.
We told him we were here for services.
"What is your relation to him?"
"He's our teacher. We're in his Jewish history class."
"And you're Americans studying here?"
"Yes. For the semester."
"And are you studying here in a group?"
"CIEE."
"Do you have any identification?"
We all pulled out our Charles University student ID cards and showed them to him. He asked us our names--"Emily Rose Oachs"--and birthdates--"10-31-88. I mean! 31-10-88" (to which he responded, "Everything American is different" or something to that effect).

He finally let us into the building and we continued on our way to services. There were 11 of us there, and from the looks of it, two of us were not even Jewish. I could tell because we were the only two frowning at the prayer books in front of us and not even trying to sing along to the Hebrew. Had the language been almost anything but Hebrew, for example, Spanish, I would have been able to stumble my way through it and make it look like I had a semblance of an idea of what was going on. But I have no idea how to speak a language that is made up of nothing but curvy lines. So I kept quiet.

I spent the entire time sitting quietly in my seat, except when everyone stood, reading the English translations of the Hebrew, my ears perking up every time I heard "Adonai" and "Shalom." At the end I said, "La heim" and drank my wine with everyone else. After that I felt particularly Jewish.

Leaving the building, the rabbi asked me how it was compared to services at home. "Well," I said. "At home it's in English." "In the conservative synagogue," he said in his slightly nasal Chicago accent, "we speak in Hebrew and English." I think he thought I was Jewish.

It was only right then that I realized how nice it is, being able to say that I am Lutheran. It sounds so guiltless, so un-threatening:
"So how does this service compare to your services at home?"
"I'm Lutheran."
"Oh, lovely. We Jews here in Prague reached a time of great prosperity during the Thirty Years War--a war brought on by your Protestantism. Thank you!"
I felt so proud, knowing that I contributed, if only for a short time, to the well-being of these Jews.

We then progressed over to the rabbis apartment near Wenceslas Square. The most important thing here to mention is his elevator. It could be considered a "Shabbat" elevator (an elevator where you don't have to push buttons), though I think it is always like this. The elevator is essentially just this open box that is constantly moving. To get into it, you have to time your step perfectly, and to get out, you have to hold on to the railings outside and prepare for your leap a few seconds before the elevator and floor are level.

While you have the option to ride back down the elevator on the other side--hopping in and hopping off when necessary--I instead chose to ride the elevator all the way around, getting in it going up, riding it around the top, and then riding it back down. Possibly the best decision I have ever made.

Dinner at the rabbi's was enjoyable, though it reminded me of the paper I have due on Monday. The paper where I have only done half the research. And that is why I am at home on a Friday night, blogging. It's a beautiful thing called "procrastination while pretending I am actually working."

Interesting fact: I found an "Add-On" for my Firefox that helps me block sites to help me be more productive. From now on, I will no longer be able to look at pictures from years ago, watch music videos, read about the drunken exploits of my fellow countrymen, or hear about the misadventures of people where things just never seem to go right for them between 7pm and midnight on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. I considered also blocking my blog, seeing as one of my favorite procrastination activities is to check the (approximate) number of views my blog has, but I decided that I should leave it open. Even if I'm procrastinating, I think that it's best that I at least procrastinate creatively. Which is what I like to think I am doing now.

So! Just so you know, this weekend, I will probably (finally) be writing about my beloved Berlin, mostly because I do not want to write about the forced conversions of Jews or to study for my midterms next week. But don't expect much from me next week because, even though it is my birthday week (10-31-1988, in case you didn't read it up there--I didn't put it in solely to help tell my story. I wanted to remind you all that I am turning 21! in a week) and I will doubtless be excited beyond belief, but I will also be in Switzerland (Zurich) and thus most likely unavailable. I am sure, however, that with how much I DO NOT want to write this paper, you will be hearing from me more than enough for the rest of the weekend.

Have a lovely evening. Sleep well. And if you know any good information about the forced conversions of Jews in Bohemia, please please please let me know.

Daka's Progress

A few weeks after I got here, and after giving me a particularly large pile of sauerkraut at dinner, Daka confided in me that she planned on sending me home with curves.

Update on Daka's Progress:

Despite all her attempts to fatten me up and give me some good child-bearing curves, she is not succeeding. Every night at dinner I feel like I'm at the State Fair because of all the fried food--they give me weiner schnitzel, chicken schnitzel, sausage schnitzel, fried zucchini, fried cauliflower, and, my Achilles' Heel, POTATOES of all wonderful and glorious kinds--but in spite of all this, somehow I seem to be losing finger fat.

For my eighteenth birthday, my parents got me a ring--the stone is a blue opal (my birth stone as well as my zodiac stone, whatever those are called) set in white gold. It's very pretty and when I got it, it fit. I have been having problems with it of late. It twists around on my finger, it moves up and down my finger, and, if it gets cold enough (my fingers get thinner when it's cold, I guess) it has the nasty habit of flying off. This happened while in line at the Reichstag over the weekend.

It could just be a flukey thing. Maybe I never noticed that it didn't fit me all that well. EXCEPT, while in Ireland this summer, I bought myself a Cladagh ring, sometimes known as the Irish wedding ring. This ring was a great purchase and, because the style of it was so different from the others, there was only one size of it. It was a bit snug, but with some tugging the ring would come off unless my fingers were swelled from heat. I have since quit wearing the ring because of some technical difficulties with it, but after trying it on five minutes ago, I realize that the snugness is gone. While it still fits me closer than the other ring, it comes off too easily, though still not the loose cannon the other ring is.

From deductive reasoning, and because of these two occurrences, I have come to believe that Daka's plan is failing. I cannot be sure, however. It is entirely possible that all of my former finger fat is migrating to my hips, thus making me curvier. But when it comes to seeing whether or not Daka has managed to put more meat on me, I am unable to determine this. There is a scale in the bathroom of the house. Before I left, though, I never weighed myself in kilograms. 60 kilograms, despite being how much I weigh, according to their scale, is a meaningless number to me. I don't know how much it is.

Therefore, I can only conclude that Daka's plan has not yet come to fruition, and that I rapidly losing my finger fat.

Herna Indiana

Tuesday nights are always a crazy time for me. From 16.00 to 17.30 I have my Modern Czech Art and Architecture's out class, after which I have to make my way back to the study center at Vysehrad for my next class that starts that 18.30, which I usually get to just before it starts, and from there we head out to an unknown location where we are given tea and have to discuss Living and Learning (official title: Seminar for Living and Learning).

This week, though, my friend Kyrie, who is in both the seminar and the art class with me, and I decided to by-pass the extra travel time that results from going back to Vysehrad and then off to the tea house, and went straight to Namesti Miru, where class was to be held today.

In the beginning, we planned on just spending the extra hour of time we had at the tea house we were to be meeting at, but upon arrival we discovered that the place was completely full and that there would be no place for us until 7 o'clock when our reserved room opened up.

So we went back out into the cold October air, and started walking down the street. I saw a sign for "Herna Indiana" (for those of you who are not among the 10,000,000 people worldwide who speak Czech, the letter "a" is sometimes added to the ends of masculine words for reasons I have yet to discover). Happily, I suggested we head over. "I could go for a samosa," I said.

As we drew closer to the business, Kyrie and I noticed that out front were statues of American Indians*. We looked at each other and laughed, not sure what this meant for our samosas. "Tobacco...?" Kyrie asked.

Upon entering the front door, we were greeted with slot machines lining the walls, and at the far end a bar, a few tables, a tv broadcasting some soccer game, and a digital counter listing the amount of the jackpot. The Herna Indiana was a casino.

We walked over to the bar where the bartender and two other men looked at us curiously, and we ordered two half liters of Staropramen (at 14 crowns apiece--about 80 cents). We took our beers and sat at a nearby table to do some last minute homework and wait for class to start.

We were about a quarter of the way done with our beers when the bartender, after looking like he was consulting with the other two patrons, came over.

"Hello," he said. "You have 18? Yes?"
"Eighteen?"
"Eighteen years?"
"Yes. We're older than 18. We're twenty."
"You see, sometimes we get police in here. Do you have passport I can see?"
"I have a card."
"Can I see?"
Kyrie and I both pulled out our student ID cards and showed them to him. After verifying we were over 18, he smiled, thanked us, and walked away.

A couple thoughts on this interaction.

First of all: we look older than 18.

Secondly: we were working away, unsuccessfully, on our Czech homework. To me, this does not scream "police accessory." Instead it screams, "I'm foreign."

Finally: I'd think that if the Czech police really wanted to catch them selling alcohol to underage people, they'd choose a couple girls a bit less conspicuous than two obviously American girls.

I'm just saying.

Looking back now, I realize the bartender was only worried the police would come in and think we were underage. Me being me, however, I prefer to think that they mistook me as a covert officer, no matter how obvious it was that I'm not.

*I am using the term "American Indian" because I have been out of the country for two months and do not know what the politically correct term of the week is. Hopefully I have not offended anyone with this. If you do not agree with my terminology, please substitute "Native American" in its place. Thank you.

Berlin Guide Book Breakdown

No points or details here, just a quick synopsis of what the Berlin weekend entailed. More info to follow, but right now you get the guidebook version.

Friday:
-Checkpoint Charlie
-Berlin Wall
-Museum of Terror
-Film Museum
-Jewish Museum

Saturday:
-Modern Art Museum
-Pergamon Museum
-Reichstag
-Brandenburg Gate
-Inglorious Basterds (amazing and in English)

Sunday:
-German History Museum
-New Gallery
-Holocaust Memorial
-Bookburning Memorial

In Review:
Museums: 7
Memorials: 2
Free Things: 6 (including the 2 free memorials listed above)
Quentin Tarantino Movies: 1


I would also just like to point out that my blog now has (approximately) 200 views. How many of them are from me, I do not know. But this is still a monumental occasion. Three cheers all around.

Arachnids

I'm going to risk sounding like David Sedaris in the post, a risk I feel I take every time I write a post (Sedaris=Hero). In my defense, however, I am taking an altogether less loving stance in this post than he did in his essay. Also, I'm not just copying him; this is something that has been troubling me for a while.

When I moved in to my room, it came with a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and three spiders--two in one corner and one in the other. I decided this was something that just came with the territory, one of those things that are still left over from Communism that our program warned us about (along with an early work schedule and punctuality).

"This is fine," I told them. "You can stay here as long as you stay there." I interpreted their silence as acquiescence.

Unfortunately this was not the case. I have been reduced to checking the location of those spiders every evening before bed and every morning before getting dressed. It would not do to put on some shoes and find a spider colony in there.

This breach of contract was not too difficult to deal with, though. It was merely a situation where I was forced to be more watchful.

The spiders decided to wait for me to go to Berlin to make their move on my territory. It was the cowards' advance. I wasn't even there to stake my claim, and still they set up camp in the corner at my bed, about a foot and a half above my head.

When I got back from Berlin yesterday, I found myself staring at a package containing 5 for $25 Victoria's Secret underwear (yes!) and two spiders encroaching on my space. Now I'm not sure if they immigrated to this part of the room from a different location, or if they came from outside my room. Regardless, the treaty had been broken and it was time to take action.

So I killed them. Well, I at least thought I did. Later on in the evening I found one making it's way across my bed. You know as well as I that this will never do.

Naturally I killed that one too.

Just a Couple Comments

1) I enabled the commenting thing so that anyone can comment. I did this a while ago, but people haven't figured it out yet. So if you want, you can comment. As long as they are worthwhile comments. Otherwise, save your time and mine. Actually, that's a lie. I don't care if they're worthwhile or not.

2) I am going to Berlin tomorrow. Yay.

3) In case you didn't read the Transitive Property post, it is Fall here. It is Fall and it is cold. I am a big fan of the Fall. Last year I set up Fall appreciation events to ensure that I would be able to fully appreciate Fall. And now, here it is again, and the thing that I most want to do is curl up in my St. Scholastica Sweatshirt, Carleton sweatpants, brown sneakers and think about my birthday. But I can't. Biggest packing mistakes:
-No pullover sweatshirts. I didn't bring any. Instead I brought cardigans. Fashionable, but unpractical when it's cold. I thought I was being smart--cardigans take up less space. Instead I was being stupid. More space=more warmth. I'm from Minnesota. I should know this. Obviously I don't. I think that my St. Scholastica sweatshirt is my favorite.
-No sweatpants. I brought a pair of "lounge pants" I bought at H & M to use as "travel pants" (lounging and traveling are two very different things, though, oddly enough, they work well for both). The only problem is that...they're not sweatpants. And they're not warm. Once again, as with the cardigans, I went for the more fashionable and smaller (therefore, seeingly more practical) route, rather than the bulky and warm route. My Carleton sweatpants are the best for intense lounging.
-No extra sneakers. This one I completely blame myself. I brought a fair number of shoes (I think seven) and I thought that that would be enough. But I seem to keep finding myself wishing I had brought another pair of sneakers, in addition to the two I'd already brought. If I had thought about the shoes I packed, I would have realized that a pair of Pumas with the bottoms falling off and a pair of Chucks that are also falling apart at the seams and that are a bit too small so that if I wear them too long they draw blood are not the most long-lasting shoes to be wearing while travelling around Europe. Instead I should have brought my brown and blue Tigers that are very much not falling apart, offer more support on the bottoms of my feet than the other two combined, and served me well in Ireland.

Just so you all know where I'm at.

Top 5

Top Five Prague Hairstyles That I Will Never Sport

1. The Mullet. Enough said.

2. The Dreaded Rat-Tail. As if rat-tails were enough of an affront to hair everywhere, the dreaded rat-tail takes the rat-tail to epic poor-fashion heights. Instead of a long tail of hair running down your back, why not dread it and have three long dreads running down the rest of your back!

3. The A-Symmetrical, Half-Shaved Head. A-symmetricals are sometimes ok. When half of your head is shaved, it is just a no-no.

4. The Red Hair. It's not a natural red. It's an Easter egg red. Think Frenchie from Grease.

5. The Fake Dreads. You know those hair binders with the fake hair attached, giving little girls removable (and age-appropriate) extensions? Think of one of those with purple and green dreads. On an eight-year-old.

Amy. Be proud.

Busy Busy

Every week I meet with Jakub, a Czech university student in the Physical Education faculty. Needless to say, we have nothing in common. However, I do think that I am doing a rather good job at teaching him English. At the end of every lesson he says, "And what...is your...shedule for next week?" And that's when I look at him and say, "I am American. You are coming out of this knowing American English. My skedule for next week...." and then I tell him my schedule.

Here is my weekend skedule for the rest of the semester:

October:
16 - 18 Berlin
23 - 25 Day trip to Trebic on 25th
28 - 1 Fall Break in Switzerland (Zurich)

November:
6 - 8 Day trip to Terezin, Day trip to some castle, Another day trip to Terezin
13 - 15 Weekend trip for class to the Czech countryside
20 - 22 Tour guide around Prague for Kelly and Grant
27 - 29 FREE WEEKEND!

December:
4 - 6 Athens
11 - 13 Studying--Weekend before finals :(
19 Program over, Family Here

Busy busy.

Caveat Emptor

Just to let everyone who has contributed to the 160 views on my blog know, I am getting sick of telling the truth. From now on, it is up to you to determine whether or not what I write is true because the mundane things in life are still mundane, even when you transplant them into a foreign country.

Think of it as a game.

Game #1

I was on the tram today, riding home from going on a fairly successful shopping trip (I bought a completely unnecessary hat, and a completely necessary purse). To set up the scene, I was standing at a pole because the seats were all filled. In the particular part of the tram where I was sitting, there was a row of two seats, and then one lone seat facing them, next to the window.

A little old woman climbed onto the tram. She was so small I could have put her in my pocket and carried her around with me. In fact, I’m sure that a large gust of wind could easily have blown her away, though I’m not sure the wind would have made any impact at all on her heavily gelled comb-over.

As soon as she got onto the tram, two twenty-something Czech people stood from their seats, the two seats by the window facing each other.

“Prosim.” The girl gestured to her seat.

“Ne, ne. Prosim.” The young man gestured to his.

The woman gave them both firm looks in the eye and said, “Dekuju” as she sat down in one and put her feet up on the other. She turned to the middle-aged man sitting in the seat next to her. Expecting to hear her say something in Czech that would no doubt be praising today’s youth, she instead scared him away with a vicious evil eye and put her shopping bags on his newly vacated tram seat.

I’m still trying to figure out how a woman who is less than five feet tall could manage to take up three seats on the tram.

Maths

An algebraic equation for those of you who feel so inclined:

Hint: use the transitive property

(Lots of dogs) + (Prague Fall) = (x + y)

(Lots of dogs) = (Lots of dog poop)
(Prague Fall) = (Lots of rain and moisture)
x = (Terrible smell from moisture mixed with dog poop)
y = (Runny dog poop on the sidewalks)

Soccer

Some action in the Czech Republic:
There is a soccer game tonight and the Polish are here. They have thousands of extra police in outfits similar to those seen at the RNC as well as the U of M riot. Very exciting.

Note to self:
Stay away from drunk Polish people.

Friends

The CIEE program is all about friends--forcing them upon us, making us feel as though we did not pay them thousands of dollars for them to set us up with our "Czech Buddies" and "Czech Friends." The concept, of course, is fine. They introduce us to people from the Czech Republic so they can help us out as we traverse the world that is Prague--help us get a taste of the culture, figure out the public transportation systems, and get involved in the life of Prague. The names they give to these people, though, make it sound as though we are incapable of befriending people of our own accord.

Of course, even when they force "friends" upon us, there is no guarantee that we will become friends. In my case, that is. I'm just that much of a loose cannon (and that bad at small talk).

Yesterday we went on a daytrip to Northern Bohemia to look at folk trip. There were six of us on the trip, a very small number considering all the other day trips we went on we had to take a large coach bus (for this trip we took a Pilsner van--of all the things I would have expected Pilsner to sponsor, I never thought it would be driving). The first part of the trip we spent in Kourim, looking at an open-air folk architecture building. The second part of the trip was in Hradec Kralove.

First task there? Lunch with local students. Our new friends.

Somehow I, with my nonexistent small talk skills, got paired with fellow American Amanda, with equally terrible small talk skills, and three Czechs who, despite their excellent English, were obviously also not up to par with their small talk skills.

I suppose if we had really been paying attention, even before we sat down we should have noticed that ours would not be the most dynamic group. While all the other Czechs charged ahead and sat down at the first tables, our three Czechs hung back and took the last available table. Amanda and I did the same.

The first few seconds at the table were very telling of what lunch would be like--we all sat down, not saying anything, and then awkwardly looked around the table, trying to figure out where to start. We never found a good place to start.

Our questions got one word answers (Amanda asked the guy what type of music he listened to, and he responded, "Rock." "Do you listen to American music?" she asked. "No."), and all the usual small talk topics were quickly exhausted. They did try to ask us some things, as well ("Are there guys on your program?" "Yes. They're just not here today.") And when we tried to connect with them on the one thing we know in the Czech Republic, Prague, they asked, "What do you think of Prague?"
"I like it a lot, " I said.
"Yeah, so do I," responded Amanda.
They looked at us incredulously.
"Really? You do? Not just Old Town, but all of it?"
Amanda and I looked at each other and hesitantly replied, "Yes...why? Don't you?"
"No. I don't."
"Why not?"
"It's too big and dirty."
"Well then you'd better never go to New York."

After that the conversation was pretty much shot--we couldn't talk to them about their majors (they were medical students--Amanda and I are both very definitely in the humanities), my attempts to make jokes about how difficult Czech is to learn fell upon deaf ears, and we all waited anxiously for our food to come.

I looked longingly at the other tables while our silences stretched on for hours. It had gotten to the point where it was more awkward to talk than it was to be silent, so we all quietly contemplated our cauliflower soup as we ate in silence.

Finally, the CIEE leader of the group told us that we had to move on to the museum we wanted to hit up before heading home, so we all packed up and walked across town to the museum. Inside the museum we had very little time because lunch had stretched on interminably. It was possibly the most painful two hours of my life. Well that's a lie. I'm sure I could think of some that would be more painful, but in recent (and recorded) memory, this is the most awkward, uncomfortable time I have spent. The museum, though, had a model of the town we were in. I heard one of the Czech people excitedly ask her new American friend, "Do you want to see where I live?" Compare this to the people Amanda and I were with--we all consciously avoided each other for the rest of the day.

In our defense, it wasn't completely our fault that our lunch was such an epic fail. We were not good at small talk, but neither were the Czechs. They were capable of speaking long sentences, but instead limited themselves to one or two word answers. We could have found better topics to discuss, though eventually Amanda and I just descended into talking about baseball (she's a Yankees fan, I'm, obviously, a Twins fan).

The real kick in the pants, though, came at the very end of our time in Hradec Kralove when we were waiting on the steps of the museum for the Pilsner van to come pick us up. Amanda and I stood together, our Czechs huddled together a few steps down from us, and all the other American-Czech groups were exchanging phone numbers and making plans to meet up. As soon as the van pulled up, Amanda and I were the first down the steps, and I said to our "friends" as we passed, "It was nice meeting you. Good luck being doctors!" and waved, and was in the van.

No matter what CIEE says, no matter what they call these people they set us up with, they cannot make me be friends with these people. This is not necessarily a conscious decision, but is instead something that comes about from my general incompetence.

Graphs

I just looked at this chart. I don't consider myself to be a very chart-oriented person. But if I'm reading this fairly simple line graph correctly, the exchange rate for Czech and US money hit rock bottom (for the year at least) about a week ago.

I knew I felt a bit emptier than usual when I took my 2,000 CZK out of the bank last week.

Cesky Krumlov Tally

I spent last weekend in the quaint Cesky Krumlov, a town in southern Bohemia near the Austrian border. It was a school trip, which means that everything (everything) was paid for, right down to the 500 crowns they gave us for the meals they didn't have us scheduled for.

Cesky Krumlov is on the UNESCO world heritage list. This means nothing to me, but to some it means everything. I don't know how many of you are that kind of person, so I feel that it is relevant to post here. Because it is on the UNESCO list, it does not have a McDonalds. This did not stop me from getting a hamburger and milkshake (-2 culture points) our first night there.

The rest of our first night, however, was culture-filled. We went to a Baroque Music Festival (+1 culture point, +1 cool point) that also offered free food (+1 cool point) and free wine (+1 cool point, +1 culture point, +1 class point). I was feeling like a particularly classy individual until I accidentally shot a grape seed onto the castle floor (-1 class point, +1 cool point for channeling Harry Burns).

The music was harpsichord (+1 culture point), cello, and opera singers doing Handel (+1 culture point), Vivaldi (+1 culture point), and Handel again (+1 culture point). After the show I carried on a fairly extensive discussion about Water Music (+1 culture point, +1 cool point), Sophie's Choice (+1 cool point, +1 smart point), and Handel's Messiah (+1 culture point, +1 cool point).

I wish I could live in the hotel we stayed in. It is amazing, and way too good for college travellers. Tanya and I shared it. We think that it was maybe meant for Ivana, the CIEE representative on the trip, and her husband, but we didn't think we'd mention it to them. We had the biggest room (+1 cool point) with a king-size bed (+1 cool point). The bathroom had a big flush little flush toilet (+1 cool point, +1 environment point) as well as a bidet (+1 cool point, +1 culture point) that I did not use (+1 smart point).

At the bar the first night, I ordered a "Hemingway Special" (+1 cool point) that made me feel very literary and cultured (+1 culture point, +1 class). With a normal drink, it would be difficult to feel cultured when your drink is orange and has two cherries and a large piece of pineapple speared with a plastic sword, but when it's called the "Hemingway Special," the drink is dripping with culture. I have a friend (Katherine) who is an Emily Dickinson fan (like myself) who worked as a tour guide at the Emily Dickinson museum over the summer. Before I started on my Hemingway Special, she and I recited Emily Dickinson poetry (+1 culture point, -1 cool point, +1 smart point) just because we could (+1 cool point).

On the bus to Cesky Krumlov, my friend Eric and I decided that we would go to Copenhagen this coming weekend (+1 cool point, +1 spontaneous point). Unfortunately, after looking at the ticket prices, we realized that it is impossible to spontaneously go to Copenhagen on a budget (-1 spontaneous point), so I am left in Prague next weekend. Shoot. Whatever will I do?

On Saturday we toured the castle (+1 culture point) and saw a functioning Baroque Theatre (+1 culture point) and spent some time in the castle gardens.

Sunday, on the way back to Prague, we stopped in a brewery at Trebon. I don't know what the name of the beer is, but I do know that after we finished our free 0.5L samples of it, Eric and I had an extensive conversation about Mortal Kombat II on Super Nintendo and the different abilities of the characters (+2 cool points), followed closely by an intense conversation between Eric and Tanya about Super Smash Brothers (+2 cool points). Obviously we are all gamers at heart.

Final Tally:
Culture: 11 points
Cool: 17 points
Class: 1 point
Spontaneous: 0 points
Environment: 1 point
Smart: 3 points

*Disclaimer: Sorry if my math is wrong. There were a lot of points this time. I would just like to point out how cool I have gotten since coming here, though.*

Number One Reason to Learn Czech

This is why I wish I knew the language:

Legs

I know I've been talking a lot about hills lately and a lot about my legs in life generally. But I would just like to say that, thanks to all these hills I have to walk up and down daily, I am going to come back to America with beautifully sculpted calves and to-die-for thighs. If my legs weren't so short, people would be asking me to be a leg model.

Napoleon Complex

I didn't realize dogs could have an ego until I came here. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised--Freud was born in the Czech Republic. Obviously there must have been something in the air here that made him put a name to such self-awareness and, well, ego. I have met my fair share of people who think highly of themselves, but I have honestly never met a person with such a bloated sense of self-importance as some of the dogs I have seen here.

This observation may stem from the fact that I have had my fair share of interaction with dogs since I got here. The family I am staying with has two big dogs: a German Shepherd, and a dog that's part "Czechoslovak wolf" (I used to think this was a breed, now I think it just means "wolf"). These two dogs are total sweethearts, though their physical size combined with their tendency to bark at anything that moves is a bit overwhelming at first. Whenever anyone walks by, the dogs know, I know, and the neighbors (much to their dismay) know as well that there is someone outside the gate. I have to say that I think their senses of self-worth are much higher than they should be, though given their size, I will let it slide.

However, there are some dogs where I don't understand where it comes from. Big dogs? Sure. They are large and could maybe kill you. They have a right to feel like they are superior to me. Little dogs? Not a chance. I have found that little dogs know just how to position themselves so that their barks will echo as you walk down the street, making you shiver and stop in your tracks as you look around, wondering if a German Shepherd is about to launch itself over some garden gate to kill you. But when you look around, all you see is a beagle, looking you straight in the eye, it's little (very little) body quivering as he tries to make you back down.

To these dogs, all I can say is, "Really, dog, really? Dog, you are about two inches tall. If you pissed me off, I could pick you up and put you in my pocket before you had the chance to attack me." And then I continue walking. This interaction continues to happen, so I can only assume that they only understand Czech and that the language barrier is the one thing that prevents them from understanding that I'm not impressed.

Honestly, weiner dogs don't scare me, and I don't think they ever will, regardless of how loud they bark. Or maybe if they were somehow able to hide from me the fact that they weigh twelve pounds on a good day, I would be a bit more scared. This is another problem. And I tell this to them sometimes when they are barking at me. Sometimes I say, "Dog. I can see you. You are behind a gate, not a wall. I know that I could step on you and crush you if I weren't paying attention. Show a little respect." Once again, language barrier.

And I have had a lot of opportunities to experience these dogs. The Czech Republic is teeming with dogs. They are literally everywhere--on the metro, on the tram, sitting outside grocery stores, walking in parks, playing in the grass, pooping on the sidewalk, killing wild hedgehogs, etc. If I were told to think of one word that would give the essence of the Czech Republic to other people, I would without a doubt and almost immediately respond with, "Dogs." They are impossible to escape.

Part of the problem with them may be that none of them are neutered, so they keep reproducing at incredible speeds. I don't know what another reason is, except that the Czechs like dogs. In class yesterday, we asked our teacher about this phenomenon. A couple of us were discussing it amongst ourselves, trying to find the reason. When we asked her about it, she responded with, "Yes, I suppose we do have a lot of dogs," and then continued on to say, "I'd say we have more dogs than Germans."

I'm still trying to decipher exactly what she meant by the "more dogs than Germans" comment. She either meant, in the Czech Republic, there are more dogs than German people, or else she meant, there are more dogs in the Czech Republic than there are in Germany. Either way, there are a lot of dogs. I like to think that there are more dogs than Germans here, just because it has a nice, somewhat xenophobic ring to it.

Well, I just looked it up (on Wikipedia) and I have discovered that Germans make up 0.4% of the population in the Czech Republic. I am going to take a wild guess and say that there is a considerably larger population of dogs here, judging from the number of dogs I have seen on the metro compared with the number of Germans I have seen (please take into account, though, that I have no idea what real Germans look like). It is difficult to say this for certain, however, because unfortunately the CIA World Factbook does not (apparently) consider dogs to be a minority, and therefore have no listing of them in their demographic statistics.

Regardless: dogs in the Czech Republic are like the ugly frat boys on campus--they think they're hot stuff when really it's too easy to ignore them.