Friday, October 2, 2009
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.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
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.
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.
Home Again
Over the weekend I got the opportunity to experience what the East Coast Experts I traveled with deemed to be the New Jersey of Europe. Take that to mean what you may. Having never been to Jersey, I can only assume from the way they said it that this is not a good nickname to have. Despite their apparent disgust with Poland, I was still able to find some good things in it because I'm just a positive person like that.
In no particular order, my favorite things about Krakow:
- Pierogi: Dumplings that can be filled with meat, potatoes or cheese. Obviously at the top of my list. Not only do they taste amazing, they are also dirt cheap (and coated in butter).
- Food in general: If there is one thing that could make me love Poland, it is the food. They eat like the Czechs, but do not have sauerkraut, from what I can see. It is also amazingly cheap.
- Cute markets: They have this cute market in their Old Town Square (though really it is not all that old because they had to rebuild it after a war, I think). I was able to find some [really cheap] hand-knit wool sock/slippers. Amazing.
- Salt Mines: I do not think I have ever come across a country where the people say to themselves, "Well, I work in a salt mine. I think I will carve five chapels out of salt," or "Hmmm...I seem to find myself with some extra time in the salt mine, after spending all day in this salt mine. I think that, instead of coming above the surface and going home, I will carve a statue of Pope John Paul II out of salt." It's very endearing how attached they are to their salt.
- Auschwitz: I can't say that I "like" it, but I can say that it is an incredibly interesting [and draining] place. Auschwitz-I is not at all like what I pictured it--it looks more like a New England college campus than what I picture a concentration camp to be, but this makes it all the more creepy. It's the facade of normalcy that makes it so unsettling. Auschwitz-II was more how I expected it to look. It was just as unsettling, though this time it is not the normalcy, but instead the great expanse of emptiness, marked by traces of what was once there, combined with the incredible amount of work the Nazis did to create this place. They built Auschwitz-II for this specific purpose, and when you look at it all, it feels as though the broken down chimneys, all that's left of the buildings they burned to try to cover their tracks, could continue on for miles. It was an interesting place, though one that I think a person could only handle once in their life.
- Swing: It's a jazz club Eric, Maddy and I found the first night in our attempts to get into the nightlife despite being deathly tired. We enjoyed it and the live music it provided us. The second night we went back and discovered we it was a hotspot for old people with no dance skills. We went back the third night. It was closed. This did not ruin our love of the club.
- Fat Boys: I am not being insensitive, I am merely calling them by name. Fat Boys are giant bean bag mattresses meant for, at most, two people. Eric, Maddy, and I, in our first ever couchsurfing experience, had to share one because a British guy was sleeping on our host's couch the first two nights we were there. The last night we shared the Fat Boy because we didn't know anything different.
- Bathroom Sign: The last night we spent in Krakow, we pooled our leftover Zloty to buy ourselves one last round of drinks. The bar we went to had the most inviting bathroom sign, and I almost felt the need to take it up on its offer. Because I didn't have any good reading material with me, however, I decided against this, and instead spent my night in the company of my friends rather than a toilet stall.
- Exchange rate: Everything was cheap cheap cheap!
In no particular order, my favorite things about Krakow:
- Pierogi: Dumplings that can be filled with meat, potatoes or cheese. Obviously at the top of my list. Not only do they taste amazing, they are also dirt cheap (and coated in butter).
- Food in general: If there is one thing that could make me love Poland, it is the food. They eat like the Czechs, but do not have sauerkraut, from what I can see. It is also amazingly cheap.
- Cute markets: They have this cute market in their Old Town Square (though really it is not all that old because they had to rebuild it after a war, I think). I was able to find some [really cheap] hand-knit wool sock/slippers. Amazing.
- Salt Mines: I do not think I have ever come across a country where the people say to themselves, "Well, I work in a salt mine. I think I will carve five chapels out of salt," or "Hmmm...I seem to find myself with some extra time in the salt mine, after spending all day in this salt mine. I think that, instead of coming above the surface and going home, I will carve a statue of Pope John Paul II out of salt." It's very endearing how attached they are to their salt.
- Auschwitz: I can't say that I "like" it, but I can say that it is an incredibly interesting [and draining] place. Auschwitz-I is not at all like what I pictured it--it looks more like a New England college campus than what I picture a concentration camp to be, but this makes it all the more creepy. It's the facade of normalcy that makes it so unsettling. Auschwitz-II was more how I expected it to look. It was just as unsettling, though this time it is not the normalcy, but instead the great expanse of emptiness, marked by traces of what was once there, combined with the incredible amount of work the Nazis did to create this place. They built Auschwitz-II for this specific purpose, and when you look at it all, it feels as though the broken down chimneys, all that's left of the buildings they burned to try to cover their tracks, could continue on for miles. It was an interesting place, though one that I think a person could only handle once in their life.
- Swing: It's a jazz club Eric, Maddy and I found the first night in our attempts to get into the nightlife despite being deathly tired. We enjoyed it and the live music it provided us. The second night we went back and discovered we it was a hotspot for old people with no dance skills. We went back the third night. It was closed. This did not ruin our love of the club.
- Fat Boys: I am not being insensitive, I am merely calling them by name. Fat Boys are giant bean bag mattresses meant for, at most, two people. Eric, Maddy, and I, in our first ever couchsurfing experience, had to share one because a British guy was sleeping on our host's couch the first two nights we were there. The last night we shared the Fat Boy because we didn't know anything different.
- Bathroom Sign: The last night we spent in Krakow, we pooled our leftover Zloty to buy ourselves one last round of drinks. The bar we went to had the most inviting bathroom sign, and I almost felt the need to take it up on its offer. Because I didn't have any good reading material with me, however, I decided against this, and instead spent my night in the company of my friends rather than a toilet stall.
- Exchange rate: Everything was cheap cheap cheap!
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