Back to Buda

The weather has been really "eastern bloc" lately. Today I actually broke out the leather jacket for the first time since early April. It's seems especially miserable compared to the sunshine and 80's back home.

Friday night I returned from a 24 hour visit to Kalocsa, a small city (18,000) in southern Hungary. I visited Harpswell (yes, that's her name. It's a small town in Maine). She's an American English teacher in the CETP program (same one that brought Chad and Emily to Hungary). I went there mainly to check out the community, the gimnazium (high school) and the elementary school. Cori and I are considering teaching there next year.

Returning to Szolnok, I hurried to Jazz Club, for the Oxford Language School English party. I had agreed to work the party (sit and mingle with the English students). The night was fun. We played trivia games, impersonated celebrities, sang karaoke. Of course, since is was in a bar, as the night wore on, people loosened up more and more.

Saturday I relaxed in my flat, before heading to Budapest Sunday. Actually, I wanted to go to Tápiógyörgye for an archery festival, but as I walked to the train station in the morning, the rain started to fall, washing away any intentions I had to walk around a remote field dodging 11th century arrows. So, instead I was off to the magical Hungarian land of concrete.

It's nice sometimes just to get out of Szolnok, away from my flat, my teaching responsibilities, and all who know me, and get lost amid 3 million Hungarians and a couple ten thousand tourists.
("Anonymous," a statue in Budapest's City Park honoring the unknown monk who, during the 11th Century, penned the first history of the Hungarian people. It is said that if you touch the writer's pen you'll have good luck. Unfortunately, I found this out after I visited.)

I spent much of Sunday afternoon sitting under an umbrella on a cafe patio sipping coffee and reading The Eclipse of the Crescent Moon.

Later, I walked along Andrassy Utca, past Oktogon Tere, to Hosok Tere, or Hero's Square. The momument memorializes the great Hungarian kings, beginning with Arpad, and continuing through Stephen (St. Istvan), Bela IV, Matthias Corvinus, and Rakoczi, among others. Beyond this is City Park. This day the park was home to a festival, perhaps Native American. Oddly, however, among all the dream catchers, pan flutes and fry bread, an Irish band played the main stage. What a strange cultural salad bowl I was in: lost in a sea of Hungarian speakers listening to a man with a heavy Irish brogue sing in English and then speak broken Hungarian between songs while Native Americans and Native Canadians peddled "traditional" wares to the curious locals. Aah, the benefits of a free market economy.

(Vajdahunyad Vara, a 19th Century, non-functional castle located in Budapest's City Park. It was built to demonstrate - likely to tourists - the various architectures present throughout Hungary)

Monday I got up early (after a night at the $12 ABB Youth Hostel), showered, and was (apparently) the first one out of the hostel. It's sort of a small victory for me to be the first one up at a hostel...no fussing with a wet bathroom, no waiting for the shower, etc. I headed off to find some kave and pogacsa and "have a morning."

First stop: St. Istvan Basilika. In front of the city's largest church I sat and read my travel guide book while drinking amerkai kave (basically a double shot of espresso) and eating saytos pogacsa (cheese pastry).

After an hour waking up, I went to the House of Parliament for the 10 AM tour. It's a fairly difficult bureauratic process to get on the tour. First you have to line up outside a fence gate, about 30 yards from a door marked "X." Inside that door, people are buying tickets. Everytime a tourist exits the door, the security guard opens the fence gate and lets another person or two in. Once inside door "X" I had to wait in another line for the tickets (I've learned many times that Hungarian people are some of the best at waiting...a trip to an American DMV is no sweat for these hardy folk). In line, I could hear other American tourists being told that the 10AM English tour was full, and they were being booked for the noon tour. Disappointed but not rebuffed, I figured I would ask for the 3PM tour, allowing me to see other sights in the meantime.

I don't know if it was my feeble attempt at Hungarian kindness, or my dashing looks, but the once cold, obviously former communist era ticket seller, softened.

"Csokolom. Jo napot kivanok" I mumbled (CHO-kuh-loam: literally "I kiss your hand." YO nuh-pot KEE-vuh-no: "good day"). Both very formal and standard things to say to an older woman.

I asked for one ticket and she asked if I was a student. I produced my Concordia University card, and viola, I the ticket price plummeted from 2500 huf to 1250! She then handed me my ticket for the 10AM tour!

I wanted to wave it around in the faces of the disappointed American tourists who didn't come prepared with the Hungarian greeting (or the dashing looks)! But, the hunble gentleman that I am, I ambled back outside, back into another line, to wait for the tour.

(Afterward, I strolled along the bank of the Duna (Danube) walking past a stirring memorial to "the victims shot into the Danube by Arrow Cross Militiamen in 1944-45")

Lunch was at Fat Mo's Speakeasy. Home to nightly jazz, blues and small band swing. Good stuff from what I read. I'll make an effort to return in June with Cori and my dad. Another good sign: when I sat at the table, the paper placemat features four American newspaper front pages from the prohibition era. Two of them were The Wisconsin News (an early 20th Century Milwaukee newspaper owned by famous media magnate William Randolph Hurst...later it would become the Milwaukee Sentinel, which in the mid-1990's merged with the Milwaukee Journal to form the Journal-Sentinel)

I spent the rest of the day exploring Buda, the older of the two cities (Pest being the other) and Gellért Hill, named for the Catholic bishop who was martyred there in the 11th century. As the story goes, he was put inside a barrel, then nails were driven in, and the barrel was tossed down the rocky escarpment. At the bottom and inspection of Gellért's battered body revealed he had miraculously survived the trauma. So, like any good pagan, they drove a spear into his chest then stoned him.



(I did manage to slay a dragon during the afternoon, but hey, it's all in a day's work.)



On Gellért Hill one finds the Gellért Hotel, featuring the best known of the generally famous Hungarian thermal baths. The city is filled with them. Also on the hill is the Cave Church. Completed in 1924, the church was operated until WWII. Following the war the Soviets kept it closed down, and infact damaged a large portion of while road building. The monks built a concrete wall to close off the church, thus preserving it until today. It was reopened less than 20 years ago.

I took a swift train back to Szolnok (1h 30m compared to the grueling 2:45 train I took to BP Sunday). When I did something in Szolnok I hasn't done since being here: I ate Mcdonald's (about 6 weeks ago I had Mickey-D's while in Budapest - you might remember I found out they charge for ketchup). And was it ever good.

I'm lovin' it.

Photos are now online

I am the champion!

I have finally signed up with www.flickr.com and have most of my travel photos posted online for your viewing pleasure.

To the right of this post you will find the link to my pictures. Either bookmark it, or check back here: it will always be on the right sidebar.

Note: Kag, MEA and Nat, it was very easy to get set up with Flickr...uploading the pictures was a relative snap. So, hint, hint. Where are the pictures from Costa Rica!?!?

Ups and Downs

I had a moment this week that I haven’t had since I’ve been in the classroom: a feeling that I wanted to be anywhere else but here.

It’s difficult enough for an American to teach 16th and 17th century European history to a bunch of 17 year old Hungarians. It’s even more difficult when that American hasn’t studied European history since he was 15 years old…and even then wasn’t the greatest student of history. This is the situation I find my self in, and while most days I manage to get through, this week I had a class that I just wanted to escape from.

I spend at least a couple hours each day reading the textbook Varga provided me, then I go online to read more about the subjects, to add to my knowledge base (because the English translation of a 16 year old Hungarian textbook coving topics like “The 30 Year’s War,” “French Absolutism in the 16th Century” and “Consolidation of Feudalism in Central-Eastern Europe and Poland” (I have no idea why Poland isn’t included in “Eastern Europe”) isn’t exactly the clearest, most understandable teaching tool for an American who has learned more about history in the past three years than he did during the previous 27). Then I write my lecture notes.

This week I was in class and started to talk about how the Czech language didn’t have words to differentiate “Czech Republic” from “Bohemia,” except I said Bavaria. I went on for a minute or so comparing Czech to Bavaria (while the students stared blankly) before Zsolt, the best history student in my class, and often a royal pain in my ass (“Michael, if Spain and France were enemies, how did Spain send troops to The Netherlands? Would they have to pass through France?” or “After the Bohemians threw the two Catholics out of the Prague Castle window, did they burn the castle?” “I really couldn’t tell you Zsolt”) asked if I meant Bohemia, which of course I did. So, I admitted my mistake, and already feeling self-conscious about my lack of knowledge on the subject, felt even worse when I heard a few students chuckling.

As the class grinded on, it seemed my grip on the students’ behavior was weakening. After stopping a few times to ask students to pay attention, I reached a point where, in my mind, I wanted to give up, to walk out of that hot, stuffy room and start again another day. Of course I made it through the class, and afterward felt wiped.

The next day I had the same group of students for history and was very apprehensive to start class. Within the first minute, Zsolt was talking to another boy while I was trying to start the lecture. I paused, looked right at him, and sternly, asked him “Zsolt, could you please showme some respect and not talk while I’m talking?” I got the sense he was actually considered my request. I could see the wheels turning in his head. After the longest 5 seconds in history passed, he nodded in agreement. To my surprise, for the rest of the period he and everyone else were actually respectful and engaged in the lesson. As this continued, my confidence slowly returned and midway through the class, I was back on top. I was able to drop in a few jokes, sprinkle in some factual nuggets that I found on the Internet, and generally had a very good class. When the period ended, the students left on a good note, wishing me a good weekend and vice-versa. One student, Ricsi, or Richard in English, even stopped up front to tell me about a Hungarian history festival taking place next weekend in Tápiógyörgye. It celebrates Arpad, the great 10th Century Magyar tribal leader and first king of Hungary.

I guess, like life, teaching is a series of ups and downs. We try to minimize the downs while attempting to extend the ups for as long as they’ll cooperate. Wednesday was a big down. Thursday was up…I’m trying to stretch that into next week.

Best of...

Most of the Americans I have met in Hungary are members of an international teaching program called CETP. Emily and Chad, here in Szolnok are a part of the program, and while Chad and I strolled along the streets of Ljubljana one night a few weeks ago the world proved to be even smaller yet when we ran into a group of 5 CETP teachers from Hungary who were on a weekend adventure of their own.
Many of these teachers keep blogs of their own, and I've come across a few postings I think deserve the attention of my readers.

Jeremey (who happens to be from Fond du Lac, WI) offers a wonderfully written piece on "why he came to Hungary." Anyone who has ever considered traveling to this part of the world should take a moment to read it. It's spot on.

After a few more minutes of exploring Jeremy's blog, I found another entry even more moving. If you are a teacher or someone with a place in your heart for compassion, please read it.


I know there are many other worthwhile CETP blogs, and I'll make an effort to pass along the best as I find them, but I've spent too much time already pouring over Jeremy's writings for one day.

Need a car on the cheap?

Last week I mentioned the Trabant.

Now, you can have your very own communist-era car for less than $150.

Hoops in Hungary

Last weekend the Szolnok Olaj lost to Paks (Poksh), thus ending their season with a first round playoff defeat.

Last week I attended games 2 and 4 of the best of 5 series between the two teams. These were my 2nd and 3rd Olaj games since coming to Szolnok. (Olaj means oil...the team is partially owned by MOL, the Hungarian gas and oil company. Olaj is pronounced "OH-lie").

An American friend, Emily, described the Olaj games well in an earlier post on her blog, and again in this posting.

Finally, Emily wrote about the most recent games, and included translation of some of the many chants the fans perform. (Warning, most are sexually vulgar! Don't read if you are easily offended!)






(Chad and Juli enjoy the halftime festivities)





(Sometimes, no, oftentimes, the fans get a bit angry. Here we see some Szolnok fans - below - having words with the Paks fans - sitting behind the protective - yes protective - netting)

Steves got it right

I was reading travel guide writer Rick Steves' website tonight and discovered that his description of Slovenia's capital city (Ljubljana) is right on:

Slovenia's capital, Ljubljana (pronounced lyoob-lyonna) — with a lazy old town clustered around a castle-topped mountain — is often compared to Salzburg. It's an apt comparison, but only if you add some breezy Adriatic culture, throw in a Slavic accent, and sub in local architect Jože Plecnik for Mozart.

Ljubljana feels much smaller than its population of 300,000. Festivals fill the summer, and people enjoy a Sunday stroll any day of the week. Fashion boutiques and cafés jockey for control of the old town, and the leafy riverside promenade crawls with stylishly dressed students sipping kava and polishing their near-perfect English.

It's only been a week since my visit to Ljubljana so my impressions of the city are still fresh in my mind, and they align with what Steves had to say.

Hungarian driving

I've commented to some of you about the terrible Hungarian drivers. Here's a newspaper story that confirms it. Since being here I've seen the worst exhibition of driving skills (or lack thereof) in my life. Add to that narrow road riddled with potholes and devoid of shoulders and you have a recipe for disaster.


If I did drive in Hungary, I might consider a Trabant, an old relic of the socialist era. With the potential for fender benders and car theft, this seems like a good option.



The whole mess makes me a bigger fan of taking public transportation in this country, especially trains.

Slo-what-ia?

During the past weekend, I traveled with Chad to Slovenia, the westernmost part of the former Yugoslavia. It's a tiny country, smaller than New Jersey, squeezed between Italy (near Trieste and Venice) and Croatia. It shares a tiny border with Hungary, but the 8-hour train ride from Budapest took us through Croatia's capital of Zagreb, before entering Slovenia.

As we chugged along the bank of the Sava River, east of Slovenia's capital city Ljubljana, farmland quickly turned into densely tree-covered rolling hills and bluffs. Both of us were amazed at the natural beauty of the countryside. Nearly every hill was topped with a steepled church. Nearly all the homes were clean and in good repair (compared to parts of Hungary and Croatia, that's saying something). And behind many of the homes were small family vineyards.

We arrived at Ljubljana Sunday evening around dinner time, went to the TI (tourist information) at the train station and got tips on where to eat and where to hear live music that evening from Alenka, then headed to the hostel Celica to check in. Celica is an old prison that has been converted into a beautiful hostel. Chad and I were on the second floor of cells. Each room is decorated differently. Ours was pretty plain (the way I wanted it...I wanted to feel like I was sleeping in a cell, not an art gallery), others were quite extreme.

After dinner at Fuculus (great brick oven pizza) we strolled to Prešeren Square, named for the country's most famous poet (and writer of the Slovenian national anthem...although at the time he wrote the poem that would become the anthem the country was part of the Habsburg Empire and was some 70 years from independence). Sitting on the square we tipped back a couple Unions (OO-nee-uhns), one of two beers made in Slovenia...and they're quite good (dare I say better than Hungarian beer?)

The next day Chad and I took a walking tour of the city, where we learned that Slovenia was, for years, part of the Roman Empire, then part of the Habsburg Empire, then part of Yugoslavia, before finally becoming its own nation for the first time in history on 26 June 1991.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, we wanted to rent a car and head south to Piran, located on theAdriaticc Sea. Unfortunately no rental company had a cheap car for us so we took the bus. I realized that was a better option that renting a car when I started falling asleep.

When I awoke, the bus was just passing over a ridgeline and for the first time in my life I glimpsed the Mediterraneann Sea! Really the Adreatic, it's the water that lies between Italy and the Balkann Peninsula from Greece to Slovenia.
Piran is a tiny (pop. about 2000) seaside village that looks like it hasn't been updated since medievall days. The streets are very narrow, cobblestoned, and wind every which way. Even as I write this I continue to be amazed by the thought of walking home down a narrow cobblestone street, climbing a flight of old, handcut stone steps to a flat in a building that has been sitting on that location for more than 300 years. It's a magical little village and, I imagine, a dream retirement location for many Slovenians.

Looking out across the sea, one can see the Italian city of Trieste, and if the weather is right, Venice. During the time of communism residents of Yugoslavia would travel to Trieste to purchase western goods helping that city become a sort of regional marketplace. But, since Slovenia and others gained independence Trieste has fallen on hard times. Venice, meanwhile, continues to be a tourist Mecca.

That evening we dined at an outdoor cafe overlooking the central square. Chad and I each ordered squid, mine fried, his grilled. Both were wonderful as we exchanged portions. The highlight of the meal was the mixed salad. After 5 weeks in Hungary, I realized I hadn't had a real lettuce salad during that time. Every salad I've had in Hungary has had one piece of lettuce laying on the bottom, with chopped paprikas (peppers) and onions, a few tomatoes, and possibly corn, piled on top.

That evening we stopped into a tiny pub on the tip of the peninsula, ordered a couple Unions, and sat on the patio. There we met Vladimir, a 65 year old half-Slovenian, half-Russian. He had retired a year earlier and purchased a flat in Piran overlooking the sea. If Hollywood made a movie about our trip, Sean Connery would be cast to play Vladimir. He told us all about his family history (his Russian grandfather was an officer in the Russian army before fleeing the country just prior to the October 1917 revolution. While emigrating they reached Istanbul where his grandmother said she disliked boats and headed for the nearest country where the family would be safe. That decision put them in Slovenia).
As if that story wasn't interesting enough, his Slovenia grandfather was Fritz Reiner who conducted the Chicago Symphony Orchestra from 1953-63, and earlier in his career, while teaching at Curtis Institute, found an understudy in Leonard Bernstein.

It rained the entire next day. We spent the morning in Piran sitting at an outdoor cafe sipping cappuccinoo and staring at the sea. That afternoon we headed back to Ljubljana via the Postojna (poh-STOY-nuh) Caves. a 200-km system of underground caverns, and a popular tourist stop.

Back in Ljubljana we returned to the same pizza place as two nights earlier, thensoughtt out a movie theater to catch a film. We found one that was playing Inside Man, in English, with Slovenian subtitles.

At 2:30 AM we boarded the train for Budapest, and eventually arrived back in Szolnok around 1:30 PM that day.

In all, Slovenia is an absolute gem of a country. We didn't have time to visit the Julian Alps and Lake Bled, but that leaves me a good reason to return.

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As for the title of this post, there's a funny, and embarrassing story behind it:
"The only thing I know about Slovakia is what I learned firsthand from your foreign minister, who came to Texas."
- George W. Bush, to a Slovakian journalist
(Bust had actually met with Dr. Janez Drnovshek, then Slovenia's prime minister)

Ljubljana

I've spent the past 24 hours in Slovenia's capital city of Ljubljana (loob-L'YON-uh) and it's been wonderful. The city's population of about 300,000 makes it large enough to offer cosmopolitan style but small enough to maintain a personal image.

In the middle of Ljubljana is a medieval castle, sitting atop a wooded hill, overlooking every corner of the city. The narrow, cobblestone streets immediately surrounding the castle make up the city center, a spiderweb of medieval design with all sorts of charm.

The city seems to have a young spirit built on art, music, history and education. It's a fantastic place to visit and I imagine an even better place to live.

This afternoon we'll rent a car and drive to Piran on the Adriatic coast. Oh, and the weather is beautiful!

Seniors say "goodbye"

Last week was the last in high school for seniors in Hungary. Beginning this week, they are taking their Érettségi Vizsga (AIR-et-sheg-ee VEEJ-guh), or graduation exam.

It was a special week, with the seniors taking part in various traditions, demonstrating their respect for the teachers, loyalty to the school and closeness to each other.

Each day the seniors came to school wearing formal clothes: dressing in colors according to their student groups (A, B, C or D). Throughout the week senior classes assembled outside the staffroom waiting for their teacher to exit. When the teacher came out the class serenaded him or her, and presented the teacher with flowers before escorting him or her to the classroom.

(Chad, another American teacher; and Marianna, the English department chairperson, listen while the seniors serenade from outside the building Thursday evening)


On Thursday evening the seniors and faculty held a farewell party. Each senior group made a presentation that included a “roasting” of their favorite teachers and usually a slideshow of their years at Varga. The teachers also prepared four Hungarian songs to sing to the students (I mostly mumbled and hummed).

(At the mics are, from left, Gergõ and Berci)


Friday was a very special day. All students dressed formally, and each underclass decorated classrooms with flowers and balloons to honor the seniors. (Hungarians go through an amazing number of flowers.) Then, at noon, all classes ended for the day and the seniors gathered by group on the 3rd floor. While holding hands and singing, they slowly snaked their way throughout the entire school, including through the staffroom where the teachers were assembled. The songs were generally reflective, often sad; Some of the students cried as they walked, as did some of the teachers and underclassmen as they watched.
The “parade” ended in the courtyard where the seniors stood by group, and the rest of the school assembled to watch. A student from each group spoke, as did the principal. Then an award was presented to the “teacher of the year” as voted on by the students. When this ended, the school day was over.

Then, Saturday morning the students gathered again in the courtyard, this time with their families, and said a final farewell to the school and faculty. From there they walked down the streets of Szolnok (along with the seniors from the other secondary schools in the city: the cops blocked off the streets) with the faculty walking along the sides, arms locks, essentially creating an alley in which the students walked.

It was a very moving week, and one that I only wish we could duplicate in the States. The students here have so much school and class pride (as opposed to spirit: Here it's much more reverent), a lot of respect for their teachers and a strong interest in maintaining traditions. It was an awesome experience and one I won’t soon forget.

Hungarian Bar Food

While in Eger I had my first taste of one of Hungary's most popular snack foods: Fatty bread.

This is a slice of thick white bread topped with red onions and paprika, then melted pork fat drizzled over the top.






I ate it cold, so the fat was a bit like crisco. Not that appealing, but still tasty...and oh-so-good for the heart, I'm sure.











While visiting the Eger wine caves (and there were about 100 of them in the so called "valley of the beautiful women") we ran into this pair of men. They paid three musicians 10000 ft (about $50) to trail them around the circle while they sang songs...quite a sight!








Chad buying a liter of Egri Bikaver, or Bull's Blood, a Hungarian red wine made by blending multiple grape varieties. Total cost for a liter: 1000 ft, or just under $5.







After we got our wine, we had musical accompaniment as well.

Quick update

I didn't have as much time tonight since returning from Eger to write a detailed post, but I wanted to give you a peek at the great weekend in Hungary's wine country.

First, the terrain is reminiscent of northern California with rolling hills and patchy vegetation. Certainly the climate is different (much colder winters and cooler summers than northern California) but it still works for grape growing).

I hope to provide more details tomorrow, but here are a few shots to hold you over.



Emily, Chad and I pause for a picture. In the background you can see the wall of Eger's Castle. This defensive fortress allowed the Hungarians to withstand Turkish soldiers in the 16th Century.











Oh, look. Here you can see a Hungarian soldier (the man on the left) dealing a blow to a pair of Turkish invaders (I don't know the two women in front, but I waited for what seemed like an age to get a picture with as few as two people in front of the statue...at one point there was a woman actually riding the horse)

The Egerites withstood a Turkish attack for 39 days in 1552, turning away 40,000 Ottoman soldiers with the strength of just 2000 men, women and children holed up in the castle, shooting arrows, throwing rocks and pouring hot out on the Turks. About 40 years later the Turks came back and that time easily defeated the Egerites.


From left, Juli, Chad, Emily and I sample our first Eger wines (Inside, two middle-age Hungarian men had obviously been there a while as evidenced by the volume and quality of the Hungarian songs there were belting out).




By the way, I have moved into a new flat. This one is owned by the school and will cost me near nothing over the next two months. The previous flat, while okay, ended up costing a lot more than first thought. I'll get some pics of this new place posted soon.