While in Poland we made a trip to a salt mine. It was underground. Very underground. And by this I mean the stairs kept going and we had to keep going down and down. Inside was pretty amazing. They have statues left by the miners, made of the salty stone. The place is no longer used for mining salt in large quantities, it's now mostly for touring. It was rather huge. I remembered to duck most of the time, so I never hit my head. The walls and floors tasted like salt, and I will let you make the obvious conclusion about how I discovered this. It was a highlight for sure. I want to go back.
Also. I like tea.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Passing Trains (Part 5): Auschwitz, a reflection
For the most part, walking through the museum, I found it difficult to initially connect with it much. It seemed so far removed, something I couldn't fully understand, and found myself feeling a sense of disbelief. I would stand looking at the exhibitions and find myself thinking, well, there it is, and not really comprehending what I was looking at. It seemed more natuaral than I thought it would be. Before hand, I kept thinking it was going to be some dramatic turning point in my life, or something out this world that would move me, but it felt more like, well, here it is. Yup, that is a pile of hair. Yup, those are suit cases. Yup, those are shoes. But it seemed hard to connect what I was looking at to the material I had been reading before hand. I what these things were, but seeing them didn't seem like one would expect. Looking back on it has more of an impact than the actual time spent in the museum. There is a general consensus that one sort of walks through the place quietly and take it in, but how does one take something like this in. The mind doesn't know how. I liked the way our tour guide, very simply, told us what to do. When we came to the shoes and the suit cases, all she said was, "Please walk around this room." There was no need for further explanation. She just kept repeating that until we all walked through. The place was full of others on tours, including children on a high school trip. I found it odd that as I walked out of one prison block I noticed some of them smiling and laughing at me over my height (a common occurrence in most of my life). It was like I could have been anywhere. The two more disturbing parts was the gas chamber, and the perhaps the photos of the prisoners put up on one of the walls, which the Nazis took of every prisoner for their records. At the end of the trip, we all stopped at the memorial. And wasn't really sure what to do. Everyone in the group separated into different places around the destroyed gas chambers. Again, I wasn't really able to get my mind to connect with any of it really. There were Jews near the side of it, waving an Israeli flag, and singing. Apparently we had happened to be there on a special day of remembrance, and so there were a lot of little groups there singing songs. I sat and listened, and thought about where I was and what had happened. It seemed like a place. I don't really know how else to describe it. It was just a "place".
Passing Trains (Part 4): Auschwitz in a description
Auschwitz, the retired concentration/death camp, has now been transformed into a museum. To think of such a site as a museum seems strange. One usually thinks of a museum as a place of art, or artifacts of history, something you wake up one morning and think, "Hm, it would be fun to plan a trip next week or tomorrow, to go to such and such a museum for an afternoon." However, one doesn't usually wake up and think, "Today I will visit the site of the holocaust." However, being a part of history and a rather dramatic one at that, not wanting it to fade the place has been preserved for its memory.
The way the museum was laid out was effective, and I was pleased (such as one can be pleased) in the manner in which it is presented. The museum, in a description of the trips events:
The day was cold, and grey. A rather cliché atmosphere. We got our guide, put on a headphone set with a little radio so we could hear her through a mike she had on, and set out into the camp. We began at Auschwitz I, the first camp built. We walked along the side of a double electric fence, topped with barbed wire, and old guard tours spaced along the side. On my first impression, the place seems rather small. For all the statistics we read, all the stories we hear, one would expect something larger. Though once inside, the vastness of prison blocks they fit in the area is still rather notable. We come to the metal gate. The famous sign bends over the entrance: "Arbeit macht frei" - "Work makes you free." -- a phrase well known by the prisoners, and very much there to mock them, as in they were typically told upon arrival that work was until their death. The buildings are all made of red brick. We pass the place where an orchestra once played, from which all the prisoners were meant to march. The prison blocks have been transformed into houses for exhibitions of historical evidence. The roads were mostly made of stone, and uneven to walk on. Inside they have displays of papers and forms. They have maps showing the layout of the camp, along with Auschwitz II, located a few kilometers away. The more shocking exhibitions include a room with a long glass case along the entire side, displaying hair. Before gassing the prisoners, they would have their head shaven, and these would be collected and sold to be used for manufacturing in rugs or cloths. After the war, much of the hair was found. Similar cases hold shoes (mostly black or grey, but an occasional red one could be found in the pile), luggage, personal belongings, glasses. We then walked over to the edge of the camp, where we entered Block 11, which served as a prison within the prison. Here prisoners were trialed, prisoned in standing cells, but more often shot at the shooting wall right outside. The actual wall had been destroyed, and there is now a reconstruction made of stones. All along the bottom are flowers and burning candles, where people have placed there small memorials. We walked back along the camp to the center street, where prisoners stood for role call every morning. Here there was also a gallows used for public executions. Our final stop at this camp was a walk through one of the gas chambers and crematories. We walked into a door over a small hill (an old Polish bunker the Germans transformed for their use), turn to the right into a room, then turn into the left into the chamber. There were only a few large square holes at the top where gas would be let in, once covered with shower heads. The walls were scratched by nails. Then we walked out of the room into the crematory, much like furnaces, with a contraption than can be wheeled into it.
After a short break, to buy some coffee from a machine and some people visit the restrooms, we drove over to Auschwitz II-Birkenau. The entrance had two rail way tracks leading into a center area of gravel, where prisoners would be separated into different sections of the camp. As to what I said above about size, this camp seemed to justify the statistics to a much more dramatic level. On the rail way is an original box car that would have brought the prisoners from all over Europe. The camp is split into sections. The prison blocks here had been built out of wood, with brick heating stretching along the inside. Not really built to last, but on the contrary, built to be hidden, all the buildings for the most part have been destroyed over time, and what is available is more of a reconstruction from what was left. First we stopped in the toilet/shower room, where prisoners would have a matter of minutes to do their needs with no privacy. Then a short look in one of the sleeping areas, stretched with three level bunk beds. We walked to the end of the camp to two more gas chambers, which are now a pile of rubble. After the camp was liberated the chambers were bombed, and have been left as they were. In between the two chambers is a memorial, with plaques along it saying the same message in several languages. The English plaque reading: "Forever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women and children, mainly Jews, from various countries of Europe." Then we left, feeling hungry, and ready for lunch.
The way the museum was laid out was effective, and I was pleased (such as one can be pleased) in the manner in which it is presented. The museum, in a description of the trips events:
The day was cold, and grey. A rather cliché atmosphere. We got our guide, put on a headphone set with a little radio so we could hear her through a mike she had on, and set out into the camp. We began at Auschwitz I, the first camp built. We walked along the side of a double electric fence, topped with barbed wire, and old guard tours spaced along the side. On my first impression, the place seems rather small. For all the statistics we read, all the stories we hear, one would expect something larger. Though once inside, the vastness of prison blocks they fit in the area is still rather notable. We come to the metal gate. The famous sign bends over the entrance: "Arbeit macht frei" - "Work makes you free." -- a phrase well known by the prisoners, and very much there to mock them, as in they were typically told upon arrival that work was until their death. The buildings are all made of red brick. We pass the place where an orchestra once played, from which all the prisoners were meant to march. The prison blocks have been transformed into houses for exhibitions of historical evidence. The roads were mostly made of stone, and uneven to walk on. Inside they have displays of papers and forms. They have maps showing the layout of the camp, along with Auschwitz II, located a few kilometers away. The more shocking exhibitions include a room with a long glass case along the entire side, displaying hair. Before gassing the prisoners, they would have their head shaven, and these would be collected and sold to be used for manufacturing in rugs or cloths. After the war, much of the hair was found. Similar cases hold shoes (mostly black or grey, but an occasional red one could be found in the pile), luggage, personal belongings, glasses. We then walked over to the edge of the camp, where we entered Block 11, which served as a prison within the prison. Here prisoners were trialed, prisoned in standing cells, but more often shot at the shooting wall right outside. The actual wall had been destroyed, and there is now a reconstruction made of stones. All along the bottom are flowers and burning candles, where people have placed there small memorials. We walked back along the camp to the center street, where prisoners stood for role call every morning. Here there was also a gallows used for public executions. Our final stop at this camp was a walk through one of the gas chambers and crematories. We walked into a door over a small hill (an old Polish bunker the Germans transformed for their use), turn to the right into a room, then turn into the left into the chamber. There were only a few large square holes at the top where gas would be let in, once covered with shower heads. The walls were scratched by nails. Then we walked out of the room into the crematory, much like furnaces, with a contraption than can be wheeled into it.
After a short break, to buy some coffee from a machine and some people visit the restrooms, we drove over to Auschwitz II-Birkenau. The entrance had two rail way tracks leading into a center area of gravel, where prisoners would be separated into different sections of the camp. As to what I said above about size, this camp seemed to justify the statistics to a much more dramatic level. On the rail way is an original box car that would have brought the prisoners from all over Europe. The camp is split into sections. The prison blocks here had been built out of wood, with brick heating stretching along the inside. Not really built to last, but on the contrary, built to be hidden, all the buildings for the most part have been destroyed over time, and what is available is more of a reconstruction from what was left. First we stopped in the toilet/shower room, where prisoners would have a matter of minutes to do their needs with no privacy. Then a short look in one of the sleeping areas, stretched with three level bunk beds. We walked to the end of the camp to two more gas chambers, which are now a pile of rubble. After the camp was liberated the chambers were bombed, and have been left as they were. In between the two chambers is a memorial, with plaques along it saying the same message in several languages. The English plaque reading: "Forever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women and children, mainly Jews, from various countries of Europe." Then we left, feeling hungry, and ready for lunch.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Passing Trains (Part 3): Transylvania
Landscape...stunning...some of the most amazing country sides I have ever seen. I'm not quite sure how to describe it, it's as if the land was grasping between a state of bursting life and acceptance of complete death. The grass was growing, very tall in most places, and some parts the grass was a pale green, but much of it was brown, and occasionally even grey. Amongst this white and yellow flowers, or possibly weeds of some sort, grew, adding to the array of colour. The trees seemed to follow suit. Something about the scene felt like a memory, something I had forgotten and very familiar but couldn't grasp. I found myself staring out the window for most of the drive completely stunned by the fields of grass alone. The colours of the sunset only added to seducing me into its trance.
The buildings and architecture also grabbed my attention. The walls of the houses were painted, but with odd colours. Each small village we passed through bursted with yellow, blue, green, and orange, or just about any colour the person chose. Our first night we stayed with locals in a small town. Arriving very late, we all separated to different families. I ended up in a group with three other guys in the group and our driver. Sitting down our driver noted the transparent yellowish liquid on the table, and poured it for us before our meal, which was of course Palinka (we had been warned, or rather informed with great excitement, that this would be available), and all took a shot. It was warm. Having never taken a straight shot of a spirit before, it was very noticeable, and quite the experience. I might have coughed some. We were served soup (having been informed ahead of time to expect a vegetarian they had set some soup aside without meat for me).The driver explained that the Palinka we had was weaker, obviously because of its colour, and probably had some sugar or something else in it. Having discovered none of us had had straight Palinka before, he talked to our hosts and they brought out a clear liquid. He smelled it, and smiled excitedly, and told us it was probably about 60% alcohol. We then took a shot of this before the real meal. This was warmer. I definitely coughed. And was bitter. I could feel it go all the way down. We then ate the meal (fried cheese with potatoes for me), and then people wanted another shot, but I decided to only have half this time. Then desert came, and again, I partook in half a shot. And so the evening proceeded until bed.
Most of what I remember involved looking at churches. Which was nice, but soon they blended together in my mind, and a lot of the churches seemed the same. Pews, then special carved pews on the side for, a pulpit, usually in the center of the church, raised, and carved from stone. An alter at the end. Some churches have smaller little alters around the side. They were all very old.
We also spent a short time at a gypsy/Roma community. We were only able to stay for about five minutes, which was a little disconcerting, because we arrived on a bus, got out, walked around in this somewhat poverty stricken place, and left. The way it was organized was not very well done. Their situation as an ethnic group is filled with history and rather sad, which spins in a circle of very confusing circumstances, which ends up with them being underclass more or less for the mere fact of their ethnicity and are seen more and more by governments as a problem. As such they are also often outcastes in society, pushing them further into poverty. My research to such things is still quite limited, but hopefully will expand as my girlfriend, Abby, will be doing more extensive research on the subject as helping them has been for quite some time a passions of hers, and from this I will probably become more acquainted with parts of the story I’m still missing.
Our last day in Transylvania a group of us hiked up a mountain near where we stayed. The rocks become gradually looser, as we moved up over the piles of large stones. We reached as high as we could without risking the potential sliding and tumbling rocks which could be disastrous. It was a good source of exercise, and the view of the small Saxon town could be seen below us.
The buildings and architecture also grabbed my attention. The walls of the houses were painted, but with odd colours. Each small village we passed through bursted with yellow, blue, green, and orange, or just about any colour the person chose. Our first night we stayed with locals in a small town. Arriving very late, we all separated to different families. I ended up in a group with three other guys in the group and our driver. Sitting down our driver noted the transparent yellowish liquid on the table, and poured it for us before our meal, which was of course Palinka (we had been warned, or rather informed with great excitement, that this would be available), and all took a shot. It was warm. Having never taken a straight shot of a spirit before, it was very noticeable, and quite the experience. I might have coughed some. We were served soup (having been informed ahead of time to expect a vegetarian they had set some soup aside without meat for me).The driver explained that the Palinka we had was weaker, obviously because of its colour, and probably had some sugar or something else in it. Having discovered none of us had had straight Palinka before, he talked to our hosts and they brought out a clear liquid. He smelled it, and smiled excitedly, and told us it was probably about 60% alcohol. We then took a shot of this before the real meal. This was warmer. I definitely coughed. And was bitter. I could feel it go all the way down. We then ate the meal (fried cheese with potatoes for me), and then people wanted another shot, but I decided to only have half this time. Then desert came, and again, I partook in half a shot. And so the evening proceeded until bed.
Most of what I remember involved looking at churches. Which was nice, but soon they blended together in my mind, and a lot of the churches seemed the same. Pews, then special carved pews on the side for, a pulpit, usually in the center of the church, raised, and carved from stone. An alter at the end. Some churches have smaller little alters around the side. They were all very old.
We also spent a short time at a gypsy/Roma community. We were only able to stay for about five minutes, which was a little disconcerting, because we arrived on a bus, got out, walked around in this somewhat poverty stricken place, and left. The way it was organized was not very well done. Their situation as an ethnic group is filled with history and rather sad, which spins in a circle of very confusing circumstances, which ends up with them being underclass more or less for the mere fact of their ethnicity and are seen more and more by governments as a problem. As such they are also often outcastes in society, pushing them further into poverty. My research to such things is still quite limited, but hopefully will expand as my girlfriend, Abby, will be doing more extensive research on the subject as helping them has been for quite some time a passions of hers, and from this I will probably become more acquainted with parts of the story I’m still missing.
Our last day in Transylvania a group of us hiked up a mountain near where we stayed. The rocks become gradually looser, as we moved up over the piles of large stones. We reached as high as we could without risking the potential sliding and tumbling rocks which could be disastrous. It was a good source of exercise, and the view of the small Saxon town could be seen below us.
Passing Trains (Part 2): Academia
In order to help give an idea of what my “general” life is like, in terms of classes and work, I shall expand on the classes I have. No week really feels the same, so to say there is a set schedule is difficult, but none the less, on each week there are given places and classes I’m meant to attend (and have been) and so I will let you in on what is happening. This post isn’t really on things I’ve been doing in my spare time, or on anything newly exciting or cultural, but none the less I hope it won’t bore you too much.
There are a total of five classes to explain. All, but for one (the last one, which I will explain), meet for class once a week, and for the most part are a discussion on readings, in which the homework is to read the readings. These are as follows.
---Two classes at Hungarian universities:---
There is an availability to take classes from two universities in the city of Budapest, however, both classes I have chosen are at the same university, Karoli Gasper. One class is “The Holocaust in American Literature.” This, as the title suggests, examines the Holocaust in literature, through examination of literary technique. We discuss the authenticity of being able to write about the Holocaust through art in literature, such as poetry and novels. So far we’ve read a short story, and article on the subject matter, and “Night” by Elie Wiesel. The discussions and readings have been very worthwhile, and find the subject matter an important one to examine, and an eye opener in learning more about humanity.
The other class is a creative writing class on poetry. Which includes reading poetry and reacting to it, as well as writing a poem every week. We experiment with form and genre in order to help us better understand the methods of poetry writing as an art form.
---Two classes with the Calvin Professor, Professor Page, leading the Hungary program:---
One is a culture class on Central Europe. It involves excursions to the surrounding countries. We do readings about the countries before hand to prepare, go, and then discuss what we have seen. So far we have gone to Transylvania and Poland. Both trips I will expand on in other postings.
The other class is a theatre and politics class. It examines theatre from Europe, mostly as a response to World War II, and a special look at absurdist theatre (being my favorite form of theatre, this brings me great joy and excitement). We have read (or, re-read in my case, probably for a fifth time) Waiting for Godot by Samuel Becket, an amazing play, of which I may have to expand on in a future date. We’ve also been reading some plays by Václav Havel, a playwright, and now former president of Czechoslovak. He has a similar style to Beckett, and I enjoyed reading his plays. The class discussions are interesting, but could use a little more direction to keep them on point. But, then again, staying on point is hard to do when you’re discussing something with an intentionally ambiguous point in some cases. However, some direction would help keep us on topic. Hopefully this will come in future classes.
The remaining class is a crash course in the Hungarian Language. However, this class is now done, so I basically only have the four classes. I now know some phrases, foods and numbers, hopefully enough Hungarian to get me through market places when I need to buy food. The markets will be something to explain in a future posting.
You should also know I like tea. But coffee is also quite acceptable.
There are a total of five classes to explain. All, but for one (the last one, which I will explain), meet for class once a week, and for the most part are a discussion on readings, in which the homework is to read the readings. These are as follows.
---Two classes at Hungarian universities:---
There is an availability to take classes from two universities in the city of Budapest, however, both classes I have chosen are at the same university, Karoli Gasper. One class is “The Holocaust in American Literature.” This, as the title suggests, examines the Holocaust in literature, through examination of literary technique. We discuss the authenticity of being able to write about the Holocaust through art in literature, such as poetry and novels. So far we’ve read a short story, and article on the subject matter, and “Night” by Elie Wiesel. The discussions and readings have been very worthwhile, and find the subject matter an important one to examine, and an eye opener in learning more about humanity.
The other class is a creative writing class on poetry. Which includes reading poetry and reacting to it, as well as writing a poem every week. We experiment with form and genre in order to help us better understand the methods of poetry writing as an art form.
---Two classes with the Calvin Professor, Professor Page, leading the Hungary program:---
One is a culture class on Central Europe. It involves excursions to the surrounding countries. We do readings about the countries before hand to prepare, go, and then discuss what we have seen. So far we have gone to Transylvania and Poland. Both trips I will expand on in other postings.
The other class is a theatre and politics class. It examines theatre from Europe, mostly as a response to World War II, and a special look at absurdist theatre (being my favorite form of theatre, this brings me great joy and excitement). We have read (or, re-read in my case, probably for a fifth time) Waiting for Godot by Samuel Becket, an amazing play, of which I may have to expand on in a future date. We’ve also been reading some plays by Václav Havel, a playwright, and now former president of Czechoslovak. He has a similar style to Beckett, and I enjoyed reading his plays. The class discussions are interesting, but could use a little more direction to keep them on point. But, then again, staying on point is hard to do when you’re discussing something with an intentionally ambiguous point in some cases. However, some direction would help keep us on topic. Hopefully this will come in future classes.
The remaining class is a crash course in the Hungarian Language. However, this class is now done, so I basically only have the four classes. I now know some phrases, foods and numbers, hopefully enough Hungarian to get me through market places when I need to buy food. The markets will be something to explain in a future posting.
You should also know I like tea. But coffee is also quite acceptable.
Passing Trains (Part 1): An Intro and Explanation
Time passes quickly sometimes, and it seems much has gone by since the last time I sat to write. I apologize. I am here now, in front of a computer, and will do my best to dig the highlights of these past several weeks from my memory.
In order to do so I will separate my postings into segments under the main title “Passing Trains” as they relate to the subject at hand. Having spent my time sitting in a railway station, that is to say, the “railway station” of this blog, which is to say even further, not a real railway station at all but some place of complete ambiguity; I shall do my best to speak of all the stops and trains with their set locations as they have come and passed, which is to say, I have no intent on talking about real trains at all. These will be coming as I finish them, until I catch up to the present, when I hope to be able to update on events as they continue to happen. I hope from hence forth to be better at updating. However, train whistles can be distracting.
Also. I like tea.
In order to do so I will separate my postings into segments under the main title “Passing Trains” as they relate to the subject at hand. Having spent my time sitting in a railway station, that is to say, the “railway station” of this blog, which is to say even further, not a real railway station at all but some place of complete ambiguity; I shall do my best to speak of all the stops and trains with their set locations as they have come and passed, which is to say, I have no intent on talking about real trains at all. These will be coming as I finish them, until I catch up to the present, when I hope to be able to update on events as they continue to happen. I hope from hence forth to be better at updating. However, train whistles can be distracting.
Also. I like tea.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Buskers, Statues and Hummus
After an evening of wandering through some of the night life and getting to know some of the Hungarians attending one of the Universities some of us will be working at, it was decided to hit the streets once again in the day for a walking tour. After people slowly awoke from sleeping off the fun of the evening and getting some breakfast (at lunch time), some of us headed toward the tram stop near the dorms. We got off at the same stop as central market, a large in door market where you can buy fresh fruits, vegetables and bread from local vendors. It's much like a farmers market in Michigan Budapest
Soon we passed through an oldSerbia Hungary
We eventually came to a church, decorated with statues of angels, and Christ on the cross at the base. This seems to be the typical construction of churches. Height, of a steeple pointing up, with points all along it, and garnished with statues of angels or great men, all whom I have little idea of which hero or figure they were intended to represent. We stood outside it near a dry fountain, where faces formed into the side of the structure would have water shooting out their mouth, if there was water being pumped into it. Near it some homeless people slept. Pigeons flew around the square. The scene had an odd stillness to it, and I felt the statues were watching us and wondering what all these people were doing below them, and why they had been constructed by them in the first place. I almost felt I heard them talking about how still they felt, and how silently the men had been sleeping below them through the night. I would have felt compelled to have sat there longer, but there was more to see.
One of the more exciting stops was, yet again, the finding of buskers! Three men playing brass wind instruments near a monument. While other people in the group were reading something about the monument I knew nothing about, I dropped a coin in their case, and stood back to watch. Abby and I enjoyed listening to them, and then the man in the middle decided to surprise us by suddenly bursting into a song with a deep, but mellow, voice with a fitting on key crackle in it. It was absolutely amazing! They made me smile for several minutes after wards.
We also made a stop at a "historical McDonalds". Supposedly the first "this side of the iron wall". Some children were eating there, and Abby pointed out how they were staring at me because of my height. I proceeded to pull out a coin do some old magic tricks which I'm far out of practice with. They seemed to enjoy them none the less, and conversed about how I might have done some of them.
Other activities continued. Such as walking along the river, stopping for coffee, pictures at statues of famous composers, the discovery of book stores and an opera house. But the details would take a long time to fill in, and I’ve already probably gone on and on with some of these, so I shall try to cut it short so you can return to your life.
The day ended by meeting others outside a church to go to a hummus bar. We partook and some wonderful hummus, and the best falafel we've found yet. (I've been eating a lot of falafel here, a deep fried chickpea patty, much of which has been rather dry at most stops we've been getting them at, but these ones were quite good.) Getting back ended up taking longer than anticipated, but having had no coat and wind making me quite cold through the latter part of the day, I was glad to get back to a warmer place.
And now I should probably get back to studying the Hungarian language, instead of procrastinating with this. Lots of fruits, vegetable, and other foods to learn. Woot! Also:
I like tea.
Soon we passed through an old
We eventually came to a church, decorated with statues of angels, and Christ on the cross at the base. This seems to be the typical construction of churches. Height, of a steeple pointing up, with points all along it, and garnished with statues of angels or great men, all whom I have little idea of which hero or figure they were intended to represent. We stood outside it near a dry fountain, where faces formed into the side of the structure would have water shooting out their mouth, if there was water being pumped into it. Near it some homeless people slept. Pigeons flew around the square. The scene had an odd stillness to it, and I felt the statues were watching us and wondering what all these people were doing below them, and why they had been constructed by them in the first place. I almost felt I heard them talking about how still they felt, and how silently the men had been sleeping below them through the night. I would have felt compelled to have sat there longer, but there was more to see.
One of the more exciting stops was, yet again, the finding of buskers! Three men playing brass wind instruments near a monument. While other people in the group were reading something about the monument I knew nothing about, I dropped a coin in their case, and stood back to watch. Abby and I enjoyed listening to them, and then the man in the middle decided to surprise us by suddenly bursting into a song with a deep, but mellow, voice with a fitting on key crackle in it. It was absolutely amazing! They made me smile for several minutes after wards.
We also made a stop at a "historical McDonalds". Supposedly the first "this side of the iron wall". Some children were eating there, and Abby pointed out how they were staring at me because of my height. I proceeded to pull out a coin do some old magic tricks which I'm far out of practice with. They seemed to enjoy them none the less, and conversed about how I might have done some of them.
Other activities continued. Such as walking along the river, stopping for coffee, pictures at statues of famous composers, the discovery of book stores and an opera house. But the details would take a long time to fill in, and I’ve already probably gone on and on with some of these, so I shall try to cut it short so you can return to your life.
The day ended by meeting others outside a church to go to a hummus bar. We partook and some wonderful hummus, and the best falafel we've found yet. (I've been eating a lot of falafel here, a deep fried chickpea patty, much of which has been rather dry at most stops we've been getting them at, but these ones were quite good.) Getting back ended up taking longer than anticipated, but having had no coat and wind making me quite cold through the latter part of the day, I was glad to get back to a warmer place.
And now I should probably get back to studying the Hungarian language, instead of procrastinating with this. Lots of fruits, vegetable, and other foods to learn. Woot! Also:
I like tea.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
The path of toes -- for lack of a more suitable title at the moment
You might be wondering why, after so long, there have been so few posting about what I've been up to since my arrival in Hungary. I could come up with excuses of all sorts, and I'm sure some of them might even sound almost legitimate.
I could try to explain how I arrived after so many hours of flying, leaving me in an odd state of travelling fatigue from being crammed into a tiny space, with no leg room, and essentially all of it taken by the seat in front of me falling back to take it all away, and left with no feeling below my waist for several hours left me a little drained. Though, on arrived on the plane after a layover in Germany, I found myself overly excited to be looking down onto a river, the Danube, and realizing, kind of for the first time, that I really was going to Hungary. Sitting in the plane the entire time left me uncertain if that was where I would end up, or if I would simply be left in perpetual aircraft storage for the rest of my life...nothing says "Waiting for Godot" like a plane ride. But I did arrive, and then changed some of my dollars into a curreny that once again lets me think in more than three digits.
I could explain that with this new money I spend so much time looking at the strange faces and their mustaches and trying to figure out how much it's worth, knowing 1000 is not the same as in Ugandan shillings, and cleary not dollars. (It's approximately 200 Forints (not to be mistaken with Florence, which is a city, not a currency) to the dollar, just in case you were wondering). And having so many oppurtunities to explore and spend these colorful pieces of papers for food.
Food! With such a distraction in my mist is there any wonder I've been torn away from writing blog posts? I'm glad to discover there is enough of varity to maintain being a veggetarian and not having to reaquaint my stomache to meat, which at this point could result in embarrising situations. There is so much bread. So much cheap bread. So much good, cheap, wheat, bread that makes me realize the bread I've been living off of must have been a mistake.
Would you accept my confusion toward signs? They seem to be covered with words and phrases that mean very little to me at the moment, but surely bear some special meaning that I need to know about. Like, "this food product is here", "the bathroom is there" and "please be sure catch the right tram leaving for your destination at this time and place to get there on time" (surely, with the complexity of these words, they must be saying something with such specificity).
Trams run just about all over the place. And they're wonderful. They get you from point A to point B, and then you're no longer at point A. This is helpful because it means there are other points to get to, other things to see, and all of it so much worthy of ones time, and most importantly there is a means for this process to happen. With this open to allow for adventure, getting to the computer seemed like an unsubstantial use of ones time. While you can be out exploring in the day to find the market to do more shopping, in the evening one can go with Hungarian students to places that have plants growing from the ceiling, cars become seats, and chair trees grow along the wall, in order to drink and drip wax on ones hands. Though not everyone seemed as excited to drip wax on their hands, not even the hungarians. Then it might start raining just when it seems like a good time to go to another place that sells cheaper drinks, but this isn't a problem, because rain is mostly just water (and we just don't think about what else at such times), so we found another alley pub full of smokers and cheaper drinks. Yay!
Smoking! It's everwhere here. Everyone seems to do it. It such a shunned activity in the US, where if anyone pulls out a cigarette they get stared at, frowned at, and judged. Here no one seems to care, most resteraunts seem to be absolute fine with someone walking in, pulling out a cigarette and toasting their lungs with no concern of baffling or offending anyone; there seems to be no one to offend. The consistancy of this, signs that aren't in English, and an odd amount of public displays of affection are probably the three more surprising discoverys of central Europe.
Public display of affection (pda, as I shall call hence forth) seems to have little limits. The trams at two in the afternoon present themselves as suitable places for some very intimate moments between couples, as well as parks, walk ways, resteraunts (particularly this tea house "teahaz") and well, just about anywhere. And of course there's never any worry about other people being there, it's perfectly acceptable.
Computers.... these alone are intimidating to keep one from attempting to blog. An entire two letters are switched!!! TWO LETTERS AND THEY CONFUSE ME TO NO END!!!! The z is where the y is supposed to be, and vice versa. How can one approach a computer knowing these two letter aren't where one expects them? Likewise, the punctuation is all over the place. I keep searching to find out how to do something simple, like quotations.
And today, I finally have managed to come out and make a blog post. I hope my excuses give me some forgiveness from my thousands of readers (or rather, probably more like four or five of you). I will try to become more consistant in my postings and keep you updated.
I like tea.
I could try to explain how I arrived after so many hours of flying, leaving me in an odd state of travelling fatigue from being crammed into a tiny space, with no leg room, and essentially all of it taken by the seat in front of me falling back to take it all away, and left with no feeling below my waist for several hours left me a little drained. Though, on arrived on the plane after a layover in Germany, I found myself overly excited to be looking down onto a river, the Danube, and realizing, kind of for the first time, that I really was going to Hungary. Sitting in the plane the entire time left me uncertain if that was where I would end up, or if I would simply be left in perpetual aircraft storage for the rest of my life...nothing says "Waiting for Godot" like a plane ride. But I did arrive, and then changed some of my dollars into a curreny that once again lets me think in more than three digits.
I could explain that with this new money I spend so much time looking at the strange faces and their mustaches and trying to figure out how much it's worth, knowing 1000 is not the same as in Ugandan shillings, and cleary not dollars. (It's approximately 200 Forints (not to be mistaken with Florence, which is a city, not a currency) to the dollar, just in case you were wondering). And having so many oppurtunities to explore and spend these colorful pieces of papers for food.
Food! With such a distraction in my mist is there any wonder I've been torn away from writing blog posts? I'm glad to discover there is enough of varity to maintain being a veggetarian and not having to reaquaint my stomache to meat, which at this point could result in embarrising situations. There is so much bread. So much cheap bread. So much good, cheap, wheat, bread that makes me realize the bread I've been living off of must have been a mistake.
Would you accept my confusion toward signs? They seem to be covered with words and phrases that mean very little to me at the moment, but surely bear some special meaning that I need to know about. Like, "this food product is here", "the bathroom is there" and "please be sure catch the right tram leaving for your destination at this time and place to get there on time" (surely, with the complexity of these words, they must be saying something with such specificity).
Trams run just about all over the place. And they're wonderful. They get you from point A to point B, and then you're no longer at point A. This is helpful because it means there are other points to get to, other things to see, and all of it so much worthy of ones time, and most importantly there is a means for this process to happen. With this open to allow for adventure, getting to the computer seemed like an unsubstantial use of ones time. While you can be out exploring in the day to find the market to do more shopping, in the evening one can go with Hungarian students to places that have plants growing from the ceiling, cars become seats, and chair trees grow along the wall, in order to drink and drip wax on ones hands. Though not everyone seemed as excited to drip wax on their hands, not even the hungarians. Then it might start raining just when it seems like a good time to go to another place that sells cheaper drinks, but this isn't a problem, because rain is mostly just water (and we just don't think about what else at such times), so we found another alley pub full of smokers and cheaper drinks. Yay!
Smoking! It's everwhere here. Everyone seems to do it. It such a shunned activity in the US, where if anyone pulls out a cigarette they get stared at, frowned at, and judged. Here no one seems to care, most resteraunts seem to be absolute fine with someone walking in, pulling out a cigarette and toasting their lungs with no concern of baffling or offending anyone; there seems to be no one to offend. The consistancy of this, signs that aren't in English, and an odd amount of public displays of affection are probably the three more surprising discoverys of central Europe.
Public display of affection (pda, as I shall call hence forth) seems to have little limits. The trams at two in the afternoon present themselves as suitable places for some very intimate moments between couples, as well as parks, walk ways, resteraunts (particularly this tea house "teahaz") and well, just about anywhere. And of course there's never any worry about other people being there, it's perfectly acceptable.
Computers.... these alone are intimidating to keep one from attempting to blog. An entire two letters are switched!!! TWO LETTERS AND THEY CONFUSE ME TO NO END!!!! The z is where the y is supposed to be, and vice versa. How can one approach a computer knowing these two letter aren't where one expects them? Likewise, the punctuation is all over the place. I keep searching to find out how to do something simple, like quotations.
And today, I finally have managed to come out and make a blog post. I hope my excuses give me some forgiveness from my thousands of readers (or rather, probably more like four or five of you). I will try to become more consistant in my postings and keep you updated.
I like tea.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
I'm packing!
Sort of.
I'm kind of almost done. So now I'm sitting on a bed, waiting.
Weight has such a strong influence on people's lives. Many find their own to be much more than they'd like to handle, even when such notions are ridiculous. But for this evening, keeping ones weight has involved coping with the limits airlines have placed on luggage. Slowly these limits have become more harsh. I remember the days when international flights meant each person could check in two bags, at 75 pounds a piece. Eventually this number dropped down to 50, and we wondered how in the world we could ever manage to fit all our things with such restrictions. But now we live in a world where the airlines have pulled all stability from underneath us, and left us with only one check in bag. Generally this hit me with little concern for my upcoming trip. All I have to bring are a few books and clothes, clothes aren't that heavy, there won't be any problems. Of course, one article of clothing is quite light, but when included with the others they become one transformed monster of cotton equipped with a bowling ball beer belly (yay for fitting in terrible and unnecessary alliteration!). So after much apprehension I had to attack this monster, and try to see if anything could be pulled, moved, or severed, and had to pull out a few books from the library I wanted to bring. (Apparently sheets of paper all add up very quickly too) I was backed up with the support of a scale, which frankly left me with much to be desired in measuring. After an after-midnight trip to a place with a much better scale I finally discovered that I'm not over-weight at all! So now I can relax without too much concern. Bringing back souvenirs may prove interesting, but one problem at a time.
Alright. As I've been mostly exhausted all day, and it's already after 1:43, my mind is shot, and my blog post is probably painful to read, so I will stop you from going any further and find something else to do with my time, and let you do the same.
Also, I like tea.
Monday, August 16, 2010
"I like songs about drifters - books about the same."
My favorite colour is green. That's not to say I have anything against any of the other colours, it's just that ever since I first started learning the names of colours these big people called grownups kept asking me what my favorite one was. So, I naturally assumed I was supposed to have one. Looking outside I saw the grass was green, the leaves on trees were green, and decided I liked that, so chose it as an answer. If the truth be told, in most cases, I tend to like most things. Also, I like trees and spiders. It's best you don't question my liking for spiders. I could give you an answer, write a long essay on it, or compose a bad a poem about how meaningful I find them, but then you still won't understand it. So just accept it, and move on.
You may be wondering, why is this guy's first post on his blog about his favorite colour, trees, and spiders? I can look at his "About Me" and learn very quickly pointless facts about him, why clutter his posts with these things? What sense is there in that? Exactly! There is no sense to it, and there's no better way for you to be introduced to me than through non-sense.
I like colours, lots of them. I also like ink, it's black, which is the absence of colour. This is called a contradiction, something you need to get used to when you read anything by me. I might speculate it's not really a contradiction, but then my brain would explode and I don't feel like doing that right now. What I'm trying to do here is tell you a little about myself, so I guess I'll become autobiographical and try to expand on where I've been, what I've done, and how I have no idea where I'm going. Partially because, hey, it's an intro to my blog, and second, I'm meant to be packing right now and this seems like a reasonable means of procratination.
I was born in Congo, former Zaire. My birth certificate, so I've recently realized, has my name spelled wrong, and has the wrong birth month. Shoot. I think I've gotten over it, but it's still odd. I eventually moved all away across the border to Uganda, where I was raised. I moved to the United States of America, this odd place that for most of my life was simply a name printed on the bottom of a thin booklet I had with the title "Passport". It was also some place I was meant to identify with. I wasn't quite Ugandan, and brief visits to the US reminded me of this. Starting college I had to move there, previously the longest I had lived in my "home" country was a year, when I was five. Otherwise there were the brief six month visits every four years, where I learned to realize I liked Uganda a lot, I considered it home. But, it wasn't quite home, I wasn't Ugandan and though it feels like home it's not where I'm from. In the US, I was supposed to be home. But it isn't home. I've realized now that I don't have a concept of home. Where ever I am is home. I move from place to place, drifting between the infinite worlds and thoughts there are to inhabit, and I don't know if I will ever stop. This blog is about my journey to find home, like sitting in a railway station waiting for the train to arrive to take me there, and where I'm sitting is really my home, not the desination. As David Foster Wallace says in his essay (as he attempts to describe how Kafka is actually intended to be halarious, we've just forgotten how to tell) in which he states, "...our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home." I'm probably just repeating myself several times with different words, or the same words in a different order. It's another habit I have, so expect it.
My next stop to discovering my home, this planet earth, is Hungary. But first, I should continue the packing I'm procrastinating from by writing this.
I also like tea.
You may be wondering, why is this guy's first post on his blog about his favorite colour, trees, and spiders? I can look at his "About Me" and learn very quickly pointless facts about him, why clutter his posts with these things? What sense is there in that? Exactly! There is no sense to it, and there's no better way for you to be introduced to me than through non-sense.
I like colours, lots of them. I also like ink, it's black, which is the absence of colour. This is called a contradiction, something you need to get used to when you read anything by me. I might speculate it's not really a contradiction, but then my brain would explode and I don't feel like doing that right now. What I'm trying to do here is tell you a little about myself, so I guess I'll become autobiographical and try to expand on where I've been, what I've done, and how I have no idea where I'm going. Partially because, hey, it's an intro to my blog, and second, I'm meant to be packing right now and this seems like a reasonable means of procratination.
I was born in Congo, former Zaire. My birth certificate, so I've recently realized, has my name spelled wrong, and has the wrong birth month. Shoot. I think I've gotten over it, but it's still odd. I eventually moved all away across the border to Uganda, where I was raised. I moved to the United States of America, this odd place that for most of my life was simply a name printed on the bottom of a thin booklet I had with the title "Passport". It was also some place I was meant to identify with. I wasn't quite Ugandan, and brief visits to the US reminded me of this. Starting college I had to move there, previously the longest I had lived in my "home" country was a year, when I was five. Otherwise there were the brief six month visits every four years, where I learned to realize I liked Uganda a lot, I considered it home. But, it wasn't quite home, I wasn't Ugandan and though it feels like home it's not where I'm from. In the US, I was supposed to be home. But it isn't home. I've realized now that I don't have a concept of home. Where ever I am is home. I move from place to place, drifting between the infinite worlds and thoughts there are to inhabit, and I don't know if I will ever stop. This blog is about my journey to find home, like sitting in a railway station waiting for the train to arrive to take me there, and where I'm sitting is really my home, not the desination. As David Foster Wallace says in his essay (as he attempts to describe how Kafka is actually intended to be halarious, we've just forgotten how to tell) in which he states, "...our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home." I'm probably just repeating myself several times with different words, or the same words in a different order. It's another habit I have, so expect it.
My next stop to discovering my home, this planet earth, is Hungary. But first, I should continue the packing I'm procrastinating from by writing this.
I also like tea.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)