Operation: Infiltrate Jewish Cemetary: Part Three of the Prague Chrinicles

As my far too long saga in Prague continues, I will now recount the third and final day of the trip. For those of you who have been dutifully hanging on and continuing to read this ridiculously long post, but would rather be out in the real world doing whatever it is that you do, I will soon release you from your obligation.

On the third day in Prague, our mission was simple, see the Prague Castle. After all the wandering we had done, we still had not climbed up to see one of Prague's most notable landmarks. After getting everyone besides Franky and I checked out (we were staying later than the others), we made our way yet again to the tram. We hopped on a tram that we were pretty sure should take us to the castle. After several stops we were told that we had reached the tram's last stop and we had to disembark. We were still a little ways from the castle with not the best idea of how best to complete the trek to our destination. We began to walk while I tried to simultaneously consult a map continually asking "what street are we on?" only to receive shoulder shrugs and blank stares. As the rain began to descend yet again, I finally got my bearing and discovered a course that would take us to our destination.

As it seems with almost anything that is perched atop a hill, before making the final ascent, you must first descend. This was the case in Prague, but we finally made it to the base of castle hill (not sure if it actually has a name). Once we reached the top, we came to a large gate guarded by two rather comically dressed guards and to our left was a wall that provided spectacular views of the city. Inside the walls of the castle, we discovered that Prague Castle is far more than just one building. It's an entire complex! There are several museums, St. Vitus's Cathedral (the second largest in the world, second only to the Vatican's St. Peter's Basilica), the old Royal Palace, and so much more. It was too bad that we only had a morning to explore. After wandering around and gazing up at the cathedral towering above us, I decided I wanted to get an audio guide and go and tour the cathedral. I was alone in this desire, however. My companions were either not interested or more concerned about finding something to eat before the long train ride later that day. I was not backing down and stubbornly stated that whether or not anyone wanted to join me, I was going to see one of the most important buildings in Prague's history, not to mention one of the most famous. I agreed to do my best to race through the tour of the cathedral and meet them in an hour and then quickly ducked inside to purchase my audio guide before the discussion could start anew.

Although they promise that with an audio guide you can skip to the front of the line to get into the cathedral, there were lots of fellow listeners, so I had to wait. As I waited, a tumultuous down pour began. Everyone in the line surged forward as the rain pelted us hoping that the door monitors preventing us entrance would have mercy. They didn't. I ended us crowded near the front almost covered by a neighboring couples' umbrella. I didn't really mind getting wet, but I protectively covered my camera. Finally, we were admitted to enter. Once inside, my jaw dropped. It's one thing to claim that a building is the second largest of its type in the world, but it's another story to actually stand beneath towering vaulted ceilings. The cathedral was gorgeous. I meandered through it with my audio guide glued to my ear listening as a Brittish voice clearly enunciated every syllable of each altar's history and purpose. The stained glass lining every wall was absolutely spectacular. They ranged from scenes of the lives of saints to abstract shapes and patterns. One of the most notable features of the cathedral is the tomb of John of Nepomuk, the patron saint of the city. His tomb was the most impressive and excessive display of decorative silver I have ever seen. The other alters are comparatively bleak and simple.

After racing through the Cathedral (I skipped a couple of the altars), I had a few minutes left before having to meet the rest of the crew, so I scurried across the plaza to the Old Royal Palace. Inside, I got a feel for the lives of the building's former inhabitants. My favorite room in the palace was Vadislav Hall, a room with a towering ceiling lined with intertwined curved ribs (I wasn't allowed to take pictures, so you'll have to use your imagination). I made a point to at least see each room of the Old Royal Palace and listen to what I could of the audio guide, but all too soon my time was up.

Back outside, I found the rest of the group and we made our way out of the castle complex and back to the hostel. Once at the hostel, everyone picked up their bags and we all went to the train station. Everyone bought their train tickets and figured out which platform to go to. After making sure to get our train tickets for the following day, Franky and I bid farewell to everyone else and headed back for the city center. My main goal for the final evening in Prague was to see the Jewish Cemetery. Retracing our steps from the past couple of days, Franky and I found ourselves in the Jewish Quarter. With a quick consultation of the map, we quickly found the cemetery. Upon nearing the gate, I saw two people looking at the gate and then back down at something in their hands with confusion on their faces. They walked away as we approached the gate, and only then did I realize the reason for their confusion. On the gate of the cemetery was a sign written in multiple languages that read "Closed due to holiday." I couldn't believe it! The reason I stayed in Prague for an extra night was closed! I was not going to give up. I quickly noticed that the wall surrounding the cemetery had gaps in it, and thus began Operation: Infiltrate Jewish Cemetery. Franky and I walked all the way around the cemetery periodically climbing the wall to peer through and see the cemetery. At places where the gap was too high for me to see through, I held my camera up to it and blindly released the shutter. At one point, I squatted next to the sheet metal wall by the bathrooms to get a good look at the cemetery beyond. All in all, I think I got a pretty good visual of the cemetery, with a great story to go along with it to boot.

After seeing the cemetery, neither Franky or I had anything that we particularly wanted to see. We ended up wandering the streets of Prague. We climbed the tower of one of Prague's many cathedrals, sauntered along Charles Bridge that was teeming with tourists, made our way back up to the castle to see the front gate, and then finally ended up back in Old Town Square it was wonderful to have no agenda and to only have to consult with one other opinion instead of six. Franky wanted to check out the Dalí exhibit at a museum in Old Town Square, so we bought tickets and wandered around the upstairs of the building looking at rather bizarre paintings and sculptures. I found most of the artwork disturbing, but it was nice to wander through the museum with no further agenda. After the museum we found a relatively cheap place to eat, and then headed back to the hostel.

The next morning came all too quickly. We woke before dawn to catch the early train back to Budapest. While waiting for breakfast at the hostel to open, we ran out to a bakery down the street and got some bread for the train ride back. I attempted to put a dent in the remaining crowns I had, but found that a bakery was not the place to do that. Bakeries are incredibly cheap (now that's my kind of place)! After securing rations for our seven hour train ride we went back to the hostel, scarfed down some free muesli, and checked out. Check out took longer than expected and so did the tram, so by the time we got off at the train station we had to run to the platform. I honestly thought we were going to miss our train. We made it on the train with several minutes to spare. As we breathed a sigh of relief, the train began to roll out of the station, leaving Prague behind, Budapest bound.

"Pipe Down Rub-A-Dub.": Part Two of the Prague Chronicles

My plan of keeping my blog relatively up to date is failing miserably. What follows will be the second part of The Prague Chronicles, two weeks after it happened. It has been an absolutely crazy couple of weeks. I have been studying for midterms or working on midterm projects/presentations almost constantly. These past couple of weeks have made me feel like I'm back in Ripon with more homework to do than there are hours in the day. While not having homework constantly is a nice break from the constant worries that come with assignments, I do best when I'm busy, so I was back in my element. The downside to numerous assignments is that it forces me to prioritize, and the first things to go are timely blog recountings. Now, sitting in rainy Croatia, my current adventure, I have a chance to look back on Prague.

After our ridiculous night of being stranded tramless and cold, we finally got into bed and fell fast asleep within seconds. Then next morning I woke up earlier than I would have expected after not going to bed until 2:30 AM. I have realized that whilst traveling, my body wakes me up prematurely. Perhaps it is my body's way of physically expressing my brain's desire to get out there and see the world. I ended up taking a shower before it was clogged with my newly awakened travelmates. Once we were all showered and dressed, we headed down to the free breakfast that the hostel offered (a free meal is always a plus!). The breakfast was pretty measly, just some sandwich makings (American cheese, ham, and white bread) a couple types of cereal (corn flakes and muesli) and coffee and tea, comparable to a hotel continental breakfast. But, I was not going to complain one bit, unlike some members of our group. The fact that it was free, and I had access to an unlimited supply of coffee in the morning, was fantastic.

After breakfast we hurried off to catch the tram to the metro station, and then take the metro to Old Town Square where we were going to participate in a free tour put on by a company called New Europe. We were a little late, as is to be expected when dealing with a larger group of people, so we missed the tour. Luckily, there was another tour later in the afternoon, so, in the mean time, we decided to mill around Old Town Square. The square was bustling with life despite the cold, rainy conditions. Prague, one of the top twenty most visited cities in the world, was full of tourists. In that respect, it wasn't as enjoyable as Budapest. Everywhere I went I heard English, and while it is comforting to hear my native tongue when constantly surrounded by unfamiliar languages, it makes the entire experience feel too commercial. We wandered through the many booths that are set up in the square with Tyn Church and St. Nicholas Church towering above us, listening to the sounds of a band of old men playing encircled by oggling tourists. After a short wait, we made our way through the gradually thickening pack of people standing in front of the Astronomical Clock in preparation for its hourly show. Staring up at the bizarre array of dials, symbols, and figures I tried to fathom what kind of crazy dance they would soon be doing. As the bell tolled and the audience watched in wonder, a small skeleton began ringing a bell, then doors opened and figures of the apostles made their appearance in front of the opening before the doors closed. That was it. I have to say that after all the hype I had heard about the amazing astronomical clock, I was a bit disappointed. Though, I have to give the architects of the clock a little credit. It was originally built in 1410, long before modern technology, and has been added to and repaired numerous times over its centuries of existence.

After watching the clock spectacle, we decided to just wander wherever we felt like. We ended up outside the Spanish Synagogue and then continued on and stumbled upon the Convent of St. Agnes of Bohemia. We were able to go inside and look around. It was beautiful, and like any place of this sort, very quiet. I always feel like I am the loudest person when I am forced to be as silent as possible. The sound of every move I make seems to magnify by ten. After we had had our fill of the convent, our grumbling stomachs dictated our next destination.

Instead of wandering aimlessly trying to find a restaurant that was both cheap and authentic, I turned to Rick Steves' Eastern Europe that I had borrowed from a friend. While other members of the group suggested going to a place we passed that sold wings, I stubbornly insisted on finding a restaurant that served authentic Czech cuisine. Call me a snob, but I didn't come to the Czech Republic to eat wings! There is always Buffalo Wild Wings when I get back to the states. I found a place located nearby that met both of my criteria, Czech and cheap. It was a traditional Czech cafeteria where you get a tray and a slip of paper and make your way through the lines selecting whatever you want. Once you've ordered an item, you hand the slip to the server who proceeds to write down the item and the price of the item you ordered. After you're done eating, you take the slip to the cashier and pay on your way out. I thought it was really cool.

After lunch we headed back to Old Town Square to meet up with the other tour. We successfully got assigned to a tour guide and off we went. Our tour guide, Isaac, was an American who had been living in Prague for the past eight years. He was a history buff and gave us very brief, but entertaining history at various sights around Prague. At one point he paused for dramatic effect after confidently assuming that we wanted to hear about the Nazis in Prague's history. To this assumption Franky chimed in "Yeah, do it," in a mock enthusiastic child voice. Our tour guide, slightly thrown off by the addition of Franky's comment, responded "Pipe down Rub-A-Dub," which got laughs all around. He was very funny, if not a little crass. He liked to make fun of different nationalities, which sometimes was a little over the top, but otherwise he made what could have been a boring tour, very entertaining and engaging. At one point he picked me out of the crowd to play the Virgin Mary in a skit about how a severed hand wound up in a church.

Unfortunately, we had to leave the tour early so we could go back to our hostel and change before heading off to a piano concert at the beautiful Rudolfinium. Our tour guide was less than pleased that we were leaving early, but we explained to him that we had plans that required us to bail out before the three hour tour had been completed. He still got a bit pissed off, but after walking away, two of our group returned to tip him and then we traipsed off to our hostel.

After a quick rest for our feet (we had literally been walking or standing all day, including during lunch because there were no booths open) we were soon back on the metro and headed to the Rudolfinium. We walked around the block once because we didn't realize that the building that we had passed on more than one occasion during our trip thus far was the one we wanted. We finally came to the realization that we were fools and had indeed been right in front of the correct building without even noticing it. Upon our realization, we quickly bought cheap tickets and went in. The concert was lovely. I have no knowledge of composers or what pieces go well together, but the music was great. After a day on my feet as the lead navigator it was wonderful to sit back in a beautiful room and listen to the sounds of seasoned fingers stroking the ivory keys of a piano. Half the time I just let the music fill the back of my mind as I let my mind wander to whatever it so pleased. After the pianist was done and had walked on and off the stage countless times (as is apparently customary in these types of performances) and perform two encores the concert was finally over.

Back out on the street (and our feet) we made dinner our next objective. Someone amongst us decided that we should go to a restaurant called The Crazy Cow (a name which is very close to mad cow, and which would have been unsettling if I ate beef). Upon arrival at the restaurant I took a quick look at the menu and realized there weren't many options for a non-mammal eater like myself, and even fewer for a vegetarian. I decided that I'd rather keep looking, but the others were perfectly happy with this selection, so the lone vegetarian in the group and I went off in search of something more appetizing. We found a nice place that had something appetizing to both of us. I ended up getting the cheapest thing on the menu, potato soup in a bread bowl. It was delicious, Czech, and cheap, an unbeatable combination. After dinner Gene and I met back up with the rest of the group and we all headed for our hostel.

That night we made sure we were on the metro before it closed, so we wouldn't have a repeat of the previous night wandering around the streets of Prague looking for the right night tram. After another exhausting day we all fell fast asleep in minutes.

Bratislava? Are We in Slovakia?: Part One of The Praha Chronicles

As the title so subtly suggests, what follows in a chronicle of my recent trip to Praha (Prague for those who may not recognize it by it's true name), Czech Republic. I have been rather busy this week due to various assignments for midterms, ahh!, so I am somewhat behind on my blog. I have decided to take time away from studying and homework to finally put my trip into words.

Last Friday after class, I, and six of my friends, hopped on a train and headed for the Czech Republic. It is about a seven hour train ride from Budapest, which is manageable for a weekend getaway. I enjoy the train. It's lovely to sit and look out of the window as unfamiliar lands whiz by with the knowledge that I am speeding off to an exciting new place. The scenery on this ride was especially spectacular because of the changing foliage. The hills were spotted with blasts of orange, yellow, and red among the blanket of green. It happened to be a good day to be on a train. The sky was overcast and gray, adding to the mystique of an unknown landscape.

As the train glided out of Hungary I resigned myself to split my time between gazing out of the window and reading my fantastic book about famous Hungarian Jews who were forced to flee Budapest after Budapest's Golden Age came to an abrupt end in the 1920's, and changed the world.

I need to interrupt this recounting of my train ride to bring you a breaking news bulletin: I just succeeded in lighting my oven for the first time! I am ecstatic to finally be able to bake! I have been ovenless for the past six weeks because I was unable to figure out how to light my gas oven. My land lady finally showed me how to light it. Previously, all I could get it to do was billow gas into my flat, but I couldn't figure out where exactly I was supposed to stick the flame to get it to ignite. Not wanting to blow up my flat, I abandoned the effort. After being instructed on where to put the flame I discovered that the ridiculous shark lighter that I have doesn't fit, so I've been searching for matches for a couple of weeks now. Oh, how I miss electric ovens! Anyway, back to the train ride...

Many crumbling, neglected buildings lined the railway or were visible from the train car in which I sat. Those buildings, added with the bleak, gray sky and my exposure to the history of communism in Hungary, made me feel as if I had been transported to another time. This may reveal the extent to which I have been "Americanized" because I associate desolation and wreckage with communism, but from what I have learned about Hungarian history during the communist regime, it wasn't a great time in the country's history.

Somewhere in my daydreams of other times, I noticed that the alphabet on signs along the railway had changed. Letters were now adorned with a wide variety of unusual accents and symbols that had no place in Hungarian. My immediate thought, proving my complete geographical ignorance, was that we had crossed the Hungarian border into the Czech Republic. It wasn't until we pulled up in Bratislava (which I knew wasn't in the Czech Republic) that I call out, "Are we in Slovakia?" Everyone else, having even less of a clue about the geography of Eastern Europe than I did, just shrugged. I quickly pulled out a map and discovered that Hungary does NOT border the Czech Republic, and that we had been in Slovakia for quite some time. Oh, the ignorance of youth.

After an uneventful train ride spent alternating between looking out of the window, reading, sleeping, and talking to my companions, we finally arrived in Praha. It took us a ridiculously long time to locate an ATM in the train station so we could get Czech koruna (crowns). I finally found it in the most logical of places, right next to the ticket counters, duh. Oh well, after getting some money we finally managed to get on the metro and take yet another train to our hostel. Our hostel was fabulous. It was called Plus Prague and was fantastically cheap (only $12 a night) with clean rooms, free WiFi, free breakfast, a pool, and keycard access. The only downside was that it was located a little outside of the city center, but it's easy access to a tram stop made getting to it easy. I found the hostel on hostelworld.com which is a great site if you're ever in need of booking a hostel.

Once checked-in and unloaded, we went in search of food to please our growling stomachs. We found a Mexican restaurant just around the corner and happily walked in. It's a good thing it didn't take us the usual five years to make up our minds because when we came in we were told that the kitchen would be closing in five minutes, so we just made the cut. The most remarkable thing at dinner was when we ordered chips and guacamole, we were served guacamole with french fries. Of all places to adopt the Brittish meaning for chips, a Mexican restaurant! When we pointed out the error, we were confused as to why we were receiving french fries, our waitress just said she "you said chips," and left. We never did get real tortilla chips. I guess I'll just have to wait for the real thing when I get home. Los Loros here I come!

After dinner we decided to go down by the river and see Praha at night, big mistake. We got down to the river, which was very beautiful. I was continually impressed by Praha, besides the large number of fellow tourists. Praha's many gorgeous and historic buildings suffered little damage during WWII, unlike Budapest, who's buildings still bear marks of past horrors (i.e. bullet holes). The price for choosing to see this wonderful city at night was that the metro closed during our escapades, which included stumbling upon some animated peeing statues outside of the Franz Kafka Museum. We had a good laugh at those statues with their moving appendages to put it discretely. We ended up walking most of the 4 km back to our hostel on a very chilly night before we finally found the right tram to take us the rest of the way. As self appointed lead navigator, I was exceedingly cranky by the end of the night. At one tram stop, after confirming that it was a stop on the tram line that we wanted, we were passed by the oncoming tram with a small wave from the driver as he passed us without even stopping. They have different stops for different directions of the same tram line. We were at a stop for the tram going the opposite way. We finally found the stop for the tram going in our desired direction several blocks away and had to wait another 15 minutes because the trams only run every half hour after midnight.

But, in the end we finally made it back by 2 a.m. or so, and all fell, totally drained, into bed. The next day would prove far more exhausting.

I Heart Running

Yesterday morning was the Budapest Marathon. I, however, took part in a much smaller event, the minimarathon. I woke up early on race day to drink some coffee, wake up, and relax before the event. I left my flat with plenty of time to get to the race. As I was walking down Andrassy, a street that would soon be part of my running route, I realized that this was the first race I had ever done completely by myself. That's not to say I haven't run races alone before. I ran the Atlanta Thanksgiving Day Half Marathon last year by myself, but I had my family there to take me to the race and to meet me after. The feeling was a bit surprising because I hadn't expected it, but nonetheless it didn't dampen my desire to run the race. After all, I run for myself and no one else.

I got to the park where the race began with about half an hour until the start of my race. I calmly found a spot to stand that was out of the way and watched all the marathoners get situated at the start gate. They were scheduled to start fifteen minutes before me. After the start of the marathon, all the minimarathoners filled in the start lane behind the start line. As I waited among my fellow runners, the doubt that always fills me before a race began to creep in. As the gun went off and the entire body of runners surged forward, I had no choice but to suppress my doubts and go with the flow.

Once we were all out of the starting line and on the open road people spread out more and I was able to fall into a comfortable, if not slightly faster, stride. At the beginning of most races, a lot of people bolt from the starting line in excitement. I have worked hard to ignore this urge, choosing instead to run the pace that I know I can keep. In the first kilometer or two, I felt like I wasn't moving as the throngs of excited novices raced by me. Later in the race, however, I passed those same eager individuals as their legs forced them to pay for their impatient beginning.

This was the kind of run that makes all the pain, all the doubt, and all the half-hearted runs worth it. It felt great! My legs felt like they would carry me for miles. The weather was beautiful with the sun shining and a nice moderate autumn temperature, the traces of the morning cold just beginning to ebb. After the first few kilometers my legs felt good enough that realized that I could quicken my pace. I began to get a little faster after every kilometer. I picked people out in front of me and tried to either stay with them or pass them.

By the time I got to kilometer six, I was still feeling like I had barely done any work, so I picked it up a couple of notches. When I reached the seven kilometer mark with only 500 meters to go, I opened my stride up and let my legs take me. At the 100 meter mark I was in an all out sprint with the finish line in my sights. I haven't had a race like that in a long time. I shattered the time I was tentatively hoping for, and upon finishing I felt like I could have gone on longer. I couldn't have asked for a better sense of self satisfaction.

In a nutshell, this type of run is why I love running. One good day can make every bad day worth it. So, to all those who wonder why it is that I go out every day and run, rain or shine, snow or ice, now you know. After all the work, and all the miles, there isn't a better feeling of euphoria than when the beat of your heart is one with the rhythm of your stride.

Anniversaries, Canadians, and Scottish Dancing

Today is technically my one month anniversary in Budapest. I arrived on September 3 and today is October 3. I feel as if I am in some sort of paradox because it feels as though I have been in Budapest far longer than only slightly over four weeks, but when I look back on my time here, I can't believe that it has been four weeks already. I feel as though this anniversary serves as not only a temporal milestone, but also an emotional one. I have, at times in these first few weeks, felt as if I had really adjusted to living here, but I realize that only now have I truly adjusted. I am comfortable in my surroundings and have no misgivings about how to get around (for the most part). I have created a web of friends and have branched out from my initial "gang". I am now on the verge of leaving the comforts of Budapest to explore Europe as a whole. I even successfully ordered some sajtos posacsak completely in Hungarian with my extensive knowledge of Hungarian numbers and a couple key phrases.

Earlier this afternoon, I walked to Heroes Square down the gorgeous Andrassy Utca to pick up my race packet for the race I am running in tomorrow. Tomorrow is the Budapest Marathon. I, however, am not up to the challenge of running a 26.2 miles (about 42 km), so I will be running a minimarathon at the very comfortable distance of 7.5km (about 4.5 miles). I succeeded in picking up my packet and was headed back the way I came when I was approached by an elderly man. He said something to me to which I stared blankly at him. To tell you the truth, I had no idea what he had said or what language he had said it in. He quickly spoke in English and gestured to the camera in his hand. He wanted me to take a picture of him under the marathon banner. After I took the picture and handed his camera back, he motioned to my t-shirt and said "You're from Canada," more of a statement than a question. At first I was confused by his accusation, but I quickly realized how he had gotten the idea, and instead of correcting him nodded furiously. I was wearing my Oakland, CA (California) joggers and striders t-shirt. I then proceeded to have a short conversation with him, all the while pretending I was a native maple leaf. Oh, how I love people's inability to pinpoint my nationality here.

Budapest itself must believe that I have truly adjusted, for tonight I was mistaken twice within a five minute span of being a native. I was walking to the metro (with my headphones in as usual) and stopped to wait at a crosswalk. As I was standing there, a woman walks up to me a starts talking. With music blaring in my ears I couldn't tell if she was speaking Hungarian or pig Latin. I hurriedly pulled my earphones out and found to my horror that I was being spoken to in rapid Hungarian. I listened for a couple seconds and then found myself faced with a silence, she was waiting for me to respond. I only had one response for her:"I'm sorry, I don't speak Hungarian," to which she waved me off and was left with no choice, but to stand next to me in silence.

Once the light changed I quickly hurried across the street desperately trying to escape the very awkward and embarrassing situation I had just been a party to. In the next block I was again confronted, this time by a man who had pulled up to the side of the street perpendicular to mine. As before, I had to pull out my headphones and have him repeat himself, but to my relief he spoke in English. He asked me where Astoria was. I happen to know where Astoria is, but I have never been there by car, which was his mode of travel. I have only been there by metro. I tried to determine Astoria's location relative to mine and give him at least a direction to travel in. I finally gave him some directions and continued walking. As I walked away I couldn't help but worry that I had given him wrong directions. I again pictured a map in my head and determined that I had actually managed to point him in the right direction! I must say, that pleased me a great deal.

But, the best part of the night was yet to come. I was invited to go to a Scottish Dance with my friend Jenny. I have never in my life been Scottish Dancing, but I thought it'd be a fun new experience, and oh, what an experience it was. After meeting up with Jenny, we hopped on the metro and went a few stops north of where I live. We then wandered down the street until we came to a community center, it's windows ablaze with activity. I was a bit unsure of myself as we walked in, but we were cordially welcomed, and being a bit late, hurriedly took our places.

As it turns out, the dance was really more of an instructional class for beginners that provided both dancing lessons and a social activity. Unfortunately, the social aspect of the evening proved difficult for Jenny and I. As non-Hungarian speakers, we were a bit alienated. It was quite an experience to take dance lessons without understanding a word the instructor was saying. My observational skills were put to the test because that was my only means of figuring out how to do the steps. Jenny Scottish dances at her college in the States, so she was familiar with most of the dances we did. While the instructor was jabbering away in Hungarian I would occasionally look over his shoulder across the circle to Jenny who was making hand gestures to imitate the dance steps. For the most part, though, I was able to pick the steps up quickly, and with no miming needed. By the end of the night I was better than some of the people who were in the class. It must be the Scottish blood in my veins.

The most noteworthy aspect of the evening were my interaction with the other members of the class. Keeping true to the style of dance, we switched partners often. This meant that there was a constant language barrier between my partner and I. I ended up dancing with this very nice man whom I could tell was a bit more advanced. At times he would say things to me, and I just smiled and nodded, too embarrassed to attempt further communication. At one point he turned to me and said "Bezelsz magyarul?" That happens to be one of the few phrases in Hungarian that I know, so I sadly replied "Nem, angolul." After that he helped me by motioning with his hands in an attempt to help me understand the steps the instructor was describing in words.

Despite the language barrier, it was a fabulous evening. I had no idea what Scottish Dancing entailed before I arrived, but now I am considering going to the weekly classes. If you ever consider Scottish Dancing, get ready to polka. I had never polkaed before, and was unprepared for the wild rotating and leaping. I quickly learned to keep my knees out of the way. The polka was used throughout many of the dances we did. I encourage anyone to try Scottish Dancing. Even if you don't get your steps just right, all that matters is that you're in the right place on the down beat. Be forewarned, it is a workout. My feet were aching by the end. What a way to spend my one month anniversary!

A Wonderful Day in the Neighborhood

Oh what a day! Today started out as a usual Wednesday, hump day. When I woke up this morning I immediately began to prepare myself to just endure today. I made a pact with myself to crack down and study for my first probability midterm on Friday. Probability is proving more difficult than I expected. I can already see an infinite number of possibilities to use probability in science, so I'm sticking with it, but there are problems that, if not approached in just the right way, can be hell. All my anxiety about probability was soon forgotten the moment class ended this morning, however.

My culture class was canceled this afternoon, so after probability I was headed back to my flat with the idea of using my unexpected free time in a constructive and efficient manner. As I walked down the stairs I saw a couple of friends milling in the hallway and stopped to say hi. My casual greeting turned into a quick conversation that ended with an invite to one of my friend's flats to arrange buying tickets to different shows at the Opera House. With the night's cultural endeavors to look forward to, I continued down the stairs. Upon reaching the security desk I decided to check, as I had for the past five days, if the package my parents had sent had arrived yet. It had!!! I was handed a box with my name on it, in what I recognized as my mother's handwriting. Needless to say, I hurried out of school and off to the metro to get home to find out what treasures lay inside the box in my hands.

It is absolutely ridiculous how excited I was at the sight of dish towels and coffee filters. As soon I got back to my flat I immediately opened up my long awaited package. To my delight a treasure trove of mundane items lay before me. The aforementioned dish towels (which only my mother would think to send) and coffee filters were only the beginning. My box also contained spices I had requested, office supplies, a book that had been left behind, a few movies, delicious peanut butter pretzel bites and caramel corn, and last, but not least, jack-o-lantern lights to hang in my room. To the average Joe these items wouldn't seem cause for celebration. In fact, many people might think they'd fallen from grace if they received post-its and coffee filters, but to me these items were invaluable.

I have yet to find the equivalent of a Target here. The all-in-one, one-stop shop doesn't exist here. There are different stores for everything. Where in Target you have to venture into another aisle to find stationary, here you have to go to a paper store a few blocks down. The same is true for groceries, electronics, household items, clothes, etc. To this day I still haven't seen a coffee filter. I know the coffee maker in my flat needs them, so they must exist, but where they are hiding I will never know. I have been reduced to using toilet paper and paper towels as make shift filters for the past month.

I couldn't contain my elation, so I decided to put it to good use and strapped on my shoes for a run. In the time it had taken me to open my package and change, a light sprinkling had begun to descend from the overcast sky. For days the clouds have been threatening to drain their accumulations. I didn't mind, though. I would rather run in the rain than with the too hot sun scorching overhead. It felt great to take to the road in such a good mood. I wasn't even discouraged by the cramp that suddenly made its presence known through the nerve endings in my abdomen. I set my resolve and ignored the steadily sharpening pain, resolute that it would not slow my foot falls. Eventually, the pain faded and I fell into an easy rhythm, free to let my mind wander.

When I finished my run, I cracked down and studied for a couple hours before heading over to John and Franky's for dinner with the gang. In the midst of studying my phone rang. I checked the number, but didn't recognize it. Fearing that I was about to be assaulted by Hungarian that I wouldn't be able to understand, I tentatively answered. It was the apple store down the street calling to tell me my replacement battery for my computer had arrived!! When I ordered the battery, the sales man told me it would take four or five days to get here. That was two and a half weeks ago. I'm thrilled to finally have a battery that lasts more than twenty minutes without rudely, and without warning, shutting off.

I wasn't able to stay long at dinner because I was off to arrange cultural excursions, but it was a great dinner. After not hanging out with the gang much in the past couple of days, it was nice to see them. The icing on the cake of today happened over at Jenny's. I was signed up to go to a Philharmonic Orchestra concert in mid October, a Ballet in mid November, and an opera at the end of November. And, all for a whopping grand total of 2,000 HUF (equivalent to a little more than $10). I can't wait! After all the logistics were taken care of in terms of shows playing at the Opera House, talking turned to traveling. Everyone at Jenny's was just as fired up to go traveling as I am. It turns out some of them are planning to go to Madrid in November, and they don't mind me tagging along. That's as much of an invite as I need. Looks like I'm headed to Spain! Hola España! I've never been so excited to speak Spanish. I automatically start thinking in Spanish when I'm in my Hungarian class. I'll think of something I'd like to say in Hungarian, and Spanish quickly rises to fill the void that is my knowledge of Hungarian. I can't wait to actually be able to communicate in a foreign language.

I also got into a conversation with one of the guys there about making a trip to Krakow and Auschwitz. Not to mention, people are already starting to think about a trip to Istanbul, and I'm headed to Prague next weekend. Budapest is only the staging area. The whole of Europe is open to me, and I plan on making the most of it!

Nagycsarnok

Yesterday my Hungarian language class took a trip to Nagycsarnok (Great Market Hall). It's this huge building with three levels full of vendors selling everything from fruits, veggies, famous Hungarian stuffed cabbage and lángos, anything pickeled you could ever desire, meats and cheeses, to Chinese spices. It was absolutely incredible. I likened it to the Farmer's Market (it's much more of an international market) that I have near home, but Nagycsarnok (nawdg-char-knock) was so much more!

When you walk in you are faced with the large central aisle. It's wide and well lit with many impressive meat and cheese counters near the front. As you walk down it there are many aisles that lead off to the smaller left and right aisles. A little tip my language teacher shared with us is that the left side is considered the Eastern European side. Things might not be as well displayed and look as impressive, but prices are cheaper. The more American right side is lined with more impressive displays that my teacher likened to window shopping that attract the wandering and clueless customer. Be aware, you'll pay more for this. Further down the central aisle are some fruit vendors (there are vastly more on the side aisles) and then, my personal favorite, the free range chicken and poultry counter. I was very impressed that they sell free range chickens.

Near the fruit stands you pass stairwells on either side of the central aisle. These lead upstairs to an entirely different category of vendors. Upstairs you can find clothes, typical tourist souvenirs, and some "fast food" counters. Our teacher directed us towards a lángos (long-oh-sh) stand. Lángos is a typical Hungarian food that consists of fried dough in a large, flat round (similar to a kind of light, fried pancake) and is topped with a variety of toppings from cheese and sour cream to jelly or nutella. I decided to try the kind with sour cream and cheese (my teacher recommended it). It was very good. I'm anxious to try one with a sweeter topping.

After getting our lángos we headed down to the basement where they have a regular grocery store and a Chinese market. The Chinese market was amazing. They had an entire wall of spices and some American items such as crunchy peanut butter! The peanut butter was even in a plastic jar. Everywhere else I can only get peanut butter and nutella in glass jars. I was also able to find Arborio rice for a recipe my mom sent me. Down in the basement you can find a variety of pickled things in jars as well as lots of different types of fresh seafood and fish.

After showing us the different parts of the market, my teacher dismissed us and let us shop for ourselves. I was lucky I had a friend of mine with me who took the Hungarian language program that was offered. She had a much larger vocabulary than I do and had already been to the market before. We scoured the cheaper left side in search of fruits and veggies. I ended up with some great tomatoes, beans, apples, bananas, and green onions. I managed to communicate (with some help from Jenny) to the vendors what I wanted. I would either pathetically attempt to pronounce the word on the sign by the item and indicate both verbally and with my fingers how many of that item I wanted or just pick it up and hand it to them to weigh. In some instances the vendors seemed to have just as much trouble understanding me as I them. A friendly reminder: they use the metric system in Europe, so brush up on your grams, decagrams, and kilos.

After about 2 1/2 hours of being in the market (I could have spent hours more just wandering around and looking at everything) I headed back home on the tram/metro with my book bag bursting with fresh fruits, vegetables, meats, and cheeses. As soon as I figure out how to light my gas oven I'm going to cook like a mad woman!