This was first released to much acclaim on November 23, 2009. Since then, interest has dwindled.
Hello!
This is really long. I won't even read it. Control F for what you want to hear about.
When I first met my friend Ali in 1st year, I thought, "Oh great, another hot, boring, blonde girl from California" but after learning she is of Hungarian royalty, she has become an increasingly interesting person. So, this weekend I took a trip to her ancestral home, in the mountains above the Balaton in the little village of Lovasbereny. As it was a Sunday, no trains ran directly there so I had to walk from the train station for about two hours through a foggy forest uphill, but it was all worth it. Walking towards Cziraky Kastely, I spotted a group of babas who were leaving the church. I approached and asked, in what I can only assume was perfect Hungarian, where he castle was. They all got excited and pointed in its general direction. They asked if I was Magyar, I said no but tried to explain that my friend's grandpa was born there. In the end, they didn't understand me, I didn't understand them, and they were too shy to have their pictures taken (they were all four foot tall octagenarians in fur coats with canes, linking arms as they walked. This photo would have financed another year of my trip). I did get a photo from far away but it wasn't as amazing as the up close. Anyways, the palace was incredible, though almost entirely abandoned and boarded up. I snuck around the perimeter and spied through the windows like a creep, but it was completely gutted. It was a very beautiful building, but the plaster was falling off it on the outside. I actually felt it was more real and easy to place historically than the retrofitted tourist attractions. So, feeling conflicted about preservation vs authenticism, I naturally went to the only pub in town (right across from the castle) and let the experience soak in with an enormous mug of mulled wine. It helped. (Afterthoughts: I took a whole series of pictures and a video diary of this trip but somehow my photocard caught a virus and they are trapped, possibly forever. Maybe we'll never know what this trip was actually like?).
I love being Canadian. Not only does it win me friends by the pound here, but being around other Canadians is a culturally comforting thing. A guy from Montreal and I went out with an Australian and American to a cluuub and on the way home stopped for some paninis. There was a man inside who asked where we were all from and was so excited that we were from Canada that he insisted on paying for our meal. We couldn't accept, but he told us he had lived in Toronto and found the level of openess and multicultural awareness in Canada to be so great and beyond compare that he left with a much more open minded view of the world and felt that it was a way to repay us for what Canada gave him. It was quite tearful and we gratefully accepted. He even bought sandwiches for the Australian and American, and afterwards the Montrealer and I smugly said to them, "you're welcome" because lord knows their countries haven't done anything for the world.
So as you can see I am making fast friends here, as demonstrated by the following conversations:
Me: "I really like red cabbage with apples. Where can I buy some?"
Woman: "That's not a Hungarian dish."
Me: "But I had some the other day with my meal."
Woman: "In Hungary? No, we don't eat that here."
Me: "But the menu actually said 'Red Cabbage with Apples'"
Woman: "It wasn't red cabbage with apples. That's not a Hungarian dish."
Me: "Look. It happened."
Girl: "I am an English teacher. This is one of my students. He speaks English really good."
Me: "He speaks English really well."
Girl: "@%$& you."
*pause*
Me: "Well I can see you don't need help with the imperative."
Have any of you ever actually tried to learn English? Evidently we have 12 tenses, and I have no idea where those came from. I cannot believe the hoops we make the rest of the world jump through. It is fascinating to see how people learn English, because what logically follows in their language comes out bizarre in ours. What's most shocking to me is that English is not the world standard from which everything deviates. I can't believe American cultural hegemony has lead me astray. The receptionist at the library loves me and asks me questions about English (i.e. "The cat is purring" vs. "The cat purrs") that make me stop and realise I have no idea what I am talking about half the time and the only reason I know anything about the English language is because I studied Russian. I go to the library to read the Economist and L'Express when I'm feeling plucky (I really only browse the article titles and the captions but no one speaks French here so I end up looking very high class. You have no idea how terrified I am of being called out one day).
So I was potentially poisoned the other day. I was in the market, buying fresh sauerkraut, salt pork and walnuts as though it were a usual Thursday and I happened upon a kindly old baba who didn't have much in her barrow so I decided to buy some walnuts. She was also selling homemade V8 juice, sealed with an elastic over some seran wrap. The seran covering on one suddenly popped and she marked the price down. I thought, "for 200 forints, she's practically paying me to take it" so I took a few sips and went on my way. I was sitting and reading a few hours later when suddenly a vision came to me of Ms. Thompson from Foods 9/10 holding a bulging can and saying, "I could kill everyone in the room with this." While I have been known to defy Ms. Thompson in the past, there was no denying her sage advice in this instance so I ran to the washroom to induce vomiting, in a vain attempt to purge every last trace of botulism from my body. But there was no tomato juice to be found in my stomach, and I suspected it would show up later, in 3-5 days when I went paralyzed and stopped breathing. The worst part was not knowing how to handle the situation. Do I pay money for preventative treatment now or should I let my health insurance cover the Iron Lung that I will be put on for several weeks in a Hungarian hospital? I'm fairly uneasy about non-Western medical care. In my world hierarchy of medicine there is Canada at the top (and I know we are good because we poach doctors from all around the world and make them mop floors and drive taxis until they are ready to practice real medicine), then the UK, metropolitan US, and maybe Australia and Western Europe. After that there is Hungary, the former Soviet Union, Spain, and then Somalia, East Timor, rural Idaho, etc. Anyways, I have spent the last 5 days in paralyzing fear which does little to help detect the early warnings of botulism, paralysis. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to deal with, emotionally, in my entire life. On the one hand, I cannot believe that I am going to die, but on the other hand, I can believe thatthis is how I am going to die.
Going to market has been pretty positive for the most part. I made chicken paprikas the other day, and when I was buying meat the lady reached into a huge display case of raw chicken with her bare hands, grabbed a few breasts, weighed them, took my money with the same chickeny hands, then gave me my change and a bag of chicken. I had no room in my bag so carried it. I think I like the East most because it's the only place where I can walk around the city with a clear plastic bag full of raw meat without attracting attention. In fact, I feel even more inconspicuous this way.
Hope you're all keeping well,
Rory
Monday, November 23, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Best of the Pest / Le plus de la Buda
Aside from the architecture, the planning, the Danube, and its history, what makes Budapest such an enchanting city is the constant reminders of where you are, culturally. Not quite East, but not West enough, structure from the North with a penchant for the finer things of the South, as much as I tease Hungarians for being wholly and truly “Eastern Europe” they are in fact firmly in the centre. As a result of this crossroads, matched with a language that accommodates no one, much of contemporary Hungarian culture is a fusion of their deep-set roots with the Kanti and Maansi tribes of the Urals, and their reaction to long term cohabitation with Slavic, Teutonic, Latin and Turkic neighbours.
1) Limited Opening Hours. If you tend to get hungry outside the hours of 10am-8pm, then Hungary may not be for you. Not even the bakers rise before 9am. Furthermore, grocery stores will close at 8pm, and cafes and restaurants at 10-11pm, and the ones that remain open will simply stop serving food. And, just to be a tease, they will hang their ‘Open’ signs, open all doors and windows, lay out patio furniture, and then when you walk in bark “Closed!” at you. So is it any wonder I find myself rising at 7am every morning, and heading straight to the 0-24 NonStop Tesco, or Costa Coffee, again to be disappointed?
2) Irrational Opening Hours. And then are shops that are open all the time. NonStop. If I want a panini for less than $2, I can have it at 4am on a Wednesday. But I cannot have it at 10am on a Sunday morning. That would be silly. Nothing is open on Sunday.
3) NonStop. Of the few English words appropriated into the Hungarian language, “NonStop” is one that slightly missed the mark. ‘0-24 NonStop’ typically implies just that. If, when I approach at 23:30, and I am told by a security guard that the place is closed, would it not be easier to have that man run a till?
4) The Hungarian Language. Oh my. If you’ve ever failed at learning French, Hungarian is not the logical backup choice. It won’t even help you achieve your dream of learning Finnish. Hungarian is a language that waits for no one. ‘Vendeglő” is a restaurant, ‘Vendeglo’ is a ‘guest horse.’ As in, a horse who is a guest. If you don’t lengthen or shorten a vowel sound, no one will know, or even show interest in wanting to know, what you are talking about:
“Kérek egy kávét tejjel.”
“Tejjel?”
“Igen. Tej.”
“Tej?”
“Igen, tej.”
“Nem ertem.”
“Tej.”
“Ó! Thé?”
“Nem, tej. Look, hogy mongyák, ‘Reach into your lexicon and find a three-letter word that starts with a “T” and could possibly relate to something that goes with coffee. Please. Just infer. We are in a café. Kérem. Köszönöm’ magyarul?”
Then again, if a Hungarian showed up in rural Canada without knowing a lick of English, aside from being totally impressed that he or she had made it that far without dying, I would have no time for that.
5) Roma women who give me free socks: Sure, it sounds all friendly at first, giving you free socks , but do not think that that 3-pack of athletic sockettes does not come with strings . First they are making kind gestures, and the next thing you know they show up at your door with their vardos and all 37 members of their immediate family and move in, start doing laundry in your sink and using your dishwasher to store their many trinkets, castanets, and gold and lapis lazuli jewelry, not unlike my grandmother used to do with her kettle (store it in her dishwasher, not hoard semi-precious stones).
6) Trianon. Please, I beg you, stop. Stop blaming me for Trianon. I can assure you I played little to no role in the Paris Peace Conference. As far as I am concerned, ‘Trianon’ is a song by Fleetwood Mac.
7) Paying for ketchup. And I am not even sure if this red, glossy goop is real ketchup. Dollop for dollop, at $1 each this works out to about a $48 bottle. In fact, I am starting to understand the logic behind old ladies who hoard packets of ketchup and vinegar from fast food restaurants. They have seen it all, they remember.
8) A heightened sense of awareness. In keeping with inconsistency, Hungarians will both swerve into you while walking, stop directly in front of you and turn around with no warning, and then will hold the door for you and thank you for doing the same. Certainly in the running for “Politest Society in Europe.”
9) Obligatory (but free), coat check. Despite the fact that public buildings are heat full blast with no disregard for the Russians possibly cutting off the gas again, the one-worker-per-coat-check thing is not working for me. I am not waiting somewhere between 30 seconds and 25 minutes in a line that does not actually appear to exist while one old man deals with both taking in and handing out coats on a completely arbitrary basis. Hungarians take pride in organized irrationality: this place is so…German about being Russian.
10) Queuing. And Private Security Firms. One till open, and four security guards standing around making sure no one in the line that wraps itself around the entirety of the Tesco Expressz steals. I’m sure with shorter lines, we’d all be less inclined to steal. I just want my Dr. Oetker’s pizza.
1) Limited Opening Hours. If you tend to get hungry outside the hours of 10am-8pm, then Hungary may not be for you. Not even the bakers rise before 9am. Furthermore, grocery stores will close at 8pm, and cafes and restaurants at 10-11pm, and the ones that remain open will simply stop serving food. And, just to be a tease, they will hang their ‘Open’ signs, open all doors and windows, lay out patio furniture, and then when you walk in bark “Closed!” at you. So is it any wonder I find myself rising at 7am every morning, and heading straight to the 0-24 NonStop Tesco, or Costa Coffee, again to be disappointed?
2) Irrational Opening Hours. And then are shops that are open all the time. NonStop. If I want a panini for less than $2, I can have it at 4am on a Wednesday. But I cannot have it at 10am on a Sunday morning. That would be silly. Nothing is open on Sunday.
3) NonStop. Of the few English words appropriated into the Hungarian language, “NonStop” is one that slightly missed the mark. ‘0-24 NonStop’ typically implies just that. If, when I approach at 23:30, and I am told by a security guard that the place is closed, would it not be easier to have that man run a till?
4) The Hungarian Language. Oh my. If you’ve ever failed at learning French, Hungarian is not the logical backup choice. It won’t even help you achieve your dream of learning Finnish. Hungarian is a language that waits for no one. ‘Vendeglő” is a restaurant, ‘Vendeglo’ is a ‘guest horse.’ As in, a horse who is a guest. If you don’t lengthen or shorten a vowel sound, no one will know, or even show interest in wanting to know, what you are talking about:
“Kérek egy kávét tejjel.”
“Tejjel?”
“Igen. Tej.”
“Tej?”
“Igen, tej.”
“Nem ertem.”
“Tej.”
“Ó! Thé?”
“Nem, tej. Look, hogy mongyák, ‘Reach into your lexicon and find a three-letter word that starts with a “T” and could possibly relate to something that goes with coffee. Please. Just infer. We are in a café. Kérem. Köszönöm’ magyarul?”
Then again, if a Hungarian showed up in rural Canada without knowing a lick of English, aside from being totally impressed that he or she had made it that far without dying, I would have no time for that.
5) Roma women who give me free socks: Sure, it sounds all friendly at first, giving you free socks , but do not think that that 3-pack of athletic sockettes does not come with strings . First they are making kind gestures, and the next thing you know they show up at your door with their vardos and all 37 members of their immediate family and move in, start doing laundry in your sink and using your dishwasher to store their many trinkets, castanets, and gold and lapis lazuli jewelry, not unlike my grandmother used to do with her kettle (store it in her dishwasher, not hoard semi-precious stones).
6) Trianon. Please, I beg you, stop. Stop blaming me for Trianon. I can assure you I played little to no role in the Paris Peace Conference. As far as I am concerned, ‘Trianon’ is a song by Fleetwood Mac.
7) Paying for ketchup. And I am not even sure if this red, glossy goop is real ketchup. Dollop for dollop, at $1 each this works out to about a $48 bottle. In fact, I am starting to understand the logic behind old ladies who hoard packets of ketchup and vinegar from fast food restaurants. They have seen it all, they remember.
8) A heightened sense of awareness. In keeping with inconsistency, Hungarians will both swerve into you while walking, stop directly in front of you and turn around with no warning, and then will hold the door for you and thank you for doing the same. Certainly in the running for “Politest Society in Europe.”
9) Obligatory (but free), coat check. Despite the fact that public buildings are heat full blast with no disregard for the Russians possibly cutting off the gas again, the one-worker-per-coat-check thing is not working for me. I am not waiting somewhere between 30 seconds and 25 minutes in a line that does not actually appear to exist while one old man deals with both taking in and handing out coats on a completely arbitrary basis. Hungarians take pride in organized irrationality: this place is so…German about being Russian.
10) Queuing. And Private Security Firms. One till open, and four security guards standing around making sure no one in the line that wraps itself around the entirety of the Tesco Expressz steals. I’m sure with shorter lines, we’d all be less inclined to steal. I just want my Dr. Oetker’s pizza.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
MagyaRORszág
Right, well get used to puns and portmanteaux.
From Bratislava I took the train to Budapest, but rather than do anything directly, I was determined to save 1 or 2 euros and spend countless additional hours and emotional energy to get there. I took the train to Komarno, a small Slovak town on the Danube and walked cross the bridge to its Hungarian counterpart, Komarom to catch a train Budapest-wards. I was ecstatic to be back in Hungary, but was disappointed East-Central Europe has joined Schengen and that I would not be getting a stamp of a port-of-entry rife with umlauts (I had to wait a few weeks for Lőkösháza. Ask me how to pronounce it. Go ahead). The first thing I noticed was how different the two towns were in terms of development. A journal entry from November 2, 2009, confirms this:
“The Hungarian side seems much more run-down and less prosperous. The Slovak side is hopping: more stores, scaffolding, and well-dressed people. It must receive more money because they are renovating a huge fortress there. Hungarian trains are nicer, newer, cleaner and faster, though not on time. Slovak trains are efficient and nothing if not punctual, though considerably shabbier. It’s interesting to see where the governments decide to allocate money and how it is spent. Just like when I was at that golf event this summer and that British/Australian/South African woman sat next to me and started talking to me about being a councilor for Port Moody and being on the budget committee and going to Africa to work in a village and how when she started, they had no computers and how they had to convert everything over to a new system to make it more efficient. At this point I realized I hadn’t been listening (her accent was strong) and I wasn’t sure if she was talking about Port Moody or Africa, and right now I’m not sure why I deemed this story relevant, but nevertheless, the allocation of public monies and infrastructure upgrades are interesting.”
Interesting indeed. The following post appeared on November 5, 2009, in select e-mail inboxes across North America but is now available en masse, with additional footage and afterthoughts. Everything is better retrospectively!
Hi.
So Eastern Europe is, without a doubt and from a wholly biased point of view, the greatest place on earth. This is why I have waited over a month to even bother emailing. Italy, for the most part, was as to be expected, and while I felt much less safe anywhere near a road in Italy, Italians iare, more or less, simply Latin Americans who went to private school. France was quaint and expensive, though I really enjoyed the French as a people. So welcoming and kind, and with such a flat out refusal to learn English. This helped me greatly when I decided to hitchhike from Montpellier to Barcelona, and rode with 8 different people. I could not get over how friendly they all were. One guy, a Jesuit missionary, offered to pay for my train ticket but I refused, because as much as I love getting money from Catholics, I like to improve my conversational skills more. Spain, for the most part, is as we left it in 1995 (for more on this, please consult "The Babins in Europe '95," with a special feature of the Legoland Driving school which is available through the Perley Elementary Library, or was until a certain teacher took it home and kept it and kindly informed me that I could have it back—for a price). So when I was given the option of flying to Sicily and then taking a ferry to Tunisia, but I realised that it involves sitting in Tunisia for several months. With little chance of getting into Algeria, and no chance of getting into Libya, it seemed that I would be bored. Not to mention how terrified I am of the Middle East, what with the terrorism and everything.
So, on a whim, I changed my flight to one of my favourite cities in Europe, Bratislava, and I am now in Budapest. It is so cold here. My plans of never seeing snow this year were thwarted by the flurry that hit Bratislava the morning I left. I also reek of smoke at all times and have had a permanent coating of phlegm in my lungs, and have a weakened, ephemeral sense of smell from all the smoke and pollution of Barcelona, and now from the beer parlours of Slovakia. Unfortunately for me, my olfaction returned to me just as I was boarding a flight to Bratislava from Barcelona and was placed next to an elderly Slovak couple. The ripe smell of old wool and the steadfast refusal to use deodorant was a clear and present reminder of communist-era consumer goods shortages, and these two seemed intent on keeping this memory alive. Barcelona was sweltering when I left, and I boarded the plane with hopes that a slightly cooler climate would help. Instead, I landed in 1 degree weather and immediately regretted every step in my life I had taken that led me to this point. But the bus ride to the hostel, and the overabundance of fur on the riders reminded me why I had come to experience the east, once again.
I had a nice dinner of Chinese food tonight, which I have resolved is something I will do in every country I visit. Chinese food is an interesting thing to use as a control subject, because it has such similar qualities everywhere you go. For starters, it is never "local" cuisine (not even in China), so people don't charge outrageous prices for something that could be disappointing. Instead, it is reasonably priced and you're well aware it inevitably will be disappointing. Second, the interiors are immaculately kept and they spare no expense in decorating. Third, as in Vancouver, as in Barcelona and as in Bratislava, they are completely empty. At all times. As a result, the actual food is the only thing that ever changes. Apart from that, I have wandered around Bratislava which is a pretty amazing city for being so small. And I met Mormons! They were from Arizona and Utah, fluent in Slovak and they invited me in for coffee and conversation, but I forced them, to answer all my questions outside in the freezing cold where people could see me and ensure my safety. Nice people. Most/all answers related back to Jesus. Slovak English language television seems to consist of four music channels (one which is devoted solely to music from the past 30 years in an effort to allow Slovaks to “catch up” and normalize I take it) and E! or whetever that channel is called. So far I have watched a documentary on Eva Longoria Parker and "Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami." In hindsight, it's a really good thing I briefly started watching "Keeping up with the Kardashians" this summer because it has really given me background into the complex relationships there. I've also watched parts of episodes of "Girls of the Playboy Mansion" or something along those lines translated into Slovak. I think this is the type of television Slovaks can really relate to. Considering the vast majority of today's most popular adult film actresses come from Slovakia, this is a pretty effective recruiting tool.
I am now in Hungary and will be dining on goose and roast pumpkin this weekend for the Feast of St Martin. Hungarians are the warmest of people I have encountered so far and are fully aware of how ridiculous their language is, vis-a-vis every other language on the planet ("with the possible exception of the African clicking ones," Fungary Magazine tells me). Have you any idea what a "Gyogyszertar" is? If you have ever tried to find a place to eat after 8pm in Budapest, you would think this language to be very frustrating. I have no idea what "restaurant" or "eatery" or even "kebab shop" is (¡they don't have kebabs here!) so who knows what I have passed up. The other thing is that they separate restaurants, beer parlours, wine parlours, bars, and cluuubs here. The prices for wine are outrageously high in beer parlours, and so on. Also, on main streets prices are triple their equivalent on side streets. Hungarians love the market economy. I did find an all-you-can-eat-Hungarian buffet, where for $18 I can eat and drink all the traditional Hungarian fare I want in the space of 3 hours. I will report back soon.
Fur is everywhere. I saw a woman wearing a whole bear and I asked to take a picture. She was (very) Russian and quite excited and asked, "And you are deeesigner from Amerika?" Considering that I look dirty and poor, I had to say no, but I do think people should be wearing more full animal carcasses.
I'm out. I need to beat the crowds in the metro to buy fresh peppers for the morning stew. Yes, stew for breakfast. I'm probably never coming home.
Rory
From Bratislava I took the train to Budapest, but rather than do anything directly, I was determined to save 1 or 2 euros and spend countless additional hours and emotional energy to get there. I took the train to Komarno, a small Slovak town on the Danube and walked cross the bridge to its Hungarian counterpart, Komarom to catch a train Budapest-wards. I was ecstatic to be back in Hungary, but was disappointed East-Central Europe has joined Schengen and that I would not be getting a stamp of a port-of-entry rife with umlauts (I had to wait a few weeks for Lőkösháza. Ask me how to pronounce it. Go ahead). The first thing I noticed was how different the two towns were in terms of development. A journal entry from November 2, 2009, confirms this:
“The Hungarian side seems much more run-down and less prosperous. The Slovak side is hopping: more stores, scaffolding, and well-dressed people. It must receive more money because they are renovating a huge fortress there. Hungarian trains are nicer, newer, cleaner and faster, though not on time. Slovak trains are efficient and nothing if not punctual, though considerably shabbier. It’s interesting to see where the governments decide to allocate money and how it is spent. Just like when I was at that golf event this summer and that British/Australian/South African woman sat next to me and started talking to me about being a councilor for Port Moody and being on the budget committee and going to Africa to work in a village and how when she started, they had no computers and how they had to convert everything over to a new system to make it more efficient. At this point I realized I hadn’t been listening (her accent was strong) and I wasn’t sure if she was talking about Port Moody or Africa, and right now I’m not sure why I deemed this story relevant, but nevertheless, the allocation of public monies and infrastructure upgrades are interesting.”
Interesting indeed. The following post appeared on November 5, 2009, in select e-mail inboxes across North America but is now available en masse, with additional footage and afterthoughts. Everything is better retrospectively!
Hi.
So Eastern Europe is, without a doubt and from a wholly biased point of view, the greatest place on earth. This is why I have waited over a month to even bother emailing. Italy, for the most part, was as to be expected, and while I felt much less safe anywhere near a road in Italy, Italians iare, more or less, simply Latin Americans who went to private school. France was quaint and expensive, though I really enjoyed the French as a people. So welcoming and kind, and with such a flat out refusal to learn English. This helped me greatly when I decided to hitchhike from Montpellier to Barcelona, and rode with 8 different people. I could not get over how friendly they all were. One guy, a Jesuit missionary, offered to pay for my train ticket but I refused, because as much as I love getting money from Catholics, I like to improve my conversational skills more. Spain, for the most part, is as we left it in 1995 (for more on this, please consult "The Babins in Europe '95," with a special feature of the Legoland Driving school which is available through the Perley Elementary Library, or was until a certain teacher took it home and kept it and kindly informed me that I could have it back—for a price). So when I was given the option of flying to Sicily and then taking a ferry to Tunisia, but I realised that it involves sitting in Tunisia for several months. With little chance of getting into Algeria, and no chance of getting into Libya, it seemed that I would be bored. Not to mention how terrified I am of the Middle East, what with the terrorism and everything.
So, on a whim, I changed my flight to one of my favourite cities in Europe, Bratislava, and I am now in Budapest. It is so cold here. My plans of never seeing snow this year were thwarted by the flurry that hit Bratislava the morning I left. I also reek of smoke at all times and have had a permanent coating of phlegm in my lungs, and have a weakened, ephemeral sense of smell from all the smoke and pollution of Barcelona, and now from the beer parlours of Slovakia. Unfortunately for me, my olfaction returned to me just as I was boarding a flight to Bratislava from Barcelona and was placed next to an elderly Slovak couple. The ripe smell of old wool and the steadfast refusal to use deodorant was a clear and present reminder of communist-era consumer goods shortages, and these two seemed intent on keeping this memory alive. Barcelona was sweltering when I left, and I boarded the plane with hopes that a slightly cooler climate would help. Instead, I landed in 1 degree weather and immediately regretted every step in my life I had taken that led me to this point. But the bus ride to the hostel, and the overabundance of fur on the riders reminded me why I had come to experience the east, once again.
I had a nice dinner of Chinese food tonight, which I have resolved is something I will do in every country I visit. Chinese food is an interesting thing to use as a control subject, because it has such similar qualities everywhere you go. For starters, it is never "local" cuisine (not even in China), so people don't charge outrageous prices for something that could be disappointing. Instead, it is reasonably priced and you're well aware it inevitably will be disappointing. Second, the interiors are immaculately kept and they spare no expense in decorating. Third, as in Vancouver, as in Barcelona and as in Bratislava, they are completely empty. At all times. As a result, the actual food is the only thing that ever changes. Apart from that, I have wandered around Bratislava which is a pretty amazing city for being so small. And I met Mormons! They were from Arizona and Utah, fluent in Slovak and they invited me in for coffee and conversation, but I forced them, to answer all my questions outside in the freezing cold where people could see me and ensure my safety. Nice people. Most/all answers related back to Jesus. Slovak English language television seems to consist of four music channels (one which is devoted solely to music from the past 30 years in an effort to allow Slovaks to “catch up” and normalize I take it) and E! or whetever that channel is called. So far I have watched a documentary on Eva Longoria Parker and "Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami." In hindsight, it's a really good thing I briefly started watching "Keeping up with the Kardashians" this summer because it has really given me background into the complex relationships there. I've also watched parts of episodes of "Girls of the Playboy Mansion" or something along those lines translated into Slovak. I think this is the type of television Slovaks can really relate to. Considering the vast majority of today's most popular adult film actresses come from Slovakia, this is a pretty effective recruiting tool.
I am now in Hungary and will be dining on goose and roast pumpkin this weekend for the Feast of St Martin. Hungarians are the warmest of people I have encountered so far and are fully aware of how ridiculous their language is, vis-a-vis every other language on the planet ("with the possible exception of the African clicking ones," Fungary Magazine tells me). Have you any idea what a "Gyogyszertar" is? If you have ever tried to find a place to eat after 8pm in Budapest, you would think this language to be very frustrating. I have no idea what "restaurant" or "eatery" or even "kebab shop" is (¡they don't have kebabs here!) so who knows what I have passed up. The other thing is that they separate restaurants, beer parlours, wine parlours, bars, and cluuubs here. The prices for wine are outrageously high in beer parlours, and so on. Also, on main streets prices are triple their equivalent on side streets. Hungarians love the market economy. I did find an all-you-can-eat-Hungarian buffet, where for $18 I can eat and drink all the traditional Hungarian fare I want in the space of 3 hours. I will report back soon.
Fur is everywhere. I saw a woman wearing a whole bear and I asked to take a picture. She was (very) Russian and quite excited and asked, "And you are deeesigner from Amerika?" Considering that I look dirty and poor, I had to say no, but I do think people should be wearing more full animal carcasses.
I'm out. I need to beat the crowds in the metro to buy fresh peppers for the morning stew. Yes, stew for breakfast. I'm probably never coming home.
Rory
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