I was 20 minutes late meeting André in Prague. (I forgot the frustration and confusion that come along with trying to decode a new city's public transportation system, particularly if you don't speak the language!) Despite my tardiness, André met me with a hug and edelweiß smile! He looked the same, he sounded the same, he acted the same. It was perfect.
Occasionally, if I am lucky, I make a friend where time is arbitrary. We could be apart for 4 days, 7 weeks or 3 years, and within moments, it feels like we were together the day before. For me, that is how it was with André. I didn't feel any awkward lulls in our conversation, the type where someone always says, "SOOoooooo..." as they nod their head and look off in the distance. It was just, André.
We started our weekend off by finding a corner cafe for some brunch. I found myself a bit giddy and socially absurd. I blame the past month on my loss of social skills. I have noticed when I am excited or nervous my eyes water really easily, which is a hindrance for my eyeshadow and I. However, we had a terrific, laugh-filled (watery-eyed) brunch, where my order was incorrect and we were forced to split our sandwichs.
After this, we set off walking through the city. First, towards the Charles Bridge, and across it to the Hradcany or Castle District. We found a nice overlook of the city and I admired all it's terracota-colored roofs and spires that climbed toward the sky. We continued our aimless journey throughout the streets of Prague for many hours. Finally, we decided we must find The Golden Sickle, which was the hostel we had found online.
A few minor navigating problems couldn't thwart us from reaching the Golden Sickle, and 300 koruni later (each), we had ourselves a bed for the evening in their dorm-style rooms. All the bottom-bunks had been claimed. I was a bit disgruntled, but what are you going to do? I chose one, which ended up being above some seemingly kind, 40-something year old man. André was on the top-bunk across from me. I secretly dreamt of constructing a crude telephone system that would consist of two cans and a string, and could be strung across to both of our beds. This way if we had the urge in the middle of the night to have "girl talk" or pass secret codes, we could without disturbing our felow hostelers. Plus, it would be really cool.
The bad thing about our hostel was the layout of the rooms. They had basically made a flat into a hostel. The problem is there was no hallway to speak of, thus having to enter Room A to get to Room B, and go through Room B to get to Room C. We were in Room B, and so at 3:30 people were arriving to our room, and at 6:00 am-something drunk girls were trying to unlock Room C. Perhaps it is needless to say that it wasn't the best night's sleep. I must say that the staff and fellow hostelers were very friendly, though!
Also, every time I stay in a hostel, when the lights are out, and I am lying in bed trying to fall asleep, the same thought enters my mind. "I hope I get picked tomorrow!" I'm not sure if it's the fact that I am sleeping in bunkbeds in a room with 5 strangers, or the atmosphere of a hostels--being foreign, uncomfortable, and make you long for home, or perhaps, I watched "Madeline" or "Annie" too many times as a child. Somehow, when I stare up at the ceiling in a dark hostel room with a metal-frame bunk in my peripheral, I can't help but feel I am in an orphanage. I guess it is a silly and bizarre notion, but I always seem to think it. Minus this one night in Girona, Spain this summer where I was in a room of 12 with only a 50-something French couple. As if 50-year-olds staying in a youth hostel isn't odd enough, they decided to grind up some uncomfortable and sprinkle it over awkwardness by sleeping beside me, together in the same bed and whisper French haikus to one another all night.
Anyhow, back to Prague... after getting our hostel, we checked out some entertainment options for the evening on the free internet and '97 IBMS, they had at the hostel. Then, we ate a nice (over-priced) meal at a Mexican place... nowhere near as good as Camino Real or La Caretta >tear< but the Czexican comida was nice! Then, we set-off for a bar known as Matrix in hopes of listening to live indie-rock bands. This never came to happen because we couldn't find it, and ended up in a very non-posh part of Prague. We took a bus back into the city center, and spent the rest of the evening searching for a pub or bar to hang out in... we never found one of those either. Although, André and I did "nothing" that night, it was okay by me.
The following day we walked some more, and cafe/restaurant hopped until 17:30 and we said our goodbyes and parted. I had some serious difficulties finding the bus back to Ceske Budejovice and nearly had a panic attack trying to figure it out. When I made it to Ceske Budejovice, Joséf called and said his car had broken down on the way to pick me up, and he had arranged for a taxi. So, one 25-dollar taxi ride and I was back in Hluboka.
Basically, it was a great weekend spent with an amazing friend in a fantastic city! I am very appreciative for friends like André, even if he is German ;-) hehehe.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Please pick your nose..
I was very surprised. I was shocked, actually. I wanted him to pick his nose, and I wanted him to pick his nose badly. Considering I spend countless breaths a day telling Fina to stop picking her nose, and last fall, I was constantly telling my brother he should remove his sausage fingers from his nostrils as well, it's odd that I would desire such a thing. But you see, this man had a whistle booger. We have all had one at some point or another, wizzing with each inhale and whistling with each exhale. It's an awkward situation for everyone, including the Whistle Boogler themself. However, some elements take the awkwardness of a whistle booger to the next uncomfortable level. This is precisely what happened, and how my journey to Prague began.
Initially, the plan was that I would be driven to Ceske Budejovice bus station, where I would grab a bus to Prague to meet my dear German friend André (you must stress the "e"-- apparently) Yet, I forget the fact that I no longer am in control of my life, but at the mercy of others. I was informed that to my advantage, a colleague from the family company was spending the night, and returning to Prague the next morning, and ta-da, would be taking me as well. His name was Petr... Happy. Yes, Petr Happy (well his name meant "happy" in Czech, and I was introduced to him as "Happy" haha). Mr. Happy Petr was kind enough to take me to Prague for free, so I feel I shouldn't bash or insult him too much, but he wasn't exactly what I would call a "warm, friendly guy."
Quite the opposite, he was a bit frigid. His face seemed to lack any ability of emotional contortion. This man didn't crack so much as a smile (he should really consider being one of those guards that stand outside palaces) His small, sharp facial features were an extension of his demeanor. The radio was on but the volume was so low that I could barely decifer the words about Rihanna's Umbrella. I tried to fill the silence of his Skoda with some friendly banter, asking him questions about himself, which were answered in a military type way. He looked straight ahead, and in a monotone voice, politely answered.
Luckily, I am not so opposed to silence, especially in the morning, and especially with someone as flavorless as Mr. Not-so-Happy. I figured if he wanted to talk, then he could break the silence, and he did, just not vocally. Around 30 minutes into the drive I took notice of the tune he was respiratin'. When you become aware of a noise like that, and are in a silent car with an unresponsive stranger, and the music is barely audible, it becomes the only sound you can hear like someone put it in stereo. And this must be true, because after a few minutes, I could tell he noticed his whistle booger, too.
At first, he made a few brief snorts to perhaps reposition the booger, in hopes of ceasing the whistling. Obstinate booger. Secondly, he pawed at the outside of his nose back and forth, desperately wanting to pick it I'm sure. This did nothing. He began breathing out of his mouth, and this solved the whistle booger conundrum for a while. Yet minutes later he forgot and fell back into his nasal breathing. The fact that I knew it was embarassing and annoying him nearly made me laugh aloud. I tried to give him opportunities to pick it. I would turn and intently gaze out the window, or close my eyes and lay my head back. He didn't take those chances to ammend the clarinet-like sounds sung by his partially blocked nasal passage.
At one point, I really did fall asleep, and when I woke up, the whistle booger had vanished. I figured the drive couldn't get much more awkward so I proceeded to apply make-up for 30 minutes. I heavily consider using the teeth whitening-stripes I had shouved in my back pockets as I ran out the door, but decided against it. When we finally did arrive in Prague, he said, "You must get out quickly because I am not allowed to be parked here." And I felt his mental foot pushing me out of the car. I franctically thanked him and fell out of the car as fast as I could. My scarf tumbled to the dirty street as he abruptly drove-off, leaving me in his exhaust fumes desperately clinging to my coat and bag, trying not to drop them as well. I stood there for a moment feeling slightly abandoned and frantically looking around. I noticed two men were starring at me and their eyes screamed "foreigner!" and my eyes retorted, "STEP OFF BIYATCH!"
I suppose the important thing is I survived the journey to Prague.... Happy, whistle booger and all!
Initially, the plan was that I would be driven to Ceske Budejovice bus station, where I would grab a bus to Prague to meet my dear German friend André (you must stress the "e"-- apparently) Yet, I forget the fact that I no longer am in control of my life, but at the mercy of others. I was informed that to my advantage, a colleague from the family company was spending the night, and returning to Prague the next morning, and ta-da, would be taking me as well. His name was Petr... Happy. Yes, Petr Happy (well his name meant "happy" in Czech, and I was introduced to him as "Happy" haha). Mr. Happy Petr was kind enough to take me to Prague for free, so I feel I shouldn't bash or insult him too much, but he wasn't exactly what I would call a "warm, friendly guy."
Quite the opposite, he was a bit frigid. His face seemed to lack any ability of emotional contortion. This man didn't crack so much as a smile (he should really consider being one of those guards that stand outside palaces) His small, sharp facial features were an extension of his demeanor. The radio was on but the volume was so low that I could barely decifer the words about Rihanna's Umbrella. I tried to fill the silence of his Skoda with some friendly banter, asking him questions about himself, which were answered in a military type way. He looked straight ahead, and in a monotone voice, politely answered.
Luckily, I am not so opposed to silence, especially in the morning, and especially with someone as flavorless as Mr. Not-so-Happy. I figured if he wanted to talk, then he could break the silence, and he did, just not vocally. Around 30 minutes into the drive I took notice of the tune he was respiratin'. When you become aware of a noise like that, and are in a silent car with an unresponsive stranger, and the music is barely audible, it becomes the only sound you can hear like someone put it in stereo. And this must be true, because after a few minutes, I could tell he noticed his whistle booger, too.
At first, he made a few brief snorts to perhaps reposition the booger, in hopes of ceasing the whistling. Obstinate booger. Secondly, he pawed at the outside of his nose back and forth, desperately wanting to pick it I'm sure. This did nothing. He began breathing out of his mouth, and this solved the whistle booger conundrum for a while. Yet minutes later he forgot and fell back into his nasal breathing. The fact that I knew it was embarassing and annoying him nearly made me laugh aloud. I tried to give him opportunities to pick it. I would turn and intently gaze out the window, or close my eyes and lay my head back. He didn't take those chances to ammend the clarinet-like sounds sung by his partially blocked nasal passage.
At one point, I really did fall asleep, and when I woke up, the whistle booger had vanished. I figured the drive couldn't get much more awkward so I proceeded to apply make-up for 30 minutes. I heavily consider using the teeth whitening-stripes I had shouved in my back pockets as I ran out the door, but decided against it. When we finally did arrive in Prague, he said, "You must get out quickly because I am not allowed to be parked here." And I felt his mental foot pushing me out of the car. I franctically thanked him and fell out of the car as fast as I could. My scarf tumbled to the dirty street as he abruptly drove-off, leaving me in his exhaust fumes desperately clinging to my coat and bag, trying not to drop them as well. I stood there for a moment feeling slightly abandoned and frantically looking around. I noticed two men were starring at me and their eyes screamed "foreigner!" and my eyes retorted, "STEP OFF BIYATCH!"
I suppose the important thing is I survived the journey to Prague.... Happy, whistle booger and all!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Don't Forget the Nuances
The other day I asked my friend, who is having a year-long adventure of the Asian persuasion, if he was journaling about his experience. Actually, I think my question was by far more pestering, similar to "are you keeping a diary with a heart-shaped lock?" Although his sister had bought him one ( a journal), he had only written in it three times in two months, and with this track-record, it is safe to declare, he is not journaling. Then, he said something that made me think, "There's no point in keeping a journal. If you can't remember something that happened, then it wasn't that important anyway." What an interesting sentiment.
A sentiment I couldn't disagree with more. Journaling isn't about remembering the sequence of events, or which monument you visited, or listing the types of food you tried. It's about capturing the nuances of the moment, not just what you ate, but how you felt when you ate it, the smell, the texture, what music was playing overhead, what you talked about with your friend during the meal, and how all of this made you feel?
Actually, in the spring, I went to Prague with some friends, and I was challenged with a similar question. A fantastic American boy, Jason from Colorado, and I had whipped out our journals and began jotting down whatever it is you jott down after a day of site-seeing. Then this Greek girl then asked, in a rhetorical manner, "You two keep journals?" in a cavalier tone. It's one of those statements that makes you want to say, "No. what on earth would give you that idea?" with a grave, expressionless voice as the journal is sprawled across your hostel bed. She continued by stating she didn't keep a journal, but relied on memories and photos, and without moving her mouth or even forming any words, she told us we were complete morons for not doing so.
The ever popular, catch-phrase that states "a picture is worth a thousand words," is only true in particualar scenarios. A photo might be able to capture the beautiful colors of a giant, stained glass window, but it can't express the way the cathedral felt as cold as an igloo, and how the sun beaming through the windows made various colors dance on the floor. It can show the four favorite friends you made, but it can't articulate the silly dance one does after a few beers, or a hilarious incident in a bathroom where a friend pees in what sounds like Morse Code, nor can it communicate the feelings of how majestic, humbling, and vast the Alps are, or how truly peaceful and placid the waters of the Adriatic are. There is a certain consciousness and tangibility a two-dimesnional photograph can't absorb no matter how beautifully composed.
I for one have a terrible memory. It's amazing how I can be young, and magically, have such a bad memory, but I do. Long-term especially. However, random things prompt my memory. Occasionally, a photo. Sometimes, a memorable scent donated by a breeze. A familiar laugh in the distance at the grocery store. And journals. It amazing what you can forget in a short amount of time. I looked back at my journal from Budapest, which was poorly tended to, and reread my blogs, and I had forgotten so many of the little incidents that occured. I even forgot writing them. After reading all of the seemingly insignificant details I wrote about, it made these past experiences come alive once again. Therefore, journaling in combination with photos and the memories your brain can store, is a way to capture all your amazing experiences and keep the memories fresh and alive!
A sentiment I couldn't disagree with more. Journaling isn't about remembering the sequence of events, or which monument you visited, or listing the types of food you tried. It's about capturing the nuances of the moment, not just what you ate, but how you felt when you ate it, the smell, the texture, what music was playing overhead, what you talked about with your friend during the meal, and how all of this made you feel?
Actually, in the spring, I went to Prague with some friends, and I was challenged with a similar question. A fantastic American boy, Jason from Colorado, and I had whipped out our journals and began jotting down whatever it is you jott down after a day of site-seeing. Then this Greek girl then asked, in a rhetorical manner, "You two keep journals?" in a cavalier tone. It's one of those statements that makes you want to say, "No. what on earth would give you that idea?" with a grave, expressionless voice as the journal is sprawled across your hostel bed. She continued by stating she didn't keep a journal, but relied on memories and photos, and without moving her mouth or even forming any words, she told us we were complete morons for not doing so.
The ever popular, catch-phrase that states "a picture is worth a thousand words," is only true in particualar scenarios. A photo might be able to capture the beautiful colors of a giant, stained glass window, but it can't express the way the cathedral felt as cold as an igloo, and how the sun beaming through the windows made various colors dance on the floor. It can show the four favorite friends you made, but it can't articulate the silly dance one does after a few beers, or a hilarious incident in a bathroom where a friend pees in what sounds like Morse Code, nor can it communicate the feelings of how majestic, humbling, and vast the Alps are, or how truly peaceful and placid the waters of the Adriatic are. There is a certain consciousness and tangibility a two-dimesnional photograph can't absorb no matter how beautifully composed.
I for one have a terrible memory. It's amazing how I can be young, and magically, have such a bad memory, but I do. Long-term especially. However, random things prompt my memory. Occasionally, a photo. Sometimes, a memorable scent donated by a breeze. A familiar laugh in the distance at the grocery store. And journals. It amazing what you can forget in a short amount of time. I looked back at my journal from Budapest, which was poorly tended to, and reread my blogs, and I had forgotten so many of the little incidents that occured. I even forgot writing them. After reading all of the seemingly insignificant details I wrote about, it made these past experiences come alive once again. Therefore, journaling in combination with photos and the memories your brain can store, is a way to capture all your amazing experiences and keep the memories fresh and alive!
Freakin' Germans... I like them.
Today was a frustrating and tiring day in many ways. Although, I continue to think Zdenka and Josef are amazing people, who really love their girls; I still struggle with the differences in how we deal with their children. Perhaps, it is a matter of cultural differences or just personal opinions. I am learning to pick my battles with the girls and let some things slide. Basically, I have been observing how and what the parents react to and discipline, and take those as guidelines. However, personal insults to me, like being yelled at by a 6-year-old, deliberately going against what I ask, or other rude behavior towards me, I don't tolerate so well.
When I picked Fina up from school today, I met someone finally! I am not going to say "friend" because that word insinuates we have future plans of interaction and fun, and that's just not the case...yet. He is a small, petite fella' with reddish-brown hair from the little country of Ireland. I will refrain from any witty, pigeonhole jokes because I could potentially befriend this man, and any offensive material, even for the sake of humor, would not be appreciated...certainly? So, everyone can draw their own joke about a short, red-headed Irish man. The important things are A) he speaks English B) He works at the school, which means he has to know more people that work at the school C) Can give me some leads as to what people do around here for fun.
I also met two, young German girls, who both live really close to me. One is the daughter of this really kind lady Carrola, who actually lived in Tennessee before (Oak Ridge). They are probably 11-years-old or something, and really sweet and their English is good. They eagerly asked me questions about Bri (the Grills' dog, who I brought with me to the school and chained to the fence) and then, they told me stories of their dogs. As I talked to them, I realized, if I am to be an au pair again, I definitely will have to go for their age group. I felt like I could really enjoy hanging-out, mentoring those girls. I guess because they are older, it is a completely different dynamic, and one I think I would enjoy better. You can have actual conversations with them, and it doesn't seem as much like babysitting, as really just hanging out with your little sister or cousin or something.
My current thoughts are that I will stay with this family (if things continue the way they are) until July or August. Then, most likely, go home to TN for 3 weeks or so, but already have a family lined-up in Spain for fall. There, I would take Spanish classes, and stay for at least 6 months and hope to really get a solid, basic grasp on the Spanish language. I think being around Spanish that much, plus, studying it, and making a conscious effort, I will pick it up so much quicker than if I were to just take classes in the U.S. Then, the fall of '09 start grad school for Spanish/Teaching. Well, this is the vague idea for now. However, I really think it's important to take one day at a time... I guess, I will just have to see in a few months how I feel.
When I picked Fina up from school today, I met someone finally! I am not going to say "friend" because that word insinuates we have future plans of interaction and fun, and that's just not the case...yet. He is a small, petite fella' with reddish-brown hair from the little country of Ireland. I will refrain from any witty, pigeonhole jokes because I could potentially befriend this man, and any offensive material, even for the sake of humor, would not be appreciated...certainly? So, everyone can draw their own joke about a short, red-headed Irish man. The important things are A) he speaks English B) He works at the school, which means he has to know more people that work at the school C) Can give me some leads as to what people do around here for fun.
I also met two, young German girls, who both live really close to me. One is the daughter of this really kind lady Carrola, who actually lived in Tennessee before (Oak Ridge). They are probably 11-years-old or something, and really sweet and their English is good. They eagerly asked me questions about Bri (the Grills' dog, who I brought with me to the school and chained to the fence) and then, they told me stories of their dogs. As I talked to them, I realized, if I am to be an au pair again, I definitely will have to go for their age group. I felt like I could really enjoy hanging-out, mentoring those girls. I guess because they are older, it is a completely different dynamic, and one I think I would enjoy better. You can have actual conversations with them, and it doesn't seem as much like babysitting, as really just hanging out with your little sister or cousin or something.
My current thoughts are that I will stay with this family (if things continue the way they are) until July or August. Then, most likely, go home to TN for 3 weeks or so, but already have a family lined-up in Spain for fall. There, I would take Spanish classes, and stay for at least 6 months and hope to really get a solid, basic grasp on the Spanish language. I think being around Spanish that much, plus, studying it, and making a conscious effort, I will pick it up so much quicker than if I were to just take classes in the U.S. Then, the fall of '09 start grad school for Spanish/Teaching. Well, this is the vague idea for now. However, I really think it's important to take one day at a time... I guess, I will just have to see in a few months how I feel.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
The Fish Head and My Muse
The first night here in Czech, the family and I went to a fish restaurant in Hluboka. I didn't find it necessary to mention I'm not exactly a fish eater per se, because I would like become one, and why complain about free food?! The menu was in Czech, German, and English, as many things are here. After disregarding the idea of a safe choice of chicken or the like, I ordered the one fish that seemed relatively low-priced and that I recognized. Trout. When the food arrived, mine sauntered in with it's whole outfit still on: skin, head, bones, and eyes.
For many people, I am sure this is no problem seeing as they have frequent fishing trips with their buddies, but I have particular issues involving meat. I never really would eat any meat off a bone, I don't like pork because of the texture, plus growing up my friend had a pet pig named Elroy who resided in their garage, sausage makes me want to gag, this includes bratwurst and hotdogs. I will eat beef it is lean. I mean, when I was 8 years old, I was a vegertarian, so this is a long-term phobia.
Since, I have never had to undress, so to speak, my dinner, I really didn't know where to start. I kind of tilted my head from side -to-side with fork and knife in hand, and let out a short laugh of ignorance. I wonder how to start? Josef noticed me staring keenly at the fish like it was an alien, proding it with my fork, then he explained to slit it asunder (perhaps not those words) and open it and eat the meat, and to be careful of bones. After a few blundering, unsuccessful minutes (did I mention the knife was a butter knife... in my defense), he literally got out of his chair, and came over and cut my fish for me. It was slightly mortifying being I am a woman of 22 years and was having a nearly perfect stranger cut up my food. I mean come on what was he going to do after, throw my over his shoulder and burp me! Pathetic. However, the fish was surprisingly tasty. I had my doubts considering it was fish and all.
Fish with head has not been my only unusual (to my diet) food encounter, but I have eaten things I normally never would. Many questionable meats have passed my lips these last few weeks. Several thick slices of ham, unidentified fish, chicken bits I rather not eat, and one of the most surprising a large kielbasa at a soccer match. I remember looking at the large fat hunks like you see in a pepperoni except 4 times the size, and wondering what exactly had happened to me. How could I be eating this?
One motive for my extended menu is that I don't want to be rude or as some might say "impertinent". Plus, food is a large part of culture, and that is something I want to experience wholly. Secondly, there might be a secret muse to all this, and he will remain my private inspiration, but he challenges me in the most annoying of ways. He himself is a dare devil when it comes to food. He would probably eat bat dung wrapped in bacon if someone said it was an Indonesian delicacy (and for all I know it might be?). It's odd how he inspires me in a way I doubt he even knows. Part of the reason I am in the foreign country is him. He challenged my pride, confronted my complacency, and was a catalyst in me considering this whole aupair job. I suppose the most ironic thing is he has no clue about any of it.
For many people, I am sure this is no problem seeing as they have frequent fishing trips with their buddies, but I have particular issues involving meat. I never really would eat any meat off a bone, I don't like pork because of the texture, plus growing up my friend had a pet pig named Elroy who resided in their garage, sausage makes me want to gag, this includes bratwurst and hotdogs. I will eat beef it is lean. I mean, when I was 8 years old, I was a vegertarian, so this is a long-term phobia.
Since, I have never had to undress, so to speak, my dinner, I really didn't know where to start. I kind of tilted my head from side -to-side with fork and knife in hand, and let out a short laugh of ignorance. I wonder how to start? Josef noticed me staring keenly at the fish like it was an alien, proding it with my fork, then he explained to slit it asunder (perhaps not those words) and open it and eat the meat, and to be careful of bones. After a few blundering, unsuccessful minutes (did I mention the knife was a butter knife... in my defense), he literally got out of his chair, and came over and cut my fish for me. It was slightly mortifying being I am a woman of 22 years and was having a nearly perfect stranger cut up my food. I mean come on what was he going to do after, throw my over his shoulder and burp me! Pathetic. However, the fish was surprisingly tasty. I had my doubts considering it was fish and all.
Fish with head has not been my only unusual (to my diet) food encounter, but I have eaten things I normally never would. Many questionable meats have passed my lips these last few weeks. Several thick slices of ham, unidentified fish, chicken bits I rather not eat, and one of the most surprising a large kielbasa at a soccer match. I remember looking at the large fat hunks like you see in a pepperoni except 4 times the size, and wondering what exactly had happened to me. How could I be eating this?
One motive for my extended menu is that I don't want to be rude or as some might say "impertinent". Plus, food is a large part of culture, and that is something I want to experience wholly. Secondly, there might be a secret muse to all this, and he will remain my private inspiration, but he challenges me in the most annoying of ways. He himself is a dare devil when it comes to food. He would probably eat bat dung wrapped in bacon if someone said it was an Indonesian delicacy (and for all I know it might be?). It's odd how he inspires me in a way I doubt he even knows. Part of the reason I am in the foreign country is him. He challenged my pride, confronted my complacency, and was a catalyst in me considering this whole aupair job. I suppose the most ironic thing is he has no clue about any of it.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
It's "FABULOUS"!
I tell you, with no friends and only speaking to a 6-year-old most of the day, I have become desperate and creative in ways to entertain myself. I have become increasingly more aware just how spongy kids truly are. For example, the other day Fina and I took, Bri (roll the "r") their English-setter on a walk, and then we came and put her back in the garden aka yard, which is fenced in, plus she has an electric fence. Then, we walked up the street so she could play on the playground. A few minutes later, magically, here comes Bri, who has successfully evaded her electric fence. Annoyed and a bit nervous, with hands on hips and my head cocked to the side, I yelled "BRIIIII!!! You come here right now, missy!" And then I kind of stomped my foot while pointing to the spot in front of me. I looked over and Fina was mimicking my attitude and body language and translating this for the dog into Czech. (stupid dogs here don't speak English. What the hell?) It amused me that she did this. I continued to notice every time I said something to Bri, she would translate it and copy my same posture and delivery, but not in a mocking manner. Her impressionability gave me a terrific idea!
Seeing how I was already sick of using the words "good" "yummy" and "nice", I realized how easy it would be to implant some new words into the girls vernacular. My latest idea was that I would only use flamboyant gay-man adjectives and pet names i.e. fabulous, fierce, divine, sweetie, honey, etc. which would be said in a shrill pitch and accompanied by various handmotions. "Fabulous" was the first word I began to manipulate into their vocabulary. I started earlier in the day saying it here or there. I knew by the end of the day Fina would be dying to say it. She showed me her coloring skills, "Fabulous!" She gave me something to eat "Oh, it's FABULOUS!" A fabulous here, a fabulous there, and I could just see the word jumping and dancing on her tounge like it was a mega-Rave with men in spandex, ready to strut it's way out of her mouth.
Sure enough, she couldn't resist the fabulousity of the fabulous! And three different times, she said "yes it is fabulous!" Mu ha ha--- As everyone knows, I am a gay man trapped in a woman's form considering I like the following: men. musicals, theater, costumes, people who sing-song half their words, drama, dancing, fashion (although not so stylish myself) to snap my fingers after I say something profound, and some sassy sass! Plus, queens love me and that has to say something. Hopefully, I will turn these little girls into faghags too! :-)
Seeing how I was already sick of using the words "good" "yummy" and "nice", I realized how easy it would be to implant some new words into the girls vernacular. My latest idea was that I would only use flamboyant gay-man adjectives and pet names i.e. fabulous, fierce, divine, sweetie, honey, etc. which would be said in a shrill pitch and accompanied by various handmotions. "Fabulous" was the first word I began to manipulate into their vocabulary. I started earlier in the day saying it here or there. I knew by the end of the day Fina would be dying to say it. She showed me her coloring skills, "Fabulous!" She gave me something to eat "Oh, it's FABULOUS!" A fabulous here, a fabulous there, and I could just see the word jumping and dancing on her tounge like it was a mega-Rave with men in spandex, ready to strut it's way out of her mouth.
Sure enough, she couldn't resist the fabulousity of the fabulous! And three different times, she said "yes it is fabulous!" Mu ha ha--- As everyone knows, I am a gay man trapped in a woman's form considering I like the following: men. musicals, theater, costumes, people who sing-song half their words, drama, dancing, fashion (although not so stylish myself) to snap my fingers after I say something profound, and some sassy sass! Plus, queens love me and that has to say something. Hopefully, I will turn these little girls into faghags too! :-)
Czech It Out...
This week has been different seeing as the girls are on holiday from school. Naturally, as any parent or aupair would, I was dreading the thought of having them around ALL day. Mainly because, it's hard enough to know what to do with kids for two hours much less 10, especially with the Fina, the oldest. See, Zdenni, the youngest, is perfectly content with playing by herself, speaking in Czech to herself and most likely imaginary, Czech friends, one I suspect being named Christine. She is actually rather entertaining to watch because she is so dramatic and animated. Her facial expressions are hilarious, and I appreciate her clumsy, messy ways. Not a day goes by where she hasn't dropped something down her shirt, or have green marker stain on her fingertips. Fina on the other hand isn't content playing alone, because her joy and fun is derivived from ordering people about and controling every aspect of everything, which is impossible to do solo. Being bossy is her favorite game. She is very anal-retentive and meticulous. Perhaps one day she will make a great math teacher, or I am sure she has great potential in a military career.
At some time or another, they have both driven me crazy, and will continue to do so. The ironic thing is I see myself in both of them, more of the young me, but me all the same. I can fully relate to Zdenni's clutzy ways and dramatic, silly antics. To my dismay, I remember a younger me being quite controlling and wanting things my way. I guess that's why Fina gets to me more, because I see something in her that reminds me of myself... a part I don't particularly like, and one I think I have grown out of. I still consider myself independent and prefer to do things myself and in the way I desire, but with experience comes social flexibility, and through the years, I think I am not bossy but at times if needed, I can be a leader.
There are so many things in this world that you can't control, and it's good to know when you have to just accept things and go-with-the-flow. Traveling is a perfect example. Apart from choosing a hotel, airline, and destination, most other things are left to chance. No matter how many times you call the hotel, there is still a chance someone will screw-up your reservations. There seems to be no guarentee that your bags will arrive at their intended location or that your flight will be on-time. Finally, despite many precautions and clever anti-theft pouches, there is a chance your passport will go missing. Point being that, in time, I can only hope for Fina's sake, that she will learn she in fact does not rule the world.
Clearly, this behaviour can't be blamed entirely on the girls for someone (sometwo actually) has allowed them to become this. Fina called her mother a "pig" the other night and the father kind of laughed and translated it for me, but no punishment. I could see in Zdenka's eyes the anger and hurt this caused, yet I was mystified why her nor Josef did anything to Fina for this. If I had said that to my mother... it would have BAD! A general respect is missing from these girls. I am trying to instill courtesy, manners, and respect in these kids, for me. I can't control how they act to their parents, but I damn-well will have some respect. You can't casually or cowardly request respect, you have to DEMAND it, with the stank eye, a firm voice, an intimidately rigid finger pointed in their direction. I want these girls to take one look into my eyes and it strike fear and respect into them. I have no desire to control these girls every move, but when I do need control, I want it to be given.
I must say this job is the best birth control ever. I am getting a first-hand look at just how hard, self-sacraficing, time-consuming, and frustrating parenting is! It really is a HUGE responsibility. I was thinking earlier this week that I don't ever see myself having children because I am too selfish. As in, I like time to myself, I enjoy spending my money on things I want, and mainly, I like my freedom! I can see how becoming a parent needs to be properly orchestrated, otherwise, you resent the kid for making you give up a life you weren't ready. In return, you resent yourself for resenting the kid, and then, you especially resent the fool who donated his seed and helped put you in this situation. Then, the child grows up to resent you, and accidently becomes a teenage mother and it becomes a relentless, rancorous cycle of resentment bequeathed to each new generation. (So, no babies in my immediate future--- that being next 5 years min.)
In other news, to continue sharing about this week, as I said, both girls are ill. First, it was Zdenni who started feeling bad Monday at the Zoo. By Tuesday, she was full-out sick with a fever and awful cough. So, Tuesday it was just Fina and I all day playing, and it was a good day. I've notice she might not take directions well, but if you say "I am going to ______" she won't say much. If I were to say "You must _____" that's another story. However, Wednesday they both were sick, fevers etc. and spent all day in bed watching MiniMax (a Czech equivalent to Cartoon Network) and sleeping. Zdenka gave me some money (5000 CZK which I still need to figure out if it's my pay from last week or just some spending cash??) and suggested I walk around, because she knows I enjoy that. So, I walked to the other side of the village (maybe 2 miles or more each way?) and looked around, snapping some photos, but doing nothing in particular except buying a few more postcards. I came across a 'Plus', which is a grocery store, and decided I would cook dinner for the family. I felt it would be thoughtful considering poor Zdenka had been couped up with the kids all day.
Today, the girls were still ill and stayed in bed all day, and I suspect Zdenka will come down with whatever ailment the girls have plagued the house with! So, today I walked back to the other side of the village, which is very exhausting for someone who is out of shape, and sent 14 postcards. I am not sure what tomorrow holds, if one or any of the Grill gals will be feeling better, but I know I am trying to avoid catching this malady!
AuPair of Brats
I was surprised that my 24+ hours of traveling to the Czech Republic weren't so bad! I even met a really funny, not to mention cute, Czech boy on my flight, and we talked the last hour and laughed, and made funny of the airline stewardess with the crazy voice, who we pretended was his secret girlfriend.... anyhow, I arrived with all my luggage in fine health and good spirits October 21st around 7:00am, and there stood Zdenka and Josef eagerly awaiting my arrival. My first thought was, "Wow, Zdenka is a hot mommy!" She wore tall black boots tucked into her jeans, and a shiny black coat the ended right above her jean pockets. She had long, black hair and her eyes were round and bright teal. She stood all of 5'10 and her lean legs were to kill for! For a few seconds her beauty was very intimidating, but then abolished with her overzealous greeting, which turned into a really awkward half-hug with her holding one of my hands, a one cheeck kiss, where I then turned my other cheeck expecting the second kiss in true European fashion, but was not kissed again, which just made it all the more embarassing and awkward. Josef looked very similar to the photos I had seen of him and had a boyish innocence to him. Then, with my giant bags in tow, we went to their lovely, black Mercedes.
In the car from Prague to Hluboka things went well, and although conversation was a bit difficult at times, they seemed really nice, and eager to know me. We stopped at a gas station and got some drinks and they were quite surprised when they saw my beverage of choice was water. "We thought Americans drank only Coke and ate hamburgers." Excellent. The stereotypes are alive and well!! The rest of that day was kind of a blur. I met the girls and the grandmother. Then, I slept.
Again, the next two days are kind of blurry (it's truly amazing how quickly I block out the bad times). I do distinctly remember them being awful, and me desperately wanting to go home, and crying at least twice, and thinking there was no way I could make it even three weeks much less three months! Although, Zdenka and Josef were really great and caring, the girls were another story. Hmmm what's the American word for it..?? Oh yes, brats, they were brats. The eldest daughter cries often, they call her "sensitive", but this must be a bad translation because I would call it "spoiled". She is so controlling and bossy it's amazing, and I found it hard to keep in mind that she's not even 6 years old yet, and getting in a fist fight was neither legal or socially acceptable (in any nation). On the same note, she is somewhat obedient and calm when compared to the younger one. Although, the youngest is more loving and has a more "whatever" attitude, and won't yell and scream at you if you don't line the colored pencils up to her standards, she has her equal moments of being a twirp, and is completely wild and disobedient. Just like a child, she decides when it is okay to speak with her or hug her. Overall, I feel her nature is much sweeter than the eldest girl.
The first few days last week were especially hard because the mother was always around. So, I really had no authority over them, nor did I even know what to be doing. The communication was nearly nonexistant due to the language barrier. Many times I sat in confusion of what I was suppose to be doing having no direction, or feeling uncomfortable whilst surrounded by rapid Czech conversation and being spoken to very little. The girls didn't want me to help them nor did they listen to me, but insisted I play 'Mother, Girl, and baby' with them. As a 22-year-old dignified, mature, classy woman (don't worry I'm laughing too) I couldn't bring myself to pretend to cry and scream and say "Mommy me hungry!" as they wanted me to as the role of Baby... well, at least not after the first 30 minutes of doing it. I was miserable, and I couldn't see any light at the end of the tunnel. I wanted to be on the next flight home.
Miraculously, things turned around at the end of last week when Zdenka went to work, and I really started to perform my job alone. The girls responded to me better, and I set some mental rules for myself. Last Friday, we went to Zdenka's mother's flat for the night while Josef went to his class, he is working on an MBA. It was funny to see how the girls listened to their grandmother much more, and even Zdenka seemed to be stricter around her own mom. I enjoyed it! Plus, she has this adorable, long-haired Dauchsund named Beruška, aka Ladybug, who has a really funny way of begging to be pet! Then, Saturday, we went to Josef's soccer match in a town 25 km away. The next day, I decided to have some alone time and not join their day of fishing.
The accomodations are nice, minus my bed, which leaves something to be desired considering it is a sofa-bed, but overall, the living situation caused no complainaints! I began to feel more at home and comfortable. I kept failing to keep in mind it has only been one week, and everyone is still adjusting to the new situation!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)