Saturday Nico picked us up at 10am and we drove over to the outdoor tennis courts on the far side of town to meet up with some others on the team and get the clay courts ready for play. It was just the second true day of spring, in my opinion, and it was a beauty. Sun blazing, temps in the upper 60s or low 70s, not a cloud in sight, a bit of a cooling breeze. We wore shorts and tees and were immediately put to work pulling tables and chairs out of the storage bungalows, then scraping, raking, shoveling, and wheelbarrowing 2 tons of old red clay sand off the 3 courts, and then wheelbarrowing, shoveling, spreading, raking, and smoothing 2 tons of new sand onto them. It took all day and was very, very hard work. But Nico broke out the beer at 11am (I love the German work ethic--from what I can tell, any kind of work deserves beer asap, regardless of time of day) so everyone enjoyed themselves.
Wolfgang barbequed bratwursts, chicken breasts, and pork steaks and we ate and drank beer for an hour, still in the sun. Besides me and Wolfgang's daughter, it was all men, mostly older guys. And as we were finishing lunch and some people were headed back out to pick up shovels, Wolfgang said something in German that included my name. I looked at Bill for translation. With a sly little grin, he said that Wolfgang had just announced that his daughter and I could clean up lunch. Wow. Okay. All I could do was laugh and start clearing the men's plates. When I was done washing dishes, I sat with Bill on the lawn overlooking the courts and told him that if these men were going to expect me to embody their outdated ideas of gender roles, then I was going to reciprocate and let the men do the hard labor for a while. So I stretched out in the sun, in full view of the courts, and napped for an hour.
When I woke up, feeling a bit guilty and dazed from the sun, I did go back out and reclaim my shovel. Bill had his tennis headband tied around his forehead all day, and got a pretty hilarious tan line between his sunburned face and his winter-white forehead. Luckily, his hair covers the worst of it so hopefully his students won't tease him too terribly. I got some sunburn too, on my arms and shoulders. Pretty mild, but seeing as it was the first sun to touch my skin in 5 months, I was fairly knocked out by it, spent the evening slightly feverish and unable, because of sore muscles, to move much from the couch. We were absolute slugs that night. Could barely finish the one beer we had with dinner, then slept like logs for 12 hours. Delicious.
And now, hopefully, the bit of color on my skin will forestall most of my mum's traditional teasing about my ghostly whiteness and devotion to 55 spf sunscreen.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
A few notes...
while the internet is being cooperative.
-- Two days ago, looking out the window, we saw a saddled horse, sans rider, galloping wildly down a hill and then down the road. The whole neighborhood was in a fuss, all the neighbors out to try to catch it. A man in a riding helmet and boots went running down the road after it. We don't know what eventually happened.
-- When we were at Afterwork last Friday night, an enormous touring bus pulled up onto the pedestrian part of the square right outside, and in came the Munster professional handball team to have a drink on their way home from a match in Aue. Every player was enormous and drunk. They bought at least four bottles of whiskey and rum, as well as coke to accompany, and dozens of beers. The bartenders had to get out new glasses because they didn't have enough to serve everyone.
-- Neckermann man, the oldish dude who works in the secondhand shop and is always drunk and drinking alone (it's a very pitiable sight), was greeted as an old friend by some players on the Munster team because, we were told, he was once a professional handball player.
-- Our students can't throw snowballs at us as we leave school anymore, because all of the snow has melted (!).
-- Herr Lehm drove us to get beer yesterday, saying he needed to go anyway to buy some fleisch salat. That translates to meat salad, which is exactly what it was. Like a potato salad, but with various kinds of meat, in mayo. Gross.
-- Bill started streaming the new episode of Lost before he went to school yesterday. He came home, and we were very excited to sit down and watch. Thirty seconds into the episode, Buffy the Vampire Slayer's vampire boyfriend comes onto the screen. Bones had streamed instead of Lost. Gross.
-- In a week we leave for Holland to meet my Dutch cousins. We'll be staying with two middle-aged alpaca farmers. We're curious to see if they're pot smokers.
-- Two days ago, looking out the window, we saw a saddled horse, sans rider, galloping wildly down a hill and then down the road. The whole neighborhood was in a fuss, all the neighbors out to try to catch it. A man in a riding helmet and boots went running down the road after it. We don't know what eventually happened.
-- When we were at Afterwork last Friday night, an enormous touring bus pulled up onto the pedestrian part of the square right outside, and in came the Munster professional handball team to have a drink on their way home from a match in Aue. Every player was enormous and drunk. They bought at least four bottles of whiskey and rum, as well as coke to accompany, and dozens of beers. The bartenders had to get out new glasses because they didn't have enough to serve everyone.
-- Neckermann man, the oldish dude who works in the secondhand shop and is always drunk and drinking alone (it's a very pitiable sight), was greeted as an old friend by some players on the Munster team because, we were told, he was once a professional handball player.
-- Our students can't throw snowballs at us as we leave school anymore, because all of the snow has melted (!).
-- Herr Lehm drove us to get beer yesterday, saying he needed to go anyway to buy some fleisch salat. That translates to meat salad, which is exactly what it was. Like a potato salad, but with various kinds of meat, in mayo. Gross.
-- Bill started streaming the new episode of Lost before he went to school yesterday. He came home, and we were very excited to sit down and watch. Thirty seconds into the episode, Buffy the Vampire Slayer's vampire boyfriend comes onto the screen. Bones had streamed instead of Lost. Gross.
-- In a week we leave for Holland to meet my Dutch cousins. We'll be staying with two middle-aged alpaca farmers. We're curious to see if they're pot smokers.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Winter Break IV (Berlin, etc.)
[Note: if you're one of the complainers who have been demanding more posts, notice that I just gave you 4 at once. Reading should begin with Winter Break I and move back up the page.]
So we headed back to Berlin from Budapest, planning to spend just Saturday night at Colin’s before going back to Zwonitz on Sunday. But we couldn’t find any Mitfahrgelegenheits (With-Ride-Opportunities, thank you to the German language for its literal and compound nature) from people driving from Berlin to Chemnitz or Aue on Sunday. So, since Bill’s schedule has changed from Monday through Thursday to Tuesday through Friday, we decided to go home Monday and give ourselves more time to nurse our hangovers from Saturday night (which was awesome, but I’m getting sick of writing).
So home we went, to find that it had been snowing the ENTIRE TIME WE WERE GONE. Like, the snow was deeper than I’d ever seen it. It was crazy. But it was a fairly sunny week, warming up a bit. I don’t know if it’ll last, but spring is creeping ever closer, so I’m hopeful.
This week I’m studying for another Sexuality exam, preparing for a group project and an individual term paper in the same class, and a term paper in my Gerontology class, as well as normal weekly assignments. So I’m busy. I’ve also been asked to teach another class next week, with the 5th graders. And I’m going to the 6th grade classroom as well on Tuesdays, and the teacher would like Bill and I to both teach lessons, and teach some together. And in English club we’re having our girls read “The Lottery,” that really creepy short story every American (it seems) read in middle school or high school. So that’s fun.
In a couple weeks we go back to Berlin for a weeklong Fulbright conference or convention or whatever. And then Bill’s mom, who will be at a publishing thing in Frankfurt the same week, will be meeting us in Zwonitz for a weekend. Should be very interesting, as I don’t know what of Zwonitz might interest an American visitor. None of it really interests me much at this point.
Oh, and before I sign off of this terribly long post (which I might break up into several, but it should be known that I wrote the whole thing as a five page single-spaced Word doc. I have not forgotten about my readers, much as a several week gap might indicate. In fact, I made some notes for the blog while I was in Budapest, so I wouldn’t forget any details. Oh, and one of the details I forgot to include, in fact, is that it seems to be every Hungarian and Slovakian girl’s dream to someday own a big fur coat, because the number of women wearing them was outrageous. But anyway.), I’d like to tell everyone that one of my best friends, Matthew Martin, has been fully inducted as a police officer, badge and all. And I’m very, very proud of him.
As Paris would say (on the show Bill and I love most, Paris’s New BFF), “Love you, bitchesssss!”
So we headed back to Berlin from Budapest, planning to spend just Saturday night at Colin’s before going back to Zwonitz on Sunday. But we couldn’t find any Mitfahrgelegenheits (With-Ride-Opportunities, thank you to the German language for its literal and compound nature) from people driving from Berlin to Chemnitz or Aue on Sunday. So, since Bill’s schedule has changed from Monday through Thursday to Tuesday through Friday, we decided to go home Monday and give ourselves more time to nurse our hangovers from Saturday night (which was awesome, but I’m getting sick of writing).
So home we went, to find that it had been snowing the ENTIRE TIME WE WERE GONE. Like, the snow was deeper than I’d ever seen it. It was crazy. But it was a fairly sunny week, warming up a bit. I don’t know if it’ll last, but spring is creeping ever closer, so I’m hopeful.
This week I’m studying for another Sexuality exam, preparing for a group project and an individual term paper in the same class, and a term paper in my Gerontology class, as well as normal weekly assignments. So I’m busy. I’ve also been asked to teach another class next week, with the 5th graders. And I’m going to the 6th grade classroom as well on Tuesdays, and the teacher would like Bill and I to both teach lessons, and teach some together. And in English club we’re having our girls read “The Lottery,” that really creepy short story every American (it seems) read in middle school or high school. So that’s fun.
In a couple weeks we go back to Berlin for a weeklong Fulbright conference or convention or whatever. And then Bill’s mom, who will be at a publishing thing in Frankfurt the same week, will be meeting us in Zwonitz for a weekend. Should be very interesting, as I don’t know what of Zwonitz might interest an American visitor. None of it really interests me much at this point.
Oh, and before I sign off of this terribly long post (which I might break up into several, but it should be known that I wrote the whole thing as a five page single-spaced Word doc. I have not forgotten about my readers, much as a several week gap might indicate. In fact, I made some notes for the blog while I was in Budapest, so I wouldn’t forget any details. Oh, and one of the details I forgot to include, in fact, is that it seems to be every Hungarian and Slovakian girl’s dream to someday own a big fur coat, because the number of women wearing them was outrageous. But anyway.), I’d like to tell everyone that one of my best friends, Matthew Martin, has been fully inducted as a police officer, badge and all. And I’m very, very proud of him.
As Paris would say (on the show Bill and I love most, Paris’s New BFF), “Love you, bitchesssss!”
Winter Break III (Bratislava)
The train station was something out of a soviet nightmare, packed with people smoking and staring up at the single arrivals and departures board, watching trains get delayed and waiting for platforms to be listed. But we found ours and got two decent seats and the ride was easy, though the views of Hungary’s small, snow-bound hamlets were depressing. We got into Bratislava (it’s in Slovakia, which I didn’t know until last week. Actually, I don’t know if I’d ever really heard of Bratislava until we decided to go there. Hmm) around 6, followed the instructions from the hostel and got on a tram, then arrived at the designated stop, exited, and could not find the street we were supposed to walk down (“Take the tram to ____, then walk down Marianska Lane to blahblah Street. We are in the courtyard on the left”). So we walked up and down random streets for an hour, then ended up at the Crown Plaza hotel and asked them directions to our cheap-ass hostel. They were able to direct us. All we had to do was find the huge Tesco and we’d find Patio Hostel. And we did. And we immediately visited the Tesco to buy frozen pizza and wine, because Patio Hostel advertised that it had kitchens on every floor. And when we got back to the hostel, we found that they did! …have a microwave and a hotplate on every floor. So we cooked our frozen pizza in a wok that we stole from another floor, because of course there were no pans of any kind in our “kitchen.” So I wasn’t in a great mood after being lost for an hour and then eating stir-fried frozen pizza. But then Rob arrived, and we were all cheered up by the familiar faces. As I said to Bill, I hadn’t seen Rob since August. I had to immediately follow that with the realization that the only time I’ve ever seen Rob was last August. But still. A familiar face in Bratislava.
We didn’t do much that night, as Bill wasn’t feeling so hot and all of the bars seemed to be closing early. So we came back to share our six-bed hostel room with three Italian men. So, if you’re reading this Kent, I spent two nights in a bedroom with five boys. But I survived. Except for coming back from the shower to see grotesquely long, hairy Italian legs extending from two butt cheeks hanging out of a pair of tiny briefs (horrifying, as for a second as I came through the door I thought they were Bill’s legs), nothing inappropriate happened.
The first morning in Bratislava, Bill, Rob and I walked down to Tesco where we miraculously found Honey Nut Cheerios. Like, the real thing. Can’t find that in Germany. Back to the hostel to eat breakfast, then out into the snow and onto the slushy, muddy streets to find out if Slovakia really was “Part of Europe Worth Seeing,” as the travel posters in the hostel common room proclaimed with terribly mediocrity. Bill found Maalox, and a pharmacist who offered to speak Slovak, German, Italian, or English, in the first place we entered. Germans don’t believe in heartburn, I guess, because we’ve never found any equivalent here, and not for lack of trying. We found the old section of town, with cute cobbled pedestrian streets, and followed signs pointing us to the castle, which sat on top of a cliff. That was a tough climb, especially as we decided to avoid stairs and wound our way up the gradual slopes of the neighborhood below the castle. Once we got to the top, we were able to see that the entire castle was shrouded in scaffolding and surrounded by chain link fences. And nothing besides the guest shop was open, except a bathroom I found with my superior observational skills. So we walked back down and found a coffee shop. Rob seriously changed the mood of the place by choosing Elton John and Queen on the jukebox, which replaced the metal-like music that had dominated when we came in. I don’t think the pair of cops eating fried chicken and drinking beer, guns at their waists, were too happy with his choice, but luckily for us they went back out on duty, having finished their 1pm beers, not long after. We soon followed, and went back to Tesco to buy sandwich stuff, including cheddar cheese (not cheap, but worth it), a cheese Germans have yet to discover. After lunch, I worked on some stuff for my classes, took a quiz in Gerontology, while Bill and Rob napped. We got up a few hours later to get ready for dinner, which was entirely motivated by the “Mexican” section we’d found in Tesco. Tortillas, salsa, taco seasoning, guacamole. It was bliss. And we were able to make our bliss entirely in the wok on the hotplate at the hostel. I did forget to mention that on each of these trips to Tesco, we had to stand in line at the register for a minimum of 15 minutes. The place was packed every time we went, with lines curling all through the aisles. It was insane. And so soviet. After we ate our tacos and showered, we were joined in the hostel room by the Italians.
Though Bill and Rob spent our initial time there talking shit about Italians, especially Italian travelers in Europe, on that second night the loud threesome became our friends, making an initial appeal by offering Bill and I vodka while they pregamed in the room. We had our own vodka, and got it to make drinks (it was about 8pm by this time. Nothing scandalous), and they waited until we mixed ours to toast with us and begin imbibing. And then came back an hour later to tell us about a club they’d heard of that was supposed to have good dancing. So dance we did.
But first we had to find the place. I asked at reception and the girl drew an X on my map in some white space (ie no roads) between the castle and the river. Hmm. So we made a few false starts trying to find our way across the snowy terrain. And unexpectedly came across a break in some fence that revealed an arch-shaped opening into the hill upon which the castle sat. We walked through a long tunnel, and came to another tunnel which opened onto huge arched rooms, one for smoking and sitting, the other for dancing. It was quite a scene. The music was excellent but the lights were very strobe-y, kind of too strobe-y. It was a little overwhelming. But fun. We left around 3am, as our next day was to be travel-filled. Got home, went to sleep, and were awakened by the Italians getting in and getting to bed around 5am. And then had to get up ourselves a few hours later to pack and eat breakfast and make our way back to the train station, where we bid farewell to Rob. As Bill and I sat down in a compartment on the train we thought was going back to Budapest, where we’d catch our plane, I turned to the girl sharing the compartment with us, to confirm that we were on the right train. It turned out that she was the one on the wrong train, and would have been taken hours out of her way if I hadn’t asked. And that meant that Bill and I got an empty compartment to read and sleep and eat in for the journey.
We didn’t do much that night, as Bill wasn’t feeling so hot and all of the bars seemed to be closing early. So we came back to share our six-bed hostel room with three Italian men. So, if you’re reading this Kent, I spent two nights in a bedroom with five boys. But I survived. Except for coming back from the shower to see grotesquely long, hairy Italian legs extending from two butt cheeks hanging out of a pair of tiny briefs (horrifying, as for a second as I came through the door I thought they were Bill’s legs), nothing inappropriate happened.
The first morning in Bratislava, Bill, Rob and I walked down to Tesco where we miraculously found Honey Nut Cheerios. Like, the real thing. Can’t find that in Germany. Back to the hostel to eat breakfast, then out into the snow and onto the slushy, muddy streets to find out if Slovakia really was “Part of Europe Worth Seeing,” as the travel posters in the hostel common room proclaimed with terribly mediocrity. Bill found Maalox, and a pharmacist who offered to speak Slovak, German, Italian, or English, in the first place we entered. Germans don’t believe in heartburn, I guess, because we’ve never found any equivalent here, and not for lack of trying. We found the old section of town, with cute cobbled pedestrian streets, and followed signs pointing us to the castle, which sat on top of a cliff. That was a tough climb, especially as we decided to avoid stairs and wound our way up the gradual slopes of the neighborhood below the castle. Once we got to the top, we were able to see that the entire castle was shrouded in scaffolding and surrounded by chain link fences. And nothing besides the guest shop was open, except a bathroom I found with my superior observational skills. So we walked back down and found a coffee shop. Rob seriously changed the mood of the place by choosing Elton John and Queen on the jukebox, which replaced the metal-like music that had dominated when we came in. I don’t think the pair of cops eating fried chicken and drinking beer, guns at their waists, were too happy with his choice, but luckily for us they went back out on duty, having finished their 1pm beers, not long after. We soon followed, and went back to Tesco to buy sandwich stuff, including cheddar cheese (not cheap, but worth it), a cheese Germans have yet to discover. After lunch, I worked on some stuff for my classes, took a quiz in Gerontology, while Bill and Rob napped. We got up a few hours later to get ready for dinner, which was entirely motivated by the “Mexican” section we’d found in Tesco. Tortillas, salsa, taco seasoning, guacamole. It was bliss. And we were able to make our bliss entirely in the wok on the hotplate at the hostel. I did forget to mention that on each of these trips to Tesco, we had to stand in line at the register for a minimum of 15 minutes. The place was packed every time we went, with lines curling all through the aisles. It was insane. And so soviet. After we ate our tacos and showered, we were joined in the hostel room by the Italians.
Though Bill and Rob spent our initial time there talking shit about Italians, especially Italian travelers in Europe, on that second night the loud threesome became our friends, making an initial appeal by offering Bill and I vodka while they pregamed in the room. We had our own vodka, and got it to make drinks (it was about 8pm by this time. Nothing scandalous), and they waited until we mixed ours to toast with us and begin imbibing. And then came back an hour later to tell us about a club they’d heard of that was supposed to have good dancing. So dance we did.
But first we had to find the place. I asked at reception and the girl drew an X on my map in some white space (ie no roads) between the castle and the river. Hmm. So we made a few false starts trying to find our way across the snowy terrain. And unexpectedly came across a break in some fence that revealed an arch-shaped opening into the hill upon which the castle sat. We walked through a long tunnel, and came to another tunnel which opened onto huge arched rooms, one for smoking and sitting, the other for dancing. It was quite a scene. The music was excellent but the lights were very strobe-y, kind of too strobe-y. It was a little overwhelming. But fun. We left around 3am, as our next day was to be travel-filled. Got home, went to sleep, and were awakened by the Italians getting in and getting to bed around 5am. And then had to get up ourselves a few hours later to pack and eat breakfast and make our way back to the train station, where we bid farewell to Rob. As Bill and I sat down in a compartment on the train we thought was going back to Budapest, where we’d catch our plane, I turned to the girl sharing the compartment with us, to confirm that we were on the right train. It turned out that she was the one on the wrong train, and would have been taken hours out of her way if I hadn’t asked. And that meant that Bill and I got an empty compartment to read and sleep and eat in for the journey.
Winter Break II (Budapest)
Monday morning we flew to Budapest. In the airport, having trouble figuring out the rate of exchange, Bill got out 1,000 whatevers from the atm and we got a cab to our hostel. The cab fare was 6,000 whatevers. Oops. So we felt like ballers the whole time we were there, dishing out 5- and 10-thousand whatever bills. And everything was very cheap, which was a great blessing. What wasn’t a blessing was waking up Tuesday morning with a terrible cold. Both of us. So we went back to sleep until the afternoon, then ventured out into the snow to explore Buda and Pest (each city on either side of the river). I didn’t get far. After lunch in a very nice restaurant having a “Recession Friendy, 50% off all food” sale, Bill went on to cross the river and look around the castle district while I went back to the hostel to nurse my illness and escape the snow.
The first night in the city, having premonitions of the colds that were looming, we decided to take it easy and see a movie. We had an English-language monthly city guide that showed that Revolutionary Road would be shown, in English, at a theater about halfway between us and the main train station, on one of the bigger streets in the city. We walked along said road, stopping in one theater that apparently was the wrong one, until we reached the train station. Without finding the correct theater. So we walked all the way back down the road (it was about a 30 minute walk between the hostel and the station) determined to find the theater. Along the way we stopped back in the theater we’d checked out before, thinking we could see Vicky Cristina Barcelona if we couldn’t find the right place. But that movie was playing in Magyar (Hungarian). So we went back to the hostel and watch movies in the common room (they had about 200 on-demand movies, which was providential for sick travelers like us). The next day, after being sick and sleeping a lot, we decided to look for the theater again. I GoogleMapped it, found the exact block it was on. We walked there and…it was the same theater we’d visited twice the night before. We hadn’t known because Revolutionary Road was listed under its Magyar title, though it was playing in English. We felt dumb. To comfort ourselves, we had gelato for dinner, saw the movie, and went back to the hostel with brie and crackers to watch more movies (all in all, we watched The Departed, the new 007, Boogie Nights, and The Wedding Singer during our three nights at the hostel. We were acutely boring).
The next day I woke up feeling better and the sun was out, so we felt impelled to make the most of Budapest. We asked one of the girls at the hostel where we should get breakfast and were directed to a restaurant called Stex Haz. It was a bit startling to see men and women, young and old, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes at noon in a restaurant on a Wednesday. And Bill and I weren’t super hungry so we decided to split a large-looking entrée (we arrived too late for breakfast), composed of roasted potatoes, two rump steaks, “Parisian-style” chicken, sausage, and pickles (bleh). But the waiter said this was a meal intended for one person, and maybe we could split it but we should probably have appetizers first. We were suckers, so ordered mushroom soup and cheesy bread. Then couldn’t finish them. Then our enormous, “one-person” platter of Hungarian food arrived, served on a cutting board because it would never have fit on a plate. Needless to say, we didn’t even come close to finishing, so we had all but the pickles put into a leftover box and we took it home for the next day’s lunch. We walked down to the river and across the bridge, then along the river until we got to the cable car that climbs the cliff up to the castle. It was a very brief ride. In trying to get good photos of the river and city, I stepped over a knee-height chain that surrounded a very formal building and went to the edge of the cliff. As I was trying to take the photo Bill pulled me back, as we were being quickly descended upon by two guards wearing sunglasses, fur hats, and forest green snowsuits. And carrying weapons. We left, though one followed us for a minute.
The castle was interesting. Some ruins, or something, were behind it. They looked like old dungeons, but didn’t have any explanatory plaques, so who knows. I think it’s coolest to say dungeons. We walked a little. I wanted to find the castle labyrinth, which I found on the map. But it turned out to be more of a kid’s tourist destination, and the entry fee was too high for us to stomach. Plus, we’d just been in much cooler Erzgebirge mines. After dismissing the labyrinth, we walked back across one of the bridges to Pest, circled Parliament, paused so I could, somewhat discreetly, pull up my sagging tights, and found a coffee shop. Then we bought our tickets for the next day’s train trip to Bratislava, bought frozen pizza and wine, and went back to the hostel for more movies.
The next day was our last in Budapest. We woke up sort of late, of course. After breakfast we headed up to a park in the city’s northeastern corner, motivated by the nice-looking green space on our map. There was a castle there as well, and some impressive museum buildings. But the park itself was depressingly post-Soviet, aesthetically. And much smaller than it looked. So after circling it once in about 30 minutes, we found another coffee shop and walked back to the hostel to heat up our leftovers and pack. And walk to the train station with Bill carrying our enormous duffle bag with the straps backpack-style over his shoulders. Thank god I’m the girlfriend, because I never have to carry anything heavy.
The first night in the city, having premonitions of the colds that were looming, we decided to take it easy and see a movie. We had an English-language monthly city guide that showed that Revolutionary Road would be shown, in English, at a theater about halfway between us and the main train station, on one of the bigger streets in the city. We walked along said road, stopping in one theater that apparently was the wrong one, until we reached the train station. Without finding the correct theater. So we walked all the way back down the road (it was about a 30 minute walk between the hostel and the station) determined to find the theater. Along the way we stopped back in the theater we’d checked out before, thinking we could see Vicky Cristina Barcelona if we couldn’t find the right place. But that movie was playing in Magyar (Hungarian). So we went back to the hostel and watch movies in the common room (they had about 200 on-demand movies, which was providential for sick travelers like us). The next day, after being sick and sleeping a lot, we decided to look for the theater again. I GoogleMapped it, found the exact block it was on. We walked there and…it was the same theater we’d visited twice the night before. We hadn’t known because Revolutionary Road was listed under its Magyar title, though it was playing in English. We felt dumb. To comfort ourselves, we had gelato for dinner, saw the movie, and went back to the hostel with brie and crackers to watch more movies (all in all, we watched The Departed, the new 007, Boogie Nights, and The Wedding Singer during our three nights at the hostel. We were acutely boring).
The next day I woke up feeling better and the sun was out, so we felt impelled to make the most of Budapest. We asked one of the girls at the hostel where we should get breakfast and were directed to a restaurant called Stex Haz. It was a bit startling to see men and women, young and old, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes at noon in a restaurant on a Wednesday. And Bill and I weren’t super hungry so we decided to split a large-looking entrée (we arrived too late for breakfast), composed of roasted potatoes, two rump steaks, “Parisian-style” chicken, sausage, and pickles (bleh). But the waiter said this was a meal intended for one person, and maybe we could split it but we should probably have appetizers first. We were suckers, so ordered mushroom soup and cheesy bread. Then couldn’t finish them. Then our enormous, “one-person” platter of Hungarian food arrived, served on a cutting board because it would never have fit on a plate. Needless to say, we didn’t even come close to finishing, so we had all but the pickles put into a leftover box and we took it home for the next day’s lunch. We walked down to the river and across the bridge, then along the river until we got to the cable car that climbs the cliff up to the castle. It was a very brief ride. In trying to get good photos of the river and city, I stepped over a knee-height chain that surrounded a very formal building and went to the edge of the cliff. As I was trying to take the photo Bill pulled me back, as we were being quickly descended upon by two guards wearing sunglasses, fur hats, and forest green snowsuits. And carrying weapons. We left, though one followed us for a minute.
The castle was interesting. Some ruins, or something, were behind it. They looked like old dungeons, but didn’t have any explanatory plaques, so who knows. I think it’s coolest to say dungeons. We walked a little. I wanted to find the castle labyrinth, which I found on the map. But it turned out to be more of a kid’s tourist destination, and the entry fee was too high for us to stomach. Plus, we’d just been in much cooler Erzgebirge mines. After dismissing the labyrinth, we walked back across one of the bridges to Pest, circled Parliament, paused so I could, somewhat discreetly, pull up my sagging tights, and found a coffee shop. Then we bought our tickets for the next day’s train trip to Bratislava, bought frozen pizza and wine, and went back to the hostel for more movies.
The next day was our last in Budapest. We woke up sort of late, of course. After breakfast we headed up to a park in the city’s northeastern corner, motivated by the nice-looking green space on our map. There was a castle there as well, and some impressive museum buildings. But the park itself was depressingly post-Soviet, aesthetically. And much smaller than it looked. So after circling it once in about 30 minutes, we found another coffee shop and walked back to the hostel to heat up our leftovers and pack. And walk to the train station with Bill carrying our enormous duffle bag with the straps backpack-style over his shoulders. Thank god I’m the girlfriend, because I never have to carry anything heavy.
Winter Break I
Bill and I are in our second week back from winter break, which gave us two weeks off from school. The first week we didn’t do a whole lot. I was studying for my first exam in Human Sexuality, which I uncharacteristically over-prepared for. The first Saturday, Bill had his second tennis match. He won the individual match 14 games to 2, which everyone found very impressive. But he and Nico, as well as the other two Zwonitz player, Hubert and Uve, tied their doubles matches, which naturally made Bill very frustrated.
On Wednesday, a teacher from school, Herr Auerswalt, took Bill and I to an old mine in Aue. The region we live in is called the Erzgebirge, or the ore mountains, and it’s riddled with out-of-use mines dating back many centuries. The tour was pretty cool. It was, and had been, snowing like mad for a couple of days, so the drive was a little frightening (small, windy roads, fast German drivers, etc). We arrived and had to dress in appropriate gear: cloths wrapped around our feet, then high rubber boots, then big yellow plastic jackets, then these leather belts with heavy battery packs on them connected by a long hose thing, which wrapped under one arm and over the other shoulder, that ended in a sort of flashlight, and finally lovely plastic helmets. It was only the three of us and our guide, a young dude whose English was not quite sufficient (but working together, we translated most of what he was trying to say). We descended into the mountain, first noting the opening cut in the top of the door for the bats to get in and out. The tunnels were very narrow and low (not ideal for Bill, who was fortunate to have his helmet) and we were quieted a few times so as to not wake the bats sleeping a couple feet above our heads. It very much reminded me of the mines of Mordor, from Lord of the Rings (dorky me, I know), especially when we looked down at one point into the caverns below us, once active parts of the mine, that were entirely flooded. It turned out to be a very worthwhile and interesting cultural field trip. Bratislava, which I will talk about later, turned out to be less worthwhile and interesting, unfortunately.
Thursday morning, while I was studying and then taking my exam online, Bill made a big show (for the Lehms) of cleaning the apartment. We packed, I took my exam (and missed only one question, which was annoying), and then Herr Lehm drove us to the train station. We didn’t get to Colin’s apartment in Berlin until after 10 that night. Then we spent the weekend in Berlin, met several of Colin’s new friends there, went back to the really really cool club I mentioned in my New Year’s Eve post, and had a generally good time.
On Wednesday, a teacher from school, Herr Auerswalt, took Bill and I to an old mine in Aue. The region we live in is called the Erzgebirge, or the ore mountains, and it’s riddled with out-of-use mines dating back many centuries. The tour was pretty cool. It was, and had been, snowing like mad for a couple of days, so the drive was a little frightening (small, windy roads, fast German drivers, etc). We arrived and had to dress in appropriate gear: cloths wrapped around our feet, then high rubber boots, then big yellow plastic jackets, then these leather belts with heavy battery packs on them connected by a long hose thing, which wrapped under one arm and over the other shoulder, that ended in a sort of flashlight, and finally lovely plastic helmets. It was only the three of us and our guide, a young dude whose English was not quite sufficient (but working together, we translated most of what he was trying to say). We descended into the mountain, first noting the opening cut in the top of the door for the bats to get in and out. The tunnels were very narrow and low (not ideal for Bill, who was fortunate to have his helmet) and we were quieted a few times so as to not wake the bats sleeping a couple feet above our heads. It very much reminded me of the mines of Mordor, from Lord of the Rings (dorky me, I know), especially when we looked down at one point into the caverns below us, once active parts of the mine, that were entirely flooded. It turned out to be a very worthwhile and interesting cultural field trip. Bratislava, which I will talk about later, turned out to be less worthwhile and interesting, unfortunately.
Thursday morning, while I was studying and then taking my exam online, Bill made a big show (for the Lehms) of cleaning the apartment. We packed, I took my exam (and missed only one question, which was annoying), and then Herr Lehm drove us to the train station. We didn’t get to Colin’s apartment in Berlin until after 10 that night. Then we spent the weekend in Berlin, met several of Colin’s new friends there, went back to the really really cool club I mentioned in my New Year’s Eve post, and had a generally good time.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
An Overdue Update
I know, it’s been a while. I’m sorry. But because I’m writing this on Word at school with no internet connection, I’ve got plenty of time to write a nice long post, if you’re willing to read it.
Bill and I had a tennisful couple of weeks. The Australian Open was on and we watched hours of tennis everyday. And I loved it, despite having little to no interest in tennis before this. But our television options are rather limited, and with tennis it doesn’t matter if the announcer is speaking German with some very uncool and mispronounced American exclamations thrown in, so even Bill condescended to watch the women’s matches (which, though I berate Bill for talking shit about female athletes, was so much less impressive and more error-filled and slower than the men’s games). Oh, and Germans have a habit when speaking English of saying a ‘w’ sound when a word has a ‘v’. Because when going from English to German the sounds are switched. But it doesn’t quite work that way from German to English; the Germans just assume it does. So the announcer told us that “Wenus Villiam’s” had lost her match. And “Wenus” is a funny word. The Open just ended on Sunday, and we were very disappointed that the greasy Rafael Nadal beat the beautiful, god-like, elegant and classy Roger Federer. Bill has given me permission to have Federer’s babies if the opportunity arises, given the exceptional genetic advantage it would give my offspring.
Also, a week and a half ago, the Zwonitz team had their first match of the season against a neighboring town. Bill played singles against a short, older Bald Dude who was fairly good, but really didn’t stand a chance. And I, having recently been taught how tennis scoring works (though not the rationale behind it, if there is any), tried to keep score through the window of the club’s restaurant that overlooked his court. I lost my place several times, and credited various games to the wrong player, but it worked out because they were keeping score themselves. Then Bill and Nico played against Bald Dude and Short Weird-Looking Guy With The Crazy Serve. Bill and Nico won handily, though Nico had just lost his singles match without taking even one game. All in all, a major success, given that the two other Zwonitz players, Hubert and Klaus, won both their singles matches and their doubles match. It was fun to be with the winning team. And to be the only spectator at the match.
The Friday after the match, we’d been invited by one of the older tennis dudes to come to the tennis practice he puts on for kids every Friday afternoon at the high school. Bill asked if we could borrow a racquet for me and none of the kids showed up (I guess there’s a flu going around) so I got a private tennis lesson from two excellent tennis players! And there was a ball machine! And I learned a forehand and a backhand and sort of learned how to serve, but by that time I had a huge blister on my thumb and couldn’t hold the racquet very well. And Wolfgang, in his only English sentence of the day, said, “Yes, I think she has talent.” And I thought he was being very nice, because it seemed like I missed half the balls that came at me. But Bill said later that he wasn’t just being nice and I did have talent! Yay! Tennis might be my new hobby. I’ve never really had a hobby. Just reading, mostly, which makes me feel like a huge nerd when every kid I meet here, by way of getting to know me, asks what my hobbies are. And I have to say, “I like to read.”
Speaking of reading, I have a lot for my online classes. And for sexuality this week, I have to browse through the website of the Museum of Menstruation. Should be fun. If you’d like, I’ll write all about it here.
Bill and I had a tennisful couple of weeks. The Australian Open was on and we watched hours of tennis everyday. And I loved it, despite having little to no interest in tennis before this. But our television options are rather limited, and with tennis it doesn’t matter if the announcer is speaking German with some very uncool and mispronounced American exclamations thrown in, so even Bill condescended to watch the women’s matches (which, though I berate Bill for talking shit about female athletes, was so much less impressive and more error-filled and slower than the men’s games). Oh, and Germans have a habit when speaking English of saying a ‘w’ sound when a word has a ‘v’. Because when going from English to German the sounds are switched. But it doesn’t quite work that way from German to English; the Germans just assume it does. So the announcer told us that “Wenus Villiam’s” had lost her match. And “Wenus” is a funny word. The Open just ended on Sunday, and we were very disappointed that the greasy Rafael Nadal beat the beautiful, god-like, elegant and classy Roger Federer. Bill has given me permission to have Federer’s babies if the opportunity arises, given the exceptional genetic advantage it would give my offspring.
Also, a week and a half ago, the Zwonitz team had their first match of the season against a neighboring town. Bill played singles against a short, older Bald Dude who was fairly good, but really didn’t stand a chance. And I, having recently been taught how tennis scoring works (though not the rationale behind it, if there is any), tried to keep score through the window of the club’s restaurant that overlooked his court. I lost my place several times, and credited various games to the wrong player, but it worked out because they were keeping score themselves. Then Bill and Nico played against Bald Dude and Short Weird-Looking Guy With The Crazy Serve. Bill and Nico won handily, though Nico had just lost his singles match without taking even one game. All in all, a major success, given that the two other Zwonitz players, Hubert and Klaus, won both their singles matches and their doubles match. It was fun to be with the winning team. And to be the only spectator at the match.
The Friday after the match, we’d been invited by one of the older tennis dudes to come to the tennis practice he puts on for kids every Friday afternoon at the high school. Bill asked if we could borrow a racquet for me and none of the kids showed up (I guess there’s a flu going around) so I got a private tennis lesson from two excellent tennis players! And there was a ball machine! And I learned a forehand and a backhand and sort of learned how to serve, but by that time I had a huge blister on my thumb and couldn’t hold the racquet very well. And Wolfgang, in his only English sentence of the day, said, “Yes, I think she has talent.” And I thought he was being very nice, because it seemed like I missed half the balls that came at me. But Bill said later that he wasn’t just being nice and I did have talent! Yay! Tennis might be my new hobby. I’ve never really had a hobby. Just reading, mostly, which makes me feel like a huge nerd when every kid I meet here, by way of getting to know me, asks what my hobbies are. And I have to say, “I like to read.”
Speaking of reading, I have a lot for my online classes. And for sexuality this week, I have to browse through the website of the Museum of Menstruation. Should be fun. If you’d like, I’ll write all about it here.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
OBAMA! And LASAGNA!
So the lasagna was delicious. Couldn't get ricotta so used a shredded emmenthaler as a substitute, which was nice and salty and the top layer browned well while it baked. I asked Herr Lehm if I could use some of their aluminum foil to cover the lasagna while it was baking but he said nay, nay, and looked at me like I was a reckless child. Don't really understand why. Maybe he thinks an oven is like a microwave and metal will make it explode. Or maybe he's just a control freak.
I felt politeness required bring the Lehms two small pieces once it cooled, but otherwise Bill and I ate most of it that first night (he likes it cold, while I microwaved mine a bit) and finished it the next night. And decided that next time we won't give them any because we want it all for ourselves. And we may well buy a bigger pan so we can make even more.
This week I'm beginning the online classes I've signed up for through American River Community College. I'm primarily taking them because if I'm enrolled in a certain number of units I can stay on my parents' medical insurance. But, thanks to the very high demand for online courses at ARC and the fact that I looked for them late, limited selection has forced me into three classes I probably would never have taken had I a choice in the matter. I will be taking the Library Science course Internet Research Skills, the Sociology course Human Sexuality, and the Gerontology course Sociology of Aging. What a fun mix, hmmm?
Unfortunately, books are a bit of a problem. I was able to buy a downloadable version of my sexuality textbook but my Aging texts, ordered used on Amazon, won't arrive until mid February or possible early March. Might hamper my class performance. And of course since I'm overseas there was no option for expedited shipping. If anyone reading would like to help me by finding the books in the library (Moody, Harry. Aging, Concepts and Controversies, 5th Edition, and Cox, Harold. Annual Editions: Aging) and making copies or scanning the first couple chapters, that would be really helpful. Also a lot of work, I realize, but in case my blog doesn't kill quite enough time in your week, I present this as an additional option.
Got my hair cut yesterday, which was nice because the bangs have been growing unchecked since October, and they've been a pain in the ass. Went to a girl we met through Nico. She's very nice, did a very thorough job, and finds it strange that American hairstylists have to go to school for such a short time. She went back to school for a masters in hairstyling (not sure what the US equivalent might be) in 2005, so I felt very comfortable in her hands. The bangs are now a little heavier, quite mod, and there are more short pieces around my face. I think I'm pleased but haven't styled it myself yet, as she did such a lovely job of straightening, but that will be the true test of whether I like it. I'll be meeting Bill back at her salon in an hour for his appointment with her. His wings were getting a little out of control.
Oh, and I mentioned Obama (PRESIDENT Obama) in the post's title. I watched hours of inaugural coverage yesterday and could not stop smiling throughout. His speech was brilliant, appropriately serious, and very motivating. And Michelle looked great, especially the unexpected greens of her gloves and shoes. Oh, and her ball gown was fantastic. And, note to Becca in particular, it looked like she had some nice lush false eyelashes on at the ball. I'm very much looking forward to seeing the steps the Obama administration takes in the next few months in terms of facing the financial crisis and fixing some of the more prominent Bush/Cheney disasters.
Miss you all very much.
I felt politeness required bring the Lehms two small pieces once it cooled, but otherwise Bill and I ate most of it that first night (he likes it cold, while I microwaved mine a bit) and finished it the next night. And decided that next time we won't give them any because we want it all for ourselves. And we may well buy a bigger pan so we can make even more.
This week I'm beginning the online classes I've signed up for through American River Community College. I'm primarily taking them because if I'm enrolled in a certain number of units I can stay on my parents' medical insurance. But, thanks to the very high demand for online courses at ARC and the fact that I looked for them late, limited selection has forced me into three classes I probably would never have taken had I a choice in the matter. I will be taking the Library Science course Internet Research Skills, the Sociology course Human Sexuality, and the Gerontology course Sociology of Aging. What a fun mix, hmmm?
Unfortunately, books are a bit of a problem. I was able to buy a downloadable version of my sexuality textbook but my Aging texts, ordered used on Amazon, won't arrive until mid February or possible early March. Might hamper my class performance. And of course since I'm overseas there was no option for expedited shipping. If anyone reading would like to help me by finding the books in the library (Moody, Harry. Aging, Concepts and Controversies, 5th Edition, and Cox, Harold. Annual Editions: Aging) and making copies or scanning the first couple chapters, that would be really helpful. Also a lot of work, I realize, but in case my blog doesn't kill quite enough time in your week, I present this as an additional option.
Got my hair cut yesterday, which was nice because the bangs have been growing unchecked since October, and they've been a pain in the ass. Went to a girl we met through Nico. She's very nice, did a very thorough job, and finds it strange that American hairstylists have to go to school for such a short time. She went back to school for a masters in hairstyling (not sure what the US equivalent might be) in 2005, so I felt very comfortable in her hands. The bangs are now a little heavier, quite mod, and there are more short pieces around my face. I think I'm pleased but haven't styled it myself yet, as she did such a lovely job of straightening, but that will be the true test of whether I like it. I'll be meeting Bill back at her salon in an hour for his appointment with her. His wings were getting a little out of control.
Oh, and I mentioned Obama (PRESIDENT Obama) in the post's title. I watched hours of inaugural coverage yesterday and could not stop smiling throughout. His speech was brilliant, appropriately serious, and very motivating. And Michelle looked great, especially the unexpected greens of her gloves and shoes. Oh, and her ball gown was fantastic. And, note to Becca in particular, it looked like she had some nice lush false eyelashes on at the ball. I'm very much looking forward to seeing the steps the Obama administration takes in the next few months in terms of facing the financial crisis and fixing some of the more prominent Bush/Cheney disasters.
Miss you all very much.
Belated. Sorry.
[Wrote this Monday, but only now have internet strong enough to post it (I’m back at the hotel where we watched the football game.) Apologies for the delay.]
This past weekend was much less eventful than last. No Nazis, no German cover bands, no heavy snow. We did have a Zwonitz first, though: our friend Nico (I think I’ve mentioned him before—he plays tennis with Bill) came over to our apartment for dinner Friday night. He was our very first guest, in fact the first person besides Herr Lehm to even enter our little home. Needless to say, I spent the week unspeakably excited about it. Most of you know how much I love to cook for people. And if you don’t, please allow me, next time we’re together, to demonstrate by cooking you dinner.
As I’ve mentioned, we’ve been having computer troubles. Bill’s has a nasty virus which we’ve been trying, even with our technological ineptitude, to get rid of. We’ve read tech help message boards, most of which are a little too complicated for us but give an idea of where we should look for simpler instructions. And it gave me an excuse to use our cell phone to call the US and catch up with my technophilic friend Matt (it had been two whole months since we’d talked!!). But now, after following various instructions for deleting the virus, Bill’s comp is stuck in Safe Mode and occasionally decides to spend several minutes growling (it’s definitely not the fan. We’re very familiar with the fan’s irritated hum, and I’m sure that if we opened the computer up it would be chock full of lint and dust).
Anyway, Nico said he’s good with computers so we invited him over to take a look at Bill’s (and have a go at my internet-phobic laptop) and have dinner before heading to our Friday night spot, Afterwork. What did I cook? Tacos, of course. Not the best Californian tacos, because our resources are rather limited, but I think they turned out okay. I browned ground beef with the taco seasoning Mary sent me (it was perfect). We made guacamole, of course, with one of the 10 or so guac seasoning packets I brought from the US. Nico had never eaten guac, and while he said it was good, I noticed he wasn’t dipping all that many chips before dinner. But he did put it on all of his tacos, per our example. All we have for salsa is a “Taco Sauce” that’s pretty weak. I could easily make my own, I guess. Maybe, Mary, you could send me your recipe? And for cheese, because the Zwonitz stores offer no Cheddar, no Monterey Jack, nothing I would normally put on Mexican food, we used shredded Emmenthaler. And flour tortillas which we can only get at Kaufland, the Walmart-style grocery store that’s a solid 35-40 minute uphill walk from our house. But Nico seemed very pleased by these faux tacos and, charmingly, told several of his friends at Afterwork what a good cook I am (despite a lack of evidence, the only cooking involved in these tacos being the browning of the meat). Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to fix either of our computers, but Bill’s going to bring his to school again to have a teacher look at it, who might end up just rebuilding the hard drive (whatever that means).
It’s very overcast outside (not unusual) and also very windy. It reminds me of a Woodland wind, one of those that whips around the house and makes the windows shake and just sort of drives you crazy. But we haven’t had anymore snow yet, and it’s not as cold as last week, so I won’t complain. Also, I’m starving and am tempted to make a grilled cheese, which would be very naughty. I made the mistake, a couple days ago, of composing a grilled cheese of thinly-sliced French bread (actually, it’s called Semmerbrot, and I suppose it isn’t French at all), a strip of Black Forest ham fried to bacon-like crispness before taking its place between two layers of Gouda sandwich slices. Terrible, I know, but also glorious.
What I’ve spent the whole morning thinking about, though, is how to ask Herr Lehm, in German, if I can borrow a baking dish and use his oven this afternoon in order to make lasagna. We got most of the ingredients at Kaufland on Saturday (including ground turkey instead of ground beef or Italian sausage, because Bill has this crazy idea that red meat isn’t good for us), and Bill is picking up more mozzarella and ricotta on his way home from school today. Cross your fingers that it will work out, because I’ve gotten myself really worked up in anticipation.
As some of you might be aware, the Philadelphia Eagles played in the NFC Championships last night. And as you might also know, Bill is from Philadelphia. So, being very conscious of his self-identification as an athlete and his responsibility as a bro to do everything in his power to watch his city’s American football team in an important game, he spent much of Sunday struggling with my computer’s unreliable wireless connection in an attempt to find a way to see the game. It seems that there aren’t any sportsbars in Chemnitz or Aue (the two cities nearest Zwonitz) that show American football games. And a bro can’t count on my computer’s internet to show him such an important game, so at 830pm we pack up my laptop and walked 20 minutes to the town’s biggest hotel, which has very good wireless in its bar/restaurant. And after some fiddling around with it, we found a fairly good link for streaming the game, and spent the next 3 hours watching it explaining the game to the bartender (we were the only customers). Because the Eagles weren’t playing very well, Bill wasn’t particularly relaxed, but I had brought some knitting with me so I had a very enjoyable evening.
This past weekend was much less eventful than last. No Nazis, no German cover bands, no heavy snow. We did have a Zwonitz first, though: our friend Nico (I think I’ve mentioned him before—he plays tennis with Bill) came over to our apartment for dinner Friday night. He was our very first guest, in fact the first person besides Herr Lehm to even enter our little home. Needless to say, I spent the week unspeakably excited about it. Most of you know how much I love to cook for people. And if you don’t, please allow me, next time we’re together, to demonstrate by cooking you dinner.
As I’ve mentioned, we’ve been having computer troubles. Bill’s has a nasty virus which we’ve been trying, even with our technological ineptitude, to get rid of. We’ve read tech help message boards, most of which are a little too complicated for us but give an idea of where we should look for simpler instructions. And it gave me an excuse to use our cell phone to call the US and catch up with my technophilic friend Matt (it had been two whole months since we’d talked!!). But now, after following various instructions for deleting the virus, Bill’s comp is stuck in Safe Mode and occasionally decides to spend several minutes growling (it’s definitely not the fan. We’re very familiar with the fan’s irritated hum, and I’m sure that if we opened the computer up it would be chock full of lint and dust).
Anyway, Nico said he’s good with computers so we invited him over to take a look at Bill’s (and have a go at my internet-phobic laptop) and have dinner before heading to our Friday night spot, Afterwork. What did I cook? Tacos, of course. Not the best Californian tacos, because our resources are rather limited, but I think they turned out okay. I browned ground beef with the taco seasoning Mary sent me (it was perfect). We made guacamole, of course, with one of the 10 or so guac seasoning packets I brought from the US. Nico had never eaten guac, and while he said it was good, I noticed he wasn’t dipping all that many chips before dinner. But he did put it on all of his tacos, per our example. All we have for salsa is a “Taco Sauce” that’s pretty weak. I could easily make my own, I guess. Maybe, Mary, you could send me your recipe? And for cheese, because the Zwonitz stores offer no Cheddar, no Monterey Jack, nothing I would normally put on Mexican food, we used shredded Emmenthaler. And flour tortillas which we can only get at Kaufland, the Walmart-style grocery store that’s a solid 35-40 minute uphill walk from our house. But Nico seemed very pleased by these faux tacos and, charmingly, told several of his friends at Afterwork what a good cook I am (despite a lack of evidence, the only cooking involved in these tacos being the browning of the meat). Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to fix either of our computers, but Bill’s going to bring his to school again to have a teacher look at it, who might end up just rebuilding the hard drive (whatever that means).
It’s very overcast outside (not unusual) and also very windy. It reminds me of a Woodland wind, one of those that whips around the house and makes the windows shake and just sort of drives you crazy. But we haven’t had anymore snow yet, and it’s not as cold as last week, so I won’t complain. Also, I’m starving and am tempted to make a grilled cheese, which would be very naughty. I made the mistake, a couple days ago, of composing a grilled cheese of thinly-sliced French bread (actually, it’s called Semmerbrot, and I suppose it isn’t French at all), a strip of Black Forest ham fried to bacon-like crispness before taking its place between two layers of Gouda sandwich slices. Terrible, I know, but also glorious.
What I’ve spent the whole morning thinking about, though, is how to ask Herr Lehm, in German, if I can borrow a baking dish and use his oven this afternoon in order to make lasagna. We got most of the ingredients at Kaufland on Saturday (including ground turkey instead of ground beef or Italian sausage, because Bill has this crazy idea that red meat isn’t good for us), and Bill is picking up more mozzarella and ricotta on his way home from school today. Cross your fingers that it will work out, because I’ve gotten myself really worked up in anticipation.
As some of you might be aware, the Philadelphia Eagles played in the NFC Championships last night. And as you might also know, Bill is from Philadelphia. So, being very conscious of his self-identification as an athlete and his responsibility as a bro to do everything in his power to watch his city’s American football team in an important game, he spent much of Sunday struggling with my computer’s unreliable wireless connection in an attempt to find a way to see the game. It seems that there aren’t any sportsbars in Chemnitz or Aue (the two cities nearest Zwonitz) that show American football games. And a bro can’t count on my computer’s internet to show him such an important game, so at 830pm we pack up my laptop and walked 20 minutes to the town’s biggest hotel, which has very good wireless in its bar/restaurant. And after some fiddling around with it, we found a fairly good link for streaming the game, and spent the next 3 hours watching it explaining the game to the bartender (we were the only customers). Because the Eagles weren’t playing very well, Bill wasn’t particularly relaxed, but I had brought some knitting with me so I had a very enjoyable evening.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Bill's Nazi Observations
"Last weekend at the town pub 'After Work' we met a Nazi. A real one, from Germany. He spoke remarkably good English, though with his 'Fuck America' t-shirt and rabid anti-everythingism, what he had to say wasn't all that pleasant to hear. At one point he threatened to hit me, but I was confident that he would not do so in such a public place...but he was extremely large and intimidating. He hailed Hitler repeatedly, much to the chagrin of the other bargoers. He was impressed with my knowledge of Punk Rock, though I wisely left out that I stopped listening to such music at about the age of 13. After posing drunk questions to me he would cut off my answer by shouting 'Its not your fucking problem!' He then proceeded to light a cigarette in the bar (no longer legal here) and announce, 'This is my town, I do whatever the fuck I want.' I have to hand it to him, no one tried to stop him."
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
From Berlin, back to Zwonitz
So I suppose I never finished the post on our time away, on New Year’s Eve (Silvester, in German, which I think is a much more elegant name for the holiday) in Berlin. It was also my first trip to Berlin, and I have to say, I loved the city. Silvester itself was a little lackluster, unfortunately. And, once Bill and I decided to do a little daytime shopping on the 31st, we found that all of the shops closed by 2pm, despite the throngs of people still flocking the main shopping areas. Even the huge department store he wanted to show me, which sounds like Berlin’s Harrods and is apparently, like Harrods, is a huge draw as a tourist attraction, was closed when we walked up to its doors at 2:30. Even all five of the H&Ms distributed within 2 city blocks were closed. It boggled my mind, though I suppose it goes along with the German retail ethic I’ve found in Zwonitz—absolutely nothing open on Sundays, everything except the biggest grocery store closed by noon or 1 on Saturdays, and every store closed for at least an hour, if not two, for lunch on weekdays. Doesn’t seem like they could sell enough to stay in business, but I suppose, German being a much more socialist-leaning state (in terms of national health care and staggering income taxes, though I actually know very little about it and this is all rather uneducated conjecture) than the US, they don’t actually have to do much business for the government to keep them in business. I suppose I should do some research on my temporarily-adopted country.
Speaking of my new country, I got my visa last Thursday, and can officially stay and legally work here until July 5th (why July 5th? I don’t know. I thought I was allowed a year but they seemed to just have assigned me a visa expiration date arbitrarily). I certainly won’t be staying longer than that, and in fact am thinking I’ll probably come back at least a month before then.
Oh, but the rest of our time in Berlin was great. Bill’s friend Colin has just moved there (like Bill, he did a semester abroad in Germany) and has friends in Berlin, so Bill and I got to spend time with more than just each other, which is a nice change (not that we’re sick of each other, just that we spend at least 20 hours a day alone together and it’s refreshing to interact with other humans).We hit some second-hand shops in a cool, slightly run-down neighborhood. And a couple friends of Colin’s took us to a deserted neighborhood where, underneath some elevated train tracks, we sought out the slightly hidden entrance of an underground club and danced the night away in unheated concrete rooms. Very fun.
Speaking of parties, back in Zwonitz we spend Friday and Saturday night with our new friends from Mettenschicht in the only cool bar in town. We met a very interesting character on Friday night, someone we’ve seen in the bar many times before and have carefully avoided (I have at least—I find him a little frightening). We still don’t know his name, despite spending more than an hour interacting with him that night, so we simply call him The Nazi. Because that’s what he calls himself, when he’s not claiming his name is Hitler. I don’t know if the accurate label is neo Nazi or skinhead, because I’m told there’s a difference, but he hailed Hitler a number of times, was wearing a Fuck America tee shirt, and is covered in tattoos. These include, but are certainly not limited to, Satan’s face on the back of his right hand (for ultimate effect when he makes a fist with index and pinky fingers upraised for a “rock on” and “I just might kill you for the fun of it” gesture), full sleeves and neck of various symbols, something above his eyebrow, and ink on the upper inside of each ear, notably a handgun on the left one. But I’ll wait for Bill to recount the details of our conversation with him, and post it here later.
On Saturday, walking home from a place called Wind, where we saw an overpopulated band play a lot of American pop covers (a lot of which are currently on the radio, which exasperated me), Bill repeatedly demonstrated for me his skill for speed walking. And I quote,
“It would be such a waste of my talent if I didn’t try out for the Olympic speed walking team,”
and,
“Wait, no, look. Watch my rate of acceleration—it’s incredible,”
and,
“No, hold on, you weren’t watching. Here, I’ll do it again. Look at how fast I can accelerate!”
I didn’t want to indulge him at the time, especially because it was funnier to see him drunkenly trying to prove, over and over again, his unrealized talent by suddenly taking off, hips swinging back and forth and arms pumping furiously like the old ladies who do it while wearing weight belts or ankle weights. When I told him, the next morning, that I was planning on putting the episode in my blog, he acknowledged its comical value but insisted that, once I had made my jokes, I should admit that he does possess exceptional speed walking skills. Which, I suppose, he does.
Now I’m off to English club at school. Our girls are going to tell us how the European soccer leagues work. They’re also going to teach us about handball, a very popular sport in Germany, and hopefully show us how to play.
Biss shpeta, mein freunds (I know that isn’t how to make “friend” plural, but I don’t feel like looking it up right now. And, as I’m writing this on Word to be posted later, I don’t have internet so can’t look it up, as Bill’s computer has a nasty virus and mine only seems to find the wireless in the evening, a mystifying limitation).
Speaking of my new country, I got my visa last Thursday, and can officially stay and legally work here until July 5th (why July 5th? I don’t know. I thought I was allowed a year but they seemed to just have assigned me a visa expiration date arbitrarily). I certainly won’t be staying longer than that, and in fact am thinking I’ll probably come back at least a month before then.
Oh, but the rest of our time in Berlin was great. Bill’s friend Colin has just moved there (like Bill, he did a semester abroad in Germany) and has friends in Berlin, so Bill and I got to spend time with more than just each other, which is a nice change (not that we’re sick of each other, just that we spend at least 20 hours a day alone together and it’s refreshing to interact with other humans).We hit some second-hand shops in a cool, slightly run-down neighborhood. And a couple friends of Colin’s took us to a deserted neighborhood where, underneath some elevated train tracks, we sought out the slightly hidden entrance of an underground club and danced the night away in unheated concrete rooms. Very fun.
Speaking of parties, back in Zwonitz we spend Friday and Saturday night with our new friends from Mettenschicht in the only cool bar in town. We met a very interesting character on Friday night, someone we’ve seen in the bar many times before and have carefully avoided (I have at least—I find him a little frightening). We still don’t know his name, despite spending more than an hour interacting with him that night, so we simply call him The Nazi. Because that’s what he calls himself, when he’s not claiming his name is Hitler. I don’t know if the accurate label is neo Nazi or skinhead, because I’m told there’s a difference, but he hailed Hitler a number of times, was wearing a Fuck America tee shirt, and is covered in tattoos. These include, but are certainly not limited to, Satan’s face on the back of his right hand (for ultimate effect when he makes a fist with index and pinky fingers upraised for a “rock on” and “I just might kill you for the fun of it” gesture), full sleeves and neck of various symbols, something above his eyebrow, and ink on the upper inside of each ear, notably a handgun on the left one. But I’ll wait for Bill to recount the details of our conversation with him, and post it here later.
On Saturday, walking home from a place called Wind, where we saw an overpopulated band play a lot of American pop covers (a lot of which are currently on the radio, which exasperated me), Bill repeatedly demonstrated for me his skill for speed walking. And I quote,
“It would be such a waste of my talent if I didn’t try out for the Olympic speed walking team,”
and,
“Wait, no, look. Watch my rate of acceleration—it’s incredible,”
and,
“No, hold on, you weren’t watching. Here, I’ll do it again. Look at how fast I can accelerate!”
I didn’t want to indulge him at the time, especially because it was funnier to see him drunkenly trying to prove, over and over again, his unrealized talent by suddenly taking off, hips swinging back and forth and arms pumping furiously like the old ladies who do it while wearing weight belts or ankle weights. When I told him, the next morning, that I was planning on putting the episode in my blog, he acknowledged its comical value but insisted that, once I had made my jokes, I should admit that he does possess exceptional speed walking skills. Which, I suppose, he does.
Now I’m off to English club at school. Our girls are going to tell us how the European soccer leagues work. They’re also going to teach us about handball, a very popular sport in Germany, and hopefully show us how to play.
Biss shpeta, mein freunds (I know that isn’t how to make “friend” plural, but I don’t feel like looking it up right now. And, as I’m writing this on Word to be posted later, I don’t have internet so can’t look it up, as Bill’s computer has a nasty virus and mine only seems to find the wireless in the evening, a mystifying limitation).
Monday, January 5, 2009
Holidays: Zwonitz>Chemnitz>Dresden>Berlin>Fairlight>Hastings>Brighton>Berlin>Zwonitz
Bill and I are home from the holidays, as opposed to being home for the holidays. And while we weren't able to travel all the way to our real homes, I think we found a couple new "homes" during our foreign holiday celebrations.
For our Christmas kickoff, see Bill's post on Mettenschicht. I won't post the address of his blog, as it's written primarily for his friends and might offend the more refined sensibilities of my readership. But if you'd like, send me an email or an fbook whatever and I'll let you know how to find it. I'd like to keep my readers to myself and not share with Bill, because I like you all so much and because he and I are vaguely competitive about our blogging. In spite of this, I appreciate his description of Mettenschicht so I'll include it here:
"Well, unfortunately, it was not really feasible for me to make the trip back to America for Christmas, but luckily this allowed me to celebrate a new and wonderful holiday. Mettenschicht is a tradition particular to this region of Germany- Die Erzgebirge, or Ore Mountains. When this was still a mining area, the last shift in the mines before Christmas was celebrated with a big party, something like an office Christmas party, only more hardcore. As you can imagine, those miners knew how to get down. So today the last Friday before Christmas is Mettenschicht and everyone rages...traditionally. Katy and I were invited to a party at someone's house, and were picked up with our friend Nico, who I know from the tennis team.
Upon arriving, I was impressed by the wide variety of people in attendance. There were middle aged alcoholics who looked, as Katy put it, like cartoon depictions of alcoholics. There were hardcore punx with leather jackets and crazy hair, and there were some normal people. There was some accordion playing and singing-along going on, but the younger party-goers seemed just as ready to mock this outdated tomfoolery as we were. In the garage, people stood around chain smoking and crushing beers, so we set up shop there. As usual, we were a huge source of interest for these small-town folk, and we were questioned vigorously about all sorts of topics from Rage Against the Machine to feminine hair waxing issues. The young people we hang out with at these events are very friendly and enormously entertaining. One young man boasted that his English was very good, which it was. Marcel, another fellow tennis player, conceded but added that "his penis is very small.""
Needless to say, we had a good time. And we made friends. And I made friends, or began to make friends, with a couple of girls (I miss talking to girls). One of them works in a hair salon and has offered to cut my hair, which is good because the bangs have been growing unchecked for two months, and they're a little out of control. The other told me how to find her on fbook, which I suppose I should do, if I'm going to pursue this friendship thing. And our friends Nico and Marcel want to take us snowboarding (ie, loan us boards and gear, drive us there, then teach us how to snowboard), and a couple of others want to take us to a soccer match in nearby Aue. So good news for a social life in Zwonitz.
Mettenschicht was Friday, we spent Saturday hungover, on Sunday opened Christmas presents from mi familia (which were awesome, and sorry we couldn't wait for the 25th--we travelled lightly), and on Monday did major cleaning in anticipation of a Lehm inspection during our absence (and scored major points when Herr Lehm poked his head in the door to tell us something and saw me mopping the kitchen floor; double points because I was wearing the new little nightgown Mum sent for Xmas [eww, I know, but it has comedic value]). Tuesday morning at 930 H. Lehm drove us to the Zwonitz station, then we took an hour-long ride to Chemnitz, and from there an hour-long ride to Dresden, and there waited for the lady who was driving us to the airport in Berlin (A mitfahrgelegenheit--literally, "withrideopportunity") in her white Twingo. What is a Twingo? We didn't know either, so after approaching a few white cars in the station parking lot, Bill asked a guy and was told, "Very small and round". And so it was. I slept through the two hour drive and we arrived two hours before check-in opened. So we got lunch at an "American" diner in the airport, scraped cabbage and carrots off of our "American" burgers, drank cola without ice and ate french fries, which naturally had been dusted in curry powder.
But we got on the plane and to England without further incident, where my cousin Maria and her partner Alan (who became her fiancee on Christmas Eve!) picked us up, took us to dinner at a pub, and drove us out to Aunty Eva's house in Fairlight, a little village east of Hastings on the English Channel. Aunty Eva is my nana's younger sister (Nana Rose/Kay escaped to New Zealand when she was in her twenties) and Maria is her daughter, my cousin of some sort. Eva's house, Tudor-looking and built in the 30s, sits on the cliff-edge above the Channel. She's lost about 10 feet of back-garden in her 25 years living there--her sister, my Aunty Peg (the oldest of the three sisters) usually can't be coerced to visit there, as she's convinced the house is going to topple into the sea while she's asleep. In fact, she told me that when she went this summer she slept with a change of clothes in her purse, and her purse in bed with her, in case she had to make a swift escape in the middle of the night. It's really an incredible place. We slept in the upstairs bedroom, where French doors open onto an unfinished roof deck facing the sea. It was quite cold the whole time, but sunny, and one morning we opened the doors and sat out on the roof with our coffee, watching the waves and absorbing some Vitamin D.
Christmas was at Maria's, in Hastings. Alan cooked a huge roast turkey dinner (which was nice, since Bill and I didn't get turkey at Thanksgiving), then Lauren, his 9 year old daughter, opened an enormous pile of presents while we all watched. Then we went back to the table for dessert. Then we took a break, played some Monopoly Jr (Lauren kicked ass, and didn't let anyone forget it), then went back to the table for cheese, crackers, and chocolate. Boxing Day (day after Christmas in England and New Zealand--and, I suppose, in Australia, though who really cares) was more of the same at Maria's. Another huge meal, then dessert, then more snacking.
Saturday we drove to Brighton to visit the other half of my England family, Aunty Peg's half. Peggy has three daughters, Lynda, Margaret, and Tricia. Lynda has Rosie, a year younger than me, Margaret has JoAnna and Katie (and Jo has Jeanie, 3 years old), and Tricia has Evie, who is a 4 year old wild thing. It's a family dominated by the feminine, needless to say. More food and reminiscing there, and Bill feeling right at home, he said, at a family holiday marked by boredom and a few old people.
Bill and I stayed in Brighton with Lynda Saturday and Sunday night. She's very artistic and lives in a very bohemian home chock full of interesting bits and pieces and with a bath but no shower. We went second-hand-shopping in Brighton on Sunday, and that night my cousin Rosie came home from London, where she studies at Kings College, with her boyfriend Will. And Rosie and Will and Bill and I had a grand time that night drinking wine at home and then at the bar and then coming home to make mulled wine and eat cheese and chocolate while sitting on the floor of the living room. It all felt delightfully bohemian. But Bill and I had meant to have Monday in London, leaving early in the morning. This, of course, did not happen, owing to my mulled hangover. Instead, we went into Brighton again, got Bill a Cornish pasty and me some pasta salad from Marks and Spencer, met Rosie and Will for another drink, and took the train back to Hastings to have another huge dinner at Maria's. Then our last night with Aunty Eva, and a lazy Tuesday with a walk along the cliff, and Maria and Alan took us to the airport that evening.
And details of Berlin tomorrow, or perhaps later, because the as the length of this post increases my patience with it correspondingly decreases.
Biss shpeta.
For our Christmas kickoff, see Bill's post on Mettenschicht. I won't post the address of his blog, as it's written primarily for his friends and might offend the more refined sensibilities of my readership. But if you'd like, send me an email or an fbook whatever and I'll let you know how to find it. I'd like to keep my readers to myself and not share with Bill, because I like you all so much and because he and I are vaguely competitive about our blogging. In spite of this, I appreciate his description of Mettenschicht so I'll include it here:
"Well, unfortunately, it was not really feasible for me to make the trip back to America for Christmas, but luckily this allowed me to celebrate a new and wonderful holiday. Mettenschicht is a tradition particular to this region of Germany- Die Erzgebirge, or Ore Mountains. When this was still a mining area, the last shift in the mines before Christmas was celebrated with a big party, something like an office Christmas party, only more hardcore. As you can imagine, those miners knew how to get down. So today the last Friday before Christmas is Mettenschicht and everyone rages...traditionally. Katy and I were invited to a party at someone's house, and were picked up with our friend Nico, who I know from the tennis team.
Upon arriving, I was impressed by the wide variety of people in attendance. There were middle aged alcoholics who looked, as Katy put it, like cartoon depictions of alcoholics. There were hardcore punx with leather jackets and crazy hair, and there were some normal people. There was some accordion playing and singing-along going on, but the younger party-goers seemed just as ready to mock this outdated tomfoolery as we were. In the garage, people stood around chain smoking and crushing beers, so we set up shop there. As usual, we were a huge source of interest for these small-town folk, and we were questioned vigorously about all sorts of topics from Rage Against the Machine to feminine hair waxing issues. The young people we hang out with at these events are very friendly and enormously entertaining. One young man boasted that his English was very good, which it was. Marcel, another fellow tennis player, conceded but added that "his penis is very small.""
Needless to say, we had a good time. And we made friends. And I made friends, or began to make friends, with a couple of girls (I miss talking to girls). One of them works in a hair salon and has offered to cut my hair, which is good because the bangs have been growing unchecked for two months, and they're a little out of control. The other told me how to find her on fbook, which I suppose I should do, if I'm going to pursue this friendship thing. And our friends Nico and Marcel want to take us snowboarding (ie, loan us boards and gear, drive us there, then teach us how to snowboard), and a couple of others want to take us to a soccer match in nearby Aue. So good news for a social life in Zwonitz.
Mettenschicht was Friday, we spent Saturday hungover, on Sunday opened Christmas presents from mi familia (which were awesome, and sorry we couldn't wait for the 25th--we travelled lightly), and on Monday did major cleaning in anticipation of a Lehm inspection during our absence (and scored major points when Herr Lehm poked his head in the door to tell us something and saw me mopping the kitchen floor; double points because I was wearing the new little nightgown Mum sent for Xmas [eww, I know, but it has comedic value]). Tuesday morning at 930 H. Lehm drove us to the Zwonitz station, then we took an hour-long ride to Chemnitz, and from there an hour-long ride to Dresden, and there waited for the lady who was driving us to the airport in Berlin (A mitfahrgelegenheit--literally, "withrideopportunity") in her white Twingo. What is a Twingo? We didn't know either, so after approaching a few white cars in the station parking lot, Bill asked a guy and was told, "Very small and round". And so it was. I slept through the two hour drive and we arrived two hours before check-in opened. So we got lunch at an "American" diner in the airport, scraped cabbage and carrots off of our "American" burgers, drank cola without ice and ate french fries, which naturally had been dusted in curry powder.
But we got on the plane and to England without further incident, where my cousin Maria and her partner Alan (who became her fiancee on Christmas Eve!) picked us up, took us to dinner at a pub, and drove us out to Aunty Eva's house in Fairlight, a little village east of Hastings on the English Channel. Aunty Eva is my nana's younger sister (Nana Rose/Kay escaped to New Zealand when she was in her twenties) and Maria is her daughter, my cousin of some sort. Eva's house, Tudor-looking and built in the 30s, sits on the cliff-edge above the Channel. She's lost about 10 feet of back-garden in her 25 years living there--her sister, my Aunty Peg (the oldest of the three sisters) usually can't be coerced to visit there, as she's convinced the house is going to topple into the sea while she's asleep. In fact, she told me that when she went this summer she slept with a change of clothes in her purse, and her purse in bed with her, in case she had to make a swift escape in the middle of the night. It's really an incredible place. We slept in the upstairs bedroom, where French doors open onto an unfinished roof deck facing the sea. It was quite cold the whole time, but sunny, and one morning we opened the doors and sat out on the roof with our coffee, watching the waves and absorbing some Vitamin D.
Christmas was at Maria's, in Hastings. Alan cooked a huge roast turkey dinner (which was nice, since Bill and I didn't get turkey at Thanksgiving), then Lauren, his 9 year old daughter, opened an enormous pile of presents while we all watched. Then we went back to the table for dessert. Then we took a break, played some Monopoly Jr (Lauren kicked ass, and didn't let anyone forget it), then went back to the table for cheese, crackers, and chocolate. Boxing Day (day after Christmas in England and New Zealand--and, I suppose, in Australia, though who really cares) was more of the same at Maria's. Another huge meal, then dessert, then more snacking.
Saturday we drove to Brighton to visit the other half of my England family, Aunty Peg's half. Peggy has three daughters, Lynda, Margaret, and Tricia. Lynda has Rosie, a year younger than me, Margaret has JoAnna and Katie (and Jo has Jeanie, 3 years old), and Tricia has Evie, who is a 4 year old wild thing. It's a family dominated by the feminine, needless to say. More food and reminiscing there, and Bill feeling right at home, he said, at a family holiday marked by boredom and a few old people.
Bill and I stayed in Brighton with Lynda Saturday and Sunday night. She's very artistic and lives in a very bohemian home chock full of interesting bits and pieces and with a bath but no shower. We went second-hand-shopping in Brighton on Sunday, and that night my cousin Rosie came home from London, where she studies at Kings College, with her boyfriend Will. And Rosie and Will and Bill and I had a grand time that night drinking wine at home and then at the bar and then coming home to make mulled wine and eat cheese and chocolate while sitting on the floor of the living room. It all felt delightfully bohemian. But Bill and I had meant to have Monday in London, leaving early in the morning. This, of course, did not happen, owing to my mulled hangover. Instead, we went into Brighton again, got Bill a Cornish pasty and me some pasta salad from Marks and Spencer, met Rosie and Will for another drink, and took the train back to Hastings to have another huge dinner at Maria's. Then our last night with Aunty Eva, and a lazy Tuesday with a walk along the cliff, and Maria and Alan took us to the airport that evening.
And details of Berlin tomorrow, or perhaps later, because the as the length of this post increases my patience with it correspondingly decreases.
Biss shpeta.
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