Documented, Finally or Persistence Pays Off

After a total of twelve visits to the Foreigners' Police, five drafts of a letter from the language school secretary, several hundred Euro, two sets of fingerprints sent to the FBI, one birth certificate translated to Slovak, and 50 ccs of blood drawn and tested, I now, exactly 172 days after arriving in Slovakia, and 55 days before departing from it, am a legal temporary resident!

Stay tuned: Executioner's Daughter

Football Frenzy

Slovakia makes it to the knockout stage...

and is immediately knocked out.

Play That Funky Music, White Boy

Just in case you thought that Slovaks couldn´t rap...

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire or Unoriginal Sin

On a 60 kilometer bike ride (my backside has yet to forgive me for that)the other day, my friend, who, judging from the number of times he stopped to point out plants and animals, should work as a naturalist and not a computer programmer, introduced me to the moruša tree. As we stopped to sample its berries, I realized that I was no stranger to the moruša. In fact, surprisingly enough, this ordinary tree played a major role in my moral development.
As a child, I spent most summer evenings running around the neighborhood with the kids who lived nearby. For a while, my best friend NIkki and I fell in with the wrong crowd. A girl who lived a block or so away, whose name for the life of me I can´t remember at this moment, led us into a life of crime. Next to this girl-with-a-forgotten-name´s house lived a crabby old lady who, as chance would have it, had a moruša (otherwise known as mulberry) tree in her backyard. Giving in to peer pressure (and because we liked the taste of the berries), Nikki and I were often convinced to sneak through the fence and help ourselves to the tree´s bounty. All went well until the day that aforementioned crabby old lady poked her head out of her screen door and in no uncertain terms yelled that the next time she found us in her yard eating her berries, our parents would hear about it. She lived up to her word, and soon, my parents sat me down and explained that no matter how tempting those berries were and no matter how strong the peer pressure was, the crabby lady´s tree bore forbidden fruit.
I heard, but did not listen to, my parents´ lecture. The next night, it was back to the tree. The only problem was, that night happened to be bath night, and I was no smooth criminal. As my mom helped me to get ready for my bath, she couldn´t help but notice that the soles of my feet were stained deep purple, the telling purple of a mulberry.
It was then that I told the first lie of my life, at least the first that I can remember. When she asked if I had been in crabby´s yard again, I looked straight in her eyes and told her no. She didn´t say a word, but I knew she knew.
I had almost forgotten about this episode until it all came rushing back as I bit into the mulberry the other night. While the memory may have escaped me, what hasn´t gone away is my complete inability to lie. The untrue words may come out of my mouth, but the color that my face turns when attempting to lie, strangely similar to that of a mulberry stain, inevitably gives me away.

Stay tuned: Môj brat

Worth the Risk

The other day while hiking in the forest outside of Bratislava, I happened upon a high-ropes course amongst the treetops. For those unfamiliar, a ropes course is a type of obstacle couse that involves climbing, crawling, rapelling, and balancing while perched high above the earth. While I decided to keep my feet placed firmly on the ground, I couldn't help but stay and watch the more adventurous souls make their way through the course. Some of the helmeted participants confidently scrambled across the high wires, but most of them approached their task with a bit more trepidation, if not sheer terror. As I watched these people come face to face with their fear, I couldn't help but think about times my life when I've found myself in similar situations, trying not to listen to the little voice telling me not to jump off that cliff into the river or slide down into that waterfall or leave my routine life for the unknown.
I recently promised a friend that, no matter what, we would continue to have amazing adventures. Watching people conquer their fear reminded me that sometimes you have to do that which scares you in order to feel the most alive.

Stay tuned: Bicycle Blues

Neither Lost Nor Thirsty

How could anyone say anything bad about a country that features mugs of beer on its hiking maps?

Dirty Politics

Today is election day in Slovakia, and a few of the campaign billboards have caught the attention of this amateur cultural anthropologist. During the five months I've spent in Slovakia, it has become clear to me that there is no love lost between the Slovaks and the Hungarians. Most of the bad blood seems to stem from the historical division and redivision of land, leaving many ethnic Hungarians within Slovak geographic boundaries. Over the years, this has led to many a conflict over language, citizenship, and national identity. One partiuclar political party, Slovenska Narodna Strana, seems to be preying upon the resentment against the Hungarians in order to win votes. In this ad, a man in traditional Hungarian dress is depicted in varying stages of threat, from benign villager in folkloric costume to a militant bandit.

Many Slovaks I've spoken with believe these scare tactics will work and that capitalizing on the Slovak antagonism toward Hungary will bring in the votes.
I hope the Republicans at home don't get any ideas. I can see the sombrero and serape billboards now.

Come Again Some Other Day. Little Karen Wants to Play

It's been raining now for a solid two weeks, and my weather complaints have again uncovered some interesting cultural tidbits. Tomorrow, I'm told, is St. Medard's Day. As the story goes, young Medard once gave away one of his family's finest horses to a poor boy whose horse had run away. Immediately after, rain began to pour from the heavens. Only Medard remained dry because an eagle came to hover right above his head. Since then, it is believed that if rain falls on June 8th, the next 40 days will be wet ones. I soon may be in the market for an eagle.

Stay tuned: Bad Medicine

Don't Worry, It's Only Paprika Sauce

Revlon, move over. There's a new skin-care regimen in town. This weekend, I visited the ruins of Cachtice Castle, where, as legend goes, the Hungarian countess Elizabeth Bathory murdered hundreds of virgins in order to bathe in thier blood. It seems she thought that virgin blood kept her skin looking young and supple. The authorities were not amused and kept her under house arrest until her untimely death. It seems that, without the virgin blood, she wasn't long for this world.

Sold

There is a series of advertisements that has recently caught my eye. While at home, it seems that advertisers try to make each and every product, from cigarettes to laundry detergent seem sexy, the advertising team for Stein beer seems to have taken the more honest apporach. In each of their ads is featured a sweaty, pudgy, uniformed Slovak guy ready for the work day to end and the drinking to begin. The slogan? Every day ends well.

What would other ads look like if the advertisers were more honest about their clientele? Instead of the hard-core athlete running up the mountain trail that Nike likes to depict in its ads, it might show the well-intentioned but ultimately lazy "runner" who every year means to sign up for that half-marathon. Instead of the calm, well-dressed stay-at-home mom cheerfully using paper towels to clean up a toddler's spilled juice, Brawny might feature in its ads a harried working mom teaching her kid to clean up his own sticky mess. And if we're being honest, who should star in the Bally Fitness Center ads? Not shapely 20 year olds in Spandex, but panting red-faced 30-somethings in too-big T-shirts left over from their college days as Alpha Gams.
I applaud Stein for its honest approach. I'd even be convinced to throw one back, if I weren't so busy trying to look like that girl from the Bally's ad.

Stay tuned: Who needs sleep?