High Sticking

Hockey fever is in the air, and I have apparently caught the bug. The evidence? My alarm went off at 5:00 AM this morning, and, without hitting snooze, I threw on my coat and headed down the street. Following the noise of Jock Rock tunes and cheers, I arrived at the square, where a crowd had assembled to watch, on a big screen, Slovakia play Finland in the Olympic bronze medal match. Despite all of the Slovak enthusiasm, replete with inflatable noisemakers and beer bottle-shaped kazoos, not to mention a 3-1 lead going into the third period, the white, blue, and red were defeated. At least for me, though, one small victory came out of the match. As the crowd chanted "Chceme gol," I knew exactly what they were saying.

Stay tuned: Stork spotting

A Stretch

Maybe not quite this warm, though...

It's Sprung!

Today was THAT day. My favorite day of the entire year. The day that winter decides to give in and let spring present a glorious sneak preview. A balmy 14 degrees (C) in Bratislava, and it seemed that everyone, myself included, had the same idea: get outside! We shed our bulky coats, once again becoming human shaped (if you consider the supermodel shape of women here human), dug our sunglasses out of wherever they had been hibernating, and beelined to the nearest park, playground, or public outdoor ping pong table (what a country!)

I found a spot to study next to a thawing lake. Maybe it's time to learn the Slovak word for sun.

It's a Girl! (Thank Goodness)

Welcome Fiona Alice! We've been waiting for you for a long time!

Birthday Wishes x 2

Sending much love today to my mom (the boys had better have taken you to a nice dinner!) and to Em (I'm so glad Ruston and Sabaka are so close alphabetically!), birthday twins.

Awaiting the Arrow

If I had some chalky pastel hearts and a printing press, I would send you all a box full of candies saying MISS YOU, SKYPE ME, YOWZAS! and L'UBIM T'A.
XOXO, K.

Say What?

Something I hadn't considered before arrival in a country (Bulgaria) that employs (and, in fact, invented) the Cyrillic alphabet: How do I read the street signs?
Oops!, or should I say сбърквам ?

On the Tip of my Tongue

I find them in the least-expected places.  One with the word chladnicka on one side and refrigerator on the other turned up between my sheets several days ago, and another (operavat'/to fix) was found inside the sleeve of my sweatshirt.  These little scraps of notebook paper showing up here, there, and everywhere are my flashcards, and memorizing the words on them seems to be my only shot at ever being able to communicate in Slovak past the "coffee, please" stage.
As teachers of language learners, my colleagues and I spend countless hours discussing and strategizing about how to increase our students' vocabularies, both in their native language and their second language. Despite the amount of time I've thought about this topic and the amount of articles I've read about it, it truly hasn't been until now, that I'm starting a language from scratch , that I can understand both the importance of building a deep and wide vocabualry base early on and the the real challenge that language teachers face when it comes to helping students develop this word bank.
My frustration lies in the fact that, despite the compelx grammatical struture of the Slovak language, I kind of get it.  I just don't have any words to plug into that structure.  So, I know that to say that I have a pencil or a purse or a crazy idea (like moving to Slovakia to study Slovak?), the ending of the words need to change based on their placement in the sentence.  I just have no clue how to say pencil, purse, or crazy idea.  Thus the scraps of notebook paper, whirling around the room when I forget to pick them up before turning on the hairdryer, a vocabulary cyclone of sorts.

Glass 3/4 Full

One of my favorite parts about traveling to new cities is checking out their busking (aka street performing) scene.  I've witnessed some great street performance in my day, from the stilt dancers in Venice to the bucket drummers at Comiskey to the silver pinted stutue peole in Guanajuato (how can they possibly stand so still?) And of course, there's the South Amercan indigenous band that has graced every corner of God's green earth with a rendition of El Condor Pasa.  (Come on, be honest, how many of you have purchased the CD?) But I think that I may have today witnessed my favorite street performance of all time.  On a square in Budapest sat a man playing glasses, filled with water to varying levels (thus different tones), marimba style.  The nerd teacher in me couldn't help but think about the possibilties for science lessons, while the musician in me was impressed with how, when one of the glasses became out of tune, the busker was able to add the correct amount of water, with a syringe, to tune his instrument right up.

I've often thought about what I would choose to do if the time came when busking was a necessity.  The obvious option would be flute playing, but I think I would want to do something more unusual and attention-grabbing.  Caricatures comprised only of doodles? Flamenco dancing in scuba flippers? A human juke box? When the time comes, I'll tell you in which underpass I can be found.

Stay tuned: When No Means Yes

A Missed Calling

 

Maybe I should have been an electrical engineer. Yup, that's an adaptor connected to a convertor (held together with a hair tie) connected to a charger, all precariously balanced on the side of a foot stool. Brilliant.

Fairy Tale Personal Ad

 

Wanted: One prince to complete the picture

P. Phil's Got the Right Idea

I drowsily awoke this morning and walked to class (it was an hour earlier than usual due to a scheduling conflict). On the way home, I looked for my shadow. But alas, it was cold and gray outside, so I took a cue from the good old hog and climbed back into my bed for a nice, cozy nap, awaiting Spring.

8 Kilometers in their Shoes

Each Wednesday afternoon since I've lived in Bratislava, I've made the 8 kilometer roundtrip pilgrimage to the Foreigners' Police Office. The office's location in the Communist-style concrete jungle of the Petrzalka neighborhood might lead one to infer that the Foreigners' Police would prefer that no foreigners ever actually find the office. But, with the assistance of a crude map and some helpful Bratislavans, I found the tiny, hidden office four weeks ago and have been a regular visitor ever since.

The reason for my treks to this very off-the-beaten-path locale? I'm working on securing a pesky little document called a Temporary Residence Permit. As a US citizen, I'm only allowed to stay here for up to 90 days permit-free. The trouble is, the documentation required to obtain this permit is excessive.(involving x-rays and FBI clearance)

Additionally, it all needs to be officially translated into Slovak, notarized, and paid for with some sort of magical Slovak currency stamps.
After my first trip to the not-overly-welcoming-to-foreigners Foreigners' Police, I walked away a little discouraged and frustrated. How would I ever get all of this paperwork together? Why couldn't the people at the office be more helpful?
But since then, I've readjusted my attitude. Part of my rationale for coming to a completely foreign country in the first place was to put myself in the shoes of my students and their families, immigrants to the US. While our reasons for "immigrating" are obviously quite different ( mine for curiosity, enrichment, and diversion; theirs mainly out of economic necessity), my experience with trying to secure this permit definitely has given me a small glimpse into what navigating within a giant, bureaucratic system when not able to speak the language and not necessarily feeling overly welcomed is like for immigrants (and visitors) to the US. Additionally, I realize that in my "worst-case scenario," I am forced to leave Slovakia for a few months, travel to some other exotic, fascinating countries, and then reenter, while those desperate to come to the US to make better lives for their families have a legitimate right to be overwhelmed and frustrated by the tedious immigration process.
I have 60 days left to prove that I have no criminal record in Slovakia, find a notary, convince my landlord that I won't lose his property letter (whatever that is), translate my bank statements, resend my fingerprints to the FBI, and take a blood test.
Or maybe I'll start packing for Montenegro.

Stay tuned: Squash

Eating Animals?

Against my better judgment, I am currently reading Jonathan Safran Foer's new book Eating Animals. For me, it had a couple of strikes against it before I even clicked open the first page on my Kindle. First of all, it's nonfiction, a genre that usually puts me to sleep within minutes. And secondly, and more importantly, within the pages are found strong, convincing arguments for vegetarianism. It's not that I don't respect vegetarians or understand why they would make this choice. It's just that I know my own lack of discipline (especially when it comes to food), and wasn't sure that I needed some book making me feel guilty about participating in a factory farm system that abuses animals and is destroying the environment.
But I adore Jonathan Safran Foer, so I felt like I owed it to him to read his newest work. After all the joy and pleasure (and tears) he brought me with Extremely Loud and Everything is Illuminated, maybe a little culpability over meat eating was payback. So I began reading and feeling guilty, so much so that the jamon serrano I purchased two weeks ago remains unopened in the fridge.
Jump to Vienna last weekend. Like any respectable tourist in Wien, I decided to order wiener schnitzel for lunch.

Without regret, I chowed down on the delicious breaded veal, effortlessly putting Foer's arguments right out of my mind. Having reaffirmed the carnivore in me, I confidently strode into St. Stephan's plaza, ready to do some more sightseeing. But what did I hear as I stepped into the plaza? Horrible pig squeals if pain. Yup, PETA in all their glory had set up shop right in the middle if the square and were showing lovely images of inhumane porcine slaughter. Help! I think I might be going veggie.

Stay tuned: Why I've Always Wanted a Garden Gnome

A Bit Slick

Dear Slovakia,
A sprinkle of salt would help to melt ice on sidewalks and bridges.

Love, Karen (the girl on the ground)

Amen!

Finally, something the Catholic church and I can agree upon: Clooney

Happy Birthday, Monica!

Vsetko najlepsie k narodeninam! Yup, it really takes that many letters to wish you happiness, but you're worth every letter!
We may not yet have proven that all is cheese, but you can count on the fact that I'll eat some in your honor today!
Enjoy!

Home Sweet Home or Moj Byt

Hovorim po trosku slovensky

My only comfort was the knowledge that I was not alone. Huddled in the hallways and making the most of our pathetic French, my fellow students and I engaged in the sort of coversation commonly heard in refugee camps.
"Sometimes me cry alone at night."
"That be common for I, also, but be more strong, you. Much work and someday you talk pretty. People start love you soon. Maybe tomorrow, okay."
-David Sedaris, Me Talk Pretty One Day

I started Slovak language classes this week, and, to my great surprise, I can already form a complete sentence. If you want to know if the book is near or not near the window, if Jozef is or is not Slovak, or if I do or do not have a sister, I am definitely the one to ask. Unfortunately, these aren't generally the types of things that come up while in public. Not that I would know what types of things come up in public, because everything still pretty much sounds like throaty babble to me. But I'll keep studying, and, hey, maybe tomorrow I'll be able to tell you whether or not Viera likes castles.

Stay tuned: Going veggie?

Dibs

Some things apparently are universal in wintery lands...

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/columnists/chi-kass-08-jan08,0,6293839.column

You're Going Where? A Slovakia Primer

This week I arrived in a country that, I'll be honest, up until about a year ago, I couldn't find on the map. Slovakia is by no means a popular tourist destination, but it is the country from which my ancestors immigrated to the US several generations ago. Primarily for this reason, I chose to travel to Slovakia for the second half of my sabbatical year. As I wrote in my sabbatical application, "As a fourth-generation Slovak-American with little knowledge of Slovak culture, traditions and language, I feel it is important for me to be knowledgeable about my own cultural heritage in order to encourage my students to be interested in and proud of their biculturalism." But all mumbo jumbo aside, isn't it important to know where you're from and where those traditions that you don't even recognize as traditions may have originated? It seems important to me, so here I arrived, a little discombobulated, but excited to soak it all in and learn.
To give you a bit of context for my adventures, here's some basic Slovakia info:
Where is Slovakia? Is it the same as Czechoslovakia?
Slovakia is a small country in central Europe. Its neighbors are the Czech Republic (to the northwest), Austria(to the west), Hungary (to the south), Ukraine (to the east), and Poland (to the north). Its capital is Bratislava (pop. 420,000), where I'm living. Trivia buffs take note: Bratislava is a mere 40 miles from Vienna, making them the two closest capital cities in the world.
From 1945 to 1993, Czechoslovakia existed as a singular nation. In 1993, the peaceful "Velvet Divorce" took place, in which it divided in two: the Czech Republic and Slovakia.
What language do they speak there?
Slovak. It is most closely related to Czech and Polish, and I am told that Slovak and Czech are mutually intelligible, although intelligible isn't necessarily the adjective I would choose to describe any of the language I've heard since my arrival. Luckily (for me), English is pretty widely spoken in downtown Bratislava, but it will be a different story once outside of the city.
What's there to do and see in Slovakia?
Castles and natural beauty, mainly. Bratislava has its own castle, and Spis castle in the east is supposed to be quite stunning. The High and Low Tatras are mountain ranges that cover a good portion of north-central Slovakia, and I can't wait for Spring in order to do some hiking!

Stay tuned: Christiane Amanpour (ha, ha, ha)

There's No Place Like Home or 2 Weeks Fly When You're Having Fun

Reunions, introductions, a little chocolate, and a lot of wrestling

1st Bi-annual Sabb Awards

If I were to give awards in these categories, the following would take the cake:

Best meal: Chiles en nogada
Best sunset: Playa de los muertos, Puerto Vallarta
Most random experience: Touring rural outhouses in Veracruz
Best night of debauchery: Salsa dancing with all of Susan's daughters, then paparazzi photo shoot
Best strolling musician: El Potro
Scariest moment: Waking up to see burglar's feet
Best hotel (excluding all-inclusive): Casa de los Dulces Suenos
Best movie: A Place Called Chiapas
Most fulfilling experience: Volunteering at CITAC
Best drink: Beso negro
Best ruins: Yaxchilan

Most revolutionary experience: Visiting the Zapatista community of Oventic
Best language school: Escuela mexicana
Most painful moment (actually hours): Horseback ride to Chamula
Best animal spotting: Crocodiles
Most nausea-inducing road: San Cristobal to Palenque
Best park: Parque Los Tecajetes, Xalapa
Most allergic moment: Cempasuchil fields
Best church: San Juan Chamula
Best live performance: Nebbia
Best visitors: Mom, Dad, and Jules

Congratulations to all the winners! Europe, it's your turn to compete.

Bienvenido

Welcome, Issac David! I'm so glad you're here!

EZLN

Two friends and I had the unique opportunity to visit the Zapatista community of Oventic. To learn more about the Zapatista movement, click here: http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zapatista_Army_of_National_Liberation?wasRedirected=true

We weren't allowed to photograph any of the people there, but these are some of the beautiful murals found there.

Walking away from Oventic, I wondered:
Does there come a time when violence is the only option? Can good come of it? What role does education play in a social revolution?

Blessed art thou among women

For the past week or so, in preparation for the celebration of the Virgen of Guadalupe, not fifteen minutes go by without a religious procession passing through the main pedestrian street of San Cristobal. Some come with marching bands, others come yelling cheers that seem more appropriate for a football match than for the adoration of the mother of God, and the most impressive come running from distant towns carrying torches. Little boys are dressed as Juan Diego, the indigenous man to whom the Virgen appeared, and little girls are dressed as Guadalupe herself.
I have heard it said many times that before dating a Mexican man, you need to know that you'll always rank third: first will be his mother and second will be the Virgen of Guadalupe. Looking around at the magnitude of this celebration, that's not too hard to believe.
Speaking of girl power, happy birthday to my dear friend Jean, one of the most powerful girls I know!