My roommate is moving soon so we decided last night to go out for a traditional Czech meal. On a somewhat cryptic recommendation, we trapesed around Vysehrad until finally finding the place hidden on a side street near the river. I want to say it was called Restaurace Podskalska, or something close, for those taking travel guide notes.
We walked into the restaurant, down a few steps and were greeted by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke and a waitress with dyed hair and an unusual, somewhat gritty Czech accent.
Kate can certainly hold her own speaking Czech, but we were guessing a little about what to order, mainly going off of what we had heard was traditional Czech food and looking up every second word in my handy pocket dictionary.
Perhaps the most notable experience of the meal was our appetizer. We could discern something about toast and tartarsky (or close to it), and Kate had heard that was a good popular Czech dish to get us started. So we ordered it and two velky pivos (big beers... that's my Czechlish for you), and when the dish came, we dove in.
First was a few pieces of thick, crispy fried buttery toast. Next to it came a plate of some kind of meaty spread, which I promptly slathered on the toast and sunk my teeth into. It was savory and rich and oniony and delicious. Meanwhile, I was musing on the texture. Hmm, I said to Kate, this looks strangely like uncooked meat or perhaps ground burger.... Her eyes became as wide as saucers and she stopped chewing mid-bite. I watched her put it together in her mind. Tartarsky. Steak Tartar. Raw meat. Friend in Brussels ate it and was sick for days. That promptly ended our enjoyment of the appetizer. Guess it helps to know what you are ordering, right?
We got much luckier with the entrees: an herbed chicken cooked to tender perfection, breaded and fried pork and potato wedges that would make anyone rethink the potentials of potatoes. It was excellent - perhaps one of the best meals of my life and undoubtedly in Prague. The atmosphere, the food, the waitress, it all made it feel like we had truly stumbled upon a traditional Czech meal.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
such is life as a reporter in the Czech Republic
Allegedly there is a law in the Czech Republic that says reporters have to show their sources a copy of their stories before they run in the paper. I say allegedly because I have yet to verify that for myself, and my source is perhaps questionable, but my recent experiences would certainly support that claim.
Law or no law, the approach to the media here is very different from the States.
I now have had several people demand to see copy before I file - not timidly requested like sometimes happened in the States. It seems like it is expected, and in fact I had one woman on the phone with me today become quite belligerent and come close to declining the interview. And of course, each time, I give the line about how it’s not our policy, I’d be glad to verify facts, but no copy. I have had to become increasingly more firm with that. And as I understand it, the Prague Post is an American-owned paper and doesn’t fall under said laws, although that seems to matter little.
The more people ask for questions in advance, to check quotes and then finally see copy, the less we become reporters and writers.
Ah, but the lessons of reporting abroad don’t stop there. A lot of people are suspicious of the press, and therefore hesitant to be interviewed. Twice I have had sources set up meetings before the interview, just to get to know me, size me up, before moving on to the meat of the story. They want to sit, have an espresso, see what I have in mind for the story…. and really, folks, neither of these stories were Watergate here. And in each case, neither of my sources made it clear that we were just meeting to meet, so I show up ready to go - in one case with a photographer - and they are surprised that a story is being written and that I have a deadline.
Today, I met with the director of the gender studies program at Charles University here. It’s the first and only such program in the Czech Republic, as women’s rights and gender issues weren’t much of a movement here. Perhaps some of that is because under communism, everyone is presumably the same, women always worked and interacted on the same economic level, and so there was no institution to rail against. Yet women were not - and still aren’t - treated equally socially. But I digress… maybe that’s for another post.
By way of illustration to how Czech’s view women’s issues, one Czech reporter wrote about this program, and said things about how she expected to see bras burning on the lawn of the school and after sitting in on a queer studies class, she wasn’t sure how many genders there were and if she would walk into the wrong bathroom at the school.
No wonder they are a little hesitant.
But rather than make it clear to me that she wanted to meet first and in her words “size me up,” she just had me come to her office (half hour train ride away) with the understanding that we would interview and instead she tried to tell me what she thought would be a good angle for the story. Again, I am the reporter. Please let me do what I do.
She also asked me to see copy before I filed.
Seems like everyday is a reporting adventure here.
Law or no law, the approach to the media here is very different from the States.
I now have had several people demand to see copy before I file - not timidly requested like sometimes happened in the States. It seems like it is expected, and in fact I had one woman on the phone with me today become quite belligerent and come close to declining the interview. And of course, each time, I give the line about how it’s not our policy, I’d be glad to verify facts, but no copy. I have had to become increasingly more firm with that. And as I understand it, the Prague Post is an American-owned paper and doesn’t fall under said laws, although that seems to matter little.
The more people ask for questions in advance, to check quotes and then finally see copy, the less we become reporters and writers.
Ah, but the lessons of reporting abroad don’t stop there. A lot of people are suspicious of the press, and therefore hesitant to be interviewed. Twice I have had sources set up meetings before the interview, just to get to know me, size me up, before moving on to the meat of the story. They want to sit, have an espresso, see what I have in mind for the story…. and really, folks, neither of these stories were Watergate here. And in each case, neither of my sources made it clear that we were just meeting to meet, so I show up ready to go - in one case with a photographer - and they are surprised that a story is being written and that I have a deadline.
Today, I met with the director of the gender studies program at Charles University here. It’s the first and only such program in the Czech Republic, as women’s rights and gender issues weren’t much of a movement here. Perhaps some of that is because under communism, everyone is presumably the same, women always worked and interacted on the same economic level, and so there was no institution to rail against. Yet women were not - and still aren’t - treated equally socially. But I digress… maybe that’s for another post.
By way of illustration to how Czech’s view women’s issues, one Czech reporter wrote about this program, and said things about how she expected to see bras burning on the lawn of the school and after sitting in on a queer studies class, she wasn’t sure how many genders there were and if she would walk into the wrong bathroom at the school.
No wonder they are a little hesitant.
But rather than make it clear to me that she wanted to meet first and in her words “size me up,” she just had me come to her office (half hour train ride away) with the understanding that we would interview and instead she tried to tell me what she thought would be a good angle for the story. Again, I am the reporter. Please let me do what I do.
She also asked me to see copy before I filed.
Seems like everyday is a reporting adventure here.
Monday, April 25, 2005
river running through Kutna Hora
I spent the day Sunday in Kutna Hora, a small town about an hour train ride from Prague. The weather was perfect for laying around in the park, wandering around the town and walking along the tiny river. It was quiet and peaceful and very much springtime.
these are real bones
This a bone chandelier in the Kostnice Ossuary in Kutna Hora. The ossuary has the bones of some 40,000 people who died from the plauge in the 14th century. An artist was later hired to creatively arrange the bones, and apparently, this chandelier utilizes every bone found in the human body. The place is eerie, and it's hard to imagine you are really looking at human bones.
oh yeah, work....
I realize I am here working at the Prague Post and have written precious little about what I am doing and what it’s like to report half way across the world.
The first barrier I had to work out was whether or not to assume my sources spoke English. When I call someone on the phone, do I just ask to speak with the person or first ask if they speak English. Luckily, I had guidance from the other reporters on who spoke English and who didn’t and when we aren’t sure, have one of the researchers call and find out who we should talk to.
My first few stories were for the business section, guaranteeing that most of my sources would speak pretty good English. It was for my story on the HR Giger exhibit (think the movie Alien circa 1980) that I was in for a real international reporting treat. I went to cover the press conference - which was in Czech, or German translated into Czech. I managed to get there early and scope out the folks I needed to talk to after the press event (including Giger himself which I understand is kind of a coup). I sit down for the press conference, knowing full well it will be Czech, but thinking maybe some will be translated to English or it won't be too long. An hour later, my mind is racing and I feel like I might scream. I understood nothing, and in fact I felt like all the good anecdotes and inside jokes and basic information for my story were right in front of me, and every one else could understand them but me. It was right up there with the most frustrating reporting experiences I have ever had.
But I walked out of there with a few good interviews, a glimpse of this wackjob's art work, and enough to write a story. But I knew I had missed something - I probably missed the bulk of the story, or perhaps a new angle. And talking about it with my editor, I understand this is how it is working for an English language paper here. You do what you can, and I did.
Also for another story I went around and talked to people on the street for reaction (massive disgusting eyesore of a mall being built downtown), and brought a translator with me. While it was a neat experience with a translator, I again felt like I was missing something.
My other stories haven't been event based and have been kind of fun to report. I just finished one about the Manchester UK government drawing up a list of recommendations for how Brits coming to Prague should act. Apparently, with flights so cheap to Prague and beer so cheap when you get here, guys come over here for stag parties and get drunk and rowdy in the streets. It has become a real problem, but from talking to some drunken British louts, a list from their government isn't going to make much difference.
So that is reporting in Prague, so far. I am going a good mix of stories - at my insistence, resisting filling the whole left by the real estate reporter.
The first barrier I had to work out was whether or not to assume my sources spoke English. When I call someone on the phone, do I just ask to speak with the person or first ask if they speak English. Luckily, I had guidance from the other reporters on who spoke English and who didn’t and when we aren’t sure, have one of the researchers call and find out who we should talk to.
My first few stories were for the business section, guaranteeing that most of my sources would speak pretty good English. It was for my story on the HR Giger exhibit (think the movie Alien circa 1980) that I was in for a real international reporting treat. I went to cover the press conference - which was in Czech, or German translated into Czech. I managed to get there early and scope out the folks I needed to talk to after the press event (including Giger himself which I understand is kind of a coup). I sit down for the press conference, knowing full well it will be Czech, but thinking maybe some will be translated to English or it won't be too long. An hour later, my mind is racing and I feel like I might scream. I understood nothing, and in fact I felt like all the good anecdotes and inside jokes and basic information for my story were right in front of me, and every one else could understand them but me. It was right up there with the most frustrating reporting experiences I have ever had.
But I walked out of there with a few good interviews, a glimpse of this wackjob's art work, and enough to write a story. But I knew I had missed something - I probably missed the bulk of the story, or perhaps a new angle. And talking about it with my editor, I understand this is how it is working for an English language paper here. You do what you can, and I did.
Also for another story I went around and talked to people on the street for reaction (massive disgusting eyesore of a mall being built downtown), and brought a translator with me. While it was a neat experience with a translator, I again felt like I was missing something.
My other stories haven't been event based and have been kind of fun to report. I just finished one about the Manchester UK government drawing up a list of recommendations for how Brits coming to Prague should act. Apparently, with flights so cheap to Prague and beer so cheap when you get here, guys come over here for stag parties and get drunk and rowdy in the streets. It has become a real problem, but from talking to some drunken British louts, a list from their government isn't going to make much difference.
So that is reporting in Prague, so far. I am going a good mix of stories - at my insistence, resisting filling the whole left by the real estate reporter.
best bar ever
This guy I work with was pointing out to me the today that a lot of things are done here that are dripping with irony or punchy humor to us, but the Czechs are stone-cold serious.
Case in point: a bar up the street from my house called the Peach Pit. As you might have imagined the bar is awash in Beverly Hills 90210 kitsch - framed photos of the cast members, old records stapled to the wall, bright early 90s teal and yellow walls. The bar has neon lights, a TV playing MTV and an After Dark room with leather couches and a more mellow vibe. The place is awesome and brought me right back to the days of Brandon and the gang. So I snagged one of the menus on the table: a Xerox picture of the 90210 crew with the menu in Czech typed over it.
But I couldn’t help but wonder if the bar owners were serious - was 90210 a huge phenomenon here that they wanted to pay homage to or maybe they are expats who thought it would be funny (I am told it’s more likely the former). And I also wonder if any of the bar patrons - most of whom were very young and likely not watching 90210 in it’s heyday… that is, unless it got here later than it ran in the states and is still a hit show - knew that they were surrounded my an impressive collection of early 90s American TV nostalgia. Not sure I’ll ever know, but I will certainly return to the Peach Pit. Maybe I’ll see Nat next time.
Case in point: a bar up the street from my house called the Peach Pit. As you might have imagined the bar is awash in Beverly Hills 90210 kitsch - framed photos of the cast members, old records stapled to the wall, bright early 90s teal and yellow walls. The bar has neon lights, a TV playing MTV and an After Dark room with leather couches and a more mellow vibe. The place is awesome and brought me right back to the days of Brandon and the gang. So I snagged one of the menus on the table: a Xerox picture of the 90210 crew with the menu in Czech typed over it.
But I couldn’t help but wonder if the bar owners were serious - was 90210 a huge phenomenon here that they wanted to pay homage to or maybe they are expats who thought it would be funny (I am told it’s more likely the former). And I also wonder if any of the bar patrons - most of whom were very young and likely not watching 90210 in it’s heyday… that is, unless it got here later than it ran in the states and is still a hit show - knew that they were surrounded my an impressive collection of early 90s American TV nostalgia. Not sure I’ll ever know, but I will certainly return to the Peach Pit. Maybe I’ll see Nat next time.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Prague prostitutes
Last night, I saw my first group of prostitutes in Prague. Now, I understand this city boasts a wealth of debauchery, including prostitutes and cabarets and cheap beer and latenight clubs, which draws stag parties and tourists from all around Europe. But I had not had the privilege to see it first hand.
Kate and I were walking home last night along Wenceslas Square, a very touristy drag that I take to and from work each day. We spotted a group of about half a dozen very young women. I noted to Kate how scantily clad they were, thinking not much of it, until I saw one girl, donning a shockingly short skirt and fishnet hose, approach a group of tourist men as they were walking by. Then I realized they were clearly prostitutes. Sometimes my naivete shocks me.
We also passed a young woman out cold, I'm assuming from too much drinking, and her friends were trying to pull her up to no avail.
This is a very different city at night, and I am beginning to see hints of what I am told gives Prague something of a reputation.
Kate and I were walking home last night along Wenceslas Square, a very touristy drag that I take to and from work each day. We spotted a group of about half a dozen very young women. I noted to Kate how scantily clad they were, thinking not much of it, until I saw one girl, donning a shockingly short skirt and fishnet hose, approach a group of tourist men as they were walking by. Then I realized they were clearly prostitutes. Sometimes my naivete shocks me.
We also passed a young woman out cold, I'm assuming from too much drinking, and her friends were trying to pull her up to no avail.
This is a very different city at night, and I am beginning to see hints of what I am told gives Prague something of a reputation.
bridge in budapest
This is me leaning on a bridge that connects the two sides of Budapest - Buda and Pest. I believe we were on our way to Buda to visit the castle, which had breathtaking views.
And rest assured folks, I have every intention of posting photos of Prague here very soon...
And rest assured folks, I have every intention of posting photos of Prague here very soon...
Thursday, April 21, 2005
good news
I have found peanut butter. After asking around, I landed upon perhaps the only peanut butter resaler in the Czech Republic - a British superstore called Tesco. Thank you, Tesco, for carrying at least a single brand of my beloved peanut butter. I thank you. My bread thanks you. We can all rest a little easier now.
Monday, April 18, 2005
night train to Budapest
You haven't really lived - in that scary movie, is this really happening kind of way - until you have taken a night train in Eastern Europe. (Wait, didn't I say that last week about going to beer gardens? Well....) This is the story of my roommate, Kate, and my weekend trip to Budapest.
We boarded this dingy red, dusty train at about 11 p.m. Friday after paying an extra few hundred crowns for a sleeping car. Not that much sleeping happened, but I am getting ahead of myself. We were given a set of sheets, a pillow and a danky orange blanket. After chatting for a bit, and finally relenting to the train conductor's repeated reminders to close and lock the glass door to our cabin (we were lucky and didn't have to share the cabin, and I am still not sure how four other people could have fit in a car the size of my kitchen back in Chicago), we tucked ourselves in for the ride.
Before long we were careening down the tracks at what can't be regulation speeds and I was secretly wondering if we would jump the track. Turns out Kate was wondering the same thing - and she has done this before.
A few hours into the trip, after several screeching halts at various stops for more passengers, we reached the first border crossing with Slovakia. This means that border guards dressed in eerie, dark green, Communist era uniforms complete with leather satchels and elaborate mustaches come on board, knock coldly on the glass door and say something in Czech or Slovak or Hungarian or perhaps all three, since there did seem to be an inordinate amount of them. Assuming it was a passport check, we handed them over, and then shut off the light again. This happened a few more times, each visit jarring us from sleep. Part of me couldn't help think that at any moment, the guards would start yelling and drag us out of the train, leaving us for dead on the side of the road between the Czech Republic and Slovakia. In fact, we watched at about 4 a.m. as one older Indian couple was taken off the train with their bags and left to figure out what to do next. We overheard it might have something to do with them not having visas to cross through Slovakia, but it was a disheartening and frightening sight.
The whole ride - 9 hours total - felt like a strange dream. I was a mix of scared, sleepy, exhilarated and generally baffled by the entire experience.
Once we arrived in sunny Budapest, we were greeted by Kate's friend who toured us around the historic sights and bars before we settled at an authentic Jewish/Hungarian restaurant for goulash and cucumber salad. Budapest, which straddles the Danube River and is split into Buda (rolling hills and expansive castle) and Pest (flat land and urban grit), is gorgeous. Although the buildings were run-down, likely having never been refurbished and still showing bullet holes and cracks from mortar fire from the many battles, they offered a unique personality - a realness - to the city that perhaps Prague lacks. Facades were cracked, balconies missing, windows broken out, but the architecture was telling a story, revealing the character of the place.
On Sunday morning, we went to the baths. Smack-dab in the middle of the City Park is this ancient spa and thermal bath where people don bathing suits and sit around in various pools of warm water. I think these particular baths we went to debuted about 100 years ago, but some in the city are thousands of years old, having been built by the Turks.
So you walk in, scan you're card, change in the locker room and head outside for the largest of the baths. Two massive pools of various temperatures are packed with people of all ages - including a group of six men intently playing three pensive games of chess, while partially immersed in water. There are also smaller tubs inside, a sauna, steam room, showers. It's basically a water park without the slides and screaming children. It was fun (wading in a pool with a current that spins you around with other smiling Hungarians) and relaxing (sitting briefly in the eucalyptus sauna before standing under the massaging jets in one of the tubs.) Really, the place was unlike anything I have ever seen before, and I am sure I am not doing it justice with my description - it is begging for a photo spread and maybe there is one somewhere - but I highly recommend it.
My muscles were jello when I settled onto the afternoon train - this one much, much more modern - back to Prague.
We boarded this dingy red, dusty train at about 11 p.m. Friday after paying an extra few hundred crowns for a sleeping car. Not that much sleeping happened, but I am getting ahead of myself. We were given a set of sheets, a pillow and a danky orange blanket. After chatting for a bit, and finally relenting to the train conductor's repeated reminders to close and lock the glass door to our cabin (we were lucky and didn't have to share the cabin, and I am still not sure how four other people could have fit in a car the size of my kitchen back in Chicago), we tucked ourselves in for the ride.
Before long we were careening down the tracks at what can't be regulation speeds and I was secretly wondering if we would jump the track. Turns out Kate was wondering the same thing - and she has done this before.
A few hours into the trip, after several screeching halts at various stops for more passengers, we reached the first border crossing with Slovakia. This means that border guards dressed in eerie, dark green, Communist era uniforms complete with leather satchels and elaborate mustaches come on board, knock coldly on the glass door and say something in Czech or Slovak or Hungarian or perhaps all three, since there did seem to be an inordinate amount of them. Assuming it was a passport check, we handed them over, and then shut off the light again. This happened a few more times, each visit jarring us from sleep. Part of me couldn't help think that at any moment, the guards would start yelling and drag us out of the train, leaving us for dead on the side of the road between the Czech Republic and Slovakia. In fact, we watched at about 4 a.m. as one older Indian couple was taken off the train with their bags and left to figure out what to do next. We overheard it might have something to do with them not having visas to cross through Slovakia, but it was a disheartening and frightening sight.
The whole ride - 9 hours total - felt like a strange dream. I was a mix of scared, sleepy, exhilarated and generally baffled by the entire experience.
Once we arrived in sunny Budapest, we were greeted by Kate's friend who toured us around the historic sights and bars before we settled at an authentic Jewish/Hungarian restaurant for goulash and cucumber salad. Budapest, which straddles the Danube River and is split into Buda (rolling hills and expansive castle) and Pest (flat land and urban grit), is gorgeous. Although the buildings were run-down, likely having never been refurbished and still showing bullet holes and cracks from mortar fire from the many battles, they offered a unique personality - a realness - to the city that perhaps Prague lacks. Facades were cracked, balconies missing, windows broken out, but the architecture was telling a story, revealing the character of the place.
On Sunday morning, we went to the baths. Smack-dab in the middle of the City Park is this ancient spa and thermal bath where people don bathing suits and sit around in various pools of warm water. I think these particular baths we went to debuted about 100 years ago, but some in the city are thousands of years old, having been built by the Turks.
So you walk in, scan you're card, change in the locker room and head outside for the largest of the baths. Two massive pools of various temperatures are packed with people of all ages - including a group of six men intently playing three pensive games of chess, while partially immersed in water. There are also smaller tubs inside, a sauna, steam room, showers. It's basically a water park without the slides and screaming children. It was fun (wading in a pool with a current that spins you around with other smiling Hungarians) and relaxing (sitting briefly in the eucalyptus sauna before standing under the massaging jets in one of the tubs.) Really, the place was unlike anything I have ever seen before, and I am sure I am not doing it justice with my description - it is begging for a photo spread and maybe there is one somewhere - but I highly recommend it.
My muscles were jello when I settled onto the afternoon train - this one much, much more modern - back to Prague.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
the paradise that is a beer garden
Last night, I was introduced to the beer garden. For those of you terribly unenlightened souls - like myself, until now - a beer garden is probably the best place in the world to be on a spring or summer evening. In city parks, there are these fenced off areas with picnic tables, often a large television screen and some foosball tables. Beer is being served from temporary wooden stands, much like they used to have at the ballpark when we were kids serving hot dogs and Suicide sodas, that are opened up just in the spring and summer. It's on tap and you grab a beer and park it at a picnic table. Perhaps you can grab some chips there, too, and this strange concoction of sausages floating in some kind of oniony water, whose name translates into something close to drowning man.
Apparently I live about a half of a block from one of the best beer gardens in Prague, Riegrovy Sady... or so I am told. This park, spitting distance from our front door, has a winding path up to a hill where the beer garden is perched, and a few steps away is a breathtaking view of the city. (also a great place for a jog, when not consuming Pilsner Urquell) Last night was one of the inaugural beer garden evenings of the season, and people were smiling and having fun and drinking beer, though it was still chilly enough for jackets. Put this on the list of my favorite places in Prague. I expect as the weather keeps getting warmer, this will be a much-frequented evening spot.
For those inquiring about the food here... I have not eaten a traditional Czech meal, yet, but have big plans to in the near future. But I hear they can really knock you out (sausages, dumplings, etc.), so I have to prepare myself. And, you know, I really haven't found Prague's answer to the crepe/tarte of Paris, but knowing me, that shouldn't take too long.
In other news, my roommate and I visited IKEA last weekend - which looked and felt eerily like every other IKEA I have ever been to in the states. So I have furnished my room, after assembling a giant wooden clothes chest/armoire with my bare hands... and a hammer, screw driver, and those cryptic drawings that have only basic outline drawings of the furniture. Who knew I was such a carpenter? I'll be sure to post pictures of my project soon.
As they say in Prague - Cau!
Apparently I live about a half of a block from one of the best beer gardens in Prague, Riegrovy Sady... or so I am told. This park, spitting distance from our front door, has a winding path up to a hill where the beer garden is perched, and a few steps away is a breathtaking view of the city. (also a great place for a jog, when not consuming Pilsner Urquell) Last night was one of the inaugural beer garden evenings of the season, and people were smiling and having fun and drinking beer, though it was still chilly enough for jackets. Put this on the list of my favorite places in Prague. I expect as the weather keeps getting warmer, this will be a much-frequented evening spot.
For those inquiring about the food here... I have not eaten a traditional Czech meal, yet, but have big plans to in the near future. But I hear they can really knock you out (sausages, dumplings, etc.), so I have to prepare myself. And, you know, I really haven't found Prague's answer to the crepe/tarte of Paris, but knowing me, that shouldn't take too long.
In other news, my roommate and I visited IKEA last weekend - which looked and felt eerily like every other IKEA I have ever been to in the states. So I have furnished my room, after assembling a giant wooden clothes chest/armoire with my bare hands... and a hammer, screw driver, and those cryptic drawings that have only basic outline drawings of the furniture. Who knew I was such a carpenter? I'll be sure to post pictures of my project soon.
As they say in Prague - Cau!
Saturday, April 09, 2005
settling in Prague
a note before I begin: I am really enjoying the comments posted to the blog from my friends and family. But please remember, since I made it anonymous, you should sign the comments or I have no clue who is writing and I would really like to know that. Thanks.
So it has been almost a week since I arrived, and that feeling of panic and regret is fading. I am asking myself less and less, what am I doing here? I am beginning to get to know my neighborhood and settling it a little at work. This city really is straight out of a fairy tale and I can see how people just fall in love with it.
The hardest part right now is of course not speaking the language. Although most people day to day speak some English, it's not what you hear when you are walking down the street and it's not what labels the food in the grocery store. It's amazing the things you can decipher by looking at the packaging and the pictures on the labels. My first go at grocery shopping was a blur. I got in the store, walked around, didn't recognize anything, panicked and just bought bread. I have been back a few times, found most of the things I need or at least the things I can figure out, and it's much less stressful. I can't seem to find peanut butter (um, or tampons and whoever visits me first will get a small list), which is sad, and I don't know how to ask for lunch meat from the deli yet. It's not like the words are anywhere close to the English version, so really I have been sticking to vegetables and pasta... at least for now.
Take for example my phone call to Cesky Telecom to get Internet hooked up. I had called once, spoken with an English-speaking operator with no troubles and was planning to call back the next day to line it all up. Well, the next day, the operator and I had some difficulties. I was spelling for her the name for the contract (Ron Grant) and all was fine until the T in Grant.
Me: G-R-A-N-T
Operator: G-R-A-N-G
Me: T
Op: G
Me: T as in Telecom
Op: Please, I need the surname.
Me: Yes, this is the surname. Grant. G-R-A-N-T.
Op: G-R-A-N ... C
This went on for no kidding 15 minutes. I had the Czech dictionary out and was saying words that start with T with no luck. Finally she had her colleague call me back and it worked much better... Although for some reason, the price had gone up to 980 Kc a month (still really cheap) plus the modem and instead of it taking 5 days to hook up it will take two weeks.
This is one thing I am finding out about myself. The things I thought were important, that I thought I couldn't live without or would make me crazy don't really matter. There's nothing you can do, so your priorities change and you learn to just go with the flow. Spotty communications? No big deal. (By the way, telecom here is really expensive. Calls to the States are easily 50 cents a minute and about a quarter within the Czech Republic. That's why everyone text messages, which is only a couple crowns. What they do have that is good is mobile phones where you don't have to sign your life away, and just pay as you go.) Being abroad, I think, has made me much less tense (when I think I expected the opposite) and relaxed about certain situations. It's a different pace of life, different way of doing things, and you just have to get into it.
My roommate, Kate, has been such a joy as I have been settling in. She has been helpful and kind and patient, and I really appreciate that. She has been here since October and spent time here before that, and she's Canadian, which right away makes her nice and chill, right? So the apartment is in Vinorhady, which I hear is one of the nicest neighborhoods, but it's expensive by Prague standards and hard to find flats. (It is much cheaper than Chicago, though.) We are renting it from this guy, Ron, who my professor knows who fell in love with Prague and bought a flat and comes here in the summers. But he just got it maybe six months ago, hasn't spent a summer here yet, and hasn't really furnished the place. My room has a bed and a couch. No shelves. No closet. No table. But Kate and I are planning a trip to IKEA tomorrow and billing Ron for the goods.
I started work at the Prague Post on Wednesday and it is slow getting into. See, they aren't the most organized of folks, so even though they knew I was coming, they didn't really seem to know what to do with me when I got there. They put me at a desk with no phone. (As a reporter, a phone is a basic and necessary tool, perhaps more than a computer) Also, I arrived at 10, as instructed, and no editor was around until after noon. By Friday, they were kind of realizing I was there for good, and began, I think, to think about what I can be writing and what they need me for. It's a good thing I am not shy about pitching stories and asking people for work. It looks like I will be writing mainly for the business section, but I plan to pitch news features fervently while I am here. There was some talk of doing longer form investigative stories, but I want to make sure I am writing a bunch of weekly stories as well. I am sure all that will get ironed out soon.
The folks in my office seem nice so far. In the business section there are three other reporters and an editor, and the news section seems to have the same plus a couple of Czech researchers that get bogged down looking up English-speaking contacts and other stuff we can't do on our own. It seems like most people speak some basic Czech, but not enough to conduct interviews. They seem to be from all over - one dude from North Carolina, a Latvian woman, an editor from Kansas who most recently lived in Azerbaijan (wherever the crap that is...), a Slovak and of course a few Czechs. And I am trying to drag the folks out for a beer after work soon, so more on that later.
Now time for the latest installment of a few of my observations:
- Like much of Europe, everything is smaller here. Grocery stores are tiny and you bag your own groceries. Heads of lettuce are miniature, cars more compact. Also, a lot of places are quite energy efficient, like our apartment's has motion-censored lights.
- Again, people don't smile as much just walking down the street. They are far more reserved, and definitely won't just greet a stranger on the street. That's hard to get used to, and often I feel like a grinning idiot.
- A lot of men stink a little like body odor. I thought it was a sunny afternoon phenomenon, but was greeted with the smell again this morning in the Internet cafe.
- It's not the most diverse of cities, to say the least. Unlike Brussels, it's pretty homogeneous here, and I think I saw my first black person all week in an expat bar last night. Also hard to get used to.
And a few jems:
- I found a Turkish restaurant around the corner that serves amazing tomato-based lentil soup for about $1 for a big bowl.
- There is an H&M on nearly every corner here.
- An English-language book store and cafe has been a welcome oasis and I am heading back there to load up on English newsmagazines.
- And to Dave and others who recommended, I went to Radost last night, which is a really neat, very expat, lounge and club. (I stuck to the lounge side) You forget you're in Prague almost, but it was a good spot with apparently a great bruch. That's for next time.
So it has been almost a week since I arrived, and that feeling of panic and regret is fading. I am asking myself less and less, what am I doing here? I am beginning to get to know my neighborhood and settling it a little at work. This city really is straight out of a fairy tale and I can see how people just fall in love with it.
The hardest part right now is of course not speaking the language. Although most people day to day speak some English, it's not what you hear when you are walking down the street and it's not what labels the food in the grocery store. It's amazing the things you can decipher by looking at the packaging and the pictures on the labels. My first go at grocery shopping was a blur. I got in the store, walked around, didn't recognize anything, panicked and just bought bread. I have been back a few times, found most of the things I need or at least the things I can figure out, and it's much less stressful. I can't seem to find peanut butter (um, or tampons and whoever visits me first will get a small list), which is sad, and I don't know how to ask for lunch meat from the deli yet. It's not like the words are anywhere close to the English version, so really I have been sticking to vegetables and pasta... at least for now.
Take for example my phone call to Cesky Telecom to get Internet hooked up. I had called once, spoken with an English-speaking operator with no troubles and was planning to call back the next day to line it all up. Well, the next day, the operator and I had some difficulties. I was spelling for her the name for the contract (Ron Grant) and all was fine until the T in Grant.
Me: G-R-A-N-T
Operator: G-R-A-N-G
Me: T
Op: G
Me: T as in Telecom
Op: Please, I need the surname.
Me: Yes, this is the surname. Grant. G-R-A-N-T.
Op: G-R-A-N ... C
This went on for no kidding 15 minutes. I had the Czech dictionary out and was saying words that start with T with no luck. Finally she had her colleague call me back and it worked much better... Although for some reason, the price had gone up to 980 Kc a month (still really cheap) plus the modem and instead of it taking 5 days to hook up it will take two weeks.
This is one thing I am finding out about myself. The things I thought were important, that I thought I couldn't live without or would make me crazy don't really matter. There's nothing you can do, so your priorities change and you learn to just go with the flow. Spotty communications? No big deal. (By the way, telecom here is really expensive. Calls to the States are easily 50 cents a minute and about a quarter within the Czech Republic. That's why everyone text messages, which is only a couple crowns. What they do have that is good is mobile phones where you don't have to sign your life away, and just pay as you go.) Being abroad, I think, has made me much less tense (when I think I expected the opposite) and relaxed about certain situations. It's a different pace of life, different way of doing things, and you just have to get into it.
My roommate, Kate, has been such a joy as I have been settling in. She has been helpful and kind and patient, and I really appreciate that. She has been here since October and spent time here before that, and she's Canadian, which right away makes her nice and chill, right? So the apartment is in Vinorhady, which I hear is one of the nicest neighborhoods, but it's expensive by Prague standards and hard to find flats. (It is much cheaper than Chicago, though.) We are renting it from this guy, Ron, who my professor knows who fell in love with Prague and bought a flat and comes here in the summers. But he just got it maybe six months ago, hasn't spent a summer here yet, and hasn't really furnished the place. My room has a bed and a couch. No shelves. No closet. No table. But Kate and I are planning a trip to IKEA tomorrow and billing Ron for the goods.
I started work at the Prague Post on Wednesday and it is slow getting into. See, they aren't the most organized of folks, so even though they knew I was coming, they didn't really seem to know what to do with me when I got there. They put me at a desk with no phone. (As a reporter, a phone is a basic and necessary tool, perhaps more than a computer) Also, I arrived at 10, as instructed, and no editor was around until after noon. By Friday, they were kind of realizing I was there for good, and began, I think, to think about what I can be writing and what they need me for. It's a good thing I am not shy about pitching stories and asking people for work. It looks like I will be writing mainly for the business section, but I plan to pitch news features fervently while I am here. There was some talk of doing longer form investigative stories, but I want to make sure I am writing a bunch of weekly stories as well. I am sure all that will get ironed out soon.
The folks in my office seem nice so far. In the business section there are three other reporters and an editor, and the news section seems to have the same plus a couple of Czech researchers that get bogged down looking up English-speaking contacts and other stuff we can't do on our own. It seems like most people speak some basic Czech, but not enough to conduct interviews. They seem to be from all over - one dude from North Carolina, a Latvian woman, an editor from Kansas who most recently lived in Azerbaijan (wherever the crap that is...), a Slovak and of course a few Czechs. And I am trying to drag the folks out for a beer after work soon, so more on that later.
Now time for the latest installment of a few of my observations:
- Like much of Europe, everything is smaller here. Grocery stores are tiny and you bag your own groceries. Heads of lettuce are miniature, cars more compact. Also, a lot of places are quite energy efficient, like our apartment's has motion-censored lights.
- Again, people don't smile as much just walking down the street. They are far more reserved, and definitely won't just greet a stranger on the street. That's hard to get used to, and often I feel like a grinning idiot.
- A lot of men stink a little like body odor. I thought it was a sunny afternoon phenomenon, but was greeted with the smell again this morning in the Internet cafe.
- It's not the most diverse of cities, to say the least. Unlike Brussels, it's pretty homogeneous here, and I think I saw my first black person all week in an expat bar last night. Also hard to get used to.
And a few jems:
- I found a Turkish restaurant around the corner that serves amazing tomato-based lentil soup for about $1 for a big bowl.
- There is an H&M on nearly every corner here.
- An English-language book store and cafe has been a welcome oasis and I am heading back there to load up on English newsmagazines.
- And to Dave and others who recommended, I went to Radost last night, which is a really neat, very expat, lounge and club. (I stuck to the lounge side) You forget you're in Prague almost, but it was a good spot with apparently a great bruch. That's for next time.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
a photo of the amazing adventures
It sure is a tough life in Brussels. Karen and I take a break from the shennanigans.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
The amazing adventures of Michael and Hawkins
This is a story about me and Karen and Brussels. All I knew a couple days ago was that I was flying out of Brussels to get to Prague on Sunday evening and so I should somehow get myself to Brussels. Very much unlike me, I was not at all worried about it, and once Karen signed on, I realized we would just fly by the seat of our pants.
So on Saturday afternoon, we leisurely made our way to Gare du Nord train station, after being told that there are trains to Brussels every hour. Well, turns out that is not the case, and there was one more train, with only first class tickets available. We managed to get a student discount, and we realized pretty quickly that first class ain't so bad. We spread out in giant seats and were served a snack and wine, feeling like foreign dignitaries on our way to Brussels for an important meeting. (Clearly we are easily impressed.) We then got to the hostel, which luckily had an open bed for Karen (... who, by the way, must have attracted a handful of suitors just on the way there, including a man who worked at the hostel who was enamored by her dreads. The European mens love them some Rasta, as they kept calling her while acting like she hailed directly from the Motherland, rather than, say, the suburbs of Chicago.)
OK the first stop was the Grand Place, a public square and marketplace with cute little cafes lining the streets. We stopped for a beer (which flows like water there) and watched the street performers. One pair of clowns/mimes/long-in-the-tooth-hippies-needing-of-a-stage were putting on a show in front of us, complete with an accordion, and then passed the hat for money. The server came out and started yelling something at them in French, likely about not bothering their patrons for money. Well, a crowd quickly gathered around us since the performers were directly in front of us, while the clowns and servers yelled at each other in French. Then one server hauls off and shoves one clown in the damn head, sending him and his according stumbling back. The crowd booed, more yelling in French, clown sulks in the corner. After the hullabaloo died down, we decided to give them a euro, so I stood up and walked over and put one in his hat. The cafe crowd applauded at me...! Little did I know, I was making some statement or taking a stand about street performers and free spirits etc. etc... A few other folks followed suit, and Karen and I downed our beers and booked it out of there. Strange.
Brussels is strange. Very touristy, and everything is in four languages. Menus are four pages rather than one. Doors say 'push' four times. As inefficient as it was, I guess with NATO and the EU there, it's got to be done. Also, people didn't really seem to smile much, and just looked generally sullen, particularly on the street or in the Metro. (OK, so maybe it had to do with two American girls and their 4,500 pounds of luggage. Karen did have a 2,000 pound bag on her back that tumped her over in the Metro, directly into a couple who were less than amused.) I will say that the city was so ethnically diverse, which was really neat. And one of the biggest tourist spots is a tiny fountain with a sculpture of a boy peeing into a basin. Mannequin Pis, they call him, and people flock to him to take his picture and rumor has it the locals make little outfits for him (with pee holes no less) and dress him up for special events. You can even by bottle openers, T-shirts, chocolates, you name it, all in his image. And yes, we took his picture too.
But it was a gorgeous city. We happened to walk into the Cathedral of St. Michel while the organ player was finishing a song on these stories-high pipes. We then went back the next day (today) where people were filed in mourning the Pope and the church was flanked with police and TV station vans. The architecture across the city is amazing, and there is something to be said about the Belgian chocolate, waffles (which you eat more as a snack rather than breakfast) and all the delicious beers. Now, waffles are the new crepes. You gotta keep up.
And I made it to Prague. I just got in and got settled, met my roommate, and found the Internet cafe. It's feeling a little lonely now that I don't have a group of Medill folks with me and am surrounded by people speaking another language - this time, a language that is no where close to English. It's a little overwhelming, to say the least. But my apartment is really nice in what I hear is a cool, safe part of town.... but since the owner just bought the place, furnishing is scant and my room is pretty much a bed and a couch. Should be interesting....
So on Saturday afternoon, we leisurely made our way to Gare du Nord train station, after being told that there are trains to Brussels every hour. Well, turns out that is not the case, and there was one more train, with only first class tickets available. We managed to get a student discount, and we realized pretty quickly that first class ain't so bad. We spread out in giant seats and were served a snack and wine, feeling like foreign dignitaries on our way to Brussels for an important meeting. (Clearly we are easily impressed.) We then got to the hostel, which luckily had an open bed for Karen (... who, by the way, must have attracted a handful of suitors just on the way there, including a man who worked at the hostel who was enamored by her dreads. The European mens love them some Rasta, as they kept calling her while acting like she hailed directly from the Motherland, rather than, say, the suburbs of Chicago.)
OK the first stop was the Grand Place, a public square and marketplace with cute little cafes lining the streets. We stopped for a beer (which flows like water there) and watched the street performers. One pair of clowns/mimes/long-in-the-tooth-hippies-needing-of-a-stage were putting on a show in front of us, complete with an accordion, and then passed the hat for money. The server came out and started yelling something at them in French, likely about not bothering their patrons for money. Well, a crowd quickly gathered around us since the performers were directly in front of us, while the clowns and servers yelled at each other in French. Then one server hauls off and shoves one clown in the damn head, sending him and his according stumbling back. The crowd booed, more yelling in French, clown sulks in the corner. After the hullabaloo died down, we decided to give them a euro, so I stood up and walked over and put one in his hat. The cafe crowd applauded at me...! Little did I know, I was making some statement or taking a stand about street performers and free spirits etc. etc... A few other folks followed suit, and Karen and I downed our beers and booked it out of there. Strange.
Brussels is strange. Very touristy, and everything is in four languages. Menus are four pages rather than one. Doors say 'push' four times. As inefficient as it was, I guess with NATO and the EU there, it's got to be done. Also, people didn't really seem to smile much, and just looked generally sullen, particularly on the street or in the Metro. (OK, so maybe it had to do with two American girls and their 4,500 pounds of luggage. Karen did have a 2,000 pound bag on her back that tumped her over in the Metro, directly into a couple who were less than amused.) I will say that the city was so ethnically diverse, which was really neat. And one of the biggest tourist spots is a tiny fountain with a sculpture of a boy peeing into a basin. Mannequin Pis, they call him, and people flock to him to take his picture and rumor has it the locals make little outfits for him (with pee holes no less) and dress him up for special events. You can even by bottle openers, T-shirts, chocolates, you name it, all in his image. And yes, we took his picture too.
But it was a gorgeous city. We happened to walk into the Cathedral of St. Michel while the organ player was finishing a song on these stories-high pipes. We then went back the next day (today) where people were filed in mourning the Pope and the church was flanked with police and TV station vans. The architecture across the city is amazing, and there is something to be said about the Belgian chocolate, waffles (which you eat more as a snack rather than breakfast) and all the delicious beers. Now, waffles are the new crepes. You gotta keep up.
And I made it to Prague. I just got in and got settled, met my roommate, and found the Internet cafe. It's feeling a little lonely now that I don't have a group of Medill folks with me and am surrounded by people speaking another language - this time, a language that is no where close to English. It's a little overwhelming, to say the least. But my apartment is really nice in what I hear is a cool, safe part of town.... but since the owner just bought the place, furnishing is scant and my room is pretty much a bed and a couch. Should be interesting....
Friday, April 01, 2005
au revoir Paris
It's our last day of seminars before we all ship off this afternoon and tomorrow to our respective residencies. I think we are all anxious and excited, but grateful that we had these two weeks to get a feel of what it's like to live and work in a foreign country. Tomorrow, I am headed to Brussels for a night before flying to Prague. I think I will have Karen's company (who is then going to Cambodia)which will make drinking Belgian beer and eating waffles all the more enjoyable.
I will have all of those who think I am uncultured know that I did visit a museum yesterday (Musee d'Orsay... think Van Gogh, Renoir, Toulous-Lautrec.... It's in an old train station and houses some pretty famous paintings. It was well worth it.) I also managed to visit Quasimodo at Notre Dame and cruise down Champs-Elysees. So I have soaked in a few requisite tourist attractions. We also hung out with some French students from the school we are having the seminar in, and we did the Montmartre walk through our neighborhood where we saw the Moulin Rouge and the funky, almost hidden neighborhood where several artists lived for a few years. That might have been one of my favorite spots in Paris.
Well au revoir from Paris.
I will have all of those who think I am uncultured know that I did visit a museum yesterday (Musee d'Orsay... think Van Gogh, Renoir, Toulous-Lautrec.... It's in an old train station and houses some pretty famous paintings. It was well worth it.) I also managed to visit Quasimodo at Notre Dame and cruise down Champs-Elysees. So I have soaked in a few requisite tourist attractions. We also hung out with some French students from the school we are having the seminar in, and we did the Montmartre walk through our neighborhood where we saw the Moulin Rouge and the funky, almost hidden neighborhood where several artists lived for a few years. That might have been one of my favorite spots in Paris.
Well au revoir from Paris.
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