tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50838771111846136062024-02-08T05:56:14.282+01:00A Passionate NőA soap opera consisting of chickens, tractors, passion, teaching English in rural Hungary and most often the kindness of strangers.Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-21626743840310261822009-07-18T03:29:00.003+02:002009-07-18T04:03:38.749+02:00So I've had a strange couple of days....I have been back in the US since the first of July. <div><br /></div><div>As the crispness of the experience begins to fuzz around the edges, the best way to describe my life is that I have had a strange couple of days. <div>I miss it. </div><div><br /></div><div>The last couple of weeks in Hungary were really busy. I made new friends, who took me swimming in the Cave baths, I baked cookies for the remaining 18 of 22 classes, I travelled constantly with Tara for two weeks, I was spoiled to death by Jon and Franny, Tara and I went to a melon patch, chased both buses and cars waving, I won a fire jumping competition, My buddies helped my re-cram my life into two suitcases and sadly I said goodbye. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hate to say good-bye, because it means an end of something amazing. Instead I prefer to say Hello.</div></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-37133272857125949142009-06-03T16:54:00.002+02:002009-06-03T17:07:06.461+02:00BookendsI feel alternatively that I have just arrived, hot and sweaty into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ferihegy</span> and that I have been here forever. <div><br /></div><div>Things are both entirely similar and entirely different from late August and early September.</div><div><br /></div><div>My kids are returning to the energetic state of chaos that surrounds new beginnings and endings. They still ask me if I am married, am I really 88, and other <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">varied</span> personal questions. Unlike in September I am no longer shocked by their curiosity.</div><div><br /></div><div>In late May we went to another Wine festival in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Etyek</span>. Again Lauren, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Lyla</span> and I piled into the ancient yellow <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">volan</span> bus to trek the 45 minute journey. This time they did not meet me at the Bus station, and this time we knew where to go. </div><div><br /></div><div>My music and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Youtube</span> education has grown thanks to Franny. I am learning new ideas about food from Jon. I am learning about <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">physical</span> presentation from Lauren and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Lyla</span>. I am learning Hungarian from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Sani</span> and Jeno. I am learning about fishing and wine from Tamas. I am learning patience and joy from my kids. I am <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">learning</span> to play <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Hungarian</span> cards from 11b. I am learning about sewing, baking, traveling, dancing and BLISS in all its forms from the people around me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I love being a teacher, because it means I never have to stop learning and pursuing knowledge. </div><div><br /></div><div>I just hope I have taught my students something as well.</div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-75595898591036068042009-05-21T20:44:00.003+02:002009-05-21T21:12:07.833+02:00"Tomorrow there will be an execution"Is what one of my teachers told me, as I looked around at people tacking colourful banners around the school. My confused face must have given it away, because he looked at me strangely as I asked "Exhibition?" <div><br /></div><div>I have had a delightful week of company. First Tara in Mariapocs then later a friend from Australia I had not seen in years. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tara and I accompanied the teachers on a wine "tasting" in a small town just over an hour away from Heves. On the way there we made a pit-stop to drink wine, at some one's house...just because, and when we got to Nagyrede, it started with obligatory shots of Palinka. The night was spent talking to a teacher who has not spoken a word to me in the last 9 months that I have lived here, listening to the Bandis sing songs, nattering in Hunglish, eating amazing food, and dancing to Hungarian jazz under the stars.</div><div><br /></div><div>Judit, Tara and I popped into my favorite flower shop, where the man behind the counter gave us free yellow roses each "for our birthdays"</div><div><br /></div><div>There was a fashion show in school, including dancing Snow white and the seven dwarfs. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tara, Jamie, Jeb and I chilled in Gyula for two days. I ran into an acquaintance, whom I have not seen in two years, but still remembered who I was (despite no longer having black hair). Odd, and nice. </div><div><br /></div><div>I saw a play in Eger with the Cops. It involved Alien ghosts, a fold out book, a gangster, a robot, a bomb, an overenthusiastic cop, a mean caretaker, plum dumplings, and a girl in a clown suit called Hedgehog (sunni)... AND it was a musical.</div><div><br /></div><div>I gave someone a hair cut. It turned out cute. </div><div><br /></div><div>One of my private 11b students taught me how to play Hungarian cards. When the rest of the class came in, more people joined, and I ended up skipping lunch to play cards with my students.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Folk Art museum ladies recognize me, as I have now been there at least 5 times (taking the tour). Twice in the last week. Although never having taken the tour in English, I have been the translator almost all of those times, even though my Hungarian is pretty bad and I only figured out the word for linen on the third time around. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-26115591738065106982009-05-14T14:42:00.004+02:002009-05-26T19:47:07.194+02:00One way to go shopping.I began to open the door into the teacher's snack lounge to spend time between lessons, when suddenly the door was slammed back and an angry voice yelled: "Csak lányok" (Only women). Two blue eyes peeked at me through the open crack of the door. Taking in my surprise, and that I am a girl, she shot off rapid fire Hungarian, and let me in quickly and closed the door behind me. <div><br /></div><div>There in front of me stood one of the teachers half naked. She pulled on a shirt buttoned it up, and moved her arms in the familiar gestures of trying on clothing. Ignoring the shock of seeing one of my colleagues in such a state, I sifted through piles of shirts, track suits, and colourful pants. The teacher and the sales lady encouraged me to try something on, so I did. </div><div><br /></div><div>There I was, middle of the room, about to try on a shirt when I realized while the door was blocked, the full length windows ground floor windows had only sheer curtains blocking us from the outside. </div><div><br /></div><div>The windows look out to the entrance walk.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had all of the lights on. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Well...that is one way to go shopping. <br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-86957484526110671712009-05-06T19:46:00.002+02:002009-05-06T19:58:23.385+02:00A wake up call.There are less than 5 full weeks of school left.<div><br /></div><div>My seniors have graduated, in a flurry of flowers and poetic ceremony. </div><div><br /></div><div>I will be following their exits with my own búcsú in under two months.</div><div><br /></div><div> I am not ready to leave this life of miscommunication and hilarity. </div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-19758529886398601402009-04-28T20:37:00.008+02:002009-08-05T20:44:13.426+02:00Locsolkodás, érettségi, and Serenade<span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The Thursday after spring break the No walked into 11</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span">d's</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> classroom, to be </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="Apple-style-span">greeted</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> with a student jumping out of the sink closet and spritzing her with strong </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="Apple-style-span">perfume</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">. Shock, Surprise and Stink assailed all of her senses, forcing her to take a moment to re-group. It proves that even two days after l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="Apple-style-span">ocsolkodás</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">, </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="Apple-style-span">American</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> teachers are not safe from fertility traditions. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;font-family:georgia;" ><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;font-family:georgia;" ><span class="Apple-style-span">The last few weeks the staff have been frantically </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="Apple-style-span">prepping</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> the 12</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="Apple-style-span">th</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> grade<br />students for their Maturity exams. This includes giving intense practice exams,<br />which they mostly failed. They have, however, led to some new favorite </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />Hunglish</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> student-isms.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;font-family:georgia;" ><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;font-family:georgia;" ><span class="Apple-style-span">One of the Hungarian graduation traditions (unlike in the US, </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />graduation</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> activities extend over at least a week) is called </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="Apple-style-span">Serenade</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">. It is exactly<br />what it sounds like. Students walk from teacher's house to teacher's house and sing<br />them songs. Both 12a and 12b are singing to me. The No is excited to see this<br />tradition up close, but would be more excited if it did not mean staying up<br />until after 2am. 12b is </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="Apple-style-span">seranading</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> her at 1am-</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="Apple-style-span">ish</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Here is a quick guide to some important Hungarian terms for this post.</span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="Apple-style-span">Locsolkodás</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">: Easter </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="Apple-style-span">Minda</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> sprinkling, boys dash/sprinkle girls with water/</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="Apple-style-span">perfume</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> in exchange for money, eggs and </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="Apple-style-span">palinka</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">.</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;font-size:100%;" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="Apple-style-span">érettségi</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">: Hungarian Maturity exam, think of a University entrance exam.<br />This is taken in the beginning of May for 12</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="Apple-style-span">th</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> grade, but can be taken earlier.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="Apple-style-span">Seranade</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">: Part of the Hungarian graduation traditions.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13;"><br /></span></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-89088205799935397602009-04-22T15:19:00.005+02:002009-04-22T16:06:13.620+02:00Part 3: Kalocsa and Holloko<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"Hey dude, I'm lost, I forgot where to go in the [town]" was how Easter Sunday should have started. I got off the bus in beautiful sunny <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Kalocsa</span> at the wrong bus stop, and a short phone call to Franny later, I was headed in the right direction. Easter was delicious! Between Jon's AMAZING cooking and Franny's play list, Easter was lovely. We meandered the town, and dyed eggs with plants and onion skins. Franny and I were in charge of blowing the eggs out, so that we could dye just the shells. While the first one I did, to show Franny how to do it, worked perfectly, the next two I broke....finally culminating in an egg that defied physics and exploded up my nose. Too soon I was on the bus back to Budapest.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJf9N3lmXw857ywfR3kMMze2T43-dLABGrOo5FEB3OwJRrRg2F91A7u4gPKkLj9wbdElGxPgyXqhZPmqw89EbYm3TT7XXC-MoG7xPVROUBwgsZwaFFLwOojuCS0VV4AarVg2TwvmErH7M/s1600-h/S6301829.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJf9N3lmXw857ywfR3kMMze2T43-dLABGrOo5FEB3OwJRrRg2F91A7u4gPKkLj9wbdElGxPgyXqhZPmqw89EbYm3TT7XXC-MoG7xPVROUBwgsZwaFFLwOojuCS0VV4AarVg2TwvmErH7M/s320/S6301829.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327511830695271522" /></a> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Prep work to dye the eggs<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUc2KrAeXZptx3GPZhqWEmsZBBtCMT6uCdlzZ7Xi3iMRqnVWV8EybjRlalsVHjmHVXwxhTztKexGfBp7fpXk8Jw7rbmAd4NU6pvSqsLb_1zXPf_F4P0XDl5TFLHZEVrIeW1gra6lX4qI/s1600-h/S6301808.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUc2KrAeXZptx3GPZhqWEmsZBBtCMT6uCdlzZ7Xi3iMRqnVWV8EybjRlalsVHjmHVXwxhTztKexGfBp7fpXk8Jw7rbmAd4NU6pvSqsLb_1zXPf_F4P0XDl5TFLHZEVrIeW1gra6lX4qI/s320/S6301808.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327511827968569554" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Washing the eggs</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwnFqQiVbEqvrazNv2aEwbsrSULwyNY84tZTFdtXKY-Jn6Qk3bJy1Bdf8UUKXBraDJn7jhu89opB1KqBvSalDEt873Y8bsJCufUgHpoWavpu03K-ROqywfRyBM-9KSFnbwIW7IkRui0g/s1600-h/S6301813.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwnFqQiVbEqvrazNv2aEwbsrSULwyNY84tZTFdtXKY-Jn6Qk3bJy1Bdf8UUKXBraDJn7jhu89opB1KqBvSalDEt873Y8bsJCufUgHpoWavpu03K-ROqywfRyBM-9KSFnbwIW7IkRui0g/s320/S6301813.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327511820785794642" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Jon making Deviled Eggs<br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGgwcAwCDtrTkYbhQgGKeKreACWpuj6xLzgl3X41NGJC-Opv7qOfm6pNQiDIKVQnTZohIfNAI6RLgEeuQ77UaEEClOUwm1HJVxli-s3QuwjgKmqfoF0Ari83QIduFRLwRLLIxpngFp0U0/s1600-h/S6301812.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGgwcAwCDtrTkYbhQgGKeKreACWpuj6xLzgl3X41NGJC-Opv7qOfm6pNQiDIKVQnTZohIfNAI6RLgEeuQ77UaEEClOUwm1HJVxli-s3QuwjgKmqfoF0Ari83QIduFRLwRLLIxpngFp0U0/s320/S6301812.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327511813714057618" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Franny blowing out the eggs<br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzqqpaQSCMdKbVy0gfgScdOsGFBXgtYH0nVItM03Ya_px6Jis0cQC-2TkufMuhkgOOpXKjGIJpXYVJSZozzhjxfzWPsZk3OeT8mqBVA2eCc8SZ0KbTE_x47-J48gI-_hW-P6dhJwgnNE/s1600-h/S6301838.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzqqpaQSCMdKbVy0gfgScdOsGFBXgtYH0nVItM03Ya_px6Jis0cQC-2TkufMuhkgOOpXKjGIJpXYVJSZozzhjxfzWPsZk3OeT8mqBVA2eCc8SZ0KbTE_x47-J48gI-_hW-P6dhJwgnNE/s320/S6301838.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327511809011193138" /></a> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Yummy! Lunch part 1 of 10 <br /><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Holloko</span>: I went to see the traditional Hungarian watering. I missed out on seeing a girl dressed in traditional dress getting doused with a bucket of water, but it was a good day nonetheless. <br /><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTV_u1Xzg9C-2gVZcN2URiumpwFz0IzQmaFV5v3D_VDRO5t23gKITLjtmy3r2sDp7A7-eRFfXhCMJw6m3rDV0uEjNpJYOpmySjdJiAiM7XAtUAQttbfH01iOU-G1NYlmE4szJR7HPg8qo/s1600-h/P4130091.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTV_u1Xzg9C-2gVZcN2URiumpwFz0IzQmaFV5v3D_VDRO5t23gKITLjtmy3r2sDp7A7-eRFfXhCMJw6m3rDV0uEjNpJYOpmySjdJiAiM7XAtUAQttbfH01iOU-G1NYlmE4szJR7HPg8qo/s320/P4130091.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327515730446182242" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Ladies in traditional dress<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjROGYMwUP8FFVigJl37ImVGhqgJhqi7-KvcyDDnq0t5aOHbuMiXo3KqSo-in6fKzWY7Idhc3BIQVzrEN1QEmfjal5kXSHESmHKj0qY_Fw7xS90hsFNM00nA3YJ3R0MzThU6sOmsORy8MM/s1600-h/P4130088.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjROGYMwUP8FFVigJl37ImVGhqgJhqi7-KvcyDDnq0t5aOHbuMiXo3KqSo-in6fKzWY7Idhc3BIQVzrEN1QEmfjal5kXSHESmHKj0qY_Fw7xS90hsFNM00nA3YJ3R0MzThU6sOmsORy8MM/s1600-h/P4130088.JPG"></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjROGYMwUP8FFVigJl37ImVGhqgJhqi7-KvcyDDnq0t5aOHbuMiXo3KqSo-in6fKzWY7Idhc3BIQVzrEN1QEmfjal5kXSHESmHKj0qY_Fw7xS90hsFNM00nA3YJ3R0MzThU6sOmsORy8MM/s320/P4130088.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327515725862975794" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Kids who ran around splashing people</span></span></div><div> </div></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-14757935796774301852009-04-22T07:44:00.004+02:002009-04-22T08:28:37.678+02:00Part 2: Bratislava, Brno, Budapest<div>I met Jamie and Tara in Budapest and together we caught a late train to a former capital of the Hungarian territory...<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Bratislava</span>. We slept poorly, meandered, and ate <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">perogies</span>. <br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTzFOc7g9ua44-K7rYWYJu1N5SVbT7GQVMnI4aMCj0hrQQ9K6LFxydBZxvROgT_bei7I1BgutCVLYAT6G9o5sNWv7kphHfmabPpgkRAkJe07Vmy-BJEj8GVOUyJhBTbgAoZCqqT0gsB8/s1600-h/P4090057.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTzFOc7g9ua44-K7rYWYJu1N5SVbT7GQVMnI4aMCj0hrQQ9K6LFxydBZxvROgT_bei7I1BgutCVLYAT6G9o5sNWv7kphHfmabPpgkRAkJe07Vmy-BJEj8GVOUyJhBTbgAoZCqqT0gsB8/s320/P4090057.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327389739595674642" /></a> Train buddies<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHhHOt732aYcG2c26GPWdNhxXib0CNkwSl39eA4EtFNnHuVBMgJqklp2caQR8oysZu1wUZ3PaWH3sL1uItb4P7uijZtRXBSlh4eJfKi1s0byYsO4KKpe9vTHs-DegwrnnbGWCvEmbQy0/s1600-h/P4090048.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHhHOt732aYcG2c26GPWdNhxXib0CNkwSl39eA4EtFNnHuVBMgJqklp2caQR8oysZu1wUZ3PaWH3sL1uItb4P7uijZtRXBSlh4eJfKi1s0byYsO4KKpe9vTHs-DegwrnnbGWCvEmbQy0/s320/P4090048.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327389735706286626" /></a> Castle view<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Jz-2-YjEfNOfWbn2mJyQ0-H6MS8ln-g0masOdndUbc8l81xs-FO9CVD89I5r7Ba9xgjQ6ivQ0C-U5Sj5vFn5_G88ZgLTLvw33240HHbH9l-FCCN_TJW6NCsPRNV3BcAuxCGJwDRXP8o/s1600-h/P4090027.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Jz-2-YjEfNOfWbn2mJyQ0-H6MS8ln-g0masOdndUbc8l81xs-FO9CVD89I5r7Ba9xgjQ6ivQ0C-U5Sj5vFn5_G88ZgLTLvw33240HHbH9l-FCCN_TJW6NCsPRNV3BcAuxCGJwDRXP8o/s320/P4090027.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327389730905646258" /></a> A hat on a building!<br /><br /><div>Brno, a name I can not properly pronounce, but was stunning! We explored, and visited one of the most famous prisons in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hapsburg</span> empire. There I drooled over <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Handschrift</span> documents on display, and later we popped into the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Easter</span> market. All too soon it was time to wait for the train and travel on our <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">separate</span> ways.</div><div><br /></div><div>Budapest: I finally checked out the shoe memorial along the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Danube</span>. The weather was perfect to just chill out on its banks. I also popped into the Easter Market at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Vorosmarty</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">ter</span>, and chilled out sipping tea.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-85956981422119822772009-04-16T19:16:00.009+02:002009-04-20T08:11:48.137+02:00Nagyszerű helyekre elmenni voltam!<div><br /></div><div><div>12 days and 7 cities later, I am home. I started in Szeged, then home for Student Days, then off on Spring break adventures in Brataslava, Brno, Budapest, Kalocsa and Holloko. While each one deserves its own post to properly encapsulate the insane adventures, instead I will give a short (well...I will try) blurb and photos.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Part One:</div><div><br /></div><div>Perfect weather welcomed me to Hungary's sun city, Szeged. There I chilled with Jon and Franny. We ate AMAZING food, check it out on<a href="http://chasqui8.blogspot.com/"> Jon's blog</a> (especially the duck comfit...yeah I ate that, be envious!) We engaged in my favorite activities: walking around pretty places, enjoying the sunshine, making daisy chains and ATCs, Swinging on swings in a park, and hitting up a great museum. We made each other laugh and groan with silly Hunglish phrases all weekend long! (Oh for Bisztos!) Then on my way home, I met up with one of my crazy eighth graders, who found a better way to Heves than the one I was going. We were waiting at the Gyongyos bus stop, when another kid (not one of mine), asked Viktor if we were related. Viktor, who is short and dark, gave the new kid a funny look and told him I was the anyanelvi tanar. The new kid (a senior at one of the Gyongyos schools) spent the whole bus ride home arguing that I could not be 25. <br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8rXOi6arOn_f1bS_RWHEcItjLO7wCtJhfoROaEw_71hPr3pFSrHpASmEeKiy9B_jYceLW4e71i1Ixe13GOlKqgOIn9erOczZjgm-B6_GDzI0I152HE-95J000TrJcUkQzS2rml_fBYc/s1600-h/P4040087.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8rXOi6arOn_f1bS_RWHEcItjLO7wCtJhfoROaEw_71hPr3pFSrHpASmEeKiy9B_jYceLW4e71i1Ixe13GOlKqgOIn9erOczZjgm-B6_GDzI0I152HE-95J000TrJcUkQzS2rml_fBYc/s320/P4040087.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325348935236585858" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a><div> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Franny and I swinging</span><br /><div> <div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZzmTg3sgPAE_8u2oCsaTyy7aWJfbq9-mDKrGNH6WHJCF8e20hxpsBEZE6W9c93phpSZk_kFP8RaxJBIlVsV8d6c6dDEUk6ag_OuKNujfWaVh_f46S8_hIhcoD7w7oRfw40meAHAAUQQ/s1600-h/P4040066.JPG"><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZzmTg3sgPAE_8u2oCsaTyy7aWJfbq9-mDKrGNH6WHJCF8e20hxpsBEZE6W9c93phpSZk_kFP8RaxJBIlVsV8d6c6dDEUk6ag_OuKNujfWaVh_f46S8_hIhcoD7w7oRfw40meAHAAUQQ/s320/P4040066.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325348931172905154" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Working at the Pick Salami factory </span></div><div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9gG4J8Zm1QegEFMTSQs3dw7BaQ-zRX4cf6fmRzFOpyECHr6X2gmOYijWj_FyLYNv2cS391015JEY-Q5PNQo5b_mT5caJflHDbClmjc1kgeEWjBNRJXLGg7HK9R8P2o9QzvVIM_drBQM/s1600-h/P4040059.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9gG4J8Zm1QegEFMTSQs3dw7BaQ-zRX4cf6fmRzFOpyECHr6X2gmOYijWj_FyLYNv2cS391015JEY-Q5PNQo5b_mT5caJflHDbClmjc1kgeEWjBNRJXLGg7HK9R8P2o9QzvVIM_drBQM/s320/P4040059.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325348928116277554" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div> <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HnwxBK_jKa-683qg_DWGr7Hga7aWz8CHr504Hkzmh2onqpuLsx359tQqZ-okkY0CTNBbq5VcfjudlWGoLiENWpCQ_XHhKG6vlHPoeVR0te348SAiDJ41o20Nh1vjrumRXwVIcLd_bGY/s1600-h/P4040051.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HnwxBK_jKa-683qg_DWGr7Hga7aWz8CHr504Hkzmh2onqpuLsx359tQqZ-okkY0CTNBbq5VcfjudlWGoLiENWpCQ_XHhKG6vlHPoeVR0te348SAiDJ41o20Nh1vjrumRXwVIcLd_bGY/s320/P4040051.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325348922724345234" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Jon and Franny </span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BnQbCDalh7miU4spmq5RUnSoO0_uvuZQDNg3OfPKv1GmLRA3Adt2Jrt3oC3RwvQwpEBiAPSEOcKgEMrQ00jN0NTTcdXRQQUdgHvW2RKmVz889XGXvxmJO1K_2MHWejWZCe49Pjw7bZE/s1600-h/P4040043.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BnQbCDalh7miU4spmq5RUnSoO0_uvuZQDNg3OfPKv1GmLRA3Adt2Jrt3oC3RwvQwpEBiAPSEOcKgEMrQ00jN0NTTcdXRQQUdgHvW2RKmVz889XGXvxmJO1K_2MHWejWZCe49Pjw7bZE/s320/P4040043.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325348913632501922" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Under the alter in Szeged</span><br /><div><br /></div><div>Part Two:</div><div><br /></div><div>Exhausted I rolled into school to be greeted with Chaos. While Chaos is actually fairly normal, this was student directed chaos. At EJ we have 'Student days' where various classes compete against one another to become Student Principals for the day. They elicit votes by running various programs, Karaoke, Football, cooking and dance competitions, interrupting classes and creating a general ruckus. I checked out the archery on the first day. Some one's dad brought traditional Hungarian re-curved bows and real arrows, which he gave everyone a chance to fire. The next day I hung around the cooking competition, mostly to enjoy the day and for the entertainment of culture shock. Everyone from seventh grade on up were lighting fires in random places in the grass. Then cooking dishes in cauldrons, and for the older students drinking wine, on campus. All with minimal adult supervision. I can now tell everyone that my kids are all wonderful outside cooks! The next day, I judged a dog competition, watched break dancing, a dancing competition, meandered through classrooms and was collected by a non-English speaking student for the scavenger hunt. As he dragged me across campus, he would raise my wrist and mock other students passing. I was met at the end of campus with one of my students holding a live goose. Too soon it was time to run for my bus, and spring break had officially begun.</div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUUcJw87SxKC4B0MOy4MLgkR4goi-bFql6MS8r-419mBgzonCTQ3faKupSrPrwvJeJ9obAnFUx2OM46mt4_aJ4hbO5l1LQguTNCTztGx6GweaiuU0Fst3Xv7YwDEM03yWvQDi1VNXCQAM/s1600-h/P4080004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUUcJw87SxKC4B0MOy4MLgkR4goi-bFql6MS8r-419mBgzonCTQ3faKupSrPrwvJeJ9obAnFUx2OM46mt4_aJ4hbO5l1LQguTNCTztGx6GweaiuU0Fst3Xv7YwDEM03yWvQDi1VNXCQAM/s320/P4080004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325366191566168050" /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I visited 10b and tried on riot gear...hmmm maybe I do want it for class!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyme4OeJQXI7jyd-AYDDT7YoXpgh0_Ha_tQV-oQaRWGc6092bne7aX-9NXFXAIs1f8qLTHNxJzeBLrEg-fcX6HCQBievAxREFpEnly_sdiksq8V0g06f-4ZYiryM1nbU6P_ZUWNKCpkjM/s1600-h/P4070182.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyme4OeJQXI7jyd-AYDDT7YoXpgh0_Ha_tQV-oQaRWGc6092bne7aX-9NXFXAIs1f8qLTHNxJzeBLrEg-fcX6HCQBievAxREFpEnly_sdiksq8V0g06f-4ZYiryM1nbU6P_ZUWNKCpkjM/s320/P4070182.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325366188278220626" /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">9d's entry in the cooking competition</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdBYGXY-NINJMwyEfE-ToSZ2qi6wdoT4mISN1CFkBLr0oYOmyJXEphumve7uibISl87BxOCgHNSReX3K329Xh3i55KN562APfjAmBgwLdOGET6K8sDdDFGhVBimhspTkpYvkaCH6hXlc/s1600-h/P4070138.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdBYGXY-NINJMwyEfE-ToSZ2qi6wdoT4mISN1CFkBLr0oYOmyJXEphumve7uibISl87BxOCgHNSReX3K329Xh3i55KN562APfjAmBgwLdOGET6K8sDdDFGhVBimhspTkpYvkaCH6hXlc/s320/P4070138.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325366183510264642" /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Preping for the competition</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPwJnlH-d6EYnVWVrWsYAvj8Hi9sQ9zJvtMbddFkLLYuxnuL1ZZ-ytRCTKU2XYshMU7R4tGW868SFBebiAukSA2Fv4f0M9tVDvCwDoPZvuqDm6fvJryBfRkaKj6mYyZ1DZ9iUWYIC6FU/s1600-h/P4070133.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPwJnlH-d6EYnVWVrWsYAvj8Hi9sQ9zJvtMbddFkLLYuxnuL1ZZ-ytRCTKU2XYshMU7R4tGW868SFBebiAukSA2Fv4f0M9tVDvCwDoPZvuqDm6fvJryBfRkaKj6mYyZ1DZ9iUWYIC6FU/s320/P4070133.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325366179346401282" /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Eta and Kate supporting different classes</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwKrdE7t2QteKQKuNXWOM-TNG75Tle5Eki0yQ91qn3fqB9J_UZuH6LwMg46KsOjyPW5JbBjakN6ErRqeorPgVhx9DnSNd6S49dl66Z0nH38Sx88eBRYh_Vbguqz9fUCL6OisBBIqQSPs/s1600-h/P4070126.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwKrdE7t2QteKQKuNXWOM-TNG75Tle5Eki0yQ91qn3fqB9J_UZuH6LwMg46KsOjyPW5JbBjakN6ErRqeorPgVhx9DnSNd6S49dl66Z0nH38Sx88eBRYh_Vbguqz9fUCL6OisBBIqQSPs/s320/P4070126.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325366175775811314" /></a><div><div><div><div> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Kids watching teachers singing</span></div><div><br /></div><div>More posts later.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-59600027834648509502009-04-02T20:56:00.001+02:002009-04-02T21:25:20.723+02:00How to look like Carol Brady in 5 easy steps:<div>1) <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">Go</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "> a local Szepsegszalon:</span> Looking at my sister's photos, I noticed how dreadful my hair looked. It was shaggy and the old dye job had mostly grown out. So on Tuesday they walked to a local Szepsegszalon and made an appointment. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>2) <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Make an appointment: </span>This involved a lot of gestures and pointing, but soon enough we had figured out when and how much the hair cut should cost. Nevertheless, it wowed my colleauges and I was dubbed nagyon okos (very smart).</div><div><br /></div><div>3) <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Show up to the appointment: </span>I was running late, but made it in just in time.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div>4) <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">More smiling, nodding and gestures to communicate with the hairdresser: </span>The hairdresser asked if I wanted a 'trendy' cut, thinking of my students - spiky faux hawk mullets are currently in style - I refused. Instead I chose something out of a book, published in 1993. She whipped out not just sissors, but strange instruments of hair torture. Instead of watching the snippets of blonde and brown fall arround my feet, I closed my eyes.</div><div><br /></div><div>5) <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Look in the Mirror:</span> There staring back in the mirror was Carol Brady, albeit a slightly more modern version.</div><div><br /></div><div>She trimmed up the back, and it is really cute. </div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-12079375524417331052009-03-29T21:43:00.004+02:002009-03-29T22:18:51.387+02:00Felejthetetlen het volt!<div>My sister and her boyfriend came to visit. We explored Eger, Budapest, and Heves. It was lovely to have company. </div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94Law-FriNv0vTvZ0y_FM3F2zyUvrmFmJ_dMzcgcq128OQLEIyD8JwmiH08cECXX__9wxE4iU8oAG77p0V5NqKplMH6rdDfcdCOuKs5xce23Cg4PACIsJWqgmXjUfLCc2qFGW3H-hWsk/s1600-h/P3210249.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94Law-FriNv0vTvZ0y_FM3F2zyUvrmFmJ_dMzcgcq128OQLEIyD8JwmiH08cECXX__9wxE4iU8oAG77p0V5NqKplMH6rdDfcdCOuKs5xce23Cg4PACIsJWqgmXjUfLCc2qFGW3H-hWsk/s320/P3210249.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318705612312603378" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The Minaret, this time I stayed on the ground<div><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvx_dLe1mn7eB2kiAqLTiFbo4xhAZ9KgyBPeTA-95orEspj0WOIzlkgyrNCtlHCWTITNUOH3ucK6ED7k2wfo6RzzF7YEbHhhE_Z3ZiEMobCmPo2lQssBsynaH43tE1OYyEmmc0547hA4/s1600-h/P3210226.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvx_dLe1mn7eB2kiAqLTiFbo4xhAZ9KgyBPeTA-95orEspj0WOIzlkgyrNCtlHCWTITNUOH3ucK6ED7k2wfo6RzzF7YEbHhhE_Z3ZiEMobCmPo2lQssBsynaH43tE1OYyEmmc0547hA4/s320/P3210226.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318705611745790786" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Eger<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG1D4_TfIoH7qCGu6tB4oo6C3tg5JsRUf1oAfqmWTQ0LeH037QzU7kuVIi0mF1YEu_E1tWSqeb4uQGYjGToS2jly2g6VMJhyCLvoUMjTLQUZ0M5mvgBQ5rZHQ8y0gVO4xKM-TBRBP8JT0/s1600-h/P3210201.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG1D4_TfIoH7qCGu6tB4oo6C3tg5JsRUf1oAfqmWTQ0LeH037QzU7kuVIi0mF1YEu_E1tWSqeb4uQGYjGToS2jly2g6VMJhyCLvoUMjTLQUZ0M5mvgBQ5rZHQ8y0gVO4xKM-TBRBP8JT0/s320/P3210201.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318705604488477538" /></a><br /><div>That is right, a tiny little girl with a re-curved bow that shoots real arrows. Only in Hungary...<br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZuQUJ18p9BD44A1jN6-Qo7CVtb7QsDrwF8aRJb7pytdKpTMhkWnBLfTMto_vlejemjXO-RYnRNk3hROYwYqpfLG1SUaUSjqONOmEgri0Me1vJgwA2GBV7R3atGv7-w4VWJHpsfgNh9c/s1600-h/P3140172.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZuQUJ18p9BD44A1jN6-Qo7CVtb7QsDrwF8aRJb7pytdKpTMhkWnBLfTMto_vlejemjXO-RYnRNk3hROYwYqpfLG1SUaUSjqONOmEgri0Me1vJgwA2GBV7R3atGv7-w4VWJHpsfgNh9c/s320/P3140172.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318702708271085874" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Budapest at night<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5-j30xjvm12P5PGU9WX9-c509UC4i3LuAgmcG6riMpmH5H8G75KtJlQIEqqO_r6rwOQcIfQ40Ir3kgPB00qjp749O8SZNkyjLS00EvLm0N35geShlNLt3ycX31aY9FkwoaXXOGDz3hA/s1600-h/P3130100.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5-j30xjvm12P5PGU9WX9-c509UC4i3LuAgmcG6riMpmH5H8G75KtJlQIEqqO_r6rwOQcIfQ40Ir3kgPB00qjp749O8SZNkyjLS00EvLm0N35geShlNLt3ycX31aY9FkwoaXXOGDz3hA/s320/P3130100.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318702701687364786" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Statue on the Castle Hill<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRVFgRF6QoPdjbdsGwMTZsWgIwpQTy6IpV2SwJG0JkicIH849I8PjHiWN_uiDLsMV7lX_wPB9CgsceCp0jKQrWr6kESIVMX9fi1kVj72nularFmFr5cR-EpNBlWcFBor9GmvBAJkoxek/s1600-h/P3130065.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRVFgRF6QoPdjbdsGwMTZsWgIwpQTy6IpV2SwJG0JkicIH849I8PjHiWN_uiDLsMV7lX_wPB9CgsceCp0jKQrWr6kESIVMX9fi1kVj72nularFmFr5cR-EpNBlWcFBor9GmvBAJkoxek/s320/P3130065.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318702694635928258" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> Fisherman's Basti</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTh6FOI7hiqLTsrfyulTjMfFHP-QEOIsC80WmQkWC-G1vvheNSUJzeWPWKrAuidV3AHBGg-72BDR1rUwhSFR3G-9R-0Iw3rDY4BRuq7QlMfiqQvVmH30Rd4m8ukNO9v0F3qnoAXmoGL68/s1600-h/P3130044.JPG"><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTh6FOI7hiqLTsrfyulTjMfFHP-QEOIsC80WmQkWC-G1vvheNSUJzeWPWKrAuidV3AHBGg-72BDR1rUwhSFR3G-9R-0Iw3rDY4BRuq7QlMfiqQvVmH30Rd4m8ukNO9v0F3qnoAXmoGL68/s320/P3130044.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318702689840405970" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Metro 2 sign at Deak Ter<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPMGv7iE-dksd0iJqeRPoFVeoFXyI8AK4lFZP6aSsE2r4Vcg_iUhCHHSkOIMV6URaxG5mA43c7S6QdWL_E0wl4I8uWWBkzO3D5y7i6yD0TQ6U9oE_XwDa09eB2lshdaT3xBNgbtR9uaAw/s1600-h/P3130022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPMGv7iE-dksd0iJqeRPoFVeoFXyI8AK4lFZP6aSsE2r4Vcg_iUhCHHSkOIMV6URaxG5mA43c7S6QdWL_E0wl4I8uWWBkzO3D5y7i6yD0TQ6U9oE_XwDa09eB2lshdaT3xBNgbtR9uaAw/s320/P3130022.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318702684576433986" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Marx and Engles at Statue Park</div><div><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-66471893345925542812009-03-27T06:31:00.005+01:002009-03-29T21:40:28.565+02:00Yoga, dancing happy executioners...just another weekend in HevesAt about 4pm, I grabbed my new mat and dashed out the door for the bus. Dressed in sweatpants and a long sweatshirt I boarded the bus amongst a bevy of my students heading home for the day. I was on my way to Tarnamera (a neighbouring village) for my first yoga lesson. After a long day I jumped at the opportunity for a small nap. I woke up with a start (thanks to one of my students), and walked through fat droplets of rain into the baroque inspired elementary school. <div><br /></div><div>There were three ladies waiting. Awkwardly we made stilted conversation, and waited for everyone else to show up. Eventually we were settled into a room, calming music playing, candles glowing and a bunch of women stretching on the floor. The highlights of the evening included stretching, breathing, re-enacting Monty Python's school for funny walks, whispered instructions during the relaxing period causing me to giggle, wondering if the smell was from my mat or residual superglue from ATC making, and getting tucked in during communal nap time. <div><br /></div><div>Two days later, was Saturday the 28th of March. Back in January the education ministry decided that we would need to work a Saturday to make up for having the 2nd of January off. Originally we were supposed to work it right away, but due to rising gas prices/the gas being shut off by Russia, it was postponed until the end of March. So Saturday morning, bleary eyed and rather cranky, we woke up and rolled ourselves into school. Saturday schools are one of my pet peeves. The children are inevitably crazy, and most of them just don't show up. So after a couple hours of trying to get the kids to focus on anything related to English, I exhausted. But there is no rest for the wicked, so at approximately noon, Judit and I piled onto a charter bus headed for Budapest. </div><div><br /></div><div>We had gotten tickets for Experidance, a dance company that re-tells stories through dance. It was amazing. The dancer portraying Mattias Corvinus wore an extraordinary amount of eyeshadow, and gold. The costumes, scenery and dancing was stunning. They used a combination of Hungarian folk dance, ballet and modern dance. They even incorporated the 'Hungarian clap' demanding an encore to set the beat to a rousing chardas. Probably the most cheerful song, however was reserved for a comic dance of executioners, whilst the creepiest was reserved for the lawyers' dance. </div><div><br /></div><div>Too soon it was time to get back on the bus and head home. </div></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-47013921929892907972009-03-25T15:07:00.005+01:002009-03-25T17:03:04.515+01:00Babysitting: 12B styleAs the date of their impending freedom approaches, 12b's apathy towards the English language grows, and this results in both frustration and hilarity for their Anyanelvi teacher (the No). <div><br /></div><div>One poignant example is today's class. The assignment in the Erettsegi (Hungarian maturity exam, much like the HSC in N.S.W., The Abitur in Germany or the Matura in Austria) book was to explain to the examiner why the student would be a good babysitter. They had to cover such points like:</div><div><ul><li>Do you have any younger brothers or sisters?</li><li>What would you do to entertain the child? </li><li>What would you give the child to eat/drink?</li><li>What would you do in case of an emergency (ex. Crying)?<br /></li></ul>The No divided the class (about half of them were 'mysteriously' missing) into two teams. The boys opted to stay together, and so did the girls. Fluttering between them, the No tried to spur her students on to do the exercise, she received only blank looks and muttering in Hungarian. In the end, she sat with each group and asked them their responses. The girls gave fairly normal responses: Yes, I have helped look after children. We would give them fruit and vegetables. We would play ball and run with them, and in case of emergencies, we would sing to them, hug them or take them to the Hospital.</div><div><br /></div><div>The boys, however gave a slightly different response. One of the boys kept repeating that he hated small children, and finally assisted his group (himself, one other official student, and one student who comes although he has already taken his language exam (he just sits in the back and listens to music)) with the following responses:</div><div><ul><li>We would feed the children fruit, vegetable and beer milkshakes</li><li>We would take the kids to the pub and a metallica concert (lifted on shoulders so not to get squished)</li><li>In case of emergency we would take them to the hospital (yes, even if the kid is just crying). </li></ul><br /><br /></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-89549365025719374512009-03-10T18:48:00.006+01:002009-08-05T20:45:32.068+02:00Virag leszek: Adventures in Hevesi's nőnap celebrations.Heves loves women's day, which is a coincidence, because so do I. <div><br /></div><div>On Friday the students swarmed and buzzed through the school, bearing arms full of flowers. The student porter popped his head into the staff room every two minutes to call various female teachers. I wasn't expecting any flowers, because in truth I had forgotten about it, and as it isn't mandatory, I did not expect much. Tibor, one of my 12d students cornered me in the hallway, and handed me a beautiful white carnation. Throughout the day, I was called out a couple of times (my favorite was Tomi in 10th grade, who saw me walking, and said 'Hey you, this is for you' gave the kisses and sauntered off). Finally done for the day, I walked out with six flowers decorated with ribbons and greenery. There is no feeling like receiving flowers. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, it does come with its awkward moments. As an American, I have slowly adapted to giving the puszi kisses. I kiss my friends hello and goodbye, with barely a batted eyelash. However, students. That is just strange, but it is rude not to do so. It doesn't help that I never remember the right number of kisses, or which side goes first. This lead to a Friday full of bobbing, weaving and being called back by students to try again. </div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday was our charity/women's day ball. A basic run down of a Hungarian ball: drinks, performances by students (usually), dinner, dancing, raffle and at midnight a second dinner. As per a couple weeks ago, I was slated to preform. So at 6:30 we showed up to the school. We were greeted by a couple of the teachers, giving last minute instructions to a large number of my students. They gave all of us girls (everyone but Jeb), Calla Lillys, and all of us a glass of champagne. One of the teachers showed us to our assigned table, and we then meandered about admiring the preparations. At about 6:45, I left my friends to join the others giving performances. My 12b boys (who were also reading poetry) asked about my stage fright (a phrase I taught them the week before), and 11d girls (who all looked pretty in their folk dancing costumes) admired Tara and Lyla's hair/makeup job. I was one of the last to preform, and my heart was beating so loudly I could not hear myself recite. It must have gone OK, because I got a standing ovation, and thumbs up from people I don't even know. Afterwards I tried to sneak up stairs with the help of one of my students (I was hiding behind him), but we got caught and told to not go upstairs yet.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally allowed to go upstairs, I was greeted with smiles and waves and a shot of Hazi palinka. Dinner was amazing, although we all got scolded for not having soup first. We danced (I got spun so much I almost threw up). Someone I had never met before asked Sani if he could dance with me, and someone else asked to take a picture with me. (I kid you not, although afterwards he told us he was one of my students' dad). At the end of the night, we were hanging out at the table, waiting for the raffle, when Csilla and all of the student waiter/waitresses walked up to us. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Briggi, the students have a special task for you" </div><div>Oh no, I thought, what are they volunteering me to do? Turns out I was the raffle-puller girl. We had a ridiculous number of prizes (see Lauren's post for photos), and it took over 45 minutes and much confusion to pull them all. </div><div><br /></div><div>Monday, we got more flowers. In seventh period the male teachers had arranged a party for all of the women who work at the school. At 2pm we walked into the lunch room, transformed into women's day party room. On Sunday Jeb had been looking for his favorite type of beer at the store, but could not find it. I think the male teachers bought it out, there was also wine, shots of Baily's, shots of cherry stuff, cakes, and of course more flowers and poetry. I never thought I would be drinking a) at school, b) on a school day, and c) served to us by our principal. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wow. I love this Country. </div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-11279830201664677352009-03-06T16:32:00.003+01:002009-03-06T16:54:26.667+01:00Yesterday5:15 am - My alarm beeps an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">incessant</span> demand to wake up...I hit snooze<div><br /></div><div>5:23 am - Hit snooze...think about waking up. Realize it is a busy morning, and haul myself out of bed</div><div><br /></div><div>5:30 am - whip up the brownies I promised <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Dia</span></div><div><br /></div><div>6 am - Brownies are in the oven, and I drink <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">luke</span>-warm tea and have left over batter for breakfast</div><div><br /></div><div>6:30 am - Fret about the fate of the brownies on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">facebook</span> chat</div><div><br /></div><div>6:31 am - pull out the brownies, begin to get ready</div><div><br /></div><div>6:44 am - remember that Today is picture day, and we are supposed to look 'formal'...I have nothing formal, begin to look for something nice that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Borris</span> has not destroyed</div><div><br /></div><div>7:30 found something, brushed hair, make up on....and look for boots to cover the fact that all my stockings are holey...</div><div><br /></div><div>7:40 - Running Late! Run to school, passing several dawdling students.</div><div><br /></div><div>8:00 - Just made it in before the bell. Look <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">around</span>...all of the other teachers are in suits, I feel really <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">under dressed</span> in a skirt, turtleneck and boots.</div><div><br /></div><div>10 am - free period, chill out in Maria's office and wait for coffee.</div><div><br /></div><div>10:05 Kata walks in and tells me there will be no <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">performances</span> (including mine) at the ball on Saturday, as she has been too sick to organize it. I am horribly confused and begin to wonder what I bought <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">tickets</span> to. </div><div><br /></div><div>10:06 Relief sets in, as I realize I don't have to butcher the Hungarian language in front of all of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Heves</span></div><div><br /></div><div>10:07 Consider calling friends to ask if they want to cancel</div><div><br /></div><div>10:08 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Agi</span> sweeps into the conversation about the ball/not ball. I still have to preform.</div><div><br /></div><div>10:10 I go eat a brownie, and begin hard core poetry cramming.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-15237448232443499452009-03-04T15:11:00.001+01:002009-08-05T20:46:05.745+02:00Wednesday Afternoon Wishes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I wish the weather was nicer</span> -- Heves has been foggy and drizzly and grey since maybe Saturday.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I wish I had something to wear</span> -- Bah, we have two formal events this week, first 12d's class portrait tomorrow, then on Saturday our ball. Between Borris' destruction of my clothing, my increased chubbiness, and a closet full of informal things, tomorrow's selection is slim.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I wish I had bought the cow-shaped Nintendo-like game at the market</span> -- does that even need an explanation?</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I wish I had a plan -- </span>But, maybe I still have time.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I wish you were here</span> -- I miss you.</div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-9070961727503073152009-02-27T19:34:00.000+01:002009-02-27T20:08:04.534+01:00"Adam loves you tanar-neni"Spring is coming. <div><br /></div><div>The No can tell. Not only because it is light after 4pm, not only because there is less bite in the chilly gusts of wind that accompany her to school, but because her students may be beginning to crack. </div><div><br /></div><div>This week students have professed love to the No in 3 separate classes. One student tacked variations of "and Miss has my unending love" or "Miss is very nice today" onto every sentence he had to read from the textbook. In a couple of her classes, the students keep asking about if the No has a boyfriend (hadn't we gone over that?). Got asked to party with two groups of students (one needed help asking, so paused after every word, waiting for his friend to whisper the next word to him). Two of her students have begged her (and I do mean literally on their hands and knees) not to bring them to the Osztifonok/confiscate their cell phone. One student resorted to throwing himself on the floor in the middle of the hallway during passing time, rolling around and intermittently making Monkey noises. </div><div><br /></div><div>This behavior could also be partially attributed to the increased level of chaos that has reigned over our school. One third of the teachers have been out sick, while another healthy chunk are on the school ski trip leaving the rest of us to scramble to replace them. Replacement generally means that both advanced and beginner halves will be together in the same class. Or a German group and an English group will meet together. This means that either two lessons are being taught at the same time, by the same teacher (yes it is as confusing as it sounds), or a lesson which is too difficult for half and too easy for the other half. At the same time we are preparing for a Ball next week, which should include various performances. Due to the illness of the organizer, we only found out today who was definitely preforming. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was also another dance last night. It was a Farsang party for the dormitory students. The No was invited, after participating in a passing-time dance party with the 11d girls. Not really knowing what to expect, the No tentatively approached the school at 5:30. She met with Zoltan (12d's Osztifonok) on the way, and the pair stumbled through broken Hunglish until they got inside. The No was pulled aside by one of her petite (but considers herself to be a tough guy) girls, and told she must judge. The talent/costume contest was pretty good. They boys showcased their sport skills. And the girls showed of dancing, costuming and acting skills. After which the No was shepherded into a small room and fed things. Then there was awkward dancing, and she made her escape. </div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, it has been a strange, if wonderful week. Although it has given me new goals: </div><div><br /></div><div>a) Learn to dance</div><div>b) Work on Hungarian...so I don't need a constant translator</div><div>c) Remember my umbrella at all times</div><div>d) REALLY have to work on sniffling giggles....it just encourages them. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-23417077379092384652009-02-24T19:11:00.001+01:002009-03-04T15:36:41.840+01:00"the basic rule of any investigation, not using special cars" pg. 80Ordinary. Life has become ordinary, but in the ordinary, we can find beauty. At least that is the idea behind Clare's <a href="http://threebeautifulthings.blogspot.com/">3BT</a>. I found her blog back when I lived in Gyula, and have tried to make an effort, especially when stressed or worried, to remember the beautiful and ordinary things in my life. <div><br /></div><div>Borris still destroys and turns things mysteriously pink (there was nothing red in that load...yet every thing turned out slightly pink...).</div><div><br /></div><div>My new policy of not giving student's confiscated phones straight to their osztifonoks, but rather giving them a grace period, in which to hand in sentences, has both increased my wall of shame and decreased the number of phones I see. Plus, it is nice being called for by the student porter. </div><div><br /></div><div>I only grimace slightly, when I have to substitute a class unannounced. With the number of teachers out either sick, or on ski week, I have made a concerted effort to check the wall of substitutions. However, sometimes, they forget to write them in until after the class is over. And, I just take it for granted that 11d and 9b will be the entire class, rather than divided by ability level. </div><div><br /></div><div>Having a student ask to have extra conversation class, and actually talk!</div><div><br /></div><div>Reading a delightfully silly book.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nenis.</div><div><br /></div><div>Learning an extremely cut down version of Dr. Suess' OH THE PLACES YOU'LL GO, in Hungarian. I cut it down, and the other teachers are translating it for me. I did do one whole sentence by myself though (maybe 3/4...I put the first person singular ending on the noun, rather than second person plural). While I quietly recite it to myself, teachers who do not usually talk to me, are willing to help me out with my pronunciation. </div><div><br /></div><div>Going on middle of the day adventures to Eger on b-week Tuesdays.</div><div><br /></div><div>My thinking-pregnant-thoughts at other teachers has apparently worked, and someone else is pregnant! Peter the German teacher says it is about 90% certain that we will get another schedule this year! (This will be number 4, for those of you counting).</div><div><br /></div><div>Sani fussing over me when I am sick. Zoli (who by the way, is rather intimidating because he is HUGE..even 12d, his Oszti are intimidated), grabbing me on the shoulders and asking "Jol vagy?" when he thinks I am sad/sick. Jeno, who I can give makkos or dios or gries-teszta to. I don't like it, and he patiently teaches me Hungarian at lunch. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our brand new official porter calling me into the booth at the end of the day. I gave him a chocolate chip cookie, because a few days ago he gave me weird-marshmallowy things. He called me over to give me a cake recipe, which he then explained slowly in Hungarian and hand gestures. </div><div><br /></div><div>Packages. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-11152594648548715892009-02-16T17:14:00.000+01:002009-02-16T19:54:51.561+01:00"A good man, Edina thought. Question is, what is he good for" p 32The last two weekends can be summarized in the following words: Margie, Mangaliza and Mariapocs.<div><br /></div><div>The first weekend in February I put on a dress, threw on some make-up, heels and waited to be picked up. Eltelka arrived and the pair of us drove into the heart of Andrassy ut. We were quite lucky and found a parking place almost directly in front of the Opera house. There we waited to meet with Margie and Hanna, who were also going to the Ballet. Adorned with fabulous paintings and guilt, the interior of the Budapest opera house was almost more amazing than the rendition of Anna Karenina being unfolded on the stage. Hours and coffees later, I stumbled home behind Lauren and Lyla. Saturday I visited, and ran errands with the Csibis. Later I met up with Lauren and Lyla again, and the three of us headed to the second round of Margie's birthday bash. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sunday the girls and I met up with Jon and Franny at the Mangaliza festival. Mangalizas are an ancient breed of Hungarian pigs. They are hairy, large, and their meat has the healthy cholesterol. We fought through lines for food, which was delicious. Later I got to pet the babies, as they were driven past in carts. I fulfilled the advertisement's imperative: Pet and Eat.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next week dragged by, as my bronchial cough developed into a nasty zombie inducing full cold. Feeling better, and armed with a flask of hot tea I boarded a bus for Szolnok at some ridiculous (ie before 7am) hour. This turned out to be the slowest bus in Hungary. Frustrated, flurried and worried messages zipped back and forth between me and Emily. A full twenty odd minutes late, the bus arrived. We got to the train station, bought tickets, jumped aboard the train and we were off. We were met in Mariapocs' bus station (a little shelter on the side of a highway), by Tara and her school's Director, who drove us the 30-45 minute walk into town. Margie made us pancakes, coffee and a disturbing liver/rice sausage (a gift from a student's grandmother). We sat around, chatted and later prepared ourselves for the ball.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you ever want to feel like a rock star, and have no musical talent, go to Mariapocs. We walked in, dressed like bombshells, but not to the sparkly nines like some (glitter is an important part of all formal school occasions I've noticed). There we sat at a prime table, littered with alcohol, water and polgacsa all courtesy of the director. We watched adorable children sing, dance and preform. We then gorged ourselves on a fantastic dinner, then danced the night away. Second dinner at midnight, then a raffle, then more dancing, and we were exhausted.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning, we were driven to the train station by the bleary eyed Principal. He had stayed at the party until 6am! The snow had started earlier on Saturday afternoon, and had not stopped when we walked home at 2am. Sani's car got stuck, so bearing our backpacks and purses, Margie, Jamie and I pushed his car out of the snowdrifts. The five of us had to walk along the tracks, as it was the only thing clear of the the foot or so high drifts. Walking along arms out for balance we made it to the platform, to await the slowest train in Hungary. </div><div><br /></div><div>In Nyiregyhaza we parted ways. Emily and Jamie caught the first train home. Margie headed to Tescos to pick up supplies, while Tara and I headded into town for coffee. It was lovely to wander through the beautiful streets pock marked with ugly 60s style buildings. All too soon it was 2pm, and Tara's bus left. We made strange faces at one another as we tried to tell stories through the dirty plate glass windows of her bus. She pulled away, and I was left, kicking dirty snow into oily puddles for another hour before my trusted chariot whisked me home. </div><div><br /></div><div>On my last bus home, I ran into a pair of students. One in 11d-beginners, and one a 12d German student. We communicated awkwardly. I laughed a little as one of their friends (not someone I teach) got on the bus, and almost sat next to me. Realizing who I was, he jumped back and politely said 'Csokolom Tanarno'. There I was, feeling grubby, with unwashed pigtailed braids, and a slight stiffness from sleeping on some one's floor, having a student treat me with cautious politeness, whilst asking me in the mix of German/English/Hungarian, that has become my daily lexicon, about parties and other teachers. I am glad, and amused that this is my life. I could not ask for much better. </div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-3753952494703093562009-02-11T08:09:00.000+01:002009-02-12T14:51:55.361+01:00"With Napoleon Brandy, made in France and not in Minnesota" p30Teaching stuff:<div><br /></div><div>As a way to encourage students to push themselves out of their normal four sentences in Dialogues, I have created character cards. The trick is to incorporate the character into whatever dialogue we are working on. It forces them to be a little more creative, and think about how they are putting the vocabulary together. These are the characters I have so far:</div><div><ul><li>A strict teacher</li><li>A Vampire</li><li>An obsessive comic book collector/artist</li><li>An angry waitress</li><li>A parent of 4 young children, who you are looking after during the dialogue</li><li>A university student</li><li>A Pirate</li><li>A Superhero (state your name and superpowers during the dialogue)</li><li>A caffeine addict, you need to drink at least four cups of coffee a day</li><li>Someone vain</li><li>You have a disease where you fall asleep every 5 minutes, but only for 10 seconds at a time</li><li>A presidential candidate (think about campaign promises)</li></ul><div>If you have any suggestions for more that would be great! I am currently compiling a list of situation cards as well. I used these in my more advanced classes, but even then had to explain some of the vocabulary/concepts.</div></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-38965743564103957672009-02-05T19:39:00.000+01:002009-02-05T19:43:55.421+01:00Giving blood....So while I may have failed to give blood, I did discover an interesting cure for low blood pressure (after a week of crazy students I have no idea why my blood pressure is so low that I can not give blood) and anemia. "Hus (meat-yup knew that one), Vitamins (tick again) es Egeri Bikaver" was what the doctor prescribed.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-88909494058849591282009-02-04T19:16:00.000+01:002009-02-04T19:44:01.620+01:00Neni: hungarian for matchmakers...My phone rang, and thinking it was Tara I picked up.<div><br /></div><div>"Kezi csokolom, Laci itt" burbled the voice on the other line. Laci? I ransacked my brain. Good Lord...could it be?</div><div><br /></div><div>Three hours earlier:</div><div><br /></div><div>Sleepy and comfortably full from lunch (Makkos teszta which I gave to Urban Jeno and soup), I meandered my way home. I had not petted my favorite dog in a while, so I planned on stopping for a good ten minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Walking slowly up, I saw the lady who owned the dog opening the gate to another lady. She saw me stop and hesitate. "gyere ide" (come here) she waved me in the gate. Thanking her, I promptly cuddled and petted the small waggling creature that lured me to her gate. The two ladies exchanged small talk, and asked my name. Then they called "gyere ide" and waved me inside. I was struck for a moment. It is a big deal to be invited into some one's house, and here were two strangers waving me in.</div><div><br /></div><div>Inside we ate baked apples, and shared some small talk. Mostly the little old ladies chatted, and I nodded and smiled. My Hungarian is largely non-existent, so I smile a lot. We discussed grand kids, and one of the ladies, who will visit her daughter in Canada this summer, asked about help with English. "Absolutely" I said. So I gave the ladies my phone number. We also discussed one of the lady's 29 year old son. Now I should have been suspicious when they asked about my boyfriend...and my weekend plans. I told them about going to Budapest, and then to Mariapocs. I tried to explain that there was going to be a ball. However, I think I may have made a mistake, as the ladies started saying "Laci go Mariapocs" Confusion and smiling took over. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was time to leave, and the lady who was visiting also got ready to walk home. We walked out together, and conversed in smiles (me) and rapid-fire Hungarian. She then invited me in. I demurred, but followed her in. She has an amazing house, which she showed me. Then, handing me a slip of paper with Laci (her son)'s phone number, we walked out. </div><div><br /></div><div>I walked home, dazed but happy having met two new Hungarians.</div><div><br /></div><div>So three hours later I was surprised when Laci called me. Our conversation ran something like this:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hello I am Laci, my mother told me to call you"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, ummm Hello. I am Briggi"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Do you know why my mother asked me to call you?" </div><div><br /></div><div>"Umm...not really. Maybe because I know that many people in Heves"</div><div><br /></div><div>"My mother is a great organizer. Well shall we be friends?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yes, I think so."</div><div><br /></div><div>I think I have made a new friend. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-21586217812966144322009-02-03T19:19:00.000+01:002009-02-03T20:00:30.068+01:00Eger Weekend, taking tea, and one angry English teacherThe No has been lazy about posting. Stuff happens but motivation to post has been gone, along with one of 11b's paper airplanes out of the window.<div>This weekend, a small CETP brigade came to conquer Eger. On Friday the No got to fuss and make mystery meat into something delicious. She thinks it was pork...but when meat selection consists of going to the butcher with crossed fingers...well it was delicious and probably not</div><div> liver.</div><div>Saturday they drank coffee and learnt to play poker, explored, ate Palikinta larger than their stomachs, went down to the Szepasszonyvolge and up the Minaret.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The Minaret, left from the Turkish times represents two of the No's greatest fears. Heights and spiral stairs. As anyone who has travelled with the No knows, it is not uncommon for her to have a panic attack ten steps up. But at about 11am on Saturday morning the No thought to give it a shot. Armed with 200fts and some very supportive friends she made it up. The claustrophobic stairs were worn, and there was no railing but Lauren and Lyla talked her up. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFhQLu0iBngaI4zfGz8bRKV0VChlTb0eXM6AmqzUUMc4dPn1nPlro_TrnCgzUgmuTp8xQLUhJZdnIU7AK_YoPgWSthQ2UciJHUNOGSnldlsNTsxnbsbUebN49yE-JmU30jyy8ejO1Sxg/s320/s67100121_30643169_5816.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298641268830709490" /></div><div>Note the look of both Joy for reaching the top (a goal she set at orientation), and blind panic. </div><div>Also look at the relief of being back on the ground!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhulLcj3cV4CfIej3nIG8ceaDaJeccL-Ph62iZtkAVqGEe6QJqti_m2jINN7VD15cpINBXt59rYfLQhUJWjzTRlCTmOalv59P-ByyO0AAVljwIFtkp9yzbFnnyTLdbejuZ8OrPJDeeXc/s320/s67100121_30643174_7230-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298641880489981730" /></div><div>Forralt bor, pizzas and additions to the drama wall later, the No's guests scattered and she was left alone in her flat. Picking up her pile of mending, she was working her way through it when the doorbell rang. It was Maria, her upstairs neighbour. Maria motioned for the No to lock her door and follow. Upstairs the little old Nenyi thrust first tea and cakes on a tray, then the No on her couch/bed. The No sat there, curious as to what was going on. Then Maria turned on the music. In rapid fire Hungarian, she explained it was the Csango (a group of Hungarians, who live in Transylvania and speak an OLD dialect of Hungarian) Himnusz (anthem?). Then they listened to a hard rock version of the Sekley Himnusz, then some romantic tenors. As the No wondered how she would make her escape, Maria suddenly stopped the music and pulled out a jacket. She fitted it to the No and then zipped it shut (this was the second jacket the No had received from a little old lady in her flat complex this week...) and with that tea was over.</div><div><br /></div><div>This week in teaching:</div><div><br /></div><div>Using Character cards is a good way to challenge the students to get away from the same four lines in their dialogues.</div><div><br /></div><div>11b: One of the Students surreptitiously took photos of his teacher throughout the lesson. The No saw the cell phone and saw the photos. Going to delete it, she found the other 10. He was assigned to write "I will not use Attila's cell phone to take photos of my English teacher, because it is creepy and wrong" one hundred times before 2pm. </div><div><br /></div><div>12d: Have taken to calling the No tanar Nenyi. She has decided that while it is cute from a seventh grader, it is not cute from a 12th grader.</div><div><br /></div><div>7a: We are going to create our own comics. Joe has become Super-Joe and his archenemies is Luggage-head, who is evil because he has a headache. These were the examples I put on the board for the students. I look forward to their creations.</div><div><br /></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-71435376422488112202009-02-01T07:08:00.000+01:002009-02-01T07:37:28.704+01:00CETP culture shock bingo (finally)<div>This is a short list complied of all the strange little moments, which have become quite ordinary parts of our lives. Collected over multiple weekends, with multiple CETP-ers, this list represents things that originally surprised/shocked/delighted us about Hungary. </div><div><br /></div>Directions: <div><ol><li>Place the following items into a grid.<br /></li><li>When you have completed an item, fill in the grid square.</li><li>When you have completely filled out the grid, congratulations you have acclimatized to CETP culture shock.<br /></li></ol><div><br /></div>Here is the list, if you have any suggestions/additions to the list, please feel free to comment below.<br /><ol><li>Drink a Boroscola<br /></li><li>See a student drink<br /></li><li>Get scolded for sitting on something cold<br /></li><li>See a faux-hawk mullet<br /></li><li>If single, have a Hungarian neni or bacsi try to set you up<br /></li><li>See a castle outside Budapest<br /></li><li>Get lost on Public transport<br /></li><li>Sleep in a flat with more people than sleeping space<br /></li><li>Eat fornetti/princess/polgacsa<br /></li><li>Catch yourself using the stupid American excuse<br /></li><li>Feel morally obligated to bring sandwiches on public transport<br /></li><li>Visit a town/village that has vowel sounds that do not appear in English<br /></li><li>Have a conversation in Hungarian<br /></li><li>Pretend you do not speak English<br /></li><li>Buy mustard/mayonnaise in toothpaste tubes<br /></li><li>Palinka<br /></li><li>Shamelessly make out on Public Transport<br /></li><li>See a free-range chicken<br /></li><li>See a shirt/jewelry with pre-trianon Hungary on it<br /></li><li>Have someone thank you for being here<br /></li><li>Get lost on Public transport<br /></li><li>Be greeted with Csokolom<br /></li><li>Watch someone consume more than 6 sandwiches a day<br /></li><li>Buy clothing with incorrect English on it<br /></li><li>Be mistaken for a Hungarian by a Hungarian</li><li>Be smiled at in the street by a Hungarian stranger</li><li>Be quizzed about your love life by your students</li><li>Be called Neni or Bacsi</li><li>Get recognized on public transport...extra points if it is by the driver/Kontroll</li><li>Be delayed by livestock</li><li>Gyula</li><li>Light your oven without burning yourselves</li><li>Be mistaken for a a Student</li><li>Eat Pizza with peas/corn/sour cream</li><li>Buy wine for less than 100 ft</li></ol></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5083877111184613606.post-5462085907950352282009-02-01T06:57:00.000+01:002009-02-01T07:03:52.587+01:00Brieggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09672468166461722125noreply@blogger.com0