Love And Marriage

Recently, some interesting things have come to my attention about how the Czechs handle love and marriage.

First, they only say "I love you" (miluji tě) to the person they're romantically involved with. Not to parents, close friends other relatives, or things they enjoy tremendously (say, ice cream or beer). Just to their romantic partners. Confused, I asked my students, "So what do you say to your mother?" "I like you, mom."
And, apparently Czechs say "I love you" only for a (relatively) short period of time in their relationship. According to some students, after a period of some unspecified time after they are married, people go back to saying "I like you" (Mám tě rád). When asked why, I was told that it's because the initial passionate love wears away... "So you mean there are no old people who have been married for 50 years who are still feel that, and are in love?" "Ok, yes... but they are the rare exceptions."

A friend of a student got married last weekend. A rather... different... tradition was explained to me which happens on wedding days here. After the wedding ceremony, and before the reception, the best man "kidnaps" the bride and takes her to a pub. Which pub, exactly, it isn't clear. Some people said it's her favorite pub, others said it was the best man's favorite, others still said it's the groom's favorite, or just one he likes. Apparently it's supposed to keep the groom guessing.
So the best man steals his friend's wife and takes her drinking. They drink whatever they want, and the groom goes searching for them. If he goes to a pub and they are not there, he must have a drink there before heading to his next guess. All the while his wife and best man are drinking and laughing away at another pub. And when the groom finally does find them, he has to pay their bar tab.
Apparently my student's friend had to pay for 12 shots of tequila on top of the 6 beers he drank. And then they went to the reception, with friends and family waiting.

Na zdraví!

Czech Politics at Its Finest

With the parliamentary elections approaching next week, the city is plastered in the usual "Vote for us" flyers and billboards. All the ads have appeared to be the positive, non-mudslinging type. Upon asking students and other locals, it's been told to me that most of the advertising done has been on the level.

However...

Perusing the news the other day, I came across an article on the BBC labelled Czech politicians exchange blows, and intrigued, read the article. Apparently the Minister of Health, David Rath, has gotten into a bit of a fray with this man Miroslav Macek, who is not a politician per se, but does have close ties with one particular political party, and is readily associated with them.

Apparently Rath made a comment about Macek marrying his latest wife only for her money, and Macek's reply was captured during a meeting of dentists here in Prague.

Here's the YouTube video. Pretty wild stuff.


I have gotten mixed reaction from my students about the nature of both Rath and Macek, aside from the fact that they're both pretty "out there." Some people really despise Rath for some of his moves with the health care system in the last couple years. Others agree with his decisions, and really admire his direct (though occasionally confrontational) way of dealing with issues. In any case, both Rath and Macek have been touted as loud-mouthed debils (idiots) by most everyone I have spoken to.

Enjoy.

Visits, Birthdays and Travels

My friend Jan came for a weekend visit, which was a good time. Not too much to report about that. Saw the sights, drank the beers, heard the jazz. We did come across this sign, and I'm curious what your initial thoughts are when you see it.

If you said "boobs," you are correct. We also crossed this fountain, which at first glance, appeared to be another peeing statue.

But, sigh, it wasn't. But if it were, how great an expression is that on the lounging woman?

The following weekend (this past Friday), Heather hit the big 3-0. Bring on the old jokes, and the beers. Apparently buying Ben a beer as a way to say thanks for cutting my hair turned into a 7-beer couple hours including bumping into the birthday girl at the same pub and toasting her as well. Made me think of what one student once quipped: "The biggest lie told in the Czech Republic is that we're only going for one beer."
The festivities continued the following day (when I appropriately taught my students the idiom "the hair of the dog that bit you") with some celebrating at this outdoor pub with a delicious-looking menu, and a fantastic view of the sunset.



Saturday, we tredged on over to Plzen - the home of Pilsner beer. Don't be fooled by imitation pilsners. Plzen is the real deal. I mean, the sign says so, so it must be true.

(It reads Plzen - The Main Beer Town)
We took a tour of the Pilsner Urquell brewery, which included tasting some unfiltered beer right from the wooden casks. Some damn fine beer. Not that it was all beer and no play... there was a game of chess on 3-foot high pieces, all shaped as something related to beer, and a visit to the third-largest synagogue in the world (though it was closed, of course).


So all in all, it's been a very busy, and very fun, couple weeks. I have this week off from visitors and travels, and on Sunday, Henry, Chris and Amanda arrive for a week. The day before they leave, Heather's friend James comes for a visit, and as such, our place will be a mini-hostel until mid-June, when we're both leaving the country, with a weekend visit from Scott and Eda worked in there too.

More details on our exodus in the coming days.

Cau for now.

A Bit of a Buzz-kill

On Thursday last week, at about 2PM, I walked passed this guy who looked a little drunk. He looked in his late 40s, early-to-mid 50s, and like he belonged to the homeless men who spend all their time behind Tesco.
He was wearing a jacket (it was very warm out), and had his left hand oddly pushed into the jacket pocket. I walked around him, and the next thing I know, I hear this really painful, strange grunt from him. I turn to see him start shaking and then completely fall like a domino, face first, onto the pavement. Immediately, blood starts gushing out his nose. He writhes and moans for a couple seconds, and then just stops moving. I can't call 911, cause a) I don't know what 911 is in Prague (now I do, it's 112), and b) even if I did, I don't speak Czech, so I can't be of any help at all. Quickly, there's a pool of blood around his head, probably about 15-20 centimeters in diameter.

We're in the absolute center of town in the middle of a workday, so there are many people around. Someone eventually calls an ambulance, and cops nearby (there are always cops at this one intersection) come by and try to help the guy, but he's completely unconscious. They turn him over, so he's on his back, but it's incredibly gory - blood all over his face. He's not moving, completely unresponsive to anyone and everything. When they move him over, and raise his knees, he's like a rag-doll. Unconscious to the max.

It was a really disturbing sight... and I felt pretty damn awful walking away (my friend Ben quipped later that everyone deserves someone to witness their death), but there was nothing I could do to help. Staying there made me feel like a stupid gawker who had nothing better to do than stare at this man dying on the sidewalk. I walked away, slowly, and felt almost as if I was betraying the man.

So that really put a damper on an otherwise great day.

Anecdotes

Some of my best teaching happens when I go drinking with my students. Friday, a little hungover from celebrating Heather's 30th birthday, we go to the pub after class. My students order me a beer when I was at the bathroom, and so I just sucked it up and said, "Well, here's to the hair of the dog." Which, of course, confused them more than when I tried to teach them Pig Latin. After explaining it to them, two students took out their notebooks and furiously wrote down what I'd just said, and then tried to really make it their own, repeating it a few times.

This happened a couple months ago, and for whatever reason, I've neglected to post it.
Heather and I went to a pub one Sunday to watch a hockey match. We get to the downstairs room, where they have the TVs, and we're greeted by a pack of 20 or 25 very drunk (it's 1pm) Welshmen. Not a woman in the room. Naturally, they turn to Heather. We find seats at one table, and one guy (the main character in this story) comes over and introduces himself and starts shaking my hand. I say "starts shaking" and not "shakes" because this process went on for a good 60 or 90 seconds. He's very interested in talking to me while shaking my hand. Asking me where I'm from (still shaking). Telling me they're visiting from Wales for the weekend (still shaking). I say, "Buddy, you can let go." No reaction, except more shaking. Then asking me why I'm in Prague (still shaking). "Feel free to give me my hand back any time now." Starts talking to his buddy across the room, "Hey! These guys are from America!" (still shaking). So I look at the TV and say "Holy crap!" He turns and looks, and I am able to take my hand back. Thank you, Marty McFly.
Finally free, I start watching the game. Oblivious to what's happening across from me with Heather.
One guy starts smelling her hair, and then he, along with the madman shaker, continue to hit on her pretty profusely. "Do you have a boyfriend?" "Yes." "Do you want another one?" "Uh, no." I'm still obliviously watching the game. I'm a good friend.
A few minutes later, Heather is tapped on the shoulder, and she turns around. One guy mumbles something incoherent. "blublubluh.. ob.. eye pounds..?" "What?" Heather warily replies. Everyone is very intent on reading her reaction. Except me, since the Czech Republic just went on the power play. He repeats, a tad more clearly. "blublubluh.. ob.. five pounds..?" "What?" And she leans in. "I said, blow job, five pounds." I don't know Heather's exact words (nice save by Dominic Hasek!), but of course she disgustingly rejected them.
A little bit later, now that there's been a break in the action, I ask Heather how she's doing, and if she saw that sweet pass the Finland forward just made. Her look made it clear we were to finish our beers and go. Not a problem.
As we're finishing our drinks, the madman handshaking blow job guy gets up and comes over to me and asks me if I know the TV show Friends.
"Yes."
"Are you on it?"
"Uh, no..."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"No, I really think you were on it."
"No, I'd know if I were."
"So where do I know you from?"
"Nowhere."
"No really, you've been in something I've seen before."
"I assure you there's nothing I've ever done that you'd know me from."
Then Heather, being as good a roommate to me as I'd been to her, says, "Yea, he was in porn." And gives me this grin as if to say, "Your problem now, jackass. Have fun! I know I will!"
The madman looks at me, stunned. "Really?!"
"Well, yea, but I don't really like to talk about it."
"Can I do that too?"
"Well, how long are you going to be in town?"
"As long as it takes." His face is intently serious. He pauses, and then says, "We go back on Tuesday."
"Oh, I'm sorry, they usually cast these things about six weeks in advance... I don't know what I can do for you by Tuesday."
"Is there anyone I can talk to?"
"Well... yea, sure. Take the 17 tram from right outside here, and go 4 stops to Veletrzni. Go up the hill and on the left there's a club, The Mambo Club. Go in there and ask for Phil. Tell him Dave sent you. He'll help you out." (btw, there is really a Veletrzni stop on tram 17, and the Mambo Club really exists - I used to live a few blocks from it. And no, I have no idea if there's a Phil. I highly doubt it, though.)
Unable to contain his excitement, he runs over to his friends and relates what just happened. The guys look over at me, give me impressed grins, and raise their mugs. Ah, fun with drunken tourists.

I was going over a phrasal verb test with some students a couple weeks ago. As that above link demonstrates, a phrasal verb is when we take a verb and a preoposition (sometimes more than one) and have a new meaning. "Look up", "bump into", etc.
The students were given a word bank of verbs, and one of prepositions. They had to pick properly and form the right phrasal verb for the sentence. One of them was:
"Sally is very sociable. She ______ ______ with everyone." (two blanks). The right answer, based on the choices given, is "gets along." However, one student wanted to know why "gets it on" and "gets it up" were incorrect. I said, "Well, in some contexts, they're not incorrect." and let it slide by...

People Pictures

I Heart Tomunk

Did some travelling and saw some old friends this past weekend. Spent time in Geneva, Lausanne, and Milan with Scott and Eda. Good times.
The weekend's stories include finding the 7 Duomo's of Milan, walking up and down the 7 towers of the Milan football arena, some bird turd, and Tomunk.

Landed in Geneva, and was greeted as I exited the main train station by a man passed out in the middle of the road leading to the main entrance of the station. Someone was kneeling over him, and I had no idea if the man was alive or not. My French had collected enough rust that there was no way I was going to find out what happened. Had he been hit by a car? Passed out? Eventually the ambulance came, and five long, confusing minutes later, I see the man sit up and then stand under his own power. Welcome to Switzerland.
Spent a few hours in Geneva, and got a small feel for the city. Can't comment on much, nor with much authority, but I will say that I found the city to be modern, diverse and clean. The only negative I encountered was the absolute lack of people respecting personal space. This was certainly noted walking down the street, when it was constantly a game of chicken with people refusing to turn sideways to let people pass. That certainly struck me as odd. We did see some folks in the park playing some giant chess, and laboring over each move.


Lausanne was gorgeous. On Saturday, we did very little, save walk around Lake Geneva (which, I was told, is only called "The Lake" there, or even "The Lake Lake"). One of the quotes of the day was Scott saying, "See those mountains there? That's France."
The Alps were really amazing, and add in Lake Geneva, and the small beach around it, truly incredible. We ate some real good food that night, and then we combined forces on a 5-liter tube of beer before heading home to get ready for our one-day trip to Milan for an AC Milan football match.



Beautiful train ride in the morning provided us some real nice shots.


So we get to Milan around 12:30. We have some time to kill before the match. How much time exactly, we're not sure, because we don't know what time the match starts. I'll leave the obvious questions unanswered for the rest of this story.
Other than the match itself, the only thing we've collectively been told to see in Milan is the Duomo. Now, it's important to note that none of the three of us have ever seen a picture of the Duomo. Nor do we know what it is. So we're walking around Milan without direction, without a schedule, and without any idea what we're looking for. What could possibly go wrong?

After our (now in retrospect) hilariously frustrating and unsuccessful attempts to understand the metro ticket machine, and communicate with the man in the information / security booth, we realize we need small euro coins to make it work, which we don't have. Forty-five minutes and two incorrect "this has got to be the Duomo" sightings later, we have small change, full stomachs, and metro tickets. Finally make it to the stadium. 30 minutes late.
Upon entering the gate of the stadium, we are in search for the proper ramp to our section. No luck. After more unsuccessful and confusing attempts to communicate with the ushers, we head up what we think (in this case, "we" means "Scott") is the right ramp.

We get into the stadium and are clearly one tier too high. Not a problem, we think, because, well, we're in the stadium. Yet, if only it were that easy.
We're now instructed that in order to get to our seats, we must exit the stadium down the same ramp we just went up and go over to another ramp. We do.
We reach a roped-off ramp, and hand our tickets to the attending usher. He looks at them, nods, and takes the stub he's supposed to. Super.
Yet this isn't the right ramp either. Go all the way back up, and then all the way back down, again outside the stadium.

More conversations in Italian (mind you, all these "conversations" we're having are using every one of the 12 Italian vocab words we know as a group), more looks of "What the hell are you doing out here? The game is going on inside!" from the ushers, and many more steps later, we make it to our seats.


After the match, we decided to see the Duomo for real, which was pretty neat. Got there just as they were closing, so we didn't get inside. Bummer. We decied to get some food and then head to the train station for the ride back to Lausanne. Now, for the couple weeks heading into this trip, there was much discussion about staying in Milan for the night, or taking the train back. We decided to play it by ear, but to err on the side of caution, we (Scott) would check what time the last train was from Milan.
We eat an amazing dinner - real, fresh mozzerella cheese (very likely the best I've ever had), great Italian wine, and outstanding desserts, and make our way to the train station, arriving around 10:30. Only to find out the last international train for the day left two hours earlier. No more trains. No busses. We can't rent a car, since we don't know how to get to where we're going, only one of us can drive stick, and there's a 500 euro drop-off fee inside Switzerland (for comparison, the car rental itself was 150 euros).
So, with my flight scheduled for 11:40 the following morning from Geneva, and the first 3-hour train ride to Lausanne leaving at 8:25, there was no way I was making my flight. So, a frustrating couple hours later, we ended up at a hotel for the night.
As it turned out, though, staying that extra day turned out to be great. We were able to buy some mozzerella and some wine to bring back with us, and we took part in the Milan Mayday parade. Quite a sight to see and take part in.


Made it back to Lausanne that night, and then made my flight the following morning. Only missed a couple classes, which turned out to be no big deal, and certainly worth it.

I think the best story of the weekend has to be about Mr. Tomunk. Scott and Eda's friend, Carolina, has some French friends, and they were all talking about movies and movie stars. These Frenchies asked if Carolina liked Tomunk.
"Who?"
"Tomunk."
"Tomunk? Never heard of him."
"I'm surprised, he's really famous."
"Tomunk?"
"He's been in a lot of movies."
"Like what?"
"Apollo 13, Big, Castaway..."
"You mean... Tom Hanks?"
"Yea, Tomunk."

Two last pictures to share. One is a little hard to read. It's the awning of a newsstand. It's supposed to read "Get News From the U.S." News was changed to "BOMB" and the "Today" from "USA Today" was changed to "KILL." The second is pretty self-explanatory. It's from the metro. And as I paused to take the picture, I laughed to myself, wondering how I looked to the average Milan commuter.


Oh yea, and Eda got shit on by a bird.

Good times all around.