Acupuncture in the land of the Magyars

Since we have been here, I have not slept through the night once.

 I mentioned to one of the English speaking teachers at school that I was not sleeping.  She is a vegetarian and seems tuned into her health, so I quizzed her about her health care preferences.  Turns out that she goes to an acupuncturist whom she feels has changed her life.  He is Chinese and speaks no english  (only Hungarian) and is a professor here in Budapest. According to her, he has helped her manage with what sounds like some major intestinal issues. That is what I was able to infer from our conversation. I am never totally confident in my ability to communicate with the Hungarians because even the teachers speak only passable english.

She called and made me an appointment and offered to take me to it.  That would have meant that the school would have to substitute for my classes and hers.  They don't have a sub pool like in the states, the staff just covers for each other.  So I told her that I was sure that I could find it on my own.
The day of the appointment,  I traveled into Budapest by tram/subway armed with the map and an address.  The challenge in Budapest is that with every takeover they change the names of some of the streets.  Instead of taking down the old plaque, they just put another one above it.  Sometimes you see buildings with 3 different street names attached to the walls. Luckily, I did find it.  It was in one of those old buildings in Europe where you have to be buzzed in.  Well, Gobi had neglected to tell me that part.  I scanned the list of Hungarian names by the bell and found one that said "Wang" (well that certainly isn't a Hungarian name) so I decided it was the most likely and buzzed #I 11.  Sure enough, I could now push the door open.  Thankfully, once I entered the courtyard there were signs for the business and I entered.  The first thing I encountered was a rack full of sandals.  Okay, so I was supposed to take off my shoes.  I replaced them with sandals and walked to the receptionist, an elderly Hungarian lady.  When I spoke to her in english, she got an expression of understanding and got up to go into the other room.  Out came a younger man who was dressed in white (an assistant I supposed) and spoke to me in english with a Hungarian accent.  The receptionist handed him a form in Hungarian, of course and he started to ask me the usual questions about name, birthday, etc.  Then it got to the part of the form where you list your complaints.  I told him that I was waking up several times during the night and as soon as I did, I would have to get up to empty my bladder.  At that point he got this puzzled expression that I have come to recognize and he announces to the room full of patients and the receptionist something in Hungarian.  One of the patients spoke to him.  Then he turned to me and said, "I wasn't sure what you meant by bladder".  Great!  Now the entire room knows why I am there!  So much for confidentiality!

After about 1/2 and hour, they came for me and Zolton (I had to ask him his name) took me back to a curtained off area to see the doctor and acted as a translator.  There were about 6 little  sterling timers on the desk.  They were all a different design. As the two of them were talking about me, I spent the time puzzling as to the purpose of these little timers. Through the translator Dr. Wang tells me that my tongue is coated white, my pulses are weak and my kidney yin is low.  He told me that I needed 10 sessions and asked if I would like to start that day. I responded YES, so they put me in a bed behind on of the curtains and Dr. Wang did some points on my feet, legs, abdominal, the exterior part of my palm and my all time favorite, the 3rd eye point and left me for 30 min.   While I was laying there, I figured out the reason for the timers.  There were a bunch of curtained off areas in this big room and each one had a patient in it.  The timers were to indicate when each patient's needles were ready to come out.

Zolton helped me make the next two appointments and I changed my shoes to leave.  Okay,  down the steps to the courtyard, hang a right, down some more steps, yes, I found the exit! But the doors are locked and I can't figure out how to get out of the building!  Great, so I retrace my steps, have to get buzzed back in to the office and pantomime that I don't know how to get out of the building.  One of the other patients takes me to the front door and shows me the buzzer to release the front door.  Whew!  This really is a metaphor for living in this country, nothing is easy!  The good news is I left feeling clear headed and rested for the first time in months.

The homesickness

Jack and I have been here 3 months now.  In many ways it seems longer to me.

Our impression has been that sunset here is earlier than at home, so I did some research and sure enough, in Budapest the sunset is currently 14 minutes earlier than in Portland.   That makes for a very short afternoon and
 l-o-n-g evening.

I am beginning to have some homesickness, so I thought that I would write about what I am missing.

1.  My family

2.   Independence.  Currently the toilet is leaking, the washing machine is acting up and we have not been refered to a doctor.  We have to wait until someone at the school helps us with these things.  It is very frustrating and something that I have not experienced since I was a child.

3. Companionship.  I miss being able to pick up the phone and have a heart to heart with my girlfriends.  Other than Jack and the occasional American that we are able to spend time with we are alone.

4.  Being able to jump in the car anytime you want and go.  We spend lots of time waiting on buses, trolleys and trains, but the subway is great!

5.  Space.  Jack and I have no where to be away from each other in our flat.  We have always respected each others' need for alone time and now it is a very rare occurance.

6. My cats snuggling on my lap, T.V., the big fir trees in our yard, dense whole wheat bread, Jazzercise, yoga, salads, a garbage disposal, the phone ringing, the cats sleeping with me, comfortable beds and couches, watching my yard change with the seasons, meeting friends for lunch, drinks, dinner, or any social activity, being able to have a conversation at a normal speed, my sauna, watching the boys chase each other down the hall, shopping at New Seasons, Indian food, buying Advil, cough syrup or other mundane items at Fred Meyer instead of at a pharmacy.

And here is what I am enjoying over here in list form; being a minority, planning a weekend away which means another country, the depth of history which surrounds us, the incredible architecture, museums, sculpture that is so accessable, living outside my comfort zone before I am too old, the walnut filled, horseshoe shaped pastry which I am quickly becoming addicted to, living as an expat which is an experience not many people are lucky enough to have, living to the fullest, not just moving through life.

My "areobiks" class

As you would expect, I have been doing a lot of walking here. In fact I am down to a weight that I have not seen since high school (and it looked much better then)! But as the weather is due to change, I needed to find an option for keeping up my cardio vascular fitness and upper body strength. So I started asking around and was invited by a Hungarian friend of a friend to go with her to her" areobiks" class which was held in a community center.

As we walked into a large building with dim lighting I was surprised to see it buzzing with activity including several tables of older men in the corner playing chess.

The class was setting up in kind of a multi-purpose room with very tall ceilings with the heating vents exposed and running every direction. There was a stage and folding chairs pulled to the side and women in various stages of undress partially veiled by a particition. The floor was ancient parchet with flimsy rugs haphazardly placed in the center of the room. My host took me up to introduce me to the instructor who was fully dressed and setting up the music. Then they began to chatter and Koti turned to me and said that the instructor would like to trade me classes in return for English lessons. I was hesitant since I had never taught an adult and got the impression that Llona was a total beginner. But since I was on the spot, I agreed.

At that point Llona started to strip off her top and change into her workout gear right there in front of the class. Whoa, I had heard that the Hungarians had a different cultural take on nudity and here was a woman of about 45 with the usual lumps and bumps of our age stripping to her underwear in front of a group of women (and one guy). (Jack and I had experienced one of the pubic baths in the city a few weeks prior and I had the impression from that experience that there isn't the super body conscientiousness that we have in the states, quite refreshing).

So I took a spot in the second row where I could see the teacher because of course, all of her instructions were in Hungarian. She proceeded to lead a low impact workout with lots of reps on the floor work. I left thinking it was not going to be a serious workout for me and was quite surprised when I woke up the next morning with my gluts screaming at me. I guess if you do enough leg lifts you do work the muscle even without using weights.

That Friday, I returned to the center to start our english lessons. Turns out she is not a true beginning speaker. She spent 6 months a few years ago in the UK as an nanny, but and wants to improve her meager vocabulary. She is so sincere and wants so badly to learn. It is quite a different experience for me than working with the kids. At the end of the lesson she always kisses me on both cheeks and says, "Tank you Katie". Yes, we are working on pronounciation of the th sound as it does not exist in their language. We giggle alot because she just can't seem to make her mouth form the sound. But then she will turn it on me and ask me to say a Hungarian word that has a sound that is kind of like dg in edge. There is no way I can produce it correctly, so we are even.

I have been back several times to the class and the music is just awful. Llona is sincere but kind of turns into a drill sergent when she is leading the class . The last time I went she had on some awful Hungarian rap music. The class must have complained because there was a lot of discussion with her as we were doing our thing. Pretty soon she dug into her purse and pulled out some keys which she handed to the lone male in the class. I was clueless as to what was going on at this point wondering if maybe she left her water bottle in her car or something. He returned with a flurish holding a CD which she popped into the player and out blasted this awful folk music all accordians and Hungarian singing. Uhgg! After a couple of songs where she was trying her best to make the moves match the music she comes over to me bends down and says "Hungarian Gypsy King music" and smiles.

It was a very long class!

The teaching experience

Well, as most of you know, I have decades of experience teaching in Portland. I came over here feeling like it would be a cake walk for me. It has been humbling.

Let me start by talking about the interesting traditions that we have observed at our school. We attended the "Opening Ceremonies" on the evening of the 31st of August. This is a big deal! Lots of parents, grandparents, were there. For all formal ceremonies the kids wear black skirt or pants with a white shirt and scarf or tie with a logo on it. I have not been able to determine if the logo is related to the town that we live in, or if each school has a different one. The incoming kindergardeners were seated in the front row of the festivities which consisted of lots of speeches and the singing of the national anthem (which I have been told is full of breast beating related to their history ). Then at the end of the ceremony some upper grade students stepped up to the rows of kinders with baskets in their hands and started showering the little ones with confetti. It is a rite of passage and quite sweet.

For the first week, Jack and I shadowed the native teachers who are responsible for teaching the grammar related to english while we are to teach about conversational english and American culture. About the 2nd day, I said to Jack, "Boy these kids talk out so much I am really going to have to teach them what I expect". The native teachers tend to be quite strict and stern, so the talking really did not fit with those expectations. I assumed that it was just a matter of the kids not having been taught to take turns speaking and not to have side conversations during the lesson. Well, it turns out that this is a cultural issue. In the Hungarian language the emphasis is always on the first syllable of a word, the first word of a sentence, and everyone rushes in to make their point all at once. This makes giving a lesson quite difficult because the kids talk all the time. Sometimes I can tell that they are explaining something that I have said to each other, but other times it is obvious that their conversation really has nothing to do with my immediate lesson. I have had to have many conversations with them about one voice at a time and how speaking is like a chess match where only one person can move a piece at a time. Jack has the same issue with his 7th and 8th graders although some maturity kicks in by then and they can control themselves a little better. Some days we come home to our humble flat and commizerate for 20-30 minutes about how many times we had to stop teaching because our voices were being drowned out.

When the principal observed me in a 5th grade class, they were perfect, so I know that they have the ability to listen to each other. However, she said to me that she was sure that my lesson was not going to keep them engaged for the full 45 minutes and how she was surprised when it did!

On the plus side, there are students that I can tell are really gaining confidence in their english and I have been able to connect with some of the more reticient ones. And of course they do really sweet things sometimes that makes me think that I am making a difference. One day a group of 6th grade girls asked me if they could write on the whiteboard during the break. When I got back to the room they had turned it into a huge love note with "We love you Mrs. Holmes" written on it and hearts, flowers and kisses covering it.

So every day I go into school feeling challenged sometimes positively challenged and other times frustrated, but there is never a day when I am bored!

Our school

It has been brought to my attention that I have not written anything about the school where we are teaching so here goes...

Our school is named after a Hungarian poet. It will be 25 years old in 2010.

The school serves as a community hub. There is a pre-school section that has kids which look to be 3-5 years old. They get care from a full time nurse and are at the school from early morning through early evening if the parents need after school care. The school which houses grades 1-8 is physically connected to the pre-school area. The schools are very well staffed. There are 2 daytime janitors and several women who clean up after school. That is really good because the water pipes in the ceiling have a propensity for breaking, sending a river of water onto the floor and a huge commotion as the cleanup commences.

As you walk into the school, the first thing you see in the foyer is a huge candy machine and next to that is a stand that is open long hours where the kids and teachers can get baked goods, candy and other super healthy snacks. The woman who staffs it speaks no English, but understands when I request M&M's. Then there is a little room which is behind a plexiglass window where the man who dispenses the room key sits. He has other jobs as well, but I just have not figure out exactly what they are. My classes are held in different rooms throughout the day, so he enjoys it when I request a key and he can say the key number in English. He works long hours and in fact, has a small TV in the room with him. The other day I noticed him watching "Hell's Kitchen" I wonder how that translates?

Then you enter a large multipurpose room with a stage at one end. This is where they hold assemblies and other school functions. The cafeteria is just beyond that .

The school pays for us to eat the lunches which I did on one occasion which was enough for me. Just like in the U.S. the lunches are starchy and not very appealing to an adult (although many teachers eat the lunch including my husband.) The tables all have tablecloths on them and the main dish is served family style. They serve the kids strange kinds of noodles or other pasta most days. Jack has reported noodles with poppy seeds, and something similar to tapioca pudding with cinnamon on it. The cafeteria is staffed with about 6 ladies not counting the cook who all wear matching aprons and circulate around the room helping the kids.

Upstairs is set up so that you can look down onto the stage over banisters from three sides. The school day is set up into 45 min. classes followed by a 15 min. break, so the kids like to entertain themselves during the break by looking down at their friends walking or playing on the first floor.

Student art is quite beautifully displayed on the second floor. The teacher must be fabulous because the work she gets out of students in really amazing. The wall displays are changed quite frequently. Currently there is a photo essay of the events around the eviction of the communists. Last week they had a community showing of the photos which was open to the public. There are plants everywhere, in classes, in the halls, on the landings. I think they must have one person who's only job is caring for them. There is also someone who's only job seems to be to make photocopies for the office. I hope that the Xerox he uses is more up to date than the one in the teacher's room because it is painfully slow!

Next time I will talk about kids and the lessons.

Bureaucracy Part I and II

Let me start by saying that the Hungarian people are extremely rule bound and bureaucratic.

I have been here on a temporary visa which I got when I was still in the U.S. So one day last week a native teacher who speaks English told me that we had to go to the immigration office the next day and that someone would be covering my classes. Since we are 40 minutes outside of the city center, we would have to leave by 7AM.

The next day she came to pick me up and when I made a comment about the bureaucracy she said, "I know, if I could live somewhere else, I would." So we proceeded to take the streetcar, then subway and finally a bus to get to this office. It was a few minutes before opening time and there was already a line. As it turned out, this was the line just to get a number to get into another line! The line we needed happened to be in a different building. So a receptionist/guard met us and my collegue spoke to him. When he responded, we were directed to a table where we sat waiting for our number to be called. The interesting thing was that the numbers were out of order. So we had 39, but they were also displaying a series starting in the two hundreds and there didn't seem to be any chronological sense to it. Finally, our number came up and we approached a desk . Every government office you go into has rows of desks with plexiglass in between you and the official where the conversation cutouts are never positioned correctly. So I sat there like a total idiot while the Hungarians conversed only becoming conscious when requested to show some paper or my passport. Then, my collegue said "She wants to know why you didn't come in sooner to extend your passport, this one has expired." "Oh shit " I thought, they are going to kick me out!! It ended up that I had to dictate my reason to the other teacher and she hand wrote it out. Then, you guessed it, we had to go sit and wait while the government worker showed my letter to her superior. Finally, we were summanded back to the plexiglass place and there was more conversation . When the government worker got out her stamp and started punching it onto papers multiple times, I was feeling more confident. And after only 3 hours, I left with my visa which is valid until Aug. 2010!!

Now, this week, I was again informed that someone would be escorting me back to the government offices to get my medical card (they have socialized medicine here) and my tax ID number. This again involved an early morning start, lines, numbers, frowning, conversation and after about 30 min. my collegue informed me that the computerized system was not cooperating and that this worker says she is fed up and will not try any longer to get me a tax number! My collegue appealed to her that we have both taken the day away from children to take care of this business and I will not receive any pay until I get it taken care of. She resists. So my collegue appeals to the worker at the next desk who agrees to make another attempt at getting into the computerized system. An hour later and of course after many official stamps, I leave with a tax ID number.

They tell me that now I will have to return to the immigration office with proof that I now have a medical card. I can hardly wait!

Human Connections

I am dedicating this post to my friend Karen who lost her battle with ALS this week. I hope that she is now in peace.

First of all, let me say that I have a real empathy for the elderly who live in this country. In their lifetime they have heard (through their parents) the shame of the treaty after WWI where Hungary was divided and land awarded to their neighbors . The result was that Hungary is now 2/3 of it's former size and families may have been split up depending upon where they lived.

The Hungarians also were on the losing side of WWII. Then the Communists invaded shortly after that and this country endured several decades of Soviet rule.

That being said, I had an interesting experience at the bus stop this week. An old guy came over to me and started talking in Hungarian. His clothes showed many years of wear and the bag he was carrying was so frayed on the handles that I don't think it had many more uses left. His hair was stark white and he had the startling blue eyes that I see on so many people over here. As he got closer, I detected the slight body odor that old people get when they resist bathing as often as they should.

When he spoke to me, I responded in Hungarian, " I don't understand, I speak English. " So he said angol (English) and continued to try and communicate, going on and on. I concentrated on the words and gestures and pretty soon I could pick up enough words that I knew either in Hungarian or German (he was trying them all) to think I might be getting the gist of what he was saying. When we got on the bus, I saw one of my 5th graders and asked her to sit by us and be the interpreter.

Sure enough, he had been telling me that in WWII he had known Americans, Russians and Germans (comrades) and that he had flown a plane (that part I hadn't figured out.) He had also been telling me something about a Dr., a fraline, and used the word kaput. I thought he had been talking about someone who was sick and died. When my student translated . . . sure enough, he had been telling me that his wife had been sick and passed away two years ago.

When I got to my stop, we shook hands and as the bus drove away, he started throwing me kisses! Poor guy is probably so lonely. Amazing that we were able to communicate at all. I guess it came down to we are both part of the human community and had an interest in each other.

The joys and frustrations of not knowing the language

Okay, I think it is time to muse about what is negative and positive about not speaking the language that you are surrounded by.

First of all, I am now so used to hearing Hungarian, that if I am on the street and hear English, it almost stops me in my tracks.

Although I try to enforce the "english only " rule with my classes, they will often lapse into their mother tongue to check in with each other about things they need to clarify, etc. At least, my fantasy is that they are all on task! Today, a girl had her writing out and asked me a question in Hungarian and due to the context, I was able to answer without hesitation because I knew what she was asking.

There is not much english spoken here, so yesterday I had to go to a pharmacy to get some Advil and Neosporin (yes, you have to go to a pharmacy to purchase these mundane items). The pharmacist and I (with her smattering of english and lots of pantomime) were able to figure out what I needed and I did come away with the products. Whew! It is nothing like making a quick stop at Freddies, I can tell you that!

Now, for the bonuses. . . Jack and I can talk freely on the subway about the people that we see without worrying about who is listening (great for clandetine gossiping). Also, I can be sitting in the staff room working on a lesson plan undisturbed and I don't have to spend any energy listening to what is being said around me, because I can't understand anyway!

The interesting part about all of this is that for an hour or so after I come home from school where I have had to talk in a slow and deliberate way I find that the thoughts in my head come in the same way, weird, huh?

Day to day adjustments

Wow, I have never been in a situation before where everything is different, from how to flush the toilet, to shopping for specific items when you can't read the contents, figuring out the bus schedule, to carrying a zillion keys to the flat. Every day we come home exhausted with informational overload!

Everything that I had read and heard mentioned that the Hungarian people are not that friendly to strangers and that they think Americans smile too much and therefore are not to be trusted. I have not found that to be true. Making a fuss out of their little dog has really been an icebreaker for me as far as the neighbors in the flat. Even if they don't understand the words, they appreciate the sentiment and will smile and speak the next time I see them. Of course, I am sensitive to body language that tells me not to approach them.

At school about half of the teachers speak some English. We have found the staff to be quite friendly and helpful and even the ones who don't speak much English will attempt some niceities.

We don't have a car (although the school has loaned us a bike). I didn't really appreciate how much cars simplify our lives. Everytime we go to the store, we have to 1.) make sure we take our bags since they charge for bags (yes they are ahead of the U.S. in this way, but I think it has more to do with economics than the enviornment) and 2.) consider the bulk and weight of everything since we will be carrying it home. It really does force you to decide how much you really need an item.

Hopefully, I will soon learn how to add pics to my blog!

Budapest-the beginning

Wow this is a beautiful city, amazing architecture, old classy buildings mixed with the stark contrast of some communist erected buildings, so you really get the sense of conflict that this country has endured.

I have been slapped in the face with the reality of some of the lives of the street people here. One evening when we were enjoying our outdoor dining experience an old man was coming up to each table and muttering (I assume in Hungarian) and just staring at the food on each table, just standing 2 feet away and looking at us with eyes that were pleading yet defiant. I really didn't know how to respond and found myself looking down at the table embarressed, uncomfortable, and having no idea how to repond. The owner of the restaurant came over and talked to him softly and motioned him to a nearby bench. Before long the owner went over to him with some food wrapped in a napkin and a bottle of water. The gesture just made me tear up (and I am now as I think about it). This is such a growth opportunity for me. . .

Okay, my life is comfortable as it is. I have been retired for 3 years from PPS. I love the work I am doing for Portland State (which requires no 6AM alarm clocks). It is satisfying to know that I am having an impact on the next generation of teachers.

But. . .we are still young (not really middle aged unless we live to be 116!) and we have fewer obligations than most of our peers.

As I watch my dear friend, Karen, battle an aggressive form of ALS, it becomes more apparent to me that we live our dreams. She has faced this disease with courage and dignity (as has her husband, Bob). Yet, she can no longer do anything for herself. There were no warning signs before she was struck with this, she was not able to plan. If she still had the ability to speak, I know that this is what she would say, "Go for it!"

So I have gone from comfortable to this my next life adventure. . .