No, that's a literal statement. I genuinely think my taste buds have changed since moving to Prague. There is a good chance that I'm just maturing and being less picky about my food and beverage choices, but things have changed.
Here's the big one though: I'm drinking beer. I know right! It's craziness. I have never been a beer drinker. I like to think it stems from an unfortunate dinner experience many years ago, when I mistakenly took an overlarge swig of my mother's beer rather than the "weekend" soda-pop I was enjoying. Needless to say, the moment was tragic. From then on, I always thought beer tasted a bit like wet bread, which sounds really disgusting but is true. In college I began to enjoy socially imbibing vodka and the occasional class of wonderful white wine (gewurztraminer especially).
But some thing's different. The school I'm training at encourages a weekly pub night on Thursdays at a local pub. It's a great opportunity for the tutors to mix with the trainees, former trainees and of course the wonderful Czech students who are receiving the "benefits" of our English skills. The first night at the pub I thought I'd try a beer, I had one earlier in the week (a Budvar, for your curiosity, the original and true Budweiser recipe) and enjoyed it pretty well. So the first pub night I took a chance and let a friend of mine order me a few beers. I was testing the waters, trying to decide what was going to become my standard drink. I switched to some white table wine later in the night, which tasted like rusty tap water, so I decided to stay away.
But the following pub night, something changed. As if a switch was flicked in my brain, I became a beer drinker.
I lived in the capitol state of Beer and Cheese for nearly five years and drank less beer than I can count on one hand. I have grown up in a family of beer drinkers, it's been passed down from generation to generation. We, family of mine, and our ancestors are perpetual beer drinkers. They discuss it, attempt to find new and fascinating varieties. I have perpetually been one of the few and proud non-beer drinkers at family gatherings.
I can say, from my limited beer experiences, that Czech beer is decidedly quite different than American beer, even the "primo-Wisconsin" beers taste disgusting in comparison. It may easily have something to do with this different recipe. There's something about the taste, just . . . better.
It could also involve the fact that the average pint of beer at a pub costs 30-35 Czech koruna (crowns) which is roughly $1.75 give or take. And it's just a bit stronger than the 3.2 found in MN grocery stores.
I sincerely doubt that I will continue to be a beer drinker when I return to the States and the pitiful malted beverages it offers. But for here, now, I will always remember my first few weeks in Prague as the time I when I came to enjoy beer.
Na zdravi!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Praha Procrastination.
Tour of Casa de Janine, written and photographed Praha January 21, 2009.
I’m working hard today, seriously. I don’t think I ever really worked this hard in college (or university I’ve found I need to clarify). But it’s a different kind of hard. And I’m actually doing my work.
But I have a few things I’d like to say, completely unrelated to work.
1. Front loading washing machines give me the heebie-jeebies.
No seriously. I’m sitting in my flat’s kitchen, which is more like a galley. And we’re lucky in the scheme of things, because we have a washing machine in our flat. But it’s a European one so it does smaller more economical loads, which is nice. The heebie-jeebies part comes in because of the super-speed at which the spin cycle occurs. It literally shakes the building. If you sit with your back against the wall and one of our neighbors runs their washer . . . it’s ridiculous! But when you’re in the kitchen, in the thick of the washing, it’s literally terrifying. It makes things fall off tables. Though that may because I have what I think is the spin cycle set to 1000. But I don’t understand how these silly European machines with their Celsius and whatnot work!
2. All this talk of laundry and kitchens made me realize that I haven’t put pictures of my amusing little flat up for public consumption. So here goes the world tour of Janine’s first Prague flat.
We’ll start with the kitchen. It’s plenty wide and has lovely orange—ish tiles that contrast well with the shade of cabinets, complete with etched “glass” (plastic) in the cabinets above the sink. Beyond those casement windows is the magical courtyard, which is actually quite pretty.
It’s a magical courtyard because cars can be parked within it, but there is no actual garage door, instead, it is disguised as a snazzy double door with etched glass windows. I’m not being sarcastic here, I was seriously troubled for awhile about how the cars got in and out, until I noticed the mechanism at the top of the doors.
Note also, the sewing machine table used to store miscellaneous items. It has a sewing machine in it. Fantastic, seriously.
Next up is the living room. Note the color scheme, I like to call this peach and chartreuse, really gets the appetite going. And who doesn’t love Ikea chic!
And then there’s my flat mate’s door, which is really pretty, actually. Here:
Now to my atrium:
It’s nice, because all of us have our own rooms, an Hannah and I (the only girls in the flat) have an entrance way into our bedrooms. Which is pretty neat.
Finally my bedroom:
I’d like to point out, Mom, that I straightened before I snapped these photos. That the bed covered with stuff is like that because I am awesome and have no hooks for my jacket. Oh and the dresser that has open drawers, is like that because the floor.
The floor slopes down at an angle so the drawer’s stay that way, it’s fun to push them closed and watch as they slowly re-open of their own volition.
And to finish off, the sticker on the door to the kitchen. It’s glittery.
Dobry vecer!
I’m working hard today, seriously. I don’t think I ever really worked this hard in college (or university I’ve found I need to clarify). But it’s a different kind of hard. And I’m actually doing my work.
But I have a few things I’d like to say, completely unrelated to work.
1. Front loading washing machines give me the heebie-jeebies.
No seriously. I’m sitting in my flat’s kitchen, which is more like a galley. And we’re lucky in the scheme of things, because we have a washing machine in our flat. But it’s a European one so it does smaller more economical loads, which is nice. The heebie-jeebies part comes in because of the super-speed at which the spin cycle occurs. It literally shakes the building. If you sit with your back against the wall and one of our neighbors runs their washer . . . it’s ridiculous! But when you’re in the kitchen, in the thick of the washing, it’s literally terrifying. It makes things fall off tables. Though that may because I have what I think is the spin cycle set to 1000. But I don’t understand how these silly European machines with their Celsius and whatnot work!
2. All this talk of laundry and kitchens made me realize that I haven’t put pictures of my amusing little flat up for public consumption. So here goes the world tour of Janine’s first Prague flat.
We’ll start with the kitchen. It’s plenty wide and has lovely orange—ish tiles that contrast well with the shade of cabinets, complete with etched “glass” (plastic) in the cabinets above the sink. Beyond those casement windows is the magical courtyard, which is actually quite pretty.
It’s a magical courtyard because cars can be parked within it, but there is no actual garage door, instead, it is disguised as a snazzy double door with etched glass windows. I’m not being sarcastic here, I was seriously troubled for awhile about how the cars got in and out, until I noticed the mechanism at the top of the doors. 
Note also, the sewing machine table used to store miscellaneous items. It has a sewing machine in it. Fantastic, seriously.
Next up is the living room. Note the color scheme, I like to call this peach and chartreuse, really gets the appetite going. And who doesn’t love Ikea chic!
And then there’s my flat mate’s door, which is really pretty, actually. Here:
Now to my atrium:
It’s nice, because all of us have our own rooms, an Hannah and I (the only girls in the flat) have an entrance way into our bedrooms. Which is pretty neat. Finally my bedroom:
I’d like to point out, Mom, that I straightened before I snapped these photos. That the bed covered with stuff is like that because I am awesome and have no hooks for my jacket. Oh and the dresser that has open drawers, is like that because the floor. 
The floor slopes down at an angle so the drawer’s stay that way, it’s fun to push them closed and watch as they slowly re-open of their own volition.And to finish off, the sticker on the door to the kitchen. It’s glittery.
Dobry vecer!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Praha day . . . later.
So I went to Bratislava; which, if you don't know, is the capitol of The Slovak Republic (Slovakia, but if we're being proper).
Time for your cultural and historical lesson: The people are Slovaks, but used to be Czechoslovakian. They've got two different languages with minor differences (dekuji in Czech and dakujem though they're pronounced very similarly) and they're separated
by the Carpathian Mountains and Moravia (which is a beautiful place, lots of wine).
After the fall of the Austrian Empire in 1906 Czechoslovakia was created, and Prague made the capitol. During the cold war, Prague was invaded and became isolated, but instead of demolishing one of the major Slavic capitols (outside of Kiev and Moscow) they added the concrete style construction to the suburbs. Bratislava wasn't necessarily maintained in the same way. While the city is just as old and nearly as significant on a historical stage, Bratislava lives on in what I like to call concrete bloc chic. The Old Town Center is well restored and beautiful, but outside what is considered "tourist" central, the city is much like what you would expect. Sad buildings with little character.
But there is something fascinating about the city. One of my travel mates, Andy, liked to talk about how exciting it could potentially be to be Slovak in this day and age. Bratislava's a city and Slovakia is a country that has been dominated by other stronger cultures and powers in recent history. And now, it is just a baby country in some senses (15 years old) yet such an ancient culture in others.
But I'm done pontificating.
Here's the thing about Bratislava, it's cold. Really, really cold. Like a damp cold that I wasn't expecting (nor was I really used to, MN doesn't have that kind of cold, really). But the change in country was noticeable from the moment we stepped off the train. I've never been that "far east" if you will. There was what felt like, less access to English, and less comfort with tourism, which made being there feel like stepping into uncharted territory.
But me without my long-johns or thermals or whatever wandering around the city made for some amusement. I'd make such a Someone lost their hat at one point, so it was up to me to channel my Polish/(and minute)Russian roots.fantastic Russian grandmother . . . right?
But beyond that, the city was filled with gorgeous architecture and crumbling corners
and these fantastic squares that would be teeming with people and festivals had the weather permitted.
We found a nice touristy pub with inexpensive beer (that I've been drinking, but more on that later). And I got to see the infamous Danube River, which isn't so much blue, but gray-ish and crazy foggy.
And our hotel, I forgot to mention! Called the Hotel Kyjev, built in the 70s, rocks communist era construction like it's nobody's business. It's the kind of place that you knew was just exquisite in it's heyday. But now, per my fascinating conversation with the semi-English speaking bellhop, the elevator hasn't been updated since 1982, the hotel has absolutely no money, and trashy English boys like to vandalize the place. Oh and each room comes equipped with a 70s era radio, that I'm sure we could jerry-rig to cb-radio Siberia, and make contact with some KGB agents that don't know the cold war is over.
And of course, don't forget my favorite way to travel in Europe . . . train rides. No seriously, I love to ride trains. And on the ride home, we spent 4 hours playing whist, which made me feel very English.
Time for your cultural and historical lesson: The people are Slovaks, but used to be Czechoslovakian. They've got two different languages with minor differences (dekuji in Czech and dakujem though they're pronounced very similarly) and they're separated
by the Carpathian Mountains and Moravia (which is a beautiful place, lots of wine).
After the fall of the Austrian Empire in 1906 Czechoslovakia was created, and Prague made the capitol. During the cold war, Prague was invaded and became isolated, but instead of demolishing one of the major Slavic capitols (outside of Kiev and Moscow) they added the concrete style construction to the suburbs. Bratislava wasn't necessarily maintained in the same way. While the city is just as old and nearly as significant on a historical stage, Bratislava lives on in what I like to call concrete bloc chic. The Old Town Center is well restored and beautiful, but outside what is considered "tourist" central, the city is much like what you would expect. Sad buildings with little character.
But there is something fascinating about the city. One of my travel mates, Andy, liked to talk about how exciting it could potentially be to be Slovak in this day and age. Bratislava's a city and Slovakia is a country that has been dominated by other stronger cultures and powers in recent history. And now, it is just a baby country in some senses (15 years old) yet such an ancient culture in others.
But I'm done pontificating.
Here's the thing about Bratislava, it's cold. Really, really cold. Like a damp cold that I wasn't expecting (nor was I really used to, MN doesn't have that kind of cold, really). But the change in country was noticeable from the moment we stepped off the train. I've never been that "far east" if you will. There was what felt like, less access to English, and less comfort with tourism, which made being there feel like stepping into uncharted territory.
But me without my long-johns or thermals or whatever wandering around the city made for some amusement. I'd make such a Someone lost their hat at one point, so it was up to me to channel my Polish/(and minute)Russian roots.fantastic Russian grandmother . . . right? But beyond that, the city was filled with gorgeous architecture and crumbling corners
and these fantastic squares that would be teeming with people and festivals had the weather permitted.
We found a nice touristy pub with inexpensive beer (that I've been drinking, but more on that later). And I got to see the infamous Danube River, which isn't so much blue, but gray-ish and crazy foggy.
And our hotel, I forgot to mention! Called the Hotel Kyjev, built in the 70s, rocks communist era construction like it's nobody's business. It's the kind of place that you knew was just exquisite in it's heyday. But now, per my fascinating conversation with the semi-English speaking bellhop, the elevator hasn't been updated since 1982, the hotel has absolutely no money, and trashy English boys like to vandalize the place. Oh and each room comes equipped with a 70s era radio, that I'm sure we could jerry-rig to cb-radio Siberia, and make contact with some KGB agents that don't know the cold war is over.
And of course, don't forget my favorite way to travel in Europe . . . train rides. No seriously, I love to ride trains. And on the ride home, we spent 4 hours playing whist, which made me feel very English.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Praha Day 13-ish
Hurricane Janine has officially re-invaded Eastern Europe, or at least a small portion of Prague.
No seriously.
For those of you confused by that silly statement above, the last time I was in Eastern Europe (January 2006, Carthage Choir tour) I had what can be described as a teensy weensy bit of a cough.
And by teensy weensy I mean enormous. So enormous that it disrupted conversations, made random passersby turn and stare, could infect the church members that even dared to stand within a rather large radius of its ridiculousness. So enormous that one of the random choir members bequeathed to me the sweet nickname “Hurricane Janine”. And if any of you called me during the month or so after we returned home, you’d hear my outgoing message for the Hurricane Janine Relief Fund
Well she’s back, with a vengeance. And it’s colds like these that make you want your mommy and a hot bath and lots of Vicks Vaporub (which most children detest). I have none of those things, just kind roommates, near death in my sleep and the surprisingly useful recommendation from an Irish girl to drink some Jameson and knock myself out. Though the Jameson did help.
Needless to say I’ve been struggling. For example, Sunday we went to a fantastic restaurant on Narodni called Café Louvre.
It’s classic and has been around for years. I had the best chocolate coffee (I know, coffee right?) and Czech Honey Cake, which was delicious.
The interior was fantastically awesome. And that was all great, but I was the disgusting person in the café coughing and sneezing their way through life. I need a quarantine.
And let’s not discuss my inability to teach a lesson this morning. I got tripped on some syllable issues and some coughing (which my students found unsurprisingly amusing).
I suppose it could be worse . . . I could be in an even colder place . . . like Minnesota.
No seriously.
For those of you confused by that silly statement above, the last time I was in Eastern Europe (January 2006, Carthage Choir tour) I had what can be described as a teensy weensy bit of a cough.
And by teensy weensy I mean enormous. So enormous that it disrupted conversations, made random passersby turn and stare, could infect the church members that even dared to stand within a rather large radius of its ridiculousness. So enormous that one of the random choir members bequeathed to me the sweet nickname “Hurricane Janine”. And if any of you called me during the month or so after we returned home, you’d hear my outgoing message for the Hurricane Janine Relief Fund
Well she’s back, with a vengeance. And it’s colds like these that make you want your mommy and a hot bath and lots of Vicks Vaporub (which most children detest). I have none of those things, just kind roommates, near death in my sleep and the surprisingly useful recommendation from an Irish girl to drink some Jameson and knock myself out. Though the Jameson did help.
Needless to say I’ve been struggling. For example, Sunday we went to a fantastic restaurant on Narodni called Café Louvre.
It’s classic and has been around for years. I had the best chocolate coffee (I know, coffee right?) and Czech Honey Cake, which was delicious. 
The interior was fantastically awesome. And that was all great, but I was the disgusting person in the café coughing and sneezing their way through life. I need a quarantine.And let’s not discuss my inability to teach a lesson this morning. I got tripped on some syllable issues and some coughing (which my students found unsurprisingly amusing).
I suppose it could be worse . . . I could be in an even colder place . . . like Minnesota.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Pictures, as promised Praha Day 7
So here are the pictures I promised previously. Happy weekend!
Prazky Hrad, the Prague castle lit up at night.
The bridge we cross daily, most Legli, in order to get to school. Our flat is on the opposite side of the river from where the picture was taken.
The National Theater.
The bubble-wrap building, which is an addition to the National Theater.
The Charles Bridge, or Karluv Most
Prazky Hrad, the Prague castle lit up at night.
The bridge we cross daily, most Legli, in order to get to school. Our flat is on the opposite side of the river from where the picture was taken.
The National Theater.
The bubble-wrap building, which is an addition to the National Theater.
The Charles Bridge, or Karluv Most
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Day 4: technically
Tuesday, January 6, 2009 (eep, it's 2009!)
So this is my first post on this blog, but not my first day in Prague. I've been meaning to start this (I actually thought about beginning it before I left, but I didn't). I decided it was high time to start it because I had my first tumble today. That’s right, Winter in Prague 1, Janine 0. So depressing. And worse because it was so centrally located and there people heading home from work wandering about. The other day I mused that even though it was slick, it was nice to have pants without salt stains on the hems. I lied. I’ll blame it on the cobblestones or black ice, or something other than myself (and no Mom, I wasn’t wearing horrible shoes).
Life here has been fascinating so far. I arrived in Prague on Saturday, January 3 (my half b-day) in the late afternoon. First glitch, I lost a suitcase in my many connections and layovers. (Though I did get to stop in Dublin & have an Irish stamp in my passport) But more on my plane experience later. The first thing that struck me was A: how empty the airport was. And B: how strange it was that the songs on the radio in the car I took to my flat was Alanis Morriesette and then an acoustic version of "Ayo" a really bad Timbaland song.
We drove through suburban like areas, and it seemed very "Eastern Europe" and then not. It seems as if there is a contrast between old & new buildings, but a complete lack of what I like to call the "Soviet Bloc" look (a place my old 1984 Volvo Station Wagon would fit in quite nicely). Instead the architecture is a mix between rococo and something else that I'm not quite sure the name of.
My flat is typical of the era (at least in design and structure, though not really in style; the school is big on what I like to call Bargain Ikea chic, fantastic. But there are double doors leading in and out (and between) every room and the lobby is gorgeous.
The school is across the river from my flat which prove for an awesome walk everyday (expect the slippage, cause my knee is sore). I love that everything (literally from the local mini-mart to the school to the café across the street) is in an older building, very little is new, or modern or grotesque. Well there is one building, a part of the National Theater, that looks like bubble wrap. I’ll bring my camera out and take some photos.
But the best part of my walk is the exquisite view of the Prague Castle (Prazky Hrad) and the Charles Bridge (Karluv most) all lit up at night. Again, must bring camera.
So my trip over was long, quite long. But and I was a cross between terrified, as every little girl is when she leaves home, and exhilarated.
I had this amusing image of myself, on my flight to Dublin, running up to a flight attendant and demanding that they let me off the airplane because I did not want to leave these United States.
Instead, my flight was a little less than comfortable. I did enjoy not having a person next to me, so extra room for my sprawling legs and myself. Of course, I couldn’t sleep, so I watched movies. Three to be exact, if you’re curious: Pineapple Express (mediocre, not as funny as I’d hoped). The City of Ember (not so great a movie, but I must read the book) and The Duchess (Keira Knightley in a period drama . . . Dominic Cooper looking handsome and Ralph Fiennes the baddy with heart made of some gold and other metal amalgamation? . . . surprisingly decent.
I also had the awesome opportunity to be sick on the plane, and I do not recommend it; so take your airsickness patch and keep that tiny paper bag with you at all times (like your seatbelt). Seriously, I felt like I was at a hockey game or in church, it was all stand-up, sit-down, fight! Fight! Fight!
I had some fun observations as well:
-It’s fun to try and determine based on hair style, dress, skin tone (ie pale, not pale etc) if a person is of American, Irish or some other descent. Less for judgmental purposes and more for pure entertainment, because you’ll never really know.
-Vomiting on a plane is messy (raise your hand if you now know way too much?!
-Aer Lingus flight attendants sometimes wear a lot of cologne.
-Smiling helps
-It’s my half birthday
-Some Irish pronounce the ‘ch’ in Chicago just like that, ‘ch’ rather than ‘sh’.
The Dublin airport is whiter and more meandering that I expected it would be, whiter in the sense that the floors and chairs and walls are a clean combination of silver and white. It makes for a quite pretty and clean looking space, in contrast with the perpetual gray and bleakness that often pervades American airports.
Well, to bed. Take Care and
Dia ‘smuire dhoaibh (that’s good-bye in Gaelic).
So this is my first post on this blog, but not my first day in Prague. I've been meaning to start this (I actually thought about beginning it before I left, but I didn't). I decided it was high time to start it because I had my first tumble today. That’s right, Winter in Prague 1, Janine 0. So depressing. And worse because it was so centrally located and there people heading home from work wandering about. The other day I mused that even though it was slick, it was nice to have pants without salt stains on the hems. I lied. I’ll blame it on the cobblestones or black ice, or something other than myself (and no Mom, I wasn’t wearing horrible shoes).
Life here has been fascinating so far. I arrived in Prague on Saturday, January 3 (my half b-day) in the late afternoon. First glitch, I lost a suitcase in my many connections and layovers. (Though I did get to stop in Dublin & have an Irish stamp in my passport) But more on my plane experience later. The first thing that struck me was A: how empty the airport was. And B: how strange it was that the songs on the radio in the car I took to my flat was Alanis Morriesette and then an acoustic version of "Ayo" a really bad Timbaland song.
We drove through suburban like areas, and it seemed very "Eastern Europe" and then not. It seems as if there is a contrast between old & new buildings, but a complete lack of what I like to call the "Soviet Bloc" look (a place my old 1984 Volvo Station Wagon would fit in quite nicely). Instead the architecture is a mix between rococo and something else that I'm not quite sure the name of.
My flat is typical of the era (at least in design and structure, though not really in style; the school is big on what I like to call Bargain Ikea chic, fantastic. But there are double doors leading in and out (and between) every room and the lobby is gorgeous.
The school is across the river from my flat which prove for an awesome walk everyday (expect the slippage, cause my knee is sore). I love that everything (literally from the local mini-mart to the school to the café across the street) is in an older building, very little is new, or modern or grotesque. Well there is one building, a part of the National Theater, that looks like bubble wrap. I’ll bring my camera out and take some photos.
But the best part of my walk is the exquisite view of the Prague Castle (Prazky Hrad) and the Charles Bridge (Karluv most) all lit up at night. Again, must bring camera.
So my trip over was long, quite long. But and I was a cross between terrified, as every little girl is when she leaves home, and exhilarated.
I had this amusing image of myself, on my flight to Dublin, running up to a flight attendant and demanding that they let me off the airplane because I did not want to leave these United States.
Instead, my flight was a little less than comfortable. I did enjoy not having a person next to me, so extra room for my sprawling legs and myself. Of course, I couldn’t sleep, so I watched movies. Three to be exact, if you’re curious: Pineapple Express (mediocre, not as funny as I’d hoped). The City of Ember (not so great a movie, but I must read the book) and The Duchess (Keira Knightley in a period drama . . . Dominic Cooper looking handsome and Ralph Fiennes the baddy with heart made of some gold and other metal amalgamation? . . . surprisingly decent.
I also had the awesome opportunity to be sick on the plane, and I do not recommend it; so take your airsickness patch and keep that tiny paper bag with you at all times (like your seatbelt). Seriously, I felt like I was at a hockey game or in church, it was all stand-up, sit-down, fight! Fight! Fight!
I had some fun observations as well:
-It’s fun to try and determine based on hair style, dress, skin tone (ie pale, not pale etc) if a person is of American, Irish or some other descent. Less for judgmental purposes and more for pure entertainment, because you’ll never really know.
-Vomiting on a plane is messy (raise your hand if you now know way too much?!
-Aer Lingus flight attendants sometimes wear a lot of cologne.
-Smiling helps
-It’s my half birthday
-Some Irish pronounce the ‘ch’ in Chicago just like that, ‘ch’ rather than ‘sh’.
The Dublin airport is whiter and more meandering that I expected it would be, whiter in the sense that the floors and chairs and walls are a clean combination of silver and white. It makes for a quite pretty and clean looking space, in contrast with the perpetual gray and bleakness that often pervades American airports.
Well, to bed. Take Care and
Dia ‘smuire dhoaibh (that’s good-bye in Gaelic).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
