Look around this post-Communist land, and you will see it immediately; from the subtext of the tram signs, to the global atmosphere of Wenceslas Square, to the line at the Tesco. There truly is a divide between young and old here. Some of the oldest people in the Czech Republic have lived through five separate types of government, and you can see it in their faces. They're jaded by this new generation, by the new ways. Sure, some of the technology has changed, but they are sticking to the things that haven't-- the extensive public transportation of the Communist era, the staple foods of potatoes and dinner rolls, and most of all, the Czech language. They are done with progress, done with rebellion, done with changing the system. Right now, they just want your seat on the tram, because they've had a long ride.
The youth of Prague is entirely different. Internationally cultured, and removed from the rebellious history, they aren't that interested in taking up the cause in the Czech Republic either. Instead, you'll usually find them lip-locked on the longest escalator in Prague (the metro stop at Namesti Miru) or stacked on top of one another on a seat on the night tram. In each case, they interlock themselves to each other, yet to the stationary observer (see: Physics for Scientists and Engineers, Part I. page 213), they move at the slow steady pace of convenience. They don't respond to the tut-tuts of the elderly, and they certainly don't mind the giggles of their schoolmates. Czech history says that they are lucky to be free, but the rest of the world says that freedom is deserved simply because of existence. And it is so much easier to take advantage of that freedom rather than revere it.
If two older people (let's say over 50 in this case) are holding hands, embracing, or even laughing together on the street, they are almost always tourists. Similarly, a Czech man will always stand stoically next to his seated wife on a tram or metro, never dropping down beside her and commiserating about his day like foreigners. They chose not to use their expressive freedom, never wanting to make a scene or be overheard.
The age group between these two generations is a little harder to define. Although most Czech couples don't hold hands on the streets, they do quietly talk to one another. It is much less likely to see a couple on a romantic date in a restaurant than a group of friends in which there are semi-obvious alliances. Other than in younger populations, couples do not seem to spend all that much public time together. Grocery shopping is done alone, for instance, usually after work, and in small doses. And while almost every young-ish Czech person that I have met claims to have a girlfriend or boyfriend, they almost never materialize. The contact-heavy, attention-greedy part of American culture seems to have arrived a bit too late for the middle-agers.
Before I bid you all adieu, two short anecdotes; my favorites on this topic.
One of the first weeks that we were here, Alli, Kiera, and I went to the Greek food store on Francouska- which I highly recommend, by the way. As we waited on line, our eyes getting as big as the colon-shaped spanikopita, we listened and watched as a cute suit ordered from the bubbly blonde waitress behind the counter. His cadence was smooth and confident, as he ordered small amounts of almost every item in the display case. Still deaf to this language, the trifecta watched as she fetched each item, carefully wrapping and stacking them by the register. After each parcel she would ask "To je všechno?", yet we knew that she didn't want these kalamata olives to be the last thing he would have that evening. She would giggle as he placed yet another order.
When he had finally finished, she packed it all into an enormous plastic bag, and he turned to leave. And as her shoulders fell with disappointment, he turned around. "Jedna caffe latte, prosim." She placed his order and served the next few customers as if she'd had a bit too much Uozo, but I think we all felt the warmth of that coffee, and the extra shot of the possibility that came with it.
And of course, there is the other side of love (made all too apparent in my current goings on). So when I witnessed this little exchange on the street, I realized that decrystallization can happen anywhere, to anyone (see: Stendhal's theory of love), even if you're French and you're in Prague.
One evening, between Wenceslas Square and Male Namesti, we hobbled down the street to meet up with some friends. As we passed through a particularly narrow part of the medieval city, we noticed a girl quickly running towards us, looking quite upset. As we rubbernecked and analyzed, we realized that there was a very concerned looking man following behind her. She sobbed, and he spoke to her in hurried French, apologizing and pleading. And at the moment when she looked as though she was about to cave and reach for him, she turned just her head, and said only "Pourquoi est-ce que t'as m'en envoyé?" Not overly-dramatic, not even overly-French. Just a simple question: Why did you bring me here?
Wouldn't that be a nice answer to get sometimes.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The Class Round-up
For those of you interested in my academic life here in Prague (hey mom!), he's the round up of the NYU in Prague offerings.
First, Czech language class. While not required, this class is the most popular at NYU, and most people take it as a matter of convenience. The woman who teaches it is like a drill sergeant for Czech; she comes in with a game plan, making us repeat difficult words rapid-fire style. The most ridiculous of these rounds came with the word díky, the informal version of thank you (dekuju). Literally the pronunciation is "D.K." Ah well, we've all mastered it now. Honestly though, the class will probably be useful, especially in deciphering the prices so often shouted from across the counter. Lately, they've just been pointing at the cash register so as to avoid my deer in the headlights stare.
My next class, Western European Comparative Politics, began in possibly the worst way imaginable. As a representation of the sheer terror this class initially incited in me, I present to you an exercise: Close your eyes. Imagine yourself sitting in front of a blank map of Europe. Now imagine that this map has dots representing the second largest cities in each country (read: not the capitals). Enjoy the terrifying feeling that everything you've ever learned about Europe could not have prepared you for this, and that you crammed for every map test you ever took, now rendering that information inaccessible in the caverns of your mind. Now open your eyes. Understand? Good.
Actually, the class itself is not horrible. Our professor will not be present for the first two weeks of the course, so we're being taught by distinguished faculty from the Comparative Politics Department at Charles University. We started by discussing what Europe is; where the borders are, where North/South and East/West divides are, etc. We were also informed as to where to get the best international information (BBC, FT.com). The guy had never heard of NPR. Pshhhhh...
Now comes the fun stuff. On Wednesday and Thursday Mornings at 9AM, I have rebel class with Jan Urban, dissident extraordinaire. The actual name of the course is "Modern Dissent in Central Europe and the Art of Defeat". While I'm legally not allowed to talk about what Jan is teaching us, I will say that it involves the Communist Manifesto, Mein Kampf, and The Stanford Prison Experiment. I exaggerate the purpose of the course, but I have a feeling it will definitely open my eyes to some other viewpoints in the world, and maybe stir up some of my long-quieted rebellious nature. Plus, Jan is an amazing speaker with equally amazing stories to tell about his days undermining just about everything. He also keeps mentioning something about Iraq...
My final course this semester is "American and European Relations in the 21st Century." While the awesomeness is not so easily apparent in the title of this course, the professor, Josef Jařab, is the end all and be all of cool. As a university president during the Velvet Revolution in 1989, his school underwent a complete strike after the initial protests, working round the clock as a collectorate to befall communism in Czechoslovakia. Today, he showed us a video that his students made from that time, with some of the first footage of a democratic Prague. Personal friends with Allan Ginsberg and (former Czech President) Václav Havel, he was also a Senator in the Czech Parliament for 8 years. And during the video, as they played "Another Brick in the Wall", he danced along. His lectures are completely fluid conversations, with personal anecdotes integrated perfectly with major world events, all the while addressing our own interests in the subject. I am completely blown away.
In other news, I also was offered an internship with Project Syndicate (www.project-syndicate.org). This non-profit service produces op-ed pieces for markets that have struggling medias. The pieces are provided free of charge, so long as information about their distribution and reception is sent back. This information will then be used in the future to develop these markets for commercial distribution. The way I understand it, I will probably have to speak French. It really should be funny.
First, Czech language class. While not required, this class is the most popular at NYU, and most people take it as a matter of convenience. The woman who teaches it is like a drill sergeant for Czech; she comes in with a game plan, making us repeat difficult words rapid-fire style. The most ridiculous of these rounds came with the word díky, the informal version of thank you (dekuju). Literally the pronunciation is "D.K." Ah well, we've all mastered it now. Honestly though, the class will probably be useful, especially in deciphering the prices so often shouted from across the counter. Lately, they've just been pointing at the cash register so as to avoid my deer in the headlights stare.
My next class, Western European Comparative Politics, began in possibly the worst way imaginable. As a representation of the sheer terror this class initially incited in me, I present to you an exercise: Close your eyes. Imagine yourself sitting in front of a blank map of Europe. Now imagine that this map has dots representing the second largest cities in each country (read: not the capitals). Enjoy the terrifying feeling that everything you've ever learned about Europe could not have prepared you for this, and that you crammed for every map test you ever took, now rendering that information inaccessible in the caverns of your mind. Now open your eyes. Understand? Good.
Actually, the class itself is not horrible. Our professor will not be present for the first two weeks of the course, so we're being taught by distinguished faculty from the Comparative Politics Department at Charles University. We started by discussing what Europe is; where the borders are, where North/South and East/West divides are, etc. We were also informed as to where to get the best international information (BBC, FT.com). The guy had never heard of NPR. Pshhhhh...
Now comes the fun stuff. On Wednesday and Thursday Mornings at 9AM, I have rebel class with Jan Urban, dissident extraordinaire. The actual name of the course is "Modern Dissent in Central Europe and the Art of Defeat". While I'm legally not allowed to talk about what Jan is teaching us, I will say that it involves the Communist Manifesto, Mein Kampf, and The Stanford Prison Experiment. I exaggerate the purpose of the course, but I have a feeling it will definitely open my eyes to some other viewpoints in the world, and maybe stir up some of my long-quieted rebellious nature. Plus, Jan is an amazing speaker with equally amazing stories to tell about his days undermining just about everything. He also keeps mentioning something about Iraq...
My final course this semester is "American and European Relations in the 21st Century." While the awesomeness is not so easily apparent in the title of this course, the professor, Josef Jařab, is the end all and be all of cool. As a university president during the Velvet Revolution in 1989, his school underwent a complete strike after the initial protests, working round the clock as a collectorate to befall communism in Czechoslovakia. Today, he showed us a video that his students made from that time, with some of the first footage of a democratic Prague. Personal friends with Allan Ginsberg and (former Czech President) Václav Havel, he was also a Senator in the Czech Parliament for 8 years. And during the video, as they played "Another Brick in the Wall", he danced along. His lectures are completely fluid conversations, with personal anecdotes integrated perfectly with major world events, all the while addressing our own interests in the subject. I am completely blown away.
In other news, I also was offered an internship with Project Syndicate (www.project-syndicate.org). This non-profit service produces op-ed pieces for markets that have struggling medias. The pieces are provided free of charge, so long as information about their distribution and reception is sent back. This information will then be used in the future to develop these markets for commercial distribution. The way I understand it, I will probably have to speak French. It really should be funny.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The Meat Dungeon (and other cute Prague anecdotes)
Yesterday afternoon, we were treated to an NYU-sponsored bus-ride to a small village one harrowing hour away from Prague Centrum. Harrowing, because the road we spent most of our time on seemed to double as a goat path. After arriving in Detenice, we received an interesting tour of a medieval palace designed in the light-baroque, 1980's disco style. We donned very large slippers (to preserve the original flooring), and tripped up the staircase what only could be described as the Antler Hall. We were not to be alarmed by the sheer number of dead animals in our vicinity; these animals were killed "because they had a good life in the forest," an association I'm still not sure if I understand. Our guide, who apparently learned English by watching Billy Elliot on repeat, told us in her lilting Czech accent about the new owners, who so kindly purchased this house and opened it to tourists. Strangely seductive paintings of the couple hung in the portrait gallery. We walked through several rooms, each done in a different style, and tied together by strangely modern accessory choices. A set of beaded pillows, certainly from Tesco (Czech K-mart), the sheer curlicue curtains in electric blue...something didn't seem quite right. There were gorgeous original pieces, however, like the large ceramic stoves in the corner of each room, and the ivory and tortoiseshell jewelry box in the "silver" room. It makes you wonder why they really needed to accessorize in the first place. I mean, are we really supposed to believe that that's what it used to look like?
Despite the relative comfort of the palace, we were herded into a large red barn. Although the outside was quite cheery, the inside was dark, stone, and filled with bewildered looking Czechs being screamed at by bar wenches. Winding through the innards of this strange place, we arrived in the attic, which we found to be already occupied by the wax personages of yesteryear. Representing the many tasks of the medieval era (human butchery and prostitution being the most popular), the strangely melted figurines were meant to tell the story of the brewery's famous "beer of love".
You see, Arthur and his marauding pals came into Detenice and killed everyone, sparing only the lovely young maidens. Each night, they would force the fairest one to brew them the beer, cutting out her tongue so she couldn't share the secret recipe. The girls got uglier and older, until the day Arthur and his men were defeated by another invader. Then, somehow, the tongue-less maidens indicated what was in the beer (gesturing or some primitive sign language, perhaps?) and it's been brewed ever since. Except during Communism. And the 19th Century.
A quick stop to a surprisingly modern Chemistry Lab intended to show the process of quality inspection (some peace of mind for the tourists who would eventually drink the stuff), and we headed to the actual brewery. We were greeted by some large copper urns and the smell of fermented mold. Apparently beer is made by putting something in barrels and leaving it underground with a strange fresco above it. The fresco is essential.
Unlike Disneyworld, the tours in Prague lead not to a gift shop filled with overpriced Chinese exports, but to a torture chamber/dungeon where they also serve large platters of meat. Graced by a recently hung corpse and the skulls of his compatriots, we awaited the beer of love with anticipation and a twinge of nausea. We also enjoyed some manhandled salad and rye bread.
Abandoned by my vegetarian friends to the creperie down the street, I surveyed the locale. Besides the stakes adorned with dead things and the large cage hanging from the ceiling, the table situation read like a scene from "Mean Girls". Divided into cliques with gestation times of 9 days, the social boundaries were already drawn. And not into the bohemian, music political types who would be glued to the election results and would be going through Daily Show withdrawal. Not even the NYU political types who would know too much about the candidates and nothing about the issues. Instead, it seems that Prague is not as daunting as it once was for travelers; even the Europe-wary have found it easy to find the essentials (food, shelter, beer). While this has made studying abroad here simpler, it has a similar effect on the students in the program. Accessibility has dumbed down the visitors to Prague, leaving worldly types to feel ostracized from their former haven of Bohemia. I almost wish that no one spoke English here, or that the public transportation were a little more cryptic. The "lonely planet" has certainly shrunk in the past few years; travel does not require worldly intelligence or even common sense anymore.
Alas, back to the meat dungeon. After about an hour, the meal finally arrived. My table had be reduced from a healthy eleven people to a meager five over the course of the evening. Politely sipping our mediocre beers, we struggled to identify the fare set before us. We all instinctively reached for the corn on the cob, its yellow pearls of familiarity casting a jaundiced glow about the room. Next, the braver girls (read: hungrier) tried the ribs, source still unidentified. The moment of glory arrived when under a stack of shish kebabs, we found the only meat that we could all agree on-- ye olde chicken. Gorging ourselves, we ignored the other white meat (and all red meats), scavenging whatever pieces we could find. This process took about 15 minutes of the two hours left until the buses would arrive. After berry cake was served (no leavening and quite good), we sat around, adopting local custom by ordering more beer and just waiting around for something to happen.
And did it ever happen. Within an hour, a veritable rock band of ancient bagpipe and drum playing men arrived, accompanied by belly dancers and witches (groupies). Certainly decked out for the occasion in motorcycle leathers and waist-long hair, the merriment continued for about forty-five minutes. This performance was followed by a sword/torch fight, and possibly the crudest physical humor imaginable. Let's just say that lighting each other's nether regions on fire must have been a common practice in the middle ages. Alli also claims that one of them asked her to soothe the "fire in his loins", but he was speaking Czech, after all. A faux witch burning to keep us in line (and make fun of the Inquisition...ha ha ha), and we were off. The ride home was fraught with danger, but I think that most of the group was sleeping off their "beer of love" rather than watching for the headlights of oncoming traffic with their fingers crossed.
Na shledanou, and until next time,
Allie
Despite the relative comfort of the palace, we were herded into a large red barn. Although the outside was quite cheery, the inside was dark, stone, and filled with bewildered looking Czechs being screamed at by bar wenches. Winding through the innards of this strange place, we arrived in the attic, which we found to be already occupied by the wax personages of yesteryear. Representing the many tasks of the medieval era (human butchery and prostitution being the most popular), the strangely melted figurines were meant to tell the story of the brewery's famous "beer of love".
You see, Arthur and his marauding pals came into Detenice and killed everyone, sparing only the lovely young maidens. Each night, they would force the fairest one to brew them the beer, cutting out her tongue so she couldn't share the secret recipe. The girls got uglier and older, until the day Arthur and his men were defeated by another invader. Then, somehow, the tongue-less maidens indicated what was in the beer (gesturing or some primitive sign language, perhaps?) and it's been brewed ever since. Except during Communism. And the 19th Century.
A quick stop to a surprisingly modern Chemistry Lab intended to show the process of quality inspection (some peace of mind for the tourists who would eventually drink the stuff), and we headed to the actual brewery. We were greeted by some large copper urns and the smell of fermented mold. Apparently beer is made by putting something in barrels and leaving it underground with a strange fresco above it. The fresco is essential.
Unlike Disneyworld, the tours in Prague lead not to a gift shop filled with overpriced Chinese exports, but to a torture chamber/dungeon where they also serve large platters of meat. Graced by a recently hung corpse and the skulls of his compatriots, we awaited the beer of love with anticipation and a twinge of nausea. We also enjoyed some manhandled salad and rye bread.
Abandoned by my vegetarian friends to the creperie down the street, I surveyed the locale. Besides the stakes adorned with dead things and the large cage hanging from the ceiling, the table situation read like a scene from "Mean Girls". Divided into cliques with gestation times of 9 days, the social boundaries were already drawn. And not into the bohemian, music political types who would be glued to the election results and would be going through Daily Show withdrawal. Not even the NYU political types who would know too much about the candidates and nothing about the issues. Instead, it seems that Prague is not as daunting as it once was for travelers; even the Europe-wary have found it easy to find the essentials (food, shelter, beer). While this has made studying abroad here simpler, it has a similar effect on the students in the program. Accessibility has dumbed down the visitors to Prague, leaving worldly types to feel ostracized from their former haven of Bohemia. I almost wish that no one spoke English here, or that the public transportation were a little more cryptic. The "lonely planet" has certainly shrunk in the past few years; travel does not require worldly intelligence or even common sense anymore.
Alas, back to the meat dungeon. After about an hour, the meal finally arrived. My table had be reduced from a healthy eleven people to a meager five over the course of the evening. Politely sipping our mediocre beers, we struggled to identify the fare set before us. We all instinctively reached for the corn on the cob, its yellow pearls of familiarity casting a jaundiced glow about the room. Next, the braver girls (read: hungrier) tried the ribs, source still unidentified. The moment of glory arrived when under a stack of shish kebabs, we found the only meat that we could all agree on-- ye olde chicken. Gorging ourselves, we ignored the other white meat (and all red meats), scavenging whatever pieces we could find. This process took about 15 minutes of the two hours left until the buses would arrive. After berry cake was served (no leavening and quite good), we sat around, adopting local custom by ordering more beer and just waiting around for something to happen.
And did it ever happen. Within an hour, a veritable rock band of ancient bagpipe and drum playing men arrived, accompanied by belly dancers and witches (groupies). Certainly decked out for the occasion in motorcycle leathers and waist-long hair, the merriment continued for about forty-five minutes. This performance was followed by a sword/torch fight, and possibly the crudest physical humor imaginable. Let's just say that lighting each other's nether regions on fire must have been a common practice in the middle ages. Alli also claims that one of them asked her to soothe the "fire in his loins", but he was speaking Czech, after all. A faux witch burning to keep us in line (and make fun of the Inquisition...ha ha ha), and we were off. The ride home was fraught with danger, but I think that most of the group was sleeping off their "beer of love" rather than watching for the headlights of oncoming traffic with their fingers crossed.
Na shledanou, and until next time,
Allie
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
praha first impressions
Ahoj!
The rumors are true, and I have arrived in Prague safely and soundly. Days one and two were a little stressful, what with the jet lag, lots of new faces, and a language that makes almost sense whatsoever. While English seems to have permeated the speaking culture, the street names and most directional information is still all in hardcore Czech. The NYU Center is a beautiful old palace and is next to the first Czech department store. Pictures to come later.
The most interesting part of my experience so far has been the beer. Just kidding, mom. Czech classes are strangely entrancing, and while I follow the crowd and complain, I really like the sounds that are used. I can now pronounce most everything, even if I don't know what it means. The Czechs are nice people, and I don't really feel ripped off for being American, or looked down upon for speaking English. Besides, if you try and fail, they are truly impressed with your effort. Czech is not a language you can pick up during a weekend trip, and an attempt on a foreigner's part to understand is respected.
The students here are a mix of typical NYU-ers (hipsters, a little crazy, and for the most part, unconcerned with spending) and some people from other schools (Tufts, Bucknell, Colgate par example). While I was initially nervous about finding my niche, I've been soothed by the last few days.
In strange, small world news, I met up with Tori Eidsmo (freshman year roommate), who just happened to be in Prague for a few days. We hit up the local supermarket and Wenceslas Sq. for a little shopping. We're hopefully going to explore some local drinks later tonight...
My Czech cell is working (finally!), so if you have some cash to burn, you can call Čtyři-Dva-Nula-Sedum-Sedum-Tři-Dva-Dva-Nula-Šest-Čtyři-Dva. You're welcome to it if you can figure it out. Also, Skype works as well.
Peace out and na shledanou, girl scouts.
Allie
The rumors are true, and I have arrived in Prague safely and soundly. Days one and two were a little stressful, what with the jet lag, lots of new faces, and a language that makes almost sense whatsoever. While English seems to have permeated the speaking culture, the street names and most directional information is still all in hardcore Czech. The NYU Center is a beautiful old palace and is next to the first Czech department store. Pictures to come later.
The most interesting part of my experience so far has been the beer. Just kidding, mom. Czech classes are strangely entrancing, and while I follow the crowd and complain, I really like the sounds that are used. I can now pronounce most everything, even if I don't know what it means. The Czechs are nice people, and I don't really feel ripped off for being American, or looked down upon for speaking English. Besides, if you try and fail, they are truly impressed with your effort. Czech is not a language you can pick up during a weekend trip, and an attempt on a foreigner's part to understand is respected.
The students here are a mix of typical NYU-ers (hipsters, a little crazy, and for the most part, unconcerned with spending) and some people from other schools (Tufts, Bucknell, Colgate par example). While I was initially nervous about finding my niche, I've been soothed by the last few days.
In strange, small world news, I met up with Tori Eidsmo (freshman year roommate), who just happened to be in Prague for a few days. We hit up the local supermarket and Wenceslas Sq. for a little shopping. We're hopefully going to explore some local drinks later tonight...
My Czech cell is working (finally!), so if you have some cash to burn, you can call Čtyři-Dva-Nula-Sedum-Sedum-Tři-Dva-Dva-Nula-Šest-Čtyři-Dva. You're welcome to it if you can figure it out. Also, Skype works as well.
Peace out and na shledanou, girl scouts.
Allie
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
preparing for liftoff
hey all! i'm starting this blog to disseminate information about my travels and experiences in Prague this semester. i leave on january 11th, so the adventure suddenly seems a lot closer than it used to. right now I'm making the last preparations to leave; packing, cleaning, saying goodbye, and some last minute bits. while i'm a little apprehensive about being in such a different place with all new people and jazz like that, i know i'm going to love it once i get there. i just have to get there first.
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