Whistlestop Wanderjahr: Budapest

Budapest pulls off a much better attempt at this whole tourism bit. It's still a bit much for my tastes, but I can interest myself in several days of this richly historical crossroads of culture. It feels calm and quiet compared to the early-June crush of Istanbul. I can even spot authentic (read: genuine) Magyars, here and there.

The language barrier is unusually large, as Hungarian falls into a language group entirely separate from our loving Indo-European family of languages. This language barrier caused me no little grief, especially as regards my seventh favorite pastime: striking up conversations with interesting-looking random people.

(As and aside, this pastime sometimes bites me in the ass, metaphorically speaking. See penultimate paragraph.)

Arriving in Budapest after our flight from Sighişoara, my parents and I had a short wait at the still smallish airport for the hotel shuttle. We had reservations at what guidebooks bluntly referred to as the centrally located but uncharming Hotel Charles. Compared to the warmth and readily helpful staff of our series of hotels in Romania, the lack of charm at Hotel Charles felt more like icy disregard for standards in the business of hospitality. Or it would have felt chilly, if the air conditioning had extended beyond the reception and the halls.

As it turns out, Hotel Charles also lacks centrality. While its distance from the center is not large, it certainly is on the margin of Budapest's touristy area. As such, the decision was easily made to spend as little time as possible at the hotel. Our first evening in town, my parents and I spent gaining as sense of the city center. In this effort, we explored the area of Pest near the heavily swollen waters of the Danube. Our arrival in Budapest happily coincided with some festival, which had turned the beautiful Chain Bridge into a pedestrian-only path of street performers and trinket vendors, bounded on each end with stages for live music. With a wide selection of beer, wine, and snacks, we enjoyed the music and energetic crowd.

In the following days, my parents cleverly taxed my endurance for guided tours and sightseeing excursions, to the limit. They did this via a "Hop On, Hop Off" package, which involved sitting in an uncovered bus under searing heat, watching fascinating sights pass by as a recorded voice casually outlined all of the places we would not be going inside as long as we stayed on the bus. At the end of the bus tour, we ate lunch and caught an altogether uninspired sightseeing boat which carried us up and down the river, with suspiciously similar prerecorded explanations of passing points of interest.

Among these points of interest, the Parliament building and the Matthias Church complex were the most captivating. It would be a vast understatement to say that Pest's riverside palace which houses Hungary's parliament is ornate. Covered in spires, gargoyles, intricate carvings, and vast arrays of arched windows, the building would be hard to resist, no matter what angle one comes from. If that weren't enough, though, the building was constructed after winning an architectural bidding contest around 1880. However, the government was so impressed by the second- and third-place runners-up that it had them built adjacent to the magnificent first-place winner. Tour guides say (with some pride noticeable in their voices) that it is the only place in the world to have simultaneously built three parliament buildings, side by side.

The Matthias Church complex is also a grand imposition, though this time sitting not on Pest's shore of the Danube. The church overlooks the city from Buda's primary hilltop. While the church was (of course) covered in scaffolding and largely obstructed, pictures suggest a stunning structure. However, the church does not stand alone. Surrounding the church is a series of unscathed, white stone walls and towers. The area was entirely overrun by busloads of tourists while I was there, but the beauty of the place still pushed through. The church was the coronation site for many important rulers of Hungarian history. Such coronation ceremonies would begin at the church and then wind down the hill to cross the chain bridge, directly below. Now, Buda's pricey but classic-looking funicular provides a more kingly (and quick) descent. We kindly passed on the funicular, opting instead to explore the ancient streets in the quarter adjacent to the church. This was a great option, as the old streets were quaint and slightly more quiet. The only significant marring of this old castle-church complex is the ugly, tinted glass Marriott hotel, which alternately casts a shadow or reflects a brownish tint on the historical church. I hope the shameless guests at this hotel saw nothing but the church scaffolding from their 1970s-style windows. Heh heh...

Budapest was a bust, as far as I am concerned. The sights mentioned above were great, and the lively violinist at our dinner was brightening. But the crowds and huge sprawl of the city, compounded by scam artists and bold prostitutes, made my memories of Budapest less than gleeful. Maybe if I had been staying in hostels, wandering the city under the setting sun and moonlight, propelled along by coffee and great beer, I would have had a more pleasant experience. Then again, maybe Budapest's enormous size (by my standards) made it less than ideal for me, by default. Indeed, my favorite stops on this trip have been the tiny towns and villages. In any case, despite their wearing effect on the soles of my feet, my company was still great, and the journey continued. On that note...

We eventually concluded our days in Budapest with a relaxed stroll near Buda's newer citadel. After happily checking out of the drab Hotel Charles, we hailed a cab to the train station. Our next stop would turn out to be one of the best on the trip: Krakow, Poland.

On Tutoring

I recently began accepting requests from people -- both individuals and groups -- to teach English classes outside of school. In my first few months as site, I had refused such requests on the grounds that I was simply not settled enough in the community and in my primary role as a volunteer. However, one of the results of my hitting bottom a few weeks ago was the realization that I do not particularly enjoy teaching English in the classroom. This, paired with my lack of diverse social interaction in my community, spurred me to change my self-limitations, thus opening the doors for tutoring.

I waded into the waters of tutoring with one-on-one home lessons with a student who desired knowledge of English, in addition to his in-school French studies. Sure, why not? Ambition should not be stifled, right? He proved to be an eager learner, which is (incidentally) my favorite kind of student. In these lessons, I discovered that such tutoring could proceed at a much faster pace than classroom lessons. More importantly, I could teach material that matters: relevant grammar, phrases and idioms, American and British variants of words, vocabulary that is more pertinent than "Wellington boots" (yah, that's a real vocab word from the Moldovan textbooks). And all of this at a variable pace that best suits the particular student.

The following week, I began classes with a small group of women at a local social services NGO. The first week with this group was quite fun for me, as I led three happy and energetic women through the alphabet and some basic salutations. The next week, I arrived to a group which had more than tripled in size, including two priests and a few people from a nearby government office. Word was getting out that a volunteer was offering free English classes to the community. Suddenly and unexpectedly, I was becoming fairly popular in town. What started as one-on-one tutoring with a student had quickly exploded into several separate classes of groups which varied both in number of attendees and average age. This week, I began a class with over 15 people at the primaria (the Mayor's office), to which the mayor is expected, post-elections, to attend.

All of my out-of-school classes started with the very basics of English, such as the alphabet, common pronunciation, and plenty of pointers, such as: English isn't a phonetic language, and To make the 'th' sound, put your tongue between your teeth... no, don't use your lips, and Remember, English is not phonetic. The 'a' makes a lot of different sounds. These are the sort of reminders that English teachers in this part of the world get to (or should, at least) use every single day of their careers. Luckily, the materials for these lessons are easily adaptable to all types of classes, whether younger or older, smaller or larger.

Let's be clear on one thing, though: I don't teach these classes simply out of my love for the English language. I teach English at the school enough to satisfy my responsibility as an English Education volunteer. However, teaching these courses provides me opportunities to meet and get to know people in my community -- such opportunities as were painfully lacking in the first seven months of my service. This extra social stimulation, the subsequent filling of my free time, and the coming of spring, have all contributed to bringing me out of the shell of my bedroom / the internet.

Now, if only I could just do this sort of thing all day, instead of banging my head against the wall (read: teaching English according to the national curriculum)...

On Cheating

People here often ask me what the most challenging part of my service is. It's a difficult question to answer, sometimes.

Teachers all over the world, in all subjects and all levels, have the unfortunate responsibility of dealing with cheating students. It may come in the form of subtle (or not so subtle) plagiarism or seemingly innocent glances (or staring) over the smarter kid's shoulder. Often, these cheaters are students who lack self-motivation to learn the material, who lack interest in the subject, or who simply think it's not going to matter. And it doesn't. Well, maybe not at first.

I wasn't the sort of student who even considered cheating in school. I would rather take an honest zero (and I did) than take a grade I hadn't earned. Sometimes it had to do with not wanting to lose the respect of a teacher whose opinion I valued, although such figures in my academic history are few and far between. Instead, my excuse for not cheating was simply that I was not in class for a grade; I was in class for the knowledge. For those who cheat, even with the improved academic record and any accompanying rewards, the fact remains that no knowledge is gained. That record is only a thin, brittle shell over an empty mind. Ultimately, that lack of knowledge will begin to show, and no amount of cheating, lying, or deception can hide it.

It seems to me that the concept which underlies cheating is the same which supports bribery, fraud, and other forms of corruption. I'm not an expert on corruption, but I know that any action that unjustly and selfishly propels one person above the rules or laws of a system is extremely destructive to that system. In a school system, cheating causes disruption in the classroom, undeserved progression from one grade to the next, and a sense that no student really needs to study in order to pass. What does it say about a student when their high marks conflict with an essay copied from the internet or a book? What does it say to the students who actually try when the student who only lies is still allowed to pass? Doesn't it say that lying is acceptable? Doesn't it say that cheating is an OK way to live?

I find it not only frustrating but utterly disappointing to see my students so completely reckless with their education. It's my responsibility to teach my language to students in a country on the opposite side of the world from my home. What is the most difficult part of my service? Convincing myself that the students who try outnumber the students who lie, and that I wouldn't be more productive helping Sisyphus with his boulder.

All the medicine and technology in the world can't heal a person who doesn't want to get better. All the books and teachers in the world can't teach a student who won't lift a finger for his own education.

Pain in my... back

The first ten weeks of my time in Moldova is being consumed by the much-appreciated and highly productive process of language acquisition and cultural integration. This is a difficult process that involves much more than simple language classes. I am often overwhelmed by the sheer mass of information being thrown at me, and by the (albeit justifiably) long hours. It is entirely common for me to return home with only enough energy to swallow some dinner before collapsing in an unmoving heap on my bed.

My host family seems to be very understanding with respect to my exhaustion. I often say to my friends (and once or twice to neighbors and my host family members, themselves) that I would stay with this host family for my entire two-year assignment, were it possible. Despite some cultural misunderstandings in the beginning, I absolutely love their approach to life. They are happy and relatively calm, which is a perfect match for me. Of course, I feel confident that my next host family will be wonderful, as well, but all change brings with it risks. It is easy to stay positive, though, when the Moldovans I interact with on a regular basis seem so pleasant and amicable.

These positivities have been essential on offsetting certain inconveniences of the past week. Not least of these has been the reinflamation of an old back injury that I had thought (read: hoped) had healed and disappeared. A couple years ago, I was involved in a (body) surfing accident in Hawaii, which injured my lower back in some apparently undiagnosable way. Despite many visits to doctors, the injury remained unidentified. Luckily, it doesn't really incapacitate me -- only slowing me down for about a week. It is almost back to normal, and I am trying to decide whether it is, in fact, the same old injury, or if it is some new ailment.

My communication with friends and family in the State* has been mixed. Some friends and family have been in regular, prompt contact, and the efforts of these individuals has not gone unappreciated (which is to say that I love them SO MUCH for saying "hello" now and then). Their messages, however long or short, are my primary emotional and psychological supports during these difficult initial months in Moldova.

It's always nice to know you are loved, even when that means you are missed. I make serious efforts to let my friends and family know that they are loved and missed, as often as possible.

And so the experience continues...

Adjustments

It is my firm belief that airplanes move much faster than humans were ever meant to travel. I once heard a story about an explorer in Africa who was delayed because his local guides and porters refused to go any farther, as they had traveled so far in so little time that their souls had fallen behind and needed time to catch up. In this story, these humans only walked; I have taken a plane at over 500 miles per hour. Jet-lag is the body waiting for the soul to catch up.

I have been in Moldova for about a week, now, and perhaps my soul will catch up, soon. My internet connectivity is excellent, and I am limited in its use only by my lack of a desire to use it. The family with which I stay is absolutely wonderful, and I feel lucky to have been matched with such great people. Moldova is a country of great beauty and jovial people. Each day I am here is another excellent day, even if my stomach and aching head have yet to completely adjust.

The Moldovan language has been a pleasure to learn, thus far. Although my lingual skills are yet only rudimentary, the process of exploring and grasping this new language is among my favorite experiences in Moldova. My tongue would complain of certain acrobatic challenges, but my mind is utterly enthralled. Perhaps when next I speak with my friends and family, I will be unable to revert from the accent I now gladly possess. One can only hope...

I will soon post pictures of my arrival and my initial forays, so keep an eye out for updates. Ask questions, or send me an email. I would love to hear from everybody.