Back in time for Christmas

I arrived back in Prague on Sunday the 23rd at around 8 am, after two flights that took me through the night from Baku, by way of Vienna. On the way there, I had a 7 hour layover in Vienna and got to wander around for a whole afternoon, but this time I just had time to walk to the gate and stretch my legs a bit before jumping on the little plane to the Czech Republic.

Baku was a really good experience, and really strange, due in part to the culture being completely new to me, as well as being basically by myself for most of my time there. I didn't mind though, I stayed busy and found that solitude is something I've gotten to be quite friendly with as of late.

But the city itself was, like most cities, many things at once, depending on the day, one's mood, one's company and level of intoxication. In the mornings it could be rather abrasive, while I waited for my ride to the airport by the curb watching the sun reluctantly make an appearance, orange and blurry through all the exhaust and smog spewed from the old cars that roared down the streets incessantly. Old Soviet Lada's, brand new BMW's and Mercedes, SUVs, mopeds, huge buses that seemed to have rumbled in off the set of Mad Max, cars with live chickens tied down on the trunk - I could fill a whole chapter of a book with just what I witnessed on the roads. But many times I wasn't bearing witness, but purposely looking at lesson plans, trying not to acknowledge the fact that our driver was pulling our old Turkish tank-car into oncoming traffic, causing people to lock their breaks up and sound forth a symphony of horns, the unofficial national anthem of Baku.

The teaching aspect of my time there was a bit of a trial, though not life-threatening I decided at lunchtime of the first day. That morning had found me completely unprepared, thanks to my boss' hospitality the night before, and staring at 12 mustachioed Azeri men and one woman (no mustache) who are not known for their disarming smiles. At least not at first. Over lunch they opened up much more, smiling and laughing often to reveal a table-wide constellation of gold teeth. Perhaps the reason they do not smile for photos, though I think it has to do with the tradition of posing sternly for photos in that part of the world. I never felt like asking them 'Why don't you smile for photos? Is it because all your gold teeth or are you trying to look tough?'
We all ate lunch together everyday, which was a big deal. So big that the students would pass around the cafeteria menu during class and interrupt a lesson to turn and ask each other what they wanted to have. I would be in mid-sentence when one of the students would whisper my name. Thinking he had a question about English I'd stop and see what he wanted. 'Do you want the Turkish chicken or some lamb rolled up in dough and boiled?' It was hard for me to discourage this behavior, even if I felt momentarily irked by being interrupted, I would immediately realize how much more I cared about the menu than phrasal verbs. And so I would whisper back 'What's the lamb like? Does it come with a sauce? No, sauce. Um, like gravy, do you know what gravy is? Look it up in your dictionary. (Pause) Oh, a yogurt sauce? Yeah, that sounds good. And the mushroom soup, please.'
The soups were amazing. Borscht, lentil, local mushroom, bean and noodle. That was after bread and salad. After soup came the main course, usually served with a rice-type grain, french fries or mashed potatoes, egg yolk-yellow from the amount of butter mixed in. But the best food in the country, in my opinion, was the yogurt. It was like a mix between ricotta and whipped cream, so rich and fresh, and sightly different everywhere I got it. The little market right down the street had a good brand that often had a thick skin on top. At first disgusted by this, I soon realized it was the best part, nearer to cheese than yogurt, and very tasty.

I saw some really interesting buildings, old and new, went to an opera at the National Opera House, learned about the conflict with Armenia, drank more vodka than I ever wanted or thought possible, was eyeballed by people wherever I went, heard interesting tales about the Soviet era, experienced incredible hospitality and left feeling like I'd barely started to scratch the surface of the culture.

I may write more about it, but for now here are a bunch of pictures.

Merry Christmas to everyone and thank you for keeping in touch. Check back soon for more updates.

Photos from my 2 weeks in Baku.

What country did I just agree to go to?

Azerbaijan, apparently. Baku (the capitol) for two weeks to teach aviation English to Air Traffic Controllers. I remember when I first started to work for this school they said there was a chance I could go there, to which I promptly said yes I'd love to. THEN I checked the map and kept not finding this 'country'. And then I found it. And then I thought, 'I wonder if I really do want to go there?' Turns out I do, and I will in two weeks.
As for it's location, I plan on just acting real casual and never looking South, like avoiding an ex at a party. Also I'm now Canadian, and a devout Muslim.
Almost all of my co-workers have done two week stints there, some have done a month and all are very white and have had no problems. I get an apartment on the Caspian Sea, a hefty pay check and the opportunity to walk around and have people look at me like I'm wearing a Cookie Monster suit.

In other news, Thanksgiving was a good ole time, thanks to some great friends I've made since landing. I liken myself unto a pilgrim, arriving in a foreign country and being taken care of by the locals. On Thursday night there was a raucous gathering at my old apartment with lots of fantastic dishes, including real mince pies, homemade stuffing and all the rest. As the night went on people started picking up instruments and soon were in full swing - banjo, mandolin, bass, lap steel, fiddles, etc. We sang 'Pocahontas' by Neil Young and if at that point I wasn't convinced I was among kindred spirits, someone started up a Fred Eaglesmith song.

The 2nd Thanksgiving was on Saturday with my friends from the ITC training program and was also a lot of fun. I made two chickens in lieu of a turkey and there were lots of good dishes to feed and overfeed all 10 or so of us. Then we headed out into town and hit the clubs, just like our family does on Thanksgiving back home...

Much more seems to have taken place over the last few weeks, but for some reason I've captured exactly none of it with my camera.

It snows here occasionally, like today, then tapers to rain and leaves everything slippery at night.

Also I'm happily staying at a friend's studio for the next two weeks before heading East for two weeks, then I'll come back and move into an apartment quite near my old one, just on the other side of the fallen angel statue that I posted pictures of a while back. I'll live with a girl from Australia and a girl from Italy, both in their 30's and very nice. The place has a very calm and stable feel to it and I'm really looking forward to setting up my easel in front of the big window in my room.

But tonight I'll enjoy this space, with it's supply of books and solitude.

One of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books.

'The best thing for being sad' replied Merlyn, beginning to puff and blow,' is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then - to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look at what a lot of things there are to learn - pure science, the only purity there is. You can learn astronomy in a lifetime, natural history in three, literature in six. And then, after you have exhausted a milliard lifetimes in biology and medicine and theocriticism and geography and history and economics - why, you can start to make a cartwheel out of the appropriate wood, or spend fifty years learning to begin to learn to beat you adversary at fencing. After that you can start on mathematics, until it is time to learn to plough.'
from The Once and Future King
by T.H.White

reflection

This morning on my way to my first lesson I again experienced a reoccurring sensation that I've often heard other people describe, but haven't felt so strongly until recently. 'Like you're watching a movie about yourself' is how it's often described, and that's pretty much how it feels to me. Not a scary movie, not a comedy, just like someone set up the whole shot and I was an actor, or maybe just an extra in someone else's story.
I woke up at 6:00, two minutes before my alarm went off as usual. This is a fun little game my brain plays with my heart every morning. 5:58 looks exactly like midnight, 2 am, 3:28 am, etc. So i wake up and think 'awesome, it's the middle of the night, I'm going to sleep for 17 more hours'. Then the alarm goes off. I always grab it and jab the button to tell me the time (it's my cell), sure that the phone has malfunctioned or just changed itself while I was asleep. (Like Dane Cook's alarm clock that grows legs and plays 'little clock games' with him.) Then, after several rounds with the snooze button, I get up and fumble around with clothes and papers and my laptop and somehow end up on the little elevator that descends into the day, which has only just arrived.
Here's where the 'movie' sensation starts. I have my bag on my shoulder, a black leather attache case that Katharine was getting rid of, my earplugs in, usually something soothing, like Mark Kozelek or Gillian, and moments after walking out my front door, enter the metro station nearest my house, Karlova Namesti. Once down the mile-long escalator I'm integrated into a crowd of people, dare I say a throng, that moves like cattle - long-faces, purposeful jockeying for position, bumping into one another and finally squeezing into a metro car, with me somewhere in the middle. Like any crowded train car, people glance around at each other, then choose a place to lock their gaze on like they're preparing for some sudden pain. (Is that how people feel about their day? Is that how I feel?) I do the same, but often, like other people I'm sure, find myself staring back at my own reflection in the glass. I have my red Team Zissou hat on, white earplugs in, my new glasses that still look like a disguise, and a long gray overcoat that goes down to my knees. Under all that is some guy who used to make furniture in a dusty shop, a guy whose morning routine was taking clamps off table tops and loading up the wood-stove. In another life he would walk a mile along broken concrete to the top of a hill where vultures glided around the roof of the school. In another he put a book on tape on and drove 40 minutes through the Blue Ridge Mountains to a small town where literacy was a losing battle. I stare at him in the black glass of the train window and try to remember when things changed, how it could be that I was there and am now here, like the maps in the back of the bible I had growing up, a red line to mark Paul's 3rd jaunt around the middle east, or the map that shows Indiana Jones' plane move from Germany to India.
But how? How did it happen? Wasn't I just learning how to knead dough? Weren't we just making shrimp and grits in the kitchen on Chestnut St, with the music on real loud and people steadily arriving with beer and bread and wine?
I walk into my room at the end of the days and am surprised by it almost every time. The clothes in the closet look like a grown-ups clothes - shirts, ties, two jackets. I put my black briefcase down for what feels like the first time all day and massage some feeling back into my shoulder. I take off my disguise and rub my eye sockets, then put them back on when I realize I'm used to them now and can get a headache without them. I make tea and sit in the comfy chair in my room and look out the window at the dark clouds over bright wet rooftops. Soon it's dark enough to see myself staring back again, and this time, I recognize the face.
I don't sit long. I know the morning's waiting in the elevator for me. I get up, put some music on, something upbeat like Modern Times or Old Crow, get out some charcoal and start putting my new easel to use.
Lately I've taken to doing self-portraits with a big mirror I have in my room. When I look at them the next morning, they look strange. Do I really look like that? I always think my face is still chubby, like when I was in 6th grade and am surprised to see hard lines, sharp angles. Then I remember that I'm almost 30 and spend most of my days walking quickly through a strange city. I remember that I came here because I wanted to see a new place and have new experiences, because I vowed not to spend another winter in the woodshop.
Thin light is coming in my window, I'm somehow awake and dressed and my briefcase is packed and ready to go. I put on my coat, pull on my hat, insert the earplugs and head out to the elevator, which takes me down 5 flights and deposits me into my new life with a soft thud.

The Grounds of the Senate

Mostly pictures from the grounds of the senate, a sprawling maze of hedges and fountains, statues and yes, owls.

The City of the Dead

More Pictures from the Graveyard

There were lots of people there because instead of Halloween they have the Day of Souls, a day to remember the dead. People were clearing leaves and brush off graves, leaving fresh flowers and little candles. It was a beautiful place and so huge. It really was like a city.

Week 2

Not a lot to report from week two of teaching except that everything is a lot less stressful as I go into rooms of familiar faces, rather than complete strangers. Many of the classes are with really nice people. The settings range from corporate fishbowl type rooms with a glossy table and whiteboard, to a living room type setting where I sat on a comfy couch, chatted and drank tea with 2 lovely ladies. Also got a sweet one-time gig with a pilot who needed to practice his English for a test the next morning. Since it was around 5:00 we just went to a swanky pub (very old with original Art Nouveau decor) where he bought me beers and told me about life under a Communist Regime. As a pilot he regularly smuggled things like toilet paper into the country. Getting paid to drink beer and chat, I think I've found my calling.

Weather here is getting chilly and wet. The shadows are darkening early in the afternoon and when I walk out of my building in the morning the day exists as only a hint of light over the rooftops.

Family Photos - Abigail has the red shirt, Jill the brown shirt, the guy with the Sox hat on is Hunter, and I'm the guy not smiling. The huge yellow couch has been my bed for almost 2 weeks.

me, Fil, Lukas

Me and Hunter - the J.Crew shoot.

PLEASE HELP ME OUT WITH BUSINESS LINGO (details in caps below)

Well this last week has been a whirlwind of activity, though it's felt good to be out in the real world, finding work, housing, etc. Right now I'm staying on my friends'(Abigail and Jill) couch, along with our friend Hunter, and we are all living like a nice little family (Family photos to be posted soon). We all run around the city all day, then meet back up at 'Hotel Rwanda' to have dinner and discuss our various successes and failures. Some favorite topics are; 'Crazy roommates we've had since living in Prague', 'Humiliating attempts at crossing the language barrier' and 'Are any of us really sure we want to teachers? Really, though?'. And so forth.

I've gotten work through 3 different language schools (typical for English teachers here) and all told have about 20 hours of work a week. It's nice and spread out, though some lessons will mean getting up pretty early in the morning to catch trams, trains and the odd rickshaw. (The rickshaws here are basically a big bicycle where the driver sits up front and pedals and the passengers sit in the back under a see-through enclosure.)
One of my jobs will be to go to the airport twice a week and teach Air Traffic Controllers airport lingo. Which means I have to learn tons of terminology and then present it in a clear and enjoyable way. I've got a 70 page manual to work from, as well as the movie 'Airplane' on DVD. 'Day One - inflating your copilot'.
The other jobs involve going to businesses all around Prague and teaching small groups of business-folk. Some will want to learn business English, but mainly it'll be teaching them how to schmooz at parties in London or the US. I may need some input from anyone involved in this world.
OKAY - CALLING ALL BUSINESSY-TYPE PEOPLE. PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR TOP 5 OR 10 BUSINESS WORDS OR PHRASES THAT I SHOULD TEACH CZECH BUSINESS PEOPLE. (read above paragraph). I WILL POST ALL ENTRIES, SO MAKE THEM GOOD.
Here's some inspiration. I found it on Boston.com.
"This is our new sexy system. It is the belt and suspenders of our operation and when we open the kimono for the client, we will set the expectation moving forward. As our operation bifercates, we will take the low hanging fruit to the mat and run it up the flagpole to see if it flies and then escalate. Onesy twosey the clients will bop by. If we have a question we should take a walk to discuss deliverables and push back. We should support this from womb to tomb. The expectation is to get it on your radar so that you will have the bandwidth for deliverables."

The park on the hill

After my tour and a nap I ventured North out of the city, a direction I hadn't taken yet. I crossed a bridge and started to head up a hill on a path leading into a sprawing park. At the top I came to a huge sculpture of a metronome. On a previous tour, my friend Tomas pointed it out (it can be seen from the city center) and told me that it was placed on the spot where Stalin's statue used to stand. The whole area around the metronome stinks of communism. The granite stairs that lead up to the old statue site, a huge stone lookout over the city with two massive copper bowls on either side (to be filled with fire, I imagine) and everything covered in grafitti. Behind the metronome is a concrete park with many levels, stairs and walls, a skateboarder's heaven, and well-populated. I sat for about an hour and watched them, with my back to the spectacular view of the city, such were the talents of the skaters. Some of them were really young, like 9 or 10 it seemed, and were popping up onto walls 3 feet high without breaking speed. The older kids were doing stuff that is still a mystery to me. The board seemed to spin in all possible directions for a blurry second before the kid would land on it and glide away on the edge of a iron rail, all with the nonchalance of someone out for a stroll.
The park has the best views of the city I've seen so far. There were lots of families out, joggers and kids playing soccer. It smelled like Fall, both a comforting smell and a nostalgic one, and I walked around till the sun was almost gone.

Tomas