Krumply Pepa & Roma Culture

Me: "I made you something today. I hope you'll like it."
The Boy: "What? Have I eaten it before? Is it American?" [He likes American food]
Me: "Yes, it's American. I've never made it for you before. It's potato soup albeit a little thick."
The Boy: "Will I like it, is it good?"
Me: "Well, my dad really liked it when I made it for him, so I hope you'll like it too."
The Boy, looking into the pot: "Oh, I've had this before. We have this in Slovakia."
Me, a little disappointed: "Oh. Really?"
The Boy: "In Gypsy it's called Pepa." [Pronounced peh-puh]
Me: "Krumply pepa?" ["Krumply," pronounced kroomplee, is the Roma word for potatoes]
The Boy, chuckling: "Yeah, I guess."
Me: "Well, I hope you like it. Sorry, I thought I was making you something new."
The Boy, smiling: "It's fine."

And then he proceeded to eat two bowlfuls. When I sent it home with him, he told his mother I made Pepa. She was surprised- usually I'm sending home American fare they've never heard of or tasted- and then took a spoonful and tried it. She declared it was "very good" and ate another spoonful or two. I have to admit, I was a little nervous as The Boy's mom is a very good cook and makes things from scratch without measuring or recipes. That's pretty intimidating. And since I just happened to make something that is also Slovak cuisine, that's even more intimidating knowing she knows what it's supposed to taste like!

I'm learning that in Roma culture, the girlfriend is constantly and silently observed by the father of the boy she's dating as to wether or not she's potentially "worthy" of marrying his son. The mother does this as well, but to a much lesser degree. How does a girl pass this "test"? By coming into the home and doing nothing but helping the mother of the boy she's dating cook, clean, do laundry, etc., so as to impress the father. If the father feels that the girl is doing a good job of knowing her place in the home as his wife does (or had better, in some cases), seems capable of keeping a clean and tidy flat and can fill the stomach of his son with things that are actually edible, then the girl is looked upon with a little more favor. All righty then! I had no idea. Cheers to learning new cultures while knee deep in them!

English Club

I think I've mentioned before that I teach an English club in Bystrica once a week. While I don't necessarily enjoy it, it's a job and a source of income. (I know, that's a terrible thing to say!)

The reason I don't like it is because I'm working with students who are all in their first, maybe second year of English in school, and so they don't understand ninety-five percent of what I say, which is often frustrating when trying to lead them in a discussion and they give you these blank stares while their eyes widen in alarm. I often look at the students and expect them to twist their necks around and start whoo-ing at me, much like an owl.

Anyway, the students themselves aren't so bad. Other than the fact that I get them at the very end of the school day, so their wired, tired, ready to go home... oh, and hopped up on whatever kind of sugar they can get their hands on either from the vending machines or brought from home.

Some of them are really cute and they can be very clever in their answers when they choose to be, which is always fun because I get a better idea how their little brains are working/processing what I'm saying or trying to get them understand.

I have the students do a lot of activities that require them to look at a piece of paper and find vocabulary words that relate to the days theme or topic. I find crossword puzzles, word searches and some sort of craft that requires coloring, cutting and pasting work best. It keeps them busy for a while and helps them understand a little better what's going on... I think... I hope.

Although I've spent most of this post complaining about this particular job, I don't entirely hate it. I've come to enjoy the little things that happen, such as the boy who very seriously and silently handed me a small slip of paper that firmly stated, "Mrs. Teacher, I am going to the toilet." Or conversations that go something like this:
Student: "Pani Učitelka? [Mrs. Teacher]"
Me: "You may call me Emily."
Student: "Okay. I don't understand."
Me, smiling: "Let me help you. What word did you find? Uh huh, and where does it go?"
Student: "Here?"
Me: "That's right. Very good. Do you understand better now?"
Student: "Uh huh. Thank you, Mrs. Teacher."
Me: "You're welcome. And you may call me Emily."

InfoUSA

Last Friday I was asked to give another lecture at InfoUSA in Bystrica. This time I remembered to take my camera and actually use it!

I gave the American Slang and Idioms lecture to two different English classes from a local Sport Gymnasium. Sometimes I feel like the teachers get more into it than the students do- and I'm never sure if that's because the teachers understand me better than the students do or if the students are just plain bored.

I was told though that my "teaching method," which is very interactive and class participatory based, is unheard of in Slovak school systems... or at least very unusual. The two ladies who I talked to after finishing the class told me students in Slovak schools studying a language are usually given many lots of facts, keep silent in class, are not necessarily encouraged to practice speaking, and memorize, memorize, memorize... which would explain why I have met so many students/adults who have studied English for at least eight years or more and can barely string together two sentences, much less one.

However, the two ladies assured me that the way I was teaching was a good thing and that they hope the education system changes in Slovakia as it's the "old system" of learning and clearly isn't doing a sufficient job.

I'll let the politicians and Education Minister figure that out. In the mean time, I'll continue to bring my "Western thinking" and teaching methods into the classroom even if intimidates the poor students subject to my lectures!

"Gypsy" French Toast

I made French toast for The Boy the other night for dinner. Slovaks make something similar to French toast, but it's a lot greasier and usually salty. He told me he likes the way I make mine better, which is never a bad compliment to give the cook/girlfriend!

So I made this typical American food that we usually drizzle with (or drown in) butter and syrup or powdered sugar, and what does he do?! He puts salami and cheese on it and makes it into a sandwich!

I stood gawking at him with a horrified expression on my face. His response to my reaction? "I'm Gypsy, it doesn't matter."

As he piled on salami and cheese, part of me wanted to seriously question his eating habits... until I had to admit to no one but myself that salami, egg fried bread and cheese eaten together really isn't that different from, say, a breakfast McMuffin from McDonalds or some other disgusting greasy breakfast food from a fast food chain. But for me, it's the principle of the matter, I think.

I'm glad he's not too hard to please when it comes to food. It's going to be interesting to see what other food combinations he tries/likes, especially once he visits Texas and samples the food there. Life is definitely an adventure most of the time.

All Saints Day

Yesterday was All Saints Day, and the day before Halloween, or All Hallow's eve, depending on where you live. And true form and fashion, the Eastern (who are now called central) Europeans were out in the cemeteries and churches saying prayers, laying flowers and lighting candles. 

I think I've mentioned this before, but I love walking through cemeteries in general, and I especially love doing so at this time of year. It never ceases to disappoint; it's dark, quiet, respectfully somber and aesthetically pleasing. 

I mentioned to The Boy that I wanted to go this year to walk around to which I received some grunts and a few why's, to which I explained. He thinks the holiday is kind of stupid and he's never actually gone to observe any of his dead relatives grave sites, much less anyone else's. I accepted the fact that I probably wouldn't go this year and was fine with that. After all, I got to go last year so whatever; not the end of the world. Then last night he popped over to my flat and says, "You want to go walk around outside?" 

Me, thinking it's cold outside, he hates the cold: "Right now?"

Boy: "No, next year."

Me, smiling: "Okay, yeah, sure."

Boy: "You want to go to the cemetery? You wanted to go there anyway, right?"

Me, surprised: "Yeah, okay. Can I bring my camera?"

Boy: "Sure, I don't care."

So off we went into the cold, dark night (it was only six in the evening... winter is here, I think) and headed toward the cemetery. 

As we meandered around, I felt like I was stepping back into time a little as he showed me the "Roma" plots that are somewhat separated from the "White" plots. (I'm sorry, but I don't care what people say, racism is still very much alive throughout our entire world.) However, just because many of the Roma are not buried among their white counterparts, they certainly don't hold back when it comes to remembering their loved ones. My goodness! I could barely make out who was actually buried in the plots at times they were so covered in flowers!

Something I didn't seem to notice last year, but definitely noticed this year were many beautifully designed candle holders. They were all over the place. I like the ones with nothing but a simple cross on them the best, but there were a few that I saw that I had to stop and admire (while The Boy stood around, patiently waiting for me to finish). 

My favorite was this one though. It reminded me of the movie Romeo and Juliet starring Claire Danes and Leonardo DiCaprio (or however you spell his name) and a portrait of the Virgin Mother my aunt has hanging in her house. I think the heart is what made it stand out the most to me. 

The holiday was quiet, but it was befitting of the traditions and customs. It's kind of crazy to think a whole year has gone by already since I last did this. If you'd have asked me last November about being here this year, I would've told you I wouldn't be. But now that this November is here, I have to say I'm really glad I am. 

My specialness

I managed to spill boiling water on my thumb yesterday while pouring it into a water bottle. Yes, yes, I am the definition of the negative kind of special sometimes! The picture below isn't the greatest as it doesn't really do the burn and redness justice, but it's the best I could get as I took it myself.

I probably gave myself a second or third degree burn (it hurt like the place that rhymes with "well"), but instead of going to the doctor, I decided, in true Emily fashion, to just stick it out and keep aloe vera gel on it all day and hope for the best... which is what I did, for the most part. When I showed my thumb to The Boy and told him what happened, he just shook his head and stared at me with a look that said, "Unbelievable! How do you always do this to yourself?!" Ha, ha, ha! That's a question my dad's been asking me for years!!!!

Anyway, today it feels much better, hurts much less and is a lot less red. I'm hoping I didn't do too much damage to the nerves, but I suppose time will tell.

Running & Cows

I went on my first run this morning in I don't know how long. I've lost track of the months I've taken off running... for no apparent reason other than life caught up with me and I was so busy running was put on the back burner. Not that I didn't miss it or anything because I did. But today was great. Short, but great.

The rising sun on my back; cold, crisp air searing through my lungs; legs pumping, arms swinging; breath I could see pouring from my mouth; the wide-eyed stares from the local villagers (and creepy encouragement from a passing old man)... oh yes, I've missed you, running.

As I warmed up before running, I was walking through a field (one of the advantages of living in a village, there are lots of fields to run around in rather than having to always run along main roads and risk death by bus or car) and was greeted by this:

Several sets of eyes staring at me as though I was on their turf and didn't belong there. Even the calves were staring at me. Yeah, we had a stare down for a couple seconds (none of winning as neither of us blinked), then I took some pictures because it was funny. They never stopped watching me either. 

Oh little cows, can't we get along?! 'Cause I'mma gon' be comin' through your turf many more times this winter, just so ya know!

And then there was the cow who somehow managed to get outside the penned off area. Amazing. An animal that weighs more than I really want to think about somehow managed to outsmart the wired, probably electric fence. Wonders never cease. 

This cow was happily chewing her cud and didn't even seem to notice me as I went by taking a picture. I suppose nothing can come between a cow and her new found freedom!