On Sunday afternoon, I decided to head outside into the beautiful Prague spring which finally arrived in full force. I took a picnic mat and my backpack stuffed with a book and pillow and was determined to stake out a space in rather lovely Riegovy Sady - the park next door to my apartment. Not more than 5 minutes did I spend in the grass reading To Kill A Mocking Bird, when a bird above dropped the white stuff. I was appalled, extremely appalled. After a long week at work and mounting stresses, this was a straw my haystack simply could not bear, so I picked up my belongings and headed back inside. I was not entirely defeated, however. I dropped my stuff and decided to take my MP3 player, stocked with U2's Joshua Tree, and headed back outside for a walk around Riegovy Sady.
I can't tell you how much I love U2 and how their lyrics ring in my ears and in my heart. I play "Where the Streets Have No Name" and "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" and oh "Running to Stand Still" over and over and over. With lots on my mind and heart, I have taken to walking around Prague, sometimes at night just to get out and about and to think. How many people actually spend an hour once or twice a week walking from Vinohrady - the posh, expat community of Prague - to the Vltava river for views of Prague Castle and back. That is how I sometimes spend an evening if I've got nothing better to do. In the States we have our freeways and cars, when rolling down the windows and blasting the tunes creates a profound sense of freedom. Here in Prague, I have the cobble stone streets as well as asphalt, and the Castle and Charles Bridge. On a good night, the tourists lay low and I am Master and Commander. Other nights, I just block out the multitudes.
I'm happy to report that tonight I visited the biergarten I noticed not far from my flat. I happened to walk by on Sunday evening a bit lonely, wishing I had a few friends to call spur of the moment, sort of what the case was in Virginia and DC. On my way to work this fine Monday, I simply new the weather would be spectacular and felt the day would be marked a failure if I did not rally at least one person to enjoy the joys of sitting outside, ushering in the dark of night, with Czech pivo in hand and good company. Well, I succeeded: I managed to twist the arm of not one, but two colleagues, Julian and Luke. Not only did I have UEFA and the Champions League explained to me in full, but I also laid the groundwork for future Risk, paint ball, and card games.
As I sit at home, fully satisfied with the day's events, I am reminded of the A Team and the immortal Hannibal Smith's (George Peppard) famous line: I love it when a plan comes together.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Barometric pressure and headaches
So, when I was young and fancy free in Wroclaw, Poland back in the 90s, I laughed when my Polish host family members told me about the horrible effects of changing pressure systems upon one's health. They assured me that barometric pressure fluctuations were the culprit behind many a headache, cold, or other bodily ill. It was certain. I can't tell you how many times I asked a friend how he/she was doing and his/her response included something about low or high pressure. Time and time again, I looked at people blank-faced and thought to myself, "Changing barometric pressure: get over it. It can't be that bad." Mind you, I was raised by a father whose favorite phrase was 'buck up'. But, I'd be a liar if I didn't admit I personally feel more aches and joint pain when it rains. The bottom line is quite simple: weather affects us whether we like it or not.
Besides barometric pressure, Poles tend to focus on drafts. I never new the litany of horrors caused by drafts. One hot, sweaty, and entirely unpleasant overnight train journey from Krakow to Frankfurt an der Oder (80 Km east of Berlin) in 1999, my brother Mark and I found out drafts are absolutely never allowed. That's right - no matter how hot a train car in the winter might be, one never, ever opens the window in the middle of winter - even if the windows are steaming and your lungs feel as if they might burst from lack of free-flowing air - because the ensuing draft will make you sick. It became a game. Mark got up a couple of times to open the window and our Polish traveling companions would proceed to close it shortly thereafter. After numerous attempts, Mark, exasperated, just gave up and gasped for breath, lifting his shirt and sweater for a bit of relief. I, on the other hand, exercised extraordinary skill in mind over matter as relates to Polish old wives tales.
Today I was sitting at my desk, trying to clear up my cluttered email inbox and catch up on some reading, when I was overcome with none other than a full-fledged headache, with pressure in my temples and above the eyes. My head felt as if it were Sputnik, and about ready to explode. Of course, we had a rather severe change in weather pattern between yesterday and today. Funny how life works, but after all these years, I totally agree with my Central European friends. My headaches come and go with fluctuations in barometric pressure. I also fall victim to drafts all the time.
That said, I still open my window for fresh air whenever I feel like it - after all, I'm an American.
Besides barometric pressure, Poles tend to focus on drafts. I never new the litany of horrors caused by drafts. One hot, sweaty, and entirely unpleasant overnight train journey from Krakow to Frankfurt an der Oder (80 Km east of Berlin) in 1999, my brother Mark and I found out drafts are absolutely never allowed. That's right - no matter how hot a train car in the winter might be, one never, ever opens the window in the middle of winter - even if the windows are steaming and your lungs feel as if they might burst from lack of free-flowing air - because the ensuing draft will make you sick. It became a game. Mark got up a couple of times to open the window and our Polish traveling companions would proceed to close it shortly thereafter. After numerous attempts, Mark, exasperated, just gave up and gasped for breath, lifting his shirt and sweater for a bit of relief. I, on the other hand, exercised extraordinary skill in mind over matter as relates to Polish old wives tales.
Today I was sitting at my desk, trying to clear up my cluttered email inbox and catch up on some reading, when I was overcome with none other than a full-fledged headache, with pressure in my temples and above the eyes. My head felt as if it were Sputnik, and about ready to explode. Of course, we had a rather severe change in weather pattern between yesterday and today. Funny how life works, but after all these years, I totally agree with my Central European friends. My headaches come and go with fluctuations in barometric pressure. I also fall victim to drafts all the time.
That said, I still open my window for fresh air whenever I feel like it - after all, I'm an American.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Incompetency everywhere
I don't think I've ever complained so much in my life. I might need to change my blog title to the "Rants and Raves of Christine". Hmmmm, not so nice. But, I need to vent so please bear with me....
My pet peeve of the last 48 hours... last night I was stressing about whether or not I had assembled my Virginia and DC state income tax returns properly, including the correct schedules, etc. I was particularly concerned about a watermark on the print out of my federal return, which I filed electronically. Exasperated by the lack of appropriate help tools on the H&R Block website, I decided to call them directly. GET THIS: I have a lengthy discussion with a help desk representative who admitted to me she didn't recognize Washington, DC. I decided to try my luck with District of Columbia - which she had never heard of - and miraculously, there it was.
The bottom line: a call center in the Caribbean with employees who one would think, based on their geographical proximity and the nature of the job, would know the states and territories comprising the United States. But, no, this was not the case. Anyhow, H&R Block does not get my stamp of approval.
My pet peeve of the last 48 hours... last night I was stressing about whether or not I had assembled my Virginia and DC state income tax returns properly, including the correct schedules, etc. I was particularly concerned about a watermark on the print out of my federal return, which I filed electronically. Exasperated by the lack of appropriate help tools on the H&R Block website, I decided to call them directly. GET THIS: I have a lengthy discussion with a help desk representative who admitted to me she didn't recognize Washington, DC. I decided to try my luck with District of Columbia - which she had never heard of - and miraculously, there it was.
The bottom line: a call center in the Caribbean with employees who one would think, based on their geographical proximity and the nature of the job, would know the states and territories comprising the United States. But, no, this was not the case. Anyhow, H&R Block does not get my stamp of approval.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Death, taxes, visas, and what not...
Okay... so I seem to be on a Ben Franklin kick... As I try to figure out DC and Virginia tax returns, I am reminded of that other famous Franklin quote: "The only things certain in life are death and taxes." Moving overseas, taxes continue to haunt me. The good news is that my federal income tax return has already been filed. Yes, I'm not that behind the eight ball... just somewhat.
But in this surreal world that I find myself in here in the Czech Republic, taxes I would argue have some rhyme or reason behind them. I don't necessarily enjoy reading the fine print, but at least each line has an explanatory note. Recently, my friend Jordana went as far as to share she gets a bit of a high out of doing her taxes. She loves the personal satisfaction she derives in doing them on her own. My response: yeah, whatever. I hate the time it takes. I'd rather put myself through a half-marathon - at least there's beautiful scenery if you've chosen a good race.
In other news, the visa saga continues. I actually found out on Friday that I'm not allowed to exit or reenter the country right now since my passport is missing my Category D and I'm past 90 days. Sometimes I really begin to believe that one day I will wake up and realize my life has been reduced to a character in a Kafka novel. No, I'm not the hunger artist, but perhaps rather something closer to Joseph K in The Trial or Gregor Samsa in Metamorphosis. The long and the short of it is that the new borderless zone in Europe otherwise known as Schengen (i.e., the bane of my existence) has for the time being trapped me and fellow Americans within the borders of this country. Time and consular help will only tell. I still am holding out hope for a positive turn of events on this front.
In the grand scheme of things, I'm sure if I were back in DC, I'd probably be writing about my latest episode with the DC Department of Motor Vehicles - the place I spent 3 or 4 Saturday afternoons last spring and summer. Bureaucracy is everywhere. Don't ever expect to escape it.
My other beef with my current surroundings, however, is that I made an appointment to go to see a rheumatologist, but when I arrived at the doctor was scheduled with a dermatologist. After weeks of joint pain and wanting to get to the bottom of things, I can't even begin to explain how upset I was. And still, despite frustrations in every seeming corner of my life, somehow I feel God wants me right here.
But in this surreal world that I find myself in here in the Czech Republic, taxes I would argue have some rhyme or reason behind them. I don't necessarily enjoy reading the fine print, but at least each line has an explanatory note. Recently, my friend Jordana went as far as to share she gets a bit of a high out of doing her taxes. She loves the personal satisfaction she derives in doing them on her own. My response: yeah, whatever. I hate the time it takes. I'd rather put myself through a half-marathon - at least there's beautiful scenery if you've chosen a good race.
In other news, the visa saga continues. I actually found out on Friday that I'm not allowed to exit or reenter the country right now since my passport is missing my Category D and I'm past 90 days. Sometimes I really begin to believe that one day I will wake up and realize my life has been reduced to a character in a Kafka novel. No, I'm not the hunger artist, but perhaps rather something closer to Joseph K in The Trial or Gregor Samsa in Metamorphosis. The long and the short of it is that the new borderless zone in Europe otherwise known as Schengen (i.e., the bane of my existence) has for the time being trapped me and fellow Americans within the borders of this country. Time and consular help will only tell. I still am holding out hope for a positive turn of events on this front.
In the grand scheme of things, I'm sure if I were back in DC, I'd probably be writing about my latest episode with the DC Department of Motor Vehicles - the place I spent 3 or 4 Saturday afternoons last spring and summer. Bureaucracy is everywhere. Don't ever expect to escape it.
My other beef with my current surroundings, however, is that I made an appointment to go to see a rheumatologist, but when I arrived at the doctor was scheduled with a dermatologist. After weeks of joint pain and wanting to get to the bottom of things, I can't even begin to explain how upset I was. And still, despite frustrations in every seeming corner of my life, somehow I feel God wants me right here.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Fish and Visitors... and then Goran Bregovic
According to Ben Franklin, fish and visitors stink after three days. I'd have to disagree with ole Ben. This morning I said goodbye to my sister Karen and her husband Christian after saying farewell to my friend Heather early on Easter Sunday. Suffice it to say that it has been a full house and days of non-stop activity since March 15. While I'm happy to take a breath tonight, I do miss my company!
Although I didn't think I had it in me, I went to a Goran Bregovic concert tonight at the Kongresove Centrum with two friends from work. Bregovic's unique Serbo-Croatian and Balkan folk (and Klezmer) beat set in the Czech Commies' old Palace of Culture at Vysehrad was a real treat. Bregovic and his "Wedding and Funeral Choir" had the crowd dancing in and out of our seats. Interestingly, the encore performance was nearly 1/3 of the entire event. Letting my shoulders and head move with the beat, enjoying every moment, I became all the more enthralled by Southeastern Europe, the troubled past and present, and the passion for life pulsing in the music. If you aren't familiar with Bregovic, I encourage you to have a listen: http://www.myspace.com/goranbrego1
Although I didn't think I had it in me, I went to a Goran Bregovic concert tonight at the Kongresove Centrum with two friends from work. Bregovic's unique Serbo-Croatian and Balkan folk (and Klezmer) beat set in the Czech Commies' old Palace of Culture at Vysehrad was a real treat. Bregovic and his "Wedding and Funeral Choir" had the crowd dancing in and out of our seats. Interestingly, the encore performance was nearly 1/3 of the entire event. Letting my shoulders and head move with the beat, enjoying every moment, I became all the more enthralled by Southeastern Europe, the troubled past and present, and the passion for life pulsing in the music. If you aren't familiar with Bregovic, I encourage you to have a listen: http://www.myspace.com/goranbrego1
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