Andy in Amsterdam

Last Saturday, Fred and I went to two parties. In the mid-Nineties it was nothing for me to go to two or three really great parties on the weekend. Ah, youth. Anyway, I knew about the one party. It was a 40th birthday party for one of Fred’s nieces, Monica, and it was a themed party: Seventies and Eighties. I was up in the air about what to wear. I didn’t want to buy anything. I figured I could find something in my closet and transform it into something that would pass. Plus, the whole ‘dress up’ thing doesn’t really go over big here. People don’t (in my experience) generally participate. Plus, when you factor in who would be at the party (his family), there was little chance that there would be a lot of participation in the dress up part of the evening.

When we were a few hours from take off, Fred sprung it on me that we would also be going to Ingrid’s 5oth birthday party. We had discussed it and had decided that since it was in the middle of nowhere, we could bow out gracefully. Plus, it’s that whole crowd (with a few exceptions such as the folks from our eating group). However, Fred said we would take a taxi so it would be a less painful experience.

The first party was in the Caribbean Club, a small themed room in a bowling alley in the North of Haarlem. (Picture any bowling alley in the world on a Saturday night, but in this one everyone was speaking Dutch.) It was the usual suspects: Fred’s family, plus a few people from Monica’s life. A few people put a lot of effort into dressing up. Most people were on par with Fred and me, that sort of outfit that you think, There’s just a little something off. Walking down the street, most people wouldn’t have gotten a second look. But it’s the Netherlands, so it’s already about twenty years behind the rest of the world. I’m kidding! (I’m not kidding.) Fred and I both wore shirts with vests and jeans. Fred’s looked more authentic, which is interesting since he just bought his and mine is ‘as old as the hills’ as my mother would say. I wore beads and, since I inherited the ape gene from my father and have a hairy chest, I wore my shirt opened to my…sternum.

The party was pretty regulation. The hostess wanted everyone to dance. However, the family did its thing and just stood and talked and drank beer, wine or juice. Plus, there were kids (pre-teens and younger) running from here to there the whole time. Sort of not my idea of an adult party. They dressed up and they danced.

My Dutch was awful that night. Sometimes it just doesn’t sync up. For some reason, I had about 23 words to work with and even those got mixed up. Add lots of ambient noise to that and it was a lot of standing and smiling for me, although one of his nieces got me to talking about television series and I was off to the races. When we were leaving, the hostess expressed disappointment at the lack of dancing. Oh well. Kiss kiss kiss. Off to party number two.

Ingrid’s party really was in a club house behind a grove of trees by a canal outside of a suburb. It was also a themed party: Hollywood this time. Fred decided we were Starsky and Hutch - in a parallel universe where the two stars are over the hill and bald. That was the party where Monica should have been. Fred said, “Let’s call them and have them come here!” I said, “No. Just call Monica.” There was lots of dancing - they had a much better DJ - and everyone was lubricated with their favorite beverage, if you know what I mean. Plus, everyone was dressed up. There were a lot of hospital people, which can be a crazy crowd. (They work on a mental unit.) I worked on a mental unit. I know the crowd.

We saw two people who Fred hadn’t seen in years. Strange to find these pockets of people from his former life that I’ve never even heard about. And the eating group was there, which was nice. Always good to see some friendly faces.

We got home at a reasonable hour and then we sat on the couch until three in the morning. Interestingly, we were up the next morning at about 7:30.

That photo above is from 1983. I believe it was the Choir Banquet. That’s Patty. She still wears that dress on formal occassions.

I’ve been freelancing here for about a year. I also have  contract (about half time) with my day job - at the dance academy - but I had been working at the language school and someone suggested I go freelance. Part of the reason was that the pay differential between a zero-hour contract (like I had) and a freelancer contract is about five euros an hour - nothing to squawk at. The other part is that I was coming up on my three years with the language school and after giving me three one-year contracts, they would have either had to give me a permanent contract or let me go. I knew that if I made them decide, they would drop me like the proverbial hot potato. And with this economy, they’re being pretty lame about getting me work any way.

Becoming a freelancer isn’t complicated, but having my own personal translator (who is also good with figures) helped immensely. Alastair did it on his own (shout out to Alastair), and I probably could have, but I’m glad I didn’t have to. We had to go to the Chamber of Commerce and then to the tax office. I had to register in both places and get special numbers. On one of the forms, I had to estimate how many clients I would have during the year. The choices are (I think) ‘less than three,’ ‘three to seven,’ and ‘more than seven.’

I think with less than three, they turn you down. If you’re only going to have one client, then the client becomes sort of an employer. Anyway, I chose three to seven. And, wonder of wonders, I got the three that I needed plus another, just in case. One is the language school and the two others are two very big names who I won’t mention here by name, but whose names I love to drop at parties.

I got one of the jobs because I knew a guy who knew a guy. Actually, I knew the guy with the job, but I got invited to the party where they guy was because of another guy, the contact guy. It’s all about knowing people, isn’t it? The contact guy has some other people he’s putting me in contact with, which is nice. He gets a nice kick back. It’s a sort of ridiculous percentage, but I’m willing to pay it if he’s going to bring in the work.

Last Tuesday, I signed my first contract. I haven’t really used contracts before. It’s just been a verbal agreement and they send me the money. This time I actually went to a meeting, had the woman sign the contracts and handed her one of my freshly printed (and hand cut) business cards.

All this is to say that it’s a lot of work to get all this started. There’s the name of the business, which I went back and forth on. There are the business cards, and I need to get real ones designed and printed. There’s the contract, which was a total mind blower. There’s my signature for emails. There’s the website. It’s a lot of deciding. It’s not exactly tattoo territory, but there’s a feeling of permanence. You can’t keep going back to people and saying, “Yeah. I came up with a new name - again.”

By the way, the business is editing, translating and writing. It’s a lot of website stuff, but I’ve done some newsletters, booklets, business correspondence, CVs and ‘covering’ letters, which I found out is British for cover letter. And it’s a lot of work. I spent two days here last week writing and researching and looking stuff up. And then I go to work on the other days and deal with teenagers.

The photo above, by the way, is an elephant statue I bought for my favorite sister, Kathy. It’s the mammoth elephant from the elephant parade that was here several months ago. I thought it would make an nice housewarming gift. I said, “Fred, can you do something artsy with this for the blog?”

Good ole Fred.

We had a potluck dinner here last night. It was the second meet up of a bunch of local bloggers. It was very imformal and was the follow up to the pub meeting we had several months ago. When I talked about it (as an impending event) to someone this week, she said, “Oh yeah. They do that in America, don’t they?”

I said, “Do you really not do that here?”

She said, “No…no, not really. Well…we do, but we call it an American party.”

I don’t really like the potluck dinner being labeled as an “American” party. Is it the only kind of party Americans have? Is it called that because Americans are so cheap that when they have a party they ask their guest to bring food? It reminds me of this stuff they have here that’s called “Filet Amerikaan”. It’s basically beef tartar: an idea which has never appealed to me. My kids at school eat it. It’s been spread on crackers and passed around parties that I’ve been at. It’s one of those things that lots of people except eat (and I will eat almost anything). The idea of raw beef with spices is sort of repugnant to me, but what I really hate about it is that it’s called Filet Amerikaan. Seriously? What the H-E-double toothpicks does that have to do with America? I mean French fries I get, but filet Amerikaan? Really!

Anyway, everyone showed up about 18:30. (And some people were only on time if their clocks were set to Romanian local time). We had a nice selection of food. Because we had a number (the number was four) of vegetarians (including one vegan), I’d sent out a message with the invitation that they should keep in mind that not everyone is a meat eater. The selection (in the tradition of a true pot luck) was as quite varied, as you can see by the following:

Anita brought fish, Bahian style (white fish in a coconut sauce, shrimps and sprinkled fresh cilantro) plus creme brullee for dessert. She also brought Stella, an Argentinian friend of Italian and Armenian heritage. Stella was a guest and was not on the menu.

John brought David and two quiches, one with bacon, one without (ain’t he nice for thinking of those vegetarians?) I had the left overs for lunch today.

Steph and Pat brought a vegetarian mushroom stew and then a crazy root vegetable that Pat grows in his garden that is like jicama, but different. (Have you tried jicama? You must try jicama.) He left me with one. It’s crisp and fresh. What’s that thing called? It’s quite exotic.

Amanda brought her husband, Dave, and a chickpea and green pea concoction that has a little bit of curry and that we’re going to finish off tonight for dinner with the rest of what I made. And for desert we’ll have the extra creme brullees that Anita left. Thanks, Anita.

I made beef bourguignon. Having made sure the vegetarians were taken care of, I thought I’d provide some animal protien to those with a taste for meat (and because it’s a Julia Child recipe, lots and lots of butter). Fred made a trifle, which is one of his go-to dishes. It’s always a hit. Strawberry yoghurt infused with white chocolate with fresh strawberries and cake at the bottom. Lekker!

Pamela was going to bring vegetarian rice and chicken wings, but she had a little problem getting here and, unfortunately, was not able to attend our little party.

I’d mentioned to Amanda that we could possibly play Celebrity, and, as if on cue, she said, “So Andy, what’s that game you mentioned?” Since it’s the funnest game in the history of the world, I like to expose as many people to it as possible. Click on the word Celebrity above and it’ll take you to the Wikipedia entry, which is a good description of how it’s played. We played three rounds. The second was with two words and the third with only gestures. If that didn’t make any sense, it’s because you didn’t read the Wikipedia entry.

The list of people invited to the party was certainly not an exhaustive list of local bloggers. Any knitting bloggers were excluded because they were at a knitting event, which I was informed of right after I’d set the date for the party. And there are other people, like AmsterZanne, who I didn’t think of because…I just forgot. (I was working from an old list.) It was a fun evening. I’m always amazed at how easy it is for people to mix and talk. It’s a nice group of people.

Everyone left just after midnight, just missing the public transportation, which most people used. Why in the world does public transportation in a city like this stop running at midnight? I really do need to run for city council.

Thanks to everyone who came last night. It was lots of fun.

Oh. And for anyone taking notes, it snowed again yesterday.

Our new downstairs neighbors are having some work done in their apartment - a lot of work. They haven’t moved in yet, so they’re having the place renovated: new floors, new kitchen, new walls, etc. These are the people who - according to local legend - were visiting our former downstairs neighbors when they said something in the way of, “If you ever think about selling this place, give us a call” and six months later, our apartment was filled with the sounds of hammering and sanding. The economic crisis is over!…for the workmen downstairs.

I came home one day and I could hardly breath because they had varnished the floors downstairs and the fumes had made there was upstairs - as fumes will do. And one day I was running from room too room trying to hear the person on the phone because the noise was everywhere. It’s been an annoying process, but it’ll be over soon, and I generally have an amazing capacity to put all that noise in the background.

Some days at school, when I’m teaching and the walls shake from the music and dancing going on in the room above my classroom. Sometimes the beat of the music hits the door just right and the door shakes and makes a buzzing sound to the beat of the music. The other day I looked at the buzzing door and said, “When I tell people I work at a dance school, this is not what they picture.”

Anyway, back at the house, the day before yesterday, a man came up and asked if they could use the hook that is outside one of our front windows. I said, “Natuurlijk!” He came back yesterday morning (I was working from home) and he and a co-worker put up the pulley and rope that you see in the photo. They were both fairly large guys and one of them was leaning out the window trying to get the pulley onto the hook. The other guy had a hold of the first guy’s thigh. And I thought, Man, if you fall, he’s going to need help pulling you back in the window. Please don’t make me get off the couch. I’m..working.

We talked a bit while they were setting up. One of the men asked me if I could hear them working downstairs and if it was annoying. I said, “Now and then, but it doesn’t…last too long.” I was speaking in Dutch and had to search for the word “last.” The guy just smiled and nodded and kept talking to me in Dutch.

I love Dutch people who just continue speaking to me even when I’m doing a terrible job of  speaking their beautiful and melodious language. At the time, I was in the middle of doing something in English, so I wasn’t really prepared to have a conversation in Dutch any further than a little nodding and a “Ja, zeker” or two.

Sometimes at school, a kid will ask why I’ve never learned Dutch. Certain people (read: teenagers and people with teenage-sized brains) tend to assume that because I’m speaking English to them at that moment, I can’t speak Dutch. At school, I think it would be ridiculous to speak to the kids in Dutch. It’s English class. However, I apparently promised one class that I would give a five-minute talk in Dutch after they’ve all given their five minute talks in English. That should be interesting. The difference is that I’ll prepare for my talk.

A couple of weeks ago when Fred and I were in Budapest, Fred said, “How long do you think it would take us to see all the capitals of Europe?” He suggested that we set a date and try to visit them all.

I said, “How many are there?”

He didn’t have a number, so I took out a piece of paper and did one of my favorite things: I made a list.

This is the list of capitals that we’ve both been to (either together or separate). They are in no particular order:

1. Netherlands - Amsterdam

2. Hungary - Budapest

3. Denmark - Copenhagen

4. Germany - Berlin

5. France - Paris

6. England - London

7. Scotland - Edinburgh

8. Spain - Madrid

9. Austria - Vienna

10. Italy - Rome

11. Poland - Warsaw

12. Czech Republic - Prague

13. Croatia - Zagreb

14. Belgium - Brussels

15. Cyprus - Nicosia

16. Vatican City - Vatican City

Fred has been to another number of capitals without me and will have to go back to each of these if we are to complete our mission. The list includes the following:

17. Sweden - Stockholm

18. Luxembourg - Luxembourg

19. Portugal - Lisbon

20. Greece - Athens

21. Ireland - Dublin

22. Andorra - Andorra la Vella

23. San Marino - San Marino

24. Monaco, Monaco

Then there’s a list of the countries where one of us (usually him) knew the name of the capital but neither of us have been there yet:

25. Estonia - Tallinn

26. Finland - Helsinki

27. Norway - Oslo

28. Wales - Cardiff

29. Slovakia - Bratislava

30. Slovenia - Ljubljana

31. Serbia - Belgrade

32. Albania - Tirana

33. Romania - Bucharest

34. Bulgaria - Sofia

35. Malta - Valletta

36. Russia - Moscow

37. Ukraine - Kiev

38. Iceland - Reykjavik

39. Switzerland - Berne

Lastly, there’s a list of countries whose capitals I had to look up:

40. Lithuania - Vilnius

41. Bosnia and Herzegovina - Sarajevo

42. Latvia -Riga

43. Moldova - Chisinau

44. Macedonia - Skopje

45.Montenegro - Podgorica

46. Belarus - Minsk

And lastly, there is the list of countries we didn’t remember existed:

47. Georgia - Tbilisi

48. Kosovo - Pristina

49. Liechtenstein - Vaduz

So that’s about 50 capitals and we’ve both been to 16, so we’ve got to visit about 33. How long did we give ourselves? Ten years. Yes, that’s three or four a year for the next ten years, but a lot of those Eastern European countries are about the size of states in New England. We could hit five or six on a two week car trip of we plan it right. And no one’s holding us to it. We just thought it was a nice goal.

It seems like a lot of those Eastern European countries would all be the same. The food is certainly similar: meat and potatoes with not a lot of vegetable choices apart from red cabbage or…or a different kind of potato. I was amazed when we were in Budapest, Warsaw and Prague. They’re very similar, but very different. It’s sort of like states. I’m sure to a Southerner, New Hampshire and Vermont seem like twins, but I bet the locals see lots of differences. I’m sure it’s like that with those little countries. They have their traditions, their history and their culture.

We had a short discussion and decided to split the UK up into Scotland, Wales and England rather than just mark of London and move one. I’m sure it’s the same there. Don’t call those Scots ‘English.’ They’ll correct you. They’re British, but not English. Plus, I’ve had a fascination with Wales for a while. Possibly because Brenda Dayne is there, but also because I recall one of my parents saying we have Welsh ancestors.

My maternal grandparents visited every state in the US before they died, and my mother only has Alaska to go on her quest to see all the states. I would probably do the state thing if I still lived in the US. As it is, I’m here, so why not make a list and mark them off? If all goes as planned, we’ll be a spritely 54 an 58 - or there abouts - when when we’re finished.

This list may need to be spell checked. Feel free.

It’s been really cold outside for a couple of weeks. I get out of the house every day, but I spend a lot of time indoors because it’s warm in here and I don’t have to be concerned that my feet are going to get wet from walking through slush. Amazingly, I have not blogged in about a week. Part of what has been getting my attention is the news: the horrible tragedy in Haiti, the health care run around and the political pundits talking about both of those issues (and more). I have to say that I’m disgusted with what’s going on in the US.

I’ll warn you now that this is just me ranting about American politics - specifically the right wing. I need something to get me back into the swing of blogging. I’ll lighten it up tomorrow.

Full disclosure, the majority of my news comes from lefty sources. I watch Keith Olberman and Rachel Maddow every day. I read articles on the Huffington Post and The Daily Beast. I also watch The Daily Show, which I know is not news however, they talk about current events and comment on things going on, and that’s something because I think Jon Stewart is a really smart guy.

So I hear what’s going on and I hear what the right wing is saying - albeit filtered through lefty media sources. Conservatives do not come out looking too good. Rush Limbaugh is an idiot who comes to mind. According to some sources, he recently encouraged his listeners to not donate to help out Haiti. On his website he claims he did not say that, but it doesn’t sound like he’s encouraging them to donate. He also said something about Obama using the situation to burnish his reputation with the Blacks. Rush Limbaugh is disgusting. Then there’s Pat Robertson and his demented monologue about the slaves in Haiti making a pact with the Devil to get the French out. I hate that stuff. People actually listen to these two fools. And when Pat Robertson says, “It’s a fact,” there are people who say, “Oh! It’s a fact.” Not only does a statement like that spread lies, it also makes Christians looks like bigots. It’s hateful.

The other day, I said to someone, “I have the first line of my next blog post: Sarah Palin is a whore.” Of course I didn’t write the post, but I thought it was a good start. She will apparently do whatever she is asked for money and she is using what the good Lord gave her to make as much money as she can. Sarah Palin is probably the best thing that’s happened to the Democrats in a long time. She is a megalomaniac liar and she keeps saying and doing stupid things. She can’t keep her face out from in front of a camera and she’s so stupid that she just keeps talking and talking even when it’s been time to shut up. I saw clips of her with Glenn Beck and Bill O’Reilly. What a salty mix of nuts! I can’t believe people watch Fox News. I couldn’t do it for long. I know people love to hear what the jackasses on Fox are saying, but people actually watch it and take them seriously. That’s just dumb.

Then there are the obstructionist Republicans in the US congress doing everything they can to make Obama look bad. It’s not about helping the country. It’s about the Republicans getting back into power at any cost. Talk about selling your soul to the Devil.

I do not understand Republican or Conservative politicians and pundits. They play mean, they cheat and they lie. And then the people who listen to them believe it without fact checking any of it. I try to listen the bile they spew and believe that good will win out and that all of the hate they keep preaching will be proven wrong. But then some dolt like George W. Bush and his satanic sidekick Dick Cheney get elected twice.

American politics is such a dirty business.

I know and love some Republicans. I trust that most of them are just Republicans because they “believe in fiscal responsibility” (Whatever. Tell that to the gigantic debt Bush ran up.) but I really believe that most people vote out of habit. And if someone really does believe all that, I don’t really want to have much to do with them. If you’re part of that, you’re part of the problem.

It has been unbelievably snowy for the past few days. The clouds have constantly dropped bits of snow and refreshed the snow that’s already on the ground, but today has been a fairly consistent day of tiny flakes falling. It’s nice. We’re on the fifth floor (sixth if your counting in American) and it’s a beautiful view from where I sit.

I took the photo above when I was looking out the window and it was snowing. I’d heard playing screaming. It’s a little family of four playing in the snow. I particularly liked the mother running. It was sweet watching them. It felt a little creepy taking pictures, but it was for the blog. Honestly, officer, I did it for the blog!

Fred and I were going to go to the Center today and do a little walking around - and probably take some pictures as well. As the afternoon wore on, I called Fred and he said he would probably not be finished with work (I know - on a snowy Sunday afternoon) in time to get any day time walking around done, so I decided to venture out on my own.

I like these bikes. I saw a bike the other day that was covered in the fluffier snow we had a few days ago. It was an older style bike, cream colored, with a wicker basket. It had about two inches of snow on it. No one had touched it. It was stunning. That’s why I need to get a small camera that I can carry around all the time. Our other small camera is apparently “just broken” and can’t be fixed. Or it could be fixed, but it would cost more than a new camera. Anyway, the bike was so beautiful that I just looked at it and walked away. I went back today and it wasn’t as nice. This is a wetter snow and isn’t as fluffy.

This is so Amsterdam. A bike has fallen and no one has picked it up. And it’s been laying there so long that it’s got a coat of snow on it. It’ll be there until the owner comes and picks it up. Guaranteed. I once knocked over a bike out of meanness because it was parked in a stupid spot. I came back a couple of hours later and it was still laying there. I ended up picking it up. My meanness proved nothing. I apologized to the bike. (That’s just how I am.)

This is our statue covered in snow. I don’t know what this statue has to do with anything, but I like it. I just find it reassuring to live on a square with a statue of a naked man. To me it says, “You’re not in Texas any more.” (I don’t hate Texas. I just don’t want to be there.)

This is a snap of the brick road. The packed slush is about a centimeter thick. It’s not terrible to ride in because the bike wheel goes right through it. (But watch for ice patches.) A couple of weeks ago, I wrote that they don’t clean the streets and implied (or actually wrote) that they ought to clean them. I see now that that’s an impractical idea. This snow is completely out of the ordinary and Amsterdam (dare I say Holland?) doesn’t have the equipment. However, I maintain my stance that something should be done. In the photo at the top, the man (on the left) is standing in the sidewalk, which is completely covered in snow. That’ll be there for a while.

This feels very Dutch to me. If you know where we live, you’ll know that I didn’t go very far on my little walk. I had enough of being out there pretty quickly. I really like the blue in most of these pictures, by the way. I had to make myself go out, luring myself out the door with the promise of photos for the blog. I’ve been writing the official  lesson plans for English for my school. It’s a lot of copying, pasting and formatting. I wrote some introductory stuff, but I feel sure that no one is ever going to actually read it. They’ll flip through and ‘make sure it’s all there,’ but they’re not going to read every word. Still, it takes time and I want a clear plan for next year - and the end of this one.

I’m happy to stay inside and warm. I can look outside and get a sense of how cold it is. I’m perfectly fine with it snowing. This unusual weather won’t last forever. I want to enjoy it (in my own fashion) for as long as I can.

Last night, when I sat down next to Alex at knitting, she said, “So how was Budapest?”

I said, “It was good. You know. It was a nice trip. I mean…it was interesting. We had a nice time.” She could tell I was less than thrilled. I wasn’t doing the whole, “I loved it! It was amazing!” thing. I added, “It was nice to be away. There’s lots to see, but it was sort of…ih.”

She said, “A colleague of mine was in Budapest the same time you were and she said the same thing!”

I had the same experience with Istanbul. I had a friend at the time (who has since fallen off the face of the earth) who said, “You are going to love it. It’s wonderful. The history. The food. It’s…oh! I love Istanbul.” Later, when she read my blog posts about it, she said, “I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time.” We’d actually had a fine time, but at the end, it was sort of…okay, well, I’ve been there now.

Anyway, here is my Budapest wrap up in all its glory.

As you are probably aware, Budapest used to be two cities. Buda is on one side of the river and Pest is on the other. We were on the Pest side. The Christmas market was right down the street, which was nice. Lots of crafty stuff. Lots of fried sausages and lots of hot wine, which we never got around to trying. The Chain Bridge, which was also right outside our door, was our connection to Buda. We ended up walking back and forth three times during our stay. It’s a quick little trip with nice views of both sides from the middle.

The thing that really struck me was that the smoking ban inside restaurants and bars that is now law in most parts of the civilized world has not yet found it’s way to Hungary. It’s so strange to sit in a restaurant and smell cigarette smoke. It’s gross. “Smoking or non-smoking?” How Eighties is that? I can’t imagine what it’s like in the bars. We didn’t go out. There is apparently a lively bar scene, including gay bars, but we don’t really do the whole standing in a bar thing very well.

There’s plenty to see in Budapest. We walked up and down streets and visited a lot of little shops. There’s an amazing number of shops filled with antiques (read: brick-a-brack). And I was quite taken with the variety and quality of art produced by Hungarian artists. The National Gallery was a nice surprise. Of course the best parts were the Medieval and the pre-1945 sections, but that’s just my opinion. (And I requested that we focus our visit.) I was particularly taken with József Rippl-Ronai who I had never heard of. I also liked Károly Fernczy. Fred bought a print by Sándor Badacsonyi. Impressed? Me too.

The churches in Budapest (I think we went in three) were very dark - but really old and beautiful. They had mostly natural lighting and intricate stained glass windows. I’m not sure what the dark thing is all about, but it makes taking pictures challenging. We were in one that was particularly dark and an attendant showed us some Arabic writing from when the church had been turned into a mosque after the Turks invaded. (Those Turks!) There’s also the Parliament building, which is nice and right on the bank of the river. We missed out on taking a tour because they were out of tickets by the time we got there.

For the most part, the food was good. We tried to eat exclusively Hungarian food, but that was a challenge at some points. I had one meal that was three kinds of sausage with red cabbage. One of the sausages was a black sausage, which I would never have picked out of a line up. But it was really good. The restaurant we really wanted to try - Cafe Kor - was always full and we couldn’t even get reservations. The morning we left, we had breakfast in the cafe of a little restaurant on a tiny square a few blocks from out hotel. It was the Gerloczy Cafe & Restaurant. I wish we’d had a dinner there. It looked like it would have had that cozy feel I was looking for. I had an amazing omlet with a really crusty baguette.

Probably the most memorable and noteworthy experience was the afternoon at the baths. There are lots of them, thanks to those Turks. The one we went to was the Rudas Baths. Dating from 1550, it was extended in 1566. It wasn’t as touristy as the one we went to in Istanbul. I’ll write about it later because the experience deserves a whole post.

Maybe I’m just tainted from having been so many places in the past few years. Budapest really is a lovely city. If you get the chance to go, you should. There’s lots of history and the people are nice. The food is also good. See? I’m not really singing its praises. That’s strange. It was a good time.

I tried writing a post yesterday about our recent trip to Budapest, but it was dry as dust. I’ll take another swipe at it tomorrow. For now, I think I just need to post something.

Today was my first day back at work after almost a month of not being at work. How I got so much nothing done in those four weeks remains a mystery. Yes, we took a trip and had Christmas, et cetera, et cetera, but I didn’t get something big done. I’m amazed.

My agenda for my classes today was to give back the tests that the students had taken before the holiday. Then we had a little discussion, I laid out the plan for the next couple of months - including a few important dates - and then I gave them each a written assessment of how I think they are doing in class, what kind of student I think they are, and how they can improve.

I did it using my version of what I have come to understand as the Dutch way of giving feedback: painfully honest. I purposely waited until I had their smiling faces out of my mind for a while before writing said assessments. I wanted them to be a little harsh, and as much as they drive me nuts, I like my students and I am swayed when I look at them.

Even as I had the papers in my hands and I was explaining what was on the papers and how they should be read, I was having second thoughts. There are a couple of real numb skulls in my classes and while I didn’t write it like that, I let them know that I didn’t think they were trying and that they came across as less than interested in learning or improving.

Here are a few examples:

“Student is chatty and distractible, but he knows to stop talking when asked. He appears to be depending on his current knowledge of English and doesn’t seem to be putting any effort in studying. He follows the lessons on a superficial level. He does not understand where he is weak and where he needs some improvement.”

“Student talks a lot during class. She also talks loudly. She appears to have a deep longing for attention, so much so that she is willing to sacrifice her grade for more attention. Conversely, when she is quiet, she is completely ‘off’. She appears to have two speeds: high or off. She needs to find the middle.”

“Student is often distracting to those around her. While she has a great deal of natural ability, she rarely puts it to use, except when coming up with excuses as to why she is not putting her natural ability to use.”

“Student argues, talks and laughs through most classes. She is unapologetically loud and when called down, is only able to point at classmates who are also talking. She needs to take responsibility for her actions and learn to sit quietly. On a personal level she is lovely, but there are no points given for lovely.”

Most students thanked me or accepted my critique and left at the end of class with a cheery, “Good-bye, Mr. Baker” - not that last one. They get a lot of severe critiques at this school and mine were among the nicest. A few mentioned that it was good to hear an honest assessment from one of their “theory” (non-dance) teachers. Glad to oblige!

So that went well. They accepted it and they know where I stand in terms of their behavior. I hope it set a tone for the new semester. I gave a couple of them really bad behaivor grades in hopes of motivating them to get on the stick…or get off the stick, what ever I’m trying to say that means shut up. I like teaching. A student asked me today if I was going to be back next year. Having been in teachers meetings where students like her were discussed, I thought, The question is: are you?

I’ll be back if they’ll have me. I enjoy it.

Fred and I are going to Budapest tomorrow. We’ll be back on the first of January. The original plan was to go to a warm place, but that didn’t happen because Florida (and any other place that is warm) was too expensive to get to. Plus, we’ve wanted to visit Budapest for a while now. When I was working in the hospital in Brooklyn, years ago, a colleague of mine was from Budapest - or Budapesht, as she said. I never asked too much about Budapest because I didn’t know what to ask. Now I have questions and we’re not in contact any more. At least we have a guide book.

Oh! A little guide book-buying tip for anyone living in Amsterdam. Twice, twice we have gone to the Scheltema to get a guide book for €20 and twice we have walked down Leidsestraat to the New English Book Store and found it for €10. Of course the book from the New English Book Store was a little older, but it’s Budapest. How much is going to change in two years? (And how much of that are the writers actually going to catch?) Last time, Fred took the book back to the Scheltema and got a €20 voucher. That’s what he used to buy this book. So he’s going to take this one back when we get back and get another voucher. It’s ten euros. As Fred says, “Fool me once…shame on…shame on you. Fool me twice…you, uh…you can’t get fooled again.” Wait. It wasn’t Fred who said that. But was someone just as loveable and huggable. The point of this tale, check the New English Book Store on Leidsestraat first. They have an amazing (and unpredictable) selection of Eyewitness (or favorite) guidebooks.

We will miss the noisy mess that is Amsterdam on New Year’s Eve. It’s all fireworks and partying at midnight. We have always watched from the front window, where we have a fairly good view of the skyline and what’s going on in the Center and a very good view of what’s going on in our square (which varies from year to year). A few weeks ago, I thought it might be fun to try to be in the Center next time we’re in town for New Year’s Even. I may have to do that alone. Fred’s not a fan of the noise and the mess.

We’re not even sure what goes on or where we should be on New Year’s Eve in Budapest. Surely there will be something fun going on. A couple of years ago in London, we were standing in a bar at 10:30 when we realized that we’d rather be in our hotel room. So I spent the last hour of that year sitting in bed knitting while Fred read a book. In Florida, we drank too-sweet sparkling wine on a beach and watched fire works.

It’ll be a fun trip. Fred and I travel well together. I’m going to finish a hat I’m making for him and then I’m going to take another wack at another project I’ve started but can’t seem to get to work. There is sure to be a lot of walking. Fred loves to walk. And when we come back we can put a new pin in the map. No need to pick one of these up. A colleague, Rachel, brought me one back in August of 2006. Love that. She was a peach.

I won’t be writing on the blog until we’re back. I’m going to try to stay off the computer while we’re away. I’ve had a lot of “screen time” in the last couple of weeks. I need a break. I’m going to try reading. I hear that’s coming back in fashion.

Have a happy New Year. I’ll report back upon our return. All the best to you and yours.