Hungarian Medical - The New Drama Series

Walking into the 'hospital' was an intellectual experience; the emotions did not kick in because I am so talented with repression, refusing to accept that this is my future. We had to walk up the stairs to the second floor, because the sole elevator was not working. Those in wheelchairs must have a real joy ride going down the stairwell. For one brief minute, the nurses station looked almost familiar. The women, presumably nurses were wearing white uniforms being busy, but not looking like they were doing much of anything productive at first glance. Then I noticed that they were cooking lunch in the little back room. I thought it was their lunch until they filled the top of a cart and delivered bowls to the rooms of patients. As we were sitting there waiting for the surgeon to call me, I started checking off the violations that the US Joint Commission on the Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations (JCAHO) would find here. The nurses and doctors were all wearing open toe shoes, with socks, but open toe still. The food was prepared on the floor with no door and exposed as it was transported down the hall. Mental note: Do not eat while here. With anxiety building, I waited for the doctor to call my name, though it was difficult to tell whether the men in the green scrubs were doctors or orderlies. Then a bastardized pronunciation of my name was called out by this young man who introduced himself. He speaks English. Bingo! I won the jackpot. He is young and I can communicate with him. The tension eased as fast as a racehorse stung by a bee. After another brief exam, he explained that prior to surgery, I have to rid myself of an infection that he found. After giving me two prescriptions, we made another appointment for July 2nd and then surgery will be arranged for the end of July. Laszlo kept telling me how lucky I am. I hit the jackpot.

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Down and Dirty

My last 'free' day yesterday, I spent cleaning the apartment in preparation for guests coming. Since I was at it, I did it the hard way, I really, really cleaned with furniture polish and everything. Yea, yea, yea, I have been dusting all along, but it is amazing what a little polish will pick up that a dry rag does not. I went through three big rags, folding them to expose a new clean area until I wound up with Origami type creations. I really hated to put them in the wash, they were kind of attractive in a grungy sort of way. Then I did the biggie, washing all of the wood floors with wood soap. If anyone (subliminal message-guess who) ever tells me that vacuuming is good enough, I am going to make soup out of the dirty water from floor mopping. The floors look lovely. Our bedroom floor is actually parquet. I had forgotten that. I made the beds for guests, the rooms were ready, all I had to do was iron the pillow covers. After six hours of cleaning, I had dishpan hands, mop hands, cleaning elbow, wood grain knees, and enough polish on me to make me rainproof. Today, I had the last of the State Exams. This time for the BA students, our first group ever to go through the misery. We had eight in our group, were told to spend thirty minutes with each person, so I was planning on escaping by 1:00 pm. Each student had to defend their thesis, take a comprehensive oral exam in their specialty area, and then another in an area of their choice. The grading system required an abacus to figure out. Needless to say, we ran behind all day, so I finally said "Chow" to my colleagues at 3:45 when I rushed off to teach my private English lesson. On my way home at 5:30, I stopped at the grocery store to get breakfast supplies for the guests coming tomorrow. Then I whipped out the iron and board, did up the pillow cases, put them on, and vacuumed the tiled floors. If I play my cards right, I can mop them in the morning and have them dried before any arrivals. Six more episodes of 24 Season 7 to go. Will I make it tonight? I am not sure, I am really pooped.

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Computer Store Shopping

Balazs called the computer store today to see if the computer was ready. They said it was ready, but he said they sounded dubious about it. We decided to try an outing there anyway. Across the street from the store, they have another store that only handles laptops. I had made the decision that since the university was not going to supply my office with a computer to use in the classrooms, I was going to do it myself and went to look at what was on offer. The first issue was getting an English keyboard. This narrowed the selection quite a bit and when we came to some decision of what would be the best options, they had to call and see if it could be fitted with an English keyboard. The salesman called, but they would have to call him back. We went across the street to pick up the desktop and returned. Still no answer. We went for coffee and returned an hour later to learn we had success. The model I wanted was available with an English keyboard; they could have it by Monday. However, it Windows is extra and only in Hungarian. I handed him my disk and code that I had just retrieved from across the street and we were set. Balazs mentioned earlier that he had a bad feeling that they had forgotten to return my disks or to install the WiFi card or both. Neither bit of his premonitions were were welcomed thoughts, but when we did find the disks in the box, at least he would have been 50% wrong in his predicting skills thus far. He carted the computer home for me so I did not hurt my back again. We set it up, found the WiFi card and all was going swimmingly when the electric went out. One minute later it is on again and we start again, but after three minutes of configuring, boom, no electricity. A minute later, let there be light and there was light and we said this is good. Turn the computer on, work away for a short time when darkness yet again. Primal scream number 48,475. We changed the outlet that the computer was plugged into. Started it up. Windows was corrupted. It would not start in normal mode, it would not start in Safe mode. To fix this problem, install the original Windows disk and press R for repair, was the message on the screen. But you don't understand, my disk is at the other computer store to be put on the laptop. I don't have it. The screen flashed "Your tough luck buddy boy". Personally, I think computers are getting to damn smart for their own good. Balazs was off the mark with his premonitions of the reasons for disaster, but he must have sensed something was going to happen and it did. So the new computer is sitting there as useless as its predecessor did until Monday at the earliest. Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

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Round and Round in Cyclos

Breakfast, included at the hotel, was a satisfying omelet, bacon, and a baguette. Baguettes in Vietnam have centers like spider webs. You can see there is something in there, but when you try to pull it out, the consistency is like cotton candy. If you wad it up, you have a teardrops worth of substance in your hand. The coffee is atrocious making me need to seek out better flavored caffeine elsewhere. Ron read in the guide (not Frommer’s mind you) about a place called Baguette and Chocolate, but after twenty minutes of walking up and down the street where it was listed as being, a young man came up to us to see if we needed assistance. The café had moved over a year ago. We found another reasonable looking coffee shop where real coffee was served. We sat in the window seat.

Outside the window and across the street was a young cyclo driver, the bicycle kind of transport. The young man waved to us and motioned he would take us around the city. We smiled and tried to ignore him. It was not on the agenda. Finally, he found a willing fare and left us. Before we left the café there was a replacement who offered an hour tour of the city for $8.00 for both of us. We decided to take him up on it, but cyclos are built for two Vietnamese, not two of any non-Asian body types. By contorting like we were playing a game of Twister, with one leg on the red dot and the other leg on the blue dot, we intertwined into the seat and off we went. Our driver started out with the first question they learn in all English lessons throughout the country. “Where are you from?” They could care less about the answer since they never respond to the answer. Case in point, we told him we just arrived from Pluto and he did not stop short and kick us out of our seats. The next question also follows the formula, but still throws me. “How old are you?” Again there was no reaction when I said twenty-five and Ron admitted to one hundred and one. Skipping over formalities, the next inquiry is “How many children you have?” Our cumulative total of forty-six did not stir a reaction.

Riding in one of these cyclos is very similar to the ride in the House of Horrors. You are riding along, and then suddenly you think you are going to smash into something and the car turns suddenly at the very last moment, causing your heart to beat as fast as tribal drums warning of impending danger. If I had started dying my hair again, I would have been white once again by the end of the ride. Someone should discuss implementing more traffic lights here, but the three that they do have go unnoticed by all anyway, so the lack of them must be to conserve electricity.

If someone could create a mechanism making car and motorcycle horns bleat every ten seconds while the motor is running, it would allow all drivers to concentrate on steering, freeing them from having to count to ten to hit the horn manually. Noise never stops and neither does the traffic. Adding to the suspense of our survival, the driver kept bending over to tell us things along the way. First he pointed out the Military Museum explaining in poor English what it was, and then said “You know, boom, boom!” About five minutes later, he was massaging my neck and told me he knew where we could get a good massage and some ‘boom, boom’. We are not sure if the Military Museum is displaying sexual exhibits or if the massage therapists have guns, but we thought it wise to refuse both.

The tour was especially delightful when we went around the lake; miraculously the traffic was reduced in the lake area, so we could actually speak to each other without shouting. The placid moment did not last long as we entered the real word soon enough. The clock had run over one hour and we were on the opposite side of the city; we thought of getting out and walking back, but with crossing streets it would have taken at least an hour and years off of our lives. When we were finally able to untangle ourselves in an area that held some familiarity, it was a two hour ride. Suddenly the cost of our indulgence went from $8.00 to $22.00. Okay, it was worth the money. He needed it more than we did, but still I hate being made the fool. Seriously, could have stopped him at one hour; we discussed the added costs and let him continue uninterrupted.

As we rode around, we noticed that the shops run in waves. Two blocks will all sell motorcycle seat covers, and then the next two blocks will all be pots and pans. Shoe stores cover the next few blocks. They all segregate according to their offering like they fear keeping the competition out of sight. Astonishingly, they do wear more shoes here than they did in the other cities, where flip-flops or other styles of sandals are worn. When it first caught my attention, I could barely count ten people wearing shoes, but here the statistics are just the opposite.

The other key difference here in Hanoi is that restaurants, shops, even the cyclo drivers crave U.S. dollars over their own Dong. In the other cities, we could not convince people to take dollars; we had to have Dong on hand. When we run out of dollars, we will have to plead vendors to accept their own currency.

Later when we were walking around, one of the women who looks like they are carrying the scales of justice, but are really carrying fruits or vegetables for sale, stopped me to buy fresh cut pineapple. With the opportunity to pamper ourselves with fresh fruits, it seemed reasonable to spend $1.00 on a pineapple already peeled and cut. She said to me, “Take my picture.” I indulged her by snapping her with her bracing and balancing her heavy load. Ron snapped a couple too. When I said thanks, she said “Okay, 50,000 Dong for the photos.” After a good laugh, I thanked her again saying not in this lifetime because other than a ‘NO’ she would not understand anything I replied with.

We wound up buying a nice carry-on type bag that has concealed wheels and a handle for $20.00. Tomorrow it will take it maiden voyage to the Halong Bay excursion. Another Hmong elephant made its way into our life also. There would have been a second Hmong dragon too, but could not find a blue one in the right size. Now that we each have a carry-on bag, might as well make good use of it.

Walking around the lake one more time, we walked a bridge to reach a small island. On it is a pagoda called “Where the Turtle Returned the Sword” based on a legend. There is a temple there where the deity looks like Confucius, but the explanation discusses a General in the Armed Forces from the 15^t century. People were obviously in prayer at the base of his statue.

Restaurants here are definitely more upscale than in Chau Doc and Ho Chi Minh City, implying the costs are higher, but they are more affluent in their décor also. Due to these, the people selling gum, books, water, cigarette lighters, and horses with bobbing heads are not likely to enter and give their spiel while diners are in the process of mastication.

One funny sign we have commonly seen restaurant bathrooms states “Do not stand on the toilet”. It is common in less touristy areas to have squat holes in the floor that you stand over. The country folk must not recognize the use of a toilet trying to stand and squat on them.

We went to a French/Vietnamese restaurant tonight called Le Cyclo. Each of the chairs were cyclos around a table. Different and interesting, it was one of the most expensive meals we have encountered on our entire trip. Ron had the duck and I had chicken over fried Vietnamese noodles. With two beers, the bill came to a shocking $16.20.

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Namibia Some Facts About the Country

Officially called the Republic of Namibia, this country is located in southern Africa on the Atlantic coast. It shares borders with Angola, and Zambia to the north, Botswana to the east, and South Africa to the south. It gained independence from South Africa in 1990 and its capital city is Windhoek. It is the thirty-fourth largest country in the world making it about half the size of the US state of Alaska. After Mongolia, Namibia is the least densely populated country in the world with only 2.5 persons per km². A remarkable strip of land in the northeast, known as the Caprivi Strip is the vestige of a narrow corridor demarcated for the German Empire to access the Zambezi River.

Half of all Namibians speak Oshiwambo (Ovambo) as their first language, whereas the most widely understood language is Afrikaans. Among the younger generation, the most widely understood language is English. Both Afrikaans and English are used primarily as a second language reserved for public sphere communication, but small first language groups exist throughout the country. While the official language is English, most of the white population speaks either Afrikaans or German, both official languages until 1990 when Namibia became independent. Portuguese is spoken by blacks and whites from Angola.

Christianity is the major religion, with the Lutheran Church being the largest then followed by the Roman Catholic.

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Assorted notes

The rain was coming down so hard at 4:30 this morning, it woke me. I could not get back to sleep, so here I am at the computer.

It is that time in the semester when I get behind in living. The only thing I have really had time for is grading papers. Just a couple of weeks after I spent dozens of hours with my thesis advisees, the completed thesis for grading were distributed. One of them was ninety-four pages, though the requirement is set a forty minimum. It is not like you can sit and read these like novels; they have to be gone over with a fine tooth comb. I usually sit at the computer while reading them, because I have to make notes of the page numbers where I find mistakes so the student knows where I found it. It generally takes me two whole evenings to get through one thesis, but this time I spent three evenings on one thesis. I had two full pages of corrections to document. It was pure generosity that I let it pass with a 2 (D) grade. It is discouraging when this happens, but she was not my advisee, so there is no responsibility to share.

At the same time, all of my freshmen students had their last papers dues, so there were thirty plus of them to read, my sophomores had their term papers turned in at fifteen pages each and there are sixteen of them in the class. To add to this, the teacher training class also had their term project due, which was twenty pages and there are fifteen of them also. When I have papers to grade, I do not leave the flat other than to go to work. I hate knowing I have work to do that is sitting there waiting for me. My philosophy has always been to give students feedback as soon as possible too. It is not fair to them to hold back on their papers longer than I need to.

Of course there are still little annoying Immigration things that need to be done in the meantime, so this bites a chunk of my time from grading papers and life in general. I still have not been able to reach the eye doctor to get my trial pair of contact lenses. I have called twice, but she has not been in. When I had a student speak to the secretary, she had no clue who I was or what I wanted, though the doctor told me to call the secretary to arrange to pick them up. The secretary was sitting there at the time and smiled at me as the doctor was telling me this. Since it is an eye clinic at the medical university, I cannot just pop in.

Yesterday, I received an invitation to the special meeting of IATEFL-Hungary, the International Association of Teachers of English as a Foreign Language- Hungarian Chapter. They need to change the constitution to be in compliance with the International association. Since I am a member, I would have attended, but the language of the meeting is Hungarian, with interpreters as needed. An English teachers association and they are having their meeting in Hungarian…this puzzles me. I have been involved with the group in Macedonia and Bulgaria, but they have all of their meetings in English. It is no wonder the Hungarian chapter is not as fully supported as they could be.

Only two more weeks of school left. May 18th is my last day until September. By July 1st, I will start missing my students again and will be wishing the summer away.

We have only two trips planned this summer. June 3rd we will go to Dresden and Leipzig, then in August to Edinburgh. Ron will be in the States for three weeks, so that takes a chunk from chances of taking time away.

It is 5:44 am. If I push it, I can finish another student’s paper before showering. This weekend will be another hermit weekend finishing up papers.

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