I always look forward to going home for the holidays but am especially excited this year. It’s not like my life in Budapest isn’t good; things are great or at least no worse than they would be if I lived in Boston. So why have I been obsessed with all things Christmas for the past month and a half?
I often feel uncomfortable here – whether I am trying to do Agni yoga in Hungarian or my coworkers abruptly stop all conversation when I walk into the office kitchen. This is not necessarily a bad thing, and part of the reason I wanted to live abroad in a non-English speaking country was to be out of my element, but it has been difficult not having a familiar, happy place (hanging out with my best friends or being lazy on my couch in Boston with the dogs) where I can go to recharge.
Let’s take last Wednesday morning.
Walking into the office, I run into Zoli, the guy in charge of company cars. I say hi and a few words in Hungarian, and Zoli avoids eye contact and nods (my Hungarian lessons are a disaster; my revised tactic is to smile like a lunatic and greet everyone I see). When I get to my desk two minutes later, I have an email from Edina that Zoli wants to arrange a “programme” with me. I respond, “That would be great!!!” because if you don’t use excessive punctuation or emoticons in email, you are perceived as an unfriendly bitch. After a few more emails, it is decided I am going with Zoli and Csaba – another guy who works with the cars – to Zoli’s house for lunch, which will be cooked by his wife, Viola.
This wouldn’t be so strange but I don’t speak Hungarian, and Zoli and Csaba certainly don’t speak English. We end up having a hilarious lunch where Zoli’s wife cooks a delicious, HEAVY meal of garlic soup (sorry, coworkers), meat in creamy sauce, cucumber salad, and roast potatoes, and we mime and communicate in broken English and Hungarian.
Lunch was awesome but at the end of the two hours I am ready for a nap – and not just because of the heavy meal. But I cannot take a nap because I need to go back to work and keep up the Alex-represents-Americans-well routine.
So I am V to E excited to come home to a place where my family and friends already know me, and I don’t have to try to articulate my personality through hand gestures and simple sentences. And Christmas traditions like Bob’s Diner, Dutch Baby, and Mama Bochicchio’s annual holiday (news)letter make the holidays even more familiar and comforting.
See you all in Boston soon!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Blast From The Past
(I do realize I just did a 180 - not posting for 1.5 months to updating the site with alarming frequency. Yes, I am still employed.)
But I had to share the most recent post from my sister Kara's blog The Art Cart, ruminations on the New England art scene. The first two paragraphs cracked me up.
Most of the time I am incredibly irked when celebrities try to "multi-talent" themselves. One of my favorite examples is Ms. Simpson-Wentz. It became pretty obvious, after her stint on SNL, that she could not sing. Then she tried her talents on the big screen, then on the small screen and then she tried to name a baby (Bronx Mowgli?!?).
I'm really sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson-Wentz but the last time I called a child Mogley my little sister was trying to slide down the banister at our house. She had a Buster Brown hair cut and the only clothes she had on were some white undies. She reminded me of the kid in the Jungle Book and so I started calling her Mogley's Butt (I got grounded for that, if you're wondering).
Me, Cuz Anthony, Cuz Jennifer, Kara, Cuz Lauren, Krista (aka Mogley's Butt) a few years prior to the aforementioned incident.
Kara, you seem to be sporting a Mogley-esque haircut yourself...
But I had to share the most recent post from my sister Kara's blog The Art Cart, ruminations on the New England art scene. The first two paragraphs cracked me up.
Most of the time I am incredibly irked when celebrities try to "multi-talent" themselves. One of my favorite examples is Ms. Simpson-Wentz. It became pretty obvious, after her stint on SNL, that she could not sing. Then she tried her talents on the big screen, then on the small screen and then she tried to name a baby (Bronx Mowgli?!?).
I'm really sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson-Wentz but the last time I called a child Mogley my little sister was trying to slide down the banister at our house. She had a Buster Brown hair cut and the only clothes she had on were some white undies. She reminded me of the kid in the Jungle Book and so I started calling her Mogley's Butt (I got grounded for that, if you're wondering).
Me, Cuz Anthony, Cuz Jennifer, Kara, Cuz Lauren, Krista (aka Mogley's Butt) a few years prior to the aforementioned incident.
Kara, you seem to be sporting a Mogley-esque haircut yourself...
My New Year's Resolution...Probably More Than You Wanted to Know
When I get stressed, I write lists. In high school, I was borderline obsessive. Every Friday night I would write a “to-do” list for the weekend on a legal notepad, put it on my desk, and not relax until every item was crossed out. I toned it down in college because I didn’t want my roommates to think I was psychotic, but the fixation didn’t go away. I now limit myself to six simultaneous lists on my blackberry notepad; any more and I feel the need to keep a list of my lists, which even I realize is ridiculous.
Living by lists creates two problems. First, I waste an incredible amount of time making lists when I could be doing stuff. Second, I focus on knocking off items on my list rather than solving the underlying issue or problem.
This is why my (early) New Year’s resolution is to start solving problems even if they don’t fit nicely into list format.
(This epiphany sounds incredibly stupid in writing.)
Mindlessly browsing the Internet Inspired by this post, I took action. Like Gretchen, my body temperature stays around negative 20 degrees. Right now I am sitting at my desk wearing a shirt, sweater, fleece, scarf and winter jacket. Balazs next to me is wearing a t-shirt. I actually make decisions whether to do things based on how long I will have to be outside. Pathetic, right? And I start ski lessons this weekend.
So I went to Tesco and bought a space heater for my office. Then I googled “long underwear for women that you can’t see under clothes” and ordered several pairs. Five minutes of not-so-strenuous thinking and problem solved (well, TBD).
And the best part? I put “buy heater at Tesco” and “order long underwear” on my to-do list.
Living by lists creates two problems. First, I waste an incredible amount of time making lists when I could be doing stuff. Second, I focus on knocking off items on my list rather than solving the underlying issue or problem.
This is why my (early) New Year’s resolution is to start solving problems even if they don’t fit nicely into list format.
(This epiphany sounds incredibly stupid in writing.)
Mindlessly browsing the Internet Inspired by this post, I took action. Like Gretchen, my body temperature stays around negative 20 degrees. Right now I am sitting at my desk wearing a shirt, sweater, fleece, scarf and winter jacket. Balazs next to me is wearing a t-shirt. I actually make decisions whether to do things based on how long I will have to be outside. Pathetic, right? And I start ski lessons this weekend.
So I went to Tesco and bought a space heater for my office. Then I googled “long underwear for women that you can’t see under clothes” and ordered several pairs. Five minutes of not-so-strenuous thinking and problem solved (well, TBD).
And the best part? I put “buy heater at Tesco” and “order long underwear” on my to-do list.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Hungarian Thanksgiving In A Box
Given that I was in my homesick phase of living abroad, I was V to E happy when my friend Susan offered to host Thanksgiving dinner at her apartment.
I offered to bring desserts and hit up Tesco on Monday night. Learning from previous experience, I opted to print out pictures of the "unusual" ingredients I needed rather than play charades to try to mime baking powder. I had mixed results - shortening and nutmeg are not sold in Hungary, but I did finally locate the brown sugar.
I picked up the remaining ingredients at Whole Foods when I visited Alexis had a b-school interview in London the next day. However, Gatwick security did not agree that my pumpkin puree was a solid and unfortunately confiscated all three cans at the airport.
I had a lot of fun cooking / baking the next night. I originally thought this was squash but it tasted like a giant sweet potato.
Who needs shortening when you can use the metric system equivalent of 3 cups of butter?
Catered by The Marriott, Thanksgiving dinner literally arrived in a box. This was a huge improvement over Susan's first Thanksgiving in the 'Pest when she bought a six-inch turkey sub from Subway, disassembled the sandwich and ate the turkey with a side of frozen veggies.
Susan assembled a motley ex-pat crew of a German, a Brit, another American, and an Australian-Hungarian.
Dinner was delicious and, more importantly, a lot of fun. However, I was taken aback by post-dinner comments about how full everyone was. I was full too; but this is THANKSGIVING, people. At home Mama Bochicchio goes all out for Thanksgiving every year. This is a woman who shops at BJs for three people, so you can only imagine the quantity of food she prepares for a full-on family gathering. Combined with being an incredible cook, my mom prepares enough food for 40 (there are at most ten), and everything is too delicious not to try. My sister Krista literally has an annual routine to maximize Thanksgiving consumption, waking up early to have a sizeable breakfast to "stretch out her stomach" before going back to sleep.
Thanks for a great night, Susan!
I offered to bring desserts and hit up Tesco on Monday night. Learning from previous experience, I opted to print out pictures of the "unusual" ingredients I needed rather than play charades to try to mime baking powder. I had mixed results - shortening and nutmeg are not sold in Hungary, but I did finally locate the brown sugar.
I picked up the remaining ingredients at Whole Foods when I visited Alexis had a b-school interview in London the next day. However, Gatwick security did not agree that my pumpkin puree was a solid and unfortunately confiscated all three cans at the airport.
I had a lot of fun cooking / baking the next night. I originally thought this was squash but it tasted like a giant sweet potato.
Who needs shortening when you can use the metric system equivalent of 3 cups of butter?
Catered by The Marriott, Thanksgiving dinner literally arrived in a box. This was a huge improvement over Susan's first Thanksgiving in the 'Pest when she bought a six-inch turkey sub from Subway, disassembled the sandwich and ate the turkey with a side of frozen veggies.
Susan assembled a motley ex-pat crew of a German, a Brit, another American, and an Australian-Hungarian.
Dinner was delicious and, more importantly, a lot of fun. However, I was taken aback by post-dinner comments about how full everyone was. I was full too; but this is THANKSGIVING, people. At home Mama Bochicchio goes all out for Thanksgiving every year. This is a woman who shops at BJs for three people, so you can only imagine the quantity of food she prepares for a full-on family gathering. Combined with being an incredible cook, my mom prepares enough food for 40 (there are at most ten), and everything is too delicious not to try. My sister Krista literally has an annual routine to maximize Thanksgiving consumption, waking up early to have a sizeable breakfast to "stretch out her stomach" before going back to sleep.
Thanks for a great night, Susan!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Good Blogger
We had our company holiday party last Friday night, and it was everything I could have hoped it to be...
But first, let's take a trip down memory lane to last year's M/C holiday party. Given that all of the associates had played instruments at some point during childhood, we decided to provide the evening's entertainment by seranading our colleagues with holiday songs.
Ed played the guitar and sang (and was GOOD!), Hoop did the same (ditto), Nate played the drums, and I played the keyboard. The songs were simple, but we had to practice. A lot. The highlight of the night was when one of the wives approached me and asked if I had learned the piano solely for this performance (I took piano for 12 years). However, the night was a success, including the fact I didn't demolish anyone's pool table.
This year's company holiday party was billed as a night of "eating, drinking, salsa and poker." Actually that is a lie - I have no idea how it was characterized as the invitation was in Hungarian.
Upon arrival, the Hungarian CFO took me aside, reached into his jacket pocket and offered me a shot of his homemade pallinka. I had known Hungarians trump Americans when it comes to drinking, but BYOP to an open bar takes the cake.
My social confidence fortified, I had a fun dinner with coworkers. Salsa dancing began around 9 PM when dancers in figure skating outfits started pumping the crowd. I was feeling good from the pallinka - but not that good - so I left the table before one of the dancers could grab me. I want to learn salsa; I do not want to learn salsa in front of 300 Hungarian coworkers.
A few drinks later, the finance team was ready to dance. The dance floor was for at least 100; there were 12 of us. But it didn't matter, and when Balazs requested Lady Gaga, it REALLY didn't matter.
I made it home around 1 AM for a good four hours of sleep before my flight to Frankfurt in the morning.
Hungarian holiday parties - I am Q to V impressed!
But first, let's take a trip down memory lane to last year's M/C holiday party. Given that all of the associates had played instruments at some point during childhood, we decided to provide the evening's entertainment by seranading our colleagues with holiday songs.
Ed played the guitar and sang (and was GOOD!), Hoop did the same (ditto), Nate played the drums, and I played the keyboard. The songs were simple, but we had to practice. A lot. The highlight of the night was when one of the wives approached me and asked if I had learned the piano solely for this performance (I took piano for 12 years). However, the night was a success, including the fact I didn't demolish anyone's pool table.
This year's company holiday party was billed as a night of "eating, drinking, salsa and poker." Actually that is a lie - I have no idea how it was characterized as the invitation was in Hungarian.
Upon arrival, the Hungarian CFO took me aside, reached into his jacket pocket and offered me a shot of his homemade pallinka. I had known Hungarians trump Americans when it comes to drinking, but BYOP to an open bar takes the cake.
My social confidence fortified, I had a fun dinner with coworkers. Salsa dancing began around 9 PM when dancers in figure skating outfits started pumping the crowd. I was feeling good from the pallinka - but not that good - so I left the table before one of the dancers could grab me. I want to learn salsa; I do not want to learn salsa in front of 300 Hungarian coworkers.
A few drinks later, the finance team was ready to dance. The dance floor was for at least 100; there were 12 of us. But it didn't matter, and when Balazs requested Lady Gaga, it REALLY didn't matter.
I made it home around 1 AM for a good four hours of sleep before my flight to Frankfurt in the morning.
Hungarian holiday parties - I am Q to V impressed!
Bad Blogger
Since everyone is just now receiving my postcards from my trip to Rome in early November, this is a good place to start...
I met mom and dad in Rome; mom had a conference there and dad joined her. Our hotel was behind the Spanish Steps, the site where Alyssa once spotted Scar Jo, and I bought the my Universita di Roma t-shirt - which I still wear today - during my sophomore Latin class trip.
Trevi Fountain was less than a ten minute walk from our hotel, but we never took the same route twice. Once we even took the metro because Dad was determined to get our money's worth out of the "Roma pass."
The Colosseum was spectacular. Considering the criticism Americans receive for insensitivity to violence, it is amazing to think that a fun day in Rome was a trip to the amphitheater to see thousands of gladiators, crimials and animals fight to the death.
I can almost picture Marcus Aurelius bringing Marcus and Sextus to the games and admonishing Sextus for throwing hard boiled eggs at the lower balcony. Meanwhile, Cornelia is sulking back at the house while helping Aurelia prepare the late afternoon meal. Uncle Titus (sporting his pink shoes) has made up an excuse to skip the games and is cruising the baths for men. Life is as it should be in "Ecce Romanae Vol. I."
One of our funniest meals was at a small restaurant near Piazza Navona where we befriended a bunch of rowdy, middle-aged Germans. At one point, mom gave one of them her phone number, and they promised to visit us during next year's Boston Marathon. Stranger things have happened. And my parents do like "German people."
Dad contemplating life and religion in the Vatican.
Dad's coworker directed him to her friend's restaurant, a local place we never would have found on our own. The food was authentic and delicious - and so plentiful that we didn't even make it to the main course, which is saying a lot for the Bochicchios. I am not sure why I look much boozier than my parents in this photo.
Rome is a cool place - friendly people, great food and wine, and a Roman ruin down every street. I am diggin' my last name right now.
I met mom and dad in Rome; mom had a conference there and dad joined her. Our hotel was behind the Spanish Steps, the site where Alyssa once spotted Scar Jo, and I bought the my Universita di Roma t-shirt - which I still wear today - during my sophomore Latin class trip.
Trevi Fountain was less than a ten minute walk from our hotel, but we never took the same route twice. Once we even took the metro because Dad was determined to get our money's worth out of the "Roma pass."
The Colosseum was spectacular. Considering the criticism Americans receive for insensitivity to violence, it is amazing to think that a fun day in Rome was a trip to the amphitheater to see thousands of gladiators, crimials and animals fight to the death.
I can almost picture Marcus Aurelius bringing Marcus and Sextus to the games and admonishing Sextus for throwing hard boiled eggs at the lower balcony. Meanwhile, Cornelia is sulking back at the house while helping Aurelia prepare the late afternoon meal. Uncle Titus (sporting his pink shoes) has made up an excuse to skip the games and is cruising the baths for men. Life is as it should be in "Ecce Romanae Vol. I."
One of our funniest meals was at a small restaurant near Piazza Navona where we befriended a bunch of rowdy, middle-aged Germans. At one point, mom gave one of them her phone number, and they promised to visit us during next year's Boston Marathon. Stranger things have happened. And my parents do like "German people."
Dad contemplating life and religion in the Vatican.
Dad's coworker directed him to her friend's restaurant, a local place we never would have found on our own. The food was authentic and delicious - and so plentiful that we didn't even make it to the main course, which is saying a lot for the Bochicchios. I am not sure why I look much boozier than my parents in this photo.
Rome is a cool place - friendly people, great food and wine, and a Roman ruin down every street. I am diggin' my last name right now.
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