I mentioned prostitution was a problem here.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Vienna II
Lex and I met up for the weekend in Vienna (Wien). Although we stuck to our plan of eating and drinking our way through the city per usual, we managed to include a bit of culture in between mouthfuls of apple strudel.
During my first trip here with Papa Boch and Aunt Anne-Marie, I learned that if a souvenir wasn’t edible, it was based on a Klimt painting. This time I wanted to see some non-postcard sized Klimts.
With Lex and google as my personal art historians, I learned that Gustav Klimt was one of the leaders of the Vienna Secession, a group of artists that broke off from the Association of Austrian Artists in 1897. There is no unifying artistic style behind the movement; rather the artists were rebelling against the traditional, academic nature of Austrian art.
After wandering around Naschmarkt, we stepped into the Secession Hall, a gold-domed building constructed as an exhibition hall for the artists associated with the movement. Picking up a flyer at the front desk, we learned this month’s exhibit was a swinger’s club Element6, part of a project by Swiss artist Christoph Buechel. Doors open every night at 9 PM and erotic attire is encouraged.
Because we were petrified we didn’t have the right clothes, we declined the invitation. Instead we went to the Leopold Museum, bought some postcards, and ate gelato.
(Vienna has the highest concentration of gelaterias outside of Italy. Lex will fill you in on Art Nouveau; I will update you on the important stuff.)
My favorite artist from the Vienna Secession was Egon Schiele. His paintings are sinewy and disturbing and mesmerizing. He died at age 28 from the Spanish flu epidemic.
One movement; two styles (three allegations of immoral behavior involving minors).
The Embrace (Schiele)
The Kiss (Klimt)
The most delicious Viennese dish we tried was Krautfleckerl, buttery cabbage pasta (one of the few versions of the recipe which does not explicitly state lard as a key ingredient).
Happy birthday, Little Lex. Haven’t you always wanted to celebrate your 27th with me, Gustav, and Egon?
During my first trip here with Papa Boch and Aunt Anne-Marie, I learned that if a souvenir wasn’t edible, it was based on a Klimt painting. This time I wanted to see some non-postcard sized Klimts.
With Lex and google as my personal art historians, I learned that Gustav Klimt was one of the leaders of the Vienna Secession, a group of artists that broke off from the Association of Austrian Artists in 1897. There is no unifying artistic style behind the movement; rather the artists were rebelling against the traditional, academic nature of Austrian art.
After wandering around Naschmarkt, we stepped into the Secession Hall, a gold-domed building constructed as an exhibition hall for the artists associated with the movement. Picking up a flyer at the front desk, we learned this month’s exhibit was a swinger’s club Element6, part of a project by Swiss artist Christoph Buechel. Doors open every night at 9 PM and erotic attire is encouraged.
Because we were petrified we didn’t have the right clothes, we declined the invitation. Instead we went to the Leopold Museum, bought some postcards, and ate gelato.
(Vienna has the highest concentration of gelaterias outside of Italy. Lex will fill you in on Art Nouveau; I will update you on the important stuff.)
My favorite artist from the Vienna Secession was Egon Schiele. His paintings are sinewy and disturbing and mesmerizing. He died at age 28 from the Spanish flu epidemic.
One movement; two styles (three allegations of immoral behavior involving minors).
The Embrace (Schiele)
The Kiss (Klimt)
The most delicious Viennese dish we tried was Krautfleckerl, buttery cabbage pasta (one of the few versions of the recipe which does not explicitly state lard as a key ingredient).
Happy birthday, Little Lex. Haven’t you always wanted to celebrate your 27th with me, Gustav, and Egon?
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Ewww
Horrified by my google image search for "sketchy Turkish bathroom," I was going to spare you a visual of the restaurant bathroom in Istanbul. However, Kelly found a sanitized pic.
Imagine this with no TP, no cleaning supplies, and the floors and walls dripping in...liquid. It was my squat workout of the week.
(The whole experience reminded me of the Curb episode where Larry accidentally pees on the picture of Jesus, an act misinterpreted as a miracle.)
OK, enough bathroom talk for the day.
Imagine this with no TP, no cleaning supplies, and the floors and walls dripping in...liquid. It was my squat workout of the week.
(The whole experience reminded me of the Curb episode where Larry accidentally pees on the picture of Jesus, an act misinterpreted as a miracle.)
OK, enough bathroom talk for the day.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Domesticity in Hungary
I just called my family in Boston, and my mom told me they had been talking about how “restless” I am. Well, I pretty much agree with that. However, I have had a decidedly un-restless weekend here in Budapest. With which I will now bore you.
After stalking Gauranga on his blog, I learned my beloved yoga basement studio had moved from across the street to across the city. Because I can no longer make the classes during the week, I took my first class in almost a month on Saturday morning. It was amazing. Bikram and I have rekindled our special relationship, if only for casual weekend flings.
It FINALLY feels like spring in Budapest, so I did my favorite thing – wander around the city. I bought stuff I didn't need at the Great Market Hall, found a birthday present for El Nino, and confirmed gyros in Budapest are better than ones in Istanbul. Life is good.
With a newfound confidence in Hungarian cooking , Susan, Kelly, and I cooked a Hungarian dinner. Despite the inevitable ingredient-purchasing mishaps, the Pancakes Hortobágy and meggyes pite were delish. That being said, cold eggs would have tasted good if accompanied by three bottles of wine.
When Susan tells you she is a bad cook, do not believe her.
Why wouldn't we take the exact same picture three times.
This reminded me of my favorite dinner growing up - mom's pancakes for dinner. Any other recipe from the back of a Bisquick box was a close second.
We made the second, less authentic pastry with Susan's Del Monte 100-calorie mixed fruit cups.
I celebrated the continued awesome weather on Sunday with a looooooong run around Margaret Island. I sported my new spandex running pants and felt like a legitimate runner. Especially compared to the pack of middle-aged women jogging in blue jean vests.
Speaking of running, I have been ravenous since the half-marathon. I usually cook meals for the week on Sunday, so decided to recreate the most “filling” meal I could think of – Collis’s African Peanut Soup. You NEED to try this.
And now I am about to meet Andrea, who is visiting for a few days. Excluding my slight wine hangover, if this was not a wholesome, domestic weekend – I don’t know what is. Really the only thing left to do is buy myself a sweet blue jean vest.
After stalking Gauranga on his blog, I learned my beloved yoga basement studio had moved from across the street to across the city. Because I can no longer make the classes during the week, I took my first class in almost a month on Saturday morning. It was amazing. Bikram and I have rekindled our special relationship, if only for casual weekend flings.
It FINALLY feels like spring in Budapest, so I did my favorite thing – wander around the city. I bought stuff I didn't need at the Great Market Hall, found a birthday present for El Nino, and confirmed gyros in Budapest are better than ones in Istanbul. Life is good.
With a newfound confidence in Hungarian cooking , Susan, Kelly, and I cooked a Hungarian dinner. Despite the inevitable ingredient-purchasing mishaps, the Pancakes Hortobágy and meggyes pite were delish. That being said, cold eggs would have tasted good if accompanied by three bottles of wine.
When Susan tells you she is a bad cook, do not believe her.
Why wouldn't we take the exact same picture three times.
This reminded me of my favorite dinner growing up - mom's pancakes for dinner. Any other recipe from the back of a Bisquick box was a close second.
We made the second, less authentic pastry with Susan's Del Monte 100-calorie mixed fruit cups.
I celebrated the continued awesome weather on Sunday with a looooooong run around Margaret Island. I sported my new spandex running pants and felt like a legitimate runner. Especially compared to the pack of middle-aged women jogging in blue jean vests.
Speaking of running, I have been ravenous since the half-marathon. I usually cook meals for the week on Sunday, so decided to recreate the most “filling” meal I could think of – Collis’s African Peanut Soup. You NEED to try this.
And now I am about to meet Andrea, who is visiting for a few days. Excluding my slight wine hangover, if this was not a wholesome, domestic weekend – I don’t know what is. Really the only thing left to do is buy myself a sweet blue jean vest.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Istanbul
Kelly and I celebrated the anniversary of one of Hungary's many unsuccessful attempts at revolution with a weekend trip to Istanbul.
Being the crazy that I am, I asked Cem for a detailed itinerary. Which I highlighted.
We stayed in Sultanahmet, the old town and touristy part of the city. Calling Istanbul colorful would be an understatement.
Spurred by my newfound love of the hookah following my trip to Dubai, we took the metro to Tophane, a neighborhood home to about 30 identical sisha places.
Everyone was incredibly friendly and generous, if sometimes a little pushy. When we asked the waiter how to get to Taxism, he called over his friend whom walked us part of the way there.
In Taxism, we tried guvec and drank raki, basically Turkish ouzo. We also met Affans & Omar, our new friends and tour guides for the rest of the trip. They taught us a few Turkish words; Kelly did well, but Affans told me I had a "lazy mind." I maintain that I just have problems rolling my r's.
Our new friends drew us a map for Sunday's excursions.
We began the day walking through Gulhane Park ("flower farm") to have breakfast overlooking the Bosphorus.
After touring Hagia Sophia, we took off our shoes, converted our pashminas into head scarves, and checked out the Blue Mosque. It was gorgeous.
I have no idea why I refused to show my teeth in all pictures this weekend.
The bazaars were much more colorful and bustling than the ones in Dubai. Turkish D was a disappointment, but the "hygiene" fish sandwiches and baklava were delish. On an unhygienic note, I WISH I had taken the picture of the bathroom in the cafeteria where we ate. Consider yourself lucky.
Affans read the remains of the Turkish coffee. Kelly hoped this was just a superstition because his reading went something like "Alex is jealous of Kelly and will try to harm her in her sleep." Lazy yet dangerous.
Budapest and Istanbul are both known for their bathhouses. In Budapest, you lounge around in the pungent thermal baths, trying to ignore the couple getting it in on next to you. In Istanbul, you are assigned a large Turkish woman who looks you in the eye and informs you that you are now her baby. She then proceeds to wash, scrub, and massage you while you lie on a marble platform in the middle of a steamy room.
I arrived back in Budapest...very clean.
Being the crazy that I am, I asked Cem for a detailed itinerary. Which I highlighted.
We stayed in Sultanahmet, the old town and touristy part of the city. Calling Istanbul colorful would be an understatement.
Spurred by my newfound love of the hookah following my trip to Dubai, we took the metro to Tophane, a neighborhood home to about 30 identical sisha places.
Everyone was incredibly friendly and generous, if sometimes a little pushy. When we asked the waiter how to get to Taxism, he called over his friend whom walked us part of the way there.
In Taxism, we tried guvec and drank raki, basically Turkish ouzo. We also met Affans & Omar, our new friends and tour guides for the rest of the trip. They taught us a few Turkish words; Kelly did well, but Affans told me I had a "lazy mind." I maintain that I just have problems rolling my r's.
Our new friends drew us a map for Sunday's excursions.
We began the day walking through Gulhane Park ("flower farm") to have breakfast overlooking the Bosphorus.
After touring Hagia Sophia, we took off our shoes, converted our pashminas into head scarves, and checked out the Blue Mosque. It was gorgeous.
I have no idea why I refused to show my teeth in all pictures this weekend.
The bazaars were much more colorful and bustling than the ones in Dubai. Turkish D was a disappointment, but the "hygiene" fish sandwiches and baklava were delish. On an unhygienic note, I WISH I had taken the picture of the bathroom in the cafeteria where we ate. Consider yourself lucky.
Affans read the remains of the Turkish coffee. Kelly hoped this was just a superstition because his reading went something like "Alex is jealous of Kelly and will try to harm her in her sleep." Lazy yet dangerous.
Budapest and Istanbul are both known for their bathhouses. In Budapest, you lounge around in the pungent thermal baths, trying to ignore the couple getting it in on next to you. In Istanbul, you are assigned a large Turkish woman who looks you in the eye and informs you that you are now her baby. She then proceeds to wash, scrub, and massage you while you lie on a marble platform in the middle of a steamy room.
I arrived back in Budapest...very clean.
Friday, March 12, 2010
TGIF
It's been a rough week at work, so between that and my obsessive (and so far unsuccessful) search to find the season premiere of The Real Housewives of NYC online, I don't have much going on. Which means I will continue to milk last weekend.
I wish I were enough of a badass to run wearing that.
That would be Cem's bum.
Who needs Chanel when you have snap bracelets?
Ralphie and I were the only ones who thought the free Ovaltine bars were delicious.
We decided everyone looks better in black and white.
Or wearing a mining light.
Contrary to the above photo, Cem did leave his post to run the race.
My little Lexipoo.
I am off to Istanbul tomorrow so will have new stories soon. Hopefully ones involving bathhouses and large Turkish women with loofahs.
I wish I were enough of a badass to run wearing that.
That would be Cem's bum.
Who needs Chanel when you have snap bracelets?
Ralphie and I were the only ones who thought the free Ovaltine bars were delicious.
We decided everyone looks better in black and white.
Or wearing a mining light.
Contrary to the above photo, Cem did leave his post to run the race.
My little Lexipoo.
I am off to Istanbul tomorrow so will have new stories soon. Hopefully ones involving bathhouses and large Turkish women with loofahs.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Paris Semi
I could get used to living in Paris. I mean I don’t speak French or have any real ties to the city except for an intense love of crepes and nutella, but that seems like enough.
We all trickled into the city on Friday night and spent the evening negotiating sleeping arrangements and accidentally ordering warm milk in cafes.
I realized it was going to be COLD for the race when Lex and I biked to Parc Floral on Saturday morning to drop off our medical forms, and I lost all feeling in my hands. We spent the rest of the day strolling around the city, saying deep things like:
"The subway ride took 40 minutes. We have to run that tomorrow?"
"I love how all of the buildings are so structured in an unstructured way."
I also spent a significant amount of time trying to convince the others that macaroons we bought at a specialty pastry shop were just as good as the macaroons sold at the McDonalds at Versailles.
Besides seeing Lex & co., the best part of the weekend was the actual race. Lex, Oppy, and I ran together, starting and ending in the Parc and looping around the city center. I don't know if it was the course or running with friends or if my brain went numb because of the cold, but the time flew by.
The end of the race was a mob scene; we elbowed our way non-climactically to the finish line, and I think Lex beat up an old woman for a banana. I didn't see it go down though because I was busy tripping Oppy so I could steal his Powerade.
I’m definitely ready for a full marathon. Boston 2011, here I come.
We headed back to the apartments only to realize that - being so laser-focused on the race - the runners locked themselves out of their apartment. No worries! Surely the landlord has an extra key.
He doesn't? No worries! I am sure we can call a locksmith.
Four hours later, we finally got into the apartment - just in time for me to grab my stuff and head out to the airport.
The race pics from the website are fairly frightening, so I'll only post two. Oppy, I'm including yours because you look badass. Lex - how did you manage to have no pictures (I think Cem had 12)? Did you delete them??
We all trickled into the city on Friday night and spent the evening negotiating sleeping arrangements and accidentally ordering warm milk in cafes.
I realized it was going to be COLD for the race when Lex and I biked to Parc Floral on Saturday morning to drop off our medical forms, and I lost all feeling in my hands. We spent the rest of the day strolling around the city, saying deep things like:
"The subway ride took 40 minutes. We have to run that tomorrow?"
"I love how all of the buildings are so structured in an unstructured way."
I also spent a significant amount of time trying to convince the others that macaroons we bought at a specialty pastry shop were just as good as the macaroons sold at the McDonalds at Versailles.
Besides seeing Lex & co., the best part of the weekend was the actual race. Lex, Oppy, and I ran together, starting and ending in the Parc and looping around the city center. I don't know if it was the course or running with friends or if my brain went numb because of the cold, but the time flew by.
The end of the race was a mob scene; we elbowed our way non-climactically to the finish line, and I think Lex beat up an old woman for a banana. I didn't see it go down though because I was busy tripping Oppy so I could steal his Powerade.
I’m definitely ready for a full marathon. Boston 2011, here I come.
We headed back to the apartments only to realize that - being so laser-focused on the race - the runners locked themselves out of their apartment. No worries! Surely the landlord has an extra key.
He doesn't? No worries! I am sure we can call a locksmith.
Four hours later, we finally got into the apartment - just in time for me to grab my stuff and head out to the airport.
The race pics from the website are fairly frightening, so I'll only post two. Oppy, I'm including yours because you look badass. Lex - how did you manage to have no pictures (I think Cem had 12)? Did you delete them??
Friday, March 5, 2010
Partners In Health
I am leaving cold, windy Budapest for hopefully not so chilly France this evening. Thank you to everyone who donated to Partners In Health on behalf of the Haiti relief effort. I will fill my momyou all in on everything when I get back.
In related news, today Sus sent me this picture from last month's Lunar Party. Henry (right) is the medical director of PIH. And please be assured that your money is funding aid to Haiti and not supplying the country with sequined devil horns.
In related news, today Sus sent me this picture from last month's Lunar Party. Henry (right) is the medical director of PIH. And please be assured that your money is funding aid to Haiti and not supplying the country with sequined devil horns.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Let's Make A Deal
I am on a continual quest to find new music. My favorite is alternative/indie-rock, although I am a sucker for popified-punk (my all time favorite concert was Papa Roach junior year of high school when Coby Dick sweat on me. Judge away).
I keep a running list of songs I hear and like on my blackberry - one of my six allowed lists - and rip out magazine pages mentioning good bands.
(I also rip out random magazine pages and throw them on the floor when I am in reading in bed at night to remind myself to do something the next day. This makes absolutely no sense and is why the next morning a New Yorker article titled "Detroit in Ruins" can be interpreted either as a reminder to download an Eminem song or run the dishwasher.)
Then every few weeks I plant myself in my 1.5 chair and pull up each song on iTunes to determine if it is worth $1.29 based on the 20-second sound byte. To get all econ-y on you, my utility derived from getting good music far exceeds any amount of time or money I spend obtaining it.
Following a particularly disappointing list-to-purchase conversion ratio, I was ecstatic when I received a package from Nina this week containing a few new (to me) CDs. Which got me thinking.
I like music and have the privledge/curse of easy access to Euro pop, techno, punk, and even Hungarian rap. You like music and have access to music that likely never will make it to Hungary.
If you send me new music (even the names of songs so I can download them), I will reciprocate. If Deane liked tolerated Lady Gaga's Telephone, I know you will enjoy my Eurotrash-tastic spin mix (slated for official release in Fall 2010).
What have you got to lose? Besides time, effort, and good taste?
I keep a running list of songs I hear and like on my blackberry - one of my six allowed lists - and rip out magazine pages mentioning good bands.
(I also rip out random magazine pages and throw them on the floor when I am in reading in bed at night to remind myself to do something the next day. This makes absolutely no sense and is why the next morning a New Yorker article titled "Detroit in Ruins" can be interpreted either as a reminder to download an Eminem song or run the dishwasher.)
Then every few weeks I plant myself in my 1.5 chair and pull up each song on iTunes to determine if it is worth $1.29 based on the 20-second sound byte. To get all econ-y on you, my utility derived from getting good music far exceeds any amount of time or money I spend obtaining it.
Following a particularly disappointing list-to-purchase conversion ratio, I was ecstatic when I received a package from Nina this week containing a few new (to me) CDs. Which got me thinking.
I like music and have the privledge/curse of easy access to Euro pop, techno, punk, and even Hungarian rap. You like music and have access to music that likely never will make it to Hungary.
If you send me new music (even the names of songs so I can download them), I will reciprocate. If Deane liked tolerated Lady Gaga's Telephone, I know you will enjoy my Eurotrash-tastic spin mix (slated for official release in Fall 2010).
What have you got to lose? Besides time, effort, and good taste?
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Prolific Blogger
As you can tell, I am updating the blog more frequently with shorter posts. This is good because it forces me to write and, in extreme cases, reflect on what I am doing. This is bad because you will be forced to read about my boring daily life (assuming others actually read this).
Over the past month, I have done my half-marathon long runs on the gym treadmill. They have been miserable. In addition to people peering over my shoulder and commenting when I change the pace, the electrcity shuts off at random times.
Optimistic Alex would consider this interval training. Unfortunately, only cranky Alex frequents the gym.
My last long run was so mind-numbing that it took me almost an entire week before I could convince myself to return to the gym, undoubtedly negating all benefits of the training run.
This is why I decided to run outside this weekend. However, given the more-February-than-March temperatures and howling wind, I needed a kick in the butt to get out the door. This is where it gets embarrassing.
I have been relying on running blogs to stay motivated for the Paris semi. Sunday morning I literally sat in my chair and a half and read Runner's Kitchen until I got pumped, put on twelve layers, and headed over to Margaret Island.
It worked. I felt as if I were part of a group of fellow running crazies, dodging the debris kicking around in the wind. And if I clenched and unclenched my fists every 500 meters or so, my fingers didn’t get too numb. It by far was my best and longest run since the summer and reminded me that I run because I actually like it.
Boo-friggin-yah. I gotta do something to keep the endorphins flowing prior to springtime.
Over the past month, I have done my half-marathon long runs on the gym treadmill. They have been miserable. In addition to people peering over my shoulder and commenting when I change the pace, the electrcity shuts off at random times.
Optimistic Alex would consider this interval training. Unfortunately, only cranky Alex frequents the gym.
My last long run was so mind-numbing that it took me almost an entire week before I could convince myself to return to the gym, undoubtedly negating all benefits of the training run.
This is why I decided to run outside this weekend. However, given the more-February-than-March temperatures and howling wind, I needed a kick in the butt to get out the door. This is where it gets embarrassing.
I have been relying on running blogs to stay motivated for the Paris semi. Sunday morning I literally sat in my chair and a half and read Runner's Kitchen until I got pumped, put on twelve layers, and headed over to Margaret Island.
It worked. I felt as if I were part of a group of fellow running crazies, dodging the debris kicking around in the wind. And if I clenched and unclenched my fists every 500 meters or so, my fingers didn’t get too numb. It by far was my best and longest run since the summer and reminded me that I run because I actually like it.
Boo-friggin-yah. I gotta do something to keep the endorphins flowing prior to springtime.
Yum-O
Friends, get excited because I now know how to make Chicken Paprikash, Nokedli, Goulash, and Somloi - a popular Hungarian dessert made by layering chocolate and vanilla sponge cake with vanilla custard, raisins, walnuts, chocolate sauce, rum and whipped cream.
Of course, I only snapped a picture of the dessert.
This weekend I got a bunch of people together for a Hungarian cooking class, and it was delicious. The most fun part - besides eating the results - was making the nokedli using a cheese grater. I do not know if I was licking my lips or rationalizing buying a grater to try this at home.
Since New Year's, I have kept my resolution of learning how to cook by experimenting. It took me 4+ years post-college graduation to transition from eating dinner at work or considering half a box of cereal dinner (please disregard last night) to cooking for myself, but better late than never. Sometimes the results are good; sometimes I have a week's worth of gross lunches following a botched meal. But at least I no longer have steady-state mercury poisoning as the result of an all-sushi diet.
I remain cautiously optimistic.
Of course, I only snapped a picture of the dessert.
This weekend I got a bunch of people together for a Hungarian cooking class, and it was delicious. The most fun part - besides eating the results - was making the nokedli using a cheese grater. I do not know if I was licking my lips or rationalizing buying a grater to try this at home.
Since New Year's, I have kept my resolution of learning how to cook by experimenting. It took me 4+ years post-college graduation to transition from eating dinner at work or considering half a box of cereal dinner (please disregard last night) to cooking for myself, but better late than never. Sometimes the results are good; sometimes I have a week's worth of gross lunches following a botched meal. But at least I no longer have steady-state mercury poisoning as the result of an all-sushi diet.
I remain cautiously optimistic.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Witness This
I skyped this weekend with KVS, one of my best friends from college and a freelance writer in New Orleans. (One of my favorite memories of New York is when KVS was in charge of making and taking pictures of the recipes featured in New York Magazine each week. Her pictures then were turned into sketches, so every so often I would open a NYM and see a drawing of my hands. Or Megh’s.)
The longer I am here, the more accustomed I am to having stupid conversations (“Hi, I’m Alex. I am American. I like the beach.”), so it was nice to talk with someone who knows me so well. KVS also can relate to some of my feelings about living in Budapest as she moved to New Orleans last year knowing only a couple of people.
Like anything, transplanting to Budapest and New Orleans has its ups and downs, but KVS described it perfectly; sometimes you just want someone to “witness” you. Like if I weren’t to run around Margaret Island in the morning or walk around Tesco during lunch because my office makes me claustrophobic, would anyone notice? This has to be part of the reason why everyone and their mother has a blog or twitter account.
(For the record, the aforementioned “anyone” excludes my mom. One Friday night when I worked at DB, I didn’t respond to my mom’s email because I went to bed at 7 PM after pulling an all-nighter. The next morning I awoke to ten messages from coworkers whom my mom had called trying to track me down.)
At the same time, not having many people “witness” you is kinda fun and part of the appeal about moving to a new city in the first place. So it goes both ways.
And I am sorry to say that you now are witness to my sulking following the mysterious Govinda closure and ramblings resulting from not having moved from the couch except to get up and pour another bowl of cereal. Nougat Pillows, I am cheating on you.
The longer I am here, the more accustomed I am to having stupid conversations (“Hi, I’m Alex. I am American. I like the beach.”), so it was nice to talk with someone who knows me so well. KVS also can relate to some of my feelings about living in Budapest as she moved to New Orleans last year knowing only a couple of people.
Like anything, transplanting to Budapest and New Orleans has its ups and downs, but KVS described it perfectly; sometimes you just want someone to “witness” you. Like if I weren’t to run around Margaret Island in the morning or walk around Tesco during lunch because my office makes me claustrophobic, would anyone notice? This has to be part of the reason why everyone and their mother has a blog or twitter account.
(For the record, the aforementioned “anyone” excludes my mom. One Friday night when I worked at DB, I didn’t respond to my mom’s email because I went to bed at 7 PM after pulling an all-nighter. The next morning I awoke to ten messages from coworkers whom my mom had called trying to track me down.)
At the same time, not having many people “witness” you is kinda fun and part of the appeal about moving to a new city in the first place. So it goes both ways.
And I am sorry to say that you now are witness to my sulking following the mysterious Govinda closure and ramblings resulting from not having moved from the couch except to get up and pour another bowl of cereal. Nougat Pillows, I am cheating on you.
Yup, I'm Being Dramatic
If you are reading this - especially given my lack of consistent posts - chances are that you know me pretty well and that I am q to v obsessed with routine.
Well, one of my favorite routines is now in limbo as I rushed home from work tonight to make the 7 PM Govinda hot yoga class...and the yoga studio was gone. What used to be a Hare Krishna gift shop / steamy makeshift yoga studio morphed overnight into two empty rooms with nothing but a cleaning lady mopping the floors. The only word I understood was “Nem.” No.
I really hope Govinda is doing an annual cleaning, but I doubt it given its usual attitude toward cleanliness.
Feeling irrationally defeated, I returned to my apartment to try to google my way to an answer. No dice but I did find the blog of my favorite/most hated yoga teacher, Gauranga. This man is amazing, but he has almost made me cry twice, and I haven’t done that over sports…in a long time.
Please, Govinda, come back to me. You are my happy place.
Well, one of my favorite routines is now in limbo as I rushed home from work tonight to make the 7 PM Govinda hot yoga class...and the yoga studio was gone. What used to be a Hare Krishna gift shop / steamy makeshift yoga studio morphed overnight into two empty rooms with nothing but a cleaning lady mopping the floors. The only word I understood was “Nem.” No.
I really hope Govinda is doing an annual cleaning, but I doubt it given its usual attitude toward cleanliness.
Feeling irrationally defeated, I returned to my apartment to try to google my way to an answer. No dice but I did find the blog of my favorite/most hated yoga teacher, Gauranga. This man is amazing, but he has almost made me cry twice, and I haven’t done that over sports…in a long time.
Please, Govinda, come back to me. You are my happy place.
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