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.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Happy Valentine's Day
Why yes, I AM Jess & Henry's vacation photographer.
Theorem: The Cafe Kor waitress is out of control with a camera.
Step 1: I subtly place camera on table.
Step 2: Waitress eyes camera.
Step 3: Photo shoot commences.
Step 4: Alex has 12 pictures at dinner from which to choose.
QED
Theorem: People will take a red and silver theme party at the New York Palace very seriously.
Proof: Please see above picture.
Like I said, I was just the photographer - I didn't ask questions.
Kara, thank you for your email. In a super weird way, you kinda made my Valentine's Day.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Alex Vagyok
There are 300 people working at my company’s Hungarian office. About 40% are women. As far as I know, there are two single-stall female bathrooms in the building. I drink at least one coke zero each day, and my New Year’s resolution was to drink more water. Ergo, I spend way too much time waiting in line outside of the bathroom.
Usually I just smile at the 20+ colleagues whom inevitably walk by while I am chilling outside of the bathroom. However, today one of my coworkers Zsolt whom I had never talked to before stopped and told me he had found my plug.
That is strange. I like to keep my plug private.
OH! My blog!
Hi, coworkers whom I didn’t know were reading this!
Alex vagyok. Sajnálom, hogy nem beszélek magyarul. A magyar nyelvtanulásom nem ment jól. Kérem legyen szíves beszéljen hozzám angolul.
Usually I just smile at the 20+ colleagues whom inevitably walk by while I am chilling outside of the bathroom. However, today one of my coworkers Zsolt whom I had never talked to before stopped and told me he had found my plug.
That is strange. I like to keep my plug private.
OH! My blog!
Hi, coworkers whom I didn’t know were reading this!
Alex vagyok. Sajnálom, hogy nem beszélek magyarul. A magyar nyelvtanulásom nem ment jól. Kérem legyen szíves beszéljen hozzám angolul.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Blasé Ex-Pat or American Tourist?
I waver back and forth between being in and out of my element in Budapest. I may never be completely comfortable shouting the familiar Hungarian salutation in public, but I can order off of a menu like nobody’s business.
The past weekend summed up the juxtaposition.
Blasé Ex-Pat: I met up with a few friends for drinks on Friday night and ran into multiple people I knew at the bar. Most notable was Paul, the first friend I made in Budapest after he responded to my desperate “Are you there, Friend? It’s Me, Alex” couch-surfing plea my first weekend in the city. I wondered why we drifted apart until he texted me the following night asking if I wanted to troll for girls with him and his friend.
American Tourist: One of my three tenets of living in/visiting the ‘Pest is one must call a taxi to avoid being ripped off by gypsy cabs. On Saturday night, I followed my advice, called CityTaxi, and proceeded to climb into a CityLine cab. Those tricksters. It wasn’t until I paid six times the standard fare that I realized gypsy cabs now are going so far as to mimic the names and logos of legitimate cab companies in the city.
Blasé Ex-Pat: My destination was the spa party at Rudas Baths advertised as “an outstanding cultural event that attracts the youth…at the beginning, the young people just wander around, but as soon as it gets hot, the corners become shady and everyone starts enjoying the party as much as they can.” While I unfortunately missed the “whale stripping,” I did enjoy the trapeze artists, belly dancers, flame throwers, and my backstroke/shoulder roll dance moves. Other highlights of the evening included my refusal to leave the bath until it was completely drained and new habit of writing in the passive voice.
American Tourist: I have a track record of being pulled over by the police while driving, and my Pavlovian reflex kicked in on Sunday afternoon when I saw a cop car heading for the shoulder. The subsequent conversation between the non-English speaking police officer and me was very confusing because for whatever reason he couldn’t understand why I had voluntarily offered myself up for a ticket (aka bribe). That combined with eating buffalo wings and potato skins at a Superbowl Party at T.G.I. Friday’s made for quite the American Sunday.
The past weekend summed up the juxtaposition.
Blasé Ex-Pat: I met up with a few friends for drinks on Friday night and ran into multiple people I knew at the bar. Most notable was Paul, the first friend I made in Budapest after he responded to my desperate “Are you there, Friend? It’s Me, Alex” couch-surfing plea my first weekend in the city. I wondered why we drifted apart until he texted me the following night asking if I wanted to troll for girls with him and his friend.
American Tourist: One of my three tenets of living in/visiting the ‘Pest is one must call a taxi to avoid being ripped off by gypsy cabs. On Saturday night, I followed my advice, called CityTaxi, and proceeded to climb into a CityLine cab. Those tricksters. It wasn’t until I paid six times the standard fare that I realized gypsy cabs now are going so far as to mimic the names and logos of legitimate cab companies in the city.
Blasé Ex-Pat: My destination was the spa party at Rudas Baths advertised as “an outstanding cultural event that attracts the youth…at the beginning, the young people just wander around, but as soon as it gets hot, the corners become shady and everyone starts enjoying the party as much as they can.” While I unfortunately missed the “whale stripping,” I did enjoy the trapeze artists, belly dancers, flame throwers, and my backstroke/shoulder roll dance moves. Other highlights of the evening included my refusal to leave the bath until it was completely drained and new habit of writing in the passive voice.
American Tourist: I have a track record of being pulled over by the police while driving, and my Pavlovian reflex kicked in on Sunday afternoon when I saw a cop car heading for the shoulder. The subsequent conversation between the non-English speaking police officer and me was very confusing because for whatever reason he couldn’t understand why I had voluntarily offered myself up for a ticket (aka bribe). That combined with eating buffalo wings and potato skins at a Superbowl Party at T.G.I. Friday’s made for quite the American Sunday.
Monday, February 8, 2010
So, Skiing...
My first ski trip had its ups & downs.
Highlights were Saturday AM ski lessons with a cute instructor and a fellow student my age (since there was a good chance I would have been paired with a 3-year old based ability), hot chocolate and gluhwein, and Fuzzy Duck (more on that later).
Lowlights were having my skiis stolen after the aforementioned Saturday lesson (I now own a set of 1 year old skiis currently being used/sold by someone in the greater Slovakia area), and a mini freak-out when attempting to ski down a mountain on Sunday. And by mountain, I mean a gently sloping hill. Or a plateau with a slight incline.
I pretty much looked like Tiny Tim all weekend.
Susan on the other hand looked great despite protesting she was not a good skier.
Never having been skiing before, I didn't realize skiing in Europe merely is a means to travel from one bar/pub to another on the slopes.
The Igloo held a dance party on Saturday night where two of the three top contestants had to be 55+. The victor Olga may or may not have used her winnings for a hip replacement.
Tim & Co. introduced Susan and me to Fuzzy Duck, a drinking game which gets expotentially more complicated when played inebriated.
Susan drew a "Crazy Duck" and was tasked with lying facedown on bar while calling whale noises to Dave, who was somersaulting down the hall.
Reason #157 Why I Love Sus - She did it.
I am sure this describes your last skiing experience also.
Highlights were Saturday AM ski lessons with a cute instructor and a fellow student my age (since there was a good chance I would have been paired with a 3-year old based ability), hot chocolate and gluhwein, and Fuzzy Duck (more on that later).
Lowlights were having my skiis stolen after the aforementioned Saturday lesson (I now own a set of 1 year old skiis currently being used/sold by someone in the greater Slovakia area), and a mini freak-out when attempting to ski down a mountain on Sunday. And by mountain, I mean a gently sloping hill. Or a plateau with a slight incline.
I pretty much looked like Tiny Tim all weekend.
Susan on the other hand looked great despite protesting she was not a good skier.
Never having been skiing before, I didn't realize skiing in Europe merely is a means to travel from one bar/pub to another on the slopes.
The Igloo held a dance party on Saturday night where two of the three top contestants had to be 55+. The victor Olga may or may not have used her winnings for a hip replacement.
Tim & Co. introduced Susan and me to Fuzzy Duck, a drinking game which gets expotentially more complicated when played inebriated.
Susan drew a "Crazy Duck" and was tasked with lying facedown on bar while calling whale noises to Dave, who was somersaulting down the hall.
Reason #157 Why I Love Sus - She did it.
I am sure this describes your last skiing experience also.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Well, They Have French In Common
Hi friends,
A few Dartmouth friends and I are running the Paris Half-Marathon on March 7th to raise money for Haiti via the organization Partners in Health (PIH).
As reports have shown, recovery groups are not having trouble mobilizing aid post-earthquake; they are struggling to handle the influx of capital. PIH is a fab organization to support because they have the experience and local community infrastructure and staff to effectively deploy aid.
I know many people want to donate to the Haiti relief effort, so hopefully you will consider this a good, personal means to do so.
Donate Here
I will keep you updated on the fundraising as well as my training/race results. In a freak running accident, I pulled my chest muscle two weeks ago but as of yesterday I am back in business. Me, the communist gym, and the slightly creepy, weight-lifting guys who hover behind me and comment whenever I change the pace on the treadmill.
Thanks, friends!
A few Dartmouth friends and I are running the Paris Half-Marathon on March 7th to raise money for Haiti via the organization Partners in Health (PIH).
As reports have shown, recovery groups are not having trouble mobilizing aid post-earthquake; they are struggling to handle the influx of capital. PIH is a fab organization to support because they have the experience and local community infrastructure and staff to effectively deploy aid.
I know many people want to donate to the Haiti relief effort, so hopefully you will consider this a good, personal means to do so.
Donate Here
I will keep you updated on the fundraising as well as my training/race results. In a freak running accident, I pulled my chest muscle two weeks ago but as of yesterday I am back in business. Me, the communist gym, and the slightly creepy, weight-lifting guys who hover behind me and comment whenever I change the pace on the treadmill.
Thanks, friends!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Dubai (Not Abu Dhabi)
I have a tendency to visit places I don’t know much about, and Dubai was no exception. (Ignorance evidenced by my accidently booking a ticket to Abu Dhabi, another city in the United Arab Emirates that happens to share many of the same letters).
What I learned:
The UAE is (somewhat arbitrarily) comprised of seven city-states or emirates, each governed as an absolute monarchy by a ruler or shiek. The local government is determined by the respective shiek, which is why alcohol is allowed in Dubai while prohibited in several of the other emirates. Dubai has the largest population and the second-largest geography, behind the capital Abu Dhabi.
Arabic is the official language of Dubai while English is the lingua franca. However, Hindi, Urdu and other Asian languages are often spoken due to the largest immigrant population, with the largest groups from India and Pakistan. Likewise, there is a large non-Muslim population, although Islam is the state religion, explaining the rise of the burkini.
Life is good for the native Emirati, who make up less than 20% of the population in Dubai; the shiek provides them with a free apartment, healthcare, and education. Life is not so hot for the immigrants, who receive no such assistance and provide cheap labor for the multitude of construction projects in the city. It is unclear just how exploited the laborers are. On one hand, the “underclass” works in difficult conditions for little pay, and the media has reported indentured servant horror stories. On the other hand, Dubai provides jobs for immigrants that otherwise may be unemployed in their native countries, and entire villages in Indian and Pakistan are financed through remittances.
In both the private and public sphere, Dubai is filled with airbrushed images of the smiling shiek, Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum. (You just get an un-airbrushed image of a smiling me.) The blatant propaganda/reverence combined with the endless skyline gives Dubai a futuristic, shiny and slightly creepy vibe. In a city comprised mostly of immigrant laborers, I only felt the presence of an underclass when I was driving to the airport at 6 AM and the highway was jammed with school-buses carrying workers to their jobs. Many construction workers live in the building on which they are working because it is too inefficient and/or dangerous to leave when their shift is over.
Unlike Abu Dhabi, Dubai doesn’t have a natural resource (oil) to support the economy and instead relies entirely on tourism and commerce. Given the macro-economic environment, Dubai has occupancy rates of ~20% and many construction projects are in limbo. However, I cannot imagine the city “brimming” even in a good economic environment. There is literally too much infrastructure built or in the process of being built.
I agree with Amitabh: I would short Dubai.
More pics and stories to follow shortly.
What I learned:
The UAE is (somewhat arbitrarily) comprised of seven city-states or emirates, each governed as an absolute monarchy by a ruler or shiek. The local government is determined by the respective shiek, which is why alcohol is allowed in Dubai while prohibited in several of the other emirates. Dubai has the largest population and the second-largest geography, behind the capital Abu Dhabi.
Arabic is the official language of Dubai while English is the lingua franca. However, Hindi, Urdu and other Asian languages are often spoken due to the largest immigrant population, with the largest groups from India and Pakistan. Likewise, there is a large non-Muslim population, although Islam is the state religion, explaining the rise of the burkini.
Life is good for the native Emirati, who make up less than 20% of the population in Dubai; the shiek provides them with a free apartment, healthcare, and education. Life is not so hot for the immigrants, who receive no such assistance and provide cheap labor for the multitude of construction projects in the city. It is unclear just how exploited the laborers are. On one hand, the “underclass” works in difficult conditions for little pay, and the media has reported indentured servant horror stories. On the other hand, Dubai provides jobs for immigrants that otherwise may be unemployed in their native countries, and entire villages in Indian and Pakistan are financed through remittances.
In both the private and public sphere, Dubai is filled with airbrushed images of the smiling shiek, Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum. (You just get an un-airbrushed image of a smiling me.) The blatant propaganda/reverence combined with the endless skyline gives Dubai a futuristic, shiny and slightly creepy vibe. In a city comprised mostly of immigrant laborers, I only felt the presence of an underclass when I was driving to the airport at 6 AM and the highway was jammed with school-buses carrying workers to their jobs. Many construction workers live in the building on which they are working because it is too inefficient and/or dangerous to leave when their shift is over.
Unlike Abu Dhabi, Dubai doesn’t have a natural resource (oil) to support the economy and instead relies entirely on tourism and commerce. Given the macro-economic environment, Dubai has occupancy rates of ~20% and many construction projects are in limbo. However, I cannot imagine the city “brimming” even in a good economic environment. There is literally too much infrastructure built or in the process of being built.
I agree with Amitabh: I would short Dubai.
More pics and stories to follow shortly.
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