Sidlisko Living

The view from our balcony

As I have mentioned, we are living in one of the “sidliskos”, which are complexes of apartment buildings, or flats, clustered together. These places were the great Soviet answer to many philosophical and practical issues- none of which,as it turns out, they wound up solving. In 1962, the government began construction in the hills above Kosice of the "Lunik" ("Lunar") I-IX housing projects, named for the Soviet lunar probes of the time.They were originally created to house steel workers of the new steel mill outside the city, which is now the home of U.S. Steel (Lenin would be turning over in his grave). In other words, progress! The area where we live,Terasa, incorporates several of these blocs. Lunik IX is currently an infamous Roma ghetto. It's also interesting to note that George's great-uncle, whose brother was the mayor of Kosice, owned quite a lot of the land on which Terasa sits, before it was confiscated in the name of said progress.

Coming in our driveway

The original plan was for the buildings to stand for 30 years and then be torn down. Obviously, they didn’t get that far and a large percentage of Slovaks, especially in cities (but not exclusively) live in these blocs. The population of Terasa is now 40,000- all living in sidliskos.There is no social stigma to it, although a lot of more affluent people have moved to houses. That said, people are used to them and, while they are shockingly drab and even creepy to those who were not raised here, they do have their interesting features. It’s just a different lifestyle, one which I am happy with for a period of time as part of the change of scenery. It’s a bit of a “Rear Window” experience, observing neighborhood life in a setting so different from my home.

A section of one the buildings in our complex

Entering the parking lot from the street, you are surrounded on three sides by large blocs which are eight stories high. As he drove us here the first time, our friend Piki (who owns the flat) said in his thick Slovak accent, “The Bronx, Kosice.” Piki does not speak a lot of English, but when he does, it’s always a funny comment that makes me laugh. This leads me to believe that he may know more English than he lets on. Piki also writes Slovak phrases for me in my little notebook which I carry around, and corrects the ones I have attempted on my own. But, I digress.

As you enter our building at the far end of the complex, you need to step around the precarious "parallel"

 rails, which are an attempt to provide “access” for strollers or wheelchairs by going from the ground to the top stair of the outside entry. I don’t know what you would do if you really needed them because they are very steep, don't appear to actually be completely parallel, and mostly seem to just get in the way of trying to get around the broken stairs on the right. Once you enter the building, you head to the right and begin climbing.

Our flat is in the center: 4th windows up

We live on the fourth floor (if you count like a European) or the fifth floor (if you count like an American). Either way, it is 72 stairs to our front door. There is an elevator, but I have only used it twice and both times involved the chore of getting a heavy suitcase up to our flat.These lifts are truly frightening to me. A picture tells a story, so maybe these will help you see why I avoid this at all costs.

If you are brave enough, after you call the elevator, you open the outside door, then step in and manually close the two inside doors before proceeding. At least ours has an inside door. I have been in lifts which skip this luxury, leading mothers to clutch their children’s hands in theirs for the duration of the ride, keeping little fingers safe from the floors passing inches from the passengers. When you step into it, the floor of the thing sinks an inch or two under your weight, while the cable groans slightly, leading me to be convinced that this would be the very moment that something would finally give out, sending me crashing down unceremoniously to the basement. The cabin was constructed in 1965, as substantiated by a plaque inside. I take the stairs. Besides, I figure it’s a good way to offset some of the beer and sausage.

POZOR means "Danger"- You get the idea!

One thing that sounds like a good idea in this country is that lights in common areas tend to be on timers. It sounds like a good idea, but it seems that it often is not, because the timers are invariably set to too short a time to accomplish the desired task, such as climbing the stairs or finding the next light-switch in the dark public bathroom. We have learned that, as you climb the stories, you need to hit the light switch each time you pass one, to reset the timer and keep the light on. The first time we came home in the dark and forgot this trick of sidlisko living, we found ourselves in utter darkness between the third and fourth floors, with no idea how to get to and into our door. That was a time I was glad that George always has a lighter in his pocket.

Once you enter, there is always a central hallway for the removal of shoes and the putting on of the slippers (remember the slippers?)- Sort of a Slovak mudroom. Our bathroom is located to the right, and is somewhat unusual in that we do not have a separate “water closet” (a small room with just the toilet in it), which is common in Slovakia. As odd as the WC seems, it actually makes a lot of sense, especially since there is always only one bathroom. I have already described a bit about the bathroom in previous rants about the shower, but I should add that I have now learned to leave the drain hose (which goes from the washing machine into the tub) in the tub at all times after I forgot to replace it following a shower last week. You guessed it; I flooded the bathroom, the large central hallway, and part of Piki’s old bedroom (please don’t tell him). This brings me to a unique feature of homes here; they have internal thresholds between rooms. They are approximately equivalent to a one-by-four lying in the doorway. They can “catch” your toes when you are not used to them, but I am pretty sure they helped in our little crisis by creating little dams at two places. Otherwise, it certainly would have been worse. We spent more than an hour sopping up about an inch of water with every towel we could find (wring and repeat) and another day drying the carpets which were soaked. We haven’t heard any complaints of water stains from downstairs, so we think we got away with it.

We have three bedrooms across the back. Each one has a window and the central one has the balcony. They have improved these in recent years by adding sliding glass doors, so it feels more like a room. We have a nice view from the balcony of other flats, a small roller hockey court (they train them for hockey very young here), and lots of trees. It’s really very pleasant.

We have a large chestnut tree just below our balcony, and it was fun to people watch for several weeks, as someone left a hefty board on the ground, which people would use to throw into the tree to knock down the edible chestnuts and then to knock open the prickly outer pod. Old people, young people, school kids- everyone stopped and used the stick and everyone always left it there for others to use- interesting. I think it’s still there! We also have black squirrels, which totally caught me by surprise. The first time I saw one, I thought I was imagining things, but they are apparently common here.

In the front of our flat, there are two more windows where the living room and kitchen look out. The kitchen is nearer to the center of the U shape formed by the three buildings, which surround the large parking lot. In the very center is a children’s playground. Nearer to our entrance is one set of six dumpsters. This is where lots of Roma people pass through each day, stopping to check for useful items. Some people are thoughtful enough to leave items such as clothing right on top, where they are quickly snatched up. The topic of the Roma is a complex one, and I am not going to attempt to explore it any further here. In my version of “Kitchen Window” people watching, I have noticed a couple of interesting characters.
 
Lots of people have dogs here, and so there is endless dog walking, since all of our neighbors are obviously apartment-dwellers. However, I really did a double-take when I first noticed that one of the animals being walked on a leash was actually a cat! The cat lady shows up quite often, and her kitty reminds me a bit of Turbo. It doesn’t seem to know it’s a cat and doesn’t mind the leash, or the dogs that approach when the lady stops to chat with dog-walkers. Funny! Another character is a gentleman in the next building, which sits at a right angle in front of our living-room window. I call him The Pacer. He always wears the same black pants and blue vest, and he literally spends hours pacing in front of his building. I have passed him several times and he seems harmless, but it seems sad that he has nothing better to do. I find myself wondering what his life is like and making up possibilities for his predicament in my head. Oh well, enough of that, Mrs. Kravitz!

One of the things that take some adjustment here is the sounds from the hallway and the other apartments, especially the one above us. These buildings are pre-fab, panel construction with concrete and rebar and not much else. Sound carries in the oddest way so that, every time someone calls the elevator, you can hear it moving all the way through our front door, the central hallway, and into the living room. Also, conversations in the stairwell are very audible, as well as those upstairs. I have learned to tune them out, but it would probably not be so easy if I actually understood what they were saying! There is something strange about the way the sound carries into the bathroom, so that I would swear the people above us are watching television in their bathroom, but let’s hope not. What I do know is that they watch or listen to Mass regularly, sometimes several times a day, and the first one tends to be at five a.m. It’s sort of a first-hand experience, almost like you are there, including the liturgy accompanied by a very loud organ. I mean, good for you, but can I please choose when and if to participate? I’m sure we pass our own sounds down, as our floors creak incessantly. It would pay to live on the top floor, as George’s family did, but then there are those stairs…
 

Differences

One of the nice things about spending time away from your home culture is that you get to observe some differences between home and your host culture. I should start by saying that I love the Slovak people. I find them to amazingly generous, full of life, and brave. They have survived an incredible history of changing domination and, at this moment, they are enjoying a well-earned period of relative prosperity which is much greater than the people would have ever thought possible during the Cold War. Those were bleak days, indeed, and they were close on the heels of the even darker days of the most recent World War. This country was at the heart of that horrific conflict and was, in fact, a pawn between the Nazis and the Red Army- a hell of a rock and a hard place to be! For some reason, I have always had a great affinity for the Slovak people. When I fell in love with my husband, I fell in love with the whole country. I am here by choice, so anything I might say to poke fun at the Slovaks is all in good fun. Any one of them is welcome to come to my country and do the same. I’m sure lots of them have. We Americans have plenty of fodder for any cultural “observations” lobbed at us, and rightly so. So here goes: Some observations on our life here the Heart of Europe.

Graffiti- I just don’t get it. Surrounded by beautiful architecture from hundreds of years ago and massive quantities of graffiti. What surprises me is not only its prevalence, but the fact that people do not think it’s a big deal. I know you see graffiti in cities of all size back home, but the sheer quantity here is shocking. One person told me that it’s just art. Now, I acknowledge that graffiti can be an artistic form, when done in an appropriate place, but writing the equivalent of f*** you on the side of a beautiful renaissance building or on the beautiful 12-foot wood door to one of the old apartment buildings will never be art! When I have asked people about, they look at me with a puzzled expression. A problem for me, but not for them. It’s their country; enough said.

Social etiquette- I have heard lots of Americans comment on the fact that people here do not look you in the eye, but I am not sure it’s that different than large cities in the U.S. The fact is, they don’t, it’s true. I have learned to look disinterested on the streetcar to hopefully blend in a bit, despite that one bright blue jacket I have (a dead giveaway that I’m not from around here- the color of choice is black). However, I have noticed that anyplace that one might expect a temporary intimacy, the rules are different. For example, in the hallway of the apartment building, one person will always greet the other with a loud “Dobry Den” (Good Day); of course one is expected to respond. I have gotten over being terrified of my Slovak and now I answer right back, just as enthusiastically (although I always wait to let the other guy go first, because maybe I can get away without speaking. So far, it hasn’t worked). My teacher friends will appreciate that children do this, as well. In fact, they don’t just answer; they are expected to greet you first as a sign of respect. If you meet a child walking in the hallway with a parent, usually the child will greet you first- astounding for those of us that have spent many a morning at the school doors reminding American children that when we greet them, it would be polite for them to reply!

Chivalry is not dead- Streetcar is the mode of transportation we use most here, and they vary widely in age and quality. Many of them are old style, with just one row of single seat along the outside wall. And, even on the ones with more seats, at certain times it is standing room only. There are usually a few people standing for the ride, even on the less-crowded ones. It is interesting to observe that people will invariably stand to give their spot to an older person (no, I haven’t had anyone give up their seat to me, yet, thank goodness!). Granted, they do this without looking them in the eye, but the point is that they do it automatically. No big fuss, it’s just expected. In fact, I read a story recently in the English language newspaper, The Slovak Spectator, about an “incident” on a bus in Bratislava. A bunch of teenagers were sitting on the bus and two elderly women got on. The kids didn’t move. Finally, a middle-aged woman got up to offer her seat and publicly called out the “young gentlemen”, suggesting that they might consider doing the same thing. Then, their teacher spoke up and said she had told them to remain seated because she was chaperoning them on a field trip and she was concerned that, if something happened to one of them, they couldn’t all fit all 11 of them into the ambulance to go to the hospital. This caused a huge public outcry calling into question the decline of values being taught in the schools; and while the bashing of public education is a spectator sport of which I am well-tired, I have to say that I applaud the culture’s desire to hang on to its respect for public courtesies. Wouldn’t make the papers back home, would it?

Embrace the clothes dryer already! One thing I can’t understand is hanging laundry everywhere to dry when we have the technology to dry clothes quickly and conveniently. Virtually no one has clothes dryers. Washing machines are in the bathroom, which makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Most of them drain with a hose into the tub (just make sure you’re not in there trying to bathe at the time, as George found out the hard way). Then, you have the option of hanging your clothes on the balcony (if you are fortunate enough to have one), or over the tub (which makes it really difficult to then take your combination squatting/standing “shower” with your hand-held shower head. This brings me to another point. 

Showers, or lack of them- In my experience, shower heads attached to the wall when combined with an expensive item known as a shower curtain works quite nicely. These are rare in Slovakia. Some people do have stand-up showers in newer homes, but they don’t exist in the sidlisko flats where we live. And, some new places are built with a beautiful tub and, you guessed it, a hand-held shower head. I will spare you the details of my own bathing routine, but if you are ever here and need advice, I would be willing to share. My top tip is to always check the direction of the spray nozzle BEFORE you pull the toggle to send the water from the faucet to the sprayer. You will only forget that once (well, okay, maybe two or three times) before you will remember to check every time. Nothing like filling the entire bathroom with water to make a frustrating experience that much more joyous! Enough about the wetter pursuits of Slovak life!

Hospitality! Slovaks are absolutely over the top in their hospitality. In fact, I find it both totally endearing and a little bit intimidating. Let’s face it, if you come to my house, I am not likely to offer you slippers (and if I did, I would not insist you wear them). I would probably offer you something to drink and/or eat, but there would not be six kinds of cheese, four dozen homemade pastries (which are then packed up to send with you), platters of delicious little open-faced sandwiches offered before the meal, a soup for starter, followed by four or five dishes, some more of the homemade pastries, a shot of alcohol before the meal, wine with it, and delicious espresso afterwards (although sometimes it tends to be instant coffee instead, can’t win ‘em all). And, even if I do all those things, I am not likely to then give you a present when you leave. Slovaks tend to be extremely generous when you go to their homes. I used to feel bad because it is just so over the top and, frankly, not necessary to make me feel welcomed However, I have come to recognize that it is just their culture, and to love them for it. All except the slippers…

Slippers- Okay, here are a couple more things I am still trying to make sense of. Everyone here removes their shoes when they enter a home. Great idea, I like it so far. However, these people are obsessed with slippers. If you go to someone’s house, they will “offer” you some slippers. They always give you the nicest pair (and there are lots in every household to choose from), and if you are a houseguest, chances are they have purchased a brand-new pair for you. The problem is, you can’t say no. I have spent more hot summer days with my feet baking in fuzzy slippers than I care to remember. Part of this is hospitality, but there also seems to be an aversion…no, something more…perhaps a fear of cold things on the feet. Their concern seems to be strongest for women and be somehow connected to reproduction, but that’s as far as I can get in figuring it out. It’s a little bit of a delicate subject and most of these conversations involve me repeating my 10 Slovak phrases while some poor woman works so hard in her limited English while waving vaguely toward my bottom half and telling me that it’s “not good for the womans.” “Ohhh,” I reply equally as vaguely. I give up because obviously I am causing them distress. Absolutely no bare feel on a tile floor, period. The doctor at my medical exam for my visa just about had a coronary when I removed my shoes. Well, the top and pants were already off; I was pretty sure that shoes were the next logical thing to go. Guess not! She apparently thought I had lost my mind. I have traumatized my female hosts all over this country on this issue and I have finally given in. Let my feet sweat; I just don’t have the heart to argue.

Cold things, in general- We have noticed that the dislike of all things cold seems to be a theme. When we told someone we were putting travertine on our bathroom floor at home, he was appalled, stating that he knew someone who did that and the woman stepped from the hot bath onto the cold tile, got “an inflammation” and died. What can you say to that? In addition, dislikes include ice cubes and air conditioning. And, women are not to sit on cold, hard things, such as fountains or walls. This may be connected to the same issue as the feet, but who knows. It is beyond me. 

Church bells- Enough of picking on my beloved host country. Let’s move on! The tolling of the church bells is lovely. The Catholic Church is huge here, although there is an increasing number of Protestants, as well. I guess we just don’t know any of them, because any time I ask about Protestant churches, the people we know say, “Yes, there are some,” and that’s the end of the conversation. So, I haven’t been to church because I wouldn’t know what to do at a Latin (or Slovak) Mass, and even if I found a Protestant church, it is not likely to be in English. So, I enjoy the church bells and sitting in cathedrals and doing things my own way. The bells toll for about 10 minutes at noon as well as at other hours, and of course on Sunday morning. One of the things I love here is the way the churches are open most of the time. People stop by to pray as part of their day and it reminds you what an integral part of life faith has been in this part of the world.

Kindness of people- Overall, every public office we have been in such as police stations (and we’ve visited four of them now), hospitals (that’s another blog), insurance companies, and so on, have been extremely welcoming, polite, and generous with their time. I am impressed, not with the bureaucracy, but with the people we have encountered. We may get through this, yet.

Auschwitz

Tribute

Tell me, are you grateful…

For a bar of soap?

For shoes and socks?

For a bowl of soup?

For a toothbrush?

For your children?

For your parents?

For shelter from the rain?

For a mattress?

For a pillow?

For choices?

For worship?

For certainty?

For a toilet?

For medicine?

For honorable work?

For kindness?

For friendship?

For clothing?

For fresh air?

For rest?

For humanity?

For courage?

For a furnace?

For a fireplace?

For a shower?

For a towel?

For respect?

For truth?

For faith?

For questions?

For grass?

For gravel?

For privacy?

For a glass of water?

For sunshine?

For comfort?

For seats on trains?

For history?

For a voice?

Yes, I am grateful

Will you remember…

The buildings?

The walkways?

The silence?

The numbers?

The reasons?

The families?

The lonely?

The fighters?

The broken?

The acts of kindness?

The acts of hatred?

The small, closed spaces?

The small, closed faces?

The eyes of the others who looked at you briefly, accidentally, because of shame, of disbelief, of unanswerable questions?

The eyes of the others who couldn’t look at you because of shame, of disbelief, of unanswerable questions?

Your own eyes on the ground, on the sky, on the stuff of horror?

Your feet on the gravel and the grass they didn’t have?

Your coat against the chill, your mild thirst, the growling in your stomach since you haven’t eaten since breakfast?

The gallows, the wall, the posts?

The ovens?

The vastness and the small details?

The toothbrushes, the eyeglasses, the pots and pans?

The suitcases with names…and birthplaces…and ages- whole lives written on the outside, full of hope?

The sign- Arbeit Macht Frei-

The lies?

The hair?

The shoes?

The empty cannisters?

The neat, white house?

The cold, brick barracks?

The chimneys?

The rows and rows and rows of buildings?

The children?

The resistance?

The lack of resistance?

The words in all languages? Finding your own, so you could understand what was written for the others?

The boxcar?

The barbed wire?

The trees?

The railroad tracks?

The gates?

The statues?

The silence?

The attempts to deny, to destroy, to say it never existed?

The cowardice?

The blue and white flags draping the descendents, colorful and stunning in their reverence and their defiance?

The prayer shawls?

The distance traveled to come to this place- to die and to remember?

The music, sung in young, strong voices?

The large circle, the prayers, the voices calling out across the miles and the years?

The tears and the lack of them?

The ashes?

The elegant young woman- your guide- so eloquent and true in her language and facts - their story- told with a tenderness that showed the opposite of that evil...honor, respect, remembrance? A soft breaking of the voice, ever so slightly, standing away, ever so slightly…with a gentle understanding that this is your first time to witness and that you don’t know how to do it. Space and time to think, but not too much or else you might be the one laying on the ground, sobbing, unable to get up, instead of simply looking like all the others…haunted, changed, feet shuffling onward on the tidy gravel pathways and the bright green grass?

The look of her elegant body after the tour- you happen to see her but she doesn’t see you- walking away with her husband…still elegant but something gone out of her demeanor, spent…still tall, but now more empty? Important, sacred work done well.  Love and respect shown to those who desperately needed it so long ago.

She thanked you for listening to her.

She thanked you for listening to her.

Yes, I will remember

Will you tell the others?

Yes, I will tell them

Are you changed?

Yes, I am changed

Auschwitz- October 14, 2012

Settling In

Well, here goes! I keep thinking I will wait on this until I get it all figured out, but since we have now been in Slovakia for a month, I guess I'd better just dive in! Hopefully, I will begin adding pictures as we go along. I have been in touch with many of you, but this is the next step in trying to document our time here. Lots of the topics of this first blog could easily be expanded in the future, so if anything catches your interest, stay tuned for more details at a later time. I am having fun as an observer and trying to soak up all I can.

A short recap in case we have been out of touch...We left Oregon on September 9 and flew to Vienna, then travelled by bus to Bratislava. George's sister, Anni, lives about 20 minutes outside of the city in a kind of suburb called Dunajska Luzna. We spent several days staying near her and her family and catching up with them. They were gracious enough to loan us their second vehicle so we could get around, as public transportation in their area is not quite as great as it is in most places in Slovakia. Driving in Slovakia is quite an adventure. I will need to designate an entire blog to it to explain the intricacies. Let's just say, we survived and enjoyed our time with Anni's side of the family, including dinner out in Bratislava.

Next, it was a train ride to Kosice. It takes about 5.5 to 6.5 hours for this journey, depending on which train you choose and how many villages it stops in. Regardless, it is always a beautiful trip, with rolling hills, trees, water, castles, and perhaps mountains, depending on the route. Train travel is another fun aspect of living here (most of the time) with its own etiquette and peculiarities. People here travel this way a lot and the quality of the trains varies greatly, we have discovered over the years.

In Kosice, the city where George was born, we are staying at a flat which belongs to one of his oldest and dearest friends, Piki (everyone seems to have nicknames here- I think it may be because there are really very few given names, so it's a way to differentiate and personalize). We are living in the typical Slovak style in a "litisko", which literally means "settlement." However, these are no outposts in the wild west, but rather groups of the panel-construction flats dreamed up during the communist utopia. Sorry, is my sarcasm showing?  Now, people are stuck with them. They are a world all their own, at least to me. The place we live is quite similar to the one George lived in from the time his family home was taken by the government and replaced by a brewery. And, while I might have chosen something more fresh and modern, it's a good way to be a "real" Slovak!

We are about a 10 minute tram ride from the beautiful city center. George's brother, Ocsi (/oo-chee/ is the closest I can get to explaining the pronunciation), and his wife Blazena live near the center of town. We are enjoying getting to see them often. We always have Sunday "dinner" there, which is more like a very large lunch, and often one to two other days per week. There is lots of activity going on in the city. In 2013, Kosice is one of the European Union's Cities of Culture (there are two per year across the EU). This is great because they are doing lots of beautification of parks, buildings, etc. Last weekend was the Kosice Peace Marathon, which is the oldest in Europe. It was fun to see the whole city turn out and impressive to watch both the men and the women set course records.

In other news, we are still navigating the labyrinth of paperwork to become legitimate to stay here beyond 90 days. George has got his temporary residency, which means he can work (good news), but no one will give him a cell phone or internet account without the national identity card (even though he's a Slovak citizen). He can't get this unless he claims permanent residency, which he can't do because of his US status- complicated. I am still legal on my 90 day stay without a residency permit, but have a long way to go to completing all of the required bureaucracy. Waiting on the FBI background check and Monday I survived the medical testing at a rather Orewellian building. You would think for the approximately $285 they charged me for this service, they could splurge on some soap and towels in the hospital bathroom...I'm just sayin'!

We have had two great day trips to Hungary with our friend Piki. It's fun to go because both he and George speak Hungarian (it's actually George's first language), the food is amazing and cheap and Piki knows all the great places to go. Last Saturday, we went to two beautiful castles. The first one, near the town of Fuzer, sits way on top of a hill. It was quite a climb and the views were breathtaking. After a great lunch, we went to another castle/palace in the town of Sarospatok, also a beautiful experience. We topped off the day with absolutely amazing pastries for about 1Euro ($1.30) a piece. They would have probably been 8 or 9 times that in Vienna!

On Friday, we are headed to Krakow, Poland with our other good friend Kongos for a long weekend. Kongos is a great guy, as well, and we enjoy spending time with him whenever we get together. We hear from everyone how beautiful the city is and Kongos can show us around. We plan to see what we can of the beautiful sites, and also to visit Auschwitz. While I can't say I am "excited" about visiting Auschwitz, I think it is important to do.

We are enjoying good food and drinks, both of which are quite cheap here. We can eat out once a day on the cheap "daily menus" (specials) which most restaurants have for lunch. Items tend to be just over $4.00 a piece or so for a good portion. Then, we supplement with snacks at home (this is when I try to get in my fruits and veggies). Meals here traditionally start with light soup, which I actually like. It fills you up and is a nice start to the meal. Beer is very cheap, which is nice also! A large beer on tap can be around $1.00 or so, depending on where you go. Shots of alcohol (should you be interested) are also quite cheap and it's common to order them or to have them at the start of a meal at someone's home as a toast. It does seem to me that the indulgence in hard alcohol has toned down a bit since our first visit in 1991, but maybe it's just because we (and our friends) are getting older! Piki owns a small, cozy pub in the ground floor of one of the litiskos near where he lives, so we pop over there from time to time, as well. Food from the grocery store (as well as the store itself) is a whole other story- more later!

I went today to talk to a lady who has a language school and she is looking for a native English speaker to go a group activity/class once a week with 5-year-olds who are enrolled in the school. This would be to supplement their small group instruction earlier in the week. It can be on anything I want and there is not really a curriculum, so I will just make it up! I think it will be fun and maybe it could lead to something a little more regular down the road, if I ever get my residency established. This will be sort of an informal, under the table arrangement. The school pays its language teachers about $8.00/hour, but they are offering me $13.00, which kind of makes me feel bad, but I guess I have earned it! So, I will work 4 hours a month and earn $52.00 per month! Woo hoo!

That's all for this post. I hope to update all of you a little more often, now that things have settled down a bit. Hope all is well at home. I love to hear from you, so don't hesitate to drop me an email!