Shakira Would Be Proud!

So, tonight was the talent show at my school. Since the very first time I put it on, my kids have been obsessed with and known all the words to Waka Waka, by Shakira. Naturally, this was the number we chose for the talent show. Needless to say, it was the least well timed dance of all time, but it was also probably the cutest. Here's proof.

Shelby, Jackie, Christina and I also danced to Stop, by the Spice Girls, as a surprise for the kids. It was, to say the least, embarrassing. I was going to post the video, but a) I would be murdered and b) videos take about 30 minutes to upload and I just don't have the patience. At least I got to be a Spice Girl for three minutes which, let's face it, was every 12 year-old girl's dream in the late 90's!

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Right, so my posting is a month late again (must be having a blog baby...) but here is my Easter Holiday in a nutshell. What we did during the trip wasn't much to write home about - shopping, eating, shopping, drinking, shopping, eating - but the getting there was a little shocking.

On the Thursday before Easter Shelby and I headed out on what we would quickly find out was to be a somewhat cursed holiday. Our first mishap occurred at the airport, where our flight was delayed by 3 hours. We didn't mind so much about the time, but started feeling slightly uneasy when we heard announcements of "unattended luggage" in our terminal and then that our terminal was shut down because of it. Apparently, it wasn't a bomb, because I wouldn't be here writing this if it had been.

When we finally arrived in Sofia, we hopped in a cab to take us to the bus station so we could get to Plovdiv, our first intended stop. The cab driver tried to coax us into letting him take us all the way to Plovdiv, but as it's a two hour drive, we thought this would probably be ridiculously expensive. As it turns out, so was getting to the bus station. Ten minutes in this cab somehow cost us 40 Euros. Then, since we were already being ripped off, we tried to bargain with him for a ride to Plovdiv. We thought we had won (he agreed to our terms!), so took the ride... but we were wrong. A combination of terrible English/miscommunication/scheming from the cab driver ended up costing us a small fortune to get to Plovdiv. For the first hour and forty-five minutes, we were able to laugh about our loss. This became more difficult, however, when we arrived to the outskirts of Plovdiv and our driver called over another cab, dumped us and our stuff in it and drove off. Not only did we think we would have to pay ridiculous amounts of money for this new cab, but the driver spent the whole time on the phone. This wouldn't have been a big deal except that his voice was exactly the one you'd picture a mob boss/hit man to have, so we felt relatively sure that he was planning our deaths. He wasn't.

Originally, we were planning on taking the night bus to Istanbul that very night, but because of our considerable delay, we had to spend the night. We found a little hostel downtown and walked in to ask for a bed. Naturally, with it being Easter weekend, the place was full. They said we could sleep on the couch. We agreed - with the way things were going for us, we weren't likely to do much better. We didn't end up having to sleep there, though, because some wonderful guy gave up his bunk for us and slept somewhere else (or bed still ended up being in the common room, but at least we were mostly out of sight of the random people filtering in and out throughout the night!). We spent that night in Plovdiv eating and drinking, trying to forget about the ridiculous day we had just had. The world's best ice cream went a long way in helping us to forget.

The next day, we went to the bus station to catch the first bus to Istanbul. It was full. We figured there would be another one soon, since it's such a popular destination, but the next one wasn't for another three hours. We waited with more ice cream. The bus ride itself was rather uneventful, unless you count the two, yes two, Viktor Krum look-alikes travelling on the same bus as us. Their resemblance to Viktor Krum was almost as scary as the fact that they were 30ish year old twins who still dressed exactly alike. Weird...

When we finally got to Istanbul, we found our way to Cass' place (Shelby's friend who works there and was hooking us up with our very own flat for the weekend), had dinner, and went to bed. The next day, we got up early to go shopping. Travelling around Istanbul would probably be a little bit scary if you were alone, but with Shelby, who was lived there, it was a breeze. She knew what buses to take, how to pay for them (!!), and where to go to find the cheapest clothes! We hit up a few markets, the grand bazaar, and even managed to squeeze in some tourist attractions. We got loads of new clothes for the summer, all at ridiculously low (2-5 Euros) prices. It was wonderful. In the evening, Cass took us to a supper club to see her friend perform in what some might call a Tranny Show. He calls it gender-bending, since he would never dress as a woman in the day. Regardless, it was awesome. He was really funny, and the looks on the men's faces when he was making them slap his ass were priceless.

The next day, we went down to the Hammam (Turkish bath) for a serious taste of Turkey. It was so bizarre, yet so nice at the same time. Here's how a Hammam works:

1) Take off all your clothes, except your thong.
2) Enter a room full of equally, if not more, naked women.
3) Sit around the edge of the steaming-hot room, dousing yourself in cool water while awkwardly watching all the other people in there doing the same thing.
4) Get called by a scary, naked, Turkish lady for your turn to be scrubbed down.
5) Lie face-down on a slab of ceramic in the middle of the room while scary naked Turkish lady rubs you raw with a loofah.
6) Turn around so she can do the same to your front side. Grow increasingly uncomfortable with the whole situation as a group of old French ladies in one-piece bathing suits enter the room and look at your judgmentally.
7) Have hair and eyeballs washed by scary naked Turkish lady while trying not to drown in the water she is tossing into your mouth.
8) Exit the room wrapped in a sheet, not knowing at all what to think of the whole experience.
9) Discover what appears to be a hickey on your neck while putting your clothes back on and wonder how the hell that got there.

After the excitement/awkwardness of the bath, we finished off our day with an amazing dinner of baked potatoes and strawberry-kiwi-chocolate waffles. Yum!!

The next day was already time to go, so we hopped on another bus back to Sofia. Turns out Sofia is kind of scary and sketchy, so we did nothing but eat and sleep. Our flight back to Vienna left at six o'clock the next morning, so we weren't so upset to have an excuse to go to bed early.

I'm sorry it took so long to write this, but I've been feeling distinctly unmotivated lately. The school year should end in May.

To Hold You Off...

I'm too lazy to write about my Easter holiday in Turkey and Bulgaria for now (maybe one day...), so here's an amazing picture of my craziest student to tide you over. I'll leave it to you to decide which one I'm referring to.

You Don't Can!

I have nothing interesting to report, but some people (you know who you are!) have been harassing me for a new post, so I thought I'd tell you about an incredibly frustrating habit that my students have and which I seem unable to break. Usually, when my kids do something annoying, I ask them to stop (sometimes 3, 4, or 5 times) and they do. When they say something that is so grammatically incorrect that I cringe when I hear it (I can something go buy?) I have them repeat the correct sentence after me and they usually get it after a few repetitions. This latest thing, however, is driving me insane.

Somehow, my kids have gotten it into their heads that the correct way to say that someone can't do something is to say you don't can. It makes no sense and they will not change! The other day, I heard some of them saying it and I started wondering whether this was a common thing amongst Slovak children. So, I went next door to grade 2 and asked one of the students to come see me (a student whose English is not so strong... if anyone would make a common mistake, he would). I looked at him very seriously and said "Fedor, can you fly?" He gave me a strange look and said, simply, "No." Fair enough. So I said "Say, No, I ___ fly." Easy enough... he said "No, I can't fly." That settled it for me. Only my kids have a freaky habit of saying I don't can.

My visit to grade 2 struck some curiosity, though, and the second graders promptly started asking me why I was asking such silly questions. I saw no harm in telling them what I had been looking for. They did not believe me that my students would say such a thing as "don't can", so they followed me back to my class for proof. I called over a repeat don't can offender and asked him the same question I had asked Fedor. He said "No, I can't fly." Of course, the one time I want him to say I don't can, he says I can't. Fine. I tried another student. Again, I can't. Are you kidding me?!? The second graders looked at me like I was insane (again) and left the room. My students looked at me like I was insane (definitely not the first time) and resumed their games. I rolled my eyes and sat at my desk.

Not ten minutes later, after reading our morning message which said "Happy Wednesday" although it was Thursday, the kids all shout out, in unison, "You don't can trick us!!!" Officially, they're doing it to torture me.

Large Men, Unproportionately Small Swimsuits!

This weekend, Johanne, Shelby, Jackie and I headed to Piestany for a nice, relaxing spa day. Piestany is known in Slovakia for being a spa town and this is literally the only thing it has going for it. When we got there, we felt like we had just gotten off the train in a ghost town. There is nothing around, nothing to see, and the bus only comes every two hours! Thankfully, the bus came just half an hour after we got there and dropped us off downtown. Of course, downtown is just as bare as the train station was, but still, we were somewhere. We walked around down there for a while (i.e. saw it all in 30 minutes - including the entire downtown shopping mall), grabbed some lunch, then headed for Spa Island, which is what we were there for to begin with.

Once we got onto Spa Island, the scenery changed entirely. It's beautiful there! The buildings are super old (in a cool castle kind of way), there are huge gardens everywhere and there are little ponds every here and there that smell like rotten eggs, but that's really only because they are natural hot springs. We walked around the island for a bit, taking in the scenery, then headed for the Balnea Esplanade Palace, where we bought day passes to the spa.

Our first stop within the spa was the pool. There was a whirlpool within the pool and the whole thing was heated to a comfortable 34 degrees Celsius. We were just sitting in the whirlpool relaxing when a very large, very hairy man came to join us. He was the first of many very large, very hairy men we would see on the day, all of whom seemed to be wearing bathing suits which were inversely proportional to the size of their guts. Anyway, this man in particular is worth mentioning because he proceeded to sit on top of one of the jets (one of the ones coming straight up out of the ground) and bounce up and down with his eyes closed, seemingly enjoying himself a little too much. We thought he might stop soon enough, but he just went on and on and on. We left the whirlpool.

We swam around the pool a little longer, and discovered the doggy door that would take us outside. Normally, I would say that swimming outdoors in March is for crazy people, but it's really much warmer in Slovakia than it is in Canada, so it wasn't so bad. Basically, your body stays warm while your face freezes. If you have balls of steel (which we do), you can get out of the pool and run to the hot tub, which is even warmer than the rest of the pool and makes you feel better about being outside. Of course, you then have to get back in the (now) cold pool to get back inside, but it seems that no one thought of this before acting. Oh well. We survived.



When we got tired of the pools, we headed inside to take advantage of the multiple saunas. They had given us sheets (literally bed sheets) at the reception when we arrived and said "These are for the sauna". We had no idea what that meant when they said it, but the "No Shoes, No Bathing Suits, Only Towels" signs made it pretty clear. So, wrapped in our bed sheets (which made me feel like I should have been having sex all morning - which, with the selection of men on display, I assure I was not) we started visiting the saunas. The first one was a "Finnish Sauna", which means that there were incredibly hot rocks in one corner over which water had been poured to created some steam. It was soooo hot in there... Shelby and I only lasted about five minutes.

We then decided to try the Steam Room. Shelby stayed a while. I stayed about 30 seconds because I felt like I was drowning. I met Jackie in the hallway and we headed to the "Relaxation Room", which was my favourite. It was utterly silent and full of reclining chairs. You just went in there, sat down, and chilled. Awesome. That is, until the man in the corner started snoring... like a freight train! He was so loud! I think he woke himself up at one point, but then fell asleep again right away.

Anyway, after about an hour in the relaxation room, we decided to head out. We sat in the regular sauna for a few minutes, then headed back to the changing room. On the way there, we noticed something that must have been put there just for me. It was - wait for it - a foot disinfecting station!!!! Wow! Basically, you stick your foot in this little machine and it sprays you with a Purel-type spray. Pretty useless, really, but I enjoyed it nonetheless!



After an exhausting day of swimming, saunas and resting, we headed back to Bratislava, where we will now wait until Rob gets here for another quick jaunt, this time to Prague!

The Florida of Europe

After much debate about where we were going to go for Spring Break (Egypt no longer being a viable option due to the fact that we wanted to return alive), Johanne and I ended up spending this past week in Gran Canaria, the Canary Islands, Spain. Form everything we'd read, the weather should be gorgeous ("spring all year round" they said), the beaches beautiful, and the hotels relatively comfortable. They were right on all counts. The one thing everyone forget to mention, however, was that Gran Canaria appears to be the Florida of Europe - that is, a place for old people to go to escape the winter. If we had to take a guess, Johanne and I would probably say that the average age of guests at our hotel was about 80. At least once a day, we would notice something that would make us feel like we were living in a retirement home. For instance, tapioca was a staple on the dessert bar. Flan was also a main attraction. One day we even saw... wait for it... stewed prunes!!! Disgusting. The food selection wasn't the only thing making us feel like we were surrounded by old folks. The sheer amount of leathery, saggy skin was shocking! Everywhere we looked there were old people who looked like they may have been the reincarnations of brown leather couches. Also, the main form of entertainment at the hotel - bingo!!! At first, we thought that maybe our hotel catered to the elderly and, somehow, we had missed that part of the description when we booked it, but we were pleased to discover that, throughout the island, octogenarians outnumber people under 35 by a ratio of at least 4 to 1. All in all, while we saw many things (notably breasts) that we wish we could unsee though unfortunately we cannot, the omnipresence of old people made us feel incredibly young and happy.

Old folks' homes aside, we had a really good time. As you would imagine from an all-inclusive vacation, it wasn't so action-packed. We spent a lot of time by the pool or on the beach, soaking up the sun (since we all know that we haven't seen any of that in a while). On Sunday, however, we rented a car and went to explore pretty much the whole island. The inland part of the island is exceptionally hilly, so it was pretty funny to watch Johanne freak out every time she thought she was going to have to stop on one of the steeper hills (standard transmission, you know!). I can't say that I blame her too much, though. Those hills were pretty serious. At one point, on the way back down, we coasted (i.e. no gas, just brakes) for 12 whole minutes without the speed of the car ever dropping below 40 kilometres per hour. We got to take in some really beautiful scenery from the top, so it was a really good way to spend a day out of the sun (we may or may not have gotten burnt on the first day...)

Anyway, so as I said, we really didn't do much of anything to thrilling, and I therefore have nothing to say here. I just wanted you all to know that we survived the old folks' home and are now looking forward to retirement.

The city of lights... and chocolate!

I promised that the next post would be happier, so here it is - PARIS!!!

Last Friday, Shelby, Danko, Jackie, Christina and I headed straight to the airport for our flight to none other but the city of lights, Paris. We arrived really late, got lost trying to find the hostel, and pretty much feel asleep instantly upon finding our beds. We were in town for 3 days, though, so we had more than enough time to make up for a slightly more boring than acceptable first night.

On Saturday morning, we woke up early (this is, unfortunately, an occupational hazard) and partook of the hostel's free breakfast. Generally, this wouldn't be anything to write home about, but seeing as it's Paris, the pastries were delectable, the hot chocolate rich and the croissants melted in your mouth. It was a good start to the day.

Seeing as Shelby and I had already been to Paris, we decided to let the others decide what we would do with our time. They wanted to join a free walking tour of the city, so we made our way to Place Saint-Michel at 11 o'clock. We met our tour guide, a very eccentric yet somehow still sarcastically funny girl, and headed off to see the sites. Under her care, we saw and had history lessons about the Cathedrale de Notre-Dame, the Paris opera house, the birthplace of Friday the 13th, the Louvre museum, the "love bridge" and other such Paris landmarks. By the halfway point of this 3 and a half hour walking tour, we were freezing our tatas off and were more than happy to accept the Starbucks our guide offered up as a break area. However, the twenty minutes she offered us to go in and warm up absolutely did not strike our fancy, so we ditched the tour and decided to see the rest of the sites on our own. Having been to Paris previously and being the proud owner of a pretty good memory and somewhat reasonable sense of direction, I took it upon myself to act as our tour guide. Mostly, I just made up stories about crazy kings taking over places and building whatever buildings we saw, but my charges seemed to be enjoying my commentary, so it worked out in my favour. Also, with one of our own as the tour guide, we were free to stop somewhere warm every time the wind got to us.




My first order of business on this tour was to find us a pain au chocolat. After all, Danko, Jackie, and Christina had never had one fresh out of a Paris bakery, so it really didn't seem fair to make them wait any longer. The joy and wonder had to begin immediately. Luckily for us, there are bakeries littered around Paris, including in the Jardin des Tuilleries where we were at the moment, so the pastries were directly within our reach. It was like a party in my mouth...

We finished out the afternoon visiting the Arc de Triomphe (including the world's largest - and therefore scariest - roundabout), les Champs Elysees (where I saw the absolute largest Sephora ever of all time... Heather might have cried), the Place de la Concorde, the Eiffel Tower, and the Trocadero. In and of themselves, nothing too terribly fancy, but I have to say that they all make for excellent photographic opportunities. By the end of the day, we had been out in the cold walking for about twelve hours, so we found a nice spot for dinner, drank some French wine and retreated to the hostel, where some of us were so tired we fell asleep in our clothes (I won't name names, but I can assure you that it was not me).

The next morning, we rose early again and set out for more great adventures. Naturally, our first stop was yet another bakery, where chocolate for breakfast seems like not only the logical choice, but an absolute must. We then went to take a closer loos at the Cathedrale de Notre-Dame. I took my tourists to see the back of it, as it is far more impressive than the front (twss?), then we headed inside - free on Sundays! - where Jackie and Christina decided to stay for mass. Shelby, Danko, and I now had an hour to kill, so we decided to wander off in an as of yet unexplored direction. We headed down a street that led us directly to City Hall, an old building which was undoubtedly some kind of palace once upon a time. Directly in front of it was a great big outdoor skating rink. Somehow, despite not having put on skates or even considered skating in about 13 years, I was overcome with such an urge to go skating that I managed to convince Shelby and the Donk to at least go check out what it would cost. Well, for five euros each, how could we reasonably say no? We rented our somewhat worn-down skates, laced them up, and hit the ice. It was an incredibly scary, yet wonderful way to kill an hour in downtown Paris. I am also proud to report that none of us fell on our asses, or faces, or other body parts - not even once! This even includes those moments when we felt that silly pictures were in order (i.e. dancing to Beyonce, "figure skating", and capturing the look of utmost concentration on our faces).

Unfortunately, this is me "dancing" on skates.

When the girls finished at church, they took the Donk and went to check out the Louvre, this time inside. Shelby and I had already been in there and had no interest in revisiting the Mona Lisa (she is highly disappointing in person), so we whiled away the afternoon in a coffee shop. To our delight, they sold "maxi" pains au chocolate - that is, chocolate-filled pastries the size of my head! What a good day!


That evening, we went up to the top of the Eiffel Tower (where we froze, again), watched in awe as it lit up and glittered, then headed out for another delicious meal accompanied by some shockingly inexpensive yet delectable wine. We once again found it shockingly easy to fall asleep that night.

On Monday morning, this glorious weekend of chocolate, cold, palaces, and frenchness unfortunately had to come to an end, so we got back on the bus that would take us to the airport. We departed Paris at 16:00, and the only thing I could think of was when I would have the chance to visit again.

Paris, I love you.

What Year Is This?

On the first day back at school after the Christmas holiday, I sent home progress reports. Naturally, with progress reports come parent-teacher interviews. I put up a sign-up sheet with times and dates that I was available. Luckily for me, only a select few parents signed up. During one of the interviews, however, I heard something that made my jaw drop.

Janko's mom (the one that looks exactly like Victoria Beckham) came in on Monday, dreading the news I had to give her. Her son is a barrel full of energy and practically never stops moving. He is also incredibly intelligent - he can read and write and his math skills are distinctly above par - and seems to like me, so he listens relatively well and gets all of his work done whether it is something he enjoys or something he hates. She was relieved to hear this and by the halfway point of the interview she was beaming (partially from hearing her kid's a genius and partially from not having to hear that he was a disaster to teach). While we were discussing Janko's tendency to bounce off walls when he's in a good mood, our conversation went something like this:

Vicky B.: "I'm so happy you are good with dealing with kids like Janko."

Steph (not wanting to say "Oh, well, I have a soft spot for the bad ones!": Smiles and nods and makes non-committal noises of agreement.

Vicky B.: "Really, when he was with the teacher who was here before you, 3-4 times a day he would have to go stand facing the wall for 15 minutes at a time."

Steph (jaw dropping): "Wow... (grasping for words, because I'm in shock) Well, I prefer to encourage them to behave with a reward system."

**Awkward Silence**

Vicky B.: "Yes... I think it's better."

WHAT THE HELL!?!?!?! I was so shocked by the revelation that people still do this that I dreamed about it last night. I mean, seriously, what year is it? I understand that she was an older teacher, but damn... I didn't think anyone thought that would still work. Go stand facing the wall for 15 minutes? The kid has major hyperactivity issues... how is standing still for extended periods of time doing nothing going to help him????

I don't even have the words to express my complete and total shock. Although I have told everyone who will listen this story already, I felt I needed to write it here so that maybe the dreams will stop!

Hope you enjoyed the story... and that you were as shocked and appalled as I was.

The next post will be happier, I promise!

Steph :)

The Tatas Story...

Ok, so clearly my Facebook status has intrigued some people. Here is the full story for your reading pleasure.

So, as we may have already concluded from previous posts, the lawyers at my school are sometimes (most times) not that smart. They keep finding "solutions" for my fellow Canadians and me to stay in the country, but they always backfire. The last one, as you may recall, was the saga of the explosive diarrhea, which got us a "tolerated residence" stamp that was supposed to be good until December 26th.

Yesterday, December 22nd (pre-visa-expiry, you may notice), I flew from Vienna to Zurich, then from Zurich to Montreal. In Zurich, I had to go through passport control. I was not stressed about it all, but maybe I should have been... when I got up to the counter, the officer (whom I cannot refer to as he or she, because I honestly couldn't decide) looked through my passport at my stamps, then looked back up at me and asked me whether or not I had actually entered the EU in August. I said yes (there was stamp, how could I lie?). The officer then proceeded to count the number of months I'd ben around on his/her fingers and came up with four... one too many. We then had a brief discussion in which I pointed out my "tolerated residence", thinking this would clear things up. False. I was met with nothing more than I blank stare and a "I've never seen this before, we'll have to check it." A quick phone call later, another officer arrived, took my passport and boarding pass and walked away. Super. He was back within 5 minutes, and he lead me to the immigration part of the airport (i.e. the police station within the airport). I waited there about 10 minutes, stressing about how much trouble I was about to get in and about how my flight was boarding in 10 more minutes.

Finally, the man came back out with my passport. He said "I've never seen this stamp before. This is nothing." Again, wonderful. Then, his gaze dropped to my boobs. It stayed there for the entire remainder of the conversation. As he stared at my bosom, I told him that this was all I had, this was what the Slovak police gave me. He continued to say it was nothing, and that I wasn't supposed to stay in the EU longer than 3 months (he also counted on his fingers... this makes me feel much better about my first graders' math skills) and that overstaying that time incurs a fine of 580 Swiss Francs. He was very stern with my breasts. Exasperated, I told him there was nothing I could do, so to just get on with it. I figured I would just pay the fine and get on with my day... it was not worth missing my flight. I said "So, what do I do?" His answer: to shove my passport at my boobs (where he was still looking) and say "Go to your flight." I fled, and didn't look back.

Apparently, a good stare at my tatas is worth at least 580 Francs. Good to know.

Street Meat Heaven!

Let's see... when I last posted, I was thisclose to being kicked out of the country and Kristelle came to the rescue by becoming my "assistant". With that crisis out of the way, we were free to tackle our next mission - to visit all the big Christmas markets in three weeks' time. Success! Here's how it went.

As you all know, Kristelle's first official Slovak weekend was spent in the somewhat-crappy, though outstanding smelling Bratislava Christmas market. We drank some hot wine, froze our tatas off looking at doilies and were left with an ominous feeling about markets to come. Nevertheless, we headed to Prague the following weekend. We took a train on Friday night and drank some mildly alcoholic Coke on the 4 and a half hour ride. When we got there, it was already 1 o'clock in the morning, so we basically crashed right away. The next morning, we set out for the markets. When we arrived at the first one, we were reminded of Bratislava. Small, great smell, boring to shop at. We figured that even though the market seemed crappy, we could at least spend the weekend visiting Prague. So, we started walking away from this market, only to turn the corner and run into another, slightly larger, market. We visited this one thoroughly, then continued on, taking pictures of the amazing architecture on the way. Once again, we turned a corner and BAM! another market stood before us. This one was gigantic! We walked up and down the aisles and were in complete sensory overload. Half pigs roasting to one side, chocolate covered fruits on the other, shops here, stalls there, hot wine, hot chocolate with rum... the list goes on and on. We were in awe! We spent the better part of the day shopping, eating, and drinking and finally capped it all off with a visit to the "love bridge" and the Lennon Wall, a huge brick wall dedicated to john Lennon, completely covered in graffiti quoting his songs and ideals. It was pretty sweet! The next day, we went back to the market (of course!) because there was no way we could have fully appreciated it in one day. We also took time out of our busy shopping and eating schedule to take a look at the world's biggest castle. As it's name suggests, it's huge!!! There wasn't even a way to get the whole thing in one picture, because no matter how far away you stood, it was still too big! After two whirlwind days in Prague, we were already beginning to feel excited about what was awaiting us in Budapest.

The following weekend, that's exactly where we went. Upon arrival in Budapest, we had no idea where we were, so we asked around. We figured it could not be that difficult to find a huge outdoor market with a giant Christmas tree as its center in the heart of Budapest. Wrong. We asked and asked and asked, and still no one seemed to know what the "Christmas market" was, let alone where we could find it. Eventually, someone told us to take bus #7 and go two stops. We did. It lead nowhere. We walked and walked and walked and finally came across a dinky little street, haphazardly decorated and containing about 10 stalls. Disappointment began to creep in. We shopped a little bit, and at every stall asked whether there was another market somewhere else. We got "No"s all around. We started thinking about leaving early.

Finally, at the end of this rink-a-dink road, we saw a hot wine stall. Having come all the way to Budapest for such a terrible market, we decided wine was a must. Just for good measure we asked the bartender whether or not there was another market. He said yes!!! A good 30 minute walk later, we found it. Huge, beautiful, delicious-smelling Christmas market! This one was my favourite of all. The stalls were cuter than any of the others, the food was different and amazing, and the shopping was actually good (i.e. not just doilies and angels!) We froze our butts off (I know, we are running out of body parts!) shopping around all day, but were not at all bothered by it, because it was so amazing!

Overall, I would say that the Christmas markets were a complete and total success. Although we have probably gained about 10 pounds each from all the booze and food, we are thoroughly satisfied with the experience and recommend that everyone visit the Christmas markets around here at least once!

Tonight, we are heading to Vienna to sleep in our somewhat skeezy looking hotel and tomorrow, we are flying home. It's hard to believe this day is already here, but it is.

See you all tomorrow!!

Steph :)

Well, that worked out nicely...

So, for the past few weeks, my life has revolved around whether or not I am about to be kicked out of the country. Basically, my school did not do its research properly and now all the Canadian teachers are in danger of being kicked out of the European Union and not being allowed back in for three months. Two weeks ago, a lawyer took us to the foreign police to get our visas extended... how did we do it, you ask? Easy! We told them we all had explosive diarrhoea and were too sick to travel. We had a doctor’s note and everything. Ta-da! Just like that, we were allowed to stay in the country until December 26^th. Beautiful.

On Saturday (November 27^th), I went to Vienna to meet up with Pat and check out my first ever Christmas market. It was freaking awesome. The Christmas markets, so far, seem like an excellent excuse to stand around drinking hot wine, eating decadent foods, and shopping for things you don’t really need. The market in Vienna was beautiful and really amped up my excitement about all the other Christmas markets there are to see in the next few weeks. That night, I headed back to Bratislava for an American Thanksgiving celebration. More delicious food and a fair few bottles of wine later, I came to the conclusion that American Thanksgiving kicks Canadian Thanksgiving’s ass any day.

On Sunday, without a care in the world except a very minor (or maybe not so minor) post-Thanksgiving hangover, I headed to the bus station to pick up Kristelle. It was so exciting to see her! She was jet-lagged and I was exhausted, so we didn’t get much accomplished that day other than napping, introductions to my friends, and discussing the shenanigans of the evening before.

On Tuesday, Kristelle began volunteering at my school and everyone instantly loved her. Despite her telling them that she had worked with children many times before, they were in awe that she was so good with kids. That very same night, I received a phone call from the Human Resources lady at school, informing me that I was no longer allowed working at school because it was illegal (if I’m too sick to travel, I’m too sick to work, right?) and that I would have to leave the country immediately. Awesome. Several phone calls (both within Bratislava and to Canada) later, we came to the conclusion that I could go to school on Wednesday, but would be spending the day traveling to consulates and embassies begging to be allowed to stay legally. That never happened. Instead, by the end of a rather stressful day, I was informed that I would be allowed to continue to teach my class, but with an assistant in there with me full time. If anyone asked, we would tell them that my assistant was in fact the teacher and that I was at school just for the day to check on some paperwork. It still didn’t seem like the best plan to me (no one could be so stupid as to fall for that, really) but I went along with it, because I couldn’t come up with anything better.

The next problem that arose was that the assistant they had picked out for me did not want to leave his current job. We had a meeting, he put up a fight and he ultimately got what he wanted... he is staying right where he is and leaving me stranded in Grade 1. A few hours later, Catherine, our vice-principal and provider of common sense, came to me and asked whether Kristelle would like to be paid to be here. I couldn’t say for sure, but really, who would turn down money on their holiday? The next day, Kristelle was officially announced as my new Grade 1 assistant, allowing me to stay in the country until at least Christmas. After Christmas is a different story... if my papers don’t come through on time, then I will have to wait for them in Canada... I might even be there for up to a month!

Anyway, so now that I don’t have to flee the country, Kristelle and I are back on track to visit all the Christmas markets. Last night, we went down to the market in Bratislava. The shopping is kinda crappy – lots of doilies, ugly angels, and homemade shot glasses – but the food, drink, and atmosphere was delightful. It was incredibly crowded, though, so we are planning on going back during the day in hopes that there will be fewer people around and more opportunities to find nice things.

Next weekend, we are going to Prague to see the market as well as the world’s biggest castle (we think). The weekend after that, we will go to Budapest for yet another market and, hopefully, we will be able to squeeze in a trip to Vienna to complete the market madness! In the meantime, we are hanging out in Bratislava, drinking hot chocolate and eating meals that we make up as we go. Super!

See you all in 17 days!

Steph :)

Too good to pass up.

Alright, so I haven't really done anything good lately, but here's a funny class story that I just couldn't keep to myself.

Yesterday at lunch, a super cute kid in my class came up to me and said "How many clocks it is?" I didn't know what to say... I pointed to my watch and asked her if she was asking me for the time. She said yes. I told her how to ask correctly and gave her the time. It was priceless.

Here's her photo, just so you know how cute she is.

In The Land of Meatballs!

Ok, so I’m a week late posting this again and I’m sorry... but it’s just not easy traipsing all over Europe on the weekends and then facing three whole days of school afterwards :)

Anyway, so last Saturday (the 30^th) Shelby, Danko and I boarded our Ryan Air flight to Stockholm. We started the trip off on the right foot by playing “spot the serial killer” at the airport. It was awesome, and I recommend the game to everyone – all you have to do is look around you and find someone who looks somewhat sketchy (it’s pretty easy to do) then make up some kind of story about them, explaining why they are a serial killer. So much fun. We found the best possible serial killer (his head was waaaayyy too small for his body... he therefore had a lot of pent up anger and took it out on people by chopping their heads off) and, just to make the evening complete, Danko had to sit next to him on the plane. He made it out alive, in case anyone was wondering!

When we arrived in Stockholm, we headed for our hostel. We got one with a really excellent location, so we were able to walk to it from the train station. When we walked in, there was an arm wrestling (or “broken arm” as it is literally translated from Swedish) competition going on in front of our room. As it turns out, the arm wrestling champion of Sweden (yeah, they have one!) is a nineteen year-old boy who likes to party in Stockholm on the weekends. He was teaching his roommates the proper technique for arm wrestling. It was wildly entertaining to watch, mostly because of his awesome accent and the fact that his elbow was bleeding all over everything and he just kept saying that it was an “occupational hazard”.

When we finally got over watching the competition unfold, we went out on the town. It was already pretty late, so we just had dinner, then bought a couple of beers to bring back to the hostel. On Sunday morning, we went exploring. Stockholm is actually an archipelago, so there are tons of bridges around and more than enough waterways to keep me thoroughly lost the whole time. We walked around all day and saw lots of cool stuff – the world’s largest royal palace, the changing of the guards, a tower bridge with an excellent view of the city, and about a million fancy schmancy streets that reminded me so much of Paris. We were also pretty thrown off by the fact that everyone, everywhere, greets you with “Hey Hey”. In Swedish, Hej means hello, so that’s how they greet you in restaurants, shops, bars, hostels, etc. I realize it’s a different language and it shouldn’t freak me out so much, but it did. It was just too weird.

There was also a fair amount of hilarity to be had. Sweden is famous for some pretty ridiculous things... for instance, Pipi Longstocking (who knew?). Her cute little ginger head can be seen in most shop fronts, on anything from dolls to t-shirts to backpacks. Then there is ABBA, of course, and I’d say that an ABBA babushka counts as pretty frickin’ funny! IKEA is another big one for Sweden, but I have to say we were pretty disappointed on that front. Sure, all the furniture we saw was from there and we saw the special “IKEA bus” which just shuttles people from downtown to IKEA, but otherwise, not so wild. Finally, there are the world-famous Swedish meatballs. All I have to say is Mmmmmm... they were absolutely delightful and worth every last penny we spent on them (not that they were that expensive, but alas).

On Monday, we did much the same as Sunday – that is, wander the streets aimlessly taking photos of every single last thing we saw and taking notes for our future castles. We also went on a boat tour of the main canal, which was mildly interesting and rendered all the better by the fact that I didn’t throw up! Whoop whoop!

That’s about it for the Swedish adventures... but I did save the best for last. The Vikings!!! Yes! They were also everywhere. Giant Vikings in store windows, Vikings on pins and magnets and, of course, Viking hats for all to try on (and photograph) at all the tourist shops along the way. It was hilarious and wonderful. So, I leave you with one final though – Where would we be without the Vikings?

Next adventure - Kristelle in Europe!! Whoop whoop!!!

Steph :)

Croatia!!

Ok, so I may be a week late in posting about my weekend getaway to Croatia, but to be fair, a lot has happened since them. Let me explain.

Last Friday, Shelby, Danko, Jackie, Christina and I were supposed to be driving to Croatia. The car we were renting was going to be delivered to the school between 14:30 and 15:00. Well, at 14:00, Danko received a text message saying "I am sorry, I no longer have a car for you. The previous renter crashed it." How depressing! We all thought that our road trip was being cancelled. Not to be outsmarted by a car rental guy, however, Danko had other rent-a-car places bookmarked on his computer. We went to check them out and, twenty minutes later, had reserved another car. The only problem with this one was that we had to pick it up at the airport. No biggie. The girls were working for at least another half hour, so Danko and I figured we would trek down there ourselves, drive back to school with the car, pick up the girls and be on the road by 16:00 max. False.

The airport is three buses away. We got on and off the first one without a hitch. Same for the second one. The problems began when we got off the third bus. Thinking we had passed our stop from lack of attention, we ended up getting off the bus three stops early. Seeing as the next bus wasn't coming for another 25 minutes, we decided to just walk... how far could three stops really be? The answer, it turns out, is freakin' far. A forty-five minute walk brought us to the stop we were actually supposed to get off at. We continued walking, now looking for the rental place. There really wasn't anything in sight, so we stopped at a garage to ask for directions. We figured the guy in there must know where it was, since we were supposedly on the right street. Well, he did not know. He did, however, put me on the phone with someone who spoke English and could direct me. With our newfound directions, we headed back up the street. Well, the directions were wrong. We absolutely were not at the right place.

Finally, Danko decided to call the car rental place and just ask them. They said "Get back on the bus and go one stop." Back to the bus stop we went. We missed the bus by 3 minutes so, for just one stop, we decided to walk... again. We walked another 20 minutes to reach the next stop, which was in the middle of nowhere. As we were walking, Danko's phone rang. It was the car people, asking where we were. When he told them, they freaked out, saying that that was still the wrong stop and that they were actually in the airport! We were really starting to get annoyed now, but we hopped back on the bus and, this time, ended up at the right place. We got our car, picked up the girls, and were on the road to Croatia (through the back roads of Hungary and Slovenia) by 19:00. Only five hours behind schedule.

When we finally arrived in Varaždin it was midnight. We met Danko's grandmother and a few of his friends (all drunk - except Granny), then went straight to sleep. The next day, we went exploring. Varaždin is a pretty small town, but it's really cute (hence all the photos of random streets I put up on Facebook). We visited the castle, which used to have a moat (!), went to a couple little coffee shops, attempted to buy oranges at a market (without our trusty translator - Danko), and basically just wandered the streets for the entire day.



That night, we went out to celebrate Danko's birthday. Apparently, it is a Croatian tradition (or perhaps only amongst Danko and his friends...) to pre-drink in the park. And what is the drink of choice, you ask? Wine and coke, of course. It's awful. Anyway, we drank there for a while (watering the grass a few times, I must admit) then proceeded to hit up pretty much every bar in the city. We drank, we danced, we sang, and we finally got home at 5:00 in the morning. The next day, Granny made us lunch (yummy!!!), we packed up the car, and we headed back to Bratislava. Overall, you might think finding the car was the most exciting part of the weekend, but Croatia was exactly what we needed. A wonderful weekend relaxing with friends. We are all counting down the days until we can do it again!

On Monday, unfortunately, it was back to school time. I am really learning to dread Mondays here. It's like they're cursed... there's always something going wrong. On this specific Monday, the first grade teacher did not show up for work. Catherine, the vice-principal, asked me if I would cover her class for the day, since mine is basically the only class with two teachers in it. I did it. By the end of the day, it became apparent that the grade one teacher had quit and they needed to find a replacement. Who did they ask to cover until they can find someone? Me. DAMN! I do not know anything about grade one. Nor do I want to give up all my painting, colouring, and play-doh time! Right now, it looks like I will be there for at least another two weeks. Hopefully they will find someone soon... I am very afraid to screw these kids over and never teach them to read anything at all!!

Next weekend, Shelby, Danko, and I are going to Stockholm for the long weekend!! We are starting to get really excited about it, even though we really don't know anything about the place. Hopefully, by the time we get back, I will have loads of stories to tell about meatballs, IKEA, and awesome accents!

Dovidenia!!

Steph :)

All true, I swear.

Ok, so seven weeks into kindergarten, and I feel confident in stating that I have seen and heard some of the funniest/most shocking things of all time from the 4 year-olds at Forel International School.

First, let me tell you the tale of Bibi (that's her name, no kidding). Bibi is a 3 year-old who is spoiled rotten... and I do mean rotten. Thankfully, Bibi is not in my class (I have the older kids - the 4 year old geezers), because when she doesn't get exactly what she wants exactly when she wants it, Bibi starts wailing. One of the things Bibi generally wants is to not nap. So, she usually gets kicked out of the napping room and thrown into my room, where we are resting quietly. As she walks in, I always tell her, "Bibi, if you are going to be in this room, you have to be quiet and you have to put your clothes on" (because they sleep in pyjamas and, apparently, she only ever starts wailing after she has changed). Well, Bibi does not like that. Usually, all she has to do is pout at her mom and she will have a slave to change her. I am not about to start dressing her everyday, so I just make her sit alone until she sees fit to get dressed. Generally, she sits around sobbing for 10 or 15 minutes, realizes I'm not coming over there, and shuts the hell up while she gets dressed. Last week, she changed her pattern. Here's how it went:

1) Bibi walks in as children are playing.

2) Steph tells Bibi that she can play once she is dressed.

3) Bibi wails.

4) Steph tells Bibi to be quiet and to change.

5) Bibi pouts, removes all her clothes (all of them).

6) Bibi goes to play, butt naked.

7) Steph tells Bibi that changing actually involves putting on new clothes, and not simply removing one's pyjamas.

8) Bibi wails.

9) Bibi sits on the carpet, still naked, and proceeds to rub her hooha all over it.

10) Steph tells Bibi to stop, stifling giggles.

11) Bibi pouts, then crosses her legs pretzel-style, further exposing herself to the world.

12) Steph lays out Bibi's clothes because she really doesn't need to see this, but still refuses to give in to a 3 year-olds pressure tactics.

13) Bibi wails.

14) Bibi sticks her fingers in nature's pocket for no apparent reason, the goes to play again.

15) Steph drags Bibi back to her clothes and forces her to get dressed.

16) Bibi wails, but ultimately loses the battle and gets dressed.

17) Steph disinfects any and all toys Bibi may have touched after #14.

It was a good day.

While this whole Bibi incident may be somewhat shocking and disturbing, I also get my fair share of hilarity. Take today, for example. For the past 3 or 4 weeks, we have been telling kids that they are not allowed to bring in toys from home. We have also been e-mailing this rule to their parents. We are failing. The kids continue to bring in their toys, so we simply make them leave them in their lockers, in hopes that one day they will realize that it is, in fact, pointless to bring them to school when they cannot even play with them. Today, as usual, Marco brought his toy car to school. I told him to leave it in his locker, and he did. Then, after snack, he thought he'd try to sneak it back into the room. He waltzed right by me with a huge toy car in his hand. So, I said "Marco, we don't play with toys from home at school. Please go put it in your locker." He looked at me, stomped his foot, and said "No!" Before I even got the chance to say anything, Ninka, a super-cute little girl with no front teeth except her canines (i.e. vampire teeth) looks at him and says, very sternly, "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, TIME OUT!" She then turns to me (I am now officially cracking up and trying to hide my smile behind my hand) and says matter-of-factly "Marco is time out." All I could do was shake my head "No". I literally could not speak. Apparently, her counting worked on Marco, though, because he turned around and put it away.

Now, I'm going to assume that most of you don't think that last story is that funny, because odds are she was just copying something she had heard me say in the past, right? Wrong! I have never ever used the words Time Out in my class. I HATE the words Time Out. She just blurted them out, out of the blue. It was brilliant, and if you can't see that, well it sucks to be you!

Other than that, I have many children who drop their pants in the middle of the playground just for fun, my whole class thinks it's Friday everyday except Friday (then, they think it's Monday - I think they are taunting me), and I am becoming fluent in Slovak commands because this is all they understand.

My life outside of school continues to be relatively boring. I come home after school and am to tired to make the trek from my place to anywhere (it's pretty remote!) and on weekends I usually hang out with friends from work doing ever-so-exciting things such as making play-doh, doing groceries, or watching movies (we saw The Expendables... I promise I didn't know what it was about when I agreed and I absolutely did not enjoy it). This coming weekend, however, I will add a little spice to my life when 4 friends and I rent a car and drive to Croatia!!! Danko has friends and family down there, so we are tagging along with him... he will show us around, his grandmother will feed us some Croatian food, then we will party it up Croatian-style for Christina and Danko's birthdays which happen to be the following week. It should be awesome, so maybe I'll have something wild to write on here when I get back.

Dovidenia!

Steph :)

My Slovak Husband, Vienna, and Terrible Teaching!

Alright, let's start with the juicy stuff - my Slovak husband. Although I did not, technically, get married, I got a glimpse of a man made for me on Sunday. I was standing at the bus stop, minding my own business, when I happened to get a glimpse of this guy's hat. It had not one, but two, Habs logos on it! I was in love. Then, he turned around and I saw that his jacket had a Thrashers logo on it. While I do not approve of other hockey teams, I was willing to make an exception because he is Slovak and, thus, clearly confused. To complete his absolutely enthralling outfit, he was carrying an NHL tote bag. I literally stared at him for about 10 minutes... I couldn't take my eyes off him. It's not that he was especially hot, but I just couldn't fathom anyone in this country taking such an active interest in the NHL! Unfortunately, I did not talk to him - partially because I'm a chicken shit, partially because I had nothing to say, really, other than "OMG I love the Habs!", which would make me sound like an air-head/douche - so he got away. Alas, Slovak weddings will have to wait!

Now, the reason I was even at the bus stop on Sunday was to make my way to the train station, when Jackie, Christina, Danko and I were going to catch a ride to Vienna. We wanted to see this Guiness World Records Show cuz it sounded awesome. Turns out, it was kind of crappy. The records themselves only took about 2 minutes to break, then there was a wait of about 30 minutes before anything else happened. Needless to say, we did not stick around for that for too long. Before leaving, we did get the chance to see one guy go for two records. For the first one, he put a harness around some rather large guy's waist, then proceeded to stand behind him, take the harness in his teeth, lift the guy off the ground, and walk him around the stage. This guy clearly got enough fluoride as a child! A little while later, this same guy with the crazy teeth decided to arm-wrestle an 18-wheeler (trailer free). How does that work? you may ask. Let me explain. A rope is tied to the front of the truck and, at the end of this rope is a grip-type-thingie (you can see I do this a lot). The man sits himself down at a table, grabs hold of the grip, and tries to move the truck in arm-wrestling position. I'm not even sure whether or not he succeeded, because it was taking too long and we got pretty bored pretty fast.

We spent the rest of the day walking through Vienna. It really is a beautiful city. Each building is more beautiful than the last and every turns leads down a street that looks like it belongs in a movie. We took a bunch of photos, ate more than we needed (because we kept having to tuck into restaurants to hide from the insane wind!), walked for ages, then somehow managed to find our way back to the train station and back to Bratislava.

As far as teaching goes, last week definitely made me feel like I was not cut out for this job! On Thursday, I was cleaning one of the tables in my class so we could use it for an art activity. My laptop was on it and, as I did not want it to get covered with glue and glitter, I decided to move it. I picked it up (not high, mind you, this is a tiny table) and turned around... only to come directly into contact with Marco's orbital bone. Nice. He now has a small but on his eye lid and a giant bruise around his eye. It was definitely a moment I was proud of.

As if that wasn't bad enough, on Friday, something considerably worse happened. One of the girls in my class, Rahel, was born deaf (if not totally, then mostly) and now has cochlear implants. She has had them for six months and, according to doctors, is progressing much faster than average. She has learned to speak (German) and responds well to sound even in a noisy environment. For the implant to work, though, a certain part of it has to be touching her head (it's magnetized) and the battery has to be working (obviously). When either of these things goes wrong, an alarm rings on another device (which looks just like a cell phone) and a picture appears to show you what's wrong. Seeing as she's only 4 years old, I carry this controller around all day and, at the end of the day when her mom picks her up, I hand it back over to her. On Friday, when her mom showed up, I reached down to grab it and it was gone. I assumed it had just fallen out of my pocket, but when I looked around on the floor it was still nowhere in sight. I searched and searched (I even ran 30 minutes to Devin castle and back because we had walked there with the kids in the afternoon) and still came up empty-handed. I had to send her home without it. I felt AWFUL!!!!! I even came into school on Saturday to have another look, but to no avail. Her mom brought in a picture of it today and we made "Lost" posters, so hopefully someone returns it...

As you can see, it has not been an easy week for me professionally. Hopefully, this week will be better... no one will get injured and I will not lose any more vital equipment. However, we're starting to learn the alphabet this week and my kids are both extremely lazy and slightly psychotic, so I can't promise everyone will get out unscathed. I'll let you know how it goes!

Steph :)