Thailand Trip - Elephant Edition

I will start sharing some of my travel memories from Thailand with the last city we visited, Chiang Mai, which is the second largest city in the country. There was really only one reason Mike and I traveled there after his work retreat was finished: elephants.

After doing extensive research on where to visit to ensure it was a humane spot, I booked the "Pamper a Pachyderm" package at the Elephant Nature Park. The tour guides picked us up at our hotel and drove us and the other 10 people on our excursion to the park, an hour outside Chiang Mai. 

On the way, they educated/tortured us by screening a documentary on the abuse elephants suffer in Thailand as a result of the tourism and logging industries. It was truly awful what many of these animals have to endure, so it made me extra happy to be going to spend the day with elephants that had been rescued from abusive situations.

A beautiful shot that Mike took on our good camera.

We spent the day with four senior ladies, all who were 60 years or older. We got to feed them, and feed them, and feed them (they eat so much), take them on a trail walk, and bathe them in the river. The elephant that Mike and I were feeding at the beginning absolutely refused to eat any squash until she had consumed all her watermelon. Mike tried to trick her by sandwiching watermelon inside of the squash, but she was able to separate the two with her trunk and throw the squash to the ground. She knew what she liked. We also fed them bananas and cucumbers.

In the afternoon, we went to the main park area to see the other elephants. We got to see a baby boy, who was adorable. Well, he was adorable until he almost ran us over—and at 300+ pounds, it was no joke. Mike and I had to sprint out of his way, and I didn't realize until hours later that I accidentally snapped a photo when we were being charged, and it became my favorite of the whole trip.

And as if I didn't love this place enough already, they also shelter hundreds of dogs, who clearly have the run of the place.

I am wearing a fern crown that our tour guide made me.

This elephant put her trunk out and blocked the trail until Mike gave her a banana. She's no fool.

A day in the life.

When I look back at different parts of my life, I always wish I could remember the minute details of my day-to-day, so I figured I'd try to rectify that slightly.

Here's my standard weekday.

Wake up about 6:45 a.m. Shower, eat breakfast, listen to NPR's Morning Edition, read the Wall Street Journal (the newspaper man delivers it to my front door, and it's wonderful). Sometimes take Pollock out for "morning dog."

8:15 a.m. Walk to the nearest metro, which takes about 10 minutes. Along the way, I usually see my nemesis: the Leaf Blower Man. He is out there every day, blowing trash and leaves off the side walk. He makes me crazy because he never ever picks up the trash and leaves, he just blows them into the gutter, and then they appear again. The neighborhood Sisyphus.

Catch the train (the Metro stations make me feel like I am in a waffle cone or a whale's belly - depending on the light), get off at the Smithsonian Metro stop, which even two years in, still feels pretty awesome. During my commutes I'm listening to podcasts (currently my favorites are Death, Sex, and Money and Ask Me Another) or reading my book.

A Metro advertisement I made with a colleague.

My days at the Museum are always different, but I find my work meaningful and engaging. Every day I am writing articles, emails, advertisements, and stories—from fundraising pitches to the content of full books. More and more, I am producing digital content and videos, and I love that most of all. I will say the downfall of what I do is that while I write all day, it makes me less motivated to work on my own writing, which is another reason I've restarted the blog.

Here's a few of my favorite videos my colleagues and I have produced this year:
The Impact of Your Support - We created this for Giving Tuesday
Bringing Holocaust Education to Shonto, Arizona
Holocaust Survivors' Message to New America Citizens

Testing the lighting during a photoshoot.

Action shot - helping our collections team with their filing system.

After work, I tend to head home to tend to my loyal hund, but I regularly play bar trivia (team Narwahl Nannization forever), go to yoga classes, and meet up with a number of arts management happy hours and events, connect with old coworkers, or try to get out and enjoy this beautiful capital city of ours.

Admittedly I watch too much TV, but there's so many good shows out right now. Currently, Westworld, Stranger Things, the Gilmore Girls revival, and Mozart in the Jungle are my favorites. I've never been a night owl (why start now?), so I'm typically asleep by 11.

A wall at the National Geographic Museum at a recent Creative Mornings DC event.

On the weekends, Mike rides his bike. A lot. I have been learning to play the guitar (it's a struggle, but fun), and I also spend my time running, hiking with Pollock on different trails around the city. It is a wonder of DC that within a few minutes I can be in the zoo or in a national park. I, at most, drive myself somewhere once a week. Buses, Ubers, Metros, bike shares (begrudgingly - DC traffic makes me nervous), and my feet are my preferred method of moving around the city.

Hiking with Mike and Pollock at Great Falls.

Weekend nights are usually pretty quiet, but I do try to get out to see live music and shows whenever I can. In 2016 I saw Shakey Graves, The Cure, National Symphony Orchestra, Lord Huron, Johnny Swim, Indigo Girls, The Book of Mormon, and some local plays and storytelling events too.

Whenever I feel low, I go hangout by the flamingos at the National Zoo. Their abundant brightness always cheers me up.

I

Publication for Red Dirt Studio

Writing with the King

For any kind fellows who still check this blog, I recently blogged for my American University's Emerging Art Leaders Symposium blog. Here is what I wrote:

Yes, yesterday was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, and although his memory deserves much more than one blog post - today, I prefer to discuss a different King, a literary king, Stephen King.

Amid the hefty stack of books I slated for my winter-break reading, Stephen King’s nonfiction piece, On Writing, claimed the top of the pile. Before this summer, I had never read one of his novels, but a literati friend put Green Mile into my hands. I was impressed by his storytelling ability and found myself willing to forgo my predilection for writers who teach me a new vocabulary word each page for solid, page turners like King churns out. Next, my same wise friend recommended On Writing to me, King’s autobiography and advice book for nascent writers.

Now, like many of my peers who study arts management, I struggle to make time for my own art while spending time studying the management of it. After reading about the challenges King overcame to produce his first novels - juggling marriage, small children, factory shifts and teaching - he reminded me that yes, it’s possible to keep artistic focus despite all the life happening around us. But it takes discipline. Amid the many sage observations in this book (including my favorite aphorism - “The road to hell is paved with adverbs”) what most resonated with me is his topic of muses.

How often do we as artists wait for that illusive moment for our inspiration to strike? We avow there will be a perfect moment to begin our opera, our painting, or our novel, but the time we have now does not seem quite right. Chances are, that instant will never come unless we pave the path. King puts it this way:

“There is a muse, but he’s not going to come fluttering down into your writing room and scatter creative fairy-dust all over your typewriter or computer station. He lives in the ground. He’s a basement guy. You have to descend to his level, and once you get down there you have to furnish an apartment for him to live in. You have to do all the grunt labor, in other words, while the muse sits and smokes cigars and admires his bowling trophies and pretends to ignore you. Do you think this is fair? I think it’s fair… It’s right that you should do all the work and burn all the midnight oil, because the guy with the cigar and the little wings has got a bag of magic. There’s stuff in there that can change your life.”

How I envision King's muse

We must not wait to strike when the iron is hot, but rather, we must work on what we love when the iron is tepid, downright frigid even. In order to be a successful arts manager, it’s paramount to foster my enthusiasm for the arts by being an active participant. Perhaps if we all find time to keep creating, then maybe, our reluctant muses will snub out their cigars and help us create work that can, in fact, change lives.

Rapt in the Return

Location: Budapest
Date: May 27, 2011
Adventure #51

Inspired by motherly encouragement/prodding, I am back to post again on my blog. Just two days ago, I hosted a reading at my favorite wine bar in Budapest with five other very talented poets. A large group of my friends attended, for which I was extremely grateful. Since I am betting that was my final poetry reading in Budapest before my imminent departure, I composed a poem inspired by some of my Hungarian experiences and my current attitude toward moving. Without further preamble, here it is:

Rapt in the Return

We sat side by side on a slated bench like one-third of the last supper,

drinking light lagers out of plastic grails

staring a sinister church protected by chicken wire,

caging in gargoyles with the lunette apostles,

a purgatory menagerie.

As its bells pealed at midnight,

we toasted each other in four languages,

the homeless man donning an Armani hat laughed as I dipped my finger in my drink and gave my dog a lick,

then his eyes moved back to a horizontal glare as we occupied his bed for just a little longer.

These are the moments I inhale,

hand just slapped the chess timer

must move to the next travail.

My mind is most rapt with a return ticket,

time-stamped eyes bring clarity, rarity of vision

where measured moments

bloom like highlighter rows of rapeseed.

I can’t forget what I didn’t do,

fill the cup of bent-over beggars,

whose outstretched hands quiver like a cellist sustaining a chord,

I never danced ‘til dawn in velvet cellars,

but there is still time,

and I didn’t finish the vinegar wine

served by flirtatious proprietors in musky cellars.

I handed it off like a baton to friends who dumped it out behind the cask,

volunteers passing water buckets to douse flames of fire water.

These are the moments I let pass,

hand just slapped the chess timer

time for new memories to amass.

My mind is most rapt with a return ticket,

time-stamped eyes bring clarity, rarity of vision

where measured moments

bloom like highlighter rows of rapeseed.

I have lacked bold strokes to learn the language.

As long as my shy smile suckled its mother tongue,

my stranger smile roused suspicion.

Always wanted to understand when scorn rolled from strangers’ crackled acorn eyes to bread-knife tongues,

so I could hear choice words

and chose my rebuttal carefully.

Instead, I continue with popgun phrasing of pleasantries like thank you beautifully or lovely weather today.

my default of ignorance has been to feign bliss.

These are words I must leave behind,

hand just slapped the chess timer

remaining time too strictly defined.

My mind stays rapt with the return ticket,

time-stamped eyes bring clarity, rarity of vision

I am enamored in the now.

Onwards and Upwards

Location: Budapest
Date: April 17, 2011
Adventure #50

This has been a long time coming, but I've been waiting to save post no. 50 to make this very special announcement. This August, I am moving to Washington, D.C. to attend graduate school at American University. I'll be getting my masters in Arts Management, and I want to focus on marketing and public relations for large cultural institutions. Since I am moving to the USA's museum mecca, I think I will have many fantastic internship/job possibilities. Fortunately, I received a grad assistantship, so I will be working with an initiative that documents the work of aging artists, thus combining two of my big passions: serving the elderly and promoting the arts. I couldn't have tailored a better program for me, and I am anxiously waiting to learn more details.

After telling a few friends about my plans, the follow up question is always, "Is your husband coming too?" The answer is yes, of course - because of his job, he can't pick up and leave quite as easy as I can, but for his quickly advancing career in international development there are few cities that are more in tune to his field than D.C., and it is a good move for him too. For a little while, it may be just me and the pup in Washington, but I have full confidence Mike will not be able to be separated from his newly naturalized dachshund for long.

Although I've been preparing to move from Budapest for almost a year, it is still a bit surreal to know that I will be leaving my home for the last 3.5 years, and Mike and I will live together in the States for the first time. The logistics of the move (packing years of accumulated things back into a few suitcases, collecting our possessions in Colorado and Texas and moving to a city in which I've only spent a total of six days) are overwhelming, but I am trying to take it one small move at a time.

Just like I never would have dreamed of living in Hungary, I never thought I would peregrinate to the East Coast. However, I am finding that a life of unplanned blessings and adventurous opportunities happily exceeds what my imagination fathoms.

Spring has Sprung

Location: Budapest
Date: March 2011
Adventure #49

In addition to hearing the occasional bird chirping, being able to open my windows in the day, and seeing flower beds full of vibrant blossoms, signs of vernal happiness take another form in Budapest: the arrival of Budapest Spring Festival. As in years past, I wrote a feature for my magazine about the large-scale cultural event, which you can read by clicking here.

I was invited to attend the opening ceremony for the festival, which was held at the Museum of Ethnography - a stunningly ornate building built in the early 20th century for Hungary's Ministry of Justice. Anytime I get an invitation to go to that museum, I take it. Although it was hard to capture using just my Ipod, I took this picture of the lobby while a Gypsy musical group performed.

And yet another perk of reporting on the festival was that I was able to attend a flamenco dance version of Carmen - masterminded by Antonio Gades - a late, world-famous Spanish choreographer. Although I think it would have been much better with a live orchestra, the Spanish guitarists and flamenco dancers were exceptional. It solidified what I always suspected would be true: there is nothing more sultry than a vixen (clad in a red dress, naturally) seducing her man with flamenco flitting to Bizet's "L'amour est un oiseau rebelle" (Love is a rebellious bird) aria.

Shakin' It All Night Long

Location: Buda
Date: February 2011
Adventure #48

If 1980s theme parties have helped me realize one personal truth, it would be that my hair was meant to be teased! Thanks to my friends Mats and Zsofi, I had the opportunity to let my voluptuous hair down and trip the light fantastic to fantastic '80s tunes at their hilarious party last month. I know most people in the '80s did not look/dress like this all the time, but what good is a theme party if you don't take it to the extreme?

We revived fabulous looks from the decade, including party girl and Boy George - thanks Zsofi and Mats:

The Olivia Newton-John aerobic girl:

Who you gonna call ... for some man mid-drift:

And my friend Kinga even busted out a Walkman for the occasion:

As we laughed, applied too much make up, teased our hair and danced, danced, danced, heaven truly was a place on earth. Thanks 1980s for being a decade that is just so fun to make fun of.

Now I am waiting for a '90s party, where I plan on wearing a highlighter-hued windsuit that will incessently make a "whoosing" sound while I dance to Ace of Base, Spice Girls and Salt'N'Peppa.

Stunt dog

Within the first couple weeks of having Pollock, he started a hilarious habit of sprinting in circles around my apartment's courtyard. He does this almost every time we let him off leash without any provocation. Since I wanted to capture it on film, here is Mike egging him on:

Literary hangovers, brought to you by Bukowski

Location: Budapest, VII District
Date: February 25, 2011
Adventure #47

It is another gray, snowy day in Budapest, yet I am quite content indoors. I just discovered Massolit, a lovely book store and cafe in Budapest that serves as a glorious Art Deco time warp with Wifi. With a black and white marble checked floor supporting sturdy wooden furniture, over-sized chairs that could hold two of me, and Ella Fitzgerald's finest tunes playing - I feel I have found another home away from home. So now, I am enjoying a delicious brownie and cappuccino and pausing from work.
This is a popular venue for my literati friends, with whom I have done many performances recently, including a "Write Like Bukowski" contest at a local dive bar. For those who don't know him, Charles Bukowski was a poet and author who lived in California and developed kind of a cult-following thanks to his rough, truthful prose and his reputation as the "laureate of American low-life." Given that he was a misogynistic alcoholic with a gambling addiction, writing in his style was a leap outside my creative comfort zone, which is why I welcomed the challenge to release my gritty side.

For the competition, winners could win a bottle of whiskey or a ham on rye sandwich (which happens to be the name of one of Bukowski's novels) for doing the best impression of the curmudgeon or writing most like him. My fellow Bukos were impressive, ranging from the gruff, drunk, explicit and love struck - and even included a participant who had met Bukowski multiple times in California. Although I didn't win any prizes against my unruly competition, I earned a lot of laughs from pieces like this where I tapped into Bukowski's pessimistic spirit with this true story:

Halloween

I stepped in dog crap while swaggering home from the bars on Halloween -

a typical Budapest plague -

so I left my boot outside my front door to clean in the morning.

The next day my German, middle-aged neighbor asked if I got any treats in my shoe,

thinking American Halloween is like St. Nicolas Day,

and I left my boot outside in hopes it would be filled with chocolate

for being such a good girl.

All I could say was

sometimes you get a treat,

but most the time you get tricks.

The next morning after my show, I smelled like I had just stepped out of an airport smoking lounge - even my poetry paper reeked of cigarettes - and my head hurt from drinking too much cheap beer. I think my poetic hangover was exactly what Bukowski would have wanted as a tribute.

Enjoying Communist Cuisine

Location: Budapest, VII District
Date: February 19, 2011
Adventure #46

For a Saturday lunchtime outing, my friends and I opted to head back in time via Kádár Étkezde - a Jewish/Hungarian restaurant in the heart of Budapest's VII District. This eatery has been more or less unchanged since Communist times and still draws a loyal lunch crowd. The cozy restaurant is composed of tightly packed tables with red and white checked table cloths protected by plastic covers.

Its wainscot walls are decorated with mismatched framed pictures of local celebrities, old maps and and hilariously timeworn signs, like this one that barely divides smokers from the non-smokers. (A wise Hungarian friend once told me that non-smoking sections in Budapest restaurants are like having designated non-peeing lanes in a swimming pool.)

Fortunately, I came to lunch with veterans of the establishment, because there are a few rules every patron should know Kadar's dining rituals:
- Each table has a bottle of seltzer water. Pour yourself glasses of water, but be sure to count them, because you are charged Ft 50 per glass (25 cents).
- You must also count how many pieces of bread you consume, because, like the water, you are charged per slice Ft 30 (10 cents).
- At the end of your meal, you must go to the front of the restaurant to pay the owner who is dressed in a white shirt and pants like a sanatorium worker. Precisely recite everything you ate down to the last piece of bread and glass of water, while he adds up the total on a slip of paper. If you seem to be underestimating your consumption, he will interrogate you.

I came to the restaurant specifically to try a traditional Hungarian meal of a goose leg and sólet, a Jewish bean stew. It was every bit as tasty as its reputation promised, and it made me pleased that I finally got to enjoy a Magyar institution. Plus, the fact that the owner didn't question my eating habits was a major boon.

Making a Blog Comeback

Location: International
Date: February 18, 2011
Adventure #45

Yesterday, I watched my ultimate saccharine guilty pleasure - the TV musical show Glee - and the episode was about its downtrodden characters making comebacks. Not that I usually take inspiration from prime time, but it did remind me that I have been neglecting some of my outlets and things that make me me - namely creative writing - and I could use my own mini-comeback. Furthermore, I promised that I would do 50 adventure postings in a year, and I am about a month behind, but gosh darn it, I am still going to finish it and keep going.

While there were many factors at play to my absence, like the holidays and my trip to the states, there was one big one. In January, my family suffered a big loss when Mike's grandfather, whom everyone called Pops, passed away. He was an avid reader of my blog - dare I say its biggest fan - and was endlessly supportive of my writings and was genuinely interested in the day-to-day happenings of my life, which I wrote about it in this posting. For awhile it made me too sad to write this blog knowing that Pops wouldn't be there to comment. But he was always a friendly motivator who sent me messages and phone calls when a new posting was long past due, so I know he'd want me to keep going with my blob. When we were in Dallas for the memorial services, I got the great honor to write Pops' obituary with the help of the family, so here is another of many tributes that Pops is due:

Leslie "Pops" S. Klein, Jr., loving husband, father and grandfather, passed away peacefully on January 10, 2011. Born June 7, 1926 in Chicago, he was the son of Dorothy and Leslie S. Klein. Les moved to Dallas in 1938, graduated from Woodrow Wilson High School in January 1944 and attended Baylor University in Waco until he joined the U.S. Army at age 18. He served in the 44th Division, 324th Infantry, C Company and was transferred to the HQ Company, 3rd Battalion, 324th Regiment as a Jeep driver for the message center in France, Germany and Austria. Later, he was trained at Camp Chaffee in Arkansas and was sent to Japan for its occupation. He was discharged from the Army as a corporal and received the Bronze Star, two European Battle Stars and a Combat Infantry Medal. After the war, he attended S.M.U., where he met his wife Mary Grace Carter of Tulsa, Okla. He was a member of the Kappa Sigma fraternity. Enjoying a career as an accomplished furniture salesman, Les once worked for the Curtis Mathes Company. He bought its mattress factory, founded the Southland Bedding Co. in 1963 and acquired the Spring Air bedding franchise in the mid-1970s. In 2005, he received the Tupelo Furniture Market Manufacturer's Representative Award. Demonstrating his faith through his kind and generous personality, Les was a sincere Christian and a long-time member of the University Park United Methodist Church. He was extremely proud of his grandchildren whom he cheered on at Highland Park sports events. He is survived by his devoted wife of 60 years, Mary Grace; two sons and their spouses: Ann and Les Klein and Nancy and Mark Klein of Highland Park; six grandchildren and their spouses: Sarah and Matt Klein, Emily and John Klein, Katherine and Chris Herron, Marisa and Michael Klein, James Klein and Ginna Klein; and three great-grandchildren.

Poetry Out Loud Trifecta

Location: Budapest
November and December
Adventure #44

In December, I performed poetry at multiple events including a special reading at Hungary's National Library of Foreign Literature with my bard-friend Daniel. This event was particularly fun because we read our original work as well as some of our favorite poems by famous writers like Marge Piercy, Charles Bukowski and ee cummings. Here is one of my favorite verses by ee that I performed:

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers.  Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Also, I got to read at Budapest's Godot Literary Festival as a featured reader for the Budapest Bardroom. This disorganized event happened at a bohemian arts venue on a Friday afternoon. I was completely shocked that anyone even came, but I managed to attract a few loyal friends.

Lastly, my poetry performances of 2010 wrapped up with a slam performance at Merlin, a club and theater in downtown Budapest. A few performers and I read our work to the music of a DJ. He was quite talented, but we never practiced, so it was difficult to pace my writing to his music. It was a nice change in my routine though. In 2011 I have multiple events coming up including a "Write Like Bukowski Contest" and a love-themed poetry event I'm hosting on Valentine's Day. Bring on the creativity.

Happy Hanukkah

Location: Budapest
December 2, 2010
Adventure #43

I am a religious tourist - I enthusiastically seize any opportunity to experience a new holy ritual, whether it was attempting meditation at my college's Zen Buddhism meetings or having the honor of sitting through a Native American sweat lodge ceremony - I find it enriching to experience and study unfamiliar cultures and spiritual traditions first hand.
So naturally, I took advantage of my neighborhood and attended a Hanukkah candle lighting ceremony at a cafe. The event was part of a collaborative celebration in the Jewish district called Quarter6/Quarter7 that honors the heritage of Budapest and focuses on breathing new life into the area. At the event I attended, hosts led a crowd of about 40 people through a traditional menorah lighting ritual. Those who knew Hebrew joined in prayers as the host lit two candles (it was the second day of Hanukkah) on a humble, gold menorah. Although brief, the event was a touching celebration of God and community.

Pollock's First Snow

Location: Budapest
November 26, 2010
Adventure #42

Pollock does not like to get wet, so I did not know how he would react to snow. As it turns out, he loves playing in piles of it, as long as it's not sleeting on him. Here is a picture of him on the first night it snowed.

We were at a sports bar until about midnight watching college football with some of Mike's friends from Texas, and when we left the city was blanketed with the white stuff. It was about a 20 minute walk home, and I have never seen Pollock run inside our apartment faster than when we was getting out of the hard-falling flakes.

Now that the snow has settled, I can't keep him away from the drifts. Pollock loves to eat chunks of snow and chasing snowballs. Here he is, stalking his frozen prey:

Holiday Shopping Story

This month, I wrote my magazine's holiday shopping guide, framed around Budapest's best tourist sites. You can read the article by clicking here.

Giving Thanks

Location: Beautiful Budapest Flat
November 25, 2010
Adventure #41

Despite living abroad for four out of the last five Thanksgivings, I have never gone without some succulent turkey on America's delightful holiday of gluttony and gratitude. This year, Mike and I joined our Coloradan friends, Dana and Stephen, at an American woman's home who works for the US Embassy. She prepared a huge feast including a juicy bird that Mike and Stephen were volunteered to carve. The guests - mostly Europeans - made amazingly genuine American offerings including Mike's favorite, Sweet Potato Pie.

I whipped up some deviled eggs and cookies for the occasion, which distracted me from work most of the holiday. It was a great blessing to be among wonderful friends and to enjoy a delicious meal together. Here's hoping that next year, Mike and I will enjoy our first turkey day together on American soil. If we don't, it's sure nice to know that the spirit of Thanksgiving transcends US borders.

Billie's Bloom

Here houses stay red for generations and 20 types of pie are served on blue polka dotted plates with yellow napkins, clashing with Indian paintbrush walls, but matching my mood

As sun rays cuts through November sea air and slide through windows in movie projector rays,we shakily make Gretel trails of espresso down teacup sides, licking them home to sweet raspberry crisp.

Our elbows and words bump to lulling sounds of Billie on the 1930s Hungarian radio, as violet flowers bloom from her gritty mouth.

Sick Puppy

Location: Gozsdu Udvar
November 20, 2010
Adventure #40
Last week, there was a Jewish culinary festival, JudaFest, in my apartment complex. Although I enjoyed inhaling the aromas of pastries, roasting meat and sholet each time I walked outside, there were some drawbacks (including hearing faint Klezmer music in my flat for about a week straight), like making Pollock sick.

While I am not certain the foreign food was the culprit, Pollock became very ill this weekend and was not holding down his food. This isn't all too surprising because nearly every time we went outside, Pollock quickly devoured any stray kosher crumb sloppy eaters/festival goers left in our courtyards including garlic bread, some bananas and all sorts of tasty morsels. To combat his ill-fated culinary variety, we switched him to a white-rice diet yesterday, and now he seems ok. These new Asian eats have inspired Mike to sing Pollock impromptu ballads like "[You] are Siamese if you please" and "I think [you're] turning Japanese" - musical therapy at it's finest.

While Mike and I were doting, fast-acting canine custodians when responding to our sick puppy, like taking him outside at 5:30am when his stomach was gurgling loud enough to wake us up, luckily nothing was as icky as Hungary's second red sludge disaster that happened in my bedroom at 3am a few weeks back. Mike was out of town and Pollock projectile vomited the remnants of a crimson bone I had given him earlier in the day - it's a good thing he's so damn cute.

Sweden Smörgåsbord

Location: Stockholm, Sweden
November 4, 2010
Adventure #39

As my number of Swedish friends has continued to grow over the past few years in Budapest, I developed a theory that Scandinavians were slowly and politely beginning to take over Hungary's capital, in what I have dubbed the "Swedish Invasion." However, after a recent trip to their headquarters in Stockholm, I am convinced of two things - 1) If the Swedes did take over Budapest, the city would become impeccably dressed and infinitely cleaner - all positive things. 2) The coup will probably never actually happen, because it would be hard to convince most Swedes to ever leave their beautiful home.


Even after only three days in Stockholm, I was not eager to get back to Budapest. It was so easy to get used to sidewalks so clean that people didn't even put construction materials or lawn trimming directly on the sidewalk - they used special biodegradable bags, and I loved seeing lakes or the sea where ever I went.

I went to Stockholm to visit Zsofi, who was visiting her parents who live there. She went to high school in Sweden, so I had always heard wonderful stories about the city from her, so of course she made a perfect tour guide. We walked all over the city, which is comprised of 14 connected islands. I especially enjoyed seeing the old town, the royal palace and The City Hall of Stockholm - where the Nobel Prize banquet is held each year. Plus, I totally lucked out in the weather department - it was sunny every day, so I will always think of Stockholm as a chilly, glowing city, rather than a gray urbane destination as it is during much of the winter.

We also went to the modern art museum and the Vasa Museum, which is a hotly contested tourist spot in Zsofi's household. Her mother thinks visiting it is "a waste of money" and "it's a museum for boys." Her father thinks it is a must-see stop for anyone in the city. While Zsofi tends to side with her mom, I convinced her to give it another go with me. The Vasa Museum encompasses a huge ship by the same name, which is an enormous 17th-century vessel that sunk minutes into its maiden voyage in 1628.

It was pulled out of Stockholm's sea 333 years later and remains the only fully intact ship from the era. After growing up with a pirate-crazed sister, I have seen my fair share of Captain Hook-style battles, so I loved seeing a ship in person and imaging all the swashbuckling that could occur on its deck. What was most impressive, and what probably led to its design flaws, is all its ornate embellishments. There is hardly a surface that doesn't have a carving or adornment, including an impressive lion at its bow. My only complaint is that you can't go inside of the ship, although they did recreate the deck in a neighboring exhibit, so you could pretend you were inside. Thus, I am definitely with Zsofi's dad in this debate.

Over the weekend, Zsofi's dad drove us on their family tour of homes, so I could see all the cute houses Zsofi used to live in, and we made a stop at a charming seaside town called Waxholm, which is were we walked down to the water in the picture above. The whole trip was very relaxing and pleasant - but nothing so warmed my heart (besides my time with Zsofi, of course) as seeing Christmas trolls everywhere I went. These are simply amazing: