Obraz III

Jiří Balcar (1929 – 1968), Obraz III., 1962, olej na plátně, 95 × 72 cm.

Samota

Rather worryingly, I am looking forward to starting this course. Two months of unemployment have leached any motivation to do anything at all from me. It is a shame I cannot get Jeremy Kyle over here. And, as I am older, I do not feel the panic and fear that have accompanied previous academic changes in my life. Plus the fact that two of the three proved to be, despite my trepidation at the time, some of the most beneficial things that have ever happened to me.

That is not to say I am unconcerned. New people. A practical, rather than academic course. Plus the sheer numbers of hours it will actually take up, both at the centre and in terms of preparation and reading. And I will have to write essays (or is it tasks?) again, for the first time in seven years. Writing with a point. Always a concern to a nonsensical blogger obsessed with minutiae. And not a single element of Central/East European-ness (excluding the location – the relationship will have to be purely osmotic for a month).

However, the pre-course task and the book (I am sure this should be plural) I have been flicking through have both been very interesting. Especially thinking back over the language teachers I have had in the past, their (very) different styles of teaching and their various merits. It does make me wonder what kind of teacher I will be. Will I even have a style? I have trained many people over the years, but mainly in areas where there is very little room for interpretation – one of the benefits of an outdated IT system, I suppose. And the tasks are making me think more about the idiosyncracies of the English language. With slight horror, I have to say. If I were not a native speaker, I fear that the lack of structure in comparison to German or Russian would lead me to run for the hills (assuming there were some nearby, otherwise a building of more than three floors would probably do).

So then, another post about nothing. An attempt to excuse myself in advance for my lack of online contact for the whole of November. Or at least reduced service (ah, London Underground). Hopefully I will be back with a vengeance at the start of December.

Med

It has just struck me, at 2.26am, how pervasive honey is here. Not in the Western healthy eating manner, but the cakes I looked at when pondering something sweet in the supermarket today were, on the whole, made with honey. Certainly far more than in a UK one. I will think further on this, as my brain is not quite as agile as it could be at the moment.

Barvy a laky

I have just finished the third coat of ivory paint on the brand-spanking new security doors. I have finally removed all vestiges of white spirit and the paint from my body, the floor, plastic sheeting and paintbrushes. Once again, this seemingly simple task allowed me another prism through which to view Czech society. Ordinarily, unless you are older or mentally unwell (not that I am claiming to be neither of these things), it is not ideal to sit and observe your neighbours. I cannot even watch them through the peephole, as I have neither the time nor inclination to sit there with my face pressed up against the door.

Whilst I was painting on three separate occasions in the last three days, I must have seen just about everyone that lives in the building. Heading off to work, or to the shops, or taking their grandson out for days of fun in Prague. With a direct view down to the stairwell, they all passed me by. And I watched surreptitiously. Or rather not so surreptitiously, as most of them stopped when they saw me with the door open painting and wished me “Dobrý den”. So, in three hours at most, I have had more interaction with the other residents of this building than I had in two years in London. Or even in four years.

This politeness (and not of the insincere American type) pervades all interactions with Czechs. Excepting those who work in enormous hypermarkets. To me, it feels like a throwback to my childhood, when there were far fewer shopping centres and supermarkets, and fruit and veg came from the market or the local shop. Although I am probably over-romanticising it, I think the greater number of small local businesses, especially grocers, does promote a feeling of belonging to the area. Certainly much more so than in London. Plus the fact that they are all privately owned, rather than being a “local” part of some global corporation also means that the owners/workers invest much more effort in the business, as the effects on them are far more direct than in a supermarket.

Panna

Mid-80′s Madonna is now being transmitted via the pipes. The strange thing is that the flat it is coming from is (allegedly) empty. Curiouser and curiouser.

Jízdenka

A certain large cheap German supermarket company had agreed a marketing deal with Czech Railways – 149 crowns for a return journey anywhere in CR next Wednesday. This was to be for a limited period, or until the vouchers for the cheap tickets ran out. Fair enough, you would think. Although the take-up of the vouchers was far in excess of what either side had thought. We went to the nearest branch this afternoon to try and pick up a voucher. They had all gone, we were kindly informed, although the kind staff suggested we phone the customer service line, who would be able to tell us which other Prague branches still had vouchers. We found one that was reasonably accessible, and off we headed on the tram(s). We found the shop in the ground floor of a new housing development in a minor Prague suburb. They could not sell them to us, they claimed. We told them their customer service line had sent us over. They spoke to the manager and we got out vouchers. So next Wednesday, another state holiday, will be spent in the (hopefully) fading grandeur of Mariánské Lázně, better known as Marienbad. Once the St Tropez of 19th century Europe, visited by royalty, aristocracy and the great and good, and, of course the partial setting of Resnais’ film:

So, a daytrip by train to a formerly popular resort town during the winter. I have truly transferred my London existence to Prague.

Listy

This should be the week I start to get myself back into some kind of professional routine. It is only a couple of weeks before my course starts, and as it is something I have no experience of, I shall actually be doing some preparation. Quite what, I don’t know. I have, of course kindly been provided with a wealth of information by the school themselves, so that should at once keep me going for a couple of days and give me some idea of further reading and what is required in general.

My only concern is that, as has been stressed to me repeatedly, it is not a course that is academic in any way. Although I feel much more comfortable about the thought of teaching small groups of non-English speakers now than I did when the idea of me doing the course was first mooted, some 10 years ago now, my mindset is still very much that of an academic. In actual fact, I have often found the exegesis of books, works of art, etc, or, indeed the analysis of structure within language, or of history, to be of more interest than the primary sources themselves. I suppose it come from the scientific/logical manner in which my brain works. I have issues appreciating the abstract beauty, but when things are placed within a (pseudo-)logical framework, they engage and inspire me far more. I hope the training experience I have will stand me in good stead, or at least give me a starting point. Fortunately, it is not a group of North London teenagers I have to try and inspire to learn about German recycling laws.

The necessity of a framework also lead me to Veletržní palác in search of Czech Socialist Realism (having heard/read that this held the best collection of Czech 20th century art). I was a little disappointed – there was only one small room. I shall endeavour to find out where exactly these works are stored and try to make a visit. There were, however other points of interest – not least because they exhibit architectural plans, theatre stage and costume designs and material goods (including radios, scooters and immense amounts of glassware) – a mini-V&A, if you will. Plus they had two whole floors of contemporary Chinese art. And the building itself is an architectural joy (on the inside, anyway).

Then a walk through Stromovka, a voyage of discovery in Bubeneč, heading towards Dejvická along the few remaining streets and in the shadow of buildings that directly betray the city’s socialist past.

Divadlo

Prague Playwriting Contest

Hranice

I had wanted to find the Czech translation of ‘liminality’ – but to no avail – so you are stuck with ‘threshold’, which is close enough, I suppose. After nearly six weeks of slacking, I have been accepted onto a CELTA course. Despite having attended more hours of language classes than I care to remember, I will be stepping over into the role of teacher for the first time. I have been sent a lengthy preparatory document to absorb before my first day – on which I will be teaching a 30 minute class straight off in order to allow the organisers to assess my strengths and weaknesses. Mainly the latter, I would imagine.

Parallel to this, winter is arriving at an alarming rate.My hands were chilled carrying a mop back this afternoon, but I cannot wait for some snow to arrive. I may change my opinion as I slip and slide up to the metro station, but at the moment, grey skies, hail and drizzle are doing little to inspire me.

Plus, reading the English-language news, it seems that Klaus’ behaviour in relation to the Lisbon Treaty is causing some embarrassment to the members of his (former) party, with many commentators perceiving his efforts to delay the treaty and his inherent Euro-scepticism as a means to ensure his political future as the leader of an as-yet-unformed conservative party, either within CR alone, or as part of a block within the EU. I only wish I could understand the news here to such a degree that I would be able to comment on perceptions within CR.

Sousedé

I am suffering slightly from paranoia at the moment. I just placed my head on the pillow to try and get to sleep at a reasonable hour. All of a sudden the conversations in the flat diagonally below became clear as a bell in my left ear. I assume my neighbours have not suddenly increased their volume at 1am, and it is definitely human voices, rather than the conglomeration of voices, sound effects and music that constitutes a TV. I have heard the weird child upstairs repeatedly – not running around, but rather sitting and singing to himself, but this is the first hint of noise from below. I assume it is below, but as the pipes in this place must be over 50 years old, plus the wooden floors and acoustic capabilities of a metal bedframe, as any reader of “The Star Rover” or, more pertinently in my current geographical location, “Darkness at Noon“, knows, sound can travel surprising distances and in unusual directions given the correct medium. My other concern is that it is not a ‘live’ conversation, but rather one that took place years ago, and I am simply acoustically serendipitous. Hopefully not, as I am uncomfortable with involuntary eavesdropping at the best of times, but conversation from the past would be a step too far.