The Road Less Traveled

Getting there is half the battle 

When I boarded the train in Mannheim headed toward Frankfurt Flughafen (Airport), everything seemed to be running smoothly for a change. (My former roommate Bethany was not so lucky—her train was running about 45 minutes late).  When I arrived in Frankfurt, however, I was told that my train to Brussels was not running. Instead, I would have to take another train to Koeln (Cologne), then a third train to Aachen (on the German-Belgian border), then take a bus to Brussels.  Frankly, I was pissed.  I had paid 89 Euros for the comfort of the ICE, not to be stuffed into a bus. The train to Koeln was overcrowded and I stood for half the ride.  Eventually, I sat next to a young woman from China who studies Biology in Liege.  She said this type of cancellation happens quite often, especially in winter. I swore to myself if I ever had to take a train internationally again I would try to take the Thalys train instead because it’s not run by Deutsche Bahn..

It took a while for everyone in Aachen to board the buses and find a seat.  We finally took off around 9:30 p.m., around the time my train was originally scheduled to arrive in Brussels.  We arrived two hours later.  The only good part of the trip is that on the ride in I saw sights I knew I would want to return to later. 

Because it was so late, I was tired, the streets were icy, and I had no idea how far the hotel was from the Metro, I ended up taking a taxi (12.50 Euros) to the Hotel Queen Anne. The taxi driver was nice, and told me that if I knew English, French, and German I could get a very nice job with the European Commission, with my salary paid by both the EC government and “my” national government. 

 Meeting Goliath, I mean, the European Commission 

After enjoying the free breakfast at the hotel (eggs, bread, deli meat, cheese, coffee, and juice served buffet style), I meandered towards the Place de Brouckere Metro station.  Along the way I discovered the Place des Martyrs, a monument honoring those who died fighting for Belgium. I also found a charming street leading to the opera house. I tried to scope out a place to have mussels and a bier for dinner, but was surprised to see that most restaurants served only steaks, pasta, fish, and pizza. 

I finally got on the Metro and took it to Shuman, per the instructions on the European Commission Education Culture and Audiovisual Executive Agency (ECAEA) map. When I got off, I took pictures of the grand European Commission administrative offices I had seen last night—the Berlaymont 3000-person building. On the outside was a huge banner wishing happy New Year in 20 languages of the EU. Across the street was another building with a banner in English and Spanish welcoming the new Spanish president of the EU. 

The area around the Berlaymont building was under construction, but I managed to find the bus to the ECAEA. I got off in the fairly residential area, went inside the ECAEA office, and asked the security guard where the library is.  He replied, “there is no library.”  Mind you, I had called and asked about the library the week before and was told it was closed until January 4. On the other hand, that entire exchange was in French so I may have missed something or miscommunicated along the way.  The guard told me the phone number I called and the address I had given last week didn’t match my current physical location.

The guard was pleasant about the whole thing. He first tried to call someone in the office who was an expert in the Bologna Process, but without an appointment no one (unsurprisingly) was available. He wrote down directions for me to the Info-Press center near Place Shuman. On the way out I grabbed three things sitting in kiosk, two of which turned out to be beneficial to my research:  the last Russian-language brochure on TEMPUS (the grants program that seeks to “modernize” education outside the EU), and two periodicals for civil servants in the EU. 

 Touring Brussels 

I caught the bus back to Place Shuman. I had no map on me and couldn’t find the street I needed walking around Berlaymont, so I went into the Metro station to look at a neighborhood map. I found the street I needed to take (Rue de la Loi) on the map, but the strange thing was there didn’t seem to be a second street on which to turn left.  This street headed straight into the Jubelpark.  Ahead of me was an amazing gate that made the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin looked small. It was flanked by the kind of long, columned buildings that an American can only see in the great cities of Europe.

I walked through the thin layer of snow to the gate and still did not see the street I was supposed to turn left on.  I did, however, see the military museum and the Autoworld museum.  At that point, I decided I wasn’t meant to find the Info Press center, and instead plunked down 6 Euros to see the Autoworld museum. I saw some of the first Mercedes Benz cars, a Model T Ford, and even the first Honda.  They had some more “modern” cars as well such as Cadillacs and T-Birds from the 1970s. I was disappointed to see that some of the cars on display were in really poor condition—some of them had rust, low tire pressure, cracks/dents, or all of the above. 

Following the guidelines of the map inside the park, I wandered out the other end of the park and headed in what I believed to be the general direction of the Grand Place (Main Square/Market).  Along the way I saw the first restaurant offering mussels—for 20 EUROS. WTF!?  I decided I’d better eat cheaper, and found a small sandwich shop with a line out the door (always a good sign).  I ordered the “Nordique” sandwich for 3.15 Euros—a foot-long baguette with “Philadelphia” (cream cheese), lox, and cucumber.  Yum! 

 Place Jordan 

I meandered until I arrived at Place Jordan, a cute square that seemed more lively than the quiet neighborhood I’d just wandered through.  I again looked at the restaurants and noticed a couple of them had a strange sign saying (in French), “we partner with Maison Antoine—frites accepted here”.  I thought maybe it was some kind of discount card, until I completed my circuit of the square and found the Maison Antoine, a 50+plus year old kiosk that serves frites (Belgian fries) topped with mayonnaise (or any other sauce you want) in a paper cone for 2.50 Euros. 

As I ate my frites with a little fork, I tried to find a map at a bus stop to orient myself to the direction I should keep walking in to get to the grand place.  It was at this point I began to realize that Brussels is a city of crooked streets that leave one more disoriented than a kid spun around for a piñata hit or Pin the Tail on the Donkey.  Fortunately, I had bought two metro/bus combo tickets (1.70 Euros each) at the de Brouckere metro station.  I used my second one to take a bus that was headed to the Namcourt, a place I remembered from earlier maps had a metro station. On the way I saw another bus sign for Bourse, a stop I knew was close to the main sights. I hopped on that but hopped off as soon as we passed by the Royal Palace, a building which was truly palatial.  I took photos of that, the Magritte Museum, and city view in the valley below.  I found the tourist information bureau and finally got a map of the city. It was at this point that I realized I had taken the wrong part of Rue de La Loi at Place Schuman.  But it was already nearly 3, and I didn’t think I’d have enough time to get to the Info-Press to get meaningful information and see the Grand Place all before dark. 

The Tourist Area

Instead, I half walked, half slid down the icy hill past the royal library to the maze of shops around the Grand Place.  I splurged on a gaufre du Liege (Belgian waffle), and a few minutes later I splurged again on hot chocolate from the Valrhona store (wow!).  I would have bought some chocolates there for my roommates, but the clerk was so officious and snooty-sounding, I felt too unwelcome to linger and look for more to buy. 

The Grand Place was truly grand.  I can’t begin to describe the guilded buildings and darker walls that probably saw bombing in World War II.  I used my map to find the Mannekin Pis, a fountain that looks like a boy peeing. When I got to where it should be, though, I didn’t see it. I looked  at a map on the corner and a group of people standing around and soon learned that the Mannekin pis is truly a little pisher.  My friend has a 9-month old who is bigger than that statue. I felt like we were all perverts for taking pictures of this little baby peeing.  [NB:  I heard about and later found a card for a similar statue built in the 80s of a young girl squatting and doing her thing, which I find equally disturbing.]

I got the hell out of there and back to the main road (Boulevard Anspach). I stopped at a supermarket where I got a liter of Evian for 54 Eurocents, and saw shopping baskets with wheels (very clever).  I walked all the way back to my hotel and collapsed in bed for a few hours.

 Lassez le bon temps moules (Let the good times mussels) 

Around 9 p.m., I realized I really should get outside.  I picked up a Brussels guide book in the hotel lobby, and found a place that is open all night. However, the stupid brochure didn’t have a map that showed clearly where the restaurant was, and I couldn’t even find the street on my map from the tourist bureau.

I started wandering back down the way I’d come up this afternoon hoping to find another good bar or restaurant.  I found another city map, and this one listed the street where the all-night restaurant, Si Bemol, is. I discovered that the restaurant was very close.  I took the dicey walk at night past the nude clubs down a fairly empty street, and found the restaurant. I almost didn’t go in, especially since the mussels were 21 Euros there, but there were signs outside in Spanish and there was 80s music playing inside. 

I sat at the counter of the small restaurant; there was only one other party in there.  I ordered a biere and was disappointed to be offered a Jupiter beer from a bottle. Apparently their tap wasn’t working.  The Leffe I ordered after that was equally disappointing. If I were going back there again, I would definitely stick with wine; their collection of was more impressive.

Once again I engaged in a culinary splurge and ordered the mussels.  I had figured out from some of the restaurants advertising mussels at “market price” that these mussels were pricey because they were so fresh.  I was given an aperitif of green olives and salami. I asked if that was traditionally Spanish or Belgian; the server replied that it was Spanish. Her mother was Spanish. 

The mussels came in casserole pot filled with the vin blanc (white wine sauce) and diced onions.  A metal bowl of steak fries was served on the side. The mussels were so fresh I could still taste the water they had been caught in.

After all the salt of the mussels and fries and the bitterness of the beer, I needed something sweet to cap off the night. I again splurged and ordered the chocolate mousse.  The server asked if I wanted it with crème fraiche. I said, “a la costumbre” (which I hope meant “as is customary). The cook then explained in English, “the chocolate is very strong. Do you want something [to soften it]?” I replied in English, “I like chocolate. Bring it on!”

The chocolate was dark, heavy, and should not have been eaten by one person. There was more caffeine in it than a shot of espresso.  I didn’t care.  It was good and I was enjoying it. Sated, I paid the bill and waddled back to the hotel.  I had an early train to catch in the morning. 

It seems no matter how thick the curtains or my eye mask are, the morning light in Ukraine taps me on the shoulder at 5:45 a.m. So it was this morning. I had tea (2.50 uah) served by the conductor in a glass with a metal holder, a granola bar, and a banana. I arrived in Dnipropetrovsk at 7 a.m. and Valentyna from the secondary school of foreign languages was there to greet me. With her was Oleksander and his 7-year old daughter Ann, who is a student of Valentyna’s. We climbed into Oleksander’s fairly new Subaru and headed for the hotel.

The Hotel Dnipropetrovsk

After ultra modern Kyiv, the hotel felt like a step backwards into Soviet Russia. Valentyna went with me to check in at the hotel. We went first to the “administrator’s” window. She gave me a registration card to fill out. Then we went to the other window to check in. She asked to see my passport; I asked if she need the original or a copy and she answered, “either one” (все равно). Since I didn’t see a currency exchange but I did see signs for Visa and Mastercard, I decided to go ahead and pay with a credit card, especially since the sum was over 1000 gryvnias ($164). The strange thing was, she started to swipe the card before even telling me what the total was! I had to ask for the breakdown. She said it included 3 Ѕ nights (I wanted a late checkout Sat. night before the train), and 4 breakfasts (today, tomorrow, Friday, Saturday). I said, “I’ve already had breakfast, can I not take breakfast today?” She said no (не получается). I was too tired to fight about it so I signed.

Valentyna said I had to get the key from the attendant on the floor where my room was. I got the key and then asked if I had to give the key back to her every time I leave (уезжаю) the hotel. She said yes because there is only one key! I realized I’d better be careful it.  [On the other hand, I may have been using the word for checkout, in which case it’s possible that I didn’t have to leave it each time. But maybe Valentyna didn’t know I was using it incorrectly.]

The room itself was a pleasant surprise. There were many amenities such as a stocked refrigerator, a bathrobe, slippers, a shower cap, shampoo and conditioner, a dental kit, (all marked with the hotel name) and wallpaper that doesn’t make me want to gag. The toilet seat was sealed with a strip of paper that in Russian and English said it had been sanitized. The toilet paper was soft and white and replaced before it ran out. The water in the shower was hot. The only drawback to the room is there is exactly one electrical outlet in the room (over the bed) and 2 mirrors—one in the bathroom and one in the foyer of the room. I suppose next time I should pack an extension cord for my hair dryer and flat iron, or be happy that the lamp above the electrical outlet had a shiny metal finish that doubles as a hazy mirror in a pinch.

Valentyna said she, Ann, and Oleksander would wait 45 minutes for me to have breakfast and shower, then take me on a little tour. I went into the breakfast room, looked at the menu, and asked for the plate of vegetables and cheese. That’s when the server explained I couldn’t just order vegetables and cheese; I had to order one of the complete menu sets—either “firmovii” (house special), continental, or English (eggs and bacon). Although I joke in the States about being decisionally challenged [having a hard time making choices], because I’m American I get very frustrated when I have no choice. [On the other hand, maybe choices are hard because being part Russian I’m just not used to it!]

I went ahead and chose the house special: the basket of white and black bread (Ukrainian black bread is the best!!); the plate of cucumber, vegetables, and cheese; two mini croissants filled with jam; juice (again no choice, they just brought me grape juice); two frankfurters topped lovingly with mayonnaise; and butter with mashed potatoes (well, the mashed potatoes were so yellow it seemed like there was more butter than potatoes, but maybe they were just Yukon gold potatoes). I also got yogurt but decided to take that out and let Ann eat it. I had officially eaten more calories before 9 a.m. than some people eat all day.

City Tour #1

Around 8:30 a.m. we piled in the car and drove to Taras Shevchenko Park. I found out on my second tour that the bridge we crossed into the park was actually a pedestrian bridge, but some cars drive on it anyway. I had thought that bridge was a bit narrow for cars…It was a bit chilly so we didn’t walk around, but we saw the monument to Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko and the church of St. Nikolai. Then we drove on to the Monument to Glory, with the Soviet hammer and scythe clearly marked on the side and flowers at the base of the monument in honor of Victory Day. We stopped at the Museum of History to see ancient statues outside (from 6^th century B.C.), a monument to the founder of the history (an ethnologist who lived in the 1800s). We also saw military equipment including tanks, rockets, and the famous “Katjusha” (Little Katie). It was hard at first to understand what Little Katie did. On the second tour I found out it was a very fast rocket launcher. We also saw a building built in honor of the 30^th anniversary of Victory Day (1975), which contains a “diorama” about World War II. It wasn’t open.

We drove on towards the school. The closer we got to the school, the less paved the roads got. I said it would be okay to walk instead of trying to drive over roads only a Range Rover should handle. But he said he could get me in front of the school, and he did.

Visit to the Secondary School of Foreign Languages

Upon entering the school, I was greeted by a few 10^th graders and two teachers. The students described some of the things I saw in the school. We went up to Valentyna’s classroom. It was large, clean, with new cabinets, a computer with internet access (donated by Ukrainian Americans from Buffalo), a pristine chalkboard and chalk.

I had my talk about technology. The take home message for sure was that the desire, use, and issues around technology are pretty much the same in the U.S. and Ukraine. Parents and a few grandparents use technology. The students don’t use technology quite as often (maybe once a day), but there were students who were concerned that technology was destroying the language and even people’s personalities as they don’t read enough and expand their mind. When I talked about students in L.A. not using technology for a week, they too thought they would go crazy. The students were familiar with every technology (including Mac) except Twitter, Facebook, and Craiglist. The dangerous side of technology (murder, bullying) hasn’t reached Ukraine, and I hope it doesn’t. Students use the internet for homework, but don’t get in trouble with their teachers if they copy things from the Internet. I taught them the world plagiarism and said if they go to a foreign country to study English they better be aware of this issue. I also taught them the words “dot” and “at” because they were saying “tochka” and “cobachka”.  They didn’t have smart boards in the classroom but it sounded pretty cool to them. The best part was when we started talking about emoticons, and they knew emoticons I didn’t. They started drawing them on the board for me. My favorite is the rose: @}- – – –

For the 9^th graders, I was concerned they wouldn’t have questions to ask. To get them started talking, I had them go around the room and say their name and their favorite word in English. My fears were unfounded; in fact, they raced through lunch to come back and have time for more questions. One student asked how I felt about my own hometown, then proceeded proudly to tell the story of the history of Dnipropetrovsk. I felt bad for not taking more pride in L.A. or Philly after that, and I also saw how similar Dnipropetrovsk and Philly are. Both are connected historically to 1776 (Dnipropetrovsk was founded by Catherine the Great in that year), both have a major river and bridges across the river, both have major performing arts centers and shopping malls. It was hard to stop the questions from coming, but for me that was a nice change. And they were intelligent albeit surprising questions. One major issue at the moment is the impending independent exams, a kind of final exam in all subjects that will determine whether students graduate. A student asked, if the book says one thing and the internet says another, how do we get the right answer on the test? I said the real question is, if the book says one thing and the internet says another, how do you analyze critically which information is right? As for how such differences affect a test, if it is a well written test the number of problems like that should be small enough not to affect the outcome.

I can’t seem to show it through documentation of our interaction, so I’ll just have to tell you how impressed I was with these students’ English level, energy, and intellect. As much as the morning at the hotel depressed me, so the morning with these students impressed me and gave me hope for the future of Dnipropetrovsk and Ukraine.

After the questions and answers, Valentyna took me to the canteen for lunch. I had salat Olivier (the delicious mayo-based one with eggs and pickles and ham and peas), beet salad, and piroshki (mini-pie) stuffed with cabbage (kapusta). Valentyna said she had never met an American who liked beets; I had to remind her I lived in Ukraine for two years and learned to love them then. I also saw a bread that looked a lot like a bagel. I remembered something similar in Ukraine that was actually sweet. I ended up just buying it and trying it. It was soft like the Ukrainian nonbagel bread, but it wasn’t as sweet. It reminded me of Turkish bread simit.

At my request, after lunch we stopped in briefly at a few classrooms so I could see how English is taught there. (I am, after all, here on a mission to find a dissertation topic). Valentyna said they try to conduct classes in English, though occasionally they may also use Ukrainian. Sure enough, in the two classes I observed I only heard English, except when one student couldn’t remember a word and there was some negotiation (and I couldn’t tell if that negotiation was in Russian or Ukrainian). In the third class, a 5^th grade group, my entrance became another question and answer session as young boys in suits raised their hands eagerly, stood up, and asked me questions about reading. Of course, being a grad student I don’t read much for pleasure, and what I read would be of no interest to 10 year old boys who want sci-fi and adventure stories.

At least I understood that my Russian textbook was right: Russia (and Ukraine) are the most well-read countries in the world. I also understood that to conduct ethnographic research in a Ukrainian classroom, I will have to choose the class very carefully to make sure my presence is not a complete disruption of all activity.

By the time it was time for me to give my pronunciation workshop to teachers, I was dragging. I think the overnight transits were catching up to me. I got through the workshop fine and enjoyed the present (a ceramic dish and bell of Dnipropetrovsk). But I asked Valenytna if I could skip the Skype session they were having with a school in New Mexico and head back to the hotel. It took 20 minutes for Oleksander to come, then another 10 minutes to track down Ann. They took me to the hotel with another teacher.

I got to the hotel about 4:30-5 p.m., went up to the room and straight to bed. Oleg, the professor whom I knew from his days as a visiting scholar at Penn, called me awake at 7:30 p.m. to invite me to dinner with him and another visitor, if I could be ready in 5 minutes. I was exhausted and had already had 3 square meals, so I apologized and said I needed to catch up on my sleep. And I went back to sleep for the rest of the night.

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