Tuesday 30 October 2007

Travelling is good for you: Czech cuisine



Wild boar in a sweet honey and wine sauce with bacon and herb dumplings




Apricot dumplings in fresh cheese, chocolate sauce and a light coating of fine sugar




Cordon Bleu chicken with home made potato croquettes in a mushroom sauce, with red cabbage and pepper side salad


The Czech Republic is a country incomparable with any other. It is God's Own Land. A hidden treasure, protected by mountains around its entire borders, it has more than just Prague to offer to its visitors. Any visit to this land means going to Prague, but like any capital city, it is different to the rest of the country. Paris is not an example of the rest of France, London is certainly not representative of the rest of the UK and Brussels is the oddest thing you'll ever find in a country like Belgium. Thus Prague is an anomaly in the Czech Republic.

But it is a beautiful, mystical city worthy of the land it presides over. For Prague is by far the most awe-inspiring, breathtaking and humbling urban area you will ever see. For one, its acoustics are unique. In most cities you always feel the bustle of daily life, the noise, the traffic and the need to hurry. Not so in Prague. You can walk along the streets and talk to your partner as though you were in the middle of the country. The pace of life is also much more relaxed and yet serious business goes on there all the time.

But this detracts from what makes Prague the city that it is: the Czech answer to Disney - just as commercialised, sometimes too gawdy, often in-your-face, but it's certainly not fake. And it has more history in its shortest back alleyway than Disney will ever have. This is leading away from where I want to set the scene - the Czech Republic itself.

You can determine the borders of the country from any satellite maps: it is surrounded by mountains, pure, green, tree-strewn, formed by rivers, waterfalls and lakes of the clearest highland water. The villages are spread around the hills and mountains, where Czechs come to spend their weekends and summer holidays in their second home outside the town, known as a chalupa or a chata. The quality of life is far better than most other countries in Europe - people are more contented, more active, and they eat locally produced, natural fruits, vegetables and meats.

The provincial towns themselves are often Baroque leftovers from times when the city's gentry wanted to create their piece of Vienna or Prague in the country. So if you visited Jihlava, Ceske Budejovice, Pardubice, Olomouc, Brno or Ostrava, you would find the estheticness of capital cities in much smaller, less populated areas. Arriving in Liberec in northern Bohemia, I was surprised to find a Tesco supermarket smack in the middle of some 18th century architecture.

Furthermore, you can be guaranteed that your stomach will not be neglected... Czech food is not yet on the map of world cuisines, but soon enough you will find its status rising so long that the tourists come back homa and pass on their messages. Going into a restaurant in a small village near Telc called "Na Kocande" with some friends, we ordered roast duck, rabbit, boar, pheasant and plain old chicken. What arrived will forever be ingrained on the memory. French cuisine is noted for its art but you'll discreetly pop out for a bag of chips because it's not necessarily filling. By contrast, Czech food is extremely tasty and has the added benefit of filling you up.

The photos above are of the food served in Na Kocande and although everyone could do with free advertising, I recommend going into most Czech restaurants and awaiting the surprise upon your plate.

Monday 22 October 2007

Proper speech or class snobbery?

Something has been playing on my mind recently, and that is the lack of English mother tongue speakers who really make an effort to speak properly, or at least articulate. Another thing which has got me pondering the future of our language is the amount who don't bother about basic grammar. Put these two together and in fact the future of the English language in its native country is very bleak unless someone does something pretty soon.


There are several problems. One of those is that it is not fashionable in the south east of England to sound in any way intelligent, because you can seriously lose friends. I mean it. It has gone so far that often those who articulate are seen as untrustworthy and even corrupt. Take Hollywood. In their films all the bad guys are played by either New Englanders or Brits: the crew on the Titanic was split between the loveable Irish rogues and the unscrupulous British gentry. Cruella De Ville in 101 Dalmatians was played by a well-spoken dame and Alexis Colby of Dynasty fame was Joan Collins, the TV character being forever associated with the tag "bitch". It just wouldn't have been the same if they were Californian, Welsh or Australian.


You have been warned...


I noticed how easy it is for people to look down upon those who speak clearly, and there are other perception problems surrounding this. Many dialects and accents are just as valuable, adding to the richness of the language but the most accepted way to speak is with a lazy slur and an attitude of nonchalance. So as long as you don't sound out of place you'll never have to fear rejection. It's not a case of class any more, because so many people of different backgrounds are training themselves to speak that way. If it were, it would be easier to draw the line somewhere.

Recent research by a linguistic institute found that the lower the class (linguistic, not economic), the more mistrusting of clear speakers one is, yet the lower the class (economic, not linguistic) the better one gets on with those at the top, because both sections of society know who they are and are content with their place in the world. A true working class person would not have it any other way and neither would the aristoes! So the problems lie with the middle class - never content with their position they always seem to want to aim higher. They are the driving force behind this new obsession with grammarless English and they are too proud to speak to common folk and too starstruck to hold a civilised conversation with the privileged classes. Their version of the upper class is in fact being led by people like footballers, television personalities and pop stars.

It is due to these new 21st century "icons" that our language is being taken out of our hands. That and a very naïve government policy which thinks all English and Welsh school students are stupid and can't understand the principles behind grammar. I tell my own students (I have about 80 of them at the moment) that their version of English is the correct one. They should not copy anyone else's English because they can also be wrong. They should firstly write it down or make a mental note of it and ask one of the translators, interpreters or language trainers in the Institutions.

I don't care what people say about the way I speak English. I love my language, I am in awe at its humble beginnings and survival and I wish to speak it properly. It has a truly global influence, but it's such a shame that the people who started it off are now moving to some other, more user-unfriendly version which will be, in 100 years' time, an offshoot of the main version, a little like Latin and its offshoots.

Thursday 18 October 2007

Who exactly are the victims here?

It's strange how life works out.

We go through periods of misery, panic, poverty, grief or self-doubt, but as long as you have a strong head and thick skin, you can pass through the other side with ease and confidence. In my job, I also act as some kind of "therapist" for others and I've had to deal with some tough situations.

IS IT WORTH IT?
One of the hardest was being the first person at the bedside of someone who had attempted suicide. Having been called by a member of his family who was in another town, I dropped everything and got to the hospital within fifteen minutes. On the way, several emotions occurred - I was in a fit of panic that he would die alone; I was terrified about what state I would find him in and how it would affect his future physical health, but most of all I was devastated that he had taken this avenue to escape his demons.

I don't know anything so grizzly that it is worth contemplating the ultimate act.

He had been dropped by his girlfriend and as a person who gets attached easily he had decided to press his own self-destruct button. When I arrived he was attached to all kinds of tubes, wires and monitors. His heart rate was weak and his colour could only be described as grey. I feared the worse. The doctor arrived and told me to talk to him and I asked why. He explained that the tests had come through that he had taken sleeping pills but having rejected most of them he was simply in a deep sleep. I was so damned angry that he had used this method to find a solution that the only thing I could think of to say was that I hoped he did wake up so I could knock him all round the hospital grounds.

A very short while later his mother walked in in a blind panic and I quickly informed her of the situation. She sat holding his hand and talking about the episode. This was her son and there must be nothing worse than outliving your offspring unless you survive to an abnormally old age. Even then. So it was with great relief that we witnessed the first movement of his arms and head - until that moment he had been snoring like a lion...

A good few hours later he made some eye-opening gesture and his first words were "oh no", which we took to be a sign that he was still depressed and was unhappy to be alive. How can anyone be unhappy to be alive?! In any case, he spent a short week in there and we came to pick him up. We took his things and went to the centre for a celebratory meal. It was a really happy occasion although emotional nonetheless.

The question I need to ask here is, how do people get into such a state? Do they spent too long thinking? Do they just not understand that we only get one chance at this, and they think they'll be reborn if they die? Since then he has become more fatalistic in life and is a lot happier in himself. In a strange way, it was a gruesome privilege to be involved in that incident and it certainly made all of us several years more mature in the experience.
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THE GREEN EYED MONSTER
Another incident in my life which occurred recently was a student confided in me that one of her colleagues had started bullying her. It didn't stop there - her colleague had also lost her ability to handle her emotions in the same office as her. She would be all goodness and light and suddenly get nasty. One time she even got the attention of the entire department, including her boss, and showed them all a mistake my student had made. Probably the only one. At the very same time she blamed her for the recent downturn in fortunes in the department. Her colleague had for weeks been "advertising" her good work by doing "extra activities", like reserving car parking spaces for her bosses, getting lunch for everyone and running around looking busy. She had then started comparing herself to my student through defaming hints and comments. Fortunately their head of department could spot a potential maniac from a kilometre away and gave her a good lesson in dignity.

My student told me that as a well-respected and almost indispensible member of the department, her colleague had become jealous of her to the point of obsession. In their private moments, she had told her colleague all sorts of secrets, not knowing that she would hold them against her later. We were quite shocked that this sort of behaviour could go on between adults. Then again, we realised that none of us can be safe from certain individuals and it is just a matter of keeping your head held high, backing out of potentially volatile scenarios, but most of all, not letting them win. According to De Standaard a while ago, this type of person gets angrier when one of four things occurs:

1. The victim has a better life, family or job than the perpetrator
2. The victim is more capable, calmer or better organised than the perpetrator
3. The victim has more allies, friends or contacts than the perpetrator
4. The victim doesn't get upset by the perpetrator's devious actions

A person not content with his/her life will show certain signs too:
1. They don't take so much care of their appearance or body weight
2. They don't do much in their spare time, and have few or no hobbies
3. They don't display signs of familiarity or even affection to their nearest and dearest
4. They can be extremely materialistic to make up for their misery: bigger car, house extension, grander holidays, even going as far as buying expensive pets!

I told her that experiences within my own family proved that this seemed like a pretty accurate assumption. I made one mistake when it occurred in my family - I went to apologise (to make the peace, goodness knows why!) when I really should have just walked away with my head high while I could. Still, there won't be a next time because I decided recently not to maintain contact with this part of my family. I just found it to be a shame that people become so undignified when jealous. They also try to drag those with self respect down with them - I guess that's how they try and hide it.
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A final example of how extreme people can be took place last year when one of my students was unhappy at failing the end-of-semester examination. Well, "unhappy" is not the word: hysterical seems like the better description... In order to get a promotion, those who pass through our classes need to attain a certain level in another language, in many cases English. She had been in class a lot, but had showed signs of panic in class when it was her time to speak. She had also not really worked very hard on her theory and had an awful accent. Needless to say, I knew she was going to fail from quite early on, but I still maintained hope that she would at least do as well as she could.

When the exam took place, she failed abysmally.

Of course, it was all my fault according to her! I had not done this and not done that, despite her being the only failure in the class. In fact, it was more serious than that - she actually lost her job! I received phone calls and emails from her that I had ruined her life. She even came to my workplace one day and told all my students that I was responsible for her demise. I quietly took her to one side, showed her the statistics of the rest of her group in that period, and laid the facts bare in front of her. She looked through them and suddenly turned a shade of red. After several profuse apologies she went back into the class and told them that she had made a terrible mistake. She got another job in a different area and is doing much better now.

If we look at these three scenarios, we wonder who is the victim really. For me in the first one, there is no other than the parents. No parent should have to face such a situation. In the second it is more unclear. If someone has trouble keeping anger under control, it is time to seek a therapist and look more closely at what makes you happy. In the last, it is also unclear, but for me anyone who puts such an unbearable amount of pressure on herself needs to take care.

Wednesday 17 October 2007

A final goodbye to my dear mum


Sorry I haven't written much for quite a while until this week. I am afraid my dear mother passed away at the beginning of the month. She had been suffering for quite a while so it came as a relief when we knew she was finally at peace. However nothing can prepare you for the time it happens. It's a strange sensation and makes you feel lonelier than you would normally be. The one thing I can be glad about is that we had a strong relationship before she faded away.


I have received several requests for the eulogy I wrote to read at her funeral. For quickness and ease I thought I would publish a large part of it here rather than post copies off. My mum was such a robust woman but she had a chocolate heart and I wanted those who attended her final journey to hear of my pride at being her son:


There’s a difference between a mother and a mum.
A mother is someone who makes you look tidy and scrapes the food off your face before school. But a mum makes sure that when you come back, the house is heated, the dinner is on and the greeting is cheerful and sincere.

There’s a difference between an aunt and an auntie.
An aunt will stop to have a chat with you on the street when you haven’t met for a while. An auntie will drive you home safely afterwards and wait for one of your parents to arrive.

There’s a difference between a grandmother and a nan.
A grandmother looks after you while your parents are still at work. A nan feeds you, provides you with toys and games, and clears up when you’ve gone. Day after day, for several years.

There’s a difference between a friend and a mate.
A friend will lend you money. A mate won’t cash the cheque when you return it.

And my mum was all of these and more. She loved to have company. From embarrassing us by striking up a conversation with diners at a restaurant on another table close by, to keeping the pools collector occupied on the front step, to peering out of the front window at the slightest noise to see if someone was coming to visit, she was in her element when she was with people, whether one person or a crowd.

She had the most cunning advice too, if you listened carefully enough. The greatest piece of advice anyone ever gave to me was when looking for employment, never start at the bottom and await promotion, but start at the top and work down until someone takes you. I took this to heart too, and although I spent over a year out of work, it ended with my dream job and I wouldn’t be there without her.

I think my mum would have made a great diplomat. The perpetual big occasion dinners inevitably brought out the worst in us, and the arguments over a certain vegetable are legendary. And although there would be enough potatoes to feed a platoon, goodness knows how the oven coped, we never failed to squabble. But mum found a solution – she gave me a smaller plate but piled up all my potatoes under the other veg. That negated any complaints from others. So sorry to my brother John, but I truly did have more potatoes on my plate than you!

But underlying all this was a vulnerability that only surfaced in private moments. She was in great pain a lot of the time with her back or her legs. She cursed her pain but she never complained or sought sympathy. She also felt quite alone, especially in her later years as her neighbours slowly moved away and those that remained or moved in barely trod upon the driveway. Company was the only thing which drove her aches and pains away – they were the remedy, but unfortunately company didn’t always visit her. And nobody filled the space her own mother vacated.

There is a difference between a task and a duty.
A task is clearing up the mess left behind. A duty is clearing up the mess left behind a dying brother-in-law. For nearly a decade. A task is bringing home the coal to put on the fire. A duty is where you do it when you’re not yet ten years old.

Born in 1937, her earliest memories would likely have been the disturbing sights and terrifying sounds of the Second World War. From a very young age, she was brought up by her grandmother in a family where her mother and aunt were more like sisters. Surrounded by this strong matriarchal circle, she received strong lessons in responsibility and obligation.
Living in wartime and post-war Britain was arduous enough for an adult, but for a child it must have been daunting, grim and unimaginably harsh. So for my mum any hope of a normal childhood was cancelled. Happier times occurred later in life and sisterhood with her mother confirmed when she and my dad got together. A mother and daughter marrying two brothers. It’s a complicated story and I’ll tell you after if you’ve got a spare hour.
With such a youth, duty was instinct.

Once again, there’s a difference between a mother and a mum.
A mother reads you a story. But a mum teaches you to read the story for yourself. And a mum gets you the right material to suit your interests. And a mum harvests and nurtures those interests and seeks advice from teachers. And a mum sends you to the right school. And a mum goes mad when you say you’re not going to college, you’re going to get a job in McDonald’s. And a mum packs you off to university with a cupboardful of food. And a mum tells you to go out into the wilderness and do your own thing even if she’ll be lonelier without you. And a mum will call you once a week to see how you’re doing. And a mum will get you out of hole after hole, time and time again.
And through all this, a mum gets taken for granted. Is criticised for silly meaningless things. Is nagged at when she’s forgotten something. Is brushed off with a post-teenage grunt or even ignored when all she wants is a chat. Takes every trivial complaint on the chin until she’s so frustrated and annoyed that she finally gets her coat and goes out for a drive. Looking back now I wish she had stuck up for herself more and set us more often in our place. But that was mum. She tried to prove herself through what she did rather than through what she could ever have said. She owned the motto that "actions speak louder than words".

And finally, a mum is someone who deserves our most heartfelt, sincerest, if well and truly belated, thanks for all she did for us without so much as a prompt for thanks. An empty dinner plate, a smile, a sigh of relief, were all the thanks she required.

May she rest in deserved peace.