Burlaki [back] on the Hudson

Having spent a large portion of the long weekend behind the wheel of a car, I am reminded of an old problem I have with American drivers. (I reflected on it in passing in this post.)

Left lane is for passing, not for cruising. I don’t care that your speed is marginally faster than that of the car to your right – if nobody is in front of you and you do not pass that car within seconds, then you have no business being in the faster lane. And if there are no cars to pass and you persist in staying in the left lane, then you’re a dick. Yes, I can break two laws at once – pass on the right while exceeding speed limit – to get around you, but you won’t be any less of a dick as a result of that.

Somehow, this never feels like a problem when driving in Europe. People exceed speed limits all the time, of course, so you might come up behind someone already going pretty fast in the fast lane. But if they see in the rear mirror that another car is gaining on them, they’d move to a slower lane as soon as they find an appropriate gap between vehicles. If they don’t, while no longer passing cars in slower lanes, a couple of headlight flashes will remind them of what is considered common courtesy on Euro roads, and they’ll comply.

Try flashing your headlights to a car that drives at around speed limit in the left lane on an American freeway. It will likely decrease speed and the driver will either completely ignore your hint or gesticulate his confusion at your apparent intrusion into his driving reverie. Finishing with a bird.

Man, I hate stupid drivers!

Apropos of

I wanted to put up another video of Becky, this one of her recent number at the school Performance Showcase, but I can’t make the Facebook video download script work in my Firefox browser.

The quality of that video is lacking anyway, so I have to rely on eyewitness accounts that it was a pretty good number. It also became apparent to said eyewitnesses (Natasha and Kimmy) that some of Becky’s expectations for coming back to the US did come true. She is widely known as “The Brit”, which contributes a fair share of her popularity among her classmates. Since I don’t personally recognize traces of British accent in her speech, I cannot truly opine whether she works extra on that when in school.

Children & Schooling

I don’t want to provide the name of this little performance out of concern for what type of future Google searches it may attract. You’ll understand.

This is something Becky did for a graded Drama class project at school a while ago. We decided to take a video cut for posterity.
 

Children & Schooling, Videos & Music

While this is one of those little travel recollections that we frequently like to recount, it is not an “anecdote” in the sense that I associate with the word. It does not have a punchline or a comical outcome. It is simply something we recall with fondness.

On our visit to the Amalfi Coast, we headquartered ourselves in a relatively minor location, as evidenced by its name, Minori1.

We stayed at a great B&B high above town, with sweeping views of the surrounding mountains and the Tyrrhenian Sea that we enjoyed from our private terrace. The food was great, the accommodations perfect – after all, our demands rarely exceed good location plus cleanliness plus running water – and the hospitality of owners unparalleled. Only one person in the family spoke any English, and not very much of that. Our mastery of Italian was very minimal at the time. And yet, we were greeted as if we were long-lost close relatives and the communication barrier quickly evaporated under the torrent of amiability and warmth.

One the last night of our stay we decided to have dinner at the B&B. The meal was prepared by the owner’s sister. Boy, was that a monumental mistake! Not in the direct sense, mind you. Everything we were served was out-of-this-world delicious. The problem was in the amounts of food. We were not used to a six-course dinner where everything is unbelievably tasty… and there is no way to leave something on the plate without risking offending the friendly cook! Who was also the waiter. One appetizer replaced another, then came pasta, then another pasta, then some succulent meat dish… And all we could think of after the third or so course was, How are we going to eat anything else, we are so full!

And then, for dessert, we were offered to sample from a dozen of different brands of limoncello. Mmm… Quite impossible to get seriously drunk, too, with so much food blocking all of the digestive paths…

But this is not the main point of this story.

We asked the owner for restaurant recommendations when we arrived. He pointed us to a place in town that served the best seafood on the coast, according to him. He instructed us to mention to the staff that he sent us there.

We followed his instructions. The restaurant occupied a beautiful stucco building on the corner of the seafront promenade. As a member of the staff greeted us, I managed enough of Italian to explain that we would like a table for two and that Signor Antonio, whose guests we currently were, recommended the place.

The waiter’s already friendly smile stretched as far as his face allowed.

“Antonio! Certo! Him and I, we practically shared a potty when we were kids!”2

We were shown to a small table in an alcove with a view to the promenade and the beach beyond. Quite romantic! Possibly, we would be given the same table even if we were not sent here by our host, but I’d like to think that we were treated like VIPs because of him.

I asked for a wine recommendation. Our waiter summoned another, whose sommelier qualifications probably exceeded those of the first guy only in that the latter spoke a little English. He first tried to explain to us that someone in his family was married to Antonio’s sister’s best friend’s cousin or something, and that he and Antonio were close friends since childhood. Then, he proceeded to point out which of the wines on the menu was the most perfect accompaniment to the meal we were about to have. It turned out to be il vino della casa. Maybe, he did not want to waste some more expensive wine on American tourists; knowing that house wine is often the best value for money in non-touristy European eateries, I’d like to think that he was sincerely helping us avoid overpaying for something we might not enjoy as much.

While we were having our meal, we experienced something that almost never happens at a restaurant in most parts of Europe: Our dinner was interrupted a couple of times by the members of restaurant staff3. First, one waiter or another came to our table to check on us and said something along the lines of him needing to make sure that we’d tell Antonio that his friends know how to look after his guests. Then, at some point, the chef came around to our table, introduced himself, inquired how our meal was, and regaled us with a story about Antonio’s father and himself and a most beautiful girl who ended up either Antonio’s mother or chef’s wife, I didn’t quite get it, with the “losing” guy stoically performing best man duties at the wedding4.

When the time came to order dessert, Natasha picked some torta or other, while I was content not to have anything else. The waiter nonetheless brought us a full bottle of limoncello. As I tried to say that we did not order any, he waved my protest away. A gift, he said. To take home with us. On the house, because we were guests of Antonio.

True to his word, the bill did not include any mention of limoncello. We brought that bottle home to the States with us and it lasted us quite a long time, occasional drinkers that we are.

Neither Natasha nor I remember much about the specific dishes that we had at that restaurant (and we did not yet start the practice of detailing our meals in the travel diaries then). But it remains one of the most memorable restaurant experiences on our travels. Because everybody knew Antonio.

After a day or so, we were pretty sure that among residents, everybody knew everybody in Minori.

—————
1 For those unfamiliar with that area, yes, there is a nearby village called Maiori. As far as I am aware, it is bigger. While still being a minor point of interest, compared to the likes of Sorrento, Positano or Amalfi.

2 I allow that what he said was actually something quite different. But I understood much less Italian then than I do now, and this is all an interpretation of what I think was said, based on such clues as gesticulation and body language, plus individual words that I thought I caught.

3 American travellers frequently complain that once your food is delivered, the waiter seemingly loses all interest in the customer in French or Italian eateries. You often have to make an effort to catch her or his attention when you need something or even when you’re ready to pay and leave. Me, I find that quite all right. Once I start eating, I don’t want to be disturbed by questions about my food and unsolicited offers of help. I want to eat and enjoy conversation with my dining partners in peace. When I need further help, I’ll call for it.

4 See 2 above.

Memoirs, Travel

I’ve long been stupefied by the fact that one of the most common search terms that leads people to my website is “medical sign”. Type that into a Google search and you will not find a link to B[b]otH anywhere near the top (I gave up checking after ten pages).

But!

Run that same search on Google Images. Either at the bottom of the first page or the top of the second page – I don’t know why it fluctuates – you’ll find a picture from this old post of mine with “burlaki.com” link underneath it. Which apparently gets a fair share of clicks through.

I have no idea why a picture from my site would be near the top for a query that returns 62,500,000 results, but page ratings must not work the same way between regular searches and image searches. I don’t know whether to be proud that I lap almost the entire Internet on one specific search query or to be upset that success does not come whence I would like it.

At least, I stumbled across an explanation for something that bothered me for a long time…

Found On The Web

It occurred to me today that it had always bothered me when people insisted that the 21st Century and the new millennium started on January 1st, 2000 (when, in fact, the previous millennium and century both continued for another year after that1), yet I am not bothered at all with the commonly-accepted notion that a new decade starts in a year that ends with 0. Must have something to do with “decade” being oftentimes used to mark any statistically or historically significant stretch2, whereas “century” or “millennium” seem to always be used with specific boundaries in mind.

This deep thought is all I’m going to offer today.

——————
1 If someone wants to re-visit that tired argument, please do me a favor first. Imagine yourself turning 2000 years old on January 1st, 2000. Count back 2000 years to come up with the day you had to be born. Use all of the tools in your disposal to determine whether year 0 AD ever existed. Try to accept that the first day of Anno Domini was January 1st, 1 AD (at least, as expressed within our modern-day Gregorian conventions). Add two thousand years to that to determine on which exact day you would turn 2000 if you were born on 01/01/0001. You can also add in increments of 100 to determine each century’s boundaries.

If you still want to pick up that argument with me after that, please don’t expect me to hold your mental abilities in high esteem.

2 I see passages like “over the following decade” appearing very frequently in bios and historical notes, preceded by an event occurring in a not-multiple-of-ten year.

Apropos of

I took a few days off blogging after New Year’s, mostly on account of being busy with various friendly get-together engagements. There have been only a couple of days in the last week and a half that we did not spend in company of good friends.

Which is, as I have been repeatedly pointing out lately, the main reason for our recent repatriation.

I actually spent last week in December on vacation; I had exactly 4 vacation days left for 2009, and my corporate overlords do not look favorably on carrying those over into the new year. This was the first vacation in years that I spent entirely at home (driving trips to various corners of New Jersey and New York notwithstanding). A novel experience, without a doubt. Turned out not that bad, with all those social events.

We greeted 2010 with a traditional party at our close friends’ house, with a nice meal, plenty of karaoke and lots of general silliness. After getting a few hours of sleep on the morning of the 1st, we came back for breakfast, but even that failed to clear considerable amounts of food prepared for the occasion. I had trouble buttoning the pants around my waist this morning as I was dressing for work…

We went comparatively light on the presents this year, but the kids each got at least one thing that they most wanted, and I managed to very pleasantly surprise my wife with what I bought her. That does not happen often. Practically never. I am a notoriously inept present-picker.

One of the things we bought as a “family present” was Wii, which marks the first time that there is a gaming system in our household (beyond various handheld devices). Kimmy immediately occupied herself with hours of playing Wii Fit. I tried a bit as well, and even set a goal to lose a few pounds. Didn’t help with the pants this morning, of course, after only a couple of sessions. This would be my 497th attempt at regular exercise, light as it is. None of the previous ones ended in success. At least, here I can combine exercising with playing with Kimmy. Two incentives for the price of one!

Back in office for the first time in 11 days – and it’s as if the holidays and the vacation did not happen. Fun, fun, fun!

Chronicles

To all my friends, near and far, real space or online, and to any accidental reader as well, have a very happy new year! By different measures, the upcoming 2010 will be the most boring and the most exciting year for us in a decade. I wish that your year leans more towards excitement. Let it be full of joy, laughter and love, with a fair sprinkling of pure luck on top.

Happy New Year!

Celebrations

With my very limited movie-watching programme of the second half of the year, I was surprised to learn that I managed to see more films for the first time this year than I did last year (50 vs 47). Below the fold is my by now traditional year-end round-up.
Read more…

Books & Movies

Sometimes, the most insignificant of memories lodge themselves in one’s brain…

I must have been four or five when I overheard my Mom and her girlfriends discussing comparative qualities of foreign singers who appeared on the Soviet state TV. I cannot recall anything from that conversation except the consensus that nobody moved onstage quite like Afric Simone did. Which was true on a number of levels, if you consider that a flamboyant display on Soviet TV in that day and age could only come from a representative of an “exotic” country.

That bit somehow stayed with me forever, and the song for which Simone was famous in the USSR – Hafanana – is one of my oldest childhood musical “foreign” recollections.

Natasha, at some point in middle school, actually learned the words to it as part of some “peoples’ friendship” project…
 

Videos & Music

A few days ago, Natasha found a couple of small items that we thought were lost during the relocation move, stuffed into a decorative box that we did not think had anything inside. A souvenir small Russian wooden bowl, one of the hedgehogs from Becky’s collection, that type of stuff. We sort of gave up on finding them already, and they weren’t either expensive or otherwise too important to us to claim damages from the relocation company, and as it turns out, they were in the house all the time anyway.

With that, we are happy to conclude that we cannot think of anything that was broken, damaged or altogether lost during our relocation from the UK. I think most of the corporate relocations end up with fairly minimal losses, but our return experience must have been accompanied by exceptional luck.

Too bad I did not think of channeling that luck into winning a lottery or something.

Chronicles

With a tip of the hat to Jason and Konstantin, below the cut is my own confession on having seen too much TV.
Read more…

TV

I freely admit that I’m not a cinema-going type. My misanthropic tendencies are acutely tested in the presence of inconsiderable louts with their cell phones, eating habits and inability to refrain from talking to one another during the showing. As a result, I rarely go to the movies, unless it is for some kid-oriented viewing with my children, or a personal can’t-wait-must-see-now target such as a new 007 movie.

Occasionally, though, a new release rises to a level of an event, and I make specific effort to go see it.
 

 
In my eyes, Avatar was clearly such an event. Everything I saw and heard in the weeks before it came out, suggested that this movie will open a whole new chapter in the history of cinema.

I was not disappointed.

Below the cut I try to explain what I liked about this movie and why it deserves in my book. If you are not afraid of a vague spoiler or two and interested in my musings, feel free to read on. Otherwise, just go and see the movie. In 3D, preferably.
Read more…

Books & Movies

The speed limit signs on Garden State Parkway advise the drivers every half a mile or so that the limit is 55mph with a disclaimer of “conditions permitting”.

The heavy Saturday snow did enough to reduce the number of cars on the road, but the Parkway was well cleared, and absent traffic, not one car was driving below 70.

Apparently, conditions did not permit staying under 55.

Apropos of

 
How I hate snow! How I miss London weather! (Although they say that it’s been quite heavily snowing in London as well these past several days.)

Above is the view from our porch this morning.

Two feet of snow – admittedly, not as much as what people in Alaska or elsewhere have to deal with, but still way too much for my liking.

My driveway is about 20 yards long and 8 yards wide. That’s roughly 1500 square feet. Or 3000 cubic feet of snow that I had to shovel this morning.

Yes, shovel. Because the surface of my driveway looks too delicately fancy and the friendly neighbor advised me against borrowing his snowblower. At least, he himself cleared a quadrant of the street in front of the house, so when the snowplow comes – if it comes – it will not pile up too much again.

Two and a half hours of healthy exercise… Brilliant sunny day… Kimmy in snowy heaven playing outside with neighbor kids…

I hate snow.

Chronicles

How the perspective changes with just a bit of time…

Precisely two years ago, while describing my preparations for the driving test for a UK license, I noted my annoyance with the speed limits treatment in England. The absence of clearly posted limits on any road where the “national speed limit” was in effect required constant mental calculations of what the appropriate speed might be. Single-lane country road? 60. Built-up area with lamp-posts? 30. And so on.

And seemingly as soon as you’d figure out the right speed, you’d come up to a sign demanding that you’d progress much slower on this particular stretch of the road…

After a few months re-acquainting myself with driving in New Jersey, I suddenly recall the “national speed limit” approach with some fondness.

That is because it feels as if the speed limits around where I live are the outcome of some random game of chance. No rhyme, reason, consistency, or common sense about them.

My parents live a few miles away from us, across a fairly densely populated suburban area. There is a school along the way, a Main Street of one of the villages, several mini-malls, a small business center or two. But most of the route is fronted by private housing, set well back from the road, with pockets of green spaces here or there. The road “type” changes in only three places: By the school, through that one village “center”, and it narrows to one lane from two at some point. Yet, by my estimation, the speed limit changes roughly every half of the mile. 35, 45, 40, 25 (school), 40, 45, 35, 30 (town), etc. A slight uphill? Speed limit goes down. An ever so gently wide curve? Down. A few hundred yards of woods? Ok, we’ll add 5 extra miles to the limit, but you can see the next after sign with the lower number even before you registered the presence of this one.

How there are not more accidents among the already less than stellar New Jersey drivers with the constant need to switch gears is a miracle.

I suppose I’m jaded enough to suspect that all these varying limits are artificially created by local councils to fill up the municipal purses in times of need via speeding fines. I just can’t imagine a sensible person finding any sort of justification for changing the speed limit 5 miles up and down that often.

England seemingly does it better, from my current perspective. I no longer have a feeling that I saw so many arbitrary speed limit changes everywhere.

And no, I did not get ticketed recently. This is simply an idle observation that percolated on my “future topics” list for a while.

Re-pat's culture shock

Burlaki.com finally got around to interviewing the youngest member of the family on her impressions and feelings regarding Europe and coming back to America.

In the practically unedited words of a 9-year-old…

Burlaki [back] on the Hudson: Are you happy to be back in America?

Kimmy: Kind of… I miss London, but I’m also happy to be back in America.

B[b]otH: What do you miss about London?

K: I miss my friends. I miss the parks that we went to. And I miss my school…

B[b]otH: You miss the school? I didn’t think you liked your school in London…

K: I mean… I miss one of my teachers. Miss Coton. She was my teacher in year 3.

B[b]otH: But last year you had a different teacher, right?

K: Yeah, Miss Sheehan. She yelled at me all the time. I didn’t really hate her, but she was mean to me…

B[b]otH: Ok, forget her. Which friends to you miss?

K: I miss Grace, I miss Gabriella, and I miss Marina… And I also miss Leona, but she was sometimes mean to me too…

B[b]otH: So, you don’t have good friends here in America?

K: I have, like, 30 friends now! And I am a little happier here because I have a lot of friends, I’m quite popular and everybody thinks I’m pretty cool.

B[b]otH: In England, nobody thought you were pretty cool?

K: I was a bit happy there, but a lot of people were really mean to me.

B[b]otH: But you still miss it?

K: Mm, kind of…

B[b]otH: You mentioned you liked the parks – which parks?

K: Mostly, Greenwich Park, and the park down the street with a big field and a playground… and the teeny little park where you go down to the pond… [Ed.: Kimmy means The Tarn, featured here]

B[b]otH: Did you like traveling to all of the different countries?

K: That was my favorite part! I loved that!!

B[b]otH: Which countries do you remember?

K: I remember Spain, France, Italy… I remember Germany… I remember Switzerland… I remember Belgium… I remember we went to a lot of cities…

B[b]otH: Where is Budapest?

K: Is that in… Cracow?

B[b]otH: No, Cracow is another city that we went to. Budapest is in Hungary.

K: Oh, yeah… Hungary!

B[b]otH: Ok, now that you’re back in America, what do you like the most about America?

K: My best friends live here… Tessa, Sammy… I made new best friends… And we have this beautiful, wonderful house, and I think this is the best house that anyone could ever have.

B[b]otH: How about the house we lived at in England?

K: Yeah, it was ok, but it was kind of tiny…

B[b]otH: Is there something you did not like about England?

K: Miss Sheehan… And I did not like the kitchen in England. It was so small… And I did not really like the bathrooms…

B[b]otH: I’m not asking about the house. I’m talking overall, in England, living there, was there something else besides miss Sheehan that you did not like?

K: People weren’t being nice to me…

B[b]otH: Which people?

K: One time, Leona, because a glue-stick broke and I wouldn’t let her use it, she was mean to me all day long… She made me cry all day. And she got me in trouble with the teachers… Usually you get called by name for lunch, and she told me my name was called, and it did not, and I got yelled at because of that… Miss Sheehan yelled at me really loudly, so all the school could hear…

B[b]otH: This type of thing does not happen in America?

K: Not really…

B[b]otH: That’s all you did not like in England?

K: Yeah, my friends were occasionally mean to me, I did not like that.

B[b]otH: But you still miss them, you said?

K: Grace was my best friend and she was never mean to me. And, sometimes, I don’t make sense! [laughs]

B[b]otH: Got it! Ok… If you had a chance to go and live in Europe again, would you go?

K: That is a very complicated question, ’cause I kinda wanna stay here and I kinda wanna go there… I wanna visit but I don’t want to live there… I want to visit my friends and stuff, but I don’t want to live there again… [pause]… unless we get a really big house!

B[b]otH: Unless we get a really big house? [laughs]

K: No, actually, no. I love my best friends here, I don’t want to leave.

B[b]otH: So, you have better friends here in America?

K: Yes!

B[b]otH: Ok, is school harder or easier in England?

K: Harder.

B[b]otH: Why? You didn’t even have homework during the week in England…

K: Oh, American homework is so easy, I can do it in, like, fifteen minutes… In math, we did really complicated things in England… and sometimes, we did not even go over it before getting it for homework [Ed.: weekends only], so we had to figure it out by ourselves… there was this big 4-sheet thing that I usually got on weekends, with so many problems and things to do… and I like it here more, because we don’t get any homework on the weekend… because weekend is to relax, not to work…

B[b]otH: [long laugh] Brilliant! So… What is your favorite place in Europe?

K: I really like… Spain, France and Italy.

B[b]otH: All three of them?

K: Yes… Well, Italy is my favorite… because it’s got all of my favorite food…

B[b]otH: Which is?

K: Pasta, pizza and bruschetta! Of course!

B[b]otH: Excellent!

K: And also chocolate lava cake!

B[b]otH: Chocolate lava cake – is that also Italian?

K: Yep!

B[b]otH: Very good, then. Thank you very much for your time, young lady.

K: No problemo!

Expat Topic, Re-pat's culture shock

My eldest daughter reminded me that I promised to put her latest artistic achievement up on my blog. That promise is about two months overdue now, but I’m sure she’ll forgive me. Here is the school project by Becky and her friend.
 

Children & Schooling, Videos & Music

Becky and Kimmy returned to the Old Bridge skating rink soon after we came back to the area. The rink traditionally stages a holiday skating show for all of the student skaters and their coaches. Our girls signed up for a number together, which I am happy to present to my audience.
 

Children & Schooling, Videos & Music

The third annual largely-meaningless exercise of combining the first sentences posted herein each month of the year.

As on previous occasions, not much coherency achieved. A couple of usual traveling undertones, clear relocation markers, a couple of obvious holiday notes… Interestingly, most of these sentences clearly suggested the topic of the posts that they introduced. Does that point to a new level of mastery of writing that I attained or, conversely, suggests that I became too simplistic in my skills, I wonder.

January: After greeting Christmas just a week ago with the song that I most associated with Christmas in my youth, I figured that I need to do the same for the New Year’s.

February: My lovely wife not only feeds me well, but she is also apparently eager to take over this blog with her culinary creations.

March: On one hand, we like going out, if not every week, then at least a few times a month.

April: Sunny spring weather (for the last couple of days, at least).

May: I have very healthy teeth, but my gums are a different matter.

June: And so our last sightseeing trip of the London era is now in the past.

July: Busy at work, plus various relocation-related errands, phone calls and what-not.

August: My regular readers will have to forgive me for being mostly incommunicado these past days.

September: You did not think I’d stay put for long after repatriating, did you?

October: Natasha was shopping for new beds and mattresses before we could move into the new house.

November: Finally, a Halloween to my kids’ liking.

December: Some two years ago, I wrote a cost comparison entry for basic UK-vs-US costs.

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