Taught in the crosshairs



Lenin; awfully smug



Were I at Carleton this term, doubtless I would find myself swimming in readings and assignments for my various classes.  It is a burden to be separated from my dear colleagues in Northfield, but I do not envy them the typical workload that greets them each evening.  This is not to say I lack any independent assignments, but the format of learning differs so from the Carleton convention.  Our lectures in biological neuroscience this week, for instance, stood alone without any supplementary readings.  Some might see this as a relief; lo, time off, ah glee!  It goes without blogging, then, that I begged to differ and took this as a challenge!  If no homework were to be assigned, then it would be my task to seek some.  Alas, public libraries are difficult to come by, and their collections are comprised of works beyond my comprehension.  Thus, I was charged to locate a proprietor offering books in the English language.  My quest took me to Vaci utca, a touristy shopping district on the Pest side.  No surprise; I was inundated with souvenir shops, gelato offerings, and overpriced restaurants.  Press on, I did.  Vaci utca turns to Oktober 6 ut, which is where I found BestSellers, the only English language bookstore in Budapest.  I assigned myself readings in Steven Pinker and Dan Ariely leaving room for a perusal of the fiction section, too.  Great success. 

My next assignment would be one of history; Stephanie, Patrick and I trammed out the Kerepesi Cemetery to pay our respects to some of Hungary’s past elite.  This is the final resting place of a majority of artists, writers, and leaders from the last few centuries.  As befits such public figures, the grave markers here reflect drama, grandeur, and sorrow.  Sculptures adorn many plots – the most benevolent are awarded decorative personal mausoleums.  Part of the challenge of this visit was discovering each martyrs claim to fame.  Though it had been a cheery Indian summer type of afternoon, as we strolled among the embodied epitaphs (many doubling as epigrams…) the environment responded in kind, becoming ever more chilled and gray.  I learned a lot by admiring this collection of history, but the lesson was to continue.  After the exam a few days later, I boarded the 150 Bus and headed out of the city southwest to Memento Park.  This is the place where the governing powers relocated Communist statuary after the Wall fell.  The pieces were not destroyed but rather preserved as a testament to the past and provocation toward the future.  As previously discussed, the Hungarians identify themselves through the lens of history.  Like in the graveyard, the stones that patrol the park fill the observer with particular emotions.  I was impressed with the narratives the collection expressed – one of toil and triumph.  As my education continues, I hope to earn a passing grade.



(Red Cross Country Team)