Library Chills

Under the glare of a winter day’s dismal attempt at being sunny, in a glass cage, over by the trendy new ruby-coloured lounges and just opposite the daily rack of newspapers, sits a man. His eyebrows arched in constant surprise, tapping a rhythm on the table and bopping to another with his feet, he turns each page of his paper with enthusiasm. He continues his eager movements again and again, only stopping occasionally to adjust the collar of his loose flannelette shirt, apathetic to the world around him, but delighted by the task of reading.

“CHRISTOPHER! CHRISTOPHER! Mummy said NO!” The small child, unaware that his actions and mother’s subsequent scolding has drawn almost the entire library’s attention to him, drops his defeated shoulders and starts following his mother towards the exit. He knows he’s lost this round, but as a final gesture of pre-kindergarten angst, he swings his arm out, brushing it along the towering stand, pulling out pamphlets for the librarians to clean up after he’s long gone. “CHRISTOPHER!!!!!” Even happy-reading guy has come out of his inner world and looked up to see what the fuss is about.

Outside, the water feature washes away the sounds of the irritated mother and brings an unwelcome reminder of the cold that awaits departees of this heated asylum. Automatic glass doors, serve as the entrance to warmth-seeking people on a chilly July morning. Just next to the doors, two women are in deep dialogue about the books they are returning. They slowly empty their canvas bags, one heavy book at a time, inserting them into the chute, stopping in between each one to discuss it more keenly than the one before. Laughing and gesticulating with their glove-wearing hands, they continually hit the sensor to open the door, sending a hit of chill throughout the front of the building.

He’s stopped tapping now. Happy-reading guy cranes his neck around to see what all the cold fuss is about. Disappointed by what he sees, he sighs to himself and returns to today’s (or is it yesterday’s) headlines, turning the next page and the next and the next. But his focus is lost. He pulls his shoulders up towards his head, feigning the universal sign for “I’m cold”, but it goes unnoticed to the two women oblivious to the mood-changing ability they have not only on him, but other patrons who have now all, at one stage or another, shot them the look of death. The look: that can only happen in a library, on a cold winter’s morning, with someone setting off the sensor to open the door and let the bitter cold in. The look that screams: “Put your books in the chute and move the fuck away from the door!”

Tòth Joska ès a tò

Mama: 'Hey glo, how do you spell tòth?'

glo: 'Mint Tòth Jòska?'

Mama: 'Nem mint to-òt, mint gondolat.'

glo: T-H-O-U-G-H-T

Mama: 'Neeeem, a màsik….'

glo: T-A-U-G-H-T?

A hàtterböl John: 'Not taught. Torte like a bloody cake!'

Mama ès glo: Jaaaaaaaaaaa...

ghgadoihgoahgoidgi

"ghgadoihgoahgoidgih!”

"ghgadoi....?" I try.

"gh ga doi..."

"gerr hga,"  it’s not getting easier.

He shakes his head. “No no no! Liike dis: ‘gerr’ – ‘gh’”

"gh…"

 “jes jes!!! ‘ghgadoihgoahgoidgih!’

I don’t know what I was saying or if I was even ordering the right thing.

“That one,” I say, pointing to the foreign food.

“Jes juu van ghgadoihgoahgoidgih. Free hundre' fidy pliz”

The day has started well. One foreign language transaction, one satisfied teacher/food vendor and one less-hungry me.

Finding a place to sit at an over cramped Chinese New Year Celebration is hard. The tribe – I’ve decided to call them this because the size of the families seems to be significantly more than the 2.4 average I’m used to in a western country – are taking up every square inch of this park.The mothers sit surrounded with their children and their children’s children, who hang off grandma as though she were a swing. The men standing in circles nearby are like a gaggle of geese: harping on in various incomprehensible dialects, shuffling left and right on their feet biding their time until the fireworks display. Or perhaps another event that I’m unaware of, probably due to my visitor ignorance.

Back at the food stall, my new friend nods his head in my direction asking: “How’s the ghgadoihgoahgoidgih?” Perhaps he can sense my awkwardness. Standing in a sea of Malay and Chinese people, on an island that is obviously not my home. I smile and give him the thumbs up, hoping that this gesture doesn’t mean something offensive in his culture. He smiles back and I see now for the first time just how old he is. His back curls forward from years of bending over the stove, his hands wrinkly and dry and his face creased more often than a well used origami paper, his mouth barely contains any teeth and his hair is all but gone.

I stand up, having finished my food, making my way through the busy crowd, towards my hotel, smiling as I go, knowing that today, I had my first taste of ghgadoihgoahgoidih.

Dubai One

Before arriving in Dubai I thought I had prepared myself in Arabic culture, or at least with the language a little. I practiced my Khaleds, Omars and Sayids. Some Fatimas and Miriams, As-Salāmu Alaykums and Sukrans. Names and general throaty greetings aside, I’d heard Dubai was more liberal than other Islamic nations. Though just to be on the safe side I decided to arrive in what I deemed appropriate clothing. Arms covered with a cardigan - even if it meant that in between the twenty seconds it took to get between air-conditioned areas, my sticky post fourteen hour travelling skin would have to endure the thirty six degree desert heat at 11.30pm - I was ‘ready’. With my post aeroplane icky feeling, my heavy backpack and I sat comfortably in the backseat of my pink lady taxi.

Marta was my first encounter with a Dubai "local". She wore a baby pink hijab, which matched both the inner and outer furnishings of the vehicle.

“So where are you from?” asked my pastel wearing driver.

“From far away. Fourteen hours to be exact. And you?”  She didn’t seem to mind my slight departure from the question.

“Cloze Cloze. Etti yopia. Only fife hour.”

Marta was the first of my friendly taxi drivers in my short time in Dubai. No sooner had we left the airport, she was already telling me about the safe and reliable city that Dubai was, outside of Ramadan Kareem of course. “Why? How does the city change during Ramadan?” I asked, hoping that it wouldn’t mean anything too serious.

“Well it will be difficult to do things, and see things and also to iit, it will be maybe a little difficult for you to iit.”

“So where will you go today Mam?” asked one of the doormen of the hotel the next morning.

“I’d like to see a mosque if I could.”

“I’m sorry Mam that won’t be possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mam, today is Friday, our prayer day. And besides, there is only one mosque you may enter in all of Dubai, but not today.”

“Is it closed?”

“Of course not Mam. It is prayer day. But you are not permitted to enter.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“No Mam, that is fine. We have a section for men and women. I’m sorry but it is because you are not a Muslim.”

“But how would they know I’m not a Muslim?” I was happy to wear a scarf and cover myself, hadn’t I proved that on arrival?

The two men just laughed. “Perhaps there is another thing you would like to see in Dubai.”

“Yes I’d love to go and visit some traditional souks.”

“Oh I’m afraid you are not permitted to Mam.”

“Why not?”

“They are not open now Mam. It is prayer time now. You may visit the souks in the evening Mam.”

“Ok then perhaps I could take one of those tourist hop on - hop off buses?”

“Wonderful idea M’am.” Finally we had found something appropriate that I could do, that didn’t require me to be Muslim and didn’t have to wait until the evening.

“They will commence at two o’clock in the afternoon Mam.”  I looked at the time. It was only 11am.

“In the meantime, you would like to do some shopping perhaps?”

I didn’t really want to go shopping in Dubai. I know Dubai is famous for massive malls and the world’s best stores, but I wanted to see more than the inside of some concrete blocks, bedazzled with expensive products that not even my credit card would allow me to buy.

“That’s ok,” I said, “I think I’ll just get some breakfast somewhere. I’m feeling a bit hungry.”

They laughed again. “But Mam, It is Ramadan Kareem, we are fasting, most restaurants are closed.”

My stomach didn’t agree with this last sentence. I quickly did a stock take of any food I may have in my luggage. I had some pálinka (a lethal Hungarian spirit) which I doubt would ease my hunger, some wine that I had to give to someone as a gift, and half a muesli bar from 2 days ago, which was suddenly looking appetising.

“Perhaps you would like to do some shopping until the restaurants will open this evening?”

THIS EVENING!!?? I CAN’T WAIT THAT LONG. I’M SO HUNGRY RIGHT NOW, I’D EVEN CHANGE MY VEGETARIAN WAYS AND EAT CAMEL IF YOU OFFERED IT TO ME. I’VE BEEN TRAVELLING FOR 30 HOURS, HAVING ONLY EATEN CARDBOARD PLANE FOOD AND AM DYING FOR SOMETHING NON-PLASTIC, AND YOU’RE TELLING ME I WON’T BE ABLE TO GET FOOD OR WATER FOR AT LEAST SEVEN HOURS!

Deciding not to say that out loud turned out to be a good decision, because had I not gotten into Abdul’s taxi: doorman number two, I would not have experienced the next part of my Dubai experience.

Mi máshonnan jöttünk

Ausztráliában a konyha asztalnál

“Mama, Miért vagyok én olyan different?”

“Miből gondolod hogy más vagy fiam?”

“Hát mondjuk nem is vagyok fiú, és még is úgy hívsz engem!”

“De hát attól függetlenül hogy lány vagy akkor is lehetsz a fiam.”

A kislány összeráncolja a homlokát, majd folytatja. “De Mama, miért nem veszel cereal-t mint a Jenny Mamája?”

“Mi az a szi - re- júl fiam?”

“Tuuudod! Az amit össze mixolsz tejjel és reggelire eszik és olyan yummy. Jenny azt eszik. Meg ha extra special nap van akkor fairy bread-ot csinál a Mamája.”

“Hát fiam, biztos a Jenny mamája nem tudja mi az a jó grizpapi.” Tényleg fincsi volt a grizpapi, Mamának igaza volt. “De mi máshonnan jöttünk kislányom.”

Nagymamánál a faluban

“NAGYMAMA!! NAGYMAMA!!! Gyere gyorsan!”

Nagymama levegőért kapkodva megérkezik és nekidől a faajtónak “Mi az kicsikém? Mi a gond? Frászt hozzol rám’”

“Hát Nagymama hol a gomb?”

“Milyen gomb kicsi szívem?”

“Hát tuuudod! Az amelyik leflusholja a WC-t!”

“Mit csinál a micsodával??”

“Tudod! A gomb a toilet-on.”

A kislány mosolyog és bólint magában. “Hát tudod Nagymama, mi máshonnan jöttünk.”

Nagypapa

Nagypapa throws his head back and let’s the grape roll down his throat. He makes a noise suggesting what he’s just eaten is pleasing to his taste buds, well either that or he’s just seen the prettiest girl. “Mmm Mmmmm iz gut!” Though the grapes are fresh from the vine: moist and soft, he struggles to chew them with the four stumps in his mouth.

Under the shade of the tin scrap-metal roof, he sits there contemplating life. Surrounded by potplants, geraniums and other herbalia, he is content like a kid with ice-cream, grinning from ear to ear, two stumps visible, enjoying the sun as it sets behind the valley of his tiny village. Some afternoons he sits out here for eternity, without commitments, just being. No urge or need to leave.

“Dorothy vhy? Vhy don’ you liikes my farm?” he says, freakily knowing what I must have been thinking about. It’s not that I don’t like it; I’m just not a country kind of person. I grew up in a city, in another country, on the other side of the world. We speak two different languages him and I; his is the world of chickens, pigs and haystacks. Mine is concrete towers, school uniforms and vegemite sandwiches. How do you tell that to your grandfather? Born in the horse stall, growing up in the farmhouse and eventually graduating to a mud-brick house “det I build all myselv”.

“Come on Dorothy, you wan I tell you joke.” I don’t have time, he tells it, looks and me and asks "You understan? Oh iz gut nem?” “Yeah Nagypapa, iz gut.” And even if it’s gone over my head and he starts telling me the next one before I can get it, it doesn’t matter, cos life iz gut with Nagypapa.

Turist kampaign

To dear minister for tourism of fine vestern country Australia,

We have receive information from a source we cannot to tell, that once again, you are to create new advertise kampaign. Here we would like to presents some ideas for maybe why is not success happening in past and possible way to having in future. We are believing that sometimes you need person from outside to look inside to give fresh perspective. Of course this is not always good for medical idea if person from another country is make such suggestion. Please use caution.

In advance, to say senkyou for accepting our proposing, and to show continued great friendship of our two fine nations, we are send you envelope to show respect. We hope you can accept our gift and in return we only ask that you look at proposal. Also, only small question that maybe is possible that we can sending some relatives, not much, just few for holiday to your fine country.

Recent research has been complete by top members of Ministry of Society’s Honest Responsibility for Accurate and Beneficial Image of Nation Subcomitee on Critical Business and Foreign Relation Development Unit or MSHR-ABINS-CBFRDU. As you perhaps can imagine, we are not so much the experts on fine country of yours. Ve have seen many times on modern convenience of black and white televisio, but because ve are not having expertise in your local area, ve vould like to present to you by example of our fine nation of vhat ve are believing is good advertising according to standards created by MSHR-ABINS-CBFRDU.

First, for understanding we must look to past. Australia has used high superior acting quality of Crocodile Dundee. For foreign eye, he seems to be very kind, with wide smile with many teeths, pleasant kharakter, and inviting us to how you say “throw van more shrimp on Barbie.” Stop! This is make confusion. People in foreign country who maybe do not understanding unique Australian sense of humour will asking: “Why you are place a shrimps on plastik doll? Oh they are so the crazy those Ossies. But does it work for turistical purpose? It is time for changing and modern improving, much like people in my country who are trade-in 1974  2 seat trabant for new WOW 2.5 seat version of 1982!

Let us look at up to date version of advertising kampaign with use of young woman on beach who is asking vhere the bloody hell you are? One more time this is make confusion. We are having no clues why is such question asked. Ve are watching her on tv screen, vhy she is not knowing this? This is not good way to invite people to your land. It makes idea that maybe Australians are not so intelligent like previous shrimp joke is display.

 Also, perhaps young woman should be look not so much slim of world. We vould like to suggest maybe a woman who is have some how you call, curvy lumps on body, not extreme, just little bit to look like she has recently eaten something such as pirogi, I belive Australian version is called “dim sim”.

It is also good time to remind people of great cutlery you have available in your country. I am not familiar with much Australian foods, but you can take from our experience, great technique to have traditional food re-create with new name and voila, you have the “Mod Oz” food. Example, you can take the kotleta po-kievsky and change little bit name to Chicken Kiev. This I’m sure will be popular. Or even you are having gulyas leves and you can call Maggi goulash mix. Is good idea no?

Now, we are present to you ways of inviting people to your fine country.

Number van. It is important to show traditions of country. Perhaps it is advisable to show truth of culture.  We have heard that there is many misconfusions about animals in your country. Example, why ve are never seeing domestic animal of kangaroo. Is used for transportation no? Like our beloved goat, who is great friend and also sometimes GPS system for times when we have drunk too much of fine quality of vodka and cannot find way to home.

Number to. Show that your country is affordable to people from all countries. Just like famous saying “The best things in life are free, but some things are very nice and you must be rich”. Are you having free leisure activity in Australia? Example in my country, you can have free entertainment on tram in variety of ways. First, do not buy tiket and run from inspector if he is able to run after you. Included in entry is free singing and traditional poetry recital in local dialect by fellow drunken passengers. Why pay admission to discothèque? When you can have entertainment local style.

Thenkyou for accepting our proposing. We are look forvard to backfeed from you.

Joschka Kalman,

Minister for Society’s Honest Responsibility for Accurate and Beneficial Image of Nation Subcomitee on Critical Business and Foreign Relation Development Unit.