Learning how to read*

Pictured above is one of my favorite venues for my tentative new hobby: reading.  The people who work at those cafes have been very accommodating of it.  It's almost as though they dislike giving you the check before 30 minutes after you've ordered your coffee.

I just finished 1984 by George Orwell, and it was the first time in a long time that I didn't get caught up in counting page numbers or checking the clock while reading.  But I don't want to get too excited about that.  In the film Gladiator's foundational historical portrayal of Ancient Rome, Marcus Aurelius says something very profound to Maximus that I think applies to any idea worth working toward: "There was a dream that was Rome.  You could only whisper it.  Anything more than a whisper and it would vanish, it was so fragile."  We shall see how things go, but so far, it's been nice to lose myself a little in something worth my time.

Both of these pictures were taken in the historic city center, where all the tourists hang out.  You can see that for the English-speaking weekend traveler, the city is pretty friendly.  It's when you stay here for longer than a few days that it behooves you to begin to try harder.

Today I went to court at the city's Justice Palace with two people from my office in order to hear the asylum judge's decision on the case of the Afghan man whose interview I heard (but didn't understand) a few days ago.  Again, even though I didn't understand the words themselves, it was clear that he brought conviction to the presentation of his evidence, among which I saw horrific pictures and written threats.

His appeal even for subsidiary protection (a status lower than asylum) was denied.  Although there is still recourse with the Supreme Court, his sister was really torn up about the decision and was crying and yelling even before she had left the courtroom.  Word on the street was that the judge was generally pretty incompetent but that there was very little that anyone could do--Slovakia is a relatively new country with fledgling government institutions, and if you're friends with the people who matter then it's hard for anyone to point fingers at you.

Afterwards, it was hard to know what facial expression to wear when I shook the Afghan man's hand and gave him the standard coming-or-going salutation that literally translates to "good day."  Surrounded by a language I can't speak, I find myself obligated to "read" the people around me and to understand my social responsibilities anyway.