Desperate times call for desperate measures

There I was, sitting around a table in a pub in the late afternoon with eight middle-aged drunk British men, a hazy cloud of smoke hovering above us.  My palms were sweaty, heart thumping in my chest. Chasing aces was the game and the stakes were high. It was down to the last three. One of us would either walk out of there $80 richer or with empty pockets.  It all depended on how the next three rounds panned out.  Had you asked me that morning what my plan for the day was, my response would have been very different from the day’s actual proceedings and I dare say, would not have included gambling with a bevy of charming boozy Brits either.

The day started out normal enough with the usual oatmeal and bananas for breakfast accompanied by a little reading followed by a brief workout.  I’d heard about a horse racing festival going on in the main park the following day and decided I would go see how the set up was coming along.  The most ambitious of the booth owners had already set up shop and were busily cooking and selling all kinds or delicious looking foods and assortments of sweets.  I passed by an impressive looking table covered in perfect pyramids of what I initially thought were regular chocolates.  Upon taking a closer look I spotted the heavenly word ‘Marzipan’ on nearly every tag placed in front of each chocolaty mound.  Had they been cheaper or I richer, my lack of decision making capabilities coupled with my sugar obsession would have undoubtedly resulted in the purchase of at least one of each, but alas, they were anything but cheap so I painstakingly settled on two. So I had just purchased some overly priced but totally worth it from the looks of them marzipan chocolates and was feeling all bubbly inside as I reached my hand into the bag, still undecided whether or not I would save any to bring home for Jare.  My fingers just barely brushed the dusted cocoa surface of one of the little delectables when a blond man with the build of a Viking walked up to me and asked if I had a spare hour.  I looked at him incredulously with double raised eyebrows since in my old life a spare minute was hard to squeeze out of the day. “A spare hour?!”  Then I remembered that this is my new life, and in my new life I don’t have work or school or friends with which to fill my days.  I did have a spare hour.  In fact, I had five. At the time however I did not expect to spend all of those five with him.  He asked if I would be willing to help him and his friends out and pointing to one of those group tour bikes across the plaza offered me all the free beer I wanted if I would just help them pedal around the city for an hour.  Did it cost anything? Not a dime, he said.  What if I don’t drink?  Not a problem, he said. Deal.  He walked me to the bike, introduced me to his friends and went off to scout for one more peddler. Once said peddler was procured we were off!  With Oasis’ ‘Wonderwall’ blaring and all of us singing along at the top of our lungs we cruised (at the slowest pace possible to still qualify as cruising) around the city handing out cups of beer to homeless men and any other soul they deemed fit for a free beer along the way.  People were waving, taking pictures, and the drivers who weren’t angry at being stuck behind us were pointing and smiling.  We even got a delivery van to push us along for a bit until the pressure of his van against the bike broke his headlight.  The tour ended on a street known for its hip pubs and cafes.  Jare was still at school and this lot proved to be much more fun than wandering around alone so I went in with them, they bought me a peach juice, and roped me and another couple into a game of cards. I told them I didn’t gamble or have any money with me with which to gamble anyhow, so one of them contributed my share into the collective pot and with that, secured my spot in the game.

 

and so there we were. $80 on the table and it was down to three.  The cards were dealt and before I had time to comprehend what had just happened, I was out.  Just like that? I was crushed.  Minutes after the game began I set about in my mind fantasizing about how many weeks of groceries that money could buy us, or maybe Jare and I could splurge a bit and eat out at a restaurant other than our go to $1 falafel pizza joint! You see, I had already spent the winnings in my mind before the game was even over and when I lost I didn’t just lose the money, I lost all the hopes and dreams that came along with it. I said my goodbyes and with head hung low, started on my way home. Jare had called about a half hour earlier and told me he was home.  I planned on going home a few short minutes after speaking with him but the image I had of myself reaching across the table and victoriously scooping the winnings up into my arms held me hostage there until the bitter end. I had to see it through.  I had a chance at winning!  I realized that it was the exciting prospect of taking the pot that kept me there longer – the thought of “free money” was so appealing.  Then I got to thinking, what does that say about me? Does that make me lazy? Does it mean that I don’t like to work for my money?  That I’d rather be given things in life than earn them?  In my mind, these were not good traits to possess.  I felt a bit troubled about these new self-discoveries but told myself it was a one-time thing and promptly dismissed the thoughts.

A few days later I found myself in the women’s bathroom in a shopping mall guiltlessly wrapping copious amounts of toilet paper around my hand and stuffing it into my bag.  I opened the stall door to find the squat cleaning lady standing outside it. I quickly averted my eyes and kept them fixed on the tiled floor as I hurriedly walked past her and out the door, all the while feeling her eyes burning a hole in my bag. Did she know?  Could she tell that I had wads of stolen mall toilet paper in my bag? I only glanced back over my shoulder once before reaching the doors to the outside and was relieved to find that she was not hot on my heels.  When I arrived home I promptly unpacked the toilet paper from my bag and with satisfaction placed it neatly on the toilet back.  “there,” I thought to myself, “that’ll last us about three days.” instead of the look of pride and adoration I had anticipated seeing spread across Jare’s face when I told him I had stolen toilet paper from the mall bathroom, he looked at me perplexed and with concern in his eyes as he asked, “Why?”  It wasn’t until then that I realized just how far gone I was. The appeal of free money is understandable, but getting excited over free toilet paper when you can get a pack of 8 rolls for a dollar is just weird.  Who does that? How did I get here?  How did I become this person who gambles and steals???  What has become of me??!!!  Desperate times my friends. Desperate times.

We have been living here for about a month now and paying for things like rent, food, health insurance, and pesky exorbitant residency application costs, which actually wouldn’t have been a problem had the government loan we were so heavily relying on come through already.  But it hadn’t, and the already meager funds in our bank accounts were ever dwindling, creating a proportional rise in my anxiety levels in response.  The end result was a desperate girl forced into a life of crime, gambling, and having to choose between chocolates when really she’d prefer to have them all.  What kind of a life is that?   

Well it’s a week later and our loan has finally come in.  I’d like to say that it was out of desperation that I behaved the way I did; that it was desperation which made me giddy at the thought of easy money and turned me into a crazy lady in a bathroom stall frantically stuffing toilet paper into my bag.  But I’d be lying if I did.  Even though our bank accounts are replenished and my anxiety is practically nonexistent, I still swipe the extra napkins from our table in restaurants and slip them into my bag and it is very likely that I will make an unnecessary  trip to the bathroom next time I’m at the shopping mall and help myself to inordinate amounts of their toilet paper.  I found 50 euros lying next to 100 Czech koruna on the ground on my walk home today and the excitement I felt when wide-eyed I picked it up and stuffed it into my pocket was equal to that which I would have felt had I found it just after spending our very last penny.  So I guess it isn’t just desperate times that lead to desperate measures. Maybe I just like the easy money and free stuff after all.

next time:  zumba with Keaira Lashae and my list of loves

Playing in the mud

week three and I am feeling a bit more settled in, I venture a little further out every day and don't get lost, well not nearly as lost as i did the first day.  Google maps is my hero and my crutch.  I still feel a bit weary of hungarians as they unabashedly stare at my clothes or my feet as i walk past them simply because i'm wearing flip flops on a rainy day. I wonder if they've ever considered the fact that skin dries quicker than socks, and flip flops quicker than sopped in shoes or boots.  i caught myself thinking, "oh i should probably change my shoes to something more appropriate when i go out again later..." but no, I say! NO!  if i feel inclined to wear sandals in the snow then i most certainly will.  why should i adhere to their social norms unless I see sense in them or by so doing i can become a better person? because really, when you think about it, social norms are more often than not so vacuous that you wouldn't want to be considered a conformer to them anyway.  that being said, I hereby pledge that i will not allow the bullying glances of others to alter my behaviour or clothing just because it is not "normal".  i will be myself around everyone, no matter how different I am from them, or they from me.  (in my mind, this statement is followed immediately by a curt nod of the head, with arms folded defiantly across my chest) :)  

So I guess when I say I'm feeling more settled in, it also means that I'm settling into myself and my own skin a bit more here too.  First two weeks of anything new, always an uncomfortable and stretching growing period.  Love it and hate it.  actually no, I mostly just hate it, but i love the results after all the unfamiliarity and discomfort and anxiety have subsided.  you should know that group email updates consist primarily of the positive.  Rarely in such emails will i insert the drab, dull, disturbing, yet honest facts about an experience, and if i do, it is often glossed over and laced with humor, making it come across as frivolous so as not to incite pity or worry.  while they are not untruthful, they may not always contain the whole truth. I would not consider them glamorized by any means; the good things really are that good, but there is of course bad long with the good, and that bit just usually gets omitted.   seeing as how this is not a group email, i will make you privy to some of the nitty gritty particulars of life in hungary thus far.  I also think the negative has just as much place and merit as the positive and it is sometimes with a bit of hesitation or regret that i refrain from elaborating on it in emails home.  so I guess this is just a bit of a disclaimer that these posts might sometimes be negative or have an occasional complaint sprinkled in with the goods. while lists in writing scream "tactless" to me, they help me organize my thoughts and save me from having to come up with transition sentences to connect them.  hence the following list: (note, I’m a little behind, so these posts took place a little over a week ago) 

Sep. 13  

1. I don't know why this is, but for some reason I feel timid and anxious here more than I ever have before in a new place. I’ve traveled a fair amount, I’ve experienced being in a new country before, not able to speak the language, why does it feel so different this time? I have to work myself up to going outside alone, going into grocery stores, post offices, engaging in any transaction that requires interaction with another person.  I feel like I have the word "FOREIGNER" plastered to my forehead in large bold letters, which for some admittedly irrational reason in my mind carries with it the same type of embarrassment and negative attention as the scarlet A donned by Hester Prynne.  I feel like everyone can see right through to my squeamish insides.  i think it's a combination of not knowing my way around yet and worrying about getting lost, of having gotten used to having jaron with me all the time and now being on my own most of the time, and not being able to speak or understand the language at all.  I am a mute!  I've been here less than ten days.  i think it'll get better.  i continue to dislike the first two weeks of anything new because it is unfamiliar and therefore uncomfortable.  But in the same breath, there is worth in those two weeks and they result in growth and more strength....because they are unfamiliar and therefore uncomfortable.  i think we need to be uncomfortable on a regular basis in order to reset priorities, keep our minds clear and unpolluted, and avoid complacency.  i also think there are very great rewards to look forward to after drudging through the discomfort but I'm trying to figure out if there's a better way to go about it. who wants to drudge? ever? even with a great reward awaiting you at the finish line.  I feel certain that there must be a way to not drudge through the muck but rather to puddle jump and slosh and skip through it with rain boots on and i'm determined to find that way.   one way that is helping with this is trying to have fun with the things that i usually deem negative or unsettling.  see #2 for further explanation. 

2. people here don't ever smile back at you, EVER. this has always been an irksome thing for me i think because it is such a phenomenon in my mind, i mean, i just don't understand how it is not someone's natural reaction, almost like a reflex, to smile back at someone in response to them smiling at you, even a slight little hint of a grin.  it is entertaining for me to walk around and smile at people and not just fleetingly but to hold their gaze and smile at them, willing them to smile back at me.  if they choose not to smile back I at least want them to squirm a little bit and feel uncomfortable with their decision.  when i see people staring at my flip flops or pants, i also like to stare at them and wait for their gaze to drift up to my eyes and just look at them, smiling like yeah, I've been watching you all along gawking at my bare toes.  contrary to what you might think though, this action gives me little satisfaction because from what i've observed thus far, they just don't seem to feel embarrassed at all that they were caught staring.  I might have to throw in a slight head nod or little up down eyebrow action, you know, the "hey, i'm flirting with you" kind of eyebrow raise.  and while it may be ineffective at evoking smiles and eradicating judgmental stares, it makes the muck of the first couple weeks a little less mucky. 

next time: Zumba with keaira lashae and desperate times call for desperate measures: turning to a life of thievery and gambling to make ends meet!

Flight to Budapest

I was so excited i could hardly stand it.  Just a couple short hours away from arriving in Budapest and seeing Jare.  Sat next to a lovely elderly Dutch woman named Analise and chatted with her one part of the way and dozed the other amidst a sea of grey, white, and bald heads.  Most of the plane was occupied by a senior tour group.  Landed, got my bags, and walked right outside, worrying along the way that I had somehow bypassed customs and the passport checkpoint.  Either they didn't have one there, or I've just unwittingly pulled a fast one on Hungary and snuck (I checked and according to Mirriam Webster, the word 'snuck' is totally acceptable), myself right in.  I waited outside for a little bit and before too long Jare and I spotted each other through the window of his bus as he goes slowly riding past.  Seconds later we had one of those epic airport hugs; we're getting awfully good at those.


First impression of Budapest is that a lot of it reminds me so much of Slovenija.  The exact same grocery stores we shopped at, the people rarely if ever smile back at you, the cobble stone walkways, the buildings are old, the apartment buildings and even elevators are so much the same, beautiful buildings and parks and churches it's amazing.  There is some really cheap eat out food and some really nice places, a ton of places that have outdoor terrace seating, you'll see a ton of people sitting and eating and drinking outside, there are really posh shopping areas downtown and really great cheap thrift stores scattered all over town.  There is a little bit of everything and a little something for everyone.  Bakeries everywhere! yeah!!!! my fav and one of the several smells i first noticed here, the others being somewhat less pleasant and consisting of cigarette smoke (lots of people smoke here, lots), dog poo (bc they often poo on the sidewalks, most people pick it up, but not everyone), big hunks of meat being cooked on a spigot (schwarma kebab joints), and urine! (many members of the male species love peeing on the sides of buildings, I mean really love it)  

Things I love right away include the tube system (metro) which is so wonderful and convenient, you would never have to have a car here )nor would you want one really, why drive when you can walk, bike, or ride transport everywhere?), people watching, and the architecture.  They have really outstanding buildings with so much detail and intricate sculpting work and they have been investing a lot into restoring all of their buildings so they really look amazing and they are proud of their city's structures which is neat.  The churches are beautiful, their sculptures and monuments are really incredible and there is a beautiful castle and amazing bridges over the danube and the parliament building is crazy, kind of similar to london's with its many spires and intricate work and it is really large and such a 'catch your eye and hold it' kind of a building.  There is also this fantastic little island on the danube that you can reach by one of the bridges and it has this great track (like a red rubber track) all the way around its perimeter with a perfect 5k distance.  really great bike lanes are everywhere in the city too.  I love it here.  It's a really amazing city.

Jare's orientation is going really well. he loves his classmates already, a lot of them sound really great, kind of fun quirky interesting bright people.  His classmates are from all over, U.S., Hungary, Slovakia, Vietnam, China, Poland, Finland, India, Pakistan, Russia, France, Germany, Mexico, and a couple others.  There are close to 20 different countries represented in his class, so neat!  I met a couple of them this weekend, we went to a flea market together, which was the COOLEST! it had everything, old stuff new stuff, really amazing old stuff!  we even found a silver bridge, not the kind arching over a body of water but the dental kind, heaped among a pile of jewelry and old keys.   
I love our apartment.  Jare did a fantastic job picking it out.  4th floor, balcony, spacious, high ceilings, furnished with everything from a bed to an immersion blender, both of which we feel are equally necessary.  it's really perfect.

The blog begins!

I put a lot of thought into the name of this blog, seeing as how it would be my very first one and all, and came up with a variety of ‘B’ words to potentially follow the word ‘Budapest’, forming an alliteration of sorts.  I think alliterations are neat.  Not only do they roll off your tongue nicely but they help phrases and lists stick in our brains more successfully.  As it turns out, there is a plethora of wonderful ‘B’ words out there, which made choosing one for the title a bit difficult; and it had to be just one, multiple seemed a bit kitschy.  So in the end, I was able to settle on one only after making the compromise that the second and third runners up would receive notable mention. 

The very first one that struck my fancy was ‘Babeldom’.  Budapest Babeldom.  Sounds nice doesn’t it? Babeldom is a confused sound of voices, which is exactly what Hungarian sounds like to me.  Hungarian is unlike any language I’ve ever heard before in my life, which makes sense seeing as how it is unlike any other language in the world, besides Finnish, and even that quite distantly.  The other word I considered was ‘Blague’ which was funny to me because it sounds like Blog, which of course is what this is, but it actually means pretentious nonsense, which I also thought was just so fitting seeing as how I’ll mostly be writing down my random thoughts and observations on the bionomics of Budapest, the different experiences I have and situations I find myself in, which is most likely to be mostly nonsense.  To assume that anyone would be interested in reading my nonsense seems a bit pretentious to me, hence the perfectly suited word blague for the title of my blog.  “However,” I reasoned to myself, “I enjoy reading other people’s blogs, perhaps there are a select few who might enjoy reading mine as well?”  So to those select few interested in reading my nonsense about organisms called people interacting in their environment called Budapest, welcome to Budapest Bionomics!