Budapest is an English-friendly city

Luckily, Budapest is an English-friendly city. Whenever you stop on a street with a map in your hands, someone will ask you if you speak English and if he/she can help you.

This Hungarian friendliness is especially helpful in public transport. Before you use it, find out how you pay for the fare.

If you want to go by street car, buy a ticket in a booth. If you want to go by subway, make sure you know how far you go. If you meet an old friend or the love of your life, chat with him/her and get off at a wrong station, you may get into trouble. There are no barriers in the subway when you go in or out. You just get your ticket punched. God help you if you go further than planned and meet a ticket inspector. If I were you, I'd just walk!

I thought I knew traffic signs

I took my driving test in 1992. Since then no accidents -- touch wood! I somehow imagined I knew traffic signs. Until Budapest, that is. Here is a poser for you: what on earth do these traffic signs mean?

The first one (vertical photo) apparently says: No junk car shall be anchored, even upside down, especially those manufactured before WWII. Junk yard is a 100 meters upstream, if you can make it.

The lower one is even more forward-looking: No burning automobiles are welcome. Come to think of it, NO automobiles are welcome.

Budapest baths is a must

When in Budapest, get up early in the morning and go to the baths. They are just behind Square of Heroes, across the street from the Zoo. You can spend there a couple of hours or a whole day. It's a real treat! There are hot baths and cold baths, outdoor baths and indoor baths. Go there with your kids or alone, and you won't live to regret it.

I felt like a linguistic moron. Wouldn't you?

Citizens of the world, now I know what you feel like when you come to Russia. I felt exactly like that in Budapest. I felt like a linguistic moron. Wouldn't you? Anything that is written in Hungarian is non-intelligent, although it's written in Latin.

Subway/Metro is a mystery. You have to figure out how many stations you travel, buy a ticket, thrust it into an obscure slit in an obscure column at the entrance to a subway station, you get your ticket punched, and go inside. There are no mechanical or any other barriers. So, if you choose not to pay, it's all right unless your consciousness says otherwise.

If you change your mind and decide you want to get off at another station because you just met an old school friend and he/she talked you into having a cup of tea in his/her house, you'll either feel like a thief, or a ticket inspector will fine you. And it's not fine, if you ask me. In America, you can buy the cheapest ticket, travel to whichever subway station you choose and, when you finally decide to get off the train, the barriers will either let you out, or you'll have to pay the difference to the nearby machine and get out without any sense of guilt. In Budapest, when I used public transport I felt guilty until proven innocent when I got off.

BUDA and PEST

I feel guilty about not having written a line in the last months of 2008. So, let me wright more now. My guilt-writing today is about Budapest.

Unlike other consulates, the Hungarian Consulate in Yekat issues a Schengen visa without any fuss. They don't ask you hundreds of questions or interrogate you using a polygraph (lie detector), and you are not guilty until proven innocent. They want to make Hungary popular, and, given time, they are going to succeed. The Malev Airlines, by the way, is a good company. A few weeks ago, the US Consul General flew with them to London (and back).

The easiest way to get to Budapest is to use the airport taxi. It's not expensive, especially if you chip in. You pay for a 2-way trip, and you can use your return ticket at any time, a few days later if you choose, no problem!

BUDA is the mountainous part of the city, and PEST (pesht) is flat.

Happy New President, America!

Back in April, I wrote that Obama was the strongest candidate. It feels good to be right, in hindsight. Thanks to our good ties with the US Consulate General in Yekat, my students and I found ourselves at the shoulder of history twice -- at the Election Night (which was Election Morning here in Russia) and at the "inauguration party". Here are the photos.

My students granted interviews to the reporters of local tv- and radio-stations and felt very important. Who wouldn't?

All the guests of the Election Night voted, and my students helped count the ballots. Obama won a landslide victory at the premises of the US Consulate, too. No one was surprised. My only question to those who voted for McCain is: did you really want a person with the name Cain as your president?!

During the inauguratiom ceremony, some Americans had tears in their eyes. One Russian lady came up to me and said: "It's amazing how patriotic they are! Last time I felt equally patriotic was in the elementary school, when I was an Oktyabryonok!*

(*Note: My American friends, during the Soviet epoch there used to be Communists, Komsomoltsy or Komsomolers -- young communists, Pionery or Pioneers -- younger communists, and Oktyabryata or Oktyabryonoks -- youngest communists.)

Happy New President, America!

LOOKING BACK: I missed the THE article

HOMEWARD BOUND

A few years ago I realized the reason for heaving the THE article in English when speaking about THE doctor(‘s), and THE dentist(‘s), and THE cleaner(‘s), and THE baker(‘s), and the other - fill in the blank- __‘s people. Once, after I’d chatted with a saleswoman in a greengrocer’s kiosk/stand, I felt my bags were a little heavier than usual. I mean, I paid same money as usual for the same kilos of same fruits and veggies, but my bags were definitely heavier than usual. They – my bags – felt equally heavy since then. It was as simple as that: the saleswoman stopped cheating me!

And then the grammatical truth, pure and simple, dawned on me: THE – it’s when you become a frequent customer, a local VIP. THE – it’s when you leave well enough alone, and stop looking for new places, and do your shopping/cleaning/ mending your teeth at one and the same place!

So, back in Yekat I had – and still have - THE barber. Unlike Europe, America, Africa, Asia, or Australia, in Russia a man cannot easily find a man barber. They are as rare as Siberian saber-toothed tigers, and don’t ask me why. Your guess is as good as mine.

True, once I visited a man barber. It was in Turkey. He smiled at me happily and chatted with me all the time. However, we soon established the fact that he didn’t speak any other language but his mother tongue. For the first time in my life, I was real sorry I didn’t speak any Turkish.

He would talk to me inTurkish, and he would sing now and then, and I half-expected him to start belly-dancing. When I thought it was finally all over, he gestured me not to budge in my seat but wait. I watched him apprehensively in the mirror, as he was manipulating behind me with a metallic stick and piece of cotton. Then he lit cotton and moved to me, his smile still on his face. While I was in the agony of indecision about which language I should choose to call for help, he abruptly thrust the ball of fire right into my right ear. Before I could scream and cry havoc, he thrust the ball of fire right into my left ear! I was quick enough to realize that if I didn’t stop him then and there, he might burn out hairs in my nose next, and then… And then I stopped him. I stopped him, and thanked him, and paid him 3 dollars for the treat, and told him I would tell all my male friends to visit him.

My barber in Yekat is different. She is a woman. She doesn’t attempt to burn out hairs from either my ears or from any other parts of my body. We don’t chat. We keep silence about something very important. Once, an older friend told me: “Come to me and let’s have a cup of tea. Let’s not talk. Let’s keep silence, and let our souls talk”. So, we keep silence, my barber and I. I don’t start cracking any silly jokes or tell her compliments, because, first, sometimes silence is louder than words, and second, she always has a pair of sharp scissors in her hand.

Every time we smile, and exchange a few polite remarks before and after the hair job, and we part to meet same time next month. Now she is pregnant, but I’m not the one to be blamed for that. She’s on her maternity leave now…I had my hair cut a few days ago. Gosh! Customs officers and border-guards will probably have questions to ask me if I dare to leave the country with such a haircut! My barber, give a birth to a nice child and be back to work! My barber… THE barber. Now I realize how I missed the THE article in the US. Wouldn’t you miss it in another country?