The more things change...

In case what you were wondering what visiting day at a Hungarian Jewish summer camp looks like, its pretty much the same as visiting day at an American Jewish summer camp. Parents drove from Budapest for about two and half hours through sunflower fields (same distance from Teaneck to Moshavs IO!)Even though the campers had only been away for one week, and were staying less than a week more, the scene was pretty similar to what I've experienced--clingy younger campers, older campers trying to distance themselves as much as possible from lame parents, forced smiles on staff members, mothers insisting on photo ops, and lots of dads shlepping lots and lots and lots of water bottles for their kids. Probably not from the Honesdale Wal-Mart, but I'm glad Jews all over the world are concerned for their children's hydration while at camp.

Ridiculous things I have seen, part I

1. Andrassy utca is Budapest’s answer to the Champs-Elysees. When every city in the Europe (and pretty much the world) just wanted to be Paree, Budapest was also in on the dream. So, Andrassy utca, with the elegant ballet, famous Opera house that Hapsburg Emperor Franz Joseph I frequented, and scores of boutiques that I (and most of Hungary) can't afford. Elegant, to say the least. That’s why when I saw a lovely little flower kiosk, I wasn’t surprised. I was however, surprised to see the aforementioned flower kiosk also selling FEATHER BOAS. Imagine if on Fifth Avenue you could buy FEATHER BOAS on the street outside of Louis Vuitton or Gucci. And this wasn’t the only place to buy feather boas. On other nice tourist-y shopping streets, while shopping for traditional Hungarian garb, lace tablecloths and Budapest postcards, you could also pick up….FEATHER BOAS. THIS CITY LOVES FEATHER BOAS. (Shosh shoutout!)

2.On Vaci utca, an intense tourist shopping area (and home to not one, but TWO H and M stores) there were tons of ice cream and gelato stands. I noticed one was selling….RED BULL GELATO. Omfg, RED BULL FLAVORED ICE CREAM. Seriously?

Another game

This past shabbat I joined the Americans on their way to Camp Szarvas (if you don't know what that is or why it's important to me, then I have no idea why you are reading this...) and I helped fill in at a few tourist points for the group. Actually, it was tons of fun for me-I got to show off my mad skillz in Hungarian pronunciation, as well as completely indulge in my history nerdiness to a captive audience. As we were walking up to Heroes Square, I played another game with the kiddies that my original Szarvas counselor had taught me my very first time in Budapest, affectionately (and tastelessly) called "Communist or capitalist?" We would point at cars and guess when it was built, either before or after 1989 and entrance of Hungary onto the world capitalist markets. Essentially, if it didn't look like it was about to break down, there was a damn good chance it was 'capitalist.' If it was just scary to look at and spouting dark fumes, it was most probably 'Communist.' Politically correct? No. But super fun!

There are reminders like this all over Hungary of bygone days. While most of the statues of Communist leaders were relocated to a non-central location at Statue Park, there are remnants everywhere. One main drag in Budapest is called "Rakosi utca" after the Communist leader, a fervent follower of Stalinism, often referred to as Stalin's "right hand man" and deposed in 1956. Imagine if in the year 1809, British tyranny still fresh in the young nation's consciousness, there was a street in DC just a 20 minute walk from Capitol Hill, called "King George III Avenue." Bizarre.

A new game

On my way from work to a bar to get wireless to catch up on emails, I saw people in the Deak Ferenc metro stopping and staring at a few people walking by. I was confused as to why these people were garnering attention. These women were just wearing flowy patterned skirts, colorful headscarves, and dragging lots of little kids behind them--nothing so unusual to me. Then I remembered that I am not in Israel, but rather Hungary, and these were not standard "dati-le'umi" women covering their hair with the standard mitpachot favored by Orthodox women and seminary girls, but rather Roma, or Gypsies, that are both the pride and scourge of certain Hungarians and pose interesting problems to society.

But now I get to play a new game, similar to "cold or frum?" played in theme parks in the winter: dati le'umi, or Roma?

Joining the masses...

I’ve succumbed. I’ve published a blog.

I have gotten encouragement from my adoring fans (read: bored friends at home) to create a blog about my experience in Hungary and elaborate on my rushed emails and gchat statuses (statements like “BUDAPEST YOU WIN” and mistyped complaints about the mosquitoes are not so clear, I admit). I want to update all of you and respond to all of your questions, and this is simply to the most efficient way to do so (and let me tell you, here in Central Europe I am learning ALL ABOUT efficiency.) I also realized that I need my own log of my 7 bizarre weeks here in Hungary, a way to ensure that my visit doesn’t become a series of clubs, coffeehouses, Cold War chronologies and the search for the air conditioning, but an experience on which I can reflect meaningfully.

(Also, now that Mary is leaving Paris and marydee retires from the blogosphere, I am filling a void in some lives out there across the Atlantic. Zoem, you're welcome.)

Also, dear reader, I am here alone. Wow, that sounds dramatic. Let me rephrase: I am living alone for the majority of my time in Budapest, and while I am at a center with many interns, it is not a set program and we are all “doing our own thangs.” I am having such fun, and people have been absolutely wonderful about getting me settled, setting me up with friends and the like, and I am thoroughly enjoying a few solitary adventures. But sometimes after something absolutely ridiculous happens, you just need to turn to someone and burst out laughing and shriek “OHHHH EMM GEEE, did you see that?!!?!?!?!” So that, dear reader, is you. When I am wandering up Andrassy utca and see something bizarre (and this being Central Europe, it happens quite a lot) or pondering the differences between the US and Europe on my commute to work on the Continent’s oldest metro system (WHAT UP YELLOW LINE!), or lost somewhere in the Jewish quarter (if I can barely figure out Manhattan’s grid, you know its just not a fair battle), I will reflect on it with you, dear reader.

People always say you need a travel buddy, a partner in crime. I have gone through life with a few faithful ones—sisters, roommates, friends. Now, however, I find a new one: Hungary. Or in the native tongue, Magyarorszag. Forgive my cliché, but for the next 6 weeks, the noble citizens of Budapest, and the very city itself, are my new travel buddies—every waiter in every café, every sketchy woman drying laundry in my apartment building courtyard who just stops and states and refuses to even wave whenever I walk by, every statue in Heroes Square that I pass at least twice a day on my way to and from work, every unsuspecting passerby who is subjected to my pidgin Hungarian and amateur miming skills for in my attempt to get directions and figure out where the hell I am, everyone.

I can’t promise to update every day, and frankly , I don’t think you want me to-- you’re welcome in advance! And I don’t intend for this to be a day by day account of everything I do, because a. that’s boring and b. I want to reflect on the big moments, the ZOMG THAT WAS INSANE moments, the sociological epiphany moments, the “THIS. IS. EUROPE” moments, the stumble-upon-the-coolest-tidbit-about-Budapest moment, that I would want to share with you in person. But since you’re there and I’m here, for now, it’s just me and Magyarorszag.

So. Let’s do this.