Haas night in Budapest

Last night we met up with some Haas folks - recent graduates, about-to-be-2nd-years and incoming students. All Hungarian. Well, except me of course. Luckily all speak English so we didn't have the issue. But they did mostly speak in Hungarian, unless, of course, they were talking to me. I spent most of my time talking to Nimrod, which was great because after spending every single day together for three weeks on Easter Island, we haven't spoken at all!

It was so nice to be out and social. And the bar was completely non-smoking, which is always a plus. But (come on, you knew there was a but!) there was something a little off-putting about the evening, too. Maybe it came from looking around the table and seeing everyone chatting and laughing and speaking this crazy-ass language that I don't understand and seeing Peter among them and having the thought - fleeting but still there - that this is where he belongs. This is where he fits. How can I ask him to leave this? Especially when I am not willing to do the same? You can argue for years about the fact that he speaks English, he has a job that can transfer anywhere in the world, etc. etc. But this is his home. Why should he leave his home for me? Yes, we can make a new home and yes I am sure our life together would be splendid. But it occurred to me last night that I cannot reasonably expect him to do it. If he does, lucky me. If he doesn't, unlucky me. I'd be so sad but I wouldn't be mad. Because I get it. Finally, I get it.

CROSSING THE STREET CAN BE DIFFICULT IN BUDAPEST
So I have been to several foreign countries in the past year or so and have seen my fair share of insane drivers. Up until now, I would have said the Argentinean drivers for sure take the cake - I remember distinctly the day that Roy had his arm resting on the window and nearly had it taken off by a car whose driver decided (as most of them do in Argentina) that the lane lines on the road are there for someone else but not for him. However, the Hungarians, or rather the Budapestians (is that a word?)are actually the scariest drivers I have encountered. They recently started cracking down on seat belt wearing and all I can say is, "Thank God." Because these people drive like maniacs. Not only do they disregard lanes (but with no rhyme or reason...at least the Argentineans consistently ignored them!) but they drive as if they are being chased by a band of ninjas. (a band of ninjas? do ninjas even come in bands?) They speed around corners and take turns so fast the cars seem like they will tip over!

There are two spots on my "commute" to work that are especially harrowing for me. The first is literally at our corner. There is a place on our street where cars can either turn or keep going forward and where cars from the perpendicular road turn, typically to the left to head towards the main street (are you with me?). Unfortunately, at this point on our street the sidewalk ends on one side of the street so in order to walk safely (the road is too skinny to walk out in the street), you need to cross over to the other side. But the only place to cross is at this exact "intersection" where cars are speeding around corners (they are not sharp turns but more like deep veers, so they really don't have to stop at all and usually don't). There is no stop sign anywhere. There isn't even a crosswalk. And the worst is that each of the feeder streets are curved so you only know a car is coming when you actually see it coming. So each morning I have to artfully get myself across this street without being hit by a crazed Hungarian driver. It's not easy, let me tell you, and more than once I have sweated - literally sweated - while trying to plan my crossing.

There is another spot, on the block of my office, that is equally, if not more, fraught with danger. Why? Because here there is a trolley car to add to the mix. So not only do we have speeding cars, blind corners, one sidewalk, no stop signs and no crosswalks, we also have a several-ton, mass transit piece of machinery barreling down the road. If I was Catholic I am sure I would either thumb my rosary beads or make the sign of the cross everytime I tried to get from one side of the street to the other!

Nimrod thinks that Hungarians drive so fast and are so gruff and rude on the street because their everyday lives are loaded down with stress and insecurity about the future. This seems like a reasonable enough explanation. But can an entire population really be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder?