A Hungarian Winter

A few weeks ago luck shot down upon me from the heavens – a.k.a. a bird pooped on my head. In all of my awkward ladylike glory, I took off my scarf and started spitting on it. I then proceeded to rub my hair profusely. I was uncharacteristically running late, so I probably looked majestic running down the street while taking pictures of my head with my iPhone and wiping my hair with a spit-laden scarf.

DSC_1342

Wintertime in Budapest has been relatively mild. We have snow flurries from time to time, but as of late we have had – wait for it – SUN. As much as I love this country, perpetual grey skies make me question my loyalty. I go into town quite often, but rarely bring my DSLR. I decided to lug it around while creeping the streets with my new friend, Dani.

DSC_1386

DSC_1401

DSC_1418“To the memory of the victims shot into the Danube by Arrow Cross militiamen in 1944–45.”

DSC_1436Dani is an incredible jumper.

DSC_1457

DSC_1463Lángos.

After leisurely strolling about, we decided to hike to the top of Gellért Hill (Gellért-hegy). If my memory serves me right, it has been a year since I last huffed and puffed my way up. I am not used to inclines of any type – I grew up in Southern Georgia and now live in flat Pest. I love the view, just loathe the climb.

DSC_1477

DSC_1487

Last Saturday my school had its annual charity ball. I spent all day washing, drying, and curling my naturally curly hair. After painting my face and inhaling food at Matt and Kendahl’s flat, we jetted off to my school for a night of fun. Each year at the charity ball prizes are given out. I purchased only one raffle ticket and it paid off – after three years I finally won something! A sports bag was bestowed upon me, to which my boss sadly stated: “You are leaving, so we are giving you a bag.” I do not know if I have mentioned it yet, but this is my last year in Hungary. I do not know where I will be next year, but I would prefer to be somewhere in Asia. Hopefully the bird poop will grace me in that regard.

IMG_2437Kendahl, me, and Catherine.

On Sunday I met up with Dani, Matt, and Paul at the Mangalica Fesztivál, located at Szabadság tér. This Hungarian breed of pig is covered in curly hair, which resembles that of a sheep. Hailed as the “Kobe beef of the pork world,” this breed of pig almost became extinct in the late 20th century. After consuming food in a hurry due to brutal winter winds, we made our way to a Bestsellers, an English bookstore. I have always been an avid reader, so being surrounded by books is a beautiful experience. Dani is one of the few people who has read most of the books I did as a child. I purchased only one book, but am currently unable to locate it in my messy flat.

DSC_1509

DSC_1522

DSC_1532

This Sunday I am taking 20 7th and 8th graders to Mohács for Busójárás. As far as I know, only one of my students (out of 132) has been to this festival before. Trying to organize this trip has been a little more complicated/expensive than anticipated, but I have high hopes for it.

As for spring break plans, I am finally backpacking through [part of] the Balkans! I do not have much money, but the time is now. I have been putting off this trip for the past few years and am tired of just dreaming of the day that I finally go. My friends Carlyn, Dani, and Jolan will be accompanying me to Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, and Montenegro. I have only read horror stories of the overnight train to Belgrade, so send good vibes our way. I am putting all of my faith in Jolan’s second degree black belt.

A Lesson From Miss Jennifer: Always wear a scarf in winter.

6 responses to “A Hungarian Winter

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s