Amrit Chima
Sniffling is considered impolite in Hungary. It’s a point of decorum I don’t find particularly fair for those of us with allergies. Experience has taught me that sometimes it’s better to ride it out, sniffling a bit (for the record, I was never excessive), rather than aggravating the sneeze-sensitive nerve endings around my nose with tissue. And the little packages of tissue Daniel’s mother gives me to carry in my purse are heavily scented. It says “Aloe Vera” on the plastic wrapping, but it smells more like the tissue factory went berserk with the squeeze bulb on my grandma’s old perfume bottle.
It’s these sorts of little details that make things slightly uncomfortable here. For example, mathematics is not my strong suit, and conversions from the Hungarian Forint to the Dollar are difficult. Forint bills have too many zeroes attached. Trying to determine if the price makes sense, or trying to calculate change and tips, only produces brain farts as my mind stutters, forced to bend and twist in unfamiliar ways on the fly.
Solace in Unscented Tissue
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Parliament, open to the public on March 15th to view the royal Hungarian crown
20,000 Hungarian Forint bill
Quite obviously—Hungarian being the most difficult language for native English speakers to learn—communicating is also a problem. Yet, specifically for me, it’s rough because Daniel is the translator. He’s the conduit by which I’m getting to know his family. Simply because he’s as overwhelmed with that go-between job as I am spending most of my time with people I can’t understand and who don’t understand me, he’s forced to condense stories and points of interest. He chooses what’s funny or relevant. Not me. Not them. But occasionally one or another of his friends who can speak English breaks the flow of Hungarian and translates, like flinging a lasso, making an effort to draw me into the conversation. It’s these people I am growing to adore. It’s these people who I believe will have the most patience while I attempt to learn this complex language.
And there are even moments—a few—when I actually don’t mind the language gap. The other day we went on a short walk with Daniel’s grandfather Tibor, and the pace was set to the eighty-six-year-old’s beat, slow and relaxed. After a half hour I learned a little of what it was like to live in communist Hungary during the 40s, when inflation was so bad men were paid in cotton and wool to trade for food, when Russians threatened to swipe people off the street for no reason at all, when table tennis was the sport. I enjoyed waiting for each translation. But more than that, I adored Tibor’s anticipation of my awe, amusement, or outrage as the stories unfolded in English, and the way he nodded satisfactorily when it was clear that now I knew what he had said.
Listening to his stories about Russian communism added significance to the peaceful protest that took place this March 15, the national Hungarian holiday: 1848 Revolution Day. One-hundred and sixty-three years ago on this day, a battered and enraged Hungary fought against their Austrian Habsburg oppressors. They didn’t win. Indeed, tens of thousands were tortured and killed, and in the aftermath the country was condemned to brutal martial law. And yet the day still resonates enough to close down shops and offices and open an otherwise shuttered Parliament to the public for a viewing of the Hungarian royal crown. It may seem somewhat counterintuitive, but commemorating an occasion in which citizens banded together in outrage makes absolute sense when understanding that Hungarians have been under the thumb of various oppressors since the Ottoman Empire. This country still simmers with collective memories of oppressions past. March 15th isn’t about a triumph. It celebrates the people’s willingness and courage to finally rise up against their subjugators, win or lose.
At least they tried.
Rákóczi út, where thousands marched in peaceful protest on March 15th to honor 1848’s revolution against the Habsburg Austrians
Perspective helps. Understanding—even only peripherally—Hungary’s historical hardships makes me recognize (if not yet fully appreciate) the ridiculousness of my own current difficulties. I don’t have a brain wired for math, but at least I can compose a nice sentence; I don’t get jokes relayed in Hungarian, but I know ten more Hungarian words today than two days ago; and I have allergies, but I noticed that I feel slightly less miffed now when I have to reach for the tissue. Because I bought my own. Unscented.
