The subway nearest to our apartment: The Metro 1, known unofficially as the underground (or “a földalatti”) and officially as Millennium Underground Railway or M1, is the second oldest underground railway in the world, built from 1894 to 1896. As of 2002 it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Valencei Tó, the lake at Gárdony

There is no better means to gain an understanding of a culture than while negotiating prices with quasi-overweight construction workers and discount washing machine dealers. I discovered that here, cash is king. It doesn’t matter how expensive something is. It’s irrelevant that people don’t normally walk around with enough cash in their wallets to buy a new fridge. Other than big box operations, credit cards are not generally common. And it’s not because mom-and-pop businesses can’t afford the card fees or the little machines necessary for swiping plastic. It always boils down to a question of reporting. No paper trails. No—or at least less—taxes to pay. The longer I live here, this attitude continues to become clearer. Why give the government more than half of what you make when the government, in turn, doesn’t properly take care of it’s citizens by applying those taxes to the greater good of the country?

Sadly, I spent May consumed by what was happening in our apartment. Obsessed with each stage—scraping away the old walls, plastering, plastering again, sanding, door detailing, primering, painting, and finally delivery of new appliances—Daniel and I had little time or energy remaining for socializing or exploring. We managed a brief overnight trip to Gárdony, a small lake town about forty-five minutes from Budapest, to spend an evening with friends. We drank and told jokes, and I participated in one round of the board game Activity…in Hungarian. The game involves a mix of charades, sketching, and verbal descriptions to help team members guess the word or idea in question. Unfortunately, even if I was right, my answer was usually unheard, largely—and understandably—because everyone was primed to listen for Hungarian. More to the point, usually the word was nuanced in Hungarian and didn’t even exist in English. So I drank some more, and I listened to everyone talk. It’s the only way I’ll learn.

We also managed to free up an afternoon for a wine festival in Etyek. We took a bus from Budapest, but because of a traffic accident en route, the buses deposited all passengers seven kilometers from the tasting, expecting them to either walk or forgo their afternoon plans. When irate customers demanded a refund, the drivers simply shrugged and pointed to the police as if to say, “Not our fault.” Luckily—and for those who know me, predictably—unlike some of the other women who gazed helplessly and longingly down the road, I wasn’t wearing heels, so it was OK. Besides, wine tastes even better after an unexpected 7K through beautiful Hungarian farmland. And we brought home good loot: aside from the obvious several bottles of wine, we bagged ingeniously colorful and decadent sweets a woman concocted from fruits and veggies leftover from the market, and truffle butter made from real truffles.

Attempting to decompress, we ended the month with an afternoon at a hillside park on the Buda side of the city called Normafa where we watched children play with kites and dogs sniff around excitedly. My favorite was the view. Although, difficult to capture on film (especially since we forgot the good camera at home), the whole city of red-tiled rooftops appears much like a very big hamlet. In many respects, Budapest has maintained the essence of a small European village: the steadfast love of and loyalty to culture, the frequency of bumping into familiar faces on the street, and the food—milk that still needs to be boiled before consumption, cheeses, cured meats, and freshly baked bread made the old-fashioned way, untainted by modern day cheapening of food.

7K walk through Hungarian farmland to Etyek for wine tasting

It’s already the end of another month, and although May was a dusty plaster mess, I am still making decent progress on my novel, writing whenever free moments present themselves. Draft three, on which I have been laboring since last April, is one chapter away from completion. It’s very strange recalling that I began the first chapter in New York, in our little rental on the Upper East Side, and now I’m finishing in Budapest. I’ll be searching for an agent soon. Please wish me luck.

Though we’re not there quite yet, our apartment is centrally located, and I’m told Budapest in the summer is the place to be. Perhaps June will be less work, more play.

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