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| [It's a bit hard to see, but in the lower left-hand corner is a restaurant called Mr. Pizza.] |
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| [Oh, and people love Burger King, too.] |
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| [And these are two small streets... At large intersections, take this scenario, add a dozen cars, two dozen passengers, and double the speed. Woo.] |
In the morning, I went with my landlady's partner to get cellphones from Vodafone (recall yesterday's failure), and a couple hours later, we walked out with a bag carrying two brand-new cellphones (one for me and one for my roommate). The price? 8000 Ft (Forints). Total. That's 40 USD for two phones! Absolutely amazing. And here's a fun fact: calling the US is cheaper than calling Hungary.
But not having a cellphone isn't a problem either. There are pay phones everywhere, and they're quite easy to find because, well, they're pink:
Anyway. I went back to my apartment to drop off the phones and take a short break, and then headed out again. My destination: Treehugger Dan's Bookstore and Cafe. I found the place using the shnazzy "Search Nearby" function on Google Maps, and apparently, it was the first used-English-book-carrying shop in Budapest. I was super excited, and even more so given their fantastic website, and as I walked the 2 km from my apartment to their Csengery location, I had these wonderful images of a huge, sprawling bookstore, walls completely lined with worn bindings of English titles, a cafe on the second floor with an indoor wrap-around balcony overlooking the first floor, etc. Half an hour after I left the apartment, I hit a street that I knew was too far East. I turned back around, looking more carefully. And then I saw it. There was an open door squeezed between a fine foods shop and a shady-looking door. Inside was a dark, narrow room piled haphazardly with books. I walked in and my nostrils were filled with a deep mustiness. There was no sprawling bookstore. There was no second floor. There wasn't even a cafe. I tried to make out an organizational system, but it looked like the books had just been stacked randomly: Agatha Christie novels on top of tour books, Kurt Vonnegut next to Dan Brown, J.K. Rowling next to atlases. I left disappointed, and even forgot to take a photo.
I decided to head to Chinatown. Earlier, I had looked up Chinatown on Google Maps, so I figured out where I was on my map and made a beeline for my next destination. At this point, it was already 2:30 and I hadn't yet eaten lunch. With a growling stomach as motivation, I nearly power-walked my way there. Half an hour later, I was standing exactly where I wanted to be standing, and in front of me, I saw this:
This may not look like much to you, but in actuality, the Chinese restaurant only takes up the rightmost fourth of the building. The Chinese characters proclaim it to be a large hotel. There's an English translation of the Hungarian below the vertical characters on the other side of the restaurant:
Amused? I was a bit exasperated, to tell you the truth. First was Treehugger Dan's Cafe and Bookstore which turned out to be not much of a bookstore and nothing of a cafe. And now this. Google had kindly churned up Chinatown Restaurant. I wonder how many people went to that restaurant thinking they were going to Budapest's Chinatown.
But by then, I was hungry enough to eat a medium-sized cow, so I went inside. The waiter greeted me in Mandarin, and I returned the greeting. He asked if it was just me, and I told him, "Yes. Just one person." It was all fine and dandy because these were all phrases I was very comfortable with. But my comfort backfired. I think he assumed, then, that I was from China or otherwise fluent in Mandarin, and then started speaking rapidly, slurring his words around the edges as most people do in their native tongue. I stared up at him, an utterly confused, maybe even terrified, expression on my face, and asked, timidly, in what must have been terrible Mandarin, "Cantonese?" He shook his head. And so it was. My quest to find Cantonese speakers in Budapest had failed yet again, and I was forced, by way of a choice between Chinese and Hungarian, to try and get by with my (extremely) elementary Mandarin.
The food was delicious, though. I had Chinese vegetables (!!!) stir-fried with garlic, Yangchow fried rice, and hot tea (I think he gave me chamomile or something).
I decided to head to Chinatown. Earlier, I had looked up Chinatown on Google Maps, so I figured out where I was on my map and made a beeline for my next destination. At this point, it was already 2:30 and I hadn't yet eaten lunch. With a growling stomach as motivation, I nearly power-walked my way there. Half an hour later, I was standing exactly where I wanted to be standing, and in front of me, I saw this:
This may not look like much to you, but in actuality, the Chinese restaurant only takes up the rightmost fourth of the building. The Chinese characters proclaim it to be a large hotel. There's an English translation of the Hungarian below the vertical characters on the other side of the restaurant:
Amused? I was a bit exasperated, to tell you the truth. First was Treehugger Dan's Cafe and Bookstore which turned out to be not much of a bookstore and nothing of a cafe. And now this. Google had kindly churned up Chinatown Restaurant. I wonder how many people went to that restaurant thinking they were going to Budapest's Chinatown.
But by then, I was hungry enough to eat a medium-sized cow, so I went inside. The waiter greeted me in Mandarin, and I returned the greeting. He asked if it was just me, and I told him, "Yes. Just one person." It was all fine and dandy because these were all phrases I was very comfortable with. But my comfort backfired. I think he assumed, then, that I was from China or otherwise fluent in Mandarin, and then started speaking rapidly, slurring his words around the edges as most people do in their native tongue. I stared up at him, an utterly confused, maybe even terrified, expression on my face, and asked, timidly, in what must have been terrible Mandarin, "Cantonese?" He shook his head. And so it was. My quest to find Cantonese speakers in Budapest had failed yet again, and I was forced, by way of a choice between Chinese and Hungarian, to try and get by with my (extremely) elementary Mandarin.
The food was delicious, though. I had Chinese vegetables (!!!) stir-fried with garlic, Yangchow fried rice, and hot tea (I think he gave me chamomile or something).
I couldn't finish it all, and after several more failed conversations with the waiter in Mandarin, I left with a full stomach, a shut-down ego, a bag of leftovers that would last me at least a couple of meals (especially if I "diluted" the too-salty fried rice with white rice), and a desperate feeling of loneliness that could only be alleviated by even just one (however brief) interaction with someone who spoke English or Cantonese.
As I walked down the street, I thought about how terribly separated I felt from everyone around me. And there was nothing I could do to mend that separation: I was from another world (culturally), and for all my wants to immerse myself in this new environment, there was no way anyone could communicate to me the ways of this different way of life. These thoughts were heavy to carry, and my feet were starting to ache from the chronic impact of the concrete on my soles. I saw a clothing store and thought, "Oh hey! People buy stuff when they're sad!" So I walked in and looked around. There were some tee-shirts on sale. The sign said 1800 Ft, and I saw one that I liked, so I picked out my size and took it to the check-out counter. They rang it up, and next thing I knew, I was handing over 2495 Ft. I opened my mouth and the lady looked at me and I said, hesitantly, "Isn't this... on sale?" But my words were jumbled sounds to her ears, and she shook her head and shrugged. "Sale," I said. "Sale?" And she managed a "Sorry," put the tee-shirt in a bag, and handed it to me.
I left feeling even more down, my wallet 700 Ft lighter than I think it should have been, and yet another communication failure under my belt. Here is a picture of the tee-shirt:
I kept walking down the street, and then the suddenly, I was no longer on the street I wanted to be on. I hadn't turned or anything, and yet somehow, I was no longer on Rakeczi (accents omitted). I pulled out my map, and discovered that I had been walking in the opposite direction of my apartment. I was about to turn around and meander my way home, my tail tucked even further between my legs, and then I remembered that the language center where I will be taking a crash-course in Hungarian was close to the area. I found it eventually, and took a picture:
This is just part of the college. (I'm assuming that I found the right place.) On the left side of this building, there is another similar building, and you can see a bit of the courtyard that separates them. I was pleased at the site of this beautiful structure, but my feet were absolutely aching now, and my calves were starting to cramp up, so I decided to make my way back to my apartment.
As I walked down the street, I thought about how terribly separated I felt from everyone around me. And there was nothing I could do to mend that separation: I was from another world (culturally), and for all my wants to immerse myself in this new environment, there was no way anyone could communicate to me the ways of this different way of life. These thoughts were heavy to carry, and my feet were starting to ache from the chronic impact of the concrete on my soles. I saw a clothing store and thought, "Oh hey! People buy stuff when they're sad!" So I walked in and looked around. There were some tee-shirts on sale. The sign said 1800 Ft, and I saw one that I liked, so I picked out my size and took it to the check-out counter. They rang it up, and next thing I knew, I was handing over 2495 Ft. I opened my mouth and the lady looked at me and I said, hesitantly, "Isn't this... on sale?" But my words were jumbled sounds to her ears, and she shook her head and shrugged. "Sale," I said. "Sale?" And she managed a "Sorry," put the tee-shirt in a bag, and handed it to me.
I left feeling even more down, my wallet 700 Ft lighter than I think it should have been, and yet another communication failure under my belt. Here is a picture of the tee-shirt:
I kept walking down the street, and then the suddenly, I was no longer on the street I wanted to be on. I hadn't turned or anything, and yet somehow, I was no longer on Rakeczi (accents omitted). I pulled out my map, and discovered that I had been walking in the opposite direction of my apartment. I was about to turn around and meander my way home, my tail tucked even further between my legs, and then I remembered that the language center where I will be taking a crash-course in Hungarian was close to the area. I found it eventually, and took a picture:
This is just part of the college. (I'm assuming that I found the right place.) On the left side of this building, there is another similar building, and you can see a bit of the courtyard that separates them. I was pleased at the site of this beautiful structure, but my feet were absolutely aching now, and my calves were starting to cramp up, so I decided to make my way back to my apartment.
Forty-five minutes later, I was hobbling up the steps and down the wrap-around patio to get to my apartment, and a few minutes later, by the luck of good timing, my parents were calling me on Skype. I wasted some time reading and resting my legs and napping a bit and a few hours later, I was on Skype with my boyfriend. If it wasn't for him and also for my parents, I am afraid I might forget how to use my voice here. In a place where I feel so isolated and alone, they have been the glue that is keeping me together.
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