The Giant Breads of Budapest

My friend drove me out to the highway near Lake Balaton. It was freezing, so I put on my cold weather clothes (i.e. an extra t-shirt). It rained the whole way there, and I knew I would be exposed to the elements while waiting by the highway entrance, but suddenly the rain slowed and in five minutes a young guy in a well-preserved 1970 VW Bug skidded to a stop and drove me directly to Budapest. He was surprised that I was an American as he was studying English and he said he was interested to learn, but I couldn’t get him to talk and nearly the whole trip was in silence.

Stop and imagine the miracle of hitchhiking for a moment. I am a stranger standing in the countryside, no civilization within eyesight, and by doing nothing more than sticking out my thumb, someone stops and drives me almost 200km for free. How amazing is that?

Technically, I used more than my thumb. The charm of Kent Foster’s smile is lethal, true, and I believe your appearance and how you stand and other elements influence whether or not you get a ride, which should be the subject for a future book.

It’s always a great feeling when I cross the Danube the first time I am in Budapest, one of the great cities in the world, with Hungary being one of my favorite countries in the world.
I am asked all the time what my favorite country is. My stock answer is that if I had a favorite country, I would be there now, but Hungary is always in my Top 5. I am here for only a week maximum this time, with only rain on the horizon, but I am back here next month and hope to flesh out the reasons for this.

The Hungarian language is one. They have an expression: “Ne kukoricazz velem!” which means “Don’t mess with me!”” but literally translated is “Don’t corn with me!” I really need to integrate that into American English somehow.

Here’s a freakish fact about me: Hungary is the only place in my adult life I have lived as long as eight months. (I was an English teacher in Pecs.)