My 5th passport—a love story

Posted on by July 16, 2010
I picked up my new passport today. It is my 6th passport, but it will be hard to say goodbye to number 5. I got it prematurely in Bogota, Colombia, because I wanted to visit Saudi Arabia and the previous passport had evidence that I had been to Israel. (It is always a good idea to get your passport renewed abroad, something the new kentfoster.com will explain later this month, inshallah.)   Then 9/11 happened a few weeks later—I was in Manhattan that morning, another thing I’ll explain someday—and that put the kibosh to my plans. I have yet to make it to Saudi.

This is good ol' number five. See the three times I had pages added---not all matching, either---and the slapdashed look? I can't tell you the number of times it has led to me being checked and double-checked at immigration. I watch the flummoxed looks it gets and try hard to suppress my laughter.

This is my favorite travel memento of the last nine years I’ve had it.   Every stamp tells a story:   the bribe to get into Panama; the Paraguayan consul official who made me listen to “You Can Do Magic” by 1970’s pop band America on his mobile phone; the Ukrainians who happily stamped me out and then phoned ahead to the Hungarians that a guy with a potentially bogus passport was going to try and enter; the phony documents I had to submit to get the Brazilian visa; the relief at getting stamped out of Morocco with a possibly-contraband police license plate in my bag—good times all around!

I’m going to miss you, number 5…(sniff)

A (temporary) place of my own in Budapest with horse sausage

Posted on by July 16, 2010

Do you know the movie “Duplicity” with Julia Roberts and Clive Owen? There is a scene with Clive Owen at a cafe with, as she is otherwise credited, a “stunning blonde” whom you see below.

She doesn’t know it, but I have been sleeping on her floor for the past week. My friend, Peter,  rents out her old apartment from her father as office space.   Actually, it is either hers or her sister’s, he isn’t 100% sure, but if it is hers, she is two years older than what she claims because the code to get into the building is her birth year.

Despite this, I am now house-sitting for some friends while they are on vacation. It’s a very welcome change just to be able to cook for myself as I had been eating muesli and sandwiches everyday.   I celebrated by having penne with spicy horse sausage and smoked cheese.

Clockwise, You are looking at smoked pork, horse sausage, smoked cheese, and juhturo, loosely defined as “ewe cottage cheese”. The smoked pork is incredibly good, and costs about US$4.00 a pound (US$9.00 a kilo). The horse I got for about US$2.25 a pound/US$5.00  a   kilo.
Horse meat is a funny thing here. I only see it at some butchers and the big fresh food markets as sausage or salami, and I suspect only old people eat it. Horse is apparently quite lean, high in protein, and I can promise you it is very tasty. In America horse meat has almost vanished. In California it’s illegal, and the last slaughterhouse in the country that processed it for export was hounded out of business by do-gooders.

The big fresh food markets seem to be vanishing from Budapest, too.   Sadly, lots of the old markets such as those on Batthyany and Klauzal Squares have been taken over by big supermarkets.

I think the last time I lived alone was in 1994 for  two or three months which only goes to show that I travel too much.   I am not used to it.    The best thing about being alone is no one can hear me scream when I try and figure out the HTML and CSS for my website redesign.

Metro ticket costs, chocolate lunch, tennis

Posted on by July 12, 2010

320 forint (US$1.45) is extremely expensive for transport when you consider two things:
1–You can’t transfer on a regular ticket. Budapest doesn’t have a system like most (all?) major cities in Europe where one ticket will get you to your destination.   This is hard on poorer people on the outskirts who have to take 2 or 3 modes of transport to get downtown to their jobs, though most regular commuters do have monthly passes.

2–Relative to per capita income, this is a crusher.   A ticket on the Paris metro is about US$1.95—including any transfers, of course—and incomes are certainly more than 25% higher than here.

My first time in Budapest, a metro ticket was 2 forint. I come so often to Hungary I notice the price creep for everything, but alcohol in every form and cigarettes are always cheap. A Hungarian emigre friend theorizes this is done on purpose to keep the masses in a numb state.

Bean goulash soup and a weird chocolate and rice concoction (US$3 at a university cafeteria)

I am thankful to have the opportunity to play tennis with friends on the weekends, but I don’t get how anyone can play on clay courts. As a Hungarian might say, it’s a clown surface. The ball doesn’t bounce true on the lines, I slide around too much and can’t plant my foot well enough to swing.
That’s my rant for the day. Thank you.

World Cup blues, flea market booty

Posted on by July 23, 2010

This is from a happening bar where all the beautiful people go (I walked in quickly and closely behind a group), but recognize the dude in the blown-up photo here? That's Tony Alva, ancient skateboarding legend.

We watched the Holland-Spain World Cup soccer final in a part of town that I hadn’t been to since 2005, which coincidentally was the last year Arjen Robben passed the ball. It’s a shame the final can never be as wide open and fun as the third place game.
Tomasu pointed out that the only unbeaten team in the tournament was…New Zealand! (3 ties)

Some passports and stamps I bought at the flea market for about $14. A funny thing about the open passport is the woman signed it, "Mrs. Istvan Pinter", her husband's name. I think I bought this from the woman herself; it was kind of awkward bargaining with her.


I swear, I have listened to this song 5 billion times this weekend, no exaggeration. I am man enough to admit it. It’s very polarizing; give it 60 seconds of your precious life and you’ll love it or hate it.
And for those of you who have never seen me dance, you can’t say you have lived a complete life.

Passport on order; the end of an era

Posted on by July 11, 2010

I decided to get my passport renewed even though it has  one more  year’s validity  since rates are going up by  50% next week.    Plus, some countries won’t issue you a visa if you have less than six months validity to your passport.  

I only got ticked off once at the embassy here in Budapest, a new personal record. I somehow extracted the information that I could get a passport with 52 pages as opposed to the usual 28(?), but who knew that was possible? I don’t see it on the website and who wouldn’t want that option?

Nowadays all passports are processed in USA, not like before in whatever country you were in. It takes a week. It’s $110 for a passport renewal and $82 to get extra pages in your passport. I still can’t get over the latter; issuing a passport has to be a much bigger effort than slapping in some new pages. The State Dept is shooting themselves in the foot by doing this. The ability to get a 52 page passport changes the equation somewhat, but what will I do when the passport is full? The difference in cost isn’t that great. What would a more devious person do? Someone else might claim that their passport has been stolen and sell it on the black market, the chip inside the passport notwithstanding. There has to be demand no matter what so-called foolproof security measure has been implemented.

What photo do I look at more than my passport photo? I was able to use an old homemade photo this time which is only good in that at least I know what I am getting. The only thing I can say about it is that it looks less heinous than the old one, which gave me gastroenteritis just from the briefest of glances.

My Boiling Blood

Posted on by August 13, 2010

This language, she's a tough one

Nothing boils my blood like dealing with my own embassy abroad. I like to think I am a reasonable, mild-mannered guy, but something about American embassies and consulates scratches at my very core. It usually starts with the local guards who never speak English and finishes with the snooty guy behind the bulletproof glass—now I know why it’s bulletproof.

Starting Tuesday there are higher fees for issuing passports, visas and other services, but the real crusher is that getting extra pages in your passport is going to go from free to $82. $82!!! That’s brutal. I am on my third set of extra pages in this passport, and now I need to try and get another set before this goes into effect, but the last time I got extra pages, the guy told me he wouldn’t do it again as my passport is becoming too bloated. This was in Budapest, unfortunately. However, he didn’t stitch in the pages well and they are becoming unraveled; maybe his poor craftsmanship will make him lenient. Yeah, right.
In fact, maybe I will get my passport renewed instead, which would be the end of an era. My passport is my favorite memento ever.

It’s only been from this year that Hungarians can go to USA without a visa, about 15 years too late. One lingering beef I have with the Budapest embassy is that back in the bad old days, when Hungarians needed a visa, they couldn’t just go to the embassy and apply. They had to make an appointment over the phone, first listening to a long message giving information. This was not a regular phone call. They used a special toll number, like an American 900 number, that made it expensive just to set up an appointment. Hungarians had never heard of the existence of a local toll call before the US embassy started doing it.
Then, as now, the process was highly arbitrary with your application being denied at the whim of the officer without explanation, without appeal, and if didn’t get a visa, you didn’t get your substantial visa fee back either.

My Jewish Hood in Budapest

Posted on by July 6, 2010

I am in the Jewish quarter, the old Budapest ghetto in Erzsebetvaros (Elizabeth Town), near Klauzal Square, its epicenter. There is a little antique shop on the square that’s always closed when I walk by but doesn’t look abandoned, and when it finally was open one day, I found out why. The owner was about to close up again for the day. He was an old man with a heavy gait. “I’m very sick,” he said, and lifted up his pant leg to show a massive gash on his calf. It looked awful, but it also looked from long ago. I looked unconvinced, so he went on with: “I need medicine,” and gestured to a bar next door, sheepishly smiling at his own nonsense.
“No, it’s not true!” I protested. “You don’t need that!” But I quickly took a look at his stuff because I knew he meant it.

The street names around here are great. There’s Drum St, Whistle St, Tobacco St, Raven St, Big Walnut Tree St, Little Walnut Tree St and Acacia Tree St.

shameless commerce in the synagogue

There is a huge synagogue, the second biggest in the world, down the street. I was once inside long ago after an epic renovation. It is predictably beautiful and I thought I’d pay another visit but the entrance fee now is…(ready?) 2400 forint—US$11. That’s tough to swallow. It’s a working synagogue, not a museum. I’m boycotting it.

Zombie tired and flea markets on the 4th of July

Posted on by July 5, 2010

I love flea markets like I love the American flag. Did that sound patriotic enough for the fourth of July? I didn’t see any local celebrations in Budapest at all, but it’s OK. It’s OK because someday…someday we will ALL be Americans!
Europeans never think that’s funny. I don’t know why.

This is from a children's menu. It would really be something if it was actually cat on the menu. Then again, they don't say what kind of meat soup it is. And who knew that "Superman's Favorite" was mushroom soup and fried cheese with rice? Wouldn't that weigh him down a bit?

I went to the Petofi Csarnok flea market in the City Park both days this weekend. Every year it becomes a little more sanitized with more of the same sellers and the challenge to find a good deal is harder, but it’s all Budapest has since “famous” Ecseri Piac is a flea market like Paris Hilton is an actress and the Ocskapiac behind Keleti train station closed down. Last year in the Ocskapiac I bought 8 or 10 passports from gypsies. Ah, the good old days…

This time what did I buy? A soldier’s ID card from 1959, a ticket to Hungary’s first Formula One race, old tickets to Deep Purple and Saxon concerts and other absolute junk like this.

I wake up everyday at about 6:30am no matter what time I go to sleep. Some days it is 5:30am, in which case I force myself to sleep a little more, but I am constantly in a zombie-like tired state. It’s awful.

Meet the only member of both Metallica and Peter Pan fan clubs

Posted on by July 5, 2010

I made a short pilgrimage to Cegled, a quiet little town about an hour southeast of Budapest, to see an old friend and her family, and to get a haircut, which I always like to do in small towns no tourist would visit with the oldest barber I can find.
By the way, Hungary is easily the only country in the world where I’ve met all my friends while in the country. It is rumored that Hungarians travel, but I never see them—and I am keeping my eyes and ears open.

This is the world's youngest Metallica fan, my friend's 3 year old. Every night he starts a Metallica DVD, sets up the pillows just right, and pretends he's Lars Ulrich. When he was 18 months old his first intelligibly uttered words were, "So what?" a Metallica song.


We went out to see her parents in the countryside and I ate her mom’s fantastic desserts, and it turns out she can cook any Hungarian dish I can name. Unfortunately, this is out of expediency through a hard life surviving in Ceaucescu’s Romania; you made do with what you could get your hands on.

My dentist is also next door in Romania. Last year I saw her, but I was hitchhiking and was late to my appointment. She was a little peeved, so my 2010 gift to her is to not show up.

Losing some enthusiasm for the World Cup

Posted on by July 4, 2010

I take some pleasure in correctly guessing Holland’s ascent in the World Cup (see for yourself from my June 11 post) but it wasn’t so fun to watch them beat Brazil last night. I get tired more quickly of every foul being hotly disputed, every fall giving the impression of a possible amputation, the cynical acting and protesting to the referee before he has a chance to make bad calls.

Normally I love watching Robinho display his talents, for example, but when I see him screaming at every whistle and in everyone’s face—purely for the sake of trying to get an edge on the referee, nothing to do with any actual play—it makes me want that ungraceful oaf, Mark van Bommel, to take him out on one of his patented clumsy tackles.

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