Tuesday, December 07, 2004
I mean we’ve all been there – you’ve just got to get your hands on the latest Nepszabadsag or Magyar Nemzet, but purchasing said newspapers invariably requires interacting with a native speaker in the target language. Usually it’s just something simple like how much it costs or do you have exact change. But then again you perpetually run the risk that the seller will – foolishly – assume you know the language of the newspaper you’re buying and try to start a conversation. And then (and only then), well, you look like an idiot. A very confused, non-Hungarian idiot. Best be prepared.
(1) Know how much it costs in advance. Newspapers do have priced printed on them, you know. Best consult ahead of time.
(2) If possible use exact change. You’ve done this a million times. Of course you know Nepszabadsag costs 99 HUF. Why wouldn’t you? You’ve bought one every day since you were three. (Exact change also saves you being asked for different coinage – something definitely to be avoided, since you totally won’t understand.)
(3) Brush up on a few non-descript catch phrases, like “yep, you bet” or “that’ll be just fine.” Just this morning my Hungarian newspaper seller unleashed a 30-second question on me; of course, I had no idea what she was talking about. Fortunately I was able to come back with, “Ez az, rendben” (“well, that’s that, sounds ok”) to save the day. She seemed satisfied and the transaction proceeded with minimal embarrassment.
(4) Be in a hurry. You’re busy. You’re important. You drink triple espressos standing up. You read the newspaper while you walk to the metro. You don’t have time for chit-chat. You’re here for the information, man.
(5) Obviously if you can memorize numbers first, that would be ideal. But then again, you might as well speak Hungarian! Really, just stick with (1) – (4) and you’ll be… er, fine.
(1) Know how much it costs in advance. Newspapers do have priced printed on them, you know. Best consult ahead of time.
(2) If possible use exact change. You’ve done this a million times. Of course you know Nepszabadsag costs 99 HUF. Why wouldn’t you? You’ve bought one every day since you were three. (Exact change also saves you being asked for different coinage – something definitely to be avoided, since you totally won’t understand.)
(3) Brush up on a few non-descript catch phrases, like “yep, you bet” or “that’ll be just fine.” Just this morning my Hungarian newspaper seller unleashed a 30-second question on me; of course, I had no idea what she was talking about. Fortunately I was able to come back with, “Ez az, rendben” (“well, that’s that, sounds ok”) to save the day. She seemed satisfied and the transaction proceeded with minimal embarrassment.
(4) Be in a hurry. You’re busy. You’re important. You drink triple espressos standing up. You read the newspaper while you walk to the metro. You don’t have time for chit-chat. You’re here for the information, man.
(5) Obviously if you can memorize numbers first, that would be ideal. But then again, you might as well speak Hungarian! Really, just stick with (1) – (4) and you’ll be… er, fine.
I had been away from Budapest for four years. She’s changed, I’ve changed, and yet somehow we still recognized each other. Some points of departure:
(1) Clearly the EU has been good to you. Well, no, of course more exactly the process of enacting and implementing the ever-changing acquis has forced and empowered Hungary to behave like an EU member state. And by that I of course mean: to charge $4 for a cup of coffee. You are: killing me.
(2) I was relieved to find the same old woman outside the main market hall in IX by Fovam ter still screaming “irogepek!” at the top of her lungs at passers-by. If you, like many tourists, visit the main market hall once you wouldn’t really appreciate that this woman had been screaming (“typewriters!”) at shoppers presumably for (at least) the past four years (that I know of). Moreover, you probably wouldn’t know that she’s occasionally joined in this effort by her husband and teenage son. They switch off, insuring that at least one member of the family is screaming about typewriters seven days a week from 6am when the market opens. (You see, as a student at the economics faculty around the block, you tend to notice things.) In other news, the market continues to be bedazzled in garlic and paprika, but suddenly it’s: absolutely spotless. Looks like someone has her eye on exports.
(3) As far as I can tell most of the physical infrastructure remains in tact. A notable (and really, thank goodness) exception is that ugly office building on the river side of Vorosmarty ter, which is happily in the process of being torn down to make room for something more in keeping with the southern extension of the oldest metro line on the European continent.
(4) The fancy-pants West End shopping center by Nyugati palyaudvar is still up and running – though some of the newness has faded. Nevertheless, you still essentially have to walk through a urinal to get there, so, I maintain, the shopping center is having trouble reaching its demographic (uber-wealthy Hungarians unpleased at the prospect of walking through a urinal to go shopping).
But then again, I suppose I’ve changed a bit too in the past four years.
(5) Hello expense account! No more crowding on to the 4/6 tram at rush hour for Joshie. Instead, I was delighted to find the garage attendant at the Intercontinental greeted me by name and noted that I was right on schedule (though I was, in fact, several hours late). I was then gentled shepherded up to the super-secret executive club lounge for VIP check-in, an enviable open bar, and nice Hungarians who periodically put down delicious pieces of fish in front of me for no apparent reason. I (only somewhat fondly) recall I once looked out my window on Margit korut four years ago to see a Lada explode. Now, I looked out on a truly majestic view of the chain bridge and castle hill and was delighted to find: no Ladas in sight.
(6) Margit korut 48, in retrospect, was something of a dump. RG Hungary refers to the street – the northern border of the II. District west of the Margaret bridge if you’re following along – as “smog-laden.” That was my street! It turns out my building is now blue. Was it always? We all react to my departure in different ways, I suppose.
(7) Finally I was able to take advantage of a surprisingly handy Horvat-Magyar kisszotar. You’d think there’s little point in buying a dictionary in two languages you don’t know. To which I say: patience, child, your time will come.
Perhaps this is a good time to interject a buyer’s guide to newspapers printed in languages you don’t know.
(1) Clearly the EU has been good to you. Well, no, of course more exactly the process of enacting and implementing the ever-changing acquis has forced and empowered Hungary to behave like an EU member state. And by that I of course mean: to charge $4 for a cup of coffee. You are: killing me.
(2) I was relieved to find the same old woman outside the main market hall in IX by Fovam ter still screaming “irogepek!” at the top of her lungs at passers-by. If you, like many tourists, visit the main market hall once you wouldn’t really appreciate that this woman had been screaming (“typewriters!”) at shoppers presumably for (at least) the past four years (that I know of). Moreover, you probably wouldn’t know that she’s occasionally joined in this effort by her husband and teenage son. They switch off, insuring that at least one member of the family is screaming about typewriters seven days a week from 6am when the market opens. (You see, as a student at the economics faculty around the block, you tend to notice things.) In other news, the market continues to be bedazzled in garlic and paprika, but suddenly it’s: absolutely spotless. Looks like someone has her eye on exports.
(3) As far as I can tell most of the physical infrastructure remains in tact. A notable (and really, thank goodness) exception is that ugly office building on the river side of Vorosmarty ter, which is happily in the process of being torn down to make room for something more in keeping with the southern extension of the oldest metro line on the European continent.
(4) The fancy-pants West End shopping center by Nyugati palyaudvar is still up and running – though some of the newness has faded. Nevertheless, you still essentially have to walk through a urinal to get there, so, I maintain, the shopping center is having trouble reaching its demographic (uber-wealthy Hungarians unpleased at the prospect of walking through a urinal to go shopping).
But then again, I suppose I’ve changed a bit too in the past four years.
(5) Hello expense account! No more crowding on to the 4/6 tram at rush hour for Joshie. Instead, I was delighted to find the garage attendant at the Intercontinental greeted me by name and noted that I was right on schedule (though I was, in fact, several hours late). I was then gentled shepherded up to the super-secret executive club lounge for VIP check-in, an enviable open bar, and nice Hungarians who periodically put down delicious pieces of fish in front of me for no apparent reason. I (only somewhat fondly) recall I once looked out my window on Margit korut four years ago to see a Lada explode. Now, I looked out on a truly majestic view of the chain bridge and castle hill and was delighted to find: no Ladas in sight.
(6) Margit korut 48, in retrospect, was something of a dump. RG Hungary refers to the street – the northern border of the II. District west of the Margaret bridge if you’re following along – as “smog-laden.” That was my street! It turns out my building is now blue. Was it always? We all react to my departure in different ways, I suppose.
(7) Finally I was able to take advantage of a surprisingly handy Horvat-Magyar kisszotar. You’d think there’s little point in buying a dictionary in two languages you don’t know. To which I say: patience, child, your time will come.
Perhaps this is a good time to interject a buyer’s guide to newspapers printed in languages you don’t know.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Perhaps I have some explaining to do. (And, troubled times that these are, no camera phone to facilitate said explaining with pithy yet compromising pictures of roomies. Not that I don't like the waiting room of the Georgetown Hospital invading my living room from 5,000 miles away. It's just that I don't like the people in the waiting room, you see? Maybe Luther and I should have a talk.)
Righto, but really, I haven't even finished the pleasantries and this post has already gotten away from me. It's that oft sublime nexus of not having much to say and not really knowing how to say it. You know how it goes.
No, wait, fantastic news -- I am go to Milwaukee! (Some sentences, you'll recall, have probably never been uttered before in human history. "Man, that Hitler fellow loved soup." You know, things like that.) It's true, I am though, and judging by the latest PMJ countdown that in just 28 days. While in Milwaukee (I stress: and environs) Clare and I will mostly eat, bake, dance, play word games, and in general spend some wonderful time together after what's, let's not lie, has been ages. (I blame her propensity to go to Moldova and my lack thereof.)
"Milwaukee," you'll note, stems from the South Inuit word "Mill-WAH-kaee" meaning "frozen earth." Or is that Finland. Clare promises to find the answer to this and other puzzles. (To her, I say: PMJ readers are unforgiving, Clare, upset them at your risk.) I hear they have some soup-loving desserts up north, not to mention a club scene on the south side (of what? I keep asking.) that leaves little to the imagination. And if proximity to Canada is of any concern to you (cheap drug imports? moral suasion? redistrict this?) -- keep driving, I'm only going to Milwaukee. In 28 days. Hooray.
Righto, but really, I haven't even finished the pleasantries and this post has already gotten away from me. It's that oft sublime nexus of not having much to say and not really knowing how to say it. You know how it goes.
No, wait, fantastic news -- I am go to Milwaukee! (Some sentences, you'll recall, have probably never been uttered before in human history. "Man, that Hitler fellow loved soup." You know, things like that.) It's true, I am though, and judging by the latest PMJ countdown that in just 28 days. While in Milwaukee (I stress: and environs) Clare and I will mostly eat, bake, dance, play word games, and in general spend some wonderful time together after what's, let's not lie, has been ages. (I blame her propensity to go to Moldova and my lack thereof.)
"Milwaukee," you'll note, stems from the South Inuit word "Mill-WAH-kaee" meaning "frozen earth." Or is that Finland. Clare promises to find the answer to this and other puzzles. (To her, I say: PMJ readers are unforgiving, Clare, upset them at your risk.) I hear they have some soup-loving desserts up north, not to mention a club scene on the south side (of what? I keep asking.) that leaves little to the imagination. And if proximity to Canada is of any concern to you (cheap drug imports? moral suasion? redistrict this?) -- keep driving, I'm only going to Milwaukee. In 28 days. Hooray.
Danas je . Čitate stalno Joshievo izaslanstvo.