COMING TO AMERICA - WHY I STAYED HERE

Prelude

I met Karcsi in 1979 when I worked at a pharmaceutical company. It was love almost at first sight. If we had been gay we would have found our respective partners for life. As it turned out we had found friendship, we became best friends for life. He had just come back from Australia and found out that his girlfriend left him. He was devastated and talked about nothing else but leaving Hungary. It lasted for a couple of months until he fell in love again. We talked for days, sometimes skipping sleep. We decided to take a trip together the next time we could both apply for a blue passport. We played with the idea of going to Spain but settled for the US. We applied for exit visas for an extended 6 week stay. My boss; Emil B. had to sign off on my passport so he called me in to his office. “Tamás – he asked – are you coming back?” I smiled and said: “Emil, if I did not, why would I ask for an extra 4 weeks, I could just as well not return with a 2 week exit visa!” And indeed, I was not planning to stay.  Earlier we asked my Uncle what we could do in the US if we left Hungary. His answer was not very encouraging, telling us that a degree from Karl Marx University might not be the best recommendation when looking for a job. Anyway, my uncle sponsored me and Karcsi’s aunt sponsored him, we each had $1,100 for the trip.

The Plan:

Our plan was to travel all around the US and find free lodging just about everywhere.

Karcsi had a friend, Tom whom he met in Budapest years earlier who recommended his friends in New York, Redondo Beach and her sister in Santa Barbara. Karcsi knew Emil, a weird Hungarian who lived in Toronto and who, according to Karcsi, had the strange habit to pick his teeth with a thread every night. (We had never heard about dental floss). Emil, also scratched his head like clockwork every 15 minutes. He had other little idiosyncrasies, but none were annoying. Karcsi’s last connection was in Chicago, I don’t recall where he found this tiny man, a survivor of Nazi concentration camps, but he also opened his home for us.


I secured a place in Manhattan at the dorms of Columbia University. Mustafa, my uncle’s best friend’s daughter’s ex-boyfriend studied there. This friend of my uncle had another daughter in San Diego. And Laci in St. Louis, was the kindest person in the world and he was my father’s cousin. And last, but not least my Uncle in Santa Fe. So we were set.

New York, April 16, 1981:

We arrived late. Mustafa was nowhere to be seen, but somehow I seemed to hear a faint voice calling my name. One of the airport personnel kept whispering my name like a secret code, and miracle of miracles I heard him while passing by, half asleep. He gave me a hand written note that read; take a cab to Columbia University. As the good boys we were, we followed the instructions. We came prepared with guide books, and we learnt that half of New York City’s cab drivers were Eastern Europeans. And lo and behold, a Hungarian called Lakatos, was our driver. He was an aspiring gypsy musician who made his living driving people around New York. “Had I known you are from Hungary, I would not have started the meter" – he said. I still wonder, what stopped him from shutting it down after he found out that we had come straight from Budapest. We told ourselves, at least he was not going to drive us around half the city. He most likely did, but at least he pointed out the spot where Lennon was shot barely four months earlier. We made it to the dorm and somehow we passed security, and found Mustafa. His room was more like a small prison cell with one twin bed, in which he was going to sleep. We were supposed to sleep on the floor next to the bed. We had about 3 feet between the bed and the wall. Well, we wished we could go to sleep but there was a party going on in his room so we missed the second night of sleep. I remember staying in the hallway watching Ten Commandments instead of cramming in his room. By next day, one of his friends offered his room after noticing the two zombies walking around deprived of sleep. So Karcsi and I shared a twin bed for a couple of nights.

They were there

New York was everything we dreamed about and more. The Twin Towers were still there, but the wind was too strong, we were not allowed to go up on top. We planned to return.

We went everywhere and tried everything, even when we were warned by kind passers-by not to. On Fifth Avenue a crowd was watching some black guys doing their regular card tricks, and Karcsi told me: “You are good with cards, let’s bet on this”. Of course the red card disappeared and so did one of our hundred dollar bills. We were slow, but finally we got it that we were coned, by one of the oldest tricks. We swore to one another never to reveal to anybody how stupid we were. I am breaking this promise now.


Our transportation in New York was free, either we walked or we used Russian three kopeks as tokens for the subway. Karcsi, the avid reader found out from Time magazine that this little worthless Russian coin worked at the subway system. Half of Budapest was collecting them for us.


Our guide book provided some other useful information other than checking the origins of the cab drivers. It warned us that finding a public bathroom is no easy task. The book was right, as Karcsi could easily testify. After having lunch he really needed to find the loo as the Brits would say. His steps became faster as he moved along the streets, his eyes were darting in every which direction but to no avail. He succumbed to the fact that he had to use the subway's public bathroom. He rushed in and he rushed out just like if he had been stung by a wasp. "I can't do it there", he screamed and I was not sure if he was about to cry. The place was filthy, no toilet seats, and huge, scary looking men were eying him like hungry animals just before closing in on their prey. We were both ready to burst except on two different body orifices. I was ready to burst out laughing, and he was ready to burst out in tears as well as the contents of his stomach. By then my head was twice as big as its normal size, my face was red from trying not to laugh. Karcsi's struggle was of a different kind. And then Macy's loomed in front of us as a savior. How Karcsi found the bathroom so quickly, how he knew which floor it was on, I will never know. But the fact is, when we got there, we both used it. Later, Karcsi recalled that the first sign in Macy's he saw read " Small Joys". Small things can mean a lot! Yet, it does not explain how he found the small boy's room so fast.

My sister-in-law’s uncle was happy to take us out for dinner, for it was Passover and he was sick of eating Matzo for 8 days. He was embarrassingly kind to us and through his travel agent we bought our 30-day Greyhound passes. Off we went to Toronto.

Toronto, Chicago, St. Louis:

Emil, scratched his head, but delivered us to Niagara Falls, and at night we entertained ourselves with the only book he left on his nightstand; Joy of Sex. Alas, there was nobody to share all what we learnt. We met another character in Toronto who worked on the skyscrapers. Mostly native Indians work up there, supposedly they are never afraid of height. Our new friend was the exception, growing up he only knew about Indians from Karl May’s books. He taught us the expression; tons of fun, when he described his wife of 300 plus pounds.

We took the bus to Chicago. We stayed in an apartment with two tiny old people and their daughter. We asked him where he worked, he told us but our British English was not good enough to decipher what he said.  He was from Czechoslovakia (it was still a country then) and his English was not the best, especially after the words passed through his toothless mouth. So he walked us to the window and pointed out the garbage can. “I work for the city”, he said. He was a garbage man. A real good, safe, city job. Next day we found out he spoke Hungarian. I guess he was too shy to share this little secret of his with us before, he was sure we did not talk bad about him. Then he opened up and told us his life story.

He was a Jewish youth during the war and was taken to Work Camp run by Hungarians. He was beaten every day by one particular guy. The only thing that kept him alive was his oath; if he ever survived he would kill his tormentor. He did survive. And he followed up on his oath. The most surprising about this story was the way he told us. No emotion, everything was matter of fact. We had a person in front of us who went through hell and lived to talk about it. He was five feet two, at the most. And he shot a man twice his size. Then he walked away, went to America and worked for the City of Chicago. Life went on.

"Corn Houses" of Chicago



Baha'i Temple

There were three pictures in my elementary school geography book about the US; Grand Canyon, Yellowstone Park and the “Corn Houses" of Chicago. I was determined to see them when I was 12 years old.  I did see one of them together with Sears Tower, the Art Institute, Baha’i Temple and many other attractions.

Back to Greyhound, to the Gateway to the West. There was not much to see in St. Louis, but Laci, my father’s cousin showed us a good time.  We crawled up to the small chambers of the Arch and peeked down to see the road to the West. He introduced us to the wonders of Banana Slip, the first ice cream that was too big for me to finish. He told us about his life which was one of those amazing survival stories again. I suppose we only hear about those who made it against all odds. The other millions have no chance to tell their stories. Laci was sent to Serbia to labor camp when he was barely 16 years old. He was freed by Tito’s partisans and fought with them until the end of the war. He went back to Hungary and in 1956 begged my father to go with him to the West. He drove the truck to my parents’ place one cold night when the borders were still open, but my father, using me as an excuse, refused to go. Laci became an insurance premium collector in the worst neighborhoods of St. Louis. At times, he had a body guard and he always carried a gun. But he said he had nothing to fear, what could have happened to him after the war? He was the only relative of mine who had red hair and blue eyes. His double recessive genes showed up in my daughter’s red hair. One more Jew who was indestructible.

Santa Fe and New Mexico:

                   Click on pics to enlarge








                               My unlce's house

We took a seemingly endless bus ride to Albuquerque where my uncle waited for us. We felt, we had come home and I believe I speak not only for myself but for Karcsi as well. He considered us family. New Mexico is a wonderful place: we loved the adobe houses, the mountains, the unpaved dusty streets. (The more elegant the neighborhood was, the less you found paved roads.)



Originally my uncle told us: “Speaking good English may be an asset in Hungary, but it does not cut it in the US, even if you have diplomas from Karl Marx University.” Yet, he made sure we met with Professor Jonas who taught Economics at the University of New Mexico. Pali, (Professor Jonas) told us it would be easy to get an MBA and stay in the US. We, however, at that time, did not think about staying. One of our biggest shocks was that most people we met randomly were totally ignorant about the world and we saw no books in people’s houses. Today, I realize that our judgment was premature and harsh, and we compared everybody to the small circle of friends we were used to. Yet, it was unimaginable to stay in a country where we felt we would never find friends. This changed later.

We went to Taos and saw Indian cliff dwellings at Bandalier. We admired Gorman and O’Keefee’s paintings. And then we said goodbye to my uncle and his family.

For more pics on New Mexico click the yellow highlight:
PICTURES

Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, San Diego:

We got off the bus close to the rim of the Grand Canyon. We were supposed to take a sightseeing bus around the rim a couple of hours later. So we kept waiting and waiting in front of the gift shop. Finally we decided to go in, we had nothing else to do. And it turned out that again we were just stupid tourists. We were not close to the rim, we were at the rim! On the other side of the gift shop was a walk-out balcony right above Grand Canyon with breath taking view.

As we sat there and talked a couple of older gentlemen approached us, curious what language we were speaking. When they realized we were from Hungary, for some reason they were impressed. Two twenty some guys from behind the Iron Curtain. They invited us to visit them in Connecticut in their mansion. And Karcsi did so on his way back to the East Coast. One of the guys was the retired president of the New York Stock Exchange.

Hoover Dam

We dropped by at Las Vegas, and there we spent our second night at a hotel, paid by my uncle. For us it was real luxury. Swimming pool and all. We got out of town without losing any money. We had seen Las Vegas. We were more impressed with Hoover Dam.


On we went to San Diego. We needed some laundry done, our jeans were dirty. When our hosts told us they could wash them for us and we could wear them in two hours time, we were sure they were out of their minds. Oh, the miracle of drying machines! The advanced technology of the Communist world had so much to learn.
The famous San Diego Zoo was cool, but petting the tongue of a dolphin took the prize. My uncle's friend's daughter left us with her room mate and her boyfriend, who was a highway patrol. Not sure if he slept with his girlfriend or with his gun. He loved them both, and he told us just to mention his name next time anybody wanted to give us a speeding ticket in the area. I took notes.


Redondo Beach, Santa Barbara:


Tom, Karcsi's old friend came through. We stayed with Tom's friend Doug and his roommate in Redondo Beach. Doug told us it was not a problem"we ha two bedrooms but we only use one" Hm. And hm again??? Two guys using one bedroom. We were not spies coming in from the cold as Le Carre wrote, but we were two guys coming in from Hungary who knew nothing about homosexuality. Karcsi was a bit paranoid until we got to know Doug and his partner. They went out of their way to host us, especially since they did not even know us from Adam.


Then we called Pam, Tom's sister and asked if we could stay with her for a couple of days in Santa Barbara. She said she would clear it with her roommates. We got suspicious. Pam explained the word roommate to us, assuring that it did not mean that her friends were lesbians. They just shared a big old house. We had the most fantastic time with them, and it was not only because we got to eat shark meat and got high the first time in our lives. It was some potent shit! We were walking down the street in Santa Barbara, and I knew where I was, yet I kept seeing the old East German made Trabants and Wartburgs that parked in the street next to my house in Budapest.  Karcsi, on the other hand, was scared out of his mind, afraid to turn off the light in the big house.


Me, Pam and her then only friend Tim 1981

Here I met people that I could relate to, who knew about art, history, literature and they had books in their houses. They played a crucial part in my future and they did not even know it. They probably still do

Me, Pam and her husband Tim 28 years later

not know it. Thanks Pam and Tim and Linda and whoever shared that big old house in 1981 in Santa Barbara.

Decision Time - San Francisco:

The bus took us to San Francisco. While it was winding its way north in the hills, I made my decision to stay in the US. I thought about Santa Barbara, New York and wondered if I ever could see these people, these places again. I had some personal things I preferred to leave behind as well. Professor Jonas also painted a rosy picture for me. I told Karcsi; "I am staying". I don't recall him ever trying to talk me out of it.

Being in and seeing San Francisco strengthened my decision. My aunt's brother Carl took us to a Chinese restaurant, and my strong disbelief in god was shaken. My fortune cookie read:"It is time for a new start". And so it was.

I called the parents of my good friend who actually flew with us to the US, and told them I would not return to Hungary. They freaked out. The father had already warned us before leaving to be careful with whom we talk in the US, and now, a friend of his son stayed here. And on top of that, his own son was about to go to the US.   Bad example. He made me swear that I would not call my own parents. He was perhaps afraid of phone bugging, although, even in retrospect, I don't really know what harm could a phone call have done. So he said he would let my parents know and indeed, they were so kind as to go to my parents house directly from the airport when they got to Budapest. I of course called my parents and told them I was staying as soon as I was back in Santa Fe with my uncle.

I went back to my uncle in Santa Fe, Karcsi, continued on to New York. 

I had times when I did not know if my decision was right for me or not. I was always sure it was right for my daughter. Today, I know it was the hardest and the best decision I have made.

FINLAND

Summer House - Finnish Archipelago

Misconceptions about the weather and other stories

2004. Summer trip to Finland

 

 August Night

I had to go in the summer, because it is common knowledge, that only those survive more than 10 minutes outside who are wrapped up in animal furs. It is especially dangerous for those of us who have thinning hairlines and no hair on our backs. I fit both of these categories. During the planning phase, associations zigzagged in my brain making me doubt my own sanity, questioning my decision to spend my summer vacation near the Arctic Circle. White Nights, White Christmas, snow, Russia, Finland, cold. I knew the nights would be long, and it is of no coincidence that they are called White Nights. Or do the White Nights stop at the border between Russia and Finland, and Finns only have Midsummer Nights? I was afraid of what I would find.

Sauna boat

We arrived with only a couple of suitcases in which I packed all 5 of my sweaters. We left warm, fuzzy but tornado prone Cincinnati behind. We got to Finland and the mercury never dipped under 30 C. The water was warm, I thought we got hijacked and arrived to the Caribbean.

Well, I am not complaining. Finland is a wonderful and beautiful country and the archipelago is amazing. We hopped from island to island, most of us fearlessly sharing the pleasant sea waters with poisonous snakes. I and my daughter were the only two outsiders thus - to put it mildly - we were slightly less fearless. Nevertheless, we still enjoyed the midnight saunas and ran down on the rocky shore like giddy children to dip our naked bodies into the waters during the endless twilights that almost seamlessly met the morning dawns.

And the food! Fish - no surprise, they are around - but the variety and the different ways of serving them, are amazing. And you can catch them fresh, just as you can find all sorts of berries and mushrooms in the wild. All you need then is a mother-in-law or a sister-in-law to prepare them the proper Finnish way. And I had both right there and they did their best to please me. I guess they might have been happy to see Joanna as well.

Winter trip to Finland

 Nokia boot

So we had to return in winter. We persuaded our friend Mark to join us in exploring the icy north, the walks on the frozen Northern Sea. Winters are long and harsh in Finland. Or so we were told. Mark and I are not convinced any more. We arrived in March. According to the natives March is still very much a winter month. The sun was shining, the ice – share a couple small patches shaded by rocks – were all but gone. So much for driving, let alone skiing or walking on the frozen sea. But I am not complaining; Finland is a wonderful and beautiful country with amazing people and food. Everybody speaks English and who knows how many other languages. The technology is far advanced, virtually nobody has a land-line telephone any more. Nokia rules. Maybe Nokia changed profiles from making rubber boots to mass producing mobile phones because the Finnish winters are over!

But technology struck us in Helsinki. We visited my mother-in-law in one of the marvels of the famous Finnish architecture. Well, she lived in one of the houses of the conglomerates of ugly looking buildings that actually feature wonderful apartments with fantastic balconies.

Two of the victims

Food is awaiting

Panic?

She lived on the fifth or perhaps sixth floor. We decided to take the elevator. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Except for my backpack. One of the tiny little straps of my backpack got stuck in the door of the elevator as it started to ascend on its way towards the next wonder of Finnish cookery. The elevator stopped, the strap did not budge, nor could we even cut it off. And we had no Nokia! No panic button available, although there was plenty of panic amongst the passengers. For different reasons: one was worried about her mother not knowing where her little girl was, one was worried about the time before he could get to the bathroom, and one was worried about the food getting cold. Finally our saving angel arrived, a woman who wanted to use the elevator was kind enough to inform Joanna's mom about our imprisonment and also called maintenance. Of course it had happened on a Sunday. Repair arrived in about an hour, he came from the other end of Helsinki.

I returned many times to this wonderful faraway North Country, whose people, unlike mine, treat minorities well, whose language to foreigners sound the same as mine. But the Finns recognizing that nobody will learn their language took the effort to learn other, more useful tongues. Unlike the Hungarians who believe that their often cited story should actually be followed:

 A foreigner arrives in Budapest and stops two men on the street and asks for direction:

- Pardon me, do you speak English?

The Hungarians just shake their heads

- Parlez-vous français? he tries a second time

Again, only head shakes

- Sprechen Sie Deutsch? - asks the man still smiling.

Now the Hungarians start looking annoyed and begin to talk to him in Hungarian.

The man becomes desperate, trying to pull out some words from his deepest memories in Russian and Italian.

Still no answer. So the man gives up.

The two Hungarians walk by talking: - Did you hear this man, he must have spoken five different languages.

So? - shrugs the other - he did not get too far with them, did he?

For better view of pictures please click on them.


Or click on the yellow highlight to view more PICTURES

If you enjoy reading about about other people's travel's, I recommend my friend's blog about INDIA  Click on it!

HUNGARY - CURRENT EVENTS

DANIEL: THE DANUBE IS CALLING
AND THE TRAINS ARE WAITING



Translation with explanation: Daniel, you will either be shot and thrown into the Danube or be taken to Auschwitz.

Warning: This is not a totally objective post, it is my opinion, and I stand by it!

Many of my friends, or more humbly, a few have asked me to write and explain what is going on in Hungary. I suppose, lately you read and heard about Hungary in the news more often than before. It would be a complicated endeavor, requiring many historical references, to paint a clear picture of the current events in Hungary. I also think that it would be way beyond my competence to summarize everything. However, I think that if you read this story, describing one incident that occurred last week, you will at least get a feeling of the prevailing atmosphere in my native country.

Short background leading to the incident:

There is a tendency in Hungary to forget the past, or rather to falsify and glorify the past, rewrite history. It is true about the distant past and even more true about the recent past. A new generation is being taught or will be taught about the period between the two world wars, as being the glory days of Hungary. Children, according to the newly proposed education program, will learn about writers I have never even heard about, whose only claim to fame is that they were openly anti-Semitic. Statues are being removed, streets are being renamed. (Roosevelt Square close to the Houses of Parliament is now called Széchenyi Square, and Moscow Square is now Széll Kálmán Square, just to mention a few). The statue of Mihály Károlyi, the first prime minister of a democratic Hungary in the XX. century was removed from its original place. Just a few months earlier, right wing hooligans with the support of Jobbik, an ultra-right party occupying 8% of the seats in parliament, poured paint on it.  The demonstrators placed a Jewish yarmulke on Károlyi's head and hung a sign around his neck reading:"I am responsible for Trianon". (During the Trianon peace treaty Hungary lost significant territories after the World War One).

The incident:

In this atmosphere, one small town decided to erect a statue in honor of the late Regent of Hungary, Admiral Horthy. Horthy ruled Hungary from 1919 to 1944. Under his rule communists, socialist, leftists and Jews were imprisoned, tortured and killed. During his time the first Jewish law of Europe was introduced.  Jews lost their jobs, their properties and finally, many lost their lives. About 600,000 Jews were sent to concentration camps. Here is an excerpt from Horthy’s letter to his prime minister:

“Concerning the Jewish question, I was an ant-Semite all my life, never having any contact with Jews. It is unbearable, that in Hungary, all factories, banks, shops, stores, theaters, news media, etc. are owned by Jews. This projects an impression of Hungarians – especially abroad – as if we were Jews. However, because I consider raising the standard of living as one of the most important task of governing, we must grow our wealth. It is impossible to exchange the Jews, who own everything, – by pompous loudmouths in just one or two years, because we go broke. We need at least a couple of decades to accomplish that. Perhaps I was the first one to advertise anti-Semitism loudly; however, I cannot watch quietly the inhuman, sadistic and unwise humiliations, as long as we still need them.”

This letter was written after a new law limited the number of Jews who were allowed to partake in business, higher education, science and cultural life. Some Hungarian aristocrats, land owners, scientists protested in an open letter, saying they do not consider themselves so utterly talentless that they would need protection from the Jews. Please note the last highlighted part of Horthy’s answer.

When news of the erection of the statue became public, there were a few protesting articles in the still existing liberal media, but the event nevertheless took place. Peter Daniel, an openly liberal lawyer announced that he would pour red paint on the statue. His action will be in protest and showing respect to the many victims of the Horthy regime. It was not the first open and wild action of Daniel. He refuses to be afraid, even though his name and address appear on right wing hate sites on the Internet. He received several threats against his life. One of his parents was Jewish and many of his ancestors were murdered in Auschwitz. Other relatives of his, with no Jewish background, died in the insane war ordered by Horthy’s government.

The picture at the beginning of the post was taken at a soccer game. No action, as of yet, has been taken against Daniel for vandalism. No doubt it will happen. No action, as of yet, has been taken against the people who held the transparent at the soccer game, or against the owner of the soccer club, or against the soccer club. No doubt that they will go unpunished.

Today's news:

As I wrote this, another disturbing piece of news caught my attention. In retaliation of the Horthy statue incident, the statue of Wallenberg, the Swedish diplomat, who rescued countless Jews (my grandfather included), was desecrated. Pig feet were hung on it. It is because the ones who erected Horthy were not anti-Semites.




And in conclusion:

I do not agree with Peter Daniel's action. The goal does not justifies the means. But something has to happen, or rather something has to be done, otherwise Hungary would inevitably slide further and further down on a very slippery slope and there will be no way to recover from the place where this road leads, at least not in our lifetime.

For updates on current event in Hungary on a daily basis I recommend to click on the yellow highlight. It is a well written liberal website. HUNGARIAN SPECTRUM

FROM BEHIND THE IRON CURTAIN



Marci who shared this experience with me
(Advice: click on pics for better view)

The year was 1974. My friend Marci and I decided to go and travel in Western Europe in the summer. Sounds like a simple plan but we lived in Hungary and getting a special passport, a blue one, was never a sure thing. People who lived in the People’s Republic of Hungary could obtain a red passport fairly easily, valid for the “Friendly Socialist” countries with the exception of the Soviet Union. For the rest of the world one had to apply for a blue passport. That was issued with one exit visa (if it was issued) and could only be obtained every three years, or if you had someone who vouched for you and paid your expenses then you could apply every other year. Well Marci and I got lucky and we were the proud owners of two blue passports by March with valid exit visas. Mine was good for 60 days, his for 30. My uncle sponsored me so I had legal means to obtain hard currency.  Marci on the other hand was a regular tourist and he could only buy 70 dollars which of course was not enough. More foreign currency had to be bought on the black market and smuggled out of the country.  Marci’s father, a real crafty book worm, who not only loved to read books but was a master amateur book binder as well, was able to hide anything inside a book cover. It was done so well that I, who knew where the money was hidden, could not actually believe that it was there.

Amsterdam, I am in the middle
in front of the dorm where we crashed

I spent four weeks in London, before Marci joined me. We roamed around Trafalgar Square and ran into one of our classmates who proudly pointed out his T-Shirt from Karl Marx University, the school we all attended. Our friend explained to everybody who cared to listen why Hungary is the best place in the world: “Socialism is better than Capitalism and Hungary is the best country of the Socialist block” he beamed. Did he really believe this? If he did, his belief did not last too long, two years later he left Hungary for Israel.

Marci hitchhiking
I don't recall even a single lift

Marci and I spent most of our nights at hostels. We talked to somebody from the US, who asked us where we came from. We told him we were from Hungary, he looked at us curiously, we could tell he was searching his brain, he was almost in pain trying to remember something, then his eyes cleared out and he said: “I never heard about that state!”  We turned our attention to an Australian girl, who may not have been smarter, but certainly looked ten times better in her tank top.  We competed in a friendly way for her attention.  Marci, (who knows why), decided to correct my English, making sure that the Ausie understood me when I mispronounced the word “recognize”. A lesson learnt for life!

Auditioning for the royal guards
in Copie

We took the train back to the continent and stayed at the most appalling hostel in Brussels. Fifty plus young, sweaty males with minimal shower capacity in one room with one window that did not open. This did not stop us from hooking up with a pretty Finnish blond. She was everything we though Scandinavia was all about.

Still trying out for a job

Copie was still cool

Marci, biking in Copie

But, on we went to Amsterdam. There we found out that: “Copie (Copenhagen) is a real cool place, but Amsterdam has already been fucked up by the Commies”. This wisdom was shared with us free of charge by a Hungarian émigré, Miklos. Miklos's claim to fame was that he supposedly was a close friend of Cintula, a well know D.J. in Hungary.  As we were strolling around in the red light district he heard us talking and in his infinite wisdom he realized we were also from Hungary. I think he filled us in with tons of other useful information but I only remember this most important one. (Actually I only remember because Marci reminded me). But he invited us to the only still acceptable club in Amsterdam. It was an exclusive club, but at the door we went to the front of the line and said, as instructed:  ”We came to see Miklos at the cinema”. The bouncers let us in for free, aggravating the rest of the crowd waiting to be admitted. Inside we somehow found our way to the cinema by stepping over the movie watchers who were lying on the carpet stoned out of their minds. Miklos was the engineer running the projector. He was still lucid. He offered us some hash, (Marci thinks it was Marijuana) which we took, but it seemed to have no effect on us. That is all I remember of Amsterdam. Anyway, the rest was all fucked up, so we bailed and went to Copie as fast as we could.

The Yogurt

In Denmark

 In Copenhagen  we were supposed to stay with an old friend of my mother. They have not seen each other for years. We called her but only got the answering machine, in Danish. Having no better idea, we went to her house but the answering machine did not open the door. Upstairs the neighbor was kind enough to tell us what the message was. Irrelevant mambo jumbo, asking people to leave a message. (First encounter with an answering machine). The kind neighbors let us wait for our would-be host in their place. She showed up around midnight. Marci and I almost starved to death by then, truth be told we were offered one cracker each.

On my way to Copie

Next day Marci had to play the piano, (god only knows why), I went out to the city. Well Miklos was right, Copie was a cool place. Not that I think Amsterdam was fucked up by the Commies. In fact, Denmark was a real cool place. We ate yogurt with fruit for the first time, and saw milk sold in cartoons and not in bottles or plastic bags that leak. The Danes all spoke English but when they spoke in Danish, their guttural language scared us, put us on alert, in constant panic, because we thought they were going to throw up any minute. Today, I know that this sound is a characteristic of all Scandinavian languages, but Danish takes the prize.

We had bikes and got to bike in the cemetery where Kierkegaard was buried. My mother’s friend hooked us up with two nice Danish girls. We got to see the house of my father’s business client, who used to be the goalie of the Danish national soccer team. We were in awe when we saw his house. His son took us out to a club, the Purple Door. And the door was purple.

After I was able to pull Marci out of the 103^rd porn shop of Copenhagen, we took the train back to Hungary through East Germany. (Here our memories differ. Marci thinks we took a boat to Rostock.  I think we took the train that went on a ship and took us to Warnemünde. Marci's ticket, which he purchased in advance in Hungary, read Warnemünde mit See. The Danish conductor, the only Dane who spoke no English, wanted us to pay about 200 dollars because we were not going to mit See, which he thought was a town. <for those few who speak even less German than I, mit See means via sea>. We had altogether 20 dollars, which we were not about to give up. )

Somehow we ended up in East Berlin. I missed the chance to cross over to West Berlin because Marci’s exit visa expired, or he did not have a re-entry visa to West Germany. Whatever. East Berlin and the East German border patrol stank. Not that the Hungarians were better. They wanted to take away my Solzhenitsyn book. But fortunately they found Marci’s Playboy magazines, they preferred them. Actually, they just thumbed through them and they gave them back. We breathed easier, if not freer, we arrived back behind the iron curtain.

THE FRIDAY NIGHT MUNCHIES

The Munchies!

(Before I will be accused of plagiarism, I must give at least partial credit to Russell for today’s title. It was he, who used Munchies first).

Ludlow, KY, American Food



Chinese Buffet, Kentucky



About a year and a half ago we were sitting at our porch - it was one of those rare days in Cincinnati when it was actually possible to sit outside without sweating or being killed by mosquitoes -  James, our friend and tenant, invited some people over for dinner. It was fun; they were talking about doing it next Friday and the Friday after. Joanna and I were desperate to be invited, to be part of this fun group. The leader, and as we found out later, the undisputed decision maker, was dictator Russell.

Got Big, At A's House

At Our House, Vietnamese Food

AI met Russell for the first time about six months earlier. I found him a bit strange. We were at party at the house of his friend and he acted as a caretaker, or at least as the man who is in charge of protecting everything. I must have come across as one of the most dangerous people when it came to pouring juice, for every time I lifted the O.J. bottle, Russell mysteriously appeared, grabbed the bottle out of my hand and poured for me. I was not sure if he wants me to drink less, or just wanted to make sure that I did not spill the sticky liquid around. Which, I can confess now, was not in my plans.

On Our Steps After Dinner

Jamaican

Anyway, Joanna and I finagled our way into the group. Our first dinner was at a “hidden” restaurant, ran by a Mexican family who cooked in their house and let us occupy their tiny living room by squeezing the twelve of us around a small table. The food was delicious. We were in Mexico for a short time, with no air conditioning but with authentic food. It evolved from there. Every Friday, we are anxiously waiting for R.’s pick, is it going to be Chinese, Vietnamese, Ethiopian, Mexican or just some fried fish? We offered our home several times and we visited Dean’s and Alla’s wonderful places close to downtown. Whether it is take out or eat at a restaurant the food is always good, but the company is better.

Cambodian

We have people from Hungary, Finland, (to start with the obvious ones), Russia, Lebanon, Columbia, Chile, China, Scotland and of course from the US. (And other countries I can’t remember now).The age of the group varies between 17 and 92. We discuss just about any topics with passion. And Russell, our leader, takes fantastic photographs. Most of us love the pictures except S., who apparently has some phobia when it comes to being photographed. Russell takes his time, he orders us around, makes sure that we don’t talk or breeze for at least 5 minutes, and then he shoots the pictures.  Then he retakes the pictures, and then he retakes them again. We all think that the first ones are prefect, but it is hard to please Russell’s keen eyes. Then he sends us a picture late at night, the one he likes. No discussion, he makes the decision.

Last Friday we went to a Middle Easter/Greek restaurant. Russell wanted to take a million dollar picture so he decided that we should all pose as the character in Munch’s picture; “The Scream”. So after munching on our food we became the Munchies.

Some people have the good luck of visiting us in Cincinnati and join us for these dinners. But for me I cannot imagine Friday nights without them.

Bit More Formal At Our House And It
Really Was Not On Friday