Stupid Nazis

Back in September of 2009, Jaro and I decided to get out of the flat and check out the gay pride parade that was supposedly going on. That particular parade had become synonymous with far right neo-nazi protestors ever since the year before, when a couple protestors dropped acid and eggs on the parade from a window above the procession. It got a lot of press.

When we left the house, Jaro was commenting that he was sure we would come upon the nazi protestors. For some reason I felt the opposite. I guess I still had this notion that something like that would just never happen, that I would never be caught up in such a terrible mess of humanity. I guess it was that, and straight naivety.

Yes, I had seen Hungarians protest against the police (it’s become a common thing over the last couple years). Yes, I was aware of the gaining popularity of the Hungarian Parliamentary party named Jobbik, the farthest right group in the country. And yes, I know Hungary still has not come to complete terms with their gay population.

After all this, I was still incredulous to find myself right smack in the middle of a crowd of neo-nazis. I kept an eye on the people around Jaro. He’s not exactly white.

We started talking to two tourists who were wondering what was up with the angry crowds and police in full body armor.

So what is going on?

It’s a Nazi rally against the gay pride parade.

Are you serious?

Very.

Turns out they were trying to find the gay pride parade, just like us. They couldn’t believe the reason they couldn’t find the parade was because of a roadblock, built to keep the Nazis out. The very people we were shoulder to shoulder with.

They make a cameo in the film, btw. The girl on the bike at the end of the video, who looks scared as all hell. Yeah, welcome to Budapest.

Seeing as this was my first far right protest, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was near the roadblock, and there was a gay man right up against the fence, trying to motion the police over. Around him people were casting sidelong glances and making comments to his face that shouldn’t be written about. I felt sorry for him, because he stuck out like a sore thumb. And he was supposed to be proud of what he was, and walking in a parade. Instead, he walks out of his door to the exact opposite. Finally the police let him through the barricade, but there was a moment when the crowd around the poor guy looked like they were going to strike.

It’s amazing to see such a shitty example of modern humanity.

After a couple minutes it became clear the police were about to make their move and push the protestors back. Jaro starts saying, Ok its about to start, lets go! I, of course, with my little point and shoot camera recording away, I say, No wait wait, hold on. Like Im some sort of reporter. Jesus.

It was when the cops started shooting tear gas into the crowd it was time to go.

You wont hear it in the video, but I whinny like a little girl as I’m running from the riot police. Looking back, it was the funniest part in a very unfunny scenario.

When they were finished with their push to disperse the crowd, the cops began to filter back to the main roadblock. Everyone else seemed to be stunned. The two tourists, the ones that were wondering what the fuck was going on, had stayed with us when we all started running. They still looked like they didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

Which was not unsurprising. What the fuck is going on in this country?

The look

Being in a relationship is a funny thing. You love the person you’re seeing, but still sometimes check out another woman when she walks by. The whole system can work if you don’t let the look become anything other than just that look. It also works when you don’t let the person you’re seeing see you give that other woman the look. Because that just never goes over well.

I’m standing on the sidewalk with Noi, and we’re talking about something. I cant remember what. And a woman in a dress walks by. I must have made a discrete glance towards the passing woman because I suddenly found myself in this situation:

"

You just checked out her ass!

What? No. I…uh…was…ok so I did! But who cares?! Its not like it meant anything. I…just…looked…reflex…

Sometimes I don’t even know how I put up with you.

No, it didn’t mean anything. You know…its there…you look…it just…happened. (sputtering) Her butt isn’t even hot! Look at it! Not even hot. No attraction. Damnit.

Well you could at least wait until I was gone. I check out guys but not when you’re around.

That’s…great. Awesome. Thanks.

I can totally read you. Did you even think that look was discrete?

Well, actually, yes.

You’re not that smooth. You are so predictable. And that you almost tried to deny it! Really?

What? No! I didn’t try to…hide…anything. You know what? Lets just drop it. You cant read me. Stop that. Seriously. I hate when you’re in my head. Get out of there.

"

And now, that’s just one more story to remind me of. Like the time I watched a woman talk to her colleague with Noi standing next to me (she said I looked as if I saw rainbows and puppies in the face of the woman), or that other time I walked arm in arm with Noi and stared at a woman’s breasts as she walked by, only to have my eyes meet Noi’s as she watched me watching another (I was drunk – not an excuse but I tried).

Yeah. Those stories are not going away.

So be careful about that look. It might seem harmless. And it usually is. But when you take that chance with your own woman around, be ready to hear about it for the rest of your days.

Two Horse

Below are some pictures Im putting up on a new website that Jaro and I are making. And by making I mean using a tumblr blog and carving the shit out of it. But, since we're doing this on the fly (and cheap), we're not buying servers or anything like that. So all our media will have to be put somewhere. And what better place to host images/whatever then your own blog? Video will all be hosted by vimeo. Anyway, there will be more images coming, but its not important for this blog. Plus, it will really only be relegated to this post, so hopefully not so obvious. Hopefully.

We Should Have Listened

The following story is true.

A long time ago, in a land far far away, there was a man. His name was Hunter. He had a friend named Jaro, and they saw each other through the darkest, and lightest, of times in their adopted home, named Budapest, Hungary.

Both men were steel headed and knew what they wanted, and said things that they thought were true. Most times, they were true. Some times, they weren’t. But not for lack of trying, or lying. They just did not know all possible meanings to the questions they posed.

One day, they decided something: they would live together in an unbeknownst flat. They figured with all the time they spent together, it would make sense that they should live together, because really, who wants to walk home in the dead of night in the freezing cold when they could walk across their living room instead?

Three weeks into their flat searching, the search was coming up dry. It was stressful, because each knew what they wanted, but they could not find what they were looking for. There was a strict set of rules they wanted to see implemented in this new flat, but each time they went to see a prospective property, it came up lacking.

Finally, a day came that would change everything. It was a Sunday. Hunter, tired of waiting for Szilvi, Jaro’s girlfriend, to find a flat that seemed un-findable, got onto the website that never seemed to fail. Craigslist.

There, upon chance, he saw something that was incredible, nay, indescribable, for the price. A flat in the center of the city, nearest the most expensive street in the whole of Budapest, for a pittance.

He emailed the proprietor immediately, stating that he was interested in viewing.

One day later, Hunter and Jaro, with their girlfriends, Noemi and Szilvi, walked through this flat wondering how it could be so good. And really, how could it be that good? The owner, named Sean, from Canada, seemed like a nice gay man with all the right answers. Everything Jaro and Hunter asked, he seemed to have the answer that both were looking for.

Within 10 minutes, they were negotiating the terms of the lease. It was too good to be true. Everything they were looking for in a flat, in the right neighborhood, for the right price, was placed in front of their face, on a silver platter. Both were ecstatic with the prospect of living in such an area, with such a nice flat, with such a knowing landlord.

They would say later to themselves that they could see themselves hanging out with Sean, kicking it in some unnamed bar and laughing at some rude joke.

One week later, Jaro and Hunter sign a lease, right in their nice new future flat. Everything seems to be working. Sean has all the paperwork, both the leases, in English and Hungarian, that is custom in Hungary.

Two weeks remain before they move in to the flat. Sean states that some things must be re-painted, but neither of the men are much listening. They are admiring the new digs around them. Things are going well for both Jaro and Hunter.

One week before they are supposed to move in to their flat, Hunter finds he must travel to Prague on a business trip a couple days before the set move in date. He relays this information to both Sean and Jaro, both of which acknowledge.

One day before leaving for Prague, and three days before the move in date, Sean tells both Jaro and Hunter that they can move in their stuff, but that they will have to wait until the actual move in date to, well, move in, because they are re-finishing the floors. Since Sean has kept in communication with Hunter and Jaro continually over the last three weeks, and being the nice guy that he is, they agree and thank him for the opportunity.

Hunter leaves for Prague, and waits to hear from Jaro, when he is lounging in the flat without him after moving in. Hunter thinks he will get a call, stating something like this: I’ve pissed in all the corners and now you’ll have to piss in the corners you want. Either way, the whole flat is mine and haha you are not here to stop me.

Or at least, something much funnier than this, but that seems funny in Hunter’s mind.

Instead, Hunter gets a very unnerving phone call from Jaro the day after Jaro is supposed to have moved in. It goes something like this:

I’ve got some bad news. I don’t know where Sean is. He’s disappeared. I keep trying to call him and he’s not picking up. I have no idea whats happening. I’m practically homeless at the moment, but this shit is ridiculous. That flat has all our stuff in it, and we’re not able to sleep in it? What the fuck is this shit?

To which Hunter dutifully replies: Wait, what?

Now both Jaro and Hunter are searching for answers where none exist. What IS going on? The next few hours Hunter cannot think straight, because his mind is trapped in the situation miles away, in Budapest. Still in Prague, he cannot deny the growing helplessness that grips his gut. No…. He couldn’t have.

On returning to his hotel room, Hunter grabs his laptop and proceeds out of his hotel room and into the stairs right outside the lobby. The wifi signal has decided to boycott his room, so he is forced to sit on the stairs and write a thoughtful yet condescending email to Sean while listening for people who are approaching, wary of the looks he might receive while sitting on the stairs outside the lobby, writing an email.

He hits send, and takes a deep breath. This should all be over in a… and then, there is an email in his inbox, instantly.

Send failed. Recipient’s email does not exist.

That was Sean’s email back, because his email was deleted.

Now Hunter is finally seeing the big picture, and just as he drops his hand into his pant’s pocket to call Jaro, Jaro calls him.

You’re not going to believe it, he starts. But Hunter already does, though he is still in shock.

The lease, worth something around $1,400 with 2 months deposit and first month rent, is gone. Sean Kirkham, if that is his real name, has just conned two Americans in Budapest out of a shitload of money.

Later, Jaro calls Hunter to tell him the story keeps unfolding, that there were multiple people who were in the same predicament: They all signed leases and gave over their hard earned money. They all were caught with their pants down.

Later still, Jaro calls again to tell him that now its official, that he absolutely knows they were fleeced. And how is that, Hunter wonders aloud. Because the owner is coming to the flat now to open the door, to let us get our stuff.

For a second, this doesn’t make sense. What do you mean, the owner? Sean owned the flat.

No, Hunter, he didn’t. He never owned shit.

Much later, Jaro calls for the last update. He tells Hunter that their bags and boxes with all their belongings have been ransacked. Some have been stolen, but its still not clear what. Hunter asks about his most important items he knows were stored in his suitcase, but Jaro cannot be sure. All the contents of their bags are strewn across the floor. It’s like carnage, he keeps saying.

Hunter sits in a restaurant, a restaurant from his past, when he used to live in Prague, when things looked peachy to begin with. But as he learned, the life that was supposed to happen in Prague never happened. And as he clicks off the phone, he sits watching all the smiling and laughing faces around him, and wonders about the future.

Ahead of him, there are many things he can see, but what he cannot see, is where he will be sleeping the night he gets back to his home, Budapest. That place, was supposed to be reserved for his new and tidy room in Sean’s flat, but was so forcefully shattered by the enigma that was Sean, a con artist that caught the best of them.

Hunter recalls what should have been a flashing light in the darkness, showing them the way. Fifteen minutes after looking at the flat, and agreeing with Sean about the price and time of move in, Jaro, Hunter, Szilvi and Noemi sit at a small bar on Andrassy ut, the most expensive street in Budapest. What they think is their new flat is just around the corner, and they are all glowing with the discovery that they finally are moving up in the world.

Everything seemed to working. Everything seemed to be right. And Jaro says: It just seems too good to be true.

And we should have listened.

the Reservation

Back in December, Jaro’s birthday is days away and I wanted to treat him to something everyone in Budapest must experience at least once: Mongolian Barbeque. It’s a big restaurant in Buda, banquet-style, but instead of cooked food in front of you, they have a large banquet of uncooked meats and vegetables and whatever else they happen to serve. You put everything on your plate, take it to the ‘chef’, and he cooks everything on a ginormous skillet in front of you. I’ve seen variations of this method in the States, but nothing that you pick the marinated meat out yourself and just hand it over to the chef.

It’s all you can eat, and for the measly price of 5,000 HUF (roughly $23), it’s all beer, wine and sangria you can drink as well. This place is incredible. I’ve known people who over-eat and puke by the end, however. My advice: Watch how much you eat and drink.

So there we are, riding the red line of the metro all the way up to Déli pályaudvar, the last stop in Buda. From there, it’s a quick tram ride up the main street, and a 5 minute walk down a small side street to one of the culinary gems of Budapest.

We’re sitting on one of the wide benches watching people (one of the only things you can do on the metro). Jaro nudges me and motions to two girls sitting up the car, and I smile approvingly. Not that they were particularly attractive, but just that there were two of them and two of us. That whole thing like, Well, if I didn’t have a girlfriend I would go over there and start something. You ready, Mr. Wingman? It’s mainly an inside joke between him and I, but I think this is a pretty universal thing between two male friends. Regardless of their relationship status, there is always something about having your buddy around and coming upon the same set of the opposite sex.

But then again, I thought nothing of it and continued to watch the other people around me. We get off at Déli and walk to the tram stop. While waiting we notice the same two girls walking up to our stop.

What do you think? He asks.

What do you mean, what do I think?

Think I should ask them for a night on the town? With that sly smile of his. You know when he’s maliciously joking while he smiles like that.

Yeah sure buddy, why don’t you go over there and do it? Lets see those skills of yours.

But then, he didn’t. We just laughed about it and shrugged our shoulders and swore about how cold it was. The tram comes, we all get on, and jump off at our stop. I turn around, and the same two girls are getting off behind us.

Huh. You don’t think they’re going to Mongolian Bbq? I wonder aloud.

Naw, I doubt it. But that would be pretty funny if they did. Come to our table, ladies. This is fate, since we were on the same public transportation as you.

Yeah that’s going to work.

We turn up the side street and see the restaurant’s sign. I’m salivating just at the thought of entering this place again. Both of us cannot wait to get inside, and then we hear the same click of heels we’ve heard for the last 10 minutes behind us walking up the street.

Shit I think they are going to Mongolian Bbq! Haha!

This is fate man, this is fate! I knew it!

We’re laughing as we walk in, and the smells of the freshly cooked marinated meat hits us like a wall of heat. Oh yeah.

Hello, yes, table of two please?

Shouldn’t we ask for a table of four?

Shut up dude!

I hear the door ding and the pair of following girls walk in and start taking their winter layers off. This is going to be interesting. I turn back to the guy, because he starts to ask me something.

Reservation?

Uh, no.

Oh, I see. His brow crinkles and he goes into the other room.

Jaro and I exchange looks. Uh oh.

The man from before walks back with a friend. The other guy speaks:

Hello yes I am very sorry but you need a reservation tonight. Here is our card. Please have a nice night.

He hands me the card and Im staring dumbly at it in my hand. What? No Mongolian Bbq? Reservation? I’m not eating amazing food? How can this be?

The first host turns behind us to the girls, and they both smile and give him a name. He looks down at his list, smiles, checks something off, and waves them inside. They both walk past us and look at us like we are weak insignificant lost souls wandering through the night.

My mouth is hanging open. I am so embarrassed.

Oh my god. Did you just see that?!

Jaro is shaking his head and covering his face in shame with his hands. Oh god, lets please leave. I cant believe this.

We both walk back outside, and just stand there for a full 60 seconds looking out at the night. Not moving. Going over the last 10 minutes. And the utter fail, the utter embarrassment of getting turned away after acting like the shit, while two girls who we were half jokingly trying to impress, walk right in behind us and see our failure in progress, then flit by like they owned the place.

Oh my god. I cannot believe what just happened. I just can’t believe it.

Jaro is still shaking his head. We were so burned there. So burned, dude.

I try to get over my embarrassment for 5 seconds and take stock of our situation. Well now what?

I don’t know.

C’mon lets find a bar.

We run into a kócsma, which is basically a locals-filled bar that can fit into a small closet. Think Cheers on a vastly smaller scale. And filled with old drunk Hungarians who don’t speak a word of English.

We both sit down and look deftly at our beers. I’m still holding the Mongolian Bbq’s business card in my hand.

After five minutes of just sitting there, its pretty clear we both feel the same way: Totally embarrassed by the situation, and now resigned to our fate of drinking a cheap beer in a total shit hole.

Of course, I should have known to make a reservation. But it was a Wednesday night, and I thought it would have been empty at a time like this. The past three times I had been it was easy to get a table, even when there was a massive group of us. But that wasn’t the worst thing about this. Not eating the amazing food, ok, yeah that sucks. But the looks the girls gave us when they walked by. Jeez. Made the culinary heartbreak and social humiliation all the worse.

By the time we finished our beers, we’ve both vexed considerably about the whole situation.

Jesus Christ that was bad!

I know I know! I just still can’t believe it.

Of all the things! Argh!

Damn. And those looks…

I know! Oh god that was terrible.

We continue to shake our heads simultaneously until a loud CRACK wakes us from our shame. The noise has come from a patron who passed out while trying to walk, as her head smacked into the concrete floor. I look at the time. It’s 7:30 at night. Jesus.

Now all the patrons are swarming around her, trying to wake her up. Her husband (or father, I can’t tell) is holding her head up from the floor and telling the bartender (in Hungarian) to get her a glass of water with sugar. But before she can get this, another tells her, No get her a glass of orange juice! The bartender is searching through her bar. There’s no orange juice! Fine then, any juice! She pulls out pineapple juice, pours a glass, and brings it to the lips of the girl who looks to be having a minor seizure on the floor.

Jaro and I look at each and nod. Ok, let’s go. We get up and walk out the way we came, away from the craziness of the locals and their drunken woes.

At least something was able to make it clear to us that, really, a little embarrassment was the least of our worries.

The Illusion Can Only Last So Long

I’m standing in the concessions line at the movie theater at MOM Park. The Park is a shopping complex in the hills of Buda. It’s hugely popular among expats, probably because their million-dollar homes are a stone’s throw away from it. I rarely hear Hungarian, and I often times forget for a split second where I am, thinking I’m wandering through an American mall. But something always brings me back. The illusion can only last so long.

MOM Park is also one of the few (or last) places to find films in their original language. In other words, American films released in English. I could go on and on about how much I hate the dubbing (or ‘synchronizing’ as these Magyars call it) practice in film, and even more that most Hungarians somehow believe the film is better when dubbed than in the original language. I only see red when I encounter these people (most happen to be my friends).

Films were meant to be in their original language. Period. That’s why it’s called the ORIGINAL language.

The movie theater in MOM Park is one of the last havens for these. Dubbing has become the norm, and I see no end in sight to this terrifying trend. Magyars just love their speech pasted over the lips of American actors. So I get to the Park often, because this dubbing manifesto seems to be gaining strength of iron and will.

Which is somewhat ironic, because I’m there to see a Hungarian film. With English subtitles. One of the other reasons I love MOM Park: the only place in Hungary with Hungarian films subtitled into another language.

But back to the concessions line. Noémi needs water so we’re there. I never get concessions. I never buy stuff at movie theaters. I can’t stand the way they over price the stuff. I might think twice if they sold beer, but then I would have to pee half way through the film, so I shake that idea out of my head. Plus, I’m more interested in mentally swearing at the guy in front of me. Really, what is this guy doing? We’ve been standing here for 5 minutes with NO change. Argh!

My eyes wander the faces around me, and settle on a man a couple yards away from me looking at the movie posters. He’s not so imposing, but I notice people are keeping a wide berth around him. I mean, there’s no one around him. It’s really crowded too. And everyone is staring. And pointing.

Wait, what’s going on here?

The guy turns around and I realize why the people are staring. He wears a sweater and jeans, glasses and this funny half smile. Like he knows something we don’t. And he probably does, or is putting on a half-assed display to make people think something that may or may not be true.

After all, this is the same guy that got caught (via secret recording device) telling his colleague Hungary was broke, and that he had lied to the people to win an election. The same guy who stood fast in 2006 as some of the worst riots since the Soviet invasion of 1956 occurred, watching as angry Magyars chanting for his resignation ripped up the streets and laid waste to anything that lay in their path. The very same guy who shrugged his shoulders as Hungary’s currency went from strong to such a devaluation that the IMF immediately approved an emergency $31 billion loan to help the struggling country to its feet again, wary of the Iceland economic disaster.

This man is Ferenc Gyurcsány, the Prime Minister of Hungary.

And he’s now standing not ten feet away from me, looking at movie posters.

At first I don’t really know what to think, because this is such a strange occurrence. Gyurcsány is Bush’s equivalent, and hated almost as much by his own people (possibly more so, as Gyurcsány’s approval rating among the 10 million people across the republic of Hungary is slim to none). That being said, he’s still the PM. He’s famous. I’ve seen him speak once before (never understanding a word he said), but still, that was up on a stage in front of the Parliament building. This is me standing across from the man in the lobby of a movie theatre.

With everyone staring. Or no wait. Glaring. Yeah that’s it. Eyes boring into his skull.

I poke Noémi and motion behind her.

Look, isn’t that…?

Oh. Yeah. Weird, it is.

People are staring.

They should. That guy fucked our country over.

And that’s the opinion I’ve encountered among most, if not all, the Hungarians I’ve talked politics with. They’re all Victor Orbán supporters, the leader of the opposing party. But I see no difference between either of them. They’re both part of the Old Guard, something I try to explain to every Hungarian who happens to express an interest in what I think about their country’s political situation. The conversation usually devolves into a shouting match about why Hungary sucks politically, but before that happens, I try to tell them that the Old Guard is dead. The economic and social situation will not change once Orbán takes control in 2010 (he has previously held the PM position). Hungary is fucked until they usher in the next generation.

The country will never change unless the New Guard rises up out of the shit their older counterparts left behind.

This view/arguing point usually leads to dejected faces and statements like, ‘Well, what can I do?’ or ‘I’m just one person, how can I do anything to change a whole country?’

And it always makes me laugh, which only makes things worse.

For a people who are so proud of their revolutions, they seem to forget their history. But then, how can they look past the centuries of occupation, border re-structuring and bad decisions made over the years? That would make anyone a cynic.

And these people are the mothers, fathers and children of all cynics.

Meanwhile, back at MOM Park, Gyurcsány, the most hated man in Hungary, turns around and walks into the same theater Noémi and I are just about to make our way in to. I still am a little shell shocked, seeing a major political figure, with absolutely no secret service crawling up the walls, and about to watch the same film.

It’s like a joke: The American professional with his Hungarian girlfriend walk into a movie theater in Hungary. The film is Hungarian, with English subtitles, with the Hungarian Prime Minister in attendance, in a Cineplex devoted to those foreign expats who control all the money in the country.

But what’s the punch line?

Chance Progression

With the coming of the New Year, I thought it was time to make a couple updates to this site. The layout is slightly different, but mostly the same. The title picture I snapped somewhere in Budapest. Where? I have no idea. There is so much graffiti in this city its hard to keep track.

The most noticeable change is the name. The evolution from 'Praha in Life' to 'Budapest in Life' was a natural (and obvious) progression. As I embrace more of the culture and language in my adopted city, I thought something in Magyar echoing my sentiments in life and love would be a fitting tribute to my journey here.

Szerencsevadász translates from the Hungarian into 'Soldier of Fortune'. However, literally translated it means 'Hunter' (vadász) of 'Luck' or 'Chance' (szerencse). I'd like to think my journey from the States to the economic wasteland of Prague, and finally to the fruits of Budapest, is an example of chanced opportunity with a lot of luck thrown in. And to think this is only the beginning, that chance (and hopefully luck) will take me to new places, with new opportunities and relationships: this is what I look forward to.

For now, Budapest is my home, and I am happy to be living in such a city. I'm not sure how long I will stay, or whether I will leave at all. But that's the journey, and its good to keep the future free of restraints, and let chance infiltrate the road ahead.

I hope that goes the same for all of you.