Szia Jackie!

Last Friday night I said goodbye to my wonderful friend Jackie who is moving back to NYC. This brings up a lot of questions: with whom will I eat sheep's cheese on the side of the road? Who will make CDs for future road trips and educate me on 60's funk & soul? One solution - Jackie, you gotta come back.


We go to Corvinteto, Budapest's only rooftop bar.


Awwwwwwwwww, so cute. Then per usual the night devolves.


Better Bobby hold onto my purse than me as I have a history of losing it.


I seem to be wearing the same dress in all of my pictures from Budapest. I promise I wash it.


I think the question is why not pick someone else's nose?


My "sad" face attempt because Jackie is leaving. But it just comes off as...strange.

Unusual Forms of Exercise Observed in Hungary

1. Running (lumbering)in moon shoes.

2. Wearing crazy high heels to work the calves muscles.

3. Outrunning the underground metro.

4. Pedaling a three person bike.

5. Dancing to gypsy music.

Three Weekend Anecdotes

#1

We celebrated Jackie’s last night in Budapest at Corvinteto, a bar atop Corvin department store in Blaha ter. I sat next to Janos, a Hungarian in his mid 40s who grew up in the former Yugoslavia. After the obligatory “how do you like Budapest” chitchat, he asked me about my impressions of Hungarian men. Besides my coworkers, I don’t know too many Hungarian men so didn’t have much to say besides that they really seem to like Ed Hardy.

Janos took the opportunity to explain his Hungarian man theory. According to Janos, Hungarian women lost respect for Hungarian men when they did not resist sufficiently the Russians during the Revolution of 1956 (despite 2,500 Hungarians being killed in the conflict). As a result, Hungarian men have been determined to win back the adulation of their women since the fall of the wall in 1989.

How does one do this? Body building. Janos explained the proliferation of gyms and supplements in Hungary in the 1990s was due to men toughening up to impress the ladies. And when Hungarian women still preferred foreigners over fellow Hungarians, Hungarian men concluded the next logical step in the quest to win the respect of the women was to “look dangerous” with visible tattoos and piercings.

If this doesn’t turn you on, I don’t know what does.


#2

I started business school applications this weekend and actually wrote the following sentence in an essay:

For these reasons, I am confident that I can provide a unique perspective to class discussions while considering and respecting the views of my classmates and professors.

Wow. These essays are gonna be…winners.

#3

Because I get pulled over more frequently than I care to admit, my friends have tried to give me advice about how to deal with Hungarian police officers. However, I have stopped short of keeping a 20,000 forint bill in my glove department because I am not clear on the penalties in the event I accidentally try to bribe the one honest cop in Budapest. I have heard cops demand between 2,000 to 50,000 forints depending on situation.

Apparently this is not always the case. My friend Anita recounted that her friend – let’s call him Csaba – recently was pulled over for a minor offense. The police officer strolled up to Csaba’s window and asked him if he “liked cakes.” Of course Csaba did – who doesn’t like cakes? Just wierdos and people who are lying to themselves on the Atkins diet. The cops then told Csaba that they liked cakes too. And that there was a cake shop down the street.

Csaba escaped a ticket by buying a cake for each of the cops who pulled him over. Question: were these cops idiots for not trying to get more money out of Csaba or are THEY THE SMARTEST COPS EVER?

Barcelona in Pictures

OK, in retrospect maybe the weekend wasn't as bad as I made it seem in my life-hating, post-wallet loss post.


This above picture pretty much sums up the trip. Did I seriously live here at one point? If so, why was I constantly looking at the map and was the one person who got pickpocketed?


The first stop was obviously La Boqueria on Las Ramblas.


I wish I could have said I tried this.


Jackie has been waiting eight years to have Spanish melon again. One person's chirimoya is another person's honeydew.


Jacky Alexandra Barcelona, WHAT?


Duda was one of the managers of our hostel. Duda has a lotta love to give and "digs my energy." If I was high as a kite all of the time, I would dig my energy too. I wear my "Sant Jordi" hostel pin for Duda.


Aforementioned porn producer. Alleged porn producer.


The second reason I came to Barcelona: churros & chocolate.


Flamenco in Placa Reial.


A really sad attempt to mimic flamenco poses in Placa Reial.


My gazing lovingly at Jackie caught on camera.


Resting after sightseeing in the 90+ degree heat. And by sightseeing I mean walking 500 meters and eating a gelato.


The girl travels right.

Hungarian Oxymorons

1. Wearing a facemask but no helmet while biking.
Source: Most bikers.

2. Drinking a diet coke with typical Hungarian lunch fare.
Source: Me.

3. Complaining about politics and not voting.
Source: 64% of eligible voters.

4. The actual number of cars in Budapest and the number of cars the roads are built to support.
Source: HU government.

5. Promoting Nougat Bits cereal under the Fit & Activ brand.
Source: DE-VAU-GE Cereals Holding GMBH.

6. Stereotypical Hungarian passive mentality and driving style.
Source: All drivers.

7. The size of cars and the size of parking spaces.
Source: HU government.

Greetings From Scranton, PA

Hi Marilyn and Paul:

Well, now it's official. As you can see in the attached photos, the highway department put up the "Bochicchio Blvd" street sign in Daleville, PA, within the past two weeks. Although the photos don't show it, this new road leads to the new North Pocono High School. The car in the photo of Bochicchio Boulevard is exiting from a Rite-Aid Pharmacy parking lot. Rite-Aid and the new high school are the only buildings on this magnificent "boulevard".

Given that anyone with the name "Bochicchio" has a reputation for imbibing large quantities of alcoholic beverages, it probably isn't just coincidence that Bochicchio Boulevard intersects with Drinker Turnpike.

Hope all is well at your house.

Uncle Bob

I Am Done Traveling

I thought the low point of the weekend (Jackie and I traveled to Barcelona for the holiday weekend) was on Friday night. I was sandwiched on the hostel futon between a Brit born in 1991?!!? and a loquacious porn producer (whom looked like he was born in a year more like 1971). Then I met Jack, another Brit and recent Swine Flu survivor. Jack promised he was no longer contagious. I prayed Jack wasn´t the third in our triple dorm room.

I have come to a sad realization: I am too old for the #1 party hostel in Barcelona. And not like a little too old - like get me the hell out of here before I push the girl from Arkansas asking me where to buy hash off of the balcony-old (answer: Placa Reial). Granted it is my fault for not doing much research before booking the hostel.

The city feels pretty much the same as when I studied and lived here six years ago during my sophomore year of college. Oveja Negra is still the tourist bar du jour; Bar Estudantil serves the same cafe con leches; and the fashion is still the same colorful craziness that only the super confident, gorgeous or wackjobs can pull off. The only thing missing is the chirimoyas at the La Boqueria - apparently the amazing fruit is not in season until September. Guess I will have to come back then.

Today is my last day in Barcelona, and I wanted to try to find Pepita & Maria Del Mar, my host family when I lived here. I bet Pepita wouldn´t remember me. She had a lot of exchange students and was not the brightest candle in the menorah (thanks for that one, Jackie). Pepita often forgot my name and things like, serving dinner before midnight, but she was unforgettable. I also wanted to see Alyssa´s host family in the neighboring apartment and find the answers to burning questions such as whether Maria Del Mar found a husband (Pepita´s number one grievance while I was living with her) and what happened to Diego on the telenovela.

However, when I jumped on the Number 9 bus to get to Zona Franca from the University, I realized I somehow lost my wallet (and a shopping bag containing a present for my sister) between getting coffee twenty minutes ago and that moment. Oops. I retraced my steps but no luck. I am now back at the hostel, more grumpy than ever, and canceling my credit cards online. I am an idiot.

At least I only have nine hours until the 11 PM flight back to Budapest.