Arriving for the Orientation in Budapest – Carol’s Post

Riding on the train to Budapest from Pecs.

The Fulbright orientation program in Budapest for the new Fulbright lecturers began on Tuesday, Feb. 2^nd at 9am. We arrived Monday afternoon around 4:30 on the train from Pecs and immediately knew we were in a big city: the pace, the traffic, and the crowds. Tom had directions to the Hotel Ibbis, and we took the tram without a problem. Although I confess that I never knew where I was in Budapest for four days, everyone seemed to find the tram and metro system easy to navigate. It seemed to me that if you got on tram 4 or 6 that it was a good bet.

Food

The first night when we arrived in Budapest, we ate at Rosa’s, a restaurant recommended by the woman at the front desk. We had asked her about a restaurant recommended in our guide book and she said the food there was too expensive, and the food at a restaurant down the block was just as good and more reasonable. We were happy with our beer, red wine, pork and lamb dishes. Hungarians love their meat. Duck is a common dish and is always fabulous. The other meats, however, don’t always fare as well. Too often it is breaded and fried. For lunch one day at the orientation we went to a restaurant where they served us cordon bleu, breaded chicken with cheese and ham in the middle, French fries, and rice. Tom and I figured that our cholesterol went up 40 points. For dessert there was sponge cake with chocolate and whipped cream. I’m wondering whether to break down and buy a scale or just wait until I can’t zip up my pants.

We are told that Hungarians eat their big meal at lunch at their work place and then eat little for dinner. The reason for this custom goes back to the communist rule where they wanted more state and less family influence. My only problem with work eating is that the cafeteria at the University serves the heavy fried breaded food. Institutional food everywhere seems to be bad.

We were worried that we would find no salads in Hungary but have been pleasantly surprised. Better restaurants have them, and I do think this has been mainly due to tourist influence. You can find a Hungarian restaurant that has Caesar salad with chicken, and you know that this is not an Hungarian idea. We have been hesitant to eat seafood. They have cold water fish on the menus. So far I can’t bring myself to order pike or catfish. I eat catfish all the time in Louisiana, so I’m just being a snob.

The one very special and wonderful meal we had during orientation was at the Hungarian Academy of Science, a beautiful historic building on the Danube.

Annamaria, the wonderful Hungarian woman in charge of Fulbrighters, instructed us to wear formal attire to the first day of orientation because we would be introduced to Fulbright dignitaries and Embassy personnel and would also have dinner with them. The Hungarians are quite proud of the Academy of Science because of their history of famous scientists. The formal dining room overlooked the Danube with its lighted bridges and Parliament buildings. It was a gorgeous view. It was one of those dining occasions with multiple knives, forks, and glasses and waiters serving with white gloves. Also attending were Hungarian Fulbright Alumna, Hungarian professors who had received Fulbrights to go to the US. They were an impressive group. Tom and I sat at their table and were very entertained. The one Hungarian woman, Dr. Catalan Nudgy, the Dean of the Dental School at Sagred, was a real beauty, very entertaining, and friendly. Her charm reminded me of some kind of contemporary ZsaZsa Gabor. She wore skin tight black pants with a stylish wide notched belt flatteringly cinched to her small waist and topped off with a black balletic sweater. I think all the Hungarian male alumna come to these events to see her, and I would include the First Consul of the United States Embassy. It was great fun watching and listening to their conversation because they all knew one another. They were kind enough to speak English most of the time, and certainly asked us questions about our selves. A fun group. Oh, I forgot about the meal: butter fish with mixed greens, then some of the best duck I have ever eaten. The duck was so incredible that I can’t remember anything else, except the red wine—unbelievable.

In terms of alcohol we were greeted with champagne or orange juice; then for dinner they poured a glass of white wine, red wine, and then a dessert wine. You would think I would be satisfied, but NO--- I wanted another glass of red wine. I had gone easy on the other knowing how good their reds were. They poured only one glass of each. What made me so miserable was that about four people at our table did not touch and I DO mean did not touch red wine. I practiced mind control to keep from asking if I could have their wine.

We found out the reason that they were not drinking is that Hungary has a zero tolerance law for drinking and driving. Evidently it works because the people at the dinner who were driving home did not touch a drop of alcohol. The fines are very expensive and they take your license away, so the policy works. Interesting, but I still regret those beautiful glasses of red wine sitting on the table. My only hope is that the waiters observed this as well and enjoyed. We left the evening full of good feelings. After one day of Hungarian language lessons, I proudly thanked our waiter by saying “Kosovo.” The next morning in language class I realized I said the country, not kosonem, the Hungarian word for "thank you."

This is Maria, our Hungarian language teacher at our 8:00 AM class.

Hair : I have been very concerned about who in the world I can get to cut and color my hair here in Hungary. Roberto told me to just ask someone whose hair I liked, no problem. WELL Big Problem. I don’t mean to be unkind, but I have yet to see a decent haircut. Hungarian women are too busy to be concerned about something so trivial. Everyone here, men and women, have serious bed head. It’s actually quite endearing. I don’t care who they are, what their position of prestige, they don’t comb their hair. Hair roosters abound, and serious ones. Some of this comes from infrequent shampooing. Our delightful Hungarian language teacher during orientation was a very cute middle aged woman whom I could definitely relate to. She arrived the first morning with an asymmetrical short haircut that was unusual but very cute on her; each day her hair took off at varying angles from the top of her head. She was not alone. The head of the Fulbright Commission, Dr. Huba Bruckner, shared the same problem, but it gave him a certain disheveled distinguished look.

I think Hungarian hair stylists should be shot. The hair cuts are not only bad, but the coloring is worse. For some distinct cultural reason some women dye their hair a peculiar color red. The color red is impossible to label; it is very distinct to Eastern Europe. I want to call it a communist red. My father’s caretaker from Lithuania wore her hair this color. Some might call the color crimson. I am worried about coming home with this shade because of some terrible communication problem. You can tell my level of personal concern and vanity because of my long digression. I wanted to give you some context for my preoccupation with Catalan at the formal dinner. All night long I had to discipline myself so as not to reveal my superficial preoccupation. I wanted so badly to grab hold of her and confidentially ask her who did her hair. I fear going to a drugstore and trying to read Hungarian hair dye labels.

I actually have a far more serious problem. I lost part of my tooth during orientation and will have to go to a dentist, one I hope who will speak English. More on this problem I fear later.

Back to Orientation

You would never know by my outpouring of personal issues, weight, hair, teeth, that I learned an incredible amount of information about Hungary during the orientation. We started each morning with language lessons and then had speakers for one and half to two hour segments by leading experts on Hungarian higher education, history, politics and government, literature, and music.

This is a clip of Tamas Bardos who gave us a lecture on music including a demonstration of some of the Hungarian folk songs. He was a real treat.

We also had sessions on practical matters such as residency permits and a briefing by the vice consul from the American Embassy and Foreign Affairs officer on emergency numbers, driving, different services like passport replacement and crime. We were assured that if we were arrested we would be visited once a month. The funniest part was the posting of male clubs to avoid because of scams. The men were amazed to learn that if they were approached in the streets and told they were good looking that they hadn’t been transformed into hunks by their transatlantic flight. Of course, we all know that Tomas is an exception. One man in our group had already been stopped on the streets and told he was very hot and would he like sex. He wasn’t sure how to answer because of course he wanted sex, just not with her. His wife has yet to come to Hungary.

Budapest Highlight

Besides our new group of Fulbright friends, all so wonderful, friendly, impressive people who make you so proud of what America can produce, young and old. One major highlight of the week (among several unforgettable moments) took place at the Franz Liszt Academy.

Side entrance to the Academy with statue of Liszt above.

First of all the building and concert hall in particular are a beautiful example of Hungarian art nouveau.

Besides a tour, we also gathered in a large seminar room around a long table with oil paintings of famous musicians hanging above.

We heard from famous musicians and composers who teach some of the most gifted students from around the world. There are a number of Japanese musicians who come to study with one piano teacher in particular. We were told that we would get to hear a lesson. A Steinway piano was in the room right by the end of the table where Tom and I were sitting. In walked an attractive older Hungarian man and a young Japanese man who we were told later already held concerts in Japan and had cd’s. He very much looked the part of a Japanese rock star with romantic sensibilities: tall, thin, shaggy hair coiffed with subtle red highlights, a black suit, and shirt. He nevertheless looked shy and modest; his professor was in full stride and talked to us beautifully about Franz Lizst’s piano music.

Then the student sat down to play the famous Liszt piano piece. I was only four feet away from the keyboard and could see his long fingers as they commanded the keyboard. I have never had a musical experience like this one. I felt every note, and this warm rush of emotion swept through me. For me tears were inevitable. The passion he put into his piano playing and that our small room of listeners shared transported us to one of those heightened moments in life that will always remain with us. Many of us quietly wiped tears from our faces. The extravagantly romantic music registered in our bodies and words seemed inferior.

To our amazement, his professor said, “He has played this many times and plays it very well, but it needs improvement. You should have heard it ten years ago. You would not want to listen.” The professor sat down and over the next thirty minutes instructed by telling his student what emotion Lizst was expressing with each part of the piece and then would tell him to play that part again. At times he would say “no” and push him aside to explain and play again, or would say “yes” better, “that’s it.” I loved how beautifully the maestro articulated the emotions. For example, he would say, “Now this is the dark part of Lizst, capable of evil things” or “this is his childlike self.” Or, these notes sound like when an eighty year old man remembers his great love for a woman and he is NOT SAD but happy that he has had this time. I had never heard anyone able to translate music. My colleagues and I are very familiar with translating literature into emotion that can be shared by our students. It was a privilege and a remarkable experience to hear such a gifted teacher instruct such a brilliant student. At times the young man stopped playing because he knew he was making a mistake or not doing it right. While his teacher played, he stood and watched and nodded humbly. And then tried again himself. What was so remarkable is that his first evocation of the music had moved us so dramatically. What was there to improve? Witnessing the lesson was humbling. I will never listen to a pianist in a concert hall the same way again. These were moments I will not recover from.

Tom and I are about to return to Pecs and I have gone from the ridiculous to the sublime. The problem is that I have left out so much from our four days. I will stop for now. Life feels so rich and I have not even begun to teach.