Earlier this afternoon, I walked to Heroes Square
down the gorgeous Andrassy Utca to pick up my race packet for the race I am running in tomorrow. Tomorrow is the Budapest Marathon. I, however, am not up to the challenge of running a 26.2 miles (about 42 km), so I will be running a minimarathon at the very comfortable distance of 7.5km (about 4.5 miles). I succeeded in picking up my packet and was headed back the way I came when I was approached by an elderly man. He said something to me to which I stared blankly at him. To tell you the truth, I had no idea what he had said or what language he had said it in. He quickly spoke in English and gestured to the camera in his hand. He wanted me to take a picture of him under the marathon banner. After I took the picture and handed his camera back, he motioned to my t-shirt and said "You're from Canada," more of a statement than a question. At first I was confused by his accusation, but I quickly realized how he had gotten the idea, and instead of correcting him nodded f
uriously. I was wearing my Oakland, CA (California) joggers and striders t-shirt. I then proceeded to have a short conversation with him, all the while pretending I was a native maple leaf. Oh, how I love people's inability to pinpoint my nationality here.Budapest itself must believe that I have truly adjusted, for tonight I was mistaken twice within a five minute span of being a native. I was walking to the metro (with my headphones in as usual) and stopped to wait at a crosswalk. As I was standing there, a woman walks up to me a starts talking. With music blaring in my ears I couldn't tell if she was speaking Hungarian or pig Latin. I hurriedly pulled my earphones out and found to my horror that I was being spoken to in rapid Hungarian. I listened for a couple seconds and then found myself faced with a silence, she was waiting for me to respond. I only had one response for her:"I'm sorry, I don't speak Hungarian," to which she waved me off and was left with no choice, but to stand next to me in silence.
Once the light changed I quickly hurried across the street desperately trying to escape the very awkward and embarrassing situation I had just been a party to. In the next block I was again confronted, this time by a man who had pulled up to the side of the street perpendicular to mine. As before, I had to pull out my headphones and have him repeat himself, but to my relief he spoke in English. He asked me where Astoria was. I happen to know where Astoria is, but I have never been there by car, which was his mode of travel. I have only been there by metro. I tried to determine Astoria's location relative to mine and give him at least a direction to travel in. I finally gave him some directions and continued walking. As I walked away I couldn't help but worry that I had given him wrong directions. I again pictured a map in my head and determined that I had actually managed to point him in the right direction! I must say, that pleased me a great deal.
But, the best part of the night was yet to come. I was invited to go to a Scottish Dance with my friend Jenny. I have never in my life been Scottish Dancing, but I thought it'd be a fun new experience, and oh, what an experience it was. After meeting up with Jenny, we hopped on the metro and went a few stops north of where I live. We then wandered down the street until we came to a community center, it's windows ablaze with activity. I was a bit unsure of myself as we walked in, but we were cordially welcomed, and being a bit late, hurriedly took our places.
As it turns out, the dance was really more of an
instructional class for beginners that provided both dancing lessons and a social activity. Unfortunately, the social aspect of the evening proved difficult for Jenny and I. As non-Hungarian speakers, we were a bit alienated. It was quite an experience to take dance lessons without understanding a word the instructor was saying. My observational skills were put to the test because that was my only means of figuring out how to do the steps. Jenny Scottish dances at her college in the States, so she was familiar with most of the dances we did. While the instructor was jabbering away in Hungarian I would occasionally look over his shoulder across the circle to Jenny who was making hand gestures to imitate the dance steps. For the most part, though, I was able to pick the steps up quickly, and with no miming needed. By the end of the night I was better than some of the people who were in the class. It must be the Scottish blood in my veins.The most noteworthy aspect of the evening were my interaction with the other members of the class. Keeping true to the style of dance, we switched partners often. This meant that there was a constant language barrier between my partner and I. I ended up dancing with this very nice man whom I could tell was a bit more advanced. At times he would say things to me, and I just smiled and nodded, too embarrassed to attempt further communication. At one point he turned to me and said "Bezelsz magyarul?" That happens to be one of the few phrases in Hungarian that I know, so I sadly replied "Nem, angolul." After that he helped me by motioning with his hands in an attempt to help me understand the steps the instructor was describing in words.
Despite the language barrier, it was a fabulous evening. I had no idea what Scottish Dancing entailed before I arrived, but now I am considering going to the weekly classes. If you ever consider Scottish Dancing, get ready to polka. I had never polkaed before, and was unprepared for the wild rotating and leaping. I quickly learned to keep my knees out of the way. The polka was used throughout many of the dances we did. I encourage anyone to try Scottish Dancing. Even if you don't get your steps just right, all that matters is that you're in the right place on the down beat. Be forewarned, it is a workout. My feet were aching by the end. What a way to spend my one month anniversary!
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