Everything is an adventure?

It seems as if I am moving in slow motion in Europe.  It stems from the fact that nine times out of ten I have no idea what is going on, or how to do things, so I take longer to assess, observe and then act.  Even the smallest things become a bit intimidating and a challenge.  Grocery shopping for example – it begins before you even enter the store.  In my Sparr store, you NEED to have a cart or they’ll kick you out.  It doesn’t matter if you put one pack of gum in there, you need a cart.  By the way, these are the carts that charge money- remember my first trip to Tesco?  Once you get a cart, you have to navigate the produce section which I have talked about before .  You have to be able to differentiate between the water bottles with the pink, green or blue caps.  You have to be able to identify the products, calculate the cost in dollars so you know how much you’re spending, and make the decision about whether or not you have the appropriate dishes to prepare the product.  Then, there are the pop bottles that come in 2 liters that are refundable, and those that aren’t.  So when you get to the checkout and have calculated exactly how many forint you’ll need, and they tack on the deposit for your sprite bottle you get flustered and after a few “Bocsanats” (excuse me, sorry) you just hand them the biggest bill you have so you don’t waste any more time.  Then they glare at you because you have handed them the equivalent of $50 for a $6 purchase. 

 

There is the street crossing.  I see cross walks, but do they mean anything?  I got yelled at by an old lady for not crossing at a time that was hazardous to my health.  Dare I play the game where I start across in the hopes that the other side will cross.  Add in the roundabout traffic- are they turning right or continuing around the circle.  Really?  It’s deadly out there.  I have become much more aggressive since I moved to the thriving metropolis of Tata, but you just never know.  Apparently Jeff Walsh instilled a true sense of safety first when crossing the street. 

 

Clothing and hair are an adventure- which reminds me, I’ll need a haircut soon… yikes.  There are shades of red and orange hair that only my aunts and cousins on the Staffa side have perfected.  It’s the trashiest look ever –and it’s EVERYWHERE.  The mullet is alive and well, in addition to the faux-hak.  Really, the hair is reflective of the 1970s in some cases, and just your average trashy society in other cases.  There are white blondes with dark roots- and they style it with pride.  White pants live strong after labor day (though the concept of labor day blows the average Hungarian’s mind.  “You don’t have to work, on a day that honors laborers?”  They have an international workers day on March 15^th – I’m looking forward to it since I didn’t get MY labor day off).  There are tevas with white socks, men in capris, stone washed jeans, shoulder pads – it’s crazy.  And yet, I got funny looks this morning when I left home with my pants rolled up circa 1985 to avoid the puddles from the rain.  Really a-hole, you’re looking at MY outfit?  Take a look around buddy- this is YOUR country… take pride. 

 

It took at least 10 minutes to figure out how to work my toilet in the apartment.  They have funny flushing here- it’s got to be the most water wasting option, but essentially you turn on a strong stream of water until your toilet contents are gone.  My toilet is an old school pull the chain, but I had been trained to look for a spigot of sorts… so whatever. 

 

I went to an electronics store in Tatabanya, and before I entered, I assessed the situation.  There were lockers outside of the store with backpacks and bags from other stores.  I decided that they must not allow large bags into the store, and I had my back pack on.  So instead of getting accosted at the door, I was going to nip this situation in the bud and just go ahead and put my bag in a locker.  I approached the lockers with caution, observing and assessing as I inched forward.  Of course the instructions are in Hungarian (duh) and after about a minute long staring contest, the lockers won.  The security guard came up to me to help, but only confused me more.  He asked for my name, and only on the 3^rd try did I understand what he was saying.  I walked with him over to a clip board and signed my name next to #11.  He gave me a key and then proceeded to indicate that after I was done shopping I was to return the key at this table.  He walked me over to the locker and opened it for me, shoved my bag in and gave me the key.  Into the store I went.  I was looking for some speakers for my computer to make the music louder when I play it in class.  There were several sets of speakers, and they were not necessarily lined up with their prices.  So when someone asked if they could help me find anything (at least that’s what I think he said)  I told him I didn’t speak Hungarian and motioned to ask if the speakers I had in my hand were a particular price.  He took the speakers, scanned them and asked for my payment.  Awesome.  I guess these are the speakers I wanted.  Thank you very much – now I’ll go retrieve my backpack from the locker.  Easier said than done.  I couldn’t get the key to come out of the lock once I got my bag, but after about three minutes, I finally got it.  Yeesh.  One of these days I’ll take on the Hungarians and their demands and just say that that is NOT what I want, but this was already a stressful situation stemming from the key incident, so I let it go.