My luck landed me in Africa in winter time. Not bad, but I wish I’d brought a sweater. My first question to the taxi driver was – “what month is it here?” “June,” said the driver sporting the best “you idiot” expression I had ever seen. June it was, and Cape Town was gloriously beautiful. But South Africa still wears years of conflict and bloody history on its sleeve – dumpy townships pile up on the outskirts of the city while mansions dot the magnificent ocean front. It was only fitting that I started reading “The Power of One” on the 12 hour flight over.
I am back in Budapest, and having an array of favorite visitors: my mom was in town, now Fischnu, and soon D himself is going to be finding a two-month refuge in Pest. Both mom and Fischer criticized the lack of a clothing rack in my flat, both spread their things all over my armchairs, and both have been diligent dishwashers.
At the end of March, on a random whim of fate my high school teacher was visiting Budapest with a group of students. In return of my poorly guided tour of Pest’s trams, cute squares, and most importantly the great City Market, they took me on a boat trip down the Danube. The photo I took is a source of pride for both me and my tiny Casio. More recently, when my mom was in town, we were walking around and observed this beautiful bridge decorated into a different kind of “lighting.” Someone very Russian and named Petya wrote on the side of it in chalk “Katya, I love you.” My people are really expressive, especially when they visit European capitals that they have previously invaded.
Bad weather that is. Baku has still not sprung into spring, which sucks because I was expecting sunshine, bird-singing and all glory. Alas, wind and rain is all I get. My first day here we visited a children’s prison where they are staging plays about saying no to drugs. Now I am convinced that I need to adopt an Azerbaijani delinquent child – they are so sweet and cute, I wonder what crimes they could possibly have committed. Also I have been fed to almost deadly fullness for the last three days and going along with the ancient Azerbaijani tradition postulating that guests never pay for anything.
Ahh New York, New York, I am definitely here. All of my sleepy misconceptions about my location on planet Earth were erased this morning when my A train got evacuated because of some “crime suspect in the last car.” After battling the labyrinths of Broadway Nassau with crowds of fellow Big Applers, I got to another train and arrived to work half an hour late. I couldn’t help but feel slightly provincial coming from tiny Budapest. As my 2 express was speeding through stations I thought that perhaps when I come back next, I will have that scared and resigned-to-unpredictable-and-cruel- fate look that New York tourists often have when traveling via subway. Let’s hope not!
The capital of Kyrgyzstan simply rules. Aside from having some of the nicest people and prettiest children in the world, it is also leading the post-Soviet space in production of delicious fresh-baked breads, really bad cognac, and foreign donor monopolies.
So I got to Budapest in one piece but with some adventure and suffering. At 7:30 pm last Thursday (an hour after scheduled departure, thanks to the JFK traffic jam) my plane lifted off and headed towards the ocean. Read more…
My wisdom teeth are. Two years of struggling for survival in my undersized mouth have finished in this tragic departure. My conversation with the oral surgeon yesterday morning -
Surgeon: Sorry, we are going to use local anesthesia on all of your teeth.
Me (whimpering): But, but I really hate novocain, in Russia sometimes I ask that dentists not use it because it’s so horrible and makes me feel really crappy (crying for more effect). Can’t you use something else?
Surgeon: Oh yeah, well you have no choice, and wait didn’t you say you were Russian? I thought you guys were supposed to be tough?
Me (angry): You want tough? I’ll show you fucking tough (biting and spitting out a large piece of the surgeon’s arm)….