beetrock

Well, I can say with pride that I have learned the phrase most essential to my survival in Hungary: I do not speak Hungarian. As an example, here is an account of my amazing interactions at a salon last week:
Me to the lady doing someone’s nails (entering through the door from a freezing cold so that my glasses completely fog up further contributing to me looking like an idiot): I do not speak Hungarian! (then making crucial hand motions around my eyebrows signifying them being torn off)
The lady at the manicure table (glancing at me with reproach): something incomprehensible in Hungarian (but pointing at the door at the opposite wall of the salon)
Me (entering this door and seeing women laying in a chairs, covered with crème and towels and other women in white aprons running around): I do not speak Hungarian! (doing the hand motions again)
A very kind looking woman in glasses (nodding at the hardship of my situation): something incomprehensible in Hungarian in a form of a question but with the word WAX at the end.
Me (relieved): wax, wax!

So my eyebrows look fabulous and I even tried two types of Hungarian tofu from a nearby supermarket – it’s delicious. There is a smoked variety and a regular, and tonight, I think, I am going to purchase some seitan and fry it up with veggies and rice.