Foreign Service Animal Rescue

     Well, like most events in this lifestyle, what started out as a simple cat adoption turned out into a completely Foreign Service experience.  We'd been thinking about adding on to our family since our cat Tennyson passed away earlier this year.  My husband and I were doing our grocery shopping when we happened to run into a Hungarian woman who works with him.  She is involved in local animal rescue, so we asked her where the nearest shelter was.  As it turns out, the shelter she helps out was only a mile away from the grocery store.  The stars were aligning, indeed. 

     We drove down a muddy road in the middle of a field and came to a  huge fenced in place with tons of out buildings and, to be honest, a lot of people working there.  There were tons of animals, and they are appear very well-cared for.  I loved seeing like eight cats all sleeping together in beds and under a heat lamp.  The sick animals were caged in the office, where the head of the rescue group sits.  All in all, it seems to be a very good operation.

     A woman approached us right when we arrived.  She was extremely kind from the beginning, but she didn't speak English.  She asked all around until she found a worker who knew a little bit.  He asked us what we were looking for, and we explained.  We decided on a beautiful white cat that has one blue eye and one green.  He explained that she'd just arrived at the shelter the day before and hasn't had any shots.  He told us the price, and we found that 5000 HUF ($20) was very acceptable.  The woman we'd spoken to initially had us fill out some paperwork, and when we were getting ready to go, she asked my husband if he knew Spanish.  He immediately switched from Hungarian to Spanish, explaining how we lived in Ecuador for two years and both speak Spanish.  We all sighed in relief that we could actually communicate now.  Because of that, we were able to learn our new cat's story. 

     As it turns out, she did arrive at the shelter yesterday.  She arrived with her brother and sister.  They'd all been the pets of a very old woman who died recently.  The woman's neighbor had been feeding and caring for the cats, but it got too expensive; so she'd brought them to the rescue group's shelter.  The woman that we spoke to also told us that the car appears very healthy, though she hasn't had any shots or been microchipped.  We'd never have known any of this without finding out she spoke Spanish.  Suffice it to say that it was another totally FS experience we'll always remember. 

    Hedwig Havisham Brown    

Making Friends and French Cooking in Budapest

     Making friends in this lifestyle (the Foreign Service lifestyle) just isn't easy.  And, like making friends anywhere, it gets harder as we get older.  Now, don't get me wrong.  That doesn't mean we are lonely people or that we don't have friends; because that just isn't true.  But the truth is that your relationships and relationship-making skills do suffer when you move from place to place every couple of years like we do.  And, after a while, you can find yourself just completely ambivalent about starting the whole process over again.  My husband and I have to try very hard not to get completely ambivalent about making new friends.  One really interesting part of this lifestyle is that entire process.  In our old life, friendships happened completely organically.  Where I grew up in Louisiana, most of the people I knew had had the same friends since before Kindergarten, and they're still best friends.  Those friends you made as an adult you met in college, through other friends, at bars, at their kids' schools, etc.  That isn't really so in the FS.  The majority of people we make friends with (in my experience) are other Foreign Service Officers and their families.  When new people arrive, they attend community events and sort of look for their tribe.  There's a sense of "can we be friends" when you are introducing yourselves to people.  You try to see if there are enough similar interests to warrant a play date or an invitation to drinks.  Sometimes you find an immediate kindred spirit; sometimes it's like crickets chirping and tumble weeds blowing across the open plains.  At present, we are somewhere in between the two and kind of waiting to see what happens.

     I have had some incredible friends in this lifestyle.  Some (though not many) I know I could call on anywhere in the world if I needed help, and they know they could do the same with me.  Some were amazing friends whom I just lost touch with but still love dearly.  Some I've had falling outs with over the years and we chose to lose touch with one another.  Most of the friends I had before we joined the Foreign Service aren't really still friends anymore.  This lifestyle doesn't promote very healthy relationships outside of those in one's immediate household, and that's the sad truth of it.  We're just too far away, and the world doesn't wait for us back home. 

     The number and types of friends one makes in the FS can vary from post to post and depends on the type of community and security situation in each host country.  For instance, when we arrived at our first post in Ecuador, my husband was one of 14 American officers in our mission there.  Security was a very big issue, and many places and situations were just unsafe; so people had a lot of parties and get-togethers.  We had happy hours and play dates and all stayed pretty close to home.  This created a pretty tight-knit community of Americans and local staff.  Many of us bonded out of necessity rather than a genuine kinship, and that's perfectly acceptable under those types of circumstances.

     Our second posting in Canada was extremely safe, and the number of officers was in the hundreds.  We absolutely disappeared in our community and only had a few American friends.  Now, this doesn't mean that we disliked people or didn't get along with them.  What it means is that because it was so safe and the mission was so big, families just tended to "do their own thing" during the weekends.  There weren't many house parties or play dates because we didn't have to rely on each other as much for safety and entertainment.  My husband and I made friends with our Canadian neighbors (we never even learned our Ecuadorian neighbors' names but had an ongoing feud with them over their noise levels and all-night parties) and were genuinely devastated that we had to move away from them at the end of our tour.  It's hard to think that we may never see them again after sharing so many experiences and fond memories together.  That is a definite down side of this lifestyle:  We leave so very many people behind.

     Making friends in Albania was kind of a "ready made" thing because we lived on an all-American compound.  Our kids had 20+ kids to hang out with on any given day, and we were surrounded by all different personality types from which to initiate friendships.  Our mission was smaller than Canada but bigger than Ecuador, but we all got along for the most part.  People entertained at home and met for dinner and drinks at the many incredible restaurants and bars.  Some had house parties; some had wine tastings.  What I like about smaller posts (and, yes, "hardship" posts), is that there is always this sense of "We're all in this together."  No, we may not always like every single person.  We may despise a couple of people.  We might have personality conflicts or work conflicts and the like.  But, as I've said before, when it "hits the fan," you know that all of these people are in it with you.

     This is our fourth tour with the Foreign Service, and there is a brand new friendship-making hurdle to deal with.  Our post here is much bigger than in Albania (Hey, it's a major European capital!), and we live in a small apartment building miles away--and a 45 minute commute--from anything remotely resembling city life.  I'm pretty much the only person in my building who is home all day, and my kids are in a school that is a 45 minute drive away from home.  And, because of the State Department hiring freeze, I'm not able to work at the present time, though I am trying to find something on the open market.  So, here I am all alone for nine hours a day and trying to find myself and my new friend group all over again.  

     I don't believe I speak just for myself when I say that people in the FS have to sort of reinvent ourselves with every posting, because we pretty much do.  Every single aspect of our lives changes: the place changes, the situation changes, the culture changes; so we have to become completely different people to adapt to all of those changes.  I am in the process of reinventing myself here in Budapest.   This is the first time as an adult I'm increasing my peer group/friend group through use of the internet (and no I am not using Tinder or Bumble haha).   I've been actively using FB groups as a way to meet new people, and it's been going pretty well so far, though it's not something that just comes naturally to me.

     Meeting people and joining groups is not something I truly like doing, though they're wonderful for one's mental health.  I'm slightly introverted and terrible at small talk because I find it to be extremely tedious.  Attending cocktail parties and receptions for my husband's work are really difficult for me to get through, but I do all right with them.   That said, meeting people online and then just up and attending an event with them is something I never really saw myself doing, especially not at this age. 

     Before we left for Budapest, I asked on one of my expat/travel groups if anyone lived here.  One woman responded that she was moving in a few weeks and that she had two boys as well.  Fast forward a couple of months, and we set up a play date.  Not only are our children the same age, but they were also set to attend the same school!  Inspired by that, I joined several more FB groups, including a book club for women expats here.  I've met several people that way and am able to explore philanthropic pursuits as well.  I feel lucky, even though I am still a bit out of my element.  I keep wondering to myself, "Will this ever get easier?  Will this always feel like work?"  The truth is, the answer is "yes" to both questions.  It is what it is.  Sometimes it will happen organically; sometimes a posting will just be a posting.  I'm pretty undecided about what this one will be like.  

     That said, getting out of my comfort zone did help me to have one of the best experiences I've had in Budapest so far: French cooking class!  I met (online), of all people, another Louisiana native who is living here; and she invited to me to a pie making class.  I was super nervous, but I'd never made a pie from scratch before; so I signed up.  One hour, two buses, one tram ride, and a walk in the mud later (thanks Google), I arrived at a house.  I was petrified that maybe I was at the wrong place because there were no other cars there.  Imagine not speaking the language and knocking on (maybe) the wrong door.  I didn't even know how to explain myself if a Hungarian answered the door; so I just waited outside for someone else to show up.  This absolute stranger pulls up in her car and then asks me in French if I am there for the cooking class.  I replied that, yes, I was there for a class and then apologized for my awful French.  We both wondered if we were at the wrong address before just walking up and knocking on the door.  It was another totally Foreign Service experience that I will always remember and always be thankful that I had.  I had no idea what to expect; so imagine my surprise when two smiling French ladies answered the door!  It was an incredibly fun day of cooking and conversation, and I will never forget it.  I've included pictures of what we made below.

     All this to say that a lifestyle where you pick up everything and move to a different country every two or three years is not an easy one.  There are no guarantees other than the fact that you will have to get used to changes, and you will have to be open to new experiences.  That is what my husband and I signed up for, and we are still glad we did.  Sometimes, you're going to love everything about a place.  Sometimes, you won't.  Sometimes, you'll meet incredible people and make life-lasting friendships.  Sometimes, you won't.  As for this time and this place, the verdict is still out; and that is absolutely OK.  Regardless of what happens, we're having a good time.  We're having new and exciting experiences.  And it's still worth it.

Roasted Pepper and Tapenade Tart

Onion and Anchovy Tart

Leek, Bacon, and Goat Cheese Soufflet

Tarte Tatin

Shoes on the Danube Bank

*Trigger Warning: The Holocaust*

PSA: Let me say first that I may post something that isn't correct when I discuss this next topic. I'm trying to learn as much as I can while I live in Budapest, but I'm still pretty ignorant to most of the WWII history that went on here.  Also let me say that as the wife of a diplomat, I absolutely will not go into the politics of it.  First, I am not knowledgeable enough; and, second, I couldn't even if I wanted to (which I don't).  I'm trying to research this before I post; but if you catch a mistake, please let me know.

     Hungary is rich in culture and history, and I am fascinated by so much of it.  You can't get away from it here: Parliament, Fisherman's Bastion, Buda Castle, and the history of the Jewish People and the horrific annihilation of around 600,000 of them (nearly all Hungarian Jews were murdered) during WWII.  Budapest has the biggest Jewish synagogue in Europe with a memorial tree on the grounds.  From what I understand, the tree, which is a sculpture, is a weeping willow.  Each leaf has the name of a murdered Hungarian Jew engraved on it.  The Jewish Quarter houses the synagogue, its cemetery, and tons of shops and restaurants run by Jews living here.  They aren't allowing anyone to forget what their people went through, and I think that's very important.  None of us should forget what happened.

     One part of the history here that I had never seen until today is a Jewish memorial called "Shoes on the Danube Bank."  I decided this afternoon that it was time for me to see it, though I'd been dreading it since I heard it existed.  According to my Hungarian teacher, a large number of Jews (men, women, and children) were rounded up and taken to the bank of the Danube River.  They were told to take off their shoes.  Why?Because the world was at war, and those leather shoes were hard to find and worth more to the soldiers than the Jews in front of them.  Then the Jews were shot, their bodies falling in the river and floating away.  Their shoes were the only things left behind.  According to Wikipedia,

 "The composition titled 'Shoes on the Danube Bank' gives remembrance to the 3,500 people, 800 of them Jews, who were shot into the Danube during the time of the Arrow Cross terror."  

So I walked to Parliament, down to the bank of the Danube, until I saw these: 

Yes, these are baby shoes.

Every single pair of shoes is filled with stones, pebbles, and keepsakes.  I wondered about the stones.  I remembered from watching "Schindler's List" that they were significant to graves; so I did a little research. 

"For most of us, stones conjure a harsh image. They does not seem the appropriate memorial for one who has died. But stones have a special character in Judaism. In the Bible, an altar is no more than a pile of stones, but it is on an altar that one offers to God. The stone upon which Abraham takes his son to be sacrificed is called even hashityah, the foundation stone of the world. The most sacred shrine in Judaism, after all, is a pile of stones — the Western Wall."

I was so moved by this.  What a truly beautiful a sentiment.  

     While I absolutely wear my heart on my sleeve, there aren't very many things in this life that make me stop short with a gasp of horror and cry openly in public.  Seeing the "Shoes on the Danube Bank" did that.  I will admit that the baby shoes were the ones that got me the most.  After I finished looking at all of the shoes, I looked across the river and saw this:

The beautiful view from my terrace looks down on the Fisherman's Bastion and the castle.  Those in turn look down on these shoes.  I can't really describe in words how that made me feel, but I felt that I should mention it.  It's like I can see them from my home now, though of course I really can't. I've decided that while I'm here, I'm going to try and learn as much as I can about this history.  We must never forget.

Telekom Travails

     Today was a big, scary, totally Foreign Service day.  It was the first time we had to pay our cell phone bill here in Budapest.  See, ideally, one would just pay the bill online in the year 2017; however, we're not able to do that.  From what I understand, due to the terms of our contract under the Embassy plan, we have to pay the bill in person.  I guess it would really have helped if someone had sent us a bill before our service actually got cancelled yesterday due to non-payment (and I'm laughing as I type this because this is so FS), but that just didn't happen.  Then it turned out we hadn't paid in three months; so that was just an added bonus.

     I always go to lunch with my husband on Fridays; so we decided to go together to figure out the bill-paying process.  Truth be told, we were both kind of scared we'd do it wrong; so we brought the other along for moral support.  And, let's face it: We love sharing our crazy adventures together!!  We started with a totally American lunch at Subway, where they had neither Honey Oat bread nor any chips whatsoever.  We decided to be total Americans and get the 30 cm (foot long) size.  No regrets!  Then that's when the "fun" started.

     Here in Hungary, most people pay their household bills (electric, phone, cable, cell) at the Post Office.  I'd never heard of this before, but new country = new rules.  We walked through St. Stephan's Square and saw the workmen setting up for Budapest's extremely famous Christmas Market; so that got us really excited.  And then we found the post office.  When you enter, there's this big machine.  You pick the reason you're there from a list, and then the machine gives you a number.  There are 12 or 13 different lines, and they all serve different sequences of ticket numbers.  For instance, we were #1226 and were asked to go to Line #10; however the people in front of us were #5543 and were asked to go to Line #5.  There's a big blinking sign on the ceiling with blinking lights and *ding* sounds going off every few seconds to alert you to look at changes on the board.  It was very efficient while being very confusing and overwhelming.  Maybe you just had to be there.  Anyway, we waited in our line for around ten minutes or so for our number to *ding* onto the board  on the ceiling.  It finally did; so we made our way over.  Thank goodness my husband speaks some Hungarian and was able to make the clerk understand what we needed.  She looked at us a little scared and in broken English said, "It is not here.  There is other post office.  You go out, turn right.  It is big brown door.  Then she writes part of an address on a slip of paper and sends us out into the world to find the "big brown door."

     Naturally, this turned our already slightly scary adventure into one we'll always remember.  Looking back on it, the "other" post office was pretty much like what she told us.  We went out.  We took a right.  And there was a big, brown door down the street.  We looked at the huge, closed door with keypad entrance.  We saw no address or number.  We saw names like "Dr. Nagy" or the ---- Company.  We saw no post office sign.   This is what we saw:

     So, in completely American style, we kept walking and searching for a big brown door with a post office sign.  And, no, we never found one.  My husband was ready to give up; but I am nothing if not extremely perseverant until downright annoying.  We walked back to the door, and I took a closer look.  See that little green sign on the wall on the left side of the door?  THAT is the post office sign.  And, magically, the door opened.  There was a man standing right there talking on the phone.  Had I been somewhere where I speak the language, I would have asked him very politely how to get to the "other" post office; but I didn't do that.  I just barged in like I owned the place.  This is what we saw:

     So we walked down the long hallway, into a courtyard under construction, past the Port-O-Potty, and there it was: the tiny green sign again!  We'd arrived!  We found the "other" post office behind the "big brown door" with no address, no code, and a teeny tiny sign.  We walked in there like we owned the place and paid three months of cell phone bills.  We felt like we'd climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro.

     The Foreign Service is like that, though.  You'll go days or weeks just dealing with the mundane, and then something as "simple" as paying a bill can turn into an adventure you'll remember for the rest of your life.  It wasn't a big deal, looking back; but it was a moment that a life back home wouldn't have offered us.  That's what makes this life so special.  I wouldn't change it for the world.