Last weekend was the Bridge Festival, or Hídi Vásár. The bridge was bustling with people and vendors.
Reason #1352 I am a Bad Blogger: I have no pictures of said vendors.
However, I did get a picture of the view from the bridge, and the Tisza was beautiful as ever. Just look at those show-off clouds.
Fun fact: the yellow building in the background is the Pick salami factory.
At Borfest, the wine festival that has been going on for two weeks in Széchenyi Ter, we tried wine from the many wine regions in Hungary and saw some incredible (and not so incredible) live music.
This guy was in the incredible category. You could tell he was thinking of nothing else. I am craving more activities that pull me into the present moment completely. I want to spend more minutes of my life losing my mind, and music is better than drugs.
Kathryn and I met our contact teacher at the wine festival, and we smooshed our way through many drunk and chatty people in Dom Ter. A crowd gathered to hear Quimby, a popular alternative Hungarian band.
"Do you feel like you are back at the high school?" I asked my contact teacher. She gave me a wry smile.
Just as Quimby was growing on me, I felt a warm hand sliding up and down my back.
"Sziiiiia!" (hello) I heard a male voice cry out. He was one of the growly boys.
"Szia," I said noncomitally, without turning around.
"Attila vagyok! [and then something in Hungarian I don't recall/didn't understand. Was this due to my lack of Hungarian language, or the growly, slap-happy nature of this 'conversation'?]"
"Besélek kicsit Magyarul," I told him: I speak a little Hungarian.
"Kicsit Magyarul?" he asked. "Eeeeenglish??"
"Oh-k!" He is chipper, he sounds game. I can almost hear him rubbing his hands together and taking a deep breath. "Hello my name is Attila!"
It comes out all at once.
"Jess vagyok." I say.
"Jess!!" he cries out.
And then, there is nothing to say.
He goes back to growling, and I go back to swaying to the cheesy Hungarian beat.
And that was the Bridge Festival.