Life in the village has its own momentum. Nothing seems quite as urgent as it does in the city. My days are governed more by what I feel like doing than what I feel I have to do. Wednesday, for instance, I felt like washing windows (yep, I was surprised at that, too). I actually felt like it Tuesday, too, but by the time the water came back on, the humour had worn off. Wednesday, we had water. And vinegar. And a fresh sponge. So I got to work.
I’ve long since given up on trying to figure out what makes people think it’s completely okay to toss an empty water bottle or a sandwich wrapper onto the verge. I’ve never even attempted trying to fathom how anyone could think it okay to dump a washing machine, or a fridge, or a wardrobe on the side of a country lane. And as for tossing a week’s worth of household trash in a ditch!!!! It’s beyond me.
St Patrick’s Day in Budapest has a long lead-up. From the Embassy’s National Day celebrations on Wednesday evening to the IHBC gala dinner on Saturday night, the parade today – and everything else in between – you need to be made of strong stuff to keep going. I’m feeling my age. Trippin’ the light fantastic isn’t as easy as it once was. I’m always surprised at the local interest in the best known of Ireland’s three patron saints. A couple of times over the course of the last few days, I was asked to explain why or what we (Irish) celebrate on St Patrick’s Day. His is a story that varies in the telling, but today, I was reminded by the lovely SR about this gem.
St Patrick’s Day this year falls on a Sunday, which is perfect for the St Patrick’s Day Parade, the ninth annual gathering of painted faces and leprechaun hats walking beneath banners and behind Irish wolfhounds celebrating one of the patron saints of Ireland. When the first 546 people showed up in 2011 for the inaugural St Patrick’s Day parade in Budapest, I wonder if they had any inkling of how popular an event it would become. Participants, now numbering in their thousands, will start gathering around 12 noon at Szabadság tér for face-painting and the like, with the parade itself starting at 3 pm. There’ll be live Irish music on a stage with majorettes twirling up a storm. 6:3 Borozó will be running a bar, a food truck will be whipping up 100% Irish beef burgers, and Guinness will be on tap to pour you a pint of the black stuff. You’ve no excuse. Come for lunch! And don’t worry if you don’t have your green; there’ll be plenty of Paddy’s Day t-shirts on sale. Read more
I’ve been feeling a different sort of gratitude these days. Not gratitude for stuff that has happened – although there’s plenty of that in me – more being grateful for things that haven’t happened, with two big ones this week. Last summer, in Ireland, in Lidl, I bought a kettle. Mad you say. Surely they sell kettles in Hungary. Even ones not made in China. And yes, they do.
Sometimes you don’t get quite what you ordered for breakfast. Sometimes you get a helluva lot more. I ordered pancakes and coffee and got Smiling Jack. Read more
I love a good roadtrip. Especially when it involves dropping in on friends I’ve not seen in the longest of times. From LA to Palm Desert and Palm Springs, to Scottsdale, Maricopa, and Tucson, to San Diego and back to LA, the 2000+ miles went all the quicker because of the reconnections made along the way. It’s says something about the strength of friendships ewhen I can drop an email to someone I’ve not seen since I last worked with them in 1992, tell them I’m going to be in town, and they immediately issue an invite to stay.
I had a list of food I wanted to try during our California/Arizona road trip. At the top of it was a bacon cheeseburger from In’n’Out in LA. The second was prime rib, which I managed twice – once in Phoenix and a second time in Maricopa. The third was a carne asada burrito which we managed in Torrance, CA. The fourth was a trip to the Olive Garden – that one I never made. But something I hadn’t expected and didn’t even know about was Indian Fry Bread. Read more
Wandering around Williams AZ shortly after 8 am on a Friday morning, I spotted a rare sight. A man smoking. It was such a novelty that I went to join him. We’d been stateside a week and he was maybe the third person I’d seen with a cigarette. Ah no, you say, you’re not back smoking? I’m not, but I have the odd one when I feel like it. And sure amn’t I on my holidays. Anyway, this particular cigarette would prove to be the most interesting one I’ve ever had. Read more
Sad really. Neither of us could remember what we’d done for the last three years on Valentine’s Day. Nothing memorable obviously. Himself would rate himself as more of a romantic than not, but perhaps in thought rather than in deed. Pragmatic runs to my core – romance is the stuff movies are made of. That said, I always appreciate flowers, no matter the occasion, but having surreptitiously checked whether a dozen long-stemmed roses would fit in the console of the rental car, I nixed even voicing that wishpectation. Read more
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