Attack of the Rabid Slugs, chickens training for sprints, or where are my classes?

This week, the weather turned frigid, and the No still suffering from hill-rolling related rashes on her arms, shuffled around her unheated apartment. Only the third week of September and already she was wearing a third of her clothing at any one time. The rainy conditions brought out the slugs and snails. On her Monday journey towards the school, the No resembled a Russian ballet dancer, as she jumped and skipped around avoiding attacks of rabid and blood thirsty slugs.

The third week in, and the No still got lost on the way to her classes. It is not that she cannot find Room 108, or 224, but for each class there are three different possibilities in her schedule. The fourth and fifth weeks were not much better, and the No has heard that because of a returning teacher, everyone will get a new schedule as of November 1st.

I have visited Budapest both of the last two weekends; the first for a wine festival in a surrounding village and the other weekend to visit friends. Budapest throws into sharp relief not only the difference between the city and country life, and also the changes in myself.

When first landing in Budapest from Minneapolis one of the first things I notice is the complete lack of skyscrapers screaming competing to be the first to pierce the sky. There is more sprawl, but as most of Budapest was built at the turn of the nineteenth century the buildings are ornate and short. Coming in from the country four weeks later, I am overwhelmed by the busy pace and my inability to see the sky. Buildings looming overhead, and the multitude of neon creating a false dawn mess up my internal clock and make me feel claustrophobic.

One of the other big changes that I notice is the amount of English spoken. When arriving in Budapest, it seems as if there is very little I could understand and getting lost as the streams of language swam heavily past my uncomprehending ears. Now returning after living out of the city, I am almost queasy with the amount of English being spoken. Everywhere I go I hear tourists and expats, trying to listen in to all of their conversations makes me dizzy and my head hurt.

However probably the biggest difference is that I have yet to see prison-breaking chickens running sprints down the streets of Budapest. Nor have I seen tractors causing traffic jams, or public transport beeping at sheep and cows to move them off the road. While Heves and its surroundings may not be heart-stoppingly beautiful like Gyula, or breath taking like Budapest at night, the little things warm my heart.