What I love about Budapest

There are grape vines outside our kitchen window. Sitting at the table I can see the light filter through the translucent, green leaves. Shadow upon shadow, dancing almost indiscernibly with the light breeze.

The Ujjerő bouldering gym is possibly the most amazing place I've been to so far in Budapest. Imagine walking down a driveway with warehouses on both sides. You stop at the door with a indecipherable picture on the front (if you look very closely you'll see that it's a climber). Inside you find yourself in a lobby lit only by the light coming through the doorway. Past the desk is a low corridor that leads into the gym. Most likely you will see a dozen people on the floor and in the air. English, Spanish, German and Hungarian flow freely as climbers swing around the small room. Everything about Ujjero seems friendly and communal.

Family style meals were not something I thought I could have in college. I imagined myself existing on muesli, bread and cheese. Instead I'm part of a wonderful food group that loves veggies and cook incredible food for every meal. I get to sit at the table cutting up fresh peppers and mushrooms while I watch Josiah and John fiddle with the record player that we inherited from a previous group. Our kitchen has a homey feel and is the place to go if you need a little nuttella (or nuss, as we call it here) or someone to vent to. Once we get the record player running it will also have some sweet vinyl Paul Simon, Queen, and Simon and Garfunkel.

I spent yesterday evening on a bridge that spans the Danube. The evening was the coolest we have had so far, with a steady breeze that dispersed the afternoon heat. We found a seat on the trestles of the bridge just as the lights came on across the city. The seagulls swooped and sailed overhead, taking advantage of the last rays of light. The tour boats passed under us, their soft jazz carrying across the water. As night fell the trams that passed us seemed like silent movies. For a few seconds the men and women riding them stood before us, illuminated like a scene from a play. A second more and they were gone.

Every time I ride the tram into the center of Budapest I feel a little less out of place. It's true, I am still virtually illiterate and can't even answer the simplest questions, but I know what tram will take me home. I have a one month pass for the public transit system with my photo on it. It makes me feel permanent, like a school ID would. Having that piece of paper in my pocket holds me to Budapest. No matter where I go, at the end of the day I end up back home in Buda, at the end of tram line 41.