Zsolt as Piros and Vörös

Posted in Fun, Life, Love, Travel by

You may have noticed (or may not) the several-day gap between this and the last post. Well, honestly, the weather is warm and we’re by the lake, and it’s so lovely in the water . . . all my ‘things’ have been neglected (blogs, twitter, writing, narrative nippling).

My daily ritual of wake, eat, write, surf (the internet), workout, eat, surf/blog/tweet/get to business has been substituted with wake, eat, swim, eat, swim, eat, swim. And in between there’s an awful lot of laying on the grassy beach and playing UNO.

But today I’m popping by to say hello and teach you two interesting differences with the Hungarian concept of RED.

Hungarians have two words for red. Piros and Vörös. I’d like to use Zsolt, my handsome husband, to illustrate the difference.

On Saturday, a day that struck 35 degrees in the sun, Zsolt and I went for a swim in the water immediately after lunch. To be fair he was protesting this activity, saying “you shouldn’t swim for thirty minutes after eating.” and I was calling him a giant-baby, asserting that it “isn’t swimming when the water is only two feet deep.” Plus I was desperate to escape the suntrap porch of his Balaton cottage and get our asses to the water for a cool-down post goulash lunch.

Anyhow, we went into the water for a very ‘quick dip’ since it was midday, we had no sunscreen, and we’d just eaten. This was mission to cool down.

Except that it’s really fun in the water. And two minutes turned to five, which turned to ten, which turned to about 20 minutes in the water.

So while I was safe with my t-shirt (Zsolt’s giant nightshirt, actually, which I wore to protect the area of my body exposed to the earlier radiotherapy of February), he had just a little too much sun.

Saturday afternoon, post mid-day swim, Zsolt had a slight burn across his chest. This general colour of red is called piros. Piros can apply to apples, bicycles, swimming trunks, red vending machines, etc. It is your average red.

The next day was also hot. And so, again, we went for another – but this time, really seriously no joking – ‘quick dip’ in Balaton. Again I wore a t-shirt and Zsolt went bare skinned (by the by, all this time I’m there saying, “Babe, wear a t-shirt” but he’s like, “no way, not cool.” Which is true, I do look like a dork in this giant-sized white t-shirt, but at this point in my life I can hardly give a shit.)

Quick dip. With sunblock applied.

Half an hour later, we’re back on the beach to dry off. Zsolt looks down and asks if I think he looks more red. No, I tell him, you’re fine.

But did you know that sometimes skin burns slowly? Like, the extent of the damage isn’t immediately visible?

Anyhow – Vörös is Hungarian for a really rich, deep kind of red, and generally reserved for special entities. Blood is vörös. Wine is vörös. Zsolt is now vörös.

And today we’re sitting in the shade midday; he’s wearing the t-shirt, and every time I go to touch him (lovingly) on the shoulder, all I get in return is “Ow!” The man has turned into a human lobster. A vörös lobster.

So there’s a quick lesson in Hungarian language. Piros vs Vörös. And a good reason to wear your t-shirt in the water. Cuddling is cool, even if t-shirt’s aren’t, which makes looking like a dork worth the fashion faux-pas.

Living in a fruit salad

Posted in Food, Fun, Life, Travel by

“Catherine, it’s so delicious. Oh, it’s so sweet! Finom, ez finom!”

This is Anna the fruit pusher (aka Zsolt’s mother) trying to convince me to eat a piece of the orange coloured melon she’s just sliced. The table is covered with fruit – melon, apple, pear, peach . . . this morning there were raspberries, now finished off, and a few weeks earlier there were cherries too.

Hungary in the summer has a never ending parade of fruit. Organic, locally grown (aka the backyard), sweet, juicy, fruit.

 But I’m no fan of melons, with the exception of watermelons.

“Oh de jo,” she says, meaning ‘how good’ and looking earnestly at my face. You know, there’s something about her lovely blue eyes and absolutely eager expression that almost temps me to try the melon piece. But that would open flood gates. First comes one piece, then suddenly a slice, and then, of course, a whole half of the melon she’s trying to have finished.

“Lots of vitamins,” Zsolt reminds me. That’s the ultimate argument around here: lot’s of vitamins.

So I say to Zsolt, “how come your Dad isn’t eating fruit?” Laszlo is finishing off an ice cream (I also don’t want an ice cream; it’s too sweet for this hot weather. And I do not want a melon. Instead, as all this transpires, I’m slicing into peach after peach – recently picked from Zsolt’s grandmother’s peach tree in Pecs.)

“We’re all thinking of you,” replies Zsolt. “You’re the one who got sick.”

And it’s so freaking true too. For years I was saying his family eats too much bread, too much sugar – actually, I think too much anything is probably too much. And then I go and get the cancer. So there’s egg on my face. But nevertheless, I’m not eating an ice cream when fruit will do just as well; mind you, I’m also not eating that melon.

“Jo borat, finom.” I comment – nice peach, tasty. And the conversation is deflected into peaches. Ground has been held, no melon has passed my lips.

Next up in the fruit parade will Hungarian-grown watermelons. I’m looking forward to this stage of the summer, because unlike those other melons – watermelons are wonderful.

Now Anna has turned toward her husband, Laszlo, and is trying to sell him the melon. He’s not budging either, though his ice cream is nearly finished. I feel like he and I are allies in our dislike toward melons (just ignore that I tried to throw him under the wheels in an effort to deflect attention from myself – we’re allies now. It’s all okay.)

This is a fruit salad summer. Lots of vitamins. Lots of juice. Lots of natural sugar. I’m not sure if so much fruit is or isn’t cancer fighting (I’d say all those raspberries were probably quite helpful), but they are certainly delicious.

Anyhow, no melon for me, thanks very much. But I’ll certainly have another peach.

It’s totally my birthday!

Posted in Bumpboobs, Finding Home, Fun, Life, Love, Travel Log by

Happy birthday to me! Yes, it is my birthday and I could hardly fall asleep last night because I was so excited. Doesn’t that sound ridiculous? But there you have it: twenty-nine and still excited about birthdays. Beside, every marking occasion that takes me forward in life is a good thing. Further I get, the better the news.

This morning Anna and Laszlo sang me happy birthday while carrying a large plate filled with raspberries and two candles (in shape of a two and a nine), they sang in English, they sang in Hungarian, and I cheered in the universal language of two hands slapping together.

Last night was so excellent (quick jump to the topic of language learning). Anna and Laszlo were saying how they never study English since it’s so easy to get distracted (tell me about it, I’m meant to be studying my French lesson right this moment, and yet, here I am typing up a post instead), so then I said, ‘no problem, I’ll just speak English from now on’, though I said it in Hungarian.

Which of course isn’t true – I won’t stop speaking Hungarian, everyday my skills are improving, and it’s nice to be understood, but last night I did feed them some slowly spoken English sentences

“Tomorrow is my birthday”

“Tomorrow morning I will wake up early”

“I will go to the city and eat ice cream”

“You have a nice house.” – to which they immeditatly protested, saying it’s way too small, and the conversation spun off in another direction, until I reeled them back in with:

“What will you do tomorrow?” and they both answered, one at a time, listing what they’ll do tomorrow (now today). Shopping. Cooking. Accountant. Eat ice cream. More cooking. Sleep.

Anyhow- it was wonderful to have that exchange. They have way more English than I realized and, even though it took time, understanding was there.

So that was one thing, on top of my birthday, that had me all keyed up last night as I flipped and flopped in bed. The third thing (it’s no wonder I didn’t sleep immediately) was this crazy dance urge I’ve been enjoying lately. It all started when Zsolt was like, “come on, stay up and watch music videos.” And I was like, “Ah, but I’m so tired. Ahhh, fine.”

It was a countdown, and mostly (honestly) totally crap music – except for this song. This song has been running through my head, picking up my feet, and I can’t stop wanting to dance. Therefore, I’ve been playing excessive amounts of Just Dance and loving every second. When approached with a ‘workout’ mentality, it’s really effective.

And so, as a birthday gift to you, I leave this music video. May it pick up your feet too.

Take care and have a great day!