For the love of the Taxi Driver

 

This week I flew to Hungary (Budapest with an evening trip to Lake Balaton).  Having been comfortable at home for many weeks prior, psyching myself up to pack felt a bit like pulling myself out of bed early on a Sat morning.  But in the end, I learned more tidbits of history and culture and the view of snow capped mountains in route was not so bad either. 

Like neighboring countries, Hungary was part of the Celtic world, then Roman Empire. After the fall of Rome, the Huns (think Attila the Hun) settled and gave their name to Hungary.  It is actually one of the oldest countries in Europe founded before France and Germany. Their language is unique, difficult (locals say), but a direct descendant of the language spoken by the Huns. Therefore, it is not an Indo-European language but more like Finnish or Estonian (with some German influence thrown in). Many also seem to prefer to forget or dismiss Russian 'influence' from years past (my colleague learned Russian in school, not by choice). 

I shared the same hotel view as my prior trip, overlooking the Danube. Specifically my view was of the old palace and the chain bridge. It was clear tourist season had arrived, and lovely international tourists had settled into the hotel in route to/from their Danube multi-country river cruise tours. Indeed breakfast felt like the makings of an AARP meeting, but I held my own. Dinner out was pleasant, sometimes accompanied by a guitarist and breezy 70 degree nights. 

A Wednesday eve outing to Lake Balaton was a welcomed wave of relaxation that included a 5 min car ferry ride across to the other side of the lake.  We strolled through small villages and sought out ice cream. 

Lake Balaton is a freshwater lake, the largest in central Europe and depending on who you ask, its bigger than Lake Geneva.  There are homes dotting the landscape sparsely overall, yet dense enough to indicate it is a prominent locale for summer guests. Tucked among the foliage around the lake are dark tile roofs in shades of muted yellow and brown which look equally Austrian or German in their design. Being neighbors, I'm also told Hungary raises many horses for the Austrian army.

 

I have a special relationship with all 'good' taxi drivers and on the ride back to the airport, I came to learn a bit more about the perspective of the locals through my taxi driver, with his thousand year old name Zsord. His view is that Hungarians appreciate the attitude of their people, the landscape (countryside/lakes), and their 1000 year history the most. Zsord learned English, not by school or study, but from the patrons he has graciously transported to and from Budapest over the last 25 years as a driver, and by translating music. His English is excellent. My Hungarian not so much. From every angle of my limited view, Hungary is indeed a lovely country.

As often happens in the evening returning to Paris from an occasional work trip, I was welcomed by a faint view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance over the left wing this time.  Within the quiet confined space of my grey leather seat, I fumbled a whisper of "Welcome Home".