CompassComfort.: Removed. From Budapest to a small, Hungarian village.

Life in a small Hungarian village, Not Budapest.

About 30 minutes after Nancy departed for school on Monday, I receive a frantic phone call.

"There’s been a miscommunication and the flat that we have been letting for the previous 10 days (American translation: apartment we are renting) has new tenants moving into the flat in a matter of hours and, ready or not, it's time for us to check-out."

This is the gist of the conversation.

Well, this is news and I definitely haven't had my coffee yet.

It wasn't that we wanted to stay in this smelly studio flat, but the not-having-another-place-to-live created a problem. More importantly, Fancy had used our entire studio as her walk-in closet she's always dreamed of and spread out her entire wardrobe on the floor, chair, couch, bed, etc. etc. etc.

I’m instructed that a car will be outside our building in 30 minutes to collect me and our belongings. Fancy informs me that she has been able to align a temporary housing solution for us with one of the other teachers at her school. She tells me the house is on the Buda side, which can mean a lot of things in terms of proximity to the city center. She also lets me know that “Peter” is coming to pick me up and “Peter” doesn’t speak English.

No coffee (no way I'm trying making instant coffee) and this guy doesn’t speak English — this should be interesting.

After a quick scan of the flat, I negotiate with Fancy for 60 minutes of packing time — we all know the size of Fancy’s wardrobe. I quickly get to work dumping and collecting our belongings into bags, luggage, wherever it will fit.

Forty-five minutes later, the bags are packed, I give one unceremoniously salute to the Evil Bathtub and a ‘good riddance’ crosses my mind on my way out the door.

I watch Peter call me from outside the door and in perfect English says, “Hello, I’m Peter, I’m here to pick you up”.

Well, maybe this won’t be so bad, after all.

I’m not sure if Nancy asked the school to bring the big bus, but they brought out the big guns. Let’s keep in mind they are picking up one person and luggage yet they felt it necessary to drive the school van, which fits about 12 people and luggage.

I hasten to add, thank goodness for the big bus. These Euro-sized cars simply aren’t suited for Fancy’s closet.

As we load up and get into the car, out of habit, I try to strike up a conversation.

Twice, I am shut down in near-perfect English, “Sorry, I don’t speak English”. I resist the urge to shout “gotcha” — clearly he does speak English based on the words coming out of his mouth. Alright, Peter, if silence is what you want, silence is what you get. I sulk quietly in the passenger seat for the remainder of the ride.

The time passes and the familiarity of Budapest fades. As I lose track of anything familiar or any sense of direction, the thought crosses my mind that this is actually very similar to a kidnapping. I have no idea where I’m going. Despite Peter apparently speaking in Tongues, he doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak Hungarian. It’s a good 35 minutes out of the city by car, and I lose any hope of the returning to the city today.

We pull up to a house in a quaint little village and he points to the house. Well, I can’t really disagree so I climb out and begin to remove our bags.

And then I see them…

Stairs.
Lots and lots of stairs.

At this point, I’m already a sweaty mess from the frantic move-out, so we pile the luggage in the driveway and I lug all of our luggage bag-by-bag up two separate flights of stairs to the bedroom that will be our new, temporary home.

Welcome to the village...