Bombs, Bands and Bards

This week has produced some good stories. So, I'll try not to be too long winded, but here they are:

Last Friday I came home to find my block and the entrance to my apartment surrounded by the police. I walked up to the cops at my apartment to see if I could go inside, and they said "nem," which I recognize as no, and then they started speaking quickly about, "THE BOMBA." Despite my limited Hungarian, I am savvy enough to recognize the word bomb in a foreign language, especially when the policeman makes exploding guesstures with his hands as he repeats, "Bomba." It was at this time that I notice my neighbors sitting around the nearby sidewalks, somberly gathered like a block party that just ran out of beer. Naturally I am a little concerned, because no one wants to hear the words bomb and be denied access to their flat. So, I called Mike and he brought Balazs, our official translator, to the scene to investigate. It turns out that in the huge construction site behind our house (see the pictures in my previous blog), the workers found a 40 kg (I weigh 54 kgs to put that into perspective) shrapnel grenade from WWII that had not been detonated. So, I couldn't get into my flat until the bomb squad moved it. Yikes. I'm thankful that I wasn't home when they evacuated our flat, but at the same time, it would have been an amusing site to see the 50 macho construction workers fleeing the scene. As my sister, said, "It's just another day in Eastern Europe."

Mike and I made it to Sziget, the biggest music festival in Europe on Friday night and Saturday. Here, approximately 400,000 visitors take over an island on the Danube, where there are multiple stages, food, games, booths - just about everything you could think of. Wherever there wasn't a palinka stand or a stage, there seemed to be wall-to-wall tents for the campers. The event was fun, but crowded. The big name show that we caught was Nine Inch Nails, and they were awful, but I've never liked them. We lasted about four songs at that stage, and then moved to a drag show instead, which was much more amusing, mostly because they weren't attractive drag queens, but were overweight, middle-aged Hungarian and Austrian men (sans one attractive Parisian). As it was Mike's first drag show, I think he's scarred. We also went into this cool structure called a Luminarium. It is a like a blow-up house for adults on drugs, but it was fun sober too. There are multiple rooms, plastic forests, with ambient music playing and people reclining onto walls that felt like Twister boards. That is what the pictures are of at the beginning of this post.

Last night, I went to the first Bardroom event since I arrived. This is a network of ex-patriat literati, who host events, readings and open-mics. The event had two very talented featured writers, and then an open-mic portion where I read some poetry even though I hadn't planned on it. The whole thing was great, except at the end it started getting overwhelming. It seems that a representative from every organization I have ever emailed from Hungary, such as art schools, non-profits, or publications, was at this event. So, I was approached by multiple people, including editors that I had blown off because they wouldn't pay me for my work, after the reading who knew me. It was like this unexpected networking gala. Everyone knows my editors at the mags I'm working for and the school I'll be teaching at, and seems to have started at the same spots. It's this intricate social web. So, I came home with invitations to join international writers groups, business cards and the standard business cards of most poets - a scrap of paper from their journal with their email address scribbled on it.

And some other things:

• We are going to Frankfurt this weekend to see Mike's dad who will be there on business.

• I got my first Hungarian hair-cut today, and I didn't get a mullet - phew.

• At the grocery store today, I was attacked by 20 packages of salami as they fell from the shelf directly onto my head. I received many a stare, but no offer to pick up salami packages that littered the isle. So, I can't use the term I've been hit by a ton of bricks, but now I can say I know what it's like to be hit by a ton of salami.

• I am minutes away from finishing Atlas Shrugged, the longest book I've ever read at 1080 pages, with hardly any dialouge and tiny print. I'm proud of this feat - I think it's resume worthy. And on another literary note, I've been listening to one of David Sedaris' books on my Ipod as I travel around the city, which of course, is hilarious. So, I've been chuckling to myself and making people think I am probably crazy - this may explain why no one helped me during the salami incident.