Budapest is a comfortable place to be, yet it remains an enigma; just when I think it's run down, it is suddenly splendid--New York City in comfortable old tennis shoes. Baroque with a boo-boo. How can I describe this place? Try this: grab hold of a sharpened pencil, turn it on its side and sweep it all over a piece of paper. Call that paper Budapest. Then take an eraser and every once-in-a-while, clear a spot of the soot that covers the City. One by one, little by little, utterly magnificent art nouveau buildings are being reclaimed, inch by inch the city erases away its past and reclaims its glory.

It could only happen to me. For myriad reasons, our trip took a detour and we ended up staying a week in the heart of Budapest's old Jewish ghetto in a kosher hotel. This hotel had a list of spa services posted on the wall of its dining room, which made sense to me, being as how while I sat there stuffing my face I was thinking that one of these days I'm going to have to do something about the well-being of my body. Wanting to soak up as much Hungarian culture as I could anyway, I signed up for a thorough, face scraping, skin-tightening facial, what with the fact that Hungarian women have legendary skin. (Picture, if you will, a woman standing on my shoulders with football cleats, pushing down on my nose with a pipe wrench and exclaiming eet ees beeg and eet ees old! as she extracted thoroughly impacted grime from my proboscis.) Well, being as how it was too cold in the Òtreatment room,Ó I was propped in a folding chair behind a counter at one end of a long room that doubled as hotel lobby (weÕre not talking four-star here, folks). My facial-specialist slathered a white glue over my face which hardened to rubber. Right from the pages of Mission Impossible! Eyes, mouth, and nostrils were all that remained of me. I veel be back in half-hourrrrrr, she said. I closed my eyes and propped my feet on someone's zipperless airline bag. And then, with not so much as the warning sound of shuffling feet (stealth rabbis), loud, mournful, discordant, everyone-at-their-own-pace chanting began. Right on the other side of the counter. My eyes boinged open, I shot up and came face to face with a dozen or so men with long beards, side-curls, wide-brimmed hats and long black coats. Plastic Face meets the Jewish Diaspora right there in the lobby of the King's Hotel. Needless to say, we all ran in several different directions.

A waiter in a coffee house told me I would brrrreak my tongue if I tried to pronounce his name.

A Few Observations:
This place should not be called Hungary...it should be called 'Stuffed.' I'm going to need a crowbar and vaseline just to fit into my clothes when I get back.
I've noticed a difference in how people dress: in Vienna people look as it they're going to church, in Budapest people look as if they're going to a Rams game.
Black seems to be the color of choice in most clothing.
Red with purple highlights seems to be the color of choice for most women's hair in Hungary.
Everyone...and I mean EVERYONE in Europe wears a scarf or a shawl.
There is a pleasant and civil method of leaving a tip: it is handed to the server.
When Hungarians greet each other, they say see ya. Sometimes when they say good-bye they say hello.
The people of Hungary are eager to help, especially when I show them the courtesy of speaking their language. It's simple, really: just learn to say hello (jo reggelt), thank you (koszonom), please (kerem), yes (egan) and no (nem).

A wise friend of mine in the States told me to "travel all you can, wherever you can, while you can." I think he was right.

A good travel agent is worth her weight in frequent flier miles. Thanks, Tricia!

I've become quite accustomed to the European habit of greeting each other with a kiss on each cheek. Some people call it 'air kissing.' I call it divine. The way I figure, if we spent more time kissing and less time fighting, OUR country would be a lot better off!

I learned there are three dress sizes in Hungary: 3, 5, and "tent sleeps six."