What a finale

I have been banned from Germany, deported with a police escort, acquired a criminal record, and missed my sister's graduation, all with one stone. On the layover in Munich, going home to California from Hungary, I was stopped by passport control because, like all other officials I've encountered between countries, this one didn't recognize my travel document. Let's be clear: it's a reentry permit, issued by the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, allowing permanent residents (green card holders) to get back into the United States after travel abroad. And though it quacks like a passport, border officials are always giving me trouble because they don't know what to do with this little turquoise book.

Accordingly, the German punk I had the misfortune of meeting took me aside for a closer look and decided I didn't have the proper visa or residence permit to have spent nearly five months in the European Union. So in order to wait five hours while he drew up the necessary criminal filing and deportation order, I had to miss my flight and take the next one - 20 hours later, getting me home just in time to miss my sister's high school graduation.

I say in earnest I could tolerate without anger the uncomfortable eight hours sleeping on the airport chairs; the criminal record; the mortification of boarding the plane with two border officials; the revoking of the privilege to return to Germany, at least for a few months; even the arrival home 24 hours after I'd planned.

But there is more than one legacy whose bitterness will follow me, though I hope to forget them. First, of course, was that I could not see my sister graduate, despite planning my entire return around that date. What's worse, if I could not spend that time with my family, it would have been some consolation to have spent it with friends in Hungary, but that was impossible.

Second, though the officials were not entirely wrong, neither was I, and I couldn't make them understand me. They thought I needed a visa, and that part was wrong because I'd applied for one at the Hungarian consulate in New York, only to receive a letter assuring me that permanent residents with travel documents could come to Hungary without one. Though still nervous, I accepted as much and went about my travels, making it to Italy, Slovakia, and Austria without much trouble. The only scuffle was the second trip to Italy, to Venice, because our train passed through Croatia, which is not in the European Union or the Schengen Zone, which means dealing with border patrol. I received some puzzled looks and double checks but made it through, much better than my Indian friend, who had a hell of a night stuck in Zagreb. (It cost him a pretty penny, but he eventually made it to Venice, too.)

I began to realize the severity of my predicament in early April, when I tried to drive to Istanbul through Serbia and Bulgaria (neither of which are in Schengen, though Bulgaria is in the European Union).I thought I was thinking ahead by getting a visa to Turkey, but didn't get past Hungary's border with Serbia because the border guards didn't know what to do with my travel document, and so demanded a transit visa. So an entire Friday wasted on driving to the border, arguing with officials, waiting for a bus, and taking a train back to Budapest. That day was the low point since I had come to Europe, but with time I hated the system less, or at least thought about it less.

I understand that the officials and bureaucrats are doing their jobs, even if it does violate common sense (i.e., I am not the kind of person targeted in these travel restrictions). My main grievance against them is their personal incompetence, as a sort of metonym for the incompetence of the entire bureaucracy (Kafka would back me up on this). These people have to put on as if they know what they're doing, but the smallest irregularity (e.g. a travel document in lieu of a passport) becomes a wrench in their whole system. No one knows protocol. So ask 10 different bureaucrats and you will get as many different solutions. Croatia lets me pass through, but Serbia doesn't. Hungary doesn't require an entry visa, but Germany [says it] does, though they are supposedly equal Schengen and EU members. Passport control in Chicago asks for my travel document, yet the one in San Francisco is content with my green card.

If it hasn't already, this will easily become a tirade, so I will just say I have gotten the travel bug out of my system for awhile and am happy to be home. I am not so arrogant to think I have seen it all, and this is not what Björk means anyway, but still I can't get her words out of my head:

The American bureaucracy may not be much better, but at least I do not have to deal with it as much anymore. I am happy about this, and other, less important things since returning. I am happy I won't have to pay a foreign fee for all my purchases anymore, or ruin any more of my shoes on the cobble stones. I won't exactly miss Hungarian food, which I can best describe as heavy and unhealthy (pork, beef, cheese, all fried, and vegetables a rarity). I am happy to be able to access websites again, websites that are not available or convenient outside the United States.

To reflect on the months abroad negatively would be unfair, however, and the amount in this post dedicated to such is inversely proportional to my real sentiments. Without reserve I say I could not have made a better choice for a study abroad setting, the affordable and yet international and breathtaking city that is Budapest. Unlike Vietnam, Hungary is a place I leave along with its language, and I will miss hearing and practicing Magyarul. I will miss greeting and taking leave of people with a puszi on either cheek. I will miss riding across the Danube from Buda to Pest on a bus or tram. I will miss the love and friendship I found in this city. I will miss the lakes where wakeboarders circumscribe the water on cables; the Buda hills from which I have seen all of the city blanketed in snow or twinkling below and brighter than the Big Dipper above; the islands along the Danube, so close to the congested downtown and yet idyllic and isolated - and I knew very well how much I missed them all as they grew smaller and smaller beneath my plane window, before clouds erased them, billow by billow, and swallowed our plane.

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Rereading: 1984

Listening to: Blue Oyster Cult

Születésnapom!

When friends start wishing me a boldog születésnapot in different languages and calculating the best time to do so (according to the time zone), I know I've arrived. The first well-wisher was in Singapore, so he had an advantage. A friend here rationalized a few hours prematurely that because I was born in Vietnam, it was probably time to start celebrating. But at midnight he and my roommates gave me a ceremonial rendition of the birthday song. A friend on the east coast (er, of the United States) followed shortly after with a note to the future me (as I'm six time zones ahead). And then of course the ongoing Facebook attack.

The premature friend said I should buy myself a present in the form of a ticket to Rome (just like I bought myself that Garfield birthday card). So we fly there next weekend. But I shouldn't have let him book the ticket: not only did he screw up my address, but he is now a she from Lithuania.

Actually, I kid about the trip and the card, neither were gifts to myself. The first we'd talked about for a few days, and the second is for a best friend and fellow Capricorn with whom I'd usually celebrate my születésnap. Funny that the card reads "Sorry that I'm running late to your birthday" - it reminds me that we commemorated my last milestone, the big one-eight, about a month late because it was more convenient (academic break + empty house + amateur jello shots). As I'm out of the country this time, it seems I'll be 22 by the time I celebrate my 21st. But festivities with my Budapest barátim are in the making for tonight and tomorrow night, so more posts to come on that (and Rome).

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Listening to: Rza feat. Xavier Naidoo - Ich kenne nichts (I've never seen)
Reading: Kafka - The Castle

World's worst airports

A few highlights from this CNN article:

• Some airports include "indoor pools, orchid gardens, and free wireless Internet." The best I've seen is the free massage at the Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport, which comes with plants and jungle sounds.
• At Lukla in Nepal "landing involves a hair-raising plummet onto an uphill airstrip cut into the side of a mountain. On takeoff, the airstrip comes to an abrupt end at the edge of a mountain cliff."
• Mineralnye Vody airport in Russia gets mention for its "feral cats and daggers on sale in the departure lounge"

Are we there yet?

In our last discussion about traveling around the continent, a friend here suggested we just go to the airport some weekend and take whatever cheap flight is left. I loved the idea, but it is dawning on me how little this time in Hungary may actually be Hungarian. Maybe I should have begun with why I chose Hungary of all places: sometimes I wish I had a more noble reason, but it is only slightly less random than closing my eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Travel has always been part of the life plan, so when it came time to choose a study abroad location, I went through Columbia's offerings, decided my Spanish wasn't good enough (I still rue the day), and narrowed it down to three cities with instruction in English: Copenhagen, Prague, and Budapest. The price tag and the level of immersion ultimately determined my decision.

Then again, I don't know if it is so bad to blindly point to a map. I encourage everyone to travel, to study abroad; for someone who is easily bored, it is one of the perks that make life interesting. And there is so much interesting out there (out here!), why do I need a reason to go to Budapest?

Much as I loathed the prospect last term of wasting time taking Hungarian (one of the hardest languages to learn), doing so changed my expectations. Eventually, I was not just going abroad, I was going to Hungary. I set my Google Alerts to it, learned a bit about 1956 and 1989, talked to anyone with any connection to the country.

But then I arrived. To put it one way, my paltry knowledge of Hungarian is one of the more advanced of my study abroad group; it might even beat that of our point person here, who is Romanian. Another point person is American (granted, with very good Hungarian). Maybe it is just us, I thought. But it seems to be true of Central European University in general. In my first class, the professor went around the room asking our names and backgrounds. There was another American, one or two Hungarians, and the rest from nearby countries (Romania, Poland, Russia, etc.).

But I do not complain. If there are two traits I value, they are these: open-mindedness and optimism. It is true, all of this might limit how much I learn about Hungary, especially if I am spending more time traipsing around Europe than appreciating what is right here. But either way, am I not learning about different cultures? Meantime, I focus on Hungary, starting with teaching you the most important word you would need here: koszonom ("thank you"). Learn it, and you will be better prepared to visit Budapest than some of those already here.

Deeper into the rabbit hole

As the blog description suggests, this won't just be about Vietnam anymore. I'll keep the URL, but expand my coverage area to infinity and beyond. I think that gives it a Stars Hollow kind of charm, like using a female doll to play baby Jesus in the Christmas play. To make things less confusing, I think I'll tag every post with the city location. In this latest reincarnation, I'll write about my time studying in Hungary, but that's not all: my new friends and I are already looking at tickets to the rest of Europe (Budapest to Rome for $20?!), and it's only the first night.

Like any good traveler, I'm wide awake at 2 a.m. because I slept most of the day. Not sure why I couldn't sleep on the plane, which is usually so easy. Instead I spent most of the flight (five hours from San Francisco to New York, then 8 hours to Budapest) trying to watch La Science des Reves and read A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (not simultaneously). In general, you probably shouldn't mix Gael Garcia Bernal with James Joyce, especially when crossing time zones - alone, any of the three can mess up your consciousness, but together? Together they're probably something like one of the recipes from the alter ego of Stephane Miroux.

I realize that tells you little about Budapest, but I find air travel fascinating, and relevant. For example, when I got to SFO for my international flight, I looped a few times because (I eventually learned) the layover at JFK meant I had to check in in the domestic terminal. When I reached my final destination, I got a quick stamp and that was it. No search. No machines. No customs. The first girls I met here said it just depends on the host country. One girl told me that during a trip with her Bangladeshi boyfriend, she was searched and her ticket labeled 'security concern' because of her boyfriend's name. We diverged into the story about the nine Muslim passengers that AirTran booted for sounding like terrorists. Including three children, age seven, four, and two. And my biggest concern was getting my over-sized carry-on past the flight attendants.

The girls I mentioned are other students in the study abroad program here at Central European University. They came to my dorm room, where I was dropped off with no instructions and where I slept for the afternoon, to give me my welcome packet. That they came in place of people from the university, combined with the fact that we haven't registered for courses (this was the first day of classes) and are just starting to look for apartments (the dorm is temporary), led us to believe our program is a little disorganized. But who ever studies abroad to study?