President Obama

The interminable campaign season, together with the appointments, 3 a.m. phone calls, confirmations, and exit interviews that followed, all played a part in so diluting the Barack Obama elixir that I completely overlooked the significance of yesterday's inauguration. Almost subconsciously I thought of it as just another formality in the long series of Obamania - and in a way it was, the difference being that we have a new president.

"I wish I were in DC," some study abroad friends would lament. Or at least in the United States. Instead we spent the days leading up to Jan. 20 wondering where we would watch the inauguration, fearing that we'd end up at a bar that screened the ceremony with a Hungarian voiceover. But we joined maybe 100 other CEU students in the school's auditorium, so aside from a time lag and tech glitches ("We the people... we the people... we the people..."), it worked out. When you think about it, it wasn't too different than the States in that we'd still be sitting around a CNN broadcast. Or I could be wrong. The excitement certainly came nowhere near what we would have experienced back home: clapping was intermittent, the streets were almost imperceptibly more crowded than usual, and few revelers hit the bars and clubs.

I never know how much of my observations represent things as they are in Hungary, especially in this CEU bubble of international students. But my friends and I sat there as some of the only people in the audience with a new president, and I think we felt what Obama represents. We watched side by side with citizens from a dozen countries, read from pamphlets about Obama's stance on Americans abroad, shared drinks with an Australian... among us, collectively tied to Jews, Indians, Hungarians, Vietnamese, Canadians, and of course, Americans, we felt diversity.

Club Szoda

I’m still a little (read: really) bummed that when I finally turn 21, it’ll be in a country where that doesn’t mean much. I don’t know the legal age to drink or smoke or otherwise cavort around Hungary, but it seems most countries are more lax about that than the United States, and I’m curious just how young you can be to enter a club/bar here. Going to Szoda didn’t really answer that question, but it was nice not to get carded or charged a cover. Then again, the crowd seemed older than those in American 21+ clubs (but I inexplicably suspect the people were younger than they appeared).

The floor where we entered was an overcrowded bar, and downstairs was an even bigger fire hazard / dance floor, giving the place more of a college-party atmosphere than I’d like. The narrow hall and eight-foot ceiling didn’t help; more than once, when a song would instruct us to reach for the ceiling, some would literally do that or grab a fistful of the immobile disco ball.

I had low expectations for the music, which was a hit or miss. We went two nights in a row, the first a mix of Prince/techno/Billie Jean/Missy Elliot/pop and maybe even some Bay Area music, most of which was enjoyable (except that every other song reminded me of the Macarena). The second night we weren’t so lucky – all you need to know is, they played a club remix of The Sound of Silence. No, the lady doth not protest. Actually, the bad music suited the bad dancing, which is half the fun. I especially appreciated that there wasn’t much of the sex-on-the-dance-floor approach that I’m used to seeing, and that men were somewhat more affectionate at Szoda (a lot of holding-a-girl’s-face-in-his-hands).

Hard to tell if this was a microcosm of other clubs here, as Szoda was filled with Hungarians, Americans, Brazilians, other Europeans, and I don’t know what else. But one thing new to me since certain laws were passed in the United States was the sickening amount of smoking that filled the club and sent me home both nights reeking of cigarettes.