I woke up this morning to the stiffled tears of our Hungarian friend Anita. Her brother, Szabi, had gone off early to return in time for a lecture in Klaipeda and she didn't get a chance to say goodbye (no doubt this was a result of staying up until 6am drinking cheep beer in the reception lounge). She tried to tell me that she was just being emotional because of her hangover, but after spending the last few days with them I knew it was more than that.
Being siblings, they had always enjoyed their rivalries, but on this trip they had finally realised that they were perhaps closer to best-friends than just brother and sister. Inasmuch, she was devestated by his sudden departure.
Last night, over Caipirinhas in a Cuban Raggae bar in Latvia, Angie and I were regaled with sincere invites to "...be housed in [their] home in Budapest, Hungary!" Once this invite was further illustrated to include details on how we would have to stay for "at least a week," be privately squired about the city on a historical (and judging by the tears in their eyes, emotionally patriotic) tour by the dramatic Szabi, and spend long nights watching movies and smoking Shisha in their appartment, we were ever more inclined to take advantage.
It would appear that we had met the most generous duo in Europe. Even if it had not been for their generosity though, I think we would have been tempted to further stalk them just for more samples of Szabi's flare with the English language. While Anita spent a number of years in California and speaks fluent American English, Szabi is still trudging his way through the language with a certain flourish unlike any other...
Szabi: "Is this fish rude?"
Angie: "No, but it is raw."
Szabi: "Ahhh, so this American here is raw!"
Kaare: "Rude, not raw, Szabi..."
* on the subject of musical covers...
Szabi: "Yes, and Tom Petty also sang that song Anal Sunshine"