I felt a little more panic rise as I walked back to the help desk and tried to communicate with the official in English, then in Romanian, and tried my nearly nonexistent Hungarian. All the official could say was ‘ninc, ninc’ ‘no, no’.  None of that worked so I was referred to the English speaking customs agent once again. Here I was informed that I could have most of the soccer balls back, but the officials would keep three ‘to inspect’. I was later informed that this meant that the officials just wanted the soccer balls for themselves.

                Reunited with all my baggage, I made my way to the exit. Does it mean anything that this was the only sign in the entire place that was written in English first, and then Hungarian? As the doors open, I felt as if I was in a bubble. Then, all of the sudden my senses woke up and I was overwhelmed.  I felt the thick wall humidity that comes to Eastern Europe in the summer. I could smell the city surrounding the airport- a stink of a painful past mixed with a sense of dignity. It was a smell I was not familiar with coming from a small beach town in the Pacific Northwest.  I hear beeping horns and yelling coming from every direction. I look around and see a sign with my name on it. I walked over to the young man holding it, and addressed him in Romanian. Buna ziua, ce faci? Esti soferul meu? Yes, indeed he is my driver. He will take me out of this town, through the country of Hungary, and into my base town in the Romanian foothills.

                As I get into the somewhat safe vehicle, I look out and see Budapest. The craziness of the airport is only a small part of the ancient town. I settled back and thought about the last hour of activities, and at the same time looking forward to the adventure ahead of me in Romania.