The Zero at the Center of the Universe
July 2, 2008
(Douglas Adams, you’re the best.)
At the foot of the hill atop which presides Buda Castle, there is a traffic circle and few patches of green at Clark Ádám tér (aka Adam Clark Square, named for the Scottish architect of the famous Chain Bridge which ends at the square). A funicular runs from the square below to the castle gates above every few minutes, providing tourists with an easy and scenic way to reach their cultural destination. Cars, trams, buses, bicycles and pedestrians all make their way with varying success and safety around the square, as dozens of visitors snap photos of the picturesque views. In all the hubbub, few notice the three meter (~ nine foot) tall statue of a zero nestled amidst some bushes to one side of the traffic circle. Even fewer people bother to cross three lanes of speeding cars just to have a better look at it. And practically no one bothers to take a picture (including me, I’m ashamed to admit). I found the following on Google, and then I made a few additions:
While it may not thrill or intrigue too many passersby, this rather large limestone structure nevertheless serves an important and interesting function. This zero is the starting point from which all highways in Hungary are measured. It is called the Zero Kilometer Stone. Should someone care to know the official distance from Budapest to Paris or London to Budapest, this is the reference point one would use on the Hungarian end.
But what about the end points in those other cities? I assumed the Zero was unique to Hungary. It turns out that this is hardly the case. With a little help from Wikipedia, I learned that the tradition of setting up a literal zero mile (or kilometer) marker dates back to Roman times. Under Emperor Augustus Caesar, a plaque was built at the Roman Forum, and it was called the Milliarium Aureum. The expression “all roads lead to Rome” may not have been so figurative, after all, as the marker listed the distances to all major cities, and all roads really were meant to converge on that single point in the heart of the capital. Today, over a dozen countries still follow the tradition of a zero marker, including France, Russia, Italy, England, India, Panama, Cuba, Chile and Japan. It came as a surprise to me that even the US has such a monument behind the White House in D.C.
For some reason, learning that the United States had embraced this age-old tradition made me feel kind of proud of our fair nation. The US finds itself in a minority by having such a marker, yet it seems to me like such a harmless, time-honored custom and such an easy one to uphold. When I first learned of the Zero Kilometre Stone in Budapest, I found the convention to be pleasantly quirky and idiosyncratic. To learn of its roots and the small but loyal country base that has carried the Roman tradition into the twenty-first century was a pleasure. To date there are only sixteen such existing monuments around the world. I’m making it a goal to see them all. (Cuba might prove a bit of a challenge.)
Budapest Bares All, Part II: Not so hungry anymore!
June 20, 2008
Today, I’d like to focus on the gastronomical discoveries I’ve made for myself. Most of these are short and sweet.
1. Paprika, Paprika, Paprika
Let’s begin at the beginning. Paprika is the most popular and widely used spice in Hungary. Don’t be skeptical. It’s delicious! There are entire shops dedicated to paprika goods, and there are lots of different varieties. As I am no paprika expert, the only distinction I’m certain of is the one between sweet and spicy paprika. Black pepper takes a backseat to spicy paprika, while sweet paprika makes an appearance in a number of desserts and soups. I’ll try to take a picture of a paprika stand and post it here shortly. They’re beautiful!
2. If you grow it, they will… pickle it.
That pretty much sums it up. I have seen everything from pickled cucumber (the original pickle) and cabbage (sauerkraut) to pickled tomatoes, garlic, peppers, beets, baby corn, radishes, onions, carrots, olives, herbs and pig’s ears. And most of these come in a sweet and sour variety, although the sweet is much more common as a rule. Now, you might be thinking to yourself, “That’s not impressive; I’ve heard of most of those pickled foods!” Good point. I agree; I may not have tried them all before I came here, but I had seen nearly all of the above at some point in my life. But here comes comes the crazy part:
Most of these pickled foods are served stuffed into other pickled foods and packaged in heavy-duty plastic bags. Imagine… A pickled green pepper full of sweet pickled cabbage (technically not so “sour” kraut anymore) with bits of pickled carrots and onion swimming around… and only a layer of hefty plastic separating you from all that pickle juice! It’s actually kind of intimidating.
Also, if you ask for a side salad at a restaurant, you will get assorted pickled vegetables, because the salad-as-a-meal concept is somewhat of a novelty here.
3. Viticulture on the Eastern Front
Hungary has some good wine to offer at some great prices. Bottles on the low end go for only 200-300 Forints (about $2), and of course, as with any luxury good, there’s no telling where the upper limit for a great wine may lie. Of course, the most common and the most accessible delicious wines are of Hungarian origin. While I am no connoisseur, I have picked up on the two most notable types. These are tokaji and Bikavér. Here’s the brief lowdown on both.
Bikavér or “Bull’s blood”: As the story goes, the small Hungarian town of Eger was besieged by 150,000 infidel Turks in 1522 for nearly a month with only a couple thousand of Magyar soldiers left to defend the helpless villagers trapped within the city walls. Their resourceful leader, Captain Istvan Dobo, ordered that all the wine cellars of Eger be opened so that his soldiers could drink up and fight off the Turks, fearlessly (and drunkenly). In all the excitement, the red wine spilled down the battlers’ beards and all over the armor and clothing of the soldiers. When the Turks saw the wine-drenched and wild Hungarians, they mistook the Magyars’ inebriation and red-dyed attire for a magical strength and ferocity they must have derived from drinking the blood of bulls. As word spread of the Hungarian soldiers’ supernatural force, the terrified Turks fled, despite the fact that they outnumbered the citizens of the defending town nearly 10 to 1. Eger thus secured a reputation as “the last bastion of Christianity,” and the town’s particular type of wine was immortalized as Bull’s Blood. (A few years later, the Turks overran the place anyway, there to remain for a few hundred years.)
Tokaji: Bikavér may come with a fun story, but truth be told, it’s not particularly complex in taste. Tokaji, on the other hand, is a dessert wine sought out worldwide, and it is inimitable in flavor and absolutely delicious. Like Champagne or Cognac, Tokaji is both a place and a drink, made from a specific blend of grapes unique and indigenous to the region of Tokaji (located near Ukraine). The process for creating this rich wine is complex and labor intensive. In short, what sets the technique apart from all others is that instead of picking the grapes from the vines at their ripest, harvesters will wait much longer to pluck the fruit, until the crop resembles a bunch of golden raisins. Because the grapes are already partially dehydrated when they are processed, it takes approximately 200 pounds of grapes to produce one pint of the dessert extract used to “flavor” the wine. From there, depending on how sweet the wine is (or how much extract goes into the barrel), the wine is graded on a scale from three to six puttonyos (flavor shots, essentially). The sweeter the Tokaji, the higher the number; the higher the number, the steeper the price.
4. Zsiroskenyer, or Bread with Lard
… and paprika (duh)! This is a tasty Hungarian snack comprised of white bread with a thin layer of lard (butter), a sprinkling of paprika, and some chopped onion or pepper on top. It’s a bit heavy for my taste, but this treat is definitely worth a try.
5. Color-coded water
During one of my first outings in Budapest, I wanted to buy some bottled water at a newsstand. In broken Hungarian, I spit out my request. Something along the lines of,
“Víz, legyen szíves?”
The older gentleman manning the counter looked at me skeptically, and he smiled, perhaps out of pity. Then, in English which could have rivaled my Hungarian,
“Blue, pink or green?”
I cursed my poor pronunciation, certain of a miscommunication, and I tried again,
“Veeeeeeeez, Le-Dh-YEN SEE-vesh!”
…
“Blue or pink or green?” He turned slightly toward the beverage case and nodded toward it encouragingly.
Behind him in the display case, I saw rows of water bottles, of differing brands and sizes, in blue, pink and green.
I raised my eyebrows and shrugged my shoulders. Universal signs of confusion, I hoped.
The vendor then held up three identical half-litre bottles, wrapped in blue, green and pink, respectively. I could tell he was starting to get annoyed, and now there was a short line forming behind me. I pointed to the blue one. Water usually looks blue, and not pink OR green, I reasoned, so it seemed like my safest bet. I made my purchase and left, to the old man’s great relief, and my own.
So, because I picked the blue bottle, my water turned out to be carbonated. Honestly, if I’d had just two choices (instead of three), I probably could have figured that the colors indicated the levels of carbonation. But no, here, here there are three varieties:
BLUE for carbonated, GREEN for gently carbonated, and PINK for still water.
The best part is that every bottled-water company obeys the color-coding rules, so following the old man’s street-side hazing ritual, I have been able to buy water with great confidence ever after.
6. Heinz Ketchup Pizza
Hungary is pretty close to Italy, geographically speaking. But the pizza is light years from Naples’ internationally renowned treat. The dough and the toppings are not entirely recognizable, but like Chinese food or the Big Mac, I would expect that a pizza taste a bit differently from country to country. Here, however, the variation is unforgivable. Why? Because instead of pizza sauce, they use Ketchup! And they charge extra for it.
7. Who needs pizza when you can have Csirke Paprikas?
Seriously, the Ketchup trivia is a hoot, but this is no place to be eating pizza, since Hugarian food is a real treat. The goulash is always delicious, and the number of authentic Hungarian restaurants is only growing. My favorite dish is Csirke Paprikas, or chicken in paprika sauce, served with Hungarian nockerl noodles.
Budapest Bares All, Part I: Transportation
June 11, 2008
As promised, I present my first segment on the surprising, the strange and the sketchy that Budapest has to offer. I devote Part 1 to an essential (and often enigmatic) part of my urban routine: public transportation.
1. Musically-Inclined Transportation
The metro and the newer buses and trams play a fun jingle when you get on and off; different jingles for different routes. Different jingle combinations for door openings and closings. And as far as I can tell, there is no rhyme or reason as to which jingle in particular pairs with which route or which door motion. But if you’re curious, the English version of the BKV Transportation website has them all!
2. The Metaphysical Metro Line
The Budapest metro consists of three lines (Yellow, Red, and Blue, or M1, M2, and M3, respectively) which exist in this worldly realm and one superphysical, incorporeal “Green Line”–officially known as Metro4–that definitely DOES NOT exist. Rather, Metro4 has been in the works for so long that its conception and long-over due construction have outlasted the Cold War, disco, smallpox, bell bottoms, and dinosaurs! In fact, it has existed in this abstrusely discarnate form (think Casper or the heavily modified war surplus dolphin from Johnny Mnemonic) for so long, that it even has ITS OWN WEBSITE. According to this site’s timeline, Metro4 has passed through 20 or 30 development phases, without great success, it seems, since 1972. That’s 38 years of nonexistence!
Now, if you don’t believe me, on to Exhibit A:
See the dotted green line? That means… the line does not exist! While this is an acceptable answer to a math proof or a philosophical puzzle, I’m not sure it’s appropriate that BKV has posted one of these maps at every single metro stop–not as a promise of things to come–but as a guide to the currently accessible subway system. It goes without saying that since the dotted line is hardly a universally accepted signifier for a transportation route lying in wait somewhere in the fourth-dimension, the map (often without a key and usually entirely in Hungarian anyway) leaves many commuters perplexed, lost and even stranded.
Now, there are some good news and some bad news…
The good news is that at least now construction on the mythical green line is finally underway. It is due to open in 2009 or 2010, although some locals have their bets on a date closer to 2012. If you’re wondering, “What will Metro4 be like?”, it seems you are not alone. There is an entire short film devoted to this timeless quandary. It is available for screening through the official Metro4 site at the page “What will Metro4 be like?”. “With Metro4, a long-standing dream of Budapest will come true,” the same page declares. “Long-standing”? I’d call that an “under-statement.” This may seem harsh, but remember: 38 years! And counting!
The bad news is that once the green line finally graces this blue planet with its trains and tunnels, BKV will likely print a new set of madly misinforming maps which will include the proposed Metro5 North-South suburban line, due to intersect the city center, if the project ever gets off (or into) the ground. It’s already on the current map (see the pink dotted line in the map above), and the city hasn’t even voted on it yet! My guess is we’ll all have hovercrafts by the time the first M5 shovel hits the ground.
3. Metro1: the second oldest subway line in the world
The Yellow Line is the oldest metro line on the European continent. It opened in 1896, and it is a World Heritage Site. It’s also very useful, even to this day, despite the fact that stops are roughly two to three city blocks apart. It’s great for the lazy, and it runs just one flight of stairs below ground. It follows the busiest street in Budapest, and it takes only eleven minutes to run its entire length, because it’s only about two miles long, although it manages to make eleven stops along the way.
4. Railroad strikes are all the rage in Hungary
Railroad strikes are very common in Hungary. In fact, they are so common, that “Sztrájk” appears as one possible option on the enormous billboard of a timetable at the railroad station. So, when you read the arrivals/departures board (which is not digital, but rather analog, so to speak, with a finite number of possibilities listed on individual flip up/flip down plaques) the options for any given train are as follows:
- Arrival/departure at any time “00:00″ through “23:59.”
- Arrival/departure set as “Delayed.”
- Arrival/departure set as “Cancelled.”
- Or… “STRIKE”!
I did not realize how frequently these strikes occur, until one cold morning, I showed up at the train station 5am with the rest of my CEU/Bard group (we were planning on going to Prague via Vienna) only to find hundreds of disgruntled travelers, half a dozen news crews, and zero trains. We quickly saw that our ride would not come, because the railway workers had declared a surprise “Sztrájk” to begin at 3:00am. The union was demanding about $1500 and a 16+% pay raise, effective immediately; it goes without saying that given such demands, the negotiations lasted somewhat longer than a few hours. My group of eleven ended up splitting three taxicabs to get to the Vienna train station (about 2 hours and one international border away… not a very cost-effective option), where we barely made our connecting train to Prague.
Several days later, we returned to Budapest without incident. Lucky for us. The following day, the strike was back on, and as a result, a train full of passengers headed to Budapest from Moscow came to a twenty-four hour standstill at the Ukrainian-Hungarian border.
And I thought Amtrak was unreliable.
Back & Blogging in Buda!
June 9, 2008
Dear readers,
Please forgive me for my hiatus from this blog and the wonderful experience it has granted me. I think that because I get to write these posts, I have seen my foreign home through a more curious and perhaps a more critical set of eyes, and I’m very grateful for that.
So far, writing about Hungary has been challenging and fun, but toward the end of the first part of my stay in Budapest, in a multi-part, mini-series I like to call “Fits of Procrastination,” while I did peck out a number of blog-post drafts… I did so without actually publishing them. I attribute some of this to the sheer volume of pages that I had to turn in for my academic courses (somewhere around 50 total), and I guess in part I was not so anxious about my blog at the time, because I knew that I would be returning to Budapest once again for the summer, and I would get to reflect on my abroad experience once more. While my university-mates, and the Americans in my program, in particular, were saying their last goodbyes to Hungary, I was reveling in the fact that I would get to live on the banks of the Danube once again while researching at the Open Society Archives come June. As a history major at Cornell, I applied, and was awarded, the Frederic Conger Wood Fellowship last fall through the Institute for European Studies . As a result, I get to spend my summer back here in Budapest doing my own independent research on Cold War propaganda !
Well, better late than never, I’d like to spend the next month or two catching up on my blogging, and writing some new material while posting past reflections, too. Today, begins a mini-series (which will prove far more fruitful than “Fits of Procrastination”) on all things unexpected, enigmatic, and astonishing that I discovered during my time in Budapest. I’ve kept a list since about the third week of January, so prepare yourselves. I hope that most of these facts and figures will go a bit beyond the offerings of your bookstore travel guide.
Enjoy!
(Spare) Change in Hungary
March 10, 2008
Before I ever made it to Budapest, people often mentioned that Hungary was a “country in transition.” In fact, this mildly cryptic statement was one of the reasons I had been intrigued by Budapest and Hungary in the first place. I knew that the nation was only four years in the EU (as of 2008), and that the economy, the politics and the very history of this post-Soviet state were evolving rapidly. In coming to Hungary, I wanted to witness some of these changes firsthand. Budapest, after all, is not yet a major commercial, touristic or political hub, but with every investment, every tour group and every Parliamentary vote, the city’s proverbial dot-on-the-map glows brighter, and Hungary’s borders grow more defined, even as the country strives to assimilate into the European Union.
Until about a week ago, the modest range of knowledge and experiences that I had acquired during my few short months in Budapest had equipped me with a limited familiarity of the nation. I had little opportunity to really observe any of these notorious and all-important “transitions.” Sure, I had noticed a new business spring up here or there since I had arrived in January; I heard that a new mall is expected to open in 2009 (it’s abominable); I felt a slight rise in transportation costs… but nothing extreme. That was, until March 1, 2008.
On this day, the 1 and 2 Hungarian Forints disappeared from circulation–literally over night. The coins became obsolete several months after a vote in the Parliament had earmarked the March 1 date for the occasion. As of ten days ago–as I write–places of business no longer accept the coins as legal tender, and the prices of all goods and services now round to the nearest five or ten Forint mark, until businesses can formally adjustthem to account for the shift.
To give an example, my daily Coke Light (no Diet Coke here, and honestly, the Light is much better), which cost me 198 Hungarian Forints (or HUF, for short) on February 29th has run me 200HUF since the first of March. While price stickers may still end in numbers other than a zero or five, by legal decree, any price ending in a 1 or 2 now rounds to 0, while any price ending in a 3 or 4 jumps to a 5. And similarly, we now round down 6 or 7 to 5 and we round 8 or 9 up to 10. For those who might still have a few jars of these little coins kicking around the house (reportedly this is where most one and two Forint pieces find their way), the National Bank will accept the change until March 1, 2013 and repay the Forint holders with pricier legal tender.
The first few weeks since the transition seem to have gone over smoothly, and based on my observations, the change has been well received by the majority of Budapest (no pun intended). Even in a country where most people use cash over credit cards for daily purchases, the 1 and 2 Forint coins have grown very unpopular in recent years. With denominations of 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, 50 and 100–all in coin form–the 1 and the 2 Forints have been getting lost in the shuffle for nearly a decade. In fact, even in my two short months using local legal tender, I felt like dealing in 1 and 2 Forint coins was a lot like handling pennies back home… that is, a bit aggravating and seemingly unnecessary.
In fact, the comparison to the American cent is not only figurative, but actually quite literal. The 1 and 2 Forints are worth approximately one half a cent, and 1.2 cents, respectively (the current rate is about 169 HUF to the dollar), so withdrawing these two denominations has actually eliminated a mark worth slightly less and slightly more than the American penny. Not bad progress, for a country which was over twenty billion dollars in debt at the start of the nineties.
Beyond lightening the change purses of some six million Hungarians, the reform is also projected to save the state one billion Forints per year, by eliminating the expenses of manufacturing 150 million new coins every twelve months. Not all that surprising, since every Forint coin costs four Forints to mint. Moreover, with prices rising for metal as the commodity enjoys a higher and higher demand annually, the savings from halting production of these denominations will only grow in the coming years. The costs of handling currency will also drop substantially with the one and two Forint coins out of the way, both government institutions such as the postal service, and for private industries, businesses and banks.
After observing such a smooth transition and learning about so many benefits that come with currency consolidation, I wondered, will the US ever follow suit? Will the EU? After doing a little research, it seems as though eliminating the penny from US currency would leave the nation to enjoy a number of benefits comparable to those Hungary is experiencing now. Even by conservative estimates, halting production of all those pennies would save at least $300,000,000 annually. For those concerned with the issue of rounding that would arise from the penny’s absence, any given person would only lose an average of $2.00 per year to nickel-based taxing practices. Accounting for inflation, that loss will only drop in absolute value in the coming years. So what’s stopping US legislature from passing a bill to rid the world of pennies forever? The reasons against such a move vary widely–from Illinois patriots protecting Lincoln’s copper-and-zinc legacy, to a plea from the non-profit organizations which depend on penny collection for charity fundraisers… the reasons run the gamut. Some penny pinchers assert that the coin’s withdrawal from the system would affect the disadvantaged most, as single cent might make or break the bank for this sector of the population. But, I wonder, wouldn’t the poor benefit more from a 300 million dollar hike in expenditure on Medicaid or tax returns, for example, rather than a few pennies saved sporadically here or there?
Why, then, is the US or even the EU slow to enact a similar decree to that of Hungary and eliminate the single cent? Allow me to throw in my two cents… Perhaps, the answer lies with the differing permanencies of the decision for the Hungary as compared to the United States or the EU. That is, whereas The United States or the European Union will have to deal with the permanent consequences of such a monetary transition, Hungary has accepted the change as merely another transitional step on the way to full EU integration. The fears which America and the EU might have regarding such a decision to simply do not have the same effect on Hungary; after all, no matter the consequences, the Euro is set to replace the Forint system entirely in 2013. Then Hungary will have a fresh start in the currency market, and, by all projections, a strong and stable economy. But, of course, the nation will also have to deal with those pesky one and two cent Euros. I wonder if they will be so quick to eliminate those, too? After all, they’re hardly worth a couple Forints…
Exporting Cavities
February 8, 2008
What does this window front look like to you? No, it’s not a nightclub, or a casino… Let’s examine the neon signs carefully. A tooth with a crown, 0-24, “dent,” S.O.S…? You (may have?) guessed it: it’s a twenty-four hour dentist’s office! Once I noticed that first office, in the heart of the hip and happening old Jewish district, I started to spot similar window fronts all over Budapest. In the nicest of neighborhoods, in the center of town, on busy roads and in the quietest of courtyards, these dentists’ offices advertise their presence with glowing neon signs, flashing luminescent teeth and the occasional anthropomorphized molar. The round-the-clock, glitzy and flamboyant twenty-four hour dental practice is hardly an anomaly here. On the contrary, it appears to be the standard.
I will go out on a limb and assert that for those us from the far side of the pond, a twenty-four hour dentist’s office seems at least somewhat absurd and largely unnecessary. In the US, we have the ER for round-the-clock medical support. But a dentist? It seems a tad outlandish. Personally, I feel lucky whenever my dentist is feeling charitable enough to reward his patients by scheduling a four day work week, instead of a four day weekend. As a college student on a tight schedule, there have been times when I’ve waited months for a cleaning, but I never dreamed that the solution would need to be so extreme. A twenty-four hour dental practice? Really?
So what could I make of such a business venture? Who would need such a service round-the-clock? And how could the local population make use of so many of these establishments? I had to wonder… Do the Hungarians suffer from some debilitating dental conditions? Are they just that cavity prone? Could the twenty-four hour dentist be a front for some sort of wild never-ending dance party? Code for a rave? No, probably not. Let’s go with the cavity conjecture… I mean sure, they sweeten everything here in Hungary, down to the last pickle, but even all those sugar-induced fillings and root canals couldn’t keep so many doctors busy. My speculations all seemed pretty far fetched. There had to be something more.
And there was. But to me, at least initially, the reality sounded no crazier than my dance party hypothesis. The answer, it turns out, lies with the spread of dental tourism. The premise is that these days, UK residents with some substantial dental damage opt to fly to the eastern European city of their choice (this includes Vienna) for fast, cheaper medical services and a few nights out on the town (or in the baths, if they’re smart and they go for Budapest). This has become the alternative to signing up for the same procedure at home, where the price of a simple root canal has sky-rocketed into the thousands of pounds.
Although patients come for dental work to cities like Budapest from all over the EU, dental tourism only took off in the April of 2006, when the UK government drastically limited the number of procedures that a dentist could claim through National Health Service (state medical insurance available to every resident in the UK, free of charge, funded by income tax). It also limited the number of people with access to NHS by nearly 50,000 in 2006 alone. The change in policy left many dentists to create private practices and withhold any services to those on NHS (i.e. most of the country). This, in turn, left those dependent on the national health insurance with few options domestically. Either these patients now had to find the rare, in-demand NHS-affiliated doctor and wait years for an appointment, or else turn to a private practice and prepare to foot some very large bills for necessary and often extensive dental work.
In response to such a drastic situation, dozens of companies, such as Diamond Dental Clinic and Euromedica, have been pushing the alluring and comparably affordable dental tourism to Europeans seeking a cheaper and faster alternative to privatized domestic dental care. Reportedly, over 35,000 people left the UK for dental treatment in 2006 alone, followed by an exodus in 2007 that increased this figure by nearly 200%. Most of these companies’ advertisements stress that the costs of a hotel, entertainment and dental work do not even begin to approach the price of the same medical procedure in some of these Western nations, and most notably, the UK. The most common ad runs as a short story–or a testimonial–from a satisfied patient. Take this example, from one Mr. Patrick Smith, who saved nearly £3,000 by getting his missing teeth implants in Budapest with the help of the organization, Dentist Abroad. He says:
“Everything was so well organised, as soon as I was collected from the airport to the surgery I was taken straight through and the equipment was of the latest design. I had the feeling throughout that I was in very safe hands.” –Dentist Abroad, Hungary
The first class treatment and airport-to-dentist’s-office-to-hotel service remove the elements of uncertainty and unfamiliarity from receiving medical attention in a foreign city. And of course, since most dental procedures do not call for weeks of bed rest or intensive rehab, these patients double as tourists. It seems perfect. The client finds a cure for less money and more fun; the dentists never run out of patients (twenty-four hour a day clinics!); tourism–in all its aspects, from hotels to airlines to city attractions–flourishes; and of course, the agencies, as the middlemen who facilitate these exchanges, pocket the change. Everybody wins. Or do they?
At first, it may seem (as it did to me) that this dental industry is highly evocative of the small-scale US phenomenon of exporting plastic surgery to the Caribbean, where the price for a nose job is significantly lower, and the post-surgery mojito is a touch stronger. If this were the case, dental tourism would be no more of an economic or social threat than its American cousin. However, there are a few key interrelated differences between the business of the Bahamian liposuction and the Eastern-European root canal that make dental tourism a less stable and a much more harmful industry than its US counterpart. More specifically, it is the nature of the medical service and the impact of its growing popularity among the citizens of the client states that sets dental tourism apart as a potentially detrimental economic and social force.
That is, while the face lift or some calf implants may seem a matter of life and death for the glamorous few who have the time and the money to spend a few weeks under the knife in the subtropics, cavities, tooth decay and oral surgery are more often necessary rather than elective procedures. As such, it is not the highly privileged minority who opts to go abroad for its dental demands, but actually those belonging to the middle class. The truly rich do not need to combine a vacation with a medical procedure; “dental tourism” is a worthwhile offer for those with money to spare, but also a desire to get the most for their their pound or their Euro. It is an offer for those who come with cash to the table, but are unwilling to pay for the surgeries at home, because the price seems a bit steep.
Of course, unwilling is not the same as unable, and the effects of exporting the business and the voting power of the middle class in a country such as the UK takes its toll on those truly incapable of coming up with the money to pay for private healthcare–whether at home or in the form of dental tourism. In other words, if this new booming industry is the solution for some Western European citizens today, it will not likely be a permanent solution, and it is already the downfall for the working poor dependent on NHS in the United Kingdom. If the middle class had no quick-fix alternative in Eastern Europe, there would most likely be a strong push within the UK from its discontented citizens to rethink the NHS policies implemented in 2006. After all, there would be a dissatisfied majority, and with hundreds of thousands of cavity-prone Brits clamoring at the doors of just a few dozen NHS-affiliated dentists, the devastating effects of the policy would become apparent rather quickly.
Instead, the middle class now goes on vacation and leaves the poor to deal with the consequences of the failing dental health care available through the UK government. Of course, it is every Brit for him or herself, and it would be unfair to judge anyone for taking advantage of dental tourism, instead of martyring for the common good with a mouth full of cavities. But to me, the trend remains an alarming one, as I highly doubt that dental tourism will serve as a stable and permanent solution for anyone at all.
For now, the NHS policy may only hurt those unable to scrounge up the average 2,000-6,000£ (that’s 4,000-12,000 USD, by the way) for a short get-away and some gum surgery. But soon enough, the fiscal East-West divide which makes dental tourism a feasible solution for the middle class majority will close. As more and more of the nation states which host these twenty-four hour clinics assimilate within the EU and follow Western Europe’s lead toward economic strength, stability and integration, the costs of travel, tourism and dentistry are sure to rise. Though it may take a few years, soon enough dental tourism will become as pricey–at least with all expenses included–as private dentistry in the UK. And without that other Europe to fill in all those middle class cavities, twenty-four hours a day at half price, the NHS and the residents it is meant to represent might not have much to smile about.
Hungry… in Hungary
January 25, 2008
Until just last week, every time I ran out of food, I felt as though I were on the brink of facing another primordial struggle for survival. Like a wild hunter-gatherer I would set off in search of something edible, unsure of whether I would return from my trek victorious or defeated (and hungry). The act of procuring food, which I had always taken for granted, became an almost insurmountable task the day that I arrived in Hungary. It’s not that Hungary is a backward country, devoid of grocery stores, fruit stands or deli markets. It’s simply that in Hungary, I am a backward person. I am a foreigner, and I have a hard time getting by, because I do not know much Hungarian. Until very recently, I did not know any, and for the first time in my life I found myself in a country where I did not recognize a single sign or understand a single word of the lingua franca. It was an incredible shock.
Until I came to Budapest, I thought that with a bit of imagination and interpretation, I could figure out the basics in any European country on my own. After all, I’ve seen the good times and the bad times with a number of Indo-European tongues. English and I are a solid couple; Russian was my first (language); French is an old flame; Italian and I have been together since the first semester of college (still going strong); I even had a fling with German (we’re, um, taking a break). I may have a long way to go before I’m ready for an interview with the UN, but I will freely admit that I came to Hungary confident, (Ed: yes, confident) that I would not only get around with ease, but that I would leave for the States in three months’ time with passable, if basic, Hungarian. On my very first excursion around Budapest, I knew that the good days were over, and that I would consider myself lucky if I could just figure out how the accent and the umlauts fit in with the rest of the language, köszönöm szépen (translation: thank you very much).
The very next day, I signed up for a Beginner Hungarian course with an optimistic and charismatic woman named Gabriele. (Now that I think about it, it might be redundant to qualify her as optimistic or charismatic. To teach Hungarian to a bunch of Westerners, the optimism and charisma may well be an implicit given.) As we plowed through our first lesson (Gabriele stops for no one), I couldn’t help but wonder: how could I have been so mistaken? Was it simply hubris that had led me to believe that I could tackle Hungarian with same ease I had picked up Italian or adlibbed my way through the Viennese airport? None of the words looked familiar; the cardinal rules of grammar which had held fast before had disappeared; without a word by word translation, I couldn’t tell a verb from a conjunction. The recognizable Latin alphabet was merely a tease.
Finally I voiced my frustration, and in no time at all, Gabriele was busy explaining the origins of Magyar (it’s how we say “Hungarian” in Hungarian) and nursing my bruised ego. With plenty of wild gesticulations, a few Soviet-era maps and a lot of repetition, Gabriele was doing her best to convey–in pure Hungarian–the story of the Magyars and their language to a classroom of awestruck, wide-eyed and mildly disillusioned college students.
As it turns out, over one thousand years ago, the Magyars took it upon themselves to migrate from the wilderness of Siberia to the Carpathian Basin. They brought their wild and crazy language along, and ever since, they have been confounding their Slavic and Germanic neighbors with a grammar and logic all their own. Or nearly all their own. In linguistic terms, since Hungarian is Finno-Ugric rather than Indo-European (the broadest categories for classifying languages into common groups), Hungarian bears no resemblance to any other European language aside from Estonian and Finnish. In practical terms, this means that Hungarian is about as closely related to English, Russian, French, Italian, or German as Chinese or Swahili. And in personal terms, this means that without a dictionary or a Hungarian by my side, I might as well be trying to crack the Navajo code every time I look at a bus schedule or skim through a menu.
Although incredibly frustrating at times, the language barrier has also proven to be a humbling and eye-opening handicap. These days, when I study the canned goods or scour the shelves of the grocer’s for a particular product, I hardly ever bother to read the label. More than likely, I’ll search for a picture, instead. I have shamelessly peered into jars of preserves for minutes on end, searching for any differences in color or texture that might help me determine the particular jellied fruit or berry. Blue-purple or purple-red? That could be the difference between blueberry and cherry. Or blackberry and blueberry? Currant or plum? It’s always hard to tell. It’s even harder since I’m partially colorblind (outside the preserves aisle and Banana Republic this chink in the armor is usually more amusing than ruinous). The locals stare, but they cannot help me. I have learned this lesson, too. The fact is, when it comes to a simple request or a standard question, there are many Hungarians who speak a bit of English, but only a select few command the language well enough to move beyond the basics. Nonetheless, I couldn’t be more grateful for even the most minimal trace of bilingualism and for the generally friendly and helpful attitude of the Magyars.
Even so, there exist a number of situations where English remains notoriously absent as an option. The divide lies in the type of establishment and situation, and whether the dominant customer base is comprised of tourists or locals. It is as simple as that. While in a taxi, at a restaurant or at a museum I might be lucky enough to encounter some helpful and bilingual staff members, at the grocery store, in the metro or at the flea market (they’re huge here!), I immediately resort to pointing, miming and a creative and liberal use of my limited Hungarian. Essentially, I play charades, and the locals meet me half way by using a calculator as a trouble-free, tried and true way of conveying numbers, prices or sizes. It’s a far cry from simple or easy, but it’s made even the smallest success a real reward. The other day, I asked for Nutella in textbook Hungarian: kerek Nutellat? Last week I helped my friend buy a coat: kicsi, barna és feher?
So my Hungarian is far from passable… and basic would probably be a very strong word to describe my speaking skills at this point, but I have learned a few other things along the way which are equally valuable. My time in Budapest has taught me that with a little creativity and a lot of optimism, even the most foreign and scary of places can become familiar, and even the biggest and most unanticipated chore–like a trip to the deli–can turn into a fun challenge with a little effort and patience. I have also learned to love the bilingual signs at the market or on the street corner, and when I return to the States, I will carry this lesson with me. I used to wonder why the Target in my hometown in the middle of New England displays signs translated into Spanish. It didn’t sit right with me. It seemed so standardized and so insensitive to the local population. Somehow, it even made me a little bit angry. No one speaks Spanish here! I used to think. But that’s just it; that’s the point. Exactly. No one does speak Spanish, and for that one foreigner passing through Keene, New Hampshire, the Target I know and love might seem like an incomprehensible nightmare without that harmless Spanish translation. The next time I see another one of those bilingual billboards, I’ll know better than to take offense. And in the meantime, I’m off to order a sandwich, just as soon as I look up how to say “hold the onion, please”…
At City Park, in Budapest. Proud and beaming about my successful pretzel purchase.
I Would Like to Propose a Post…
January 2, 2008
…to the Russian New Year! Still a few more days until I board a plane headed for Hungary to start my term abroad, but my suitcases have been waiting patiently at the door since last week. That’s because this year I started my travels a bit early. Before you judge me, please, don’t be fooled. I may be a proud Cornellian, but I am hardly an overachiever when it comes to packing. Really, I can explain…
This year, instead of spending my winter vacation shoveling my car out from under a mountain of snow (I’m from New Hampshire–in New Hampshire we write letters to Santa begging for smidge of global warming), I decided to holiday somewhere warmer, somewhere balmier, somewhere sunnier, somewhere Skittles™ would fall from the sky and I could really taste the rainbow™.
As the plane landed in St. Petersburg, Russia, our pilot, Mikhail, announced that the outside temperature was hovering near -8 Celsius (my cell phone converted this to 17.6 Fahrenheit). Luckily for us all, he said, we had just missed the worst of the blizzard. As the Airbus glided gracefully over the icy tarmac of the Pulkovo International Airport, the light snow which had welcomed us turned into a steady hail, and I knew without a doubt that I’d missed the tropical breeze I had dreamt of by at least a few dozen degrees latitude. And yet, striking shortage of palm trees and coconut bras aside, I could think of no better place on earth to spend the New Year. St. Petersburg, after all, takes the holiday very seriously, and I was thrilled that I could join in the festivities this year thanks to a number of welcoming relatives who still make their home in this city on the Gulf.
Here in Russia, the New Year is undeniably the single most important and exciting holiday of the year. Although the New Year’s celebration is entirely secular, it still covers nearly all of the conventional elements I would consider standard at any American Christmas (and so much more!). Since my own experience ushering in 2008 in St. Petersburg, I would even make the case that the Russian New Year is perhaps even better than the Christmas I know and love. Based on my own systematic empirical observations, I have compiled a short list of the various exciting and necessary elements present at any good Russian New Year’s celebration. You will, I think, find nearly all the Christmas traditions in tact, but you will also discover some additional perks and party favors along the way. So before you call me Scrooge, hear me out…
The tree: Chopped down just a few days earlier from my great uncle’s property outside the city. Isn’t that so rustic?! None of that fake plastic stuff.
Family: The same great uncle and his wife, the great aunt, showed up for the occasion to my grandparents’ apartment. They really are pretty great. My uncle, my aunt and my cousin popped in. Grandpa and I even called some relatives in Siberia! That was complicated, since they’re seven time zones away. Russia spans eleven time zones.
Food: Please see below. Homemade, delicious. Enough said.
Fireworks: Right around the New Year, the entire city lapses into a two month fit of pyromania. Russians love fireworks. Or perhaps everyone loves fireworks, but they are infinitely more accessible here. While at times the idea that firework sales to private citizens have increased sevenfold since 2002 in the greater St. Petersburg region might seem somewhat unsettling and even a tad disturbing, it’s nice that the holiday does not limit itself to a mere twenty four hours. In the past four days I must have seen at least thirteen or fourteen full blown fireworks shows. Since January 1, judging by the late-night blasts I can hear outside my window as I write, I suspect pyromanic activity has only picked up.
Putin: I’m going to hide this category here in the middle between Fireworks and Presents in the hopes that some of my less vigilant readers might miss it. In my very personal opinion, this was the only dubiously great part of the night. As we were sitting down to our meal (see Food), we turned on the television to catch a glimpse of the fireworks at the Kremlin. That’s how he gets you… immediately after the clock struck twelve, instead of the anticipated and grandiose fireworks display, President Vladimir Putin popped into the tube for a brief Happy New Year’s address. In just under two minutes, he reaffirmed Russia’s greatness, promised continued economic triumph in the year to come, paid himself a few compliments and impressed everyone (including me) with his laconic delivery.
Presents: In Russia, you don’t have to wait until morning to open presents… anytime after midnight presents are fair game!
A Late Night/Early Morning Walk: When we left house around 4AM with my baby boomer entourage (grandparents, great aunt and unlce), I thought this “New Year’s walk,” proposed by my grandmother, seemed like a fairly dodgy activity. I thought we would be the only ones out at such a late hour, but when we made it to the major boulevard, I was pleasantly surprised to find that there were hundreds of groups strolling just like us. I saw families, couples, contingents big and small wishing one another other a pleasant New Year. I learned that it is borderline inappropriate to go to bed earlier than five or six in the morning. It was a chilly evening to be sure, but the walk proved an excellent precursor to a second round of tea and cake.
Vacation: It’s not only schoolchildren and college students who get a few weeks off during the holiday season here. Few would even consider trudging to work on the second of January. Instead, the country takes a few days, or even a few weeks, to revel in the occasion. To my dismay I found out that banks would be closed from the 30th of December until the 8th of January! This would be unheard of in the United States, but it’s a small price to pay for a much welcome break during the coldest days of winter. Things really slow down, and everyone sticks to visiting with family and friends during this time.
“Santa,” but no Jesus: I’m not sure when these two undoubtedly unrelated figures became so inappopriately and inextricably linked, but the Russian New Year is solid proof that paganism can hold its own just fine. Here, Santa technically goes by “Ded Moroz,” translated Father Frost, but he serves the same purpose as Mr. Claus. He brings presents, and he’s the man.
No Jesus: The good part about a formally secularized version of what many of us have come to see as Christmas is that ANYONE can celebrate! That means Jewish or Christian, Muslim or atheist, the New Years celebration, complete with tree and Ded, is a fun holiday for all to share. No exceptions! No awkward greetings or inappropriate holiday cards… and no excuse to miss out on the fun.
Jesus: For those who might criticize the absence of the true nature of Christmas from the New Years tradition can rest easy. Although 25th of December goes entirely unacknowledged in Russian culture because the region has historically subscribed to the Christian Orthodox Church, there is a Christmas nonetheless. Since the Orthodox Church does not acknowledge the relatively recent exposure of the elusive leap year, Christmas takes place on what we call January 7. Moreover, because the presents, the tree and Ded Moroz all make their appearances at the New Year, those who choose to celebrate Christmas really tend to focus on the religious aspect of the holiday. For better or for worse, this is hardly the case for the majority in the United States.
Fun, family, fireworks, paganism, presents (… and Putin): I’m sold! So I may have missed that tropical breeze, but this break has definitely been one to remember. Less than a year left till 2009, and Ded Moroz will come through once again… perhaps with coconut bra and palm tree in tow.