In 2009, my husband, Ben, got a Fulbright fellowship to teach in a small town in Hungary. I was three years into a law career I hated, a year into a fledgling comedy career I loved, and generally up for an adventure. We arrived in the utterly charming town of Eger, Hungary, in the fall and quickly realized that we’d failed to take into account two fairly significant factors as we’d dreamed about our lives abroad. First, Ben was immediately tasked with teaching 7 classes at the local university, which meant he was incredibly busy and because I was legally not allowed to work while I was there, I was mostly on my own. Second, we spoke almost no Hungarian and, unlike everywhere else we’d traveled in Europe, the people of Eger generally spoke very little English (nor should they).
But I wasn’t discouraged. I made a plan to fill my days. On one of my daily walks around town, I discovered an adorable cafe and bar with a vaguely English name and a bald eagle logo a few blocks from our apartment and decided that this was probably where English-speakers hung out and so I was going to become a regular. I would go there to work on the book I’d started writing, that, at that time, I was calling “The Trail up Ahead.” I would read and write jokes and make friends who would help me with my Hungarian. Things were going to be great.
A few weeks after our move, Ben had a free Saturday afternoon and I dragged him to the bar.
Armed with a vocabulary of six Hungarian numbers, five colors, and a handful of phrases (my favorite being “Fáj a fejem, fáj a karom” meaning “my head hurts, my arm hurts,” which my Hungarian language podcast assured me was an appropriate answer to “how are you doing?”), we strode into the crowded bar.
People turned and looked as we made our way confidently to the bartender.
It’s working! I thought, smiling and nodding at my soon to be new friends.
The bartender spoke to us in rapid Hungarian.
“Kétu sör.” I responded, which I was almost certain meant “two beer.”
He gestured and spoke to us again. I didn’t catch a single number under 6 and nary a complaint about a body part.
“Kétu sör.” I said again, holding up two fingers and speaking slower, like a Midwesterner ordering a “ques-a-dill-a” at a Mexican restaurant.
He shook his head and repeated himself, sounding more urgent.
“Sör?” I said pointing to the taps, rapidly losing confidence. “Kétu?”
I looked at Ben, he shrugged, and I looked back at the bartender, who was still shaking his head, and pulled out my final phrase, “Nem tudok magyarul,” which literally translates to “I do not Hungarian.”
The bartender gave me a “yeah, no shit” look that needed no translation and said something to a man down the bar. The man sauntered over to us and said in halting English, “I’m sorry. Bar closed. Wedding.”
In that moment, I became a Monday Morning Sherlock Holmes putting together the clues to solve the case a day too late: the crowded bar…the stares as we walked in...the decorations…the cake sitting on the far left table..the fucking bride (OH MY GOD HOW DID I MISS THE BRIDE?!?!?!).
“Bocsánat. So Sorry.” We repeated over and over as we made our quick exit, fast-walking the full 3 blocks back to our communist block apartment before doubling over in laughter.
“Can you imagine being that bartender?” Ben said through giggles, “You’re trying to tell strangers that your bar is closed for a wedding and some American woman keeps yelling TWO BEER at you?”
This pattern is one that has repeated many times in my life—jumping into something without fully grasping the reality of the situation (*cough* hiking the Appalachian Trail, going to law school, starting stand-up comedy, writing a book, becoming a parent *cough*), cheerily barreling onward, only to be faced with the stark reality that “I do not Hungarian.”
A quick catch-up on what I’ve been making:
Going to Maine: All the Ways to Fall on the Appalachian Trail (formerly “The Trail Up Ahead”), the memoir I wrote about thru-hiking the AT, comes out September 10, 2024 and is available for pre-order now.
You can find my two comedy albums (Brooks Was Here and Street Bird) on Spotify, Apple Music, etc.
I co-host a very fun comedy podcast called The Ridiculist with fellow comedian Jen O’Neill. Give it a try wherever you listen to podcasts.
A few things I’ve been enjoying:
Normal Gossip. This podcast is my latest obsession. Host Kelsey McKinney shares reader-submitted, no-stakes gossip with a guest. There is nothing more fun and captivating than hearing about the inane drama of strangers.
Taskmaster. This is my comfort TV. Taskmaster is a British gameshow that pits five comedians against each other through a series of ridiculous tasks. All episodes available on Youtube. Trust me, you’ll love it.
Forces of Nature. On May 20th, I’m doing a book event for the launch of my friend Gina DeMillo Wagner’s new book, which is perfect because I just finished reading it and I cannot shut up about it how good it is. The book explores complicated grief, sibling relationships, and so much more in a way that is insightful and relatable, no matter your life experience. I couldn’t put it down. If you’re in the Atlanta area, I hope you’ll join us!
Thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings! You’re the best and I mean it.
Sally