Adventures in Hungarian medicine

Before I start the story, let me say that the point of this post is how nearly impossible it is to do anything complicated when you don't speak the language. Case in point: A trip to the emergency room.

I really thought I had appendicitis. I gutted it out (so to speak) for most of the day, and then finally called the clinic recommended by the State Department and the Fullbright folks. The English-speaking doctor on call said I should go to the hospital, and recommended one that he thought would be best. So off we went in a taxi. So far so good.

We get to the entrance to the hospital, and it is totally unclear where the ER is. When we think we've found it, there's a gate with a guard in a booth. So OLGS finally persuades the driver to go ask at the booth to be let in. Amazingly, we are and we drive off to the entrance, or what we think is the entrance.

We are right about the entrance, so we enter the ER waiting area and go to registration. We are waved off to somewhere else, but when we get to the somewhere else, it is totally unclear where we are. OLGS goes back to the registration area, and the clerk, showing only a little scorn for the stupid Americans, finally walks him back to where she had sent us in the first place. Apparently, this is triage, although whether it said anything about that I don't know.

After a short wait, a young woman in a polo shirt, jeans and a stethoscope pops her head out of a door, and indicates that we are next. In I go, along with OLGS as my translator. Then the problems really begin.

In addition to the young woman with the stethoscope, there is an older woman with what looks very suspiciously like a ledger. After showing our State Department-issued health insurance card, we are told that it is no good and that we will need to pay in advance. How much, we ask? 100 euros, we are told.

OLGS yanks out his credit card, brought along for exactly this eventuality. We don't take credit cards, he is told. Cash? We have exactly enough in Hungarian money (not Euros) to pay the cab back and the $15 co-pay that the insurance card says we will need to pay at an ER visit. Of course, the card is in English, and I suspect the concept of co-pay is foreign to them.

Now the lady with the ledger picks up her phone. OLGS understands enough to know that she's saying that there are some Americans who cannot pay and what should I do? Fortunately, the woman with the polo shirt and stethoscope says, in broken English, "Why don't I examine you anyway. We'll deal with this later." I was quite ready to kiss her, as the pain was getting worse from the stress.

So she examines me, asks all the right questions, with OLGS helping. She says that she is pretty sure I don't have appendicitis but that I should go see a surgeon. Surgeon??? She fills out several forms, stamps them repeatedly, and sends us back to registration, where we deal with more skepticism about the insurance card, and ultimately fill out a form in English that I think committed us to giving them our firstborn child.

We were going to leave after that -- I decided that since I didn't have appendicitis, I could deal with it the following day at the English-language clinic where they understand the concept of the State Department. However, a woman in scrubs rushed out as we were ready to leave and marched us into an examining room.

She spoke no English, but did a great demo of vomiting. OLGS finally told her that we wanted to go, and she agreed, after telling me that I should see a surgeon. That made me even more anxious to leave, so OLGS called the cab company, which promised to be there in 10 minutes. It was, and we walked back to the gate, since the driver did not argue with the guard about driving to the entrance.

When we got back to our flat, I went to bed, and although it was hard to get comfortable, I finally fell asleep and felt somewhat better in the morning. During the day I continued to feel better, so I never called the English-language clinic.

Lessons learned: Stick with English speakers for medicine -- OLGS is not advanced enough to do this in Hungarian. The basic humanity of the woman in the polo shirt -- a PA or intern -- who was going to examine me whether or not the payment issues were resolved. We were a charity case. And the meaning of surgeon: Physician -- similar to the Brits calling a doctor's office a surgery. And I'm more or less back to normal two days later. Food poisoning? Indigestion? Who knows. We didn't understand.

Hungary's tax dollars at work

You can tell a lot about a country by what it subsidizes.  Hungary, for example, subsidizes the arts -- heavily.  It also subsidizes public transportation, at least in Budapest.  But that is for another post.

Today's visit to the Bartok Marathon was quite revealing.  For under $10 we attended two concerts, one a celebration of the folk dance tunes Bartok used as the inspiration for many of his piano works.  It was charming and professional, with two modern folk dancers performing against the backdrop of early 20th century peasants filmed while dancing.   The second was an  orchestral concert, again performed at a very high level. And expensive to put on -- two harpists, eight French horns, and a massive string section.  They were very good, and while not sold out, the hall looked full.

And the venue?  The Bela Bartok National Concert Hall is about 10 years old, and has amazing acoustics.  Unfortunately, it's in a unprepossessing neighborhood, surrounded by construction-related mud.  Inside is just fine. And maybe it looks better in the summer.  But that is my only quibble.

I feel almost guilty taking advantage of these offerings -- but not guilty enough to boycott.

Are you an advocate of English-only? Try to learn another language and then see how you feel.

Language class is over for now.  OLGS and I celebrated with a luncheon party, or buli, for his classmates and his and my teachers (no classmates for me -- I was in a class of one!) Charming people, all of whom spoke English.

In fact, they all spoke English amazingly well. I complain about Hungarian, but it is logical and is pronounced phonetically.  What you see is what you get -- kind of like Spanish.  There is no gender issue, like French.  There are very few irregular verbs.  In contrast, English is amazingly difficult, and the more I learn about other languages, the more impressed I am by people who manage to learn English.

It's full of irregular verbs, and the spelling and pronunciation seem to follow no rules that one can hang on to when trying to navigate the words that come from many different roots.  Then there are all those homonyms -- words that are pronounced the same but spelled differently, or words that are spelled the same but pronounced differently, depending on context. It's a mess.

I want to say that I can't understand how English became a world language, but I kind of know why.  It is infinitely flexible, and most English speakers -- the ones I know, at any rate -- are pretty forgiving.  If they get the meaning, they don't usually care whether you were "correct."

In contrast, everyone in Budapest is a Hungarian teacher, from the shopkeeper to to the ticket taker at the movihaz to the kind stranger who gives up her seat on the bus for a gimpy American.  Whenever you open your mouth, they correct the fine points of grammar that you have missed because you've only been speaking the language for three weeks.

So to those yahoos who want to restrict entry into the US to English speakers only, or keep citizenship away from people whose English doesn't measure up to some impossible standard, I say this: Go try to learn a new language yourself.  Especially if you are over 21, you'll find it amazingly difficult.  And bear in mind that English is one of the hardest.

I bet that the loudest English-only advocates don''t speak any other languages.  Just a guess ...

Belvaros neighborhood

Veres Palne Utca

Our Budapest street is named after the founder of the first high school for girls in Budapest in 1867.  The neighborhood is quite lovely, with five and six story apartment blocks with inner courtyards.  Our apartment building until fairly recently had little stores in the courtyard where one could buy basics.  Now the space is used for parking bicycles.

A late evening walk after a snow storm that left the streets wet revealed some interesting buildings, a church encircled by a high wall and gates -- the Serb Church -- several bars, a youth hostel and what is apparently one of the few vegetarian restaurants in Budapest.  There are also many historical markers, primarily noting the literary and political figures who lived in the buildings in the 19th century.

The street is mostly cobblestone and barely wide enough for one car.  Parking is allowed, and I suspect the search for spaces occupies a significant amount of time -- kind of like New York.

But I don't need to worry about that -- it's only a five minute walk to the veggie restaurant, which I suspect we will visit often.

The district is called Belvaros, which means "beautiful city." They got that right.

English as a second language

Today's excursion: A lengthy tram ride along the Danube and out into the working class part of Budapest.  On the newer trams, the recorded announcements are in both Hungarian and English  when there's a connection to the metro.  Most restaurants and shops in touristy areas have signs in English -- the language that works for everyone.  Tourists from Germany, Holland, Austria, Italy and Switzerland all speak English as their second language.

Not only do we - and, to be fair, the Brits -- export our language.  We also export our food culture.  There are McDonald's at every metro stop. Subways and KFCs create a jarring contrast when paired with beautiful fin de siecle buildings.

And there is Hunglish -- words borrowed directly from the the language of marketing: polo, pullover, TV, whiskey, non-stop (24 hour store) and many more.

But Hungarian itself may prove impossible to learn.  Unlike French and German, there are no clues.  Take, for example, the word "tej." It means "milk."  But it's pronounced "tay," which sounds like the word for tea in French and German. Remarkably, tea means tea in Hungarian and English (and Basque, for those who care about such things).

There are few cognates that sound and mean the same thing in both English and Hungarian, except for words that have been borrowed. A person with a big English vocabulary can often puzzle out the meaning of words in Romance languages and German without actually knowing the language.  Not so in Hungarian.

Adventures in Budapest, 1

Veres Palne Utca

From my study window I see the Buda hills and the Erzebet Bridge, which is beautifully lit at night.. Step out onto the tiny balcony and I can see a dingy rose-colored building with a big hole in the roof.  Repairs were clearly started but not completed.  That may be the story of Budapest -- lovely sights, but still slightly battered.

But you wouldn't know that Hungary was part of the Soviet bloc until relatively recently by looking at our street. Right next door is a shop that sells only single malt whiskey. Next to that is a coffee shop with a sign in English, "Hot chocolate to go." There's a dressmaker, a fruit and veg store that sells Canadian squash -- who knew that the neighbors to the north exported veggies -- a jewelry store, an ice cream shop, a bar, a restaurant (open 12:00 noon to 12:00 midnight), some kind of financial business -- perhaps a commercial bank -- and that is just our block. Two blocks away is the Vaci Utca, where one can eat, drink, stroll and purchase goods from Hugo Boss, H & M, Nike and Lacoste and a variety of German stores.

Lots of tourists, but lots of Hungarians, too, crowding the outdoor cafes even during 45-degree weather.  And what am I if not a tourist, albeit a long-term one?  Loving it.