Always Wear Your Running Shoes

I had two options today, in my joy to get to Nyiregyhaza: take a train that left 20 minutes after the end of school or a bus that left three hours after the end of school. I took the later because it was far too long of a day (seven classes in a row) to rush at the end.

So Gitta and I talked for an hour in our after-school lesson. I brought my pictures, she brought hers, and we each picked any five of the pictures for a better explanation. She selected the Badger State Games picture, among others. In exchange, I wanted to know why five-year old Gitta had cow udders attached to her head. Ppre-school theatre at its finest, it turns out.

I took off for the library, made a quick stop because I thought I had plenty of time. After more emails than I should have sent, I set off for home, just two blocks away. But more importantly, my home is two KEYS away from the library, and I was mortified to realize I had neither when I got to my door.

I dug through my bag, I dug through my jacket, I dug through my pockets. Nothing. I raced back to the library, nothing. I lowered my shoulders. I'm not an enjoyer of running, but I ran. I ran in soggy shoes and socks, tie fluttering, because I wanted to get to Nyiregyhaza. I wanted to see American friends. I ran fast, knowing I had thirty minutes to get to the bus station. A usual trip to school takes 15 minutes, and I still needed to pack. I wanted it so bad, though, that I ran fast. I dashed up freshly-mopped steps at school, not knowing how to apologize in Hungarian, grabbed the keys, and looked at my cell phone. Seven minutes had elapsed, I didn't know if I could make it. But I wanted this, I wanted to leave bad. I turned right around and ran. Eight minutes later, I was at home. Either the keys were slowing me down or I was getting tired.

I peed (it seemed to take forever), packed and put on my racing shoes. Five minutes to bus departure time. Backpack fully loaded, I began the long sprint to the bus stop. I made it, thanked will power, and still had enough time to begin to worry that I was getting on the wrong bus, per usual.

Nothing came of my attempts to ask fellow bus riders if I was headed in the right direction. Nothing in English. Nothing in German. But I hopped on, got a ticket, and luck was kind enough to put a colleague on the bus next to me. She speaks Hungarian and German, so it was a laborious 45 minute conversation, but enough to reassure me I was headed toward the train station. When we arrived in Kal, she asked the bus driver when I should get off -- at the exact right stop. Without that information, obtained only in Hungarian, I think I would have died. Providence was smiling on me.

I rode the train for an hour, but we sat for fifteen minutes at a random city, and I began to worry that I would miss the connecting train. As if to augment that fear, Gaines called. While she and Chad had wound up in the wrong city on their voyage to Nyiregyhaza, the city was at least where Laura was planning on meeting me. A happy coincidence. The only bad part was that they were already on the train, and the conductor was blowing the horn.

I told them to go on without me, I'd take the next train if I didn't make it. And there looked to be no way I would make it. But the lights in the distance grew brighter, Miskolc was closer and closer. I strapped my backpack on and leaned out the door. As we were pulling into the station, I leaped out before we had even stopped. The train was still slowing into Platform 8. Providence again, is kind; Gaines, Chad and Laura were sitting on the train at Platform 9, sticking their heads out the window. Crossing the terminal in four giant leaps, I hopped onto the Nyiregyhaza train just as the wheels started to move.

When you come to visit, bring your running shoes.