Now THAT'S a Happy Thanksgiving

Sorry. I was a bit pessimistic last week, feeling battered down by Hungarian negativism, without much joy of any nationality to build off of. And in truth I felt a little guilty for feeling sad for myself on Thanksgiving -- that's not what the day's for.

But in Nyiregyhaza, with a roomful of Americans and even some authentic Hungarians, I found that happiness. It was heartwarming to return to thankfulness.

Some people started arriving on Thursday to begin preparing for the feast. It's a rather gruelling task in a country where ovens are the size of microwaves, microwaves are non-existent, and American staples are difficult to find. Kat and I met up at Liz's house, half way to the gathering point of Nyiregyhaza. Over the course of a bottle of polish honey vodka (which my father should begin brewing asap), we baked two batches of chocolate chip cookies, six at a time. I was in charge simply of chopping dark chocolate bars into chip-sized portions, as they don't have chocolate chips in this country. But my task grew to biking across the cold, drizzly city in the dark when we realized someone (Liz!) forgot to buy baking soda.

Kat was so happy over our Italian supper, before the honey vodka had even been opened, she couldn't stop talking. "I'm drunk off of natives!" she exclaimed in joy. We all agreed.

Early Saturday we bussed to Jenna and Yerik's place in Nyiregyhaza. They're a young couple from Minnesota, married two weeks before jetting off to Hungary for a rather extended honeymoon. By ten, the place was bustling with Americans, men and women alike awork in the kitchen, while others were content to speak English and sip wine in the living room. We were only five hours from the expected mealtime of 3:30.

Two days ago, the turkey had been alive. There was no need for defrosting, simply chopping off the neck and removing some of the previously vital organs. We used the bathtub for those purposes. You can't find a frozen turkey in Hungary, it's simply not an option, that's why they have farms for. But in the oven, under Harpswell's careful eye, it was looking good.

We ended up eating at 7, long after dark, but it was certainly worth the wait. When you live as a foreigner in Hungary, apparently there can be reason to celebrate. We traded, around in a circle, our reasons for thankfulness. I must admit to a bit of a reversal of roles from the uber-optimistic late-August Jeremy that everyone here knew. I stuck to my Friday assertion that I am thankful that my reality is not living as a foreign in Hungary. Met with quiet boos, I realized that my offering was an non-optimistic, glass-half-empty way of saying that I am thankful for family, friends and a future back home.

That's when we popped the FIVE LITER BOTTLES OF CHAMPAGNE! Unbelievably high quality idea by the Americans abroad. We celebrated our lives and our thankfulness.

And then I let myself be captivated, if only for an evening, with an English speaker. As I confess to you that she was, again, only 18 years old, I must plead the case that I do not bring this upon myself! Allison or Ellison, I can't remember which (although she yelled at me once for being incorrect), is an American foreign exchange student here. She decided to adventure for a year after graduating high school rather than going straight to college. While looking through a book, she saw a culinary school in Hungary. Jokingly, she told everyone that she had decided upon her adventure. They thought she was serious, and it became a reality. We invited her because we thought she would be lonely, an American in Hungary over the holidays. And then we took to talking. And then some champagne. And then more talking. But she had braces, and it kept reminding me how young she was. So I could try to blame wimping out asking for her number at the end of the evening on the age factor, but I think in truth we had better blame it on me simply being a timid, timid boy. Goodness gracious.

Happy again in Hungary.