June in Hungary
The sunflowers are tall and radiant. The forests are lush and loud, and tarmac roads are melting into tracks.
I’ve been meaning to write this for a while. I wouldn’t say it’s a direct transcription of my personal experience, but it captures some of the best bits. In reality, my afternoon ring shopping was much longer and a lot more stressful than this.
If you’re an avid reader of Blank Pages, hit subscribe and get a few extra perks. Either way enjoy!
June in Hungary. It’s hot and dry, eternally waiting for the inevitable storms to offer watery relief. Eventually, one comes, rolling over the mountains and into the basin. The Croatian border's a few kilometres away, I'm stretching my arms into the air in a sleepy suburban town.
The city of Pécs rests peacefully at the base of the hills, Mecsek. In the early hours, the sky above is peach. If you're looking at the city from the south, you'll see chimneys billowing smoke in white columns. The sunflowers are tall and radiant. The forests are lush and loud, and tarmac roads are melting into tracks.
I’m on the balcony, alone, with a mug of bitter coffee and a telephone dialling in my hand. I haven’t been home in a while, so I know they’ll pick up.
“It’s a bit early for you, what’s wrong?” They’re where I knew they would be, having their morning coffee in the conservatory with dogs flanking them.
“Nothing, can’t I change my routine now and again?”
“Of course, call us as much as you want,” Mum says, happy to hear my voice.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply. “I just have a question to ask,” I continue, not knowing where to turn next. I’ve always imagined this conversation would be one of the easiest I’d undertake. But now I'm in it, it's proving more difficult.
“Go on then,” Mum prods, sensing something juicy.
“So, you know I said I’d never get married?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I changed my mind. And I’m going to ask next week.”
“Oh, that’s amazing news!” They say, “What changed your mind?” Dad asks. They’re leaning closer as if I’m in the room sitting opposite.
“A few things,” I begin to explain. But in all honesty, I don’t know. At least, there’s nothing in particular that I can point to. One day I didn't, then the next, I thought, what the hell.
I hang up, feeling my life is ready to change. The sun is in the sky, turning pink clouds white. The fields rolling over the horizon to Pécs are smoother, and the yellow of the sunflowers are more vibrant. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. Goosebumps sprout on my arms and make their way up my neck and down my back. I expected them on the day, but I’m weeks away from that, and they’re shaking my hands like my Grandad used to do every Sunday morning.
The door creaks when I open it, and one of the dogs trots up to my shines for some attention. His hair is soft and full. His eyes are loving, and his tail is whipping from side to side, knocking loudly on the side of an armchair.
“Reggel, Breakfast?” I ask, exciting him further. He turns and walks towards the kitchen, filling the room with the tippy-tap of his nails on the lament floor. I follow, and by the time I’ve opened the cupboard door, the second dog is by his side, waiting with drool dripping from her tongue. They eat fast, then turn their attention to the world outside. Their tails start whipping again, and I let them out.
Her mum drops me off in the city at noon. She’s always been easy to get along with, even with the hurdles language puts in our way. I'm trying to explain why I’m coming alone and what I have planned on our drive in. She seems interested but only in the way she is with all my strange ideas. I had expected something else, more emotion, a beaming smile.
"I’m going to buy the ring today," I try to say, but the meaning is lost between the handbrake and gearstick separating us.
“Koszi, Thanks,” I say, shutting the door of her yellow Fiat 500. My hands are still shaking, I’m part excited and part terrified. But there’s no doubt that I’m way out of my depth. There's so much to consider, and so many euros to be spent. There’s a café nearby, and I retreat to its familiar scent.
“A Fekete kavé szereltnek kerni, I would like a black coffee, please,” I say, struggling to put a sentence together. This language is impossible. The barista looks at me with a smile and sparkling eyes. They're brown with golden flakes. People are always happy when you try.
“Anything else,” she replies.
“Nem, Koszi, No, thanks.”
I find a table looking out onto a pedestrianised street. There’s a gentle flow of people, tourists, workers, gipsies, students, and presumably anomalies like me. The pace of the flow settles my nerves. You have all the time in the world, I tell myself. No pressure. But that’s not quite true. I’ve already booked the trip away. I have seven days.
“Köszönöm szepen, Thank you very much,” I say as I leave, now my hands are shaking at double speed. Google Maps tells me there are six jewellery shops in town and another couple of pawn shops. My initial research has whittled those daunting numbers to three. I head for the nearest, joining the flow of people moving towards the city centre, wondering what type of ring would fit her finger.
The first shop is close to what I imagined. Small, boxy, with display cabinets secured with locks and glass. There’s some music playing on a small speaker in a room out of sight. An older woman meets me at the counter, her hair’s crimson red. She has emerald earrings and a plain gold band on her index finger.
“Szia, hello,” I say and watch her squint. I’ve seen this look before. It’s the face people make when they’re trying to work you out.
“Szia,” she replies, quickly launching into a sentence far too advanced for me to keep up. I can feel my cheeks glowing red. And she has seen it too. Her face twitches, switching from a squint to a sigh. This is going to be hard work, it says. I had the foresight to note a few sentences before I came. 'Gold with diamonds, something that looks classical, and engagement ring' are all scribbled in my notebook.
"Okay," she says, disappearing into the back where the music is still playing. She doesn't take long to return, holding a velvet tray. I can't help but notice her hands are shaking too. Maybe it's the coffee here, or perhaps she's just as nervous as I am. I'm not sure what I expected, but this isn't it. Every other ring looks the same, and none of them screams engagement. There's one in the middle of the tray that I don't mind, and I point at it awkwardly.
"Very nice," the woman says, pulling it out of its cushion. "Look," she says, passing it over the counter. It feels light between my fingers, and the diamond looks dull and shapeless. It's not the one.
"Köszönöm, lehet, hogy később visszajövök. Thank you, I might come back later," I say, not meaning the last bit.
There's another shop just a little further along the same street. It looks more promising, with a heavy door and more secure-looking cabinets. If they're going through the trouble of keeping intruders out, their collection will be impressive. It's stiflingly hot inside. A bead of sweat runs down my forehead, along my nose, and down my neck before I have a chance to swing my backpack off my shoulders.
"Szia," The woman behind the counter says, watching carefully.
"Szia," I reply and begin typing on Google Translate. I never want to resort to it. I've been improving lately. Sure, my Hungarian isn't anything to write home about, but it allowed me to order coffee and ask about your day. And the only way to improve is to use it, but in this heat, I could barely think clearly in English. I can sense her fidgeting on her feet, waiting for something to happen. Then I slide my phone across the counter between us.
"Huh, okay," she says, walking around the counter to unlock a thick glass box.
"These are all gold with diamonds. But we don't have many," she says, placing the tray in front of me. Not bad, I think. I'm looking over the stones like someone who can tell the difference between a crystal and a diamond. But I can't help but notice half of the rings have coloured stones. It strikes me then that we often do strange things like this. Pretend. And for what, to save face in front of strangers? I've done it at dinner when the waiter asks me to taste the wine. I've done it in art galleries when I'm staring at an abstract piece that's supposed to symbolise peace, but all I see is a black circle. And I've done it in bookshops, picking up and flicking through books I know I'll never read.
"This is nice," the woman says, pulling me back to her side. She's pointing to a thin band with a square stone. But the stone looks too big for the band. It hits my eyes unbalanced, and I can't imagine it on her finger. But most of all, it's red.
"Igen, nagyon szép. Yes, very pretty," I reply as if she's the jeweller. I hum and haw for a while before calling it quits. There's nothing here. And besides that, I can feel the sweat seeping through my shirt.
"Köszönöm, lehet, hogy később visszajövök," I say, butchering the last syllables before walking out the door. The city's filling up, and the gentle flow has built into a current you could lose yourself in. Drifting above the bobbing heads, music. Plucked notes from a guitar. I've been here long enough to know the source, a blind man who plays on the street leading to the square. It's strange what makes you feel at home, but that crumb of knowledge does just that.
I've got one last option before the shops slide down their steal shutters for the night. The pawn shop is a little further down the hill, sitting on the boundary between pre and post soviet design. In these parts of town, the architecture loses its need for romance and settles into a life of concrete conformity.
I find my last hope at the bottom of one of a thousand look-a-like towers. There's no thick door, just an ordinary one any old shop might have. Outside, an LED sign flashes its offers to the passing traffic.
Unlike the previous establishments, this shop is much bigger, probably triple the size of the other two. There are three people, two unoccupied and waiting for me. The third's speaking to a couple at the far side.
"Szia," I say, stepping up to the youngest of the two. I'm presuming there's more of a chance that she speaks English.
"Szia, miben segíthetek? Hello, how can I help you?" She asks, and I pick up enough to understand.
"Gyűrűt keresek. I'm looking for a ring. Arany és gyémánt. Gold and diamond," I say, butchering another pronunciation. She giggles, smiles and lifts her finger. Wait, it says. I do, looking over the shiny knick-knacks like a magpie. On the surface, it looks more promising. There's no order, no specific style. Every other piece is a one-of-a-kind, something with a story to tell. The young girl comes back with the man who was helping the couple.
"Hi," he says, "I speak a little English. You want a diamond ring? Gold?"
"Yes, for an engagement," I say, and he smiles.
"In Hungary," he starts. I've heard this a thousand times since I moved. But Hungarians aren't unique in their speech patterns. I think every local who speaks to a foreigner will, sooner or later, say the phrase 'In X, blah blah blah.'
"In England, we drink our tea like this."
"In the Netherlands, most people ride bikes."
"In Hungary, it's not usual to have a diamond for engagement," he says, and my day makes a little more sense.
"But I have some old stuff with diamonds."
"Great," I reply, for the first time today, more excited than nervous. He takes off around the counter, weaving between colleagues and cabinets. Then he's back, with a key and bopping down to unlock a draw. I hear the lock click open.
"So," he says, placing the velvet tray between us. "These at the top are emeralds, but the rest are diamonds. At the bottom, yellow diamonds."
He doesn't have to talk anymore because I've found the one. I'm not sure why it is, but it is. I can see her looking down at it held between my fingers. Her hazel eyes are wobbling, trying hard to compute. Then after a second, she's understanding, the wobbles turn to tears and race down her cheeks to get a better look.
"I love you," she says.
"Szereletlek."
Sharing is caring.
Love, Luke
Beautiful story 🥰🥰