Simple Connections in Europe

From this picture, a classic photo of the Hungarian parliament building I took from the opposite bank of the Danube in December 2012, you get a sense of the majesty that is Budapest.  You get no sense of one of the days in my life that made me most grateful for the generosity of human beings. I spent two days of my twentieth year exploring this extravagant city during a break from study abroad at University College Dublin:  strolling along the Danube with a warm Kürtőskalác, brushing cinnamon from my coat, visiting the famous bathhouses, and enjoying the ruin pubs. Two rickety trains and a bus took me out of the city to the airport on my final day.

It was crowded, and people were sitting on the floor, but I assumed it was just a busy travel day, so I got my Ryanair ticket stamped and sat down with my book. At about 14:15, an announcement came over the intercom, “We regret to inform you that the airport will be closed until 10am tomorrow,” in multiple languages. My stomach dropped.  I dashed for the stairs, darting between people, and glanced out the window for snow or SWAT teams, some evidence of a disaster that could shut down an airport.  It was calm outside, the sky a wintry grey-blue, but there was pandemonium downstairs. I stood in line waiting for answers for three hours, and it wasn’t until I called my mother back in America that she found news sources saying there was a tower down.

When the announcement came that there were no more Ryanair flights anywhere until Monday, I was growing increasingly worried I wouldn’t reach Dublin for the start of exams. The line turned into a mob; the police were called in to keep order.  Luckily I met a kind Hungarian woman and a cheerful Irish man who kept me calm, because by the time I finally reached the front of the line and received my ticket refund, I was exhausted and scared. I made my way back to the main train station in Budapest, and bought a ticket back to Vienna.

I hadn’t eaten anything in hours, and I only had a few Hungarian coins left, so I went to the hamburger stand to ask what, if anything, I could buy with the coins I held in my outstretched hand.  The man took pity on me and asked if I wanted a hamburger.  I almost cried at the small kindness, and I exchanged my meager offering for a delicious burger. I didn’t relax until the train took off.  I stared out the window, contemplating the dark Hungarian night, until the couple sitting across from me asked if I had been caught in the tumult at the airport.  Apparently it was a Spanish holiday weekend, so many Spanish people, including this couple, had been trying to return to Spain and were stuck in the same dilemma as I was.

These kind strangers shared stories, and even a juice-box, and we all began to relax after an overwhelming day as our train rolled through the dark night towards Austria. There’s no need to travel thousands of miles to experience the kindness of strangers, but sometimes we get complacent in our routines and don’t see those around us who are in need.  When we break that routine to experience another culture, another landscape, and other people, we open ourselves to other facets of humanity.  In the light of recent events, this can be terrifying, but it is important to remember the generosity each of us has experienced from strangers through our lives.  Each person on this planet has a choice:  to give generously of ourselves to lift others up or bring others down.  Will you be the person who sees a stranger in need and gives a hamburger or a juice-box?  Or will you ignore the lives of others to wallow in your own?  Life is much less lonely when you connect with those around you.

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