Behind the Iron Curtain

Yep. We went behind what was once the iron curtain. Our dear friends graciously hosted our family for a weekend of great fun. They were hospitable guests and informed tour guides to their city of Budapest. Despite authentic Hungarian goulash and a boat ride down the Danube River, the part of the weekend that impacted us the most were the stories and scenes from the past.

Chris and I have stories of our childhood. Believe me, they are not pretty. I made macrame plant hangers for my Mom, had one of the first home perms, and cooked with an easy bake oven that really looked like an oven, not a microwave like the new ones. Chris wore black framed glasses (and when they broke taped them together with masking tape), wore denim cut off shorts in the summer with his earth shoes, and went to his junior prom with a baby blue tux. Scary.

However, our friend's stories were much different. Each set of grandparents experienced the brutality of the communist party. Evidence of the Second World War can still be seen in local architecture. And the depressed economy can be seen in the crumbling buildings that lie in disrepair.

I walk away from our weekend with a respect for those who live in the shadows of war, a deeper desire to know more of my roots and an appreciation for the affluence of the country I was born in and now live.

I also walk away with a found affection for ... Hungarian gulash!