Favors and stupid questions

“Being in a foreign country means walking a tightrope high above the ground without the net afforded a person by the country where he has his family, colleagues, and friends, and where he can easily say what he has to say in a language he has known from childhood” -The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

This means that we all have to ask for favors in order to accomplish anything. Being in a country where you don't speak the language well at all is like reverting to a childhood state. Sure, you can still tie your shoes. But you have to ask the most stupid questions, and request the most ridiculous favors.

"So I'm sure this is a stupid question, but where can I find thread?"
"Thread?" The Hungarian in question looks at you quizzically.
Sighing, you locate an example of thread. "Yes, thread. I need to sew a button."
"Oh! Three-ad. For that, you must go to a string shop." This is said in the most matter-of fact way ever, as if this answer should be obvious to everyone who is not under the age of four.
"A string shop. Ok. Where is one of those?"

My internet was broken. In order to get it fixed I had to do several things.
1. Get Balint to agree to translate a page of text for me, so that the people who would fix the internet would be able to understand the error messages provided by my computer.
2. Travel to the Vodafone shop most likely to contain English-speaking employees.
3. Bring all of my paperwork, receipts, computer, cable, everything with me.
4. Present this miraculous pile to the poor employee, and say: Ok, I need help with this.
5. Change one option in my computer. This last one was the only one that actually needed to be done, it was so ridiculously easy that I actually blushed when the employee figured it out, and there was no way I could have possibly known to do it otherwise because the instructions for my internet are all in Hungarian.

I have two people actively helping us find a flat. Other than Lyla and myself, that is.

You see... I've always depended on the kindness of strangers. (Please imagine that in the most dramatic southern-belle accent possible.)

PS: Today on the tram Lyla spotted a girl wearing a mini skirt with denim cutoffs poking out from underneath it. That's right boys and girls. My flatmate has seen a real, live never-nude. There are dozens of them! DOZENS!