Snow!

Last winter here in Budapest, I was thoroughly unimpressed. "This is central European winter?!" I scoffed to myself. Sure, the gray skies brought down my spirits a bit, but the weather was overall... almost warm. We barely got any snow, and the sky mostly dumped "wintry mix" upon us from a 35 degree sky.

This year is, well, different. Because it is cold, very cold, and it seems like it can't stop snowing. As soon as a bit of the snow melts away, inches more arrive. It's beautiful for sure, but also makes getting to work a bit difficult as the sidewalks are rarely shoveled. I commented to Bill that the snow is strange to me, as the texture is almost like sand. It doesn't seem to want to pack, but it isn't slushy either. Bill the science guy (whose last name is unfortunately not Ny) explained to me that this is the snow that falls when it is already very cold. Apparently the snow in Alaska is the same.

I have mentioned before that every day I learn something new here. This week, all of my knowledge has been about snow. I've learned how to conjugate the verb that means "to snow," how to build a Hungarian snowman (some reference to something vaguely illicit is apparently a necessity), and that snow can be considered a sign of either good or bad luck, depending on who you ask... and whatever kind of shoes they happen to be wearing. The amount of snow has finally caused me to give in to the the Hungarian practice of "indoor shoes" for school, simply because my boots are too wet for me to wear inside without feeling guilty about the puddles. According to my colleagues, this means I have crossed a cultural barrier.

When it gets cold enough, the snow makes a desert of white sand. I feel like I am back in high school looking at it, despite the fact that I am thousands of miles away, both literally and in spirit. I watch the ice floes crashing into each other in the Danube, and wonder how far they have traveled to arrive here and smash into pieces against the Margaret bridge. Snow falls softly on my hair and then melts, a new curl springing up, encouraged by the moisture of the flake. Before it melts, I marvel at its size and intricacy. How do these enormous beautiful crystals turn into these tiny specks of frozen sand?

Luckily, the bus normally arrives at this point, saving me from pointless reverie. I climb up into the warmth of tired bodies on the way to work, and ponder other thoughts.