Hungarian Irony

 

This is a wonderful example of Hungarian irony. If you do not recognize this store, you have yet to come to Hungary. This is the ubiquitous outside décor for all Hungarian state authorized tobacco stores. All may be redundant, but I want to drive the point home. The Hungarian government in its infinite wisdom decided to license the sale of tobacco related product with the expressed intention of limiting sales to those less than 18 years of age. The rumor was that all tobacco store licenses were doled out to friends of the current government’s administrative friends. One such person reportedly has over 1,000 licenses.  

Adjoining our apartment building used to be a small shop rented by an animal groomer; however, she was evicted to make room for a tobacco store. There are only 10 of them in a one block radius. 

The irony at this particular shop is the sign on the door. It states that smoking is prohibited within 5 m of the entrance. I have looked at other tobacco shops, but they don’t all have similar regulations.

If this were not enough humor, almost on a daily basis when I am coming or going from our building, there is an older man, presumably the worker, standing on the shop step smoking away. Apparently he cannot read the sign on his own store.

We certainly miss the pet groomer; it was always a great joy to pass by to get a peek at whatever dog was getting a haircut at the time. Now all we get to view is a drab looking building with the Hungarian version of the old Indian statues once used to signify an American tobacco establishment.

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Where There is Smoke...There May Be Corruption

There is smoke coming from Budapest and it is not a fire, but the fumes of angry citizens over probable corruption. For once, the liberal and conservative media are in agreement that there is something rotten in parliament.

In 2012, in an attempt to wipe out teenage smoking, the government decided to slice the number of licenses for retailers to sell cigarettes country-wide from 42,000 outlets, which included supermarkets and gas stations, to a mere 7,000. Now, being a reformed smoker for over 31/2 years, I don’t much care what they do. Actually, it cuts down on the numbers of smokers blocking the sidewalks outside cafés, restaurants, and other businesses, I am thrilled. It may make negotiating the sidewalk less like a game of Pac Man. 

From the cut and burn of licenses, businesses had to reapply for a license to sell tobacco. What quickly became apparent was that these authorizations were going to those who had close ties to the ruling right-wing party Fidesz party. As things unfolded, it seemed that many had no prior experience in running a business. Some were even family members of the politicians while others were Continental cigarette manufacturer employees. An upper level executive of Continental is a friend of Orban’s chief of staff, who happened to initially author the legislation. 

Wikileaks was not needed here when there was a leak from the Fidesz gang. It included the instructions for the bidding process for the certificates to sell, which included "just as long as the (opposition) Socialists don't win any".

Tobacconist protesters are stating that of the 5,145 former concessions that were once licensed, only 60 have received the bid throughout Hungary. One such protester has stated that he has been selling cigarettes since the 90s and to stop now would not allow him to cover expenses for his business. Being on in years, he has no other employment opportunities. 

After all the bidding had become a done deal, they added several amendments to the legislation. Included was a mighty profitable sales margin of 10 percent. Furthermore, shops may also sell ice cream, drinks, newspapers, and give out small loans. The original law was to sell cigarettes only.

Our next door neighbor, the dog groomer, was ousted from her rental to make way for a National Tobacco store. My private little thrill was to pass her place on a frequent basis to catch a voyeuristic glimpse of the dogs she was grooming. Now, the view is cigarettes.

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Testing, Testing, Are You Alive?

We set the clock so we could test my stamina. There are things left undone. Shopping is the first priority. We left this for when we returned, to buy from the women's collective in support of it, plus not to have had to lug it around with us for four weeks. Now it is buy or regret it. Whatever hit me passed over. I was able to shower, get to breakfast, and wait for a taxi without feeling like I would keel over.

Since I was so sick yesterday, not one cigarette passed my lips prompting me to decide this morning to postpone my starting smoking again. I know others would say they are quitting or that is what I am attempting to do, but I am not. In my youth, my mother always called me a quitter and said I never finished anything I started. Although this was true, I did not have role models who did complete things other than the meals set before them. As I reached my 20s, this quitter label started wearing thin, so I made sure I completed things; some of those things were completions my mother wished I had quit. Going to beauty school was one of them. She hated having son who was a beautician or hairdresser as they were called back in the 70s. As it turned out the more I completed, the more I liked myself. Starting more ventures and completing them aided my self-esteem. So, now I cannot quit smoking, because I am not a quitter. What I am doing is postponing the starting date of when I will resume smoking again.

After placing a call to Solomon, the taxi driver who drove us from the railway station, we thought our good do-bee deed for the day was in place. Forty-five minutes later, Solomon called to say he could not find us. Well, impossible, we are the only two white people standing in the hot sun waiting for a taxi at this hotel. He was at the wrong hotel, so he would be delayed another twenty minutes. 

We waited an hour and a half, but no Solomon. The hotel receptionist Grace, said she would call us a reliable driver. John showed up. We wanted to go the David Sheldrick Foundation, but Mr. Map after consulting the map, insisted that since it is in the Nairobi Wildlife Reserve, we would have to pay $3o each to get in. I keep insisting that if this were true, the guidebook would have pointed it out. John's itinerary for us was to go to the Wildlife main office gate to ask about entrance, then go to the gate where the foundation is located and double check the visiting hours, then to the place where we want to shop. This little excursion is costing us 3,000 shillings (30 euros).

I was right, there is not charge to get into the Wildlife Reserve for the Foundation if you go to the correct gate. We did get to that gate, but at 11:30, so visiting hours were almost over. On our way to our shopping place, we stopped at a shop John wanted to show us. It was just as large, but nothing was presented well creating sensory overload. At our shop, I had wanted these beaded angels, but they were gone. I knew they would be, but I had hopes. We did find plenty of other things to buy finishing up our gift list.

John dropped us off downtown so we could stop at an ATM and Trattoria restaurant where I had the avocado milkshake. Today, we had lunch with our drinks. My chicken salad was delightful. Ron had gnocchi with Gorgonzola sauce. Delish!

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